It had been a while.

Between our cases and a few other issues rolling around, Grissom and I weren’t exactly getting it on too much for a few months there. We’d come home so dead tired, and still have to do housework and take care of the dog so that nookie was about the last thing either of us had any energy for.

But once the pace of life slowed down a little, and I made sure we were both getting enough vitamins, sleep and protein, there was some definite revival of interest. I was having erotic dreams, for one. And more than once I’d found Grissom sporting serious wood in his sleep as well.

I took advantage of that once or twice for a quickie, much to our mutual pleasure. One of the terrific things about Grissom is that he’s so . . . receptive. And not just because of our particular preferences, either. I loved him before I became his lover, and I believe the reciprocal to be true as well. The only thing I can add to that is thank God we found each other, because to my way of thinking, nobody will ever love me the way Grissom does.

He’s generous, and patient—something he claims is a benefit of age—and just as ready to laugh at things in bed as he is to focus his concentration. Both of those are good things, let me tell you—when Grissom laughs, it’s like a window of sunshine in the bedroom, and when he concentrates—oooohhhh. Some of those memories make my toes curl, whether I like it or not!

Anyway, we were both feeling better, and starting to feel the season too—spring was in the air, and I know that when the night starts out warm and cools to a nice chill, Grissom gets . . . um, horny. It’s right there in his slight smirks, and his supposedly accidental bumps and brushes against me.

To be fair, we’re both much better about not doing anything TOO blatant. We’re both professionals on the job, and know perfectly well there’s a time and a place for certain things. That place isn’t at a crime scene, OR a courtroom, or in the Lab. Those are the big no-nos, and we’ve been very good about keeping a professional attitude in them.

But we’ve had moments to and from crime scenes, and court, and there are areas NEAR the labs that we’ve indulged in a few kisses and hugs. I won’t lie—we’re human and sometimes the overpowering need to make contact is there, especially after some of the more grueling cases.

So. As I was saying, it was springtime, and Grissom was feeling frisky. This was a great situation for me because making Grissom happy is both easy and fun. So I decided to seduce him.

That is, in a way he couldn’t possibly miss.

I waited until he’d passed out the assignments for the night, and when he paired us for a body dump out near Lake Mead I excused myself for the bathroom before we left and I came out—

Packing.

Grissom noticed about ten minutes into scrutinizing the crime scene. We were squatting down by the body, looking over the particulars when I realized Grissom wasn’t looking at our victim. Instead, he was focused on my groin.

To be fair, I was squatting in a way that spread my knees—I had to, since the harness and dildo were making it difficult for me to anything but. Grissom was on the other side of the corpse, and his glance was wide and startled.

I ignored it. Damned difficult to do, believe me, but for my purposes, I kept making comments about the body, noting a few tattoos and the gunshot wounds on the chest—all the things I’d have said anyway. There were a few police around still securing the area, so I knew Grissom wasn’t going to say anything out loud, but watching him from the corner of my eye was definitely fun.

He wanted to say something I could tell, oh yes. And he wasn’t sure how he could with other people around. For one quick, daring second, Grissom flicked his flashlight over at me—on me, if you get my drift—and blinked.

I rose up and adjusted myself, then moved to start photographing the body, still playing Grissom off as I did it. Yes, it was fun to tease him, and I wasn’t sure how long I could keep getting away with it, but for the moment, it was delicious. I had a long coat on, so I could keep myself camouflaged from anyone else’s eyes—no reason to share the moment with others.

Grissom reluctantly began collecting Trace, his gaze shooting back to me periodically as we worked.

It was a pretty straightforward situation; a body dump of what was most likely a gang hit, nothing we hadn’t seen before, unfortunately. The case was Vega’s, and he’d probably start rounding up his contacts to find out who and what while we processed and Robbins did the autopsy. I was glad it was a run of the mill, myself—the tease I was doing on Grissom would have been impossible if we’d had a case with real depth.

By the time we were done and David had taken the body away, I got into the Denali and waited for the inevitable question. Grissom didn’t ask it until we were on the highway, heading back in to town, the darkness all around us. “Sara, what are you doing?”

I wasn’t going to make it easy. No way—the fun of a seduction is always in drawing it out, so I tipped my head back and smirked a little. “Sitting here. Thinking certain thoughts.”

“Sara—I know your anatomy pretty well, sweetheart, and you’ve definitely got something . . . extra, at the moment,” Grissom muttered, trying to keep an eye on the road and me at the same time. I sighed, and ran my hands along my thighs. Black hip hugger slacks, functional women’s boots with low heels, prominent bulge at this angle. Not totally comfy for me, but the car ride wouldn’t be long.

“Do I? What do I have, Grissom?”

“You have . . .” he intoned in that serious, slightly chiding voice he uses when he’s trying to stay in control, “ . . . a package.”

I laughed. Just couldn’t help myself because Grissom so rarely uses slang, and when he does, he gets this sort of look on his face that I can’t really describe. It’s not prissy, but it’s clear that he’s not comfortable with certain terms even though he knows damned well what they mean.

“Do you mean to tell me that while we’re out on a case, you’ve been checking out my slacks, Grissom? That you’ve been looking at my body?”

He went silent for a moment, and I thought I might have pushed it too far, but then one of his eyebrows went up, as did one corner of his mouth. “I always look at your body, Sara. I just wasn’t expecting to find something . . . more.”

Oh I liked where this was going. Grissom was playing along for the moment, so I slid my hands along my thighs again, and wriggled my hips a little.

Grissom didn’t say anything, but I saw his fingers tighten on the steering wheel. I kept quiet, since it’s a good thing to let Grissom stew a bit. I learned that the hard way, but it’s worth it. We reached the lab after fifteen minutes and got out of the car. I came round the back to the hatch, and Grissom was there. He pressed against me for a moment, his voice low in my ear. “Sara—“

Carefully I took his hand and cupped it against the heavy ridge that the dildo was making in my slacks. “Guess what I’ve been thinking about,” I crooned gently, and Grissom swallowed hard, his eyes locked on mine.

He was turned on.

I could tell, because I slid my other hand down to check his . . . package. Giving a little tender squeeze to his sizable evidence, I stepped away and began picking up the kits to get them to Trace, being careful to make sure my coat was done up.

Most of the night was pretty quiet, and I was grateful, since I really didn’t want to get called out on something that would have a lot of media coverage or anything. I had Trace One booked when I got the page for the autopsy, and met Grissom just outside the double doors.

He looked.

I smirked.

He blushed.

“I’m so going to have you—“ I told him, and pushed my way into the morgue. Grissom followed me in. We both looked over at Robbins, who had his nose in a paperback called Once a Thief; he reluctantly stuck a post-it note for a bookmark and cleared his throat.

“I guess you’re here for the info on your victim,” he commented gently. Robbins came to one side of the gurney while Grissom and I took the other side. We stood side by side, just the way we always did.

The only difference this time was that as Robbins started talking, I shifted slightly, and put my hand on Grissom’s ass. It tensed even though Grissom himself didn’t say a thing.

“Osvaldo Morales, AKA Ozzie M, twenty-six year old Hispanic male. Cause of death is massive internal hemorrhage brought on by a pair of thirty-eight caliber bullets, one of which pierced his liver while the other hit a rib and took a quick detour through the lower chambers of his heart,” Robbins droned. I rubbed Grissom’s adorable butt while I tried to look interested in the report.

“Anything more?” Grissom asked, a little tersely, I thought.

Robbins shrugged. “Not really—unless you count his cross-dressing as outside the box. Seems that under his jeans he was wearing panties, stockings and a garter belt. Not something you normally find with gangbangers, but there’s a first time for everything.”

“Huh,” I commented, momentarily distracted from Grissom’s ass. “Is it possible it was done to humiliate him?”

Robbins shook his head. “Not likely. For one thing, if his killers wanted to humiliate him, they’d have put the lingerie on the outside of his clothing. And from the state of the panties and belt, they’ve been well-worn. No, I’d say Ozzie M. had his own personal indulgences.”

We left the morgue, and Grissom looked distracted. He walked me down the hall and motioned to his office; I stepped in, wondering if the discussion would be professional, or personal. He closed the door behind us and turned to me.

“Sara, I can’t work if you grab my ass,” Grissom began in a strained voice. “Keep this up and I’m going to . . . “ he trailed off as I pressed up against his thigh. I rocked my hips, and the dildo rubbed against him.

He gave a little groan.

I cleared my throat. “Look, maybe you should take some of the pressure off . . . go to the bathroom and---“

“--No. I’m fine. I’ll make it to the end of the shift—“ Grissom gritted, “but—“

“—I could help you,” I finished in a low purr. I know he likes it when I do things like that; make totally outrageous offers that there’s no way we’d be able to follow through on.

It fucks his mind.

Grissom gave a harsh little sigh and reached down, rubbing my thigh, letting his fingers move to the dildo. “God. Three hours. We go home in three hours. Just—don’t grab my butt again. Please?”

I nodded, looking as serious as I could. “Sure. There’s plenty of time for that later, after I have you showered and naked and under me, Gilbert.”

Almost too much. Grissom scowled, but I licked my upper lip, and he had to close his eyes. “I . . . “

I finished his sentence for him. “. . . Am such a slut. I know, baby. See you in three hours.”

We got through the rest of the night. For the record, wearing a dildo in a harness isn’t something I’d recommend to anyone. It’s uncomfortable with the models I have, and I only did it to drive Grissom crazy. I was also a little worried that somebody else might spot it. All I needed was for Hodges to start up the news alert, and have everyone looking at my crotch for the rest of the week.

Not my idea of fun.

But the discomfort of the night was minor when I got home to my apartment and found Grissom already there, working on a glass of wine. The bottle was on the counter, along with another glass, and he looked at me coming in the door.

“Don’t ever do this again,” Grissom intoned, trying to sound serious. “Do you have any idea how difficult you made my night tonight?”

“Don’t you mean hard?” I teased, coming up behind him and rubbing against his ass. Grissom gave in to a deep groan.

“Sara—I called Nick ‘Greg’ no less than twice, and misspelled ‘Las Vegas.’ I thought I was going to be fine until Catherine asked me if I was planning on ever getting laid this decade. You made my night hell.”

“Well I can change that around starting right now,” I reassured him, and reached around to undo the buttons on his shirt. I love stripping Grissom; it’s still a thrill to take clothes off my supervisor.

Grissom leaned on the counter and let me, looking over his shoulder. “You still have it on, don’t you?”

“Yep and in a while, I’ll have it in you, deep and slick and slow, babe.”

God I love to make him shiver. I kissed the side of his neck and peeled him out of his shirt and tee shirt. Grissom didn’t offer any resistance, and when he turned, he kissed me, his mouth tasting of chardonnay and sexy heat.

We’re different, Grissom and me. Kissing relaxes him, but it cranks my gears. So while he was going slow and making love to my mouth, I was getting hot, tugging on his belt and trying to get him out of his slacks. I guess it was a sort of payback, because he smirked at me, and licked the end of my nose. “You seem a little . . . agitated, Sara.”

“Aroused,” I told him, and pulled him away from the counter. “Shower. Now.”

He smirked and moved off towards the bathroom, with me trailing after him.



We showered together, which is always a bit of a challenge, given how small my bathroom is; lately Grissom and I have actually been talking about getting a place together somewhere. I soaped him up, and he washed my hair—one of the very few personal grooming things I let him do for me because he’s got incredible fingers for scalp massage—and the entire time I made it a point NOT to touch.

Heh. At least not in the front. Tushie side was another matter, and Grissom was fairly tolerant for a while, but eventually the water got cooler and we both got out, toweling vigorously.

Wet Grissom is cute. He doesn’t understand why I find him so appealing before I let him comb his hair, but there’s just something about him all damp and vulnerable that turns me on something fierce. I think it has to do with his basic masculinity—the stubble on his cheeks, how broad his chest is, the curls in his armpits . . . it’s all just an incredibly appealing package.

He wrapped a towel around his hips and went to the kitchen for the wine while I slipped into a robe and headed for the bedroom to lay out a few things.

Oh it was going to be a good night, yeah.

So.

Even though we’d sort of figured out how to make a very good deal out of our, um, particular love life preferences, Grissom and I didn’t do this all the time. For one thing it required some serious preparation: toys, lube, towels. And we both had to be in the right sort of mood for it too—this really wasn’t something to rush into, no matter how turned on we both were. I love Grissom too much to rush, and he loves me too much to treat this lightly.

Candles first, then setting the thermostat for comfort. I got out the Slippery Silk and some of the toys from the nightstand. We wouldn’t use most of them, but having them out sort of helped the mood along.

Grissom came in and handed me my wineglass. I looked up at him standing there, towel low on his hips, smirk on his face and knew we were both on the same mellow aroused vibe all right.

“So. Heard your girlfriend was driving you crazy at work today—“ I told him before taking a sip.

Grissom sighed. “She’s been hot for me all night.”

“She’s got good taste.”

“She’s . . . “ Grissom smirked again, “Horny.”

“Ummm,” I replied, trying not to grin. “So, think you can handle her?”

Grissom moved to set his wine down on the other night stand, and came around to me at the foot of the bed. I’m not sure how he did it, but suddenly he was looming over me on the mattress as I lay back, just barely brushing his lips on mine. “Oh I’m prepared to take anything she can dish out . . . “

We kissed. We kissed a lot, rolling around on top of the covers. At some point my robe fell open and Grissom took shameless advantage of that, moving one hand under it while I spent a lot of quality time with his tongue.

Grissom is a very, very good kisser. I don’t know if it’s a matter of experience or natural talent or what, but I’m glad as hell to be the one under that mouth of his. He’s deliberate and focused; he can go from light and tender to full-on sensualist, sometimes right from one kiss to the next.

There’s something else too-- the sense of trust. With Grissom I can be exactly who and what I am, and sometimes there’s a lot of leeway in that. Some times are all about me, and others—like tonight—are all about him.

So we were kissing, and I started making a few detours away from Grissom’s mouth, because it’s fun, and gets him excited. When I start straying down his neck, I can feel his pulse begin to speed up. He’s ticklish under his ears, and down this throat, and honestly? Just about everywhere.

I get the feeling that he’s been so repressed for so long that it’s still mind-blowing for him to have his body kissed. So I do it a lot, with licking thrown in for good measure.

Grissom was definitely in the mood. By the time I had him completely at my mercy, his pupils were huge, and his breathing was a little raspy. He lay back, one arm behind his head, stretched out and looking down at where I was just starting to nip at his thigh. “No biting—“ he warned in a thick voice.

“You love it when I bite.”

A sigh. “ . . . Yes.”

I settled for nibbling, and he arched back, cleft chin pointing up as he groaned a little.

“Roll over,” I told him.

“Mmm—“ it wasn’t a protest, but there was a slightly sulky note in it, and once he was on his stomach I playfully smacked his butt. Not hard, but enough for the sound to carry a bit. Grissom looked over his shoulder at me, mildly annoyed. I grinned at him. “Nice ass.”

“Smacking was uncalled for—“ he tried to protest, but trailed off when I bent to kiss the spot I had struck. “Ohhhhh . . . “ Grissom groaned a bit, and I repeated the caress, then giggled against the velvety firmness of his tush.

“Griss, think I kiss ass better than Hodges?”

“The name ‘Hodges’ is forbidden in our bedrooms,” he warned me, but his voice was preoccupied, and considering the tensing muscle under my lips I could understand why.

He’s got a great ass. I’m not the world’s authority or anything, but Grissom’s backside is just so . . . Grissom. Downy, strong; almost sleek, but definitely a man’s ass. I’ve tried telling him he’s got a hot booty and for some reason it makes him go completely red in the face to hear it, even though it’s the truth. Anyway, I nip and nibble and lick, all the while making sure that his hands are up by his pillow while I do.

While I love the backside of Grissom, the front side’s impressive too, and much more eager sometimes. We have ways of dealing with that, but the best one in the beginning is to keep stimulation to a minimum. Even so, I laughed when I caught him rubbing against the bedspread. “Someone’s a little impatient—“

“Sara, you started foreplay approximately six hours ago—“ came his countering argument. “—I think I’m entitled to a little friction.”

Before he could say anything more, I pushed his thighs apart and began licking along the insides of them; that shut him up except for a few gasps. Considerately I made him lift his hips and got a few pillows under them so that both of us would be more comfortable.

This was a side of Grissom that only I got to see, and while it could be embarrassing and weird, the fact that he trusted me, and that I could drive him out of his mind went a long way to make it . . . fun.

We weren’t like other couples, and you know what? I didn’t care. Not when I knew how much pleasure I could give Grissom. I knelt behind him and spent a little time just stroking and touching his body: sensitive inner thighs, curve of his ass, tiny silky curls and tender little perineum. He was particularly sensitive there—a single lick could have him clawing the bedspread.

So I did.

“Annghhh!”

A very gratifying sound. I made my tongue stiffer and flicked it across that delicate little patch of skin. Grissom writhed. He honest to God, writhed. I went back on my heels for a moment, trying not to grin. There was heat building up below my stomach now, and I slid a hand between my legs for a quick rub of my own.

Grissom looked over his shoulder at me, and his glance was smoldering with sexual frustration. “You bitch,” he shot at me in a conversational tone. I made it a point to rub myself a little harder.

“No, I think you’re my bitch, actually. Be good and I’ll kiss it again . . .”

He stilled, biting his lower lip, looking so damned boyish despite the grey hair. I slid a hand down to fondle the heavy silken mass of his balls and Grissom shivered.

I so had him. I bent to flick my tongue once more, this time trailing up to the pucker of his ass. His skin was warm and a little musky. I let my hand toy gently with his balls and looked up the sweet slope of his ass and spine to watch his shoulders tense.

“Hey babe—let go. Let’s have some fun,” I murmured, and leaned forward.

I won’t say Grissom is easy, but I had two fingers in him within a few minutes, and he needed a pillow so he wouldn’t get too loud. There’s something about turning him on that just SO does it for me—the way he groans; the heated slickness of his body; hell, even the quiver of his muscles.

Grissom gives himself to me, and I know it’s supposed to be submissive, but somehow it’s not—at least, not completely. What he’s really giving is, sort of—permission. Permission for me to use him, and permission to himself to love it when I do.

Sort of mind-blowing, yeah. I mean here’s this man that I’ve loved for YEARS, a full-fledged genius and scholar, and he loves it when I mount him.

Totally not your average couple, even in Vegas.

So I was getting very excited myself now, so I reached for a little more lube and drizzled it between his cheeks, stroking it slowly. I made it a point not to go too deep with my fingers since I didn’t want to bump his prostate.

Yet.

Grissom was breathing heavily now. “Sara . . . Ohh, please. More—“

“Oh yeah,” I told him softly. “Time to play.”

Carefully I slid off the bed and reached for the harness, stepping into it one leg at a time, making the buckles a bit snugger at my hips. The black velvet was softer now after a few washings, but still prettier than some of the nylon and leather ones I’d seen in the catalogs. Grissom had his head turned and was watching, his expression hazy with lust and good-humor.

“Hot,” he murmured. I stroked my breasts, and reached for the dildo.

“You bet I am. Want you, babe—“ I told him softly, and slid the blue sparkle dildo into the harness, adjusting it again, “I’ve been thinking about having you just like this allllllll night.”

I managed to get some lube and a little nubbly gel pack up against myself, and oooh, yeah, feeling nice. Grissom looked me, still with that heat in those baby blues of his. I shifted to one side and leaned down to suck along the back of his neck, and tasted his sweat there, salty on my tongue.

“I’d like . . .” he began, and I grinned.

I knew what he’d like, and he was going to get it, yes indeed. I nuzzled his ear, running my nose along his damp sideburn. “Yeah?”

“I want to . . . face you,” Grissom sighed, and I froze for a moment.

Oh. Not expecting that. We’ve always done it doggy style, going slow. I guess my expression showed something because he rolled to his side a little to look at me. “Please?”

Damn it. One look at him; at his thick cock throbbing a little, his rump oiled and beautiful in the candlelight---

How was I going to say no?

So we shifted, rearranging on the pillows, getting comfortable, and ooohhh, this was a view that was seriously doing things to me. Grissom laid out in front of me, damp and shy, bowed thighs parted to reveal the glorious stuff he was born with. Thick cock with ridged veins on it; springy stiff wiry hair all around it, with much silkier curls on his heavy balls.

I was trying not to squirm, but it was hard to concentrate on staying relaxed. To buy a little time I got out more lube and drizzled it just about everywhere. Grissom reached down to coat his prick, and I watched him slowly stroke himself, his expression shy and sensual at the same time.

“My turn—“ I warned him, and took his hand, guiding it to our dildo. He obligingly stroked that too, his fingers slick on the polyurethane surface. I groaned because he was making the nubbly gel pack slide all around my hot button.

“Come here—“ I got on my knees between his thighs and went back to playing with all the sensitive places again, using both hands to tickle and touch and probe along muscle and skin and fur. Grissom didn’t know where to look, and his gaze kept shifting from my face to the dildo rising at a saucy angle in front of my bush.

Seeing Grissom; his hard little nipples like rivets on his damp chest, the tiny sweat trickles at his hairline as he slowly focused on what I was doing to him had me damned near throbbing against the gel pack. Two fingers became three, and Grissom groaned, gripping the base of his cock when I stroked them in and out of him.

“Sara . . . do that and I’m not going to last, honey—“ he warned me, and I slowed down. Carefully I withdrew my hand and used it to adjust the head of the dildo as I leaned forward over him.

So weird. Yeah I was on top, but the feel of Grissom’s thighs alongside my mine--that felt good, so I nudged forward a little, trying to keep my weight balanced on both my knees and one palm on the mattress.

“Okay? Grissom?”

“Mmmmm---“ he replied thickly again, mouth pursing in a slightly dazed look as he lay back on the pillows. “Yes, Godddd, yesss, Sara—“

The way he said that—the deep, hungry tone of it . . . I very gently pushed my hips forward, just barely breaching the ring of muscle. Grissom gasped a little, and lifted his hips higher. I held very still, not daring to go further; not until he was relaxed enough to give me the go ahead.

After a few moments Grissom reached up and slid his palms along my back, and they were so hot that I shuddered. He gave me a smirk full of love and desire; it was all I could do not to wriggle my hips.

“Deeper—“ he urged me softly, and let his hands curl around my hips. I very slowly pushed forward, slipping in, worried about the angle, but I was throbbing myself now, wild for just that extra edge of stimulation between my legs . . .

“I don’t . . . want to . . . hurt you,” I told Grissom, and pulled back a little. His hands tightened, and unexpectedly, he tugged me forward. Slickly the dildo went in deep, a long, luscious stroke.

“YeeeAHHHH----“ he groaned.

Oh God. Remembering the sound of it still makes my nipples rock-hard. Rough, passionate and just on the edge of control; Grissom raised his face up a bit and sought mine, kissing me, tongue flicking across my chin, licking my jaw line. “Fuuuuck me, Honey, come on, come ON—“ he begged in a raspy croon.

I just stopped thinking after that, and moved. My hips rocked, and my stomach tensed with every sweet stroke, building as I kissed his entire face. It was so good, tasting his sweat, licking, sucking and the entire time moving deeply between his legs in sure, steady thrusts. The feel of his thick, impatient cock between our stomachs, oiled and hot, throbbing—God, I can’t put it all into words because so much of it was sensation and not logical impressions.

Grissom lifted his thighs and clung to me, and somehow that change of angle must have been just right because after about six strokes he grabbed my ass in a death grip and bellowed, that long damp throat of his arching up. “UnnhhhSaraaaagoingtoCOME—“

And he did, hot scorching sprays up between our bodies, pulsing under my tits---I came too, feeling that incredible roll of goosebumps that just ripple over your entire body as you lose it, the delicious fire roasting you from between your legs to the ends of your hair. Pleasure? Hell yeah, to the fucking edge of consciousness, you know?

God. Just—

Yeah.

I was careful in pulling out of him, and was glad his towel was close by—lots of lube, lots of semen everywhere. Grissom was utterly relaxed, eyes closed, still smiling as he took the towel from me and wiped his stomach. I leaned over him and touched his cheek. “Hey. You all right?”

His eyes opened, and he pulled me down onto him, suddenly wrapping me in a huge hug, his legs coming around mine, his arms tightening. “Mmmmmmmm--”

“That sounded like a good ‘Mmmmmmm.’” I ventured, relaxing a little.

“It is. Sara—“ Grissom turned his head and nuzzled my ear with his nose, which always tickles. “—You don’t know how magnificent it was for me to look up at you.”

I tried to protect my neck from his playful kisses, and laughed against the side of his face, loving the feel of his stubble just beginning to scratch my skin. “I’m getting a clue.”

“Good,” he sighed and loosened his grip on me a little. “Because truly, 
Sara . . . “ I noted his smirk as he finished, “ . . . you’re the top.”

Just for that I made him go wash off all the toys before coming back to snuggle.


end