Title: Home, Sweet Home
Author: kentucka
Fandom: CSI: Vegas
Pairing: Warrick/Nick
Rating: NC17
Warnings: none
Category: slash ficlet, plotless
Notes: Spoilers for Cross-Jurisdictions [2x22].
Summary: When Warrick returns from Miami, Nick has a special welcome gift.

“Welcome home, baby.”

How I have longed to hear these words. I smile quickly in response, check for Catherine, who has wisely chosen to catch a cab already, and watch out for other unwelcome spectators. Only then do I turn back to Nick. He takes a step forward, and I wrap my arms around my lover. One hand on the small of his back, pressing him close; the other hand grabbing his short hair lightly, tilting his head.

“I missed you.”

Because it is true. I don’t think I have ever felt so lonely before. Even after the action was over, I couldn’t sleep, missing his warmth of body and soul, although I’m not supposed to.

“Close your eyes.”

I lean back with a scowl; that’s not what I expected. And he actually laughs at me! Not a bright-teethed grin, which would have been bad enough already. No, he laughs loudly at my disappointment.

“I missed you too. Now close your eyes, I have a surprise for you.”

Suspicion rises in my chest, because with Nick, that’s never a good thing to hear. I’m not yet following his order, not yet sure of my safety.

“Come on. Unlike your cock-ring idea, I’m going to show you before I put it on you.”

Ah yes, I remember that episode. Nick still doesn’t admit that he likes the thing. But I can see the sparkle in his eyes whenever I mention it, or it just lies there, innocently, on the bedside table. Is he wearing it now? A little shift of my hips, a small rumble in his chest, and I am almost positive. So what is it that he has planned?

When he notices that I’m intrigued and let him have his way, he takes my traveling bag and my hand, leading me through the noise that is McCarran Airport, towards an exit that is not Passenger Pickup. It’s not like I know the layout of this place by heart; it’s just too quiet - in comparison. Suddenly we stop; he tells me to take the bag again, stay here and don’t peek!, until he is back. I do as I am told, because I like the child-like excitement in his voice. I try to guess what his surprise is, but all I’m hearing are a few motors running, and all that’s in the air is exhaust. Let’s hope I don’t get run over by a shuttle while I’m waiting here, voluntarily blind.

A car halts in front of me and its door opens. I have a second to imagine people staring at the strange man sleeping upright at the airport exit, when Nick is here again. I sense him standing there for a second - I bet he checks if I really don’t look - then he takes the bag and my hand again, guiding me forward, sideways, stop. He places my hand onto the smooth, cool surface of what can only be a car’s roof, and slides it down to the top of the opening of the door. I nod my understanding and try to sit down without banging my head or landing with my butt on the floor.

As I shift to make room for Nick, I hear leather creaking beneath me. What car is this? The trunk bangs closed, then the door to my right.

“Ok, now, look.”

My question is immediately answered. Black leather couches, rather than seats, set in a U-shape. Dark-toned windows, quite possibly even mirrored-glass. The wooden interior is made of polished maple, which makes for an elegant contrast. It is unbelievable!

“Welcome home, love,” he repeats, before pulling my lips onto his.

How I have missed this. He smells of the aftershave I bought him, tastes of my favorite crackers (sneaky bastard!), wears one of my shirts. His hair has grown at least a millimeter since I last was able to run my fingers through it. His wicked tongue pulls on mine, and he opens obscenely wide to welcome it in his mouth. Just like that, I know whose back is going to hurt after tonight.

Reluctantly, I let him pull back, but we have to hold out until we arrive at my house. Nick pushes the button for the divider, tells the driver that we’re ready to go, and it all gives me a strange sense of déjà-vu.

“You do realize that we just nicked a limo driver for murdering couples, right?”

“Sure I do,” he says with the proudest of grins. “That’s what gave me the whole idea.”

I bet I have this ‘do you hear yourself speaking?’ kind of look, because he obviously ignores some kind of question written over my face and gives me another dizzying kiss instead.

“Where did you learn to kiss like that? I feel it fuckin’ tingling in my toes.” I had to ask, because I never noticed when he was able to pull me on top of him, lying fully on the sideways-turned seats.

“Pent up sexual frustration,” and we groan in unison at an upwards motion of his pelvis. “Ever done it in a driving limo?”

“Never been in a limo. Except for processing. And I don’t want to have to explain the bright spots on the leather if this turns out to be our next crime scene.” The thought of Sarah swabbing the remnants of our…

“Let’s take the risk,” he laughs and rolls his hips Ricky-Martin-style, although from the feel of it, it’s Ricky who copies Nick. Nick, who makes me forget anybody else.

I don’t need any more convincing. This man has me wrapped around his pinky finger. Correction, his hands are now firmly wrapped around me, until I manage to open his fly (no cock-ring, sadly, but then again it would have been too easy a confession that he does like it), and then it’s us. Us. Up and down. I bury my face in his neck, surrounding myself with his scent. Have I already said that I missed him? His passion?

Distantly, I hear Las Vegas passing by: Cars, people, casinos. What a way to celebrate coming home. His wickedness.

He senses how close I am, tongues my ear, kisses the awfully soft tissue behind it. He knows my buttons, loves to push them. Our bond. Joined by hands and mouths, we fall over the edge, swallowing each other’s cries of pleasure. Our love.

Quite boneless on top of him, there is one thought echoing through my brain: Us.

“Greg’s rubbing off on you. I think you’re spending way too much time with him. What is it with you two, anyways?”

He chuckles at my mock jealousy, but I’m not sure how to get this out right, since he just might like this little arrangement of ours as it is. Straight-forward would be best. We’re pros; we don’t mix work and private life. I hope.

“I don’t want to share you any longer.”

Watching the words settle in and waiting for the response is like sitting in front of the toaster. When the ding finally comes, I almost jump.

“You never did.”

The sincerity in his eyes almost makes me come undone a second time. It’s been just us all along. I try to convey my happiness with another kiss, thinking of the past I have with this man, and dreaming of a future together as well. Only there’s a question still hanging in the room, inevitable, and I force myself to keep cool.

“Have you…?”

“No. Me neither.”

Way to go, Warrick. That did so not sound too hurried. I guess I better never mention Eric.

~end~