Home of Greg Sanders Slash Fiction
Author: Sillie
Fandom: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: FRT-13
Disclaimers: Sadly, they're not mine. *pouts*
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He's standing in the crowded bar, as much in the shadows as the many
lights will let him. He takes a sip from his beer, and looks at the
dancing mass. Many body's are wreathing in the bright lights, their
contours blurred by the smoke hanging in the air.
A new puff is blown onto the dance-floor, and for a moment all he can
see is white. Slowly, the crowd emerges again, the silhouettes bathing
in a halo of light. His gaze sweeps over the crowd, halting when a
figure captures his attention.
The black figure, shrouded in smoke and outlined by golden light,
moves sensually, seemingly apart from the other people, but yet not.
People are grinding against and moving around him, but the
black-golden figure doesn't seem to notice, totally engrossed in the
music, moving in time with the beat.
He shifts his stance, swallowing, and it's only then he notices how
dry his mouth is. He quickly finishes his beer, his eyes never leaving
the figure.
He puts his glass down, and he doesn't know he's moving until he's
right in front of the dancing figure. A new puff of smoke is blown
into the air, and for a moment he sees nothing.
Warm arms snake around his neck, and a moment later he's staring into
liquid brown eyes, and he's got the feeling he's drowning. His breath
hitches, and he swallows convulsively.
The arms tighten around his neck, drawing them closer together and he
feels hot breath hitting his ear, followed by a low and husky voice;
"Hey stranger."
He snakes his arms around the lean waist, pulling the firm body flush
against his own.
"Hmm�"
He leans in and covers the grin with his mouth, tasting smoke and
beer, and this flavor he loves best of all. He chases it, only pulling
back when the need to breathe overwhelms him.
People are still dancing, but to them they don't exist. They only have
eyes for each other, the smoke a cloak surrounding them.
The grin is back again, and he feels a smirk form in response. He
leans in and licks the shell of an ear, delighting in the resulting
shiver.
"I want you home."
To emphasize his point, he hooks his fingers through the belt loops of
the impossible tight jeans, grounding their hips together by pulling
the other body against him. He feels the result of his actions
pressing against his thigh, and now it's him who has to suppress a shiver.
He watches the Adams apple bob as his partner swallows and a pink
tongue wets slightly swollen lips.
"Let's go."
The arms glide from his shoulders, fingers brushing his nipples. He
throws a teasing glare at him and reaches out to lace their fingers
together.
And as Nick moves towards the exit, Greg close behind him, the smoke
follows them out and when they land on their bed, Greg firmly pinned
beneath him, Nick's sure he can still taste it. He grins and shakes
his head, leaning in to replace it with the flavor he likes best;
Greg.