Title:How Little It Matters
By: foggynite
Rating: PG
Warnings: Schmoop, baby. Schmoop.
Pairing(s): Nick/Greg
Status: Complete
Archive: Burro Deep, What Makes The Desert Beautiful: A Nick/Greg Archive, http://yaoihaven.net/~foggynite/
Summary: Greg takes Nick to San Fran for a long weekend, but things aren't going the way he planned.

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It looked like someone had been holding a bucket of paint and sneezed over the canvas, Greg decided.

He took a few steps back, contemplative frown on his face, and tried looking at the painting from another angle. He even crossed an arm over his chest, left hand raised to his chin and eyebrow firmly lifted, in a parody of the heroin-chic beatnik that had sidled up to him earlier. The power pose did little to help, and the paint blobs stayed mockingly abstract.

He tried yet another angle, jamming his hands in his pockets. Yup, it looked like the artist either had a cold or was an epileptic monkey with a paintbrush duct-taped to his tail.

Not that Greg didn't appreciate art. He was all for cultural awareness and self-improvement and expanding his artistic sensibilities and stuff, but when he had envisioned spending his long weekend in San Francisco with Nick, the Museum of Modern Art had not played a part in it.

He'd saved for months to make this little anniversary trip as cushy as possible, with a nice king-size suite waiting for them back at the hotel and room service for dinner every night. He *had* hoped to spend most of the weekend in their room, but Nick was determined to visit the city's sights before they had to drive back on Monday. The man had been on the West Coast for years and never really explored San Francisco, so Greg couldn't refuse that infectious curiosity. Even if it meant he had to spend a few hours staring at mutilated Rorschach paintings.

To be honest, he was happy just to have some time alone with Nick. The whole secret-tryst thing had been grating on his nerves lately. They had been together for a year and Nick's family still had no clue who Greg was, if they even knew he existed. Which he didn't ask about. Not that he was going around pushing at touchy subjects; he would have liked to meet the people who spawned and raised Nick, but he didn't want to cause more problems for his lover. Bad enough they couldn't tell anyone at work, even if he had the feeling Catherine had guessed something was going on between them.

Shifting restlessly from foot to foot, he suppressed an impatient sigh. Thinking of work just reminded him of the privacy of their luxurious hotel room. Nick wasn't far off, staring at what looked like a still-life of little pink rose buds while the plaque mounted next to it proclaimed it as a representation of some native people's oppression. Nick's bright eyes took in every detail of the piece, though, and Greg found staring at him far more inspiring than the canvas on the walls.

After a few minutes, Nick finally noticed that he was being studied from across the room. Greg changed his admiring expression to one of exaggerated leering. Chuckling silently, Nick sauntered over with a wide smile.

"Havin' fun, Sanders?"

He was so relaxed and happy looking that Greg bit back an acerbic response and settled for humor with a shrug. "Eh. You know me...My tastes run more towards Elvis on black velvet…"

Nick laughed quietly and slung an arm over Greg's shoulders. He leaned in close to murmur in the blonde's ear. "You mean you don't like Pollock?"

The warm breath on his neck made Greg shiver and he had to swallow tightly before he responded. "Isn't that a fish?"

Rolling his eyes, Nick steered Greg away from the painting. "Why don't we check out the exhibition upstairs then head to lunch?"

Greg would have preferred to go straight to lunch, but they had paid extra and there was no re-admittance. "Sure. Who's it on?"

"I knew you weren't paying attention earlier…" Nick leveled a look at Greg, who blinked innocently. "It's Diane Arbus. A photographer. She was known for taking pictures of ‘freaks.' You should feel at home."

"Ha-ha."

They ascended to the next floor, Greg's sneakers squeaking on the polished wooden floors. The exhibition was crowded so he hooked a finger in one of Nick's belt loops and let himself be pulled along. Winding through the mob, they managed to get near enough to actually see the photos after patiently waiting for people to move. All the photos were black and white, stark and crisp with silver streaks of light playing across them. Looking at them, Greg soon forgot about lunch and his death grip on Nick's pants and tried to get up closer as Nick moved on to the next room.

There was a Mexican Dwarf and Identical Twins and photos from an asylum and a nudist colony. Greg came to a halt in front of An Albino Sword Swallower. The carnival worker had his arms thrown out, like he was being crucified in front of the crowd.

Most of the subjects were looking directly at the camera. Deformed and freakish and deviant. Defiant and proud and so alive. They smiled or posed or just stood silently, mute witnesses.

Nick found him staring at a picture of a grinning transvestite. The Texan rested a hand lightly on his shoulder, leaning in to whisper, "You all right?"

Greg nodded, at a loss to describe what he was feeling. He murmured back, "Makes you wonder what happened to them. How they lived. If a CSI was ever called to their house."

Leaning into him, Nick left his hand where it was. They couldn't touch publicly like this in Vegas, not where someone might know them. "Yeah."

"She made them beautiful," Greg finally said. "Beautiful in their honesty."

"Yeah," Nick said again, voice strained.

"Why don't we get lunch?" Greg suggested, stepping towards the exit and dragging Nick along by the hand.

At the last picture, Nick slowed, tugging on Greg's grip. Glancing back over his shoulder, Greg was caught unawares by the beauty of Nick's profile. The strong line of his nose and jaw, the gloss on his short dark hair, the golden sheen of the gallery lights on his tanned skin. And the clenching in his chest just reminded him that he would never give him up, no matter the cost. Even if no one ever knew what they meant to each other.

"Hey," Greg squeezed his hand, drawing Nick's attention from the photo. "Why don't we head back to the hotel instead? I hear the room service is pretty spiffy."

Nick smiled, breathtaking and handsome and Greg felt his stomach dip again. "Sounds like a plan, G."

~*~

End