A/N – This story is set just after Bodies in Motion… after Grissom hears the tape from Nick's kidnapping. A little fic on Sara and Griss getting together in the first place. Please be kind. It's my attempt at pseudo-smut. Since I've never written smut before, I'm taking baby steps. LOL

Please, please, please… Read and Review

Disclaimer: Do you want the disclaimer set to music? If so, close your eyes, listen to a good tune, and pray no one sues me. If not… don't sue me.

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After the "wedding" breakfast for Warrick, Grissom had been at odds with what to do with himself. He kept hearing the audio tape from Nick's kidnapper play over and over… and visualizing Nick back in the grave. Every time he thought of his CSI buried alive, his own skin began to crawl, and he felt these slight tendrils of fear wisp over his skin, up his spine, and around his neck – tightening.

When he looked at his watch again, he realized he'd been standing in front of her door for over half an hour, just pacing back and forth. He couldn't count how many times he'd walked up to the door, raised his hand to knock, and stopped himself. The worse part of the whole thing was that the more he put it off, the more anxious he became, and the more he muttered to himself.

That's how Sara found him.

"Griss?" she whispered.

At the sound of that voice, he stopped abruptly and went rigid – his back to her. Without thought, he spun, stalked the two steps, and delved his hands into her damp, curling hair.

Jaw clenching, he placed his lips just above hers, whispering his breath on her mouth.

"Tell me I'm not to late," he demanded, not waiting for her reply as he consumed her mouth, tugging and pulling until she gave into him.

Taking a breath, she finally murmured, "You could never be too late."

Guiding her into her apartment, Grissom reached out and slammed the door, then spun her around. Her back to the door, he gripped her hands and raised her arms above her head before making another demand.

"Tell me to pin you down," he breathed against her neck – his lips running over her sensitive neck.

On a whimper, her eyes shut, heart hammering, she managed, "Pin me down, Grissom."

Pulling back, his eyes searching hers, he grinned painfully.

"I've wanted you like this since you asked," he said, his voice husky with emotion. Drawing her hands together, he held them well above her head against the door with one hand, and reached down with the other to touch the flesh of her abdomen, now exposed by her tank top riding up.

"Oh God," she whimpered, as his palm ran up her shirt, every nerve ending on fire. As her legs began to buckle, she sank to the floor in front of the door with him, both pulling and grasping.

Her hands pushed at his dark tan jacket, gripping the white shirt underneath. As she ran her trembling fingers under the edge of his shirt, she felt him settle on his knees in front of her, pulling her hips towards his until she straddled him. She could feel his arousal through the dark slacks – her own thin cotton sweats providing little barrier. It was at the moment she felt herself getting wet with arousal, her mind snapped back to the present, and she pushed herself away violently.

Standing on a sob, she scrambled to her couch and yelled, "Get out!"

His head still buzzing, Grissom slowly and painfully stood. Walking over, he sank down onto the couch where she sat balled up in the corner. Reaching out, he touched her hair, missing the feel of the curls in his fingers, and not being able to quite breathe.

"What do you want from me?" she whispered. When she looked at him with defeat in her eyes, his world shattered.

Every fiber of him shaking, Grissom shifted to kneel in front of her. With a trembling hand, he touched her face, tracing the fatigue, wariness, and pain etched into the lines he saw. In that moment, he saw just how much of it had been caused by him.

"I'm scared of what I feel for you," he admitted, "and I'm terrified you'll get tired of me."

He barely heard her ask, "When will you walk away?"

When his heart started beating again, he grasped her hands in his, feeling the cold, and laid them on his chest – to warm them and feel them against him. Pulling her towards him, he raised his cheek to lie alongside hers.

"I couldn't walk away if I wanted to," Grissom gruffly admitted.

"Why now?" Sara asked, for the first time since his visit believing him.

Everything came rushing back, and he gasped. It was the first time she'd ever seen such stark pain in his eyes.

"All I've ever known is what I am. I've always been Gil Grissom – the nerd, or Gil Grissom – the scientist, or Gil Grissom – the CSI."

Looking into her eyes, he softly said, "I've never just been just Gil Grissom – the man. Not until you. It's all you've ever wanted."

"I'm in love with a man with this amazing mind and beautiful blue eyes, who loves to read as much as I do, and who loves old black and white movies. He was a friend once, but he stopped wanting me a long time ago," she whispered in a shadow of a voice; before strongly adding, "I miss him."

"I miss you, too," he said.

"It still doesn't explain why now," she said, her gaze more calm and searching.

"I was at my breaking point after what happened with Adam Trent," Grissom said.

His voice began shaking when he looked in her eyes and said, "He had that sharp piece of pottery to your throat, and I couldn't move. The orderly couldn't find the key to open the door, and I was damn near begging him to get the door open. I could hear this buzzing in my head, and I was scared. Then Nick was taken, and I realized how fleeting all of this can be. It's all so senseless. I can't just be a CSI or a scientist anymore. I need to be what you see in me."

"You can't walk away from me," Sara told him, and for the first time in his life, he began to feel truly… aware.

"I don't want to," he said, his voice and eyes clearly relating his intentions.

Standing, she held out her hand and he stood in front of her. Wrapping her arms around his wait, he enveloped her shoulders with his own, and she sank into the embrace.

"Will you go to dinner with me this Sunday?" he quietly asked before brushing his lips lightly over her neck.

"Yes," came her breathless reply.

Pulling back, she looked in his eyes and smiled.

"What?" he asked, grinning quizzically.

"I was right," she replied, smiling. Raising her face to his, she whispered as her lips met his, "You could never be too late."

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A/N – Okay, it's a bit of fluff, and probably the most intimate scene I've done, so it's kind of experimental. Please, please, please review and let me know if I came even close to writing something decent for this.