Best Kept Private

Rated R

Before Grissom started dating Sara, he hadn't had sex in ten years

It hadn't seemed that long when he was in the slump. (Although, let's face it, somewhere around the seven-year mark it stops being a "slump" and starts looking like secular priesthood.)

Ten years. A decade of scholarly pursuits, quiet solitude, and an intimate relationship with his right hand.

Or, if he was feeling adventurous, his left.

In any case, there'd been a serious sexual drought till Sara. He wanted to take his time courting her. Wanted to make her feel special. But halfway through their second date she'd stuck her tongue in his ear, and suddenly his pants were off and his hand was burrowing between her legs.

He was fifty years old, and sex had never been better.

Two months into their relationship, she asked him what his fantasies were. They were sitting at his breakfast bar, sharing a bowl of watermelon, and the timing was beyond inappropriate. He stammered for a bit, trying to change the topic.

"I mean it," she insisted, licking a drop of watermelon juice off her finger. "You must have had a few fantasies over the years that you'd like to fulfill."

He suppressed a groan, remembering a couple of his dirtier sex dreams. "I guess I do."

"I bet the conference room table is one of them."

"Well it is now," he said, eyes widening at the thought.

"Tell you what," she grinned. "I'll tell you one of mine, and you tell me one of yours."

She was beautiful like this, draped halfway across the counter, all wavy hair and big eyes. He could think of a hundred ways he wanted her in the kitchen alone. "All right. You go first."

"Okay." She speared another chunk of watermelon, then paused in thought. "I've always wanted to do it against a wall."

"Really?" Good lord, he needed looser pants. Maybe they made maternity-style pants for men, to accommodate their own straining bulges.

"Yeah, just get picked up and screwed really hard, right into the wall."

Grissom couldn't breathe. Literally, just couldn't breathe. He could imagine Doc Robbins' report. Cause of death: asphyxia, due to an influx of erotic imagery in the brain.

"Yeah, let's do that."

Sara laughed. "Good. Now what do you want to do?" She raised the watermelon chunk to her mouth, wrapping her lips around it delicately.

This time he couldn't suppress the groan. "I. want you to go down on me in the shower."

Her eyes lit up. "You do?"

"God, yes."

She bit down on the watermelon, licking her lips wetly. "Mmm. It's a deal. When do you want to-"

"Right now," he said quickly. "Seriously, right now."

She grinned, abandoning the fruit and stripping off her t-shirt. "Got to catch me first." She darted into the living room, shrieking when he caught her around the waist and pulled her over to the wall.

"Here?" he murmured, and a low whimper was Sara's only response. Pulling off his pants and shirt, he helped her rid herself of her jeans and panties before kissing her hard.

"So good," she whispered, taking his lower lip between her teeth. "God, want you."

Swallowing hard, he lifted her up and against the wall, entering her in a swift stroke. Both of them cried out.

"Yes!" he moaned.

"Light switch!" she yelped, and he moved her spine off the jutting switch.

"You okay?"

"That's gonna leave a bruise." But she wrapped her legs around his waist tightly, and he pushed in again. Pinned her wrists to the wall, and she groaned in appreciation.

His knees groaned too, and every thrust seemed to put more pressure on them. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, hoping to relieve some of the strain.

"Not so hard," Sara warned, and he slowed his pumping.

"I thought you wanted it hard."

"Yeah, but the butterfly cases are shaking. Don't want them to fall down."

He pushed in and out exactly three more times before sighing. "My knees hurt."

"Yeah, I think we should stop."

Lowering her to the floor, Grissom looked at Sara tentatively. "Sorry."

"It's okay," she said, kissing him. "The shower fantasy makes more sense anyway." He was already halfway to the bathroom by the time she finished her sentence.

They tested the temperature of the water, then hopped into the shower together. Grissom kissed her deeply, catching his breath as she slowly dropped to her knees.

It was everything he'd imagined. The stream of water made her hair slick and curly, and her eye makeup ran a little. She looked like a goddamned sex goddess.

Leaning forward, she wrapped her lips around him sweetly, and he threw his head back with a grunt. So hot, and wet, and-

"Sor- sorry." She was bent over, coughing hard into her fist.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, fine." Straightening up, she ran her tongue up his length, and-

Choked again.

"Sara?"

"I'm sorry, I just keep breathing in the water." She started to try again, but he was already twisting the knobs to turn off the shower. "Grissom?"

"Let's move this to the bedroom," he suggested gently, and they did.

They made love slowly, with soft touches and affectionate glances. He hadn't told her he loved her yet, but it was only a matter of time.

Afterwards, she curled up against him, chewing on her lip. "Griss?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you disappointed?"

"Disappointed about what?"

"That we weren't able to fulfill our fantasies."

He wrapped an arm around her, running his palm down her bare back. "Nope."

"You sure?"

"Hey, who needs fantasies, when we've got reality?"

She hummed in agreement, snuggling against him even closer. "You still want to do it on the conference room table, don't you."

"You have no idea."