They watched Cosavik enter the Starbucks, striding in, his shoulders set arrogantly. Sara kept her gaze on him, feeling touched that Grissom wanted her on this case and restless because she couldn't tell if it meant anything. They needed the epithelial sample, needed it urgently for comparison--that was the priority. But the added thrill of being chosen, of sitting here in the semidarkness of the parking lot in the Tahoe with Grissom was still enough to send flutters through her stomach.
"Wow, yeah, that man should not have hair that dark," Sara quipped, glancing over at Grissom and allowing herself a moment to steal the image of him, intent and intense. "Doesn't he know he looks horrendous?"
Grissom turned slowly to look at her, his lips tilting in an excuse for a smile. "I hadn't noticed," he commented lucidly and turned to look back out the window.
"How could you miss it, even in THIS light?" she replied softly. With one finger she touched the window, drawing a line through the faint condensation. "He looks like he's drained an oil pan on his hair. It's not subtle and it's not flattering."
Grissom considered this, his expression turning the comment over in his mind. "I didn't know changing your hair color was supposed to be flattering. Isn't it just a matter of shift?"
Sara looked at him, and then away. "Spoken like a man. No. It's not. Take Catherine. She's really good about working into a color shift. A few week's lead time at least, and she gets a shade that works with her complexion.”
"Yes. Well... I'm not quite sure Catherine's hair color has stayed the same for more than a few months."
"I'm not sure GREG'S hair has remained the same color for more than a few weeks," Sara returned with a laugh. "But he works with that. The music and the clothes add to his look, but THIS guy," she gestured out the window, "Should be gray, or at least going, which is why he looks so atrocious."
"Not everyone wants to go grey," Grissom replied gently. "This town isn't kind to the aging process."
For a moment they were silent, and Sara felt her mouth twitch a little. She let her head drop back and stretched her chin to the car ceiling, "It's pretty pervasive, isn't it? Botox parlors, plastic surgery, wrinkle cream--I'm sure more people are susceptible to the hype, wrong as it is."
"Wrong?" Grissom asked.
"Screwing with the aging process. It's a natural thing," she said slowly. "Everyone goes through it. It starts when you're born, ends when you die and even if you try and slow it in between... you're wasting valuable time that could be spent living."
Sara smiled. "What's it, an hour or two sitting, getting botulism injected around your eyes, so you look thirty-seven instead of forty-seven? That's time that could be spent say... on a date or... going hiking. All these people trying to stop the beautiful process, it's kind of sad when you really think about it."
Grissom kept his gaze on the picture window of the Starbucks, his jaw working a little as he strove for a response. Sara's warmth was affecting him, the familiar siren call of her pale throat fueling a few impulses he found himself still fighting down after all the years.
"Sometimes it's not about vanity," he began. "Sometimes it's about blending in. Protective coloration. Staying within the status quo so you're seen as essential."
Sara's eyebrows went up, and her nose twitched with amusement. "Yeah--it's called stagnating."
Grissom's mouth screwed up in something that looked like agitation. "Blending into the pack, Sara. Situating yourself within a prime group in order to secure ..."
"What?" she prompted, suddenly quite aware of the hand he was running through his hair.
He sighed slowly, bringing his palm away, allowing it to fall into his lap. "Never mind."
That perked her interest, and she sat up and smiled a bit knowingly. "You color your hair," she accused gently, her smile wide and sure at him.
He refused to look at her, and she was familiar with that little lift of his chin; the determined stubbornness behind it. Sara fought down giddy giggles rising up in her throat at this little evidence of flawed humanity on his part. Grissom dyed---it was both adorable and a little sad. "Grissom?"
He didn't respond, simply stared out the window and pretending not to be nursing his ego. "Pleading the fifth seems to be the safest route in this matter, and thus, that is what I'm going to do." His attempt to brush it off, though amusing, didn't work.
"Come on, Grissom. You dye your hair," Sara sighed. "Why do you feel the need?"
"You shape your eyebrows, shave your legs--" he snapped back with a hint of pettishness. "We all do things to ourselves, Sara. And while grey might add authority and respectability in some circumstances, in others it's a reminder that the mandatory retirement age is coming closer. Personnel reviews are mostly paper, but the camera of memory makes a difference for a career."
Feeling he'd said too much, Grissom cleared his throat and resumed staring out the windshield, feeling ridiculously exposed now, like a hermit crab out of its shell with no new one in sight.
"Just for a career?" she muttered and they fell back into silence. She began tracing little patterns on the window of the vehicle, little stars and spirals and he watched her paint. "See, I know you color your hair."
Grissom said nothing to neither confirm nor deny her statement. Sara turned to grin at him, causing his own lips to turn up in a similar fashion. They sat in silence, smiling at each other, both wondering why their cheeks were getting so hot. "And I don't mind," she continued, turning back to her canvas. "Course I wouldn't care if you stopped... but that's just me."
"You're going on the assumption that I do--" He pointed out with a hint of exasperation, "And so far you don't have any evidence. Suspicions, and a conversation that may or may not be hypothetical."
"I might need a closer examination," Sara conceded a little breathlessly. "Although getting a warrant might be tough. Should I go for permission?" Suddenly the interior of the car was much warmer. Grissom drew in a breath.
"I'll bet you all the money in my wallet that the cuffs and the collar don't match." Sara added.
"A bet," he murmured, a little pink, but pushing on gamely. "Interesting. What's YOUR stake?"
Sara blinked a little, but pushed her chin out, feeling heat through her stomach. And lower. "Ever play, 'I'll show you mine if you show me yours?'"
Grissom didn't look at her, but swallowed. "It's been a long time, but yes, I've . . . peeked."
"And to the victor go the spoils."
He turned his head sharply, and the glint in his eyes was more than she bargained for; a clear flare of lust, pure and sharp. "That's a stake worth considering."
"Then make with the considerations," she taunted him lightly, her mind still reeling in order to try and catch up with her body.
For a moment they both were silent, but the pause was charged with lovely tension and Grissom found himself breathing a little shallowly.
Sara found it utterly difficult, nearly painful, to keep her body from shaking. The thin line that was generally lightly trodden had been completely erased; as a comfort zone, it had worked and now she almost felt the need to search it out as if a life preserver. Her stomach in knots, her mouth rivaling the Mojave at high noon, she made an attempt at words, "Well? You a sore loser?"
Grissom forced himself to speak lightly, but his fingers gripping the steering wheel were white. "I haven't lost yet. Maybe I don't intend to lose."
Licking sandpaper lips with an equally dry tongue, she was quick to remind him. "But all I bet you was what I have in my wallet, which is," she paused and wriggled to pull the wallet out of her coat pocket. "Forty three dollars and some change."
Grissom looked down, grateful for the semidarkness of the parking lot, aware of how sultry the interior of the car was now. He drew in a breath, flexing his fingers against the steering wheel, fighting a sense of giddiness. "Forty three dollars--that could buy several interesting things that spring to mind."
Stricken with a momentary pang of disappointment, Sara fidgeted in the seat, turning to lean into the door, getting a better view of him. "Is that so?" It was a moment before she spoke again, but when she did her voice was low and throaty, the tone matching the atmosphere within the cabin of the car. "It would be very considerate of you to share, Grissom."
"Things like--" He swallowed again, feeling his stomach flutter hard, "Condoms, and motel rooms for one. Not that I've shopped for either." Grissom closed his eyes, feeling the heat alternate with chills over his face and cursed himself for going too far. Never mind his groin throbbed, that his inner voice mocked him endlessly; he'd blown it, made the pass and now waited for her laughter.
Sara smiled gently and spread out in the seat, stretching her legs out under the dash. Grissom watched as he body uncurled itself, relaxing into the worn upholstery. A loud sigh passed through her lips as she slowly dragged her fingers through her hair. "Or... you could save that wad of cash..." But her voice trailed off as her fingers reached across the console to tickle over his arm. His hands were gripping the leather of the wheel so hard that she could feel the distinction of each tendon straining from his skin.
Grissom tensed, hearing her words echo in his head, the hot implication driving straight down to his already aching shaft in a verbal caress. His mouth opened slightly in shock, but he closed it again and turned his head towards her, needing to see whatever her inviting whiskey eyes held.
What he found there was a stunning mix of caramel and sin; her fingers were warm and still on his skin, neither prompting nor taking, simply waiting. And her eyes too were held in wait, a storm preparing to crash around them, waiting for him to decide how he wanted to proceed.
" . . . And just go for the wad?" he croaked, surprised at his own daring. It was smutty and crude; to the point. The words hung in the air between them, charged, hot, building on the energy there. Sara drew in a breath, drinking the temptation in.
She nodded, and slowly her smile flashed in the semidarkness. "Oh yeah. Definitely."
The pounding of his pulse was so loud Grissom was sure she could hear it; hell he was sure Cosavik across the street could hear it at this point. Carefully he took his hands off the wheel, flexing his fingers and from somewhere deep in his throat his voice came out in a whisper. "Oh you think so?"
Her hand was slowly caressing the skin of his arm, refusing to disengage. Grissom's eyes were pulled reluctantly from her eyes to her hand, mesmerized by the short movement. Those wonderful digits, doing such fantastic things to his skin, his heart, his head... he didn't even have to think about bridging the distance between them to crash their lips harshly together.
It was a kiss born of hunger, not the soft explorations that had plagued her nearly-sleepless nights. It was a clash of teeth against skin, tongues vying for power. Sloppy, slick, sweet, it was a kiss she hadn't really thought existed among the myriad she had thought of.
Too tight--Grissom thought dizzily. Everything was too tight; his pants, his shirt, his damned skin as he let his tongue slide around Sara's. His hands were up and around her rangy shoulders; dimly Grissom marveled at how delicate they were under his clumsy paws, the bones so close to the skin through her shirt.
And her mouth, God! A hot feast of lip gloss and slick sex, the pillow of her naughty taunt, the wet playground of so many fantasies.
Suddenly, his senses returned to him and though it was the last ting he want to do, he tore his mouth from hers. "The cup, the DNA," he rasped as her fingers tickled under the collar of his shirt. Sara pulled back quickly and spun to glance out the window.
Her eyes lit up just as her hands fell away, "He's gone!" Dashing from the car, Sara snapped on a latex glove. She looked both ways before crossing the mostly-deserted street. Grissom watched as she bent over the garbage can, her tight ass swaying seemingly for his eyes. Upon straightening, she was running back to the Tahoe, paper coffee cup in her gloved hand. "Paid off," she said a little out of breath as she shoved her lean body back into the car.
Fumbling, Grissom held out the evidence bag and Sara unceremoniously shoved it in, scribbling her name, initials and date on the lines, not caring if her scrawl was legible or not. Grissom sealed it, then held the bag a moment longer, letting it dangle between them.
Sara was breathing hard, he noticed, and the flush of her face was beautifully accented by the gorgeous sight of her erect nipples straining hard against her shirt.
Grissom threw the bag over his shoulder into the back seat and met her halfway through her lunge at him.
This time their lips parted and tongues stroked, not mauled. Sara took a moment to try and place the flavor of him: low and sweet with a tinge of maple, like a New England's autumn rainfall. The slow moan that escaped from her throat tickled over the surface of his skin and he, slave to the sound, reciprocated in kind.
His hands seared over the skin of her neck, pulling her closer, kissing her deeper, loving her harder. As his mind caught up with his actions he vaguely wondered if he'd be able to stop it when the time came... because the time would come. Wouldn't it?
A low moan reverberated against his mouth, and Grissom broke the kiss reluctantly, knowing Sara was saying something and worried about what it was. Rejection? God he prayed not; mature or not, his body would NOT be thrilled at the thought of stopping.
"What did you . . . " He kissed her mid-question, "--say?"
"You're hedging your bet," she accused, licking his lower lip for him.
"Hedging--?" Grissom pretended not to understand. Sara sucked the lip into her mouth and her hand slid up his thigh.
"You are SO cheating--" she breathed in his face. "This was about Show and Tell."
Still looking into his eyes, Sara let her hand began to slide down his chest, pausing just over the bulge in his pants.
Chuckling lightly to herself, she allowed the palm to slowly pass over the fabric-encased steel. Of their own volition, his hips bucked up, succeeding in pressing his erection more fully into her hand. "And you KNOW what happens to cheaters," she breathed into his ear as she leaned in to lick the lobe, "Don't you?"
Grissom fought to find the right answer; something witty and tinged with just the right amount of smut but the maddening touch of Sara's hand had him quivering and feeling like he was fourteen again, minutes from erupting.
"In this town--" he managed between gritted teeth, "Too many things--" As she pressed more sensually, Grissom leaned over and tugged her shirt up, revealing a hint of ivory flesh under the thin cloth. His palm slid over it, accepting the warmth, the velvet sensation of her skin.
Sara arched into his touch, hungry for it in a way in which told her she'd never get her fill. "Sometimes," she breathed out, allowing her eyes to slip closed, "Cheaters win too."
In reply, Grissom slid his hand up, moving restlessly over the curve of her ribs, pushing his hips up against her cupping palm. It was nearly perfect pressure, almost innocent, sweetly nasty and as his fingers worked under the bottom of her bra he gave a little growl, low and needy. "I'm not cheating, but I AM winning--"
Talking ceased as he found a peaked nipple, sliding two fingers around it to tease. A delicious little mewl slipped into his ears and Grissom smiled. It was a feral thing, the grin that he gave: the cat that was pretty sure he was about to devour the canary. But Sara, playing the part of the small bird as a major thespian might, licked it right off of his lips, panting and pressing her warm skin harder into his hand.
Two fingers drummed lightly against the bulge of his cock, as if impatient. Sweat had begun to bead at his temples and slide down his cheeks. Fogged windows and slick bodies coalesced to create a startling new parallel dimension for them to act out their secret touches, their overdue acts.
Grissom fought back a groan, and some tiny part of his brain argued that doing this in a car, in a semi-public place with a coworker was dangerous, stupid, risky and bad.
Then Sara began to unzip his fly, and the low growl of it filled the car, a sound so full of salacious promise that it took all his willpower not to hyperventilate. He broke away from kissing her and glanced down at her slender hand, watching it slowly tug on the tiny tab, and the throb of his cock was both visible and undeniable.
Sara pressed her face to the side of his neck and licked it. "You're big."
Grissom managed to huff a semblance of a chuckle, "Women actually say that?"
She quickly pulled back to gaze into his eyes. "No, I say that," she amended and reached into the gap in front of her to stroke over the hot suede of his erection. Attention focused fully on what was before her, Sara bent and watched as she toyed with the delicate skin, the seeping of precum. And her ears, oh they basked in the exquisitely naughty things he was saying, the gasps he was trying so very hard not to emit.
Grissom fought against grabbing her, gritted his teeth as the pleasure throbbed through him so intensely that it seemed every cell felt it. Sara's teasing touch caressed the veins of his shaft, the kiss of her fingertips drawing moans from the back of his throat with increasing power. Grissom's chest heaved a bit, and for his sanity, he finally gripped her wrist.
"Showing," he growled helplessly."Now yours---?"
Breathing nearly as harshly as he was, Sara allowed a choked laugh to pass between her lips. A question in her gaze, an answer in his and that was all she needed to see. Shaky fingers trailed down her own body, straining not to grasp her own nipples, if only for a moment.
Slim fingers eventually reached the cool brass of the button at her hips. For a moment she wondered whether to tease him a bit more or to simply indulge and free her own skin as she had done his.
It was the look in his eyes that answered the question for her; those eyes with pupils so wide and dark that the blue was nearly gone. Grissom's eyes as hungry and wild as she'd ever seen them. With a wriggle and a shove, Sara lifted her hips and pushed her slacks down, letting the panties go with them. Cool air hit her skin and she sucked in a breath, but the velour under her ass felt like a caress.
Bare from her waist to her knees, Sara sat, undeniably frightened of what he would say; not because she thought she was somehow unattractive or unappealing, but because the thought of him finding that this little game of theirs was a mistake and pulling away would devastate her. Her hands were still on her hips, framing the thatch of hair between them.
Grissom gazed from her face to the juncture between her legs and… licked his lips. Slowly. Sara fought the urge to groan, to delve between her own folds with her own fingers, wriggle into his lap and fill her cunt with his hardness.
He breathed so softly she could barely hear his low choked tone, "Christ." Grissom's palm slid along his thigh, pushing hard to dry it. He leaned towards her, drawn, pulled helplessly by the gorgeous tangle of fur framed by her lean thighs. He wanted to breathe in the scent, brush his face along the curls there.
So that’s what he did. His back cried out from the odd angle at which he twisted his body, but he fought not to care. Grissom placed a wet kiss to the left of her navel, trailing his limber tongue to the very edge of where skin met fur.
The quivering of her body was not only arousing but slightly amusing to him. Such a wonderful, responsive woman. Did she possibly want him as much as he wanted her? The way her fingers wove into his hair cemented the thought in his mind and he snaked out his tongue to flick at her clit gently.
Sara squirmed; the unreality of the moment intensified and folded around her: the scrape of Grissom's beard along her inner thighs, the hot probe of his slick tongue teasing her, the feel of his curls in her fingers and ooooh the way he delved, suckling and kissing, the lovely lewd sounds of wet flesh mingling with the low animal groans working out of her throat. Sara desperately tried to widen her thighs, to give him more access to the throbbing bud of her clit. Her fingers tightened on his hair.
One hand trailed down her legs, pressing her jeans as far down as he could but had to pause when they bunched at her ankles. Quickly pulling his head back, he attempted to get her out of her shoes and stockings as Sara watched on.
His lips were slick and wet with her juices, his eyes wide and seeking, hands pressing and fumbling. Gil Grissom, a figure of her nasty dreams for years, was ridding her of her clothing so that he could eat her out.
What a mindfuck.
Then his mouth moved up her thigh, so delicately that it send fiery tingles straight through her cunt. Sara writhed again, her body responding to the hot breath along her damp skin. She wanted him to move faster, to reach the parts of her so desperate for his licks, but Grissom stopped and nipped, just along the tender inside of her left thigh and Sara gasped with lust.
"Damn it--" Her fingers slid along the back of his neck, the strong thick neck she'd dreamed of kissing, and she gripped it tightly. “You KNOW what I want--" Sara growled.
Responding to her, Grissom dipped his head and lapped hard right up the middle of her slit, pausing at the top to suckle her button into his mouth. The tip of his tongue worked it back and forth, while his bottom lip continued to skim over the delicate, wet flesh of her pussy.
“Uh, uh,” she grunted in time to the thrust of her hips, needing more than anything, him to fill her. Her fingers began yanking at his hair hard, nearly hard enough to pull it out by the root.
Grissom had his eyes closed; he didn't need them, not with the rich tart warmth of Sara's pussy on his mouth, his chin and cheeks. Her slickness was tangy and fueled on his desire to make her come on his lips. Carefully he began a steady rhythm, alternating the gentle suckling along the sweet inner folds as well as on the hard little pearl of her clit. Dimly he felt Sara pulling his hair, and one hand gripped the base of his cock in desperate control.
And then her groan was deeper, more urgent and wild, the sound of a woman focused completely on pleasure and not giving a damn who heard it.
Her breath was coming in sweet, hot pants. Her knees came up, but hit Grissom's shoulders, tightening around him in hard spasms and Sara slumped back against the velour seat, her head lolling a bit against the backrest as her fingers slid free of Grissom's hair.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” she murmured and fidgeted in the seat, “Sit back.” Her voice was strong and thick and though she was naked from the waist down, she slid up so she was balanced on her knees.
Panting and sweaty, Grissom merely blinked at her, cataloguing the long lines of her body as she situated herself. Once in place, Sara leaned over to kiss him, but murmured a but more forcefully, “Lean back,” before she did so.
Words finally registering in his sex addled brain, Grissom did as told, allowing his back to lean into the seat as Sara slithered over the console and kissed him deeply, her tongue as enthusiastic as it had been before.
Carefully she braced herself with one hand along his seat and used the other to pop the button of his pants. Grissom caught on and reached down with fumbling fingers, helping her open his slacks, feeling her fingers slide around his turgid shaft. He gasped as she squeezed the base.
"Show me your stroke. What you like--" came her throaty whisper. "God I'm not kidding, this is big."
Grissom fingers slid over and around hers, grasping harder that she would have. “Good,” he rasped and pulled her hand up with his, sliding just below the tip before slamming hard back down.
He began slowly at first, keeping in time with their breathing, and for awhile, she was content to watch their hands sliding over his cock but after long minutes of hard, long strokes, she began to get impatient.
Sara leaned forward and brought her mouth close to his, close enough to breathe in the scent of herself all over his still gleaming chin. She licked his lower lip and spoke. "Do you have any idea how many times I've thought about jacking you off, Grissom? Of wrapping my fingers around your prick and stroking it?"
He swelled harder in her grip, the heat burning her palm now and Grissom growled a little. "No. Tell me."
"Hundreds. Mmmmmmmmm--" came her confession as she pressed her mouth to his, Her tongue sought the silky depths of his mouth as she felt him open his lips.
As his tongue began to stroke over hers, Sara shuffled forward and dropped an open palm beneath the pair that was already there and cupped his balls lightly. After testing the weight several times, passing over them, Sara brought her palm out from between is legs and broke the kiss. She held her palm open in front of him and demanded him to, “Lick it.”
Slowly, his tongue painted over her hand, the rough texture sending shivers down her spine. She was still wet and heavy and she pressed her legs together tight to quell some of the newly building pressure there. When she pulled it back, it was slick with his saliva and she shoved her hand back into his pants and pressed against his balls harder than she had before.
She cupped them, letting the heavy mass slide over her palms, rewarded by Grissom's gasp. His jaw tightened and he exhaled hard. "I'm going to come--" he managed in that precise monotone that send a shock of nasty delight down her spine. Sara slid her hand, wet and warm over the velvet-skinned steel of his cock and stroked it again. Grissom covered her hand with his and squeezed in tight clenches up and down as the deep plum head of his cock flushed and the slow impressive geyser of semen sprayed up the wet ribbons dropping and dripping with soft sounds across the cloth of his slacks.
Sara saw and moaned and kissed him deeper than she had before. It was a stunning kiss, a hard one and it seem for a moment, that he was still coming. His breath puffed hard into her mouth, but she didn’t break the kiss. Instead she whimpered low and kept kissing him until her legs went numb from the position she was in.
His head was lolled against the back of the seat, his dick sticky and still hanging out of his slacks. Her ass was resting on her heels, wetness still coating her inner thighs, her ass slightly red from the fabric of the Tahoe.
Sara huffed a bit too, but after moment, she tilted her head and glanced at him oddly. “What?” he asked, rolling his head to the side to glance at her. Sara said nothing but reached out and, with one finger, trailed it through a spot of his come and brought it to her lips.
Seeing it, Grissom shuddered fractionally, his breath loud in the confined space. His dick gave a hopeful twitch at the sight, and Sara laughed, her smile an endearing blend of sex and sweetness, the Wild Woman he'd always known was there inside her.
"Um, you've got stamina." she complimented, a laugh in her voice. Grissom felt too damned good to argue; he moved to cup her velvet cheek, turning her head to look into her mahogany eyes. “Thank you. But I think we should uh…”
Grissom fished out some sort of wipes--Sara admitted there were times when his meticulousness came in handy--and they cleaned up. She was touched that he made it a point to carefully mop her up himself, savoring the chance to touch her once more, if only for a mundane purpose. He zipped up with what she realized was reluctance, and grinned.
"Damn it--" Came her soft mutter. Grissom turned to look at her, wary but smiling. She bit her lips. "I--sort of forgot to check."
"Ah." he replied, lifting his chin once more, his smile slightly predatory, and full of sweet promise. "Then you may have to try again."
Sara batted her eyes, and stretched, reaching up one hand to trail over his sideburn and let the other drop along his thigh, stroking possessively. "Oh I will--don't you know grey hair can be highly attractive . . . to the right person."