Quietly Making Noise

Title: What to Wear
Author: Mingsmommy
Rating: Mature
Disclaimer: I do not own CSI or any of its characters.
Pairing: Grissom/Sara
Spoilers: Through Season 8
Prompt: Firestorm (blink and miss it)
A/N: Thank you to aflaminghalo for the uber speedy, helpful beta. This idea was inspired by/stolen from lasrevinu who was gracious and encouraging about the theft…not only is she one of the best writers in this fandom (or you know, ever), she is a lovely person.

It was absurd.

Completely absurd.

Grissom felt like an idiot. He was, after all, a child of the fifties and all the film noir with smoking jackets and peignoirs. But he knew all of that was fantasy; it was about the nervous bride and the suave groom and the first time.

But they had known each other for ten years, been sleeping together for almost three (he counted the months she was in San Francisco…his two visits and quite a few sessions of phone sex counted as sleeping together…sort of) and they had been married for…two hours and forty-five minutes. He had never pictured himself here: fifty-one years old on his wedding night, wondering what to wear for God’s sake. He felt like an idiot.

It had been a quiet ceremony. Just the two of them and the obligatory witnesses along with a minister from the least gaudy wedding chapel they could find. “The perfect way,” Grissom had said, “to end your first week back home.” Then it had been Japanese take-out sitting beside each other on the sofa sharing kisses and bites of avocado Hosomaki with Hank at their feet and Yo Yo Ma playing quietly in the background.

But when he had said something about getting ready for bed, she had squealed a too loud and too shrill, “No!” She was flushing before her mouth had completely closed and at the sight of his eyebrows climbing far into his forehead she had stuttered, “I…um…sorry…” She smiled, a quick, nervous smile. “Just…um…just give me a five minute head start, OK? Then come get ready for bed.” She had pressed a quick, chaste kiss to his lips, hopped up from the sofa and disappeared into the bedroom.

Puzzled, he had stared after her, until it occurred to him that she had something planned and all the images of women from all those movies of the fifties and sixties in frothy white nightgowns flooded his memories and he found himself locking up and shutting off lights, wondering what he should wear.

He contemplated his choices as he loaded toothpaste onto his toothbrush in “his” bathroom and began brushing his teeth. His pajamas and robe were too ordinary and he’d just be taking them off since wasn’t it sort of a given that they’d be having sex? It was their wedding night and she did appear to be preparing for that. But just being naked somehow seemed…presumptuous.

Deciding he should just put on his regular pajamas he immediately decided, no, that was a bad idea, remembering Sara saying she couldn’t believe there was a man alive who still wore pajamas. But he only wore them in the winter; the rest of the year he wore boxers or boxers and a t-shirt to bed. He could do that, but that seemed too…casual.

He snorted a little in self-disgust as he rinsed his toothbrush and tapped it against the edge of the sink to shake the excess water out of the bristles listening to the ping as the plastic hit the porcelain.

Was he actually nervous? Maybe. He was excited, certainly. He was married. They were married. After all this time, after everything they had been through, the ebb and flow into and out of each other’s lives, they were married, legally bound, contractually obligated. But all of that was nothing compared to finally having the words to express the commitment his heart had made long ago. Married. Wed. Wife. Husband. Spouse. Mate.

Sighing happily, he began unbuttoning his shirt and walked into the bedroom, only to be brought up short by the sight of Sara, his wife, posed provocatively against the door frame of the master bath. Feet in black stiletto heels, one braced slightly in front of her, her other leg bent at the knee with her foot against the wall. Shiny black stockings encased her long, luscious legs, ending in a lace top mid thigh. The skin of her upper thighs was bare and his eyes trailed up to the silky pair of black bikini panties that rode low on her hips and caused him to swallow hard before the remainder of her outfit caused him to blink and then grin.

“I like what you’re wearing.” His voice was low and rumbled through the room.

A slight flush stained her cheeks, but her smile was impish and self-satisfied. “I thought you might.”

The crinkle of heavy nylon as she moved towards him caused his smile to deepen.

“So?” He quirked an eyebrow at her as she began to finish the job of unbuttoning his shirt.

Her lips pursed in the kiss of a smile he loved so much, but she continued without meeting his eyes. “So?”

He reached out with an index finger and traced the embroidered letters just above her left breast. “So, are you trying to tell me something…Mrs. Grissom?”

“What would I be trying to tell you?” Her voice was full of feigned innocence with an undercurrent of teasing sensuality; she pushed against the shirt until his hand dropped and the material slid off his arms. She gave a mock huff when she saw he was still staring at her attire with a slightly dreamy smile on his face. “That I’m ready to come back to work? That I’m going to take your name?” She quirked an eyebrow and tilted her head. “Maybe I just like wearing your vest.”

He traced around the lacy top of one stocking, his finger alternating between skin and silk. “I wish I’d know about this particular fetish. Of course, you’d be pretty distracting at a crime scene dressed like this.”

Sara slid her hands up his now bare chest, the stiff material of his CSI vest rubbing against his skin as she leaned into him. “Why do you still have clothes on?” She pressed a light, moist kiss against the base of his throat. “I was expecting you to be naked and waiting for me, husband.” Skating her hands down his chest, she unbuckled his belt. “I plan on demanding my full marital rights, you know.” Not bothering to remove the belt, she pushed the button through the hole, peppering kisses against his chest as she lowered the zipper.

Making a happy humming sound against his left nipple, she pushed his pants down over his hips allowing them to pool at his feet. Her fingers encountered bare flesh and she drew back, her eyes flicking down to her now naked and aroused spouse. “Dr. Grissom…do you mean to tell me you attended your own wedding with no underwear?”

Smirking, he wrapped his arms around his wife and palmed her ass, savoring the feel of her warm flesh through her silk panties. “Nowhere in the rules was it stated, either in writing or verbally, that underwear was a requirement to matrimony. As a matter of fact, now that we’re married, feel free to go without underwear anytime you like.” His large hands insinuated themselves between the material and her skin and pushed down. “Starting now.”

Guiding the scrap of silk down over her hips, he allowed gravity to complete the job and the panties fell to her feet. Stepping out of his pants, he pulled her more firmly against him and into a kiss. Their teasing play immediately shifted to heated intensity at the first touch of mouth on mouth. Molding his lips to her warm, soft ones, he put heart and soul, love and desire into the press of their lips. He felt her breath release in a silent moan and her mouth opened under his. Slowly, his tongue glided over her lips in a sensual tease, then stroked into her mouth against her own tongue in a tantalizing exploration speaking of want and need.

His hands were back on the rounded globes of her derriere, grasping, cupping squeezing and her moan was audible as he brought her into full contact with him, hard cock pressing into soft belly. He could smell her, the warm musky scent of an excited Sara and he wanted to growl; he had always been like this with her, but tonight the need to claim and possess was a blinding, driving necessity.

“Oh, god,” Sara groaned, breaking the kiss, panting. She raised one leg and wrapped it around him and his eyes rolled back in his head at the dual sensations of the silk stocking against his hip and thigh and the heated wetness of her sex pressing against his flesh.

Quickly, he pulled the zipper on the vest, the grind of the teeth releasing sounding unnaturally loud amidst their heaving breaths. His thick fingers traced the ribbon of flesh exposed by the zipper’s release; the contrast of her pale skin against the heavy black nylon causing a spike of lust to shoot through him, making his erection pulse. Making a sound somewhere between a grunt and a groan his hands slipped under the thick material and cupped her breasts; calloused fingers skating over peaking nipples, eyes darting back and forth between his hands stroking over the rosy flesh and her face, eyes closed, head thrown back. The exposed skin of her delicate throat called to him and he found himself moving up the column of her neck, nibbling with teeth, soothing with tongue. Moving up to her ear, he delicately bit her earlobe, then sucked it wetly into his mouth, gratified by her desperate whimper.

“Sara,” his voice was a gravelly whisper. “I want to be in you, Sara.”

He was slightly surprised by the push against his chest; he landed on the foot of the bed and his wife landed on her knees in front of him. She grasped him, pre-ejaculate tickling her palm; he watched as she licked the seminal fluid from her hand with a broad brush of her tongue. He groaned.

“Come here, Sara.” His tone was urgent and possessive.

“Just a minute.” She blew across the suede and steel of his erection, then snaked her tongue out to lick the tip. “I’ve never sucked the cock of a married man before.”

Her sensual tone was a heated contrast to the lewdness of her words and his erection jumped in response, even as he barked out a laugh. “Well, I’ve never made love to a married woman and I want to do that. Get up here.”

Giving him her naughtiest smile, she placed a wet kiss against his balls. “In a minute.” Briefly, she buried her nose in the wiry curls at the base of his shaft. “Mmm…you smell so good. Love the smell of a turned on Grissom.”

He did growl then. “Sara…”

Unmindful and unrepentant, she stroked her tongue up his shaft, then swirled it around the tip, before pulling him into her mouth.

Wet. It was all he could think; her mouth was so wet, she was so wet. Wet and warm. She bobbed her head up and down, one hand at the base of his shaft working in tandem with her mouth and lips, the other cupping his balls, caressing them. Wet and warm, warm and wet, her mouth, her lips, her tongue on him.

“Sara.” He pushed against her shoulders and her mouth slid off of him with a slick, wet pop. He pulled her up to him. “I need to be in you.”

Grasping, his shoulders she straddled him. “And I need you to be in me.” Her breath was hot against his ear as she rose up on her knees, preparing to grasp him but she was forestalled by the slide of his fingers against her cleft. She gasped and threw her head back.

“God, honey, you’re so wet,” he rumbled against her throat, his fingers massaging her folds, skimming through the damp curls, slipping around her lips, skating up and around her clit, causing her to whimper. “I want to feel you.” He slipped a finger into and then out of her, sliding up and up, slowly circling her clit, pressing too lightly, too slowly.

She moaned a needy, greedy sound. “Want to be in you when you come,” he moaned in answer.

Roughly, she pushed his hand away. Grasping him firmly, she lined him up at her opening, then with excruciating slowness, she lowered herself onto him, little by little, inch by inch, until he was fully buried inside her. His hands clasped her back and they both sighed with pleasure, pausing to fully enjoy the moment.

Grissom had often heard orgasm called “completion” but that made no sense to him. This moment, this perfect moment of filling and being filled, entwined with Sara, surrounded by Sara, part of Sara, that was completion. For the all too brief time he was inside of her, then he was whole, then he was complete…this was the physical manifestation of what their souls already knew, they were each others’ missing piece.

His hands grasped her hips as she gently moved forward, the edge of the vest brushing the back of his hands as she rocked against him. “I love you,” he choked out against the skin of her neck, closing his eyes, trying to absorb all of it, telling himself remember this. He wanted to remember all of it, the hitch of her breath as she moved, the crinkle of the vest, how she gave a tiny grunt every time her clit bumped against his body, the feel of her sweat dampened skin under his palms, the slick heat of her surrounding him, the way her muscles gripped and clung to him as she rode him.

Graceful at first, she rose up and down in long slow strokes; then, as need increased, faster, harder, deeper, bumping her clit against him on every down stroke. He could see the curve of each breast under the vest, bouncing with her movements and distracted for a moment, he wondered how the rough material felt against her nipples; was it stimulating or chafing? Then she began moving faster, taking him deeper, grunting a little louder and all thought ceased, save one…come for me, Sara.

And she did. Her movements became more erratic, her face and chest flushed and he felt the beginning ripples of her interior muscles, the flutter and clench, gripping him and causing him to grit his teeth. She gasped and cried, “Gil, god, Gil!” and slammed down on him hard, giving a keening, wordless cry, her muscles clenching his thick cock as her orgasm rippled outward, overtaking her, body and soul.

Gripping her ass firmly, he carefully stood and turned them slowly, not wanting to break the connection of their bodies. He placed her on the bed, with her legs dangling over the edge and him standing between them. His glance touched her face and she smiled at him, hitching her hips up to him and he was off again. He lifted her right leg over his arm and began thrusting in earnest.

The heat pooled and tightened in his lower body. Everything, his whole world was narrowed down to here, now, this moment, their connection, his cock pushing into her warm wetness. He felt the flush on his face, then his whole body. But his entire being was focused on the blaze of ache and craving, coiling tighter and tighter, a conflagration of desire and primal need meeting as he pounded into her, seeking, needing release. He felt her muscles begin to clench again, knew she was coming again and he felt his own orgasm roar through him, bursting over him like a firestorm as he arched his back, thrusting deeply, and emptying himself into her.

The only sound in the room was their labored breathing, Sara panting hard, Grissom gasping. Sweat dripped from his face and body as he collapsed on the bed, half on and half off of her, struggling to catch his breath.

After what seemed an eternity, she was able to speak. “Wow.” She pressed a kiss against the side of his face. “We need to get married more often, if that’s the result.”

He huffed out a laugh. “It’s the vest; major turn on.”

“I’ll remember that, the next time I feel like granting you a wish.”

He pulled her close. “Isn’t that common when people get married?”

Exhaustion overcoming her, she yawned. “What’s that?”

“Vest wishes.”

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