Title: First Times
By: kyrdwyn
Pairing: Gil/OMC
Rating: NC-17
Series: 1) I Never Stopped, 2) Mi Corazon, 3) La Otra Persona, 4) Desayuno, 5) His Business, 6) The Argument, 7) Someone to Love, 8) Shut Up and Kiss Me, 9) The Shower
Disclaimer: CBS, Alliance Atlantis, Anthony Zuiker, and a whole bunch of other people are probably tracking me down for playing with their toys without their permission. I make no money off this.

***

Las Vegas. It's funny, I've lived in California for forty-seven years, and this is my first time visiting the city. It's just a five hour drive from where I've lived most of my life. But it never appealed to me, I guess. Gambling isn't my thing. Neon isn't my thing. Sigfried and Roy definitely are not my thing.

But he is.

Standing at the hotel window, I look down on the gaudy lights of the Strip. He's out there, somewhere. I know he is. I haven't seen him in sixteen years. Not since he moved here. I want to see him again. I need to see him again.

I still love him.

I turn back to the room, staring at the pad of paper sitting on the table. Blank paper, inviting me to sit down and write him. Tell him I'm here. I hesitate, though. It would be the first time either of us made contact in all these years. First times are always momentous. Especially between the two of us.

Life is full of a lot of first times. First laugh, first smile. First day of school. First kiss. First lover. First time in love.

How do you know, that first time, that it is love? I don't know. I could tell you all sorts of stories about mushy poems and sappy songs that you go around reciting, but that wasn't it for me.

Its not like I hadn't thought I was in love before. With my high school girlfriend, with my college sweetheart. But somehow, when those ended, I had no trouble moving on. To other lovers, short term affairs. Men and women, I will admit. It was the seventies, I went to UC Berkley. Experimentation abounded.

But I came back to LA. Went to the police academy and became a cop. Not for something to do, but because I needed to do it. Being a cop is what I am. I don't know how else to explain it, other than saying that I can't do anything else. I've thought about it, on nights after bad cases and when I'm recovering in hospital rooms. I've even looked into other jobs. But when it came down to it, I couldn't do it. It felt like I was trying to amputate a limb without anesthetic. So I stayed.

Now I realize that I wouldn't have had some of my first times if I hadn't stayed. I met him while I was on the job, after all. First love. First real love. The only person I've ever felt that way about.

I'd been on my shift, walking a beat, when I heard the screams for help. A woman had stumbled across a dead body. Not too unusual in Los Angeles. I called it in, calmed her down, and kept the curious out until the required personnel got to the scene. And started to write down who arrived and when. I'd heard tales in the station about criminals getting away because the defense attorney managed to call procedure at the scene into question. So I wrote everything down at the scene.

This was pretty routine after a year on the streets. Other officers arrived, then the coroner and crime scene guys, then the homicide detectives. I watched them work, more interested in what the detectives were doing, since that was my goal.

Then the coroner approached me, asking me what time I had arrived on the scene, if I'd touched the body, what was the condition - all the questions I'd heard before. But not from anyone who looked like he did. My age, in black slacks and a gray shirt, his blonde-brown hair slightly curling. But what really captured me were those blue eyes that seemed to hold the knowledge of the ages, more wisdom than any young man should have.

I answered his questions, and asked a few of my own. I'd already noted when he'd arrived, but I wanted his name. Gil Grissom.

Gil. A simple name for such a complex man. One who, I later discovered, shared my appreciation for reading anything and everything I could get my hands on. Who loved baseball as much as I did. My sister Lupe was great about putting up with me when I didn't want to watch the games alone, but she was always busy with her husband and kids. Gil watched and sometimes simply amazed me with his knowledge of the game and the stats he memorized.

How I wanted him so badly at times in those months. I just didn't know about him. I thought he might be attracted to me, but I didn't know if it was just my wanting it so.

Our first time, I can still recall that clearly, even now. We'd both worked on the case of that pobre angelita, the little girl who'd been chained to a doghouse by her own parents. Díos, he looked so haunted, having to examine that little girl. I was haunted enough by the interviews. So when I knew he was home, I went to his place, grabbing a six-pack of our beers on the way.

He looked worse in daylight. We didn't speak, just drank. The buzz was going good, probably accounted for why I did what I did.

I don't regret it. I never have.

After our hands touched, I felt the shock through our skin. We both dropped our hands, at first falling back into our usual 'don't ask-don't tell-don't say anything' mode. But something in me -- the booze or just generally being tired of dancing around the issue -- made me reach out to take his hand, willing him to look at me.

The yearning in those blue eyes shocked me. He never talked about his past, but I gathered that physical contact was not usual in his family. Not like mine, anyway. I couldn't help but lean over and kiss him.

A light kiss, on the lips, nothing like I wanted to give him. I didn't want to frighten him away, though if this wasn't his thing I was probably going to be clocked in the jaw real quick.

Instead, Gil opened his mouth under mine. A night of firsts. First kiss with Gil. First taste of Gil. First feel of Gil's tongue against mine. First feel of his hands against my bare chest - I didn't even know he'd undone my shirt.

Might be time, might be alcohol, might be a brain overloaded from pleasure, but I still cannot recall how we got from Gil's couch to his bedroom and naked on his bed. I know we did, because I can recall lying on my back, Gil on top of me, both of us sucking each other's cocks. More firsts - first taste of Gil's cock, Gil's come. First time hearing Gil's cries and moans as he came. My first time coming for Gil, first time his name crossed my lips in a shout of pleasure.

We both lay there, dazed and a little shaken. Gil had rolled off me, so we were both on our backs. Harsh breathing was the only sound in the room for a long time.

I finally raised my head to look at him, afraid of what I would see. Did he regret this? Would he be angry? Contemptuous? Would my sexual preference be all over the department within the next day or so?

Instead I saw my own thoughts reflected in those eyes. I smiled, and he smiled back.

The next day was another first, but not a last.

The first time we both called in sick to spend the day in bed. Together.

Opening my eyes, I shook my head to clear it of memories and sat down at the table. I quickly scrawled a few lines on the paper and put in into an envelope. As an after thought, I took out an old picture of me, one he'd taken, and stuck it in with the note.

Leaving my hotel room, I knew one thing. I wanted more first times with Gil.

So I'm going to make first contact.

***

Next story in series - Comfort.