Word Count: 845
Summary: It’s about the way her body would open to him.
Author's Notes: I admit to seeing all of a dozen episodes of CSI but. I flailed a bit at them in pure evil joy.
Sarah has a belly button ring. It’s visible sometimes through the thin cotton tee shirts she wears in the too hot Vegas summers. It’s fascinating in some ways; the whys behind intentional, ritual mutilation interests Gil. Leftover tribal remnants? It makes Gil stop, contemplate. Purely anthropological, of course, but that’s not one of his focuses. But. Self- Mutilation. Proudly borne.
He can taste the heavy steel of it when he has her spread out on the bed, her shirt abandoned, jeans still on. Not quite like the copper of the button of her jeans. It’s not quite like the dark iron of blood, a bitten lip, the start of a menses. So much metal in the soft, fragile carbon based creation of the human body. Gil tugs down the zipper of her pants, urging her hips up. The bra she was wearing was old, soft with wear and one of the hooks twisted out, snagging on the comforter when she arched. She swears softly, shoulder twisting slightly to unsnag it as Gil got her pants off. He raises an eyebrow at her and she silences herself, placing her feet flat on the bed, thighs slightly spread. She isn’t wearing underwear.
Gil touches her knees, spreading her a little wider, exposing her. She twists her fingers in the bedspread, so she won’t reach out and touch him. Sometimes (most of the time) it isn’t about that. It’s about the way her body would open to him, warm, wet so quickly, the salt of her skin when she starts to sweat. It’s about the slight prickle of pubic hair recently trimmed pressing against, moving with, the hair of his beard. He pulls away, looks at her face almost like a stranger, a specimen.
Sarah grits her teeth, forcing herself to look at the ceiling, the fan moving in lazy circles. She’d talked him out of wearing gloves for this, disliking the feel of the latex against her skin, inside of her for this. It makes her think of corpses. It makes her think Gil is thinking of corpses and that’s almost worse. His fingers are thick, rough, and they twist inside of her, curve. He holds her hip down lightly with his other hand, curled around the slim curve of it, keeping her from arching up. He watches her face for a moment before reaching up, two fingers still inside of her and the other touching her cheek, urging her eyes down to look at him. His tenderness is awkward, nearly as awkward as her acceptance of it, turning her face to kiss his palm, before nodding, smiling a little tightly.
He presses his mouth to her knee, not quite a kiss, but not entirely not one. Gil presses another finger into her, a slow and steady fuck, studying the way her hips shifted under his hand. He reaches up with his free hand to touch her belly button ring, curling the pinkie finger into the loop of it, spreading the rest of his hand over her stomach, warm and steady. He shifts again, sliding between her knees, spreading her thighs a little more, beard prickling against her thighs. He rubs her hip as he licks over cunt, tongue curling into her, pressing. He catalogs the taste, the scent of her. Gil pauses, tongue inside of her, her fists bunched in the comforter, hips pressed towards his mouth and forces himself to think Sarah. Sarah. It’s awkward, uncomfortable, too intimate. More intimate to put a name to her, a face, a laugh to the sweet salty taste of Sarah then just to smell, feel the warm vaginal fluid of an aroused woman.
He doesn’t know what to do with that for a moment and stops, tongue just barely inside of her, curled at the tip before Sarah makes a low sound, biting her lip to hold back the needy sound, hips moving for the briefest moment before she forces herself to stay still. Gil rubs her hip in silent appreciation of that, that she’s giving him this. He tugs lightly at her belly button ring, sucking at her clit, until she clenches under his hands, his mouth and he presses his hand firmly against her stomach as she comes.
He sits up and licks his lips, beard and face sticky and stares at her, slightly confused even though he knows how it happened, why. She’s panting, skin pink and warm and he’d caused it. The human body.
He tugs his pinkie out of her belly button ring and moves up to lie beside Sarah, not touching, but close enough to feel the warmth of her body even through his shirt. She closes her eyes, curling slightly on her side, not trying to touch him, not pushing him like that. He looks the curl of dark hair against her cheek and relaxes after a moment. This is probably what love is, the comfort of understanding what someone else needs and wants. Or, at least, this is as much love as Gil was ever going to want to have.