Home of Greg Sanders Slash Fiction
Title: Four-Twenty (1/?)
Fandom: CSI
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: FRAO
Summary: Greg is the sheltered grandson of a powerful drug lord. Nick
is the youngest nephew of a rival drug lord, looking for a way to
higher his position in the ranks. Their fates collide and no one
comes out of the ordeal unchanged.
Warnings: Violence, drugs, slash
Disclaimer: I own nothing, not even the computer I wrote this on.
Greg stepped out of the jet and onto the runway. It was a private
Jet, owned by his grandfather, Papa Olaf. He didn't really think that
there was anything special about that. Nearly everything Greg came
into contact with was owned by his grandfather from the planes, the
cars, the homes, to the people that constantly surrounded the
eighteen year old. He had known no other way of living. To Greg, this
was perfectly normal.
He shielded his eyes from the hot sun and looked around. There was
nothing, but desert around him and a few buildings scattered around
the private airport. He knew that this wasn't what the rest of Las
Vegas looked like, but he couldn't help being a little disappointed
at this drab surroundings.
He'd asked his Papa Olaf for months if he could fly out of Norway to
celebrate his eighteenth birthday. He had never been allowed to leave
Norway, and barely even his grandfather's mansion, which was actually
more like a compound, since his mother's death when he was nine. Papa
Olaf told him that he need to be kept close to him, so that he could
keep and eye on him, keep him safe. Of course, Greg, being the
inquisitive child that he was had asked why. He was never given a
clear reason.
He'd chosen Las Vegas because it had the reputation for being the
Mecca of all things deviant and fun. At least, that's what Warrick
had told him.
He looked straight ahead of him to the familiar sight of Warrick's
silk covered back. He wiped away the light sheen of sweat that had
already started to appear as soon as he had left the air conditioned
jet.
"Here, sir."
He looked over at the `third' of his three bodyguards, David Hodges.
David was holding a handkerchief out to him. "Thank you," Greg said,
smiling and reaching for it. Before he could get it, though, David
moved it out of his reach and started patting Greg on the forehead,
nearly poking him a the eye a couple of times. "Hey! Stop!" He
flailed around while the older man laughed.
"Ahem!"
They both froze. Greg and Hodges looked over at the `second' of this
three bodyguards, Conrad Ecklie. He had a stern look on his face.
Greg looked sheepish and snatched the handkerchief from David and
stuffed it in his pocket.
Hodges clasped his hands behind his back and looked forward. A small
smirk was still on his face.
Ecklie glared his disapproval at the two before he turned
around. "The limo should be here any second," he said. Sure enough, a
limo came down the runway and parked right in front of them.
Greg stood there and waited for Warrick to check the limousine and
make sure that it was secure.
"Alright. Everything`s clear. You can get inside, now," he said, once
he got back out. He waited for Greg to get inside before going in
himself. He was followed by Ecklie and Hodges and Catherine,
Warrick`s wife, and Greg chaperone and caretaker.
Greg laid out on the seat that was directly behind the chauffer and
shivered a little. Going from an air-conditioned Jet, to the
scorching Las Vegas heat, and then to an air-conditioned limousine
was bound to make him sick, at least that's what his Papa Olaf always
told him. He'd never noticed whether that was in fact true or not. It
just wasn't too pleasant on his skin, which was breaking out in goose
bumps. He put his foot against the side of the car. The partition was
up and he couldn't see the chauffer, which also meant that the
chauffer couldn't see him.
"How long until we get to Las Vegas, Rick?" He asked.
Warrick smiled at him. "We`re already here. And sit up."
Greg sighed and sat up. He tugged at the neck of his dress
shirt. "When we pass a shop, can I buy some casual clothes? I know
that Papa likes to buy me nice things, but I miss being able to wear
regular clothes, you know?"
Warrick nodded. "Yeah, just don`t tell your grandfather," he said.
Greg smiled. "You know, he`ll just find out, anyway. Thank you!" He
leaped halfway across the limousine and hugged The older man.
"Oof! You`re getting a little too big to be doing that, Greg,"
Warrick said, rubbing his thigh. Catherine laughed at Greg's antics.
Greg looked abashed and pulled away from Warrick. "Sorry, Rick." He
wrung his hands in his lap. Him jumping on the other man probably did
hurt a bit. He wasn't so small anymore.
Warrick smiled at him, and ruffled his hair. "Don`t worry about it,
Gutten."
Greg groaned and pushed Warrick's hand away. "I am not a little boy,
anymore. You can stop calling me that," he said, frowning.
Warrick laughed and took Greg's chin in his hand. "You`ll always be
Gutten to me, Greg."
Greg rolled his eyes, but couldn't help blushing. His crush on
Warrick and long since faded away, but there were still moments when
the older man reminded him why he'd had a crush on him in the first
place. He turned away and acted like he was about to take a
nap. "Wake me when we get there," he threw over his shoulder.
"Okay, Gutten."
"Warrick!"
<b>~n_n"~</b>
<i><b>Same time, somewhere in Las Vegas�.</b></i>
Nick sat in his uncle's study. He was alone, and he didn't worry that
he would be interrupted anytime soon. Everyone was out on `business',
and here he was, stuck at home being useless. He leaned back in the
chair and put his feet up on the marble desk. He reached over and
started pulling at drawer handles. Of course, each and every one of
them were all locked. He didn't expect a single one to be open, not
when he knew his uncle.
He hated being left to his leisure. Although, being able to party all
he wanted, albeit chaperoned, was fine, he just felt that it was time
for him to be let into the family business.
He'd known what his uncle did for a living ever since he was sixteen,
when his uncle deemed him old enough to know some things. He'd just
taken everything in stride and didn't care very much about what most
of his family did, as long as he got the newest cars, the best
education, and the hottest women and men. Now, he wanted a piece of
the action, but no one expected him to lift a finger.
"No, you`re still too young, Poncho," his uncle had said in his thick
Texan accent. "There`s a lot of aspects of this business that I don`t
want you exposed to. I don`t want you to be tested just yet. Stick to
your partying and women�and men, while you still can." He told Nick.
Nick didn't want to wait. Just because he was the youngest male, and
the second youngest child in the immediate family, he wasn't going to
be some kept man for the rest of his life. He wanted the danger, and
the adventure. He wanted the power.
He stood up and walked out of the study, grabbing his jacket off a
chaise along the way.
Until he figured out how to prove his worth to his uncle, he would
just play along with what was expected of him.
He pulled up in his Ferrari outside of an expensive eating
establishment and waited for a valet to come to him. He turned and
glanced into his rearview mirror.
"Fuck! I have another tail," he said. A black Mercedes had been
following his ever since he had left his uncle's mansion. It passed
him and turned the corner. He was sure that as soon as it was out of
sight it would park around the block and whomever was watching him
would continue to do so on foot. He was only slightly worried because
his uncle had been known to use tails on him from time to time when
things in the business got `stressed' as his uncle called it, but he
didn't recognize this particular car.
"Sir, may I take your car?"
Nick was pulled out of his reverie as the valet walked up to his car
and waited for him to get out. "Oh, yeah, sure." He got out and
tossed his keys to the uniformed man who looked to be older than
himself. He didn't watch to see the man driving off with his car to
the parking facility not too far away. He walked up to the restaurant.
"Welcome, Mr. Stokes. It`s so nice to have you here, once again," the
doorman said.
Nick smiled at the young man. "I`m sure it is. You comin` to the
Bungalow, tonight?" He asked the doorman.
The doorman looked around, slightly panicked. "I-I thought that we
weren`t going to talk about the�you know what, out here," he hissed.
Nick laughed. "No, you must have been mistaken. <i>You</i> are not
allowed to talk about the Bungalow out here. I`m free to talk about
it whenever the fuck I want," he said, coming in closer.
The doorman gasped and looked flushed. "Do you want me there?" He
asked. His hands were balled into fists and he trembled with desire
right where he stood.
"Actually, I want you right here, but I guess I`ll have to settle for
having you at the Bungalow, now, won`t I?" Nick smirked. He watched
as a shudder passed through the other man. "Aren`t you supposed to be
doing something, right about now?" He asked.
"Huh? Oh! I`m sorry." The doorman snapped out of it, and hurried to
open the door for Nick.
Nick smiled and brushed some imaginary lint from the shoulder of his
jacket, walking inside.
Greg nearly bounced in his seat with excitement. After the meal, he
was finally going to be able to see some of Las Vegas. He didn't want
to stop to eat, but Warrick insisted that they stop for a bite to eat
before they starting touring around with big city.
Even though it wasn't dark, the lights still had their full effect on
Greg. He'd never seen anything so flashy and colorful in Norway. He
couldn't wait until nightfall. All of the different types of people
fascinated him as well. The variety of things to do and people to see
almost overwhelmed him.
He took a sip of his juice. He wasn't allowed to drink soft-drinks.
Papa Olaf's orders. His grandfather didn't want him rotting his teeth
on the sugary stuff. Alcohol was out of the question.
"Aren`t you guys done yet? I am ready to go," Greg said. He pushed
his plate away from him.
Catherine, who was sitting next to him at the round table, pushed his
plate back towards him. "There`s plenty of food on there, Greg. You
are not finished and neither are we," she said.
Greg sighed and picked up his fork. He pushed his food around on his
plate, not eating another bite.
On the other side of him, Warrick sighed. "Look, finish your juice
and then we`ll get out of here, okay?" He didn't looked at his wife.
Catherine would have surely been giving him `the look', but he
couldn't help himself, sometimes. Greg was just so innocent and young
and everything about him just made a person want to shelter him and
keep him safe, and give him everything he could ever want.
Greg smiled and put down his fork, picked up his glass.
Nick was walked to his regular table by a waiter. He ordered his food
and sent the waiter on his way. He looked around the place. He saw a
sea of familiar faces. He stopped on a table. Now <i>them</i> he had
never seen before. They obviously weren't from here, that much Nick
could tell, though, no one was really from Las Vegas. At least, no
one that mattered to Nick was.
He surveyed the table. There were four men and a woman. The woman
looked to be around his age, maybe older. Three of the men were in
precisely pressed suits, sticking out like sore thumbs. They were
obviously the hired muscle. One man was in his early to mid forties,
while the other two had to be in their late twenties, early thirties.
The last man, if he could be called that, looked to be legal, but
just barely. He looked like he was still being dressed by his mother.
He was pouting and pushing his food around his plate while being
admonished by the blond woman. The Black man sitting next to him
spoke to him and the young man's face lit up, and stole Nick's breath
away. He was a little younger than what Nick would have normally gone
for, but something about the other man made Nick want to claim him as
his.
He quickly scrawled a note, laughing silently at himself. He felt
like he was still in school, passing notes to the girl he liked. He
folded the piece of paper and waited for an opening. The three men
looked formidable, but he was sure he could get past them. He'd been
getting past his owned bodyguards since he was nineteen until his
uncle had finally relented and let him leave the house without one.
There! The other man had just picked up his glass and started to take
a drink. Nick got up, smoothly and walked towards him table. Once he
got close enough, he acted like he was about to trip and pushed his
elbow into the back of young man's head, causing him to spill his
drink all over himself and the table. He smirked, inwardly. Those
clothes needed to go, anyway. They were horrible.
Greg jumped up, coughing. Someone had just bumped into him, and his
juice had gone down the wrong pipe.
"Oh, jeez! I`m so sorry," Nick said. He reached onto the table for a
cloth napkin and made it seem like he was trying to help clean Greg
off, while he was actually slipping the note into his pocket,
expertly. No one noticed him doing so.
Warrick was the first of the table to jump up. He gently, but firmly
pushed Nick away from Greg. "It`s okay. I`ll take it from here." He
started to brush Greg off. He sent a pointed look to Hodges and
Ecklie, telling them to keep an eye on Nick, making sure he didn't
try anything funny.
Greg moved away from Warrick a little. "I`m fine, I`m fine!" He said,
taking the handkerchief from his pocket and beginning to brush
himself off and wipe his face. He was upset, now. Upset at the fact
that he was now going to have to go all the way to the hotel to
change into the clothes that he'd bought and Warrick had had sent to
his suite. That was going to take an hour or two off of his touring
time. He looked up at the person who had made him spill his drink,
determined for the first time in his life to glare at someone and
actually mean it.
The glare never came. He blushed and looked down. It was just his
luck that someone so handsome would be the witness and proprietor of
his humiliations. "Um, i-it`s okay. I didn't s-spill that much on
myself," he stammered. It was a lie. Such an obvious lie. It was
everywhere.
Nick was delighted by the slight accent the young man had. He smiled
and was about to say something, when two waiters came to the table.
"Sirs, do you need any help?" One asked.
Warrick shook his head. "No. We were just leaving. How much for the
tablecloth?" He asked, indicating the now ruined, expensive linen.
"Oh, nothing, sir! Not for such a valued customer!" The same waiter
simpered.
Warrick nodded, not expecting a different answer. "Alright. We should
be going." He took Greg by the hand and led him out of the
restaurant. The others followed after him, Hodges and Ecklie still
keeping an eye on Nick. People's heads turned after them in their
wake.
"Mr. Stokes, if you`d still like to continue your meal here, could I
please lead you to your seat?" The other waiter said, this time.
Nick watched Greg walk out of the door until he could no longer see
him. He turned to the waiter. "Lead the way."
A/N: Wee! I have started a new fic. Things got resolved a bit faster
than I thought that they would, so I had a lot of free time on my
hands. I hope you guys like it. Bungalow 8 does exist, but I have no
idea where it is, so let's just imagine that it's in Las Vegas, okay?
Oh, and my Norwegian is horrible, so please don't gather the
mob to run me out of fanfic-ville.
