By: Trinityangel

Rating: R (Mature just to be safe)

Sometimes I don't know half of what I think I do.

He was older than me. Not old, but old enough. Whenever I asked him whether or not it bothered him, he ignored the question, and if I dared to ask again, he pretended that he couldn't hear me. I didn't mind. I could see right through him. I knew it bothered him sometimes. The way that I could become too much for him once I hit one of my fits of energy about one thing or another. I don't know where it came from to be honest, but suddenly it felt like someone was holding a nine volt battery against my blood, carrying the current to my brain which sent off all of these nerves firing over and over until my lips were moving with a mind of their own about one thing or another…

Look, I'm doing it now.

I really don't know where it comes from but it's there. These are some of the moments I feel most connected with him. When we found that topic we could talk for hours and hours about nothing at all, which in our minds was the most important thing in the world. Why? Because it was something that brought us together, that held us on the same wavelength for as long as we could sustain it.

That's what brought us together initially. The mutual signal radiated by the lonely. Some of us are magnets, pulling the strays and unwanteds of the world to them, while the rest of us are simply waiting to be pulled along. Neither is more important that the other. You see, it's a mutual symbiotic relationship. It's why desperation looks so desperate when sitting next to a perfectly normal person. Like semen under a black light, it's so obvious it's sick. Whether we know it or not we're drawn to it like charged molecules and will eventually, even unwillingly, be pulled along to a magnet. So by now I'm sure you're wondering exactly what I've been wondering this last year, these last few years if you want to be technical.

What happens when you're both magnets?

I know what you're thinking. Me a magnet? Right. People aren't drawn to me, but when you think about it, neither am I drawn to anyone else (noted party excluded of course). I don't go flitting around to every magnet that comes along if their pull is stronger than the one before. I like to think that, before I met him, maybe my magnet was just turned around wrong, you know? Like when you took apart that magnet and used it to push the coins away instead of bring them closer? I don't know. But him? He's a magnet. People are drawn to him in ways that they can't explain and don't understand. You don't even know you're drawn to him until all of a sudden you're standing right next to him. I know they say that Juliet is the sun and the moon is jealous of her radiance, but him? He is the sun. The forgettable essence that we feed from, draw our strength and power from. A seemingly endless source that almost inhumanly continues to give and give and give to which you don't even realized that you're receiving until, until one day you just know. You can't ignore it anymore, you understand that the relationship between you and he…it's something almost parasitic. You just unknowingly continue to pull and pull and pull until…well that's just it. He never really stops giving. I admit that even I was guilty of this unconscious feeding until I saw it. It could have been purely accidental, or an intentional faux pas.

It was late, or rather, early in the time that revolves around what is known as the graveyard shift. I hadn't planned on seeing him that day, but lo and behold, my shower was prematurely ended by the sound of a knocking at my apartment door. Dressed in my yoga pants and a sleep shirt, I almost paused to pull my gun from it's holster but one glance through the hole in the door and I realized what would have probably been a mistake. If I had gone to that door, gun in hand, I may have missed the moment. Like the extinguishing of a star, if you're not in the right place at the right time and looking for the right thing, the universe will move on, and you may never be offered such a gift again. Opening the door with a small smile and a tip of my head showing my curiosity, I started to speak but paused.

"Hey, Grissom. What's up?"

He was leaning against the door frame, shoulders resting below that predictable line that they usually were mantled on. His chin dipped downward with the weight of his head, those eyes obscured by the reflection of my small lamp against the lenses nestled in his wire frames.

"No gun?" Busted. I looked down but shook my head.

"I had a feeling…Do you want to come in?" I moved from the doorway.

"I shouldn't." His words contradicted his actions as he accepted my invitation with the confidence of a man that knew nothing of what he was doing, but understood exactly what he was doing.

"To what do I owe th…" My words faded away into the chill of the desert night, the realization hitting me that this moment needed no words. Closing out the world that he was receding from, my smile felt like it was nothing more than a shadow. Reaching out, I touched his shoulder, pressing my palm firmly against the pieces that were starting to separate. As if on cue, he turned, arms hanging at his side, his expression utterly human.

"I'm tired, Sara." My arms slid around his broad frame, pulling him across the carefully defined line we lived by. After a moment, the air left his body in a soft sigh, and after a moment more, his arms slowly came around my back, palms resting against my scapulae. It was then that I felt it. At first it tingled, then it turned warm until with each breath I took it felt like he was burning me. The eventual kisses felt like abrasions on my skin, shredding the layers and leaving me raw. Digging, pulling for whatever was buried beneath. It was excruciating, but addictive. The more he pulled the more I gave, the harder he pressed the more I took until I was afraid that at the end of this love, I would be no more, but at the end of it, there I was. Satiated and exhausted from the depths of…well of wherever.

And I understood. He was no endless source, and every accidental brush of the hand, bump of the shoulder and whispering of fabric was no accident at all. Like two magnets we sustained the other's position. He may not have noticed at first, or maybe he had tried ignoring it, but inevitably, he was drawn to me as I was to him.

That of course still doesn't explain why magnets are drawn to each other. Why not to those molecules that circle, waiting, wishing for the moment to attach themselves? Well I don't know. I at least thought I understood how, but clearly that has eluded me too. With two magnets there had to be some sort of dominant. Nothing in the world is equal. It's like Orwell says, "All of animals are equal, some animals are just more equal than others." So who was more equal? I'll admit it, I'm a bit of a control freak. When I'm in control, I'm comfortable, because I know exact where this is going. I think it's what frustrated me most about him. I knew I wanted him, only him, yet every time I put the ball in his court and demanded that he do something with it he just walked away.

I have never, been so frustrated in my life. I knew where he should be, what we should be doing but he would have none of it, and it was making me crazy. Literally crazy. He was a worthy adversary, in fact he was more than that, I wasn't even a worthy opponent. Sometimes I'm in awe of him, and I'm stupefied as to why he's even still here. You see, he's good. No, he's really good. Why? Because he knows that I'm a control freak. He knows I'm a control freak and lets me believe that I'm in control without ever really relinquishing any control at all.

It had become normal, routine even, yet there was nothing tedious about it. Less than halfway through our sessions, I would be straddling him. It's only natural, considering I've been referred to as a hellcat crammed into the unsuspecting body of a woman, that I would be in control. Something about our personalities I suppose. But that's how it goes: I ride him. His hands secure my hips, sometimes pushing, sometimes pulling, sometimes urging, but of course, I didn't notice this until it was brought to my attention.

I'd fallen against him, the afterglow radiating around both of us, an almost physical manifestation of the remnants of lust and the almost unperceivable beginnings of love. Cheeky as ever, I lowered myself over his relaxed face, my lips curled into a satisfied smile.

"Well you look comfortable." At my words he smiled, at my tone he arched an eyebrow, lashes parting to reveal that intense, dusky blue gaze.

"Do I?"

"Laying there while I do all the work." With my face pressed into the soft warmth of his neck, his chuckle echoed through my ear. My head tipped.

"Am I?" His short, quipped answers were characteristically Grissom, and were starting to piss me off. Sitting up I looked down at him, my frown challenging his amused smile.

"Well what do you think. You just lay there. Are you even interested? "

"Do you really think I'd be here if I wasn't?" His stating of the obvious only further annoyed me, adding to my quickly growing ire.

"I never took you for the submissive type. Just sit there and take it, huh?" His gaze was smoldering, answering my attitude with a wordless skill that deflated any air in my sails. That half-lidded gaze held me and dared me to look away. I couldn't have even if I tried. Reaching up he brushed a hand against my damp hairline, parting the strands with his fingertips, urging me back toward the warm sanctuary of his arms.

"Haven't you heard? The submissive has all the power."

His words stunned me into a silence that a possessive kiss only concreted.

Sometimes I really don't know half of what I think I do.