Title: Scotched
Author: VicXntric
Fandom: CSI: Vegas
Pairing: Brass/Nick
Category: PWP
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: None, really. Takes place immediately after Season 3's "Last Laugh."
Summary: Brass wants to know what he did to deserve this.
Disclaimer: So not mine. Will put them back tired but happy.

"Y'know, I figured a kid from Texas would be a lot better at holding his liquor."

Nick Stokes peered at him and Jim could see the effort he was making to focus enough for a suitable retort. Eventually the criminalist just gave up with a shrug. "I usually drink beer."

"Then why the hell are you drinking scotch?"

"You're drinking scotch," Nick returned as though that settled it.

"I always drink scotch. And I'm not the one knocking them back like they're Bud Lite."

"I don't drink Bud Lite."

Jim could feel the conversation getting away from him. "You don't drink scotch, either."

"My brother sent me a bottle of twelve-year-old single malt for my last birthday," Nick said, apropos of nothing.

"Your brother sounds as clueless as you, Nicky."

Nick gave him a big grin that would have looked dopey on anyone else. "Y'don't think I'm clueless, Jim."

"No?" But Jim couldn't help smiling back.

"No," Nick drained his glass. "You asked for my help with your case."

Which, of course, was the reason they were sitting in a bar in the first place. They had just finished laying the foundation for a solid case against George Stark and had even had the pleasure of watching while the asshole's car got repossessed. After that, Jim invited Nick for a drink to celebrate, since they both had the next night off. In a fit of camradarie–or insanity, Jim can't help thinking--Nick said "make it two" when Jim ordered his drink. That was a couple of hours ago and during that time, Nick had been knocking back straight scotch as though it was beer.

"Meant a lot to me, y'know," Nick told him, signaling for another.

"I know," Jim replied. How could he not know? Nick said so after his first scotch and had repeated the sentiment every twenty minutes or so. "Haven't you had enough yet, Nicky?" He glared at the bartender and made a slicing motion across his throat.

Nick rolled his eyes. "Should I stand on one leg and count to thirty, Jim? Hold out my arms and then try to touch my nose? Rub my head and pat my belly at the same--wait, pat my head and rub my belly, right?" The mix-up apparently struck him as funny and a little spray of giggles escaped.

"No tests necessary, kiddo," Jim couldn't help laughing. "You aren't driving anywhere. Get your jacket on and I'll take you home."

"You aren't driving." Nick frowned at him, "You've been drinking. Scotch."

"Nick, I've had three drinks in two hours, you've put away more than twice that."

Nick shook his head stubbornly. "Keys," he demanded, holding out his hand.

"You're taking my keys?"

"And you want mine," Nick took them out of his pocket. "So won't neither of us have--wait. That's not right."

Jim was tempted to let Nick keep drinking just to see how much funnier he got. While Nick was always good-natured and loved to joke as much as the next guy, he was always so worried about making a mistake or placing a foot wrong that this cheerful, unconcerned ridiculousness was something that Jim had never seen before. Then he decided to do the right thing and get the poor kid home while he could still walk. "Tell you what, Nicky. Why don't you keep your keys and I'll keep my keys, and I'll us a cab, okay?" He held up his cell phone.

"'Kay," Nick nodded, watching Jim dial. "Make sure he hasn't been drinking."

Nick was actually fairly steady as they made their way to the cab, for which Jim was grateful. "Address, Nick," he said when they were inside.

"7010 West Charleston," Nick said.

"Tell him," Jim pointed to the driver.

Nick leaned forward to repeat his address, then smiled as he leaned back. "You're gonna help me get rid of that bottle of single malt, yeah?"

"Hell, no," Jim laughed. "I'm dropping you off and going home."

"Oh."

It was a quiet sound, but left Jim feeling like he'd kicked a puppy. "Well...maybe a couple, since I'm not driving anyway,"Jim said and was rewarded with a sunny grin.

An hour and several grins later, Jim was on Nick's couch accepting a second glass of the best liquor he'd ever tasted.

"What is this, anyway, Nicky?"

"Scotch," Nick frowned, sitting down with his second glass. Jim was happy to see he'd slowed down somewhat, but knew the kid was going to be in pain the next day.

"Yeah, I know. Could you be more specific?"

"Scotch...from Scotland?"

Jim narrowed his eyes, trying to gauge whether that was an honest answer or if Nick was being a smart ass. Nick heaved a put-upon sigh and got the bottle off the counter, then handed it to Jim before dropping back down onto the sofa. A low whistle escaped as Jim examined the label. "This is the really good stuff. This was for your birthday? I'm lucky to get a 'fuck you' card from my brother."

Nick's eyebrows rose in question.

"Forget it. So you and your brother close?"

"He's eleven years older," Nick returned as though that explained everything.

It explained a lot, so Jim let it drop.

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Nick started up his old standard again, "Y'know, I bet Gris would've gone on a hunch if you'd asked him."

Jim shook his head and knocked back a little more scotch. "I didn't feel like asking Gil, okay?"

"It wasn't just because Gil and Cath were on the Dougie Max case, was it?"

"No, Nick."

"Sara was free," Nick pointed out helpfully. "She gave me a hand with--"

"What the hell, Nicky?" Jim finally growled, exasperated.

Nick drained his glass. "'Preciate it, is all."

"Well, don't let that get around. You'll have everyone coming to you with their cold cases."

"I doubt that." All traces of humor vanished from Nick's expression. "They'd want a criminalist."

"You are a criminalist," Jim pointed out, watching Nick as he grabbed the bottle off the coffee table.

"Okay," Nick splashed more scotch in his glass. "They want a good criminalist."

Jim didn't like the sound of that. "Nick--"

Nick forced a smile and gave him a small salute with his glass, "But you asked for my help. You think I'm a good criminalist."

"Yeah, I do," Jim decided a barb wouldn't go over well at this point. "But right now you're also a drunk criminalist," he said pointedly and got another round of giggling–-giggling, he couldn't get over that--for his trouble.

Another ninety minutes went by without Jim really noticing, except that Nick was long past silly and working his way toward maudlin. Jim had managed to convince him, if not to lay off the scotch, at least to dilute it. Jim also made a mental note to speak to Gil about giving the kid a few more "atta boys" from time to time--although he wasn't sure if he'd remember that when the time came. Nick had seemed a little off his game for quite awhile now, and Jim had thought it was just a slump, but if half of what Nick said under the influence of really good scotch was true, the young man was having serious doubts about his ability to do his job. Jim was doing his best to reassure him, but wasn't sure if he was succeeding with Nick in his current state.

When he felt a sudden weight on his shoulder, Jim allowed himself a smirk. Well, if Nick was out like a light, so much the better. He could just leave the kid on the couch, put a bucket beside him and head home--Nick had mentioned being a frat boy more than once, so he should know how to deal with hangovers.

"I think it's been since that thing with Crane," Nick said, surprisingly distinct for someone who'd put so much away.

Jim's smirk turned to a rueful smile. Of course Nick wasn't finished--that would make things too easy.

"Do you remember Crane?"

Busting down a door, seeing you fighting for your own gun and almost losing? Damn straight I remember. "Vaguely," he said in the driest tone he could manage.

"I don't remember a whole lot. I mean I do, but it's fuzzy. I was--had just taken a couple of vicodin. Remember Nigel telling me 'Manners, Nick.' Remember you crashing in with--there were uniforms with you, yeah?"

"Yeah," Jim nodded, feeling much more sober.

"I didn't know what--I didn't know who they were after at first, 'til I recognized your voice." Nick turned his head and Brass felt something brush his cheek. "You saved my life, Jim."

"That's my job, Nick," Jim replied, and a heat more potent than scotch flickered briefly in the pit of his stomach. Jim considered himself straight, and didn't bother wondering whether a chance encounter or two back when he was in the academy or after his divorce actually changed that. On the other hand, that soft touch could have been Nick's nose, not his lips--Nick was already a pretty demonstrative sort, and it was likely scotch made him more so. Then again, there had been a bet or two among the detectives about Nick. It didn't mean they didn't like him--betting was second nature in Vegas, even for cops. Actually, it had been a bit of a shock for Jim to come from Jersey to Vegas and find a much more lenient attitude toward gays. Gay cops could still get harassed, but most people on the force were surprisingly easy-going about it in the "non-cops" they worked with. Nick was already well-liked, so the fact that the "ladies man" was never seen with a lady was commented on then shrugged off.

"Jim?"

Nick's soft voice made him turn, and the soft lips that covered his own banished any other doubts Jim might have had. He resisted the urge to grip the back of Nick's neck and pull the younger man closer, and instead let Nick tease the kiss along. When Nick finally pulled back to check his reaction, Jim raised his eyebrows. "Whatcha doin', Nicky?" he asked, keeping his tone friendly.

"Kissing you?"

"You sure you want to be doing that?"

"Yeah, but there's kinda something else I wouldn't mind doing," Nick glanced down at Jim's belt then hit him with those puppy dog eyes.

"Yeah," Jim couldn't help laughing. "Okay, you've gone beyond smashed, kid."

Nick somehow managed to glare and pout at the same time. "I've never been so drunk that I didn't know whose dick I wanted to suck."

That definitely brought Jim to attention. He knew he was no movie star, and had never exactly attracted the beautiful people, so if this gorgeous young thing wanted him, he wasn't going to look at gift Texan in the mouth. He set his scotch on the side table and with one hand under Nick's chin, drew the younger man forward for another, deeper kiss.

Nick wasn't one to waste time and fumbled with Jim's belt until Jim knocked his hands away and unbuckled it himself then quickly unfastened his pants as well. Pulling away, Nick glanced down, then back at Jim questioningly.

"You do what you gotta, Nicky," Jim said, rather proud that he sounded like his usual world-weary self.

Nick apparently liked that tone as well, because an eager light lit the dark eyes before he bent over Jim's lap with admirable single-mindedness. At Nick's prompting, Jim lifted his ass off the couch so Nick could get his pants and boxers down enough for better access. Jim felt a moment of unease, because he was nothing like the beautiful creature practically lying in his lap. For the time being Jim forgot that he was short, stocky and solid with a not-insubstantial gut on him, because Nicky certainly didn't seem to mind, nuzzling up under his shirt before moving down to bury his nose at the base of Jim's erection. Oh yeah, the guy knew what he was doing. Jim leaned back and closed his eyes, one hand brushing lightly over Nick's dark hair and the other sliding over his back. Then it occurred to him that something wasn't quite right.

Because Nick had just given him a few preliminary licks, it took Jim a moment to focus enough to husk out, "Lose the shirt, Nicky."

Nick did, immediately and so quickly that his mouth barely seemed to leave Jim's cock. Several more licks along the length, some laving of his balls, and then Nick opened his mouth and went to town. No teeth, which Jim was thankful for, and not a whole lot of actual sucking at first, but who cared, because the things Nick could do with that tongue of his were bordering on deadly. One of Nick's hands stayed around the base, while the other continued toying with Jim's balls, the sensation enough to make Jim's eyes roll back in his head.

As for Jim, when he wasn't concentrating on the deliciously sinful things Nick was doing, he was running his hands over every inch of that silky golden skin he could reach. When his hand slid over the waistband of the snug jeans, Jim decided he should return the favor a little. With Nick leaning over the way he was, Jim had a difficult time with the fastening, until Nick removed one hand to undo them before wrapping it around the base of Jim's cock again.

Nick's erection was rock hard as Jim carefully freed it, and the first few strokes made Nick moaned and mumble something encouraging around his mouthful. That was a new feeling for Jim and for a minute he forgot what he was doing. He soon found that if he sped up or slowed down with his hand, Nick usually matched him with that talented mouth and Jim enjoyed playing that game for a little while until Nick ramped things up a notch again. Pulling back enough to suck only the head and swirl his tongue around it, Nick took the entire length again, stopping just short of deep-throating before letting Jim slid out and beginning again.

"Jesus, fuck, Nicky..." was all Jim could say as his hips thrust involuntarily off the sofa. He expected Nick to back off and finish with his hand, but the younger man rode out that first thrust and the others that followed, speeding up as he went.

As Jim watched, the dark head bobbed with increasing speed and that sight alone might have been enough to send him over. Combined with the feel of a twitching cock in his hand, his own cock trapped in that hot, wet suction, it made Jim come harder than he had since...fuck, had he ever come that hard?

And Nick rode the whole thing out, swallowing every drop and making high, keening noises as he pumped himself into Jim's hand.

When Jim could think again--wasn't easy, because he was sure he'd lost a brain cell or two somewhere along the way--he wondered whether he'd hurt Nick while he was jacking him off. He'd been in the midst of his own orgasm and thrusting like a madman, so he could have down some serious damage without even knowing it. Jim considered asking, but that required talking, and more coordination than he had right now.

Besides, Nick didn't seem to be in much pain. He'd given Jim's softening cock one last kiss before laying his head on the older man's thigh and promptly falling asleep.

Brass half-heartedly wiped Nick's semen from one hand and grabbed his glass of scotch in the other. He almost belted the whole thing back, but then realized the bottle was on the coffee table and reaching it would require waking the man snoring blissfully in his lap. So he took a small sip and settled himself comfortably.

He couldn't help grinning as he wondered whether Nick would buy his "secret Jersey hangover cure."

End

A/N: I never in a million years would have dreamed of slashing Brass with anyone, let alone Nicky, until eleanor_lavish first mentioned it some time after Grave Danger. That spawned a tiny little bunny that lurked around corners until it got big enough to attack a few days ago. Blame her and oh_no_nicky. I do. *g*