2. In Which Mr Sanders' Dreams Come True

(warning: contains a little smut)

…………….

Greg shifted his weight, and took a deep breath, in and out.

"Go on, then." Sara had perched herself on the arm of the couch, and crossed her arms in an embarrassed, defeated manner. This was it. It was a mistake. He was going to tell her all he could give her was the sex, that they couldn't have a relationship because they were colleagues. He was going to tell her that he had a bet going with Nick and Warrick to see how fast he could get her turned on and naked. She watched him take a slow, deep breath. Oh god.

"Hear me out, ok?" He shoved his hands in his pockets, and his expression was apprehensive, nervous, and reminiscent of a second grader caught picking his nose.

"Alright."

"Don't speak. I want to get this out before I lose my nerve." He stopped, taking his hands out of his pockets, balling them together. "Ok. I don't want to be just a dent on your bedroom wall. I have six years of lust and adoration and dirty thoughts invested in our projected activities in the other room, and I just want to make sure that this is real. By real, I mean that I will tell you flat out that I have dreamed of the day that I would be lucky enough to kiss you to sleep and kiss you awake, and if you want all of that, then I will stay, but if you were thinking that this wouldn't go past an hour and a half from now, then I am going to duck out now, because I won't survive if you toss me aside, leave a note on the pillow, or never want to see me again." He took a step forward, eyes shimmering with passion, and blinding, unconditional love. He gestured down the hall, where the door to her bedroom was half open, and the neatly assembled bed was in sight, dropping his voice to a scratchy whisper that had turned her on so quickly hours before. "We go down that hall, Sara, and everything changes."

"Everything already has."

Greg smiled heartily, and bent to kiss her, coming to stand against her. Delicate fingers lightly pushed his jacket off his shoulders, and he let it drop at his feet, concentrating on ridding her of the dark, formfitting camisole that lay underneath the light sweater she had already shed. She briskly fumbled with the hem of his tee shirt, pushing it over his head after running her hands over the smooth plains of his torso. Her fingers gently tugged his belt loose, and unfastened the top button of his jeans.

Greg turned his attention to the nape of her neck, pressing tantalizing kisses along her neck, moving to her shoulder, and collarbone. He felt her arms wrap around his neck, her fingers rub against his back. He pushed away the thin strap of her bra, and, in reaching behind her, made it fall open and tugged it the rest of the way off her frame. She looked over at the coffee table, dropping the discarded article on top of the latest copy of the Journal of Forensic Science.

When she turned back to him, Greg pressed a kiss to her forehead. From there he bent, and placed a loving kiss just below her ear, then moved further, gently flicked the sensitive skin of her nipple with his tongue.

He was rewarded with the sexiest, most arousing noise he had ever heard in his life.

A soft moan had slipped from Sara's lips.

How they ended up on Sara's bed, he would never remember. Regardless, he had dreamed of this very day for years, and he was determined to act out each of his fantasies. He laid her down tenderly, and stilled her urgent movements, silenced her protests with a finger to her lips, already swollen from kisses. He hovered above her, opening her legs with a wandering knee. He pushed coppery brown curls out of her face, and pressed a chaste kiss to her temple. She caught his lips as they passed by her own, and Greg temporarily forgot his premeditated plan of action. She tugged at his scraggly hair, pulling his head to hers, and holding it there. He felt her wrap her legs around his waist, and the sudden pressure of the intimate part of her panties rubbing against his erection, even through his jeans was too much for him. Before he could think of his next move, Sara had flipped him on his back, and had straddled him, tugging at the zipper of his fly. She made short work of his jeans and boxers, unceremoniously tossing them aside.

Greg gritted his teeth and blew out a labored moan as her gentle fingers wrapped around him snugly. C'mon, Sanders, discipline, he thought. She chuckled hoarsely on top of him, and leaned down to press a kiss to his lips. Greg took this opportunity to flip her back onto the bedspread, and yanked the thin cotton panties down her legs and off her body in one fluid motion.

"Tell me what you want," he whispered into her ear, pleased when she shivered involuntarily at his words. He reached out, and traced the shaped of her breast lightly with his fingers. In shifting, his erection rubbed up the side of her inner thigh.

"Oh God, Greg." He caught her hand, however, as it shot out to feel him between their bodies. She moaned again as he let out that throaty laugh into her ear.

"Not just yet." He twisted her arm up over her head, immobilizing her hand. Her other hand had found it's way to his hip, but it wasn't going to be in the way there, so he let it stay. He slid his free hand between their bodies, and just as she began to protest, she felt the jolt run through her veins as his fingers found her most sensitive spot. Her hips bucked into his hand, and she squirmed beneath him, crumpling the sheets.

"Please, Greg." Her features scrunched into a tormented expression, the walls around her heart were caving in, and he could only watch as the stoic, guarded Sara burnt to nothing, leaving this new emotive, womanly side of Sara, his Sara, that he had known was there, buried in her, all along. He smiled, quickening his rhythm.

"Just tell me what you want." She let out an exasperated groan.

"You," she breathed, "are torturing me." He chuckled into her kiss, and slipped into her, reluctant to cause her any more unresolved tension, unable to deny her what he had dreamed of since his days in the DNA lab.

…………

Greg awoke the next morning noticing two things instantly. One, the midday sunlight was blinding him. Two, his pillow had breasts. He squinted in the light, and propped himself up onto his elbow, casting his gaze towards Sara's sleeping form. The sunshine tumbled over her bare shoulder, falling into his eyes. She was turned toward him on her side, and he was facing her, arm still tossed casually over her hip, legs still tangled in her own. Slowly and gently, Greg untangled his legs from Sara's, and dropped a gentle kiss on her forehead, careful not to disturb her, as he climbed out of bed. He picked his boxers up from the floor, and slipping them over his hips as he silently made his way to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. And a tee shirt. He needed to find a tee shirt.

He found his tee shirt from yesterday in the hall, and pulled it over his head. He made his way to the kitchen, and silently rummaged through Sara's cabinets until he located the coffee tin, and the filters. He began to hum an old song. Today was going to be difficult; they would have to determine the nature of their relationship. But right now, in the early afternoon sunlight, Greg was content to just make coffee, and head back into the bedroom and pull Sara against him, and whisper in her sleeping ear that he loved her, and he would never leave her.

"Then I look at you, and the world's alright with me, just one look at you, and I know it's gonna be, a lovely day ... lovely day, lovely day, lovely day ..." Greg was nodding his head to the beat of the song, even though the apartment was silent.

Greg poured freshly brewed coffee into two large mugs, and set about fixing Sara's the way she liked it. He made his way back to the bedroom, and set the steamy mugs down on the nightstand. He climbed back into bed, and pulled Sara's sleeping body towards his, wrapped his arms tightly around her, and pressed gentle kisses to her bare shoulder.

Slowly, Sara began to stir.

"Mmmmpht." Sara noticed two things instantly. One, the early afternoon sunshine was burning her corneas. And two, her blanket had arms. And a body. And it was Greg.

She felt him press a soft kiss to her shoulder, and a surge of warmth spread from the contact. She snuggled into his embrace, and slowly rubbed the sleep from her eyes. When she opened them, she was greeted with the sight of Greg with his arm thrown back over her hip, holding her close, with a signature lopsided grin of his face.

"Good morning, sunshine." Greg pushed a stray hair out of her eyes, and placed a kiss on her forehead.

"Good morning yourself." He rolled over to the nightstand, releasing her body. She groaned at the loss of contact, but he handed her a mug of coffee that was still steaming. She accepted the coffee, and sat up, cross-legged, to face him. They sat in comfortable silence for several moments, Greg staring at his feet, which were laid out on the bed, Sara staring into the vat of coffee in her hands.

"We should talk about this." Sara raised her gaze from the coffee to Greg's face.

"Agreed." He sat up, mimicking her position, his legs inches away from her own. Sara smiled as she was reminded of the end of some Molly Ringwald movie from the eighties. It was Greg who spoke first. "Where should we start?"

"I think I'd want to start at 'Wow.'" She raised the coffee to her lips.

"That was definitely the best sex I've ever had."

"Where do we go from here?"

"Wherever you want." Panic flashed across his expression as she bit her lip, and hesitated.

"I want it all, Greg. I just want to be happy." Panic turned to astonished joy, and Greg smile widened to a grin not unlike that of a small child on Christmas morning.

"I promise to make you happy."

"You already do."

Greg closed the short distance between them, and kissed her in earnest, plucking the half empty mug of coffee from her hands, and laying her back on the bed to kiss her all over again. Her laughter rang through the room.

He had wanted this for six years, but hearing her, seeing her, touching her, kissing her, laying on top of her was overwhelmed with the sensation of coming home, and Greg Sanders knew that all he ever wanted, all he ever needed, all he would ever love, was wriggling beneath him, laughing in his ear, and kissing him back with a new brand of passion he had already fallen a victim to.

…………….

Author's note: sorry about the smut, I spent three days trying to write around it, but in the end, SexyI'veThoughtAboutThisForSixYears!Greg needed release.

The Molly Ringwald movie referenced is "Sixteen Candles," The old song Greg hums is Bill Wither's "Lovely Day," which I've adopted as one of Greg's theme songs.

more little diddies in the works. Merci pour le reviews. 