Soft
by Freya
Disclaimer: They don’t belong to me but to CBS and Jerry Bruckheimer.
Spoiler: none
Summary: hard to tell … find out for yourself
Genre: even harder to tell
Rating: R, just to be safe
Feedback: Please, please, please!!!! smaria86@yahoo.com
Archive: Naked Truth, of course, and my site. Everybody else please ask!
Note: Folks, I’m back!!! I can hardly believe it myself! I’ve finally written another CSI fic ( after almost one year!) and I’m so happy!
Soft
by Freya
"Don’t!"
One word.
One single syllable that is supposed to stop you.
But it doesn’t.
Instead it urges you on even more, increases the want, the need to see a different Sara.
You want to see her walls crumble, you want to see the fragile soul you know is hidden under the stoic mask of science.
You lift your hand, reaching out to touch her – those high cheekbones, this dark hair – and she takes a step back, bumps into the table behind her, doesn’t seem to care that there’ll be bruises
the next morning.
"No!"
Again, one word.
Again, it’s no use.
You step forward, so close you can feel her breath on your face, shaky.
Shaky?
Yes, she’s trembling now, now that you have your fingers hovering above her cheek, only a few inches separating flesh from flesh.
Did she tremble when you first entered though the door and found her, once again, crouched over a microscope, dressed in yesterday’s clothes?
No, she didn’t tremble back then, but she is now.
Now that you can feel her body heat radiating off her, even through all the layers of clothes you’re both wearing.
One step closer and you’re pressed flush against her, her heaving bosom to yours, her hip bones digging into the soft flesh of your abdomen.
Her eyes close, her breath hitching in her throat, and you think that you have never before seen something so beautiful.
"Don’t do this to me, Catherine!"
Her voice, so soft, barely a whisper, reaches your ears and when her eyes open again you can see fear in them.
Fear, but also the walls that are trying, desperately, with all their might, to hold back the emotions underneath.
Does she fear you or just want you do to her?
You think it’s a bit of both.
There’s nothing to fear, though.
You know it and with that you let your fingertips carefully touch her soft skin. You don’t give her time to react to this, descending your lips onto hers, feeling them still and passive beneath yours as you continue kissing her.
You just knew she’d be this soft.
Soft all over.
Soft skin, soft lips, soft …
You tear your mouth away from hers and are surprised when she gasps at the loss of contact.
A sob escapes her throat and she closes her eyes again, hints of wetness showing in the corners, running down her cheeks where your hand is still resting.
You marvel at the scene displaying itself in front of you, the helplessness and weakness emanating from her body.
And suddenly you feel powerful.
You did this to her!
You made her feel this, made her tremble, made her cry.
You don’t know why you have this power over her but you are definitely enjoying it.
A sadistic kind of joy, you know that.
It happened just because you wanted it to happen. You wanted to know what she feels like, what she tastes like. Did she want it?
Her eyes open, again, and they are blurry from the tears. But the fear is gone. Not completely – a hint of it is still lingering in the background – but now you can see relief in them.
Relief?
This time you don’t have any time to react before you feel her lips on yours again, demanding. Demanding entrance to your mouth. You feel her tongue pushing against your lips and who are you to complain? So you open up and wrap yourself around her, clinging, clutching, pressing, pushing.
You feel dazed.
Her perfume is heavy on your tongue and in the tangle of arms and legs you can’t tell where you end and she begins.
But honestly you don’t care.
All you care about is here and now.
This woman in your arms.
Her mouth on your neck.
Her body arching towards your touch.
And you whisper these words into her ear, the words you know will turn this encounter into something more.
"I love you."