Ripple Effect

Title: Ripple Effect
Author: ScullyAsTrinity
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: The G to the rissom... and the S.
A/N: Thanks to Lauren for the readthrough and Chelsea, or Fishy or whatever... for the kind words when I sent her the beginning when I was smashed. Oh, and Emma, for giving it a read...
Summary: "Can feel you," she breathed and kissed him lazily. "All the way in my head, I feel you..."

Neither of them had ever dealt with humidity very well. Sara hated feeling sticky and lethargic. She hated her skin catching on itself, pulling as if to stagnate her movement.

The central air unit in her apartment was down for repair, so she bought a few floor fans, placed them strategically around her place and hoped for the best. Nothing came of it except they were blowing hair in her face as she tried to read and the sound was pissing her off. Her board shorts and tank top were doing nothing to alleviate the humidity that was seldom, but brutal.

So when she heard three quiet raps on her door, she cursed the knocker and winced as her damn skin pulled away from the wooden chair. Her feet made sticky noises as she padded across the hard wood to the door. Peering through the peephole, she was amused at what she saw there: a sweaty Gil Grissom, his polo shirt dark around the collar with sweat, holding a bag in his hands. Sara knew he was tapping his foot, just waiting for her to answer the door.

He'd done it from the first time he'd come to her apartment, it was very nearly a tradition. The tapping, followed by her inviting him inside, and then dinner and sweet kisses before one of them told the other they had to leave.

She opened the door for him and stole a brief kiss from his lips before allowing him entry into her apartment. Opening the bag to her, he revealed two pints of Phish Food and two plastic spoons. Sara smiled evilly and grabbed the back of his neck and brought him forward for a deep kiss. Chocolate and Grissom, what a night.

They both collapsed onto her couch in a tangle of limbs and watched the evening news, and then flipped through channels until they found The X-Files and sat back to nit pick. Somewhere in between laughing and arguing, they were kissing. Her lips were sticky with chocolate and marshmallow when he kissed her deeply. She hadn't felt that kiss before; this kiss held a warm depth of promise, a vow to continue with the kissing, never to stop.

The moisture in the air around them seemed to dissipate as they dueled tongues. Sara had imagined a moment like that so many times before, but this surpassed anything her imagination could have conjured. They were tearing around the kitchen, slamming into things, pressing against each other.

Sara found herself being lifted onto the table, his hands under her ass as he struggled to keep his lips on her skin. Salt, he tasted salt and sex. She ripped the shirt from her body, letting it fly across the room and land in the sink, amongst the dirty dishes.

Grissom's hands were rough on her skin, tearing across her stomach to clutch hard at her hips. His eyes said it all, deep and hooded, he growled, "you're so fucking mine," and leaned forward to suck the pulse at her throat. It was glorious, the way her blood beat in sync with his own.

She was pressing into him, the hot vee of her thighs claiming him through the layers.

The barrier between their skin was proving too much and she hopped off of the table, turned her back to him and shucked her jeans. Before him she stood in her underwear and curiously alluring bra, pausing for a moment to pull the hair away from the back of her neck to try and cool down just a bit... but that was pointless. Her entire body was on fire.

Grissom dropped to his knees behind her and a moment later she felt his wet tongue trailing up the back of her knee, gathering the sweat on his tongue. Sara fought her nerve to stay upright and conscious; salty perspiration was pooling against the underwire of her bra, infiltrating the light cotton. It had begun to get uncomfortable...

So she took it off.

Grissom heard the faint click of metal against metal and lifted his head. He had to blink a few times to get a clear view as the sweat dripped down into his eyes. Sara was braless, her torso naked to the harvest moon. Grissom was literally stunned to silence as he took in the sweet paleness of her breasts.

He'd never encountered such a brash courage before, never met a woman who was so very ready to bear her entire body for him without him even asking. It made him want to growl, made him want to throw her down on the floor and ravish all of her hidden crevices, lick them, tease them and make her scream so, so loud.

There was so much skin to kiss, so much of it. Gorgeous plains of tanned and freckled skin awaiting his mouth.

He didn't have time to kiss her again, no, she'd grabbed his neck and helped him stand. She nearly kissed him senseless as she whispered, "Bedroom," into his ear and tugged him along, leaving the ice cream to melt on the coffee table in the living room.

She tumbled ungraciously onto the bed and wiggled out of her panties, tossing them in the same manner she had with her bra and he was speechless, utterly stunned. He had never had a woman take such initiative before. Far behind, he began tearing his clothing off in haste, needing to feel the hot lick of her skin against his.

"Come on," Sara breathed and dragged an index finger through her cleft. Grissom groaned and climbed onto the bed beside her, bending to kiss her, thrusting his tongue into her mouth forcefully, making her squeal in delight. Her hands went to her shoulders and pressed her back into the mattress. He gripped her hard and flipped her over onto her stomach.

His cock teased her folds, glided over the glistening wetness there. Sara pressed herself up against him but he refused to thrust forward. "You stupid bastard," she gasped, scratching at what she could of his arms.

She wanted to slur his name, wanted to scream at him and tell him how awful he was, how fucking evil he was. And his smile, low and sinister, yes, that was the thing that made her hate him for a moment; so smug, he was so smug and yet... frightened. Even as he bared his glistening teeth, he was a puppy, a lost and lonely little boy about to be stolen.

Sara grinned at him, as if to say, 'just do it, just do it now, I know you won't'... but then he did, pressing inside of her and sliding home.

Home... home...

But he tried to not think of that, tried not to think of how warm and welcome she was. He tried to ignore how she simply sighed when he was in her to the hilt. Simply sighed-didn't cry out or scream-as if to say 'Yes, this is what I've been waiting for.'
Flat, her stomach pasted to the bed like a surreal scrapbook picture, flaunting itself amongst the boring cotton and down of her sheets. She was a lovely display of flesh and ass beneath him. But it wasn't what he wanted and he knew it wasn't what either of them really needed. Sex was secondary, it was the connection they craved, the unabashed lust and love in the other's eyes that made them topple into bed. His face was in the crook of her neck and she was angry that she couldn't see his eyes, only feel his breath and hear his words.

Grissom gripped her shoulders and while still inside of her, twisted her shoulders so she turned halfway. Sara glared at him and squirmed, as if trying to find a way to situate him between her supple thighs. Needed him, wanted him there... wanted, needed... wanted what? Needed what? Just him, did she just need him, was that all?

Grissom pulled away, completely out of her. He hissed as the cool air licked his cock unwillingly. He pressed forward, grasping her shoulders and flipping her onto her back, breasts bouncing with the movement. He caught her eyes briefly, caught them and held them...

They held the other's gaze as he pressed into her again and she cried out in a most unladylike manner. She could fathom nothing as he pressed so fucking deep into her. It was farther than anyone had dared to know.... knowing they could be burnt, knowing they could know *her*.

His hands gripped her hair, right at the temples, grabbed her so hard. The force from his grip and the stunning heat of his dick buried in her made her squeeze out a tiny, salty tear. She wanted it to be perfect but didn't quite know what perfect was, she'd never know a thing as completion.

So melodramatic, life was life. Even as he was in her, loving her, life was life. The earth wasn't shifting and the heavens weren't weeping and yet she couldn't help but feel torn. He felt, perfect, so welcome and warm and would any man feel like that ever again? Would she ever feel so damned sexy and erotic and at ease with a single man between her thighs, sighing her name deep and sweet into her ear?

At times, she wasn't herself, she was on her best behavior, attempting to be what everyone else needed her to be... but there, goddamn it all right there in his arms... no. No she wasn't afraid to make mewling noises or meet his eyes, meet a *man's* eyes dead on and cry out helplessly, knowing that he wouldn't find an advantage there, just lust.

And love. Was that love? Could it be? No the colors were swimming recklessly and she refused to assess the gorgeous darkness of his eyes. No rainbows there, no perfect spectrum. No it was the horizon rumbling, teasing the shore before a thunderstorm. 'Do you want to swim in that ocean and risk my wrath?'

He tasted of the ocean, all that salt and the roughness. Beach glass; she saw a Heineken bottle in the depths of his eyes, polished by the Atlantic, the Pacific, smoothed over and over and then tossed again in the gentle waves... He was a relic, yes a relic, his irises...

What she saw in his eyes, not perfection, so far from. She'd never been perfect, or gorgeous, or exceptional... but in his eyes, the color and the dampness... she was a woman wanted, a woman deeply loved for no other reason than the fact that she was herself. Oh, in his eyes an ancient artifact she was, dusted off and discovered.

And yet, the way he sighed her name, so strange and amusing and wanton, it made her feel new. She was the shiny dollar sign, scratched from the dull facade of a winning ticket... cash me in baby, I'm your prize. Yeah you can live off of me for the rest of your life...

"Aha!" A stupid and reckless and unexpected cry arose from her throat just because she felt that insane, *that* insane. If ever she actually thought he'd capture her in his arms just like this she would have pondered over something more adequate. But he was perfect, they were perfect, somehow. Awkward at times, fluid at other moments.

The sleek wetness of him, of his stark hardness inside of her, giving and taking... but giving more than accepting what she had to give. He was giving it all, from the tongue on her chin to the words whispered in her ear, 'Never thought, honey, let me be yours...' And she knew he was too far gone to know what he was saying and still... still. It stayed with her as she pressed her sex up against him, meeting his thrusts as if it were some strange dance that she'd always known.

No, no, no. "Grissom, god, you, you..." She had to say it, because it was true, because she said it in her head when he grazed her back... because she uttered it in her dreams. "You feel so *good*," she mewled, laughing at herself once more. He was heavy and thick and so fucking amazing inside of her that she wondered how she'd gone without fucking his soul for such a damned long time.

A sigh escaped Sara's lips, so near his and she bit her lip to stave that tiny giggle she wanted to let go of. It wasn't the sex that was making her so giddy; she could have been with him forever and done without an orgasm...

No, it was the way he cried out to her with his eyes. Ever the man, he refused to cry or say too much, but damned if she couldn't tell what his gaze meant. She'd crack him in time, that she knew, but the gorgeous endlessness of the midnight of his irises...

The talking, she did it all and she loved it. For once, she wasn't too deep. For once she didn't over think or find things too amazing, too endless, she didn't find things too sad or too meaningless. For once, for the first time in a long time Sara Sidle saw him simply as he was-a man, a man so deep in love he didn't know what he was doing.

And those windows to the soul were fucking her deeper than his body ever could. It was stunning and amusing and everything and still, still she laughed and pressed into him. "Mmmm, -sane, not ri- god," he fragmented, his tongue skipping of the syllables quickly.

No, no, not right, not in any sense. Then again, it wasn't wrong. It was amazing in that off way that one often saw as skewed; it was undeniable in that sense that made one realize the euphoria of the moment and claim that there *must* be more, there *had* to be more because nothing was perfect.

But still, she was warm and slick and tight for him, doing her best not to tell him just how much she loved his eyes, his skin, his kisses... him, all of him.

Her teeth gritted annoyingly when he slammed into her hard, but he just growled back attempting to articulate some of that amazing pleasure/pain he was feeling. Alas, an amazing impossibility it was to make such a sound know.

Sara shuddered around him, gasped into the pillow and bucked up into him, like an unhinged animal. Grissom ground out something akin to her name, a low sweet growl, and spilled forth into her, bathing her in a warmth that spread all the way up her spine.

"Can feel you," she breathed and kissed him lazily. "All the way in my head, I feel you," and she kissed him again, wrapped her arms around his shoulders slowly.

"You know what I mean, right?" She rushed in a whisper before he gathered her into his arms, spooning her into him, a strangely delightful feeling of fulfillment spreading through his body, foreign and heavy.

A man of fifty, a man who never acknowledged the prick of salty tears behind his eyelids felt the Red Sea pressing against his skin. He felt the saline mixture coursing down to hide in the hairs of his beard. "Yeah, I know."

Neither of them fell to sleep easily, both succumbing sometime in the early morning, clutching both the blanket and each other.

Sara was the first to awaken, her skin feeling fresh, her body feeling relaxed and open. She turned around to face the man behind her, regarded him as he slept. Soft breaths tickled her skin and she watched his eyes drifted back and forth underneath his eyes. Sara wondered what he was dreaming of; was he dreaming of her?

'Open your eyes and look at me,' she begged in her mind, pleaded as the sun slipped above the sin of the city.

And he did, and he smiled and she could still taste chocolate when she kissed words of love off of his lips.