His sweaty palms were flat on the sickening mustard yellow of his living room couch. That wouldn't have been out of the ordinary, save for the delicate curve of his fingers into the hardened surface. Summer heat curled all around his body, the forced air unit having gone faulty sometime during the evening.
Twenty-five percent of his perspiration was due to the fact that it was the height of morning while the other seventy-five was due to the lithe brunette writhing on his lap. There was a strange sensation boiling in the pit of his stomach, something akin to the delicate flutter of wings making his breathing stutter and come in tiny pants. He felt... utterly fantastic, lethargic, like he was somehow swimming through molasses.
He hadn't had a proper makeout session in years, not unless it was accompanied with other, more invasive activities. But this, this after-breakfast wind-down was insofar the most erotic experience he had ever had. They'd been dating casually for weeks, until they accidentally stumbled into something more; days of casual conversation over coffee, long drives into the desert and candid kisses turned into a routine.
This, however, was an incredibly new addition to the routine.
He wasn't sure where to touch her yet. He knew where he wanted to place his hands, knew where he wanted them to trail over. Yet the way she was grasping his neck, plunging her tongue into his mouth, had him reeling. Twin sets of nails clasped at the back of his neck, right over the notch of bone.
Sara lapped at the corners of his mouth, over his teeth before delving back in. Gasping into his mouth, panting, laughing. He found the curve of her lips much more delicious when he tasted mid-smile. The cut offs she was wearing shifted against her body as she moved around him, changing angles at leisure to explore different kisses. He almost felt as though he should name them, dissect the technique of each until he came to the absolute conclusion of why her lips felt so good on his.
Sweat on his temples and on the back of his neck; Sara made a point to trail eager fingers through them allowing the moisture to accumulate on the tips before she placed them down elsewhere. Eager and energetic, she attacked the tendons in his neck with a certain glorious gusto that had his eyes trained on the ceiling in an attempt to keep his baser instincts at bay. A slick tongue found the hollow of his throat, laying it there for a moment as her hands skated up the clothed expanse of his chest.
Clutching over his pecs, Sara pressed his head onto the back of the sofa and kissed again, at a different angle. Eager ears picked up the sounds of her slight groans and gasps... he wasn't even doing anything except responding to the kiss and she was so... animated. It really was delightful and just as relaxing as it was stimulating. Having her take control over his body was deliciously erotic in a strange way. For some reason a thrill ran through him; he felt like a child on the first day of summer vacation, feeling as though endless, lazy possibilities lay before him.
Hands then on his shoulders as if to hold him down-really, he wasn't going anywhere-Sara nipped at his lower lip hard and bucked her hips into the hard ridge beneath. The silence that surrounded them seemed more appropriate for a cool evening, one in which the windows would be open, candles splayed about, some soothing song on the radio.
But, god, it was day and he was sweating out all of his sins and she was touching them and spreading them about. Laughing too, she was laughing and laying a blitzkrieg on his lips, an immediate surrender on his part. A weak sort of moan and he became very akin to liquid, bones melting inside his body, marrow out. This was the glorious space that people wished to remain in their entire lives, the bliss of someone making you feel so good that they became the sole beneficiary of every emotion you could ever muster.
Sara was quickly establishing herself as an amazing kisser; taking her time when she found he needed something deeper, kissing harder when she found the urge to delve into him to be far too much. She pulled back, hot air puffing out in little blast over his lips; Sara panted for a moment and smiled allowing her hands to slide down his arms. Ending with her chest pressed to his, her palms pressing down on the back of his hands. "Hi," she mewled, kissing the underside of his chin as she laid her head down on his shoulder.
Grissom's right hand slipped off the couch and came up to rest on her back, between where her shirt stopped and her pants began. Humming a little, her rear end settled down on his thigh. He forgot how light she was and reveled in the sweet drapage of her over his body; his left hand joined his right one as he cuddled her to him. The sweat of her forehead mingled with the sweat that had beaded on his neck and just like that, they were a June cocoon, sweltering against each other and yet craving it.
Her lids heavy, they slipped closed and she sighed against him, blindly plucking at the buttons of his dress shirt. "Sorry," her words were slurred as though she'd had too much to drink, "I don't know what got into me." The third button gave her a bit of trouble and she had to peek her eyes open briefly to work through it. The sneaky maneuvering of her fingers had him wishing to pause the moment just for a moment so that he could get his head around it, around the perfection. Perfection was a word like google, he simply never pondered it because the very notion of either gave him a headache.
"Mmm, I suppose it's alright," Grissom responded, suddenly realizing how amazingly rested he felt. God, she was massaging his brain, making him go completely slack. "As long as it makes you," he sighed as her hand slipped inside his shirt to settle over his heart, "happy."
Again humming, her thumb ran over his nipple; a quick little breath was sucked in between dry lips and Grissom allowed his head to once more make contact with the back of the couch. "Sara, sweetheart..."
Her tongue sizzled as it slid down his throat and she grinned when she pulled back to look at him. "You calling me sweetheart... that's definitely something I like."
A delighted chuckled was her response, "I'll be sure to write that down."
Sara worked her way to the fourth button, "Kiss meeeeee," she cooed turning her face up to him and he, all too happy to acquiesce, moved in and nipped at her lower lip before gently plying them open. It was a slower opening than she had expected from him, the way his left hand trailed through her hair, coming to rest at the base of her neck. A hot hand landed on his thigh and squeezed, igniting something entirely too primal within him. "Why haven't we made love?" she gasped into a kiss, not bothering to give him a real chance to respond.
Falling into the cavernous silence of the kiss, he formulated an answer, an excuse that wouldn't make the situation as completely serious as it was. They had been flowing along so effortlessly, casually slipping into something akin to a real relationship that taking such a big step would truly be... a big step. He came up with nothing, could think of no explanation that would suffice, proving that he was both serious and yet, not. "I want it to be special," he gasped out, hoping her eyes were closed because his damn sure were.
His lips kept moving but hers didn't and when he felt her stasis, his eyes slid open. She was just staring, puffy lips and wide eyes. "I love you," he went on, swallowing, still able to taste her on his lips, "And I want it to be special."
"Forgive me for saying this," she smiled, just a tiny, tiny bit and began plucking at his collar, "But I think what you just said... qualifies as making this special." A warm rush filled his stomach at her slight-nonchalant response. She was taking it seriously... just not too seriously. But god, this was serious.
Grissom's brow scrunched up; how had he made the moment special? "How did I make it special?"
"You said you love me," she whispered, tasting how the words felt on her tongue, felt how they made her mouth move.
With a gentle squeeze to the ghost of a lovehandle, he posed another question. "And?"
Sara disengaged from his grasp and wiggled up onto her knees, the leather creaking unpleasantly under her. Her nails dug into her thighs as she gazed at him, eyes filled with complete wonder. "Gil... it's the first time you've said it."
His whole body fell in with his shrug, "I suppose I never felt I needed to say it."
Another shrug, "I've just always felt it; saying it would be secondary to me... proving it to you..." He wanted to follow it with, "Every minute of every day of every... EVER," but instead he trailed off not quite ready to-
Sara grasped his hand and placed it on the inside of one of her thighs. "Then... prove it to me."
Gil Grissom had always been a firm believer in waiting until the other person was ready. But then he was always a big fan of creating a truly unforgettable moment. And, well, he was also an advocate of making a woman feel so totally overcome in the after-orgasm glow that they didn't much care when he couldn't stay the evening.
Then again, Gil Grissom had never loved anybody in quite the way he loved Sara and while he knew she wouldn't care if he was unimpressive in bed (who was he kidding, he was always impressive) or if he couldn't even perform (and really, he wasn't that old)... he did care. "Gil," she said, her face straight, eyes serious, "I love you, too... I just never thought you needed that particular formality in order to get naked with me." The tension broke when she punctuated the sentence with a wry little grin.
His lips puckered and he leaned to her for a sloppy, tongue-less kiss. "It's less about getting you naked," he passed a hand under her shirt, over her stomach, "And more about what I'd do afterwards."
Her smile quivered from side to side as she tried to force the words out; entirely too giddy, that's how she felt. "Well you keep doing this." Sara gestured with a cock of her chin at him and he acknowledged her with a guilty smile. "You keep letting me take advantage of you." A wink and he was done, kissing her again, Sara chuckling as he shifted and took the upper hand, pressing her back into those terrible cushions.
While attempting to keep hold of the corner of her mouth with his teeth, he mumbled, "Oh, and you do it so well."
She did do it well, and she kept doing it until she had managed to coax him out of his clothes and into the bedroom.
The night bled from spring to summer and they reconciled the fact that they'd never really be able to put their finger on what loving each other felt like.