Title: Of Timber and Sand
Author: Deb
Category: PWP, Fortune Cookie Fic
Spoilers: None
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Grissom/Nick
Summary: Wank fic for my own amusement.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Precious, I'm just playing in the sandbox.
Author's Note: Blame it on my fortune cookie. That's what it said at lunch, and that's when a plot bunny bit my on my arse.

***

"Good timber doesn't grow in a sheltered, protected environment. The stronger the wind, Nick, the stronger the tree." With Grissom's parting words ringing in his ears, Nick went back to processing the scene in front of him. Working this section was easy and he could do it on autopilot.

Then Grissom got another call and told Nick to keep working, he'd be back when he could.

Nick nodded and continued to process, mind going back to Grissom's puzzle. Out in the desert, there hadn't been much to go on. A dead body on sand, evidence scattered by the wind. The vast expanse of desert had swallowed vital clues and he knew it. But how was he supposed to find them?

--

In the locker room a few hours later, Grissom glanced over at Nick. "So how did you manage to find the missing evidence, Nick?"

"Simple, once I thought about it. The wind would just keep pushing stuff until it ran into something. And there were a few trees about a half mile away. Without rain, the evidence just blew right up against them and got caught in the scrub." He shrugged a bit, nervously wondering if that was the right answer.

Grissom nodded, "Good work, Nicky."

And Nick could barely keep from grinning like an idiot at the praise on the way out.

--

At home, on the couch with the TV muted and flickering in the background, Nick let his mind wander back to the praise he'd gotten from Grissom. Thinking back to the casual touches, the way Grissom seemed to look right through him, knew what Nick was thinking. The embarrassment of lusting after his coworker and friend. The way the shame still turned him on, since the forbidden has always been tempting. An apple to Eve, kitten to yarn, moth to flame. Good boys, especially good boys in his family didn't fantasize about other men.

And all of that made it so much hotter. Some nights he fantasized about Greg and liquid latex, but tonight it was all about Grissom.

His hand slid down his boxers, eyes closing as he recalled the searching looks Grissom aimed in his direction when he though Nick wasn't looking. The soft scent of detergent and sweat Gil (it was always Gil, not Grissom, when he was fantasizing) carried around, musky and clean at the same time. A quiet moan as he stroked himself, picturing Gil's smile, his eyes, imagining what one of those careful, precise and work-worn hands would feel like touching him this way. Nick squirmed, hips pushing up as his hand moved faster, breath coming in short gasps.

It never took long when he fantasized about Gil, and with a soft grunt of that name he spilled, splattering his hand and chest with warm fluid. He took a long moment to catch his breath before shutting off the TV and going to shower, then climbing into his empty bed.

--

In his townhouse, Grissom was on his couch, the TV tuned to one of the various Discovery channels. A cup of coffee, yet untouched, sat in front of him along with several of his trade magazines. Those were also untouched.

Gil's posture was relaxed, head tossing back on the top of the couch, eyes squeezed shut and mouth open. He was panting, ragged and loudly, moans escaping when he couldn't remember to keep quiet. In his mind he had a perfect picture of Nick, the shy but pleased smile, the warm brown eyes, the beautiful body. The spicy clean scent of sun-warmed skin with the slightest hint of acrid desert dust.

With a soft cry, Gil finished, body relaxing into the cushions, breath slowly evening out as he gave himself a few minutes to recover. He shook his head at himself, he was too damn old, too damn responsible to be crushing and fantasizing over a coworker, especially one like Nick. He wiped his hand on a discarded tee shirt, turned off his TV and showered before climbing into his empty bed.