Title: Guilt
Author: Escargoat
Rating: FRAO (aka NC-17 for those who still use that rating system)
Pairing: Gil/Nick
Summary: Nick's attempt to help Grissom after Sara leaves goes terribly awry.
Author's Note/Warnings: Set after “You Kill Me” but before “Cockroaches.” Passing mentions of Grissom/Sara. This is my first CSI fic, and my first FRAO fic. As I have no beta for either CSI or slash let alone FRAO slash… all mistakes are completely mine.
Disclaimer: CSI belongs to CBS and all those fine people that created it. If I owned it, I'd be seeing my personal trainer right now instead of writing fanfic and eating Christmas cookies. I'm obviously not making any money off of this, nor would I want to.

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Grissom could list a number of reasons why it was wrong. What he couldn't do was list a single reason why it was right. Logically that meant he should put an end to the current activities. The only problem was that he did not want to stop.  
 
What he wanted was to not be alone. Which was odd because he rather liked being solitary. Maybe it was Sara's influence on him. Somehow he had become accustomed to having another person around, and now craved that attention. Grissom frowned. He might as well add that to his list of reasons why his current sexual encounter was wrong. 
 
Grimly he tried to force his hands to push at the clothed chest that was on top of him. They rebelled against his wishes and started caressing the nipples that were underneath the shirt instead. 
 
Damn. He needed to get his control back before this got more out of hand than it already had. His partner's soft moan drove that thought straight out of his head. His previously non-compliant hands were suddenly very helpful as they slid down to cup the denim covered rear of his partner. 
 
An increase in the tempo of hip grinding indicated the approval of the other party. The other party not person, and if he could just keep thinking of it in clinical terms, maybe he could get this under control before it was too late. All Grissom had to do was detach himself from the situation. Because once it was no longer intimate, he would really have no desire to continue. Wasn't that what he had told Sara?  
 
“Gris?” an uncertain sounding voice whispered. 
 
Automatically, Grissom's eyes opened and looked into the ones hovering a few inches above his face. That was a mistake. Lust, confusion, compassion, desire, affection, and fear: all of those emotions were staring back at him. His partner was obviously having issues with what they were doing. The conflict in those eyes really should have given him a reason to stop.  
 
Instead Gil heard himself whisper, “Shh, it's okay.” 
 
He followed up that statement with a gentle kiss meant to calm and soothe. The kiss was hesitantly returned at first. Then it became more forceful as the grinding started up again. 
 
Grissom sighed and arced up into the friction as he gave up. 
 
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Nick swallowed convulsively as he forced himself to look in the mirror. He had made it two days without actually looking at himself, but Greg's reminiscences about his ill fated moustache had convinced him that he couldn't continue to not shave. Problem was that shaving required looking into a mirror. 
 
Well now, he looked guilty. Guiltier than when he had lied to his parents about just moving away from Texas for a “little while.” Guiltier than when he had told his mother that the pain in his voice was just because he had overdone it at the gym when in actuality he had been pushed out of a window by his stalker. 
 
What the hell had he been thinking anyway? Good, straight Texas boys did not hump their male bosses. Even if he had been a good, gay Texas boy, he shouldn't have been humping said boss because said boss was grieving because he'd lost the love of his life.  
 
Oh yeah, that love of his life? She was a woman - one of Nick's friends as a matter of fact. 
 
It was never supposed to end up like this. Nick had just been himself. Grissom was hurt, and Nick tried to help. That was what he did. It was who he was, and the fact that Grissom hadn't taken him up on that breakfast offer? It hadn't surprised Nick in the least. In his mind, Grissom was the kind of friend that just needed to know that you cared. Anybody that knew Grissom knew the guy was very private.  
 
It had taken Nick by surprise when two weeks later Grissom asked if he could have that breakfast. Nick liked to think of himself as a guy that was always there for his friends, so he said yes. 
 
They had talked about nothing. More accurately, Nick talked about nothing and Grissom just sort of sat there looking depressed. It went against Nick's ingrained sense of rightness to let a friend be depressed, so he kept talking. He told numerous inane stories about his family hoping to at least get a resigned chuckle out of his boss. Nothing had worked. At least Nick had assumed nothing worked because Grissom had left looking even more depressed than when they had started. 
 
It shocked Nick when the next week Grissom had asked if he wanted to have breakfast again. After a few weeks, it had become part of Nick's weekly pattern: drinks on Fridays with friends from work, parasailing on Mondays, video games with Warrick or Greg on Tuesdays, and breakfast with Grissom on Thursdays. All of which had been subject to change based on when double or triple shifts were required. 
 
But one Thursday, Nick finally ran out of steam. He was running out of mindless topics to rattle on about. 
 
“Gris?” 
 
Gil had looked up from his deep thoughts that were apparently centered around his coffee cup.  
 
“Yes?” 
 
“Why are you doing this? I mean, I know why I'm here, but I don't know why you are.” 
 
Gil had taken a deep breath, and for a moment, Nick had thought the other man was not going to reply. Then Grissom responded, “Because I'm lonely, and you don't judge me for it.” 
 
“I don't think anybody would judge you for being lonely,” Nick had replied immediately. 
 
Grissom had only looked back at him, and Nick had realized that Gil hadn't been talking about judgment on being lonely. He had been talking about how other people judged him about what he did with Sara. Why he had let the relationship start? Why he had let her go? Why he didn't go after her? All the whys that Nick didn't concern himself with because good Texas boys didn't judge their friends, they helped them. 
 
“Is that what you are Nicky? A good Texas boy?” he asked his reflection with a sneer. 
 
His reflection didn't answer, but his mind did. He might be from Texas, he might be a male, but he certainly wasn't “good.” A “good” person would never have let it happen.  
 
If that one case just hadn't taken place, he wouldn't be in this mess; Nick tried to rationalize to himself. Small, defenseless children that end up beaten to death are a common buzz point for both Gil and Nick. When Grissom asked Nick if he wanted to go out for a drink after work, Nick had said yes. God knew that he needed one. 
 
Bad thing was, neither of them were drunk enough to justify going to Grissom's place and starting to make out on the couch. It had just happened. And if something can “just happen” then Nick should have been able to just stop it. He didn't.  
 
Worse was the knowledge that he didn't stop it because at that moment the only thing in the world that Nick Stokes had wanted to do was screw his boss. He had craved the feel of the other man's erection grinding against his own as they writhed together on the couch. He had wanted it when those hands had played with his nipples. He wanted it even more when those hands grabbed his ass.  
 
He vaguely remembered trying to say something to Grissom and a soft reassurance. What he remembered clearly, however, was the sudden urge to touch unclothed the erection that he had been grinding against. Which he really should never have had the urge to do because straight people of the male persuasion did not want to touch another man's cock. 
 
Unfortunately Nick's mind at that moment had chosen not to remind him of the fact that he didn't bat for the home team. As a result, Nick's hand had shakily, but quickly unzipped Grissom's pants. A second later, he was pulling Gil's dick out of hiding.  
 
There had been an assenting groan from Grissom about the act, but Nick had been much more focused on the fact that he was unbearably turned on by the sight of an erect penis. Another man's erect penis. His bosses' to be exact.  
 
He remembered touching it with his hand. He remembered the texture of it, the way Grissom had thrust against the moving hand. Worst of all, he remembered the sudden, terrible urge to lick it and how freaking good it had tasted at the time.  
 
Everything after that was a blur. He knew he hadn't attempted giving Grissom a blow job because there really hadn't been a need. He had been on his third lick when Gil had shouted something unintelligible. Nick had looked up to try to make sense of the words spewing out of Gil's mouth, and semen splattered on the underside of Nick's chin and dripped down the front of his shirt. One of Grissom's hands had shot down to Nick's crotch to return the favor, but never got past the first grope because Nick had simply arched into the touch and come in his pants.  
 
There had been heavy breathing and dazed looks for about two minutes. Then the horror of reality set in. Nick couldn't remember ever scrambling away so fast. He barely remembered grabbing his keys and bolting out the door. He did remember not putting his jacket on. The last thing he needed was to transfer Grissom's semen onto his favorite leather jacket. 
 
He had managed to get home before he vomited. He'd taken advantage of a friend, a friend who had trusted Nick to help him through a tough time.  
 
Nick had not been able to look at himself. He had not been able to face the monstrosity of a man who could take intimate advantage of the most private man he'd ever met. What the hell kind of person was he anyway? 
 
Nick glared at the small tent going on in the front of his pants from the remembrance of just how tangy Grissom had tasted. “You fucking pervert,” he snarled. 
 
Forcing himself not to dwell on it, Nick picked up his razor, looked in the mirror, and began to shave.