Fic Post - Turnabout
Title: Turnabout
Author: and_affection
Fandom: CSI
Disclaimer: Not mine. Don’t sue.
Pairing: Grissom/Sara
Rating: Adult
Prompt: #22 - Blindfold
Summary: “You know, Sara, we rely so heavily on our sense of sight that when we lose it, we find ourselves hyper-aware of our other senses, especially our sense of touch.” Companion to Sandpiper.
A/N: I’ve just begun the challenge table over at smut_69 with Sara as my chosen character (various pairings).
A hand was resting on her stomach, thumb stroking gently up and down, almost, but not quite, tickling. Nice way to wake up, Sara thought lazily. “Hi, Griss,” she mumbled, and went to reach for his hand.
At the same time as she remembered that Grissom wasn’t supposed to be able to do that right now, Sara found that she couldn’t move her hand - either hand, for that matter. The discovery swept away the lingering cobwebs in a hurry and Sara’s eyes flew open.
Grissom greeted her with a cheery, “Good morning,” as though nothing were out of the ordinary. As though they’d gone to sleep as usual last night and it was perfectly normal for Sara to wake up with her arms extended and unable to move. She tried again and this time heard a metallic jingle, but her wrists were still trapped, exactly as Grissom’s had been. Exactly as Grissom’s were still supposed to be.
“How did you -?” Sara didn’t bother to finish the question. The smile on Grissom’s face made it clear that he wouldn’t tell her until she’d figured it out for herself. Damn him and his teaching methods. Honestly, how he’d worked himself free really didn’t matter too much right now; the important thing was that he had, and now Sara was handcuffed to the bed in his place.
“Turnabout is fair play, Sara,” he said softly, “do you trust me?”
Sara knew he’d uncuff her if she told him to. She also knew she’d never say those words. God damn him, she thought, yanking once again on the unyielding metal. God damn him for knowing that once the cuffs were on, she’d be too stubborn and too proud to admit that she was just a little afraid to take what she’d so readily dished out. Then again, maybe he hadn’t known; for someone so perceptive, Grissom had an amazing talent for missing what was right in front of him. Well, in that case, damn him anyway. And damn his thumb, distracting as it moved over her skin just below her ribs, and damn that impassive face waiting for an answer.
While she was at it, damn the person who’d invented handcuffs, too. “Yes,” she said, a little more aggressively than she’d intended, “yes, I do.”
“Good.” He reached for something hidden behind his leg. “Close your eyes.”
“What?”
Grissom just tilted his head and raised one eyebrow. Sara shot him one last glare and complied.
He was placing something over her face, something soft. Felt, maybe, or a soft knit fabric. She opened her eyes and saw only black. “What is that?”
He didn’t answer, and Sara felt him fix whatever it was in place with an elastic strap over her hair. A sleep mask, judging by the feeling against her cheeks and forehead, probably the one Grissom took on long flights. “You know, Sara, we rely so heavily on our sense of sight that when we lose it, we find ourselves hyper-aware of our other senses, especially our sense of touch.”
She knew that, of course, had known it before he’d covered her eyes and set every nerve in her body on edge. The mattress shifted as he stood up and, for a brief moment, she panicked. “Griss?”
There was a small noise, not quite a click, and a second later, Sara felt a faint breeze raise goosebumps on her arms. The ceiling fan. God, he’d thought this through. Of course, she’d given him the time to do so.
Something was brushing her left hand. The corner of a pillowcase, maybe, stirred by the fan, or - no, that was Grissom, circling her palm, following her lifeline, so softly that she could almost have believed she was imagining it. She caught her breath as his lips found her inner elbow and were gone almost before they touched her.
There was a long pause before he touched her again, this time catching her nipple in his mouth and circling it with his tongue, and Sara bit back a whimper. When he left her breast, the breeze from the fan cooled her damp skin.
If it hadn’t been so goddamn erotic, Sara would have been furious at his teasing. Grissom took his time, tracing the tattoo on her ankle, kissing her shoulder, drawing idle patterns on her stomach with one finger, always feather-light touches, never lasting anywhere near long enough. The aching anticipation every time he stopped was maddening. Her skin tingled as she waited with no idea where he would be next.
All at once, he moved with such startling swiftness that she didn’t immediately register what was happening. One hand pressed her hips firmly into the mattress to hold her still; the other was between her legs, moving in a steady rhythm, drawing the spreading heat out from the pit of her stomach. His fingers were warm and sure and Sara arched against them, her breathing shallow, her heart racing.
Then he left her again, painfully close, and she very nearly screamed. She heard him chuckle at her strangled cry. “Grissom!”
“Yes, dear?”
Sara could have killed him, and she said as much.
He laughed again. The mattress shifted and she guessed that Grissom was kneeling over her. He ran one hand up her thigh. “Now?”
“God, yes.”
She wrapped her legs around his waist, determined not to lose him this time, not now that she was once again so close, so goddamn close -
Grissom was right there with her; God only knew what he’d been doing while she couldn’t see. Sara wasn’t sure whether that thought was disturbing or unbelievably sexy, but she couldn’t bring herself to care right now. She was exhausted and content and they had hours before they had to be back at work.
He made her wait a good ten minutes, but Grissom did finally unlock the handcuffs. Sara noticed that he left them hanging from the bedposts and she grinned. “Good investment?” He still hadn’t shown her how he’d managed to get himself uncuffed, she realized.
Grissom set the key on the dresser and climbed back into bed. “A very good investment.”
Author: and_affection
Fandom: CSI
Disclaimer: Not mine. Don’t sue.
Pairing: Grissom/Sara
Rating: Adult
Prompt: #22 - Blindfold
Summary: “You know, Sara, we rely so heavily on our sense of sight that when we lose it, we find ourselves hyper-aware of our other senses, especially our sense of touch.” Companion to Sandpiper.
A/N: I’ve just begun the challenge table over at smut_69 with Sara as my chosen character (various pairings).
A hand was resting on her stomach, thumb stroking gently up and down, almost, but not quite, tickling. Nice way to wake up, Sara thought lazily. “Hi, Griss,” she mumbled, and went to reach for his hand.
At the same time as she remembered that Grissom wasn’t supposed to be able to do that right now, Sara found that she couldn’t move her hand - either hand, for that matter. The discovery swept away the lingering cobwebs in a hurry and Sara’s eyes flew open.
Grissom greeted her with a cheery, “Good morning,” as though nothing were out of the ordinary. As though they’d gone to sleep as usual last night and it was perfectly normal for Sara to wake up with her arms extended and unable to move. She tried again and this time heard a metallic jingle, but her wrists were still trapped, exactly as Grissom’s had been. Exactly as Grissom’s were still supposed to be.
“How did you -?” Sara didn’t bother to finish the question. The smile on Grissom’s face made it clear that he wouldn’t tell her until she’d figured it out for herself. Damn him and his teaching methods. Honestly, how he’d worked himself free really didn’t matter too much right now; the important thing was that he had, and now Sara was handcuffed to the bed in his place.
“Turnabout is fair play, Sara,” he said softly, “do you trust me?”
Sara knew he’d uncuff her if she told him to. She also knew she’d never say those words. God damn him, she thought, yanking once again on the unyielding metal. God damn him for knowing that once the cuffs were on, she’d be too stubborn and too proud to admit that she was just a little afraid to take what she’d so readily dished out. Then again, maybe he hadn’t known; for someone so perceptive, Grissom had an amazing talent for missing what was right in front of him. Well, in that case, damn him anyway. And damn his thumb, distracting as it moved over her skin just below her ribs, and damn that impassive face waiting for an answer.
While she was at it, damn the person who’d invented handcuffs, too. “Yes,” she said, a little more aggressively than she’d intended, “yes, I do.”
“Good.” He reached for something hidden behind his leg. “Close your eyes.”
“What?”
Grissom just tilted his head and raised one eyebrow. Sara shot him one last glare and complied.
He was placing something over her face, something soft. Felt, maybe, or a soft knit fabric. She opened her eyes and saw only black. “What is that?”
He didn’t answer, and Sara felt him fix whatever it was in place with an elastic strap over her hair. A sleep mask, judging by the feeling against her cheeks and forehead, probably the one Grissom took on long flights. “You know, Sara, we rely so heavily on our sense of sight that when we lose it, we find ourselves hyper-aware of our other senses, especially our sense of touch.”
She knew that, of course, had known it before he’d covered her eyes and set every nerve in her body on edge. The mattress shifted as he stood up and, for a brief moment, she panicked. “Griss?”
There was a small noise, not quite a click, and a second later, Sara felt a faint breeze raise goosebumps on her arms. The ceiling fan. God, he’d thought this through. Of course, she’d given him the time to do so.
Something was brushing her left hand. The corner of a pillowcase, maybe, stirred by the fan, or - no, that was Grissom, circling her palm, following her lifeline, so softly that she could almost have believed she was imagining it. She caught her breath as his lips found her inner elbow and were gone almost before they touched her.
There was a long pause before he touched her again, this time catching her nipple in his mouth and circling it with his tongue, and Sara bit back a whimper. When he left her breast, the breeze from the fan cooled her damp skin.
If it hadn’t been so goddamn erotic, Sara would have been furious at his teasing. Grissom took his time, tracing the tattoo on her ankle, kissing her shoulder, drawing idle patterns on her stomach with one finger, always feather-light touches, never lasting anywhere near long enough. The aching anticipation every time he stopped was maddening. Her skin tingled as she waited with no idea where he would be next.
All at once, he moved with such startling swiftness that she didn’t immediately register what was happening. One hand pressed her hips firmly into the mattress to hold her still; the other was between her legs, moving in a steady rhythm, drawing the spreading heat out from the pit of her stomach. His fingers were warm and sure and Sara arched against them, her breathing shallow, her heart racing.
Then he left her again, painfully close, and she very nearly screamed. She heard him chuckle at her strangled cry. “Grissom!”
“Yes, dear?”
Sara could have killed him, and she said as much.
He laughed again. The mattress shifted and she guessed that Grissom was kneeling over her. He ran one hand up her thigh. “Now?”
“God, yes.”
She wrapped her legs around his waist, determined not to lose him this time, not now that she was once again so close, so goddamn close -
Grissom was right there with her; God only knew what he’d been doing while she couldn’t see. Sara wasn’t sure whether that thought was disturbing or unbelievably sexy, but she couldn’t bring herself to care right now. She was exhausted and content and they had hours before they had to be back at work.
He made her wait a good ten minutes, but Grissom did finally unlock the handcuffs. Sara noticed that he left them hanging from the bedposts and she grinned. “Good investment?” He still hadn’t shown her how he’d managed to get himself uncuffed, she realized.
Grissom set the key on the dresser and climbed back into bed. “A very good investment.”