The Jar, Part 2

Title: The Jar
Authors: Kristen Elizabeth and Cincoflex
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: GSR
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to us.
Author’s Notes: We are so thrilled at the amazing response to the first chapter of this story. Thanks so much to everyone who responded and gave us lots of great feedback. There was one suggestion in particular that sparked Kristen’s interest, and she’d like to thank Sue aka augrasshopper for dreaming up one of the scenes to follow. Cinco would like to thank Lynn Fox for having the same idea--Great minds DO think alike!

We also wanted to take a moment to let you know that updates on this story might be slow…very slow…for the next month, as we’re both tackling NaNoWriMo this year.

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The Jar By Kristen Elizabeth and Cincoflex

We are the music makers and we are the dreamers of the dream. – Arthur William Edgar O’Shaughnessy

*****

Grissom watched Sara's face as she read the slip of paper she'd just pulled out of the jar. There was a slight crinkle in her forehead, and he couldn't help but be worried. She'd obviously drawn one of his. And she was clearly confused by it.

"Honey...if you're not comfortable with whatever..."

She cut him off, looking up with a mischievous grin. "I know exactly what I'm going to wear." He blinked when she suddenly kissed him hard on the mouth. "I love this," she told him, handing off the piece of paper for his inspection. On her way out, she added, "And you, too."

There was a smile on his face for the rest of the week that even four unsolicited visits from Hodges couldn't wipe away.

Grissom wasn't sure if he'd planned out the scenario subconsciously or not, but he certainly was prepared for it. As he spent the week gathering the things he would need and readying the spare bedroom, he silently thanked his mother for leaving him everything she had. Her taste in art might have been cutting edge, but in the area of home decoration, she'd been more than a few seasons behind.

However, the hardest part of the week had nothing to do with decorations or costumes. It was the scenario itself, as it called for complete and total abstinence. Celibacy in every sense of the word, emotional as well as physical.

Of course, they didn't ignore each other at work, mostly for the sake of their suspicious co-workers. But from Monday night on, all true contact between them ceased. Grissom even started sleeping in the other room, although there were several times when he nearly broke down and crawled into bed with her. He found himself craving the scent of her skin.

Sara, having fallen into the spirit of the scenario with surprising enthusiasm, began leaving him short letters, first only at home, then as the week progressed, in his office, too.

It snowed last night, and I thought of you in the South Seas, and how life must be so different for you there. Here, life goes on much as it did before, with one great exception. You're not here with me. And when I wake up to that realization, my heart aches.

Where are you, my darling over the ocean? I look for a letter every day, and every day that one doesn't arrive, I grow more afraid. Are you safe? Are you getting enough rest? Are you eating well? Do you miss me as much as I miss you?

I pray for an end to all of this, for the millions who suffer, of course. But also for a more selfish reason. I want you to come home. I need to hold you in my arms again. Make love to me in your dreams, for I am loving you in mine.

By Thursday night, Grissom was almost out of his mind with pent-up frustration.

On Friday morning, he swung by the costume shop. The girl behind the counter handed him the garment bag and took his credit card. "It's a little early for Halloween," she said with a wink. "Are you re-enacting something?"

"You could say that."

At home, he closed Bruno up in the master bedroom with an apology when the dog gave him a pitiful look. Because of his preparations during the week, there wasn't too much for him to do in the spare bedroom. He'd cleared out the room's usual decor and replaced it with his mother's things from the attic. Art deco, cherry wood furniture, a heavy, black rotary phone on the bedside table, and a phonograph on the dresser with several records sitting next to it.

It was almost frightening how he'd turned their spare bedroom into his childhood home.

He took his time dressing and when he was done, he looked at himself in the mirror. Not a bad picture at all, he had to grudgingly admit, although the jacket was a little stiff. Of course...he didn't plan on wearing it that long.

As arranged in their last conversation on Sunday night, Grissom slipped into the garage when he heard her car pull into the driveway. He gave her close to twenty minutes to do whatever she needed to do before he exited through the garage door and came around to the front stoop.

Across the street, Mrs. Glickman was in her yard, pulling weeds from her flower boxes. She stopped and stared at him in his full Navy dress uniform. He flicked her a quick salute.

Grissom let himself inside the house. He could hear the phonograph playing Bing Crosby in the bedroom.

I'll be seeing you in all the old familiar places...

He tucked his hat under his arm and knocked on the door before entering.

Sara was sitting at his mother's writing desk, putting pen to paper as if composing him another letter. Upon hearing the door open, she swiveled in her seat. With shock and surprise written all over her face, she stood up, putting her hand to her mouth.

She was wearing a dark blue, short-sleeved dress with a lighter pattern of cornflower blue flowers. It buttoned down the front and cinched at her waist. The skirt swung just below her knees. She had on dark pumps and a circle of pearls around her neck, tucked beneath the dress's collar. Her hair was pinned back from her face, turned under in curls around her shoulders, and she'd put on red lipstick.

"Honey," he said gently. "I'm home."

The next thing he knew, Sara was in his arms. His hat landed on the carpet as he grabbed her up. She wasn't crying, but she was holding onto him for dear life, as if she really hadn't seen him in two years.

"You're here," she repeated several times. She tightened her grip around his neck. "You're alive." He thought he heard a faint sniff. "But...you didn't write. You didn't call..."

"I couldn't," Grissom murmured into her sweet-smelling hair. "It happened so fast." Pulling back, he studied her face. "I read all your letters." He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip. "They kept me alive."

Their mouths met madly as Bing Crosby crooned. His hands grasped at her, moving up and down her back, searching for a zipper, a button, anything that would give way and allow him to feel her skin beneath his fingers.

Sara broke the kiss. Her lipstick was a bit smeared, but it only added fuel to the fire as far as he was concerned. She backed up to the edge of the bed that he'd made up with one of his grandmother's quilts. "I spent so many nights imagining this moment." Her hand drifted down to the soft swell of her breast. "I ached for you."

"And I for you," he told her truthfully.

She glanced away for a moment. "I would lie here...remembering the night before you left. All the ways you touched me...and the way I cried out for more." Sara looked back at him. "Sometimes...when the ache became too unbearable, I would..." Her hand moved lower, down her stomach. She stopped at her belly, biting her lip. "I'm sorry, my love."

He had an ache of his own, growing stronger, straining to be freed. "Don't be sorry." Grissom was surprised at the lusty growl in his voice. "Did you think of me when you touched yourself?" Sara nodded, still working her lip between her teeth. "Did you call my name?"

"Every time," she whispered.

"Show me."

Her eyes grew wide. "But..."

Although her propriety made him even harder, he shook his head as he advanced on her. "Let me see what I've been missing." He gave her long kiss; her whimper of desire wasn't an act. When he drew back, Sara sank down onto the bed and kicked off her shoes. Her toes were painted the same red as her lips.

She moved back until she was propped up against the carved headboard, careful to keep her skirt primly covering her knees until she was ready. Reaching for the hem, Sara slowly drew it up, revealing her smooth flesh inch by inch. She stopped at her thighs.

He'd been hoping to find a garter belt beneath her dress, and found himself almost disappointed when there was no sign of one. "No stockings?"

Sara smiled softly. "I gave them to the Ladies Auxiliary to make parachutes. They said...it would help bring you home."

The plan had been to watch her, but he couldn't wait any longer. Hungry to taste her lips again, he undid the top button of his navy jacket as he crawled onto the bed, over her. Her slender fingers attacked the rest of the brass buttons until he could shrug out of the heavy garment.

She yanked on his tie, drawing his face down to hers. As they kissed, Grissom found the buttons on her bodice, small and delicate and...unyielding.

Sara laughed at his growl of frustration. "Let me." He sat back on his knees, watching with rapt attention as she unbuttoned her dress, revealing a peach silk brassiere that looked like it belonged on a pin-up girl. He swallowed, his cock fairly begging to be released from its confines.

After shrugging out of the dress's sleeves, Sara reached behind her back and unhooked the bra, lowering it from her shoulders just slow enough to drive him wild.

"You have...the most beautiful breasts in the world, Sara."

"Better than the native women of the South Pacific?" she teased.

"Incomparable." Grissom reached for them, gently molding them with his hands until she smiled and closed her eyes. "Soft...so unbelievably soft." He bent down and ran his tongue over and around one dark crest. It immediately puckered and grew stiff. "Except for right here."

She opened her eyes. "I want to see you, too."

He wasn't about to turn her down. While he struggled out of his shirt and tie, Sara slipped out of her dress, leaving her in only a matching pair of peach tap pants.

Grissom reached for his belt at the same moment she did. Their eyes met and he moved his hands away, allowing her to push the leather strap through the buckle. Once it was open, Sara undid his fly, pausing for a second to lovingly caress his hard length, still trapped behind cotton.

"It's been so long," she murmured. "But you still feel the same." She hooked her finger under the elastic waist of his shorts. "You still feel like you want me...more than anything in the world."

"I do, honey."

Sara lightly pushed at his shoulders, urging him to lie down. "Do you still taste the same?" she wondered out loud.

Her words made him groan, but when she tugged down his pants and took him into her mouth, all he could do was grip the quilt beneath them and try to keep breathing. Hot, wet suction...and her short nails delicately scratching his inner thighs...it was too much. It would be over too soon.

"Stop...please..." Grissom's head shook back and forth as he lifted up on his elbows. Sara licked the corner of her lip and he almost regretted not letting her go on.

He kicked his way out of his pants and pulled her down on top of him. Their legs entwined. Her breasts pressed against his chest. He kissed her, starving for her, as his hand found its way under the loose leg of her vintage underwear.

"You still get so wet for me." Grissom nipped at the sweet nape of her neck as his fingers toyed with her slick folds. She gasped when he slowly slipped a finger into her depths. "You're ready...aren't you?"

Sara nodded frantically. "Please...I've waited so long, Gil..."

He nodded his agreement as he kissed her again and rolled their bodies over until she was on her back. Kneeling over her, Grissom grabbed the lacy edge of her silk pants and pulled them down her the impossibly long length of her legs. He threw them aside as she let her thighs fall open.

Resisting the urge to taste her...that could come later...he guided himself into her heat. She brought her knees up, urging him to go further. He stopped only when he was fully buried in her, surrounded by Sara...home at last.

She moved first, lifting her hips up from the mattress; he followed with a slow thrust. After a few minutes, the easy pace wasn't enough for either of them. His thrusts grew faster. She writhed beneath him. He pushed her legs back towards her chest, going deeper and harder with each stroke.

Sara whimpered and he relaxed a bit, letting her cross her ankles over his lower back. He kissed her, muffling her moans. She was trembling beneath him, shaking as ecstasy approached. Her slick heat squeezed him suddenly...and with one final thrust and a shout of her name, he came hard.

When he recovered enough to open his eyes, Grissom noticed that she was still moving beneath him, still searching for her own bliss. Giving her a soft kiss of reassurance, he slipped out of her, replacing his cock with his fingers. It took only a few moments before she froze, grasped wildly for his shoulders and ripped her mouth away from his, screaming out loud enough to make the dog start barking in the other room.

They lay together for a long time, sweaty limbs over sweaty limbs. The phonograph had long since stopped playing and once the dog had quieted down the only sound was of their heavy breathing. Grissom's chin rested on top of Sara's head. his fingers slid up and down her spine.

Suddenly, he felt her shoulders shaking again. "Sara?" Looking down at her face, he saw tears on her cheeks. "Why are you crying? Did you not like . . ."

"Of course I did!" Sara turned her face into his neck, muffling her reply. "I just...I missed you." She glanced up at him with wet eyes. "We can go without sex during the week...but I don't want to stop talking to you again. Okay?"

There was a strange twinge in the center of his chest, and at that moment, he felt like he would do anything she asked him to. Give her anything she desired. Be anyone she wanted him to be. As long as she loved him, he felt completely alive.

"Okay, honey." Grissom pulled her even closer, his eyelids drooping as sleep began to claim him. "You know...it's really good to be home."

*****

It was nearly a month and a half before either of them thought about the jar again. Work had been steadily piling up, and Sara had made two trips up to Reno on a consultation during that time. But gradually things slowed down, and late on a Sunday morning, Grissom handed Sara the little glass container, his eyebrow arched.

"Feeling . . . adventurous?" he murmured in a clear and soft challenge. Sara, who'd been fussing with a gutted blender, smirked a little.

"Oh ho, hankering to live out more Second Life action?" came her tease back. Grissom said nothing verbally, but his eyes held a distinct twinkle, and seeing that, Sara set aside the motor in her hands. She shook the glass jar, and opened it, then held it out to Grissom. "Your turn to draw, babe."

He reached in among the slips of paper and plucked one out, then resealed the jar before looking at it. Grissom made a little surprised hum deep in his throat; Sara blinked. "What?"

"This is one of *yours,*" he commented lightly. Sara pulled the tiny paper from his fingers and as she read it, a quick, hot blush crossed her face. She tried to regain her dignity, and waved the slip in the air.

"Yeah well . . . considering who I get to *play* with . . . it's got a lot of heated . . . potential."

Grissom cocked his head, his gaze warm and intense for a moment. He spoke in his deep purr. "It could get . . . rough."

Sara gazed back at him, unblinking, her voice low and strong. "Oh I'd like that. I'd like that a *lot.*"

Grissom stepped forward and pressed the tip of his nose against hers, breathing gently into her face. "Keep that up and I don't think I can wait until Friday."

She turned her head and kissed him, then pressed a hand to his teeshirt, smirking. "You know the rules. I'll get the garage ready by then."

***

It ended up a frustrating week--long at certain moments and short at others; Sara found herself especially preoccupied. The details were all there, right in front of her, and checking them over became her new game between cases. She borrowed a few props--some from Bobby, one from Brass, another from Catherine, all under various, vague guises that nobody questioned. Once or twice Grissom shot her a speculative glance, and at home he said nothing. They slept together, chastely, and the pillow talk was soothing and sweet.

"Looking forward to Friday?"

"I *think* the answer is fairly obvious, Sara. And about the . . ."

"Go with it," she told him softly, kissing his temple as she curled around him. "Follow my lead. If it's too much, I'll step outside--you know that."

"I know. Rough--" he trailed off. Sara licked the back of his neck, making him shiver.

She spoke again, softly. "I want it. You want it--it's going to be good."

***

Sara squared her shoulders, looking in the mirror. Detective Jones, her badge and ID pinned to the belt of her slacks, thin blue bateaux sweater and little gold cross at her throat grinned back. She put on the shoulder holster and turned around, checking the fit. Perfect.

She hadn't seen Grissom since the day before, but knew he was home since his car was out on the street. He'd left her a few messages on her phone, mostly to co-ordinate. Bruno was overnight at the Vet's office, groggy from his tests, but safely out of the way.

Sara made her way to the garage, feeling hot tension in her stomach. She rapped her knuckles on the door and pushed it open, staring inside.

The room was bare, with a single metal table and two chairs--just the way it was at the station, but without the glass walls. Sara took it all in, and centered her focus on the figure slouching in the chair.

Oh my.

He hadn't shaved, and the charcoal smudge of beard around his mouth and along his cheeks stood out. Even from the doorway Sara could smell his sweat too--nothing rank, but he'd done enough to have stains under his arms and along his open button-down shirt collar. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal his muscled forearms, and he chewed on a toothpick insouciantly.

Grissom looked up at her, and the slow, lascivious way his gaze slid up her body had her tense, immediately.

"De-tec-tive--" he drawled out, his eyes finally reaching hers. "Jee-zus, you are ALL friggin' legs aren't you?"

"Shut your mouth, Mr. Smith. Not only is that sexual harassment---a charge you really don't need added into your others, but it's also pointless. Are you ready to talk yet?" Sara snapped, striding in and closing the garage door behind her.

Grissom leaned back in his chair and considered her question as he shifted his toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. "That depends. I've got a lot of things I'd love to say, but I don't think this is the right place for them."

"Save the sweet nothings for your girlfriends in Ely State. Talk to me about the robbery."

Grissom rolled his eyes. "The robbery. I'm tired of talking about the damned robbery. I'd rather talk about how I can see your nipples right through your sweater, Detective Jones. You wearin' a bra?"

Sara hid her smirk, settling down into the chair opposite her suspect; if this is what Sofia went through on a regular basis, it probably got old, but with big, raw Grissom asking it . . .

"Shut up."

"If I shut up, how can I talk? Make up your mind, Detective--either way, I like the view."

And he did, very much. Her bateaux sweater was one of his favorites; too light-colored for work, and thin enough, sleek enough to cling sweetly to Sara's chest. He loved the effect of the overhead bulb giving it a slightly transparent quality, and felt himself stiffen when Sara leaned forward, glaring at him.

"Keep that up, and I may have to take measures to insure our little chat here doesn't get out of hand, Mr. Smith. I know you were in that robbery, even if the only witness won't testify. So unless you want to be held a little longer, you'll talk."

"You want information, maybe I have some, maybe I don't," he countered in a low voice. "Make it worth my while and we'll see if I feel like opening up. You don't have a bra on. Nice."

"And you don't have cuffs on. That can change, really fast, Mr. Smith." Sara growled back. Grissom considered that, and shifted the toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other.

"Being cuffed by a woman . . . that's not exactly a scary thought, honey. Hell, there are places in this town where you can *pay* for the privilege." The little taunt in his tone had Sara gritting her teeth even as she squeezed her thighs together.

"I'd be happy to do it for free--along with a body cavity search by a few of our finest. I hear Officer Brown is on duty--he's got fists the size of Dubuque hams."

Grissom mock-winced and leaned forward, clearly enjoying his chance to be bad. He shook his head mournfully. "You sound so bitter. Probably not getting laid enough, and that's a damned shame, a hot little piece like you. I can smell you from here, Detective."

"Shut up," Sara said again, this time softly. She drew in a deep breath and looked at him, letting her frustration show as she made it a point to let her glance linger. "Right now it's you and me getting down to business, Smith. I've seen your record and I know you're looking at hard time in orange if you don't co-operate with me."

"Oh I would *love* to co-operate with you, Ma'am. I'm not good with threats, but with a little incentive, I can be very accommodating."

"That's IT." Sara rose out of her chair, knocking it over in her speed. She darted around the table, cuffs in hand, and snapped one on Grissom's left wrist. He tugged in quick reaction, and before she could hook him to his chair, he managed to click the other cuff around her slender right wrist.

Sara growled again, pulling hard, but Grissom yanked with easy strength and pulled her forward, making her slam against the table. He shot up, spitting out his toothpick and grappled with her, pushing her back until she was stretched out on the metal tabletop, pinned there by his looming torso.

He smiled, his teeth white in the harsh lighting. "Your heart's beating like a bird's, Detective. I can see it pounding under your thin little sweater. Right . . . between . . ." he bent his face down to her breast, " . . . these rock-hard nipples."

Sara groaned when his teeth nipped on the little bud. She sifted her free hand to his chest and shoved, hard. For a moment Grissom yielded, letting go and letting her breathe before arrogantly pushing his hips against hers at the edge of the table.

She snarled. "Oh please--one scream and I can have fifteen cops in here in under two minutes."

"Then we'll just have to be damned quiet, won't we?" came his confident reply. Grissom slid his free hand up under her sweater, gliding it over Sara's taut stomach to cup her left breast, his thumb lightly stroking the nipple and making her hiss with pleasure. She tugged on the hand manacled to his, pulling it up over her head.

"We'll see who ends up making noise, you bastard--" Sara shot back, and lunged up, kissing him. The shocking heat of her lips nearly made him moan; Grissom opened his mouth to hers, tongue sliding deeply into her mouth. The kiss held passion, yes, but also struggle, and both of them felt it as they nipped and sucked and mouthed each other wetly. Sara clawed her free hand along Grissom's back, pulling his shirt up as she writhed under him.

Grissom sucked hard on her bottom lip, nipping it with his teeth before reluctantly letting it go. He stared down at her with lust-glazed eyes, his breathing thick. "I want you."

"No shit?" Sara gasped back, her sarcasm slightly diluted by her panting. "This incentive enough for you?" her free hand slid down between them and fumbled with the heavy buckle of his belt. Grissom gave a happy moan and used his free hand to pull her sweater up to her shoulders. In the light of the overhead bulb her exposed chest gleamed damply. He pressed his face into the valley between her breasts and nibbled.

Sara coiled the fingers of her cuffed hand around the chain connecting her to Grissom, fighting to stifle her squeals as he worked his way down her body, pausing only to yank the zipper on her slacks down and nuzzle his face into the sweet silk of her panties peeking out.

"Jesus, for a taste of that, I'd confess to any fucking crime you want--" he rasped, rubbing his lips over the thin fabric. Sara shifted the grip of her free hand and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, yanking it hard enough to make the buttons scatter across the garage floor in little plastic tinkling sounds.

"You want it?" came her taunt, tense and low. "Into girl pie?"

"Yes--" Grissom sullenly replied, licking her bare thigh. "Yours looks damn sweet. Kissable. Lickable." His shirt hung open now, and Sara could see his bare chest, slick with sweat. She propped herself up on the elbow of her free arm and stared down at him with a triumphant smile.

"Start licking. Through the panties, bastard, because they're not coming off for an ex-con like you."

With a quick, ruthless grin at her, Grissom shifted to a crouch, tugged her slacks to her ankles and pressed his mouth along the nearly transparent satin. Sara nearly howled as the searing kiss of his lips burned against her cleft.

It didn't take long, and within a few minutes Sara reached for his head, her fingers clutching hard into his grey curls as she came, arching up against his tongue probing along where he'd pulled the fabric aside.

"AwGawdddd---" she moaned loudly, her husky cry echoing through the garage. Grissom turned his face and pressed his cheek against her slick cleft, feeling the little pulses from her orgasm throbbing against his face. He drew in a breath and rose up, the handcuff chain rattling as he did so.

With a growl, he slid his hands under Sara's ass and yanked her to him. Catching her dazed gaze, he narrowed his eyes to look down at her wet, dislodged panties and the throbbing ridge outlined in his half-unzipped fly.

"Take me out," Grissom ordered. Sara shifted, struggling to sit up, and did, her fingers tugging the zipper down and pulling his turgid shaft free; it pulsed thick and hot in her fingers. Grissom bit his bottom lip at her touch.

"Guide it in . . . detective. I know you fucking want it as much as I want to give it to you, baby."

Sara blinked, still dazed from her own climax, but gently tugged him forward, helping to nose the flushed, blunt head of his cock along the slick edges of her sex.

Grissom thrust, sinking into her deeply, the wet, delicious sound drowned out by their mutual groans of pleasure. He pulled back and thrust again, harder, and began a slow gliding pound into Sara's body, his hips rocking strongly as she looped her free arm around his shoulders and gently bit his neck.

He couldn't last. IT was too damned delicious, this molten moment deep between Sara's legs, and Grissom felt his balls tighten as the achingly wonderful surge of mindless pleasure overtook him and he felt himself gush again and again.

They lay on the table; or rather he lay on her on the table, both of them out of breath but not ready to do anything more for a few moments. Sara laughed finally, and reached to stroke his hair. "God, sorry about yanking. You okay?"

"Mmmmmm." he replied, his mouth against the front of her bare shoulder. "I confess--you make an incredible detective."

She laughed again, and gave a little wiggle of her hips that made Grissom groan again. "Oh yeah? Well just wait until *you* get to be the detective, because I can be one HELL of a bad girl."

Grissom made a helpless noise and nipped her shoulder once more. "You are one cruelly fucking tease, you know that, Detective Jones?"

"Hee! I AM the law, baby."

*****

To Be Continued