Title: Conference
Author: podga
Pairing: Gil/Nick
Rating: NC-17. Strictly adult.
Disclaimer: CSI and its characters do not belong to me. I write and post for fun only.
Summary: Prequel to Season One. (For those of us who believe there must have been some explanation for Grissom’s behaviour towards Nick in those first seasons and the fact that Nick mostly didn’t seem to mind.)

“You’re kidding, right?”

The young woman at the desk swallows audibly and clicks on the keyboard, staring at the screen. She desperately clicks some more, then looks up at Nick nervously.

“Uh, no sir, I’m not. There’s no reservation in your name.”

“Stokes,” he repeats deliberately, then spells his name. “The reservation was made over three weeks ago. I’m attending the conference here.”

She has another go at the computer, shaking her head.

“Do you have the reservation number?”

Gritting his teeth, he bends down and rummages through his bag, looking for the folder with the conference material. He finds it and straightens up again, slapping it on the counter. The young woman flinches. The badge on her uniform jacket identifies her as Michelle, Trainee, and for a second he feels guilty that he’s giving her a hard time. He rifles through the print-outs, but he can’t find the hotel reservation.

“I don’t have it with me. Fine, forget it. Just give me another room.”

“I’m sorry, sir, we’re fully booked. We’re hosting a Forensic Sciences conference,” Michelle says, and then, when he just stares at her, she whispers “but I guess you already knew that.” She looks like she’s ready to cry.

“How about you call your manager?” Nick suggests gently.

She scuttles off to the office behind her and Nick can see her through the glass, talking earnestly to a middle-aged, balding man sitting at a desk. The man frowns and glances through the glass towards Nick. Then he gets up and comes out of the office, Michelle following at a safe distance behind him.

“Mr. Stokes, what seems to be the problem?” the manager asks.

“What seems to be the problem is that you seem not to have a reservation in my name,” Nick says, trying to hold onto his temper. “And you seem not to have another room to give me.”

“Did you make a reservation?”

Nick has a sudden urge to reach over and choke the supercilious attitude right out of him.

“Yes, I did.”

“I see. And do you have the reservation number with you?”

“No.”

“Well, then.” The manager shrugs, as if indicating that the matter is closed.

“Look, you—” Nick starts to say, but the manager interrupts him.

“Sir, I’m sorry, but if you don’t have the reservation number, there’s nothing we can do.” He’s looking over Nick’s shoulder as he speaks, and Nick looks behind him instinctively. There’s a heavy-set man with a security badge starting to head his way.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Nick says to the manager. “You’re calling security?”

“Sir, I must ask you to step aside, so that we can take care of the next guest.”

“Look, can you just check again?” Nick says, but it’s like talking to a brick wall. The security guard is now at his side. “Fine. Fine,” Nick says, and he picks up his overnight case and starts to move away from the counter.

“Mr. Stokes?” Michelle says timidly. “Your folder.” Her hand shakes as she holds it out for him to take.

She’s just a kid, Nick thinks, and despite his anger, he gives her a quick smile and thanks her.

“Problem?”

The man asking him the question is about his height, with curly brown hair that’s starting to go gray, and clear blue eyes. He looks like he’s in his early forties. There’s something familiar about him, but Nick can’t quite place him.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” he answers, not wanting to go into details.

“Perhaps I can help,” the man says.

“I don’t see how. Unless you can conjure up an extra room in this hotel.”

“As it happens, I can.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No.”

“What, are you the owner?” Nick asks in disbelief.

The man smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “No. But I do have a two-bedroom suite, if you don’t mind sharing.”

Nick stares at him, as he thinks about his options. He can go looking for another hotel, but he doesn’t know the city and besides, he’s bone-tired. “Not if you don’t,” he says finally.

“I wouldn’t have offered if I did.” The man extends his hand. “Gil Grissom.”

“The Gil Grissom?” Nick asks stupidly.

“And you are?”

“Oh. Stokes. Nick Stokes. Dallas Crime Lab.” Somewhere at the back of his mind he’s aware that he’s sounding star-struck, but jeez, this is Gil Grissom. According to some, the Las Vegas Crime Lab is second only to Quantico, and the guy standing in front of him is responsible for that.

“Pleased to meet you, Nick,” Grissom says, shaking Nick’s hand. “Let’s get another key card for you.”

Nick stands rooted to the spot for a second, then hastily follows Grissom to the desk. Grissom’s voice is cold as he asks the manager, who’s still standing at the desk, for another key card, and Nick can’t help the smirk on his face when the manager glances at him in cold dislike.

The suite is on the top floor and Nick tries not to gape at the vast room. He drops his bag on the floor and walks to the picture window.

“Nice view,” he says, looking out at the twinkling lights of the buildings around them, and the moving headlights and taillights of the cars winding their way through the streets far below.

“Yeah,” Grissom agrees as he comes to stand next to him. “A lot nicer now than in daylight.”

They stand there for a few seconds more and Nick searches for something else to say. He never felt this tongue-tied before.

“Your room is through there,” Grissom says finally. “And the bathroom is through there. Only one, I’m afraid.”

“Dr. Grissom, are you sure you’re OK with this?”

“Call me Gil, Nick. Or just Grissom. And yes, I’m fine with it.”

“Thank you.”

Grissom’s smile does something to Nick’s knees. “You’re welcome.”

A sudden blare of sound wakes him out of a deep sleep and he lies in the dark, trying to figure out where he is. The volume rapidly lowers, and he realizes that it must be Grissom watching television or listening to the radio. There’s an urgent pressure on his bladder, so he gets up. He opens the door to the outer suite; the lights are out, but he can make out Grissom sitting on the couch in front of the TV.

“Did I wake you?” Grissom asks. “Sorry, I didn’t expect the sound to be so loud, and then I couldn’t find the volume control on the remote.”

“That’s OK,” Nick says.

He pads barefoot across the room to the bathroom. When he comes out again, Grissom is still sitting there.

“What time is it?”

“Three thirty.”

“What’s the matter? Are you jet-lagged or something?” Nick asks curiously.

He hears Grissom laugh. “Or something. I work graveyard.”

Nick is surprised by that. He’d have thought Grissom has his pick of shifts.

“I guess Las Vegas never sleeps,” he says.

“No, not really.”

“You’re not from there originally though, are you?”

“Marina del Rey.”

Nick absent-mindedly scratches his bare chest and suddenly realizes that he’s standing in his underwear, making small talk with Gil Grissom. Real smooth.

“Well, I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight,” he says and beats a hasty retreat back to his room.

“Sleep tight,” he hears Grissom say before he closes the door.

Before falling asleep again, he wonders if Grissom surfs.

The next morning their paths cross only briefly. Nick comes out of his room to see Grissom shrugging on his suit jacket.

“Good morning.”

Grissom glances at him as he’s straightening his tie.

“Sleep well?”

“Great, thanks. You?”

Grissom shrugs, then picks up a briefcase. “I have to go.” He opens the door, then pauses and looks back at Nick. “Nick? I’m booked all day, but would you like to meet for dinner?”

“Sure. What time?”

“See you here at seven?”

“Fine.”

Grissom nods in satisfaction and walks out, closing the door behind him.

Nick gets back to the suite at six-thirty. The door to Grissom’s room is closed, and Nick can’t tell if he’s in or not. He wonders if he should change out of his suit, then decides he’d better play it safe. Better to be over-dressed than under-dressed, his Mama always says. He sits on the couch and leafs through the conference book. Although he’s already read it about fifty times throughout the day, he re-reads Grissom’s short bio in the speakers’ section, then studies his picture. In it, Grissom looks older than he does in real life, which probably says a lot about him, because the rest of the speakers’ photos look like they were taken a minimum of ten years ago.

A small noise causes him to look up. Gil is standing at the door, looking sleepy and a little rumpled, as if he’d fallen asleep. He’s wearing black trousers and a black short-sleeved shirt that looks soft and well-worn.

“Hi, Nick. I didn’t hear you come in.”

Nick sees his chest expand and his nostrils flare, as if he’s suppressing a yawn. A second later, he yawns openly.

“You look tired. We don’t have to do this.”

Grissom shakes his head. “I’m hungry and I need some fresh air. Do you like Hungarian? I’m told there’s a good place a couple of blocks away.”

“Who doesn’t?” Nick asks confidently, even though he’s never had Hungarian food in his life, and he stands up, picking up his jacket.

Grissom smiles. “Don’t you want to change? I doubt it’s a coat-and-tie kind of place.”

Nick looks down at himself, then smiles as well. “I’ll just be a minute.”

The restaurant is small and crowded, and the waiter points them to a small table for two. They sit across from each other, knocking knees as they try to fit their legs in the cramped space. The menu is written out on a blackboard and Nick stares at the long, unpronounceable names with trepidation.

“What are you having?” Grissom asks.

“Umm, I’m not really sure. What about you?”

“The daily special.”

Nick looks at him suspiciously. “Which is?”

There’s a smile tugging at Grissom’s lips. “I have no idea. I was counting on you to suggest something. I thought you liked Hungarian food.”

Busted. Nick is saved from answering by the waiter, who patiently helps them with their selections, and then asks them to trust him with the wine.

“Are you enjoying the conference so far?” Grissom asks.

“Yes. I always thought we were pretty advanced in Dallas, but some of the stuff I heard today… it’s like a new frontier.”

“The scientific advances are certainly exciting,” Grissom responds noncommittally.

“You must really be up to date in Vegas,” Nick comments and Grissom laughs.

“We’ve got the same budget constraints as everybody else. Science is just an enabler, Nick. It’s the investigators that make the difference.”

The food and wine are excellent, and the conversation between them flows easily. When Grissom finally asks for the check, Nick is surprised to find that they’ve been sitting talking for over two and a half hours.

“Let me pay, it’s the least I can do,” Nick says, hastily reaching for the check when it arrives.

Grissom gestures in acceptance and leans back in his chair, drinking the last of his wine. As Nick shifts position to fish his wallet out of his back pocket, he realizes in embarrassment that his leg has been pressing against Grissom’s for only god knows how long. He tries to move it surreptitiously, and as he’s doing so, he notices Grissom staring at him over his wineglass, and he flushes.

They don’t speak much on their way back to the hotel. Grissom strolls along with his hands in his pockets, and Nick walks at his side, going over their conversation in his head, and realizing that he’s talked quite a bit about himself, but he doesn’t know much more about Grissom than he did a few hours ago. Shit. Grissom must have been bored out of his skull.

During the elevator ride, Nick stares resolutely and the floor numbers lighting up over the doors. He can feel Grissom’s eyes on him, and it’s making him uncomfortable. He’s thankful when they finally reach their floor and he can step out of the confined space.

“A nightcap?” Grissom suggests once they’re in the suite.

Nick stands uncertainly. He’s already had too much to drink; he must have, because he feels too warm, and a little dizzy as he looks into Grissom’s blue eyes, and then at his mouth.

“Nick?” Grissom asks, and he takes a step closer, so that they’re only a couple of inches from each other. He still has his hands in his pockets, and he tilts his head slightly, as if in question.

Nick’s heart is hammering erratically, almost painfully, in his chest. He knows what’s coming, even though he can’t quite believe it, and he shakily stands his ground.

“Have I got the wrong impression?” Grissom murmurs, and he seems to be closer now, even though Nick doesn’t think he’s moved.

Nick doesn’t trust his voice, so he just shakes his head.

“Well then?” Grissom asks and Nick realizes he’s going to have to cover those last few inches himself. He leans forward and covers Grissom’s mouth with his own, licking Grissom’s lips, then capturing his lower one gently between his teeth. He cups Grissom’s head between his hands, threading his fingers through the springy curls, and deepens the kiss, pushing his tongue into Grissom’s mouth. Grissom’s winds his arms around Nick’s waist, and pulls him against him, and he responds hungrily, his tongue wrapping around Nick’s.

Nick moans as he feels Grissom’s growing arousal against his own. He pushes against Grissom’s shoulders, so that he can get his hands between their bodies, and starts unbuttoning Grissom’s shirt, bending at the knees so that he can kiss and lick the skin he’s uncovering. Grissom leans over him, his hands restlessly moving against Nick’s back, his mouth searching out the sensitive spots on Nick’s neck.

“I don’t want to do this standing up,” Grissom says suddenly, his breath hot on Nick’s damp skin.

Nick pauses and straightens up, so he can look at Grissom. Grissom’s pupils are so dilated his eyes are almost black, and his lips are moist and swollen.

“So lie down,” Nick whispers, and he kisses Grissom again.

“On a bed,” Grissom laughs breathlessly, pushing Nick away. “Your place or mine?”

“I don’t fucking care,” Nick grumbles. “It’s all your place, anyway.”

Grissom laughs again, then shoves Nick backwards. “Your room is closer.” He shrugs off his shirt, then unbuckles his belt and waistband as he follows Nick. By the time they fall on the bed, they’re both naked.

Nick rolls on top of Grissom, trapping his arms against the bed and kissing him, grinding his cock against Grissom’s. “Top or bottom?” he asks against Grissom’s mouth.

“Whatever. Both,” Grissom answers. He throws his head back, moaning as Nick licks his exposed neck.

Nick can feel him fighting to release his arms, but he doesn’t let go, only moves lower so that he can kiss Grissom’s chest. “Let me go,” Grissom mutters, and Nick finally does, but only because he wants to move even lower. He kisses Grissom’s belly and feels the muscles under the skin contract. He suddenly changes course, moving sideways instead of down, and Grissom raises his hips, trying to follow Nick’s mouth.

“Lie still,” Nick admonishes.

“Fuck you,” Grissom answers breathlessly, his hands on Nick’s head, guiding him to where he really wants him. He gasps as Nick takes him in his mouth.

Nick has always enjoyed this part of sex the most. He loves the control he wields. He can make a guy come in a few minutes or draw it out as long as he wants. He also loves the pleasure he can give. He wraps his hand around the base of Grissom’s cock, feeling the smooth soft skin covering the underlying hardness, and he swirls his tongue around the head. He lets Grissom set the tempo, taking him deeper, moving faster, until he can tell from the way that Grissom’s body is starting to lock that he’s about to come.

He lifts his head and crawls up Grissom’s body again, taking his time, until Grissom grabs him, drags him up until he can reach Nick's mouth with his, and flips him over onto his back.

“Top or bottom?” he repeats Nick’s question to him.

“Bottom,” Nick says.

Grissom kisses him deeply. “I don’t suppose you have condoms here?” he asks.

“Oh, shit,” Nick groans. “No. You?”

Grissom rests his damp forehead against Nick’s shoulder. From the steady low cursing, Nick can figure out the answer. “No?” he asks, just in case he’s wrong.

“No. It’s a conference, for Pete’s sake. I’m here to speak.”

Nick starts laughing.

“It’s not funny,” Grissom says, and his tone makes Nick laugh harder.

“You really know how to break a mood,” Grissom gripes, but Nick can hear the smile in his voice.

“You’re not attending any of my sessions, are you?” Grissom asks him the next morning.

“No. My program was kinda mapped out for me. I guess I’d better stick to it,” Nick answers with a pang of regret. The conference ends in the early afternoon and Nick has an evening flight out.

“So, I guess this is it, then.”

“I guess so. Thanks again, Grissom.”

Grissom is already standing at the door, one hand on the handle.

“Nick? If you ever feel like moving away from Dallas, you should try applying in Las Vegas.”

Nick is surprised.

“Why’s that?”

“I think you’d like it. And you’d fit in well with the team.”

“This isn’t about last night, is it?” Nick asks warily. Suddenly, he’s disappointed in Grissom.

“No, it’s not. It’s about why I invited you to share the suite in the first place.”

Nick waits for him to go on.

“Anybody else would have bitten that girl’s head off. At the very least, they wouldn’t have thanked her. You actually smiled at her.”

“So?”

“I told you, Nick. It’s the investigators that make the difference.”