A/N: I'm back with a new romance fic! This will all be written in first person, and I'll be switching back and forth between Nick and Sara's pov. A big thanks to januarynineteen and lostladyknight for helping me think this through, and reading rough drafts! You rock my world! Please review and let me know what you think!

The familiar even ebbing low in my abdomen has slowly started to subside, though I know that undeniable smell of sex won't leave quite so quickly. I sometimes have mixed feelings after sex with Nick, like I do today as I watch the taut muscles in his strong back move when he bends over to pull up his jeans. As I lay completely naked underneath my white linen sheets, I can't help but feel a little dirty, as I sometimes do. Sure, sex with Nick is amazing. How could it not be? I mean, one look at that man, and you can instantly tell he'll be an amazing lover. And one kiss is all it takes to make me melt in his arms, and he knows it. The sex is great, mind-blowing even, but the problem is that Nick is not my boyfriend. We're not even dating; we're just friends. But every once in a while, we have to scratch a little itch we both tend to get.

It's not like we're the first set of friends to ever take things a little too far and have a night of passion. Except, that one night of passion turned into a booty call that happened about once a week, sometimes even more often. Nick's my best friend, and I've always been afraid that having sex would ruin that, except it hasn't. When we're at work, or even just hanging out, we're just like we always have been. We talk, we joke around, perhaps we flirt a little, and our friendship is golden and intact, as well as it has ever been. Only our mattresses can vouch for a different story. When our bodies are melted together atop the soft surface, his hips thrusting hard into mine, any premise of just a friendly relationship is zapped. Together, alone, we are lovers. I know his body, and he knows mine like no one else. We get together to feel good; because neither of us have someone to call our own. Sex with no strings attached, no worrying about who needs to call who, how much to give, and how much to take. There are no expectations, only sex.

Nick stands up next to my bed, still shirtless, and gives me a smirk, noticing me all covered up under my sheets, as he fishes his red t-shirt off the floor. He's been called into work again, on a big case he had the luck of getting assigned to. It's been dragging out and really taking a toll on him, so this week he's been over two other times. And each time I accept him with open arms. Some people might think that's sad, but I don't. Usually. This morning, my thoughts about sex with my best friend are jumbled. It's not like he's using me, because I'm using him right back. We both want the sex; we need that release, but there just seems something inherently wrong about making love to someone you're not in a relationship with. I mean, what if one day he decided, or I decided, that this wasn't working any more? We'd still have to see each other at work every day. He will still have seen me naked, with all my imperfections. Every time he looks at me, I know he knows I have a little mole on the back of my thigh, that I like my stomach kissed, and that the nape of my neck is as sensitive as the bottom of my feet. Having to look at him every day, knowing that he knows all this highly private information about me, makes me nervous. It's not like he would go up to Greg and be like, "Hey. Did you know Sara squeals when she orgasms?" but it's just uneasy that someone knows me so intimately. It's not often I let someone this close.

I manage a smile at Nick anyway, despite all my odd feelings this morning. I promised myself I would never think too much into this. It's just a natural, primal urge we both have to feed, and there's nothing wrong with it, as long as both of us are okay with it. Nick pulls his muscle-hugging t-shirt on, and I get a nice look at his washboard abs, his strong pecs, and his amazing arms as he pulls the fabric over his naked skin. I love his body. I need his body. Gosh, I feel like such a schmuck for feeling that, but I do. Being with Nick makes me feel so loved, so cared for, so needed, but when he leaves in the morning like this, I feel so empty. Does Nick ever feel this way about me? Does he reach out and touch the empty mattress after I've left, feeling the warmth that still lingers? I've become more afraid lately that I need him more than he needs me.

Nick sits down on his side of the bed, resting his arms on either side of me. His thumb gently caresses my cheek as I stare up into his eyes, trying to savor this look of pure love and adoration. When we're in public, we can't share these intimate looks. And today that makes me wonder – what's so bad about others knowing we're into each other? Sure, Grissom would be a little perturbed, but who cares what that old man thinks honestly? Gosh, I'm such a teenage girl, having all these thoughts.

His breath is fresh, I notice, as he leans down to press a delicate kiss on my lips. After a few lip locks, he pulls back and studies my face. "Why're you hiding under those covers?" He asks me, smiling knowingly. I don't like to be naked more than I have to be, even around him. Admittedly, he's made me feel more comfortable about my nude body, more than past lovers, but you won't find me walking around the apartment in my birthday suit. Let me make it clear, the sex that Nick and I have isn't always just hard and fast fucking like you might think. We have very tender moments, with slow giving and taking. We can draw it out, taking the time to worship each other's bodies, and at other times we can't tear our clothes off fast enough. It's whatever we're in the mood for, and it always seems to feel right. So right, in fact, that I'm wondering why I'm not with this wonderful, insanely sexy man. His freshly applied aftershave teases my nose as he plants a tender kiss to the tip of my nose, and then another in the middle of my forehead. This loving touch, this human touch I crave so much, is only satisfied by this man, it seems. Damn myself for thinking this about my best friend.

"You're beautiful." He whispers into my left ear as he hovers dangerously around me. We both know that if he doesn't leave fast, that neatly tucked in t-shirt of his will hastily be removed from those denim jeans that are hugging his ass just right. As his warm, moist lips nip the skin just below by earlobe, I know we need to stop, but how can I stop the epitome of sexy from feasting on my neck? You'd have to be a total lesbian to stop him. His talented mouth continues its descent, tracing the well-known trail from by neck to my collarbone, my sternum, until he has to pull the sheet gently down to reach his wanted destination. He pulls back to look at my naked skin, and the look on his face is enough alone to turn me on. I love it when he looks at me like this – like I'm the most beautiful creature he's laid eyes on (though as a former football player, I'm sure he's seen his share of amazing female bodies). It's like everything I need to feel validated, appreciated, and loved, but at the same time it's heart-wrenching. I can't have him. I'm not entitled to have this every morning of my life. As his mouth closes around one of my already pert, pink nipples, I concentrate on the blinding pleasure of the moment, not on the loneliness I know will envelop me as soon as he leaves. His mouth, his hands, his skin is on me now, and at this moment my heart sings.

The alarm clock sounds again, making me want to beat it into the ground for causing Nick's lips to leave my skin. He clicks the button off, knowing he can't delay getting to work any longer, unless he wants to lose the job he loves so much. All the time, I hear how he loves his job. Loves helping people, putting criminals in jail where they belong and using forensics to do so. Always, when he leaves, I stupidly want to hear him say he loves me, but once again, as he rises and straightens his shirt, my heart is left disappointed. Instead, I get his usual words.

"Thanks, babe."

A kiss is pressed to my lips, the last physical contact I'll have with him until we're alone again, maybe later on that day. I turn onto my side and instead of my lover's warm, taut body laying next to me, I'm met again with an empty void. I reach out and touch the sheet, his body heat still lingering, the only proof that he was ever here.