Home of Greg Sanders Slash Fiction
Chapter Twelve
Nick goes out on Sunday afternoon to buy condoms, which feels a little strange because he and Gil haven't used them in a long time, but it feels oddly right, too. It implies a permanence of sorts to this thing with Greg, and that suits him just fine. If they're going to insist that Greg use protection - and they are - then they all will, until they reach that watershed moment when they know they're all clean, and they know they're not screwing around outside the house. If this is the cost of happiness until then, well, it could be a lot steeper.
He buys three boxes and outstares the pimply kid at the cash. Once out at the car he contemplates going back in and buying some lube, decides against it. If they really need it, he'll drive to another drug store. Vegas is a big city.
He gets home to discover, in his absence, they have actually gotten up and showered and dressed, and are sitting in the living room with a chess board.
"What we need," Nick says, shrugging off his jacket and tossing the pharmacy bag onto a table, "is a fireplace."
"Shhh," Greg says without looking up.
Gil smirks. "He cornered himself," he stage-whispers.
"I did not."
"Of course you didn't." Gil being patronising doesn't happen all that often, but when it does it brings a smile to Nick's face.
Greg looks like he's about to say something mean, but something catches his eye and his snark dies before it leaves his lips. He slices his surviving bishop through a crack in Gil's defenses, and fixes his eyes on Gil's, triumphantly.
Gil peers down at the board and starts to frown.
"I told you so," Greg says with a big smile, and leans back to watch Gil assess the damage.
Nick laughs. "Looks like you've just won yourself the coveted middle of the bed, Greggo," he says.
"Assuming I haven't just banished myself to the doghouse."
"We don't have a doghouse," Gil mumbles absently. He reaches for a knight, hesitates before he touches it, brings his hand back to his lap.
"So I guess we'll have to keep you," Nick says.
"Shucks," Greg says.
Nick leans in next to his ear and says, "This may take him a while to deal with. He doesn't usually lose."
"I haven't lost yet," Gil says.
Nick smiles and wanders towards the kitchen. "Keep telling yourself that, Gil."
He fills a glass from the tap and leans against the counter to drink it, looking out at the patio and thinking that fall happens way too soon for its own good.
"Hey."
He looks up to see Greg standing in the doorway.
"You win?" Nick asks.
"Did you hear my victory whoop yet?"
"You have a victory whoop?"
"Doesn't everyone?"
Nick shakes his head sadly. "I guess I lost mine when I was a kid."
"Well." Greg flashes him a grin. "Now I know what to get you for your birthday."
"I'm easy to shop for," Nick says with an answering smile. "Chocolate sauce and an edible lubricant and I'm happy as a clam."
There's a pause. "Good to know."
"Greg," Gil calls from the next room, "your turn."
He looks over his shoulder, then back at Nick. "Is this okay?" he asks quietly.
Nick frowns. "What?"
"This - playing chess with Gil. I mean, you were out and I thought-"
Nick smiles, reaches out to touch his shoulder. "I told you," he says, "it's the three of us, even when one of us isn't there." He leans in and kisses him quickly. "Of course it's okay. Now get out there and clobber some humility into him, will you?"
Greg goes home that night, to shower and change and catch some sleep and water his plants and make at least a token effort to not look like he spent the entire weekend having his erogenous zones mapped by two people.
Catherine and Jim are looking normal on Monday, when they finally trickle in, but Nick's first trip down to the morgue has him almost doubled over with laughter.
"You're evil," Al tells him looking just this side of alive. "All of you, especially Gil but all of you - evil, evil, evil."
"It can't be that bad," Nick says trying not to laugh in his face. "You're here, you're vertical, I bet you haven't barfed on a single-"
"Do not finish that sentence, young man," Al snaps and winces. "Just wait until you're on my side of fifty and your friends conspire to get you liquored up. Just wait."
He likes that Al thinks of him as a friend. "Well," he says, "I had a lot of fun, for what it's worth."
Al glowers at him. "Go," he says. "Go be cheerful and not hung over somewhere else. I'll send you my report when it's done."
He smiles, resists the urge to take one more poke at him, and retreats. "I'll be waiting," he sing-songs from the doorway.
He can hear Al's curse just before the door swings shut.
"So?" Catherine asks later, when they're sitting in the break room with their lunches and a pot of Greg's triple-extreme high-octane bulletproof Hawaiian brew. "Anything interesting happen after we left?"
Greg starts guiltily and examines the sandwich in front of him.
Catherine raises her eyebrows. "Oh?" she asks. "Spill."
"Naw," Nick says. He's used to lying about good sex with Gil, or at least not disclosing it. He's pretty sure he doesn't even start to turn pink. "You know, the usual. We cleaned up, had a bit more wine, then we went home."
"Uh-huh." She narrows her eyes at them. "And Greg's turning fuchsia because...?"
"I'm not," Greg protests, and he gets even redder.
"Come on," she says, "I'm a big girl, I can handle it."
"Well, okay then," Nick says, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table. "Gil and Greg and I had hot monkey sex all weekend."
She holds his gaze for a moment, then bursts out laughing. "Nice try, Nick," she says, "but it'd work better on someone who doesn't know Gil as well as I do."
He smiles at her enigmatically, or at least what he hopes passes for enigmatically. "You asked," he says.
She sighs. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"
"I just did."
She rolls her eyes, tosses her uneaten food into her bag and stands up. "Fine, fine, fine," she says. "I'll guess it eventually."
Greg waits until she's gone before he throws a carrot stick at Nick. "What the fuck was that?" he asks.
"No one would believe it," Nick says, "even if we told them." He grins. "Doesn't that give you a warm, fuzzy feeling?"
Greg shakes his head. "Not exactly," he mutters. "I gotta go back to work."
Nick finishes his food, some Thai thing with noodles that Gil made for dinner on Sunday, and is halfway to the trace lab when Gil stops him in the hall.
"Catherine just about herniated herself laughing at me," he says accusingly. "Why?"
"No idea, man," Nick says with a pleasant shrug. "You'd have to ask her."
Gil narrows his eyes. "I don't want to know, do I?"
"Probably not."
"Here." He pushes a file folder into his hands. "While you're waiting for Al to get done down there - he seems to be a little under the weather tonight - you can go check out an armed robbery downtown."
He takes the file and smiles. "Anything else?"
Gil narrows his eyes again. "Should there be?"
He can't quite stop his laugh before it escapes, but he recovers quickly enough. "Of course not."
Gil sighs. "It's unprofessional to laugh at your supervisor, Nick," he says patiently.
"One of those nights."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. I had a great weekend and I just can't get the spring out of my step. You know?"
There's a stretch of silence. "I'll take your word for it," Gil says, but there's a lot of humour in his eyes as he shakes his head and turns back to his office. "Just get the job done, Nick," he says. "Save the rest for when you're off duty."
"Roger," he calls out to his retreating back.
On his way out he passes Greg in the hallway, trying to explain to Sara why he can't magically make evidence appear when there's nothing there. He catches his eye for a moment, smiles at him, then pushes out the front doors and into the cool of the evening.
Life, he thinks as he walks towards his car, is too fine to describe. And, he thinks, it's only going to get better.