Crash
folder
CSI › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,186
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
CSI › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,186
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own CSI, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Crash
A/N: Originally posted for the Last Fanfic Author Standing Challenge for song fic back in February. Since then I have been toying with turning it into a “real” story and after encouragement from the ladies at I did so. I changed the framework and timeline (I brought it post-For Gedda). It’s roughly twice as long as the original.
I hope it’s a better story now and I hope you enjoy it.
Touch your lips just so I know
In your eyes, love, it glows so
I'm bare-boned and crazy for you
When you come crash
into me, baby
And I come into you
“Crash Into Me”
The Dave Matthews Band
The chair creaked in protest under their combined weights; the part of Grissom’s brain still registering anything outside of the rub of Sara’s damp thong against his denim clad erection decided it was just a protest and not a warning of imminent collapse. Palming the cheeks of her ass in his large hands, he brought her more firmly against him, never breaking the kiss that had their tongues sliding against each other, rough muscle tangling with rough muscle.
“When is the service?”
Even over the phone, he could tell she was trying to contain her tears.
“Day after tomorrow, noon.”
“My flight gets in tomorrow afternoon.” She cleared her throat and continued, hesitantly, “Is it…um…can I stay with you or should I get a hotel?”
Shock and fear flared briefly, then he heard the quiet intake of a shaky breath on the other end of the line and he understood. “Sara. Honey.” He gentled his voice as much as possible. “Of course you’ll stay here. You live here; you’re just visiting San Francisco.”
Calmly, but blinking back tears himself, he listened to her sob, knowing there was relief (for her, for him, for them) mixed in with the grief she was finally unable to contain.
Home. Sara was coming home.
Now, the word seduction whispered through his mind and wrapped itself around his temporal lobe like a snake made of ivy.
Sara had dressed for seduction. Not that he really needed seducing after more than six months of solitary and mechanical sex.
Masturbation, table for one.
When he had picked her up at McCarran he had expected to see her in her normal attire, dark pants and a colorful top. Instead, she had greeted him in a black pleated skirt that ended just above her knees, highlighting her stocking clad legs.
At the first sight of her, he had blinked.
After an uncharacteristically public but intense embrace in the middle of the airport, they had linked fingers and headed to the car. Another comforting and solid hug against the side of his Mercedes had shifted into a kiss. One soothing kiss had morphed into a multitude of heated presses of mouths; her fingers buried themselves in his hair and his hands cupped her cheeks as they rediscovered the taste of the other’s lips until the bleating of a car horn had reminded them they were in public.
The entire ride home he had struggled to keep his eyes on the road and his hands on the wheel. For her part, Sara kept a hand on his thigh; it was a light touch, but he felt her fingers burning him through the denim. Finally giving up on being completely safe, he took one hand off the wheel to embrace hers, large fingers sliding over her hand, his thumb slipping between her wrist and his leg, finding and feeling her pulse singing to him LOVE love LOVE love LOVE love in a thumping rhythm until he had to let go to leave the car.
The kissing had started again as soon as they were through the door, deep and fiery and they swept through the house towards the bedroom like some force of nature yet to be named, fierce and daunting and not to be denied. Kissing with lips and kissing with licks and kissing with nips and kissing so intently he thought he might not be able to breathe, but then he thought that was ok because he couldn’t really breathe without her there and he’d rather not be able to breathe because she’s so close, instead of not being able to breathe because she was so far away.
He had collapsed weak kneed with desire into the chair just inside the door of the bedroom, the one he normally sat in to put his shoes on and she had climbed on to him, rising up over him all long limbs and dark eyes and this, he thought, this is a better way to use a chair.
The material of her skirt flowed over his hands like silk over polished marble and his fingers came into contact with the warm and deliciously bare skin of her upper thighs where her stockings ended and his heaven began.
Breaking the latest kiss to take in a shaky breath, he drank in the sight of her as she continued to grind against him. Lips parted and wet, eyes half closed, face flushed, white silk blouse completely open, one breast still encased in the part satin, part see-thru mesh of a bra he’d never seen before. Her other breast was half out of its cup from an early, fumbled fondling, when his fingers simply could not come into contact with enough of her skin.
Dipping his head, he kissed his way down her freckled chest and took the exposed tip into his mouth, sucking hard.
“Jesus, Gil,” she wheezed, pressing herself harder into him.
Suckling the pebbled nipple, he moved one arm to support her as she arched her back, riding him desperately, despite the cloth barriers between them. Sliding his other hand past the sparse piece of silk of her panties, he encountered warm wetness. Rigid, she jerked at his touch, dislodging his mouth. She made a low and desperate sound. “Oh, god.”
Two thick fingers slid against the outer lips of her sex, then slipped between them, dipping into her, eliciting a keening cry. Shuddering, he counted himself lucky he didn’t come in his pants like a hormone addled teenaged boy. He pulled the digits out of her dripping cleft and slid them up, touching her swollen clit. She bucked again and he pulled her closer, crashing his mouth against her as he continued to rub his fingers slickly against the sensitive nub. He kissed her deeply, tongue rasping against her tongue, lips caressing her lips, devouring her gasps and cries.
As a scientist he knew a natural human reaction to grief on a cellular level was the desire to procreate, to create new life. And though a child was not in their immediate future, the reaffirmation of life, their life together, was there in every panting breath, in every burning glance. He wanted, he needed to feel her throbbing with life, pulsing around his hand, clenching her body around his as he drove into her.
“Come,” he groaned roughly against her lips. “Come, so I can be inside you and make you come again.”
Whimpering, she pressed herself against his circling fingers, rocking back and forth, rubbing against him harder and faster with each small thrust of her hips. She gripped his shoulders harder and he saw her let go, falling head first into bliss. She stiffened and arched her back, shuddering through her orgasm, then falling forward to land limply against him.
When her breathing evened out, he stood, lifting her with him, staggering the few feet to the bed. He deposited her on the bedspread as gently as he could, when all he really wanted to do was bury himself in her without preamble and fuck her hard and fast. He felt crazy--crazy for her, naked longing stripping him to the bone.
He pulled her crumpled and sopping panties down her long, long legs and tossed them carelessly aside. His cock jumped at the sight of her: both blouse and bra were half off, her skirt rode up revealing her glistening sex and the lace topped thigh highs. With haste and little care, he pulled his shirt over his head, not bothering with the buttons.
He had just unfastened his belt when Sara appeared to come back into herself. Opening her eyes, she watched him hungrily as he shed his jeans and boxers, erection bobbing free. She moaned a needy, greedy sound and reached for him.
The feel of her long, slender fingers around him had him sucking the air through his teeth and counting to ten in an effort to not come in her hand. His heated hardness throbbed as she pumped him, smearing the dollop of pre-ejaculate over the head, simultaneously anointing her palm and his flesh.
Pulling him to the bed and guiding him to her, she whispered hotly into his ear, “Come into me, Gil.”
Bracing himself on his elbows, he entered her slowly, centimeter by aching centimeter. Sinking into her, he parted her inner muscles as he pushed into her slick heat. Matching groans floated up, mingling in the air with the sound of labored breathing and the musky smell of sex. He gritted his teeth and sweat popped out at his temples as he fought the intense desire to simply pound into her.
Sara released a gasping sigh and pulled him down onto her and they rested there a moment, still and quiet except for their heaving breaths, forehead to forehead, joined, heart and mind, body and soul.
He closed his eyes and savored her warm breath on his face, her fingers in his hair. Slowly, carefully, teeth still clenched, he began to rock against her long, welcoming body. He slid a hand down her side, enjoying the contrasts between silk and silken flesh. Bringing his hand under her knee, he pulled her leg up and began to thrust into her in long strokes, listening to the wordless sounds she made every time he buried himself in her body. Slowly and steady at first, finding the rhythm they had lost six months previously, he pushed into her body again and again.
He wanted to growl; he felt basic and primal and possessive. The feel of her body gripping him had him clenching his teeth harder, grunting and picking up speed as he drove his hard cock into her over and over.
Wrapping her stocking clad, endless legs around his waist, she arched up into him, taking him deeper and setting up a counter rhythm to his increasing thrusts, bumping her clit against his body every time they crashed together. “God, Gil,” she moaned into his sweat dampened shoulder. “Fuck me. Fuck me.”
He could hear it in her voice, the knife edge where desire turned into completion. She was there, right there already, and he had never been so grateful. As he pushed into her, he told himself to remember to feel. Remember it all, the way her hair smelled like peaches, how her thighs felt rubbing against his sides, what it felt like to be buried so deep inside her—hot and wet and tight. And then there was her gasping voice as her muscles clenched around him, pulsing and igniting his own climax. He was driving into her at a frenetic pace, her frantic cries urging him on and then he was nothing but feeling, holding her so, so close, thrusting and arching into her hard, his cry of “Sara” throbbing in her ears as his semen throbbed into her body.
Collapsing, he felt her arms encircle him. He knew she was crying when she whispered, “I love you.” He knew because he was crying as well.
Home. He was home.
I hope it’s a better story now and I hope you enjoy it.
Touch your lips just so I know
In your eyes, love, it glows so
I'm bare-boned and crazy for you
When you come crash
into me, baby
And I come into you
“Crash Into Me”
The Dave Matthews Band
The chair creaked in protest under their combined weights; the part of Grissom’s brain still registering anything outside of the rub of Sara’s damp thong against his denim clad erection decided it was just a protest and not a warning of imminent collapse. Palming the cheeks of her ass in his large hands, he brought her more firmly against him, never breaking the kiss that had their tongues sliding against each other, rough muscle tangling with rough muscle.
“When is the service?”
Even over the phone, he could tell she was trying to contain her tears.
“Day after tomorrow, noon.”
“My flight gets in tomorrow afternoon.” She cleared her throat and continued, hesitantly, “Is it…um…can I stay with you or should I get a hotel?”
Shock and fear flared briefly, then he heard the quiet intake of a shaky breath on the other end of the line and he understood. “Sara. Honey.” He gentled his voice as much as possible. “Of course you’ll stay here. You live here; you’re just visiting San Francisco.”
Calmly, but blinking back tears himself, he listened to her sob, knowing there was relief (for her, for him, for them) mixed in with the grief she was finally unable to contain.
Home. Sara was coming home.
Now, the word seduction whispered through his mind and wrapped itself around his temporal lobe like a snake made of ivy.
Sara had dressed for seduction. Not that he really needed seducing after more than six months of solitary and mechanical sex.
Masturbation, table for one.
When he had picked her up at McCarran he had expected to see her in her normal attire, dark pants and a colorful top. Instead, she had greeted him in a black pleated skirt that ended just above her knees, highlighting her stocking clad legs.
At the first sight of her, he had blinked.
After an uncharacteristically public but intense embrace in the middle of the airport, they had linked fingers and headed to the car. Another comforting and solid hug against the side of his Mercedes had shifted into a kiss. One soothing kiss had morphed into a multitude of heated presses of mouths; her fingers buried themselves in his hair and his hands cupped her cheeks as they rediscovered the taste of the other’s lips until the bleating of a car horn had reminded them they were in public.
The entire ride home he had struggled to keep his eyes on the road and his hands on the wheel. For her part, Sara kept a hand on his thigh; it was a light touch, but he felt her fingers burning him through the denim. Finally giving up on being completely safe, he took one hand off the wheel to embrace hers, large fingers sliding over her hand, his thumb slipping between her wrist and his leg, finding and feeling her pulse singing to him LOVE love LOVE love LOVE love in a thumping rhythm until he had to let go to leave the car.
The kissing had started again as soon as they were through the door, deep and fiery and they swept through the house towards the bedroom like some force of nature yet to be named, fierce and daunting and not to be denied. Kissing with lips and kissing with licks and kissing with nips and kissing so intently he thought he might not be able to breathe, but then he thought that was ok because he couldn’t really breathe without her there and he’d rather not be able to breathe because she’s so close, instead of not being able to breathe because she was so far away.
He had collapsed weak kneed with desire into the chair just inside the door of the bedroom, the one he normally sat in to put his shoes on and she had climbed on to him, rising up over him all long limbs and dark eyes and this, he thought, this is a better way to use a chair.
The material of her skirt flowed over his hands like silk over polished marble and his fingers came into contact with the warm and deliciously bare skin of her upper thighs where her stockings ended and his heaven began.
Breaking the latest kiss to take in a shaky breath, he drank in the sight of her as she continued to grind against him. Lips parted and wet, eyes half closed, face flushed, white silk blouse completely open, one breast still encased in the part satin, part see-thru mesh of a bra he’d never seen before. Her other breast was half out of its cup from an early, fumbled fondling, when his fingers simply could not come into contact with enough of her skin.
Dipping his head, he kissed his way down her freckled chest and took the exposed tip into his mouth, sucking hard.
“Jesus, Gil,” she wheezed, pressing herself harder into him.
Suckling the pebbled nipple, he moved one arm to support her as she arched her back, riding him desperately, despite the cloth barriers between them. Sliding his other hand past the sparse piece of silk of her panties, he encountered warm wetness. Rigid, she jerked at his touch, dislodging his mouth. She made a low and desperate sound. “Oh, god.”
Two thick fingers slid against the outer lips of her sex, then slipped between them, dipping into her, eliciting a keening cry. Shuddering, he counted himself lucky he didn’t come in his pants like a hormone addled teenaged boy. He pulled the digits out of her dripping cleft and slid them up, touching her swollen clit. She bucked again and he pulled her closer, crashing his mouth against her as he continued to rub his fingers slickly against the sensitive nub. He kissed her deeply, tongue rasping against her tongue, lips caressing her lips, devouring her gasps and cries.
As a scientist he knew a natural human reaction to grief on a cellular level was the desire to procreate, to create new life. And though a child was not in their immediate future, the reaffirmation of life, their life together, was there in every panting breath, in every burning glance. He wanted, he needed to feel her throbbing with life, pulsing around his hand, clenching her body around his as he drove into her.
“Come,” he groaned roughly against her lips. “Come, so I can be inside you and make you come again.”
Whimpering, she pressed herself against his circling fingers, rocking back and forth, rubbing against him harder and faster with each small thrust of her hips. She gripped his shoulders harder and he saw her let go, falling head first into bliss. She stiffened and arched her back, shuddering through her orgasm, then falling forward to land limply against him.
When her breathing evened out, he stood, lifting her with him, staggering the few feet to the bed. He deposited her on the bedspread as gently as he could, when all he really wanted to do was bury himself in her without preamble and fuck her hard and fast. He felt crazy--crazy for her, naked longing stripping him to the bone.
He pulled her crumpled and sopping panties down her long, long legs and tossed them carelessly aside. His cock jumped at the sight of her: both blouse and bra were half off, her skirt rode up revealing her glistening sex and the lace topped thigh highs. With haste and little care, he pulled his shirt over his head, not bothering with the buttons.
He had just unfastened his belt when Sara appeared to come back into herself. Opening her eyes, she watched him hungrily as he shed his jeans and boxers, erection bobbing free. She moaned a needy, greedy sound and reached for him.
The feel of her long, slender fingers around him had him sucking the air through his teeth and counting to ten in an effort to not come in her hand. His heated hardness throbbed as she pumped him, smearing the dollop of pre-ejaculate over the head, simultaneously anointing her palm and his flesh.
Pulling him to the bed and guiding him to her, she whispered hotly into his ear, “Come into me, Gil.”
Bracing himself on his elbows, he entered her slowly, centimeter by aching centimeter. Sinking into her, he parted her inner muscles as he pushed into her slick heat. Matching groans floated up, mingling in the air with the sound of labored breathing and the musky smell of sex. He gritted his teeth and sweat popped out at his temples as he fought the intense desire to simply pound into her.
Sara released a gasping sigh and pulled him down onto her and they rested there a moment, still and quiet except for their heaving breaths, forehead to forehead, joined, heart and mind, body and soul.
He closed his eyes and savored her warm breath on his face, her fingers in his hair. Slowly, carefully, teeth still clenched, he began to rock against her long, welcoming body. He slid a hand down her side, enjoying the contrasts between silk and silken flesh. Bringing his hand under her knee, he pulled her leg up and began to thrust into her in long strokes, listening to the wordless sounds she made every time he buried himself in her body. Slowly and steady at first, finding the rhythm they had lost six months previously, he pushed into her body again and again.
He wanted to growl; he felt basic and primal and possessive. The feel of her body gripping him had him clenching his teeth harder, grunting and picking up speed as he drove his hard cock into her over and over.
Wrapping her stocking clad, endless legs around his waist, she arched up into him, taking him deeper and setting up a counter rhythm to his increasing thrusts, bumping her clit against his body every time they crashed together. “God, Gil,” she moaned into his sweat dampened shoulder. “Fuck me. Fuck me.”
He could hear it in her voice, the knife edge where desire turned into completion. She was there, right there already, and he had never been so grateful. As he pushed into her, he told himself to remember to feel. Remember it all, the way her hair smelled like peaches, how her thighs felt rubbing against his sides, what it felt like to be buried so deep inside her—hot and wet and tight. And then there was her gasping voice as her muscles clenched around him, pulsing and igniting his own climax. He was driving into her at a frenetic pace, her frantic cries urging him on and then he was nothing but feeling, holding her so, so close, thrusting and arching into her hard, his cry of “Sara” throbbing in her ears as his semen throbbed into her body.
Collapsing, he felt her arms encircle him. He knew she was crying when she whispered, “I love you.” He knew because he was crying as well.
Home. He was home.