Came and Went

Title: Came and Went
Author: ScullyAsTrinity
Category: Angst
Rating: M (that's for MATURE SUCKAHS!)
Summary: He might have agreed if he wasn't busy watching her face morph from passion to guilt to pain and back again; he might have agreed if he wasn't busy suppressing the litany of inappropriate words that were about to spill forth.
Thank yous: (:::deep breath:::) Marlou, Carmen, Lauren, and Fish Tank... heheh.


Sara didn't particularly like cases in which forensic anthropologists had to be called in. She wouldn't admit to herself why she didn't enjoy those cases but she chose to keep as far away from Grissom as she could.

Thankfully, he had chosen to see what he could find on his own.

A slight spring in her step, Sara took off to find out what evidence, if any, he had pulled off of the skeletal remains they had found. His two thumbs smoothed out over the mound of pliant putty, gently working it over the impressions.

"Griss, I got that file from-" but before she was able to complete her sentence mentioning that she had grabbed the case file from Brass, Sara caught him in action, deep in thought, moving nimble fingers agilely over the pelvic brim.

Light caught the edge of his chin as he tipped his head to get a closer inspection of his work, white hairs nestled in between the darker ones glistening in the fluorescence of the lab.

Loathe to interrupt his careful work, she held back, her hip just grazing the edge of the doorframe, arms crossing slowly over her chest, careful not to drop the file... careful not to alert him to her presence.

He was so beautiful; she hated him for it. She hated him for making her want him so much.

While the pad of his left thumb stilled over the ala of sacrum, his right hand reached over for another piece of putty, working it slowly over the delicate bone of the pubic crest. Grissom dipped a forefinger into the slight depression and worked it back and forth slowly.

Sara barely noticed when her tongue slipped between her lips to be gently nibbled on by her teeth. The manner with which he moved his hands, his ministrations, they intrigued her to the point that a delicate flush had risen up her chest to settle over the swell of her cheeks.

The fingers of her left hand pulled away from her chest and trailed down over the taut muscles of her thigh. Grissom began to hum a bit, nearly kneading his thumbs into the clay.

When his tongue peeked out between his lips and he squinted his eyes, he allowed his index fingers to float out over the twin swells of iliac fossa. The manner with which he was working was rather... loving, she thought and when his fingers paused and he pressed down firmly yet slowly, a gasp resounded in the near-quiet of the layout room.

Grissom stilled in his task and slowly turned to her. "Oh. Sara. What do you have?" His chin motioned to the file in her hands but she didn't move.

The saucers that her pupils resembled began to reacquaint themselves with the bright overhead lights of the room.
"I, uh, yeah," she said, regrouping as quickly as possible. "Brass gave me the file."

Reaching to her, he held out his hand for the file. The tips of his fingers had begun to cake with the putty residue, turning them white and flaky. "Jane Toppham did indeed die five years ago and was buried in Reno."

She placed her hands on the table; he placed his right one directly next to her left. That did it; she snapped. Her breathing went erratic and her heart took off, thrumming hard in her veins as if she had administered a hit of heroin.
Even as the lump in her throat was swallowed, another one welled up. "Sara?"

Slowly, her pinky finger lifted and slid over to touch the edge of his hand. Again, she gasped but then seemed to regain her control. "I need to go," and with that, she tore from the room leaving nothing but her scent, slowly wafting around to envelope him.

Sara sped down the halls, hip-checking her way into the locker room. It was deserted, being the middle of shift and she was glad for it. Sounds of dripping showerheads and the ticking of the wall clock were her only companions.
She'd never reacted like that at work, ever, and the newfound rush that watching him had provided frightened her.

Perhaps voyeurism could become her dirty little secret.

Lightly, she traced her left hand over her right forearm: goose bumps. Her cheeks were still warm and she was more than positive that she had wet her panties in a way that was beyond obscene. She squeezed her thighs together hard, shivering at the slight friction that coursed through her body. So good.

God, she wanted to touch herself, just one touch to relieve the tension. Glancing around her, knowing fully well that she was alone, she actually considered it. It took her a moment to snap out of her daydream; that first delicious slide into cleft was always amazing and she wondered if the texture and pressure of his hand would be any different.

Of course it would; it would be unreal.

That didn't matter at the moment though. Sara was too busy plucking open the button of her pants, biting her tongue to keep quiet. Insanity thudded through her skull, urging her to go on, go on, stop damn it all, you have to stop this madness.

Her middle finger gently parted the hair of her mound and slid easily between her lips. Even as she tried to hold off, just be satisfied with the one touch, her hips bucked forward to press skin to skin more forcefully.

Losing all semblance of control, she yanked her hand out from between her legs and sucked in a large breath of air... and that was how Grissom found her, legs spread, jeans undone, face pink, chest heaving with the force of her inhalations.

Before he could even address her, she turned slowly to face him. "I was just... getting changed." A lame excuse, such a bad, bad excuse and to his credit he didn't believe it and told her so.

"You were wearing that before," he pointed out, voice strangely deep, eyes unable to look away from her.

His eyes fell to her hand, glints of wetness catching in the low light. His teeth gritted against each other and his fists clenched. She too looked down at her hand and blushed. He was a very intelligent man, a very intelligent man; there was no way he didn't know what she had been doing.

He knew what she'd been doing, but the question was, would he address it...

She nodded, stood and rebuttoned her pants quickly, quicker than she should have. His murky eyes were on her the entire time, just making the flames lick her cheeks a bit more. How would he look at her if she was redressing in his bedroom, in her bedroom? How would he look at her while she was redressing after they had made love?

"Well, those results should be back..." and she moved to walk around him, but he stepped directly in front of her.
"Grissom..."

His chest was pressed nearly to hers as he leaned in, "I want to taste you," that delectable growl registering in her ears and between her legs. She listened for signs of the apocalypse outside but could hear nothing aside from their combined heavy breathing.

Slowly, he fumbled his fingers over the skin on the back of her hand. Gently, he grabbed her wrist and brought it up to his face, tongue snaking out to steal the salt from her fingers. Her eyes stayed with his as he moved his mouth around, down her finger, back up, down, mimicking movements she couldn't help but crave. "Maybe it's just time," he whispered after kissing the tip of her finger. "Maybe it's just time." Rationality... none of that there...

There was something bigger behind it all, something huge and moving between the two of them and a back story that was volumes long but none of it seemed to matter; nothing seemed to matter but the salt on her tongue and the wetness on her hand.

There was something between them that surely dwarfed the physical, but neither of them cared to notice, neither took the time. "Now?" Her voice really wasn't hers, it was thicker, slower.

Grissom blinked, something holding him back, holding him down and away from her and for a moment she became completely dejected. This wasn't the man that invaded her mind every night. This wasn't the man that left her weeping between her legs, begging to be touched; this was someone else.

In her fantasies he was a storm, big; something that she never wants to be weathered, just raging on hot and thick between her thighs. But those thoughts, oh those thoughts are reserved for her quiet time and the hot water never lasts as long as he does.

Her body is always cold after he comes and when she steps out of the shower, so clean she's so much dirtier for it.

"Now," he affirmed, somewhat shakily and kissed the center of her palm. She shivered; she had to. "Well," he smiled, body relaxing into the moment, "Not now. Later, after work."

Sara blinked. "Okay, that's... okay."

"Later," and he left her with that promise.

Sooner became later and she was undressed and in his bed. Later was the present and she was so needy for him that she forgot the foreplay and just climbed up on top of him and demanded he feel her, touch her, fuck her.

"In me," she growled, grabbing his cock with a little more force than she intended; he hissed, grabbing her free wrist and brought it to his lips and bit down, hard.

Sara bucked forward, right into his waiting finger. "Fucking bastard."

"Mmm," he affirmed, sliding his fingers all around her wetness, gathering it on his fingers, licking it off again. He was pissed, pissed that he was letting himself do what he was doing, pissed that she was letting him. "Later Sara, later I'm gonna be between your legs..."

And as shocked as she was by his outburst, she was equally as aroused, pressing her hips down, down, pinning him to the bed. "’Kay," she gasped and slipped onto his waiting dick.

The slip-slide nearly sent her weeping; so big, he was so big, thick, hot, wonderful that she had to force out a breath and acquaint herself with the hungry flesh. His hands on her hips, he massaged her, her muscles slowly returning to a relaxed state, a smile on both of their lips.

"Oh god, this should have happened so long ago," she gasped, pulling herself up on him, her palms so warm on his shoulders.

He might have agreed if he wasn't busy watching her face morph from passion to guilt to pain and back again; he might have agreed if he wasn't busy suppressing the litany of inappropriate words that were about to spill forth.

Her body spurred her forth, though her mind was screaming at her to savor the moments, the sensations, the everything that was happening. She couldn’t, she wanted him deeper, needed him harder, wanted him to bruise her all over so that she could remember him after it was all over, after she left, he left…

His fingers dug painfully into the crest of her hips, nearly into the bone there and a delightful rush of pain had her backing down hard on him, so hard. “God, Sara, jesus.”

It didn’t take long for him to come in her, the sheer force and temperature of it sending her into some sort of orbit with him. She cried out, keened, spoke his name as she came and he watched her, watched her fall apart, his hands flat on her back trying to keep her together.

“Sara, that uh,” and with a fit of coughs she fell off of him and of her own accord slid off of the bed to crouch on the floor and collect her things. Shirt first, bra in her bag, panties pulled up hastily.

He was done coughing then and turned to look at her, more pain in his eyes than she knew what to do with.

The light would soon dawn in Vegas and on him and the awkwardness and bumbling apologies would set in.

“I’m gonna say goodbye now,” she said, for some reason, preempting her exit with a statement telling him she was indeed leaving. Had he expected her to stay? Had she expected to stay?

“Maybe you can say goodbye, and we can say goodbye to last night and we can begin this the right way.”

But instead of hoping for that forever, for that chance, she pulled on her pants and grabbed her bag. “I don’t like maybes, Grissom.”

Night didn’t embrace her when she stepped out into it; it didn’t even notice she had come and gone.