Title: The One Where Nick Likes Chick Flicks and Warrick's Still a Manwhore
Author: sandersyager
Characters: Nick/Warrick
Category: relationship, romance
Spoilers: none
Rating: PG, with some discussion of oral sex
Summary: "If you can't say it, I'm not doing it anymore."
Disclaimer: These characters belong to CBS, et al. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: I still blame blueraccoon for the AU play that started this, edgecity for encouraging crack filled ideas, and anyone who asked for more.
Related fic: The One Where Nick's a Good Friend and Warrick is a Manwhore

"Jesus Christ! Warrick, what did you do and why does my kitchen smell like ripe corpse ass?" Nick yells into the living room. Warrick turns away from the television to look at him.

"It's burnt popcorn. Corpse ass is a little less salty, more sort of curry scent," Warrick says, trying very hard to keep a straight face. "You need to replace that piece of shit, nineteen eighty five microwave, man."

"You need to go home," Nick grumbles, dropping down onto the couch and grabbing the remote.

"What happened to mi casa es su casa?" Warrick asks, groaning when Nick flips to the Discovery Channel.

"Mi casa y su casa, my house and your house, and do you even have a house or did you move in while I wasn't paying attention?" Nick helps himself to the bowl of popcorn perched on Warrick's lap.

"You're the one asked me to come over. I was perfectly content to go home but no, you wanted to hang out," Warrick points out, surrendering the bowl to Nick. "Do we have to watch the special on the mating habits of North American predatory farm fowl again?"

"It was—it doesn't matter what it was. It's my television and we're not watching those lame ass daytime talk shows. Those things'll rot your brain, man."

"Those shows are how most of our cases start," Warrick says, sprawling just a little more toward Nick's side of the couch. Nick looks at him, lips pursed, but says nothing, just changes the station over to reruns of some crime show.

"How about a little unreality tv? Does that suit you?" Nick asks. This is a new thing, mocking the 'procedural' dramas, but it's something they can at least agree on. Warrick watches for a while, pointedly ignoring Nick when he steals his Coke.

"Why is it they drop something in the lab and bang, ten minutes later, they've got results? You can't run a full DNA analysis like that," Nick complains. "And in what world does CODIS give you a hit in ninety seconds? What crap."

Warrick looks at Nick, looks at the remote, grabs the remote and changes the channel. "There. Nothing you can find offensive in Scooby Doo," he says, getting up to grab another soda from the fridge.

"Why don't our cases ever involve fun toy factories or roller—never mind."

"Yeah," Warrick says, sitting back down. "Do you think you can make it through the PowerPuff girls without giving yourself a stroke or should I put on a movie?"

"Depends. Are you gonna make me watch Color Purple again? Or is it a Women of Brewster Place week?"

"Two words, Stokes. Steel Magnolias." Warrick smirks at him, raising a hand to stop the pillow Nick flings at him.

"Hey, Dolly Parton is a serious actress, and you can't tell me you don't like Julia Roberts," Nick says indignantly, getting up to look at the shelf of DVDs and VHS tapes

"If I wanted to watch chick flicks, I'd be dating a chick," Warrick says.

"Wait. Does that mean we're dating?"

"Not if you make me watch Steel Magnolias. You always cry at the end even though you've seen it ninety times. And no Fried Green Tomatoes either. I can't watch that Mary woman die in any more movies. It's just type casting."

Nick pulls a disk from the shelf and turns to look at Warrick. "Can we go back to that dating question? Seriously?"

Warrick shrugs. "I don't know. What're we doing?"

Nick loads the DVD player and flops back down onto the couch, leaning into Warrick and resting his head against Warrick's arm across the back of the couch. "Just hanging out, I guess. That doesn't explain the... you know... but it doesn't mean we're dating."

Warrick laughs, letting his arm drop down to Nick's shoulders. "If you can't say it, I'm not doing it anymore."

Nick frowns at him, blushing scarlet and hot. "Fine. The blow jobs. Those don't fall under just being a good friend. Well, not unless you're in a frat or the army or something, but for us, no."

"You blew guys in your frat? Or did they... huh," Warrick says, watching Nick grow redder by the second. "Explains why you're so eager to go Homecoming every year."

"Right. That's why I go. I'm a big ol' manwhore just like you," Nick says, rolling his eyes. "That's not the point, Warrick." He rests his hand against Warrick's chest, fingering the open buttons at the collar.

Warrick covers Nick's hand with his own. "You know, it's funny how you call me that then start trying to make a move. You can't have it both ways."

"No?" Nick asks, kissing the side of Warrick's neck. "Then let me have this? And we can talk about what to call it later?"

"Yeah," Warrick says softly, turning to brush his lips against Nick's. "Just stop calling me a whore, okay?"

"Even if it's true?" Nick looks up at Warrick through his eyelashes, pouting softly.

"Man, get off of me." Warrick pushes at Nick half-heartedly then gives into another kiss.

"I'd rather get you off."

"Lame ass."

"Manwhore."