Title: Ain't It Funny
By: rispacooper
Pairing: Nick/Greg
A/N: A quick (but not necessarily dirty) sequel to If That’s Your Boyfriend (He Wasn’t Last Night) continuing with my general theme of fluff and fic titles taken from songs that the boys would never, ever listen to. :P Some people wanted a glimpse into what Nicky was thinking. Here you get a brief sequel type thing for that purpose, which is still more fluffy than smutty despite the presence and use of whipped cream.

Nick had been raised to never even think ill will toward a woman, especially not one he knew for a fact was a decent, kind, caring person. But if Catherine didn’t leave them alone but quick, he was going to violate everything he was brought up to believe in and start wishing her some serious personal harm.

Forcing a smile as Catherine started expressing disbelief that he and Greg had solved the case through a package of Ho-Ho’s, Nick turned his head toward the window, staring out at the diner’s parking lot. The bright, hot, midday sun meant that at least twenty-four hours had gone by since he’d last sat down to eat, and at least twelve since he’d finally found a clue and dared to do something he wanted to do, had wanted to do for a long time. Longer than he ought to ever admit to, if he knew what was good for him.

Pretty, obnoxious Greg Sanders, their weirdo lab-tech…ex-lab tech…surfing, coin collecting, porn reading, metal-loving smartass. With so many things to interest him, there was no way Greg could ever settle for just one, he was too different and immature, only too willing to be distracted by the newer, shinier offers across the street. It was clear from all the stories that he had always made so damn sure to tell Nick about, about the strip clubs, and crazy bands he saw in New York, and the latex. They all meant that Greg was just made for a town like Vegas. That’s what Nick had thought when he’d thought about Greg, and always in those terms, for close to five years now. It was all he’d allowed himself to think, to remember that Greg was someone to tease, someone who hadn’t learned to be careful, who didn’t know how much he had to lose. Who didn’t even know how easily he could be hurt.

Except the funny thing was, Nick was the one who had gotten hurt. Which really wasn’t all that funny, even if the tight smile stayed on his face, because it was better him than someone else, that’s how he tried to think of it.

But he should have known. When it came to learning anything, even to be careful, Greg was a quick study. The quickest study. The kind that even guys like Grissom might secretly watch with approval. The kind who threw what he’d learned back in his instructor’s face so gracefully that they could almost forget the overeager, thoughtless mistakes he’d made a moment before. But he only made those mistakes once, and then he was over them, around them, fluid like water.

Nick swallowed, still parched despite being back in civilization, two glasses of ice water already refilled by their waitress. His mouth was dry but his palms were damp, and he dropped them to his lap and wiped them on his napkin.

His head was starting to ache even though he’d automatically devoured a leftover sandwich back at the lab, right before Catherine had invited herself to breakfast with them. Which was completely Greg’s fault, since apparently Greg had been too anxious to wait to talk about it until Catherine had left the break room.

Nick’s nerves had been stretching to the breaking point, just tired and physically exhausted, his stomach roiling with too much sun and no food and the shaking fear that only came after something momentous. Alone for a moment, for the first time in hours, he had collapsed into a chair and had a chance to stop and think about what exactly he had done on that ride out with Greg, what it might mean that Greg had said yes, and what would have happened if he had said no.

That sandwich had almost come back up onto the table, right then and there, Nick saved from humiliation when Greg had strolled into the room.

Though now that Nick thought about it, strolled was the wrong word. It had honestly been closer to a frantic run that had come to a sudden and complete stop just inside the door when Greg had laid eyes on Nick.

Greg’s hands had trembled as he’d smoothed down his hair—a sign of nerves that Nick had seen a lot in the last few hours—before he’d leaned against the door. He'd gotten pretty near to looking as suave and nonchalant as one of his old-time Vegas wannabe Rat Pack idols might have—except for the safety goggles below his flushed face and the way he’d been breathing too hard.

“Thought I saw you come in here,” Greg had remarked coolly, and the man had had no right to wink at Nick like Nick sitting there about to puke his guts out had been the hottest thing he’d seen all year.

Nick had been thinking about tossing something smart back though, but sitting in the glass-walled break room of the lab, Greg staring hot and expectant at him, he hadn’t been able to think of single respectable thing to say. And then while Nick had been sitting there as blushing and uncertain as a kid, Catherine had butted in around Greg, giving him looks for blocking the door and Nick one too for letting him.

And Greg had just had to do what he always did when he was excited and anxious, which was make a fool of himself by starting to talk and not stopping until someone interrupted him, and somewhere in there between the sand particles, martini recipes, and the DNA of manzanita bushes—he had had to ask Nick what those plants even were, and now suddenly he was an expert—he might have mentioned waffles and the diner.

Nick moved his eyes from the glare outside and focused on his glass of water, the beads of condensation pooling at the bottom, the voids from the oil on his fingertips, the mess the ring made on the Formica tabletop. The glass was empty again, but he was grateful the waitress wasn’t there to fill it. He felt like he could drink all of it, all the water in Vegas stored up behind that dam, and he’d still demand more.

Catherine was still talking, and a part of him knew she was upset and wound up from her own case, knew she’d talk it out and then disappear, go home to her daughter. She hadn’t even really ordered anything, just some fruit salad. But she wanted him to smile and mean it, and maybe it was age, maybe he was tired, but suddenly he just wanted to go home, someplace lonely and quiet, with room enough to think.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Greg’s voice was low and directed at him, full of the same promise that had left Nick red in the face for close to six years, even when he’d thought Greg hadn’t really meant it.

He looked up and locked eyes with Greg seated across from him, getting the impression of glowing skin that may or may not have been due to sun damage, the full lips, the ridiculously long eyelashes, and the mess that was his hair. That hair was at least two colors now, wavy, but flattened, soft to the touch despite all the products Greg dumped on it.

There was a pause, as though Greg was weighing and measuring him, or maybe it was just for dramatic effect; he had his audience hanging on his every word and he clearly loved it.

Greg’s eyelids slid closed but Nick caught a sliver of something warm from under those lashes before Greg’s eyes were suddenly wide open and innocent again.

“Yes, there is much more whipped cream in a Hostess Cupcake.” The sidelong, slippery look back at Nick was deliberate. Nick swallowed, fixing his eyes downward and reconsidering his water glass. “But it’s the quality of the cream that I was considering.”

Catherine was laughing softly, her shoulder shaking at the edge of Nick’s vision.

His own smile widened, but as he shook his head, partially turned away, he saw Greg’s quick, sharp glance at him, how Greg pulled in a breath, how Greg’s posture changed to see him smiling. Then he really relaxed, leaning back to flash Nick a bright, happy look.

It was Nick’s turn to meet Greg’s eyes with his head held low.

“Smartass,” he mouthed where Catherine couldn’t see, and watched Greg’s eyes widen, real surprise there until Catherine pulled his attention back to her.

“What, do you have some kind of whipped cream fetish, Greg?” She had lowered her voice to ask, as pleased and taunting and suggestive as only Cath could be and still get away with it, born and bred in this town, the clubs on the Strip, and Greg was eating it up faster than he’d downed that first Ho-Ho.

Nick felt his smile drop as he looked between the two of them, as he looked at Greg especially. Greg’s eyes didn’t leave Catherine as his eyebrows went up, his grin getting cocky.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He tried to sound cool and mysterious and succeeded this time. Nick noticed Catherine leaning in just as he noticed himself doing the same.

His arm tingled, still warm with the lingering heat from the sun, the imprint of Greg’s fingers just resting along his wrist, as though Greg was content with almost holding his hand.

And that was another big surprise. Sometimes Nick felt like he hadn’t learned anything at all over the years, like he was greener than Greg and that Greg had spent all his time studying while Nick hadn’t noticed a damn thing. Coffee, that’s what he knew. Nick knew how Greg liked his coffee. How he ground it up himself most the time, and creamed and sugared it the exact way he wanted it, so it was harsh and thick and sweet, but so good that one taste was never enough. Most people in the lab tried to sneak some of Greg’s coffee sooner or later.

Greg took a slow sip just as Nick had the thought. That was something else Nick knew, that Greg didn’t hurry with his coffee. He didn’t gulp it in one swallow, coffee he sipped and actually tasted, letting the burn rest on his tongue for a moment the way some people savored wine.

After another sip, he set down the cup, pushing it out until it nudged Nick’s fingertips. Nick frowned a little, but Greg still had not even glanced at him.

“I tried to get Nick here to have one, but for some reason…” Greg trailed off with a shrug, giving that coffee cup one last little push before he slid his hand away.

“Afraid, Nicky?” Catherine was joining in now. Nick frowned down at the table for a second longer and then sat back, staring thoughtfully at the two of them. He laid one arm on the windowsill, stretching out like he couldn’t have been more comfortable. It made his back hurt, small twinges that he would pay tomorrow, but he didn’t move.

“Of being trapped in a car with Greg when he’s wired on sugar?” he asked, drawing the question out slowly and watching how Greg’s hands went still. For the briefest possible moment, Greg was visibly hurt and then the evidence would be gone.

Nick felt his stomach turn. It could have been too much liquid, too little food, the sun... But it wasn’t, and to tell himself otherwise was how he had ended up here, close after way too long with something he needed to get even closer to.

“No…” His accent was something that grew stronger when he least wanted it to, that he could never control. But Greg liked it; it was one more tiny Greg fact for Nick's collection. “…that is something I don’t mind at all,” he added, turning his gaze to Catherine, a smile just slipping out before he could think better of it. “That cashier though…”

“Hey, leave Carly alone.” Greg was scowling but looking at him. A real enough scowl too, if no one stared into his eyes, hot and sparkling, and Nick had to wonder how long it would be before Catherine noticed. “I’m going to marry that woman.”

Nick must have blinked, looked startled, terrified at that announcement, done something that made Greg scratch his head and look uncomfortable, because he tried a faint smile. “…Someday,” he finished awkwardly.

“Uh huh.” Nick hummed his disbelief, jerking his chin up. Catherine snorted, obviously agreeing with him, and Greg rolled his shoulders, shooting Nick a look that said he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“But she’s so observant,” Greg flashed back at him, trying to brave out the daddy of a mistake he had just made with that little announcement. He ignored Catherine’s slightly confused frown and didn’t bother to explain himself, not to her anyway. The look he gave Nick was another story.

“I don’t know.” Nick shrugged, eyes narrowed, and leaned further back into the booth. “I don’t know that she was right about everything.” Greg actually gasped, the act so blatant and, well, flaming, that Nick knew he was probably turning pink just from watching him. His cheeks hurt with the need to smile.

“…Can’t keep your eyes off him.” And damn, but how had he never let himself believe that until she had said it to him, as though it weren’t obvious to even a perfect stranger, her voice so damn loud that he’d thought Greg must have heard.

It was so easy to recall Greg tripping through the melting hot parking lot of the convenience store, unaware of the heat maybe, or uncaring as he’d waved to Nick on his way to the restroom, and then sliding up to his side, tossing down his damn Ho-Ho’s. Then Greg later, pissed but waiting for Nick in the shade anyway; red in the face, sunburned, exhausted and needing a break. Lately Greg was just as absorbed in his work as Sara, just as careless with the small things that could get him hurt until someone brought them to his attention.

“She ID’ed your suspect, right?” Catherine intruded on his thoughts and Nick grimaced at her for pointing that out, but nodded.

“Gave us security tape of him too. Brass is going to broadcast the stills and see if we get some response.”

“See, we owe her,” Greg interjected, glaring at Nick before twisting around at the arrival of the waitress with their food. Which meant Nick didn’t get a chance to say anything about the presumption that Carly helping with their case…or their situation…warranted a proposal of marriage. It was just Greg mouthing off like he was always did, Nick reminded himself, trying not to think about why Greg had always felt the need to bring up his romantic past around him, as though Nick had needed reminding that people found Greg attractive.

He watched across the table as his food was set down in front of him, noting Greg’s impatient little shifts in his seat as he waited for the others to get their food. Then his empty stomach must have caught up with him and he was grabbing at his knife and fork and tearing into his large stack of buttermilk home style waffles, drenched in warm maple syrup and topped with a mountain of whipped cream. He closed his eyes at the first forkful, syrup and cream dripping from his lower lip. He made the kind of dirty, obscene noise before he swallowed that had fueled more than a few of Nick’s early morning fantasies.

Nick’s fingers closed around the warmth of the coffee cup and he lifted it for quick gulp.

“New diet, Nicky?” Catherine’s voice was as light as her eyes, making him blink, and he choked on coffee right as he looked down. It almost-but-not-quite went up his nose, and he set down the cup to cough into his hand for a minute, staring at his plate the whole time.

Home style buttermilk waffles. No syrup, lots of butter on the side, exactly like he had ordered. Except that right next to the pats of butter was a fluffy, swirling pile of whipped cream. As though someone had asked for it on the side for him.

Nick looked up to Greg, who was giving every appearance of only being interested in what was left on his plate, two of his waffles already gone.

“Yeah.” Nick turned to Catherine, knowing that she knew how carefully he normally watched what he ate. He could feel the blush on his cheeks, at his neck, but he couldn’t stop it. And Greg’s pleasure at that was something Greg had never tried to hide. He could feel it soaking into him even on this side of the table, like the sun outside. “I’m trying something new.”

Something bumped against his shoe, then settled there. Greg was smiling down into the pool of syrup and cream that he called waffles. Nick coughed, his throat still rough. He twisted to face more directly forward and pushed the coffee cup back toward Greg. Then he reached for his knife and the butter.

He could almost hear Catherine’s eyebrows go up at how he started calmly spreading his butter on his waffles and didn’t answer any of her unasked—for the moment—questions. Just like it was any other morning after a long shift and Greg’s sneaker wasn’t snuggled up tight next to his shoe under the table.

Greg who wore a suit to look professional and then still wore sneakers, who slicked his hair down but left the wild, crazy streaks of color he’d just had done. Nick couldn’t seem to decide what to do with his hair. It had never mattered before…before the Gordons…and then when he’d found himself out and breathing again, looking at a Greg who was trying so hard to be more than a wannabe CSI, he’d suddenly wanted something different. Because it all was different, but still the same, somehow, and sometime yesterday in the heat, as he had run his hands through his third bad haircut, Nick had realized that Greg’s hair was nothing but fun show, that it had little to do with Greg himself, and maybe that’s why Greg didn’t care.

Greg was working hard. Nick had the thought just like he had hours ago while taking picture of the vic and the surrounding scene, unable to get many shots without getting a part of Greg too, constantly moving in the background. Greg was working hard at this, at maybe a lot of things, and no one, except possibly Sara, had noticed.

He honestly hadn’t even thought Greg could be serious. Everything…it all always seemed so easy for Greg, with his full-ride to Stanford smarts, that flirtatious smile, the hints of nights spent partying dropped into every conversation, as tantalizing as any of Grissom’s myths. A bright, glittering neon sign begging for his attention, and maybe Nick had just gotten too used to walking past the dizzying, tempting city lights without seeing them. He’d forgotten that some of them really were beautiful. Like stars in the desert sky.

Nick sighed, cutting up his waffles and eating a few forkfuls automatically, chewing like he was back in the hospital with a thousand eyes on him. He was tired and sunburned, even if not as bad as Greg was, and he needed another haircut, and he felt kind of like an idiot here.

The waffles were as good as always, at least. He licked some butter from the corner of his mouth and heard it, the soft, gasping cough from Greg’s side of the table. He raised his head and saw Greg tipping back his coffee cup for a quick, gulping drink, eyes wide. He slowly lowered the cup while Nick was still watching him with concern, set it down precisely on the table before him, and then stuck out his tongue and dragged it across his lower lip.

Greg’s lips were naturally full, naturally red and shining, shining like exuberance was just something that came through his skin. Now they were full and red and shining, but wet, parted. He was smiling.

Nick let out a breath then forgot how to breathe back in, and he was definitely burning bright red now, because he couldn’t tear his eyes away and Cath was going to notice him staring like some horny teenager, but he couldn’t stop himself.

It was true. He had never been able to take his eyes off Greg for long; he could barely keep his hands off Greg half the time. And when he had tried, there Greg had been, irritating him, asking questions, teasing him with eyes that were always asking for so much more.

“But he doesn’t…” Arguing with a convenience store clerk, how low in denial could he get? And worse, he had been whispering to keep Greg from hearing more when he had already heard too much. Denying everything had been a reflex action, even to her casual question, and then he’d ruined it by looking over to see Greg watching him. “He can’t…” </i>

Greg had slowed down on his waffles now. He took his time swirling a soggy piece of sweet bread in his syrup, then dipping it in the pile of whipped cream.

Nick’s fingers curled around his fork as Greg brought his food to his mouth. Greg was looking right at him, cream all over his lips, and that was so on purpose it wasn’t funny.

“Not hungry?” Greg at his most polite, which was usually Greg at his most wicked. And hell yes, wicked was the right word, considering where they were, hours until their next shift that ought to be spent sleeping, both of them rank with dried sweat.

“Yeah.” He just about breathed the word and blinked to hear himself, how heavy his voice was. He tore his eyes away to stare at his plate, lifting his fork and barely tasting the food he stuck in his mouth, only imagining the hint of maple.

All this time. Nick shifted on the bench he shared with Catherine, felt his shoes bump clumsy and too hard against Greg’s sneaker, felt Greg pull away until the small contact was gone, and he fought to keep his foot still.

All this time, and he hadn’t thought Greg was serious just because he had crazy hair and listened to music by a man named Marilyn and had started obsessively watching old detective movies.

Nick swallowed the lump of food in his mouth, the act almost painful. His hands closed around the coffee cup as his arm stretched across the table to get it, brushing against the glass of water. He shivered at the chill, the sudden splash of cold liquid on his bare forearm.

There wasn’t even one playful word of protest from Greg as Nick dragged the cup back toward himself, and everyone knew how possessive Greg was of his coffee.

The water glass was full again, Nick realized belatedly. He looked up without thinking and he must have been frowning, because Cath was smiling a little and Greg’s eyebrows were raised again.

“You didn’t even notice, did you?” There was a tone to Greg’s voice that, if Nick’s mom had used it, would have meant that his father was in for it. Nick kept on frowning, drawing his gaze over Greg’s expectant face before turning to Catherine with a silent question.

“The second your glass gets below the halfway mark, she’s back here for a refill.” Catherine sank her teeth into a big piece of juicy honeydew. “I doubt it’s because you’re such a good tipper,” she finished, popping a red grape in her mouth the way Carly had popped a pink piece of gum.

“What?” And that was a stupid thing to say, since he understood her just fine. But his gaze flicked over to their waitress, busy at another booth. She…seemed nice. He sighed impatiently, still confused and getting annoyed.

“I’m sure, if you ask, she’ll get you your own coffee,” Greg remarked smoothly, his voice slick and sweet and just loaded with stuff Nick knew he ought to avoid. He licked the corner of his mouth anyway, reflecting that Greg really had been working hard at this a while; Nick had almost missed that one.

“Nah,” Nick wrinkled his nose and shrugged for effect. “I prefer yours.”

“I prefer mine too, that’s why I ordered it.” Greg answered, sour as a lemon and just as persnickety. The old-fashioned description fit, and Nick knew he was grinning again, shaking his head at how easy it all seemed suddenly, in the moment. As easy now as it had been crazy a second ago, and would be again before long.

Just like before, things slid into place, colors matched, shapes fit, and all his struggling hadn’t really mattered in the long run. He wondered if it was the same for Greg even though he pretended otherwise. Greg had probably never had to work too hard for anything until this; he was brilliant in every sense of the word. Smart. Radiant. So what if he was red with a bad sunburn, stuffed with sugar, and pissed at Nick about some waitress? Nick was still looking at him. Just him. Only him.

Nick’s grin got wider and he raised his head, taking his eyes from Greg to find the waitress, mouthing his request and only frowning a little at how she hurried over.

He held out the cup as she refilled it, trying his hardest not to blush at Catherine’s incredulous little gasp. He thanked the woman with a smile when the cup was full—a tiny smile that not even Greg could have a problem with—and then set the hot, full mug down in front of Greg’s plate.

Greg blinked, his shining eyes looking to Nick suspiciously but his mouth was not, Nick noticed, forming a single word to refuse the coffee.

Catherine was going to be wondering what was going on here, but Nick didn’t volunteer a damn thing. He just waited for Greg’s hands to close around the cup, then he picked his fork back up and cut up some of his waffles, which were probably cold by now.

He speared a big chunk and dipped it right into the melting puddle of whipped cream, holding his breath for a moment to preemptively calm his stomach. Then he popped it right into his mouth.

Rich and sweet and thick, fattening, delicious cream with a hint of vanilla that wrapped itself around his tongue, stayed sticky on his teeth. He almost groaned. Greg hadn’t told him they made their own whipped cream here. It had been years since he had last had real whipped cream.

He hummed low in his throat, forgetting about the leftover waffles and scooping some more cream onto his fork just so he could lick it clean. He might have shut his eyes, hummed some more, because when the fork was spotless he blinked and noticed that he was being scrutinized by three pairs of eyes.

There was no escaping the heat of his blush this time. He could even feel it at his ears.

Catherine coughed. Their waitress squeaked something and vanished. And Greg…Greg was looking at him the way he normally only did from under his lashes, whenever he thought Nick wouldn’t notice or wasn’t paying attention. Except he wasn’t sideways and his head was up and Nick was looking right into dreamy, possessive heat.

“…Can’t take your eyes off him.” Yep, Nick thought faintly as that look streaked sharp and hot down his spine, smartass Greg Sanders didn’t know everything, Carly had pointed that out too, in her way.

“He watches you too.” She’d been frowning, jerking her head toward Greg, and Nick’s eyes had followed the motion just in time to see Greg’s gaze drop to the shiny, white plastic bag of food in his hands.

So even if Catherine was there, there was no reason he couldn’t dip his finger into his whipped cream for one last taste. It was sweeter than before, and if he was going to be paying for it at the gym it didn’t matter. There were few better emotional benefits than sitting across from Greg right now and tasting whipped cream.

Change his life, that’s what Greg had promised.

“You guys done?” Nick asked, drawing out his words, getting his napkin from his lap to wipe his hands. He shifted again, for no real reason, and took a final, fast sip of his water as Catherine jerked into motion, looking startled but not as offended as she might have.

She tossed a few bills onto the table then stood up. Her gaze went from him to Greg and back again, her eyebrows high and her mouth curved, probably on account of Greg’s moody silence.

“Workin’ tonight, Nick?” She popped her shades onto her nose as he nodded. Her smile got wider, as suggestive as before, maybe more “Well try to get some sleep,” she advised, shaking out her hair the way women only did in movies, except she was Catherine and it was simply what she did. Nick looked up quickly as her words sank in, blinking, but he couldn’t see her eyes through her dark glasses. “Greg.” Her hand patted Greg’s shoulder and then she was gone.

Nick shook his head to clear it; his mouth was dry again and he opened it, considering.

“You getting tired, G?” He frowned after Catherine for another moment, finally transferring his scowl to Greg.

Greg’s eyes had narrowed when he’d turned, and Nick could almost have been facing Grissom, feeling a lot like a bug squashed under a piece of glass—not that Grissom would squash any bug without good reason. Telling himself that did not slow his pulse, or help him relax, and Nick wondered vaguely if maybe it would be wiser to call Catherine back.

“You need more coffee?” he tried to offer, gesturing at the cup, and watched Greg’s fingers tighten on the handle, like he wanted to throw it, most likely at his head.

“No.” At the short reply, Nick swallowed, laying his hands out on the table. Greg jerked his chin up, his eyes traveling from Nick’s plate to his hands and then finally up to Nick’s face. “Do you?”

“Nope.” And why that made him move, push back into the booth’s padding, he didn’t care to think about right now with all these people around them, but his cheeks were burning.

“Awesome.” Greg’s smile was tight, agitated, anything but awed, and Nick put out a hand.

“Wait, G…” he tried, his words coming out too slow, because Greg was getting up, twisting around to get his wallet from his back pocket. “I said it was my treat.” He wanted to sigh, to growl out something that would have definitely been rude, but he couldn’t seem to get out a peep. Not with the antsy way Greg was fidgeting, standing and turning but not quite going anywhere yet. That yet almost made him reach out to grab Greg’s arm, even when he knew there was no way to ever really hold on to someone like Greg. He had to want to be there, and then good luck getting him to leave.

“So treat already, Nick.” Greg held still long enough to snarl at him, and then while Nick was sitting on his ass like an idiot, staring and trying to figure out what exactly he’d done wrong here, Greg pushed himself out of the booth and marched to the door. Nick could just glimpse Greg’s hands as he tried to smooth down his hair again, and then Greg was gone.

Nick abruptly regained the use of his body, and jumped into action, digging through his wallet and pulling out some twenties. That waitress deserved a really good tip, he told himself distractedly, and there was no way he was taking time to calculate anything.

The sunlight was glaring; he squinted the moment he stepped outside, trying to find Greg in the emptying parking lot. They had paved oceans of sand in the Nevada desert to make Las Vegas, but he could have been back out there in the middle of nowhere he was so alone. He frowned, shaking his head when he couldn’t focus, couldn’t calm enough to think clearly, knowing Greg couldn’t have gotten far.

His throat was tight and dry, and he cleared it roughly as he looked around, finally narrowing his gaze on the Denali. One step out of the shade and he could already feel the heat pounding into him, uncomfortable on his slight sunburn. Greg was really going to be feeling it, maybe even burning himself worse.

“Greg?” he called out quietly as he got closer to the truck, parked over by a fence by the edge of the lot. He turned the corner into the shade by the passenger side and then let out a grunt as Greg grabbed handfuls of his shirt and pushed him against the car door.

His hands came up on their own, his heart rolling like thunder for a second as he tried to blink away the panic, opening his mouth but not screaming. Greg only gave him a second longer to control himself and recognize him before he was leaning forward and damn near slinking down at the same time so he could stare at Nick from under his eyelashes.

“Think that was funny, Stokes?” Greg demanded breathlessly, his glare only getting brighter and hotter, until Nick could feel the burn on his exposed skin. His mouth felt as parched as midsummer dirt, but he darted out his tongue to try to wet his dry lips. He could still taste cream, and that was funny, because it was how he’d imagined Greg might taste, and he hadn’t kissed Greg, not yet.

“Yeah.” He brought his hands down, placed them carefully over Greg’s two fists, surprised when they just melted away. Greg’s fingers uncurled to spread slowly over his chest, as curious as they had been in those quiet, peaceful moments on the drive back to town. Maybe Greg’s wide, wicked smile had been about what was going to happen, maybe his fingers had been warm, but the rest hadn’t been anything but Greg holding his hand and pleased as punch to be doing it.

His touch was gentle, and Nick knew he really was an idiot for not getting until now that maybe Greg hadn’t been angry at all, maybe whipped cream was just a bonus, not the prize.

Greg’s mouth opened, expelling a long, shaking breath, and Nick felt himself match it before he looked up, noticing the dark shadows under his eyes, the high color of emotion in his cheeks. Greg was tired, and so was he. He wanted to go home and sleep for a year. He definitely wanted a shower and then maybe some more coffee, or at the very least, a chance to pull a hand away and rub some of the tension from his neck. But those weren’t all he wanted, and Greg wasn’t the only one who had been working hard these past months.

Treat, Greg had said. Asking for a treat after demolishing a ton of whipped cream, sugared coffee, Coke, and two chocolate snack cakes.

Greg’s hands were flat on his chest, applying a steady pressure to keep him pinned against the passenger door, but Greg had angled his head down, looking up at him which still kept most of his face carefully hidden. Greg was quick; Nick had missed that one too.

Nick dropped his gaze to the hint of Greg’s lips that he could see, the red, curving line, and felt his mouth slip open. His breath was getting heavy and loud, and it should have been embarrassing. Maybe it was, but his skin was burning, raw against his skin, his jeans, which were all suddenly way too tight.

He leaned forward when Greg’s fingers twitched and curled into the black cotton. Greg’s head came up in surprise.

Greg’s mouth was hot and bitter and sticky sweet. Nick hummed a little, licking Greg’s lips apart, because it was the first taste, their first kiss and it meant something, and if Greg wanted to object, than this was the time. Greg’s lips slid open easily, round, shocked, whatever he had been about to say turning into just his breath warm between them. His tongue darted out, and Greg hummed a song of his own, something wild and swinging.

It was so good, good wasn’t the word, jackpot didn’t even come close.

Nick ducked his head to press for more and Greg’s hands slid away, reappearing at the back of Nick’s head. Long fingers curved through his hair, petting, clutching, urging him down and not seeming to care one bit if his hair was too long or two short; Greg just wanted him closer.

Greg’s back was as warm under his hands as he had dreamed. Greg was lean but strong, with wiry muscles that rippled under the sweaty linen of his shirt as he twisted. He made sounds that rumbled under Nick’s hands like a cat’s purring, until Nick stroked his fingers across jutting shoulder blades, traced all the way down the length of Greg’s spine. He couldn’t even recall how his hands gotten there exactly, didn’t care, and it didn’t matter anyway; Greg twisted again,making a little growl against Nick’s mouth like he didn’t care where Nick moved his hands as long he kept on doing it, sexy like everything he’d ever promised with his eyes.

Nick could smell the faint scent of vanilla, taste the perfume on Greg’s tongue. His hands slid to Greg’s hips, squeezing, and Greg made a sound like a whimper, the ache almost making Nick tear his mouth away to ask what was wrong, except that he had a pretty good idea, with the way Greg’s leg slipped around him and brought them together real close and personal. Kind of hard to miss, and he twisted his fingers into Greg’s belt loops, holding him still while he shifted, dragging himself against the heat of Greg’s lap, the beautiful hard ridge in his fitted pants.

It was his turn to make a sound, noisy like Greg but low and rough and needy, deep down in his throat. And that was all it took to have Greg all over him, taking over the kiss, pushing Nick back and rocking in short, urgent bursts against his body, and if Nick could have freed his hands, if there had been any space at all between them, he probably would have slipped a hand down, popped a few buttons and started some slow and easy stroking.

His vision was swirling, going black with the need for air, the sensation familiar enough to deny it for a while longer, and he moved without Greg, sending his fingers over hipbones, curling his fingers when Greg shifted enough to allow his hand to go down, like Greg was reading his mind here. And yeah, a few inches and there it was, sweet, hard proof that Greg really did have a whipped cream fetish.

Nick finally tore his mouth away to allow his smile, breathing hard, shivering at how Greg’s head instantly fell to his neck. Greg was panting, shuddering, still moving his hips softly and pressing himself into Nick’s palm.

Nick made himself look around, coughing a little to realize that there was no way anyone who might have seen that would ever believe that they hadn’t been doing what they had just been doing. Kissing. Making out. Dry-humping against a car as though they were really were desperate kids after a date. A date. It might help if Nick weren’t grinning so obviously, but he didn’t feel much like trying not to.

“Issnotfair,” Greg mumbled into his jaw, lifting his head slightly as Nick turned back to him. Greg’s fingers trailed down over Nick’s hot cheeks, settling around his shoulders a second later. “You suck,” Greg told him, apparently annoyed even though he wasn’t moving, either away or to keep on humping Nick into early retirement. He was trembling, hot and clingy despite his complaints, and licked a drop of sweat off Nick’s throat when Nick coughed again, followed that with a tiny kiss.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Greg was pleased to see Nick’s embarrassment return even if it did mean the end of their make out session. That made no sense, but then, Nick might have been wrong about some things, but Greg really was a weird guy.

“We are still at the diner, G.” Nick felt the need to point that out, wondering vaguely if being around Greg this much was going to kill his ability to blush. Greg snorted, pulling back to look at him.

“You don’t want to keep on having your way with me in the parking lot?” Greg was smiling too, as smile as big as the hard-on in Nick’s hand. So easy, that’s what Greg’s eyes said. It could be so easy.

“Oh man.” Nick shook his head after only a small pause to think about it, distracted by the red of Greg’s mouth. He had never, ever really dared to imagine this. But he glanced around them again for distraction, noticing the typical Vegas billboards, ads for nightclubs and dancers, the twenty-four hour a day just name the price companionship. What this town was built on, he’d always thought. Then he turned to look toward the diner, where the team gathered after work more often than not these days. And he blinked. Because where else could he get waffles at two-thirty in the afternoon, with just the right people to want to have breakfast with him at all hours of the day and night?

He forced himself to look back at Greg, not surprised this time to be under Greg’s steady observation. He wasn’t speaking, wasn’t breathing, just waiting and trying to act like he wasn’t. Nick swallowed and tried to make himself scowl a little and sound reasonable. “You’re not as hardcore as you want everyone to think, you know.”

Greg raised both eyebrows, but the downturn to his lips made him look a lot less coolly defiant. So did the pink stealing across his face. Pretty didn’t even come close. Brilliant wasn’t bad though.

“What tipped you off?” Nick could almost hear the ‘copper’ at the end of that; Greg’s sense of black and white melodrama was showing. Nick’s scowl, which he hadn’t really meant anyway, slid back into a smile.

“Because you’re here with me.” Because that was obvious too, when Nick stopped to think about it, which he would never had let himself do until he’d had to yesterday. But he was grateful, because he’d been brought up to always give credit where it was due, and he did owe Carly. But there was no way in Hell, or Heaven, that Greg was ever going to marry her.

“Come home with me?” he asked quietly, blinking rapidly and frowning when Greg sucked in a breath, lifting his head only to give Nick an exaggerated eye-roll.

It might have been something like “finally” that Greg muttered just loud enough for him to hear, or maybe not, but Greg was smiling back at him, looking just as goofy as he had a few hours ago, grinning like crazy at him from the Denali’s passenger seat, and Nick decided he didn’t care. Yesterday had pushed its way into today, and they only had a few hours until shift tonight, and some of that had to be sleep and a shower, which proved that Nick had really picked a dumb time to start this, but he didn’t care. It was just tonight and tomorrow and him and Greg.

“I’d say I’d meet you halfway, but you drove,” Greg remarked, pausing afterward with his grin wide like it was Nick’s turn.

Maybe he was as weird as Greg, because even knowing what might happen—what definitely was going to happen—he still stayed where he was, sharing a smile with Greg.

“I don’t mind,” Nick drawled slowly back at him, his face hot as he did not look around to see if anyone could hear him. “I’d rather have you along for the ride.”


(I almost hate to say) The End (But I’ve got porn waiting in the wings…)