Title: Rules of Attraction
By: xpennyroyalx
Pairing: David Hodges/Greg Sanders
Summary: It's sort of like Cinderella. Only, with drinking. And crime lab romances.
Author's Notes: Hello kiddies! So I've finally grown the balls the figurative kind to write a CSI fic. And of course, I had to use one of the most unlikely couples. I'm afraid they may get out of character at some parts, but I won't be blamed for the drunken parts...after all, who really stays in character when they're drunk? Not me. For the record, I wasn't drunk when I wrote this, but I was drunk when I got the idea. Sighs Such is life. Please enjoy. Oh, and, uh, the title doesn't really get played on in the story. Yeah, I'm a failure.
Disclaimer: I do not own CSI or any of the characters therein. My name is not Jerry...or CBS. Song belong to Reliant K.

Rules of Fashion

-Let it all out

Get it all out

Rip it out

Remove it

Don't be alarmed

When the wound begins to bleed-


It had been a long night.

However, the clock felt there was plenty of time for crime to thrive in Vegas. There were still two hours of slavery left to go. Two hours of his carefully thought out schedule. He still had to process the evidence from Nick and Warrick's case, Catherine's case, and Sara's.

There was nothing on his mental planner about his pager going off in the middle of reading People Magazine. And he would have remembered planning to be paged by Greg.

Hodges was admittedly curious that Greg had paged him. Greg wasn't working on a case at the moment, so there was really no reason for him to be paging—unless he wanted a friendly chat. But it wasn't like that was possible at all. Hodges almost scoffed, but went out to meet up with him anyway. It was too early to snuff the small ounce of hope that Greg maybe wanted to hang out with him.

Greg was actually waiting for him near the break room, looking—well, looking like he did pre-CSI level 3. His hair was a mess, he wore a ratty Black Flag shirt with faded jeans, and had headphones slung around his neck. He looked good.

"Hodges," he called, "'Sup?"

Hodges tried to remember if it was April Fools Day. Impossible though, seeing as it was August. "Did I miss something?"

The cocky grin Greg wore faltered a bit. He didn't look at the other man as he said, "You said you missed the old Greg Sanders."

He remembered that. Telling Greg he hadn't gotten the full David Hodges experience. Now...now it seemed as if Greg was mocking him. After all, it wasn't really paranoia if everyone was out to get you.

And damn, it was easier to just be an asshole and pretend he'd never gotten excited to hang out with the infamous Greg Sanders on a coffee break.

There was an awkward pause in which Gil walked between them, pausing to stare back and forth between them. He shrugged, gave a confused 'why would either of you rather talk than work' look and continued on his way, leaving dead air and an old Greg Sanders.

The suspicion wore away into annoyance, because the situation was pissing Hodges off. "Guess you had style enough to change back."

Greg smiled charmingly. "Well, style is all about—"

"I've got work to do."

And he left.

Or maybe he ran, but leaving sounded much manlier.

When he had reached the safety of his lab, his pager was blinking one word: flexibility.


-Cause we're so scared to find out

What this life's all about

So scared we're going to lose it

Not knowing all along

That's exactly what we need-


He'd been off shift for two minutes, and still the two of them stood in the lab.

"See, because he walks in, and the other guy—"

"Oh, I got the joke, Sara, it just wasn't funny."

Sara stared at him, face stony, finally opting to stare along with him at the printer. Apparently, everyone in the office gotten the most hilarious joke via e-mail that morning. Everyone but him. Once he found out whom the original message was from, he was going to take extra long testing their evidence. Then they'd see who was laughing.

The printer beeped and before Hodges could reach for the results, Sara jerked them away and left the lab.

It was probably for the best. He had already known where the fabric was from, anyway.

Hodges blinked rapidly in surprise when Greg spoke from behind him. "I was so sure you would think the joke was funny."

He tried to be as flippant as possible, even though he was sure Greg would here his heart pounding. "I giggled the first six times I heard it, then it just got old. So what do you want?"

"To know when you're going to admit your life is empty without me."

Hodges turned around and began shutting off his equipment. "You didn't get the memo? You're all I ever think about."

Greg nodded. "Sometimes I double as my secretary, and I always throw out the love letters." He sighed melodramatically. "I just capture so many hearts, it's hard to keep track."

This was one of those times when Hodges thought Greg was funny, and wanted to laugh. By some miraculous force, however, he was able to just stare like he had with Sara, keeping silent until Greg was uncomfortable enough to speak again.

"So you got off shift two minutes ago," Greg observed rather obviously.

"I see you've dropped shitty music and opted to stalk me."

Greg laughed. "Well, I've just decided I'm ready to get the full David Hodges experience. I've got kneepads, a helmet, and anything else I could possible need."

"You don't have to do this."

There was a moment of confusion in Greg's eyes. "Do what?"

"Hang out with me. Be nice to me because I was nice to you, or because you feel sorry for me. Pick a thing, any thing."

Greg was silent a moment. He pulled a helmet from a book bag Hodges hadn't previously noticed and strapped it on. It was depressing that he could even make a helmet look hot. "Well, I'm already in my safety gear and everything."

There was a momentous weight gone from Hodges shoulders, only to be replaced once more by the cacophony of his heart trying to escape his chest. He nodded at Greg with a grim expression on his face. "You better be ready for some hardcore Monopoly."

Greg put on his brave face.

And today I will trust you with confidence

Of a man who's never known defeat

But tomorrow, upon hearing what I did

I will stare at you in disbelief

Oh inconsistent me

Crying out for consistency-


The bartender only let him have the sixth shot of vodka because he swore he was taking a taxi. He knew the bartender let Greg have a sixth shot was because he was so attractive.

As far as he knew, they were still talking about life. Or maybe one of the byproducts of life.

"Papa Olaf said—"

"Wait," Hodges giggled, "Maybe, you should make a book. Like, the quote book of Papa Olaf."

Greg's eyes got wide, and he toppled off his bar stool in excitement. "What a good idea!" He suddenly grabbed Hodges' hands in his. "Oh, oh, do you want to edit it?"

"Wow!" Hodges adopted a mournful face. "I can't...I don't have enough style."

"Damn. You're right," Greg stage whispered.

Hodges huffed. Greg was still holding his hands. Hodges huffed again.

"Oh! I know! I know!" Greg leaned in conspiratorially, and Hodges leaned in to meet him. "We'll make you stylish! Like, you know, fashionable."

"You can do that!"

"Oh, yeah. But we have to do it now, before it's too late, and you're doomed to live the life of a total geek. I was like you once...but then I saw the light."

Hodges was enthralled. "What did it look like?"

"It was so bright...like a two hundred watt bulb or something. It was awesome."

"Wow."

Greg grinned smugly. "So let's go shopping."

Hodges knew, actually knew,he was drunk. And, chances were, he was going to end up doing something completely stupid, like admitting his small (huge) case of hero worship for the great Greg Sanders. He still couldn't decided if he wanted to be Greg, or just be fucked by Greg, but it seemed a lot like the latter. Hodges also knew he shouldn't ask, but he did. "Where will we shop?"

"The best store in Las Vegas—my apartment."

It was at that moment the world fell from beneath David Hodges feet.


-And you said I know that this will hurt

But if I don't break your heart

Then things will just get worse

If the burden seems too much to bear

Remember the end will justify

The pain it took to get us there-


Greg was having a lot more fun than he'd expected to with Hodges, but he wasn't sure if it was because of the vodka, or just because Hodges opened up a lot more outside of the lab (and under the influence of alcohol).

The cab driver had a thing for Mariah Carey, so it was a twenty-minute ride with nothing but her greatest hits. Greg hummed along to some of the songs, while Hodges sang the parts he knew. It really shed a whole new light on male bonding.

"This is it," Greg told the driver, who grunted and pulled over. He paid quickly, and shuffled Hodges into his building before they could get mugged or molested or something.

"Sorry, I'm on the third floor."

"So many stairs," Hodges moaned.

"Yeah, but there are beers waiting for us when we get there."

They helped each other up the stairs, and Greg was ecstatic that they'd made it in record timing. Hodges was excited about it too.

"We are so fast!" Greg squealed as he tried to unlock the door. "We should like, run marathons."

"Drunk!" Hodges contributed.

The door was rejecting the key, so the two of them stared for a moment. Hodges grew drunkenly suspicious. "Hey, is your apartment a Toyota?"

"What? Oh, uh, ha, ha! Silly me!"

"You mean drunk you," Hodges sighed, leaning against the wall. He was so drunk. So, so, so drunk. And he loved it.

"Voila! Welcome to casa de Sanders."

It wasn't what Hodges had expected, but he had never really pictured Greg's apartment in detail, so to be honest there were no real expectations. Had there been, though, this wouldn't have been it. "It's..." He let the sentence hang, not knowing what to say.

"Fully equipped with beer," Greg chirped.

Hodges would have used the term 'pigsty,' but it would offend classy pigs. After all, they didn't have CDs and dirty clothes scattered in their puddle of mud. Speaking of, Hodges was pretty sure that was a band.

"I got music," Greg said brightly as he reentered the room, two beers in hand.

"I can see that."

Greg swept some of the collage of dirtiness away with his foot, making room in the general vicinity of the couch. "Wanna sit?"

Hodges took his beer and shook his head. "I thought..." he tapped his chin. Why had they gone back to Greg's apartment? He would have remembered if there was any sex involved, so that wasn't it. Something to do with the Dukes of Hazzard... "Oh yeah," he squealed, "We're going to fashionize me!"

"Oh, oh!" The two men grinned at each other stupidly for a moment, until Greg lunged for the couch. Hodges sidestepped just in time to avoid being trampled.

Greg fished around under the couch cushions. He finally whispered a very loud 'YES!' and two seconds later Hodges was smacked in the face with an Iron Maiden shirt. The only protest he verbalized was, "I don't even listen to Iron Maiden."

It seemed the other man was a bundle of excitement as he scrambled across the room and pressed play on his stereo. Then the horrible sound of metal was filtering into Hodges' brain.

"Now you do," Greg declared triumphantly.

And with that, Hodges began stripping.


-And I'll let it be known

At time I have shown

Signs of all my weakness

But somewhere in me

There is strength-


The sound of pans crashing woke Hodges up. His watch informed him he'd been asleep for an hour. It was a little past lunch time. He didn't feel any less drunk.

And thank God for that.

As he moved to get up, he registered an unfamiliar feeling on his head. When he reached up, Hodges fingers encountered nothing but gel. It felt like his hair was spiked up in every which way. In the dim light he could see his favorite pair of jeans were now sporting a hole.

Sanders had turned him punk rock.

Oh, dear lord.

He managed to stand up and stumble his way into the kitchen. When he finally found it, Greg was sitting on the counter in striped pajama pants with a bottle of tequila in his hand. He smiled drunkenly (surprise, surprise) when he saw Hodges.

"Hey there slick," Greg purred, "Wanna play spin the bottle?"

Hodges felt his eyes widen, but his surprise didn't stop him from reaching forward and grabbing the bottle. He had a few experimental sips, and then said, "It's not empty."

There was a moment of silence in which Greg chugged the last inch out of the bottle. He figured he would die of a hangover by next shift anyway, so why not help himself to more fun?

His lips left the mouth of the bottle with a small pop. "Now it is."

And then he kissed Hodges.

Hodges ignored the taste of liquor and hoped Greg would do the same. It seemed he was, because all the smaller man did was wrap his legs around Hodges waist and allow himself to be moved.

The couch was a haven of filth, so Hodges decided the bedroom would be the best choice for their...game.

They bumped into several walls on the way to Greg's room, and Hodges only tripped over a shoe trying to maneuver them to Greg's bed. He turned and slowly lowered himself onto his back, so Greg could be on top and call the shots.

Call the shots he did, starting with the removal of his Iron Maiden shirt from David. He was too impatient to let David undress him and ended up pulling off his own shirt before the other man could reach out to help.

"I thought we needed a bottle to play this game," gasped Hodges between kisses.

Greg stared at him, eyes bright. "I made up my own rules."

"Oh," Hodges said, "Good."

"Yeah, I thought so too."

While Greg let his hands and mouth trail everywhere, Hodges focused on one spot: Greg's hips. He grabbed the slim hips and pulled them down the exact moment he thrust his hips up, and he moaned, while Greg hissed, "Fuck, David..."

Hodges didn't remember much after that moment.

And you promise me

That you believe

In time I will defeat this

Cause somewhere in me

There is strength-


The second time he woke up that afternoon, he still had the hair gel, but was missing the clothes. And this time, there was no Greg messing around noisily in the kitchen. In fact, there didn't seem to be a Greg at all.

It could have been due to the standard one-night stand procedure, or the fact that his shift was starting in thirty minutes.

With only a few obscenities, he was stripped and hopping for Greg's shower. He just washed his hair and body, focusing on the most important (and painful) places.

As for brushing his teeth, he settled on taking the toothpaste in the shower with him and finger brushing. It was the best he could do, after all.

He snagged a pair of Greg's boxers, his pants, and a random shirt he found hanging in the closet, hoping the whole time Greg wouldn't care too much. He was breaking all of the rules of one-night stands. He was making reasons for them to see each other again, outside of work.

"Shit, shit, shit," he muttered.

By the time he hailed a taxi, he had ten minutes to get to the crime lab.

Just his lack of luck, he got a talkative driver. "So you must see a lot of dead folks over there."

"That's more my colleagues job," he said uncomfortably. It hurt to sit. It hurt to speak. It hurt to breath (but he suspected that had less to do with the sex and more to do with the stench of the taxi).

"Yeah? Bet a lot of ugly broads workin' there."

Hodges scowled. No one made fun of his...associates except for him! "It's actually surprising how many beautiful people I run into every day."

"Guess I better get outta the taxi business then, huh?" With that, the driver roared with laughter.

As soon as they reached the lab, he threw a wad of money in the front seat and bolted.

He was a few minutes early, by some twist of fate. Due to some cruel joke from life, however, he burst in on the whole team when he entered the break room. It went from bustling to silent immediately, as everyone took in Hodge's outfit, especially Greg.

Nick and Warrick looked at Greg, who lowered his eyes in embarrassment, although a shy smile still played about his lips.

It seemed like the most obvious thing in the world that they had wild sex just that morning.

This time Hodges wasn't too afraid to admit he ran.


-And today I will trust you with the confidence

Of a man who's never known defeat

And I'll try my best to just forget

That that man isn't me-


He wasn't as intrigued this time around when Greg began to page him. It happened a record three times before he decided he'd go crazy if there was a forth.

Tonight he was busy, because there was a deadline, as double homicides usually required quicker results.

He had time to not think about it when Grissom came in. "I need the results on the—are you wearing Greg's clothes?"

Hodges sighed. "No sir." He'd hoped his lab coat would cover the clothes well enough.

Grissom looked at him solemnly and said, "Hodges, you should look into getting a different role model."

"Yes sir."

"My results?"

Hodges sighed and looked at the far wall. "Not yet."

Grissom stared a second longer, then left the lab.

When Hodges looked up, Greg was standing there. He was back in his new normal clothes, a nice button-down and khakis. It made Hodges feel even stupider. He took a wee bit of pleasure in the fact that Greg was looking like he felt pretty stupid right now too.

"Uh, hey."

"Hi." Of course his voice cracked on a monosyllabic word. Damn it.

"Listen—"

"Don't say 'about last night'," Hodges pleaded.

"You don't get to run away from this." Greg was advancing on him. Hodges felt the tiniest bit cornered. "We had sex last night. You showed up this morning in my shirt. I showed up this morning in yours."

Hodges huffed. He'd thought there was something familiar about the shirt, but he hadn't been able to place it, and... "Why did you wear my shirt?"

Greg grinned. "I guess you missed the part where we had sex last night. Look," Greg made some sort of hand gesture that Hodges figured to be Norwegian for 'general vicinity,' "You've got work to do."

There was no reason to disagree with the fact, except that Greg hadn't un-cornered him. "Is there anything else?" Hodges tried to sound indifferent, but he was pretty sure he failed terribly.

"Yeah," Greg stage whispered. "I want my shirt back. Meet me at Waffle House after shift." The spark of confidence that had loomed in Greg's eyes the whole time faded marginally. "If you want to."

"And if I don't?"

Greg was close enough to breath on his lips. "I think you do."

And then Hodges was, once more, alone with the technicalities of crime.


-Reach out to me

Make my heart brand new

Every beat will be for you

For you-


There was a time space after shift in which he took a taxi to the bar, picked up his car, then loitered in front of Waffle House. All in all, it took up maybe eight minutes.

He sucked in a breath and went inside.

It was practically empty, so it was east to spot Greg's hair. A waitress walked by, in nothing but her uniform and a pint of perfume. Hodges sneezed. Rather violently. Once he rubbed his eyes dry and wondered for the thirtieth time why he was here, Greg was looking at him.

Hodges stared at Greg and saw the small amount of hope reflected in his eyes. He weaved through the tables, pausing to grab a bottle of ketchup off of the cleanest one he saw.

When he was standing across the table from Greg, he put the bottle down and spun it, hoping Greg would get the message. It seemed he did, if the smile was a clue, but all he said was, "You came."

Hodges swallowed and sat down. "I have style enough to be fashionably late."

Greg's eyes were bright. "You have style enough to come back to my place? I seem to remember you leaving a shirt there..."

After a minute of confusion, Hodges snorted. "Only if you let me clean the place up. After all, it could take me a while to find it."

"Clean as much as you like, I have a million hiding places."

And it wasn't love, but it was close enough when Greg leaned across the table and kissed him. "So," he breathed against Hodges lips, "How would you feel about sharing a short stack?"

"Actually, I prefer waffles."

It felt a little bit like perfection when Greg chuckled again his mouth and whispered, "Fair enough."


-And I know you know

You touched my life

When you touched my heavy heart

And made it light-

-The End-