From the doorway of the garage, Sara watched Grissom feed his ants, carefully setting tiny bits of melon into a Petrie dish with tweezers. He’d changed out of his good suit and into jeans; his faded grey sweatshirt bore the phrase, ‘Entomologists Bug Everybody’ in dark green letters. He was barefoot, something he seemed to prefer while padding about the house, and Sara took a moment to study him.

Grissom was losing some weight. She wanted to credit better cooking and eating habits, but couldn’t be sure. He wasn’t a glutton, and he got more than enough exercise throughout his night, and day she smiled to herself. Nevertheless he was a bit trimmer although his hair was getting longer, especially around the bangs. From where she stood, Sara noted the strong line of his broad back, the sweet curve of his exposed nape.

It was too tempting, and while he was bent over, fussing with the cover of the ant farm she pressed up against him, gripping his hips as she sprawled over his back.

“Hi,” she announced, leaning over his shoulder, practically lying on his back. She felt his body tense. He turned his head to look at her patiently.

“Hi. Welcome to my personal space. Move in, take over—“ he admonished, but his smile was bracketed by dimples.

“Don’t mind if I do. How are the ants?”

“On the verge of hibernating. I’m debating on whether to let them, or to set up a heater out here for them,” he told Sara as he slowly straightened up. She slid down a bit, enjoying the trapped warmth between their bodies. Grissom was marvelous as a radiator, and rarely objected when she parked cold feet on his, although he’d made her promise to warn him beforehand. She tightened her hug around his waist.

“Do you know you have one seriously sexy nape? I love it when you’re bent close studying something and I can look at it and think about kissing it—“ Sara purred, thinking Catherine would be pleased to know the effect of her words. Grissom looked over his shoulder at her, his expression mild even as his blue eyes flared.

“I wish—“ he began and stopped himself, turning around in her embrace to look into her face. Sara made a soft little sound of encouragement while sliding her hands from his waist to his jean-clad ass. He gave a grunt of exasperated amusement and rubbed his chin on her nose, letting his beard tickle her there.

“It’s ridiculous.”

“Let me be the judge of that. I want to know what you wish, Gil.”

He gave an embarrassed sigh and looked around the entire garage as he spoke in a low, rapid tone.

“Sometimes I wish I’d been a virgin for you. That I’d met you before I ended up nearly fifty years old with all these emotional issues embedded within my psyche, Sara. I wish I’d started my life with your love instead of catching it all so far down the road.”

Sara’s heart pounded. She blinked a little, aware of her mouth opening in surprise and unable to stop it. Inches in front of her, Grissom flushed, dropping his gaze to his own chest in a gesture so boyish and shy she felt her arms tighten in response.

“Grissom . . .” she whispered hoarsely to him, aware of the potent words about to come forth, “You ARE a virgin.”

His head shot up and he locked gazes with her; Sara’s expression was infinitely tender. She impatiently blinked away the sudden prickle of tears and spoke again.

“Your body and mind may have had some experience with love and sex, sure, but not your heart. Not the true you of you.”

Grissom looked as if he wanted to deny it, but all he could do was pull her closer to him, his big arms wrapping around her in a tight possessive hug.

“Emotional virginity?” he whispered back, hints of mournful amusement in his voice. Sara held on to him and buried her face in his warm neck, kissing the flesh there.

“In a way, yeah. You’ve never lived with anyone, never shared a toothbrush or mailbox—“ Sara pointed out as she held him, “So you’re going through a lot of firsts here babe. It’s bound to be a little scary.”

Grissom made a scoffing noise.

“Not scary, intriguing. What you say is true of course, but I wish . . . I wish I still had some innocence to offer you.”

Sara let him go, gently and stepped back, eyeing him from head to foot.

“When you were innocent, Grissom, how clueless were you?” came her amused question. He cocked his head and turned away from her, busying himself with washing out the ant dish. She waited for a long moment, then, “Grrrrissom?”

He sighed noisily then mumbled to the ants.

“Amazingly clueless, Sara. Until Mrs. Magnati I’d never seen a naked female body, not in the flesh anyway. Up to that point I had a general concept of sex that was supplemented by whispered information from cousins and older boys, and a lot of that information turned out to be wrong. After my defloration it was another four years until I blundered into another physical relationship, and that wasn’t anything I can look back on fondly.” His words echoed away, soft with bitterness.

Sara drew in a breath and put her hand on his spine.

Very slowly she drew a circle on his sweatshirt, counterclockwise, feeling his back muscles flex under her touch.

She spoke up in a low, compelling voice, the sound of it echoing in the garage.

“We are turning back time here, baby. Ten years a circle—“ she traced another slow one, “taking you back—“ a third one, “—To age eighteen, emotionally.”

Grissom turned around, arching an eyebrow, one side of his mouth pulling up in a wry grin, but he said nothing. Sara batted her eyes at him, taking one of his hands in hers.

“Hi Gil. God, I’m glad you could come over tonight. We’ve got the WHOLE house to ourselves,” she whispered dramatically.

Grissom gazed down into Sara’s upturned face, studying her features. He loved her nose, he decided, because it was pointed and elegant and it twitched whenever she was about to laugh.

It was twitching now, although her eyes glowed with a whisky heat, and her mouth was pursed in a perfect kiss. Sara stood stock still, looking at him with compelling sweetness, and between them, unspoken, echoed the playful invitation.

Grissom tightened his grip around her cool fingers.

“Oh excellent. Where are your parents?” he asked softly. Sara let out the breath she was holding and tugged his hand, leading him into the house as Grissom flicked the garage light off.

“Fogged in at the airport, and my brother’s still on that campout, so it’s just us tonight,” Sara improvised, leading him on through the house.

“Really,” Grissom murmured, letting himself be tugged along into the kitchen. Sara released him and pulled open the refrigerator, rummaging around inside it busily.

“Yep. We’re going to . . . bake cookies.”

Grissom paused while in the process of admiring her firm ass. He leaned over Sara’s back in a direct echo of her earlier move on him, and reached over her head for a beer.

“Only one—my dad keeps count of them,” she chided him, and Grissom dimpled a smile at that while he twisted the cap off.

“What kind of cookies?” he demanded curiously, playing along with a grin.

“Snickerdoodles. I don’t have any chocolate chips,” she replied, setting the egg carton and stick of butter on the counter. Grissom stepped back as she slammed the door shut again and spun around, reaching for him.

“So—miss me much?”

“Constantly,” came his honest reply. Sara seemed to approve of that, and slipped into a quick hug, managing to rub against him in a manner both lascivious and gentle. Grissom made a little ‘oofff’ sound as her hands cupped the front of his jeans.

“You ARE happy to see me—“ she snorted lightly as a faint flush crossed his face. He tried to look nonchalant, but it was damned difficult with Sara softly kneading the increasingly taut denim.

“Yes. Happy bordering on ecstatic if you don’t stop—“ he muttered, catching her wrists gently. She wrinkled her nose at him.

“I just like making sure you still like me,” she told him cheerfully.

Grissom deliberately rocked forward into her touch, pressing the stiff ridge of his erection against her caressing fingers.

“Absolutely. I like you. A lot.”

“Good. I have to go beat some eggs and cream some butter—“

“Tease—“ he accused, taking a swig of beer and leaning against the counter. “This really IS the way it was when I was eighteen,” he added with a hint of glumness.

Sara moved along the drain board, mixing together the eggs and butter, adding the various other ingredients in a slightly clumsy fashion, interrupting herself every now and then to kiss Grissom. He watched her in fascination.

“Where’s your recipe?”

“It’s in my head—hand me that spatula will you?” Sara muttered. Obligingly he did, and she shoved the bowl at him, grinning.

“Your turn. Mix. Stir. Blend the ingredients to doughy perfection—“ she ordered. He gave her an eloquent look that she ignored.

“You’re a very pushy girlfriend.”

“And you’re my baking bitch, so get moving—HEY!!”

Grissom had set the bowl down and scooped Sara up across one shoulder, hoisting her with all the finesse of a bag of peat moss. She struggled, mostly for show.

“At eighteen, I was working for my uncle Joe to build a college expenses fund. He had me hauling galvanized pipe bundles and full porcelain toilets. Probably the only time in my life I was muscular,” Grissom turned his head to kiss Sara’s denim-clad ass, which was conveniently close. She wriggled.

“Put me down!”

He considered it for a moment.

“No.”

“Grisssom! If you want to get seduced you need to put me DOWN,” she laughed breathlessly, ducking her head to keep it from bumping the frosted overhead light. Sara still couldn’t quite process how easily he’d picked her up, couldn’t get used to the casual strength of his arms. 

Grissom weighed the merits of her comment and slowly let her slide down the front of his body, fully enjoying the rub. Sara sighed.

“Were you like this when you were younger?”

He subtly seized the opportunity to slide his hands up under the back of Sara’s jersey, deftly unhooking her bra. She squeaked.

“No. This is a fantasy though.”

Sara gritted her teeth and twisted out of his grasp to return to the kitchen and the bowl of dough. Grabbing it up, she popped it into the fridge and turned to find Grissom looming over her again, looking distinctly predatory.

“Why are you putting the dough in there?” he asked.

Sara blew her bangs out of her face and replied, “It’s to get it good and stiff—“

The minute the words left her mouth Grissom’s mouth twitched; he shifted to crowd her up against the cool door of the icebox, thigh to thigh, chest to chest.

“Really?”

Sara slid a long leg around his hip, nodding.

“Yep. Stiffness is good . . .” she informed him, and slowly leaned forward to kiss him, lips slowly parting under his.

She playfully resisted him. It was damned difficult not to yield to that hot and knowing tongue of his, to stay shy and coy under his soft swipes and delicious probing. Grissom never rushed a kiss and teased every part of her mouth. He nibbled the curve of her lips, sucked along the edges, and tenderly nipped the ripe fullness of her bottom one.

Sara melted a little against the fridge as he turned up the heat a few intense minutes later, his tongue gently stroking over hers, moving in a slow wet tango that left her entire body achy and sensitive. He was only using his mouth and yet she felt her thighs twitch with every kiss.

“Love your mouth,” Grissom growled, tenderly slurping her upper lip from corner to corner. Sara trembled a little bit.

“Mmmmmohyeahhhh. I love yours too—“ came her slightly slurred words. The taste of beer-tinged Grissom tongue was impossible to resist. He braced his forearms against the fridge and dove in again, his kiss a bit more ruthless. Sara felt a trickle of sweat run down her cheek as she suckled on his lips, feeling the scrape of his beard and not caring, not caring at all.

Finally, she pulled her face away for a moment, pleasantly dizzy as she whispered, “I thought I was seducing you, Mr. 18 year old Grissom—“

“It’s a mutuality, Miss 18 year old Sidle. Damn near a combustibility.”

Sara laughed. Reaching around his ribs she tugged on Grissom’s sweatshirt, heaving it up and over his head, fluffing his hair out as she dropped it on the kitchen floor.

“Oops—“

“Sara—“

“Come on, nobody’s home—“ Carefully she pulled him to her, letting her tongue flick over his right nipple. His shiver encouraged her, and she concentrated, deliberately teasing it with teeth and lips while Grissom sucked in deep breaths.

“Uuuuuuuhhhhh . . . “ came his startled response. Sara slowly shifted her attention to the other one, letting her warm breath heat a trail across his pecs until her lips brushed the second stiff rivet. Grissom’s jaw clenched.

“That . . . that feels . . .”

“Nice?” Sara whispered. Not quite trusting his voice he nodded. She smiled, kissing one nipple as her hand came up to let her thumb brush the other in a slow ticklish stroke.

“Got a sweet bod here, definitely ripe for love—“ came her comment. Grissom rocked a little on his bare feet, torn between the rush of arousal in responding to Sara’s touch, and the desire to utterly pounce on her. In the inertia, she nipped.

“Ah!” he blurted, shock stiffening his big frame. Sara giggled and licked his chest, blowing on the wet streaks to cool the skin.

“Mmmmmm, tasty . . .” she announced, letting her tongue cross his chest once again. Grissom reached up to grip the top of the refrigerator, his breathing erratic as her hands slowly stroked up and down his broad bare back. Sara drank in the magic of the moment, loving the taste, the feel of Grissom in her arms like this. Her hands slipped down into the loose gap between jeans and skin, sliding along the strong muscled curve at the top of his ass just inside the waistband.

“Sara . . .” Grissom managed through gritted teeth. She laughed happily at the sound of his discomfort, feeling the hard steel of his cock pressing against her thigh while she continued to nibble along his skin.

“I think things are getting pretty stiff now—“ came her soft observation. With gentleness, she slipped out from his embrace and tugged his hand, leading him out of the kitchen and towards the living room. Slightly dazed, Grissom followed her, catching his breath. Sara pushed him down the sofa then dropped herself heavily on him, driving the newly regained air from his lungs as she did so.

“This is how it GOES at eighteen—“ she burbled, straddling his hips; peeling her shirt and bra off and tossing them away. Under her, Grissom looked both startled and aroused, his bright blue eyes glittering in the sunlight filtering through the closed blinds of the house. Sara grabbed his big hands, bringing them up to her bare chest.

“Hey Grissom, were you a breast man? Hot for hooters, tempted by tits, motivated by
. . . oohhhh—“ she broke off weakly as his fingers cupped her curves, thumbs circling her erect nipples. She knew she had a fairly standard chest, firmly in the C cups but Grissom’s splayed hands easily encradled her breasts, moving softly over them.

“I harbor an appreciation of the entire woman,” he managed to growl. His hands lightly, lovingly kneaded the velvet weight of Sara’s breasts, caressing them warmly. She gripped his forearms to brace herself, giving in to the amazing pleasure of each teasing squeeze, and let her hair tumble around her face as she groaned.

Grissom rocked his hips up, lifting her easily, grinning. She caught his expression and it dawned on her that the look he wore was both boyish and naughty; a lovely rare glimpse of how he must have looked so long ago.

Sara tightened her grip and gave a wriggle to escape his clutches and stretch out on him, chest to chest in a kiss of warm skin.

“So your parents aren’t home. Aren’t you worried I’ll get you . . . into trouble?” he rumbled in her ear, a laugh in his voice. Sara looked at him and lifted her chin defiantly, shooting Grissom a smoldering look that apparently worked judging by his sudden shiver.

“We’ll be careful,” came her soft reply. He nodded, his hands still toying with her breasts. Sara rolled her head from shoulder to shoulder and licked her slightly puffy lips, looking down at Grissom and feeling very . . . eighteen.

“Can I . . . touch it?” she leaned down and breathed in his face. Eyes twinkling, he considered her request.

“I don’t know, Sara. It’s kind of . . . uncontrollable right now. A few good strokes and I’ll probably go off like a Titan missile. I don’t think your folks would appreciate come stains on the antimacassars.”

She laughed, reaching down for the top button of his fly, shifting her weight back on his thighs to unzip him.

“Oh come on, you let me play with it before . . .” she pleaded in just the right tone of voice to make Grissom groan a little. Her clever fingers deftly freed him from the thin cotton of his boxers and she squeezed the rigid shaft lightly.

“Gawd you’re a handful—“ Sara teased.

“Keep going and you’re the one who’ll end up with a handful,” he grunted back, his palms cupping hers as she slowly twisted a stroking grip up the length of him. Sara felt breathless at the sight of his cock, thick and hot, pulsing in her fingers with mulberry tinted heat. The edge of her hands brushed the wiry fur all around it, crisp and ticklish, and the rich scent of his musk rose up off his skin.

“I could jack you off, Grissom. Just play rough with this big thing of yours until you come, baby—“ she told him as she flashed a naughty grin at him. Grissom frowned, his chest heaving a bit.

“Could, but won’t,” he gasped, tugging her hands away. Sullenly his cock thumped against his belly, leaving wet strands along the fur trail to his belly button. Sara dipped a finger into one and slowly licked it clean as Grissom, wide-eyed, watched her.

“Sara—“ he whispered, his eyes hot with lust. She reached for his hand, dipped it in the smear of precum and made a show of sucking it off his fingers.

“Nasty?” she asked sweetly in a low voice. He gave a deep sigh, his cock throbbing visibly. Sara kissed his palm, and then laughed giddily, savoring her moment of power.

“What would you do if I licked you?”

“Die of pleasure,” Grissom admitted honestly. He reached for her jeans, undoing them with less than steady hands. Sara was unhelpful, wriggling and playing with her hair instead of assisting him, and finally he simply tugged her down on him again, shucking her jeans off as she lay on him.

“Hey! Watch the rough stuff!” came her little snort. Grissom hooked his fingers along the edges of her thong and tugged hard. The cords snapped with a faint tearing sound. Sara stiffened.

“You TORE my underwear off!”

“Lust will not keep. Something must be done about it,” Grissom quoted with a grin, flicking away the edges of the material and massaging the firm cheeks of her ass. Whatever complaint Sara was going to make died away under the insistent caresses of his strong fingers. His fingertips circled around her patch playfully,  and she rubbed her nose against his.

“Boy, for a virgin, you’re pretty direct about what you want, pal.”

“I’m motivated. I think we both need to overcome our high school reputations.”

“Science nerd turns ghostbuster?” Sara laughed softly. Grissom gave an exasperated groan and in a clear move of revenge began to pull her up the length of his supine body, getting a good grip on her long thighs; she tumbled over his head, chest pressing against his face as she gripped the arm of the sofa.

“Grissom!” came her gurgled protest. It died quickly as he eagerly opened his hot mouth around one of her nipples, tongue flicking it. Sara squirmed helplessly.

“Jeeeeeesuuuuus—“

His arms wrapped around her back as he forced her to straddle his chest; Grissom nibbled, sucked and teased her breasts mercilessly. Sara’s fingers dug into the upholstered arm of the sofa as molten pleasure cascaded through her frame, building to an almost mindless need. She couldn’t focus on anything but the acutely sweet seduction of his mouth over her body; it took his voice to break the spell after a while.

“Higher . . .” he snarled, his hands pushing her ass up as his beard scraped her belly. Sara swayed as sweet shock jolted her. She knew what he wanted.

“Ooh! You—“

“Yes. Now.” Grissom demanded in a low voice as he ducked a shoulder under her knee. Sara wasn’t prepared for the sudden stroke of his searing tongue right along the wet seam of her sex, of the hungry probe as it glided through her juiciness as his bearded cheeks scraped her sensitive inner thighs. She let out a wild little cry, trying to hang onto the sofa as his big hands clamped onto her ass.

“OhmyGodohGod—“ she whimpered, lost as her body tensed, throbbed, plumped against his teasing mouth. Lovely wet suckling sounds rose up from between her thighs and Sara’s hips rocked in his hands, moving faster and faster against his taunting tongue.

She was ready. It didn’t take long.

“Ohhhfffuuuuuck!” came her throaty cry as she came in hot magnificent waves, pulsing with animal heat against Grissom’s mouth, feeling savagely wild as her head lolled forward and her chest heaved, nipples rock hard.

Sara slumped, but the same hands that had held her up now caught her, guiding her limp frame down against Grissom’s cool damp chest where she lay blind and senseless for long moments, hearing the hard beat of his heart through his ribs.

She raised her head weakly and caught a glimpse of him, shuddering as she did so. His hair was damp and tousled but he was smiling, cheeks glistening with her juice, his eyes the same bright blue found in the center of a flame.

“My God you’re noisy. Good thing your parents aren’t home.”

Sara dropped her face against his chest as the giggles leaked out of her, and as she did so she realized his cock was pressing hard against her stomach with iron insistence.

Gently she shifted her damp knees to straddle his thighs once more. Carefully she sat up, both hands caressing his cock. Grissom let out a low groan.

“That was good and you know it, but I don’t know what to do about this—“ she goaded him. He bit his lip as she ran a palm just over the broad leaking head.

“I could just suck it off—“

“Sara . . .” Grissom choked, his hips moving with every touch. She shook her head and rising up, pressed it against the wet curls of her sex, brushing it against her damp fur.

“I know! We can do it a little. I’ll let you put it in, buuttt you can’t come,” she offered. He glared at her, but his cock throbbed in her fingers, turgid and hungry.

“You were completely EVIL at eighteen, weren’t you? What kind of control do you think I can possibly HAVE at this—“

She pressed a hand to his mouth, hushing him, smiling.

“Oh come on, Grissom. I know it’s going to be hard, but you won’t be a virgin anymore. Don’t you want to slide it in me?” came her husky plea.

He gritted his teeth and nodded, letting Sara shift herself over him, feeling the slick kiss of her cleft as she brushed the tip of his cock against her. Carefully she guided him.

“There. But just a little bit—“ came her coy request. He thrust, stunned at the tightness. Sara bit her lip and closed her beautiful eyes. Grissom swallowed hard. He pushed a tiny bit deeper.

“Oh damn you’re kind of . . . BIG,” Sara muttered, and that pushed the limits of whatever restraint Grissom had. He thrust up, hard and deep, impaling her, sinking into that slick silky clench. Both of them groaned; Sara fell forward, grabbing his shoulders.

“Oh! Damn that’s big and good, but don’t come, don’t COME—“

Blindly Grissom clutched her hips, yanking her down on his hungry cock, delving into her with singleminded lust. His chest heaved and he strained into a strong rhythm, driving himself hard into her peach-sweet cleft.

“Sara, Jesus, so good, so fucking good, baby, I can’t . . . I  . . . “

“Don’t you come in me you nasty boy, no!” she hissed back, her hips pushing back, corkscrewing against him with every stroke. He panted, stomach tensing as his body relentlessly drove forward, his hands practically slamming Sara down on the wet spike of his cock.

“I’m . . . GodSaraComingAhhhhhh!” Grissom howled, his big frame tensing as his hips lifted her. Sara’s nails dug into his shoulders as she clenched around him, feeling the thundering pulses deep within her, hot and seemingly endless. She clung to him, pressing kisses on his heaving chest as he slumped back, sated and lost in his afterglow, heavy hands locking across her back, holding her as if he would never let her go.

She never wanted to let him go either.

After a while, she turned her face up to look at him. He was looking back at her, not smiling and a little thread of fear spun through her. Sara risked a grin.

“You okay?”

“No.”

“Oh God—what? What’s wrong? Did I do something--?”

He pulled her up and cut her off with a kiss. This one held none of the wild passion of moments before; instead it had a loving sweet reverence to it and Sara relaxed a little after a moment.

“So—what’s wrong?”

Grissom gave a deep, troubled sigh.

“I came. A lot, Sara. I mean, we are talking substantial quantities of potent seminal fluid. And you know what that means.”

“A wet sofa?”

“You’re probably pregnant. We’re going to have to do the right thing and get married.”

His words sent a giddy thrill through her entire body; Sara lifted her head and arched an eyebrow at him, trying for a straight face and not quite making it. He batted his eyes at her.

“What about college? And your career?” she blurted.

“We’ll manage. I’ll send you through first and then you can do the same for me. By then the offspring will be old enough to handle daycare. After that we can move to whatever city offers the best salaries and schools.”

“Grissom!”

”I know, I know, statistically teen marriages aren’t the most sound, but I’ll make sure you get an education and do my best to provide for you and the sprat. Never let it be said Gil Grissom didn’t do the right thing—“

Sara buried her face in his chest, trying to figure out if she was laughing or crying. It was hard to decide given the wet hiccup-filled nature of her reaction, and Grissom gently patted the back of her head.

“There, there—I’ll get you a modest little ring and we can probably find someplace to get hitched in this town so our youthful indiscretion won’t be too obvious although neither of us gets to wear white now--“

Sara laughed, throwing her arms around him and kissing his neck, tasting the sweat salt there as she squirmed to find a comfortable position on top of him.

“Okay, fine, you win the game, Uncle already—“ she murmured into his ear. He chuckled, softly rubbing her back in long soothing strokes. For a long while they lay together, not speaking aloud, but simply savoring a body language older than time, sensory communication precious to lovers.

Finally Grissom cleared his throat and muttered something so softly that Sara had to strain to hear it.

“I . . . would have done it, too, Acushla. In a heartbeat.”

Sara fought down the hard, almost painful pang in her chest and hugged him tightly, almost missing the soft chime of her cell phone. Ignoring it for a moment, she kissed his mouth in a hard deliberate peck.

“I know. I love you.”

She leaned down for the phone, settling back in his embrace as she checked the number, then suddenly yelped. Grissom glanced at her, concerned.

“What?”

“It’s my mother. Oh God.  She KNEW—“ Sara stared at the number on the tiny screen with resignation. Grissom laughed.

Sara pushed the button and cleared her throat.

“Sara Sidle here—“

“Oh you’re still awake girlchild, good. I wanted to ask if both of you are coming?”

“Coming?” Sara weakly echoed, far too aware of a trickle between her thighs. Grissom watched her face, his own vaguely amused under the damp iron grey curls framing his features.

“Yes honey, for Thanksgiving. We’d love to have your lover join us—“ Avra’s cheerful voice echoed through the phone.

“Mom—“ Sara pleaded, looking at Grissom.

He smiled back winningly.