A/N - It's rated M for a reason.
A/N2 – I'm pretending that Sara never left, and that she and Grissom are married. This is a one-shot only. I hope you enjoy. If you do, please feel free to hit the review button.
Disclaimer – No one will sue me over a piece of Christmas fluff, will they? Where's the holiday spirit!
Gil Grissom sat in his office chair, leaning back and frowning. He was supposed to be filling out reports and reconciling invoices, but his mind kept drifting back to the conversation he and Sara had the previous night.
Naked and panting, Sara lay over top of her husband, feeling smugly satisfied, and grinning into his neck. "God, you're good," she purred into his neck, as she felt that solid length still embedded in her begin to ease. Wriggling slightly, she heard him huff out a moaning laugh, as she rolled to her side and curled up against him.
"I have Christmas Eve scheduled off," he said, reaching a hand over to caress her cheek. Smiling, she whispered, "Funny… so do I."
"I think we need to create some new traditions," Grissom said. Smiling, he turned his face to hers, and stared into those beautiful brown eyes. "I think we need some traditions that are yours and mine."
Sara smiled lightly and asked, "What kind of traditions?"
"I don't know… maybe we should get a tree. A live one. Something we can plant when Christmas is over," he said. Grinning, he added, "I remember stringing popcorn and hanging ornaments when I was a kid. One year, mom and I even strung cranberries in with the popcorn." By the time he was done describing the scene, his face had taken on the tone and expression of a boy. Sara loved it when he got this excited about something – he seemed to glow with it.
"What did you do? What are some traditions you had?" he asked, and watched the iron gate close over her eyes, and her expression go dull.
"I don't have any traditions… except work. With my parents… they were usually either too stoned or thought it too commercial to celebrate. In foster care, I was never anyplace long enough to develop a tradition," Sara explained in a monotone voice.
Tracing a finger over her lips, her husband leaned down and gently kissed her cheek before whispering, "Then we'll make our own. Starting this year, and for every year after, we'll make our own traditions."
All shift, Grissom had been trying to figure out what would be good traditions for them to start together. He still liked the idea of the tree, and had already called a nursery. After that, he was stumped.
Christmas had always been a particularly special time in the Grissom household. After his father had passed away, his mother worked more, and sometimes couldn't be there for every science fair or school program. However, at Christmas, she made it to them all. Sitting in the front row, he'd sign to her, as he performed. After every special event – and he signed up for all of them, whether he really wanted to do it or not – they'd go home and spend the rest of the day together.
Then he thought about Sara. He'd asked her if she'd ever visited Santa, and her matter-of-fact reply, "My parents thought Santa was only there to sell things. They didn't want me thinking Christmas was any big deal" nearly broke his heart.
Gathering together a couple of completed forms, Grissom walked down the hall with every intention of turning them in, but found himself staring at the bulletin board. The sign was simple.
Desert Palms – Children's Ward
Christmas Eve 7 – 8:30pm
Shaking his head at the ridiculous thought, Grissom walked past, and stifled a laugh. He made it halfway down the hall before turning back and grabbing the flyer from the wall.
It was Christmas Eve day, and Sara woke around noon, naked, sweaty, and in general very sore. Smiling, she made her way to the sound of running water. When she joined him, he turned, laughed, and pulled her to him. By the time they emerged, the water was turning cold, and anyone looking at them could see the satisfaction in their eyes.
"I have something for you," Grissom said, pulling out a bag. Grabbing his own bag, he waited for her to open hers. When she did, he watched her eyes grow curious, then round.
Reaching in, Grissom removed the contents of his own bag. "I'm playing Santa Claus for a couple of hours tonight." He waited a beat before adding, "You get to be my little helper."
While his suit was a traditional Santa suit, hers consisted of green cotton leggings, white and red striped socks, a pair of red shorts, a green shirt, a red vest, and a green hat with red trim. Looking from him to the suit, and back, she finally laughed when she asked, "This is a joke, right?"
She knew she'd said just the wrong thing when his face fell.
"Actually, I got to thinking about how you've spent your Christmases," Grissom said solemnly. "I saw the ad, and I thought of these kids – away from home, in a scary place, and their traditions are broken right now. I think it's something we can do for them."
"You're doing this for me?" she whispered.
"I'd do more if I could," he replied, his face a picture of earnestness. "Are you ready to be my little helper?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied, as she stepped into his brace. Smiling, she said, "Let's do it."
That's how Sara found herself dressed as an elf on Christmas Eve. Grissom didn't care whether or not he wore a suit, as he couldn't take his eyes off his wife. As children sat up on his lap, he gave them his undivided attention. However, once they were off, and heading off to claim their prize, he watched his elf.
The look in Sara's eyes melted him, as she handed each child a present with their name, and a candy cane. As she watched wrapping paper fly, her smile grew, and something warm glowed from her. When the nurses came in and found gifts had been left for them, as well, the night had taken on a joyous tone like never before.
Grissom grudgingly sat with a group of small children reading Twas the Night Before Christmas. As the children sat eagerly in front of him, he kept sneaking peaks at Sara, as she animatedly sat on the floor with several children building a Lego spaceship. As his story ended, a cheer went up, and one little boy grabbed the ship and began flying it around the room.
The kids – most of them undergoing strenuous and tiring daily treatments – needed rest more than anything, but still the party didn't end until late. Every child and staff member from the children's ward slept with smiles on their faces that night.
As the couple made their way home, Grissom snuck peaks at Sara's face. Since she'd handed out the first gift, a lightness and ease had permeated from her. It was as if she was given a small piece of something she'd been forced to miss with every joyous smile she saw on every child's face.
When they walked in the front door, Grissom immediately flipped on the lights of the Christmas tree he and Sara had put up. On it hung several rather lopsided paper chains they'd made the night before of red, blue, and white construction paper. They'd strung popcorn, while watching It's a Wonderful Life. Unfortunately, they'd ended up eating the strung popcorn, as well, laughing about it the entire time.
Grissom reached down to unbutton the red Santa jacket, but was interrupted when Sara said, "Please let me do it" in that husky low voice.
Pulling him into the bedroom, Sara's hands moved with a languid ease, as she removed the jacket, followed by the shirt and the padding he'd worn. Pushing him down to sit on the bed, she knelt and removed his boots, before holding out her hand and helping him to his feet.
"You look kind of cute in nothing but the Santa pants," she said, grinning. Those nimble fingers didn't hesitate in unhooking the suspenders and watching the overly large pants drop.
He'd been waiting for this moment. When her eyes flashed with humor, he knew she'd found him out. Under the entire getup, Grissom wore a pair of black silk boxers with the word's "Property of Santa's Little Helper" printed at odd angles all over.
Her eyes wicked, she began to strip, until she wore nothing but silk and lace. As she held his hand, the wicked tone tinged serious.
"You've shown me a real Christmas, Gil. You've created some traditions, and I've just watched you do it," Sara said. Looking down at their intertwined hands, she felt her eyes mist, and realized what she wanted more than anything.
"I want a tradition of love – loving time with those kids, but even more important loving you," she whispered. Lifting her gaze, she watched his eyes flare with something indefinable.
Tilting her head up, she consumed him. Their lips tangled, giving way to tongues thrusting, taking, and consuming. Without thought, he swiped away lace and silk, until his hands freely roamed and stroked, building a fire in her. When her knees began to buckle from the onslaught, she sat on the bed, and lay back, feeling him kneel in front of her.
He ran his hands up her calves, kneading and massaging. On her moan, his hands moved up her thighs, the touch getting lighter, and making her ache. On a groan, he gruffly said, "Move up… to the pillows," and followed her. Using hands and lips, he touched and caressed. When the moans turned to desperate whimpers, he swore and fumbled getting the boxers off.
When she laughed, he found himself smiling through the haze around them. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he eased into her, dipping his head to nibble and suck on her peaks. Her back arched, and her eyes closed as her fingers gripped and raked his shoulders. As each thrust became more desperate for release, names were moaned, until he felt her clench around him, and making him spill himself into her.
For a few moments, he just lay there, not particularly caring if he crushed her.
"If I'm dead, I want to die again," he slurred, and felt her chuckle. Rolling to his side, he pulled Sara with him, and felt her place her head against his chest. Reaching down she pulled the blankets up, and created a cocoon of warmth.
"I know what tradition I want," she whispered.
Finally finding the energy to open his eyes, he peered down at his wife, just in time to see the gleam in her eyes. "Whatever you do, don't get rid of the boxers. I plan on being Santa's little helper every year."
They fell asleep shortly before midnight, but Sara could have sworn somewhere in the night she heard in the distance a faint, "Ho ho ho. Merry Christmas."
A/N – Please show a little Christmas spirit, and give me a review.