Home of Greg Sanders Slash Fiction
Chapter Eleven
"....so then I sold my surfboard to my cousin and moved here." Greg shrugs. He has a cup of coffee (which he was delighted to discover was the good stuff, and which Nick knows for a fact Gil doesn't generally keep on hand) wrapped between both hands, holding it just under his nose.
Gil is sitting at the other end of the sofa, his arm stretched along the back, stopping just short of Greg's shoulder. Nick can see the twitch in his fingers, the urge he's suppressing to reach out and touch him. It shouldn't be as exciting to him as it is, he thinks from the solitary chair across from them, it shouldn't be as goddamn sexy as it is.
"That's it?" Gil asks. "You just took off?"
"Yeah." Greg inhales deeply over the steaming mug. "I mean, the whole thing with Daniel and everything, plus I'd already finished my Masters and I couldn't really surf anymore... I thought, sure, I'll try the desert."
"I envy you," Gil says.
Greg glances at him, plainly disbelieving. "What, the bit where my sonofabitch boyfriend sold my stereo, or the bit where I suddenly couldn't do the one thing that made me feel alive?"
Gil smiles, and Nick recognizes the smile from the early days of their relationship. "The bit where you have the guts to just walk away from everything," he says, "to start again from scratch."
"I just needed a change," he says.
"I'm still impressed." His fist uncurls slowly and one finger comes to rest lightly on Greg's shoulder. Greg doesn't seem to notice. "I don't think I could do that."
"Sure you could," Greg says. "You can do anything. I know, because I've seen a lot of it."
Gil smiles again, and another finger joins the index on the seam of his shirt. "I can make myself do most things," he says, "but I don't think I could choose to reinvent myself. Not like that."
"Ha." Greg sips at his coffee and a blissful look descends on his face. "Where'd you say you got this stuff?" he asks.
"That place you mentioned," Gil says. A third finger.
Nick wants to squirm, wants to find some way to sit that will relieve the tension his body is absorbing, but knows if he moves he's going to break the spell. And he doesn't want to break the spell, because this is about the most amazing thing he can imagine: the Gil-seduction of Greg.
"You went there?" Greg asked.
"You do know your coffee," Gil says. Pinky finger. God - Nick thinks he's going to explode.
"I use my powers for good," Greg says. Thumb, and he still hasn't really noticed it.
"Greg. Are you still drunk?" Asked so gently, so - so kindly.
"What? Naw, I'm good. I can drive." He starts to get up, discovers the hand on his shoulder because it tightens around him momentarily, urges him back into the sofa.
"That's not exactly what I had in mind."
He's not going to explode, Nick realizes; he's going to dissolve. He's going to melt right into this chair and evaporate. His breath catches in his throat and he hopes no one heard it because he's going to die on the spot if this thing stops.
Greg gives Gil a funny look, as though he's considering something and dismissing it immediately because it's too impossible to think of seriously. The moment of puzzlement stretches, and then Greg frowns and scratches his forehead. "Um, what...?"
Gil smiles again, and his hand travels from the safety of Greg's shirt to the stretch of skin visible under the lip of his collar. "Greg." That delicious voice that's so hard to resist, that always makes Nick whimper. Across the room he tries not to.
"Uh, Grissom...?" Mind revisiting the absolutely impossible, but with reluctance. "What, uh, what's going on?"
"Do you want me to stop?"
"Um?" Greg glances over at Nick, who has been silent for the better part of an hour, who has been watching their conversation from the first appearance of coffee and has stayed well out of it. Nick, who is sure he's wearing the most lust-sodden look Greg has probably ever seen.
Greg turns his head back to face Gil, his eyes open wide. He looks like he wants to say something but can't think of the right syllable to start with.
"Greg." Gil's fingers make a tiny stroking motion against the scant inches of skin he has access to. It's enough to make Greg's breath hitch. "Nobody wants you to be uncomfortable."
Greg manages to make a choking laughing sound that is completely unconvinced.
"If this - isn't something that you want, Greg, all you have to do is say so. Nobody's going to be upset, nobody's going to be disappointed. Okay?" He smiles again, moves his thumb. "Whatever you want is exactly right."
There's a long moment of stillness, where the only motion is that of Gil's fingers and the only sound is that of three people breathing, two of them erratically. Gil is maddeningly serene.
Then Greg dips his head a fraction of a degree and keeps his eyes locked on Gil's. A nod, of sorts, and a convulsive swallow. Gil's smile becomes more radiant and he lengthens the stroke of his fingers along his neck, and Greg tips his head to one side to expose more skin.
Nick lets out a soundless moan and feels the muscles in his stomach tighten. God, he thinks, this is better than porn. Because this is real, and because this is like magic, like waiting for Santa all Christmas Eve and finally, on the edge of sleep, hearing bells on the rooftop. Because this is the hottest, most unbelievable thing he has ever witnessed.
He's never seen Gil kiss anyone before. His own eyes are always closed by the time those lips touch his, and there's never been anyone else. He holds his breath and drinks in this beautiful sight.
He watches Gil lean in slowly, never breaking eye contact, hesitating just before their mouths meet, breathing the same air that Greg is exhaling. He runs his thumb along Greg's jaw, traces the shape of his lower lip, and closes the space between them. Greg shutters his eyes closed then and leans into the kiss, into the heat of Gil's mouth, and even though this is such a chaste kiss, such an innocent touch, Greg makes a long, keening noise in the back of his throat that sends a current of electricity through Nick's blood, arcing through his heart and his fingertips and settling between his legs.
He can't move for the longest time, sitting there and watching as Gil opens himself to Greg and then, after the sweetest hesitation in the history of the universe, Greg reciprocates. He still can't move when Greg's hand comes haltingly up to Gil's shoulder and rests lightly at the nape of his neck, can't pull himself out of his voyeuristic stupor when the tenor of the kiss changes, when Gil moves inexorably closer to Greg and Greg turns to him completely, and it's no longer a kiss of hands and mouths, it's a kiss of bodies.
They come apart for a moment, a breathless heartbeat where Nick can see that Gil's pupils are so far dilated he doesn't look exactly human and Greg's eyes are so glassed over it's a wonder he can see at all. Greg glances over at him dizzily, uncertainly, utterly in shock - looking for some kind of permission.
Nick nods, stunned to discover that he has retained some measure of motor skills.
They kiss again, and Greg makes a tiny, jerking movement with his legs, brings them up off the coffee table where his socked feet have been resting and tries to find room for his knees on the couch. Gil catches them as they slide back towards the floor and pulls them into his lap, leaves his hand resting on his thigh where it has fallen, and he draws Greg closer. Greg insinuates himself into Gil's lap, following the path his legs have established and sliding his hands down his chest.
Nick pushes himself to his feet unsteadily, makes it across the room and lets himself fall onto the end of the couch Greg has just vacated. The cushions are still warm but the real heat is coming from the space next to him, and he succumbs to another moment of frozen stupidity.
He knows that this is what he wants, that Gil wants it too and evidently so does Greg - he knows this, and can't quite bring himself to believe that it's true. That the universe would conspire to make all his obscene dreams come true.
Something touches his hand, and he glances down, startled, to see that Gil's hand is splayed on the cushion, next to his own, fingers just barely making contact but, oh so very deliberate. Nick is amazed that Gil can keep track of two things at once, of Greg covering most of his lower body and of Nick sitting next to him, but he knows he shouldn't be surprised. Nothing Gil ever does is accidental, he's learned; and Gil (as opposed to Grissom) never instructs or commands. Everything is an invitation, and everything is shared.
He laces his fingers through Gil's, and doesn't know what to do from there.
He knows what he wants to do - he wants to undress Greg and let Gil have fun with his front while he enjoys his back. Or he wants to work himself between them and let them do their worst to him - anything but stay here, passive in the face of such wonder. He has no experience in this, nothing more than an awkwardly overactive imagination and the guilty conscience to match.
Gil squeezes his hand and turns from Greg's mouth to face Nick. Greg latches onto the skin under his ear and keeps going, keeps his body moving ceaselessly against him, keeps making those raspy little noises of need.
Nick feels his hand let go of and then Gil is pulling him in, Gil's hand fisted in the front of his shirt and Gil's eyes holding him with more strength than he thinks is possible. He leans in and touches his lips to Gil's, just a quick contact that should have thrown sparks and then he pulls back again, his breath just as ragged as Greg's, his desire no more greedy.
Only then Greg notices the heat of his proximity because he turns from Gil's neck and looks at Nick with heavy-lidded eyes and after one blink the look of lust is gone and is replaced by something approaching terror.
Nick retreats as far as he can with Gil's hand still tangled in his shirt.
"What the fuck-" Greg makes a move to scramble out of the melee, off of Gil and away from Nick, but Gil catches his belt and keeps him from escaping altogether.
"Greg," Gil says, and it's kind of nice to hear that he's out of breath, too. "It's okay."
"It's not okay," Greg says, just this side of hysterical. "Jesus, look at me-"
Gil releases Nick's shirt with a lingering reluctance, and brings his free hand up to touch Greg's face, doesn't react to the sudden start it gives the younger man. "I am looking at you," he says, "and you're beautiful."
Greg shakes his head and makes another abortive attempt to flee. "I don't," he stammers, "I've never, I don't even know how - and then-"
Nick takes his hand. "Me neither," he says. "But so what?"
"That's-" Greg without words is odd. Greg almost hyperventilating is more than odd.
"I want this," Gil says quietly, evenly, honestly. "Nick wants this. But you have to want it, too, Greg." He smiles, touches his face again. "Decide for yourself and don't worry about us." His hand unclenches around his belt and Greg makes another bolting move, but doesn't go anywhere.
"But you two," he stutters, "and then me-"
"You're already a part of us," Nick says, and tugs at him to move off Gil's lap and into his own. "One way or the other, it's the three of us, now." He tugs again, gently, and smiles with as much of his heart as he knows how.
Greg slides towards Nick, still hesitating, still unsure; but once he's resting against Nick's chest he seems to calm down a bit because this, at least, is something he knows. Nick kisses the side of his head and urges him to relax, to let go of the thing that has him so wound up he can't speak. He kisses him again and pulls him close, guides his head down to his shoulder and holds him until he goes limp.
"What's going on?" Greg finally asks. His eyes are open and he's staring at Gil.
"You had a little panic attack," Gil says and smiles at him.
"I remember the panic attack," Greg says distantly. "But before. What's going on?"
"I don't know." Honesty, always, from Gil.
Greg lifts his head from the pillow of Nick's arm and looks at him. "You?" he asks.
Nick shrugs and plays with a bit of Greg's hair that sticks up in just the right place. His other hand is tangled in a cage of Gil's fingers. He's not sure how much time has passed, but his heart has stopped its lust-hammering and Gil's eyes have returned to normal.
"A lot of stuff's going on," he says, and it feels wrong somehow to say it like that. "Are you all right?"
Greg considers it from his semi-foetal position draped between them. "I guess so," he says.
Gil touches his face carefully, lightly. "I'm glad," he says. "I owe you an apology."
"No," Greg says. "It's me-"
"No," Nick counters, "it's not you, it was us."
"But I - I wanted it," Greg says, blushing again. "I... still do." He ducks his head. "I mean, I know I blew it and everything-"
"You didn't blow anything," Nick says. "We're still here."
Greg shakes his head, slowly. "Why?"
Gil shrugs too casually. "Because nothing is easy the first time," he says. "Sometimes not the second, or the third - sometimes never. But that doesn't mean we stop trying."
"You're worth it," Nick says, letting his arm slide around Greg's waist and pull him in. "Believe me."
"Yeah?" Greg's voice is thin and wavering and the smile he's wearing is one that they both recognize from the lab, when all he wants is a thank you or a tiny compliment on his work but he doesn't want to ask for it.
"Yeah," Gil tells him softly. "You are." He brings his hand to his lips and kisses his fingertips quickly.
Greg sighs and leans against Nick again, lets his head drop and his eyes close and Nick can feel him relaxing consciously. Nick reaches up to turn his head slightly, to get that tuft of hair out of his nose, and discovers that his face is wet.
"Greg?" he murmurs.
Greg sighs and snuggles deeper into Nick's arms, and Nick thinks about asking him again then decides against it. He looks up to find Gil watching him, and his smile comes from the depths of his soul.
After a long while Gil gets up and disappears, and Nick stays where he is, holding Greg against him and enjoying the way it makes him feel, like this isn't just dating but it's a real relationship. Before he had fallen against Gil he had never understood the distinction, had never met anyone willing to teach him. And now, of course, now that he knows the difference, he has a very firm preference for the more complicated form of entanglement.
And this thing tonight, with Greg's panic attack and then managing to fall asleep on him within touching distance of Gil - this is a relationship. This is the one that has the potential to hurt, and this is the one with the real rewards. This is the slot machine that makes the big payouts.
Gil reappears after another while, stands behind the couch and lets his hands rest on Nick's shoulders. "I changed the sheets," he says, "but I don't know what to do from there."
Nick tilts his head back and smiles up at him. "I think," he says carefully, "that I should stay with Greg tonight, and you know what I'm like if I'm not in my own bed."
Gil nods and dips his head to kiss him quickly. "I made the guest room up, too," he says. "It'll be strange to be back on my own mattress." A rueful flash of smile.
Nick catches him around the back of the back of the neck before he can get away. "Actually," he says with another smile, "I was thinking more along the lines of, I should sleep in the middle."
A deeply thoughtful pause. "Shouldn't you ask him?"
"I was hoping not to wake him."
Gil blinks. "Is that honest?" he asks.
"It's just sleeping," he says, because he has been asking himself the same question for a while. "I think it's the right thing."
"Okay." Gil kisses him again and weasels out of his grasp. "Can I give you a hand?"
He isn't sure what he expects when he wakes up, but he's pretty sure that Greg kissing him awake isn't actually on the list. Not that he's complaining, mind - he kisses back as he swims uphill towards consciousness and lets his eyes open on their own.
He likes Greg when he first wakes up, likes the insanity of his hair and the languor of his limbs and his tendency to snuggle without realizing it. He doesn't remember the part where Greg runs his hands up and down his chest, but that's -
- that's something that Gil does.
Oh, my.
He makes a noise before he means to, and Greg kisses him again and Gil moves against his back in a way that is achingly familiar. He wants to know whether the others - whether Greg - is actually awake enough to know what he is doing, because if this doesn't stop soon, it's not going to stop at all.
He brings his hands up to touch Greg, rubs his arms and touches his stomach through the thin cotton of his tee shirt, nuzzles against his jaw. "Greg," he whispers, and again more urgently when he feels Gil's lips touch the back of his neck. "Greg."
"Mmmm." It's a noise he knows well: it says, leave me alone I'm having a lovely dream and you're in it.
"Greggo, open your eyes..." He kisses his throat and shivers when Gil's hands slide up under his own shirt and brush against his nipples. Slow down, Gil, he wants to say, just a little bit faster...
With obvious reluctance Greg allows his eyes to slide open and he smiles into the next kiss. "Good morning," he says against Nick's throat.
"Good morning," Nick echoes, and Gil does something evil and fantastic with his thumbnail and he gasps.
Greg looks puzzled, wears an I-didn't-do-anything-yet expression for a split second then raises his head just enough to see over Nick's shoulder. He stops moving, stops everything - even breathing - for a handful of heartbeats, then lets his head fall back to the pillow. His eyes close again and he lets out a long breath.
Gil stills behind him, keeps his hands motionless and Nick can tell he's holding his breath, too.
Then Greg opens his eyes again, and Nick can see a decision being made, is witness to his determination to go through with this. There's a set look on his face, and Nick leans in and kisses the thin line of his lips.
"It's okay," he says, "you don't have to do this."
"Yes I do," Greg answers, swallows once and kisses him. It's an awkward kiss, awkward and forced but Nick enjoys it anyway, because it's a thing he can work with.
He coaxes some heat into the place where their lips meet, and starts touching him again - arms, shoulders, chest, face, hair, hips. Once he starts to relax into it, once he's willing to enjoy what he knows he will, Greg begins to make noise - not the amazing half-growl Nick knows so well, or the aching wail that Gil elicited the previous night; it's a much smaller noise, and it's beautiful because it's not drunk, it's not sleepy, it's maybe a little bit scared but it's all Greg.
Gil starts to move again, too, lets his hands restart their exploration and Nick can feel a smile pressed against his shoulder blade. He groans and pushes back into his touch, pulling Greg with him, knows he's not going to last long like this. Even though it's barely begun he can already taste the end of it, and he's torn between wanting it to last forever and wanting to enjoy the fireworks.
The greatest thing Gil has taught him is surrender: complete and unconditional and the surest path to enlightenment. Most of the time he has difficulty believing that, but once in a while he understands it with a clarity that is shocking. This is one of those times, he realizes, and he closes his eyes and surrenders, completely and unconditionally. He's come close to this before, with Greg - and Gil has taken him there and back too many times to count - but each time is unique to itself and this-
This is going to be a first. He ignores the twin sensations with some effort, long enough to do a quick meditation that Gil has taught him and to disconnect his brain from his body. Then he floats.
He stops taking things in spatially - he knows Gil is somewhere behind him, and Greg is somewhere in front of him but the details of geometry are immaterial at this point. He can feel hands on him, and lips, and movement against him, around him. Hands on his back, on his chest, hands on his legs and in the space between his thighs, fingers closing around him and stroking in perfect time with his body; a mouth on his neck, hot breath moving against his over-sensitive skin, teeth in exactly the right spot - there, yes god yes - a leg in between his, moving his limbs gently and fingernails running down his side just hard enough to make him gasp more more more. A cool, slick finger sliding into him that feels like coming home, moving in agonizing slow circles and then another one, and he feels the stretch even as something amazing happens to his cock, something warm and wet and too beautiful to be true-
"Not yet, Nick," someone whispers urgently and the voice is familiar - blessedly so - and it's a hot, humid sound against his ear and it's not enough, it's too much, and he wants to give into it, this amazing thing his body is holding back, he wants to let it loose, he wants to-
"Just hold on," the voice says again, "just one more minute-"
He wants to explain that he can't, can't wait, not when the universe is this flawless, and then the fingers disappear and he wants to complain about that but the mouth (yes it is a mouth, heavenly merciful god) wrapped around him won't let him, no way he can think of a single unhappy thing to say right now when everything-
He knows he moans, loudly, when something much bigger, much better (so, so much better) slides into him and it knows precisely what to do to make his last brain cell shut up and lie down. He feels his vocal chords start to vibrate and he knows he's saying something, something wonderful he thinks but he can't hear it because all the blood in his body is speeding through his veins and all he can hear is the roar of his heart and the pounding in his ears and something changes, dear god he doesn't even know what but it's amazing, it's perfect and there just aren't words to describe this kind of thing, this whole-body seizure that takes him and wrings him out and he knows he's still talking and now he's crying too and it's not nearly enough and there's no way he can take any more-
He opens his eyes after a long time. He knows it's been a long time because the sun is coming in around the curtains at a new angle, but his toes are still tingling and there's still a wonderful warmth around him and he smiles and stretches and feels a spread of heat through his body at how good he feels just lying there.
He lifts his head enough to look around him, ignores the protest from his neck that what he really needs is to go back to sleep, and his breath catches in his throat.
Hot damn.
Gil and Greg are sprawled right next to him, kissing slowly and comfortably, touching gently and intimately. From this angle it's hard to see what belongs to whom, they're tangled and barely moving and oh so very, very alive.
Holy Christ. How'd he sleep through this? How'd he let them wait until he was passed out before they got into each other?
He makes a sound in the back of his throat, knows there's no way he can get it up again but wants to, desperately and deeply, he wants to crawl over to them and join them-
Greg lifts his head and smiles at him. "You're awake," he says. As he moves it becomes easier to tell where he stops and where Gil begins, although truth be told the lines are still are a little hazy.
It takes him a moment to remember how to speak. "Looks that way," he says, and lets his fingers sink into Gil's hair.
"I didn't know you were so devout," Greg says with a grin, and Gil laughs silently under him.
He puts on a puzzled frown. "What?"
"The litany of saints you were reciting," Gil explains with a warm smile. "It was extensive."
"I - what?" Nick asks. "I did not."
"You did," Greg says and wriggles until he's laying on the mattress between them. He curls with his back against Gil and touches Nick's face. "Brought me right back to Sunday school."
"Greg," Gil says from behind him, "I really hope your Sunday school was nothing like this."
"Ha ha," Greg says, rolling his eyes. "It was a very liberal church."
Gil laughs again and snakes his arms around his chest and hugs him close.
Nick smiles at them. "Hey, listen," he says, "don't stop on my account."
"We came when you did," Greg tells him.
He feels his throat close at that, but he's not sure why. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Greg stretches forward and kisses him.
"So it was-" How do you ask someone whether or not they regret it?
"It was," Greg confirms and kisses him again before letting himself be pulled back into Gil's arms.
"And you're-"
"He is," Gil says, his face appearing at his shoulder. "We all are."
"Oh." Nick smiles then, and lets sleep tug at him again. "Good."