The Sticky Situation
Chapter 3
"I still don't get why you had to use those tongs." Sara stomped out of the bathroom, followed closely by a red-faced Greg. "I bought those from an estate dealer in Oakland. They're an antique, and now they're trash."
"I'll get you new tongs," Greg mumbled. He almost argued that the antique pair could be cleaned, but experience and common sense told him they were destined for the garbage bin.
"We have other tongs," Sara said, still fuming. "Why didn't you use those instead?"
Grissom emerged from the bathroom, shrugging uncomfortably. "Um."
"The salad tongs are plastic. They were, like, two dollars."
"Yeah."
"Did you think Greg's balls were too precious to be handled by plastic tongs?"
Greg coughed. "I'll find you a new pair, Sara. A better pair."
The dog ran up to them, wagging his tail and sniffing Greg curiously.
"But why-"
"I just thought that the silver ones would work better," Grissom said finally. "Can we just drop it?"
"But-"
"They were too big, okay?" Greg burst out. "The salad tongs were too big and he wouldn't have been able to get a good grip on. stuff. So now you know, and now we can never, ever, ever speak of this again."
It was hard to tell which of the three was most mortified at the moment, though Greg was the odds-on favorite.
"Okay," Sara said finally. "Let's, um."
"Yeah," Grissom agreed. "Let's."
"Let's just go to sleep," Greg sighed. "Maybe I'll wake up and find this was all a horrible, horrible nightmare."
Their bed was, as promised, fairly large. Greg opted to stay fully dressed, as did Sara. Shrugging in concession, Grissom changed into sweatpants and a tee shirt, then helped the stuck pair climb onto the bed. He nestled pillows under their heads gently.
"Can you put another one in between us?" Greg whispered.
No stranger to the phenomenon of morning erections, Grissom nodded sympathetically. He pushed a throw pillow into place, then settled on the other side of Sara. "Everyone okay?"
"Yup." Sara stretched a little. "Glad I didn't drink much today."
"I keep telling you, you need to drink more, honey. Staying hydrated helps to regulate your blood pressure-"
"Tell you what. I'll start drinking more water just as soon as Greg's not attached to my ass. Deal?"
He just grinned at her fondly. "Am I allowed to kiss you goodnight in front of Greg?"
"Greg can hear, you know," Greg muttered.
Sara smiled, pecking Grissom's lips lightly. "Night."
"Night."
"Actually, it's ten in the morning," Greg grumbled, as Grissom turned off the lights.
o-o-o-o-o
He awoke to the sound of hushed whispers. Blinking groggily, Greg looked at the wall clock, noting that he'd only fallen asleep an hour earlier.
"There's no way," Grissom was murmuring, his voice strained.
"Greg's asleep, baby, come on."
"Sara, no."
"We've been working overtime the past few nights. It's been three whole days, come on."
"There is no way we can be intimate without waking Greg, honey. Not with the noises you make."
Greg shut his eyes, psychically willing a lightning bolt to strike him. Anything, anything to escape this situation.
"I'm not saying sex, baby, but I haven't even really kissed you," she pouted. "Not for three days."
"What's gotten into you? We've gone longer than that before."
"You really won't even kiss me?"
Grissom let out a quiet, strangled sound. "I want to, honey, but-"
His words were muffled as Sara moved forward, covering his lips with her own. "Mmm," she sighed. "Missed this."
There were the distinct noises of smacking lips and slow, slurping tongues, and Greg was suddenly very thankful to whomever it was that invented throw pillows.
o-o-o-o-o
At five, they all got up, used the restroom with minor embarrassment, and settled in the kitchen for breakfast. Grissom sliced up some toasted bagels, slathered them with cream cheese, and fed Greg.
It was almost starting to feel normal.
"So what's the plan?" Greg asked, when the last plates had been cleared.
"I spoke with Hodges this morning before bed, and he had just finished mixing Burrow's degluing solution," Grissom replied, twisting the dishwasher knob. "That means it should be ready around this time tomorrow evening. In the meantime, I think it makes sense for us to stick around the house - so to speak. Easier to get around and use the facilities, and you'll avoid being seen in public."
"Don't you have to work tonight?"
"It's actually my night off. Catherine texted me and said the board's empty, so I don't have to go in. She and the guys can cover it if something big comes up."
"So we have to come up with a way to kill twenty-four hours." Greg mused.
"More like sixteen," Sara said. "Then we can go to bed."
Greg shook his head vehemently. "Uh uh. No way."
"What?"
"No offense, guys, but I'd rather have Grissom feel me up with silver tongs than listen to another one of your make-out sessions, thanks."
Grissom turned an interesting shade of purple, while Sara was silently thankful that she couldn't make eye contact with Greg.
"So," he continued, a gleam of triumph in his eyes, "I think in light of my recent pain and suffering, I get to pick what we do."
"No video games," Sara said half-heartedly.
"Yeah, clearly, since I can't play with my feet. Actually, I was thinking." he paused dramatically, "X-Files marathon."
"What?"
"We pick a season - anything except the ninth, because it sucked - and watch all the episodes in order."
"You're really suggesting we sit in front of the television for twenty-four straight hours?" Grissom asked, dumbfounded.
Greg nodded. "I'm thinking potato chips. Cheetos. Devil Dogs. basically any junk food that you two can refrain from eating off each other."
"Greg," Grissom said sternly. "That's enough."
"Sorry," he grinned, looking not at all sorry. "So yeah. X-Files marathon. Who's with me?"
"We do have all the DVD's," Sara conceded, glancing at Grissom. "Might be fun."
"All right," Grissom said finally. "I'll go on a junk food run. Chips, cupcakes, ice cream. Soda?"
"Not unless you want to break out the tongs and handle my Post-Modern Prometheus every hour or two."
"No beverages," Grissom nodded, heading for the door.
Sara and Greg watched him leave, then hobbled over to the couch. "Hey Greg?" Sara asked as they plopped down.
"Yeah?"
"You do realize the Post-Modern Prometheus was that hideously deformed-"
"So you make loud sex noises, huh?"
Sara froze. "Truce?"
"Truce."