Title: Making Up
Author: podga
Pairing: Gil Grissom/Nick Stokes
Rating: R - Adult
Warning: Do not open at work if your boss is hanging over your shoulder
Disclaimer: Characters don't belong to me and I don't make money off of them
Summary: PWP

There are three things I love.

The third is a warm brownie with melting vanilla ice cream on top. It makes my mouth water just to think about it.

The second is roller coasters. The slow climb, the building anticipation, the momentary breathless pause right on top before the dizzying, accelerating fall, my stomach playing catch up with the rest of me. I could ride them forever.

'So. How about some make-up sex?'

'Are we still making up? It's been over a week.'

'We have a lot to make up for,' he smirks, his eyes dancing.

'Maybe you do.'

He laughs.

'So. How about some make-up sex?' he repeats. His voice is different now, lower, rougher. He's smiling, just like before, but the way he's looking at me makes my mouth go dry.

'I have to finish the paper I'm presenting at the conference next week,' I tell him.

'Uh huh,' he says absent-mindedly, his attention focused on slowly unbuttoning his shirt, baring his smooth chest, then his tight stomach. One hand moves under the flap of his shirt, trailing across his belly, then downward, towards his button-fly jeans. 'What's the title again?'

It takes me a couple of seconds to process the question, because I'm concentrating on his fingers, still unbuttoning, until it's obvious he isn't wearing underwear. Then I open my mouth to answer, but my mind's a complete blank. What the hell is the title?

He crosses his arms over his chest, tilting his chair back on two legs and grins at me knowingly. 'Well?' he murmurs, looking at me, his eyes glittering under heavy lids. Bedroom eyes.

'You're a slut, you know that?'

'Yeah? So what are you going to do about it?'

Surrender. That's what I'm going to do about it. I push my chair back, stand up and go over to him. He's still balancing on the two chair legs and he throws his head back, turning his face up towards me. I put one hand on the back of the chair, holding it steady.

His hair is long enough now that I can twine my fingers through it and use it to pull his head further back. He closes his eyes against the glare of the kitchen light. He looks relaxed, his lips slightly parted, waiting for me to kiss him. I bend over slowly until his face is so close I can't focus on it any more, until I can feel his breath on my lips.

'What are you waiting for?' he whispers and when I still hesitate, he raises his chin slightly and covers my mouth with his and even though I'm expecting it, it still catches me by surprise and I gasp, my hand clenching in his hair.

'Ouch,' he murmurs, but he doesn't stop kissing me, his tongue in my mouth, licking mine, and I kiss him back, lose myself in the feeling, ignoring the dull ache that starts up in my back because of the awkward way I'm bending. Finally I have to straighten up, pulling on the back of the chair, so that it settles on all four legs.

He stands up in one smooth motion, his arms around me, pulling me against him, pressing his whole body into mine, nuzzling into my shoulder. He bites me softly, his tongue licking, and I writhe against him, rubbing my erection against his leg. His unbuttoned jeans are riding low, and I slip my hands under them, cupping his bare ass, trying to pull him even closer.

'Bed,' he groans, pushing against me, walking me backwards, kissing me all the way until we reach the stairs. There I have to turn around, out of his arms and I put my foot on the first step, but suddenly he presses himself against my back, his hands under my shirt, on my chest, pulling me back against him. I hang onto the banister with one hand, leaning back against him, his breath hot in my ear, as he caresses me. I tense when I feel his fingers on my nipples.

'Do you like that?' he whispers. He knows I do, and one hand continues to move between them, while his other trails down my stomach to unbuckle my belt and unbutton my pants. I hear the rasp of my zipper and then his warm hand cups me and I drop my head back on his shoulder as he strokes me. My hips start jerking, pushing my cock further into his hand when I move forward, my ass against his erection when I move backward. This isn't me, I think dizzily, and I fight to gain control of myself, of the situation.

'Relax, Gil,' he murmurs, sensing the change, his hands stilling on me, just holding me. He kisses my neck. I rest against him, panting, my heart thudding, still gripping the banister, then his hand slowly tightens around my cock again, sliding up and down, his other hand pulling me against his chest. I swallow a moan as I feel the pressure building again.

'Don't,' I mutter, because I don't want to come in my pants standing at the base of the stairs, but he just wraps his arm tighter around my chest and otherwise ignores me, and the heat floods me and I go over the edge. Afterwards I feel light-headed and vaguely embarrassed.

'You OK?' Nick asks, and I can tell by his voice that he's smiling. I rest against him a couple of seconds more, than I pull myself away and climb a couple of stairs, my legs wobbly. I look down at him.

'If you're done, can we go upstairs?' I ask.

'Oh, I'm not done,' Nick almost purrs, smirking up at me. 'But I think you might be.'

The way he stands, with his weight on one leg and his hips tilted, his open shirt and low-riding unbuttoned jeans revealing the curving dent between his hipbone and his abs, he reminds me of one Praxiteles' statues, not quite perfect, but beautiful all the same.

'That sounds like a challenge.'

'Are you rising to it?'

I turn around and climb the rest of the stairs. 'Why don't you come up and find out?' I say from the bedroom door and he laughs and follows me up the stairs, climbing them two at a time.

The first thing I love is Nick. I'd never be able to describe why or how much in two or three sentences. Then again, it's nobody's concern but his and mine, so I don't have to.