Home of Greg Sanders Slash Fiction
Chapter Two
Sitting in his truck with the engine running, with Greg doing his best to suck the air right out of his lungs, he's struck by a horrible sense of deja vu.
This is how it started with Gil, too - both of them a little out of sorts, acting impulsively on an attraction they didn't really want to articulate, just.... just doing with no energy spent on thinking . Afterwards they had talked, had begun the foundations of their relationship, but before that...
Greg's hands are zeroing in on the same spots that Gil found that first time, and he discovers that he's groaning despite his absolute intention not to. Of course, he thinks, I had an absolute intention of not letting this happen again, and look where that got me...
He pulls back eventually, pushes his hands on Greg's shoulders to give himself a little space. He's breathing hard and he hates that, hates that it feels so right to be in the wrong person's arms.
"Stop," he manages, finally, and tries not to notice the flicker of confusion that passes over Greg's face.
"I don't-" Greg says haltingly, then he sighs and leans back into his own seat. "Okay. Too fast, got it. Sorry." His grin is anything but sorry.
Nick rubs his eyes, props an arm against the door and leans against it. God, he thinks, I'm lower than pond scum. "I can't do this," he says.
He can see Greg's grin grow from the corner of his eye. "Well, Nick Junior seems to disagree..." Greg steals his hand across the space between them, tries to support his argument anatomically.
"Stop." His own hand is like lightning catches Greg's wrist just above his knee and forces it back the way it came. "I mean it. I can't do this."
"Why not?"
Nick has to give him credit, he's not whining. Just asking. For a moment he thinks what a good CSI Greg is going to make one of these days, and that little infusion of work into this twisted triangle gives him the edge he needs to be strong.
"I just can't, Greg. I'm sorry."
"Come on Nick, you can't let me get this far and then push me away without any explanation." Greg tries to look sexy, which is kind of adorable. "Give me one good reason."
"I'm in love," Nick says.
"Oh?" Greg's eyebrows rise.
"Not with you," Nick adds. "I'm sorry. It's - complicated."
"I see." Greg leans back in his seat, stares out at the sun rising over the cityscape of Las Vegas. "So why am I here?"
Nick sighs. "I didn't want to have this conversation at work. I thought it would be better if we were somewhere else. Somewhere neutral."
"Neutral?" Greg asks, turning back to him. "You brought me to lover's lane to bail on me?"
He wants to wince but doesn't, and thinks he deserves some credit for that, at least. If Gil were here, he thinks, he would give me points for self-control. "I didn't think of it that way," he says. "I just thought this is a nice place, and..." He shrugs. "Shit, I'm sorry."
"Right."
"Look, Greg... I like you. Okay? I really do. But I just can't do this."
"Oh, that's supposed to make me feel better? 'Gee, Greggo, I think you're swell but I'm already pinned'?"
"I said I'm sorry."
"Who is it?"
Gil would give him points for the blank face he's still wearing, too. "Just - somebody."
"Boy," Greg quips, "that sounds serious."
"It is," Nick defends. "It's - it's what I've always wanted."
"Then why did you kiss me yesterday?"
He wants to have an answer to that, but he doesn't.
"And then again, today?"
Another impossible question. "I don't know," he says. He wants to say, a lapse of judgement, but he doesn't - won't - because there's only one way that could be taken and that's not what he means.
"You want to know what I think?" Greg asks after a few seconds of painful silence.
Not really. "Sure."
"I don't think there is anyone else," he says with a youthful kick of bravado. "I think you're scared shitless because this whole guy-thing is new to you."
He shakes his head, remembering the bottomless terror he had felt when he first realized he was dreaming about Gil, the knot that wouldn't unwind until Gil kissed it away. "Greg, there is somebody. Somebody who really means a lot to me, and I can't do this to them."
"Who is it?"
"I can't tell you that."
The triumphant look that touches Greg's features makes him glow. Nick's heart lurches. It isn't right that he wants to kiss him again.
"I knew it," Greg says. "Your fictional girlfriend is a cover."
"No."
"Yes." Greg touches his knee, but it's not an overtly sexual gesture. "It's okay, Nick. I can wait. I can win you over slowly."
Oh Jesus... "Greg, I'm serious. I'm in love and I can't do this."
"Who?" Greg asks. "Give me her name and I'll leave you alone."
He knows he should lie, make up some girl somewhere and throw her name out there, just to satisfy Greg's questions. But he knows that it won't deter him, because this whole scenario is too French farce to go away that easily. Greg will only be satisfied with something scandalous, something so unthinkable it must be true; a bone tossed over his head will not even make him blink.
And anyway, he thinks, I don't want to lie about Gil. I know I can't tell Greg the truth, I know what a disaster that would be; but I don't want to lie about the most important person in my life. I won't do it.
He shakes his head. "I can't," he says, tight-lipped.
Greg grins, sinks back into his seat again and crosses his arms. "Cool," he says. Challenge accepted.
"Greg..."
"You're going to need to drop me back at work," Greg says. "I left my car there."
He sits for a few seconds, staring at the brazen confidence of Greg's posture, and tells himself that he can't leave it like this. He can't leave it so open-ended, knows that if he does this whole disaster will repeat itself.
But what can he say?
He puts the truck in gear and keeps his mouth shut. He can feel Greg's gloat from across the cab.
Gil is already asleep when he gets home, and he stands for a moment in the bedroom doorway just watching him. It's one of his favourite things, watching him completely defenseless like this, untouched by the world and untouchable. He's beautiful all the time, he thinks; he's almost unbearable like this.
He sits for a while in the kitchen, kidding himself into thinking he can help Gil with the empty squares in the crossword. Once in a while Gil will leave one or two for him, his own unique way of telling him how important he is. How wanted he is. It always makes him feel loved, that Gil will make these minute and perfect gestures for him.
He hasn't left any easy-but-not-insulting clues for him tonight, so pushes it away and stares at the grain of the tabletop. His brain won't slow down, won't let him turn his back on the mischievous smile Greg gave him as he got out of the truck, the unspoken promise of a kiss in the half-wink he sent over his shoulder.
The horrible little thrill it gave him.
He feels his eyes well up and he lets the tears come. They are the least of what he deserves. He thinks of Gil, asleep in his bed - their bed, content because he can't fathom - can't even begin to contemplate - what a reprehensible person he has chosen to share his life with.
He aches for Gil, right down to the bottom of his soul, and he knows that last time he got lucky, luckier than he deserved. Gil laughed at him and told him that he loved him. This time....
He catches the sob before it escapes.
"Gil?"
He stirs, gradually opens his eyes into the darkness. "Nick?" he asks, stupid with sleep, blinking. "What time is it?"
"It's late," Nick says, sitting on the edge of the mattress. The blinds are drawn tight, to maintain the artificial night that their schedules demand. The world is waking up outside this little pocket of twilight.
He moves around a bit, sits up. "What's wrong?" he asks, reaching out to touch.
He doesn't need to see me, Nick thinks, to know that I'm crying. It only makes him cry harder.
"I fucked up," he hears himself say, and leans into the arms that Gil is holding out to him. He lets himself cry, wrapped in the arms of the man that he loves more than anything. That he doesn't want to lose.
Gil holds him for a long time, not saying anything but touching him, kissing him, making him feel so loved and so guilty he thinks he's going to throw up.
"Tell me what happened," Gil whispers into his hair when he's got himself under enough control to breathe regularly. "Please."
"God. I..." He pulls back, sniffles, wipes at his eyes, tries to smile. "I fucked up."
"So you said," Gil tells him gently, too gently. "You'll have to elaborate."
"I tried to talk to Greg," he says. "You know, kill it before it gets bad."
A stretch of silence. "And?"
"And I ended up making out with him."
"Ah." The arms don't retract, though for an eternity Nick is convinced that they will. They still momentarily in their soothing movements, and then after the longest second of his life they squeeze him so softly he almost misses it.
"Say something," Nick pleads in a whisper.
"What do you want me to say?" Gil asks patiently.
"Anything."
He feels Gil kiss the side of his face, pull back just far enough to look him in the eye. "I love you, Nick," he says. "Talk to me."
"Don't do that," he hears himself beg, "don't tell me that you love me. I don't deserve it."
"Why not?" Gil asks. "Because you're human?"
"Human?" he echoes, sounding hollow even to his own ears. "I cheated on you."
"Did you?"
It's asked so innocently, so sweetly, that he extracts himself and takes a good, long look at Gil Grissom in what little light there is.
"Weren't you listening?" he asks, skidding into bewilderment.
Gil smiles. "Of course I was," he says, "but I don't feel cheated on."
"How can you not?" More than bewildered, now; suspicious. He wants to scootch away completely, wants Rod Serling to leap out from behind the dresser and explain that this is the twilight zone.
Gil strokes the side of his face, lets his hand fall to the bed between them. "You're here," he says as though it's an explanation. "We're talking. You're being honest. I'm not hurt."
He isn't sure what to say to that. He doesn't want to be let off the hook for the wrong thing.
"I kissed Greg," he says. "I enjoyed it. There's this little bastard inside of me that wants to do it again."
"Will you?"
"What? No! Of course not."
Gil is smiling again, serenely. "You weren't going to last time, either," he points out. The benign amusement is back, and it confuses Nick more.
"I know that!" he practically howls. It's like he's on top of a pile of sand and he can feel it start to slip out from under him. "I fucked up and I'm sorry. I don't-"
"Nick." Gil touches his face again, leaves his hand where it settles naturally. He strokes with his thumb along his cheekbone, silencing him. "Do you love me?"
He's getting dizzy from trying to follow the torturous path of Gil's mind. "You know I do," he says.
"And I love you. That's enough."
"But this stupid thing with Greg-"
"This stupid thing with Greg isn't important."
He's frowning and he knows what a petulant brat he looks like when he does that. "Isn't important?" he asks.
"It can't touch what I feel for you," Gil says, "and I believe that it can't touch what you feel for me."
He sits back for a long moment, studying Gil's face. He sees love there, love and trust and utter confidence. Not in himself, though - Gil has utter confidence in him, in Nick Stokes of the Thousand Disasters.
He swallows. "He's not going to stop," he says. "Greg. I didn't - it's a mess. I told him I couldn't - with him - because I was seeing someone else. He doesn't believe me. He thinks it's because I don't want to admit that I'm into guys. I didn't want to drag you into it so I didn't tell him who I was seeing and - and he's going to keep trying. He thinks I'm scared."
"Are you?"
"Yes," he whispers.
"Of what?"
"Doing something to lose you."
Gil's thumb moves slowly, ghosting across the stubble he hasn't had time to get rid of. "Not going to happen," he says. "I love you too much."
"And the next time Greg comes on to me?" he demands. "What then?"
"What do you want to do?"
"I want him to stop."
"Do you really?"
He can feel himself blush under Gil's gaze. If only it weren't such a friendly gaze, such an accepting and forgiving gaze, it wouldn't be so bad.
"Nick?" Gil prompts warmly. "Honesty, remember?"
He licks his lips. "I don't want to hurt you," he says.
"You won't. When Greg comes on to you, what do you want to do? Forget about me. Tell me what you want."
So help me God, he thinks, and mumbles, "Kiss him."
Gil's smile is a beautiful thing, even in the half-light. "Then kiss him," he says simply.
Nick slides out of his touch, stands up and takes a step away from the bed. "What?" His voice is shaky, he can feel the blush that goes down to his toes, time is distorting around his immediate vicinity and he feels dizzy.
Gil doesn't move from where he is, but he keeps his eyes on him, keeps the warmth there. "Do you know what I want, Nick?"
He's never asked him that, not once. "No," he admits, hating the truth.
"I want you to be happy," Gil says. "I want you to enjoy everything the universe offers you. I want you to understand that love isn't a box, that what I feel for you shouldn't hold you back."
"Hold me back?" Nick asks. "It's not holding me back-"
"Nick." He lets a heartbeat of silence grow between them, to stop the rhythm of Nick's automatic denials. "If you truly, honestly and completely, were not interested in Greg, not at all, we wouldn't be having this conversation. It wouldn't have come up."
Another truth he hates. "So?" he manages weakly.
"So-" Gil shrugs. "So nothing, Nick. It's not an ultimatum. I love you, and I'm not going anywhere."
Nick stands halfway between the bed and the door, afraid to move, afraid not to.
"Nick? You look cold. Come to bed."
He stares at the hand Gil is holding out to him, and after a confused moment he takes it and lets himself be pulled back to the mattress. He stretches out on his back, stares up at the ceiling and feels Gil curl up around his side. It feels like home, the heat of his body. It feels like love. He relaxes as his heart slows down to match Gil's, as their breathing synchronizes.
"What just happened?" he asks eventually.
"We talked," Gil says into his collarbone.
"Did we make things worse?"
He can feel Gil's smile. "No," Gil says, and kisses the skin at the base of his throat, where his pulse is drumming. It makes him shiver. "No, we didn't."