Cold Pancakes
Title: Cold Pancakes
Author: Fromgrissom
Fandom: CSI Vegas
Pairing: G/S
Rating: N to the C to the 17 :D
Disclaimer: I don't own CSI or else season 6 would have had a whole load of this in it.
A/N: Written for Valentines Day ficathon, prompt was 'Scratch'. Set late S5/early S6 after Grissom and Sara's first time.
Cold Pancakes
Grissom caught sight of his back in the mirror and saw his shoulders slumped in defeat. He inspected the reflection of his naked flesh, gaze transfixed at the image of his back and broad shoulders marred by red scratch marks across them. The scratches were not deep; they didn’t even break the skin, but they served as a grave reminder of what he had done. He closed his eyes and his head filled with glorious images of intertwined limbs crashing together in urgent need. He shook his head in a futile attempt to clear it. It was two days since he had crossed the line that he had sworn never to cross. It was two days since he had given in to his most base urges and fallen into bed with a subordinate. It was two days since he had spent a night of passion with the subject of his most private fantasies for the last six years. It was two days since he had indulged in the fleeting fantasy that he could have her, that he had a hope in hell of making Sara Sidle happy. It was two days since everything had changed, but somehow leaving everything the same.
Grissom sighed, a long exhausted sigh. He felt old and tired, a life time of indecisions weighing heavily on his soul. He knew what he had to do. There was no doubt that he had to end this madness. He never should have started it. Despite his poor judgement, the truth remained; theirs was a relationship doomed from the outset. He just needed to make Sara understand that he was just looking out for her best interests, saving them both from inevitable future heartache. He ran an uneasy hand through his hair. If only it were that simple. If only he hadn’t been fool enough to think that a night of temporary relief could be just that. Of all the cold-hearted, thoughtless and hurtful things he had done to her over the years, deep down he knew this was the worst. More terrible yet was the only solution; to hurt her still further, telling her it was for her own good.
Grissom took another long, hard look at the scratches on his shoulder. He would tell her tomorrow. Somehow he would have found the words by then. If not tomorrow then maybe the next day when her brand on him had faded, and until then he would try to ignore how much of a coward he felt.
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Sara Sidle was used to playing the waiting game. In fact she had long considered herself something of a pro. She had spent the hard years of her childhood waiting, patiently planning, for the day she could leave behind the foster system, and the stigma of her past, to enter into the adult world where she could make her own way with her own resourceful brain. Then in college she had waited some more, diligently studying for the grades she needed to get a job that would make a difference; that she could really care about. She finally understood the joys of big city anonymity as well as being graded on her work not her background. She would have to wait, she realised, but one day she would be a famous name. A name, but never a person. Then in Berkeley, when she had finally thought the wait was over, she had met Gil Grissom and he had entirely redefined her notion of waiting. So it had come as no surprise to her that he had made her wait four whole days after the night that had set her world at a permanent tilt for him to show up at her apartment to talk. Of course he thought he was there to break of the tenuous connection he had finally condescended to give her, of that she was sure. Equally though, she knew that she was not going to give in, not this time. Now, finally, she was through waiting.
Sara let Grissom into her apartment and he followed her contritely into the living area. She leant against the counter that divided the kitchen from the living area, watching as Grissom turned to face her, eyes shifting to the door to note his escape route. She didn’t speak to him, not even to greet him; she just folded her arms and waited. Grissom cleared his throat nervously, taking in her defiant stance. This was not going to be easy. He took a deep breath before he began with the inevitable.
“Sara… What happened a few nights ago cannot be allowed to happen again. As enjoyable as it was, it does not change the circumstances we find ourselves in…” He paused to see if Sara made any objection, but when she remained silent he quickly continued. “First and foremost, it would be against lab policy for us to become romantically involved. It could jeopardise both of our careers…” Sara’s face remained impassive as Grissom got into the flow of his argument, clearly relieved that she wasn’t trying to interrupt him. She only moved her hand to release the top button of her blouse from its hole. Grissom’s eyes followed the movement, but his words never wavered for a second.
“…Besides, I’m an old man, set in my ways. You deserve someone so much better. Someone young and spon…” Sara’s hand crept up to liberate the second button and Grissom’s word stretched out as Sara rearranged her collar to show a generous amount of her neck and upper chest.
“-taneous” Grissom’s attention snapped back to what he was supposed to be saying. With considerable effort he focused on his words. “Look, Sara, the friendship we have is too special to risk…” The third button left its home, and finally Grissom was unable to contain himself any longer.
“Sara, what are you doing?” His voice was threaded with urgency as he felt his body respond to her increasing expanse of bare flesh.
“An interrogation technique I learnt from Catherine, and believe me I intend to get answers. Real answers, not more Grissomisms.” Her tone was still frustratingly normal, as if they were talking about work and her blouse was not revealing a dangerous amount of cleavage.
“Sara this is hardly the most rational…” She didn’t interrupt him or contradict him, she just calmly, infuriatingly released the next button, revealing the first tantalising glimpse of black lace.
“Question number one; do you want me?” That caught his attention.
“Sara, it’s not a matter of…” Urgency melted into cold, hard panic as another button was freed, and Grissom’s eyes refused to move north of the black lace covered breasts that were only partially covered by the blouse that was attached with just two buttons now.
“Do you want me, Grissom?” Her tone was still level, conversational. God help him, she was actually enjoying this.
“Sara, please be reasonable… You’re almost out of buttons.” He tried to jest, a makeshift break against a runaway train fast running out of track. Her only response was to pop the second to last button from its hole. Logic told him that the sole remaining button actually covered very little, but his mind saw it holding together the last threadbare scraps of his restraint.
“When I’m done with mine, I’ll start on yours.” She stated matter-of-factly. “All I want are answers, Grissom. Despite the obvious evidence…” she gestured to his crotch, “… I want you to admit it to yourself and to me.” She hooked her thumb underneath the final button and jerked it outwards to emphasise her point.
“Fine.” He snapped. Then he took a deep, resigned breath and stepped forward. “Fine… The truth is that I do have certain… feelings for you.” His eyes held Sara’s gaze as her hands fell back to her sides. Silence stretched between them for a long moment.
“Gil.” She said finally, and with infinite tenderness, closing the remaining gap between them until she was close enough to place a light hand on his chest.
“Sara…” Grissom started, his voice slightly calmer now but still bordering on frantic.
“Gil.” Sara surprised them both by raising her hand to his face and gently stroking his cheek with the pad of her thumb in a now familiar way. The gesture and the tenderness in her eyes gave him the courage to raise both hands to cup her face, bracing it for the soft sweep of his lips. Like a spark to gas fumes, the simple action ignited years of tension plus four endless days worth, burning hot and bright between them. Grissom pressed his lips to hers again, this time demanding and urgent. His hands quickly found the solitary button responsible for denying him full access to the long expanses of Sara’s flesh. The delicacy needed to free it was utterly beyond him, a fact attested to by the resounding ping as the button was launched across the room. Grissom groaned in pleasure as his palms met the naked softness of Sara’s back. God, it had been the longest four days of his life.
His mouth continued its full scale assault on hers; his hands, no longer content with her back, drifted down to squeeze her ass firmly, using the hold to grind her against his rock hard erection, and he greedily swallowed her moans of delight. Her fingers, which had been massaging his scalp, now started their own needy exploration, grabbing blindly at his shirt buttons.
“Bedroom.” She managed to pull away long enough to pant, before tugging on Grissom’s collar, bringing his mouth back flush against hers. Together they navigated haphazardly towards the bedroom. Desperate hands finally won the battle against stubborn clothing, which rained down in a hasty trail from the living area to the bedroom.
By the time they made it to the bed, only the tiniest pair of panties remained between them, and Grissom’s hands and lips were competing to be everywhere at once. His lips settled for only the softest, most sensitive parts of her neck and shoulders. Sara’s hands were busily distracting his work by stroking up and down his back, her body arching up into him with each new discovery of a hotspot, until the insistent movement brought her breasts to his urgent attention. He sucked roughly on her nipple, basking in the heady moans that each suck produced. He slipped his hand into her panties, eliciting a soft whimper as he stroked a gentle finger through the wetness he found there. God, he loved her like this, all given over to pleasure that he had created. He continued to stroke her gently, pulling his head away so he could watch her as he dipped his finger inside her. One finger quickly became two, and Sara’s panties were removed with the smallest amount of concentration they could be afforded. They sailed into the air and off the map into the black oblivion that was the world beyond the edges of the bed.
Grissom continued to move his fingers, stroking her in a curling action within. Sara was trying to gulp down air as the centre of her universe narrowed to the perfect four inches that joined them. Grissom felt her begin to tighten around his fingers, and removed them. He wanted to save her pleasure for when he could feel it more intimately. A moment later she was pushing him back, pouring her frustration into searing kisses as her body sought to close out the space between them down to the last inch. She reached down and grabbed his thick cock, pumping it firmly, and suddenly he had to have her right that moment.
He broke away from her and helped himself to a condom from Sara’s nightstand, making quick work of the wrapper before sheathing himself in the latex. He looked up from his task to find Sara’s eyes fixed on him, big and vulnerable. He didn’t know what to say to reassure her, his gut suddenly felt rotten with guilt, but then she slid her legs around him where he knelt, erection jutting up proudly between his thighs, and reached a tentative hand to twine her fingers in his, offering herself completely, knowing he would not do the same. Grissom held the base of his erection as he pushed the head into her, his eyes never leaving hers. He continued to push forward until the temporary relief of being completely surrounded by her washed over him. In a last lucid moment before the haze of lust had completely descended, Grissom kissed her almost chastely on the lips and gave her what he could.
“I always want you.” He whispered as he started to move within her. At first he moved slowly, trying in vain to catalogue each individual sensation, to commit it all to memory, but every thrust demanded that the next follow sooner, harder, until Grissom completely gave them over to the urgent pace that their hungry bodies demanded and their weary souls so desperately needed. Sara was flushed pink, hot and inviting, her hips rising to meet his every movement with excited fervour. Their passion increased, their bodies now bent solely on fulfilment. Grissom moved her knee further out and up with a confident hand, resting his hips more fully on her milky inner thigh, and giving him the necessary space to alter the angle of his thrusts. Sara’s eyes flew wide as she responded vocally and loudly. A distant part of her mind protested that she wasn’t a screamer, but the rest of her body was hell bent on passionate mutiny. Still making inarticulate cries of delight, she grabbed onto his ass, whether to forcibly increase his depth or to crank him up a gear it had the same effect. Sara’s husky moans melted into hoarse cries of delight and Grissom, feeling her begin to quake around him, used the last fleeting presence of mind to slip his hand between their bodies and press, somewhat clumsily, on her slick clit, throwing her over the precipice ahead of him. Waves of ecstasy crashed over him, eventually washing him up on the shore of consciousness, a survivor of the storm.
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The insistent pressure of his bladder slowly roused Grissom from sleep. He quickly made his way to Sara’s bathroom, padding quietly so as not to wake her. After he had relieved himself, he turned on the shower to get washed up. Stepping under the hot stream, he felt fresh scratches on his shoulders, more on his ass and, best of all, the gentle ache through his cock that spoke of a hard night’s work. So much for ending this once and for all. He had gotten himself in deeper than he had thought possible at this stage. One thing was certain, he could not leave her now. Nor did he want to, he found himself admitting. He remembered the vulnerability in her eyes as she had given herself to him. The first time he could have put it down to nerves, but this was more, this was her acknowledging that he would not give her more than the physical and then he would be gone again, feelings locked safely back in his little box. This time was different though, he realised. He was still here. He did not understand it, nor could he explain it, but knowing he had nothing to give her made him want to try. Inner turmoil now on the back burner, if not completely resolved, Grissom made his way to the kitchen, stopping only to throw on his boxers. Fifteen minutes later he returned with freshly made pancakes with syrup.
He stopped at the door tray in hand; taking in Sara’s sleeping form. He could wake up to this every day; Sara asleep next to him, worn out by the previous night’s love making, naked and content. She moved in her sleep and the sheet shifted to reveal the smooth planes of her back. That was enough to have Grissom set the tray on the nightstand and join her under the covers, stroking her awake with long sweeps of his fingertips.
“You’re still here.” Her tone was sleepy but still carefully flat. The absence of surprise, nervousness or intonation of any kind spoke volumes. The silence stretched between them as they stared into each other’s eyes, each willing the other to make the first move. Finally Grissom spoke.
“I’m staying.” He said quietly. Neither of them did vulnerable too well. Sara took pity on him though, dipping in for a quick peck on the lips.
“I didn’t think Dr Gil Grissom would be so… easy.” She grinned now, the tension flying away with the breeze.
“Easy?” He huffed, playing along, relieved that she’d given him an easy out.
“I thought I’d need to convince you a few more times before you came round to my way of thinking.” She smirked quickly before returning to focus on his lips. After a few more soft kisses, Grissom sighed.
“You can convince me any time you want.” He rumbled in what Sara was rapidly recognising to be his bedroom voice. He swooped in to continue where he left off, only to find her head had turned and he was presented with her neck.
“God, that smells so good. Who knew my kitchen could make something that smelt like that? What’s for breakfast?” Sara eyed the steam coming off the plate in much the same way that she had gazed at him the night before. She bit her lower lip in unadulterated lust as she tried to lean over him to reach her prize.
“Cold pancakes.” He grinned wickedly as he rolled on top of her, effectively leaving her helpless to whatever evil schemes he had in mind. And there were many. Most of them involving syrup.
Author: Fromgrissom
Fandom: CSI Vegas
Pairing: G/S
Rating: N to the C to the 17 :D
Disclaimer: I don't own CSI or else season 6 would have had a whole load of this in it.
A/N: Written for Valentines Day ficathon, prompt was 'Scratch'. Set late S5/early S6 after Grissom and Sara's first time.
Cold Pancakes
Grissom caught sight of his back in the mirror and saw his shoulders slumped in defeat. He inspected the reflection of his naked flesh, gaze transfixed at the image of his back and broad shoulders marred by red scratch marks across them. The scratches were not deep; they didn’t even break the skin, but they served as a grave reminder of what he had done. He closed his eyes and his head filled with glorious images of intertwined limbs crashing together in urgent need. He shook his head in a futile attempt to clear it. It was two days since he had crossed the line that he had sworn never to cross. It was two days since he had given in to his most base urges and fallen into bed with a subordinate. It was two days since he had spent a night of passion with the subject of his most private fantasies for the last six years. It was two days since he had indulged in the fleeting fantasy that he could have her, that he had a hope in hell of making Sara Sidle happy. It was two days since everything had changed, but somehow leaving everything the same.
Grissom sighed, a long exhausted sigh. He felt old and tired, a life time of indecisions weighing heavily on his soul. He knew what he had to do. There was no doubt that he had to end this madness. He never should have started it. Despite his poor judgement, the truth remained; theirs was a relationship doomed from the outset. He just needed to make Sara understand that he was just looking out for her best interests, saving them both from inevitable future heartache. He ran an uneasy hand through his hair. If only it were that simple. If only he hadn’t been fool enough to think that a night of temporary relief could be just that. Of all the cold-hearted, thoughtless and hurtful things he had done to her over the years, deep down he knew this was the worst. More terrible yet was the only solution; to hurt her still further, telling her it was for her own good.
Grissom took another long, hard look at the scratches on his shoulder. He would tell her tomorrow. Somehow he would have found the words by then. If not tomorrow then maybe the next day when her brand on him had faded, and until then he would try to ignore how much of a coward he felt.
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Sara Sidle was used to playing the waiting game. In fact she had long considered herself something of a pro. She had spent the hard years of her childhood waiting, patiently planning, for the day she could leave behind the foster system, and the stigma of her past, to enter into the adult world where she could make her own way with her own resourceful brain. Then in college she had waited some more, diligently studying for the grades she needed to get a job that would make a difference; that she could really care about. She finally understood the joys of big city anonymity as well as being graded on her work not her background. She would have to wait, she realised, but one day she would be a famous name. A name, but never a person. Then in Berkeley, when she had finally thought the wait was over, she had met Gil Grissom and he had entirely redefined her notion of waiting. So it had come as no surprise to her that he had made her wait four whole days after the night that had set her world at a permanent tilt for him to show up at her apartment to talk. Of course he thought he was there to break of the tenuous connection he had finally condescended to give her, of that she was sure. Equally though, she knew that she was not going to give in, not this time. Now, finally, she was through waiting.
Sara let Grissom into her apartment and he followed her contritely into the living area. She leant against the counter that divided the kitchen from the living area, watching as Grissom turned to face her, eyes shifting to the door to note his escape route. She didn’t speak to him, not even to greet him; she just folded her arms and waited. Grissom cleared his throat nervously, taking in her defiant stance. This was not going to be easy. He took a deep breath before he began with the inevitable.
“Sara… What happened a few nights ago cannot be allowed to happen again. As enjoyable as it was, it does not change the circumstances we find ourselves in…” He paused to see if Sara made any objection, but when she remained silent he quickly continued. “First and foremost, it would be against lab policy for us to become romantically involved. It could jeopardise both of our careers…” Sara’s face remained impassive as Grissom got into the flow of his argument, clearly relieved that she wasn’t trying to interrupt him. She only moved her hand to release the top button of her blouse from its hole. Grissom’s eyes followed the movement, but his words never wavered for a second.
“…Besides, I’m an old man, set in my ways. You deserve someone so much better. Someone young and spon…” Sara’s hand crept up to liberate the second button and Grissom’s word stretched out as Sara rearranged her collar to show a generous amount of her neck and upper chest.
“-taneous” Grissom’s attention snapped back to what he was supposed to be saying. With considerable effort he focused on his words. “Look, Sara, the friendship we have is too special to risk…” The third button left its home, and finally Grissom was unable to contain himself any longer.
“Sara, what are you doing?” His voice was threaded with urgency as he felt his body respond to her increasing expanse of bare flesh.
“An interrogation technique I learnt from Catherine, and believe me I intend to get answers. Real answers, not more Grissomisms.” Her tone was still frustratingly normal, as if they were talking about work and her blouse was not revealing a dangerous amount of cleavage.
“Sara this is hardly the most rational…” She didn’t interrupt him or contradict him, she just calmly, infuriatingly released the next button, revealing the first tantalising glimpse of black lace.
“Question number one; do you want me?” That caught his attention.
“Sara, it’s not a matter of…” Urgency melted into cold, hard panic as another button was freed, and Grissom’s eyes refused to move north of the black lace covered breasts that were only partially covered by the blouse that was attached with just two buttons now.
“Do you want me, Grissom?” Her tone was still level, conversational. God help him, she was actually enjoying this.
“Sara, please be reasonable… You’re almost out of buttons.” He tried to jest, a makeshift break against a runaway train fast running out of track. Her only response was to pop the second to last button from its hole. Logic told him that the sole remaining button actually covered very little, but his mind saw it holding together the last threadbare scraps of his restraint.
“When I’m done with mine, I’ll start on yours.” She stated matter-of-factly. “All I want are answers, Grissom. Despite the obvious evidence…” she gestured to his crotch, “… I want you to admit it to yourself and to me.” She hooked her thumb underneath the final button and jerked it outwards to emphasise her point.
“Fine.” He snapped. Then he took a deep, resigned breath and stepped forward. “Fine… The truth is that I do have certain… feelings for you.” His eyes held Sara’s gaze as her hands fell back to her sides. Silence stretched between them for a long moment.
“Gil.” She said finally, and with infinite tenderness, closing the remaining gap between them until she was close enough to place a light hand on his chest.
“Sara…” Grissom started, his voice slightly calmer now but still bordering on frantic.
“Gil.” Sara surprised them both by raising her hand to his face and gently stroking his cheek with the pad of her thumb in a now familiar way. The gesture and the tenderness in her eyes gave him the courage to raise both hands to cup her face, bracing it for the soft sweep of his lips. Like a spark to gas fumes, the simple action ignited years of tension plus four endless days worth, burning hot and bright between them. Grissom pressed his lips to hers again, this time demanding and urgent. His hands quickly found the solitary button responsible for denying him full access to the long expanses of Sara’s flesh. The delicacy needed to free it was utterly beyond him, a fact attested to by the resounding ping as the button was launched across the room. Grissom groaned in pleasure as his palms met the naked softness of Sara’s back. God, it had been the longest four days of his life.
His mouth continued its full scale assault on hers; his hands, no longer content with her back, drifted down to squeeze her ass firmly, using the hold to grind her against his rock hard erection, and he greedily swallowed her moans of delight. Her fingers, which had been massaging his scalp, now started their own needy exploration, grabbing blindly at his shirt buttons.
“Bedroom.” She managed to pull away long enough to pant, before tugging on Grissom’s collar, bringing his mouth back flush against hers. Together they navigated haphazardly towards the bedroom. Desperate hands finally won the battle against stubborn clothing, which rained down in a hasty trail from the living area to the bedroom.
By the time they made it to the bed, only the tiniest pair of panties remained between them, and Grissom’s hands and lips were competing to be everywhere at once. His lips settled for only the softest, most sensitive parts of her neck and shoulders. Sara’s hands were busily distracting his work by stroking up and down his back, her body arching up into him with each new discovery of a hotspot, until the insistent movement brought her breasts to his urgent attention. He sucked roughly on her nipple, basking in the heady moans that each suck produced. He slipped his hand into her panties, eliciting a soft whimper as he stroked a gentle finger through the wetness he found there. God, he loved her like this, all given over to pleasure that he had created. He continued to stroke her gently, pulling his head away so he could watch her as he dipped his finger inside her. One finger quickly became two, and Sara’s panties were removed with the smallest amount of concentration they could be afforded. They sailed into the air and off the map into the black oblivion that was the world beyond the edges of the bed.
Grissom continued to move his fingers, stroking her in a curling action within. Sara was trying to gulp down air as the centre of her universe narrowed to the perfect four inches that joined them. Grissom felt her begin to tighten around his fingers, and removed them. He wanted to save her pleasure for when he could feel it more intimately. A moment later she was pushing him back, pouring her frustration into searing kisses as her body sought to close out the space between them down to the last inch. She reached down and grabbed his thick cock, pumping it firmly, and suddenly he had to have her right that moment.
He broke away from her and helped himself to a condom from Sara’s nightstand, making quick work of the wrapper before sheathing himself in the latex. He looked up from his task to find Sara’s eyes fixed on him, big and vulnerable. He didn’t know what to say to reassure her, his gut suddenly felt rotten with guilt, but then she slid her legs around him where he knelt, erection jutting up proudly between his thighs, and reached a tentative hand to twine her fingers in his, offering herself completely, knowing he would not do the same. Grissom held the base of his erection as he pushed the head into her, his eyes never leaving hers. He continued to push forward until the temporary relief of being completely surrounded by her washed over him. In a last lucid moment before the haze of lust had completely descended, Grissom kissed her almost chastely on the lips and gave her what he could.
“I always want you.” He whispered as he started to move within her. At first he moved slowly, trying in vain to catalogue each individual sensation, to commit it all to memory, but every thrust demanded that the next follow sooner, harder, until Grissom completely gave them over to the urgent pace that their hungry bodies demanded and their weary souls so desperately needed. Sara was flushed pink, hot and inviting, her hips rising to meet his every movement with excited fervour. Their passion increased, their bodies now bent solely on fulfilment. Grissom moved her knee further out and up with a confident hand, resting his hips more fully on her milky inner thigh, and giving him the necessary space to alter the angle of his thrusts. Sara’s eyes flew wide as she responded vocally and loudly. A distant part of her mind protested that she wasn’t a screamer, but the rest of her body was hell bent on passionate mutiny. Still making inarticulate cries of delight, she grabbed onto his ass, whether to forcibly increase his depth or to crank him up a gear it had the same effect. Sara’s husky moans melted into hoarse cries of delight and Grissom, feeling her begin to quake around him, used the last fleeting presence of mind to slip his hand between their bodies and press, somewhat clumsily, on her slick clit, throwing her over the precipice ahead of him. Waves of ecstasy crashed over him, eventually washing him up on the shore of consciousness, a survivor of the storm.
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The insistent pressure of his bladder slowly roused Grissom from sleep. He quickly made his way to Sara’s bathroom, padding quietly so as not to wake her. After he had relieved himself, he turned on the shower to get washed up. Stepping under the hot stream, he felt fresh scratches on his shoulders, more on his ass and, best of all, the gentle ache through his cock that spoke of a hard night’s work. So much for ending this once and for all. He had gotten himself in deeper than he had thought possible at this stage. One thing was certain, he could not leave her now. Nor did he want to, he found himself admitting. He remembered the vulnerability in her eyes as she had given herself to him. The first time he could have put it down to nerves, but this was more, this was her acknowledging that he would not give her more than the physical and then he would be gone again, feelings locked safely back in his little box. This time was different though, he realised. He was still here. He did not understand it, nor could he explain it, but knowing he had nothing to give her made him want to try. Inner turmoil now on the back burner, if not completely resolved, Grissom made his way to the kitchen, stopping only to throw on his boxers. Fifteen minutes later he returned with freshly made pancakes with syrup.
He stopped at the door tray in hand; taking in Sara’s sleeping form. He could wake up to this every day; Sara asleep next to him, worn out by the previous night’s love making, naked and content. She moved in her sleep and the sheet shifted to reveal the smooth planes of her back. That was enough to have Grissom set the tray on the nightstand and join her under the covers, stroking her awake with long sweeps of his fingertips.
“You’re still here.” Her tone was sleepy but still carefully flat. The absence of surprise, nervousness or intonation of any kind spoke volumes. The silence stretched between them as they stared into each other’s eyes, each willing the other to make the first move. Finally Grissom spoke.
“I’m staying.” He said quietly. Neither of them did vulnerable too well. Sara took pity on him though, dipping in for a quick peck on the lips.
“I didn’t think Dr Gil Grissom would be so… easy.” She grinned now, the tension flying away with the breeze.
“Easy?” He huffed, playing along, relieved that she’d given him an easy out.
“I thought I’d need to convince you a few more times before you came round to my way of thinking.” She smirked quickly before returning to focus on his lips. After a few more soft kisses, Grissom sighed.
“You can convince me any time you want.” He rumbled in what Sara was rapidly recognising to be his bedroom voice. He swooped in to continue where he left off, only to find her head had turned and he was presented with her neck.
“God, that smells so good. Who knew my kitchen could make something that smelt like that? What’s for breakfast?” Sara eyed the steam coming off the plate in much the same way that she had gazed at him the night before. She bit her lower lip in unadulterated lust as she tried to lean over him to reach her prize.
“Cold pancakes.” He grinned wickedly as he rolled on top of her, effectively leaving her helpless to whatever evil schemes he had in mind. And there were many. Most of them involving syrup.