DISCLAIMER: Sadly these characters do not belong to me. I'm just playing with them for a little while.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.

Constant Craving
By forensicsgirl


You were the habit I tried so hard to break.

Life was simpler when we met. Two coeds at Harvard, young and naive in the ways of the world. While I took classes in physics, you studied Criminal Justice, and we would argue science versus law into the wee small hours.

We'd make love and fight and make love all over again.

But college life is not real life and the spell was bound to break sooner or later. You were destined for the police academy back home in Nevada, while I longed to return to the West Coast for grad school.

Both too stubborn to bend, neither of us gave an inch.

"This has always been the plan, Sara," you told me. "My mother expects it of me."

I didn't get it. Couldn't understand. Following in one of my parents' footsteps was the one thing I was determined never to do.

The arguments spiraled. Became about something else. Then they were about nothing. Just bitterness and recriminations, fighting over the hurt caused, not what caused the hurt.

"I'm beginning to think you never gave a damn about me," you told me.

"Fine," I spat back. "If that's what you want to believe then fine."

Lovemaking became sex - just sex – desperate and clawing, leaving us feeling even more empty and alone.

We chipped away at each other, chiseling away small fragments of our hearts. Until the day you struck the final blow.

"This isn't working," you told me, not looking me in the eye. "It was all a mistake. We don't love each other. We never did."

Growing up the way I did, I knew only too well how hurtful words could be. I just never expected to hear them from you.

Work. Work became my ballast. I didn't need someone in my life if I had my job, my purpose. I didn't need you.

I moved on. I forgot you. I dated and flirted with others and each one was my middle finger extended in your direction, proving that I no longer needed you in my life.

I didn't need you. Not in the nights when I woke up in an empty bed, dreaming of you. Not when a memory from our time together hit me like a fist in the gut. Not when I found myself staring off into space, wondering where you were and what you were doing.

And who you were with.

When Grissom asked me to come to Vegas, part of me wondered if you were still there. I almost said no.

Somehow, I managed to avoid running into you for three whole years. Three years in Vegas, convinced I was free of your shadow. Convinced I had moved on.

Then I rounded a corner in the lab, and there you were.

You were professional, cool and polite. You acted as though we'd never met before. You broke my heart all over again.

Eighteen months later and yet another punch in the gut. You were transferred to my shift.

I couldn't let you wield power over me. I wouldn't. So I played you at your own game. Profession but cool. Damn you, you were on my turf now.

And after five years of working in the same department and saying no more than a handful of words to me, you tried to be nice.

I was sorting through reams of child abuse files. Maybe you knew it was tough on me. Maybe you just thought it was time for us to start talking again.

"I, uh ... ran John Doe minor's DNA against the missing persons database. I'm sorry, no hits."

Your voice was like a finger trailing up my back and into my hair but I ignored it.

"Yeah, I'm not surprised," I replied. "They didn't care enough to feed him, why would they report him missing?"

You poured yourself a cup of coffee and watched me work.

"What's going on in here?" you asked, trying to draw me out.

"The victim had a prior abuse fracture."

"And you're hoping Child Protective Services investigated?"

I nodded. "Well, based on the age of the victim, the age of the fracture and the break pattern, I found ten possible matches."

"Well, it's going to take you forever to go through these alone." There was softness in your voice that I'd heard before, when I told you about my past. You were reaching out to me, but damn it I didn't want your pity. Not now. So I pushed you away.

"I'll get it done."

You paused, hurt maybe. I tried to derive some small satisfaction from the possibility that I might be able to hurt you the way you hurt me.

When you did speak, I couldn't tell if you were sad or just… disappointed. "It took me a long time to get where I was, Sara. Now I feel like I'm starting from scratch. I miss sleeping at night. I miss my colleagues. I miss ..."

"What?" I asked, part of me wondering if you would say me.

"Being trusted."

You left the room, leaving me to wonder if you were really talking about the job, or us. And wondering if trust was something I could ever give you again. And I considered it – trusting you. I truly did. Until I heard the rumors about you and Grissom.

He was the first person I'd allowed myself to care about since you. Dating men had always been a way to escape your hold over me. I knew relationships with them would never become unmanageable. But he had been someone I truly wanted to get close to.

I irony of the only two people I'd ever fallen in love with getting together was not lost on me.

You noticed. Of course you did. I was jealous – I'm not too stubborn to admit that. I just wasn't sure in which direction my jealousy was truly aimed.

I was sure I was dreaming the night you showed up on my doorstep.

"What are you…?"

"Nothing is going on between me and Grissom," you told me, the speed at which you addressed the issue immediately putting me on the defensive.

"Why the hell should I care?" I demanded, my heart pumping harder in my chest because of your words or maybe because you were so close I could smell your shampoo. "Your personal life is none of my business anymore."

You pushed past me, into my living room and stood there, taking it all in, absorbing every detail. "I've heard the rumors. I guess you have to. I wanted you to know. There's nothing…" You sighed and turned to me, your eyes nervously gauging my reaction. "You know I don't date men."

I shrugged. I could fake being a whole person, so I figured I could fake nonchalance. "I don't know anything about you these days."

The sting of my words reflected in your eyes and I hated myself.

"This isn't working," you whispered. "I thought we could… it's been so long and yet. Working in the same department? The same shift? I can't…"

Your voice cracked and it burned me. "What?" I whispered back, terrified of getting an answer and unable to stop myself from asking.

"I can't work this close to you," you said. "It's too hard."

No. No, you couldn't do this to me. Not after all this time.

"I don't see why," I said, putting on my strongest, bravest, most fuck-you voice. "You never loved me. Remember?"

You couldn't look at me as you walked to the door and left, just as you had all those years ago.

I felt triumphant and completely wretched all at once.

In the weeks that followed, it was if nothing had ever happened. We went back to our balancing act of being professional or ignoring each other. And then I came to work one shift and you were gone. "A task force," was all Grissom said. And then I heard that you'd resigned altogether and joined the police force in Boulder.

Part of me was relieved. I was making progress in all other areas of my life. I was becoming stronger, more confident. I was happier at work. I was confronting and letting go of the demons from my childhood. I was moving on. You had been a distraction, or so I believed.

And then you came back. I couldn't understand why, but I was damned if I was going to let it affect me. I was stronger now, a hell of a lot stronger than when I'd last seen you, months before. I would no longer kowtow to the strange power you held over me.

"So," I said, as if that would tell her everything I was thinking. "You're back."

"Yeah," you said. "Yeah."

I wasn't going to let your presence hurt me anymore. So I tried the technique I had started using more and more with Grissom. I smiled. I was breezy. I got off the occasional zinger…

"You're a detective. Go detect."

I walked off with a delicious grin on my face, part of me wishing I had stuck around to see your reaction, part of me wishing you'd just kiss the smirk right off my face.

The more carefree I was the more pissed off you became. And, I admit, it felt great.

When I heard about the shooting, I wanted to go to you. Wrap myself around you and protect you. Because, despite everything, you still had the ability to bring that out in me. But you didn't come to me. You did the stupid thing and you went to him.

I wanted to shake you. You gave us up to follow your career and now you were on the brink of fucking it up; breaking protocol as you blindly looked for comfort. I wanted to shake you because you went to him and not to me.

I couldn't say that. Not in front of Grissom. I couldn't hit you and shake you and kiss you and hold you, and all the other things I wanted to do. So, the professional veneer went up and I only succeeded in hurting you more.

God, you were so angry with me after that. I could do nothing right in your eyes. When I kept you waiting for no more than an hour at a scene, it might as well have been a whole day.

"I've been waiting for you."

"Sorry," I told you, meaning it. "I headed out as soon as I got your page."

It was true. I had. I'd been processing the other crime scene and hadn't heard my beeper at first.

"Really?" you asked, not believing me. "'Cause, uh – I left a voice mail several hours ago."

Bullshit, I thought. When would you be through punishing me? Instead I asked, "What's up?"

With difficulty, you dragged yourself back into professional mode. "The anonymous call was traced to this phone booth. I figured you'd want to process."

I moved round to check it out and spotted the print powder on the receiver. You didn't…

"There is fingerprint powder on the phone…"

"Yeah, I got bored waiting."

…You did.

"I figured you might need some help."

You looked so uncomfortable, as though you couldn't get away from me fast enough. I wanted to reach out, to stop the petty bullshit that was still coming between us. But I couldn't.

Before I could say anything, you slipped behind your walls of professionalism again and out of my reach.

I went home that night and lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling. Why were things so damn difficult? It had been more than ten years since we parted ways, and yet every time you got close to me, the wounds felt fresh.

And beneath those wounds, beat a heart that still loved you.

You had told me that being around me was too difficult. Would that be the case if you hadn't once loved me too? If you didn't still feel something? I had to know for sure.

You were the one thing in my past I could never bring myself to confront. But that was then. And this? This is now…

You don't look particularly surprised when you open your door and find me on the other side, fired up and terrified all at once. You watch me, your face impassive as I walk past you and into your inner sanctum.

"Why did you come back?"

You don't answer straight away. Instead, you walk to your sideboard and pour yourself a drink – whiskey – perhaps the Irish single malt you've always favored. You proffer the bottle toward me and I shake my head. My senses are already clouded enough by the drug of being in your presence, without adding fuel to the fire.


"I don't know," you tell me finally, regret marring your voice. "I wish I hadn't."


Your eyes flash. "Why do you think?"

"I'm sorry. I…"

"I missed you," you say then, somehow amused by that fact. You chuckle. "I missed you and I couldn't… not comeback."

I close my eyes and try to believe you.

"This is so fucking stupid," you whisper. "You ended up in Nevada anyway."

The tears sting as they make their presence known. "I know."

"You came because of him." Your voice is accusatory now. "Why not me?"

I shake my head, no appropriate answer to give you. "I don't know. I didn't understand. I didn't… I was so fucking stupid."

You move closer, facing me now. I can smell the whiskey on your breath as you sigh. "You broke my heart."

"You broke mine."

You laugh, throaty and long, until it turns into a sob. "I guess we're even then."

No. We're not even. "You told me that you didn't love me. You said you never had."

Regret. It changes the color of your eyes, do you know that? They darken as you turn them back towards me, taking another step into my personal space.

"I lied."

God, it feels so good for you to finally admit that. Finally take back the words that have haunted me all these years.

Suddenly emboldened, I walk the rest of the way to meet you. We don't touch at first, just watch each other. But when you reach out a hand to brush the hair from my face, I can't keep my hands to myself a moment longer.

I reach forward and pull you towards me, gasping as your body meets mine. You are too damn close now. Your lips too close not to kiss and so I do. We are slow at first, our lips tentatively reacquainting themselves after so many years apart. Too many years.

Gentle kisses that test the waters soon become more passionate as the heat between us builds. We have never been tepid, you and I, and ten years apart had done nothing to cool things down. Your tongue seeks access into my mouth and I accept, longing to feel it against my own. Harder, deeper, we kiss each other breathless and when we think we might suffocate, we kiss some more.

I don't remember you leading me to the bedroom, but somehow we find ourselves there as your hands reach down for the hem of my shirt. You pull it up and over my head and bury your face in my neck.

I run my fingers under your top, loving the feel of your soft skin. I need more. One tug and you are shirtless too.

Chest to chest we cling to one another, savoring each others warmth as our hands explore. One of your hands creeps lower and cups my ass and I flash you a wicked smile.

Maneuvering you to the bed, I push you into a sitting position and straddle you, my jeans rubbing against my heat and making me oh so very aware of my arousal. I bring my mouth down on yours and kiss you hard before turning my attention to your collar bone, nipping at your sensitive spots that I remember as if it were yesterday.

I move my hands up your back and undo the clasp of your bra, sliding it off and throwing it over my shoulder to land with our shirts. Cupping your breasts, I enjoy the heft of them, before I rub my thumbs over your hardened nipples, smirking as your eyes squeeze shut and you inhale sharply.

I trail kisses down your throat and lick and bite my way across your breasts, finally capturing one firm nipple between my teeth. Your skin still tastes the same as it did back then; milk and honey, sweetness and desire, simmering gently, just bellow the boil. I am a starving child at your breast as my hand slides down across your stomach and opens the button of your jeans.

Before my hand can delve in, you have both of my arms pinned at my back, grinning like a wild thing now that you've decided to turn the tables on me. It has always been a power play, our lovemaking, and I am pleased to see that nothing has changed.

My bra is off and your face buried in my chest before I can utter a syllable. You begin to devour me and I can muster no resistance, so I go with it, throwing my head back and loving every minute.

I run my hands up your arms and across your back, my short nails teasing your flesh. Your kisses start to work their way lower, exploring every inch of my skin, pausing at the waist band of my jeans while you undo the snap and pull them and my panties off together.

I lie, naked and all yours and you spend a moment just looking at me. I could die happy under your approving stare. And then your tongue licks the length of my leg and I am convinced that I have died after all.

You take your time, working your way slowly towards where I want you to be. I want to tell you that you're a fucking tease, but I can't speak; too caught up in the sensation of your lips and hands all over me.

I grasp the headboard as your fingers finally delve between my legs, flicking lightly across the swollen bud of my clit and I arch up to meet your hand, hungry for more. Your gaze fixes with mine and you look triumphant before you dive in, your tongue lapping the length of my slick folds, tasting me.

Your fingers spread me wide as you lick, teasingly slow at first. You know what I want and you refuse to give it to me, making me wait, my anticipation building until I can't take it anymore.

The first time you suck me, one finger slides inside, making me hiss and arch towards you. You pump a couple of times before sliding your finger out again and rubbing it over my clit, building up speed. You alternate like that for a few minutes, fucking then rubbing, and I feel the heat start to build. But I know you. You won't let me come yet.

You slow down the pace and place reverential kisses between my thighs, and I feel so loved and so horny and just so goddamned in love with you. When you start licking me again, I reach down and wind my fingers through your hair, spurring you on.

You slip two fingers inside me this time and fuck me harder, your tongue still lapping at my heat, bringing me to the very edge but not allowing me to fall over just yet. Yours is a skill well mastered. You know my body like your own and play it like a finely tuned instrument.

Your two fingers are soon joined by and third as your mouth abandons my clit and journeys up my body to my breast. Your tongue flicks out over one swollen nipple and I moan, yet another wave of pleasure hitting me.

Taking the swollen nub between your lips, you suckle, gently at first and then more in earnest, alternating between sucking and nipping at my breast with your teeth as your hand pumps harder between my legs, fucking me with all your might.

One last, lingering suck and you tear your mouth away and bring it crashing down on my lips, kissing the air out of my lungs and leaving me gasping for more. As I begin to pant, my orgasm so close I can taste it, you pull back from me to watch my face as I become totally lost in pleasure you're giving me.

Your hand has a steady rhythm going now, hard, deep and fast, and your thumb rubs over my desperately swollen clit, making my back arch and my breath hiss between my teeth.

I am so close now. So incredibly close.

You can feel it too and, in a flash, you return between my legs, your lips capturing my clit, your tongue darting across it. One hard suck and I am gone, light flashing behind my eyes, my body bucking beneath yours, my juices gushing over your welcoming hand.

You ride me until the last throws have passed and I know that you love every greedy squeeze as my walls clench around your fingers.

I lie gasping and spent, but damn if I don't almost come again as I watch you insert each one of your fingers into your mouth and lick them clean.

You lie down beside me and kiss me sweetly and I can taste both of us on your mouth.

"I love you," I whisper.

You kiss me again. "I love you too."

I wrap my arms and legs around you, drawing you in tight against my body.

This time, I won't let you go.

The End

Return to C.S.I. Fiction

Return to Main Page