Author: vampfire
Author's e-mail: semperfi_neversaydie@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: Don't own CSI or its characters. Not making money off this.
Pairing: Warrick/Grissom
Rating: FRT
Spoilers: None
Summary: Something happens on Warrick's night off.
Feedback: Please
***
He was tempted to hook up with the guy who'd been hitting on him, even though he wasn't particularly interested in the man.
He was honest enough with himself to admit that it was sheer horniness and the need to not pass another night-off alone that had driven him out here in the first place.
Warrick threw back the rest of his drink and toyed with the idea of going home with this guy. He wasn't the man he wanted, the man he'd tried to get over but had failed to get off his mind, but at least he was good-looking and certainly eager enough. Warrick got a mental flash of himself on top of this guy and knew it was exactly what he wanted, only with the wrong man.
Of course, he'd worked alongside the right man for years now and never done anything about it. There were days when he wasn't even sure Grissom liked guys, let alone would be interested in him.
And here was this guy, Jack, Jake? Something like that. And the way he was looking at Warrick made him glad he'd worn the tight shirt, made him feel attractive and powerful and even needier than he'd been when he stepped in here. God, this guy was offering himself up with his eyes, and Warrick knew he wasn't strong enough to resist it, had no reason to really except the knowledge that he'd be dreaming of someone else while he fucked him.
"Somebody just got the *shit* beat out of them!"
The sudden shout into the bar had the expected effect. Everyone froze while the words sank in and the door slammed back into the wall and then rushed to see for themselves. Warrick made it out the door and into the crowd around a man on the sidewalk who'd clearly just been attacked and just as clearly wasn't moving.
A car screeched by and Warrick had a second to think how stupid the perp was for having to drive past a crowd to get to the only exit from the parking lot. But he focused on the window and tried to memorize the brief flash of the driver's face. He looked for the plates but there weren't any. It was just as well that none of the other bystanders decided to head off on a high-speed chase, and Warrick's attention was now completely focused on the victim.
There was blood pooling slowly around him, and Warrick shoved to get fully through the crowd. "Call an ambulance!" he shouted, already crouching beside the man, checking his pulse and finding he wasn't breathing.
He started on CPR, realized he hadn't done this in real life, only in the refresher courses they all had to take. His mind was already thinking about the scene, and he had to remind himself that life-saving measures messed up a crime scene for a good reason. It was barely dusk, and an unlikely time for an attack out in the open like this. Warrick couldn't quit believe this was real. It was all so stupid.
And as sirens were finally heard, Warrick realized he was well and truly fucked. He was now the prime witness of a crime committed right outside a gay bar.
***
With the familiar mess of cars, cops, lights, and corralled witnesses, Warrick was not feeling like this was his night off.
Warrick felt the attention of Mike from Days, as the CSI assigned to the case finally quit pretending he didn't see him.
"You wanna lay the scene out for me, since you and the EMTs did a number on it," Mike said, not quite ever meeting Warrick's eyes.
Warrick told him how the victim was positioned and explained where he and the EMTs had messed up the blood. Mike was looking intensely elsewhere when he added, "Gonna need your clothes. You know, transfer."
Warrick let out a breath, knowing that was a stretch, but not really wanting to remain blood-spattered anyway.
"I've got a change of clothes in my car. Give me a sec."
From his car he pulled out his duffle bag and some evidence bags and headed for the bar's bathroom. Sealing his own shirt, pants, and shoes into evidence bags was an eerie feeling, even when he knew he wasn't a suspect.
He handed it off to Mike, and Mike promptly escaped to the opposite side of the crime scene to start processing.
It didn't take long for the detective assigned to the scene to get around to Warrick. Warrick had seen him arrive and was determined to take this coolly. "Toby," he nodded.
"Brown," the man said back, taking refuge in his notebook as he started briskly, "You want to tell me what you saw?"
"I didn't see the crime. Just saw a man tear out of here in a Buick with no plates. Then I kept the vic alive until the EMTs got here."
"Why don't you start from the beginning... You were inside the bar?"
Warrick's jaw muscles tightened in the attempt to hold back a sudden flash of anger at the man's tone.
"I was sitting at the bar. Drinking."
"So, you were sitting at the bar... drinking. Were you alone?"
"No, I wasn't alone. There were fifty other people in there," Warrick told him, trying to reign in his temper. He'd grilled witnesses himself, even when he knew as he damn well did now that not all the questions were going to give him information pertinent to the crime. But he'd always been fairly neutral about it, nonjudgmental.
"Were you talking to anyone?" the detective clarified, unsuccessfully trying to hide a smirk.
"Yeah. So I can rule him out as a suspect for you, if you'd like. Look, I was inside the bar when this happened. All I saw was a man driving out of here like a bat out of hell. Go talk to the guy who clued us all in by yelling through the door."
"I am, trust me. Listen, Brown, we're gonna need you to come back with us, talk to a sketch artist."
Warrick nodded. He'd known that. But damnit, he did not want to go down to police headquarters under these circumstances.
Warrick drove himself there and sat down at a desk with the artist to describe his glimpse of the driver's face. At some point, he felt someone walk up behind him and listen silently to his corrections to the drawing as they worked to perfect it.
He wasn't wrong about who was looking over his shoulder. Brass thanked the artist and sat on the desk where he'd been working.
"So you were there, huh," Brass said, not really asking a question.
"Yeah," Warrick said, leaning back in the chair and trying his damnedest not to look uncomfortable, not in front of Brass of all people.
"That sucks for you," Brass told him, in his usual monotone. "But lucky for the guy you saved. He's out of the ER and alive, though still in critical condition."
Warrick nodded. "Good to know it wasn't all for nothing."
"I hope you know," Brass told him, "that if it was just me, I wouldn't say a thing. But there were a lot of cops on this one. And every single one of them knows you were there. I give it an hour before the whole building knows."
"Gee, thanks Brass, I wouldn't have thought of that on my own," Warrick said, striving to match the man's toneless voice and not show how much the thought of that gossip really, really pissed him off.
Brass ignored his words, giving him the courtesy of cutting him some slack tonight. "I'll keep you updated, but preliminary evidence points to a gang beef, not a random hate crime."
Warrick didn't look too interested, probably because he knew he had the whole precinct's interest squarely on him. Brass sighed. "You can go, Rick. If there's anything else Toby needs to ask you, he'll ask it through me."
"Thanks," Warrick said, as he shot out of the chair and tried to walk calmly away. He didn't have the composure to thank Brass for that properly, for letting him get the hell out of here sooner than he might have. He felt like every pair of eyes in the room was watching as he walked out.
***
Warrick didn't know what to do with himself. He wound up in the lab's break room, with a cup of Greg's coffee and a seething anger at the injustice of the world.
Warrick's expression alone intimidated anyone who approached the break room, giving him the solitude he needed. He wasn't ready to talk to anyone about this. Maybe not ever.
He looked up, readying the death glare for whoever dared to trespass into his room, but when he saw it was Grissom he sighed and let his head hang again.
Grissom settled into a chair facing his. He must have realized from Warrick's silence that Warrick wasn't about to be the first to speak, so he did.
"Warrick, I need an update on the DeLaney case."
Warrick glanced up, wondering if that was some sort of Grissom-speak for asking if he was okay. He shifted in his chair and spread his legs out comfortably. "It's been a rough night," he told Grissom, feeling him out. Surely Brass had called to warn him about what had happened.
"I heard. I'm not making small talk, Warrick. The sheriff's been asking me about your case, and I need to know where we stand."
"Oh." Warrick tried to think back to his last shift, which now seemed years ago. "None of the prints came up in AFIS. I'm running the absent girlfriend angle, but there's really not much to report yet. This is my night off, you know. I wouldn't even be here, but..." he let his words trail off.
And they were back to that subject, the one that hadn't really even come up yet. Warrick glanced at Grissom again and admitted to himself that out of all his coworkers, it was this man's acceptance he needed.
"I know this isn't any comfort," Grissom told him slowly, staring off at some point beyond Warrick's shoulder. "But one positive thing came of what happened to you tonight." Grissom paused a moment to gather the words to explain that cryptic comment. Warrick watched him and waited until Grissom continued, "I have never been able to truly understand what the people in a case are going through. The victims, suspects, survivors, witnesses... no one. But now, for the first time in my life, I am completely able to empathize with someone. With you."
Warrick's eyes flicked over Grissom's face, trying to read him. Was Gris about to confide that he was gay too? Damn, if he got a confession like that out of Grissom, this whole shitty night would almost be worth it...
"You had your personal life dragged out into your professional one," Grissom explained, letting their eyes connect. "In one of the roughest ways possible. If my privacy was violated like that, I don't know if I could take it."
Oh, so this was about Grissom's obsession with being secretive. Well, at least that was better than nothing, though Warrick didn't see how Grissom's empathy was going to be any help.
"Come on," Grissom said, standing up.
Warrick just stared up at him dubiously. "'Come on' what?" he asked.
"You need to get out of here. Come on."
Curiosity and the fact that he really did want to leave had Warrick following Grissom out into the parking lot. Grissom led them to his truck and only when he was buckling up in its passenger seat did Warrick realize Grissom was leaving mid-shift.
"I thought you and Nick and Sara were pulling through until you caught that strangulation suspect."
Grissom gave him a glance as he pulled out of the parking lot and drove away from the lab. "We were. Catherine's with them now."
"She's giving up the morning with Lindsey?"
"Yes. I asked her to... when I told her I needed to take care of you."
He knew Grissom had more likely told Cath he was going to "deal with" Warrick or maybe "handle" him, but Gris had said "take care of" now and Warrick found himself unable to get offended.
Warrick spent the drive in silence, wondering if his coworkers were talking about him quietly behind his back... "Did you hear about Warrick?" "Yeah, gee, I never would have guessed. He never said a thing to me. And he used to flirt, you know, with women, even if we were on a case." "Do you think he's bi?" "Maybe. Cath, what do you think?" Warrick let his head thump against the cold glass of the window, trying to drown out the imagined voices.
Grissom, at least, would never talk behind his back. If he could expect acceptance from anyone, surely it would be him. Grissom didn't judge people, not the way everyone else did, not even some of the wackier people they came across in the strangest of cases. Grissom could always be counted on to simply study the deviant things they encountered, saving judgment in favor of reading the evidence.
But while nothing seemed to faze him, that didn't necessarily mean he would approve. And how could anyone fail to look at Warrick differently now that they knew? Maybe not the disapproving looks he assumed he'd get from Sara, or the blushing discomfort he could readily imagine from Nick, but Warrick knew Gris would treat him differently after this. And that knowledge more than anything made his stomach uneasy and a knot of pain wind up tight in his chest.
***
When they made the turn and Warrick realized where Grissom had taken him, he almost laughed, despite his heavy thoughts. It also gave him pause that Grissom had chosen to take him here, to share this side of himself with him.
They parked and Grissom unbuckled and left the car without a word. Warrick followed, his stomach already protesting the idea of doing what it seemed Grissom was intent on doing.
"Uh, Gris, this really does mean a lot to me," Warrick said, as Grissom took off towards the entrance to the theme park at a fast clip. "But this is your coping mechanism, not mine."
"I know," Grissom told him, slowing enough for Warrick to catch up. "Just consider it an opportunity to enjoy the night with a friend and forget about everything else."
Warrick scoffed and muttered, "Yeah right" to the idea of being able to leave the earlier disaster behind, but found himself hiding a smile at Grissom's words.
***
"So there's no way you're going to let me just watch you ride, huh?" Warrick tried, as they got into the park and Grissom struck out on a beeline for the best rollercoaster.
Grissom's gaze flicked over him, measuring, as they walked. "Are you afraid of rollercoasters, Warrick?" he asked, almost deadpan.
Warrick smirked back, knowing a tactic when he saw one. "Afraid? No. But my stomach's been tied up in knots all night. I don't want to puke all over you."
"If you do, I'll forgive you since I'm the one who's dragging you onto a coaster. But you still don't have a choice in this," Grissom told him, actually grinning.
Warrick was too caught up in the surprise of Grissom's unguarded grin to fully comprehend what was happening when Gil Grissom's hand was suddenly in his, warm and unexpected and pulling him towards the winding line to the nearest coaster.
Grissom led him through the crowd, looking forward to their destination and therefore completely missing Warrick's surprised smile. Grissom never touched anyone. Not in comfort, not in anger. And surely if he had a problem with Warrick's sexuality, he wouldn't be doing this now. Warrick let out a relieved breath as it looked like Grissom wasn't going to have a problem with this after all.
And he was going to spend the night riding coasters with Grissom. Warrick remembered the first time he'd done that and how much he'd loved how open Grissom had become, how much fun it was to spend time with him like that... Maybe Gris was right after all; maybe this was exactly what he needed.
***
Warrick was kicking himself for those thoughts after the second trip on the one that went upside-down.
When Grissom pulled Warrick off onto the metal platform at the end of the ride, only to strike out again for the line to ride again, Warrick put on the brakes.
"Whoa, Gris. Maybe we could take a break for a minute..." Warrick rubbed absently at his not-too-happy stomach.
"Sure," Grissom told him easily, slowing to walk at Warrick's side. "Do you want a drink? A bite to eat?"
"No!"
Grissom was smirking, unable to stick to his innocent routine.
Warrick laughed. "You're really angling for my stomach contents to get spilled all over your shirt tonight, aren't you?"
Warrick's eyes closed a moment as his mood swung hard back to depression. For just a minute he really had forgotten how fucked he was. He forced his eyes open and found Grissom watching him with a guarded expression.
"Look, Gris," Warrick said, the light almost happy tone replaced entirely by somber reality. "I appreciate what you're doing. Really, I just-"
"Let's ride another time," Grissom interrupted, insistently.
Warrick's patience evaporated and he exploded, "Gris, whatever you're waiting for this to do, whatever it does to you, isn't going to happen to me!"
Grissom let a small silence stretch between them amidst the noisy surroundings, his gaze never leaving Warrick's, and watched as Warrick calmed down. "Just give it time," Grissom told him, his voice quiet in the wake of Warrick's intensity. Then his hand was in Warrick's for the second time that night, firm and warm and pulling Warrick back to the end of the line.
But this time when they started the long wait shuffling behind the other riders, Grissom's hand stayed in his. And Warrick wasn't at all sure he was cool with that. Being dragged by another man back to a dreaded rollercoaster ride was one thing; standing beside him contentedly holding hands was entirely another.
He tried to casually let go, but Grissom only tightened his grip, and for one small moment Warrick panicked. Because he had no idea how not to be in the closet. And they were in public; granted it was Vegas public, but still... And just as he felt his heart thumping in his throat and his hand start to sweat and found himself trying to see if anyone near them had noticed, Grissom leaned close enough to speak without being overheard.
"Relax. You don't have to be anyone other than who you are, Warrick. You shouldn't ever have to."
Warrick calmed down from the near panic attack and found himself watching Grissom, who was standing beside him still holding his hand comfortably and to all appearances seemed to be scanning the line to count how many people were ahead of them.
Warrick lost time as the line ahead of them dwindled and then it was their turn and Grissom was ecstatic because they'd been perfectly positioned in line to claim the two seats in the front, and somehow even that stomach-turning prospect failed to faze Warrick. He climbed in next to Grissom and did his usual triple-check of the safety harness, and then Gris' hand was back in his and they were moving.
Warrick did the unthinkable. He closed his eyes and just held on to Grissom, letting the coaster's flips and drops take him unawares. His eyes flitted open a few times against the force of the wind and he caught a few flashes of the night and lights around him, the dizzying height they'd achieved, and then they were back to earth and the pressure of the harness released, spilling him out with Gris by his side, laughing.
"Again?" Grissom asked, immediately.
"Yeah."
***
It was Grissom who finally called it quits, when he realized that Warrick was beginning to look like he'd just come from the trenches of the first World War.
They were sitting beside each other on a bench, outwardly relaxed and watching the people pass by, but far enough from the mainstream of the crowd to be disconnected. Warrick's thoughts were floating, but mainly he was trying not to think of how most of the people walking past them were either coming from or heading to a casino.
Grissom spoke, breaking several minutes' worth of silence.
"Warrick, I haven't heard details. I'd rather hear them from you than..."
Warrick gave a wry smile as he finished the sentence Grissom had chosen not to. "Than from the gossip that's just getting into full swing. Yeah, I admit I'm not really looking forward to dealing with that." Boy was that an understatement.
Grissom didn't know what to say. He knew it would be pretty much just as painful as they were both imagining.
"It was nothing. It was such a small thing to turn into all of this." Warrick sighed forcefully, but by now most of the anger had been replaced with weariness. "I saved a guy from dying, and this is what I get as thanks."
Grissom realized Warrick wasn't keen on starting from the beginning, so he prompted him gently. "You were at a bar."
"Yeah. A gay bar."
"Not everyone who goes to a gay bar is homosexual."
"I'm sure all our buddies at the police precinct were giving me the benefit of the doubt," Warrick said snidely.
He gazed out into the crowd and continued, "Some guy got the crap beaten out of him in the parking lot. Brass thinks it's gang-related and has nothing to do with a hate crime. Anyway, someone yells in through the door, and the bar pretty much empties. No one seemed to want to go near him, though they all wanted a good view of the show, so I checked him out and started CPR. Damn, there had to be someone else there who knew how."
"I've always been amazed at how few people take the time to learn."
"Well, you know that once I started I was stuck there 'til the ambulance came, and inevitably, our buddies in blue."
"What's his condition?"
"He was out of the ER last I heard; still listed critical."
"So you were left as witness number one. Did they treat you well?" He knew Warrick had to have dealt with the same people they worked with on a daily basis.
"It wasn't that bad at the scene. Toby was there. He was a little short with me, had an attitude. But then I had to go in to give a full statement, do the sketch artist thing, and that wasn't any fun. Brass got hands-on as soon as he realized I was involved, told me I could leave."
Grissom was silent beside him, and Warrick wished he hadn't had to go through it with him, even the bare basics. "Look, Gris, I really appreciate this. I do. But I think I need to go home now."
Grissom just nodded and stood, waiting for Warrick to follow.
***
Warrick stared out at the night through the window, thinking of everything and nothing, and it took him longer than it should have to realize Grissom was driving him directly to his house.
"Gris, my car's back at the lab."
"You needed to get home. Call me anytime tomorrow and I'll drive you there so you can pick it up."
Warrick's eyes slid closed against the painful thought of facing work tomorrow night. He got out of the truck as soon as it came to a stop in his driveway, and got his front door unlocked before he realized Grissom had followed him, looking concerned and suddenly uncertain.
Warrick realized he hadn't said anything, had just climbed out of the truck and walked away. "I - thanks Grissom. I'll call you tomorrow for that lift."
They were both inside now, standing in the entrance hallway.
Grissom looked distinctly uncomfortable. He finally spoke, "You're in for the night, right?"
"Come again?"
Grissom sighed. "You're not going to call a cab and head out to a casino the second I drive away, are you?"
Warrick glanced away. "It had crossed my mind," he admitted. "But probably not."
Grissom shut the door behind him, turning back towards Warrick. "Probably's not good enough," he said with a faint smile. "I was worried about this."
Oh. So that's what all this had been, Warrick realized. His kind, caring, loving... supervisor. Tears stung briefly as he realized Grissom hadn't really been opening up to him at all, had just been doing his job...
He paused in his unfair assessments when he realized Grissom had walked past him into the house, heading into the kitchen. "Do you have any alcohol?" Grissom called, then the sound of cabinets opened and closing. "Oh, nevermind."
When Warrick got to the kitchen, he saw that Gris had pulled out the beer Warrick kept in the fridge and rooted around until he'd found the only harder stuff Warrick happened to have on hand: a bottle of tequila and one of scotch.
"Gris, can I ask what you're doing?" Warrick asked doubtfully.
"You don't gamble when you're drunk," was all Grissom told him, not looking up from his work.
"No, I don't," Warrick replied slowly. He'd never help tip the odds in favor of the house that way.
"So drink up," Grissom said, with a slight smirk as he put a shot of tequila in front of Warrick.
When he also brought out glasses for the scotch, Warrick groaned. "Come on, Gris, pick one or the other. That's just wrong."
"I think we're going to need both." And with that declaration, Grissom took the glasses and bottles into the living room and called to a still motionless Warrick, "Grab the beer when you come."
***
They were sitting on the sofa, and their once distant but friendly posture had somehow turned into Warrick slouching so that his head rested on Grissom's shoulder. Warrick was sober enough to realize Grissom shouldn't be okay with that, but Gris hadn't said a word, and the man felt so relaxed against him that Warrick could almost convince himself he had no problem with it whatsoever.
Warrick found it hugely comforting, both for the acceptance it symbolized and the skin-tingling rush it sent through him to be so close to the man he had fallen for.
Grissom had been letting Warrick vent, but not until now had Warrick really admitted what the problem was.
"I don't want to be 'the gay CSI,' damnit." It wasn't said with as much heat as he truly felt, thanks to the alcohol, but his frustration and the knowledge that his frustration was futile were clear.
"Warrick," Grissom asked, quietly from close to his ear, "*are* you gay?"
Warrick laughed. "You really don't assume anything, do you? Yeah, let's see. Went to a gay bar to pick up a guy. Not the first time, either. Guess that makes me gay."
"There's nothing wrong with that, Warrick. If other people have a problem with that, fuck them."
"Yeah," he agreed. Then Warrick whistled a bit. "I hardly ever hear you curse, Gris."
"You haven't seen me drunk, either," Grissom told him.
"No. You there yet?"
"Not nearly. Pass me some more of the scotch."
***
"Gil?" Somewhere along the way, he'd started calling Grissom that. And really, if you were going to get falling down drunk with your boss, you might as well be on a first name basis.
"Hmm?" Grissom had become more relaxed as they racked up the drinks, and Warrick's body had stirred in a delicious way when he realized Gil was practically cuddling against him now.
"There's no way this is going to be okay, is there?"
"I wish there were, Ricky... I'd say something about people getting over it, moving past it, but you know, that's all shit. You can't undo this."
"Unless I left. You know, went to a lab on the east coast, or hell, Europe... or somewhere."
Grissom was suddenly very still beside him. "I hope you don't find that necessary," he murmured shortly.
"Nah. This is still my home... you know, always has been. I love Vegas. But it's so fucked up now, you know? Nobody knew, Gil. Before this, nobody did."
Warrick took in a deep breath and let it fly out again as he laughed. "Well, the men I've slept with prolly figured it out. But I mean no one *else* knew."
"Why was it so important to keep it secret?" Grissom asked. "I mean, I know why that's important to me... But you're so... so..." He drained the last of the scotch in his glass, hoping to regain control of his thoughts. What he really wanted to tell Warrick was that he was so sexy, but he was sure that hadn't been what he originally meant to say.
"Why it's important? Man, the world I grew up in, Gris..." he trailed off and then laughed as he explained. "Black men are not gay. That's okay, you know, for the white boys. But me, I was supposed to be a ladies' man."
"You... I've seen you... flirt..."
"With girls? Yeah. Gotta play the game. But I'm not bi. Damn, would it be so much easier if I were. Hell." Warrick shifted slightly against Grissom and the soft feel of his beard on Warrick's face felt so good that he moved again, "I love this too much," he murmured, in continued answer to why he couldn't find women attractive.
Warrick remained unaware that he was absolutely rubbing his cheek along Gil's in the unthinking effort to keep these amazing sensations shooting through his body.
A moment of sobriety hit and Warrick stopped, jerked away clumsily through the alcohol's glaze. "I'm... sorry," he told him.
But Grissom had followed him. "I'm not," he said, and kissed him, hard, uninhibited.
Warrick responded, immediately and intensely, pushing his body into Gil's and wrapping himself around him as he let Gil's tongue tour him intimately. Gil responded to the feel of Warrick's body on his by groaning down Warrick's throat and pressing back against him just as eagerly.
The alcohol had clearly blown through both men's restraints, and it was just as obvious that both of them had waited a long time for this. They were both hard and aching, bodies pressing together and hands hot on each other's skin.
Warrick pushed Gil away to breathe, to try to remember why it was so important that he not strip them both the rest of the way and finish this right here.
Gil closed his eyes as true fear spiked through the alcohol to reach him. "Not like this, Ricky. Please, not when I'm drunk. This is something I really... really need to remember."
Warrick unwrapped his legs from Gil's. "Okay, okay," Warrick told him. "I got it. I, fuck, just give me a sec." He reached down to rearrange himself more comfortably in the tight pants.
Gil's gaze was hot on his when he looked back up, and Warrick dimly realized that hadn't been a smart thing to do with him watching.
"Can I stay, Ricky?"
"Stay?" Warrick was confused. "I thought this was important to you, to you know, do it right."
"It is, trust me," Gil told him, and Warrick felt the smooth warmth of Gil's hand as it passed down the side of his face, finally cupping the back of his head and bringing them together for another kiss. "You are. Important to me," Gil told him, smiling in the hottest way Warrick had ever seen. "But I can't drive like this. Do you have a problem with me staying? With you, in your bed?"
"Hell no," Warrick told him. His gaze hit the mess they'd made of the coffee table. "You know, I think we've run out of alcohol. You want to hit the bed now?"
"I can't think of anything I'd rather do," Grissom told him, his gaze gliding over Warrick's body in a way that suggested he in fact could think of many things he'd rather do.
Warrick reached out to touch Gil's face, still shocked that he had permission to do that. "Tomorrow, babe, damn are we going to talk." Warrick used Gil's shoulder as leverage to climb to his feet. He pulled Gil up then and led him by the hand to the bedroom. "Damned if I'm not going to make something good come from all this... all this shit." He waved his hand to encompass the turmoil of being outted.
Warrick steadied them against a wall for a minute before crossing the darkened room to the bed and pulling Gil down with him. "Then maybe we can take turns holding each other while we puke our guts out. That would be so romantic."
Gil had thrown an arm over him and pulled himself close so his face was buried against Warrick's chest. "Yeah," he agreed sleepily, too content and too out of it to know anything but how great it felt to finally hold the man he was in love with.
***
"Gris..."
"No, we didn't," Grissom told him, answering what was clearly on his mind.
"Oh. Okay." Warrick walked past him to the coffee pot, snagging his aspirin from the table beside Gil's mug as he went.
Warrick smirked and took a sip of still-too-hot coffee. "That's better evidence than what I was going on." He busied himself with taking two aspirin and washing them down.
But when he refocused on Grissom, he could tell he was curious. "And your evidence was?"
Warrick smiled and pushed away embarrassment before admitting, "I'm not... sore. I was going to ask if you were."
Grissom's face went a little pink. "No," he managed. "I'm not either."
"I mean, I know that's not *conclusive*," Warrick began, "I mean, we could've-"
"I got it, Ricky," Gris cut him off. "And my desire not to have sex while intoxicated extends to not doing it while hung-over, so let's change topics, okay?"
Warrick took in the man beside him, sitting at his kitchen table, drinking from the coffee mug Grams had given him last Christmas, clothes and hair rumpled and skin flushed slightly red from embarrassment and desire. And Warrick decided he could get used to this really quickly. The prospect of starting a relationship with Gil Grissom made showing up at work tonight a hell of a lot less daunting.
"Okay," he agreed easily.
***
The End (for now)
