Disclaimer: Not mine.
It wasn't supposed to happen. Nothing that had transpired during the past week was supposed to happen. Why should this be any different? Brass was never supposed to get shot. Warrick wasn't supposed to lose Tina. Lindsay wasn't supposed to be involved in an accident. None of it was supposed to happen. But it had.
Sitting there, in that waiting room, with his decision still ringing in his ears he was afraid. Afraid that he was wrong. Afraid that his choice would cost Jim his life, no matter the outcome of the surgery. He felt a burning in his eyes that he hadn't felt in years. He had cried when his father left but had quickly learned that tears didn't do anything. He had made a vow then to never let his emotions run his life. And he had stuck to it – most of the time – often to the detriment of himself and those around him.
He scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to force the tears back. Not wanting anyone to see his weakness. And then there she was, sliding into the seat next to him. Sara. The woman of his fantasies. The woman who had terrified him with her neediness. The woman who didn't need him anymore but wanted him all the same. How could he let her see him like this? Without looking up he said, "Why aren't you helping the others process the scene?"
Sara's smile was rueful. The man just never gave up. "I'm not leaving you here like this."
"Like what? I'm fine. I'll go as soon as I get some word about Jim." Grissom's elbows rested on his knees and he kept his eyes trained on the floor.
"Then I'll go when you do." Her voice was firm without being harsh. "You know, Griss, it's okay to be human."
As a testament to his state of mind, he didn't argue. He didn't say anything at all. Just drew in a shuddering breath and shook his head as if denying her assertion. And, just when he thought the day couldn't be anymore shocking, Sara slid out of her seat and dropped to her knees in front of him. Kneeling there, she used her hand to bring his chin up so that he had to meet her eyes. What he saw there was almost his undoing. He saw pain and anger and strength. Yes, dammit, strength. When had she become the strong one? When had she become someone he could think about leaning on?
She smiled at his confusion; reading his mind with no apparent effort. "It's okay to need someone sometimes. As long as your need doesn't consume the other person. If you need to lean on me tonight I'll be here."
She reached up and slid her arms around his shoulders. He stiffened and tried to pull back but she tightened her hold. Grissom gave up. Right then and there, he gave in to what he had been fighting against for most of his adult life. He wrapped his arms around Sara's waist, buried his head against the side of her neck and wept. His hot tears burning a path along her bare skin and soaking the collar of her shirt. His shoulders trembling and chest heaving with each breath. Choked sounds bubbling up from deep inside him. And through it all he was vaguely aware of the soothing sounds she was making. Vaguely aware of her hands stroking over his hair and the back of his neck.
He wasn't sure how long they stayed in that position. The clearing of the doctor's throat brought them back to reality. After a brief conversation in which they were assured that Jim had pulled through the surgery, they asked to see him. The doctor explained that Jim was heavily sedated and would most likely not be awake for several hours. The prognosis was good but nothing would be known for certain until he was awake. He urged them to go home and get some rest.
When they were alone again, Sara turned to Grissom and said, "Come on. There's nothing more you can do here. I'll drive you home."
Grissom nodded and turned to retrieve his jacket. With weariness he couldn't ever remember feeling he moved to join Sara at the door of the waiting room. Reaching out, she grasped his hand, twining their fingers together, leading him out of the hospital and into the pre-dawn darkness. The drive to his house was silent. Grissom stared out the passenger's window, lost in his own thoughts. Their only communication was the gentle stroking of his thumb over the back of her hand which he had resumed holding once they were settled in the car.
"Grissom, we're here." Sara's voice cut through his reverie. When he turned to look at her, she asked, "Are you going to be okay?"
He nodded but made no move to leave the cocoon of the car. Just as Sara's lips parted to question him again, he said, "Stay with me."
The request was so quiet, almost a whisper, that she wasn't sure she understood him. Sara sat, stunned, with her mind reeling. "Grissom, I…I don't…"
"Please Sara. I can't be alone right now. I need you."
Those last three words sealed their fate. "Okay. If you're sure."
"I've never been more sure of anything in my life."
When she nodded, Grissom released her hand and opened the door. He waited in front of the car for her to catch up before heading up the walk to the front door. He stood back, letting her move ahead of him through the doorway. She walked to the center of the living room and stopped, letting him determine the next step. With only a moment's hesitation he moved to stand in front of her and pulled her into his arms.
When her hands moved up his back, and she burrowed against his chest, he made a little humming noise in his throat. That was all the encouragement she needed. Sara raised her head and caught his eyes with hers before slowly moving forward until her lips were just barely grazing his. And she waited; waited for him to make the next move, waited for him to decide. In the split second it took for him to pull her closer a thousand things ran through his mind. None of them involved the word no.
He crushed his mouth to hers and they went from zero to sex in the blink of an eye. His tongue was in her mouth and one hand slid down to splay across her ass, pulling her hard against him. Sara was moaning and clutching at his back, reveling in the feel of his firm flesh under her hands. Impatient, unable to get close enough, she started tugging at his shirt. Pulling it from his pants, she ran her hands underneath it and shoved it up. He raised his arms and she pushed it over his head. They stood for a moment, breath heaving in and out, staring at each other like deer caught in the headlights. Grissom started to speak but Sara laid a hand over his lips. Shaking her head, she grabbed the hem of her shirt and lifted it over her head. Reaching behind her, she unhooked her bra and shrugged out of it, baring herself to his gaze.
His hand trembled as he lifted it to cup her breast. His eyes were hot as he took in the woman before him. Sara closed her eyes and the breath trembled in her lungs. When he bent his head and pulled a nipple into his mouth, she gasped before groaning and arching her back against the arm he wrapped around her waist. She tangled her fingers in his hair urging him to take in as much of her as he possibly could. He teased her firm flesh; sucking, licking and nipping at both breasts until it she began making little grunting noises in the back of her throat.
"Fuck, Sara," Grissom groaned. "What…"
"Shut up," she snapped. Softening a little she repeated, "Just shut up."
Pushing against his shoulders, she stepped away from him and brought her hands to the button on her pants. Slowly, never taking her eyes off him, she slid it free and lowered the zipper. She kicked off her shoes and then hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her pants sliding them down, catching her underwear on the way. Reaching out, she braced herself on his shoulder and stepped out of the garments.
If he had been a younger man he might not have appreciated the picture she made. He would have been more concerned with the physical act and less captivated by the image before him. His first look at her confirmed every fantasy he had ever had. Her breasts were small and firm with puckered nipples; her belly sweetly rounded. Her firm thighs framed dark curls, curls that glistened with her arousal. She stood before him beautiful and unashamed. From her long neck to the delicate bones of her feet she was sweet, female perfection. And he wanted nothing more than to possess her in the most primal way.
"Now you," Sara said.
"Now you." Sara's voice was low and husky, commanding. "Don't stop now. Please."
Without another word, Grissom began to unbuckle his belt. Toeing off his shoes, he unbuttoned and unzipped his pants before pushing them down. He stood there, in his living room, with his erection tenting his boxers and a blush riding his cheeks. Bending, he tugged off his socks and dropped them on top of his pants.
Sara's tongue darted out to wet her lips. "All of it. I want to see you."
Without a word, Grissom hooked his thumbs in the elastic and pushed them down, stepping out of them when they hit the floor. Sara's eyes roamed over his body, taking in his every inch of him from his broad shoulders to his bowed legs. Her eyes lingered over the heft of his arousal. As promised by the bulge she had often noticed in his khakis, he was impressive, long and thick and semi-erect and weeping with promise.
Time became a blur. Grissom wasn't sure how they ended up on his bed. He couldn't remember the places where he touched her or she him. All he could remember was the thrum of the blood through his veins, the texture of her skin and the taste of her arousal. He couldn't remember pushing his fingers between the lips of her sex and into her body. He did remember the feel of her muscles clutching at him while moans of delight swirled through the dim light of the room. He didn't remember her sliding down his body. He could only recall the warm slide of her mouth on his chest, the scrape of her teethand the slick glide of her lips and tongue around him, sucking and licking until he begged her to stop. He didn't recall how he came to be nestled between her thighs. He only knew that it was where he was supposed to be. And then he pushed forward and he knew he would always remember. He would never forget.
Warm and wet. Dear lord had he ever felt anything like this? Gil Grissom was buried balls deep in Sara and was furiously trying to think of anything other than how hot and tight she was. She surrounded him, pulled him in, her body rocking to meet his thrusts. She wrapped around him, arms and legs pulling him down, holding him to her as if afraid he would disappear. As her body convulsedshe milked his release from him and gave him something he had never known he needed. With death and destruction all around them she gave him proof that he was still alive. More alive than he could ever remember being.