Title: Holly
By: quettaser
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: CSI: Vegas
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Notes: Also, this is what I get for listening to Terry Pratchett Audiobooks, so sorry if they sound weird and entirely out of style.
Summary: Have a ficlet. I'm pretty sure this is rather cracktastic and fluffy to the max. Enjoy.

***

Greg had never really associated the smell of holly with anything before. Sure, he knew that holly was a winter plant-shrub-bush-thing and that generally it was used as generic space filler on a Christmas card or for decoration, but he'd never actually smelled it. Now it was all he could smell, Nick insisting that fresh sprigs had to be used to decorate their first house for their second Christmas.

Apparently, this was how things were done in Texas.

Greg wasn't one to argue, especially not with Nick smiling so much, something he didn't do nearly enough of anymore. Though he did have to put his foot down on the whole inflatable Santa issue. There was no way his lawn was going to be festooned with anything other than snow.

If it snowed.

This time of year, Nick was prone to waxing poetical about winters in Texas and the heat from the fire in the big fireplace in the big kitchen and the sound of children running about trying not to annoy their parents - because they had to be good - but still hopped up on sugar cookies, so they had a lot of energy to burn. And about playing in the snow till their cheeks were pink and hot cocoa with marshmallows and Greg resisted the urge to ask if Nick had been born and raised in a Hallmark card.

Mostly, Greg would let Nick ramble on, occasionally nodding so that he'd look like he was paying attention and not trying to catalogue every shape Nick's mouth would make with each word. The wistful smile on Nick's face and in his voice would always make Greg feel inexplicably warm, like he'd just had a big glass of eggnog or some other alcoholic holiday concoction. It made him smile until his cheeks hurt and want to kiss Nick until he stopped talking and then keep kissing him until he started talking again in that different voice.

Not that he didn't want to do that most of the time anyway.

Like now.

Greg wondered if he could amend the definition of contentment to include the smell of holly and the soft glow of the tree lights. He doubted the people at Webster's would be open to it. Bastards.

Not that it mattered, Nick's mouth moving lazily against his own as they lay on the couch, making out in a way they hadn't done in months. No work tomorrow, it was Christmas and no matter how many comparisons were made, Ecklie wasn't Scrooge. Sure, it meant working at triple just in time for New Years, but Greg had a feeling it was worth it.

Cookies baked and fruit salad made - for Catherine's Christmas lunch/dinner - house decorated, presents wrapped, stockings hung, tree covered in shiny things and holly adorning the mantle. Everything was done and now there was just"¦time.

Time to be together and time to relax and time to make out on the couch as carols played softly in the background. Nick smelled like holly and tree sap and other things earthy and Greg was only half-admitting to himself how much he liked it, vaguely wondering what it might be like to have sex in a forest.

Pointy, he thought.

Not that he cared much either way. The bed had always been good enough for them"¦and the kitchen table that one time.

And the shower, of course.

He felt himself make a noise something like a purr and Nick just grinned against his mouth. "We should have Christmas more often," said Greg, voice slow and soft, eyes half-lidded, much preferring to focus on the way Nick felt pressed against him.

"At least once a month," replied Nick. "Merry Christmas, Greg," he said, placing a chaste kiss on Greg's mouth.

"It's still a half hour until Christmas."

"Shut up."

"'Kay," answered Greg, content to keep his mouth busy with Nick's.

Sometime later, when they were both sweatier, but with much less clothing and had found their way to the bed significantly more tired than they had been a while ago, Greg whispered back, "Merry Christmas, Nick."

And it was.

***