She woke up alone. Muzzily, Sara peeled the blindfold off and blinked into the darkness, trying to figure out the time. She patted the bed but it was still empty although the sheets were still warm.

"Gris?"

"Kitchen. Intercourse gives me an appetite--" came the cheerful call. Rolling her eyes, Sara stretched and flexed, feeling a tiny bit sore but oh so sated. She slid out of bed and reached for the first item of clothing her fingers could find in the dark; judging by the feel of it, Grissom's shirt. Swiftly she tugged it around her and padded out towards the faint light coming from the direction of the kitchen.

Gris was there, his back leaning against the counter wearing his glasses, an ancient grey sweatshirt and his boxers, cheerfully digging into a plastic tub of sour cream dip with a tortilla chip. He offered her the bag, and Sara took it, scooting closer to him as she crunched on a few.

"I bought soups and canned vegetables and crackers but forgot plates or bowls," he confessed, staring into the dip with embarrassment. Sara laughed.

"We can always pick some up--this is Vegas, things are open twenty four hours, you know. What I'm more concerned about is clothing, to be honest. I've got some clean underthings, but everything else is sort of--"

"Permeated with the scent of lust?" he waggled his eyebrows and sucked in his cheeks, trying to look innocent, but Sara swatted his arm lightly.

"I'm serious--I've washed my lingerie in a sink before, but two day old slacks are just--grungy. Didn't your aunt have a washer and dryer?"

"Yep--had them in the garage. I'd have to hook them up again--" he paused, cocking his head to look at her, "--if--?"

"--If--?" she echoed back uncertainly, nibbling on a chip. Grissom stared at her and she could see him weighing his words carefully.

"--If it's something we're going to need. If Casa Caliente here going to be more than a single weekend for us," he finished heavily. Startled at his somber tone, Sara set the chips down and looked down at their feet.

Both of then were standing on the brick floor barefoot, and she was fascinated with how well formed and strong Grissom's feet were, the tarsals and metatarsals clearly delineated against his pale skin. There was a slight inward turn to his left foot, and she carefully lifted one of her own to caress it with her toes. Grissom watched her.

"The only aspect of my life with which I've been patient is YOU, Grissom. I've waited and watched and bided my time and EVERY gain I've ever made in regard to you has been worth it so far," she murmured, letting her arch slid along his ankle, caressing it. A small smile touched his mouth briefly.

"I never claimed to be the swiftest man on the uptake, Sara. I STILL have a few qualms--"

"--Me too," she admitted, biting her lower lip as she moved to lean against him. He slid an arm around her and pressed his temple to hers.

"Relationships don't work for me, generally. In thirty years I've had a grand total of three, and ALL of them blew up in my face," he confessed in a bleak voice, not daring to meet her eyes. Sara said nothing, but her foot continued to caress his ankle soothingly. Grissom gave a heavy sigh. They stayed that way in a comforting huddle against the counter for a while, and gradually Sara shifted, running her lips along his cheek.

"You ought to grow a beard. You'd look HOT in one--" she whispered. Grissom snorted.

"I'd look like Ernest Hemingway--"

"Nothing wrong with that--he was macho--"

"Sara, he wrote about impotence and failed relationships and ended up committing suicide--not exactly a role model here."

She laughed and stroked the side of Grissom's face, tipping it until he could look in her eyes, see the glint of humor in their velvety depths.

"Don't pout, Gris--you have NO idea how sexy that is--"

"Really?" he considered this and brightened, his arms sliding in a loosely possessive grip around her waist. Sara nodded, mashing her nose on his playfully.

"Just--consider the scruff, okay? And as for--what did you call it--Casa Caliente? Well--I'm open to negotiation. I can see what you're trying to do: it's not my turf or your turf, it's--neutral. We both have a stake in it."

"That was the idea," he admitted cautiously, "Although you can always say--"

She laid a gentle hand on his lips.

"--No? That's the point, Gil Grissom. Maybe YOU can, but I can't SAY no, or stop, even though there are moments when whole idea terrifies me."

"Bad?" he asked in a rough whisper around her fingers. She shrugged her elegant shoulders, letting her hand drop again.

"I considered bailing while you were out--" came her confession, reluctant and slow. "I just got overwhelmed with everything--knowing this place was out of your past and you were choosing to share it with me, and wondering if it was a mistake to impose--"

Now it was his turn; he cupped her face in his hands, looking deeply into her eyes.

"I made the offer, so it's not an imposition, Sara. This house was a dear memory and an obligation to someone I loved. I couldn't let it go, even though time and time again I considered it. But WITH you--" he trailed away uncertainly, looking to see if his words made any sense to her. Sara was staring at him with that laser intensity he loved, the quivering comprehension that transcended communication between them sometimes.

"We'd be living a secret life. A weekend life," she breathed.

"Yes--" he agreed softly, "An arrangement between the two of us, just FOR the two of us."

And Sara smiled, a glowing look so passionate it made Grissom's chest ache at the very sight of it.

"Can't think of anything I'd want more."

It seemed perfectly natural to unpack boxes and set up furniture at four in the morning. Sara found memory after memory coming to light as she methodically sliced open cartons and examined the contents. Amused, Grissom followed her suggestions, letting her gloat in the chance to order him about, albeit with a light tone.

"Towels. You have a serious towel addiction Sara; this is the third box filled with them. Did you think there wouldn't BE any in Las Vegas?" he grumbled. She worked her jaw back and forth, then gave up, shrugging.

"Gifts--you have NO idea how many bridesmaids gifts and company gifts I got hit with over the years. Besides, towels are useful."

"So are bottle openers and cheese graters, but three boxes full of them would still be excessive--" he chided, setting the carton by the bathroom. When he came back, Sara was lifting a huge ceramic disc out of a box, wiping it with her hand.

"Wow--I haven't seen this in ages. One of the first things I bought in San Francisco when I got my own place--"

Grissom looked down at the porcelain wall hanging, his eyebrows going up as he recognized the design.

"Yin and Yang, white and black, male and female energy in the eternal balance of life. Prophetic, actually."

Sara held it up with the two sides on the vertical position; when Grissom took it, he shifted it to horizontal, white over black.

"Subtle--" Sara chuckled in a chiding tone. He lifted his chin but his eyes were twinkling.

"I make no apology."

"I understand that, buuuut--" Sara narrowed her glance up at him, a laughing lazy challenge in her eyes. Grissom raised one eyebrow in a lofty response. She loved the way he looked at that moment: utterly masculine and almost arrogant about it, sure of his strength and cunning and status in their relationship.

"In time--" he drawled slowly, "I may consider other positions--considering you're parading around wearing nothing but my shirt at the moment--"

Sara nodded, satisfied for the moment and not in any real hurry to push the matter. Instead, she turned her attention back to the box and pulled out a string of Christmas lights.

"Now I remember--this is all stuff from my front hall closet," she muttered, perplexed. Grissom wasn't paying attention; he had hung the Yin Yang piece over the fireplace where adding unexpected elegance to the room. He stepped back, satisfied with the way it looked. Grissom peeked up the fireplace.

"Flue's clear--would you like a fire?"

Sara looked up from her packing and nodded.

Within an hour, Grissom had managed to get some large chunks of dried oak ignited, using ancient scouting skills and Sara's lighter. Sara looked around, pleased to see that her furniture seemed to fit the room rather nicely. Her tastes ran to natural woods and fibers; consequently her two sage overstuffed sofas blended in well, and the thick gold and white carpet filled the space between them and the fireplace.

She sat with Grissom on one sofa, each of them at opposite ends, their legs entangled companionably in the middle. Sara fingered the little packet she had hidden in her palm and listened to his voice, low and earnest while he read outloud from the little battered book in his hands.

Give me, my love, that billing kiss
I taught you one delicious night,
When, turning epicures in bliss,
We tried inventions of delight -

Grissom intoned, looking over the top of his glasses at her, checking the effect of his reading. Sara slid her long bare legs along his and sighed. He continued.

Come, gently steal my lips along,
And let your lips in murmurs move, -
Ah, no! - again - that kiss was wrong -
How can you be so dull, my love?

"Never dull--maybe a little clueless--" She pointed out honestly. He shot her a quelling look, and Sara batted her eyes, not at ALL contritely.

Grissom paused.

"That spanking option is starting to sound good to me--" he warned. Sara blew a raspberry and waved at the book. With a lofty glance at her, Grissom continued.

'Cease, cease!' the blushing girl replies -
And in her milky arms she caught me -
'How can you thus your pupil chide;
You know' twas in the dark you taught me!'

Sara laughed throatily appreciating the tender truth in that last line. Certainly Grissom HAD taught her a lot in the dark--shifting, she let her leg stretch out to touch his nose; he lightly caught her by the heel and ever so gently bit the ball of her foot.

In helpless response, Sara gasped and Grissom gave a slow almost predatory nod, setting the volume of poetry down on the carpet.

"Note to self. Sara's feet are ticklish--" he gripped her ankle in one hand and ran the pad of his thumb along her warm instep. Sara clutched one of the pillows, muffling her reaction into its fluffy depths. Intrigued, Grissom carefully kissed her toes, this time nipping the tender undersides of them. More moaning from Sara; he felt her long legs quiver.

"Too much?"

"Intense--" Sara squeaked up from the pillow, her cheeks red but her eyes bright. "My feet have always been sensitive--"

Grissom rested her heels on his chest and let his strong fingers play over her slender ankles and up her shapely calves.

"Runner's legs. Dancer's legs--" he observed, stroking gently. Sara shuddered pleasurably, and propped her chin in her hand as she flexed her toes.

"In high school I towered over eighty percent of my graduating class. Skyscraper Sara--I think a few of them even signed my yearbook that way."

Grissom looked at her, his glance as tender as a caress. An empathetic smile curled at the corners of his mouth and he lifted one foot to kiss it again, the heat of his lips pressing against her instep. Sara felt it all the way up between her thighs.

"Sometimes when you come striding in to the lab I watch you, Sara. You sail in, head high, with this swing to your hips that's as tempting as dragging a piece of yarn in front of a cat. And part of that irresistibility is your height. You have what my mother would have called queenly bearing."

Sara blinked. To hide her embarrassed pleasure, she let her free foot lightly caress his hip, working inward. He smiled, feeling it but not looking down, still holding one ankle.

"Right now I can see all the way up these legs--"came his quiet taunt.

Sara lifted her chin, staring at him, letting the long moment between them heat up as the fire crackled.

"Going do something about it?" she offered. Grissom blinked behind his glasses while Sara felt his erection swell with flattering swiftness under her calves. He tilted his head and she caught the flare of desire reflecting in his eyes.

"Oh yesssss," came his low assurance; suddenly Sara felt uneasy. A flush prickled over her skin. Grissom sat up, pushing her feet aside and cupped her chin in his two hands to tilt her face to his.

"Sara?"

"I'm okay, I'm fine--" she rushed to assure him, mortified that her panic had showed, but Grissom waited her out. Sara didn't meet his eyes.

"Sorry. Just has a little spaz-out there."

"Over what?" Grissom demanded gently. Sara finally looked at him, her words coming in a long rush.

"I've wanted this so long, Gris. I still can't believe it's happening, and I'm terrified that at any moment it will all just get--taken away from me. That you'll decide this weekend was all a terrible mistake and you want to go back to the status quo--"

Grissom slowly shook his head while his thumbs stroked her lower lip, teasing it.

"I've wrestled with myself over you for the past thousand days. That's over three years, Sara and I can't win. You got under my defenses from day one, and I've never gotten my balance back from that. I tried to distance myself, tried to let you make a life with other men and couldn't. Ultimately I had to face up to the simple fact that I loved you."

Sara's pretty lips twitched; he kissed her softly and continued.

"There I was--just a middle-aged slightly kinky entomologist mooning away for a brilliant beautiful physicist and by the time I KNEW that, I was at a complete loss on how to tell you, so it wasn't until we were buried that I understood how little I had left to lose, honey."

"Triggered by crisis?" Sara quavered, smiling a bit. Grissom nodded.

"It seems most of the events of my private life are," he sighed. "The point is, I'm here, and I'm yours."

"Don't you mean I'M yours?" she teased, turning her face enough to lick his thumb. He gave a lazy hot-eyed smile.

"Yes. But I'm going to make it real for you Sara--" he shifted to the carpet in front of the fire, which had died to low flames reflecting dully on the brick. Grissom pulled Sara into his arms and held her close, tugging the shirt open so they were chest to chest. He gently cradled her head against his bare pale shoulder.

"Sara--"

She looked up. The firelight left half of Grissom's face in shadow, making him warm and mysterious all at the same time.

"I want you to bite me."

"What?" she looked up with a confused grin, certain she misheard him. He cocked his head.

"Right here, on the deltoid. I want you to sink your teeth in hard enough to make a good impression."

Sara's eyes widened; she jerked her head up, cheeks flushed.

"You're kidding! You HAVE to be--Grissom--"

"There are places and times to behave in a polite manner, Sara, and others where we need to remember that under our veneers of civilized behavior we're animals at heart."

Sara's eyes dropped from his face to his shoulder. The warm curve of his muscles looked heavy in the light of the fire, and she briefly licked her lip.

Grissom laughed, a low masculine sound that made her shiver.

"Many animals bite when making love. Mammals are noted for it, sweetheart--" he nuzzled the side of her face, breath hot in her ear. Sara squirmed.

"I'm not going to HURT you just to prove some point about the two of us being an item, Gris! That's not what this is about!"

"Isn't it?" he insisted, and Sara drew in a shaky breath, astounded. Part of her, a shameful wild part yearned to bite him, wanted to press her teeth into that warm flesh and nip it hard. Instead, she pressed her mouth into a thin line.

"It's not right--"

"--Not if I wasn't consenting. But this is as much for me as it is for you, Sara. I want to carry part of you with me, as long as I can. Your scent will wash away, and I'll lose the taste of your mouth, but if you mark me--I'll have it and remember," he sighed roughly, rubbing his cheek against hers. They swayed against each other, and Sara felt her hard nipples rub against his bare chest.

"It's not--not that I don't--want to--" she finally murmured, risking a lick along his shoulder, tasting his salt. His hands slid down her back and he pulled her closer.

"I want your mark, Sara. If you do this, you'll understand that I mean what I say. Please--"

His fingers wove into her hair, and Sara loved the feel of that; his gentle but insistent tug. She sighed, and with a slow graceful plunge, opened her mouth and set her teeth against his warm skin.

It was tougher than she realized; for all his deskwork and maturity, Grissom was a solid man. She tightened her jaws. He gave a moan of satisfaction.

"You can do better--" he chided, and Sara growled a little. She felt hot, and feral; the taste of his skin made her hungry. She pushed forward, her arms coming up and around his back, clinging as she worried her teeth against him. Grissom laughed.

"Getting over that vegetarian phase honey?"

That did it, Laughing, she broke away wetly and kissed up the side of his throat, tackling his mouth with aggressive joy, tumbling with him as Grissom held her and whispered deliciously filthy things. Sara came back to his shoulder time and time again, making her ring of teethmarks deeper with every nip. Grissom kissed and caressed and toyed with her ruthlessly, finally licking her bare spine in the faint glow of the embers now, stretching out across her nude back and chewing lightly on her ear.

"I want you Sara--I want you THIS way--" he warned. She turned her head to look at him, her hair tousled and her eyes dark with lust. She laughed.

"Bitch I may be, but I refuse to bark--"

"--But I might howl--" he shot back, nudging her knees apart and rubbing the backs of her thighs. Sara rose up on her hands and knees, looking over her shoulder at him. He scooped up the condom packet from where she had dropped it and shakily sheathed himself. Sara laughed. She felt hot and cold all at once, teetering on the edge of sweet anticipation.

"Oh my--" she reached down between her thighs and gently guided him. Grissom stroked his hands down her back and then slid his fingers around the sleek bones of her hips gripping them tightly as his thick eager cock nudged forward into her heat.

"God, I can't believe after hundreds of fantasies about having you this way--" he gasped. Sara gripped the carpet and with a small grin, suddenly pushed herself backwards onto him. Grissom grunted with helpless pleasure; Sara echoed it as he filled her completely.

"Sssssssara--!" he withdrew, a slow powerful stroke that made Sara quiver. She felt THAT and no mistake. Grissom's hands pulled her back again and she gasped happily. He stroked forward, each thrust deliberate and strong; his hands tightened on her hips.

"OhgodsoosweetSarasoslickoohhhh--" he gasped, his furred thighs rubbing against the back of hers, his tempo increasing. Sara barely heard him over the pounding of her pulse and the lightning pulses of raw pleasure panging low in her belly. She writhed, earning a groan from her lover, who shifted his hands to brace across the span of her lower back.

"I don't want--to hurt you--" he groaned, and Sara realized Grissom was holding back. Looking over her shoulder, she playfully snarled at him.

"I want--YOUR mark--!" she gasped. He stretch out over her spine, and the hot weight of his damp chest against her skin along with his powerful thrusts were enough to send Sara skittering over the edge. She arched her long back and tensed against him, sobbing with pleasured release as he rode her orgasm.

"OhHoneyloveyouSaracomeI'mcoming--" he hoarsely growled, his thrusts uncontrolled and powerful enough to rock them both forward under the sheer drive of his lust. Grissom dropped onto her heavily, catching his weight on his palms and swayed over her, pressing kisses onto her nape as they both trembled from far more than just the lovemaking.

"Lie on me--" Sara urged in a low shaky whisper, "I need to FEEL you there--"

And Grissom understood that completely.