Title: Romance Isn't Dead

Author: Tayla

Fandom: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation

Pairing: Gil/Greg

Rating: PG13

Category: Drama, Challenge, snippet

Status: Completed August 20, 2003

Archive: Yes to WWOMB/Peja. Yes to GSAS/Scarlet Rose. All others please ask

Feedback: Yes, please. All constructive criticism will be graciously accepted

Disclaimers: CSI and its characters belong to Anthony Zuiker and CBS broadcasting
company. The author makes no profit and no infringement is intended.

Authors Notes: Opening line challange

Summary: Sara is snarky, Grissom is romantic, Greg is lucky.

Warnings: nope

Romance Isn't Dead
By Tayla

"You? You don't have a single romantic bone in your body."

I snorted when I overheard the conversation in the break room. Sara being snarky. What else was new? I don't know why she feels the need to rag on Grissom like that. Well actually I do. She's been panting after him since she got here three years ago. Practically throws herself at him a couple times a week. She even asked him out to dinner.

He said no, of course.

He's tried to let her down easy. To reject her advances without rejecting her as a person. But she's just not getting it. She has it stuck in her head that she and Grissom are perfect for each other. She even tries to talk to me about it. We are friends, her and I. I even flirt with her some, but then again, I flirt with everybody. God forbid she ever finds out about me and Grissom. I will be on her shit list forever.

So anyway, Grissom doesn't respond to her advances, so she thinks he's not romantic. How wrong she is. I know first hand just how romantic he can be. Sara doesn't see it because he doesn't show it here. It would be highly inappropriate to show any kind of affection here at work, and even if he did show it, he wouldn't be showing it to her.

But boy, when I get him home, he turns into a big mush ball.

I came home on my birthday to a candlelight dinner. He actually cooked it himself.

Backrubs. Bubble baths. He reads me poetry. He also writes poetry. Okay, so it was a poem about my ass, but it was a poem.

I can't do romance for shit. He starts to get romantic and mushy on me and I just stammer and blush. He thinks it's cute.

Then I get him into bed, and he stops laughing. Lust, I can do. Full on sexual depravity I can do. I can have him squealing and moaning two minutes after getting his pants off.

I think we compliment each other quite well.

Sara's just shit out of luck.

end