Nine Year Itch

by VR Trakowski

“Trust me?” 

She shifted a little, rubbing her arms.  “You know I do, Gil.  It’s just...these things are supposed to be mutual.”  She wasn’t sure she liked the idea, of doing nothing, of not participating. 

“I know.”  Warm hands curved over her shoulders, stroking down over her biceps and back again.  “And I glory in that.  But...” 

He was right there, right behind her, and she leaned back against him, taking familiar, blessed comfort in his solidity.  “I just want to touch you,” he murmured into her ear.  His voice was entreating rather than seductive, which for some reason hit her harder than an attempt to seduce.  “To touch you all over, without distractions.” 

She shivered, and his arms went around her, pressing her gently into him.  His hands slid up over her forearms, caressing, and his tone deepened.  “I want to make you feel good, Sara, over and over again.”  Goosebumps rose on her skin as she felt his face against her neck, his lips under her ear.  “It’s a very old fantasy of mine.” 

She swallowed.  “Is that what I am?  A distraction?”  She was trying to tease him a little, trying to lighten the intensity, but she had the feeling it wasn’t going to work.  He chuckled. 

“I love having your hands on me, but it does make it harder to concentrate.”  He kissed her throat gently, once, again.  “Just once, Sara.  Let me encompass you.” 

The shiver became a full-blown shudder at the reverence in his voice, and he held her a little closer.  “Just how old a fantasy is this?” she whispered. 

“Mmm.”  He kissed the curve where her neck met her shoulder.  “Dates back to the first time I smelled you.”  He chuckled a little against her skin.  “We all piled into that squad car to go look at a scene, all squashed together, and I spent the whole ride getting delicious whiffs of you right by my side.” 

The moment sprang to her mind as though it had been last week instead of years ago, and she remembered her pleasure at the warmth of his leg against hers, his amused voice trading quips with the five of them weighing the car down as the sergeant took the San Francisco corners at an insane speed. 

“One breath, and I had this vivid image in my head, Sara,” he went on, tightening his arms in an embrace that was both tempting and comforting.  “Well, more like a movie, actually.  You stretched out on a bed, my bed, letting me run my hands over your skin and discover all your secrets.”  Very lightly, he nipped the nape of her neck.  “You were smiling.  I tried to get rid of it, but it was very...persistent.” 

There was really no fighting her arousal at this point, though she wasn’t quite ready to give in.  “Do you really think I have any secrets left?”  One of the things she loved about Grissom was that he was never anything less than very thorough, in work or in love. 

“Oh, I’m sure you have one or two.”  She felt him smile, and her own mouth curved a little.  That voice of his always had been one of her weak spots. 

She wavered, caught on indecision, and bless him, he didn’t push; he just waited.  She glanced down at the hands that he said he wanted on her, and her insides melted at the same time she got an image of her own.  Grissom, arms over his head, gripping the headboard as his body arched under her lips...  The curve of her mouth deepened. 

With a twist, she slipped out of his embrace and turned.  “Okay.”  His face went from uncertainty to a sensual anticipation that made her feel breathless, but she held up a hand.  “On one condition.” 

“Name it.” 

“Reciprocity.”  She watched as his face went from comprehension to delighted admiration. 

“Done.”  He held out a hand to lead her to the bedroom, but instead of taking it, she crossed her arms and lifted her tank top slowly over her head.  She heard his breathing deepen as it cleared her collarbones, and grinned to herself, letting it fall to one side and dropping her hands to the button on her jeans. 

She loved making his eyes darken with hunger, and it was so easy.  She pushed down the clothing, both layers, and stepped out of it, and that was the magic of his gaze--she didn’t feel so much exposed, as emerged.  This time, when he extended a hand, she took it, letting their fingers lace and following him down the hall. 

He sat her down on the edge of the bed and turned away to light the candles they kept there.  Still not entirely comfortable with the idea, she leaned against the headboard, folding her hands in her lap and watching him. 

He turned back, a smile gracing his lips at the sight of her, and he didn’t look away as he removed his own clothing, stripping down to his boxers.  They were already distended, but he didn’t seem to care. 

She blushed under his stare, and his smile deepened.  “Nervous?” 

She shrugged.  ...Uncomfortable.” 

To her surprise, he knelt by the bed and cupped her face gently in his palms.  “I know.  I appreciate your trust, Sara.”  He searched her eyes.  “You can back out at any time, remember.” 

“I know,” she repeated.  Uncomfortable or not, though, she wanted to please him.  And, she admitted to herself, the idea of his fantasy was beginning to grow on her.  To be touched, all over, by those warm, skillful hands... 

She shivered, feeling her nipples rise, and he leaned in to press a brief light kiss on her mouth before standing.  “You can close your eyes, you know.” 

“I might.” 

She watched, puzzled, as he opened a dresser drawer and pulled out an old T-shirt.  “What’s that for?” 

“You.”  He unfolded it and twisted it into a loose rope.  “Something to hold on to.  Otherwise, I know you won’t be able to keep your hands to yourself.” 

He was smirking now, and she raised a brow at him, torn between amusement and annoyance.  “Says who?” 

“I’m just going by the evidence, sweetheart.”  He laughed, and she mock-snarled, taking the shirt.  He was probably right. 

His laughter died away, and for a moment he just stood there, hands on his hips, watching her with a gaze both bright and tender.  It made her heart lurch and her stomach warm.  I have been the object of this man’s fantasy for almost nine years. 

Anxiety shifted slowly towards anticipation. 

Again, he knelt, but this time before her on the bed, taking the hands that were gripping the shirt nervously and raising them to his mouth.  He placed another gentle kiss on her lips, a reverence, before his hands on her shoulders turned her around until her back was to him. 

She hadn’t really thought about how he would start, but the feathery stroke of his fingertips over her lips and nose and cheeks wasn’t it.  Over and over again he touched her, like a blind man learning the contour of her face, and she couldn’t help closing her eyes and tilting up her chin like a cat.  Without thinking, she nipped gently at his finger, which withdrew immediately and tapped her nose in admonishment.  “Sorry,” she mumbled, and his exploration continued. 

His fingers followed the curve of her brows, and she opened her eyes, wondering how he was achieving such precision from behind her.  Movement snagged her gaze, and she realized that they were clearly visible in the mirror on the opposite wall. 

Her breath caught at the image.  Her pale skin was silhouetted against Grissom’s wider form behind her; her eyes were half-closed, her lips parted, her cheeks flushed.  They darkened further as another rush of arousal hit her.  Grissom’s head was bowed over hers as he watched his own hands trail over her skin, and she wondered dizzily how on earth she’d been so lucky as to get there, at that moment. 

Then his thumbs slid delicately down over her eyelids, closing them, and his breath stirred the hair on the crown of her head, and she dug her fingers into the shirt and let him touch her. 

He worked his way back to her ears, following the curves of them and making her giggle at the tickle, but her laugh turned into a moan of appreciation when he buried his hands in her hair and rubbed her scalp. 

He’d brushed her hair before, stroked it, clutched it in moments of passion, but he’d never given it his undivided attention before, and the sensation was wonderfully fulfilling.  Sara leaned back against him and purred, hearing him laugh in turn as his thumbs rubbed up from the base of her skull and his fingertips massaged her crown. 

When all her scalp was tingling, he moved on, long fingers encircling her neck and learning its texture before sliding down over her shoulders again.  Without words, he urged her to lie face-down, and she folded her arms under her head and felt him straddle her back.  The last of her uneasiness was slipping away into a delicious languor, and she turned her head to see the mirror. 

It wasn’t a picture she’d ever imagined, somehow; she’d often thought of the two of them curled up together, long before it ever happened, or making love in a passionate clutch of limbs, but not Grissom looming over her as she stretched out on her tummy.  An observer might think he was giving her a massage, she thought, except that he was stroking her skin, not rubbing her muscles.  Each pass of his hands seemed to wake her nerves further, warm her, bringing her to some new state between drowsiness and arousal--where normally she would roll over and pull him down onto her, this time she had no desire to move. 

Grissom’s hands moved slowly down her spine, exploring the curves of her ribs; every so often he would bend down and kiss the swell of her vertebrae, soft touches that made her sigh.  Gradually he backed down until his knees were on either side of her legs, and began gently kneading the curve of her ass.  Sara moaned, a sound that brought a pleased noise from Grissom. 

His thumbs slid along the slope down to the inside of her thighs, and a slow wave of pleasure ran through Sara, astonishing her.  It wasn’t the intense climax she was used to from Grissom’s touch, more a gentle wash that nevertheless made her shudder and moan again. 

Grissom’s hands stilled for a moment, and though Sara had her eyes closed she knew he was grinning.  “That’s one,” he murmured. 

“You’re keeping count?” she muttered, and he chuckled and bent to kiss her spine again. 

“Not really.” 

His hands slid down to rub the muscles of her thighs, relaxing them; that always felt good, given the amount of crouching and stretching that she did for work.  He did the same for her calves, lingering on her Achilles’ tendons, and then coaxed her to roll back over. 

She didn’t open her eyes, but judging from the shift of weight and the feel of slightly hairy skin under her heels, Grissom had gone crosslegged and propped her feet in his lap. 

Her groan this time was of appreciation; Sara loved having her feet rubbed.  Grissom rotated her ankles carefully, then took one foot in both hands and dug into her sole with his thumbs. 

Sara lay limp and let him have his way with her feet.  He knew just where to find the sore spots, how to work out the kinks, and Sara knew that he was quite aware that having her feet massaged was as much a turn-on for her as it was a relaxation. 

She was shifting a bit restlessly by the time he had finished with both, and when he held onto one and ran his finger lightly along the underside of her toes, another warm slow wave of pleasure drowned her for a moment. 

“How do you do that?” she managed when her shiver subsided, and felt Grissom kiss her ankle and set down her foot. 

“The power of positive thinking.” 

Sara snorted, but didn’t feel like arguing as Grissom shifted to her side and turned his attention to the arm closest to him.  He started with the same languid stroking, but when he began placing kisses along the tender inside skin, Sara felt her body become slowly taut again.  Her free hand locked onto the t-shirt, holding it tightly as Grissom’s tongue bathed the cove of her elbow and traced the long vein down to her wrist.  It was when he nibbled on the heel of her hand that the pleasure took her again, sharper this time, and she swore softly. 

Sara opened her eyes to see him bright-eyed and fascinated by her side.  She expected him to look smug, but his expression was reverent instead.  “Have you done this before?” she asked, a little hoarsely, as he moved to her other side. 

Grissom shook his head.  “But as an experiment I must admit it’s going very well.” 

Sara giggled a little at that, feeling slightly loopy with endorphins.  “How about as a fantasy?” 

He bent down and kissed her mouth, sweet and promising.  “You exceed any fantasy I can come up with.” 

He transferred the t-shirt to her other hand and began anew on her free arm; this time his lips on the crook of her elbow were enough, and the shock of pleasure was more intense.  “Griss...” she croaked, and reached for him, but his hands held her gently down. 

“Not done yet,” he admonished, and returned his attention to her arm. 

She let him.  She’d never felt like this before, her body so attuned to what he was doing that the lightest touches seemed incredibly potent.  He finished with her arm, laying a kiss in the palm, and then straddled her again, tracing her collarbone with his fingers.  She whimpered as he stroked the fine-grained skin, arching up towards him, and when his hands closed over her breasts she was gone again. 

The timeline got a little fuzzy after that.  Sara knew Grissom was watching her with that adoring look as he played with her breasts, but it seemed like everything he did, from gentle squeezes to the touch of his mouth on her stiff nipples, sent another flood of pleasure through her.  Her fingers clutched the t-shirt on one side and the comforter on the other as he suckled, and Sara could hear herself moaning.  She was lost in a continuous slow-pulse orgasm, it seemed, not something she’d ever experienced before or even really imagined was possible. 

Grissom’s hands and mouth left her breasts to explore the smoothness of her stomach, leaving her riding yet another crest, and then moved south.  The touch of his fingers on her cleft made her jerk, and then he slid two inside her and lowered his head.  The soft swipe of his tongue did her in completely.  She cried out, and the pleasure went on and on as he caressed her, until she just faded into a blissful darkness. 

 *** *** ***


Grissom’s voice pulled her awake; she peeled her eyes open groggily and looked up to his face, and the worry there eased a little.  “Sara?” 

“Mm?”  He had one arm beneath her shoulders, and she turned her head to press her face against his chest, feeling limp and still shuddering occasionally with pleasurable aftershocks. 

“Are you all right?” 

“Ohhh yeah.”  She snuggled a little closer.  “Never better.” 

He sighed, and kissed her hair.  “I’m sorry, sweetheart.  I didn’t mean to make you pass out.” 

Sara snickered weakly against his skin.  “Quit apologizing, Griss.  That was amazing.”  She put an arm over his waist in a makeshift hug.  “Beyond amazing.  I died happy.” 

She felt the chuckle relax him, and grinned, then moved her hand back to his front and into his boxers.  He gasped, and jerked in her grip.  “What ending did you have in mind for your little scenario?” she asked softly. 

His silence made her look up; he was watching her intently.  “May I show you?” he asked. 


He got that tender look again, and reached down to disengage her hand and pull off his underwear.  Sara found herself gathered into his arms, her back pressed to his chest as he kissed her shoulder and pushed slowly inside her.  When she would have reached back to touch him, Grissom caught her wrists in one hand and used the other to pull her more tightly against him as they rocked.  “Love you, love you,” he muttered, thrusting gradually faster. 

Sara had thought her body to be played out, but the stroke of him between her legs was building up her tension again, and when his hand on her hip dropped to touch her clitoris she gasped and twisted back against him. 

He grunted, and she felt enveloped by him, his body half-curled around hers, his scent in her nose, his arms holding her tightly.  His thrusts grew stronger, and she felt her toes curling, her muscles stiffening; then the ecstasy flooded her again.  Vaguely she heard Grissom moaning her name as his own climax took him, but when they both went limp it took a long time before they could even move. 

In a way, Sara didn’t really want to, she was too exhausted and relaxed; but she wanted to see Grissom’s face, so she turned heavily in his arms.  Grissom’s eyes were half-shut and his hair was damp with sweat, and he looked very pleased with himself; given what he’d done to her, Sara couldn’t muster even a little indignation.  “Satisfied?” she asked lazily, sliding her arms around him. 

“Unbelievably,” he sighed, hugging her closer.  “Thank you.” 

“My pleasure,” Sara replied, and snickered again.  Sleep was tugging at her, and she put her head on his shoulder.  “Next time it’s your turn, though.” 

She felt his quiet laugh under her ear.  “I look forward to it.” 

“Good,” she said, and let her eyes slide closed. 


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