Title: Details
Author: Elizabeth Wilde
Rating: G
Pairing: Gil/Greg
Genre: vignette, romance
Summary: Romance doesn't have to be complicated.
Disclaimer: I own no one and nothing, sadly enough.
Distribution: My site at http://www.biteyourtongue.net/wilde/, anyone already archiving my fic, anyone who asks nicely.
Author's Notes: Done for the Gil/Greg Fic-A-Thon '05 for misstemperance's words - control, ice, feather. Forgive that it isn't the smut the words screamed for. I found myself feeling rebellious and had to find another way. heh

"Bag it."

Greg lifted the feather the second Gil lowered his camera and gave the order. He stopped briefly to examine the blue-flecked green. It made sense considering the cage he'd seen in the other room, but the middle of the bed put it a bit out of place. "Y'know what they say, using the feather's kinky. The whole bird…"

"The neighbors said they were bird-sitting," Gil responded without looking up, though Greg caught the briefest tug of a smile on the older man's lips. "The whole bird is perfectly safe."

Perfectly in control. It was one of many things that Greg found himself drawn to in Gil. Despite not being a loud or overbearing individual, Gil commanded any room he stepped into by sheer force of personality. He knew what was appropriate when, at crime scenes if not always in social situations. In Greg's mind, the social aspect didn't matter as much anyway. He never would have thought to ask Gil out to a rowdy club or to a lame party.

Greg came quickly back to from the zen quiet of dusting for prints a moment later when he heard Gil's voice. "Yeah? Sorry…" He managed not to flinch at a long-suffering sigh from the other man. The instinct to do so still existed, but Greg was learning. Gil appreciated that he tried despite making mistakes sometimes, that he worked to correct them. That fact made it no less frightening displeasing his boss, however.

By the time they were finished with the scene, Greg was exhausted. He hated end-of-shift calls. They dropped everything off at the lab and he glanced around. No one seemed interested in what he was doing, so he made his way down the hall. "Gil?"

The man looked up, not from paperwork, but from dumping two crickets in with his favorite tarantula. Greg caught sight of one red-covered leg disappearing back into the tarantula's hide as it retired to enjoy its meal. "Yes?"

Greg pushed the door closed. "My place today? Please? All the tea you can drink. I can even go long island if you want. On the rocks-"

"No sense destroying a perfectly good drink with ice." Gil smiled and glanced at the clock. "Alright. Half an hour. Catherine wanted to discuss a case, so I'll meet you there. But Greg?"

"Yeah?"

"No alcohol. I'm tired as it is. Don't know how much fun I'll be."

The younger man shrugged and smiled. "It's always fun. I'm sure I could go out and find a sugar daddy to wine and dine me and all that… but I like this better, okay? Rather sit and have toast and watch TV with you." Greg blushed, realizing that in his state of exhaustion he was sounding a little dorky, and opened the door again. "Half an hour." He didn't stop smiling the whole way home.

THE END