The water sprayed on their bodies, washing it clean of syrup and sex. They lathered each other, enjoying the feel of the foam between their bodies.

"I can't believe we just did that," Sara uttered as Gil swabbed shower gel over her back.

"I hope there's a difference between 'I can't believe we just did that' and 'I never want to do that again'," he told her.

"Oh, there is. Did you have any idea you were this kinky?"

"Me? You're just as ... kinked," she giggled, wriggling under his touch.

"Maybe," he conceded. "But it didn't bother you at all?" He was worried, and he didn't know why. Well, he had an inkling. He wasn't aware, properly, of the nature of Sara's past relationships. He didn't want their time together to be dominated by sex - actually, that wouldn't be a bad thing - he specifically didn't want her thinking that he was only here for her body. "Sara?"

"Gil," she replied, trying to keep straight-faced and serious.

"Seriously."

"Yes?" She closed her eyes to fend off the giggles.

"I enjoy my time with you. I know we seem to spend a lot of time making love, and I wanted to make sure, I need you to know that I don't want you simply for your body. I enjoy making love to you, I enjoy all the time we spend having leisurely sex, by God, I love it," he enthused. "But I want to be sure that you know I'm not with you purely because you're a sex object."

Sara turned in his arms and looked him dead in the eye. Being relatively the same height as him brought a charge to all their contact, as lovers are only normally level when in bed. She brought a finger up to his lips. "Griss, you're the last person who would ever treat any woman as an object of desire. You love me, and you love my body, but in a way that's different from desire."

"Not the point, honey," he said against her finger. The water had flattened his curls completely, pressing them to his scalp. His head was tilted down, and water dripped from his nose, ran off his forehead in rivulets. "I love you for your mind. For your compassion. For your dillgence in everything you do. For the fact that I want to protect you. I've never felt like this, for anyone. You bring out a side to me that I thought I'd lost, and that makes me a better person. I love you for who you make me." Salt tears mingled with the warm liquid streaming down his face.

Sara smiled tenderly. "I know, sweetheart." Her voice - it was so pure, so full of unashamed love. "You're a good person. You're careful and cautious, and so fucking infuriating, and you're mine. I love you for everything that you are. And for the record, I have no complaints about our sex-life. Making love to you just makes me want you even more. To be honest, I never looked at sex like this before we first made love. I just thought it was a necessity to dating. I've never been made to feel so special, like I'm the one important thing in the room."

"I take it your past relationships hurt you," he mumbled. They had given up the pretence of washing each other, and just stood in the falling water, holding each other. He rested his head against hers.

"No-oo. Not really. But they weren't special. It was just 'Oh, Sara, fancy coming over for a fuck?' And back then I was naive enough to believe that physical proximity equated to love. But it doesn't. Or at least, it didn't in those circumstances. What we do together is just a reflection of our love. And that's fine with me. I enjoy the times we have fun sex, and make-up sex, and make love, and sometimes I get a little scared of having angry sex."

"Yeah, I should probably stop that," he whispered, ashamed that he scared her. The angry sex was a result of traumatic cases. Then, they would just come home, rip their clothes off, jump into bed and fuck as a way of releasing their emotions. Gil, never really wearing his heart on his sleeve, was, at the best of times, an intense guy, and it was sometimes a little unnerving to see him engaging in such catharsis - it was probably the only time he was rough, the only time he revealed the real monster lurking within. Fun sex was just them fooling about and having a laugh, like with the syrup, make-up sex was if they'd had an argument or a disagreement, or just felt in that sort of mood, and making love was when Gil was at his most tender and gentle.

"Gil, honey, it's okay, you shouldn't have to apologise. I understand that it's the only way you can really let off steam. I don't have a problem with it," she stressed, rubbing his back. She knew what this called for. "You want make-up sex?" she quizzed.

He squeezed her back and gave a laugh. "Third time in twenty-four hours? You're trying to kill me," he replied.

"I am not!" Sara exclaimed indignantly.

"Hey, hey, did I say I minded? I wouldn't mind dying like that."

"Don't talk about death, please," Sara mumbled.

He kissed her temple, and his hands slid down her back.

They eventually stumbled from the shower. He towel-dried her gently and thorughly, focusing on each separate part of her body, treating her with same respect and tenderness and interest that he would normally reserve for one of his bugs. "You have the most amazing legs," he whispered in awe, kissing the side of her calf.

That her body could inspire this much devotion was still rather intimidating. No man she had ever been with devoted this much time to each part of her body, savoured the image she presented when naked, or semi-naked, or fully clothed. "You have a leg fetish," she told him, leaning back against the bathroom sink.

"No. I have a Sara fetish," he corrected, still gently towel-drying her. Convinced she had no more patches of damp on her body, he stood with a groan, hearing his knees protest.

"Well, whatever it is, it's my turn now," she told him, seeing the look of horror on his face. "What?" Then she knew. Even when they were in bed, he was just as modest as she in terms of displaying his body. He had been embarrassed with his chest, with his ass, with his dick - the guy was still insecure.

"I'm just not sure. Is it fair to ask a woman to dry a guy? I have dangly bits," he added lamely.

Sara smiled, her eyes twinkling along with her lips. "I know. And I love those dangly bits as much as I love the rest of you. I would have thought that would seem clear to you after all this time," she said. "C'mon, you should give yourself some credit - you're an incredibly buff guy. Those arm muscles," she said, trailing her fingers down his biceps and forearms. "Your chest," she added, fingers following. "Y'know, there may be no definition, no six-pack, but you're still - firm -" She made this final point by gently swatting his ass. "You have the most magnificent ...". He gasped as she felt her fingers curl around the aforementioned 'dangly bits.' "You have absolutely nothing of which to be ashamed."

"If that's the case, and you still want to, hurry up and dry me before I get a chill."

Sara lovingly stroked the towel over his body, enjoying watching the sensation of his muscles jumping under her touch. So charming. Not. So modest. So chivalrous.

They washed the dishes together, then sat on the couch, spooned into each other, drinking coffee. "Do you have any timeline at all?"

"Huh?" Grissom turned his head to look at her.

"Well, unless I'm experiencing auditory hallucinations, you asked me to marry you. Did you have any ideas about how long we should be engaged for? When we should get married?"

Grissom shrugged. "I think six months would be a suitable amount of time. We've already known each other for over ten years, and we've been a couple for three months. We're gonna have to sort out the situation at work, but I don't think there should be much to worry about - if need be, I can resign to do teaching work. I have a friend who has owes me a favour." He spied Sara's shocked expression. "What?"

"I couldn't ask you to give up your job."

"Good, because I'm not expecting you to ask. I hate being a supervisor. The politics, the paperwork. I wanna teach. I remember how much I enjoyed teaching, how much I could give people."

"Maybe it won't come to that," Sara hurriedly mumbled.

"Honey, I'm sure it won't, but if it does, I'm just saying that I have a back-up."

"Why not me? Why can't I leave?"

"Because there's so much more left for you to do as a CSI. You have more to offer than me, and I know that you still get a sense of purpose out of what you do." He put his mug on the table and turned to look at her fully, taking both her hands in his. "Sara, honey. I'm getting on. There's not a lot of things open for me at LVMPD, not many places I have left to go. Besides, I want to do this," he told her.

Sara smiled, and captured him in an enticing kiss. "You know, if anybody had told me six years ago that you were a romantic, or anything even remotely close to this, I would have laughed in their face."

Grissom kissed back, pushing her lightly into the sofa. "And now?"

"Now? I don't believe there's anyone more romantic than you. I love you, Gil."

"I love you too, Sara. And if I could, I'd marry you now."

"Maybe we should call Warrick and get the name and address of that drive-thru wedding place."

"No way. I'm marrying you properly. Proper dress, proper ceremony, proper reception, proper honeymoon night and lingerie - proper everything."

"You know, for all that, it's worth the wait."

THE END. AND THIS TIME, I'M NOT LYING. THANK YOU EVERYONE.