Summary : My entry to the the "GeekFiction Smutathon 2007"

Pairing : Grissom/Sara

Rating : M

Disclaimer : 'CSI' and all its characters belong to Anthony Zuiker, CBS and Alliance Atlantis. No copyright infringement is intended.

Spoilers : Up to 7x11 : Leaving Las Vegas

A/N : I guess I must tell you that this fic is angsty. Well, obviously, it's smutty, too I rated it M for being safe, but I think it's closer to R (if someone could explain to me what's the difference, that would be great LOL!). Just keep in mind that English is not my first language ;)
OH, and I also said "up to 7x11" (yes I love to quote myself) because I actually wrote the story after this ep, but it would fit after 7x15 as well :) Now I shut my mouth

A thousands thanks and hugs to Lisa, aka mingsmommy, for being so much more than a wonderful beta.


Shadows had always been a part of Sara's life.

When she was a child, it was the shadow of her fears. As an adult, it was the shadow of her past, mixed with fear and anger.

"Shadow" wasn't the best way to name 'it', but it was the closest to what she felt. How could she name something that restlessly hid in a corner of her mind, in a corner of her life, never letting up?

Sometimes, it was diffuse; a veil of smoke, wandering around her.

Other times, it was a thick, black cloud, looming above her head. A dark and tormented mass, that could quickly descend to surround her, to encircle her, creating a dark bubble around her. Inside of it, she was fighting. Hopelessly trying to escape from her anguish. Trying to flee far, far away from them…

Sometimes, she managed to block them, by tucking them away somewhere in her mind. But they always came back. The coat of pain would wrap around her; the shadows would be there again, surrounding her, forcing her to live in the darkness.

Until the day they were locked up.

The day she found out how powerful Grissom's presence in her life could be; the effect his comfort had on her.

His kisses erased her pain, his caresses took away her fears; his murmurs slid along her skin. A new cocoon formed around her. And this time, she liked to huddle in it, in the warmth of his love.

Grissom had captured her shadows, and locked them up in a box. And she knew she didn't have to be afraid of them coming back anytime, overshadowing her life, dimming her new relative well-being.

Because he was the only one with the key.


Against her will, she moaned.

The sound escaping her lips was a mixture of desire and exasperation; a premature pleasure, a shooting anger.

She had promised herself that she would resist this time, whatever he did. She had sworn not to give up, not this time, damn it!

But from the moment he'd pinned her against her door, despite all her resolutions, she knew she'd lost.
For almost half an hour, her reason had been winning, letting out several weeks of anger and pain, letting him catch a glimpse of the abyss he'd dug into her.

But his lips landed on her neck, after blocking her against the door, her reason and logic had dissipated. Because, sadly, in spite of all her willingness, she couldn't fight against weeks of separation; weeks which had created an aching lack inside of her. As the days had gone by, her bitterness and her wounds deepening, her need for him had sharpened and intensified, invading slowly but decidedly every cell of her body, until it screamed for any kind of release.

She had to push him back, she knew that.

But his beard was drawing a delicious, rough way along her neck, quickly followed by his warm lips, then his tongue, erasing the irritation with a breath, soothing with a wet trail. And his hands were tackling her defenses as well, slipping under her pajamas, his fingertips only brushing the curves of her back. And the outer most layer of her skin and all of her nerve endings were reacting excessively to those simple caresses, her body heat zooming up, her breath quickening, making her moan again.

And above all, above all, his touch made her incapable of ending the situation.

Her anger wasn't gone, oh no. On the contrary, it was right there. But it didn't allow her reason to speak anymore, so it simply mixed with her desire, with her ravenous hunger, which was insidiously penetrating every single inch of her body.

"Sara…" he murmured, his lips sliding again along her neck, tracing a reverse path, coming up to her face.

Sara, Sara, Sara…That was the only thing he'd repeated since he'd entered her apartment. Because she didn't allow him to say anything else…Because he didn't have a clue about what else he should say…

Because she wanted him to shut up! He had to shut his mouth; he had to stop proving her that she was far from immune to…him.

Somehow, she also had lost control of her hands. Again against her will, they'd laid on his body, as if they were magnetized drew to him as if his quiet strength was steel. They'd slid on the nape of his neck, and then had buried themselves in his hair. She so wanted him to step back but…God, she needed him to be closer!

"Shut up." She ordered to him. And she hated her voice, she really did!

Because, even if her anger was palpable, there also was this breath. This begging sigh, which was letting him know how impatient she was, how badly she wanted more, so much more…

When he finally landed his lips on hers, what remained of her reason, her resistance just…gave up, burrowing itself somewhere in her mind, now quiet.

The rubbing of their mouths was something she knew so well now, and yet, at this very moment, it felt like she was discovering the sensation anew; the pressure he applied, the tip of his tongue wetting her lips in a slow and delicious torture, teasing and playful like he'd always loved to do.

But tonight she wasn't playing. Because their kiss was already a defeat.

So she quickly put an end to this torture, her own tongue reaching his, leading them to a passionate, hungry and irritated dance. She didn't know if he did it in purpose, but he accentuated the pressure of his body on hers, pining her more firmly against the door. The fingers she'd slid in his hair tensed, and she drove her nails in his scalp. She knew she could hurt him, and she didn't care.

He was making her moan. The heat was climbing up in waves inside of her; he was arousing her so quickly, so intensely, all with only some kisses. It was unfair.

How dare he have so much power on her, when he should be on his knees, begging for her mercy?

Again it was the voice of reason, weakly trying to make an appearance, but strangely, she didn't get it. The only thing she got was the realization of him having too many clothes on, and that was pissing her off. More.

Quickly and impatiently, she forced his hands to let go of her body, as she slipped his jacket off of his shoulders. It fell on the floor with a slight thud. She immediately tackled his shirt's buttons, and within a few seconds, his hands were all over her body again, his palms on her burning skin.

She pushed him back long enough to take herself off the door, their lips avidly crashing together again as soon as she started to lead the way.

Towards the bedroom.


When Grissom chose to leave Las Vegas, leaving her behind, he opened Pandora's Box.

Or Sara's Box, for that matter.

She didn't expect it. Of course she knew he was tired. She could see it, she could feel it. Something was wrong, odd; too many things were troubling him.

But he didn't say anything. Not a word. She asked the question, and she knew he was lying.

And it hurt.

When he told her he was leaving, without allowing her to give him her opinion, it hurt.

When he left two days after that, leaving her in the coldness of this locker-room, in the darkness of her life, it hurt.

It was as if this key he had kept so well hidden for more than a year, he had shook it in front of her, before putting it in the lock, and turning it. She didn't hear the 'click'. But she'd felt it.

The box had opened.

Freeing her fears; freeing her shadows.

It didn't take them long before they started to surround her again, to suffocate her, shutting her up in this dark and cold bubble. In which she began to fight again. Uselessly.

She couldn't understand how he could have let it happen. She knew that he surely didn't even acknowledge it. Because, after all, he had his own fears, his own demons.

But he was supposed to protect her. He had left her instead.

She had decided to make him understand the gravity of his actions when he'd return. She wouldn't weaken. She knew he would try to do so, that he would find a way to make her forgive him; but she couldn't allow it.

When he came back, she'd push him back.

Hopefully, it would work better on him than it had on her shadows.


His hands traveled over her naked body, and she shuddered violently.

She lost track of time.

She was aware of their moves, though, even if her vision and her mind were blurred. She was aware of the way he'd taken her pajamas off, slowly, as if he wanted to engrave on his memory the sight of her skin.

She wasn't that patient. She'd almost torn his shirt off.

And she was particularly aware of the sensations.

She had missed his touch so badly, and by the way his hands slightly quivered on her, she knew he had missed touching her too.

The feel of his flesh against hers was dizzying; the feel of his fingers on her skin was flooring. She felt his tongue on her breasts, and she writhed, gasping.

And she was so pissed, oh so mad at him!

How could he? How could he drive her crazy so easily? Kissing her so gently, breathing on her sensitive skin, being so slow and so loving when she was burning?

How could he slide his mouth down her body in such a pleasing way? How could he find her so quickly, so deliciously?

And she was so mad at herself, letting him work on her so well, when she should be yelling at him.

Well, actually, the waves of pleasure he was sending through her body with the help of his tongue made her moan his name deeply and loudly, but it was clearly encouraging him instead of pushing him back. She couldn't do anything against the heat rising in her. She couldn't do anything but fully enjoy it, totally willing to do so. Her hands were on the mattress, her fingers strongly gripping the sheet as her breath became louder and faster, her moans more frequent and more pleading, and she was completely losing it, she knew it; she was losing herself in the warmth of his love again, and she couldn't do anything against it.

Oh she was so mad, and this was so good, so overwhelming; she hated him, SHE HATED HIM!

The blinding orgasm hit her hard, making her whole body tense as her soul was flying in the light. Then leaving her breathless on the bed; breathless, scarlet, sweaty and shivering. But far from tired or appeased. She had never wanted him so badly –at least not in the last month.

He quickly made his way up to her, and for a second, only a second, she lost herself again, in his eyes this time. She was hypnotized by the passion drifting in his gaze; passion, desire, hunger, and a gleam of guilt that she didn't miss. A gleam that pleased the still-very-angry-against-the-whole-fucking-word part of her. She grabbed his face and feverishly pulled his mouth to hers, kissing him deeply as she tasted her own scent. She knew it was pretty arousing him when she did that, even if the bump against her hip was clear about he not needing to be aroused.

Usually, she would willingly please him back, but tonight, she felt really selfish, her pride still upset by the fact she had surrendered so fast. She just wanted to feel him, to feel that he was really there with her. Her hands impatiently pushing at his pants and boxers, and then she used her feet to slide them down, her fingers buried again in his hair, allowing his lips to leave hers only for the vital filling up of their lungs.

They rolled on the sheet, and she found herself on top of him, pinning him against the mattress. Within a few seconds, pants and boxers were on the floor, his eyes never leaving hers. She knew her gaze was darkened by the need and the anger she felt burning in every cell of her body.

"Sara, I-" he started again, but his word died in a groan when she grasped him. She maybe was selfish, but she still didn't want him to talk, and seeing him unable to do anything but mumble a few words under her touch was really satisfying for her, too.

She couldn't help but love to see him loose control, that thing that was so important to him. She loved to see him unable to keep his eyes opened, moaning something that might be her name. She truly enjoyed the powerful feeling of being the one leading this time, and the situation was deeply arousing her, making her-

Suddenly, he grabbed her shoulders and rolled her under him. Within a second, he had thrust himself deeply in her, and her gasp of surprise turned into a moan of raw pleasure, her nails instinctively digging into his back. They stayed still a second, just long enough for their eyes to connect.

"You…"she panted, letting out an irritated breath. "You're the worst bast- hummmm..." she moaned deeply again, unable to remember what she wanted to say as he started moving.

It wasn't long before she took the pace. Her legs wrapped around his calves as she tried to press him closer, deeper inside of her warm wetness, and he moaned her name again.
She was loosing her foothold again with what was surrounding her.

Because right now, it was just them; only them. The rubbing of their wet and reddened skin, the feel of the other so close, so close…The moves that were becoming faster as they lost themselves in each other. The deep moans coming out of their mouths in gasps of aching pleasure. He was warming her whole body, and she felt her anger fade away, allowing only her love for him to take possession of her. Yes, she hated him, but God knew, she loved him too much… His lips found hers again, and soon, their kisses were as frantic as their pace.

"Sara…" he pleaded again, and she knew he was close, and she was so close too.

And then she just lost it, tightening in spasms around him as she was carried away by an overwhelming wave of pleasure, allowing him to let go. And so he did, groaning in the crook of her neck.

They remained quiet a moment, their breaths slowing down. When he made a move to roll off of her, she wrapped her arms tightly around him.

"Please, don't leave me…" she whispered, feeling suddenly intensely emotional. One hour ago, she was mad as Hell. Now she felt as if she was about to break down if she let him go.

She felt his hand on her face, gently wiping the wet trail on her cheek. Sweat, tears, or both, it didn't really matter.

"I'm sorry…" he murmurs, kissing her cheek. "I'm sorry…I'm sorry…" he repeated over and over again, brushing gentle kisses on her face, and she couldn't hold her tears in anymore.

They rolled again on the mattress, resting on their sides, and she held him close. And somehow, he managed to hold her even closer, letting her cry her pain, her frustration, her anger…And then he stared to speak, whispering in her ear. He started to tell her everything. Everything he should have told her a month ago, if not two or three.


Yes, by leaving Las Vegas, Grissom had opened the box, freeing her shadows. Letting them surround her again, abandoning her between the claws of her fears, with the stings of her nightmares.

But when he came back, he gave her something stronger than the pain, stronger than her demons.

Something strong enough to withstand the attacks of her shadows, leaving them out in the sun, letting them finally fade in the light his love provided.

That thing that would always be there, lingering in her box, even after the shadows were gone.