Title: I’m just a hunka hunka burnin’ love. Ha!
Author: Dee
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1624
Pairing: Gil/Nick
Characters: Gil Grissom and Nick Stokes
Warnings: AU and v.v.fluffy! Some strong language!
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: In my dreams they are like, totally mine!
Unbeta-ed: All mistakes will be mine! Icon by high_striker
A/N 1: This was inspired by stokesgirl’s fic, ‘Breakfast’, and I have her blessing to continue the theme!
A/N 2: Apologies to Elvis Presley, the title just came to me.

Gil was feeling relaxed and lazy, and even a little sore.  They’d done their grocery shopping on the way home from work and then as soon as they’d packed everything away at home Nick had, without any warning, jumped him.  He chuckled.  Could he be jumped at his age?

 

It didn’t matter; he had been and he wasn’t complaining.  He’d planned to start the research for an article he was going to write and Nick was planning to re-organise his files on his laptop.  The question of sex hadn’t arisen. It wasn’t expected. 

 

But Gil had been crouching down and stretching to get at the back of the cupboard under the sink to make room for some new cleaning materials.

 

He’d heard Nick groan and looked around to see what was wrong and Nick was unzipping his fly. At Gil’s surprised look, Nick had explained, ‘your ass, man, stretched out before me like a buffet at the Bellagio!’

 

He pulled his cock out, at least half hard already and by the time Gil had stood and steadied himself on the sink, Nick had pumped himself to nearly hard.  And then he jumped Gil. 

 

Grabbing Gil’s crotch with one hand and an ass cheek with the other, he kissed Gil hard.  Gil had grabbed Nick’s waist to hold on for the ride, but Nick pulled away from Gil so he could free Gil's cock from his trousers and pump him a few times so that they had matching erections.

 

They’d discarded their clothes as they’d made their way to the bedroom, more accurately to their lube supply, because Nick was ‘going to fuck that ass’! 

 

And he did, well and truly.

 

As he remembered, Gil felt the very familiar heat in his lower belly and pushed a hand under the bedclothes to fondle his cock.  The spirit might well be willing but the flesh was still too weak.

 

When Nick had recovered and cleaned himself and Gil up a bit, he had declared his imminent death from hunger and following a piss and a hand wash had gone off to the kitchen to make a bacon sandwich, upon which, apparently, his life depended.   

 

Now Gil could actually smell that bacon cooking and his stomach rumbled very loudly at the prospect of food.  Maybe he needed to eat, too, to combat his imminent starvation.

 

He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.  He looked around and saw his boxer shorts and his tee shirt on the floor on the way to the door.  He’d wear them to eat in and then shower after breakfast.  Decision made, he stood, grimaced at his sore ass, took a piss, washed his hands, and then retrieved his boxers and tee as he made his way to the kitchen.

 

He nearly fell over trying to put the boxers on and walk at the same time.  Not a good idea, with his bandy legs and pigeon toes.  He chuckled again.  Nick did a very accurate imitation of his walk, and although he pretended to be offended, he couldn’t be for long because Nick was very funny, but Gil was never going mention the accuracy.

 

Boxers secure he started to pull the tee over his head when he heard it.

 

Nick shouting; he was almost screaming.

 

“Ow!  Ow!  Ow!  Fucking hell!  Fuck, ow!”

 

Leaving his tee suspended around his neck Gil ran the last few yards into the kitchen.

 

What he saw left him open mouthed.

 

Nick was naked.  He was splashing water from the faucet in the kitchen sink over himself and the kitchen, by the look of it.  He was continuing to shout out ‘ow’ with several expressive expletives.

 

“Nick, what on earth have you done?”

 

“The fucking bacon spat fucking hot fat at me and burned my fucking cock, motherfucking shit, man, it hurts!”

 

Now Gil would normally be the most sympathetic man to Nick’s needs, but just now he was going to laugh, he knew it, and if Nick paid any attention to him he’d see it and he would be in so much trouble.  But his eyes were watering at the scene before him; his chin was wobbling and his lips were working trying to contain the laugh.  He tried to suck in his cheeks, but couldn’t and it burst out.

 

An almost strangulated, choking sound was emitted from his mouth and Nick looked at him, daggers drawn.

 

“You’re fucking laughing?  You’re fucking laughing?”

 

Gil tried shaking his head but it was no use.  He laughed out loud and then found he just couldn’t stop.  He staggered over to the sink but couldn’t look at Nick; he had to hold onto the sink to steady himself as he laughed.  He tried to speak again, but just looking at Nick made him laugh more.

 

“Just you wait Gilbert Grissom, just you wait.”  Nick was furious now, but had stopped swearing and reached for some paper kitchen towel, soaked it in cold water and wrapped it around his cock.

 

Even Nick’s cock made Gil laugh.  It wasn’t so long ago that it was hard and swollen and now it had shrivelled up into the smallest size it could, probably from shock and cold water.  But thankfully, given his adverse reaction to his lover’s misfortune, from where Gil stood it didn’t look in the least burned.

 

After about a minute, maybe two, Gil started to calm down.  He knew he’d have to make it up to Nick.  Big Time.

 

“Sweetheart, I’m…”

 

“…don’t you sweetheart me, you bastard, laughing at me.”

 

Nick was pissed then.

 

“Sweetheart.”  Gil was being firm now. “Why, exactly, were you frying bacon, naked.  In fact, why were you frying bacon at all, you usually grill it?”

 

“Because we just had sex, and don’t think for one minute you’ll be getting any more this side of 2011!”

 

“But you must have known it could splash out, and you’re naked.”  Gil sounded accusatory, but was still on the verge of laughing again.

 

“I didn’t think, man, I just had sex, the blood hadn’t got back to my brain, I dunno.”

 

“Is the bacon alright, can we still have a sandwich?”

 

“I don’t fucking believe you, you haven’t even asked to see the burn and you still want a fucking bacon sandwich?”

 

Gil sensed this wasn’t going well.  Nick sounded about as pissed as he’d ever heard him.  Maybe a more conciliatory approach would get him a sandwich, because the smell of the bacon was making his mouth water.

 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart…”

 

“…don’t call me that when you obviously don’t mean it, you just want a sandwich and lets face it, you could live off your own fat for a month, easy.”

 

Nick was getting down and dirty now.  Gil really did need to make amends quickly or the imminent prospect of a bacon sandwich, and sex in the near future, would be considerably diminished.

 

“I’m sorry, I really am.  Maybe the blood hasn’t got back to my brain yet, either.”  Gil thought that was an inspired remark and Nick was a sucker for a good excuse.  “Come on, let me see.”

 

Nick was holding his cock in a wodge of wet kitchen towel.  Gil manhandled him so he was facing him and then gently moved Nick’s hand away and then the wet and soggy paper towel.

 

Gil gently held Nick’s penis in his hand and inspected it.  Granted he wasn’t wearing his glasses, but he couldn’t see any burn on the shrunken little organ.

 

“Where is it, Nick, the burn?”  He couldn’t look up at Nick because he felt the bubble of a laugh trying to form again.  The injury would appear to be more to Nick’s psyche than his penis.

 

Nick looked down and inspected his penis.  He peered at it, pulled it a little to expand it and then pointed to a tiny red spot.  “There.”

 

Gil squinted and just about made out the smallest of blemishes.  He was going to laugh again, he knew it, he grabbed the tee shirt that was still hanging around his neck and scrubbed it over his face, took a deep breath and examined the injury again.

 

“Well, it looks to me as if you got the cold water on it quickly enough to limit the damage.  Does it still hurt?”

 

“Maybe not.”  Nick was clearly doing a little damage control of his own, since it would be difficult to call the slight blemish, a burn.

 

“So why don’t you go put some sweats on and sit down; I’ll mop up this water and finish up the sandwiches.”

 

“Okay.”  He was feeling a bit sheepish.  Discretion really was the better part of valour.  “Sorry for making all that fuss and…you know…but it did hurt and you shouldn’t have laughed.”

 

“I know, I’m sorry.  It would hurt more because we just had sex, it’d be sensitive and hot fat is unforgiving, but getting cold water on it quickly did the trick.  No real harm done.  But next time if you want to cook while you’re naked, don’t, make a sandwich of cold cuts.  Promise?  We can’t have the goods getting damaged, now can we?” 

 

“No. I’ll send you instead.”  Nick managed a sly smile and sashayed out if the kitchen.  Gil chuckled, but very quietly.

 

He slipped his arms into his tee.  The bacon looked nearly cooked, Nick had taken it off the heat but left the stove on, so Gil turned the heat down a little and replaced the pan over it.  He went to go to the utility room to get a mop to dry the floor when Nick called out.

 

“Hey babe, don’t forget to put ketchup on my sandwich.”

 

“No dear, I won’t.”

 

The End 

 

A/N 3:  I would just like to point out that I would never, ever, put ketchup on a bacon sandwich.  If it was on a plate with eggs and stuff, I would, but not a sandwich.