Thanks to Nessa for her beta work! She can wiggle with the best of them. OK, I had a good laugh.
This is a late response to last week’s Unbound Challenge.
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Sara raised a lone eyebrow as she watched the chaos unfold around her. She stood in the doorway of the kitchen and watched as Grissom performed a comedy of culinary errors that couldn’t be repeated if he tried. Once the cloud from the flour dissipated, Sara walked into the kitchen picking up the fallen artichokes at her feet.
"What are you doing?"
The flour that covered half of his face couldn’t hide his blush. "I’m, uh, cooking."
"Are you sure?" she asked, tossing him a hand towel
"Yes, smartass." Wiping his face with the towel, he nodded toward the concoction in front of him, "This is supposed to be artichoke lasagna."
Looking at the counter, Sara only saw olive oil, flour and eggs. "Where are the lasagna noodles?"
"Right here," he replied, patting the mound of dough in front of him.
"You can make homemade pasta?" Sara asked, shocked that he was going to all this trouble over a meal.
"Well, uh, apparently not."
His self-deprecating tone earned him a chuckle and a pat on the back as Sara made her way around him to inspect a pot on the stove that was near eruption. "What’s this stuff?"
"A berry compote for the crepes."
"Crepes?" Sara turned off the heat, removed it from the burner and gave it a stir to prevent further destruction.
"Yes."
"Lasagna and crepes? Were you bored?"
Grissom tossed down the towel and spoke with a tone that wavered between desperation and frustration, "Do you know that I have no clue what you eat when you come home from work? Do you eat breakfast or dinner when you get home?"
"This isn’t the first time we have eaten together after a shift."
We’ve eaten breakfast at the diner because that’s what they serve at eight o’clock in the morning. We dated for two weeks, Sara – two weeks, and I don’t know what you eat when you finish a tiring shift at work."
"Are you panicking? Do you feel like we are rushing this?"
"God, no. It’s just … I should know more about you. I have known you for so long – too long not to know this."
"Gris, you don’t have to do all this."
"Yes I do. Sara, this is the first time that you have left work to come home here, to our home - to me."
The past two weeks had been a roller coaster ride that began with the uphill trek of professing their love and the twists and turns were composed of apologies, lovemaking and healing. When the ride neared the end they only knew one thing – they wanted their life together to start that very moment. A new ride started the day before when Sara moved in and as much as she wanted to put the hurt behind them, she knew that he felt he still had a lot to make up for.
Rolling up her sleeves, she stood beside him ready to take on this mess. "Ok, so what needs to happen here?"
"It was supposed to be done before you got home," he pouted.
"I know," she said, wrapping her arms around him from behind and smothering another chuckle into his shoulder.
"What?"
"I love you."
"Nah, but the kitchen is a nightmare. Let’s work on getting the lasagna in the oven and then we can work on the crepes."
"You never did tell me what you eat."
"Toast."
"Just toast?"
"With butter – and sometimes jam."
"That’s not enough."
"Well, something tells me that problem is about to be remedied," she said, taking half of the pasta dough. "This would be a lot easier if we had a pasta maker."
"You don’t need one when you’ve got ‘the masta pasta maker from Italy’."
"Where?" Sara asked, craning her head to look around the kitchen.
"You’re not funny."
"And you’re not from Italy."
"But the is accent good, no?"
"Sure, yeah, it’s great – very convincing," she said, nodding emphatically.
He laughed and bumped her hip with his own, "Just shut up and cut the pasta dough."
"Yes, pasta masta." They shared a smile and began to construct the lasagna in companionable silence.
"Ok, so what now?"
"Why don’t you reheat the compote while I put this in the oven."
"Sure thing, masta," she said, reaching over him to move the pot back to the burner and for the second time today, Sara witnessed pandemonium. Uncoordinated movements resulted in the pot on the floor and the compote on Grissom.
"What the hell?"
"Hold still, let me clean it up."
"All you had to do was turn up the heat. God, this stuff is sticky."
"Quit whining. It’s nothing a good bath won’t fix," Sara said, wiping some of the mixture off with her thumb and sticking it in her mouth. "Mmm, this stuff is really good, Gris," she enthused, eyeing the drops of fruity confection on his neck. On impulse, she leaned in and trailed her tongue from drop to drop. "Really good."
"Sara-"
"Shh, hold still. There is a lot of this stuff - it may take awhile."
Her tongue lavished his neck, suckled his ears and stroked his beard. Finding herself craving his salty skin rather than the sweet fruit, her fingers worked the buttons of his shirt with her lips not far behind.
"I don’t think I any got down there."
"Stop talking," she demanded from her kneeling position on the floor.
"Yes, masta."
Laughing as she unbuckled his belt, she cocked her eyebrow and grinned, "I knew we had that backwards."
Grissom groaned as Sara’s mouth toyed with him and performed talents that he was sure had to be illegal. Sara’s affection was displayed in every touch and stroke and when she was done she lovingly redressed him and kissed his mouth languidly.
"Now that is what I want when I get home," she said and with a quick kiss on the lips, she made her way over to the refrigerator.
"Berry compote?"
"No, a good healthy serving of Gil Grissom," Sara replied, grabbing what she wanted and closing the refrigerator door.
"Honey, with a tongue like that, you can have me for breakfast, lunch and dinner."
With a laugh, she tossed him a bottle of water.
