Home of Greg Sanders Slash Fiction
Chapter Eight
The strangest part about his date with Greg is that, for the first time since they started acting on their ridiculous attraction, they aren't playing with fire. They kiss in the park, and then again at Greg's car, and that's it. They don't try to crawl into each other's clothes, and Greg doesn't try to get Nick to come home with him.
Gil is still awake when he gets back, but he's curled in bed with a cheap novel and his glasses low on his nose. He glances up and smiles when Nick comes in shrugging off his clothes, and tosses the dog-eared paperback to the floor.
"Have fun?" he asks.
Nick grins, sheds his jeans and slides under the covers with him. "You aren't allowed to do that," he says.
"Do what?"
"Wear those glasses in bed." Nick bats his eyelashes. "That's just mean, man."
The glasses disappear and Gil pulls him close. "You didn't answer my question," he says.
"Which was..."
"Did you have fun with Greg?"
"Yeah." It feels strange to lie like this, his whole body pressed against Gil, and talk about Greg. Strange, but... okay. "We went to that park on the east side, talked for a bit, you know." He shrugs.
"Sounds nice."
"It was. Greg's a good guy."
"I know."
Nick turns his head and pulls back enough to get some perspective. "That sounded loaded," he says.
Gil's attempt at an innocent expression falls somewhat flat. He laughs silently. "What?" he asks. "I'm just saying, he's a nice guy. I'm agreeing with you."
"...and?"
"And what?"
Nick scoots up the mattress until he's sitting at the headboard. "Oh no you don't," he says with a smile. "You don't get to weasel out of this with such an obvious diversionary tactic."
"Weasel out of what?"
"You like Greg."
"Yes."
A beat. "No," Nick says with a bigger grin, "you like Greg."
Gil makes a face of sorts. "Nick, you sound like you're in sixth grade."
"You're not denying it!"
"Well... no."
It shouldn't feel like a victory, but it does. "I knew it!"
Gil is laughing at him from his relaxed position under the cover. "So you're a genius," he says, rests his hand on Nick's leg just above the knee. "Give yourself a medal."
"Don't - how can you be so blase about this?" Nick asks. "This is big stuff, Gil."
"Why?" Gil asks. "I've always liked him."
He opens his mouth for a second before finding words to use. "Really?" He doesn't know why this is so exciting, but it is.
"Yes."
"How - is that why you're okay with this?"
He frowns at that. "What?"
"I mean-" He shifts on the mattress, crosses his legs and leans forward. "If it was Warrick, say, instead of Greg. Would you still be okay with this?"
"Of course I would." Gil smiles at him, that amazing smile that always makes Nick feel good inside and out. "This isn't about me, Nick, you know that."
"But it-" An evil thought occurs to him. "It could be about you," he says with a big grin.
Gil stares at him, and then laughs out loud. "You've got to be kidding."
"No," Nick says, and that evil thought of his grows by leaps and bounds. "No, I'm not."
Gil scoots up to sit next to him. "Well, you should be," he says, leaning in and almost kissing him.
"Why?" He almost kisses him back; their noses are less than an inch apart.
"Because that's a bad, bad thought, Nick Stokes." A fraction of an inch closer.
"What - Mr Unflappable is suddenly flapped?" He smiles.
"I think Greg might be flapped by the mere suggestion."
"You're not?"
"No."
Nick laughs, and kisses Gil quickly before throwing his arms around him. "You are a wild and crazy man, Gil Grissom."
"Don't say it too loud," Gil whispers in his ear and then touches his lips to the skin just behind it. "It's a state secret."
Nick laughs and hugs him as tightly as he can. "I love you, Crazy."
"The feeling, I assure you, is mutual."
Nick slides back down the mattress and drags Gil down with him. "Good," he says. "I'd be disappointed if it weren't."
By the time they wake up a few hours later, rested and sluggish and stoned with sleep, the evil little thought in the back of Nick's mind has become a giant, all-consuming obsession.
Gil watches him over a slice of toast. "Don't," he says, levelling a butter knife at him.
He tries to look innocent and succeeds about as well as Gil did, earlier. "Don't what?"
"You're going to chase Greg away, Nick." He says it so gently, so tolerantly, and with such an aching kindness in the lines around his eyes that the edge of warning in his words has been blunted.
"But-" He doesn't want to let it go. It's got a hold of him now, and it's the best evil thought he's ever had. "Okay, maybe," he concedes, "but let's - for the sake or argument here - let's say he's not freaked out."
Gil's mouth quirks into a smile. "For the sake of argument," he concedes.
"All right. What, exactly, are we talking about?"
"This is your idea, Nick," Gil reminds him gently. "You tell me."
"Okay." He shifts in the chair he's sitting in, wishes he didn't still have his lingering Catholic sense of right and wrong. Hates that it creeps up on him at the worst possible times, such as when he's trying to see how much Gil will let him get away with.
He clears his throat. "A threesome."
Gil raises an eyebrow. "It could be argued," he says, "that there's already a threesome of sorts here."
"The three of us," he amends, "together."
"Define 'together'."
"Together. In every way."
"In bed?"
"Oh, yes." That little thrill of excitement reappears in his stomach.
"In life?"
"Yes."
"In love?"
"Yes."
It fills the silence that appears, this confession of his. Gil is considering him thoughtfully, his toast still in his hand, gears turning.
"Well well well," Gil says with something approaching a flush creeping up his face.
Nick notices it, frowns. "Uh-oh," he says. "What'd I say? Was it - oh, God. I'm an idiot."
Gil's rests the knife on the lip of his plate and takes Nick's hand. "No," he says, "you're not."
"Then what's - something's wrong, Gil."
"No." His flush deepens.
"Honesty, remember?"
Yes, definitely moving from flush to outright blush. Gil squirms a little and Nick feels his own heart race at what he's not hearing, at what he's afraid to hear.
"Well," Gil says (and if he's having trouble speaking, well, that's an illusion, right?), "that's a very-"
Nick swallows.
"-very - appetising idea."
Another pause.
"What?" Nick finally asks.
"I said, 'That's a very appetising idea'."
He feels his face split into a grin. "I thought that's what you said."
"So?"
"So...." He shrugs, still smiling like a brainless monkey. "So, well, that's something, isn't it?"
Gil shakes his head with so much love Nick can feel it across the table. "You're going to scare him away, Nick," he prophesies.
"Maybe."
"Nick..."
Nick squeezes his hand where he's still holding it. "Have a little faith in me, Gil," he says.
Gil gives him one of his you-know-best-I'm-sure looks, and picks up his half-full cup of coffee. "Just go easy," he says with loving resignation.
"Of course. Don't I always?"
Gil snorts softly into his cup.