Title: Lunching In
Author: amazonqueenkate
Pairing: Nick Stokes/Bobby Dawson
Fandom: CSI: Vegas
Theme: #15 perfect blue
Warnings: peanut butter; friendly ribbing; ties; Greg being Greg
Disclaimer: Pfft. Yeah, right.
Author's Notes: None, really. Just enjoy. :)

They all reacted differently.

"Bobby Dawson in a suit?" Hodges gasped, clinging a hand to his chest. "Someone, call the police to investi – wait. We're in a crime lab. They'll notice soon enough."

Archie cocked an eyebrow and gave him the head-nod once-over. "Lookin' sharp, Bobster. What's the occasion?"

Resting her chin in a hand, Jacqui let out a slow, bittersweet sigh of defeat. "You're gay. Why are you gay? No man who looks that good in a suit should be gay."

"Who died?" Ronnie asked simply, and then turned back to his sandwich.

Bobby rolled his eyes at all of them as he let the break room door fall shut and plodded over to the fridge. "For your information," he told him tightly as he extracted his sandwich from behind all Grissom's ‘experiments,' "I have to testify at court tonight. Right after I eat, actually."

Hodges sent him a decidedly dirty look. "You have to testify," he summarized, "and yet, you're here. Eating sandwiches. With us. When the courthouse has an excellent cafeteria."

"Since when have you been such a connoisseur?" Archie questioned, snatching a chip from Jacqui. She smacked him on the hand. "You hate eating out."

"When you're at court, you eat at court," Hodges replied with a shrug. "But Bobby is not. Strange, isn't it?"

They all looked suspiciously at Bobby, who unwrapped his lunch with deliberate purpose. "I wanted my sandwich," he defended.

"Yeah. PB and J. Real high-class." Jacqui grinned viciously across the table. "You wanted him to see you, all prettied up," she surmised, and rather gleefully at that. "You wanted to be sure he noticed you."

"Aww, how cute," Ronnie intoned, also grinning. "All dressed up, and only here to go."

Bobby cast his eyes down at the table and focused hard on the gray metal and his crumpled wax paper. "I am not here to show off, thanks," he informed them dryly. "I wanted something to eat, and didn't have any cash on me."

"Because some pretty lawyer wouldn't have paid for you," Archie grumbled somewhat bitterly. "The way you get women – "

"And men!" Jacqui chimed in, a bit too eagerly. "It's just unfair."

"That's the way it goes, sometimes." Ronnie shrugged off their ensuing glares and went back to his meal.

"Shut up, married man," Hodges retorted, his voice a high-pitched, over-wrought mockery of Jacqui's own. "Let us old maids angst in peace!"

The group erupted into laughter, Bobby and Jacqui included, and their guffaws echoed loudly enough through the room to block out the clatter of the break room door opening. But nothing – not even raucous laughter – could cover the low wolf-whistle that followed just seconds later.

"Bobby, lookin' good," praised one Greg Sanders, his eyes appreciatively taking in the sight of Bobby in his suit. He ribbed the man standing next to him, grinning from ear-to-ear as he did. "Nicky, you've got some competition for best-dressed man in the crime lab. Besides me, of course."

Jacqui cackled (and then swore when Hodges kicked her under the table), and Bobby immediately snapped his attention back to his sandwich. "Leave him alone, G," Nick chided, elbowing him back. "You remember your last court date. You practically had Sara dressing you."

Hodges cocked an eyebrow. "And suddenly, the dress makes sense."

"Oh, you liked it," Greg returned evenly. Hodges glared at him while Archie choked back a laugh. "But it's not even half as nice as that little pink number in your – "

Ronnie held up his hand, blocking Hodges' use of Bobby's balled-up wax paper as a projectile. Greg stuck out his tongue. "Okay, boys, break it up," he warned. Hodges scowled back. "Don't make me get the squirt bottle."

"Is that how you discipline your children?" Hodges questioned, arching an eyebrow.

"Actually, it tends not to work once they're older than three. Funny how that works."

Bobby snorted back a laugh and picked up his sandwich, listening idly to the bickering between the other technicians. Instead, he pretended to focus on eating while, instead, he focused on Nick Stokes. Nick was munching on an apple and beaming, offering a low chuckle at some of Greg's more pointed barbs.

And then, it happened.

A large, gooey glob of peanut butter mingled with jelly slipped out of his bread and landed on his shirt.

On his light green, neatly-pressed dress shirt, to be exact.

"Damn!" he swore, immediately putting down his sandwich to grab a napkin. The conversation in the room came to a screeching halt and suddenly, every eye was on Bobby and his futile shirt-scrubbing. The peanut butter rubbed out fairly easily, but the jelly left a great purple splotch on the fabric.

Jacqui made a dark sound in the back of her throat that could have very well been a growl. "That's not going to come out without some Shout," she commented nonchalantly. Bobby turned her direction and glared. "What? It's sad but true." She paused. "You don't have any Shout on you, do you?"

"Of course he does," Hodges answered, rolling his eyes. "In his Boy Scout supply kit. Right between the pocket knife and the con – "

"I have a spare." Every eye in the room, from Greg to Ronnie, turned to look at Nick Stokes. He shrugged and took another bite of his apple. "I spilled chemicals on a shirt, once," he explained when no one moved to stop gaping at him. "I always keep an extra." His gaze flitted to Bobby. "You can borrow it. If you want."

Archie smirked. "He wants," he muttered. Ronnie elbowed him hard in the side, and he coughed, nearly dropping his soda.

Bobby forced himself to smile, but not eagerly, and reached for another napkin. "Thanks, Nick," he responded slowly, "but I can just – ow!"

A peaceful smile crossed Jacqui's face as she retracted her hand after having audibly slapped Bobby on the wrist. "Borrow the man's shirt, Robert," she informed him. "That way, you can soak your jelly shirt while you're in court."

"I'm sure Hodges has room for it in one of his chemical bin thingies," Archie volunteered.

Hodges narrowed his eyes. "For one, they are chemical trays used for chemical baths," he corrected tersely. "And for another, I run a trace evidence laboratory, not a Laundromat."

Greg snickered. "You mean that isn't your life's aspiration?"

"If it were, it'd only be to drown you in sudsy water, Sanders."

Rolling his eyes, Nick stepped forward and nudged Bobby in the shoulder. "C'mon, Bobbo," he encouraged, jerking his head toward the door. "It's in my locker."

For a moment, Bobby hesitated, but then no less than three feet connected firmly with his shin. He flinched and gritted his teeth before standing. Jacqui, Archie, and Ronnie all beamed; Hodges just rolled his eyes and snatched the rest of his trouble-making sandwich. Bobby didn't really have the will to argue the point, though, and instead followed Nick out of the room and through the lab.

By the time he made it to the locker room – not that he'd been dragging his feet, of course – Nick had his locker open and was holding a shirt in his hands. It was a deep, rich, vibrant blue that was perfect against his tanned skin. Bobby sighed and eyed the shirt. "Nick – "

"Do you really want to get stuck swapping shirts with Hodges? Or worse, Greg?" Nick's smile was wide and warm as he held the shirt out towards him. It looked almost soft to the touch, and Bobby slowly shrugged off his suit coat. "That's what I thought."

He snorted, smirking. "Only because Dave's got awful taste," he responded, "and that's not even mentioning Greg's."

"He'd probably think a jelly-stained shirt was a fashion statement." Bobby couldn't help but laugh as he loosened his tie and then started on the buttons of his shirt. He moved quickly, convincing himself that Nick wasn't looking, or – if he was – that he didn't care. "So, is it the Derricks case?"

"Yeah." Bobby nodded distractedly as he peeled off his soiled shirt and tossed it onto the bench. Accepting that perfect blue shirt from Nick – and discovering that it was soft to the touch – he pulled it on. It was a bit big in the shoulders, but it fit well, and he buttoned it quickly. "Pretty much a slam dunk," he continued once he realized the conversation had died, "but they need the testimony to cinch it, you know?"

Nick nodded. "Been there a thousand times, man." He smiled warmly, and Bobby couldn't help but smile back, pulling his tie – which, by some small miracle of science, actually matched – tight once again. "You just gotta – oh. Wait a sec."

"What?"

"Your tie's crooked."

"Oh." Bobby immediately reached up to retie it entirely, but Nick's hands beat him there, pulling out the knot in one fell swoop. He immediately went about the job of fixing it, leaving Bobby to either stop him or pull his own hands away.

His hands ended up in his coat pockets.

"In my frat," Nick explained rather conversationally, his eyes on his task even as his fingers brushed against Bobby's chin and neck, "I was the only guy who could knot a tie. Sad, right?"

He pulled the end of the tie through and then smoothed it, his hand traveling from knot to end before disappearing. The touch faded and Bobby cut off a sigh by swallowing thickly. "Yeah," he agreed weakly, forcing himself to smile ever-so-slightly. Nick's warm brown eyes met his, boring into him. "Sad."

"Yeah." Nick reached up to pat him on the shoulder, a gesture that managed to be both casual and meaningful at the same time. "Hey, good luck in court. And I'm sorry about the shirt."

"Sorry?" The hand on his shoulder stayed put, and he glanced at it for a moment, unsure what to do. He considered shrugging it off, but his traitorous muscles refused. Instead, he just watched as the fingers tightened slightly, pressing the soft fabric against his skin.

When his eyes finally moved from Nick's hand to his face, he found that Nick had glanced up at the ceiling, avoiding his gaze. "It's not your color," he replied, his voice soft and almost entirely lost. "Dulls your eyes."

The statement caused Bobby to blink, and he stared at Nick with wide eyes once he did recover. He moved his mouth and tried to say something – anything, really – when he realized Nick had closed his eyes and was leaning in. All attempts on Bobby's behalf were halted by the soft, barely-rough touch of Nick's lips against the corner of his mouth. He inhaled sharply as the contact faded, and then shifted just a half-inch and leaned in to land lips on lips.

Nick's hand tightened on his shoulder, pulling their chests flush, and Bobby reached up to grasp the belt loops of his blue jeans draw the rest of their bodies together. Their tongues mingled, tentative at first and then more eagerly, and by the time they parted, they were desperate for breath.

"You know," Nick commented as he slowly stepped away, breaking the body-length contact almost regretfully, "I really hate peanut butter."

They shared a knowing smile, and then a chuckle, which caused Greg to shoot them a funny look as he wandered into the room. "Did I miss something?" he questioned.

Nick glanced almost bashfully over in Bobby's direction. He shrugged. "Not really," he replied. He tugged his suit coat on over the soft, perfectly blue shirt, and smiled. "I gotta go. I'll return your shirt later, Nick. Maybe… Buy you breakfast to return the favor?"

"Sounds good." This time, the pat on the shoulder was warm and friendly, but it lingered as Nick pulled his hand away. "Good luck."

He smiled. "Thanks. See you later, Greg."

"Later."

Bobby smoothed his tie and Nick's shirt once more as he started out of the locker room. He knew full well that he had a goofy grin on his face, and that his friends would probably physically accost him before he could even make it out of the building, but he couldn't help it. He had, in fact, resigned himself to that fact when he heard Greg's voice ringing from inside the locker room, enunciating five words so loudly that they were clear as day:

"Nicky, did you just score?"

Bobby smirked and shut the door to the locker room behind him.