Title: From Before to After
Author: podga
Pairing: Gil/Nick
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: CSI and its characters do not belong to me. I write and post for fun only.
Summary: Sequel to “Isolation”.

He’s nervous, I can tell. The shoe’s so often on the other foot, that nobody can blame me for enjoying this. I lean back on the couch, spreading my arms along the back, and crossing my legs at the ankles. I look relaxed; I don’t exactly feel it, but I look it.

He’s standing over by the sink, leaning against it with one hip, and he’s looking down at Hank, as if he’s never seen him eat before.

“Doesn’t it bother him, you looming over him like that?” I ask.

“No, he’s fine,” he says seriously. “Aren’t you, boy?”

I’m surprised at the affection in his voice. Gil never struck me as a dog person; I guess most of us at work always assumed that if he has pets, they’re of the six- or eight-legged variety. And I don’t like what Hank represents: the fact that Gil and Sara made a home for each other here. Not for the first time, I wonder what happened between them for Sara to take off like that. I scan the living room for evidence that she once lived here. Maybe some of the books or CDs are hers, but I can’t really tell. The dog, though. Christ, they even named him after her old boyfriend. What the hell was that all about?

I wish he’d come over here and sit next to me, but he seems rooted in the kitchen area. Maybe I’m taking up too much space on the couch. I cross my arms against my chest.

“Would you like a drink?” he asks suddenly.

At least bringing me a drink will get him over here.

“Sure. What do you have?”

He goes to the fridge and opens it. “Beer? A Bacardi Breezer?”

“A Bacardi Breezer? You actually have Bacardi Breezers? That’s a chick drink,” I laugh. And then, of course, I realize. Shit.

Gil doesn’t seem to mind. “Cranberry, apple, lime,” he recites.

“Uh, lime, I guess.”

He takes two bottles out, pops them open and carries them over. He offers one to me, but when I try to take it from him, he doesn’t let go. Puzzled, I look up at him.

“I buy these,” he says quietly, but with an odd emphasis, as if he doesn’t think I’ll believe him.

“Oh. Sorry about the chick drink comment,” I say uncomfortably.

He holds onto the bottle a second longer, then lets it go. “OK,” he says, then takes a drink from his own bottle, and wanders over to the CD player.

I’m hoping the Breezer will taste like a margarita, but it’s not even close. I should have gone for the beer. I lean over to set the bottle on the table and when I straighten up again, he’s looking at me.

“So, do you like it?”

I figure I might as well tell the truth. This is about getting to know each other better, right?

“Not really. And to be honest, I’m surprised you do.”

He smiles. “What sort of things do you think I like, Nick?” he asks, his voice silky.

Ooookay. Maybe he’s not so nervous after all. Because that? That was definitely flirting, in fact it was almost predatory. I try not to gape at him, but I must not be doing too good a job, because his smile broadens.

“Never mind.” He goes to the fridge, pulls out a beer and brings it to me. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

I wish he’d sit down, but he walks over to the CD player again, turning his attention to the jewel boxes lying on top.

“Do you like Ella Fitzgerald?” he asks.

I don’t want to admit that I don’t know much about her, other than that she dates back to same time as Dizzy Gillespie. After eight years of working together, getting to know each other shouldn’t be this awkward.

“Sure.”

He nods and slots a CD into the player. To my relief, the music is okay. Not exactly what I’d listen to in my free time, but not bad, not bad at all. He picks up his Breezer with one hand, puts the other in his pocket and tilts his head, listening. His eyes are studying me intently, but he doesn’t make a move towards me.

Well, if the mountain won’t come to the prophet… I get up, set my beer on the table, and walk to him.

We’re the same height and it’s easy to look right into his eyes, to kiss him if I want to. And I do want to. But I realize that while we’ve kissed a handful of times, it’s always been initiated by me, and it’s always been at a safe time or place; if he rejected me, I could ascribe it to the prevailing circumstances, and if he didn’t, it wouldn’t go any further. Now it’s just us, in an empty house, with hours to go before work, and suddenly I’m not so sure I’m ready to take the final step.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he says quietly.

I look at him uncertainly.

“Do you?” I ask.

“Yes.” He seems so calm.

I nod stupidly, but I still can’t get my feet to move me closer. I don’t even know what we both mean when we say ‘do this’ or even if we mean the same thing. Do what? Have sex? Start a relationship? Be together?

He takes matters out of my hands, half turning away to set his bottle next to the CD player, then taking a step towards me, looping his arm around my neck and pulling me closer. He kisses me, his mouth opening over mine, his tongue licking my lips, then pushing inside. I feel his other arm snake around my waist and he almost jerks me against him. I haven’t been this close to a man for a long time, and it all feels strange, his beard, the strength of his arms, the hardness of his body against me. Strange, but wonderful. I wrap my arms around him and kiss him back for all I’m worth, shoving him up against the wall, reveling in the fact that I don’t have to be careful with him, that he can give as good as gets.

After a while he pushes me back slightly, and I resist, then I realize that it’s only because he’s trying to push my shirt up. I start to help him, but my arms get tangled in the sleeves and as I’m battling with them, he seems to become distracted by my chest, tracing his fingers along my pecs and then down my ribs, making me shiver. I finally manage to pull the damn shirt over my head and I toss it aside, then lean in to kiss him again. I love his mouth. I love his touch.

I feel blindly for his belt, undoing the buckle, the waistband button underneath it. His breath hitches when my hand slips under the band of his boxers, my palm flat against his warm stomach, my fingers just touching the tip of his erection, my knuckles against a damp spot on his underwear.

“Jesus, Nick,” he mutters, then humps his hips forward, pushing himself fully into my hand, his cock already slick with precum. He tilts his head back against the wall, and for a second before he closes them, I see the hunger in his eyes, and I didn’t think it was possible for me to get any harder, but I do. His fingers are digging into my sides. I stroke him slowly and he moans. I kiss his exposed throat, lick the soft skin there, and he moans again. I’ve never had somebody respond to me like this. Never.

Except for our sounds, the room is silent, and I dazedly wonder what happened to the CD.

“It finished a long time ago,” Gil says, and I realize I spoke aloud.

Gil opens his eyes and looks at me. His fingers tremble slightly as he traces my lips, then along my cheekbones. “Nick,” he whispers, “Nicky.”

I know what he’s asking for, and I start stroking him again, harder this time, and he throws his head back, his breathing quicker, his hips rocking in time with my hand. Then he tenses, and I know he’s about to come, and I drop to my knees, pulling his pants and boxers along as I go down, and I take his cock in my mouth. He moans harshly, his fingers twisting into my hair, almost hurting me, and he starts spurting. I smooth my hands along the outside of his thighs, feeling the hair-roughened skin, the corded muscles underneath it slowly relaxing as he finishes.

I sit back on my heels and look up at him. His head is still tipped back, his eyes half-open and staring at the ceiling, his mouth slack.

“You OK?” I ask and he looks down at me.

“Fuck, yeah,” he grins. He bends over and kisses me, then slips his hands under my armpits and pulls me up with him as he straightens up again, dragging my body along his.

“Are you going to come to bed with me?” he asks.

“Fuck, yeah,” I say, and he laughs.

The alarm clock sounds different and I jerk awake, not knowing where I am. It takes me a few seconds to recognize my surroundings and I roll onto my back, looking for Gil. He’s not here, so I reach over and turn the alarm off, then lie back down again. I didn’t expect to fall asleep in Gil’s bed. Heck, before yesterday, I didn’t think I’d ever get anywhere near Gil’s bed, period.

I hear a snuffling sound outside, then the bedroom door opens slowly and Hank pokes his head in and stares at me. He’d pretty much ignored me after our initial meeting yesterday, but I still tense as he comes further into the room; I wasn’t a match for him standing up and fully clothed, and now I’m lying on my back, naked.

“Hank,” I say, trying to sound firm. “Sit.”

Much to my surprise, he immediately obeys.

“Good boy.”

I hear his tail thump against the floorboards. Apparently Hank has had a change of heart about me. I wonder if the same holds true for his master.

“Where’s Gil?” I ask, but Hank just cocks his head and pants at me. Lassie he’s not.

I look around the room for my clothes, but evidently they’re still in the living room. Great. Now I get to parade naked in front of Hank. I put one foot on the floor and he woofs at me, his lip curling up to show some tooth. It sounds awfully like a gentle warning, so I pick my foot up again.

“Gil?” I call out, but there’s no answer. What the hell, has he gone to work already? I have a wild vision of being trapped on this damn bed for the next eight or nine hours – more if Gil works a double shift – not even able to go to the bathroom. Which, come to think of it, I desperately need to do. “Gil!”

The door opens wider and he’s standing there, fully dressed.

“What?”

“I need to go to the bathroom.”

He cocks his head, much like Hank. “Thanks for sharing. What’s stopping you?”

I nod at Hank, who picks that exact second to get up and trot out of the room. I really hate this dog.

“Looks like the access is free now,” Gil deadpans. “I’ll bring you your clothes.”

When I’m dressed, I go looking for Gil. He’s sitting at the kitchen table, reading the paper, a coffee cup by his elbow. He looks at me over his glasses and I suddenly feel shy.

“I guess I’ll be off now,” I mumble.

“Do you want some coffee?”

“No, thanks.” I look at my watch. “I barely have enough time to get home and change as it is. See you in a little while.”

“Nick, wait.”

I pause, not looking up at him.

“What now?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I choke out. Actually I do. I want to come back here after work. I want to take this as far as Gil will let me.

“I see. What happened with to hell with everything else?”

I turn around and face him squarely. “I meant that.”

He takes his glasses off and rubs the bridge of his nose distractedly. “Does that mean you’ll come here after work, if I ask you to?”

“What happened with we can’t?” I challenge him.

“To hell with we can’t,” he responds gruffly.

I nod and turn back towards the door.

“Nick? I’ll keep Hank on his leash, just in case you arrive while we’re out on his walk.”

“Thanks, Gil, that will be much appreciated,” I say drily.

I hear him laughing as I close the door behind me, and I smile.