maribouquet
in
mmom
FIC: Bedside, by Maribou (CSI, Day 11)
Title: Bedside
Author: Maribou
Fandom: CSI
Pairing: Grissom/Sara
Rating: PG
Words: ~500
Summary: Grissom has a headache.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to the hospital?” Sara asked. She cut the engine and turned to face him. Grissom just nodded.
“I’ll be fine,” he fumbled with the seatbelt, pain rippling through his head and into the backs of his eyes. He paused and waited for the waves to cease. Then Sara was there, opening the door, unbuckling him, helping him out of the Denali and up the stairs to his apartment. He kept his eyes closed so that he wouldn’t have to see her expression.
“Thank you,” he said as she settled him into his bed and flicked off the lights.
Sara squeezed his hand and then he heard her in the bathroom, water running, the magnified squeak of the medicine cabinet door like a needle in his ear. Of course it had to be Sara, today of all days. It couldn’t have been Nick with his simple kindness, or Warrick’s broad shoulder under his arm. Even Greg would have been better; he might have joked, but he wouldn’t have worried. Cath had done this for him before, and she would have known not to ask-
“Do you want me to stay?” Sara was quiet as she pressed the glass into his palm, steadied him as he sipped and choked down the pills.
Yes.
“I don’t mind,” she added, calm words over a mysterious rustling sound. Grissom opened his eyes, and even in the dark, it hurt. Sara was watching him, searching his face. “Just in case,” she gestured to the garbage can and fresh liners she’d set by the bedside.
“It’s okay, Griss.” The mattress shifted as she sat down. “I’ve already seen the worst.”
Grissom winced, remembering how she had found him doubled-over and wretching behind the dumpster, sweaty and miserable and so old.
“No,” he said. “Thank you.”
Sara laid one cool, tentative hand on his brow. He let out a long sigh, and allowed himself to reach up and touch her, press her hand and feel her lovely skin under his palm.
“Thank you,” he repeated.
“All right,” she said, but didn’t move, just sat there with her hand on him, breathing. The mattress shifted again and then she kissed him, lightly, on the cheek. Then she was gone.
He waited until he heard the door and the faint rumble of an engine before he unzipped his pants. Sometimes it helped with the pain. One hard pull left him cringing as the blood sloshed in his head and slammed him with a fresh wave of nausea. So he made his strokes light and feathery, like her kiss. He tried to keep still so that his head wouldn’t protest, tried to imagine anyone but her.
But he couldn’t do it. It hurt too much.
Author: Maribou
Fandom: CSI
Pairing: Grissom/Sara
Rating: PG
Words: ~500
Summary: Grissom has a headache.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to the hospital?” Sara asked. She cut the engine and turned to face him. Grissom just nodded.
“I’ll be fine,” he fumbled with the seatbelt, pain rippling through his head and into the backs of his eyes. He paused and waited for the waves to cease. Then Sara was there, opening the door, unbuckling him, helping him out of the Denali and up the stairs to his apartment. He kept his eyes closed so that he wouldn’t have to see her expression.
“Thank you,” he said as she settled him into his bed and flicked off the lights.
Sara squeezed his hand and then he heard her in the bathroom, water running, the magnified squeak of the medicine cabinet door like a needle in his ear. Of course it had to be Sara, today of all days. It couldn’t have been Nick with his simple kindness, or Warrick’s broad shoulder under his arm. Even Greg would have been better; he might have joked, but he wouldn’t have worried. Cath had done this for him before, and she would have known not to ask-
“Do you want me to stay?” Sara was quiet as she pressed the glass into his palm, steadied him as he sipped and choked down the pills.
Yes.
“I don’t mind,” she added, calm words over a mysterious rustling sound. Grissom opened his eyes, and even in the dark, it hurt. Sara was watching him, searching his face. “Just in case,” she gestured to the garbage can and fresh liners she’d set by the bedside.
“It’s okay, Griss.” The mattress shifted as she sat down. “I’ve already seen the worst.”
Grissom winced, remembering how she had found him doubled-over and wretching behind the dumpster, sweaty and miserable and so old.
“No,” he said. “Thank you.”
Sara laid one cool, tentative hand on his brow. He let out a long sigh, and allowed himself to reach up and touch her, press her hand and feel her lovely skin under his palm.
“Thank you,” he repeated.
“All right,” she said, but didn’t move, just sat there with her hand on him, breathing. The mattress shifted again and then she kissed him, lightly, on the cheek. Then she was gone.
He waited until he heard the door and the faint rumble of an engine before he unzipped his pants. Sometimes it helped with the pain. One hard pull left him cringing as the blood sloshed in his head and slammed him with a fresh wave of nausea. So he made his strokes light and feathery, like her kiss. He tried to keep still so that his head wouldn’t protest, tried to imagine anyone but her.
But he couldn’t do it. It hurt too much.