CSI--"Get To Me"
There are few (if any) of you on my regular journal who read my CSI fic but I'm putting it here anyway, just for the hell of it.
Cross-posted to geekfiction
CSI-Get To Me-- 1/3
Author: kosmickway
Rating: Mature
Pairing: GSR
Spoilers: Eventually up through 8x01. For part 1, it's "Play With Fire" and "Invisible Evidence."
Disclaimer: I don’t own them but they sure as hell own me.
A/N: Inspired by lyrics from Jennifer Paige’s “Get To Me.” I don’t own those either.
Summary: In the midst of chaos he cannot think long enough to tell her what’s in his head and heart.
Don't misread the silence
And take my distance as a sign.
There's only one heart that's confused
And it's most likely mine.
“Sara, I don’t know what to do about this.”
That’s not true. He knows exactly what to do about it. But he can’t admit that to her, not now, not when his head is spinning with explosions and glass, bandaged hands and burned backs, and his own rapidly degrading hearing.
In the midst of chaos he cannot think long enough to tell her what’s in his head and heart, can’t properly tell her how the sight of her lying in the hallway amidst a tidal wave of glass, water, and ash made his stomach free-fall worse than the tallest hill on the fastest coaster ever could.
Now he’s stuck, caught stickily between duty and desire, concern and caress, tangled up in emotions that he simply cannot take the time to break down to their core components. He knows exactly what to do about this. But doing it is another matter.
Her eyes will be wide and hurting and that’s why he can’t meet them.
And it isn’t just her eyes he can’t meet.
It’s her lips.
If he stares long enough at her sweetly formed mouth, even to read her lips, he’ll implode, the pressure around his heart and lungs and groin sublimating into a massive supernova. In the wake of the nova, what might there be? Her hips in his hands? His mouth pressing down on hers, hard enough to bruise? His name murmured in his ear, a sound that no amount of hearing loss could mask?
“I do. Let’s just see what happens.”
Don’t look.
For God’s sake, don’t look.
Her husky voice, even distorted as if from underwater, is enough to make him want to drop everything and pull her close, to slide his mouth over her racing pulse point. If he looks, he’ll be lost.
She takes his silence as a no, not understanding that it’s his own struggle against warring inner urges that’s driven him speechless. He can see her out of the corner of his eye and the look on her face twists his gut a second time.
“By the time you figure it out, it really might be too late.”
***
I always make the rules.
And I change 'em all the time.
Always stayed a step ahead
'Til you looked into my eyes.
My thoughts are frozen.
Can't you hear me screaming inside
as you come closer?
Don't know where to run this time.
He’s desperate for coffee. All-nighters after full shifts are the reason double espressos were invented.
He’s heading for the break room, determined to alleviate his fuzzy-headedness with Greg’s stash of beans when he passes Sara standing in the layout room, staring at the sheet hanging on the wall. There’s something about the way that she’s gazing at it that makes him wonder what it is she sees in the Rorschach pattern of crimson and creme.
He steps inside, not sure whether to disturb her, and certainly not sure whether he wants to match wits with Sara when he’s so tired. But curiosity gets the better of him and he moves to her side, noting with a small inward smile that she’s so intent that she doesn’t even look up until he’s right beside her.
“Checking my work?”
“No, I’m just looking around.”
And she’s silent, which is really odd for brilliant, opinionated Sara. Maybe she’s as tired as he is. She doesn’t look it- her black trousers and shirt are still smartly creased, her hair still as wavy as it was 12 hours ago when she came on shift. Her eyes are bright, probing, studying the sheet from every possible angle, looking for an answer.
“What are you thinking?”
“Well, her body left behind this void. When the attacker was on top- he held her down by her wrists.”
She steps closer to the sheet, not so much showing him as seeing it play out behind her own eyes. He knows how her mind works, knows she can visualize with almost horrifying clarity what might have happened at any given scene. She’s in that place now, measuring her visualizations against the evidence, her eyes taking on a dark, abstracted look that he finds fascinating.
“Which would explain the transfer of wax from him to her.”
He’s not too tired to see that fact, nor the look of triumph when she turns to face him.
“Yes.” She studies him for a second, half-smiling, glad they’re thinking along the same lines.
Then the smile drops and she says, “Pin me down.”
It takes the words a second to register, then another second for the implication to sear across his consciousness.
Pin me down.
How often has he thought of that lately, imagining the long, warm length of her body under his, her wrists in his hands, her breath against his cheek? He doesn’t- can’t- resist the request- invitation- and steps toward her, places his bare palms against her wrists, raises them to shoulder height, and pushes against her, bringing his body close to hers.
“She would have struggled-“
But Sara isn’t. Not really. She’s pretending, playing for the sake of the re-enactment, but she wants this and he knows it because her pulse has picked up and he can feel it fluttering wildly against his hands.
She’s looking from him to the sheet to their conjoined wrists and hands, trying not to look for the heat in his gaze the one time, dammit, that it’s there. The one time that he wants her to understand that he’s completely with her, that he wants her, badly wants her, and isn’t afraid to show it this way and she isn’t even looking at him!
He pushes down on her wrists harder, wanting her to look at him, to see what he can’t vocalize.
“Then, she gave up.”
She’s looking at him now, really looking, and he doesn’t look away either, lets her see the desire in his eyes, how intensely this is searing him inside.
She’s given up play-acting-- or maybe she still is acting because hasn’t she just said, ‘She gave up’?
Or is it Sara who’s given up?
Or is it him?
He’s still staring intently at her, and their eyes lock, and neither looks away. It’s only a matter of seconds before he’s going to lean down and kiss her, the lab be damned, the rest of the team be damned, the full-length plate-glass windows be damned. It’s going to happen and he wants it, is so sick of fighting it.
But she speaks, almost out of desperation, and he can’t kiss her now, not when she’s half with him and half in the murdered woman’s bedroom. When he kisses her, he wants her to be completely with him, all the way inside the moment.
“Afterward, when he got up, he put his hands on the sheet for leverage.”
But this is better, because he knows what she means and so he moves his searing palms from her wrists and brings them down toward the gorgeous curve between her rib cage and her hips, the long, sensual dip that his tongue is dying to drag across.
“Like this. Which explains how the wax got from him to the sheets.”
She hasn’t been looking since he moved his hands from her wrists, possibly because she’s figured out where his thoughts have gone, or maybe just because she’s back in case mode.
But then she looks at him and her eyes have gone dark and hot with desire and he gets to see for the first time (but not, he vows, for the last time) exactly what Sara Sidle would look like sleepy and sated after a bout of incredibly satisfying sex.
“Yes.”
And it’s not a yes to his statement but to all the things unsaid in the press of his hands, the heat of his gaze. He meets those gorgeous bedroom eyes of hers and spends a long five seconds fighting the urge to kiss her senseless.
It must be that intense longing that frightens her because she suddenly puts her arms down, the seductive haze in her eyes clears, and she murmurs, “Grissom, um, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Before he tells her “Go ahead,” back in full supervisor mode, he inwardly updates his mental list of urgent needs so that cold shower and sex with Sara comes before strong coffee.
TO BE CONTINUED ...
I LIVE for feedback! Show the love.
Thanks for reading!
Cross-posted to geekfiction
CSI-Get To Me-- 1/3
Author: kosmickway
Rating: Mature
Pairing: GSR
Spoilers: Eventually up through 8x01. For part 1, it's "Play With Fire" and "Invisible Evidence."
Disclaimer: I don’t own them but they sure as hell own me.
A/N: Inspired by lyrics from Jennifer Paige’s “Get To Me.” I don’t own those either.
Summary: In the midst of chaos he cannot think long enough to tell her what’s in his head and heart.
Don't misread the silence
And take my distance as a sign.
There's only one heart that's confused
And it's most likely mine.
“Sara, I don’t know what to do about this.”
That’s not true. He knows exactly what to do about it. But he can’t admit that to her, not now, not when his head is spinning with explosions and glass, bandaged hands and burned backs, and his own rapidly degrading hearing.
In the midst of chaos he cannot think long enough to tell her what’s in his head and heart, can’t properly tell her how the sight of her lying in the hallway amidst a tidal wave of glass, water, and ash made his stomach free-fall worse than the tallest hill on the fastest coaster ever could.
Now he’s stuck, caught stickily between duty and desire, concern and caress, tangled up in emotions that he simply cannot take the time to break down to their core components. He knows exactly what to do about this. But doing it is another matter.
Her eyes will be wide and hurting and that’s why he can’t meet them.
And it isn’t just her eyes he can’t meet.
It’s her lips.
If he stares long enough at her sweetly formed mouth, even to read her lips, he’ll implode, the pressure around his heart and lungs and groin sublimating into a massive supernova. In the wake of the nova, what might there be? Her hips in his hands? His mouth pressing down on hers, hard enough to bruise? His name murmured in his ear, a sound that no amount of hearing loss could mask?
“I do. Let’s just see what happens.”
Don’t look.
For God’s sake, don’t look.
Her husky voice, even distorted as if from underwater, is enough to make him want to drop everything and pull her close, to slide his mouth over her racing pulse point. If he looks, he’ll be lost.
She takes his silence as a no, not understanding that it’s his own struggle against warring inner urges that’s driven him speechless. He can see her out of the corner of his eye and the look on her face twists his gut a second time.
“By the time you figure it out, it really might be too late.”
***
I always make the rules.
And I change 'em all the time.
Always stayed a step ahead
'Til you looked into my eyes.
My thoughts are frozen.
Can't you hear me screaming inside
as you come closer?
Don't know where to run this time.
He’s desperate for coffee. All-nighters after full shifts are the reason double espressos were invented.
He’s heading for the break room, determined to alleviate his fuzzy-headedness with Greg’s stash of beans when he passes Sara standing in the layout room, staring at the sheet hanging on the wall. There’s something about the way that she’s gazing at it that makes him wonder what it is she sees in the Rorschach pattern of crimson and creme.
He steps inside, not sure whether to disturb her, and certainly not sure whether he wants to match wits with Sara when he’s so tired. But curiosity gets the better of him and he moves to her side, noting with a small inward smile that she’s so intent that she doesn’t even look up until he’s right beside her.
“Checking my work?”
“No, I’m just looking around.”
And she’s silent, which is really odd for brilliant, opinionated Sara. Maybe she’s as tired as he is. She doesn’t look it- her black trousers and shirt are still smartly creased, her hair still as wavy as it was 12 hours ago when she came on shift. Her eyes are bright, probing, studying the sheet from every possible angle, looking for an answer.
“What are you thinking?”
“Well, her body left behind this void. When the attacker was on top- he held her down by her wrists.”
She steps closer to the sheet, not so much showing him as seeing it play out behind her own eyes. He knows how her mind works, knows she can visualize with almost horrifying clarity what might have happened at any given scene. She’s in that place now, measuring her visualizations against the evidence, her eyes taking on a dark, abstracted look that he finds fascinating.
“Which would explain the transfer of wax from him to her.”
He’s not too tired to see that fact, nor the look of triumph when she turns to face him.
“Yes.” She studies him for a second, half-smiling, glad they’re thinking along the same lines.
Then the smile drops and she says, “Pin me down.”
It takes the words a second to register, then another second for the implication to sear across his consciousness.
Pin me down.
How often has he thought of that lately, imagining the long, warm length of her body under his, her wrists in his hands, her breath against his cheek? He doesn’t- can’t- resist the request- invitation- and steps toward her, places his bare palms against her wrists, raises them to shoulder height, and pushes against her, bringing his body close to hers.
“She would have struggled-“
But Sara isn’t. Not really. She’s pretending, playing for the sake of the re-enactment, but she wants this and he knows it because her pulse has picked up and he can feel it fluttering wildly against his hands.
She’s looking from him to the sheet to their conjoined wrists and hands, trying not to look for the heat in his gaze the one time, dammit, that it’s there. The one time that he wants her to understand that he’s completely with her, that he wants her, badly wants her, and isn’t afraid to show it this way and she isn’t even looking at him!
He pushes down on her wrists harder, wanting her to look at him, to see what he can’t vocalize.
“Then, she gave up.”
She’s looking at him now, really looking, and he doesn’t look away either, lets her see the desire in his eyes, how intensely this is searing him inside.
She’s given up play-acting-- or maybe she still is acting because hasn’t she just said, ‘She gave up’?
Or is it Sara who’s given up?
Or is it him?
He’s still staring intently at her, and their eyes lock, and neither looks away. It’s only a matter of seconds before he’s going to lean down and kiss her, the lab be damned, the rest of the team be damned, the full-length plate-glass windows be damned. It’s going to happen and he wants it, is so sick of fighting it.
But she speaks, almost out of desperation, and he can’t kiss her now, not when she’s half with him and half in the murdered woman’s bedroom. When he kisses her, he wants her to be completely with him, all the way inside the moment.
“Afterward, when he got up, he put his hands on the sheet for leverage.”
But this is better, because he knows what she means and so he moves his searing palms from her wrists and brings them down toward the gorgeous curve between her rib cage and her hips, the long, sensual dip that his tongue is dying to drag across.
“Like this. Which explains how the wax got from him to the sheets.”
She hasn’t been looking since he moved his hands from her wrists, possibly because she’s figured out where his thoughts have gone, or maybe just because she’s back in case mode.
But then she looks at him and her eyes have gone dark and hot with desire and he gets to see for the first time (but not, he vows, for the last time) exactly what Sara Sidle would look like sleepy and sated after a bout of incredibly satisfying sex.
“Yes.”
And it’s not a yes to his statement but to all the things unsaid in the press of his hands, the heat of his gaze. He meets those gorgeous bedroom eyes of hers and spends a long five seconds fighting the urge to kiss her senseless.
It must be that intense longing that frightens her because she suddenly puts her arms down, the seductive haze in her eyes clears, and she murmurs, “Grissom, um, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Before he tells her “Go ahead,” back in full supervisor mode, he inwardly updates his mental list of urgent needs so that cold shower and sex with Sara comes before strong coffee.
TO BE CONTINUED ...
I LIVE for feedback! Show the love.
Thanks for reading!