Latest, Greatest, Forever Scheme

Title: Latest, Greatest, Forever Scheme
Rating: Hi, I'm a fanfiction and I'm only to be read by adults! Understand me? Awesome.
Category: Ptcha! GSR!
For: This is a birthday gift for Marlou... who always betas my shite... and she wanted dark Grissom...well... it turned into sad Grissom. Sue me. Do it. I'll own your ass.

Summary: "You're going to do this."

Sara nodded and pressed down harder, the feel of his blood pulsing through his veins nearly skewing the rhythm of hers. "And are you?"

Thanks: To Carmen, the all-powerful, knower-of-souls. Best not to ask. Wait, I forgot to thank all the reader, and the academy, and my hairdresser and the person who serves my lunch... (she makes a mean grilled cheese...)



[He’s only on your side when no one is around…]

Las Vegas woke up to sweat and sin, too slick.

It had been an issue, the intense heat that had blanketed the whole of Clark County. It wasn't the temperature that the desert was accustomed to. This was a wet, seldom felt curtain of humidity and fire. Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, through to a hundred and rising until the thermometer gritted its teeth and sweated out a strong one-oh-eight.

Peoples' minds were sent reeling hard, and while they attempted to strip off soaked clothes and allow their skin a reprieve of breeze, their tongues stuck to the roofs of their mouths and their hair stuck out at odd angles and many of them silently wished that they lived in New England.

That was how the employees of the Las Vegas Crime Lab felt on a particular day in August.

It really shouldn't have been surprising that city ordinances were being upheld, the sidewalks were being repaved, the casinos were being scrubbed, buffed and polished and the central air conditioning unit, as well as the forced air unit had, for lack of better wording, crapped out.

And though the night shift of said crime lab knew this, they still meandered into work, on time, and sweating.

Catherine Willows had been the first to throw caution to the wind and high-tail it to the supply closet to retrieve a jumpsuit. Not only did she strip out of her clothing and change into it, she cut both the legs and the arms off of the suit. Walking out of the locker room like some sort of defunct eighties club hopper she felt much cooler and Greg toyed with the idea of doing the same.

The pajama pants and short-sleeved polo he was wearing was doing nothing to stave off the heat and he almost wished he was dressed like Nick, in gym shorts and a button up Ralph Lauren dress shirt, sleeves rolled up. He looked ridiculous... but he did look cool.

Not as cool as Mr. Brown looked and felt though. Warrick had never been one to forsake comfort for fashion, or cover up skin for that matter. He was clad in a tight, army green wife beater with shorts that matched Nick's. It didn't matter how he looked, he felt a tad more comfortable than the rest of the team.

Grissom pretended like the weather wasn't affecting him. Catherine could tell it was, the furrows on his brow just a smidge deeper, the time it took for him to answer a question just a tad longer. Of course, he was in standard black chinos and a button up green polo, sweat just beginning to soak the brim of his collar.

Sara, well, she noticed the droplets running over his temples; she could detect the base scent of his sweat as he passed by her in the hall. Every time he walked by, he was a Warhol, a replication of the original him in the exact way she had seen him the first time. Still smart, still sexy, still desirable... and every color, with every reproduction he still caused shudders through her body, he still made her wet.

He still left her hating herself when she got home for needing to feel him in her so much. Catherine passed by her, commenting on her clothing status, her porcelain legs much more defined than hers. The other woman didn't seem to notice, just passed off a bottle of cold water with a shrug and a few more words that Sara didn't hear.

Drinking from the bottle, she slowed her walk to a saunter until she stopped all together and gulped from the opening.

Grissom and his sweat-stained polo emerged from his office then and beheld the strange sight. Sara Sidle was standing there in a tight (too tight if anyone was to ask) spaghetti strap thing that outlined fully the lines of her bra and that accentuated the slight swell of her chest.

If he'd been anywhere else, he would have growled. But he was at work, and she was right there, right there and he was rooted to the spot, cement under his shoes.

Once finished, she drew the back of her hand against her lips and then pressed the matted hair on her forehead out of her eyes.

It was goddamned sexy; it was his undoing, that move against her slick forehead, those breasts pushing up hard against the cotton, spandex blend.

[I'll show you mine if you show me yours first, let's compare scars, I'll tell you whose is worst...]

The body on display was only secondary to the mind that ran beneath all of it. The way she dissected a case; why she didn't care how she looked, how she needed, how she wanted, what she was. How smart, or brilliant or just fucking hot...

"What?"

Of course he was staring, a subdued heat in his eyes. "Nothing," he spoke quickly, harshly and she simply lifted a brow and clutched the bottle as she sauntered away. His gaze was so dark and he could nearly feel himself shoving her up against a wall and taking her hard, everyone watching.

Victorian adjectives flooded his brain and he wanted to speak of flowers and frills but couldn't help thinking about full on fucking. The heat must have been what was doing it; he blamed it on the heat.

That was his excuse for running into her all evening, literally running into her. Coming out of trace she walked right into him, her arm sticking to his as she apologized and moved on. His hand on her back in the layout room, the delicate touch of sweat just beginning to soak through her shirt.

[It’s just the way you move, the way you move me.]

He felt horizontal motion across his heart as he stood vertical and once again was overcome with the urge to press her into something hard, just to see how deep he could get. Purely primal, pure lust and when she turned to him, finger pointing to something on the sheet before them, a trickle of sweat ran over her upper lip and he swore,
"Fuck."

"What?"

And he knew she could see it, the last, fine grains of control slipping through the sieve of his fingers. She watched on, watched as he heaved heavy breaths and her expression did not change. Could she have been waiting for exact moment all along, prepared for when it eventually happened?

Sara Sidle-rain gear, extra crime scene tape, bindles and willing heart all packed away in her trunk, just in case.

Virginal in those white pants, naughty in the deep red framing her torso. Something insane juxtaposed with quiet and it threw his body into turmoil. As if a bold move was boiling somewhere inside of him he shook and she just watched as his hand reached out and clamped down firmly over hers.

[You can always pull out if you like it too much...]

The breath she drew was because of the heat, the scorching of his skin on hers. There was a quiet space then, each of that gazing at their palms on the table.

His breath was stronger than before, panting like he was about to explode. Clouding over as if the sky preparing to snow, ice cold, he dragged his gaze up to her. Sara was still neutral, as she had really been for the past five years.

And there, in the nothingness, in the non-reaction Grissom was floored because that was acceptance, that knowing that she had been there doing just that as time wore on.

Spring, summer, autumn, winter and suddenly the cold passed over him in a wave, striking the baking heat straight out of his soul. It was backwards, but he was aware, he was cleansed, he was ready. "I... I,"

But Sara just tilted her head and-"Are you ready yet?"

Shocked was what his eyes wanted to register but they just blinked and watched as she pulled her hand from beneath his and trapped his beneath hers. Symbolic? Perhaps, but really she just wanted to feel the prickle of hair, the skin protecting the bones. If there was more that she could have felt safely right at that moment her hands would have been over his pecs, his ass, his cock would be in her hand.

Palm up then, his hand crushing hers, grasping hard, pain radiating through her forearm and up, up, up to her head, bypassing her eyes. He was hurting her and this time he knew it, was doing it on purpose; she wasn't pulling back, no, no, she was allowing herself to be crushed.

But how far could he go until she was gone completely? How far could he push, where were the boundaries? "Can we do this?" Snow obstructed his view of her for a moment, but eventually he replied, convinced. "We can do this. We're going to do this. You're going to do this."

[I'm so glad you've finally decided to come...]

Sara nodded and pressed down harder, the feel of his blood pulsing through his veins nearly skewing the rhythm of hers. "And are you?"

The fluorescent light bouncing up off the table made her look as if an apparition amongst his snow and he struggled to work out all of the things his mind was screaming at him. Blood would look lovely on that white of her skin... but just a little...

"You know where I live." Not a question, and she nodded and moved away, knowing the invitation was too much for him to give, something a bit too weighty for her to accept.

And as Las Vegas passed into a new morning, Gil Grissom cursed the thermometer and wished for sleet and hail and precipitation that would punish him.

[You're on the outside. Stay on the outside. And now you want to ask me why...]

His home later on teased the outside with its edgy coolness. Stepping inside, the central air bit at his skin and beat his sweat back. Stiff joints became stiffer and clothing became far too oppressive. The idea of a shower tempted him, but the thought of Sara's skin tempted him more and he thought...

Of blood on her skin; she'd bit his lip and he kissed her shoulder, a molten mark that stained the ivory of that perfection. Deep down, the need to mark her skin was overwhelming, to bite, to brand to make all of her his even though he was sure he couldn't have any of it for very long. It was tempting, it was very tempting.

He only had time to slip himself into some comfortable cotton tee shirt when he heard the strong knock on his door.

Four hard raps, not three. She was sure and she waiting right there on his threshold. All he had to do was open the door and let her in.

But letting that in, opening up, he'd be a torrential downpour. Pain and punishment and he'd take it all out on that snow angel of a body until there was nothing left but boot prints in the snow surrounding.

But she wasn't an angel when he admitted her, how could he think that? A demon, a red thing blazing through his insides before he could even touch him, before she could even touch him. Before they could touch...

He wanted to make her go away, banish her from his plane of existence, just throw her down, out, away, gone, gone, gone. But it was as if she were before him, ruby slippers in place of her ruby lips, clicking her heels together inside of pressing their lips together, wishing for home.

"I want to tell you that I love you." God, did he but his hands on her were too rough for a moment like that.

She was far too possessed and possessing to even humor a statement like that. "But you can't, so don't."

Kisses fell, not like rain but hail. They were hard, they were invasive and they made her moan pain, pain pleasure and something else. He didn't relent, biting her neck, grasping her breasts around the umbrella of her shirt. Nothing would get through.

Neither rain, nor snow, nor sleet, nor hail...

The shirt was up and off and he glimpsed silky pink and she broke in and mentioned how lucky she was that she'd done her laundry... or she would have been braless. He walked her into the bedroom, a dim place, no bugs. There was lots of gray, splashes of blue but she was the ivory tinted pink that was the focal point of the room, his world.

[The bravest I've ever done was to run away and hide, but not this time...]

There across the comforter she shifted, stood and grabbed his shirt, pulling it harshly up over his head. "The awkward follows this," she murmured as she licked over his chest, completely unabashed. Grab her hair, throw her back, that was what he wanted to do. Just crawl on top of her and get her to shut up forever, maybe then it would be over, maybe it would sate him.

As long as she breathed her eager little breaths he'd want her. No stopping, no stopping.

"Would you ever hit me," hands skating up his arms to rest on his shoulders.

And without hesitation came his reply. "Yes, if you asked me to," again, his fingers causing her such sweet pain, digging into the skin just above her hips.

"Then do it."

Grissom pulled back, but hesitated, the challenge flickering in her eyes. There was a dark place just beyond the borders of the brown waiting to see if he would dive in, but he didn't. Instead he pushed her back onto the bed, her stomach bouncing on the mattress. His palm made contact with her skin hard, resounding in the near quiet of the room.

Sara was biting her lips and the teeth went through the skin, dabbles of blood trickling out onto her chin. "And you take it there, to that place where all of this pain is just..." She wanted to say pleasure but the word wouldn't present itself, so she just said, "So fucking good."

Down, down on the bed.

Anything but to take her, anything but to make her his. That would be a sacrifice, beauty for pleasure... it wasn't right.

But down she went, smiling as if she had been all of those years.

[Snap her up in a butterfly net, pin her down in a photograph album...]

Softness would have been another sacrifice and it didn't happen. The way he passed his hands over her face, reverent but painful. Pain. Too much of it to ever be soft. Red stains all over her lips and nothing to do but kiss. A soft tang of copper and her just kept him wobbling, reeling, every word that was off-balance.

There was something damning about her mouth. It wasn't soft or plump or delicate. It was hard and unforgiving and it took just as much as it gave. Her mouth kissed balance and equilibrium that he didn't know how to ration.

Moaning in supplication, Grissom unbuttoned her pants and pulled back to watch the unraveling. All that skin, and him hating it for reasons that he didn't understand. Going under, drowning in an all too real way he kissed her thighs, her cries cutting through his confusion, turning love to hate, water to wine, snow to rain to sun as he came over her body and laid softly.

Short, precise nails dug his back hard, not drawing blood but leaving the threat of it. Like it was a threat, it was a promise. To touch his blood would only be secondary to touching the real depths of his heart. That was far down, far, far, deep down, deeper than he could submit to.

He kissed her cheek; maybe not so deep at all.

It was right there on his lips and she stole it away before he could take it back and he was overwhelmingly taken by anger at having been stolen so very easily. Her head went back on the bed hard, but her eyes still, still... they were passive, slightly interested.

She expected it. She should have, he thought... but her nonchalance was just smug.

His hand was under the mismatched, brown silk of her underwear, one finger trailing through the pool between her legs. The shock of the real heat there, the real moisture... nearly overpowered him and he took a few moments to feel her, really, really feel.

Literally, like a can of peaches, freshly opened, never able to grip one. Sliding away...

And that was enough of that as he laid his head between her legs and sought out her clit just because he couldn't find it with his fingers. Once he found it, she was thrashing, trees in a hurricane, a blizzard, a typhoon. Grissom wasn't paying attention to the reactions, was just content to suckle it in between his lips and press fingers between her legs.

[And know-it-all eyes you show me, just to prove that you don't need to lose it…]

Taking a little from column A, from B... then C and D and some from F, never from E, he placed his tongue within her as well, two fingers and a tongue and she cried out a little bliss, rocking her hips into his face. Pain, did she feel all of that amazing pain?

She felt something when she thrust up hard and fell, no sound.

Sweat, it clung to her brow like it had just hours earlier. That was the sweat that snapped him. Grissom kissed her brow and she sloppily made work of her pants, fumbling and fumbling and freeing.

No barrier, nothing to hold him back but his own anger. Nothing to keep him from her but his own will.

There were crescents on his shoulders from the force with which he entered her. He didn't care that she cried out, just buried himself to the hilt and tried to forget who he was feeling perfection with... who was perfecting him. A glimpse at her face, her eyes, the heaving of her chest and the "please," she uttered made him want to slow it all down and reel it all back and remember everything that had happened previous.

He couldn't.

It was beyond it; it hurt too much. And he was hurting her, he was sure.

It felt good.

Warm, warm snowy legs pulling him in around his hips and she gave into the pain that he gave over. "More," and still she asked, eyes dewy, the same as they had been when she'd been about to leave, the same as when she spoke of parents... the same as ever and maybe that was something they couldn't let go of.

"God, Griss, Gil," something more in her voice, something more... words that he'd wanted to speak, couldn't. "More!"

He wasn't sure that there was more to give, but he tried, teeth gritting, sweat dripping onto her body from his forehead. "I hate you!"

Sara's head thrashed and the tears came and after the words she let him fuck her because it was him and she trusted everything that he was.

Coming, unabashedly, finally acknowledging that the two of them were in the bed together, giving, getting, loving.
No love in their voices, nothing said as she quivered a few more times around him, eyes slipping closed because the sensations, they were really too much.

Then an easy, light cold front came in and brushed over her face, the sky leaking and kissing her with droplets of water. Tears, his, not really falling on her, though she wanted them to. "No tears."

"You can," and he pressed the pad of a thumb to a corner of her left eye.

Sara pulled away from his finger, not from his embrace. "I was happy for a second."

"I was happy."

"When?"

"When you managed to hold onto the status quo, all these years." A pause and a kiss to her nose and he hated himself for the years that were null. "All this time maybe."

She looked at him, body used and used over. She looked at him like she always did.

"And maybe I'll be happy if you stay."

Las Vegas went to sleep, sticky and solely sinned.

[… frustrated by your absence; And this is tragic, this role we have to play now…]

Lyrics by…
1. Castine (my friend Mike’s band, you’ll never find it ever…), ‘Best Train’
2. Rise Against, ‘Swing Life Away’
3. John Mayer, ‘Back To You’
4. Garbage, ‘Supervixen’
5. Poe, ‘Could Have Gone Mad’
6. Lisa Loeb, ‘How’
7. Barenaked Ladies, ‘Break Your Heart’
8. Counting Crows, ‘Anna Begins’
9. Missy Higgins, ‘This Is How It Goes”
10. Averi, ‘Despondent’