Home of Greg Sanders Slash Fiction
Author: April May
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: FRAO
Archive: Yes to WWOMB and Greg Slash Archive. Others
please ask.
Feedback: [email protected]
Disclaimers: CSI and its characters belong to Anthony Zuiker
and CBS, and no profit is being made from this story.
Spoilers: "High and Low" and brief reference to "Fight Night"
Summary: What could have happened after the ending of "High
and Low".
"Looking pretty good out there," I hear him say as I'm making
my way up the hill with my equipment.
I look up and see him standing there watching me with a grin
on his face. Apparently he's not mad at me any more.
"Thanks. You're looking pretty good yourself," I say. And he
does, too. He's wearing the black leather jacket I got him for
his birthday, along with a pair of aviator sunglasses that makes
him look tougher and less baby-faced than usual, and a pair of
tight black jeans (which I can tell is barely concealing a very
impressive erection). He looks so good, in fact, that I notice a
young blonde woman that I recognize from my paragliding class
turn her head and stare at him in a way that makes me want to
say, "Hey, that's *my* man," until I stop myself in time,
remembering that that would amount to me publicly outing myself,
and I'm not ready for that. Yet.
He grins at me again, acknowledging the compliment.
"What are you doing here anyway?" I ask him. It kind of surprises
me that he'd be here in the first place because he'd never wanted
to watch me paraglide before, claiming that it would, "make me
too nervous." A lot of things seem to make him nervous these
days, I think, remembering what he had said to Grissom not too
long ago and wondering if the remark Warrick had said about his
forgetting to take his medication had struck a little too close to
home. "I thought you'd be at home sleeping after the week you've
had."
"I couldn't sleep," he said. "And I wanted to talk to you, and I
remembered that when a case gets to you like that last one did,
you either like to go paragliding or have sex, and since you
didn't show up at my place, I was hoping..." His voice trails off,
but I know what he was thinking, and it pisses me off that he's
even thinking that, but I try not to let it show.
Then, tilting his head and looking at me with what I'm sure are
worried looking eyes behind his sunglasses, he asks "How can
you go out here again after what happened? Aren't you afraid
something like that could happen to you?"
"A little," I admit. "But that's part of the excitement of it. And
anyway, it's not as dangerous as it seems. Not as long as you
check your own equipment and don't go up too high."
He gives me what seems to be a skeptical look but doesn't say
anything. Then, as we're heading towards the lot where my SUV
is parked, he says to me, "I wanted to apologize...you know...for
the way I snapped at you in the lab last night."
"Nothing to apologize for," I tell him. "We were in your way, and
you had every right to throw us out."
"It's just that...I know I shouldn't think this way, but every time I
see you and Warrick together, I can't help wondering..."
Trying to tactfully cut him off until we can be somewhere more
private, I tell him, "Let me put this stuff away, okay? And then
we can talk about this."
He knows what I'm up to, of course, but he agrees. As soon as
we get to my SUV, he gets in the passenger's side up front and
watches me until I finish storing my paragliding equipment in the
back and get into the driver's seat next to him.
"There's nothing between me and Warrick," I tell him. "We're
just good friends."
"And isn't that what you say to him about me?"
I sigh. "Look, Greg, I know you'd like us to be out more, and
believe me, I wish we could too. But the way things have been
lately, you know, with the way people are looking at us more
closely after the Haviland hearing, and with the way Griss has
been acting like Mr. Mood Swing lately and you never know
*what* to expect from him, it's just not a good time right now."
"It never is a good time, according to you," he says, sounding
like a pouty child. But I know there's some truth in that. And I
also know that if I don't do something - now - to try to fix things
between us, it could get even worse, and I might even end up
losing him.
"Greg," I say. "Take off your sunglasses, will you? I want to see
you." When he does, I continue, saying, "I don't want anybody
else but you. You believe that, don't you?"
From the dubious look in his eyes, I can tell that he still is
unconvinced, but I sense I'm starting to win him over. Moving
closer to him, I reach out a hand to touch the side of his face,
then run it along his body until it's brushing against his crotch.
He makes a little involuntary "Uhhh..." sound, and I leave my
hand there until I can feel him getting hard again, which gives
me an idea.
"Get in the back and lie down," I tell him.
With a confused/worried/curious look in his face, he asks me,
"Why?"
"Go back there and you'll find out."
"Oh, so now you're getting dominant on me?" he says, but with a
grin, so I know he's teasing me. "You don't happen to have a whip
back there, do you?"
But he does what I ask, and I follow him, pushing the paragliding
equipment to the sides so there's enough room for both of us.
Leaning over him, I pull off his jacket, throwing it over to the front
seat, then unzip his jeans, pull out his swollen dick, and take it
into my mouth, tasting the salty tang of his precome as he gasps
with pleasure.
As he starts to thrust into my mouth, I get an even better idea. I
pull away from him, ignoring his cry of protest, and say, "Take
your jeans off."
He gives me another puzzled look but does it (although those
jeans don't come off easy - they really *are* tight) and I take off
my own pants, lowering myself over him until our dicks are
touching. Soon we're moving together, doing another type of gliding,
one that feels just as good as the type I did in the air. Maybe even
better. We're not in the best place to be doing this - it's hot and
sticky, and just about anyone could come by, look in the window,
and see us, but right now I don't care. All I care about is the man
underneath me and the wonderful feelings that are spreading up
from my groin into the rest of my body.
We don't last very long - I didn't think it would because we were
both so aroused. Soon, I hear his breathing speed up as the
movements of his hips gets faster, and then, letting out a series
of exhaled grunts, he comes, releasing his warm fluid against me.
Then it's my turn, and I feel myself getting closer, hear myself
crying out, "Love you...love you, Greg..." and lose control completely,
coming for what seems like a really long time before I drop,
exhausted, next to him.
It's a few minutes after that now, and I'm lying on my side
watching Greg, who's curled up next to me, half asleep. We're
still pantless, sweaty, and sticky, and there's come stains on our
shirts that are going to have to be washed out soon, but at this
point, we're still in that mellowed-out, post sex stage, where all
we want to do is hang on to each other. Before long, we'll manage
to break our hold, find our pants, pull them back on, and he'll get
into his car and follow me to my place. When we get there, we'll
head for my bedroom and have sex again, less frantically this time,
sleep for a while, wake up and order take-out food, watch some TV,
maybe even have sex again, then fall asleep, waking up when it's
about time to get ready to go to work. We'll shower, shave, and
get dressed (he'll put on some of the clothes he's left in my closet)
and, taking our separate cars, we'll drive to the lab. When we get
there, if anyone asks about what we did on our time off, he'll tell
some story about a woman that he met at a club, and I'll talk
about a movie I watched on HBO, and nobody will suspect that
we're making it all up. And everything will be all right between the
two of us again. At least for now.
End