Home of Greg Sanders Slash Fiction
Chapter Nine
He spends most of Friday night trying to plan his next move. The evil bastard who has taken up residence in the back of his mind is urging him to knock Greg out and drag him home to Gil. The more sensible part of his inner demon likes to point out that Gil is right, that he's going to scare the guy half to death.
The shift is long and boring, which makes it drag on forever but also means there's no expectation that he'll stay until noon. He spends a while trying not to hang around the DNA lab, trying not to be too obvious about where his mind is firmly rooted. Gil appears without warning behind him and clears his throat, and the look he gives him says it all: go back to work and save your mooning until after you clock out.
"Sorry," he says with a sheepish grin, and goes back to his own work.
Jim Brass is still giving him a beady eye, and he hasn't figured that out yet. He wonders if maybe Jim knows about him and Gil, and thinks that this thing with Greg is, what, cheating on him? He grins. Well, he is cheating, isn't he? Only he's not. Whatever Gil said to him after breakfast seems to have done the trick, though, because they manage to be civil to each other.
And then - beauty of all beauties - Ecklie is suddenly in their midst, whining about night shift protocol and making broad hints about too much overtime while glowering down at the night staff. Not that he's ever glad to see Ecklie (especially not when he can see Gil tense up down at the other end of the hallway and retreat into his office with the door closed) but it means he's free.
And so is Greg. They make eye contact briefly and manage wordlessly to arrange to meet in the parking lot in a few minutes, and he's so jazzed up about it that he barely notices the day shift grunt sneaking a smoke in the locker room, and he scarcely registers Ecklie's shrewd appraisal as he breezes through the lobby and out into the morning.
Greg is sitting on the hood of his own car, parked a few spaces over from Nick's. He's playing with his sunglasses and his wristwatch, and he doesn't notice Nick approaching until he's almost on top of him, and then he's so flustered he fumbles his glasses and his watch strap falls open.
"Nice recovery," Nick says, stopping next to the bumper.
Greg flashes him a smile, slipping the sunglasses on and refastening his watch in one smooth move. "Well, you know," he says lightly, "I hate to show off, but..."
"But nothing," he says. "Hungry?"
"Not for Manny's," Greg says with a shudder, "no."
"Oh come on, it's wasn't that bad."
"Not that bad?" Greg lowers his shades enough to peek over them, succeeds in not reacting to what must have been a plainly obvious spike of lust in Nick's reaction to the move. "Man, I had nightmares about it last night, okay?"
"Did you really?" Not teasing, not testing - well, okay, testing. But only testing the waters, because if Gil freaks the guy out that much then his grand master plan to dominate the universe isn't going to work.
"Yes!"
"Huh." He drums his fingers on the hood of the car.
Greg's smile falters but he catches it in mid-slide. "What?" he asks guardedly.
"Nothing." Nothing yet, anyway. He takes a couple of breaths using one of Gil's Buddhist techniques for patience, and smiles again. "So - not Manny's then. Where do you want to go?"
"There's this great little dive near my place," Greg offers with a certain underscore of timidness.
"Oh yeah?" he asks. "What kind of food?"
"Tex-Mex," Greg says, "but their breakfast burrito is a religious experience."
"Well all right then," Nick says, pulling his car keys out of his pocket. "You plum know how to make a Dallas boy feel right at home."
He's gratified by the little blush - flush? so hard to tell the difference these days - that creeps into Greg's face. "You have no idea," Greg says, and slides from the hood down to the pavement. "Should we take my car, or do you want to follow me?"
"I'll follow you," Nick says. "That way you won't have to get up again to drive me back."
His choice of words is deliberate, and the flush/blush that Greg is wearing practically bursts into flame. "Cool," he says, trying to sound cool but failing because it sounds like his voice is breaking.
"I'm right behind you," Nick says and walks down to his own car.
He thinks he hears Greg say something like, 'I'd rather you were in me,' but he isn't sure and anyway Greg is gunning his engine and Nick's not even inside his car yet.
And he tries not to notice that Warrick is standing at the main entrance when they drive past, Nick tailgating Greg with an evil grin on his face. Oooops.
In the end they skip Greg's favourite breakfast place and go straight to his apartment. Nick remembers it from the last time he was here, the coffee that never happened and the confused sex that almost did. He toes off his shoes inside the door where Greg leaves his, and sheds his jacket in the general vicinity of the closet, and as soon as he steps out of the narrow entranceway into the living room proper, Greg launches himself at him.
"You're sure," Greg asks haltingly between deep kisses, "that Grissom's not going to fire me for doing this?"
"I'm positive," Nick says against his teeth, and slides his hands up his back, under his shirt.
Greg purrs against his mouth as he traces his fingers down Nick's spine counting the vertebrae, and dragging his nails back up to his shoulders. "Wanted this so much," Greg says, his whole body shivering, "wanted this for so long..."
The breathless confession goes straight to Nick's groin and he pulls their bodies as close together as possible. Too many clothes, he thinks, but can't find the spare energy to articulate it. He grunts instead, and slides one hand down the back of Greg's jeans, slipping in under the band of his boxers and exploring the topography of skin he finds there, the perfect curves and the exciting valley between them.
Greg makes another of his amazing noises and shoves back against him, not to push them apart but to send them in the direction of the couch. He's having the same clothes-thoughts as Nick is and he fumbles with the fly of Nick's slacks, working his hand inside at the same time as the back of Nick's knees meet the couch.
He manages to land mostly lying down, at a funny angle maybe (maybe a bit uncomfortable, in a different universe, one where Greg wasn't climbing up him like he was a tree) and they wrestle to stay on the cushions and not slide down onto the carpet.
The overwhelming thought he has is skin and Greg's multitude of tee shirts is driving him nuts. He pushes Greg's mouth away from his own long enough to growl, "Off," while pulling uselessly at the layers of shirt, and Greg whips them up over his head with an unsuspected grace and sends them flying across the room. He has already unbuttoned Nick's shirt and bends over again to lick at his chest.
The only complaint (if it can even be called a complaint) that Nick has about having been with Gil so long is that his body is no longer a secret, no longer an uncharted arena of pleasure. It's not that he's bored - far from it, Gil keeps him guessing more than he would have thought possible - but there is something unbearably erotic about discovering another person's body for the first time.
Greg isn't shy about being discovered, and in a bizarre balancing act he manages to shuck his jeans off entirely without breaking mouth contact with Nick's right nipple, and the sensation of teeth and tongue exactly where he likes it coupled with Greg's remarkable flexibility makes him laugh out loud.
Greg raises his head and considers him from under a frown. "Sure," he says, "laugh at me why don't you."
"You're amazing," Nick says and tries to flip them over.
Greg locks his knees where they are, though, on either side of Nick's still-dressed hips, keeping them in place. He groans at the contact that Nick's struggle provides, and grinds against him again. The flush that started in the parking lot at the lab flares up again, and Nick is delighted to see that it goes down his arms as far as his elbows.
"Not fair," he says up at Greg, "you seem to be winning." He wants skin goddammit, not just Greg's but his, too - he wants skin on skin, sweat-slick and sticky with lust.
"You're not big on delayed gratification, are you," Greg asks with a grin.
"Fuck delayed gratification! I want to be naked. Now."
"If I let you up," Greg asks, and grinds against him again eliciting another raking moan, "what's in it for me?"
"Name it."
Greg leans over again, brushes his lips against Nick's and pulls back just enough so that they're not touching. "I want to fuck you," he whispers.
Nick moans and thrusts up against him. "Deal," he whispers back and sucks Greg's tongue into his mouth.
It takes him a few moments to disentangle himself from Nick's arms and his lips, but Greg finally slides off him and pulls him to his feet. "Bedroom," he says, sliding the shirt off his shoulders and tugging at the belt loops of his khakis.
Nick follows him as closely as he can, having to stop once in the hallway to step out of his clothes after nearly knocking himself out hopping on one foot, and reaches the door to the bedroom in time to see Greg kneeling on the bed, rummaging through his bedside table. He hesitates a moment, just enjoying the sight, then joins him in the tangle of sheets.
"If I'd have known you were coming over," Greg says, turning back to him, "I'd have made the bed when I got up."
"Don't care about the bed," Nick says and kisses him. "Tell me how you want me."
Greg's eyes glaze over a bit at the question and it takes him a moment to answer. "Face to face?" he asks.
Nick kisses him and leans back.
It's not his favourite position - he finds he's not quite flexible enough through the hips to enjoy it as much as he wants to - but so long as the name of the game isn't how-long-can-it-last he doesn't mind. He spreads his legs and watches Greg mess around with condoms and lube, and has to close his eyes and recite prime numbers for a bit when he goes to roll one on. Just seeing Greg touch himself, even the little bit it takes to slick a condom down his length, is enough to edge him too close. He hasn't been this wound up since... since the first time Gil took him.
He lets his head fall back to the mattress when Greg touches him, tries not to jump at the cold invasion of lube into his body, but the strange probing feeling doesn't last long. Greg kisses the inside of his thigh and works his finger slowly, kisses his other thigh and introduces a second digit.
"Fuck this," Nick growls after a little while of patient stretching, "just do it." He hates that he's getting old enough that he can already feel this in his tendons. He wonders how Gil does it so effortlessly, always game to try something new and never showing any signs of it the next day.
He forgets about Gil just then because Greg is suddenly inside him, swearing incoherently, and his eyes roll into the back of his head, his whole body shaking with the effort of holding himself back from too much, too soon.
Nick pushes against him and derails all his plans of being gentle and loving. "Hard and fast," he says through clenched teeth when Greg's garbled incantations subside enough to be get a word in.
"I don't-" Greg manages to say before Nick pushes back against him again and elicits another salvo of verbal abuse. "Jesus..."
"Pretty close," Nick says with a squashed half-laugh. "Just ride me, dammit."
He does. After not too long he manages to hit Nick's prostate and Nick gives in. He knows what he gets like when he lets go completely, knows what he sounds like and what his body does without any conscious input, but fuck it - it feels so good he doesn't care. Doesn't care that he should be embarrassed at himself, doesn't care that he has no self-control whatsoever. All he wants is more, now, harder.
And Greg, bless his skinny soul, is only too happy to oblige.
Nick comes first, as he usually does when he's on the receiving end, and he's only dimly aware of Greg's orgasm some time after his own. He anchors him in place with his legs for a little while, enjoying the solidity of Greg collapsed on top of him, enjoying the delicious fullness that is gradually ebbing inside him.
"Gotta move, man," Greg eventually mumbles, and slides out and off to the side. "Knees."
Nick lets his head fall to the side facing Greg. "Knees?" he asks groggily. What?
"Blew 'em out surfing," Greg says and touches the side of his face.
"Oh." He smiles, sated and self-satisfied, and lets his eyes close. He feels Greg stroking his cheek a couple of times, and then there's a cool, damp cloth moving over his sticky spots, and then there's an extended absence before Greg is back, twining their fingers together in the space between them. He sleeps then, too happy to care what's going on around him.
They sleep for about an hour, then Nick straggles awake and endures a moment of complete disorientation before he remembers where he is. Greg's bed, Greg's apartment, Greg drooling next to him.
He smiles down at him in the dim light, and rolls onto his back to look at the ceiling. He's always sucked at sleeping in someone else's bed, to the point that when he moved in with Gil, his bed moved in with him. He remembers Gil's tolerant amusement at having his own bed - which was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship - moved into the guest bedroom. And even then, when it really was Nick's own familiar bed, it took him months of adjusting to having a bedmate.
It's not that Greg is a bed hog, or that he tosses and turns. It's that he isn't Gil, and he isn't something he's used to. He looks over at the clock radio glowing by the bedside. Almost noon. Dammit, he really needs to get some sleep.
Greg stirs and opens his eyes blearily. "Hey," he says with a smile.
"Hey," Nick says and kisses him. "You okay?"
"Better than okay," Greg mumbles and lets his eyes close again.
He kisses him a second time. "Look, Greg," he says. "I think I have to go."
The eyes flutter open again. "Now?" he asks.
"I can't sleep worth shit in someone else's bed," he says, "and I'm pulling a double tomorrow. Tonight. Whenever." He grins. "I'd love to stay, but..."
"I know, I know," Greg says with a yawn and a stretch, "you love your job more than you love me."
Nick sits up and strokes his hand through the rumple of hair on Greg's head. "If you want to spend the night with me," he says, "you'll have to do it at my place."
Greg's eyes shoot open again, wide open, and stare up at him. "You're joking right?"
He smiles, his personal favourite non-answer, and leans down to kiss him again. "I can let myself out," he says, "go back to sleep."
He can tell Greg is watching him as he moves down the hallway, retrieving his clothes as he comes across them. "You sure?" Greg asks.
Nick stops and smiles back at him, one leg through his pants and the other not. "Yeah," he says. "I'll see you tonight?"
Greg smiles at him. "I'll be there."
"Good." He smiles again. "Wouldn't be the same without you."
He's not surprised that Gil is asleep when he gets back, and he contemplates having a shower before crawling into bed next to him, but decides against it. It'll just serve to wake him up, more than the midday drive back did, and what he really wants is to sleep like the dead.
Gil rolls towards him when he lies down, and after a few minutes of drifting he hears Gil mutter, "Didn't think you'd be back tonight."
He turns towards him to find sleepy eyes watching him, full of love. "You know I need my own bed," he says.
Gil smiles. "I forgot."
Nick kisses his nose. "Sorry I woke you."
"S'okay." Gil smiles again. "You smell like Greg."
Nick laughs. "Go back to sleep, you dirty old man."
Gil presses against him, wraps his arms around his waist and sighs contentedly.