The Loophole

Chapter 6

Over the next several weeks, they saw each other more and more often, until a date was just part of their daily ritual.

Most were low-key, to be sure. On Tuesdays, Grissom showed up at her apartment with takeout from Thai Village. On Thursdays, Sara came to his place and they tried following recipes from her vegetarian cookbook. Usually she ended up in charge of the salad and setting the table, as Grissom was admittedly the better cook.

At first, there were trips to bowling alleys and miniature golf, but Sara's keen understanding of physics made her too good at the games. So in the interest of preserving Grissom's pride, they went elsewhere. Sara found a dollar theater that played old movies on Saturday afternoons, and they watched Rear Window, The Maltese Falcon, and Adam's Rib.

In retrospect, both of them were oddly relieved that they'd gotten married before dating. It took out much of the anxiety factor. They knew that they loved each other, and that they were both serious about the relationship. Sara drew comfort from the fact that Grissom couldn't get spooked and end things without involving the courts system.

One morning, about five weeks into their marriage, Grissom asked Sara to sleep with him - just sleep. They lay under the covers, laughing quietly in each other's arms, wondering how many newlyweds passed their first month of marriage without sex. Grissom felt her nestle her head under his chin, and he rubbed her back with his palm. This, this was perfection.

She woke up that night pleasantly warm, feeling the welcome weight of his arm on her hip. Opening her eyes, she caught him watching her. She smiled, but he didn't, and her stomach dropped. Trying to convince herself that he wasn't getting cold feet, she spoke. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head.

"Grissom? What is it?"

"I just. Tonight when I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was your face."

When he stopped talking, she stared at him, unsure of where he was going with this train of thought. Finally she decided to laugh it off. "Women don't wear makeup when they sleep, Griss. Only in the movies. And I don't look that hideous without it, do I?"

"You're exquisite," he said, his voice husky. A deep breath, then he whispered, "Sara, I don't ever want to wake up and not see your face. I never realized. how it would be."

"You better watch it, Griss," she said slowly, half-teasing, half-not. "Or I'll think you're proposing."

A month of kisses had gone by. Soft, sliding caresses, the whisper of contact. Teasing nips and licks. Passionate, demanding, probing exploration. They'd kissed in every imaginable way, and yet she still felt a delicious shiver down her spine every time he leaned down to claim her with his lips.

"I'm proposing that we live together," he said, his lips resting against hers as he spoke, so that she felt as though the words might be coming from both of them. "Your apartment, my townhouse, a whole new place, I don't care where. As long as you're there with me."

She pulled back, studying his face. "You're serious."

"Yes."

Her eyes grew very soft, and his heart swelled. "You and me. Living together."

"It's the new trend among married couples, or so I've heard."

She wanted to kiss the smirk off his face, kiss him slow and hard until only the need for breath could separate them. "Would there be bugs in the bedroom?"

"Um." He looked down dejectedly. "Probably, yeah. Bugs in the bedroom, and moldy experiments in the fridge. I'd bring my work home with me, and I'd be moody as hell."

"Well, when you make it sound all enticing like that."

He'd found that he liked to bury his hands in her hair as he kissed her, cradling her head, the silky strands sliding through his fingers. Her touch was lighter, delicate. The faint tickle of her fingernails dancing along the back of his neck gave him chills.

"I'd cook meat in the kitchen," he whispered.

"I'd make you recycle," she whispered back.

"I'd leave the toilet seat up."

"I'd leave my panty hose drying on the shower curtain."

"Stop it, you're getting me all hot and bothered."

A slow smile, then she grew somber. "I get moody too. Sometimes I need space."

"Me too."

"Sometimes I'm irrational."

"Sometimes?"

Her insecurity flared, and she couldn't hold back. "What happens if we move in together and you realize you made a mistake?"

"Then we wait a little longer to live together. We wait until we're both ready."

"No, I mean." She tensed. "What if you realize you don't love me after all?"

"Mm, not possible." He kissed a trail down her neck, beginning to unbutton her shirt. "It's like that Whitney Houston song says..."

"Where do broken hearts go?" Her breathing quickened as each button popped open and his lips moved down her chest.

"No."

"I wanna dance with somebody?"

He planted the softest of kisses against her belly button. "Nope."

"I'm every woman?"

Moving back up, he rolled his eyes at her. "Yes, that's it. That's the big message I wanted to get across to you. That I'm every woman."

"Wow, that's a weird message. I have no idea how to take that." She trembled nervously as he pulled her shirt off her shoulders, then removed his own.

Leaning down, he pressed against her, their bare chests radiating heat. Slowly, languidly, he kissed her, stroking her hair. Then his hands moved down to her pajama pants.

"Wait," she said. "Grissom, you know a consummated marriage is harder to get annulled."

"I do know that," he said, continuing to remove her pants. "And other than the passage of time, it's the best way I can think of to convince you that I will always love you."

It was quieter than either of them had expected their first time together would be. They explored each other's bodies tentatively, curiously. Grissom kissed the backs of her knees and she cried, from the gentleness of the gesture and from the honesty in his eyes. When they joined together, they interlaced their fingers tightly, and neither could say which connection was more intimate.