Title: At Last!
Author: podga
Pairing: Gil Grissom/Nick Stokes
Warning: 18+
Disclaimer: Characters don't belong to me and I don't make money off of them.
Summary: PWP. The first date moves fast. Maybe too fast.
(Sequel to "Manual". Prequel to something else.)
Feedback is always appreciated!

At first the tension was in the background, buzzing slightly like a high voltage electrical wire, but throughout dinner it's been building, trying to overwhelm them. Yet they both pretend not to notice it, because they're enjoying themselves, discovering things they don't know about one another, swapping stories about themselves that they hope make them sound good to the other.

They succumb for a few minutes when they get back to Nick's truck, parked in the dark and empty lot. Almost clumsily, Nick grabs Gil, one hand on his arm, the other at the back of head, pulling him forward to kiss him. At the last moment Nick hesitates, but Gil closes the distance himself and their lips touch for the first time.

Given the roughness and impatience a split second ago, the kiss is softer, more tender than either expect. Gil lays his fingertips lightly against Nick's jaw and Nick mirrors the move, sliding his hand softly from Gil's nape to resting his fingers right underneath Gil's ear, neither of them really holding the other, just enjoying being able to touch each other. They don't attempt to deepen the kiss and after a few moments Nick backs away again.

When Nick turns the key in the ignition, the radio turns on as well. Etta James is singing the first words of "At Last", the lush notes filling the cabin. Gil almost laughs at first, it's like someone is laying down a soundtrack to his life (and a pretty corny one at that). But as they roll out of the parking lot and drive through the quiet night, the tires humming on the road, and he hears Etta sing "you smile and then the spell was cast" tears spring to his eyes, catching him by surprise. He blinks rapidly to clear them, uncertain of the cause, embarrassed.

"Man, every wedding I've ever been to plays that song at some point" Nick drawls in amusement. Despite the lightness in his tone, he loves this moment and wishes he could stretch it out forever. Driving though the night, the easy listening station on, the moon effortlessly keeping up with the truck, and Gil beside him.

They don't speak again until they reach Gil's townhouse. And suddenly the tension, which had receded during the drive, is a palpable presence. Nick parks in Gil's driveway. He doesn't ask if he can come in and Gil doesn't invite him. Without a word, without even a glance between them, they both get out of the truck.

Nick waits impatiently while Gil fumbles with the key, almost dropping it, because his hands are suddenly shaking. When he finally opens the door, Nick literally shoves him inside and then they're locked together, struggling against each other, trying to do everything at once. They slightly lose their balance and slam back against the door, momentarily knocking the breath out of Gil as he takes the impact on his back.

"Slow down" Nick gasps, "slow down", but Gil isn't the one rushing. Nick's hands are everywhere, stroking his jaw, touching his neck, winding though his hair, trying to unbutton his shirt. His kisses are hard, short, his tongue licking against Gil's, his mouth wide open and covering Gil's moistly.

Gil finally grabs Nick's head, pushing him away, forcing him to stop. Nick fights him.

"Slow down, Nicky" Gil whispers, his hands now grazing Nick's head lightly, tracing his temples, slipping underneath the open shirt collar to smooth his neck and shoulders. Nick grows still under Gil's stroking, but even in the dim entranceway Gil can see him staring, his eyes hot, and he knows that any moment Nick is going to try and take control again. "Let's go upstairs" he says and Nick simply nods.

Gil flips the light on and leads the way up the stairs and Nick follows him, unbuttoning his shirt along the way. Once in the bedroom, Nick pulls the shirt off and drops in on the floor, then steps up to Gil, pushing him on his back onto the bed, lying on top of him. The only light in the room is coming through the open door, enough for Nick to see Gil's eyes heavy with passion, his lips swollen from their kisses. He lowers his head slowly and kisses Gil again, exploring his mouth, his jaw and when he finds a sensitive spot under Gil's ear he settles there for a while. Gil strains against him, twisting his head, trying to kiss him in turn, his hands restlessly moving along Nick's naked back.

At some point they break away from each other in order to undress and Nick gasps loudly when he first feels the length of Gil's naked body against his own. Their hands caress each other slowly, exploring, tracing an arm, lying still on the chest as if to monitor a racing heart, sweeping down a leg. Then they become faster, harder, more urgent. The first time Nick touches Gil's cock, Gil's hips jerk uncontrollably. When Gil takes Nick in his mouth, Nick's moans something between a prayer and a curse.

The second time around they concentrate more on the other, rather than on what they're feeling themselves. It's only then that Nick realizes that Gil remains almost completely silent during sex, and that Gil notices that Nick never closes his eyes.

"I need to go home and get ready for work", Nick says when it's all over.

And the tension returns abruptly, different this time around, unpleasant. Gil slips his boxers and trousers on and sits on the side of the bed, while Nick hunts through the room for his clothes, putting things on in the order he finds them, one sock, his boxer briefs, his shirt, the other sock. They're silent again, avoiding looking at one another.

When he's dressed, Nick looks at Gil almost reluctantly.

"See you in a little bit" he says, wondering if he should kiss Gil goodbye.

Gil stands up, but doesn't come nearer, his expression shuttered. "I'd prefer it if we keep this to ourselves" he says and realizes it's the wrong thing the moment the words are out of his mouth.

Nick is momentarily speechless, then he feels the heat rushing to his face.

"Of course!" he says angrily. "God, Gil, it's not like -"

"No, I know" Gil interrupts. "I'm sorry." He makes a dismissive gesture as if trying to wave the comment away.

Nick nods curtly. His anger is quickly spent, replaced by regret. Dinner, afterwards, it was all great. He doesn't want to end this on the wrong note, doesn't want to just leave like that.

"I've never been involved with anybody from work, but you don't have to worry, I won't start sending you bouquets or anything" he says lightly. It's a pretty poor effort, but Gil acknowledges it.

"I prefer plants anyway."

They look at each other, still uncomfortable, both knowing that a lot is being left unsaid, unsure if they want to say it. Then Gil approaches Nick, runs the back of his fingers along Nick's cheek. "We'll find our way. If it gets too uncomfortable, we'll figure out what we need to do." Nick smiles tightly and nods. He leans forward and kisses Gil, then turns around, runs lightly down the stairs and out the door.

It was too soon, Nick thinks. He's never regretted good sex in his life (and this wasn't just good) and he knows that tonight neither Gil nor he expected or hoped for anything more than simply that. But there's too much history between them, too much uncertainty about this, this whatever-it-is they're involved in, and having sex just upped the ante in an unpredictable way. It's cooler outside now, and he leaves the windows open as he drives home. The night air, the music on the radio, the moon that's found him again, all combine to bring back the memories of the contentment he felt during the drive back from the restaurant, and he slowly relaxes.

It takes a while longer for Gil. He showers, makes some coffee, checks his e-mail, but he can't shut out the voice that's telling him to be careful, that however all this turns out, he has a hell of a lot more to lose than Nick, that maybe he should turn things back. But just for tonight, or at least until shift starts, he doesn't want to listen to that voice, even if it's right. He moves around his living room restlessly, looking for distractions. He flips though his CDs, the jewel boxes clicking sharply against each other. His fingers stop when he comes to a jewel box with a yellow cover. He pulls it out, places the CD in his player and picks the 7th song. As Etta starts to sing, the voice is finally stilled.