Alone

Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Grissom/Sara
Category: Angst/Romance
Spoilers: None
Archive: Please ask first!
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.

Author's Note: Grissom, Sara, GSR, RST

Summary: Grissom is fighting the pain in his head... will he survive?

---

© Anansay December 9, 2002

He sat alone in the dark room.

A lamp on a small table and a chair its only visible furniture.

The lamp was on and the chair was occupied.

He was an older man, greying at the temples. His face was drawn and ashen. He looked older than his actual years of forty-nine. His once piercing blue eyes were dulled to a muted grey. His mouth was loose as his skin. His hands hang limply off the armrests. He was slumped in the chair, his legs dangling outward. His face sported the stubble of beard not shaven for many days. His hair was disheveled. His eyes stared blankly ahead, rarely blinking. His face bore no expression save for the lost and defeated one.

He was tired. And yet sleep has eluded him. His body was aching and weary. It longed for rest. But the mind, which had supreme control, had not allowed rest to come. For in rest, came the demons. The demons of his own creation, alive only in his own demented psyche. The demons call to him, beg him to come, ensnare him with opulent gifts and deceitful promises. He didn't want to visit them anymore. They told him stories, which he knew to be deception.

He was tired.

He wanted to believe. The stories were soporific in their half-truths. She was there. Smiling at him. And yet, he knew, or thought he knew, it was not real. His mind had become his enemy. His mind, which he had so long venerated, was turning on him. Becoming something twisted and ugly and unrecognizable. It was becoming untrustworthy. He was nothing without a mind he could trust. His mind gave him the power to be. And now his mind was choosing a different path. And he resisted.

A tempting gift from the devil, to say the least. He fought the silent battle alone. He had closeted himself in his home for three days now, ignoring the phone, the knocks on the door, the numerous attempts to draw him out. He would not respond. Not until he had conquered this demon living in him. But the battle was growing weary. His body was failing him. His hands were cold, his feet were numb. His shirt bore the evidence of his near catatonic state with lines of saliva hanging from his half-opened mouth.

He had quit drinking. It had helped for a while. But when the demons came calling and found an easy target with his inebriated mind, he turned his back on the half-empty bottles. Now he was thirsty. His mouth was dry and caked. His eyes burned as he blinked to relieve the burning. He tried to swallow, but his tongue stuck to the roof of his dry mouth. He tried to move, but his muscles screamed in agony at the shift in position. They were hard and stiff.

The pain welled up inside him once again and he felt a different burning in his eyes now. He tried to blink it away, but it refused to leave. His breathing became heavier. His hands clenched the armrests to ward off the inevitable suffering on its way. His legs tried to draw up toward him. His head fell sideways for lack of muscle control in the throes of absolute pathos. His chest spasmed in uncontrollable sobs. His eyes closed, willing the tears to come. His mouth fell open as a raw cry erupted from the depths of his anguished being. It was long drawn out cry of such intense passion, his body doubled over in pain, his bones and muscles resisting the sudden movement.

He lay curled up on his side in the chair, his face a mask of torment and despondency. The demons had returned and were mercilessly teasing him with that which he could never have. How he hated them, their vile thoughts cavorting through his mind.

They told him lies. They told him she didn't love him. That she couldn't love him. That he was unlovable from his core. They told him he was better off with his bugs with their hard outer shell, much like his own. He could never make her happy. STOP IT!!! He shouted to them in his mind. But they ignored him and kept throwing more lies at him. Or were they truths? His mind screamed in agony at the irony of the riddle in which he found himself caught. The lies running amok in his mind were sown from truths in his life. He had created these demons. And now they reared up and turned on him, like some depraved aberration of his creation. They had been with him for so long, quietly in the backdrop, listening and learning. And now they were showing him all that they had perceived.

He was looking at himself in the mirror of his mind. And the reflection was nothing he ever wanted to see again. How had he missed it? How had he allowed himself to progress into such a distorted fragment of a person? Where had he gone astray in his growth? It was such a gradual process, there was not a particular point where one could place a finger and proudly announce this is the fork in the road when the wrong decision had been made. It wasn't one fork, it was many, throughout his entire life time. And now he found himself here, alone, in a dark room, his mind slowly slipping away in his deserted soul.

The knocking came again. Loud, strong and insistent. Banging. It wouldn't give up. Not this time. There were voices. They were calling to him. Calling his name. Demanding. Open the door. Now. He couldn't move. His body lay motionless in his chair. He wished he were dead. Then the banging would go away. The pain would go away. The demons would go away. Peace would come.

But he wasn't dead. And the banging had grown ever more relentless as did the voices. He stared at the door, unblinking. Willing it to stay closed. A key was in his lock. He heard it clearly in his mind. They were coming in. They would find him. They would know. They couldn't know.

All he wanted was to be alone. With his pain. It was a pain that couldn't be shared with anybody. They would never understand. They would look at him through veils of confusion. He couldn't bear to see them look at him like that. It would tear him apart. He had to stop them. He had to get up and appear normal.

The room came back to him, furnishings and all. He was back at home. His feet were moving. His hands ran through his hair. His hand landed on the doorknob just as it turned from the other side. He pulled it open to reveal four worried faces and one confused. His landlord stepped away as his four friends and coworkers crowded around him, pushing into his apartment.

He backed away, blinking in the light from the hallway. She was with them. He blinked a few times and then plastered a smile on his face. He tried his best to make it reach his eyes.

"Where the hell have you been, Grissom?", Catherine demanded, the first in line.

He blinked at her, his smile gone, and then regarded the others. They all sported the same frustrated, scared, angry looks. His mind raced as he tried to come up with a logical reasons for his three day absence from work.

"I - uh - was away.", he stammered.

"Away? What you mean away?" Nick said from the back of the group.

Grissom shifted his gaze to him. His own face bore a confused expression as his mind raced on, fabricating the lie as it went. He was so tired, his mind was so slow. "I was away." This one came out with more conviction. He attempted to insinuate that he did not have to confirm his off duty plans with his coworkers. He saw the futility in this when their facial casts spoke of absolute concern as his friends.

He looked down. The urge to spill his torment to these people was almost overwhelming. His tongue worked to speak the words. But his lips remained steadfastly, and thankfully, closed. He decided to continue with his deception.

"I was away. I got back late last night. I was tired so I went to bed. I guess I overslept. Has that become a federal offense while I was away?" He noticed them staring at his clothing: wrinkled pants and stained shirt. Not a usual sleeping outfit. "I guess I was really tired.", he added.

"Man! You reek!" Warrick intoned. "What did you do, race dung beetles and lost?"

Grissom had to suppress a smile at the image his words evoked. He looked at Warrick and offered him the smile. "It was a rough couple of days. I haven't showered yet." Well, it was partly the truth anyway. But he omitted the actual reasons behind the roughness admission. He had looked at everybody in the eye except her. He still felt very raw inside, and the fear kept his eyes askew. He could feel her looking at him, trying to catch his eye. The panic gathered up inside him. If she looked at him, she would know. His shields were weak from the abuse of his demons and wouldn't hold under her intense scrutiny. He willed them all to go away. They were still there, eyeing him doubtfully, weighing his words against the facts around them. If he had indeed gone away and was so tired he did not get out of his clothes, where were the bags that would have been too heavy to bring to his bedroom? He saw the deductive glint in their eyes as their minds worked on his story. He needed to get them to leave.

"If you all don't mind, I really ought to take a shower, before my bugs drop dead themselves." Maybe humour would detract from their suspicions. They glanced at his spider collection which was visible by the door.

Warrick eyed him up and down. "Yeah. You really need a shower."

"You'll come in to work tonight, then?" Catherine asked pointedly.

"Yes, Catherine.", he replied, in exaggerated patience.

"Well, you're alive. I guess we can go now." Nick drawled.

Sara hadn't said a word up to this point. He hadn't looked at her, either. What was she thinking? Was she believing him? He could only hope.

They turned to leave, Sara following behind. He followed them to go door. They turned to give him one last dubious look before turning to leave. All but one of them. Sara stayed behind. Looking at him. He looked down and waited for her to follow them. She didn't move. He took a deep breath and placed his hand on her arm intending to gently guide her to the door. She jerked her body away from him, sending his arm flying. He looked up at her in shock.

Her eyes were blazing with fiery anger. He winced outwardly. The others had left, not waiting for her. She slammed his door shut and turned to face him square on. He saw her jaw working as she fought with which words would emerge. He looked at her and yet through her. Looking directly into her eyes would be his downfall, he was sure. Her hands were on her hips and then they crossed in front of her chest. Her nostrils flared with barely contained fury. H e needed her to leave. Now.

"Sara..."

"How could you?!", she yelled at him, arms flailing in the air now.

He looked at her in puzzlement. "Sara, I -"

"How could you disappear like that and not tell us? Eh?! Who do you think you are? We've been worried sick about you, you - you - you idiot!!" she screamed the last bit out at him. "You selfish, lying idiot!"

Now it was his turn to cross his arms over his chest. He eyebrow rose at the last part. "Lying? What makes you think I'm lying?"

She gave him a look of utter annoyance at his specious idiocy. "Grissom. Where are you bags? Eh?" She was calm now. Or so it appeared. Her voice was calm. Her eyes still bespoke her barely suppressed wrath. "You might have been able to fool them, but not me. You race bugs, you tell us. That's how you do things." She squinted her eyes of a sudden, regarding him inquisitorially. He shrunk under her direct gaze. She was eyeing him as she would a crime scene, deductions flashing through her mind, as she discarded the unneeded, keeping what was left as undeniable facts: his lack of travel bags, the putrid state of his being, his elusiveness, his previous silence about his supposed plans. Her mind came to one conclusion.

"You were here the entire time, ignoring us, weren't you?" She glared into him, demanding the truth. Her gaze was like a truth serum. He found he could not look into her eyes and continue with his charade. He swallowed and turned around to go into his living room. She followed him, determined now. When he turned, she was right there, behind him. When she looked around, her mouth fell open. His living room and kitchen were now in plain sight for her to gawk at. There were about three cases of beer stacked on his counter, along with an assortment of glasses with varying amounts of clear and coloured liquor in them on the counter. Books were strewn about the floor from an empty shelf in the bookcase; magazines interspersed among them.

In a moment, she took all this in, turning around the stare at him again, this time in shocked concern. He was such a neat freak at work, he guessed this surprised her. He tried to make it seem as though this were normal. No such luck. He swallowed and bent forward in an organizational attempt. It was feeble to say the least. He had no urge to clean up, or tidy up. He dropped the stack of magazines and slumped on the couch.

"Grissom... What the hell happened to you this weekend?", she whispered, unable to look away from the disaster.

He hung his head in his hands, avoiding her totally. Man, I really do smell! He thought disgustingly. For a neat freak, he sure was deviating from his norm.

She stepped over the debris on the floor and came to join him on the couch. He wished she would just go away. "I wish you would just go away...", he whispered quietly, not intending for her to hear.

"Why?", she asked quietly, the hurt plain in her voice.

He sighed. "Because I just want to be alone, that's all."

She was quiet for a minute. "Why don't you take a quick shower, I'll tidy up a bit. And then we'll talk."

He stared at her, dumbfounded. She just wouldn't leave! He sighed. "Fine."

The water cascaded down his skin, blisteringly hot. He felt filthy. He scrubbed his body with a loofah until it was bright red and stinging from the heat and the water. His hair received the same rough treatment. When he felt himself to be in a better presentable state, he got out and got dressed.

He came into the living room and stopped. His books had been rearranged, in alphabetical order, no less. His magazines were in a nice, orderly pile on his coffee table, and she was sweeping the little things from the floor. His place looked better. His insides screamed at him. On the outside, he and his place were clean, but on the inside he was still rotten. He walked to the couch and sat down, not knowing what to do with himself.

He felt her eyes on him, boring into his soul. The demons were speaking to him again. His head ached. His whole body ached. He grabbed his head and moaned. He shut his eyes tightly, fighting to stay focused. He felt her hand on his back. It seared through his clothes to his skin. He jumped up, flinging her arm away from him, as he strode to the other side of the room. He paced back and forth, like a caged animal, his eyes daring this way and that. He needed her gone. She would find out. She couldn't know. She couldn't. The thoughts kept going around and around in his head. From the corner of his eye he saw her looking at him, perplexed. She needed to go. Now.

He saw her come towards him, slowly. She needed to go. She touched him on the arm. He froze in his pacing, suddenly rooted to the spot. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, his breathing ragged.

"Grissom... talk to me... what's going on?"

She couldn't know. She couldn't. No. Not now. Not ever. LEAVE!!! His mind screamed. Get her out of here!

Her stood there, unmoving. His lisp trembled as he fought to keep himself under control. Her hand on his arm was warm, the heat slowly working through his body. She was here. She had stayed. Why?

"Why are you here, Sara?", he croaked.

She began rubbing his arm, sending sparks flying through him. His control was slipping.

"I - talk to me, Grissom."

"Why are you here?", he asked again, his voice breaking.

Silence.

He turned to look at her. She was beautiful. Her hair was tied back at the nape of neck, her eyes were softer now, questing and scared. She searched his face, asking him to talk to her, to open himself. If he opened up, she would see the demons. She would know. She couldn't know. She wouldn't understand.

She came to him then. Standing in front of him, both hands on his arms. She looked up at him, and into him. Her gentle, delicate hands on his arms were like bands of steel. Her eyes were the lock. He couldn't pull away. He watched as she lifted herself up on her toes and came towards him. He could see her individual eyelashes, the lines in her irises. He closed his eyes as she came closer. He could smell her, fresh from a shower. He could feel her heat emanating off her, wrapping itself around him, warming him. He felt himself melting in her presence. Her lips grazed his cheek for a moment, pressing gently. His breath left his body in faltering rush. Everything fell away. He was at peace, her lips on his cheek. The demons were silent.

And then she was gone. Her lips were gone from his cheek. He opened his eyes to catch her staring back at him. Acceptance. Caring. Love?

"Why did you do that?", he asked.

"Because I wanted to."

"Why?"

"You needed it.", she paused. "I needed it."

He frowned.

"You scared the hell out of me, Grissom.", she said softly. "Something happened to you. I can see that it still is. I don't know what to do. But I'm not leaving until I'm sure you're okay."

He swallowed and stared at her, the fear keeping his lips closed.

"You shouldn't be here." He turned away from her. Her hands held tight to his shirt. He held his face away.

"Why shouldn't I be here?", she demanded quietly. She tried to pull him around, but he wouldn't budge. So she moved in front of him again. His face moved more to the side, avoiding her.

"Look at me."

He refused.

"Look me, dammit!" Her hand went to his face and brought it around. His eyes wavered for a moment before finally deciding to settle on her. "Now. Why?"

"Because you don't belong here, Sara!"

"I don't?"

"No. You belong... somewhere else."

"You mean, 'not with you'?"

He bowed his head, unable to meet her eyes.

"Grissom" Her hand tried to pull his head up. He was stubborn. "Grissom... I want to be here. With you."

He felt her lips touch his cheek again. The searing heat poured through him, shattering him to his core. Her lips felt so good on his skin. Soft and delicate. He groaned. Oh God...

His head turned and he caught her lips with his. He leaned into her, deepening the kiss. His body was sizzling. His mind was a blur.

She pulled away from him sharply. He opened his eyes. Confusion in hers. What had he done?

"I'm sorry." He went to turn away. Her hand on his face pulled him back as her lips crushed hers against his. He whimpered in shock before responding with his own desire. Her hand on his arm pulled him to her as her hand slid down his sleeve, wrapping his arm around her. He pulled her closer to him instinctively. Her body against his sent his mind reeling. He couldn't believe what he was doing. He was kissing her. Sara Sidle. And she was kissing him! Then another thought slithered into his mind and icy fingers gripped his heart. He pulled away, looking at her with horror on his face.

"What?", she gasped, stunned.

He couldn't form the words on his lips, they remained as raw, gut-wrenching stabs of pain in his heart. His head drummed with the ever present ache. His hand went to forehead, pressing in. He closed his eyes and moaned. He needed to release the pressure. It was unbearable! He turned and fairly ran to his bedroom and threw himself down on his bed, clutching his head in agony. Go away, he thought. Just go away. The demons and Sara. He didn't need them right now. Go away!

The bed sagged beneath him as she knelt on the floor, her elbows on the bed. "Grissom. What's going on? I'm sorry if I scared you back there."

He turned his head to peer at her through squinted eyes. Her face was level with his. "I don't need your pity, Sidle.", he said roughly, turning his head away from her. Go away, he thought. Give it up. It's not working. I can see through you.

"Hey! Grissom! I don't kiss just anybody, ya know!" She sounded angry. Almost hurt. The bed moved as she got up.

He turned his head on the bed a bit. He was alone in his bedroom. The emptiness descended on him like a storm cloud, sucking his life force. He dropped his head to the bed with a sigh. A wish, once granted, isn't always the same in reality. His closed his eyes against the sudden twinge in his chest. She had left. Just like he had asked. Then why wasn't he happy? If anything, he felt even worse. He lay on his bed, limp as a noodle, waiting. For anything. The demons joined in with their sharp little voices poking him, jabbing him. His eyes squeezed tighter.

His lips tingled where her lips had touched him when he kissed her. He remembered how she had brought his arm around her, asking to be held. How her body had molded to his. The demons jabbed harder. The pity question arose again. Confusion set in. He was torn between staying in his abyss, or going to find her. The little demon voices tried to hold him back, on the bed, in his personal solitary misery.

He sat on the side of his bed, head in hands, pondering his options. His head still hurt, throbbing behind the eyes, extending to the back of his head and down his neck to his shoulders. He cranked his head on his neck, trying to work the muscles. To no avail. The pain stayed on. He headed for his bathroom to splash some cold water on his face. As he looked at himself in the mirror, he was shocked at his appearance. A haggard old man stared back at him, eyes sunken in their sockets, face pale and drawn. His eyes were dried up pools of grey. He didn't recognize himself. He looked away, disgusted with his image. He dried off and headed for the kitchen. Coffee was what he needed at this time. There was work tonight and he'd better be ready, or the posse might come back. He winced at the memory of their insistence on checking up on him. They could be quite annoying at times, he thought grimly. He was reaching for a cup when the voice caught him off guard and he nearly dropped the cup.

"I'll have some of that, too".

He cried out, catching the mug and spun around. Sitting on his couch, curled in the corner, was Sara. She had only left his bedroom, not his house. He stared at her, gaping jaw and bulging eyes.

"Close your mouth, Grissom and get me some coffee." The words came out soft but strong.

He did as he was told and retrieved another cup. He prepared the coffee in silence, as thoughts tumbled through his head. She was still here. It was quiet in his head now. He wasn't listening to the demons now. He brought the coffees out and set them on the coffee table and took a seat on his couch, away from Sara, yet still close enough. She uncurled herself and took the cup.

"I need to know.", was all she said.

He glanced at her. She was looking into her coffee as though the answer lie in its sloshing pattern. He didn't quite know what she meant nor the answer to give. He chose to remain silent and wait. Maybe more would be forthcoming. She looked up at him and he could see the red rimming her eyes and her tear stained cheeks. It pulled at his heart that he had caused her pain in this way.

"Are you going to be okay?", she asked.

That's what she wanted to know? "Yes, Sara. I'll be fine. It was just - just a rough weekend, is all." He looked down, the urge to spill his pain strong in his chest.

"I want to know."

"I know."

"Will you tell me?"

"I don't know." The wound was still so raw, talking about it was like putting salt on the wound, the agonizing pain would return. He didn't know if he could survive that just yet. The wound in his heart, of wanting something that was not available. Wanting it so much, that everyday that passed without hope was a day closer to his spiritual death. He was close to that day, he felt. This weekend was his struggle to live one more day. The struggle was beginning. The struggle for life, as death held out its hand. He would soon be a walking corpse, devoid of life, of spirit, of feeling. He had fought this weekend and now he was a beaten and battered soldier recovering. Talking about his internal war was still too painful.

Sara sat silent beside him, staring into her coffee cup in between sips. Would she stay all day and wait? He swallowed hard.

"Sara... I don't know where to begin." Her posture hadn't changed and yet he sensed that he had her full attention. "I'm dying." At this she looked at him sharply. "Inside, Sara. Inside, I'm dying. I don't want to die. I almost did this weekend. I probably would have if you hadn't come banging down my door."

She was looking at him quizzically now, not really understanding, but still trying her hardest.

"Every time I look at you it hurts." The dam was breaking, a leak had formed. "Every time you smile at me, a piece of my heart falls off." He wasn't looking at her. He was staring at a spot on the couch by her thigh. "I can't live like this anymore. If you don't leave, I will. I'll transfer. I'll move out of state. I can't be around you any more and not be with you, Sara." A single tear rolled down his cheek and dropped to his pant leg. His breathing was quick and shallow. His hands knotted in his lap.

She looked away from him, digesting his words, trying to make sense of them. To fully understand the absolute, undeniable meaning behind his words. She placed her coffee cup on the table in slow, deliberate moves. She sat back on the couch and then turned to him to face him square on.

"Grissom..." he didn't look up. "I kissed you. I kissed you back. I wanted it because... I want you. I don't pity you. I never will. I never could. If you think it was a pity thing, you couldn't be more wrong. It was... purely a selfish, greedy act of love on my part. I did it because I wanted it. I've wanted it for the longest time."

He looked up at her, staring intently into her eyes, his turn to assimilate her words. He didn't move. Did she really mean it? He fought over his confusion.

They stared at each other for a long moment, neither of them moving. Sara was the first to move, touching his knee lightly. He glanced down at her hand and then back up at her. She slid her hand up his thigh til she got to his arm and then up the arm until she eventually ended up with her hand on his face. She leaned forward watching his eyes, and brushed her lips across his. His eyes closed as sweet sultry sensations enveloped him. She leaned in further, deepening the kiss, her tongue requesting access to his mouth. He granted entrance and sucked in his breath sharply as the intense shock traveled his body down to his toes. His hand caressed her face as he finally yielded to his long deferred desires. He pushed his tongue into her mouth, reveling in their dance. Her hand came to rest on his thigh, perilously close to his growing arousal. She began to knead his thigh in a suggestive manner as she relinquished his mouth to suckle on his earlobe, eliciting little moans from him.

He was lost in her world. His body was hers to do with as she wished. He leaned his head back, unable to control himself. Her hand on his thigh crept upward, finger by finger until she was brushing his bulge. He groaned loudly, his hip muscles contracting involuntarily. She pushed him back into the couch, and straddled him. His eyes flew open and caught her twinkling ones.

"Let me show you just how selfish I can be."

She bent down and captured his mouth with hers, as her hands worked the buttons of his shirt, her hips gently grinding against him. His eyes closed involuntarily as he was swept away on a tide of passion. His hands rested on her hips and he could feel her muscles bunching as she moved. He squeezed her hips, pulling them down onto him.

She left his mouth and made a path of wet kisses down his neck to his chest, as she exposed more and more of him. She pushed the material off his shoulders, and down his arms, effectively pinning his arms to his chest. She flicked her tongue across one of his nipples as her hands went to work on his pants. He gasped at her touch. And gasped some more when she began sucking on the nipple, gently nibbling it with her teeth. He groaned loudly.

"Oh... God... Sara...." Was all he could get out.

"Do you like this?"

"Hmm.... Yeah...", he breathed.

She attacked the other nipple and then slowly slid down his thighs to the floor. She pulled his pants open to reveal his arousal through his underwear. She placed her hand on him and gently squeezed. His hips moved beneath her hand. She placed her open mouth on him and gently breathed hot air on him. Another groan from him. His body was on fire. He tried to grab her shoulders and pull her up to him but his shirt on his arms didn't allow him. He wanted her now. Badly.

She gently pulled his pants and underwear off, exposing his full manhood to her eager mouth. She licked the tip as he watched her, unbelieving. His head fell back again and his eyes closed. He was putty in her hands. She ran her tongue around his head and down his shaft, slowly taking him into her mouth. Oh, the heat of her mouth on him drove him insane. He involuntarily bucked into her. She placed her hands on his hips to keep him down as she moved on him, feeling him getting harder in her mouth. Her hand gently took hold of his balls and squeezed gently. His body reacted, jerking upward, as his hands desperately clutched the couch cushions. She was driving him insane, he could barely breathe. His body was alive and on fire. He wanted to be inside her desperately. He called to her as he placed his hand on her shoulder and tried to sit up. His muscles wouldn't listen. They were like jelly.

"Sara... I need you... come here... please...."

She smiled as she slowly came off him, increasing her suction exponentially, pulling him up with her. He threw his head and groaned at the intensity of the feeling. Her hand took hold of his shaft as her lips encircled the head.

"Please...", he begged. Not like this. Let me be inside her. Please. He begged to no one and nothing in particular, the universe.

She finally let him go and came up to straddle him again. She pulled his shirt completely off his arms and tossed it over her head and then rose up on her knees unbuckling her pants. He watched her with fascination before attacking her shirt. His fingers wouldn't work, they trembled too much. In mad frustration, he ripped it off her and threw the darn thing away. She smiled down at him before crushing her lips to his. She stood on his couch, her mouth never leaving his as she took her pants off and threw them as well. She knelt back and took on his hand and brought to her center.

She was quite wet and swollen. Her eyes rolled back as her lids came down when he began touching her, feeling her, exploring that secret part of her. Her hands were on his shoulders as her hips moved in time with his fingers. Her mouth was open and little moans and gasps could be heard as he brought her to full arousal. His other hand was on her hip, and he used it to guide her down on him. Slowly, she impaled herself on him, drawing him in deeper and deeper until she sat squarely on his hips. She clenched her muscles around him, letting him feel her. He filled her completely, stretching her just enough to cause little ripples of carnal sensation to course through her body.

She was hot and wet on him and her bunching muscles were driving him insane. He jerked his hips in response and was rewarded as she started to move on him, slowly, gingerly, enjoying the exquisite feeling of him sliding in and out of her. He could feel it building in him, slowly and steadily. His hands on her hips pulled her down to him as he bucked up into her, a little harder then before. She started to moan louder now, and her breathing quickened. She was riding him hard, slamming herself onto him, pushing him in deeper until he could feel her cervix against his head. The feeling was like nothing he had ever felt before, totally encompassing his entire being. He was close now. He could feel her muscles contracting around him before she dug her nails into his shoulders and hastened her pace furiously. He was a man driven over the edge with poignant passion as he met her slamming with his own fiercely demanding thrusts.

Her head flew back as she came down on him one last time, calling out his name in her ecstasy. Watching her climax caused his own body to respond as he exploded violently into her, his body spasming as he poured his essence into her. She fell on top of him, breathing harshly.

"Oh... Grissom... that... was..."

"... amazing...", he finished for her, breathlessly.

He held her to him tightly, running his hands along her back. She shivered under his touch.

"Don't please...", she said. "I'm so sensitive right now."

He smiled and stopped.

She pushed herself away from him and looked down. "I can be very selfish, and very giving." She kissed him passionately. "I want to give to you, Grissom." Another kiss. "I've waited too long for this. You realize I am going to demand retroactive reciprocation on the last three years of inactivity", she grinned at him. He smiled back.

"If it's anything like this, I'll be your willing captive." He leaned up and stole a kiss from her.

Her face became serious. "Grissom. I don't ever want to come here and see your place like it was. Please don't ever keep things like that inside you. It'll destroy you."

He looked at her, matching her serious look. He took a deep breath. "Alright. I'll try."

She smiled.

"I love you, Sara." He kissed her.

"And I love you, Gil."

- The End -