Home of Greg Sanders Slash Fiction
Author: Amireal
Pairing: Grissom/Greg
Rating: FRM for icky descriptions
Archive: List archive ok, others ask first.
Spoilers: Minor case details for 5x18, Spark of Life. Mostly what
you'd get from watching the preview.
Warnings: One moment of icky imagery. It's like one sentence long.
Author's notes: Er, so this one sorta jumped up and bit me on the ass.
Not really plotty.
Summary: And some days he has to fight tooth and nail to stay sane.
Some days it's easy, like cocking a gun, *click*, he's in work space.
In the groove, that other part of his life locked away, under a veil,
asleep for all intents and purposes and Greg can make it through a
whole shift without seeing hide nor hair of that other space.
And some days he has to fight tooth and nail to stay sane. When every
little thing distracts him and he remembers how hot Gil looks when
giving orders, or looking through a microscope, or talking about
something esoteric but essential, or you know, breathing.
Today is one of *those* days, when he can feel his professionalism
slip through his fingers like a silk scarf off a dresser. He hates
himself on these days, nearly as much as he wishes it was ok to drag
Gil off to a dark corner somewhere and just satisfy the need that's
building inside him. Every confined space and covered area becomes
dangerous and he works hard not to be caught alone with Gil. Because
those are the hardest moments, alone, but still at work.
It's easy to forget the fish bowl they live in, they're never really
alone, even if they're the only ones in the room, bent over a
microscope, heads tilted close, discussing some minute piece of
evidence. Something small enough that Greg has to cozy up next to Gil
to even get a good look. Then he has to remember how close he's
actually allowed to get and on days like these, there's a magnetic
pull that he fights. His fingers wander in the wrong direction, he
stops himself from hooking his chin on Gil's shoulder, from brushing
against that warm, tantalizing body next to him.
He's been good up till now. Always winning the battle, but it's been
the crappy day to beat all crappy days, he remembers the smell of
burnt flesh and the sting on his own skin. He needs to be in that
other place, where he's allowed to touch, to confess to Gil, that
other person who lives outside the lab. He's so tired and every time
he closes his eyes he sees a white mummy, crispy around the edges and in his moments of lesser sanity it morphs into the Stay-Puff
Marshmallow man with his limbs singed.
Grissom, and Greg makes no mistake that it's Grissom who does it,
tells him to take a break. Nothing more to it than conserving your
resources and preserving the evidence. Maybe there's a hint of concern
over his well being, the newbie and his newest introduction to the
latest horror.
His locker is doing that fuzzing in and out thing and that tells Greg
he's just about as tired as he'd thought. Sofia's footsteps echo into
the background and he goes back to trying to make his eyes focus.
He hears the unusual sound of the door closing and the tumbling of the
lock. Grissom is standing just inside the room, hand still lingering
on the lever. "Do I lose points for needing Sofia to remind me this
might not be your best day ever?"
*Click.* Just like that, Greg is there and he can't stop it. They're
alone in a room with no windows and the door is locked and his brain
is just too tired to play the game anymore. He slumps further into the
bench. "That depends on what you do next."
He's surprised when Gil sits next to him, thighs touching. A warm hand
surround his cold and clammy one. Greg turns into Gil, head resting on
his shoulder. "Today really sucks and I feel incredibly inadequate
because you have to come in here and hold my hand."
Gil's free hand cups his face gently. "I'm not holding your hand,
you're holding mine," he says quietly.
There's this melty, squishy feeling somewhere suspiciously near his
heart, but Greg carefully tucks it away for later examination. Despite
this temporary suspension of any and all rules spoken and assumed,
dealing with anything close to that right now would be too much.
Instead he leans into the touch and brushes his lips across the palm.
"Gotta love semantics," he murmurs before sliding his free hand around
Gil's side.
There's an unreality to the moment, they slip into some in between
space, where everything is okay, everything is allowed and Greg
crushes himself to Gil's side and is ungodly grateful when he feels
the return pressure. It's punctuated with a few brief but intense
kisses that warm the little places in Greg that had gone cold in the
interim.
Without saying anything, they separate slowly, taking their moments to
gather themselves, put their veils back on, reshoulder their jobs and
their environments. When they're done Greg feels that almost
imperceptible *click* again and he's back where he should be, where
the work and the victims deserve him to be.
They exit the locker room and Sofia winks at them from around the
corner and closes the file Greg is pretty sure she wasn't reading. He
gives her credit where credit is due and winks back. Wordlessly she
hands Grissom the folder she's been holding.
As Grissom walks down the hallway reading his file, Greg sees
something lighter in his movements, grace that had been left behind
hours earlier returning and he knows that some days he's not the only
one who loses his place and has to fight be where he is. Greg goes off
in the opposite direction, he has work to do and he's been distracted
enough for one day. The case still sucks and he's still feels beaten
black and blue by it, but he's back where he should be and that's
enough for now.