Title: Doubts
By: Chapin CSI
Pairing: Gil/Greg
Rating: PG-13
Warning: I don't speak English and it shows in my stories; luckily, my readers are very forgiving. Thanks!
Spoiler: In 'Precious Meetal', Grissom tells Greg a CSI makes less money than a DNA expert. In 'The Theory Of Everything' there's a cute scene with Gil, Greg and Doc Robbins (the sucker bet).
Summary: Romance.

***

Greg Sanders woke up with a start.

He blinked his eyes open, only to close them abruptly; sunlight was pouring in -not the soft, warm caress of the early morning sun, but the full glare that told him it was already past noon.

He groaned and turned his face away.

"Should have closed the blinds," he muttered. He always kept the blinds closed in his room; it was the only way he could sleep during the day -

But this wasn't his room.

Greg tentatively squinted in the window's direction. He supposed he could get up and close the blinds, but it seemed like too much of an effort. He was tired; exhausted, in fact. It made more sense to roll to a darker side of the bed -Grissom's side.

Greg watched Grissom with something close to envy. The older man was peacefully asleep; in fact, as far as Greg could tell, Gil hadn't moved since the last time he saw him, seconds before both passed out. Grissom was still lying on his stomach, with his face half-buried on the pillow.

On a closer look, however, Greg noticed some changes. Gil's hands, which had been desperately clutching the sheets, now lay open on either of the pillow; and while he was still flushed from his recent exertions, he wasn't breathless anymore; he looked serene, utterly relaxed –like someone who's all set out to spend the rest of the day in bed, Greg thought with a smile. Well, he felt just like that too; cool and comfortable, perfectly content to stay right where he was. Nothing could make him move –well, nothing except maybe the chance to get a bit closer to Gil. With this idea in mind, Greg dragged himself closer to Gil, careful not to disturb the sleeping man.

But his efforts were in vain; soon he noticed the lines around Gil's only visible eye crinkle –a sure sign that he was smiling.

"Hey," Greg whispered.

Gil lifted his head just enough to look at Greg through half-closed eyes.

"Hey," he mumbled, then he let his face fall back on the pillow. A moment later, he mumbled, "You ok?"

Greg began to nod, then stopped when he realized it was he who should be asking that question. He'd just remembered being a bit too rough on Gil earlier that morning. Gil didn't protest -in fact, he gave back as good as he got- but Greg was worried nonetheless. It was then that he noticed the faint purple smudges dotting Gil's forearm; four smudges to be precise, with a fifth one he couldn't see but knew was there. Five smudges –five bruises he could easily fit his fingers into, because he'd made them himself earlier on. He didn't have to look to know that there was a similar set on Gil's other arm.

It seemed hard to believe, even with the evidence in front of his eyes. He did remember feeling an urgent need to possess Gil, body and soul -something that just couldn't be done. But he'd obviously tried. He'd held Gil tightly in his arms; he'd forced his own rhythm on him. And he'd felt like a conqueror.

The memory was so exhilarating it sent shivers down his spine all over again, but he had mixed feelings about it now.

Greg reached out and touched a bruise with the tip of his finger.

"I think I went caveman last night," he said contritely.

Gil only chuckled.

Greg got a bit closer and laid a kiss on each of the smudges; then, for good measure, he dropped a kiss among the sweaty curls on the nape of Gil's neck.

"I love you," he whispered.

He pulled back to watch Gil's reaction.

Grissom didn't say anything, but then he didn't have to; the look in his eyes was eloquent enough. The phrase 'window of the soul' came to Greg's mind every time Gil looked at him like this: It truly revealed the depth of his feelings. It was thrilling, to be the object of that gaze, but sometimes it was overwhelming, too. Sometimes, like today, Greg found that he couldn't hold that gaze for long, and so he rolled on his back and stared at the ceiling.

"I like this," he said after a moment. He was going to say something else but a huge, lusty yawn got in the way. He made a big show of it, stretching his arms and legs at the same time. "Days like these make me glad I'm a guy," he said with satisfaction. "You know, lying in bed, doing nothing -" He glanced at Gil.

Grissom was more alert this time; he'd even folded a pillow under his head so he could have a better view of Greg.

"So," Gil said, "All you wanna do is lay back and stare at the ceiling."

"Yeah. Ok, maybe not just lay back and stare at the ceiling," Greg amended. "I have some ideas of er, things we could do later. We have all day, right?"

"Right." Grissom was looking attentively at him now. "So, how long do you think you could stay in bed like this?"

"You mean with you? I'd stay a whole week," Greg said gallantly.

"Really?" Gil's eyes gleamed with mischief, "I bet you five dollars I can get you to get up in the next couple of minutes."

Greg rolled his eyes. "You'd have to pay me five-hundred to get me to move right now." Then he shot him a look of disapproval, "Why do you keep doing this?"

"Doing what?" Gil asked innocently.

"You know what," Greg retorted. "Placing bets. You've been at it for the last couple of days. Sucker bets," he added spitefully, "Designed to fool me into giving you my money -"

"So? You thwarted me every time."

"Only because Doc Robbins and Nick were there."

"You're being too modest, Greg. I only play this game with you because you're a deign adversary."

Greg glanced at Gil. He was gauging the older man's sincerity, when it suddenly occurred to him that Grissom was looking inordinately pleased with himself.

"You know, you've been looking kind of perky lately," Greg said suspiciously.

"I'm happy," Gil shrugged.

Greg smiled despite himself.

"Well, I'm happy too," he said, "But you don't see me playing tricks on you. I mean, you're the one with the big bucks here. Me, I'm just a CSI level III. A CSI level III who took a pay-cut when he got this job -remember? A CSI level III who's still paying for the car he bought when he had a DNA Analyst's salary -"

"A CSI level III who insists on giving expensive gifts to his boyfriend," Gil muttered pointedly.

Greg shrugged.

"I like giving you things," he said easily. Then he looked away, and muttered. "He said 'boyfriend,'" and chuckled. He had a blast every time Grissom said the word.

Gil was still looking at him.

"You know," he said tentatively, "There might be a way for you to cut down expenses."

Greg shook his head. "I am not trading in my car."

"I'm not talking about trading in your car," Gil said patiently. He paused for a moment. "You could move in with me."

Greg snorted, sure that Gil was only joking. But when he glanced at Gil he didn't see the signature 'gotcha!' smile. There was no smile of any kind, in fact; Grissom was looking solemnly at him.

'Uh, oh,' Greg thought. He sat up slowly.

"Are you serious?"

"I am."

Greg was stunned. He didn't know what to say. Or, more correctly, he did know what to say but he didn't know how. He didn't want to say 'no' to Gil -not when he was looking at him like this, so open and hopeful.

"But you've always lived alone," he said.

Gil merely shrugged.

"I didn't have a boyfriend then."

Greg didn't scoff at the word this time. He didn't even notice it; he was too busy looking for excuses.

"I, hum, got lots of stuff -"

"I've got lots of space," Gil countered calmly.

Greg's lips parted a couple of times but nothing came out.

Finally, Grissom took pity on him.

"Think about it," he said casually. "Now, I said I could get you to get up. Want to take on the bet?"

Greg was momentarily thrown off by the sudden change of subject, but recovered quickly.

"I don't want to get up," he said firmly. "I don't even have to go to the bathroom. See that?" he said, pointing at an empty bottle of water on the side table. "I'm willing to pee into that if it's necessary."

"Oh, really. So, nothing will make you move -"

"Nothing."

"Not even a pint of chocolate ice cream?"

Greg faltered. "Chocolate -"

" -from that little store near the Strip," Gil finished. "I got one the other day. It's in the fridge right now."

Once again, Greg opened his mouth but no words came.

His will was definitely starting to waver.

'Damn,' he thought. He didn't want to lose the bet, not with Gil looking so smug and self-assured, but on the other hand... Why refuse a pint of ice cream that cost a lot more than five dollars?

"You win," he muttered in defeat. "I'll get up."

"Good."

"That wasn't fair," Greg muttered as he stumbled out of bed. He picked a t-shirt off the floor and started putting it on. He glanced at Gil, who was looking at him now, following his every move.

Greg shook his head.

"You did all this just to get to see me naked."

"It's a beautiful sight," Gil said placidly.

Greg snorted. He finished putting on the t-shirt, but he didn't make a turn to the door. Instead, he looked at Gil again, really looked.

'My 'boyfriend', he thought, and the word filled him with a sudden tenderness. He took a couple of steps back to the bed and reached out. He hesitated for a moment, his hand hanging in mid-air. He wanted to touch Gil, but he couldn't decide whether to start with the disheveled hair or the bushy beard; in the end, he gently rubbed Gil's nose with the back of his index finger.

Gil reached for his hand and held it, and this simple action somehow encouraged Greg to talk.

"I'd like to move in with you," he said quietly. There was no visible reaction from Gil –but then, he probably knew there was a 'but' coming up. And that was the thing with Grissom. It seemed like he always knew what you were going to say -sometimes even before you did.

It was freakish.

Greg cleared his throat.

"I just don't know if I'm ready for this -sharing a house, I mean. I'm still recovering from the years I spent living with my parents." It was meant as a joke, but hearing his own words made him wince. "That sounds like I'm ungrateful jerk, right?" But Grissom didn't say anything. Of course; Gil would never judge him. But this only made Greg want to explain all the more.

"I loved my parents," he said, "It's just… Living with them could be suffocating at times. And I know that living with you would not be the same," he added, just in case Gil tried to make a case for himself, but Gil didn't even make an attempt to speak; he simply waited.

This only made it more difficult for Greg to say the rest.

"It's just… This is your house." He glanced around, "These are your things. It's your home. Your rules." He looked at Grissom. "I need my own things."

Gil nodded slowly.

"I understand."

Greg hesitated; he still felt there was something more he should be saying but he didn't know exactly what.

"It's ok," Gil said, and he smiled reassuringly as he released Greg's hand. "And by the way, you don't have to eat the ice cream if you don't want to."

Greg snorted.

"Yeah, like I'm gonna go back to bed now that I know what's in the fridge." He turned to the door, but just as he was reaching for the doorknob, a sudden thought occurred to him. He looked back at Gil, who was lazily rearranging the bedcovers.

"Hey, Gil?" He waited until Gil looked up. "You knew what I was going to say, didn't you?"

Gil's eyebrows rose.

"What makes you think so?"

"Personal history," Greg retorted, unimpressed by the 'who, me?' look on Gil's face. "You always seem to know."

"Not always," Gil said gently.

"But you knew this time. You knew I'd say no."

Gil shrugged slightly.

"It was a possibility."

Greg narrowed his eyes.

"So what if I'd said yes?" he challenged, "What would you have done, then?"

Gil smiled faintly.

"Greg, I had a closet extension installed last month," he said.

Greg involuntarily glanced at the closet on the opposite side of the room. Gil had put up the extension so Greg had a place to put the clothes he kept leaving behind.

"Yeah?" Greg said now, "So?"

"I also added two cabinets in the kitchen," Gil said patiently.

'Well, yeah,' Greg thought. Gil snack fare tended to be the light, non-fattening kind, and Greg's tastes were just the opposite. After one too many complaints from Greg, they'd compromised: Greg would bring his own food, and Gil would provide the space. That they'd been dipping into each other's food stash lately was something they hadn't bothered to discuss yet.

"And it's not only the food," Gil added, "There are books and CD's and games -"

"Yeah, yeah," Greg interrupted. "You bought a couple of bookcases, I know." To be fair, the new bookcases were not just for the things he kept forgetting at Gil's place; they were also for the gifts he gave Gil. "So, what's your point?"

Gil didn't reply. He merely sat back and gave Greg a look –a look he often used at work; a look that meant it was up to Greg to put two and two together... Which he did, a couple of seconds later.

He gaped, then. He looked incredulously at Gil, who merely nodded. As always, he knew what was going on in Greg's mind.

"I already live here," Greg said at last, more for his own benefit that Gil's. Maybe saying it out loud would help; he still couldn't believe he'd been taking over Gil's space and never noticed it till now. More amazingly yet, Gil didn't resent it.

More importantly, he had not tried to change him.

"So…" Greg said in confusion, "If I'm already living here, why…?" Why ask him to move in, when he could just as easily let things go on undisturbed.

Gil shrugged slightly.

"To make it official, I guess." Then he smiled mischievously. "And if you move in, you'll have more money to buy me gifts."

"Ha, ha," Greg muttered, but he wasn't exactly amused. He didn't really know how to feel. The idea of living with Grissom appealed to him but it terrified him, too. It was too big a change. "Are you sure you really want to do this? I've got a temper -"

"I know," Gil said a bit wearily –or so it seemed to Greg.

"What do you mean, you know?" Greg asked testily.

Gil smiled.

"It means I know you have a temper, and I know you have lots of stuff. It means I really want to do this."

Greg stood in the middle of the room, unsure of what to say or what to do next.

"It's funny," he said at last. "I never thought being with you would be like this."

Gil eyed him curiously.

"What do you mean?"

"I thought it would be up to me to take every step while you followed reluctantly. I thought I'd have to coax you and talk you into doing things -And now it turns out you don't need me to."

Grissom considered this for a moment.

"Does it bother you?"

"Not really," Greg said slowly. "It's just... Weird."

They were silent for a moment.

Gil cleared his throat.

"Greg," he started. "Things don't have to be my way all the time. Or yours, for that matter."

Greg smiled at the veiled warning. And how typical of Gil to go straight to the heart of the matter: He knew Greg loved -needed- to be in control, and that giving in was not going to be easy. But there was one thing Greg had learned lately, and it was that yielding to Gil could be a lot of fun.

And then Gil said the words that clinched the matter for him.

"Things don't have to be suffocating."

Greg smiled.

"I'll think about it," he said, and there was real conviction behind those words this time.

THE END

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