Title: Desire
Author: podga
Pairing: Gil Grissom/Nick Stokes
Rating: NC-13
Disclaimer: Characters don't belong to me and I don't make money off of them
Note: Sequel to Ending It.
Summary: Gil visits Nick.

It's pouring, the raindrops drumming loudly against the car, filling it with noise. Once he turns the wipers off, it takes only seconds for the water sheeting on the windshield to block his view of Nick's house almost entirely.

He doesn't know what he's doing here. The sensible part of his brain is telling him that no purpose can be served by seeing Nick, because there's nothing he can tell Nick that Nick doesn't already know. And as for what Nick doesn't know, or might only suspect, to tell him would only lead to more complications.

"We need to resolve all this at some point," Nick had said almost a week ago. And in the intervening time it became more than obvious that avoidance, Gil's usual method for resolving most personal problems, wasn't going to succeed in this case, even though Nick followed his lead, eliminating all personal contacts, and most professional ones, as well. All Gil seems to have achieved is to think of Nick almost constantly, something he initially tried to think of as a casual friendship with benefits turning into an obsession that keeps him awake when he tries to sleep, and hyperaware of Nick whenever he is, or even might be, somewhere near Gil.

It's probably due to the lack of sleep that Gil is here now. He's just too tired to fight anymore. It's a hell of a lot easier to give in, than to keep on repeating to himself the reasons why he shouldn't have an affair with Nick. Professional reasons, personal reasons, whatever, he's tired of carrying the responsibility alone. Nick is an adult; let him think of the repercussions and take the responsibility for them going forward. Or not.

He climbs out of the car and walks to the house, getting drenched in the eight or ten steps it takes to reach the porch. He doesn't even know if Nick is home, but there's only one way to find out. He leans on the doorbell, clearly hears the ringing inside the house despite the noise of the rain, then waits. And waits, and waits, the spurt of bravado that carried him this far slowly ebbing. This is stupid. No, it's worse than stupid, it's crazy, and he starts to turn away, when the door opens.

"Gil?"

He turns back to look at Nick, rainwater dripping from his hair into his eyes.

"Hi," he says.

Nick is wearing a pair of sweatpants riding low on his hips, and his chest and feet are bare. It's obvious from his mussed hair and a pillow crease on his left cheek that he was sleeping, but his eyes are bright, alert.

"What are you doing here?"

Gil shrugs. "I'm not really sure," he says.

Nick nods, as if Gil's answer makes sense.

"Do you want to come in?"

Gil steps forward into the house and looks around as if it's the first time he's been here. Other than the large screen TV and the University of Texas rug on the floor, it's not the typical bachelor pad he'd have expected from Nick. It looks professionally decorated, and it's very neat, almost as if Nick is expecting Crate & Barrel to come take pictures.

"I like your house," he says seriously.

"Uh, thanks," Nick answers, suppressing a quick smile. "You want a towel to dry off a bit?"

Without waiting for an answer, he moves to the back of the house and returns after a moment, carrying a folded towel, which he hands to Gil. Gil just holds it, until Nick takes it back, flips it open and drapes it around Gil's shoulders. He hesitates for a second, then takes a corner of the towel and gently rubs Gil's hair.

"You look like you stepped in a shower with your clothes on," he murmurs.

Nick is standing so close. So close. Gil reaches out slowly and puts his hands on Nick's bare hips and he feels Nick tense.

"I had to come," he says gruffly, caressing Nick's hips, tracing the bones and muscles under his fingers. "Do you want to send me away?"

Nick shakes his head slowly. He lets the towel drop back on Gil's shoulder and cups Gil's face.

"You should," Gil tells him, but Nick only shakes his head again and leans forward, until his lips are touching Gil's.

"No," he says. "Not today," and he kisses Gil.

Gil wraps his arms around Nick, pulling him tightly against him, Nick's body warming him through his damp, clammy shirt. He kisses Nick hungrily, his tongue licking at Nick's teeth and tongue. He feels Nick's hands move to the back of his head, tangling in his wet hair, pulling him even closer, until he can hardly breathe, but he doesn't care. He finds the cord to Nick's sweatpants and unties it, pushes the sweatpants down until they fall around Nick's ankles, then wraps his fingers around Nick's cock. Nick groans into Gil's mouth and thrusts his hips forward, his cock deeper into Gil's fist. His hands move onto Gil's shoulder, pushing down on them.

"You want me to suck you, Nick?" Gil asks, stroking Nick's cock, even though he knows the answer, because he needs this, he needs hear Nick say that he wants this as much as Gil does.

"Fuck, yeah," Nick gasps, and Gil slides down Nick's body, until he's kneeling in front of Nick. He traces the vein on the underside of Nick's cock with his tongue, then takes him in his mouth in one smooth motion, and Nick gasps again, holding his head, trying not to thrust, until Gil starts to pull his hips forward, showing him it's okay. He hears that small sound of pleasure Nick always makes, almost a whimper, and he didn't think he could get any harder himself, but he does.

"I'm gonna come," Nick warns him suddenly, knowing that Gil doesn't really like to swallow, but this time Gil doesn't back away as he almost always does, and Nick comes in hard spurts, gripping Gil's head, unaware that he's pulling painfully on Gil's hair.

Afterwards Nick drops on one knee in front of Gil, so that they're face to face. "Let's get you out of your wet clothes," he whispers. "And move this to the bedroom."

"It's kind of like Thanksgiving dinner, isn't it?" Nick asks later, as they're lying sated next to each other.

"What is?"

"Right after dinner you regret having eaten so much, and you swear you'll never be hungry again. But a few hours later you're standing in front of the refrigerator, looking for a snack."

Gil turns on his side to look at Nick. "So it's generally a good idea to get out of the house," he says slowly.

"Probably so. But you're still hungry."

Gil knows that Nick is giving him an opening, but he doesn't really want to have this discussion now. "You're not comparing me to a stuffed turkey, are you?" he asks, trying to lighten the mood.

"No," Nick laughs, but then quickly grows serious again. "Gil, I need to know this. Why did you come here today?"

Gil lies on his back again, and covers his eyes with his forearm. "Does it make a difference? We both know it's wrong."

"Yes. That's exactly why it makes a difference."

It's one word and it shouldn't be that difficult to say. Gil is good with words and he knows their power and the weight they can carry. Too much weight for either of them right now. In the end he settles for a synonym, one that says almost as much:

"Desire."