CSI drabble: it’s a dusting of algebra singing in the corners
Title: it’s a dusting of algebra singing in the corners
Fandom: CSI
Characters/Pairings: Sara, Grissom/Sara
Word Count: 482
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: General. ♥
Summary: “I’m here for three weeks,” he admits, his lips kind of curling when she raises an eyebrow. They’re tucked away from view, in the corner, and she confesses (to herself) there’s something stirring. Pre-Series.
Author's Notes: For _vicodin ♥ and her interest request of: coffee, hockey, and music.
You came along for a weekend
But you only stayed for one night
deep purple, living wreck
*
Her roommate Gina calls this awkward coffee with a giggle because people at Harvard find the really stupid things amusing.
But she’s early, finding an excuse to sort of linger at the vintage record store near the coffee shop. (If it’s bad, she can always come here and save herself the embarassment.)
She’s trying to pinpoint, in the midst of the reality, whether it was his lecture that she found fascinating or just him.
*
“I’m here for three weeks,” he admits, his lips kind of curling when she raises an eyebrow. They’re tucked away from view, in the corner, and she confesses (to herself) there’s something stirring.
She props her chin in one of her hands, her eyes dancing. “Well, good.”
*
She makes a list of reasons in her head, aches for crayons and construction paper (like when she was a kid and it was mommy’s one good contribution to her development), but settles for an index card and a pen.
By their third outing, she’s convinced there’s a crush.
Dr. Grissom is credible, intelligent, and likes walnuts on his pancakes. She hates Walden Pond, but he convinces her that it’ll make sense in a couple years.
(“Promise?” She breathes lightly, smiling shyly. It’s the gap that makes her shy, but she’ll get over it. But her cheeks are warm and it’s one of those never been like this moments when he watches her.
He chuckles. “I promise.”)
There’s something else there and Sara’s not sure if she wants to make that step, the plethora of excuses almost haunting.
But it makes her wonder.
*
He walks her home after anthropology, her elective, and they talk about the Beatles and the Beach Boys for whatever reason.
She likes to listen to him, she decides, the soft sureness of his voice reaches her and wraps easily. But it worries her because it makes her think that she’s falling too fast.
“There’s a hockey game tonight,” she says slowly (she hates hockey), “I know it’s really awkward to invite you upstairs, considering that an all-girls’ floor is pretty scarring.”
He gives her a calm smile (laughs), reaches over, and brushes his thumb against her cheek. This might be the closest thing she gets to a kiss (but oh wait, where did that come from?) and she looks down.
“Goodnight, Sara,” is all he says.
*
One of these days, he’ll reach over and brush his fingers against her lips. He’ll stumble and she’ll watch him, eyes a little wide.
“I shouldn’t kiss you,” he breathes (and maybe they’ve both had a little too much to drink), his lips skimming hers.
There’s a booth, the blues, and good food. It’s the makings of a comfortable date, but it’s not and it’s what has her mind in shambles.
“No,” she agrees, her lips curling. It’s almost a smile.
*
There’ll be sex in San Francisco.
end.
Fandom: CSI
Characters/Pairings: Sara, Grissom/Sara
Word Count: 482
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: General. ♥
Summary: “I’m here for three weeks,” he admits, his lips kind of curling when she raises an eyebrow. They’re tucked away from view, in the corner, and she confesses (to herself) there’s something stirring. Pre-Series.
Author's Notes: For _vicodin ♥ and her interest request of: coffee, hockey, and music.
You came along for a weekend
But you only stayed for one night
deep purple, living wreck
*
Her roommate Gina calls this awkward coffee with a giggle because people at Harvard find the really stupid things amusing.
But she’s early, finding an excuse to sort of linger at the vintage record store near the coffee shop. (If it’s bad, she can always come here and save herself the embarassment.)
She’s trying to pinpoint, in the midst of the reality, whether it was his lecture that she found fascinating or just him.
*
“I’m here for three weeks,” he admits, his lips kind of curling when she raises an eyebrow. They’re tucked away from view, in the corner, and she confesses (to herself) there’s something stirring.
She props her chin in one of her hands, her eyes dancing. “Well, good.”
*
She makes a list of reasons in her head, aches for crayons and construction paper (like when she was a kid and it was mommy’s one good contribution to her development), but settles for an index card and a pen.
By their third outing, she’s convinced there’s a crush.
Dr. Grissom is credible, intelligent, and likes walnuts on his pancakes. She hates Walden Pond, but he convinces her that it’ll make sense in a couple years.
(“Promise?” She breathes lightly, smiling shyly. It’s the gap that makes her shy, but she’ll get over it. But her cheeks are warm and it’s one of those never been like this moments when he watches her.
He chuckles. “I promise.”)
There’s something else there and Sara’s not sure if she wants to make that step, the plethora of excuses almost haunting.
But it makes her wonder.
*
He walks her home after anthropology, her elective, and they talk about the Beatles and the Beach Boys for whatever reason.
She likes to listen to him, she decides, the soft sureness of his voice reaches her and wraps easily. But it worries her because it makes her think that she’s falling too fast.
“There’s a hockey game tonight,” she says slowly (she hates hockey), “I know it’s really awkward to invite you upstairs, considering that an all-girls’ floor is pretty scarring.”
He gives her a calm smile (laughs), reaches over, and brushes his thumb against her cheek. This might be the closest thing she gets to a kiss (but oh wait, where did that come from?) and she looks down.
“Goodnight, Sara,” is all he says.
*
One of these days, he’ll reach over and brush his fingers against her lips. He’ll stumble and she’ll watch him, eyes a little wide.
“I shouldn’t kiss you,” he breathes (and maybe they’ve both had a little too much to drink), his lips skimming hers.
There’s a booth, the blues, and good food. It’s the makings of a comfortable date, but it’s not and it’s what has her mind in shambles.
“No,” she agrees, her lips curling. It’s almost a smile.
*
There’ll be sex in San Francisco.
end.