Title: Country Boy
Author: Dee
Rating: PG-13
Word Count:1053
Pairing: Gil/Nick
Characters: Gil Grissom and Nick Stokes
Warnings: AU and v.v.fluffy!
Spoilers: Very minor ones for ‘Unshockable’ - S.10 Ep.14.
Disclaimer: In my dreams they are like, totally mine!
Unbeta-ed: All the mistakes belong to me!
A/N 1: It had to be done!

They’d only been dating a couple of weeks and this was the first time Gil had been to Nick’s house.

In fact, Gil didn’t even know that Nick lived in a house; he’d thought he had a condo, but apparently he’d moved to a house not long after Nigel Crane had murdered the psychic and then attacked Nick.  It was a reasonable decision for Nick to make.

Nick had slept over at Gil’s on his night off and they were now, officially, lovers.

As Gil eased his old Mercedes onto Nick’s driveway, he smiled to himself.  He hadn’t bought any clothes over with him, but he hoped that tonight he’d be having a sleepover; if he was really lucky, he hoped it’d be a sexover.  His smile turned to a grin.  But then he wiped it off his face.  No need to let Nick know, just yet, what a dirty mind he really had.

He locked up and then made his way to Nick’s front door and rang the bell.

After a few moments it swung open and two things immediately struck him.

Just how fuckable Nick Stokes was and the fabulous smell that assaulted his nostrils as the door opened...Nick had said he was cooking a meal for them.  The decision to fuck or eat would be a difficult one and he hoped he wouldn’t have to choose.

He took a couple of steps directly into the living room, trailing his knuckles, gently, over Nick’s chest as he passed.  But then he stopped, dead, and Nick, having closed the door, collided with his back.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.  Quite the opposite.  This is a great room.”

It was early evening and still quite light, but the room was bathed in the light from two large lamps giving the room a honeyed glow, and that was what struck Gil.  The walls were the colour of honey, like pale gold; the wooden furniture was light oak and the couch and chairs were rich brown.  Everything was a matching shade of some sort, creams, even orange and yellow in the cushions and rugs.

But the overall effect was one of calm and relaxation.  With the smell of the food added to the mix it was almost intoxicating and there was music, gently wafting around the room.

It was the music that caused Gil to turn and look at Nick.

“Vivaldi?”

“Yeah.  Concerto for two violins.”

Gil chuckled.  “You’ve done your homework.”

“Sorry?”

“How did you find out?  You must have seen it at my place.”

“Find out what?”

“That it’s one of my favourites…I actually prefer it to the Four Seasons.”

“I had no idea.  It’s a favourite of mine, too.”

“Really?  You love Vivaldi?  Nick that’s incredible.”

“Incredible?  Why?”

“I never imagined that we would share a love of music…the same music”.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.  It didn’t cross my mind.”

“You just said you never imagined that we would like the same music.  So you must have thought about it.”

“I haven’t.  The first time I've thought about it is just now, listening to this concerto.”  Gil thought something was wrong.  “Is there something wrong, Nick?"

“I don’t know, is there?”

“I…I have no idea.”  Gil must have looked alarmed.

“No, it’s me, sorry.  Most people assume that just because I’m from Texas I must love Country music.  I can take it or leave it…but I love classical.”

And Gil had been one of them, making that assumption, not that he’d be admitting that anytime soon.

“Baroque?”

“Not particularly, I like the violin.”

“Do you play?”

“No.”  Nick laughed.  “I had piano lessons and after a few months Momma and the teacher decided it was not my forte.”

Gil laughed.  “That’s funny!”

“That I couldn’t play?”

“No…what you said, ‘forte’…pianoforte…a play on the word.”

“Oh…yeah.  Gotta check the food.”

“It smells good.”

“I hope it tastes as good.  I've done a lasagne, the good ol’ standby, with salad and garlic bread.”

“You made it yourself?”

“Yeah...well, not the pasta, I bought that ready made.”

“My mouth’s watering.”

They had wine with the meal, which Gil thought was excellent.  They finished it off with a homemade tiramisu, which Gil thought was even better.  Gil had two helpings of the lasagne and would have had two helpings of the dessert, but was just too full.

Nick had made coffee and they were now on the couch, listening to an old recording of Menuhin, playing the Tchaikovsky concerto.  Gil had picked it out from Nick’s CD collection. He had been very impressed, and not a little chagrined, to find that Nick liked classical music.

“You accused me of snooping.”

“Sorry?”

“You said I’d done my homework, that I must have seen it at your place…you thought I was a Country boy, didn’t you?”

Gil desperately wanted to say ‘no’, he really did, but it would be blatantly dishonest, and besides that his delay in replying had now told Nick all that he wanted to know.

“I’m sorry.”  He hoped he looked suitably contrite.

“Join the club.  I had thought you were above stereotyping.  You’ve disappointed me.”

Nick’s quiet rebuke felt like a kick in the gut.  He couldn’t think of anything to say.  He nodded at Nick.

Neither spoke for several minutes.  Nick sipped his coffee, but Gil sat very still.  Lost for something to say without unintentionally making matters worse.  Over the years he’d learned to keep his mouth shut, since he always made things worse.

“You staying the night?”

“I can?”  Gil knew he sounded like a kid being let off the hook.

Nick grinned.  “Yeah.  Though I gotta think of a forfeit for you…maybe make you listen to some country music every day for a week. “

“Nick.  I have a confession to make…”

“…go on…”

“…I like country, classical’s my favourite, of course, but I like anything if it’s good.  If you had snooped you’d have found a number of Loretta Lynn and Patsy Cline CDs, and I have an old video of ‘The Coal Miner’s Daughter’.”

“Well I’ll be damned;  I’m just as guilty as you.  Shall we make out on the couch, watch a game?  I’m too full to fuck.”

“Sounds like a plan.  Did really make that lasagne, or did you buy it in…”

The End