Title: Boxers and a Sock
By: nixa_jane
Pairing: Gil/Nick
Rating: R
Summary: "We were playing strip poker," Grissom told her, sounding completely unfazed.

In retrospect it was easy enough to see that it had been a very bad idea, and certainly was not something to be repeated, but hindsight was 20/20, and he could have as many revelations as he pleased—it didn't change a damn thing. He was still sitting across from his boss wearing nothing but a pair of white boxers and a sock, and he didn't much see a way out of it. Short of the sky falling, or something, which all things considered, he might actually prefer.

Getting down on his knees and pleading for mercy was a definite possibility, but since he still had his underwear and a sock as a shield, he was holding onto his pride a little longer. After all, no one was this unlucky. He would have to catch a break at some point before it was over—he was sure Warrick would know the odds.

He was lying to himself, of course, because he was this unlucky—he should have known better. He was used to getting in over his head, obviously, as it was part of his charm. He didn't mind a challenge, but he quite possibly had oceans above him now, and no way to reach the surface in time. Or something. It was hard to keep track of metaphors when you were more than half naked and your boss was smirking at his cards.

Grissom had stopped using his poker face only a couple of hands in, when he had realized he didn't need any extra advantage. He was, as Warrick had told him on numerous occasions, an easy mark.

And he should have known better.

Grissom placed down his cards. "Full house," he said, grinning, because undoubtedly he could tell from his expression that he had absolutely nothing.

If he didn't know Grissom better he would think the game were rigged—because Grissom had everything but his watch, and as already stated, he had nothing but his boxers and a sock. His sock which he now had to take off.

He could almost hate Grissom for that little smirk, but this was, after all, entirely his own fault. He was staying with Grissom while he was having his house repainted, and Grissom had suggest they play some cards to pass the time and end the awkward silence—Grissom had asked if they should play for money, and he had said they should play for each other's clothes.

It had been a joke. Grissom wasn't supposed to have said 'sounds good'—certainly not as quickly as he had. Next thing he knew he'd lost all but a hand and his clothes were in a jumbled pile on Grissom's immaculate floor.

He had the vague thought running through the back of his mind that strip poker was a strange way for two guys to spend a Sunday afternoon, but he was a little preoccupied with slowly removing his sock and couldn't dwell on it. He had bigger problems.

He was going to have to forfeit, and Grissom hated quitters.

Grissom had started dealing the cards before he could come up with an excuse to save his dignity, but then someone above finally had mercy, and the doorbell rang—he barely had the time to process the thought 'saved by the bell' and it was ringing again, buzzing loudly and ringing in his ears. He glanced over at the window, but couldn't see anything through the shades—which was good, as it meant no one could see him. He then lunged for his pants.

Grissom glanced over at him as he stood, and pointed at him. "Don't get dressed yet, we're not finished."

"But I—"

"It's probably a salesman; I'll get rid of him."

He paused, his pants still dangling from his fingers. Had his boss just ordered him not to get dressed? He ran the dialogue through his head again, and it still didn't sound right.

Grissom opened the door and then there was a blond tornado blazing across the foyer. "We've got trouble on the Hansen case, Gri—" And then the tornado stopped speaking about the case, and came to a dead stop. Catherine's professional expression slipped away with just a twitch of her lips, pulling up a little more on the right side, in a smirk that was an unpleasant reminder of the one Grissom liked to give too. "Oh, well, hello, Nick."

He held his pants in front of him, his eyes rolling to the ceiling to look anywhere but at her. "Catherine," he said, striving for casual, but only coming vaguely close.

"We were playing strip poker," Grissom told her, sounding completely unfazed. He was starting to hate him again.

"Of course you were," Catherine said slyly, spinning and starting back for the door. "We'll talk about the case, later, alright? It's your day off, after all, and I really should have called first."

Grissom smiled slightly. "You know we really were just playing strip poker, don't you?"

He risked a glance over at her, and noticed that Catherine was staring at Grissom with disbelief. He winced. It certainly didn't look like she knew that.

"Sure," she said. "Sara and I play strip poker all the time on our days off. We should double up sometime, huh?"

"Catherine," Grissom said reprovingly, and she was in no way restrained by the tone.

"Don't worry, Gris, your secret's safe with me." This was punctuated with a sly little wink in his direction.

Nick sighed. "There's no secret!" he snapped.

Catherine's smile grew a bit wider. "So you don't mind if I tell everyone then?"

"That is not what I meant, I mean there's nothing to tell." He was trying to sound convincing, but it was a little hard to do as he was scrambling to put on his pants.

Catherine raised an eyebrow, in that disturbing way she had that turned out both motherly and suggestive, and he quickly snapped the button closed on his jeans. "Of course there isn't, Nick. Nothing at all. And I'll be going now, sorry for the inconvenience—you boys have fun with your poker game, alright?"

As Catherine was infinitely smarter than him, she then hightailed it out the door, without ever looking back. He considered following her briefly, because Grissom was, quite frankly, acting mildly bizarre. He could usually handle Grissom's moods, but it was much harder to keep up when you weren't wearing any clothes, and he was more than a little overwhelmed.

Grissom was already closing the door behind her, though, and then snapping the lock. He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "Sorry about that," he said.

"Sorry?" Nick demanded, it was meant to be menacing, but his voice was squeaking a little and quieter than he had planned. "Catherine thinks I'm…I'm…sleeping with you!"

The Grissom smirk was back, and to Nick's utter confusion, he seemed quite pleased by the idea. "I think I'm done with poker for the night, Gris," he said, reaching down to grab his shirt.

"We weren't finished with the game," Grissom pointed out.

"Yes, well, we both know who was going to win, don't we?" he asked tiredly, as he started to button up his white shirt. "And I'm really not in the mood to lose anymore of my dignity than I already have, if you don't mind."

Grissom seemed surprised. "I'll straighten things out with Catherine tomorrow at work, if that's what you're worried about, Nick."

He could imagine that conversation, as chances were, it would go about the same as the one moments before. He very much doubted Catherine would believe their poker story, however true it might be, because he was having a little trouble believing it himself. He would wonder what he had been thinking, but he knew already, he'd been thinking 'must impress Grissom'—his apparent life motto.

Of course, instead of actually impressing Grissom with his imaginary poker prowess, he had instead lost his pants. Not the first time one of his plans had ended that way, certainly, but it was a first with Grissom. He looked around Grissom's living room for a moment, but he didn't know what he was searching for, and for all the windows he felt suddenly closed in. He grabbed his jacket and started for the door, but Grissom was between him and it before he could make his escape.

He was also frowning, in that endlessly annoying way that Nick knew meant he was acting immature and Grissom couldn't for the life of him figure out why. He couldn't believe that. Even Grissom, obtuse as he could occasionally be in emotional matters, must realize why someone might have a problem being caught with their pants down, literally, mind you, with their boss, by the one other person whose opinion meant everything.

"What's wrong?" Grissom asked, like he really couldn't guess. "Where are you going?"

"For a walk," Nick said. "I need some fresh air." And space—he really, really needed space. He had to call Catherine, too, because if he could convince her nothing had been about to happen maybe he could convince himself of it, too.

"If you didn't want to play strip poker," Grissom said softly. "We didn't have to."

Nick glared at him a little, annoyed that as usual, Grissom had to be utterly reasonable about it. He almost told him that wasn't the point, but Grissom would ask him what was, and he wasn't sure. "I know that," he said.

"Then what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Nick said, quickly. "I just need to go for a walk."

"You're obviously upset with me, Nick," Grissom said, sounding firm. "I'd like to know why."

"I'm a sore loser," Nick said, not exactly convincing, especially since they both knew it wasn't true. He'd had it ingrained in him to be a gracious loser from almost the moment he could walk.

Grissom shook his head. "Nick…"

Nick ran a hand through his hair, glancing sideways at the card table for a moment before looking back at Grissom. "Okay, look, I just need to clear my head, alright?"

Grissom leaned back against the door. "No," he said.

Nick raised his eyebrows, wondering not for the first time, what was wrong with Grissom. He'd been acting oddly since he had come to stay here, and it was starting to freak him out. Maybe he'd been drinking? Nick glanced back at the card table, and looked at Grissom's half empty glass of orange juice with some suspicion.

Grissom seemed to somehow realize what he was thinking, and half rolled his eyes. "Sit down," he said, grabbing his arm and leading him back into the living room.

In his confusion he allowed Grissom to pull him away from his salvation, and towards the couch. He dropped down onto it once they reached it and stared up at Grissom expectantly. "I'm sitting," he pointed out, when Grissom made no immediate move to do anything.

"Right," Grissom said. "Do you…do you want me to take off my clothes?"

Nick blinked, backtracked, and then briefly considered making another break for the door—as Grissom had apparently been replaced by some sort of pod person. "Excuse me?"

"If it would make you feel better," Grissom explained.

"What, I show you mine you show me yours?" Nick asked, not quite understanding how it was even possible he was having this conversation.

"Something like that," Grissom said, giving a slight uncertain nod.

Nick leaned back in the cushions, narrowing his eyes. He couldn't decide if Grissom was serious or not, but there was one way to find out. He shrugged. "Okay," he said, "strip." He noticed Grissom's eyes widen and carefully held in a grin.

"I didn't think you would actually take me up on the offer," Grissom said wryly.

"I'm full of surprises," Nick said, throwing him an easy grin. "You didn't let me get dressed when someone was at the door, I'm owed a little compensation."

"You mean you want a good laugh," Grissom said tiredly.

Hardly, Nick thought, and his narrowed a bit more. "Whatever, forget it, Grissom. This is ridiculous."

"It's not ridiculous," Grissom interrupted. "None of this is…you…you don't get it."

Nick stared at him for a moment and decided that Grissom was right, he didn't. He was beginning to get the feeling there was a lot more going on here than just weird game choices and teasing, and he had no idea what. "Why don't you explain it then?" he asked cautiously.

Grissom sighed and then dropped down onto the couch beside him. "Would you like to go out sometime?" he asked, and then he winced.

Nick, not for the first time that day, was rendered speechless. He glanced at Grissom, and then quickly looked away again. "Are you—"

"Asking you out?" Grissom finished. "Yes. What's your answer?"

Nick glared over at him. "What's my answer? Would you give me two seconds? You spring this one me out of—"

Grissom frowned and interrupted. "I thought I made my intentions clear."

Clear intentions and Grissom had never been associated in Nick's mind, and they weren't clicking now, either. "How, Grissom?" Nick snapped. "By getting me naked?"

"Well, yes, for starters," Grissom said with a nod.

Nick's eyes widened and he went back over the week he'd been here, in which Grissom had been acting oddly, and then turned to look at his hands. Grissom had been flirting with him, though admittedly he'd been flirting badly, and it had never once registered.

Not that he should feel too badly about that, as one was hardly quick to jump to the conclusion that their boss was trying to get them into bed. The candle light dinner probably should have clued him in though, but he'd believed Grissom when he'd told him he was saving money on power.

"Nick?" Grissom asked tentatively.

Nick sighed. Grissom was asking him out, Grissom, and sure, he'd had a thing for Grissom for years. Warrick liked to tease him by calling it hero-worship and Catherine, as the debacle today would reinforce, seemed to think he was suffering from a crush. He bit his lip, and wondered if the room was really spinning or if it was just him.

"Nick?"

Maybe it wasn't too late to head out the door, take his walk, get his fresh air, pretend this wasn't happening. Because this couldn't actually be happening. He was probably really laying unconscious on the floor with his pants around his ankles, because the shock of seeing Catherine had sent him into some kind of coma.

And okay, so maybe he did have a tendency to lean towards the melodramatic, but he was not acting childish or immature, and Grissom really shouldn't be giving him that look like he was. "Strip poker?" he whispered, his mind boggled to the point of being incapable of saying anything else.

"I thought it might break the ice," Grissom said helpfully. "I didn't realize you didn't know how to play."

Nick glared at him again. "I do know how to play," he snapped.

"Oh," Grissom said, and then he looked away. "Well, you were obviously just having a run of bad luck."

"Obviously," Nick snapped.

"So, about the date?" Grissom asked, and Nick glanced at him disbelievingly again.

"This can't be happening," he muttered.

"Why not?" Grissom asked calmly, being all annoyingly reasonable again.

Nick thought about it, and he couldn't actually find a single reason, though he knew that really there must be more than one. "Why would you…I mean, I just never…don't you and Sara have a thing?"

"Sara's not really my type," Grissom said slyly. Then he smiled a little. "You're obviously conflicted, how about this. Why don't we play another poker hand, and if I win, we go out, if you win, we don't."

Nick thought about that and decided that was really just the same as deciding to go out, and so there was really no point in formalities. "I'll save us some time," he said wryly. "Alright. We'll…we'll ah…go out. A movie or something."

"I don't want to see a movie," Grissom said. "We should stay in."

Nick glanced sideways at him again, because he was, again, acting like a pod person. "I don't think—"

"Why don't we play a hand of poker," Grissom suggested, a smirk forming. "I win and we—"

Nick interrupted. "Is that your answer to everything?"

"I like sure things," Grissom said, and Nick narrowed his eyes.

"I'm not that bad," he snapped. Though, admittedly, he did owe Warrick five hundred thousand dollars and the deed to his house.

"Why don't you put your clothes where your mouth is? Want to play strip poker again?" Grissom smiled again, and Nick was beginning to fear his eyes were going to become permanently squinty. "Or would you like to save me the time?"

"What are you doing?" Nick demanded.

Grissom was taken aback. "I'm flirting," he said, matter-of-factly.

"Stop it," Nick demanded. "You're freaking me out acting all un-Grissom-like. Just act…you know, like you."

Grissom smiled broadly and then nodded. "Alright. No strip poker."

Nick nodded. "Thank you."

"Hey, Nicky?"

"Yes?" Nick asked suspiciously.

"You want to help me run an experiment?"