Title: Proficiency
By: jettblack0110
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: Strong R for language and, duh, sexual content
Summary: Greg's feeling a little down, so Nick helps him out.
Spoilers: Viva Las Vegas
***
It's not like you meant to potentially contaminate the scene. You had to take a piss, and so you did what any other man would have done and you took a piss. Except you're training to be a CSI in the nation's number two crime lab. You knew the second Grissom gave you that look, the one that's disbelief mixed with disappointment, that you failed the proficiency. But you finished up the case like a professional and held your head high when Grissom called you to his office. Didn't even choke up when he told you that you had failed. All those years of fighting off tears when the jocks picked on you finally paid off as you were able to finish out shift without shedding a tear. You even surprised yourself by making it all the way home without feeling that familiar lump in your throat. Except now you're sitting in the shower, still in your clothes. Your head is on your knees, and the tears just won't stop. You're pretty sure that if the water wasn't running, the neighbors would be knocking down your door for all the strangled sounds that are falling out of your mouth. Failure is something that is new to you. You sailed through high school, nailed college, and got a job at the number two crime lab in the nation as the number one DNA tech. But you couldn't manage to control your animal instincts, and now your chance to do something more is fading away. You're going to be stuck in that lab for the rest of your life. You'll be just barely part of the family, sort of like the straggling farm houses on the outskirts of town.
The front door slams and you bite your lip to stop the noise. If Nick finds out you're crying, the day will officially be the worst. You're sure he knows that you failed, Grissom will have told everyone to not bother you about it. Facing Nick after you failed when you know he can pass proficiencies with his gorgeous eyes closed is going to be hard. He won't laugh. No, he'll just tell you to study harder and practice more. As if you didn't already know. You tilt your face into the water, letting it run into your tears. You almost jump out of your wet clothes when Nick hammers on the door.
"G, you showering?" he yells.
"Yeah," you say shakily. And then you know he has Superman hearing because the door opens. He heard the waver in your voice and now he's in the bathroom. He sees you soaked to the bone, he sees your red eyes and flushed cheeks. There's a moment where you think he's going to smirk because the corner of his mouth quirks. But then you're in his arms and he's muttering nonsense in your ear about how it will be better next time, about how you'll never make that mistake again. Your legs are wrapped around his waist, your arms have a death grip around his neck. You're pretty sure that Nick is as soaked as you are now, but you don't care and bury your face deeper into his shoulder. His hand is cradling the back of your head, twisting your wet hair in his fingers and rubbing soothing circles on your scalp. He's still whispering, his breath hot in your ear, and you're pretty sure he's carrying you somewhere, but you don't have the strength to open your eyes.
You feel yourself being lowered, and then you're sitting on the edge of your bed. The bed you and Nick have shared for almost two years now. You still haven't opened your eyes, but it's almost better that way; you don't have to look at your failure of a day. Nick's hands swiftly unbutton your shirt and push it over your shoulders. You feel his lips on the left shoulder, leaving hundreds of little fluttering kisses as you untangle your arms from the wet sleeves. His lips stray across your collarbones to the other shoulder as his hands are now attacking the stubborn wet button of your jeans. Those take a little longer to get off, wet denim always does. You're now in your soaked boxers, and Nick's still completely dressed. He lays you down on the comforter, and you're surprised your eyes are still closed. Usually you like to watch Nick undress, sometimes he even drops his aw-shucks attitude and gives you a little show. Not tonight, though. Tonight all you care about is biting back the tears and letting Nick take care of you. Nick's been gone for a little longer than necessary, and you're contemplating calling out to him when you feel his big, warm hand on your stomach. He rubs your stomach soothingly, gently. Almost so soft that it tickles. And his lips finally fall on yours, and for the first time today you stop thinking about the fucking case.
He is holding your chin with his other hand as he makes love to your mouth with his own. His kiss is a little forceful, reminding you that you belong to him and he belongs to you. You feel his tongue tracing your bottom lip, and with a small, contented sigh you open your mouth. His tongue immediately slides against your own, twining and curling playfully and sensuously. He pulls back and softly nibbles on your lower lip with his lips. There's nothing violent or rough about this coupling, contrary to the usual lust-driven nights you have together. Tonight is different. Nick's kissing your cheeks softly, your forehead, your closed eyes. His thumb strokes across your cheekbone and runs through the salty water that's forming in the corner of your eye. His mouth is back to yours and you pull yourself together and try to reciprocate the kiss a little bit this time. Nick's hand is threading through your wet hair, stroking the silky strands with tenderness you've only ever seen in the movies. The tears are back, but not because of the stupid case. No one's ever shown this kind of affection with you before. Sure you've had other lovers, but only Nick has treated you with such reverent attachment, such sweet attention, such love. And there it is. The one word that encompasses what Nick is to you. Sure you've been saying it for a while, both of you have. But tonight you finally feel what it means.
Nick cradles your face in both his hands and places a final soft kiss on your lips before he's gone. Where, you don't know, but you still don't open your eyes. You feel like if you open your eyes, it will all be over, this hazy, beautiful dream. So you let the tears slide through your lashes and down your temples and you wait for Nick to come back.
Suddenly his hands are on your chest, rubbing your tense muscles. You smell peppermint and recognize the massage oil from an anniversary gift, and you almost want to laugh because you can distinctly remember Nick getting all embarrassed that his practically-mother-in-law sent them a basket of love products. But then Nick's soft fingers are circling your nipples and your mind just melts away and all you can do is feel. He doesn't pinch or pull like usual—just strokes his finger pads across the tender skin. You swear you can feel the ridges of his fingerprints, you're so sensitized right now. He's rubbing his thumbs a little rougher over your peaking nubs and suddenly breathing has become a little difficult. His mouth has found its way back to yours, and he teases your lips while he teases your nipples. Now you want to cry from the delicious torture Nick has started.
And then his mouth is gone again, but only for a second as it attaches to one sensitive nipple. His tongue is swirling slowly in circles but then he changes to broad, flat licks. Your back is aching, and you realize that you've been arching into his touch for the last few minutes, and now your muscles are cramping a little. Nick slides a hand under to support your back, pressing you harder against his hot mouth. You're making little whimpering sounds as he switches to the other nipple, leaving a searing trail of kisses in between. It's probably a good thing you don' t have any secrets from Nick, because he hasn't even gone that far South and you're ready to tell him everything you know. He's only used this skill a few times, for good and evil. That time you wouldn't tell him what you got him for Christmas. You thought you would hold out, and then he used that wicked tongue and you blabbed quicker than high school girl. But now there's more to it. Nick's not using his ministrations to get something from you. He's just making you relax. And it's funny, because the relaxing state you're in is actually more physically straining. Your back is arched like a bow, your thighs flexing and your stomach taut, yet you can't stop and Nick surely won't.
Nick's mouthing his way down your torso, tracing the contours of your stomach with his tongue, mock-fucking your bellybutton. The fingers of his free hand are toying with the faint trail of hair that lead down past the waistband of your boxers as he bites just below your navel. The little spike of pain might possibly be more sensual than the nipple thing, but you don't know, or care, because now his fingers have slipped past your waistband and are pulling your boxers off. It would be an understatement to say that you're aroused. You're amazed Nick got your shorts off so easily, because you're pretty sure a family could have camped in the tent you had made. But that's neither here nor there because Nick is sliding his tongue down your sex lines, where your leg joins your hip and the skin is the softest. You can't help but give into your body's control, and your hips start flexing. Without warning, Nick's wet mouth is engulfing your head. You think that pretty soon someone will have to call 911 because you've stopped breathing and you're probably bleeding in your brain, because nothing should ever be allowed to feel this good. Nick is swirling his tongue around the sensitive ridge, dipping it into the slit and tasting the first of the fluid that is leaking out. Your whimpers from before have turned into breathy moans, and you're pretty sure it's you who's chanting yesyesyes. One of Nick's hands is back to caressing your stomach and sort of pinning your hips. The other is wrapped firmly around your shaft, stroking it in time with his tongue work.
You suddenly remember that you have hands of your own, and you wrap them in Nick's hair, probably tugging a little too hard. But that's how it is with Nick—he puts you past the edge, you lose control, and it's all his fault. Maybe if he wasn't so irresistible, maybe if he wasn't so caring and so perfect. You're babbling now as he hollows his cheeks and takes more of you in, and you're pretty sure the word love has fallen from your lips more than once in the past second. You feel the familiar tingle burning through your spine and then white flashes beneath your eyelids and you're coming apart at the seams. You feel your pulse pounding through your body and Nick stills, drinking you down. Your cheeks are wet, and, damnit, you're crying again. You're abruptly covered in a warm Texan blanket, one that is kissing your salty tears and making you want to cry more.
"Don't worry, G. You get another chance," Nick says. And what the hell is he talking about? Oh. The proficiency. You had forgotten there, for a glorious minute, that damn fucking case. But you don't feel any more hopelessness. Now you feel resolved, calm, ready. A little snort of laughter escapes your lips as you realize that Nick can completely change your attitude by giving you head.
"Thanks, Nick," you whisper. And finally, finally, you open your eyes. And it's the most beautiful sight you've ever seen, staring right back at you. Nick's warm honey and chocolate brown eyes, love-glazed, are staring into your own. You surge upward to touch your lips to his, and for the rest of the night you don't care about the stupid case, the stupid job, the stupid crime lab, hell, the stupid world, because you have Nick.
***
