Hey look! It's fic!
So I haven't been writing recently, but I did find this little piece that I did back in December. It was originally going to be the first in the "Five kinds of sex Gil Grissom needed to have" series. I've got number 2 started, and I hope I'll finish the series, but for now, here's this one.
Fair warning, though. It's het. And it's Sara. And I'm not the least bit sorry.
Title: Five Kinds of Sex that Gil Grissom Needed to Have (Number 1: Impulsive)
Author: Me
Rating: Hard R
Pairing: Gil/Sara
Kinks: Not really. A few things that trip my kinks, but nothing anyone would need to be warned for.
It’s pointless to keep up this pretense any longer, really. Except that it’s an awful lot of fun. It isn’t often that he finds himself at a hotel bar with a smart, attractive young woman like this. After all, what would someone like Sara Sidle see in him anyway?
She’d been there, front and center, for his first presentation this week. Double homicide in a garage. He’d noticed her, of course. He’d also noticed how bored she looked. Which is why he’d been so surprised to see her at his next lecture. And flat-out stunned when she’d noticed him tonight and asked if she could join him.
And yet she’s still here, dawdling over her third drink, laughing at his jokes -- and not the polite, false giggles she was awarding him earlier, when his humor was forced and inadequate even to his own ears, but genuine, hearty laughs -- and it makes him feel good.
Really good.
Almost as good as he feels when her hand, which had been toying with a napkin in her lap, makes its way, unapologetically, to his knee and stays there. She knows he’s leaving in the morning, going back to Vegas -- he’s been perfectly up front about that -- but it doesn’t seem to concern her. And now he’s starting to think that it shouldn’t concern him, either.
She’s been charging her drinks to her room, making sure he knows that she’s staying in this hotel, so when he suggests that they get out of here, there’s really no question where they’re going.
He barely touches her on the way out and to the elevator, brushing his hand on the small of her back as she precedes him out of the room. And she smiles at him as the doors to the elevator close, that peculiar Sara-smile that he’s gotten to know in the last few hours, the one that makes her look like she’s chewing on the insides of her cheeks as her eyes sparkle. It usually means she’s about to start teasing him.
He hopes that’s what it means this time, too.
Despite all this, he manages to keep acting like the perfect gentlemen. At least, until she gets the door to her room open and they’re both inside. Then he doesn’t feel like a gentleman anymore. But judging from the way she grabs his face and pulls him close when he leans to kiss her, she isn’t feeling very ladylike, either.
He presses her against the wall, and she immediately wraps one leg around him, all but demanding that he get his hand up her skirt now. So he does. She tips her head back and moans, and he licks her throat. She’s not wearing panty hose, and her skin is so soft, that he doesn’t ever want to stop touching it.
She’s digging her nails into his scalp now, possibly because she doesn’t notice. But then there’s the fierce way she returns to kissing him, and he’s pretty sure that’s a clue as to how she wants it. He moves his hand from outer thigh to inner, and she makes a throaty noise and presses herself against him. He notices how warm she is, and starts playing with the silk edges of her underwear.
Her purse is getting tangled around her wrist and his neck, and he pulls away to get rid of it, but she stops him.
“Wait,” she says, and opens it up to pull something out. His eyes widen. It’s a pack of condoms. Brand new, it seems, with the price sticker still on it.
“Glad you’re prepared,” he says, arching an eyebrow.
She rolls her eyes. “Come on, Grissom,” she says. “You don’t really think I had to use the bathroom twice, do you?”
“I didn’t really think about it,” he says, and doesn’t think about it any more as he re-focuses his attention on her skin.
He likes that she calls him Grissom, rather than Gil. It makes a tingle run up his spine, taunting him with the idea that she came to him as a student. And that lends such a touch of taboo and makes this seem dirtier than it really is, because, of course, she’s every bit an adult and a capable colleague.
But thinking about it that way isn’t quite as much fun.
He hears the sound of a purse and small cardboard box hit the floor, and the next thing he notices is her hands on his pants. In his pants, already, and how that happened so quickly he doesn’t know. She must have ripped them open, he thinks, and doesn’t mind at all. He liked these pants, but he likes what’s happening to them right now even better.
She’s also stopped kissing him, and when he looks, he sees that she’s holding a condom in her mouth, and something about how she looks right now, flushed and breathing hard and so focused and determined, spurs his own burst of determination, and he’s suddenly desperate to get her clothes off of her.
In the end, though, neither one of them can really commit to that much of a delay. She gets his pants and boxers shoved down, his jacket off and shirt opened -- and that really does ruin the shirt, when one of the buttons proves more uncooperative then they have time for, and rips out -- and he gets her underwear off and settles for rucking the skirt up past her waist and out of the way.
He never thought this was something he’d do; hot, rough sex against a wall with someone he’s only known for a matter of days. And it really isn’t something he plans on making a habit of doing, but sometimes the perfect opportunity presents itself, and you would be a fool to let it pass you by.
He goes for as long as he possibly can, and judging from the noises Sara’s making, he’s done just fine by her. By the time he finishes, she’s shiny with sweat, her hair’s a mess, and she has the most ridiculous, goofy-happy expression on her face.
They do stumble over to the bed, then, only because neither has the energy to stand anymore. He’s got enough adrenaline still coursing through his system at having done something like that, that he manages to stay awake while she finishes undressing them both.
“I still have to leave tomorrow,” he says. “My lab needs me.”
She just laughs. “You already said,” she says. “Believe me, it wasn’t like I came to this convention looking for a boyfriend or anything.”
He leans up to look at her. “Just to learn some things?” he asks.
She chews the insides of her cheeks and her eyes sparkle. “And have fun,” she says.
Turns out, there’s plenty of time for more fun before his flight leaves.
Fair warning, though. It's het. And it's Sara. And I'm not the least bit sorry.
Title: Five Kinds of Sex that Gil Grissom Needed to Have (Number 1: Impulsive)
Author: Me
Rating: Hard R
Pairing: Gil/Sara
Kinks: Not really. A few things that trip my kinks, but nothing anyone would need to be warned for.
It’s pointless to keep up this pretense any longer, really. Except that it’s an awful lot of fun. It isn’t often that he finds himself at a hotel bar with a smart, attractive young woman like this. After all, what would someone like Sara Sidle see in him anyway?
She’d been there, front and center, for his first presentation this week. Double homicide in a garage. He’d noticed her, of course. He’d also noticed how bored she looked. Which is why he’d been so surprised to see her at his next lecture. And flat-out stunned when she’d noticed him tonight and asked if she could join him.
And yet she’s still here, dawdling over her third drink, laughing at his jokes -- and not the polite, false giggles she was awarding him earlier, when his humor was forced and inadequate even to his own ears, but genuine, hearty laughs -- and it makes him feel good.
Really good.
Almost as good as he feels when her hand, which had been toying with a napkin in her lap, makes its way, unapologetically, to his knee and stays there. She knows he’s leaving in the morning, going back to Vegas -- he’s been perfectly up front about that -- but it doesn’t seem to concern her. And now he’s starting to think that it shouldn’t concern him, either.
She’s been charging her drinks to her room, making sure he knows that she’s staying in this hotel, so when he suggests that they get out of here, there’s really no question where they’re going.
He barely touches her on the way out and to the elevator, brushing his hand on the small of her back as she precedes him out of the room. And she smiles at him as the doors to the elevator close, that peculiar Sara-smile that he’s gotten to know in the last few hours, the one that makes her look like she’s chewing on the insides of her cheeks as her eyes sparkle. It usually means she’s about to start teasing him.
He hopes that’s what it means this time, too.
Despite all this, he manages to keep acting like the perfect gentlemen. At least, until she gets the door to her room open and they’re both inside. Then he doesn’t feel like a gentleman anymore. But judging from the way she grabs his face and pulls him close when he leans to kiss her, she isn’t feeling very ladylike, either.
He presses her against the wall, and she immediately wraps one leg around him, all but demanding that he get his hand up her skirt now. So he does. She tips her head back and moans, and he licks her throat. She’s not wearing panty hose, and her skin is so soft, that he doesn’t ever want to stop touching it.
She’s digging her nails into his scalp now, possibly because she doesn’t notice. But then there’s the fierce way she returns to kissing him, and he’s pretty sure that’s a clue as to how she wants it. He moves his hand from outer thigh to inner, and she makes a throaty noise and presses herself against him. He notices how warm she is, and starts playing with the silk edges of her underwear.
Her purse is getting tangled around her wrist and his neck, and he pulls away to get rid of it, but she stops him.
“Wait,” she says, and opens it up to pull something out. His eyes widen. It’s a pack of condoms. Brand new, it seems, with the price sticker still on it.
“Glad you’re prepared,” he says, arching an eyebrow.
She rolls her eyes. “Come on, Grissom,” she says. “You don’t really think I had to use the bathroom twice, do you?”
“I didn’t really think about it,” he says, and doesn’t think about it any more as he re-focuses his attention on her skin.
He likes that she calls him Grissom, rather than Gil. It makes a tingle run up his spine, taunting him with the idea that she came to him as a student. And that lends such a touch of taboo and makes this seem dirtier than it really is, because, of course, she’s every bit an adult and a capable colleague.
But thinking about it that way isn’t quite as much fun.
He hears the sound of a purse and small cardboard box hit the floor, and the next thing he notices is her hands on his pants. In his pants, already, and how that happened so quickly he doesn’t know. She must have ripped them open, he thinks, and doesn’t mind at all. He liked these pants, but he likes what’s happening to them right now even better.
She’s also stopped kissing him, and when he looks, he sees that she’s holding a condom in her mouth, and something about how she looks right now, flushed and breathing hard and so focused and determined, spurs his own burst of determination, and he’s suddenly desperate to get her clothes off of her.
In the end, though, neither one of them can really commit to that much of a delay. She gets his pants and boxers shoved down, his jacket off and shirt opened -- and that really does ruin the shirt, when one of the buttons proves more uncooperative then they have time for, and rips out -- and he gets her underwear off and settles for rucking the skirt up past her waist and out of the way.
He never thought this was something he’d do; hot, rough sex against a wall with someone he’s only known for a matter of days. And it really isn’t something he plans on making a habit of doing, but sometimes the perfect opportunity presents itself, and you would be a fool to let it pass you by.
He goes for as long as he possibly can, and judging from the noises Sara’s making, he’s done just fine by her. By the time he finishes, she’s shiny with sweat, her hair’s a mess, and she has the most ridiculous, goofy-happy expression on her face.
They do stumble over to the bed, then, only because neither has the energy to stand anymore. He’s got enough adrenaline still coursing through his system at having done something like that, that he manages to stay awake while she finishes undressing them both.
“I still have to leave tomorrow,” he says. “My lab needs me.”
She just laughs. “You already said,” she says. “Believe me, it wasn’t like I came to this convention looking for a boyfriend or anything.”
He leans up to look at her. “Just to learn some things?” he asks.
She chews the insides of her cheeks and her eyes sparkle. “And have fun,” she says.
Turns out, there’s plenty of time for more fun before his flight leaves.