Title: Brand New Shirt
By: kennedy
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: PG
Note: Beta'd by the stellar Catlover2x.
Summary: Written for LJ's csianti_block fourteenth challenge, drunken karaoke. Greg takes advantage of a line Nick utters in the locker room.

***

Greg was fastening the last button over his navel when Nick entered the locker room. He could smell him before he even spoke, that distinct smell of Nicky. The spicy scent of his cologne combined with what strangely seemed like ocean air - despite the fact that the man came from Texas and now lived in Vegas, two places not renowned for seascapes. Other people may not have been able to pick up on it, but Greg was as attuned to the Stokesian smell as he was to anything else about the man.

"New shirt, G?" came the distinctive drawl.

Greg smiled to himself, then hid it as he turned around to face Nick. "I didn't know you paid that much attention to my wardrobe, Nicky."

He couldn't help but be pleased by the flush that spread across the other man's cheeks. "I- I don't," he stammered. "Just- it, it looks like a brand new shirt."

Greg leaned in to him slightly, just enough so that his breath would warm Nick's cheek. "It is new. Thought I might as well show it off for you guys. Meet you in the parking lot."

He knew he was being a tease, but tonight it was now or never. He just needed alcohol to give him the courage.

-----------

"Damn, Sanders," Warrick grimaced. "You're downing those shots like there's no tomorrow."

"A true rock star never performs sober," Greg said, his tongue stained red by the jello shooters. "And we all know, I-"

"Could have been a rock star!" the others chimed in wearily, echoing the oft-repeated lines.

Greg stuck out his vivid tongue at them, but let his gaze rest lazily upon Nick. Who was staring at his tongue. Aware that the others were occupied with the changeover on the stage, Greg waggled it as if he were Gene Simmons. Nick quickly looked away.

Catherine turned her attention back to him. "I hate to tell you this Greg, but real rock stars prefer the hard stuff, and don't get drunk on jello shooters."

Aware that his sentences were now becoming slurred, Greg knew it was now the right time. He swayed as he got to his feet, and slammed the table with his palm. "This one does!"

"He is so wasted," Sara shook her head. "I dibs not driving him home. I just had my car detailed."

"Nick can take him," Catherine volunteered blithely.

"What?" Nick asked, suspiciously.

"I think you're pretty much designated driver, you've hardly touched a drop.".

"Oh," Nick shrugged, and slumped back in his seat. "Yeah. Whoever needs a lift, sure."

"What's with you tonight, man?" Warrick asked. "Get in the mood!"

"Not until I see you up on that stage," Nick gave his first smile of the evening.

Warrick chuckled, and pointed out that Greg had jumped up, and slightly stumbled in front of the microphone. "Will Sanders do?"

Nick was glad they were practically lost in darkness as he felt his traitorous blush return.

"Good evening, Las Vegas!" Greg bellowed as he reached for the mike, but leaned in too far and smacked himself in the forehead. The resulting feedback made the patrons of the bar jump.

"Oops, sorry," Greg smiled sheepishly. "I'm Greg Sanders, by the way."

The only response came from the table of slightly drunken CSIs to the left.

"Thank you, thank you." Greg held up his hands. "Please, hold your applause."

"Get on with it!" yelled an anonymous voice from the crowd.

"I don't think he realises you're not really meant to give a speech beforehand," Sara said drily.

Warrick and Catherine snorted; the frown lines deepened around Nick’s eyes and mouth.

"I chose this song especially for someone I work with," Greg continued, which made everybody at the table sit up a little straighter. "In fact, earlier tonight they inadvertently quoted one of the lines in the chorus."

"I think one of us is about to be highly embarrassed," Warrick noted. "And it ain't Sanders."

"He's shameless," Catherine said, smiling with awe.

As the music began to boom out from the speakers, Warrick started to tap his fingers as he recognised it instantly. He laughed, and glanced at his colleagues, wondering who the culprit was. Nick and Catherine remained steadfast and inscrutable, but Sara had a little smile tugging at her lips.

Little did Warrick know Sara was smiling because she also recognised the song. Her deep dark secret was that she knew it as a remake in a teen movie she would never admit to liking (let alone owning).

Greg, strangely enough, was staring at his feet, as if he was too afraid to make eye contact with the other CSIs as he opened his mouth and began to sing.

I want you, to want me
I need you, to need me
I'd love you to love me
I'm begging you to beg me...

His voice was low, passionate, and heartfelt. He might not have been the best singer, but the emotion was clearly heard behind the lyrics. Nick felt himself retreat into the back of the booth, but he could go no further. His stomach was a mess. Not because he was nervous, but because he feared that Greg was indeed singing these lyrics to someone at this table, but not to him.

Greg's head suddenly lifted, and his eyes sought out his friends in the crowd, and then focused upon Nick like a laser.

I'll shine up my old brown shoes
Put on a brand new shirt
Get home early from work
If you say that you love me...

At the second line, he plucked at the hem of the shirt that Nick himself had admired in the locker room. Nick shot upright, his spine turned to steel.

Now Greg began to dance. His moves were simple but fluid, and quite frankly, better than his voice.

Didn't I, didn't I, didn't I see you cryin'
Oh, didn't I, didn't I, didn't I see you cryin'
Feeling all alone without a friend you know you feel like dying
Oh, didn't I, didn't I, didn't I see you cryin'?

By now everybody else at the table had cottoned on to the object of Greg's affection, and couldn't help but be aware that the two men’s gazes were locked upon each other in an extreme case of eyefuckage.

"Uh, Nick?" Cath asked. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," he replied, not looking away from the man on the stage who was building up to his grand finish.

Sara and Warrick exchanged bemused expressions.

Greg ramped it up for the final chorus, knowing this was going to be what would either make him live happily ever after; or have to put in a transfer for Frisco where he would live out the rest of his life in his parent's basement, too embarrassed to face the world again.

I want you to want me
I need you to need me
I'd love you to love me
I'm beggin' you to beg me
I want you to want me
I want you to want me
I want you to want me
I want you to want me!

His last line was an anguished howl. The music died off, and Greg stood there, suddenly looking like a bunny caught in the headlights of a car that was about to mercilessly mow him down. A moment of silence followed, and the bar then erupted in whistles and cheers. Greg smiled, fumbling to put the microphone back on its stand. He gave a slight bow, and instead of heading back to their table he ran for the bar to drown his sorrows.

Nick felt three pairs of eyes fall upon him, as they waited to see what he would do.

He leaned in to Catherine. "Would you mind letting me out?"

"Depends," she sized him up, her eyes twinkling. "Where are you going?"

Nick smiled. "I have to see a man about a song."

Catherine slid across to let him leave, but Sara couldn't resist.

"Hey, Nick... what line from the chorus did you use earlier?" she asked, with undisguised interest.

Nick grinned. "A gentleman never tells."

Sara sat back, although she was determined to tackle Greg later and ask him the very same question.

They watched as Nick weaved through the crowd, stood behind Greg, and tapped him on the shoulder. And then let his hand rest there as Greg turned to look at him.

~finis~






A/N. The song is, of course, "I Want You To Want Me", by Cheap Trick, although covered by countless artists. Sara is obviously referring to the version by Letters to Cleo in her secret favourite teen flick 10 Things I Hate About You. Greg probably prefers that version as well, although he would be loathe to admit it.

***