A/N – Okay, my first attempt at something really really rated Mature. Yes, people… there are some sexual situations that will be occurring. I've never actually written them before, so… please be kind and review. It's going to be a day or two before I can get the next chapter(s) up.
NOTE – It hasn't been beta'd, so any errors found are mine.
Disclaimer – Someone besides me can pay for the lawyers.
Grissom found himself in line at New York, New York yet again, waiting to be let onto the roller coaster. His third ride this week, he looked forward to the release, as adrenaline pumped through his body. He understood the physics of it – the release of pressure on the muscles when it was over, and how the vibrations of the car eked away the tenseness.
Sitting in the front car, he waited for the tourists to board, thankful the noise around him prevented having to hear their inane conversations. He was there for the simple reason of wanting to let go. If he had to hear one more person mention Sara's name, or see one more person look at him sideways, he knew the slight hold on his temper would be lost.
Hell, I'd probably end up yelling at Ecklie, he thought to himself, and barked a humorless laugh.
As the ride lurched forward, Grissom tilted his head back and prepared to be ripped in every direction at once. It's one of the reasons he liked this one. He could damn near guarantee he'd get jerked around until he felt like a vibrating mass of loose limbed energy when he got off. At least he'd be a step closer to sleep when he got home.
The next night, sitting behind his desk, Grissom stared at his In box. It amazed him no paperwork needed to be completed. Apparently working a few dozen extra shifts worked wonders. Ecklie no longer had an excuse to bitch at him about some form or another. Feeling smug, Grissom thought, I've even got next month's equipment requisitions in.
He just wished he wasn't so irritable all the time. After the initial shock of her disappearance had dwindled, and the general weirdness of that first week dissipated, he was just plain angry. Of all the ridiculous things she could have done, this is the one that outright made him want to shake her until her brain rattled back into place.
"Yeah, Catherine," he said to the blond blocking his doorway, "what can I do for you?"
"Not much," she said, taking a seat.
He already knew what she wanted, so he sat back in his chair and tried to focus on keeping his hands unclenched.
"Heard from Sara lately?" Catherine asked.
1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10. Nope, didn't work, he thought to himself, grinding his teeth.
"Yes, I have," he said, frowning fiercely, hoping she'd take the hint and drop the subject. Of all his team, she's the one that surprised him with the sympathy and words of encouragement about his and Sara's relationship. He knew Cath could be the queen of gossip, and the fact that she'd been clueless hadn't really fazed her.
Apparently taking into account the look on his face and the sheer tension radiating from him, she stood and said, "I'm going to go find the guys."
Once Catherine left, Grissom picked up his cell phone and felt ridiculous as he listened for the umpteenth time to Sara's latest voice message. He may not be happy with the woman, but the anger didn't dissuade the edges of loneliness from creeping in on him. Rubbing his eyes, he flipped the phone closed, and stared once again at his empty desk.
"This is going to be a long night," he muttered to the empty room, and found himself actually hoping something would happen to break up the shift. Unfortunately, when he saw his office again twelve hours later, he was covered in dirt and human soup, and ready to kill one of his guys. It had taken them an hour to get to the crime scene out in the middle of a ranch, and nearly ten hours to scour the area to come up with very little, and right now he felt tired and edgy.
"Griss, really. I'm sorry. Man, I didn't realize I'd tipped my side that high until it was coating you," Nick said. He'd been apologizing repeatedly – in the car on the way back from the ranch south of Vegas, and since they got to the lab. Having had enough, Grissom finally just raised his hand to silence him.
As if he were talking to a child, Grissom carefully explained in simple terms, "Nick, I'm going to go take a shower now. If you really want to keep working here, I suggest you disappear until the smell of decomp is gone."
Grabbing a spare set of clothes and some lemons out of his cabinet, Grissom stalked to the showers, and stopped short when he saw the horrified look on Greg's face, and the way he scurried from the room.
Christ, he thought, I must look like crap.
Suddenly the events of the day settled into him, and fatigue swamped. Standing under the spray, the first order of business was to try and clear his face of any debris. Rarely did a body make him squeamish, but he had never had his face coated in human remains. The mere thought of it made his stomach lurch, and when he gagged he cranked the heat up higher.
"Think of something nicer," he muttered, much the way a child would try to divert its attention from a nightmare.
So he thought back to the last shower he'd taken with her. The game was simple – he or she who entered the shower last got the chore. Last time it had been Sara washing him. He could just feel the way her hands moved through his wet hair, landing on his neck, where she would stroke and massage until he moaned. They'd slid lower, spreading the body wash on a sponge, turning him to run it across his back. Closing his eyes, he could hear her put the sponge on the dish and feel her run her hands up his shoulder blades, raking her short nails around his waist as her nipples puckered and rubbed against his back. She'd slowly lower her hand until she could stroke his erection. He'd tilt his head back on a moan, and…
Viciously slamming the water to freezing, Grissom swore and removed his hand from his shaft. This wasn't the first time he'd showered in the lab lately, and had to stop himself from masturbating in his place of work. His mood turning as cold as the water, he finished his shower with the water frigid as his own perverse form of punishment.
Ten minutes and a dozen lemons later, Grissom sat on the bench in the locker room putting on his socks when he got the page from Robbins. Got a preliminary report for you.
"What do you have?" Grissom asked without preamble, walking through the doors of the morgue.
"While this guy is pretty much just human soup, I was able to find several bones and some hairs," Robbins said.
"Have you been able to determine the age and sex of the victim?" Grissom asked.
"My preliminary estimation would be middle-aged male based on the shape and wear of the pelvic bone," Robbins replied, picking up the bone in question. Continuing, he added, "I'll have a better idea once I'm finished with the full report."
"Thanks, Al," Grissom absently replied, heading towards the door.
"I'll be sending a the hair to tox for analysis," Robbins said, before shifting back to study the body. The last thing Grissom saw before the door closed behind him was Robbins encased arm submerged into the remains of what once was a human life.
With a sigh, Grissom decided it was better to let everyone loose for now. Their victim wasn't going anywhere, and obviously had been in the old, forgotten metal water trough for a long time. Feeling weary, he stopped off in the evidence room, told Greg and Nick to head out, and he too went home.
The fatigue should have had him dragging in the door, but the raw nerves he felt had him stumbling his way into the townhouse. Obligations came first, so he fed Hank and put him out in the yard while he headed to the bathroom. Running the shower full blast, he needed – desperately – to complete the ritual he'd started a few weeks ago after he'd found himself nearly climaxing in the shower at work.
He picked up her shampoo, as water cascaded down over him. Closing his eyes, he inhaled the scent and smelled her there. He saw the last time they'd had sex in the shower so clearly he became hard within moments. She'd been behind him, rubbing the pebble hard nipples across his back, listening to him moan. She'd run her hands down his chest, and onto his thighs, making sure her nails raked slightly as she ran them towards the juncture. When she'd shifted one hand to grip the base of him, he'd gasped for air. She'd moved in front of him and sunk to her knees, a wicked grin on her face. When he'd looked down, he'd seen her eyes become nearly black with want. When she'd opened smiled and opened her mouth, all thought had fled. She'd had to tell him to wrap her hair in his hands.
As Grissom stood there in the shower – alone – he could almost feel her hands on his thighs, gently raking while her mouth wrapped around his erection and tugged him in with moist heat, filling her, as she sucked and fondled. He could feel her tongue sliding against him. While his fantasy of her mouth stroking him played on, his hand mimicked the actions, slowly squeezing the tip, stroking down and up, and then gently squeezing again. The warmth of the spray acted like the warmth of her eager mouth. As he fantasized of Sara sitting up tall on her knees stroking her nipples and begging with whimpers and moan, his hand moved in rapid succession until he could damn near hear her sigh of satisfaction in the air, and he groaned her name, releasing ribbons of cum.
Leaning his forehead against the wall of the shower, he caught his breath. Slowly, he rinsed himself off. He knew the situation wouldn't last forever, but for now even his release left nothing but emptiness deep in him. Sex without love was… bleak.
Lying on the bed, Grissom pulled out his cell phone one more time and listened to her voice, with his eyes closed. Hank jumped up next to him, nuzzled the phone, and lay down next to his master. One went to sleep, while the other lay awake… worrying.
A/N – Okay, I'm trying for something less "romanticized" here. I'd like some honest opinions. Preferably constructive. I haven't decided exactly where I'm taking this story, but I have a vague idea. Hopefully it'll be worth reading. Again, please please review.