Title: Nine Love Songs
Author: saras-girl
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Summary: How long does it take to get everything you never knew you wanted? Nine months. Nine Songs. Nine slices of life.
Rating: NC17
Warnings: none
Spoilers: Up to S2 if you squint. Stalker, I guess.

Part one - April 
AN - Set S2, post-Stalker. For each month, a song, this one is 'Love Song' by Sara Bareilles. Nick's POV throughout.

**~*~**

Nick stares at the newspaper and sighs heavily, resisting the temptation to bang his head against the break room table. Nothing. Again. He can’t believe there is not a single thing. Four weeks, he’s been looking for a new apartment and to no avail. Four long weeks. He doesn’t want much, just the regular bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, lounge type deal. Somewhere to sleep and cook and unwind after a long shift. Somewhere that Nigel Crane has never set his eyes on. Somewhere where Nick will not feel like he is being watched. As if that’s too much to ask.

 

He’s spent his nights – or mornings -  since the whole incident sleeping on anyone and everyone’s spare beds and couches. Even tried going back to the apartment once they fixed the hole in the ceiling, but he couldn’t sleep, and two nights later was back relying on the charity of his friends and co-workers.

 

Nick stretches his arms above his head and tries vainly to ease the kinks out of his back. He thinks, dully, of another night of discomfort ahead and groans out loud.

 

“Rough shift?”

 

Nick opens his eyes and watches Greg pour coffee, but does not reply. He knows that Greg is quite capable of talking for both of them, and Nick is exhausted.

 

“I have a spare room,” he’s saying, and Nick looks at him in surprise. ”Some help with the rent would be good. In fact, if people don’t stop stealing my coffee, I may have to downsize altogether.” Greg grins and sits down opposite Nick at the table. He sets his cup down and runs fingers through his hair, nervous energy practically crackling from his skin like always.

 

Greg Sanders, Nick thinks. Greg is crazy hair, patterned shirts, tuneless music, hyperactivity. He is one of only a few at the lab that Nick has not stayed with over the last month. It never occurred to him to ask, or evidently, for Greg to offer. Until now. He looks at the paper again. Thinks about another night on Warrick’s frankly uncomfortable-as-fuck couch with springs digging in his back.  He supposes there are worse things than Greg Sanders’ spare bedroom.

 

“Thanks, Greggo. I may just take you up on that.”

 

Greg’s smile is electric and Nick stares curiously for a moment or two before the younger man is out of his chair and halfway out of the room.

 

“I’ll help you move your stuff at the weekend,” he calls over his shoulder, before he is no more than a blurred, brightly-coloured shape moving rapidly down the corridor and ducking into the DNA lab. Nick yawns, closes the paper and smiles.

 

 

**~*~**

 

Halfway through the first month, Greg suggests that Nick decorates the bedroom.

 

“It should be yours, not just my spare bedroom,” he insists, flashing Nick one of those heart-stopping smiles and picking at the slightly peeling cream wallpaper. “We should paint it.”

 

And he looks so infectiously excited by the idea that Nick allows himself to be dragged to the DIY store to look at colour charts that he doesn’t really understand.

 

“G, seriously,” he says, frowning at yet another glossy page as he holds it closer to his face. “What’s the difference between caramel crisp and burnt sienna?”

 

Nick looks up to the sound of warm laughter and almost jumps at the hand on his arm and Greg’s hot breath on his neck as he leans in to look at the chart over Nick’s shoulder.

 

“Two completely different colours, Nick,” he chides, his laughter slightly mocking, proximity increasing as he leans right into Nick’s back and reaches a hand over to turn the page. “Anyway, we aren’t painting it brown, so it’s a moot point.”

 

“Your room’s brown,” Nick mutters under his breath and pulls away to turn around and face Greg.

 

“Nicky, please. It’s mocha, not brown.” He pauses, chocolate eyes sparkling. Looses a short bark of laughter.. “Wow, this conversation couldn’t be more gay if it tried.”

 

Nick holds his gaze for seconds longer than he intends to, and doesn’t know why, but knows he needs to say something. “Want to talk about power tools?” is his eventual offer.

 

Greg just laughs, warm and genuine this time, and Nick thinks that just maybe, living with Greg will be ok. Fun, even.

 

He’s funny, clever, easy to talk to...Nick realises that outside of the lab, the traces of irritation that sometimes characterize their relationship are missing. They verbally poke and prod and push each other all the way around the store, but Nick finds he’s enjoying himself. In a DIY store. He’s still smiling when they are standing next to each other at the checkout, even if Greg looks mildly disgusted at Nick’s choice of paint colour.

 

“You said I had to make it mine,” he points out reasonably.

 

“Yeah, but within reason.” Greg raises one eyebrow without looking at Nick.

 

The blonde girl standing behind the register is smiling as she hands Nick his change and presents him with his purchase in a strong plastic bag.

 

“Can I just say,” she whispers, leaning forward almost conspiratorially. Nick leans forward too, in spite of himself, drawn in by her earnest tone and warm smile. “You two make a lovely couple.”

 

Nick stares for a long time. He only stops when she finally turns away to serve someone else and then he walks out of the store, heavy bag digging into his palm and bumping painfully against his thigh as he moves. Head in a whirl.  

 

Why would she think that?

 

 It’s only when they are almost at the car and Nick looks at Greg fiddling with his keys that he realizes Greg is blushing.

 

**~*~**

 

Nick doesn’t expect Greg to actually help him paint, but he does. He puts on an old t-shirt and a pair of threadbare jeans with holes in them and sets to work. At least, he does, after he has spent a good couple of hours sitting cross legged on the bed and watching Nick strip off the old wallpaper.

 

“You missed a bit,” he points out helpfully. “And green really isn’t a bedroom colour.”

 

Nick rolls his eyes at the wall, his back to Greg, but he suppresses the biting remark, even though it must be the fifth time Greg has informed him of that fact since they left the store. He’s relieved that Greg is saying anything, if he’s being honest, because the couple of minutes of silence that followed the cashier’s remark was almost painful. Nick isn’t accustomed to a silent Greg, and he did not like it. Which surprises him, now he thinks about it, because he always thought it was Greg’s incessant talking that put him on edge in the lab.

 

Maybe it’s something else. Nick wipes his hands on his jeans and takes a deep breath before he has to turn around and look at Greg. Because ever since she said it, he can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss Greg.

 

And that is nothing if not inconvenient.

 

When he turns, Greg isn’t there. The bed is empty. Nick whips around and takes a sharp intake of breath when his eyes fall on Greg, crouching on the floor, dipping his brush in the pale green paint with a look of complete concentration on his face. Nick has seen that look in the lab a thousand times or more, when Greg is manipulating precise quantities of dangerous chemicals, or making coffee exactly the right way, the way only he knows how. And yet here, that lowering of eyebrows, the slight pout and narrowed dark eyes, ensures that Nick cannot look away.

 

Eventually Nick lets his breath out in a noisy rush and Greg looks up at the sound. His eyes widen and warm and glint and he smiles broadly, a flash of pink tongue visible for just a second and Nick knows he follows it with his eyes.

 

Greg stands slowly, turning the brush carefully in his hand to keep the thick, glossy, mint-coloured paint from dripping onto the floor. Nick can taste mint-choc-sweetness on his tongue and he thinks maybe that’s why he chose the colour that Greg seems to detest.

 

“Are you done staring? ‘Cause this room won’t paint itself, now will it?”

 

Greg’s grin turns lopsided and Nick swears there’s another faint pink tint to his cheeks despite the bold words. Nick is rooted to the spot and before he knows what’s happening he has a paintbrush in his hand and he’s applying colour to the bare wall with slow, careful strokes. Gripping the handle tightly and concentrating on keeping the coat smooth and even. Not on the fact that Greg is standing not six feet away and that Nick is now hyper-aware of his every move. Not on the fact that his heart is racing like it hasn’t done in a very long time. And certainly not on how the dynamic between himself and Greg has made a dizzying shift from mild irritation to amusement to this. Tingling, tight fear and anticipation.

 

Nick wonders how Greg is able to make painting look almost erotic. He has given up and is watching the younger man out of the corner of his eyes as he paints. Taking in the head on one side, carefully dishevelled bleached blond spikes, lips slightly parted. One hand shoved casually in the pocket of thin, loose jeans as the other slowly strokes the paint onto the wall with soft, languid movements.

 

Nick feels warm, and he can’t explain it. This is Greg, for god’s sake. DNA Greg. Greg of the strange clothes and stranger hobbies and blatant, sledgehammer –subtle flirting with every woman in sight. Though Nick has heard rumours that Greg likes a little bit of everything, actually, and he can’t stop wondering if that is true.

 

When the lips quirk into a sly smile, Nick knows he’s been caught and he looks away. Tries to fight down the heat rising on his face because, goddammit, Greg Sanders painting a wall does not make Nick Stokes blush.

 

No sooner does he start moving his brush again, however, than Nick feels something cold splatter on the side of his face. It takes him a second to register it through the immediate shock.

 

He has just had paint flicked at him.

 

And he has to take a moment to close his eyes and remind himself that he is a thirty-one year old man, standing in the spare bedroom of his co-worker’s apartment, and not some character in one of those awful romantic comedies that his mother likes to watch when she thinks no one is looking. Nor is he in high school. And yet something is rising up in his chest and bubbling over and he doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or fuck, and that is a strange sensation in itself.

 

He doesn’t do either, but raises his hand to his face and wipes thick, cold globs of paint off his cheek. Flicking a glance over to Greg who is painting with such a painfully studied look of concentration and innocence on his face that Nick can’t be held responsible for what he does. Dropping his brush onto the paint-tin lid, he catches Greg by the wrist, pulling his brush wielding hand away from the wall mid-stroke and spins him around.

 

Greg’s eyes flash and he smiles through his surprise as Nick watches him for a long silent moment, ignoring the hammering in his chest, and wipes paint-covered fingers messily down the left side of Greg’s face.

 

“Now what are you gonna do?” Nick challenges, and he’s only mildly surprised to realize he’s whispering.

 

Greg grins and raises his free hand to drag across his face, only succeeding in smearing the green mess across his lower lip and under his eye. Nick watches, entranced by the simple movement and noticing for the first time how long Greg’s eyelashes are. The rapid rise and fall of his chest underneath a ragged, stained blue t-shirt. He can’t seem to let go of Greg’s wrist, even though he is now dripping paint from the ends of the brush onto the floor.

 

“This,” replies Greg, so confidently and teasingly that it takes Nick’s breath away.

 

Or what’s left of it, because seconds later his mouth is captured in a kiss so soft and searching he feels like he may never breathe again. Greg takes just one step closer and leans in, body not touching Nick’s but winding his free hand into Nick’s hair and the other easily pulling out of Nick’s weakened grasp and circling the small of his back, not letting go of the paintbrush so that Nick feels cold, squelchy moisture soaking through his t-shirt as he tentatively brings his hands up to Greg’s face and kisses him back.

 

Greg’s lips are soft and sure and Nick shivers at the pressure, movement, slide and taste of salt and sweetness and the paint slicked across the corner of Greg’s mouth, now drawn under Nick’s fingers as he touches Greg’s skin.

 

It’s short, far too short, and he’s only just opening his mouth to Greg’s and feeling the soft, hot slide of his tongue against the other man’s when Greg pulls away, looking breathless and slightly dazed. He’s smiling lazily and Nick notices that his eyes are huge, shiny like melted chocolate. Greg licks paint from his lips and makes a face. Extricates his paintbrush from Nick’s t-shirt with a wet, scratchy sound and leans to dip it in the tin.

 

Nick watches him, rooted to the spot, trying but failing to process what just happened. Finally, he takes a deep breath, screws up his courage and pulls Greg back to him, spinning him around by his shoulder so he almost stumbles. Hand on the back of Greg’s head, he presses their lips together firmly, eliciting a soft moan from the younger man, flicking a searching tongue inside his hot mouth briefly before releasing him. Nick picks up his own brush and turns back to the wall, smiling against the cyclone spin in his head.

 

“Don’t flick paint at me,” says Nick.

 

Nick doesn’t see Greg’s face, but he does feel the cool sting as the thick liquid flies from the tip of Greg’s brush and hits his skin, this time across the back of the neck.

 

**~*~**

 

Head under water

And they tell me to breathe easy for a while

Breathing gets harder

Even I know that

Part 2: May

AN - This chapter takes place about 3 weeks after the end of the first chapter. One chapter/song for each month...they do get quite a bit longer after this one.

 

Lyrics from ‘Just Can’t Get Enough’ by Depeche Mode

 

**************************************** **************************************** **

Nick opens his eyes and allows the room to swim into focus. He smiles as he glances at the digital clock on the nightstand and basks in the feeling of victory caused by waking up naturally, at 6.05pm, hours before he has to be at work. Insignificant though it might appear to an outsider, Nick knows that waking early means he is getting his routine back. After everything he’s been through recently, a little bit of security is certainly something to hold onto.

Eyes travelling around the room with some satisfaction, he sighs contentedly. It looks good in here now, he thinks. His furniture, his pictures on the walls.

Walls painted mint green.

Over the last few weeks, Nick has come to realize that he cannot even look at these walls without instantly reliving the day he and Greg had painted the room. Their kiss, and every kiss that has followed. Today is no exception, and as Nick rises slowly, stretching and pulling on jeans and a black t-shirt from the back of the chair next to his bed, he is thinking. A small smile tugging at his lips, humming tunelessly as he dresses.

Nick has never met anyone with quite as much enthusiasm for kissing as Greg. Nick hasn’t lain there with someone for hours and done nothing more than kiss since he was in high school. And yet with Greg, it doesn’t feel weird or boring. Greg seems to delight in spinning out a kiss into a two-hour long, erotically charged and yet fully clothed make-out session. He is skilled at it, too; Greg’s kisses make Nick shiver and whimper and ache, not to mention painfully hard within seconds. He likes to start out whisper soft and slow, just a brush of lips, smiling crookedly and sliding light fingertips into Nick’s hair.

 

Greg’s kisses grow frantic and hard, then slow and gentle again, unpredictable. Nick can only hang on. He likes to hold on to Greg’s hips, fingers firmly pushed into belt loops, or threading through blond hair which feels surprisingly soft and pliable under his fingers and smells of lemons or coconut, depending on what day it is.

 

Holds him there because he never wants Greg to stop kissing him. But Greg is almost impossible to still, and often he’ll climb onto Nick’s lap, kneeling over him, pinning Nick down and pressing him back hard into the couch, and the friction will get too much for both of them. Sometimes they just hang onto each other and finish it right there, thrusting and rubbing against each other, fully clothed, until they are both sticky and satisfied. And sometimes, Nick gets to experience the other things that mouth can do.

 

Greg’s mouth is hot, enthusiastic, and when he wraps it around Nick’s swollen cock, Nick just loses control. He usually hates being out of control, but when that tongue touches his heated skin, he doesn’t have a choice.

 

And while he finds that giving head is a really effective way of getting Greg to be quiet, he also finds, to his surprise, that he likes listening to Greg. He actively enjoys their conversations. Realizes that, when he’s not nervous, Greg slows down a lot; he has an excellent sense of humour, a sharp, dry wit and a mind-blowing amount of knowledge on subjects so varied that Nick wonders how many lives he has lived in his twenty seven years.

 

More than that, though, Nick finds himself seeking out that voice because he just likes the sound of it. He likes the colours and tones, the way it can shift from a low, rich, teasing stickiness to a harsh, almost breathy, excitable whisper. Greg uses both these tones, and all the ones in between, indiscriminately and carelessly, and Nick can hear him use the same one to say his name as he hands over results in the lab and to say his name as he presses Greg into the kitchen wall as soon as they get home. It almost doesn’t matter whether Greg is actually saying ‘Nick, we got a match’ or ‘Fuck, Nick, come here’. The result is the same.

 

He is standing barefoot in the kitchen, feeling the cool tiles beneath his feet, when the growl in his belly alerts him to the fact that he hasn’t eaten in hours. Hunger is able to temporarily shake Greg from his head, and he opens the fridge, wondering if Greg is still asleep. Imagines him sprawled out messily across his bed, sheets tangled and hair everywhere. Ok, so maybe Greg isn’t quite out of his head. Nick thinks, perhaps, he rarely is these days, but that is a thought that he doesn’t want to deal with right now.

 

Nick leans on the door of the fridge and surveys the contents with dissatisfaction. Stubborn though he may be, as all Stokeses are, he concedes that in many areas, living with Greg has thrown most of his expectations out of the window. It is this thought that allows him a smile as he wrinkles his nose and leans further into the refrigerator, because if nothing else, the state of Greg’s fridge was and is exactly as he expected it to be. There seems to be very little actual food at all, the shelves taken up by a motley collection of condiments, jellies, spreads and anything else that can be eaten straight out of the jar with a spoon. Nick eyes them suspiciously. Suspects that most are past their use-by dates, too, not that it stops Greg from eating them. From what Nick has observed over the last month or so, Greg seems to subsist on takeout, instant ramen noodles and intermittent rounds of pick a jar, any jar.

 

Maybe I’ll teach him to cook, he thinks. Then stops. Pauses in his visual sweep of the fridge, fingers curling more tightly around the soft, cool rubber edges of the door. Where did that thought come from? Nick doesn’t know the answer to that, but it seems ever so domesticated and just for a second, something like fear wraps around his heart, speeding its rhythm, before releasing it again. He takes a deep breath and allows the cool air from the fridge to soothe his hot skin. Greg can eat what he likes. He’s his own person. And certainly, Nick tells himself, it is not his role to look after Greg, they’re just...Nick swallows hard and twists a jar of mint jelly around on the shelf, fiddling with the label. Aunt Kelly’s Homestyle Mint Jelly. They are...Nick exhales sharply. He doesn’t know what they are. Mostly they don’t sleep in the same bed, and they haven’t had sex, as such, but they have come pretty damn close.

 

Anyway. More food-finding, less over-analyzing, he admonishes himself silently.

 

Nick lets go of the jar and carefully extracts a large silver foil takeout carton from the back of the shelf. Placing it on the counter, he eyes it with some trepidation before slowly removing the lid.

 

Jesus Christ. He takes an involuntary step back, recoiling from the stench of rotten food. Coughing a little, he soon steps closer again and peers into the carton, curiosity getting the better of him. Who knew that Pad Thai could go that colour? Nick thinks it actually looks a lot like one of Grissom’s recent experiments. One of which he also discovered in the fridge, in the break room, not long ago. He is just considering the best place to dispose of the carton and whether Greg has been deliberately trying to cultivate some new form of mould when he feels hands slip under his shirt from behind and fingers rake over his stomach muscles.

 

The simple touch pulls a shiver through Nick’s whole body and he smiles, leaning back against Greg, feeling heat against his back and a delicious hardness against his ass.

 

“Cool,” remarks Greg, eyeing the still-open carton. “It’s all...psychedelic. What was it?”

 

“It may have been Pad Thai, at some stage,” Nick replies, feeling one of Greg’s hands slip to his shoulder and start kneading and rubbing at the tight-strung muscles. He tries to relax, breath catching a little as the other hand slips from his abdomen to cover his hardening cock through his jeans. He knows he wasn’t hard a minute ago, and it’s still equally thrilling and surprising that Greg’s hands on him can get him so hot so fast.

 

“Greg,” he groans softly, still staring straight ahead at the counter, trying to focus on anything else to stop his legs from giving way from the waves of pleasure radiating outwards from where Greg is now rubbing his hand up and down the length of his cock. So slowly, the perfect amount of pressure, other hand still working at his shoulders, lips grazing his neck.

 

“You’re all tense. What were you thinking about?”

 

Nick is lost in sensation: Greg’s lips, Greg’s hands, Greg’s hardness pressing against him. Still staring ahead, almost unseeing. Colours. Not thinking about gone-off Thai food. Mint jelly. What this whole thing is all about. Mould. Experiments. What?

 

“Grissom,” he throws out at random. And then immediately regrets it.

 

Greg’s lips withdraw from his neck and drop to his shoulder. He ceases his massaging of Nick’s erection but does not pull his hand away. They stay perfectly still for a number of seconds and for some reason, Nick does not breathe.

 

“Kinky,” Greg replies at last. Brushes his thumb lightly against the head of Nick’s cock through thin denim, making him gasp.

 

Oh god. He really, really didn’t mean it like that.

 

Nick pulls away with some difficulty and turns to face Greg, already muttering and backpedalling.

 

“That’s not, Greg, I didn’t...I don’t...”      

 

Nick falls silent when he sees Greg’s expression. The widest, most sparkling grin in his repertoire lighting his face, eyes bright, pupils enlarged. He’s shaking his head slowly.

 

“You’re cute when you’re scared, Stokes,” he murmurs, sliding hands into the pockets of his jeans, the movement allowing Nick to see the full extent of his arousal. Nick feels his mouth go dry and his veins flood with crackling heat as he looks at Greg. He’s just standing there, smiling, looking at Nick from under his eyelashes. Daring him, almost. Wearing faded jeans and nothing else. Damn.

 

Nick still hasn’t quite got his head around any of this, what he’s doing or how Greg is able to make him feel delirious with desire, but he can’t think right now. Not when he’s being looked at like that.

 

“I hate you,” he whispers harshly, smiling, kicking the fridge door shut behind him and dragging Greg hard against his body, grabbing his wrists and pulling Greg’s hands out of his pockets.

 

They land, heavily, framing Nick’s body against the fridge door. Nick grips his ass hard and pulls Greg full length against him, touching everywhere and kissing him hungrily. Greg doesn’t hesitate for a second, just melts into him and kisses him back with equal fervour. Nick opens his mouth, feeling the delicious wet warmth as Greg’s tongue strokes his and realizing that Greg has brushed his teeth and he hasn’t. Not that Greg seems to care, by the way he’s moaning softly and pushing himself against Nick as though he wants to push him through the fridge door.

 

When the pressure is suddenly released and Greg’s mouth is removed from his, Nick’s eyes fly open in protest until he registers that Greg is unbuttoning his jeans and sinking to his knees. Nick watches him, breathless, feeling his cock jump painfully before he is even touched, just at the thought of Greg’s mouth on him.

 

“Oh, Greg...fuck. Please.”

 

They are the only words he can manage, and Nick doesn’t like to plead, but when Greg is inches away from doing what he’s about to, he really does not care.

 

“You don’t have to ask,” Greg murmurs, pushing Nick’s jeans down around his knees and staring at his hard cock almost reverentially. Nick watches him, watches every movement of his lips, can feel his breath against the stretched, sensitive skin. “But it’s fucking hot when you do ask.”

 

Greg’s eyes flick upward and his dirty smile makes something contract low in Nick’s gut. In this moment he thinks he would give Greg anything, anything he wants.

 

“I want your mouth on me.” His voice is unsteady and he knows it. Greg knows it too.

 

“Ok,” he whispers. Pinning Nick’s hip against the fridge with one hand and sliding his cock into the warm, wet mouth with the other firmly wrapped around it. Nick cries out with intense relief and automatically jerks his hips forwards, wanting more of that heat, wanting it now, but Greg holds him firm. Eyes closed now, mouth sliding up and down Nick’s length, taking him almost all the way to the root and back, almost swallowing him whole, and Nick will wonder, when he is capable of wondering again, where Greg learned how to do that. It soon becomes too much and Nick is right on the edge, pushing desperate hands into Greg’s soft, sleep-flattened hair and allowing loud groans to escape his throat.

 

“God, I love your mouth,” he hisses, still trying to push further into the moist, hot, sliding pressure.

 

“My mouth likes you too, Nick.”

 

And Greg’s mouth has, for some reason, stopped sucking and started talking. He is looking up at Nick, mouth just inches away from where Nick needs it to be, and his eyes are alight with amusement and lust. His hand is still lazily stroking Nick’s cock, sliding easily over skin glistening with his own saliva.

 

All Nick can do is stare down at him helplessly, every nerve ending in his body crying out to have the contact restored. He was so goddamn close. And he knows better than anyone now how much of a tease Greg can be.

 

“What did you stop for?” he pants, pulling at Greg’s hair. Needing it. Needing him. “Don’t stop.”

 

Greg stares back at him for a long second before he leans forward once more, wrapping his lips around the head of Nick’s cock, letting it slide in and out of the tight circle and twisting his agile tongue into the slit. Never once breaking eye contact. Nick feels the hand grip tighter around him and speed up, and he’s just staring down into burning dark eyes and touching that hair and it’s hot, slick and perfect.

 

His orgasm takes him by surprise with its speed and intensity. He cries out, a mixture of fuck and Greg’s name, and spills uncontrollably into Greg’s mouth. Watches him swallow it all, and there’s something about the way he doesn’t release Nick until he absolutely has to that Nick thinks is both incredibly hot and something else that doesn’t have a name yet, but it feels like electricity in his chest. Both thrilling and unwelcome.

 

“You’re going to pull my hair out,” Greg smiles, looking up at him from the floor and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

 

Nick frowns and then realizes he still has his iron grip on Greg’s hair. He relaxes his fingers and pulls Greg to his feet, close, shivering as the younger man’s wet lips brush the side of his neck. Noticing he is still hard against Nick’s bare hip.

 

“Delicious,” whispers Greg. Nick smiles dazedly and strokes the smooth skin of his back. “Now, what are you going to have?” He shifts his head to peer over Nick’s shoulder once more at the takeout gone awry. “I wouldn’t suggest that.”

 

Feeling some of the blood returning to his brain, Nick gathers a response. Trails a finger down Greg’s spine, gratified to feel his shiver.

 

“I think I’ll just have what you had.”

 

**~*~**

 

When I’m with you baby, I go out of my head
And I just can’t get enough, I just can’t get enough
All the things you do to me and everything you said
And I just can’t get enough, I just can’t get enough

 

part 3 – June

AN – Aftersun gel...it can be done, for I have done the research. (On Google, gutter-minded sods)

Lyrics from ‘Heat Wave’ by Martha and the Vandellas.

**************************************** **************************************** ***********************************

Pushing slightly damp hair back from his forehead, Nick walks slowly along the airless corridor, heading for DNA. It is stuffy, close and bizarrely dark, considering the bright, blazing sun that heats the ground outside, but the heat almost matches that which Nick has been working in for the past god-knows-how-many hours. It is hour thirteen, and Nick knows he looks like shit, but he also knows the shift is far from over, and he doesn’t really have time to think about how he looks. Complaining is futile, but if he thought anyone would listen, he would sincerely love to whine to someone about pulling yet another double shift in the middle of a Vegas heatwave. Nick knows he does whine, too, whatever that says about him. It’s the job, and that’s what he signed up for when he entered law enforcement in the first place, but everyone is entitled to a spill-out now and again. He sighs. The corridors are pretty much deserted but a quick glance through the glass walls of the labs tells him that work goes on for everyone else too, despite the languorous heat.

As he steps inside the DNA lab, Nick cannot help the smile of relief that spreads across his face. He isn’t sure whether it’s as a result of the tired but genuine smile that Greg flashes him as he looks up from his microscope, or the blast of cool air that sweeps over his face from the portable fan on the edge of Greg’s work surface, but either way he feels lifted.

“Hey. Just got back?” Greg’s eyes are warm and he folds his arms on the counter top, looking at Nick. He stares for a moment, caught in Greg’s gaze, the now-familiar spark fluttering in his chest.

“Yeah. Thought you’d have finished by now,” Nick replies, stepping a little further into the room, trying to follow the cool air from the gently oscillating head of the fan.

“I have,” smiles Greg, quirking an expressive eyebrow, and Nick pretends he doesn’t feel the little knot in his stomach that results. “I’m not really here. This – “ he waves an arm vaguely, “ – is all a mirage. Really I’m lying flat on my back in a nice, dark bedroom, with all the windows open. Naked,” he adds, smirking at Nick. Nick stares, dry mouthed at the image and the implication.

“Sounds good,” he manages, turning his face into the fleeting breeze once more. The fact that Greg’s eyes follow the movement appreciatively does not escape his notice, and he’s almost forgotten what he came in here for. Ah. DNA. Because it’s a DNA lab. And Greg is a DNA technician.

“Not just any DNA tech, Nicky,” Greg teases, using that low, treacle-sweat-sticky voice that makes Nick’s thighs ache. And makes him realize that he must be spending too much time with Greg, because he seems to have lost that filter that normally exists between thoughts and speech. Two months living with Greg, and Greg is obviously rubbing off on him, in more ways than one. “Greg Sanders, DNA God,” he corrects, somewhat dramatically, holding out his hand for the evidence bag Nick is clutching in slippery fingers.

Nick hands it over and steps closer until he is facing Greg over the counter. Something in the younger man’s expression reaches out to him and before he knows it he’s letting out the whine that he’s been holding in for the past five hours. Greg just sits there and listens, nodding his spiky blond head in all the right places and never shifting his eyes from Nick’s.

“...fifty-two used condoms. In the middle of the desert. Fifty-two! I mean, seriously, what’s wrong with these people? Does no one have sex in the privacy of their own home any more?” Nick pauses in his rant, noticing that Greg is grinning and leaning forward across the counter. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Greg murmurs, waving a hand in the air. “Continue. At least now I know what to expect when I open that bag. And, you know, I’m fairly sure people do still have sex in their own homes.”

Greg lowers his eyes almost coyly but the smirk is still in place and it gives him away. Nick can almost hear his thoughts, and it makes him wonder if that is because Greg is so transparent, or because they are starting to develop a connection that goes beyond mere words.

We have sex at home, don’t we Nicky? say Greg’s eyes. And, adds his wicked smile, you like it.

Feeling himself reacting to Greg’s expression and unspoken words, Nick takes a step back, face heating. He both hates and loves how easily Greg can get him all wound up, but in the lab in the middle of shift is definitely not the time. Not that it normally bothers Greg, who merely flashes him a knowing smile as he exits the DNA lab.

Anyway, he thinks as he walks, he’s not sure what they do is strictly sex. It’s close, but they haven’t actually...they haven’t fucked. Nick isn’t sure if it’s because he’s not ready or Greg isn’t ready or just because of what it might mean. He hasn’t had a lot of casual partners and when he has, they have always done everything else but that. Nick thinks maybe he’s old fashioned in some ways but it’s intimate and messy and there’s great potential for disappointment and humiliation, as well as potential for fireworks and heat. Nick is still uncertain what they are, him and Greg, but he thinks it went beyond casual a long time ago, and perhaps, it never was casual at all. Thinking about the next step is fear mixed with desire and a whole web of possibilities. He wants it, so much. And yet Nick cannot even say for sure what Greg likes; he seems to switch between total control and total submission with ease. Nick suspects that Greg likes anything and everything, and that is both a huge turn on, and very very scary indeed. Nick stands in the evidence locker and groans. So much still to do.

Several hours and a pile of evidence later, he stands outside DNA yawning and stretching, wiping sweaty palms on his jeans and blinking through the glass, wondering if Greg is ready to leave, too. The day tech waves at him briefly as he rolls backwards across the lab on his chair, headphones in his ears. His name is Steven, or Stephan, or something like that, Nick thinks.

He is just about to turn away when he notices the dark-haired tech is holding up one hand again and scribbling something with the other. Nick pauses and he holds up his pad of paper. The handwriting is bad, almost as bad as Greg’s, but he can make it out, just.

He left two hours ago.

Mouthing a silent thanks, Nick heads for his car, driving quickly through scorching heat. The thought occurs to him some minutes into the drive that he didn’t mention Greg’s name, but he pushes it into the back of his mind.

When he pushes the door open and enters the apartment, Nick feels as though he has stepped back into the lab. The place is enveloped in soft darkness, the slightly mellowed afternoon sun shut out by Greg’s blackout curtains, and the air in the hallway feels like warm water. It’s also oddly silent. One thing Nick has come to accept about living with Greg is that silence is a very rare occurrence indeed. If he isn’t talking, he’s blasting out music, or challenging Nick to video game tournaments, or sometimes all three at once. Nick has grown accustomed to a constant background noise and if pushed, he would admit that he prefers it to the sometimes oppressive silence of his old apartment. But now, the only thing he can hear is the low humming of the refrigerator and the sound of his own breathing. If he hadn’t seen Greg’s car parked outside, he wouldn’t know he was home.

Dropping his bag and keys onto the kitchen counter with a heavy thunk, Nick rubs the back of his neck reflexively as he walks through the apartment, pulling it away when the skin is hot and sore to the touch. Sunscreen would have been a good move today, clearly, but he so often forgets, being used to working under the cover of darkness.

He is rummaging through the bathroom cabinet looking for something to ease his burning skin when his conversation with Greg in the lab swims into his weary, heat-fried brain.

Really I’m lying flat on my back in a nice, dark bedroom, with all the windows open. Naked.

Nick slams the cabinet shut, gazing at his sweaty, dishevelled appearance in the mirrored door. Almost dropping the tube of after-sun gel he has found into the sink as a completely different kind of heat tears through him. Greg is a man of his word, and Nick has no doubt, now, that the first thing he did when he got home was open all the windows, toss his clothes on the floor and sprawl out on the bed. Nick gulps, feeling his dirty, sticky jeans become restrictive at the thought of Greg spread naked, open, languid in the heat. Of course, he has been home for two hours, Nick muses. In all probability he’s asleep.

But that doesn’t stop Nick from striding out of the bathroom and toward Greg’s bedroom door, heart hammering in his chest. Fingers spread across the painted wood of the door, he feels, suddenly, a shiver run through him as though something momentous is about to happen. Every muscle in his body is tensed as he pushes the door open. Confusion and disappointment lets each one go simultaneously as his eyes fall on an empty room. Where the hell is Greg? He looks around, thinking. He has slept in here a couple of times - when they have actually made it as far as a bedroom, it is always Greg’s, and sometimes they have fallen asleep tangled and twisted around each other, messy and worn out from their exertions. But not often.

A strange thought occurs to Nick and he backs out of the room, shoving the after-sun into his back pocket and retracing his steps until he is outside his own bedroom door. He prods the half shut door open with one finger and groans out loud at the sight that meets his eyes.

“Oh....god.”

Greg is sprawled out across his bed, and Nick has no idea where his clothes are but he is neither surprised nor complaining that every single inch of Greg’s smooth, pale skin is visible. His hair is damp from the shower, unstyled and settling into soft curls around his ears. He is, for once, perfectly still, but definitely not asleep. It is dark in here too, but the window is open and a small shaft of light reflects off the smiling dark eyes fixed on Nick. Nick’s eyes flick away momentarily, down Greg’s body. He is hard, flat against his taut stomach and slightly flushed, making Nick aware that Greg has been in this state for quite some time. Maybe since he got home. Waiting.

This thought makes Nick let out another involuntary moan and he feels his legs weaken as unbearable heat rushes to his groin.

“Warm, isn’t it?” Greg says, propping himself up on his elbow. “It’s cooler in here than in my room.”

His eyes flick down to the bedclothes briefly and Nick registers the uncertainty, almost apology in his voice that is completely at odds with the confident naked man lying on his bed. Something other than lust twists inside his chest at the sound, and suddenly he’s swallowing hard and moving slowly toward the bed. It’s almost as if Greg expects to be told off for being there, and Nick wants to kiss him and stroke his hair and show him that it is most definitely ok. That he is wanted, very much.

Nick sits down on the edge of the bed and carefully reaches out a hand to touch Greg. It is, unexpectedly, a light caress, just a whisper of fingertips against the younger man’s cheek.

“Yeah, it’s warm. They said on the radio it was the hottest day of the year so far.” Nick falls silent, the tension in the room wrapping around him because he knows what is going to happen. He thinks he knew from the second he walked into the apartment, though he doesn’t want to admit it to himself. “We should get a fan, or something,” he adds. Feeling Greg tense ever so slightly under his touch.

Frowning, Nick slides a finger under Greg’s chin and tilts his head back so they are making eye contact. It sears through him and Greg’s eyes are dark and searching in the dim light.

“We should,” Greg whispers as Nick leans down to kiss him. Tasting cherry soda and toothpaste and just warm, wet mouth.

Greg kisses him back slowly, easily allowing Nick’s tongue to slide against his, seemingly reassured, and his fingers are threaded through Nick’s hair before Nick realizes what he has said. We should get a fan. We should.

We.

Just two little letters, but they contract Nick’s heart with fear. They haven’t talked about being a ‘we’ or an ‘us’ and Nick isn’t sure he wants to, but he does not stop kissing Greg, because he needs it, and there in that moment, in that dark, overheated room, Greg is the only thing that exists.

“Clothes off,” Greg is mumbling against his lips, and Nick hastens to comply. Though there is something undeniably erotic about Greg being completely naked whilst he is fully-clothed, Nick knows it’s not fair and anyway, he is aching all over for Greg’s skin against his. He sits on the edge of the bed with his back to Greg, t-shirt on the floor, kicking off shoes and socks, struggling out of his jeans. Vaguely hears the forgotten after-sun tube fall to the floor.

Greg’s fingers on the back of his neck make him flinch painfully, despite the lightness of his touch, and Greg is sitting up, the bed creaking as he kneels and Nick realizes he is being examined, Greg’s hands now resting on his shoulders. He freezes, suddenly unable to move from under the careful touch.

“Sunscreen, Nick. The clue’s in the name.”

Despite the words, Greg’s voice is soft with concern and his fingertips trail gently down Nick’s bare arms, making him shiver. Nick can’t breathe, every nerve ending aflame and he leans down to pick up the after-sun tube, just for something to do.

“Make yourself useful then,” he replies hoarsely, the lightness in his tone forced.

A soft click and then a delicious coolness as Greg slides slick hands over his neck, sweeping down over his shoulders and easing the sore, itching skin. He leans back into the touch and is rewarded with the brush of Greg’s lips behind his ear. Silence descends over the room once more and Nick feels like he is in a dream, like he only exists at the points where Greg is touching him, cold soothing fingers and hot, moist lips. Both points seem to have created a direct new connection with his groin, so that with each touch of heated skin it feels like Greg is pulling gently on a thread that runs through his cock to the base of his spine.

He doesn’t think he has ever been touched like Greg touches him, with such care and rapt attention, as though he is fascinated by every response he can pull out of Nick, and Nick thinks he probably is. As he feels and hears Greg’s soft sigh against his ear, he shivers and knows he cannot wait any longer. His whole body is straining under the dull, sweet tension of not looking at or touching this man, and all he can think about is covering him, pushing him down into the bed and pushing as deep inside him as possible. Consumed by need, on the edge of his control, Nick lifts himself fractionally off the end of the bed and slides his boxers to the floor. One deep breath, an attempt at calm that just makes him shiver harder, and he’s twisting around, kneeling, hands on Greg’s shoulders. Looking into his face from inches away and seeing the absolute desire, trust and slight edge of desperation in his eyes.

The fear is gone, and Nick thinks maybe he has enough for both of them, spiking in his stomach and prickling behind his eyes. But it won’t hold him back from this, he knows he couldn’t stop now even if he wanted to. Greg’s breath is short and harsh against his lips and for a second Nick feels as though he’s balancing on the edge of the world. Staring into liquid eyes, neither man moving an inch. Caught.

God.

He lets go. They both do, and they fall together. Lips connected, melting back onto the wrinkled sheets, Nick falling easily on top of Greg, hands twisted into the damp waves, kissing deeply and groaning at the firm slide of Greg’s still slick palms down the full length of his back, cupping his ass and dragging him closer so that their hard, flooded cocks glide together agonisingly. The room is almost unbearably hot and they are both covered in a faint sheen of perspiration, creating a delicious slip-slide everywhere, Greg’s bare chest against his, Greg’s hands all over, messy kisses and the taste of salt on Greg’s skin.

They move together, slowly, and Nick thinks he might explode there and then, moisture and friction conspiring to end this before he is ready. They have come this far before, but no further. As Nick pulls back slightly to look into Greg’s eyes, he senses that last barrier being dissolved, and there is no way he can hold back. He doesn’t want to think about how long it has been, or how much of a big deal it is to him, because he wants Greg so much and he needs it now. To be that close. Inside him, holding on and letting go.

“Nick,” Greg pants from under him, eyes wild and hands suddenly on Nick’s face. “Stop thinking. I want you. I want you in me. Please, Nick.”

Nick shudders, the words driving through him, and all he can do is stare down helplessly, temporarily incapacitated by desire.

“I want you too,” he manages at last, pressing a surprisingly gentle kiss to Greg’s lips. “Are you sure?”

Greg’s response is a strangled, soft cry and a shift underneath Nick, hips lifting up off the mattress and pushing against him. Hands suddenly flat against his chest, pushing him back onto his knees as Greg lets his legs fall apart and grabs Nick’s hand. His eyes are tightly closed, mouth slack, breathing hard and Nick cannot look away, even as he gets the message and circles Greg’s tight hole with two fingers, each breath catching painfully.

“Don’t tease me...fuck...just do it. Just fucking do it, Nick,” he rasps, looking and sounding out of control already, and Nick is amazed that his touch can make Greg lose it like this. He feels powerful and it’s an intoxicating rush. Can’t stop now. He doesn’t want to hurt Greg or move away for a second but he doesn’t have what he needs in this room and he curses himself for being so unprepared. Eyes casting desperately around the room and falling on the tube next to him on top of the sheets. As if reading his mind, Greg’s eyes snap open and he smiles.

“It’s...water-based...you can...oh God,” he gasps, Nick only split seconds behind him as he slicks cool, clear gel onto his fingers and pushes, twists them into Greg slowly but firmly, eyes fixed firmly on his face, watching dark eyelashes flutter rapidly. Observing the way Greg bites down on his lower lip when Nick withdraws his fingers and then drives them back in, brushing that sensitive spot deep inside. Can’t get over the tightness, heat, pressure, and he’s scrabbling at the sheets and pushing back into Nick, telling him he’s ready, and Nick just watches him for one more moment, the heat of the room and Greg’s body and his own desperation mixing and making his head spin.

And it’s Greg. Greg Sanders. His head can’t seem to stop reminding him, even after all this time, as though trying to throw him off balance. Greg Sanders, naked, writhing on his fingers, eyes closed, whimpering. So fucking beautiful.

It’s Greg. Reaching under the pillow with some effort and opening his eyes to roll the condom onto Nick’s painful erection, with shaking hands. Wanting him so much. The brief flash of a smile at the surprise Nick realizes must be written all over his face, the short laugh and swipe of tongue over dry lips that is just so...Greg.

“Always be prepared,” he moans through gritted teeth as he pulls his knees closer to his chest. Nick wraps his hands around toned, damp, golden-haired thighs as he nudges Greg’s slicked entrance, staring down, blood on fire, heart hammering. “I was an Eagle Scout, you know.”

Nick swallows hard. Looks down. “I know,” he whispers, and pushes, hard and slow, inside Greg. All the way inside, he pauses, flooded with relief at being surrounded, connected at last, and he’s trying to suppress a smile until he glances back at Greg’s face and watches his tightly pressed lips and creased brow relax into an unselfconscious grin, his eyes opening and glittering in the near-darkness. Exhaling messily, Nick catches his smile and feels it vibrate and clench around his heart as he pulls Greg’s thighs around him and starts to move.

Slowly, carefully at first, finding a steady rhythm, almost tentative strokes. Nick is more conscious of Greg’s pleasure and pain than he has ever been with anyone, and it’s not until Greg wraps his legs around his waist, digging blunt nails into his ass and hissing with frustration that he realizes he’s being too careful.

“Nicky, god, just...you won’t hurt me, I promise. Just fuck me, just – “

“Like that?” he cuts in, pushing deep and hard in one stroke, watching Greg’s face and almost losing it himself. Struggling for air as Greg moans yes and he repeats the action over and over, a slow glide, a hard push at the end of each stroke, angling his hips to make Greg twist and cry out. Leaning down to kiss him, messy, a tangle of lips, tongue and saliva, breathing each other’s air, pressing his chest against Greg’s, needing to feel as much skin against his as possible as he thrusts inside Greg’s hot body in a slow, regular rhythm. He buries his face in Greg’s neck and inhales him deeply, the scent setting off a new head rush, lemon shower gel, sweat and just Greg.

And he’s talking, murmuring, whispering to Greg as he drives into him, just continuous streams of words, and he’s never like this. Never felt this need to affirm, to reassure, to communicate during sex. Ever. But as he pulls slightly back to brush Greg’s hair from his forehead and make eye contact, Greg is whispering back.

“So good, Greg, so good...I don’t want to stop...just...perfect. So, so beautiful...”

“Don’t stop...please,” Greg mumbles, hands grasping Nick’s ass harder now and pulling him in, demanding it, deeper, more, needing it. “So close.”

Somewhere at the back of Nick’s mind is a faint surprise and wonder at the whole thing, he had expected rough and quick and desperate, not this. Not this at all. This is sweet and intense and maddening. They ache and slide and stare and kiss, burning up, cloaked in darkness and Nick sees nothing but Greg’s eyes, quickening his pace slightly as he watches them flicker and widen, reaching down between them to enclose Greg’s trapped, leaking cock in his fist.

He doesn’t look away from those eyes for one moment, just keeps moving, forgetting to breathe as he feels the shudder, clench and shake of the body underneath him, Greg’s cry of release echoing in his ears and the warm sticky eruption over his hand. He’s close, drifting dangerously near to the edge and he doesn’t want it to be over but as Greg’s internal muscles tighten and spasm around his cock and he hears the words tumbling from Greg’s mouth, urging him to come, please, just let go, he has no choice.

It’s like a tidal wave sweeping and surging out from his very centre as Nick tenses and pushes deep and empties himself into Greg’s body. He is lost in the feeling and has no idea what he says but he knows he is not quiet, there is no way he could be. It feels too good.

Ignoring his first urge to collapse onto the bed, Nick gives in to the second urge that grips him and strokes Greg’s hair, now dripping and heavy, back through his fingers, arranging it into makeshift spikes and smiling softly at him. He is floating, it feels like, and the expression reflected back from the man underneath him is equally contented.

“I don’t want to move.”

“That may be a problem,” Greg replies, his voice low and sleepy. “How will we get to work? What happens when you need to go into the field and I need to process...stuff?” He frowns, and Nick’s desire to kiss him is so overwhelming that he gives into it.

“What sort of stuff, G?” he teases when they break away.

“Honestly?” Greg sighs and draws lazy circles on Nick’s back with one finger. “I have no idea. I think my brain’s melted.”

Nick laughs and reluctantly, stickily, carefully pulls out and away, disposing of their protection and flopping back down beside Greg, who immediately throws a leg over him and burrows into his side. Nick concentrates on slowing his breathing and heart rate down to a normal pace and resists the urge to measure his own pulse. Resists, too, the thoughts that are trying to crowd back into his mind after what was obviously a peaceful but temporary hiatus.

“I’m not sleeping in a green bedroom,” Greg mumbles into Nick’s skin. But within minutes, he is asleep, breathing slowly and steadily and Nick just holds him. Even though it’s too hot, even though they both need to shower, even though he’s terrified.

He thinks, perhaps, he’s in trouble.

Greg flails and whimpers a little in his sleep and Nick strokes his hair and kisses him, pulling him closer, shifting uncomfortably against damp, wrinkled sheets. He won’t, can’t think that word, but when he thinks about letting go of the man in his arms, he feels sick. So don’t, whispers the voice in his head. Nick stares at the ceiling and holds on tight.

**~*~**

Whenever I'm with you
Something inside starts burning
and my heart's filled with fire

Stop this - it's got a hold on me
I said this ain't the way it's supposed to be

Whenever he calls my name
Sounds so soft sweet and plain
Right then, right there
I feel this burning pain
This high blood pressure's got a hold on me
I said this ain't the way love's supposed to be

Don't know what to do
My head's in a haze

It's like a heatwave burning in my heart
I can't keep from crying
Tearing me apart

 

Part 4: July

AN - lyrics from 'Somewhere Beyond the Sea' by Bobby Darin

Nick pulls the folding glass door closed behind him and steps into the shower, adjusting the temperature and tilting his head back into the spray. The apartment is silent, because Greg is asleep and Nick couldn’t stand to wake him, even though it’s 9pm and he knows they will both have to leave for work in little over an hour. He bends and attempts to locate his own bottle of generic budget shampoo amongst Greg’s bewildering array of gels, shampoos, conditioners and god knows what else, and as he does it he is acutely conscious of the fact that he is alone in the bathroom.

Because Nick has almost forgotten what it’s like to shower on his own. Secretly he doesn’t mind if he never remembers again, as a shower without a warm, wet, enthusiastic Greg in it has somehow lost its appeal. Initially disconcerting, it is now a source of warm amusement and quiet delight that Greg is so determined to intrude on his washing ritual. Being the private person that he is, the Nick of three months ago would have been horrified at the idea but with Greg it’s different. It seems Greg has somewhat of a warm water kink, and Nick has found himself happy to oblige, as he has realized that Greg much prefers his warm water with a naked man in it.

Finally extracting his shampoo from the forest of brightly-coloured bottles arranged around the edge of the shower tray, he straightens up slowly, his thoughts slow and sleep-blurred. He never understood the erotic potential of water, but it turns out Greg didn’t have to do much to persuade him. If anything, Greg is more beautiful wet than at any other time. Water is his element. Nick likes to admire the way his pale skin turns slightly pink under the hot spray, the way his hair goes flat and dark against his head, the way small, tenacious droplets cling to Greg’s eyelashes and earlobes. The hot, wet skin that presses against his is a revelation, too. It is all at once comforting, sexually-charged and intimate, and without realizing it Nick has become one of those people that can spend half an hour in the shower. And that’s just the one before a shift.

He’s smiling and still clutching the shampoo bottle, so lost in his thoughts that he almost does not register the soft scrape of the door sliding back and the bottle being gently prised from his fingers and set on the shelf behind him.

“Morning,” Greg smiles and pushes him out of the way to get under the water.

“It’s nine pm, Greg,” he counters, mildly irritated as his back presses against cold tiles, but softening as he watches the water pour down the strong shoulders and slender back, Greg pushing hands through his now saturated hair.

“Nine-fifteen, actually. If we’re splitting hairs. And you know what I mean. You can’t greet someone with good night, can you?”

There’s a logic at work there somewhere, Nick knows that. He says nothing, just grabs Greg’s arm and pulls him around, stepping closer so that they are chest to chest under the running water. Stares appreciatively for just a moment, before taking Greg’s head in his hands and pulling him in for a long, thorough kiss. Greg sighs happily and opens his mouth to Nick, kissing him back with the slow, soft movements of the just-woken-up. Nick slides one hand firmly down his back, gliding over the slick, warm skin and sweeping over the curve of his ass, pulling Greg’s body flush against his. The sudden heat of his erection brushing against another makes him grip Greg tighter and break the kiss, licking hot water from his lips.

Greg smiles widely, clearly a little more awake now, and pulls slightly away from Nick, running both hands down Nick’s shoulders, lacing the fingers of his right hand through Nick’s left and wrapping the other around his cock. Nick doesn’t jump any more when he does this, because he has become accustomed to what showers do to Greg, and he is not complaining one bit. He allows a small sound of approval to fall from his lips and strokes the wet hair back from Greg’s forehead before he mirrors the gesture, enclosing Greg in his hand, holding eye contact.

“I looked out the bedroom window just now,” Greg offers, moving his hand slowly but firmly, all the way from the base to the tip. Sure, practised, gentle strokes that make Nick groan contentedly and stroke back, easing Greg’s cock into his fist and jerking him lazily.

“Mmm.” Nick’s reply is hazy because he’s only half listening, half feeling Greg’s heated skin and Greg’s hand wrapped around him, half watching the hot water pouring down Greg’s chest. And he knows that’s three halves, but it isn’t his fault if his mind is not quite functioning properly. Greg, however, seems perfectly capable of conducting a reasonable – if one-sided – conversation.

“That idiot boyfriend of Laura’s – you know from across the hall – he’s blocked you in again with that shiny cock-on-wheels he calls a car.”

Greg continues, punctuating every word with a twist of his wrist at the end of each stroke. “He’s such a jackass. He better hope not to run into me in the hallway.”

Nick moans softly at the increased pressure and pulls Greg closer, letting the water run into his hair and down his back, speeding up his hand and wondering if Greg can remain coherent as he comes, too. Greg just smiles enigmatically and squeezes him gently, warmth, moisture, sliding, skin against skin.

“Greg,” he whispers desperately, as the combination of the water and the heat and Greg wet and Greg’s almost absent-mindedly intense stroking of his cock starts to become too much. He feels the warmth start to unfold from his spine as he looks into Greg’s eyes. Tightens his own hold and works his hand harder over the wet, swollen length.

“I guess we’ll take my car again, huh?” Greg manages, though his breath catches a little and his face is flushed. “Honestly, I think...oh god,” his voice breaks slightly and the hand entwined with Nick’s grips hard. Nick smiles through the steam and grips back, knowing Greg is losing control. Wanting Greg to know that he is too.

“I think it’s really...” Greg attempts again, eyes black and wide, water dripping from his hair and down his face. Nick runs his palm over the head of his cock, completing each stroke, feeling the right kind of wetness against his skin that ensures him he is driving Greg crazy with desire. “It’s really fucking...oh god, that feels good. Oh fucking...jesus, Nick, don’t stop,” he groans at last, giving in and kissing him hard.

Nick leans in under the water and returns the kiss, tongues tangling heatedly, wanting the contact as he lets go and comes hard into Greg’s hand. Emptying his drawn-out cry into Greg’s mouth and hanging onto his rhythm until Greg tenses and spills, warm, onto their skin. The hot water instantly cleansing it away as they reluctantly release each other and move still closer, trailing kisses on soaked, sensitive skin.

Nick blinks against the water on his eyelashes and tries to breathe deeply, heart racing even as he comes down. He thinks Greg was talking about cars but he can’t be sure. The fact that Greg is capable of having any kind of mundane, everyday discussion whilst stroking him into a frenzy as if it’s as simple as breathing in and out makes Nick feel both amused and overwhelmed with a strange warm comfort. That same comfort that makes his spine ache and his heart sore.

He feels Greg move but his eyes are closed against the water. Before he has chance to miss Greg’s skin on his it is back, and he registers the familiar and incredibly relaxing feeling of having his hair washed. No one else has washed his hair since his mother, maybe twenty-five years ago, but Greg has done it since the first time they showered together, and he has no explanation other than ‘because I want to’ which Nick concedes is a pretty good reason to do something. Perhaps the best reason of all, and the reason why, without wanting to overthink the thing, sometimes Nick reciprocates. Greg looks good covered in shampoo bubbles too, and Nick likes to play with the water-darkened blond hair and sculpt it into different shapes with the lather. Greg always has his eyes closed and Nick thinks, he hopes, that Greg doesn’t know he does it. Knowing Greg though, he probably does.

Opening his eyes carefully, he looks at Greg and can’t help but smile. Dark eyes narrowed in absolute concentration as he moves careful fingers through Nick’s hair and rubs circles into his scalp, releasing the scent of...something clean and fresh and delicious, but not familiar.

“That’s not the one I bought,” he mutters, noticing Greg’s mouth lift slightly at one corner as he continues.

“I know,” he replies. “It’s nicer than yours. Now be quiet, I’m concentrating.”

Nick closes his mouth and resists the urge to cross his arms across his chest at the slur, because what Greg is doing feels good. Instead he settles closer and says nothing for several minutes, just watches. Admiring the contrast of Greg’s shiny heat-flushed skin against the shimmer of the water and the sparkle of azure blue tiles that remind him of the ocean. Greg finished washing and rinsing his hair some time ago but neither of them move from under the water. Greg’s fingers on his back sending delicious waves through him that make him want to forget about work and just start the whole thing again.

Nick reaches out a slightly wrinkled hand to trace the cool surface behind him.

“Sardinian blue,” Greg sighs against his ear, hot breath on wet skin. “The girl in the shop said they were supposed to make you feel like you were in the Mediterranean.”

Nick laughs breathlessly and turns his head, exposing more skin to Greg’s exploring mouth.

“Have you been to the Med, Greg? Other than in your shower?”

“Use your imagination, Nicky.” Greg licks water droplets up the side of his neck and runs his hands up and down Nick’s sides. “Imagine we’re in...the south of France, or Cyprus or somewhere...Sardinia...by the sea..and it’s warm, but not like Vegas warm, like...like Europe warm – “

Nick laughs again, the laugh immediately suffixed by a loud involuntary hiss as Greg drags his teeth across his earlobe and rubs his thumb in small circles on the underside of his cock at the same time.

“Europe warm?” he asks, finally, sharp-toned in a haze of pleasure and disbelief that he can be turned on again so soon.

“Yeah...with a breeze coming off the water, but it’s warm enough not to wear anything...just to lie on the sand and let the water lap around us a bit.”

Greg pauses to kiss a trail along Nick’s jaw and Nick is just standing there, hands resting on Greg’s slim, wet hips. Utterly entranced. Not just by the lips on his skin but the drifting sound of Greg’s voice and the words, the scene he is creating so vividly in Nick’s mind.

“And we’d just be all tangled together, warm sun, cool wet sand, and god...I’d just want to touch you everywhere. Just...lips all over you, and you’d taste like salt because of the water, and sunscreen, and just you, and I think I’d just want to push you back into the sand and - “

He trails off, because Nick is pulling away, and the look of confusion in his eyes is adorable but Nick doesn’t have the words to explain, because Greg’s words have captured him, and he’s not here any more, he’s on a beach with Greg and he doesn’t want to let it go. He’s sinking to his knees and tracing fingers down Greg’s thighs, feeling the water fall onto his back from a greater height than before. Not looking at Greg as he speaks.

“Keep talking.” He wraps a protective arm around Greg’s back and takes him into his mouth. “Please.”

Greg moans softly and winds one hand into his hair. “Ok. Ok...so I’d just want to taste you, I think. Suck you...taste like the sea, make you hard so you could fuck me...oh.” He stops, breathless.

Nick slides his tongue around the head of Greg’s cock, loving every little thing about the way he tastes, the way he feels, the way he is hardening and jerking and pushing into his mouth. He hums warmly and flicks his tongue under the ridge, urging Greg to continue.

“That’s what I’d want,” he manages breathlessly, leaking into Nick’s mouth. “I’d want you to just fuck me right there on the sand...I wouldn’t care who was walking by, I wouldn’t care. Just you and me and, goddamnit, harder, faster, need you...”

And Nick sees nothing, allowing the world to be closed down to warm water, Greg’s words, Greg’s cock heavy on his tongue and the almost-sensation of sand beneath his knees. He’s not teasing, just giving Greg exactly what he wants and needs, all mouth and lips and tongue and sliding, rhythmic pressure, and he knows Greg is moments away from a second orgasm and he can hardly believe it. But he wants it, too, he’s painfully hard again and it can only be Greg. He has never been like this before, so hungry for someone. Just listening.

Please Nick. With you. Fuck me. Feels so good. Warm Air. Cool water. God...want you.

After more than three months, he feels like this, and it makes no sense. Unlike with anyone else he has ever been with, with Greg, that feeling has intensified, instead of weakening. Of course that delicious anxiety that comes with the will we/won’t we/should we at the beginning of a new...thing, that’s not there any more because they will, of course, but the want, the heat, the thrill and the intensity, that seems to step up a notch almost daily.

He barely even notices that the words have all but dried up, because Greg is gripping his hair and shoulder hard, and spilling out nonsense syllables from the mouth somewhere above. It doesn’t matter, because Nick is already transported, and as Greg whines uncontrollably and floods his mouth with warm, salty essence, Nick can almost hear the waves crashing around him.

When he wipes his mouth and stands carefully to pull a damp, trembling Greg against him, he reluctantly allows the real world to creep back in around him.

“What’s that song, about the sea?” Greg murmurs against his shoulder as Nick leans to turn the shower off. With some difficulty, as Greg is leaning almost his entire weight on him. Nick smiles, knowing that Greg’s almost boneless state is his fault, and feeling a little thrill rip through him at the thought.

“I don’t know, Greggo, what song’s that?”

“If I knew that I wouldn’t be asking you,” comes the reply, but the attempt at exasperation is poor. Greg’s voice is too low and contented, and Nick suppresses a laugh. “I heard it at work the other day and I thought of showers, and then I thought of you.”

Nick’s mouth twitches and he kisses Greg as he pushes him out of the shower and follows him, stepping onto cool tiles and dripping everywhere. It’s not the first time that he has no clue what Greg is talking about, and he doesn’t mind.

Leaving Greg in the bathroom, he dries and dresses quickly, yanking the heavy curtains open to let the last of the day’s light into the bedroom. Nick glances briefly down to the street below. No way.

“That jerk’s blocked me in again!”

When he turns around, Greg is standing behind him, wrapped in a towel and smirking.

**~*~**
“Damn, what have you done with Sanders?”

Nick jumps and almost hits his head on the inside of his locker as he whips around to look at Warrick. They were only five minutes late, though Nick thinks they may have been later were it not for the fact that Greg drives far, far too fast. Making Nick thankful for the fact that they normally travel in separate cars, and a little more angry at the inconsiderate jerk from across the hall. But more to the point, what?

“What do you mean?” he demands, hoping his face isn’t as red as it feels. Jesus, what haven’t I done with Sanders? he adds silently.

Fortunately, Warrick is staring into his own locker and not at Nick. Nick breathes.

“I don’t know, you seem to be a good influence on him somehow. You should hear the music he’s playing in the lab, I hate to say it man, but it’s almost good.” Warrick laughs and shakes his head.

Making some noncommittal comment, Nick extracts the file he needs, closes his locker and exits the room before Warrick can ask him anything else. He pauses outside DNA, listening to the music pouring out through the propped-open door and staring through the glass. Unable to suppress the warm smile creeping across his face. Greg is spinning around, lab coat fanning out around him like a cape, adding a dramatic flourish to the end of each spin as he stops, grabbing the worktop and glancing over at Jacqui as she stands, unmoving, next to his computer monitor. Arms crossed over her chest, watching him.

“Come on, Jacq, dance with meeee,” wheedles Greg.

He flashes her a bright, persuasive grin, and though Jacqui merely raises an eyebrow and smiles, shaking her head, Nick has to root himself to the spot because the urge to touch set off by Greg’s expression is overwhelming.

“It’s far beyond the stars, and near beyond the moon,” Greg sings along, snapping fingers and tilting his head towards her as he moves.

Jacqui mumbles something Nick doesn’t catch and Greg is aghast, clutching his heart with glove-covered fingers.

“Oh, man, don’t say that! It’s a classic.” He frowns. “I would know. Shut up.”

He doesn’t notice Jacqui shaking her head and turning, because his eyes cannot be torn from Greg. This same man, who just an hour before talked him into a frenzy that ended up with him on his knees in the shower. The same man who he has held close to him, shaking, sweat-soaked and satisfied, too many times to count now. This blond, colourful, energetic man who is both comfortably familiar and yet can somehow make Nick breathless by dancing ostentatiously in a glass box to swing music.

When Greg’s eyes meet his, he’s mouthing silently along with the song and smiling through the glass at Nick. Suddenly Nick is clutching the file in his hands so hard that his nails make imprints in the cover.

“We’ll kiss, just as before,” murmurs Greg, smiling, still moving.

Nick knows now, he knows he is blushing and his mouth is dry. Heart racing.

“Lost something, Stokes?” At the sound, Nick flips the file in his hands open and looks down at the contents frantically.

Jacqui is already halfway down the corridor before Nick notices that he is holding the file upside down.

“I found it!” calls Greg, now leaning on the doorframe, still shifting slightly in time with the music. “That song. In Stephan’s CDs no less. And I thought he had terrible taste in music.”

“That’s what Warrick said about you,” Nick replies, holding the file to his chest and trying to wipe the stupid grin off his face before anyone else sees it. Greg laughs and heads back into the lab, turning the music right up.

**~*~**

“One day, Nick, I would like to go to the Mediterranean,” he says later, apropos of nothing. Turning away to pour coffee, all damp hair and scruffy track pants. And the small smile on his lips lights something in Nick that he wasn’t ready for.

Because that’s almost like talking about the future, almost, and Nick doesn’t do talking about the future any more than he does declarations of love. If life has taught him nothing else it’s to live in the moment. Just experience. And he does, he relishes every second of being here with Greg and whatever it all means, but all that other stuff is not only unnecessary, it’s dangerous. And, Nick always thinks, it’s false. Anyone can do big, sweeping gestures. Anyone can write poetic words in a card, buy flowers, kiss in public places. It doesn’t mean anything. It certainly doesn’t guarantee forever, or even happiness in anything other than the short term. He thinks that Kendra, Teresa, Lynn and Kate can wholeheartedly attest to that. Six sisters, four failed marriages. Technically, Kendra, the eldest, is still with her husband, but Nick does not believe that a relationship in which one party has been screwing their secretary for the last five years can be classed as ‘successful’.

Anna, of course, has more sense than to get tied down by anybody. As for Lily, no one has said as much but Nick suspects that the lady who co-owns her restaurant is her partner in more than just business. He has wanted to ask her for a long time now, but for some reason he doesn’t know where to start. Perhaps because he would have to step out of his own closet in order to ask, as he knows it wouldn’t be fair otherwise. Sometimes Nick wonders whether if he knew for sure about Lily, he could ask her about all of this. When he’s being realistic though, he knows that he would probably keep his silence, because this is not really about fear of being gay. It’s about his fear of having a functional relationship. His fear of giving himself up completely, of being abandoned and completely letting someone in. Of saying ‘I love you’ to the man who is slowly becoming the centre of his universe.


Slowly, he sits down on one of the high stools underneath Greg’s breakfast table and rests his folded arms on the cool surface. He isn’t afraid of his feelings for men, he went through all of the requisite turmoil somewhere toward the tail end of high school, and he came out of the other side, so to speak, though the metaphorical tunnel is probably the only thing he has ever come out of. It’s not shame, he likes to reassure himself of that fact – whatever anyone might assume about his background, coming from a through-and-through red state does not mean he believes in the hell-and-damnation merchants. The thing is, he’s a private person, his personal life is just that. And anyway, who you date isn’t all that much of an issue when you don’t date.

Nick sighs and stares at the wall. It isn’t like he never has offers, he does - from men and women alike. But he prefers not to get involved, for the most part. A couple of casual flings, a couple of ill-advised encounters, one extremely ill-advised ‘experiment’ that – he closes his eyes briefly – almost resulted in a murder charge; these make up Nick’s relationship resume over the years he’s been in Vegas, and he’s ok with that. Finds it vaguely amusing that, without even trying, he has acquired this smooth-talking-ladies-man image with his colleagues. He’ll allow himself a wry smile when others allude to it, which he realizes is taken as a confirmation that ‘yes, I am indeed a hot-shot with the ladies’, and maybe it’s just easier that way.

The only grain of truth in the whole thing is the fact that Nick does not ‘do’ relationships. But it’s not because he has wild oats to sow, or a fear of being tied down, he just doesn’t really believe in them. The potential for pain, disappointment and exposure is massive, and being the second youngest of seven siblings, and the only male, has allowed him a unique perspective on the way relationships can break people apart. He remembers all too well standing next to Kendra on her wedding day, infected by the warmth and joy in her eyes, so in love. She was the first Stokes child to marry, and Nick had believed in the dream one hundred percent. John was a romantic. He wrote poetry and bought flowers and make Kendra feel like the most special person in the universe. But it’s all shit, because when Nick looks at Kendra these days, all he feels is sadness. She still smiles but he knows his sister well enough to know that her smiles are empty, and yet she can’t walk away, because she loves him. That’s what she says, when he asks her.

‘Come on, Ken, you’re better than this,” he’ll try, sometimes, when she calls and John’s on another ‘business trip.’

“No, Nicky, I’m not. And I love him. It’s not that simple.”

Nick knows that colleagues and friends alike would be shocked to discover that he has never said ‘I love you’ to a partner. They are just words, of course, and people say them so easily. He suspects that if Catherine knew he had reached the age of thirty-one without ever uttering those words to someone not related to him by blood, she would have a fit. Probably start setting him up with people, he has seen it happen before and the results are almost never pretty.

The point is, he supposes, twisting slightly in position to look at the man staring into the coffee pot with rapt absorption, he has avoided all of that for the entirety of his adult life. Until now. He doesn’t want Catherine to set him up – even less so than before – because when he thinks about being with someone other than Greg, he suddenly has the most unpleasant falling sensation. It’s like the first half-second of descent in an elevator, when it feels, just for a moment, like the whole thing is in freefall. When Greg smiles at him in a certain way or touches his arm in the lab, he gets the same feeling, but the accompanying rush of heat forces a stupid smile rather than an urge to throw up.

There’s a quiet little part of him that wants to ask Greg what he feels, but he won’t do that, in case Greg laughs, or worse, answers. Because Nick doesn’t know what would be worse – Greg confessing love or Greg admitting he doesn’t feel anything for Nick at all. But maybe it’s all irrelevant anyway, because Nick is starting to realize that Greg does his real communication with his eyes. He can’t believe that prior to all this, he missed how expressive those eyes really are. They flash and sparkle and pin Nick to the spot. They can shift from a hard glitter to a soft melt in an instant. They lighten and darken with desire, fear, pleasure and over-caffeination. Nick thinks that Greg’s eyes would tell him everything, if only he wasn’t too afraid to hear it.

He jumps, fingers suddenly brushing something scorchingly hot, finally recognizing the coffee cup that Greg has placed in front of him.

“You can do it yourself, you heathen,” Greg is saying, and Nick wonders if Greg has been talking to him the entire time.

He looks up and observes Greg for a moment. He is leaning back against the kitchen counter, huge steaming cup clasped in both hands and held right under his nose. Greg inhales the steam like a true addict, an expression of pure bliss creeping over his face with each breath. Nick watches him in silence for a moment, thinking he could watch forever and it wouldn’t be long enough.

“I can do what?” he replies at last, pulling the handle of the cup around to face him.

“Add your usual pollutants to that cup.”

Nick frowns for a moment, catching the disdain in Greg’s eyes and the smirk in his lips. “Milk, you mean? Sugar? Stuff like that?” His tone is light but challenging, eyes meeting Greg’s in a small explosion of heat.

“Yes.” He pauses, raising one eyebrow. “I won’t do it any more, however much I might love you.”

Nick swallows hard. Closes his eyes briefly against the tumbling sensation that threatens to knock him from his seat. Those words. So casual, so easy. And Greg’s eyes are warm now, like he means it. He didn’t have to ask. It was there all along. Trying to gather his shattered thoughts into something recognisable, Nick stares down at the table. He has no idea what to say next.

The sound of the tv makes Nick’s head jerk up, and notice that Greg is no longer in the room.

“Come on, Nicky, you’re going to miss Law and Order.”

The voice drifts in from the lounge and Nick gets to his feet and follows it, because even though he hates Law and Order, it’s something familiar and that’s exactly what he needs right now. Head in a spin, he drops heavily onto the couch next to Greg, but he does not touch. Suddenly unsure of what to do. Greg smiles at him and it’s the same smile as usual, as though nothing’s happened. Something in it makes Nick feel calm, just for a second.

“You’ve seen this one before,” Nick observes, keeping his voice steady as Greg settles against him and rests his head on Nick’s chest like he always does.

“I know,” he murmurs against Nick’s shirt. “But when something’s really good it doesn’t matter how many times you see it, it never gets old.”

Nick lets his arm drape around Greg’s back and allows those words to echo around his head.

**~*~**

It's far beyond the stars
It's near beyond the moon
I know beyond a doubt
My heart will lead me there soon

We'll meet … I know we'll meet … beyond the shore
We'll kiss just as before.
Happy we'll be beyond the sea
And never again I'll go sailin'.

 

Part 5: August

Lyrics from 'Watching You Sleep' by Jonathan Seet

**~*~**

It never ceases to amaze Nick how easily Greg can fall asleep. In fact, it makes him quite envious, because Greg seems to be capable of just switching off as soon as his eyes close and his head hits the pillow, whereas Nick has always needed some kind of ritual in place before he can drift off. Even though he’s been sleeping during the day for years now, it’s never felt totally natural. In the past, his ritual has involved bad morning TV, re-reading old favourite books and Johnny Cash on repeat in the background. He is still somewhat taken with the simplicity of his new ritual. It’s just watching.

 

Their routine has become somewhat entrenched over the past four and a half months, though it has taken some time to settle into the current pattern, the end of which finds Nick propped up on his elbow watching Greg sleep.

 

Watching someone sleep is another new experience. That’s not to say he has never watched anyone sleep before, but not like this. He has watched a couple of his more regrettable partners the morning after the night before, out of one corner of his eye as he dressed quietly and left. He has watched one or two more passed out in a lust/drink-fuelled haze, unable to sleep himself because there was a strange person in his apartment. He has never watched someone sleep and felt so comforted.

 

He has never watched someone sleep simply because they are beautiful.

 

Nick likes that he can catalogue every little detail about Greg while he is unconscious, without being asked questions, without being poked or prodded or kissed or touched. He doesn’t mind most of those things, at all, but he finds them distracting. He has begun to suspect that the reason most people don’t seem to notice how beautiful Greg is, is that he is never still. Never quiet. He never slows down or stops dazzling for long enough for anyone to take him in. Nick thinks it’s a crime, because he is, he really is breathtaking. In fact, over the past few weeks, Nick has begun to feel so strongly about this fact, that on more than one occasion he has almost asked his co-workers about it.

 

He really, really needs to work on reconstructing his thought/speech barrier because it was only yesterday that he stood with Sara in the break room watching Greg making coffee and talking animatedly to Archie. Which would have been fine in itself, had the next words out of his mouth not been an almost whispered:

 

“Sara, don’t you think Greg is...” (“Don’t I think Greg is what?”) “...don’t you think he’s, uh, hiding the really good coffee somewhere?”

 

Nick had never been more grateful for Sara’s famous obliviousness, because she had merely shot him a vaguely curious look before returning to the case file in front of her. Whatever he might think, he doesn’t imagine that announcing to the entire nightshift that Nick Stokes thinks Greg Sanders is beautiful is in his best interests.

 

But he is. He isn’t sure why Greg ever bothered hanging blackout curtains, because the light doesn’t seem to bother him one bit, and most of the time, the soft morning sun is still pouring through curtains flung wide open when Greg is sprawled out across the bed, dead to the world. It is Nick that needs total darkness to sleep, but he doesn’t close the curtains straightaway because he likes the way the light falls on his sleeping lover. Making pale skin glow and sparkling across the golden hairs scattered across legs, forearms and lower abdomen. Greg sleeps tangled, sprawled, arms and legs everywhere. He is all long lines and smooth angles that Nick can’t help but touch. Tracing down slender arms, around the jut and dip of his hipbone and down strong, firm thighs. Greg’s skin is smooth and warm under his fingers, and he doesn’t wake easily, so Nick finds that, often, watching extends into watching and stroking.

 

And stroking is made easy, because Greg likes to sleep with absolutely no clothes on, a preference that Nick fully supports. Nick’s tried and tested sleepwear of boxers and old t-shirt has been abandoned due to heavy and repeated protests from Greg. His reasoning of ‘I just want to feel you, all of you’ was all it took for the makeshift pyjamas to be consigned to a drawer and left there. A drawer that originally contained tatty old t-shirts Greg never wears any more, and has now expanded to include three of the six drawers and a section of Greg’s wardrobe. Nick’s clothes, hanging next to Greg’s. Some of Nick’s clothes are still in the other bedroom, but the ones he wears often and the ones he likes best (not to mention the ones Greg likes best) are in here. This, Nick supposes, is no longer Greg’s bedroom but theirs.

 

Their bedroom, with their bed and their clothes and their recently acquired ceiling fan. That Nick paid for half of, because it was for their bedroom. Nick finds that if he keeps repeating the words ‘theirs’ and ‘ours’ they become slightly less intimidating. It all pales into insignificance when he thinks about sleeping alone, in a cold bed without Greg next to him. The simple fact is, they haven’t spent a night apart in weeks, and they have not slept in Nick’s old bedroom since that one night during the heat wave back in June.

 

Nick knows that anyone who chose to look in the spare room would know immediately. He can barely see the bed for all the stuff both he and Greg have dumped on it over the last few weeks, all the stuff there seems to be no other place for. It even smells like a spare room. Slightly musty. Unlived in. It doesn’t seem to matter how often Nick opens the window or sprays something that claims to smell like fresh mountain air, he can’t get rid of it. He won’t tell Greg, because Greg still likes to mutter under his breath about green bedrooms, but Nick doesn’t ever want to sleep in that room again. The thought of doing so unsettles him in ways that he doesn’t truly understand.

 

He rarely feels totally calm these days, it’s hard to with the hundred and one thoughts tangling and colliding in his head – thoughts of family, work and this situation, this relationship. And terrifying though that word is, Nick can no longer deny that he is very much in one, even if an actual conversation confirming the fact has never taken place between himself and Greg. He is all too aware that such a conversation is inevitable, whether it takes place an hour, a week or a year from now. He also knows that he isn’t going to be the one to initiate it, because apart from the paralysing fear that grips him every time he thinks about it, he honestly has no clue what to say.

 

Greg shifts and mumbles something incoherent in his sleep and Nick looks down at him, using the arm that is not currently propping him up to pull the younger man closer, nudging a knee between Greg’s thighs and dropping a kiss to his forehead. Calmness is an elusive state, sure, but Nick thinks these moments are the closest he gets to it. He lets his mind drift, and decides that without all the self-induced complications, the words would probably be very simple. Kendra’s favourite phrase has always been ‘honesty is the best policy’, and though Nick rolls his eyes to the ceiling when he hears her say it for the millionth time, now, staring down at Greg, he wonders if that’s true. If he could just say...just...say...fuck it.

 

Those words, that seemed to slip out of Greg’s mouth so easily, not three weeks ago. And while Nick has turned them over and over in his head, wondering at his intentions, the meaning has remained, glaringly, irrefutable. He has given up trying to diminish their meaning by focusing on the word ‘might’:

 

...‘However much I might love you.’...

 

Because deep down, he knows that’s just Greg being Greg, and throwing it out there. That little bit of uncertainty was drowned by the sincerity and warmth in his eyes when he said it. Nick is flooded with guilt that he has so far just pretended the words were never said, and Greg seems to be allowing him to do so. Silently colluding into his denial.

 

He sighs and closes his eyes, though he’s under no illusion that he is going to sleep. Just feel. Breathing Greg in with every inhalation, this beautiful, kind, clever, quirky man who loves him. For whatever reason. Nick allows his hand to drift down Greg’s body and almost unconsciously starts to stroke his cock. Smiling slowly as he feels Greg begin to harden at his touch, Nick keeps his eyes closed and lightly kisses Greg’s neck. Any uncertainty over whether Greg is still sleeping is dissolved when he moans softly and stirs, pushes back into Nick’s warmth, allowing the older man’s growing erection to press firmly against his lower back. Nick licks a soft, heated stripe up the side of Greg’s neck and tightens his hold, moving slowly but firmly over the silky flesh now fully hard against his palm.

 

It’s strange, Nick thinks idly, sucking an earlobe into his mouth, how being this way with Greg can soothe him and fill him with heat at the same time. How his mile-a-minute thought process can be almost stilled, the only thought remaining being more, closer, inside, now. Greg’s back is smooth and firm against Nick’s chest and he feels surrounded. Does not want to open his eyes but when he gently pushes Greg’s thighs further apart with his knee, Greg’s small sound of approval is so unselfconsciously hot that he has to look. Nick catches his breath, taking in the tightly-closed eyes, the flushed skin and slightly open mouth. All for him.

 

Carefully, he pulls his hand away from Greg’s hardened, leaking cock and slides it between his parted thighs, cupping his balls for a second, listening to Greg’s breathing quicken as he reaches his destination. Slowly, ever so gently, circling and pressing his entrance. It’s a tender, questing touch and Nick hums with contentment as he feels Greg’s answering whimper, his wordless communication of yes, please, I want you too.

 

He finds they don’t need words any more, because as he trails wet, open kisses against Greg’s jaw, Greg is smiling lazily and reaching out, eyes still closed, clumsily grabbing for the nightstand drawer handle, pulling it roughly open and groping for what they both know they need. Nick needs the connection, the closeness, the absolute relief of being inside Greg and he needs it right now. Reluctantly leaving Greg’s delicious heat, he reaches over for the items Greg has dropped onto the bed and slicks his fingers, wasting no time before he works them inside, one at a time, spreading and stretching and lost in tight, constricting, smooth flesh, thoughts of god, so tight, so perfect and the way Greg shudders and gasps when he brushes the sensitive bundle of nerves deep inside, loving that he now knows exactly how and where to touch to pull the most intense reaction out of his partner. Loving that he can make Greg feel this way.

 

Now painfully hard, pushed up against the crack of Greg’s ass, Nick doesn’t want to wait any more. Greg is throwing the covers right back and moving his hand slowly over his own erection and the sight of him touching himself sends a shiver down Nick’s spine. He pulls away momentarily to rip open the foil with his teeth, sheath himself and grip Greg’s hip tightly, steadying him, before sliding inside in one determined, unbroken stroke. Greg’s eyes fly open momentarily and Nick watches his free hand twist into the sheet below him as he groans brokenly at the sensation of being stretched, filled, pausing for just a second before thrusting back against Nick, silently urging him to move.

 

Taking one last look at Greg stretched out against him, impaled on his cock, lips moving as if in silent prayer, Nick closes his eyes and drops his head back to the pillow, lips against the back of Greg’s neck, tasting his sweat and sliding his arm under Greg’s neck and planting his hand against the heaving ribs, holding him in place. Not that Greg is going anywhere, his need is obvious and Nick only waits a second or two before starting to move, giving them what they both desire so urgently.

 

They move together, Greg matching each of Nick’s agonisingly slow strokes with a push and roll of his hips, pressing deeper, dissolving Nick into a gasping, shivering tangle, feeling his skin where it touches Greg’s and his lips in Greg’s hair and his cock where it slips, slides in and out of Greg’s body, the sharp, sweet ache gripping him and making him lose his mind. Wanting to go faster, harder, but holding steady. Listening to each little catch in his lover’s breathing, each wet, filthy, delicious sound of his slow, deliberate strokes inside Greg. Somewhere distant, registering that Greg must have changed hands because now the left one is reaching back, digging fingertips into his buttock and bringing them impossibly closer together, holding on for dear life, Nick tightening his hold on Greg’s hip in response. There are no words for this feeling, this closeness, he can’t speak or open his eyes because he thinks that if he does, the intensity of it will tear him apart.

 

Never been like this with anyone. Never. Never felt like the connection was so essential he might die if it stopped. And it’s too good to be frightening, it envelops Nick and all he wants in the world in that moment is make love to Greg, nothing more. He wants it to last forever but he can hear and feel Greg coming apart around him. He’s tensing and pushing and gripping and Nick knows Greg’s losing it because he can’t hold back the words. Greg whispers, sounding almost guilty for breaking the silence but he can’t help it.

 

“Oh god....god Nicky....Nicky, Nicky, Nicky...”

 

Just his name, over and over again, like a desperate plea to Nick’s ears and he wants Greg to lose it. Wants him out of control. Loves it. Loves how this feels. Loves how Greg feels, sounds, tastes. Everything. He just wants the words, to show him...lips against his ear, a long, slow thrust and twist of his hips, so close. Greg cries out and tightens around him, murmuring his name repeatedly as he comes. Nick, breathing ragged, wobbling right on the edge as he kisses Greg’s skin, urges him through it, falling into warmth and dark oblivion as he pushes once, twice more and comes long, low, hard inside Greg. A harsh, brittle moan is all that escapes his lips but his liquefied brain is insistent, silently repeating love you, love you, love you.

 

 

When he finally opens his eyes, Greg is still lying on his side, snoring softly, half-smile on his lips. As Nick staggers to his feet, closes the curtains, cleans up half-heartedly and crawls back into bed, he doesn’t want to think. He knows they don’t have long to sleep, and after only a minute or two of observing Greg’s steady, regular breathing in the near-darkness, he gratefully allows his heavy eyes to close.

 

**~*~**

 

The light outside is fading when Nick stirs and finds himself pressed into Greg’s back, slightly sticky, nose buried in ruffled blond spikes. He considers allowing his eyes to close again, but knows that isn’t really a possibility. Even so, he finds himself not minding too much; he feels smug and relaxed and playful.

 

“Greg,” he whispers, sweeping a firm palm down over Greg’s ribs, all the way down his side. Greg just sighs appreciatively and smiles without opening his eyes. “Greggo.”

 

“He’s not here.”

 

“Very funny.” Nick rubs his hand over the soft hair of Greg’s belly. “You have to get up, because Warrick’s coming over.”

 

“No...” Greg groans softly, shaking his head against the pillow and still refusing to open his eyes. Nick is reminded of a small child’s efforts to resist getting up for school, and he can’t help but laugh.

 

“Oh yeah. It was your idea, smart guy. You said...’it’s the first football game of the season this Sunday, let’s invite Warrick over. You always used to do it at your place, Nick, so let’s have it here. You can watch the game and I can watch you.’ And I quote.”

 

Greg cracks one eye open and turns his head to regard Nick mournfully.

 

“That does sound like something I’d say.”

 

“Get up. I don’t think he’s quite ready for you naked,” Nick points out, heading for the bathroom. Surprised and impressed by the fact that he is still slightly unsteady on his feet from earlier. Knowing he only has to switch on the shower and Greg will not be far behind him.

 

“Ah, he couldn’t handle the full Greg Sanders Experience.”

 

As Nick steps into the shower, the voice behind him is teasing and light, if a little sleep-scratchy. However, the idea of Greg offering Warrick any kind of experience makes him feel ill. Even if the whole concept is ludicrous.

 

“Don’t even joke about that, man,” he says, shaking his head and pulling Greg into the shower behind him. Greg turns his head into the spray before Nick can catch his expression.

 

**~*~**

 

Greg sits in the armchair as soon as the game starts, allowing Warrick to sprawl out on the couch next to Nick, a move which seems to Nick both considerate and somehow distressing. He tells himself that it’s because Greg is letting him and Warrick have the best seats because they’re more interested in the game than he is, but if he’s being honest he knows it’s because if they sit next to each other there is no way they will be able to resist touching each other. Sitting a little too close. He probably wouldn’t notice it until it was too late, a hand resting on Greg’s thigh or careless fingers slipping under t-shirts to stroke warm bare skin. And Greg knows that too.

 

And he really needs to start concentrating on the game instead of watching Greg pick the label off his beer bottle because he’s pretty sure Warrick just asked him something about a touchdown, and Nick is not aware there’s even been one.

 

“Whatever you say, man, they’re still going down,” Nick offers at last, gulping down beer and deciding that vague derision is the best option he has.

 

When Warrick laughs and shakes his head, Nick exhales slowly and pretends not to notice Greg’s snort of amusement from across the room. He doesn’t want to ignore Greg, but every time he makes a sound, Nick is suddenly assaulted by multi-sensory flashbacks of the morning’s intense session; Greg’s smell, his taste, his hot, tight pressure and the way he called out Nick’s name. Not to mention the way Nick feels when he wakes up pressed against him, like the closest to absolute serenity he will ever be.

 

If Nick doesn’t stop thinking like that, there is no way Warrick won’t notice it. Instead, he stares hard at the TV screen, doggedly cataloguing every play in case he is called upon to comment on it.

 

By the time the game is over, with Warrick seemingly convinced of some sort of moral victory, despite his team’s sound defeat, Nick is halfway through his fifth beer. Greg left the room some minutes ago muttering to himself about salsa, and now Nick watches his friend drag himself to his feet through a warm, intoxicated haze.

 

“’Just use your bathroom before I go,” Warrick says, stretching, and Nick waves his beer bottle affirmatively.

 

Feeling pleasantly surprised at having survived what must be the first ever evening just the three of them without incident, Nick follows Warrick out of the room after a moment, wondering if Greg has gotten lost in his own fridge. He’s impressed, really, because Warrick and Greg are hardly close, in fact he is fairly sure that this is the first time they have hung out together outside of work. Warrick has never even seen the inside of Greg’s apartment before today.

 

Which is why, probably, when Nick turns into the hallway, Warrick has one hand on the door handle of the spare bedroom. Nick’s bedroom. Not the bathroom.

 

Nick freezes. One look in that room, just one look, and he’ll know.

 

“Oh hey, not that one,” calls Greg from the kitchen doorway. Warrick turns at the sound. “That’s the spa-Nick’s bedroom.”

 

A sharp intake of breath, and Nick is staring at Greg with mute horror etched across his face. Greg’s eyes fix on his for a split second before he recovers himself, turns back to Warrick and smiles.

 

“Yeah. The bathroom is the next door along,” Greg explains, pointing. Warrick looks at him, askance, for a moment before disappearing through the correct door and closing it behind him.

 

Greg busies himself in the kitchen, perhaps realizing that Warrick may be a little unnerved to emerge from the bathroom to find both of them in the hallway, staring at him. Nick leans against the wall, head spinning with a mixture of beer and pure panic. Listening to the sounds of flushing and running water and footsteps on tile.

 

Nobody knows about this, no one. The thought of Warrick finding out about him and Greg like that...in fact, the thought of having that conversation with any one of his co-workers right now turns his blood cold, his palms damp and his stomach into a nauseating whirlpool. Nick swallows hard and presses the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. Pulls a hard, deep, long breath into his lungs, holds it, and pushes it out slowly. Hyperventilating, whilst possibly appropriate, is neither helpful or particularly masculine. Nick’s train of thought is snapped as the door opens and he unsticks himself from the wall.

 

By the time Warrick leaves, some fifteen minutes later, Nick is feeling slightly calmer. If he noticed Greg’s mistake, he did not mention it. When Nick returns to the lounge, Greg is standing in the middle of the floor with his arms folded. The expression on his face is caught somewhere between anger and contrition and it makes Nick catch his breath. Though he knows Greg didn’t mean to say what he did, it was an honest mistake, he can’t pretend he’s not irritated. Defensive. And despite the apology on his lips, Greg is reflecting those same emotions right back at him.

 

Because he doesn’t want to hide from Warrick? Because Nick’s panicking is so goddamn obvious? Because...Nick is all out. He’s five-beers-sleepy and post-panic-exhausted.

 

“Just come to bed,” he says at last. Because he doesn’t know what else to say.

 

Greg opens his mouth to say something and then closes it again. Shoving hands into his pockets, he follows Nick into the dark bedroom, undresses in silence and crawls under the sheets. Nick turns to face him and looks into sharp dark eyes from six inches away. There’s a stab of pain in those eyes that he wasn’t ready for, and he wants to say something to soothe it away, but the words are stuck in his throat.

 

Instead he pushes Greg gently onto his back and rests his head on Greg’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. Fast, erratic against Nick’s cheek. Nick’s eyes are hot and he closes them tight. Feels Greg’s arms come around him slowly. Knows he’s hurting.

 

“Stupid green bedroom,” Nick whispers, in a weak attempt to make Greg smile.

 

“Yeah,” Greg replies, choking a half laugh, half sob that makes Nick grateful he can’t see Greg’s face.

 

Nick wraps his arm around Greg’s waist and concentrates on breathing steadily, trying to fall asleep. Knowing, hoping that when they wake, it will be ok, and he’ll have more time. That’s what he needs, time, and a fucking backbone.

 

It is some time before he realizes Greg is watching him, and it feels strange to be the one being observed. Nick just keeps his eyes closed and lies very still.

 

“I love you, Nicky. Why is this so fucking hard?” Greg sighs and holds him closer.

 

Knowing that Greg thinks he is asleep, he just bites the inside of his lip, hard, and concentrates on resisting every little nerve ending in his body that is screaming out for him to open his eyes, push Greg back into the mattress and kiss his pain away.

 

When, finally, he is sure that Greg is unconscious, Nick carefully disentangles himself and slips out of the room. He lies flat on his back on the couch, hands over his eyes. Holding his breath for as long as he can, then letting it all go, riding the accompanying wave of relief and trying to relax his tight shoulders and hands. Greg’s right, he knows that. It shouldn’t be so fucking hard. Swallowing against the dryness in his throat, he picks the phone up off the table and dials. It’s just a phone call, that’s all.

 

“Yeah? Oh, fuck.” Nick holds the phone away from his ear as a deafening metallic crash echoes down the line.

 

“Lil?”

 

“Hey, Nicky,” comes the reply at last, the voice warmer and less abrupt as she recognises the caller. He smiles, thinking about what their mother would say if she knew Lily answered the phone like that.

 

“Bad time?” he ventures hopefully, crossing one arm across his chest. Because it’s not his fault if Lily is too busy to speak to him.

 

“It’s five after ten, Nick, what do you think? Restaurant madness hour...No, no, no – there’s no way that’s leaving the kitchen...because it looks like someone threw up on the fish, that’s why! Start over.” She pauses. Nick can hear her take several slow, calming breaths. “What’s up?”

 

Hesitating, Nick shifts on the couch and bites on his thumbnail. He can’t have this conversation with Lily, what was he thinking? He doesn’t even know where to start. Clearly, it was a bad idea. What was he going to say anyway?

 

...‘Hey, Lil, are you having a secret relationship with Becca from the restaurant? Because if you are, I need your advice on what to do about falling in love with my roommate, Greg.’...

 

Yeah. Right.

 

Startled, Nick realizes that his sister is speaking to him again, louder this time. “Talk to me, Nick! It’s obviously important.”

 

And of course it is. He closes his eyes and thinks about the man he has left sleeping. In their bed. In their bedroom, painted mocha, not brown. It might be the most important thing in existence. Deep breath.

 

“The thing is, I could use your opinion on something. I think I – “

 

“No way,” she groans, cutting him off. “No fucking way. Get a clean towel, right now, and go sit outside with Norah before you bleed all over the ravioli. Yes. Now. Oh god....Nick, are you still there?”

 

“Yeah,” he affirms, picking up on the anxiety in Lily’s voice and adding it to his own. He can’t decide if he’s relieved or disappointed that she’s clearly about to bail on the conversation.

 

“I gotta go, it’s like the seventh circle of hell in here. Call me back tomorrow?”

 

As he agrees and drops the phone to the floor, Nick knows that he won’t. One shot, fucked it up. Instead, he gets to his feet and stands in the doorway of the bedroom, hanging onto the doorframe and watching Greg sleep.

 

**~*~**

 

I lay awake every night with you beside me

Your breathing keeps perfect time with my pulse

The happiest I’ve ever been is in these times when

I watch you sleep and the world is perfect

 

Ten to one, you don’t snore

Twenty to one, you won’t hear the front door

Hundred to one, you don’t wake

Zero to sixty in three seconds, hold my brakes

 

Never say I didn’t care

Part 6 - September

AN - Lyrics are from ‘Where is Your Heart’ by Kelly Clarkson.

Sorry about the quantum physics metaphor and lack of smut in this chapter...

**~*~**

Nick wakes slowly and turns over in bed, automatically reaching out for Greg but finding himself alone. Still half asleep, feeling a small pull of dissatisfaction, he sits up and rubs his eyes. He has become accustomed to being the last to fall asleep and the first to wake up, but recently this situation is becoming worryingly commonplace. He hasn’t mentioned it, but Nick knows that Greg doesn’t sleep as soundly as he used to. And that is not the only thing.

The change is not obvious, or at least it wouldn’t be to anyone else, but Nick can feel it. There’s an edge to Greg, a brief flicker in his eyes sometimes, a slight tension in the way he carries himself. Everything carries on as it has done for some months now, the talking, the laughing, the sex and kisses and afternoons curled up in front of the TV. But Nick can feel it, and every time he wakes up alone he hates himself a little bit more.

As he wanders through the lounge, stretching, Nick glances at the answerphone and wonders if the blinking red light means he has another message from Lily. He has to admire her tenacity, because she’s left twelve messages in just over five weeks, and Nick has managed to justify, to himself at least, not answering a single one of them. In fact, he hasn’t dared call her since he almost asked her for advice, because what Nick is doing, and doing very well, is burying his head in the sand. And Lily, god love her, is exactly the sort of person who would love to come and yank him out of it.

Even Greg has asked about the messages. He could not fight his curiosity after the fifth one, and he cracked. As it turned out, Nick couldn’t think of a good answer to the question ‘Nick, why don’t you want to talk to your sister?’ so he opted for distraction and kissed Greg up against the wall until all the only word he could formulate was ‘bedroom’.

Shaking Lily out of his head, Nick pushes open the kitchen door and observes Greg as he leans against the counter, half dressed in boxers and a faded red t-shirt that proclaims: ‘Schrodinger’s cat is dead. No wait...it’s alive. No...’

Nick can never decide if he hates or loves that shirt. Hates that the first time he saw it, he spent a good half hour in stubborn silence before capitulating and asking Greg to explain it to him. Because really, no one likes to be outsmarted by a t-shirt.

Loves it because the expression of delight on Greg’s face as he talked about paradoxes and quantum mechanics made Nick feel warm inside. He finds it strangely affecting, how much of a kick Greg gets out of science. Though Nick considers science to be a vital part of his job, he doesn’t live and breathe it like Greg does. What he has also realized, over the last few months, is that Greg genuinely loves sharing his knowledge and not just to show off. When he explains, his eyes light up and he moves his hands as though trying to pull some tangible representation of his words out of the air, one that he can then present to Nick as if to say;

‘See, this cat in a box, that’s alive and dead at the same time. Until someone opens up the box and looks. Then it’s one or the other.’

Nick understands, now. Like how he’s both completely in love with Greg and completely ready to run. Simultaneously. Quantum superposition. Coexistence. And neither one of them will know the answer for sure if they don’t look inside the box. He thinks that if he unsticks all the layers of tape and removes the lid, the tsunami of suppressed emotion and words and needs denied will be too much for him to cope with, and he’ll drown. And if he lets Greg in, maybe he’ll drown too. And besides, it can only end in disaster, he knows that.

Nick groans and rubs his eyes and wonders when he started thinking like Greg, too.

Greg jumps up to sit on the counter and watches Nick carefully for a moment before continuing to dig his spoon in the jar of peanut butter clutched in one hand. He looks sleep-ruffled and sexy, a slight shadow of stubble falling across his jaw line, hair messy and sticking out in several different directions, looking a bit like the mad scientist Nick supposes he is.

“Hmm?” Greg offers, pulling the spoon out of his mouth and offering it to Nick.

“No way, man.” Nick shakes his head and pulls a face. “Disgusting.”

Nick glances idly at the wall clock. 8.20pm. Knowing he should be more articulate by this time, but feeling somehow still hemmed in by sleep, like he can’t shake it off. He blinks.

“You’ll put my cock in your mouth but you won’t share a spoon?” Greg says, frowning slightly. “That’s pretty weird, Nick.”

“No...” Nick flinches involuntarily at Greg’s unexpectedly crude choice of words. Still shaking his head against the misunderstanding. “I just hate peanut butter, is all.”

Greg says nothing for a few seconds. When he speaks again, he looks strangely upset.

“I can’t believe we’ve been... living together for almost six months and I never knew you hated peanut butter. See, this is the thing, Nick.”

Greg sets the jar down on the counter and rubs his face with both hands, letting out a heavy sigh. Nick feels an unwelcome, constricting tension start to creep in around him, and his next words are an almost apologetic mumble.

“Greg, it’s no big deal. So I hate peanut butter.” Nick shrugs. Attempting casual but smelling danger.

“I don’t know anything about you. Not really.” And those, it turns out, are the words Nick has been dreading for quite some time now. Just behind ‘we need to talk about this relationship’ in terms of actual terror potential.

“Sure you do,” Nick hedges, simultaneously trying to reassure and wondering, as he often does, why opening up to Greg – or to anyone, but especially to Greg – is so goddamn difficult. In desperation, he resorts to the oft-rehearsed mini-biography that he pulls out whenever someone says ‘so, tell me about yourself, Nick’. His family, his background, his interests, all of that stuff. He knows it’s weak but he has to say something.

“Not that stuff, Nick. The important stuff,” Greg interrupts, insistent.

“Me not liking peanut butter is the important stuff?”

Greg groans with frustration and slides down from the counter, taking a step toward Nick. There’s an oddly confrontational glint in his dark eyes, and not only that, he smells like peanut butter.

“For god’s sake Nick! Why won’t you just talk to me?” Greg’s words are punctuated by the loud, echoey growling issuing from his stomach and he crosses his arms over his abdomen as if trying to hide the sound currently indicating that Jar Russian Roulette is not quite as sustaining as he makes out it is.

Nick’s stomach, by contrast, is filled with pure panic, swirling, twisting, gripping. In desperation, he walks around Greg and yanks the fridge open. Eyes searching for what he needs. He said he wouldn’t, what seems like a very long time ago, but he’s changed his mind. Now, he’s going to do it. Right now. Because someone has to, whatever he might have told himself about not looking after Greg.

Distraction. Refocus.

He pulls out cheese and butter and a box of eggs. Knowing that the only reason they are even there is because this is one of the weeks he has given in and gone grocery shopping.

“What are you doing?” Frustration momentarily forgotten, Greg’s voice behind him is laced with intrigue.

Nick closes the fridge door and waits a moment, resting both hands on the counter and taking a deep breath. For some reason, not quite ready to look Greg in the eye.

“I’m going to teach you to make an omelette.”

When he turns around, Greg is still, almost frozen to the spot. He looks, Nick thinks, strangely affected by his simple statement, and as Nick reaches past him to grab a pan that he suspects has never been used, Greg says nothing but one corner of his mouth lifts in a smile that makes Nick shiver.

“Watch and learn,” says Nick, hoping he sounds calmer than he feels.

Greg says nothing but shuffles closer as Nick finds a bowl and breaks four eggs into it. He passes Nick the fork he asks for and silently follows the movements of Nick’s wrist with his eyes as he whisks the eggs a little more violently than is necessary.

“Melt some butter in the pan,” Nick instructs at last, needing to break the silence that is suddenly bearing down on him, and, for once, wanting Greg’s eyes off him. “And then you can grate cheese.”

Nick exhales slowly as he hears Greg moving behind him and the click of the stove that he doesn’t think he has ever seen Greg use before. He bites back the crack about being surprised that Greg knows how to use it, because he thinks it would come out sounding like an insult. Suddenly hyper-aware of how tightly wound he is, he makes a conscious effort to relax, but it’s no good. If he’s honest, he knows that this tension has been building for a long time now, and though Greg is silent, Nick can feel the nervous energy humming from his skin, can almost hear it in his breathing. He knows Greg’s body so well now, he is even in tune with his stress response.

Noticing how tightly he is gripping the fork in his fist, Nick drops it on the counter. Heart pounding, just listening to the slight hiss of melting butter behind him and the soft drag of Greg’s spatula on non-stick coating.

“My first girlfriend was in high school.” Greg speaks suddenly, and Nick is startled. He’s attempting to formulate some sort of appropriate response when Greg continues, his voice sounding odd but resolute. “Her name was Ashley. We were together three months and...um, we never had sex.”

“Oh,” replies Nick softly, or at least he means to, because although his mouth moves, no sound comes out. Greg shifts the pan across the stove and comes to stand next to Nick. Picks up the cheese and starts to move it slowly over the grater before he speaks again.

“I met my first boyfriend in college. I was 18. His name was Marcus. We were together for the whole of freshman year, and then his parents found out.” Greg sighs heavily and pauses in his grating. “He had to move to a different college. He was the first person I ever loved, and the first person I ever...you know.”

Nick is looking down into the bowl but he’s listening hard. He has never heard Greg struggle with any words for sex before. Greg just says what he means. He’s confident in ways Nick could never be. Nick still blushes when Greg looks him in the eyes and says ‘Fuck me, Nick.’ Feeling his face heat even at the thought, Nick picks up the bowl and turns to the stove, arm brushing against Greg’s as he moves.

“You have to keep it moving for a while,” he manages, pouring the eggs into the pan and starting to poke at them with a fork. “Then let it kind of set.”

Greg abandons his task to come and peer over Nick’s shoulder, so close that Nick can feel the heat on his back through their two thin layers of cotton. Tangled in the threads of Greg’s story and the anticipation of the conversation he thinks is coming, is the strange realization that he isn’t touching Greg and Greg isn’t touching him. Nick feels sick and he bites his lip.

“When I went home for the summer, I told my parents I liked guys as well as girls. They would have known anyway, I was devastated. I didn’t feel like lying and saying it was over a girl. It went fine, considering. You know what though, I think my mom secretly hopes that I choose to settle down with a girl.” Greg pauses before clarifying, “Grandchildren. Seeing as I’m an only child and all.” Nick nods silently.

Greg turns away to continue grating cheese. For the next five minutes, Nick just listens as Greg presents what is, in effect, his relationship resume, with a few random details thrown in for good measure. It’s not a long list, but it’s longer than Nick’s, and he can tell that Greg has genuine affection for most of his previous encounters, even the ones that were ill-advised or that ended messily. The paralysing fear that holds Nick back from giving himself up completely does not seem to exist for Greg. He has loved, been loved, been hurt and then done it all again. For some reason, rather than making Nick feel better, it makes him feel intimidated.

“...and then I met you,” says Greg, and Nick stiffens.

“Cheese,” he interrupts, taking the plate Greg passes him and tipping it into the pan.

“I noticed you straightaway, you know. Hard not to, I guess. I know you didn’t like me.” Greg grins. Nick can’t see him but he can hear the smile. His heart leaps painfully.

“I didn’t not like you,” he whispers.

Greg says nothing and the silence hangs heavily between them. It’s true, he thinks, poking at the omelette with a spatula. He never disliked Greg. There had been moments of friction, irritation, but that was before they really spent any time together. Before all of this.

Carefully, Nick slides the omelette out onto a plate, turns off the stove and sets the plate on the table. He takes the fork that Greg is holding out to him and when Greg pulls out a stool and sits down, he mutely mirrors the action. Watching Greg attack the food with relish, Nick is reminded of the fact that nothing seems to ruin Greg’s appetite. He, on the other hand, feels incapable of eating a single thing. The tight ball of tension is heavy in his stomach and he just fiddles with his fork, turning it over and over in his fingers.

After a minute or two, Greg looks up, suddenly. The instant eye contact draws an inaudible gasp from Nick and he realizes that this is the first time they have looked at each other in a good ten minutes. Greg’s eyes are sharp, intense. They hold Nick in place, and just for a second, he is more afraid of the man opposite him than he has ever been of anything.

“Nick,” is he all he says. All he has to say.

Nick stares. Breathes. This is ridiculous. Say something. “We better move, or we’ll be late for work,” he hears himself say, and immediately wishes he had kept his mouth shut.

Greg throws his fork down on the table and hisses with frustration.

“You know how this is supposed to work, Nick? I tell you stuff, you tell me stuff.” He moves his hand through the air emphatically, between himself and Nick. “We’re supposed to...I want...god!”

The last word ripping from his throat as a strangled cry, Greg pushes his stool back and stands in one movement. Eyes still boring into Nick’s. Breathing hard. Nick curls his fist around the fork so hard that the tines draw blood from his palm, but he doesn’t let go. Knowing he can’t just wrap his arms around Greg this time and make it all go away. He’s furious, and Nick doesn’t blame him.

Greg just stands there, like he’s waiting, and Nick knows, he knows that he could fix this in a second with words. All Greg wants are words. Words he can’t find, even after six months.

“Greg, I can’t – “ he begins desperately, but he doesn’t get any further.

“Don’t fucking bother.” Greg turns and walks away, slamming into the bedroom. The sound makes Nick flinch but he doesn’t move from his seat.

The soft ticking from the wall clock just to the left of his head is the only sound in the room, and it draws his eyes. He sighs. Releases the fork and rubs distractedly at his hand.

He’ll deal with this later, if there is still a this to deal with later. Feeling suddenly cold, Nick heads for the bathroom.

He showers alone.


**~*~**

“What the hell is the matter with this coffee?” Nick stares into his cup and pulls a face, trying to resist the urge to spit his mouthful into the sink.

“I made it,” says Sara, looking up from her salad. “What’s wrong with it?”

Nick pauses, taking in Sara’s defensive expression and deciding that he doesn’t really need to get on the wrong side of anyone else tonight. However bad their coffee is. It’s not as though he’s about to go and ask Greg to make some of the good stuff either.

“Nothing, it’s fine,” he lies. Takes another sip with a reassuring grin. Smiling, after all, suppresses the gag reflex.

Sara eyes him suspiciously for a moment or two before looking away and poking at her lunch with her fork.

“Speaking of coffee,” she begins thoughtfully. Nick tenses. “Do you know what’s up with Greg? He’s snarling at everyone. The music is scary even by his standards, and he practically forcibly removed me from his lab just now.”

“I have no idea, Sara, I’m not his mom.”

Nick knows he sounds dismissive and he hates it, but his head is pounding. He’s getting nowhere with his case, the coffee tastes like shit, he’s lightheaded from not actually managing to eat anything earlier, and obviously, Greg is still livid with him. Nick had hoped, on some level, that five hours into their shift, he might have calmed down somewhat but it seems that is far from the case.

“I thought you were close, that’s all, since you moved in with him,” Sara shrugs, spearing a tomato and conveying it to her mouth. Nick watches her in silence. Close. Something like that.

“I have to get back to work.”

He dumps the half-full cup in the sink and leaves Sara in the break room. Not entirely sure where he’s heading, just somewhere that isn’t anywhere near the DNA lab. Maybe Catherine will have an update on their case. Nick knows that if they don’t get the warrant they need for the suspect’s house within the next few hours, the case is likely to fall apart, and that knowledge is just one of the things threatening to make his head explode.

“Nick.” Catherine steps out of the A/V lab and into his path, effectively stopping him dead. She smiles, but her eyes are tired. “Nick, do you know if Greg has – “

“No!” he explodes. Anyone else? “No, I do not know what is wrong with Greg. And more to the point, I’d like to know why everyone thinks I have something to do with it!”

It’s when she takes a step back and holds her hands up that Nick realizes he’s just yelled at Catherine in the middle of the lab. So much for keeping his cool.

“Actually, I was just going to ask if you knew what the hold up is on our DNA results. We’re not going to get that warrant without a match. I was going to see if you’d speak to Greg because, well...” Catherine pauses and if Nick didn’t know better, he would swear she looks slightly sheepish, flashing him a wry half-smile. “...because he seems a little stressed and he likes you better than he likes me.”

Nick stares, Catherine’s comment only serving to make his chest tighter. But it’s not Catherine’s fault.

“I’m sorry, Cath. I’m a little preoccupied. I’ll go check it out.”

As he touches her arm gently and turns away, Nick is trying not to think about how much he doesn’t want to be anywhere near the DNA lab right now. He also knows that they need those results, and he’s a professional, and so is Greg, and the last thing he needs right now is for Catherine to start wondering why he is avoiding the DNA tech.

Taking a deep breath, he pushes the door open and winces as the harsh rock music tears through the pain in his head. Before he thinks what he’s doing, Nick leans over and yanks the plug out of the wall.

Greg’s head jerks up from his microscope at the sudden silence, and the expression on his face as he sees Nick chills him.

“What do you want?”

Nick hesitates, pulling himself together. Professional. Sorted. Not falling apart. He’s a CSI here, not some idiot that’s upset his boyfriend. And so he ignores the inappropriate flicker of warmth in his chest as he realizes it’s the first time he has referred to Greg that way, even his own head. Whatever that means. It doesn’t matter what that means, he tells himself forcefully, because right now Greg’s eyes are glinting with a silent warning, and he still needs those results.

“Ah, Catherine and I were wondering about the stuff we gave you for the McKenzie case,” he says, evenly, resting his fingertips on the glass counter separating him from Greg.

“I’ve not gotten to it yet.”

“Greg, it’s important.”

Greg laughs bitterly. “Aren’t they all?”

Unable to control the twist of irritation, Nick grits his teeth. “Greg, I mean it. We need those results to get a warrant, and if we don’t get it today, we’re screwed. Catherine gave you that sample five hours ago.”

“I know that. I’m swamped.” Greg holds his gaze defiantly but lowers his voice as he continues. “Funny how you can talk to me when you need something, isn’t it?”

Surprise coupled with anger flares behind Nick’s eyes. He can’t believe Greg would bring this into work. But the look in the younger man’s dark eyes is dangerous, and Nick knows, instantly, he should never have come in here tonight.

“Don’t make this personal, Greg,” he warns, voice low and harsh.

“Personal? Fuck, Nick, you’d fucking know! Like it would kill you to share something with me, or actually tell me how you fucking feel!” Greg’s face is flushed with fury.

“Greg, maybe you could dial down the ‘fuck’ing a little bit...we’re in the lab,” Nick whispers, looking around. Trying not to panic.

Greg laughs shortly. “Oh yeah, there’s an irony for you. The fucking, it seems, you’re all too happy to do! Just so long as you don’t have to talk about your feelings and no one has to find out!” Greg shoots back, no longer making any attempt to keep his voice down.

“That’s funny, because I don’t recall you complaining last night,” Nick hisses, fury swiftly replacing rationality. “You’re the one who can’t go a day without it.”

Greg’s eyes widen in surprise and he clamps his mouth shut. They stare, facing each other off over the table, neither moving.

A slight shuffle in the doorway breaks the silence, and Catherine’s voice is more hesitant than Nick ever remembers hearing it before.

“Everything ok, guys?” She clears her throat softly. “I thought I heard...yelling.”

Nick turns to face her, smiles and nods with as much composure as he can muster.

“Everything’s fine,” says Greg. “I was just getting to your sample.” He attempts a smile but his eyes are suspiciously bright and he is gripping the edge of the table top hard.

“We shouldn’t do this here,” Greg whispers at last, as they both watch Catherine smile uncertainly and walk away.

“No, we shouldn’t.” Nick inhales slowly and looks down at the table. “I’ll see you later.”

“Later,” Greg echoes quietly as Nick exits the lab.

And he’s holding onto the hope that there is a later, but right now he really needs to think about something else. As he rounds the corner, for a second he thinks he sees Catherine creep back into the DNA lab and touch Greg carefully on the shoulder. But she wouldn’t do that. Nick shakes his head forcefully and does not look back.

**~*~**

Nick isn’t used to being the first one home. It sounds silly to him to admit this even to himself, but he likes that Greg is almost always here when he gets in, either because he actually gets to finish his shift on time, or because he drives like a maniac and beats Nick home even if they leave at exactly the same moment. Nick doesn’t have to think, he just kicks off his shoes, drops his keys and joins Greg in whatever he’s doing. Playing PS2 in his underwear, taking a shower or raiding the fridge, Nick doesn’t really mind, and what they usually end up doing is the same, regardless of how it starts.

Right now, of course, Nick finds himself sitting straight-backed on the couch, gripping his knees and staring at a blank television screen. Waiting. Trying not to think about the way Greg looked today. Like something had been removed. Despite his better intentions, Greg’s face swims in front of his eyes, white skin, dark smudges under his eyes, hair flatter than usual. And of course, that’s what has been missing. It’s as though all the colour has been drained from Greg, and Nick misses Greg’s colours with a wrench that feels like something is being stolen from him. Greg is so bright, so vibrant, it seeps out of him and warms everything. Including Nick. Without it, he suddenly feels cold.

Maybe, he thinks, maybe when Greg comes home they can have a calm, rational, grown up conversation, and work things out. He can apologise. Greg can forgive him. They can wind around each other on this couch and Greg can watch whatever he wants.

He quickly abandons that idea, however, when Greg slams through the door some minutes later, the black cloud around him so intense that Nick can almost see it. He casts a brief glance over at Nick before disappearing into the kitchen. Nick waits a moment or two, listening to drawers opening and shutting and rattling, metallic sounds, before he pulls himself up and makes to follow him. He’s surprised when Greg emerges from the kitchen before he gets there, and he’s more surprised when the first words out of Greg’s mouth are:

“Sorry you didn’t get your warrant.”

Nick is confused, to say the least, because Greg sounds angry, but the words are an apology. And an unnecessary one, they both know it wasn’t Greg’s fault that the DNA wasn’t a match to the suspect, after all.

“It’s not your fault, Greg,” he says softly, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

Greg snorts and folds his arms. “I know it isn’t.”

Before Nick can reply, the phone rings. Neither he nor Greg move, listening as the answerphone kicks in.

“Nicky, it’s Kendra. If you’re in, please pick up, I hate speaking to these things....no? Ok. Listen, would you please call Lily? She’s getting real worried about you and I’m getting all kinds of earache from her about it. She thinks...she thinks you’ve met someone.”

Kendra’s voice falters on the tape and Nick’s eyes meet Greg’s painfully.

“If you have, Nicky, please put us out of our misery. We’d sure love to meet her, see if she’s good enough for you – ah, darn, I gotta go, John just came in yelling about something. Call her. Or call me. It’s good to talk, Nicky...see ya.”

As the tape clicks off, Nick holds his breath.

“She doesn’t even know you!” Greg explodes after a second or two. Nick steps back out of the way as Greg paces toward the door and back again, shaking his head. “What the fuck do you think will happen if you let someone in, Nick? Let someone know you? She’s your sister, for god’s sake. And I’m...” Greg falls silent. Looks at the floor.

“I’m not ashamed of who I am,” Nick replies vehemently. Setting his jaw. Greg looks up, startled.

“I never said you were. But that’s interesting, because if you’re not ashamed of who you are, you must be ashamed of me. Is that right?” Greg’s gaze is challenging. Nick swallows hard.

“I’m not ashamed of anything, Greg. Shame doesn’t come into it.”

Greg leans heavily against the door and rubs his eyes, fury temporarily suspended. He just looks exhausted, skin chalky against the charcoal grey of his shirt.

“We need to – wow.” Greg pauses. There’s a faint pink tint to his skin, and Nick thinks, through his tension, that the colour is inappropriately, unexpectedly beautiful. “I didn’t nearly just say that. You know what really scares me about all this? Sounding like the girl. Let’s face it, that’s what they’d all think anyway, if they found out. That I’m the girl,” he finishes shakily, fingers pressed against the door at his back.

“No one’s the girl, G,” Nick replies, baffled. Distracted from what Greg is really saying by the absurdity of this particular statement. “Isn’t that the whole point?”

“I don’t know.” Greg smiles then, and the smile is so sad that Nick’s eyes sting. He thinks he preferred it when Greg was angry, because the Greg that looks back at him now just looks empty, and he’s afraid.

“Fuck this, Nick. Fuck it. I’ve had enough.” The words are completely at odds with the tone of Greg’s voice. He shoves his hands into his pockets and leans his head against the door, closing his eyes.

Me too, thinks Nick, watching him.

Seeming to come to a decision, Greg pulls away from the door and pushes past Nick into the bedroom. When he returns, he’s carrying a tatty canvas bag slung across his shoulders and his hair is everywhere, like he’s been raking his hands through it without thinking. Nick knows he only does that when he’s really anxious about something and inexplicably, he wants to reach out and smooth it down for him.

“Where are you going?”

“Away. I don’t know.” Greg is next to the door once more and he won’t meet Nick’s eyes.

“Greg, please...don’t go.”

Nick looks at the defeated figure not ten feet away from him. He feels like he’s choking.

What he realizes in that moment, is that he might die without Greg.

“This is your apartment, Greg,” he is saying, and he has no idea why, but Greg’s hand is closing around the doorknob and he has to say something to stop him from leaving.

“Is it?” Slowly, and with a defiance Nick can feel, Greg lifts his gaze from the floor. “Funny, I’d started to think of it as ours.”

Nick is surprised at the ripple of sharp, sweet sensation that flows through his body at the sound of that word. It’s not the pure fear of old, it’s something new, and he thinks he wants it.

“Six months, Nicky,” Greg says. Nick flinches at the use of the affectionate name, only now realizing it’s been a while since Greg used it. “I just want to feel you. It’s not too much to ask. Or maybe it is.”

Greg doesn’t let go of the doorknob but his stare burns.

“You don’t understand,” Nick throws out desperately, knowing his voice is cracking.

“Make me understand. Words, Nick, use them. Right now.”

Nick can feel the box being pried open under his fingers, out of his control, and it’s all tangled up with Kendra’s voice on the answering machine, Greg’s singing in the lab, every one night stand Nick has ever had. Greg’s face when he is sleeping. Kendra’s eyes on her wedding day and her eyes the last time Nick saw her. Greg’s lips on his skin and the smell of his hair. Catherine’s hand on Greg’s shoulder. Ocean blue tiles and mint chocolate paint and sunlight through blackout curtains.

‘What have you done with Sanders?’

‘However much I might love you.’

‘I just thought you two were close, that’s all.’

‘Honesty is the best policy, Nicky.’

‘I just want to feel you.’

The sound wrenches Nick from his thoughts and tears the box wide open, surging around him and he’s powerless against the deluge because Greg’s crying. He’s crying. Nick has never ever seen Greg cry, Not just silent sniffles either but loud, messy, heartbreaking sobs that seem to shake his whole body. His hands have come up to cover his face and he’s leaning back against the door, shaking. Making the most raw, painful sound Nick thinks he has ever heard and it cuts him. He stands there, watching Greg cry helplessly and he feels like someone is standing on his chest and crushing his heart. Pain rips through him and suddenly his eyes and the back of his throat are burning.

He has seen Greg excited, happy, angry...he has witnessed his face arranged in expressions of delight, deep thought, desire and fear but never once has he seen Greg cry. Seeing the man in front of him so utterly devastated dissolves something within Nick and suddenly he can’t control his body.

If Nick was thinking, he would stay where he is, or maybe leave Greg alone, give him some space to compose himself, but Nick isn’t thinking. He’s swept up in this feeling, drowning, it surrounds him. All he can see is Greg and never has he felt such a desire, a need to comfort another person.

“Hey, Greg...Greggo...no,” he whispers, crossing to the door in three long strides and gathering the younger man in his arms, bag and all. Feels him struggle for approximately a second before leaning into Nick and sliding arms around his back, twisting handfuls of shirt into his fists, resting his head against Nick’s neck and allowing hot, salty tears to soak his ear and shoulder.

Nick just holds him as tight as he can, feeling every shudder as if his own, pressing his nose into Greg’s hair, hanging on for dear life. Three words.

“Don’t leave me.” Over and over, finally allowing his own hot tears to overflow and leak down his face, unseen. He is torn open, and the answer is the one that any idiot could have told him it was all along.

Greg is his oxygen, his blood, his rhythm. The disaster would be letting go.

Somehow they lose the ability to hold themselves up, and slide together, uncoordinated but unwilling to let go of each other, until they are tangled on the floor. Leaning up against the door, clinging to each other. Greg is still trembling, but the cries of pain seem to be lessening. Nick sighs and drags him still closer, so that he is half sprawled across Nick’s lap, and slides a searching hand under the back of Greg’s shirt, needing the warm skin to reassure him.

Greg wants words. Nick knows that it’s going to take a lot more than words, and also that the words Greg wants might still take time. But he can make a start. Gently, he untangles the squashed bag from between them, sends it sliding across the floor and pulls Greg back against him.

“I’m not ashamed, Greg. That’s the truth. I’m...I’m fucking terrified.” Greg doesn’t say anything but there’s a slight shift in his breathing and Nick knows he’s listening. “I’m scared of you, of us, of this whole thing. I’m not like you. My longest relationship, if you could call it that, lasted two months. I’ve seen it go wrong so many times, I thought...I...I’ve never felt like this about anyone and I can’t ignore it, I don’t want to.”

Aware of every breath, his and Greg’s, Nick is struck by how calm he feels. He can feel Greg’s heartbeat against his skin and it’s fast but steady.

“I’m not exactly the last of the great romantics, Greg, and this is still really new to me. I’m....scared, ok? But I want to be with you. The thought of not being with you is...I can’t even put it into words. You may just be the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I totally didn’t expect it...I didn’t...you’re just...” fresh tears spring into Nick’s eyes and he sighs, frustrated, losing the words.

But it doesn’t matter, because Greg is kissing him. The angle is awkward and it’s messy and sloppy, all wet skin and salty tears on his tongue, Greg’s breath is still hitching in his chest as the last of the sobs fade away. Nick’s hands slide into his hair and pull Greg deeper into the kiss. It feels raw and unsophisticated and real. Like they are.

“Greg,” he whispers, less than an inch from his lips as they struggle for air.

“I know,” Greg whispers back, kissing Nick’s tear-streaked skin. “I know. I love you.”

They’re just words. Greg’s eyes are red and shiny with tears but so open. Just words. Nick thinks for Greg, he can find them. He smiles hesitantly. Greg traces the smile with his fingertips and the one he returns inundates Nick’s vision with colour.

**~*~**

Where is your heart?
'Cause I don't really feel you
Where is your heart?
What I really want is to believe you
Is it so hard
To give me what I need?
I want your heart to bleed
That's all I'm asking for

It seems so much is left unsaid
So much is left unsaid
But you can say anything
Oh, anytime you need
Baby, it's just you and me.

Part 7 - October

Lyrics from ‘Independent Love Song’ by Scarlet.

**~*~**

“Nicky.”

“No,” he groans, trying to pull the sheets over his head. Though he has yet to open his eyes, Nick knows that he hasn’t been asleep for nearly long enough, and more to the point, the voice cutting into his slumber isn’t Greg’s ‘I know you were sleeping but how about waking up and ravishing me’ voice, so it’s hardly worth coming round.

“Nicky!” Greg’s voice is insistent, and the hand in his hair feels good. He opens his eyes and looks at Greg, sitting on the edge of the bed. The fact that he is fully clothed draws a grunt of disapproval from Nick, and he instinctively reaches out to pull Greg closer. Greg resists, instead threading his fingers through Nick’s and smiling.

“Don’t, or I’ll never get up again,” says Greg reluctantly. “I have to go into work early. Been called in.”

“What time is it?” The room is dark, but Nick knows it could be any time.

“Five thirty. I gotta go.”

Nick sighs and starts to sit up, but is immediately pushed back into the pillows by the younger man.

“Go back to sleep, I just wanted to say goodbye,” Greg whispers and kisses him softly. “I have to go deal with a DNA emergency. I’ll see you later.”

Nick’s mind is sleep-fuzzy but he feels surrounded by warmth and he doesn’t want to let go of it, even if it is five-thirty pm. “Mm come with you,” he mumbles, holding fast to Greg’s hand.

Greg laughs and disentangles himself with some effort. He kisses Nick once more and Nick smiles at the smell of coconut and hair product and toothpaste. “See you later,” Greg repeats more firmly and stands up. He straightens his clothes and heads for the door.

“Hey, Greg?” Nick calls out after a moment or two, propping himself up on his elbows. The door slams. Love you. With a sigh, Nick collapses back onto the mattress and squints at the ceiling, caught between the idea of falling asleep again and the opportunity to use the extra few hours before shift for something productive. In the meantime, he settles for lying perfectly still with his eyes open and thinking.

Things have changed again, and thankfully this time for the better. In the three weeks since Greg almost left, Nick has slowly started to breathe again. Much as he doesn’t care to revisit that particular day, he knows that without that outpouring of tension and pain, he would be in a very different place right now. He is under no illusions that there isn’t a long way still to go, but the realization that he actually told Greg how he felt and the world didn’t collapse around him strikes Nick sharply. Fear, pain, relief and excitement, all at once.

He loves Greg Sanders. Absolutely. No doubt about it.

He loves falling asleep and waking up wrapped around Greg. He loves watching Greg through the glass walls of his lab, whether focused and efficient, or laughing, talking, messing around with the other lab rats. He loves the smiles Greg shoots him when he notices he is being watched. He loves the way that Greg shoves him up against the wall and kisses him as soon as they get home from work, as though it’s all he’s been thinking about all day. And that sometimes, Greg tells him that it is all he’s been thinking about all day. Nick loves the frankly bizarre stories about various lab rat escapades that Greg tells him while they eat breakfast. Nick loves arguing with Greg about everything from music to politics to video game technique, because Greg is not only fiercely intelligent but he isn’t afraid to say what he thinks. Nick finds that he very much admires that quality, and he wishes he could just say what he thinks.

Because Greg, too, is changed since what Nick supposes was their first proper fight. He is relaxed, secure, playful again. It’s as though hearing that Nick wanted to be with him, needed him, brought him back to life. Nick continues to be amazed by the younger man’s patience, the way he listens raptly when Nick slowly, hesitantly reveals slivers of his past, his story. The way he seems to know exactly what Nick needs to continue, whether it’s the careful distance and eye contact of sitting opposite each other at the kitchen table, or the soothing proximity of being wrapped around each other on the couch, allowing Nick to mumble the words into his hair. Greg knows him, and it’s not frightening like he thought it would be. It’s actually immensely comforting.

“You know what, Nicky?” he had said that day, as they finally dragged each other up from the floor of the hallway and shuffled as one to the bedroom. “It’s new for me too. I’ve been in love before, but I’ve never loved you before.”

Nick had been unexpectedly overwhelmed by Greg’s admission and found himself unable to say anything for some minutes, not that Greg seemed to mind, being that he had several alternative plans for Nick’s mouth at that moment.

Now, though...Nick has been trying to say the actual words for a couple of weeks now, but it’s never seemed like the right moment. Being so aware of the fact that he has never said it before, it doesn’t seem to help him that Greg says it so easily. He’s almost said it several times, but stopped himself every time.

Like just last week, in bed, lying together after an hour of slow, intense sex, breathing hard and perspiring gently with Greg collapsed on top of him. Greg lifted his head and threw Nick that small, warm genuine smile, dark eyes soft and steady and Nick felt so overwhelmed by his feelings that the words were on the tip of his tongue. But he had decided that saying it after sex was tacky. He doesn’t want to say it because he’s just been knocked off balance by a great orgasm. He doesn’t want Greg to think that’s why he’s saying it, either. So he said nothing and pulled Greg into a long, soft kiss by way of compensation.

And like the day after that, when Nick came home from a double shift to find Greg in the kitchen, putting his recently-acquired omelette-making skills into practice. Granted, Nick thinks, it contained cheese, leftover sweet-and-sour prawns and something green that he couldn’t quite identify, but Greg cooked for him. And watched him eat it with such a look of concerned pride on his face that Nick almost couldn’t stand it. But he doesn’t want to say it because of something Greg has done for him. So he filled his mouth with a huge forkful of the strangest omelette he’d ever eaten and kept the words inside. “Will you show me how to make pancakes?” asked Greg, from his seat on the kitchen counter, and Nick swallowed the mouthful with some effort and nodded, unable to keep the smile from his face.

Then of course, there was the time just three days ago when Nick pressed the wrong button on the remote and accidentally deleted Greg’s entire recorded collection of Law and Order episodes. And Nick wanted to say it so much, because he thinks that even angry, pissed off and sulking, Greg is still beautiful, and he wants Greg to know. But, as he pulled him close and whispered that he was sorry, Nick bit down on the next words because he doesn’t want to say it because he’s sorry. That’s a crappy reason. So he settled for
apologising once more and kissing Greg until he smiled again.

Yesterday was torture. Greg had to go to court, which of course meant swapping his scruffy jeans and bright colours for a suit and shiny shoes. Nick looked up from his seat on the end of the bed to see Greg standing in the bedroom doorway looking horribly uncomfortable, hair flattened and hands in his pockets. Sighing and “I look stupid, don’t I?” But he didn’t, he looked hot. Different, but really fucking good. But Nick doesn’t want to say it because Greg looks good. He’s not shallow. He wants to say it...just because.

And somehow, a just because moment is surprisingly hard to come by. Nick shifts against the pillows and wonders if maybe he just missed one. He rubs his eyes and thinks, hopes, there will be more opportunities. The right time to say the right thing.

A sharp knock at the door startles Nick and for just a moment, he is scandalized that anyone would knock on his door at this time, before he reminds himself that for most of the population, early evening is a perfectly reasonable hour. Mildly disgruntled, he throws back the covers and picks up his discarded jeans and t-shirt from the floor. He is crossing the lounge, still buttoning his fly when the knocking starts again.

“Alright, I’m coming,” he calls irritably, unlocking the door and flinging it open. “What’s the – oh.”

“Hello, Nicky.”

“Kendra? What are you doing here?” Nick stares in complete incomprehension.

“That’s no way to talk to your big sister now, is it?”

Kendra shakes her head and pushes past Nick into the hallway. Nick shuts the door and raises his eyebrows silently. By the time he turns around, she has disappeared into the lounge. Nick stands behind the couch, resting his fingertips on the back cushions, watching his sister stalk around the room. She pauses in various spots, examining things, tucking her dark curly hair behind her ears and clutching at her leather handbag as she bends over and scrutinises Greg’s CD collection. There’s something different about her, he thinks. Kendra’s sweater is a deep fuchsia shade and her jeans are like the ones Catherine wears, tight and sort of...trendy. Nick frowns, disconcerted, as neither of them say a word.

“Nice place,” she comments at last, turning to him and smiling. “Nicer than your old place.”

Your old place. Just for a split second, Nick is chilled by the flash of memory that flickers through his head. Nigel Crane. And yet, all that seems like a lifetime ago. He shakes his head.

“Thanks,” he replies, returning her smile. “Well, it’s Greg’s place really, I just...rent a room.”

Nick winces inwardly at the sound of his automatic lie. Kendra regards him quizzically for a moment before turning and throwing herself down on the couch. As Nick retreats into the kitchen to make coffee, Kendra’s exasperated voice floats through to him.

“If you ever returned any of our messages, you’d know why I was here. Cream, no sugar!”

Nick rolls his eyes to the ceiling and then smiles, wondering why his eldest sister has the effortless ability to make him feel like he’s twelve years old again.

“I’m here to ‘scope out some new ground’ for Lily,” she says, taking the cup in one hand and making air quotes with the other. Nick sits down at the opposite end of the couch and waits. “She’s thinking of expanding, setting up another restaurant here in Vegas.”

“You’re kidding!” Nick’s surprise rapidly morphs into guilt and he nods slowly. “You’re not kidding, which I would know if I returned your messages.”

“Yeah,” she confirms. “And you would also know that the reason I’m doing that is because I’m working for Lily, and the reason I’m doing that is because I’ve left John.”

“What?!” Nick almost chokes on his coffee as the words sink in.

She’s fucking left him. Kendra’s warm laughter shakes him out of his shock and he stares at her, taking in the smile, the amused cocoa-dark eyes and the bright colours. She looks alive. That’s what’s different.

“I feel like this is the wrong thing to say somehow, but...Ken, I am very pleased to hear that.”

She laughs again and rubs his arm, and Nick notices her empty ring finger with satisfaction before flicking his gaze back to her face and watching her eyes crinkle at the corners as she smiles.

“What happened?”

“You know what happened, Nicky. He’s been playing around for years. We all have a breaking point, and I reached it.” She blows on her coffee and shrugs. “I think what I realized was that I could sit around waiting for the perfect moment to end it, and maybe still be sitting there in ten years from now, still waiting, and wondering where my life went. Or I could just do it.”

The words strike Nick hard and as he listens to his sister, his thoughts are immediately drawn to Greg. “So you just did it?” he asks faintly.

Kendra snorts and shoots him a look over her coffee cup. “It wasn’t quite as easy as that. There’s a part of me that’ll probably always love the jerk, but it wasn’t enough any more. I had to make a decision. Anyway,” she says pointedly, setting her cup down on the coffee table. “I don’t have long, this really is a flying visit. I didn’t come to talk about my marriage, I came to talk about you.”

Nick should have known. Easy as it is to forget the devious nature of his siblings when they all live in a different state, he really should have recognised that even Kendra, the most straight-down-the-line of the six, still comes with a hidden agenda.

“You’ve met someone, Nicky...I know you have, I can tell. You look happy. And, of course there’s Lily,” she says mysteriously.

“What about Lily?” asks Nick with a sigh, even though he knows exactly what about Lily.

“She told me you wanted to ask her advice on something, and then backed up so fast she felt the wind.”

“That’s not fair, she was the one who didn’t have time,” he argues. Pointlessly, because not only is that an excuse, but it’s not even a very good one. He knows it, and Kendra knows it too.

“That’s not it though is it, Nicky? Honesty is the...”

“...best policy, I know,” Nick finishes wearily. “You know what Anna says about honesty?”

“Yes.” Kendra laughs and draws her legs up onto the couch. “She says I’m full of shit.”

“Kendra May Healy!” Nick admonishes. Kendra merely arches a dark eyebrow in mute challenge.

Kendra never swears. Nick feels like the world’s been turned on its head without anyone telling him.

“And anyway. Kendra May Stokes. Or I will be, soon.”

She and Nick exchange a glance that conveys more about that bittersweet implication than any words could.

“Yeah,” Nick continues, squeezing his sister’s hand briefly. “Anna says that honesty starts wars. Everyone should lie their asses off.”

Kendra nods and rolls her eyes. “Anna says a lot of things. The point is, this person...it must be a pretty big deal.”

“It is.” Nick ducks his head and exhales against the resultant sensation of fear and pride.

“Love?” she asks, leaning forward, and the gleam in her eye sets off the flutter of panic in Nick’s chest that he’s almost desensitized himself to.

“Yes,’ he whispers at last, meeting his sister’s eyes.

“Have you told her?” Kendra enquires eventually.

And though she says her, just like she did on her answerphone message, now she’s here, Kendra’s dark eyes flicker just long enough to let Nick know that she knows. She’s giving him a chance.

“It’s Greg,” Nick says after a moment. Not a whisper. Firm. Strong. His heart thumps in response. In approval. “And no, not in so many words, I haven’t.”

He could swear that Kendra’s eyes are a little shinier than they should be, but he says nothing. She’s smiling. Nick swallows the inexplicable lump in his throat and gulps his cold coffee.

“How long?”

“Since...since a couple of weeks after I moved in here.” Nick hesitates, the pride in his admission, in Greg, in them mixing in his chest with the ingrained, tightly coiled anxiety associated with his family.

Kendra holds his gaze steady, anchoring him, and for a moment Nick thinks she looks just like their mother.

“Nobody’ll care, Nicky,” she soothes. “At least, no one that matters. Lily, she...” Kendra pauses, and
Nick instantly knows he was right about Lily.

“I know. Or at least I thought I did, anyway.”

“Mom and Dad like Becca,” she adds. “She and Lily are coming home for Thanksgiving.”

Nick leans his head against the couch cushions for a moment, letting the torrent of information flow around him. He can’t decide if he’s surprised or not. If he’s honest, he never really thought his parents would disown him for loving another man, but it seems apparent that his apprehension he has always felt, that tight feeling of panic, has been unfounded. He thinks perhaps, saying the words will be another matter, but there are more important words he needs to find first.

“That’s good to know, Ken.” Nick means it, and he also means the words that unexpectedly come next. “But I’m actually more worried about what our colleagues are going to make of it all.”

Kendra’s stare is withering and Nick feels himself shrink under it. “That’s why you don’t have any photographs out,” she assesses. “You’re an idiot. Don’t you think you should worry about telling him before you worry about telling them?”

It’s a simple point, but it hits home. Nick stares at the wall in front of him for long seconds, wondering how it’s possible that his sister is so irritatingly astute.

“It’s a lot easier to point out other people’s relationship problems,” says Kendra, reading his mind. She shakes her head, getting up; all dark curls and smiles that Nick has missed. “I have to go, I’ll be late for this meeting.”

“I’m glad you’re happy, Ken.”

“I’m getting there. Tell him,” she says firmly, slinging her bag over her shoulder and kissing Nick on the cheek.

Nick sees her out and collapses back against the door heavily as soon as he closes it behind her. His head is a whirl, and every other part of him seems to be joining in the conspiracy to make him drown in a riptide of raw, powerful emotion. He closes his eyes and breathes, slowing the spin and unravelling the strands one by one. Once all of the peripheral information has been stripped away, Nick is left with one powerful, overwhelming need. To see Greg.

**~*~**

Still trying to calm his breathing even as he slams the car door and walks into the lab less than an hour later, Nick walks purposefully, barely feeling a single step he takes. Despite not having fully rationalized his reaction to Kendra’s visit, he knows it feels right. And that, apparently, is all he has to do. Feel. Waiting for the right moment is bullshit, because the right moment never comes. Or perhaps it does, but perhaps it isn’t the right moment according to some pre-formed set of criteria. Perhaps it’s the right moment because it just fucking is.

‘Tell him.’

It’s wherever Greg is right now. Right this minute. Nick half hears Grissom’s voice call out his name from somewhere behind him, maybe because he’s a good couple of hours early for his shift, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t think he could stop, he is being carried forward by some momentum outside of his control. And of course, Nick curses inwardly, of course he’s in the DNA lab. Where else would he be, after all?

Greg looks up as the door is pushed open, his expression shifting from surprise to pleasure as he leans on his countertop and smiles at Nick. Before he can say a word, Nick drags a deep breath into his lungs and jumps.

“Greg, I gotta tell you something, right now, I – “

Nick freezes, as Jacqui emerges from under Greg’s desk, almost banging her head, pen held aloft triumphantly, murmuring “Got it!” before she quiets and smirks, straightening up to stand behind Greg. They both look at Nick curiously, Jacqui mirroring Greg’s head-slightly-on-one-side posture.

“You...?” Greg prompts, gently. Nick meets his eyes in mute appeal, heartbeat accelerating
dangerously.

“I...um...well..” he pauses.

Here? Now? With her standing there? Right. Ok.

“Greg, I want to tell you that – “ Nick stops and almost cries out with frustration, both his and Greg’s attention immediately drawn by Jacqui’s slight stumble as she attempts to slip out from behind Greg and out of the room, mumbling under her breath about smelling something burning. Nick turns his head and watches her duck down the hall and into the print lab before he turns back to Greg and sighs. His initial thought is that the moment is gone, and maybe he should just think of something else to say, but Greg’s eyes are so intense that he knows he has no choice.

Spine, Stokes. You have one. Be a fucking man. Just words.

“Ok now,” Nick begins, hanging onto the edge of the table as if to hold himself up. He can hear his accent deepening with each word but can’t seem to control it.“I’m going to say this, please don’t say anything until I’ve finished...I’ve been waiting, like an idiot, for this perfect moment to say this to you, because you know what? I’ve never said it before. And it’s right now, Greg, it doesn’t matter about any of the other stuff, because...” Nick pauses for breath and anchors himself in Greg’s eyes, steady, strong, wide. “Because...you know what I was thinking about on the way over here? Nigel Crane. Nigel fucking Crane! And I realized that I haven’t thought about him in months. Because of you. Because I’m with you. Because I love you, Greg. I love you,” he finishes, somewhat breathlessly.

And waits. For what feels like an hour, Greg just stares at him, looking completely and utterly blindsided. Mouth slightly open and hands stuffed into lab coat pockets.

“My god, you were going to say all that with Jacqui standing there?” Greg asks softly, finding his voice at last.

“If necessary,” Nick replies, and he means it. His fingers slide on the glass surface, sweat damp.

“That may just be the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me,” remarks Greg, his expression and tone unreadable.

Nick swallows hard and looks down at his hands. He knows it wasn’t the most articulate declaration of love Greg has probably ever received, but wow, sarcasm still hurts.

“No. Seriously.” Nick looks up sharply. Greg smiles slowly, lighting his face. “I mean it. I love you too, Nick. More than anything.”

The pure relief that courses through Nick’s body makes him suddenly grateful he is still hanging onto the table. He grins stupidly at Greg, feeling torn between wanting to laugh or cry. He knows Greg is speaking to him because his mouth is moving, but it isn’t until he repeats the words that Nick actually registers them.

“Get out of here now, before I jump on you.” Greg’s smile is dazzling.

Much as that thought appeals, Nick is reminded of the reality of standing in what is essentially a giant glass fishbowl. He will have to wait for that.

“Later,” Nick replies, watching with some satisfaction as Greg nods and drops down heavily onto his swivel chair, looking for all the world like his legs are no longer capable of holding him up. Arranging his face into a more serious, work-appropriate expression, Nick exits the DNA lab. Still not feeling a single step.

**~*~**

He’s still floating somewhat as he works the scene of an apparent suicide with Sara some hours later.

“Interesting taste in clothing,” Sara remarks as she kneels carefully next to the body and runs a gloved finger along the male victim’s patterned collar.

Nick lowers his camera and turns to her, following her eyes. “Yeah,” he agrees, impulsively snapping Sara’s picture. She shoots him a look and sticks her tongue out briefly. “Greg has a shirt like that,” he adds absently, dropping to the floor opposite her.

Sara is silent for some time, carefully feeling inside the shirt pockets, brow furrowed in concentration.

“Speaking of Greg,” she offers finally.

“I wasn’t.”

“You were, Nick,” she says firmly. “Maybe you don’t notice it any more. Anyway, he’s practically bouncing tonight, did he get some or what?”

Nick bites down on the inside of his cheek hard. He can’t do anything about going red, but he can hold in the laughter that’s threatening to bubble over.

“I have no idea, Sara, I’m not his...what?” Nick fights down his smile and meets Sara’s curious brown eyes over the body.

“Deja vu,” she murmurs, grinning to herself and carefully extracting a red fibre from the victim’s shirt pocket with her tweezers. “Hand me a bindle.”

Nick passes her what she needs and sits back on his heels watching her. Wondering.

“Look at the position of these blood drops,” says Sara suddenly, snapping Nick out of it, instantly all business.

He looks where she’s pointing and crosses the room carefully with his camera, dropping yellow evidence markers as he goes. Ignores the instinctive stab of panic. Anyway, there’s no way Sara knows anything.

**~*~**

Nick closes his locker and heads out of the room, pausing just for a moment to watch Greg walking away from him down the corridor, talking with an unfamiliar dark-haired female tech, waving his hands wildly as he speaks. Smiling, Nick stares brazenly at the man he loves, knowing no one is watching. The man he loves. His inward flicker of delight is consumed by soft laughter as Greg pushes his companion away from him harder than he intends to, making her slide across the corridor and bang her elbow on the wall. The last thing Nick sees as they round the corner out of sight is the tech smacking Greg around the back of the head with her plastic water bottle. He leans on the doorframe a moment, in no hurry, until his calm is shattered by the voice behind him.

“Stokes!”

“Bah!” Nick blurts as he jumps out of his skin and turns quickly, heart racing, to see the perpetrator of his sudden shock. “My god, were you hiding in the showers or something?”

“Perhaps,” she replies mysteriously, crossing her arms and fixing him with a steady gaze. “Now then, Stokes.”

“Um, yes, Franco?”

“Seven months. Seven. I was beginning to give up on you.” Jacqui’s tone is confrontational and Nick swallows hard.

“You...right. Ok.”

And she knows. Of course she does. Her expression as she practically ran out of the DNA lab earlier would have told him that much, had he not been otherwise occupied. He should be freaked out, but right now he’s more concerned about the matter at hand.

“You have no idea how hard it’s been not to kick your ass,” she continues, holding eye contact and stepping around Nick to stand between him and the doorway. “You should know, the only thing that’s stopped me is Greg.”

Nick’s surprised, for so many reasons, but first and foremost, because he didn’t realize Jacqui cared so much for Greg. He knows they tease each other mercilessly, and Jacqui, frankly, is scary as hell. But Nick’s not sure he’ll ever understand that lab rat bond. From the look on Jacqui’s face, it seems like she’d be prepared to kill for Greg, and make it look like an unfortunate accident. And despite the fact that he outweighs her by some sixty or seventy pounds, Nick believes she could do it.

“Ok....well, I’ll admit it took me some time to get my head together,” he says carefully.

She snorts. “You can say that again.”

“Can I go now?” He looks past her into the corridor, in case there’s someone passing that he can call out to and make his escape. For once, though, the hall is deserted. She brings her hand up to rest on the doorframe, effectively blocking his escape route.

“In a minute. I’m pleased for you, really I am. But know this. If you ever hurt him again, I will end you. Got it?”

“Yes.”

Despite Nick’s better attempts to locate his y-chromosome and actually defend himself, all he finds himself doing is staring and nodding, jaw clenched, arms crossed defensively across his chest. Because he never wants to hurt Greg ever again. And because the murderous glint in Jacqui’s eyes tells him beyond a doubt that she would not renege on her promise to cause him actual fatal damage.

And she’s still talking.

“...and this conversation stays with us, because if Greg gets wind of it, I’ll be wearing that goddamn swami hat again, and neither of us wants that, do we?”

“Of course not.” Nick thinks maybe, on balance, he would like that, but he’s not about to say so. He is nothing if not a fast learner, and a wise man does not argue with Jacqui Franco.

“Great.” Suddenly, she smiles and drops her hand from the doorframe. “Now go make him happy.”

He smiles back at her and, feeling strangely relieved, heads out of the locker room. As he walks, he is filled with the surreal but pleasant realization that he has just had a conversation, if you could call it that, with someone at work about his relationship with Greg. He smiles. Progress, indeed.

**~*~**

Nick kicks the door shut behind him and sniffs the air with interest as he enters the lounge. The smell of food is a new one and for a moment he wonders if he has mistakenly wandered into the wrong apartment. Until his eyes fall on Greg, kneeling up and hanging over the back of the couch, head on one side, grinning at him.

“Hey,” Nick greets him softly, unable to stop himself returning the smile. Not wanting to.

“Hey yourself. Hungry?” Greg rests his chin on folded arms, staring up at Nick with innocent, liquid eyes.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Nick almost whispers, needed the release of touching, kissing, being with him more than ever.

Their exchange in the lab just hours before fills his head and sparks a new, delicious, pleasurable tension. The thrill of one who has jumped, half-expecting to be dashed to pieces and instead finding the landing unexpectedly soft. Nick suspects there is only one way to work off the excess nervous energy, and at this moment, it is looking at him with warm amusement and laughing softly.

“Later,” Greg admonishes. “I cooked.” Nick raises his eyebrows in surprise, and Greg scrambles off the couch to retrieve something from the floor. “Well, someone cooked,” Greg admits, holding up a brown paper bag containing Chinese takeout containers. The smell that hit Nick as he walked in the door wafts into his nostrils and with a brief sigh he joins Greg on the couch and helps him empty the bag. After all, neither of them are going anywhere.

**~*~**

“Any pork balls left?” enquires Greg from his spot on the floor, some time later.

Nick looks down at him from the couch and smiles. Greg is leaning against the couch and resting his head on Nick’s thigh, tipping his chin back and looking up at Nick hopefully. His dark eyes are open and unguarded and Nick gives in to his compulsion to touch as his words from earlier echo around in his head. I love you, Greg. I love you. He’s conscious of overwhelming Greg with his emotions now he’s finally started to release them, and instead settles for a hand in the soft blond spikes. Greg has plum sauce on the corner of his mouth but Nick decides not to tell him, instead just revelling in the warm, languid feeling of well-being currently surrounding him.

“Nicky...”

Nick jumps as he feels the chopstick being poked into his thigh. He looks into the box in question.

“One left,” he murmurs thoughtfully, extracting it from the carton carefully and holding it inches above Greg’s waiting mouth. “For me.” Nick swoops the last pork ball away from Greg and into his own mouth, staring down into the younger man’s scandalized face as he chews it slowly and with obvious satisfaction.

“Nick!” Greg exclaims, scrambling to his feet and fixing Nick with what he clearly hopes is a stern look.

Nick swallows and laughs. Reaches out to run his hands up Greg’s thighs and hook into his belt loops, pulling Greg down to straddle his lap in a practised, familiar movement.

“I love you,” he whispers against Greg’s ear, unable to keep it in, feeling Greg’s smile against his cheek. “But I’m not sorry.”

At those incendiary words, Greg struggles in his lap, sprawling, one knee either side of Nick’s thighs, creating a delicious friction between them. Nick hangs onto him, using his superior strength to hold Greg in position, knowing that it’s only a momentary advantage, he won’t be able to hold Greg for long.

“Fuck you, Nick,” Greg laughs breathlessly, pulling back and resting hands on Nick’s shoulders, looking into his eyes.

“You wish,” Nick retorts, smiling and attempting to drag Greg closer again. Before he freezes, caught. Because it’s just a throwaway remark, but there is no way he can miss the unmistakeable heat that flares in Greg’s eyes, and the accompanying rush of electricity he did not expect.

Greg looks down for a moment as if considering something. Nick holds his breath. Somehow, the tension has returned to fill the room and when Greg raises his head again, it hits Nick like a wave.

“Maybe I do,” Greg says softly, searching Nick’s face. Nick plays with the bottom of Greg’s t-shirt and stares. “If you want me to.”

And it’s not a demand, or even a question, Nick knows that, and somehow that knowledge just makes it harder for him to breathe. Greg has never pushed him, he’s never even said this much before. Nick is uncomfortably aware however, that the tentative nature of their relationship up to this point has probably put the brakes on any ideas Greg might have had about reversing their bedroom roles.

Until now. And Nick has no idea what to say.

“I didn’t...I don’t really...sorry, Greg.” Nick rolls his eyes, frustrated at his own inarticulacy under Greg’s rapt attention. “I didn’t like it,” he finishes, sounding more petulant than he intends to.

“Ok, and this was just the one time?” Greg sits back on his thighs and is clearly attempting to keep the surprise out of his voice.

“Twice. With Gary, remember I told you about him? We were drunk both times. I felt...” Nick pulls his hands away from Greg’s hips and rubs his eyes briefly against the memory. “I felt out of control. Weak.”

“The two month guy?” Nick nods, watching Greg’s expression carefully. He says nothing for what seems like a long time. Finally, softly, threading fingers into Nick’s hair and leaning ever so slightly closer, Greg continues.

“It’s not about submission, Nick.” Greg pauses. “Ok, it’s not always about submission. Do you think I’m a submissive?”

“No.” And Nick doesn’t. At all.

“Well then. Not that I don’t like it when you take charge of me sometimes,” Greg grins filthily and looks at Nick from under dark eyelashes, making him shiver. “But it’s not as simple as that. Sometimes you have the control, sometimes I do, sometimes we both do, and sometimes...” he kisses Nick slowly, softly, allowing Nick to slide a searching tongue into his mouth far too briefly before pulling away. “...sometimes neither of us do.”

“Yeah,” Nick replies softly, lost in sensation. Lost in Greg’s words, his low, seductive tone, his eyes and fingers and mouth combining to reduce Nick to words of one syllable only.

“Getting fucked isn’t about not being a man, Nicky. It feels good. It feels really fucking good actually. It’s about being open, about being abandoned, just feeling, being so connected, so close to another person, to trust them so much you literally let them inside your body...Nick, when you’re inside me, I feel like you’re part of me and I’m part of you. It’s hot and intimate and it feels like...being melted from the inside....it feels...”

And Greg seems to have lost his words too because he’s just pressing closer, lips against Nick’s ear, hard cock pushing into Nick’s hip and making him squirm with need.

“It feels...oh,’ Greg hisses a soft, low, cracked moan against Nick’s ear and it may be the most erotic sound Nick has ever heard.

Suddenly and completely inflamed with desire, Nick cradles Greg’s face in his hands and kisses him hard, licking into his mouth, tasting rich plum sauce and sharp, sweet pineapple. Greg’s words are branded into his skin, and he’s harder than he’s ever been in his life. He has to say this before the fear returns and makes him change his mind.

“I want it,” he insists into Greg’s mouth. “I want you to fuck me.”

The sound Greg makes then travels straight to his groin, and Nick watches the familiar brown eyes flood with black liquid desire.

“Are you sure?” Greg asks, but he’s already slithering off Nick’s lap, standing and reaching out both hands to pull the older man to his feet.

“Yes,” Nick is mumbling over and over again as Greg walks them both backwards until he’s pulling Nick down with him onto their bed in a messy tangle of limbs, connected at the mouth. “Yes. Please.”

“I won’t hurt you, Nicky,” he whispers, in between frantic kisses. “I love you.” Nick’s mouth is covered and invaded before he can reply. Instead, he moans roughly into the kiss and pulls at Greg’s clothing, needing to feel skin. Remembering in a rush how much he has needed this all day.

He allows Greg to remove his clothes, watching him as he falls on each newly exposed area of skin, peppering kisses across Nick’s neck, chest, hips, thighs and the insides of his wrists, deliberately avoiding his now painfully hard erection. Greg is still clothed, and this fact makes Nick feel curiously vulnerable, but as Greg catches his eyes and smiles, resting his chin on Nick’s belly, a little of the sharp fear turns to anticipation.

He can trust Greg. He does trust Greg.

Reassured, Nick finds his words again and pulls at Greg’s t-shirt. “Off. Right now.”

Greg raises one eyebrow and goes one better than that. Kneeling up on the bed between Nick’s thighs, he pulls the fitted blue t-shirt off over his head and looks down at Nick for a moment, hair ruffled, eyes full of promise, before unbuttoning, unzipping and pushing down jeans and boxers in one movement, giving Nick only a second or two to stare openly at the breathtaking image before him because he is crawling up Nick’s body and kissing him thoroughly.

The warm skin contact and familiar weight of Greg’s body on top of him makes Nick groan with relief, and he runs hands over every single inch of smooth skin that he can reach. Still unable, in brief flashes of clarity, to believe that he almost gave this up. Almost pushed this away. Almost chose his stupid fear and insecurity over the right to have this – this feeling, this man, this fucking perfect sensation.

Nick whimpers softly as Greg rocks against him, pushing the solid, sensitive, heated skin against Nick’s in a maddening rhythm. Their kisses grow sloppy and uncoordinated with desire. Greg pulls away and bites down where Nick’s neck meets his shoulder, making him draw his breath harshly and bite down on his own lip. Blood rushes to the bitten area; heat, pain, relief. Greg’s soothing tongue swipes over the redness, sending tingling and shivers under his skin. Greg makes him feel, and he’s still a little afraid, but not enough to want this to stop, ever.

“Turn over,” Greg whispers, running his tongue over a peaked nipple. Nick shivers but complies; trust, apprehension and excitement spiking as Greg trails kisses down his spine and disappears from the bed. Nick rests his head on his elbows, nose pushed into the pillows that smell like Greg’s hair, keeping his eyes closed as he listens to the soft rustling sounds somewhere to his left.

“Nick,” comes the whisper as the bed once more depresses under Greg’s weight and Nick’s thighs are gently urged apart. Greg’s voice is dripping with want and a slight hesitation.

“I trust you. Do it.”

Nick’s breath is short now, and he has hardly been touched. His skin is burning with it, aching cock rubbing against wrinkled sheets. Unable to believe how much he needs this. Greg picks up the anxiety in his voice and laughs softly, pressing kisses to the soft skin right at the top of Nick’s inner thighs, all hot breath as he grips Nick’s ass and exposes him.

“Patience, Nicky,” he almost sings, and the words of complaint are already on Nick’s lips, but they are swallowed in a moan of surprise as he is entered, cool slick fingers sliding and stretching, slowly, barely there at first, letting him adjust before pushing, twisting, and Greg’s other hand drawing soothing circles on his back. It hurts but he wants it. So much. Wants Greg touching him like this, opening, exposing, making him bite his lip hard and ask for more. Please. Please, Greg.

“The thing is, Nicky,” Greg murmurs, pulling him back onto hands and knees and leaning to drop kisses across his shoulder blades, “The thing about possession is that it’s – “ Nick cuts him off with a harsh cry, ripped from him as the fingers moving slowly inside him brush up against that spot that feels fucking incredible, twisting his neck, immediately rewarded with a messy kiss and Greg’s warm hardness pressed into his back.

“Possession is nine tenths of the law, right?” Greg continues, and Nick can hear him but he’s struggling to focus on anything besides the feeling of pure need building and crackling under his skin, Greg’s fingers moving inside him. “Everyone thinks it’s the one doing the fucking that takes, owns, possesses...yeah? But the way I see it...if you’re inside my body, I own you. Your cock...in me....you belong to me. Mine. I’m wrapped around you, gripping you, holding you...when you fuck me, you’re mine. I want you to own me like I own you, Nicky. Right now,” he adds, withdrawing his fingers. Breathing hard. Tearing foil.

Empty, tingling, aching, Nick groans at the loss, turning onto his back and pulling Greg to him hard, registering his expression of surprise with some pleasure.

“I need to see you,” he manages, meeting the intense dark stare that sends a shiver through his entire body. “While you make yourself mine.” Nick smiles and pushes up into Greg. Demanding.

“I’ve always been yours, Nicky.”

Greg smiles back, lifts Nick’s thighs around him and sinks slowly, determinedly inside his body. Pushing, unhurried, smooth, eyes never leaving Nick’s and spilling out a thousand reassuring words in one glance. Leaning closer. Nick feels the fingers threading through his as his hands lie twisted in the sheets and he grips back, hard, wrapping his legs around Greg and hissing softly at the sensation of being filled, taken, possessed. Greg’s words floating back to him as he pushes back against the sting, gritting his teeth and needing more, tightening around Greg and watching his eyes widen. Mine.

He is Greg’s and Greg is his. Neither afraid of the words any more.

“Move,” he whispers, Greg’s answering shudder reverberating inside him and making his cock twitch painfully against his stomach. “Please.”

Breathless, flushed and beautiful above him, lips parted, eyes burning, Greg moves. Nick watches him, captivated, through a haze of pleasure, as the pain starts to fade away and Greg angles his strokes to make him cry out. Greg, his Greg, fucking him. Holding him down. Staring into his eyes. Greg’s cock sliding inside him, slow and deep. Making him feel this way, like his body doesn’t belong to him any more. It’s too good. Maybe he doesn’t, maybe doesn’t belong to himself and more and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t feel one bit weak. And Greg is as out of control as he is.

“I love you, Nick. Love you. Want it to feel good...just...love you,” Greg mumbles into Nick’s neck, over and over, thrusting harder now, pushing Nick’s hands up over his head and holding them there, stroking into him over and over.

“Love you too, Greg. It’s ok. I’m ok...just...just...oh fuck yes.”

Overwhelmed, Nick closes his eyes and abandons himself to the feeling, Greg’s lips on his neck, the hot, delicious pounding in his ass, the burn and slide and much needed friction of Greg’s slick belly against his trapped cock.

Greg is still talking, whispering words of love and ‘so fucking hot, Nicky, you feel so fucking good,’ but the gaps between words are getting longer as they both start the uncontrollable slide into oblivion. Nick wrenches his wrists out of Greg’s grip to grab his ass hard, pull him closer, feeling the strokes becoming erratic.

Nick is falling, every cell aflame, needing release, asking for it, whether out loud or not he’s unsure, but somehow he finds Greg’s mouth and kisses him desperately.

“Come with me,” Greg requests softly, before connecting their mouths again, hands on Nick’s hips, just two more strokes and Nick feels and hears Greg’s release, the long, low whine into his mouth pushing Nick over the edge and forcing him to let go. Nick arches and cries out, he couldn’t be silent if he wanted to, coming messily, in long, intense sprays against his own stomach, Greg moving gently now, coaxing him through it as though it’s the first orgasm Nick has ever had. Soft kisses and whispered words against his skin.

Nick remains on his back, sprawled out, open and sweaty and covered in cooling, sticky fluid. He can’t seem to open his eyes and he seems to be able to feel his pulse in the space Greg just vacated, as well as the rapid, pounding rhythm in his chest. Greg flops back down next to him and Nick feels himself being pulled carefully into warm arms. As he moves, sparkling aftershocks shudder and flicker under his skin and he breathes Greg in deeply, kissing warm, damp skin.

“You ok?” asks Greg, his voice low and satisfied.

“Third time’s the charm,” Nick mutters, not entirely convinced he’s still awake. Greg laughs and strokes his back gently. “Or else it’s just you.”

“It’s me. I offer a unique experience. Trouble is, I’ve spoiled you for whoever has you next.” Greg sighs and Nick can sense his cocky smile even with his eyes closed.

“I don’t want anyone else, Greg.” Nick says emphatically, tightening his grip.

“Ever?”

“Ever,” Nick confirms, and he’s glad his eyes are closed because they are wet and stinging. He tells himself it’s the sex, emotions have to run a little high after coming like that, but he knows it’s not. Knows it’s because all he has done today is let go, and it’s a rush. He feels real.

“Good,” Greg whispers, yawning. “’Cause you’re mine now.”

Nick reaches down and pulls the crumpled sheet
up over them, pushing his thigh in between Greg’s and resting his head on Greg’s chest, listening to his heartbeat.

“Kendra wants to meet you, you know,” Nick says with a small smile. Hard to believe she had been in their apartment less than 24 hours ago. He wonders idly how the restaurant meeting went. “Greg?”

Opening his eyes at last, Nick raises his head and regards his silent partner. Greg is fast asleep. Nick settles back against him after a moment and allows his eyes to close.

Warm, satisfied, sticky. Secure. Changed.

The blackout curtains are wide open, permitting soft morning sunlight to fall across Nick’s face. He doesn’t notice.

**~*~**

I’ll show you how to take me
Go down go down
And I'll show you how to turn me
Right on right on
And I'll show you how to touch me
Right on right on right on
Right on right on right on

You could say this was an independent love song
It's nothing like to us what love meant to them
But that's not to say the love we have isn't good or that strong
I'm doing it a different way
I'm doing it a different way

 

Part 8 - November

Lyrics from 'Chasing Cars' by Snow Patrol

**~*~**

“Fuck...Greg,” Nick hisses, eyes closed, breathless.

“Fuck....Greg...what?” The voice behind him is harsh and cracked, however much the owner is attempting to display restraint.

Nick groans with frustration and intense pleasure and swallows decisively. “Fuck, Greg, harder,” he spits at last, tightening his death grip on the wrought-iron headboard until his fingers hurt. Pushing back into Greg and moaning his approval as the strong, even strokes inside him intensify in response to his demand. Or his request, he’s not sure which it is, or that it matters either way.

What matters is the way this feels. And it feels incredible. Nick is burning up, overwhelmed, head thrown back, unseeing, his entire existence concentrated into the sting of Greg’s nails as they grasp his hips; the heat, friction, stretch and sharp ache of being filled, completely, over and over again as Greg drives into his body, hard and fast.

It’s how Nick wants it, and he’s not afraid to ask any more. Sometimes, if he stops to think about what he’s doing, what he’s asking Greg to do to him, he gets embarrassed, but now he does it anyway because the way Greg reacts to Nick’s verbal requests and demands in bed is worth any amount of embarrassment.

“You know...I love...to hear you,” Greg reminds him, a low, broken groan that melts Nick’s spine as much as Greg’s cock inside him. “If you could see how hot you look, Nicky, seriously, I just...oh god...”

Hearing him start to lose control, Nick knows it won’t be long, wanting so much to give in to the tide of need that rolls from the base of his spine to his cock and back. Needing to be touched, knowing he only needs that little bit more to lose it completely and take Greg with him. He continues to hang on to the headboard with one hand, reaching back with the other to pull Greg deeper into him, urging him, harder, faster, making them both cry out at the sensation.

“So close, Greg, touch me,” Nick gasps, not letting go of Greg. He no longer cares how he sounds, how he looks. Just this. Only this. Him and Greg, nothing else. “Please. I need it. Greg. Need you.”

“Need you too,” Greg whispers breathlessly, easily complying and slipping one hand from Nick’s hip, grasping and enclosing until his fist is flying over Nick’s pulsing erection, matching stroke for stroke.
Nick’s whimper is insistent, as is the hand gripping Greg’s ass, needing, wanting, taking more until he tumbles, spirals, spurts sticky fluid onto Greg’s stroking fingers, knowing he calls out Greg’s name as the colours explode behind his eyes.

“Nicky, oh god, too good...” the hands are back on his hips now as Greg pushes hard inside him three times more, desperate, shuddering as he lets go, nothing but a long, low “Fuck” breaking the silence as he leans against Nick for a moment, pressing lips to the heated skin of his back. Nick shivers.

He feels empty as Greg leaves him. All strength drained from his arms and legs, Nick flops from his knees onto his back, still not opening his eyes, just focusing on pulling his breathing under control. He can hear Greg’s familiar contented humming from across the room and can’t stop the lazy smile spreading across his face.

Washed up in a calm languor, Nick sighs softly and shifts slightly across the bed to make room for Greg. Frowns as he rolls onto something cold, hard and uncomfortable. Reaches underneath his back at an awkward angle and retrieves what he quickly realizes is Greg’s breakfast plate. Nick’s irritation dissolves into a smile as he opens his eyes slowly and sets the plate on the nightstand.

The plate that still contains traces of maple syrup, now sticky on his fingers. The plate that was yanked out of Greg’s hands a little over fifteen minutes previously. The plate that not long ago contained pancakes. Greg can make pancakes now, though today he chose instead to watch Nick make them and offer words of dubious encouragement from his habitual position on the counter top, making Nick wonder – not for the first time - why Greg ever bothered buying a kitchen table at all.

The pancakes, Nick thinks, hadn’t been the problem. It was when Greg had started to lick maple syrup from his fingers, slowly, deliberately, eyes never leaving Nick’s, that things had gotten somewhat out of control. The soft sucking noises, the movement of Greg’s agile tongue on his own skin and the slide of each finger in and out of that beautiful mouth...it was all just too much for Nick.

Which, by all accounts, was how breakfast in bed turned into fucking somewhat desperately on a bed strewn with abandoned breakfast items.

Nick considers he’s come quite a long way since the first time, or at least the first time he ever enjoyed it this way. The fear is gone, and all that is left is the thrill of a completely new feeling, a new way to be as close to Greg as possible, and he loves it. Loves that frisson that comes with the thought that whichever one of them starts it, there’s often no predicting how it will end up. And though he won’t exactly admit it out loud, Greg was right about control. Control is up for grabs with each new encounter and Nick wouldn’t have it any other way.

He watches Greg crawl onto the bed beside him, sprawling untidily across Nick, expression relaxed into one of happy exhaustion. Nick smiles at the closeness and skin contact and strokes the soft, dark blond hair slowly. It takes him a while to realize that Greg is actually speaking to him.

“God, Nick, ever heard the phrase ‘topping from the bottom’?” Greg’s eyes are closed and he rests his head heavily on Nick’s gently lifting ribs.

“Yeah. Well. You weren’t complaining much, as I recall,” Nick smiles indulgently.

“Not at all,” Greg murmurs, stroking Nick’s stomach lazily. “Just an observation.”

“I think you’ll find it was me being forced to observe you licking your fingers like you were giving a blow job that started the whole thing,” points out Nick, not unreasonably.

“Now, Nicky, let’s not apportion blame,” Greg says, not quite suppressing a snigger. “Maple syrup...tastes good. Like you do.”

“Hmm.” Nick is far too content to argue with logic like that and closes his eyes again, smiling lightly.

Snaps them open again just seconds later at the unexpected sensation of something cool and sticky oozing onto his skin. Finds Greg leaning over him, propped up on one elbow and casually squeezing maple syrup straight from the plastic bottle onto his abdomen. Mildly intrigued, Nick watches him, thinking that not long ago, he would have complained about the sheets or the mess or just generally demanding to know what the fuck Greg was doing, but now...Nick realizes that being with Greg has mellowed him to the extent where he is perfectly content to just watch. Curious. Just to see what Greg will do next.

Greg dips his finger in the pool of syrup he has created in and around Nick’s navel, using it to draw a pattern on Nick’s skin, culminating in a swooping, decisive ‘GHS’ across Nick’s stomach, or at least, as swooping and decisive as maple syrup on skin can be. Greg’s sticky fingers stroking and dragging across his abdominal muscles feel strange but not unpleasant.

“Greg, are you writing your name on me in maple syrup?” Nick asks faintly, at last.

“No,” Greg replies, eyes narrowed with concentration. “Just my initials.”

“Pedant.”

“But you love me.”

“I do.”

Greg looks up then and smiles, a bright, wide flash of white that still, still has the ability to give Nick the shivers. It’s incredible really.

“But that’s not why,” Nick adds, aware of the sappy grin spreading across his face as he watches Greg, and not caring.

“Oh, really,” Greg says softly, looking up at Nick as he shuffles slightly down his body and arranges himself so that he’s sitting back on Nick’s naked thighs. Picks up both of Nick’s hands where they lie motionless on the sheets, lacing their fingers together. He’s all warm eyes and sticky skin and that low, rich tone that creeps deliciously in Nick’s veins like molasses. “Why, then? Not that I’m fishing, or anything.”

“You are fishing, but no matter,” Nick murmurs, rubbing his thumbs over the delicate insides of Greg’s wrists because he knows it makes Greg shiver. “Because you’re kind and funny and hot and smart and weird...” Nick bites his tongue and looks up at Greg. “I’m not good at this stuff, Greggo, you know that. I love you because you’re you, and because you’re mine.”

Nick stares up defiantly, straight into Greg, inexplicably nervous as though Greg might contradict him or mock what he feels is inarticulacy when it comes to expressing how he feels.

“You’re better at it than you think you are,” he says simply, a tiny but sincere smile lifting one corner of his mouth. Still, just for a moment, before he’s moving again.

Greg lowers his head and licks a long, warm stripe across Nick’s belly, swiping deliberately through the syrup, flicking his gaze up to meet Nick’s and looking at him from under his eyelashes, just for a moment. Closing his eyes and slowly, carefully, following the sticky trail with a pointed tongue, effectively cleaning his skin but leaving it bathed in saliva. Nick is engulfed by a creeping warmth and cannot tear his eyes from Greg as he licks up the last of the syrup and runs his tongue over his lips, turning unguarded dark eyes back to Nick’s face. And somehow, it’s not erotic but incredibly intimate and just makes him want to hold onto Greg, onto this moment of perfect, insignificant togetherness, to take it and lock it away somewhere safe where the rest of the world can’t touch it or change it or take it away from him. From them.

Holding his gaze, Greg leans closer, wordlessly reflecting Nick’s unspoken plea back to him, and Nick wants nothing more than to taste that mouth, feel sugar-smeared lips pressed against his, slide his tongue against the familiar soft heat, mouth flooded at the thought of Greg’s taste mingling with his sweat and the sting of sweetness.

“I love you too, Nicky, so, so much.” Greg’s whisper wraps around him. Never letting go of Nick’s hands, Greg inclines his head the last few inches as Nick leans up to meet him, connecting their mouths in a soft, deep, practised kiss, tongues and lips tangling and stroking unhurriedly. The taste that is new and yet somehow everything about it is Greg.

“Who needs Thanksgiving dinner,” Nick mumbles as they separate, pulling Greg down on top of him and unthreading his fingers so he can idly stroke the curve of Greg’s back.

Greg laughs into his neck. “Who indeed. What would you be doing if you were at home?”

Home. Exactly where he is right now.

“In Texas,” Greg adds, as though he’s reading Nick’s mind. “You sap.” But he’s smiling, and he has his eyes shut, so Nick doesn’t mind too much that he’s blushing.

“Right now? Probably arguing with my sisters. Being kicked out of the kitchen by my mom, then getting pulled back in when she can’t open the cranberry sauce jar. Rescuing my father from rogue grandchildren.” Nick smiles and resolves to call, just as soon as he gets up. If he gets up.

“Your mother doesn’t make her own cranberry sauce?” Greg looks up, mock-horrified.

“I take it yours does?”

Greg laughs shortly, playing with Nick’s hair. “Are you kidding me? My mother barely knows where the kitchen is.”

Just like you, thinks Nick, but he keeps it in his head. He knows that Greg told his parents about their relationship quite some time ago, but the fact that they seemed to accept it doesn’t do anything to quell his unease.

“Why does it freak me out so much that your mom is a shrink?” Nick muses, thinking out loud.

Greg flops back onto his chest and sighs indulgently. “I have no idea. Like I’m always telling you, it’s not her you need to worry about. Once she accepts that fact that you don’t have and never will have a uterus, she’ll like you just fine.”

“That’s reassuring.” Nick grimaces. “Your father the painter? I’m quaking in my boots.”

“He’s a sculptor. And he can make cranberry sauce,” Greg adds darkly.

**~*~**

By the time they do drag themselves out of bed, it’s almost 2pm and despite the fact that he starts his next shift in just a few hours, Nick is now thoroughly and stubbornly awake. A rough growl in his belly startles him and his thoughts shift automatically to the spectacular dinner he could be looking forward to if he was in Texas with the rest of the family. If he concentrates hard enough, he can almost smell the roast turkey, the yams and the pie his mother pretends she makes herself. Every year. At the moment, it looks like he and Greg will be eating frozen pizza and then going to work. There’s certainly no point going to all that trouble just for two, and if he’s honest, Nick wouldn’t know where to start anyway.

Heading into the living room, half dressed in jeans and nothing else, Nick is reminded of the fact that they do, in fact, have an invitation to a proper dinner. His initial reluctance when Greg mentioned it, however, has clearly been enough to prevent him from bringing it up again. It isn’t that Nick doesn’t like Jacqui. In fact, he’s actually quite touched by her invitation, her obvious desire to accept and to include Nick, to bring him into the lab rat fold, because he’s important to Greg.

But the simple fact is, Nick is still a little afraid of her after their encounter in the locker room. Not that Greg knows anything about that, of course, the promise of violence was more than enough to persuade Nick to keep his mouth shut. And not only that, he’s not sure how ready he is to walk into a room containing not only Jacqui but multiple assorted lab rats, as Greg’s partner. Nick isn’t sure how many of them know, or even if any of them do, and he doesn’t want to ask. Right now, anyway.

He wasn’t lying when he answered Greg’s tentative “Do you want to go?” last night with a shrug and a raised eyebrow.

“I’d rather be with you. You know, just be together,” he’d said. If Greg was bothered by it, he hid it well, but Nick knows he can do that.

Nick flinches, startled by the hand trailing down his arm as Greg brushes past him on his way to the kitchen. The bright smile that Greg rewards him with wipes out all thoughts more complex than
Beautiful. Hot. Mine.

“You have to press the buttons, and then hold it up to your ear,” Greg teases, glancing down and miming ‘phone’ with his little finger and thumb.

Nick follows his eyes and realizes he is clutching the phone uselessly, and just standing there in the middle of the living room floor.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, flustered, and turns away. Punches in the number for his parents’ place and waits.

“Hello?”

“Hi...?” Shit. Nick forgets sometimes how alike all the Stokes women sound, and also how much they do not like being mistaken for one another. He cringes and ventures a guess, hoping for the best.

“Lynn?”

“Try again.”

The voice on the other end of the phone sounds cool and mildly amused. Not Kendra, who would have put him out of his misery much quicker than this. It’s not Anna, because she would have called him a name by now, and it’s not Lily, the voice is a little too soft. Lily, more often than not, brings what their mother calls her ‘kitchen voice’ home with her. Nick sighs and makes a second attempt.

“Kate?”

There’s a soft laughter and a “Last chance, Nicky,” and he knows now, if only through a process of elimination.

“Hello, Tess.”

‘Hi Nicky. How’s the boyfriend?’

Nick splutters, suddenly grateful she can’t see his face, certain he is bright red and wild-eyed.

“Kendra told you about Greg?” Nick can’t believe she did that. He knows he didn’t specifically ask her to keep it a secret, but she knows how nervous he is, how he needs to be in control of this if he’s going to do it.

“No, of course not,” replies Teresa somewhat scornfully. “You just did.”

Oh. Fuck. Nick groans and sits down heavily on the couch, speechless at his own stupidity. Tess is a lawyer, a prosecutor at that. He should know better by now, how to avoid her traps, but it’s not his fault. He’s still drifting in that delicious post-sex haze, and Greg is drifting around the apartment wearing not very much at all. Distracted, Nick leans back over the back of the couch to see him standing in the kitchen doorway wearing black boxers and nothing else. Waving the coffee pot at Nick, eyebrows raised. Nick nods vehemently and turns his attention, with some effort, back to the phone.

“Are you listening to me, Nick?”

“No,” he moans, closing his eyes.

“Good to see some things never change,” Tess remarks drily. “And I dread to think what you’re like on the stand if you crumble as easily as that.”

“Leave it out, Tess,” he grumbles, secretly grateful that she’s more fixated on his impulsiveness and inability to keep his mouth shut than the fact he’s just admitted Greg is his boyfriend.

“Leave it out, Tess,” she mimics, suddenly turning playful, and Nick laughs in spite of his fear.

“How old are you, again?”

“Thirty seven this time, don’t remind me.” She sighs. “And before you ask, all I heard was that you were off the market. From Kate, who heard it from Lily who heard it from Kenny. The rest was...conjecture on my part. Until now.”

Nick can picture the smug look on his sister’s face, and he gives in. “Fine – thank you, Greg,” he incorporates, accepting the steaming cup proffered by the younger man and smiling at him, a silent invitation. Greg arches a curious eyebrow, eyeing the couch, the phone pressed against Nick’s ear and Nick himself in turn. Nick holds his gaze until Greg smiles and slowly sits on the couch next to him, tucking his feet underneath himself and resting a hand on Nick’s denim-covered thigh.

“Is he there? Can I speak to him?” Teresa’s voice rises a couple of pitches as she does a poor job of concealing her eagerness.

“Yes, he’s here, and no you cannot speak to him.” Nick puts his cup down on the table and instead reaches out to pull Greg against him, sighing with pleasure at the sensation of warm bare skin against his, the feeling he never gets tired of. Greg kisses his shoulder softly and says nothing.

The same cannot be said for Tess, who is most unimpressed at not being allowed to speak to, or more likely cross-examine Greg. “No, Tess. I don’t need you freaking out my boyfriend with your scary questions right now.”

My boyfriend. Mine. Nick smiles to himself, sensing Greg shift fractionally closer and squeezing the younger man’s waist possessively in response. He barely registers Tess’s grumbles and submits contentedly to being passed from sister to sister, fielding the usual questions about his love life and the usual guilt tripping about not being home for Thanksgiving. Somewhere during the first half hour, Greg picks up a magazine from the coffee table and opens it on drawn up knees, leaning back against Nick and threading their fingers together as Nick talks. Or rather, as Nick attempts to talk.

“It’s Kendra again,” the voice on the other end of the line announces as the phone changes hands once again.

“Where’s Lil?” Nick enquires after the only sibling he has yet to speak to.

Kendra snorts. “It’s Thanksgiving Day. Where do you think Lily is?”

“She didn’t!”

“She did,” Kendra confirms, and Nick can almost hear her head shake of disapproval. “She said they were just going to check on things, just for an hour. I swear, she thinks that restaurant will burn to the ground if she’s not there all the time.”

Nick thinks better of commenting, mainly because he’s all too aware that his own dedication to his job is the reason he’s in Vegas and not Dallas today. “As long as she’s back before the turkey goes dry, huh? She knows better than to mess with mom’s precision timing.”

“Right. Speaking of which...” Kendra pauses and Nick breathes in sharply. “She’s just come out of the kitchen, maybe you’d like to speak to her about something?”

Nick almost wants to smile, because Kendra’s tone is far from subtle, but the stab of panic keeps it from his face. “Ken,” he hisses, “I’m not doing this now, and I’m not doing it over the damn phone.”

He knows, all too well, that he has to talk to his parents, but not like this. He wants to sit down with both of them, in person. He wants to feel in control. He doesn’t want to be the cause of dried out turkey and he certainly doesn’t want every Thanksgiving from now on to be ‘hey, remember when Nick came out over the phone?’

He glances down at Greg, who is staring very hard at his magazine, barely breathing. They haven’t really discussed how Nick will do this, or what he will say. Nick has only assured Greg that he will tell his parents, and Greg seems satisfied with that. After discovering that Nick told Kendra, Greg couldn’t keep the smile off his face. But, all the same, Nick wants to do this right.

“Listen,” she whispers, and Nick has to wonder if their mother is standing right behind her as she speaks. “Do we really have to have that whole ‘right moment’ conversation again? And anyway, the window of opportunity for you to do this is closing fast, because they will find out, and then you’ll have no choice.”

“Have you always been this bossy? I’ll do it when I’m fu – “

“Nick?”

“-lly, um, decided on that,” Nick finishes weakly, directing a stern look at Greg, dissolving into silent convulsions of amusement against him. “Hi mom.”

“It’s a shame you couldn’t be here,” she says pointedly. Nick sighs. “Especially since you can’t make it out for Christmas either.”

“I know. I have to work, you know that. I’d need at least three days off in a row to have any time with you, it just didn’t go my way this year. Next year, I promise.” Nick presses his nose into Greg’s hair and inhales deeply, letting the familiar scent soothe his guilt away.

“I understand, Nick, I really do, it’s just... it’d be nice to have the whole family together once in a while.” Jillian Stokes sighs and Nick steps up his self-soothing tactics, leaning down to kiss the back of Greg’s neck carefully, making him wriggle pleasurably.

“I promise,” he repeats. Both of us, he adds silently, looking down at Greg.

“Good. All my girls are here,” she says, switching to a slightly conspiratorial tone, reminding Nick of the role as only son and confidant he fell into whilst growing up, and which he still occasionally occupies these days. “Six beautiful girls and five of them all alone, it’s not right...though I dare say, Kendra’s better off without that man.” She pauses and Nick makes a small but vigorous sound of agreement. “It just makes me sad. I suppose that’s how things are these days, relationships aren’t...”

Nick’s mother is still talking, but he’s no longer listening, because the urge that grips him suddenly is so strong that it makes him catch his breath. Something wriggles uncomfortably in his stomach and he doesn’t quite know if it’s dread, nerves or excitement, but he can’t take it.

“Mom,” he interrupts. Tries to steady his voice. “I have someone.”

Greg tenses against him and twists around, trying to pull out of his grip. His eyes are wide with shock and he waves his hand in the universal gesture of ‘I’ll just give you some space’ as he attempts to leave the couch.

“You do, Nicky? That’s wonderful!”

Nick shakes his head and mouths ‘Stay with me.’ He pulls Greg back against him, shifting slightly so Greg’s bare back rests against his chest, needing as much contact as possible, still gripping his hand tightly. After a moment, Greg lets out a shuddering breath and flips his magazine open again with studied nonchalance. Nick smiles shakily.

“Yeah, mom, it is.” The silence is so expectant that it almost paralyses Nick. He gulps. Here goes. “It’s...ah...remember how I moved in with Greg, from the lab, after, ah...what happened at my apartment? He and I, well, we...we’re together.”

The silence stretches out, agonisingly. Nick holds his breath until it hurts.

“Are you trying to tell me you’re gay?” she asks finally.

“Yeah,” Nick replies softly, gripping Greg’s hand so hard he yelps in pain. “Sorry,” Nick whispers, loosening his hold slightly, just so grateful for the warm, reassuring presence pressed against him.
“Are you...is it....say something,” Nick stumbles. Heart racing. Kendra promised. So did Lily. They said it would be ok. They promised.

“I’m just surprised, that’s all,” she offers at last. “I had no idea.”

“Really?”

“Really. With Lily, I knew for a long time before she told me. Nicky, you’re my baby boy, I never thought of it, I never...” She takes a deep breath, seeming to gather herself. “Is he a good man?”

Flooded with warm relief, Nick is confused to feel hot tears prick at the insides of his eyelids. “Of course he is mom, I love him.”

This time it is Greg’s grip that strengthens, and Nick allows his hand to be pulled up to enable Greg to press a soft kiss to his palm, no words needed.

“It doesn’t change how we feel about you, sweetheart,” she says. “As long as you’re happy.”

Her words seem to be exactly what Nick needs to hear, and he feels a good proportion of his tension dissolving in a dizzy rush. Lightened, he easily submits to the flurry of enquiries.

“Is Cisco around?” Nick ventures at last, still not entirely sure how ready he is to have the same conversation with his father, but knowing it will be easier to just get it over with, and with Greg next to him and his mother’s support, he has a shaky but very real feeling that he can do anything.

“He’s in the backyard with Jack and Kelly, but I suspect that’s not what you’re asking,” Jillian replies shrewdly.

“I guess not. What’s he going to say?” Nick watches as Greg turns a page slowly.

A long, somewhat hesitant exhalation. “I’m not going to lie to you, Nick, it might take some getting his head around, but he’ll get there. After all,” she adds, lowering her voice, “We know who’s in charge here, and it certainly isn’t Bill Stokes. Let me speak to him first.”

Nick laughs, gratefully acquiescing. He trusts her.

“You’ll be the last Stokes,” she says suddenly, accompanied by a loud bang that sounds very much like the oven door slamming shut. “I just realized. Oh dear. I’ll try not to focus on that part when I tell him.”

“What are you talking about, the last Stokes?” Nick frowns, confused.

“Always with the grandchildren,” Greg murmurs almost inaudibly, a mixture of resignation and amusement tainting his voice.

“Mom, what makes you think I was going to have kids anyway?” Nick asks, catching on quickly.

“It’s not an unreasonable assumption,” she asserts, somewhat stubbornly.

“Besides,” Nick continues, not really hearing her or thinking consciously but carried away by the desire to make a point, whatever it may be. “Why would a child of mine not be a Stokes? It’s not like I’ve suddenly turned into a girl, is it? Even if I got married, I’d still be a Stokes!”

Nick stops, brain catching up with his mouth in an instant as he hears his own words. What? Not only does he have no idea where that came from, but the stunned silence on the other end of the phone tells him that his mother is as surprised as he is. And Greg...Nick almost doesn’t dare look at him, breath caught, suddenly terrified of his reaction to this surreal, unexpected shift in the conversation.

“Sanders-Stokes,” Greg mutters under his breath, breaking the silence. He doesn’t look up from the magazine resting on his thighs, still leaning against Nick, fingers still entwined together.

Nick’s heart leaps and for a moment, he has no words at all. Greg doesn’t even seem to realize what he’s said, and Nick wonders if he even meant to say it out loud. Not ready to find out yet, he returns to the conversation.

“I suppose that’s true,” his mother is saying slowly over the distinctive rattle of roasting tins.

“Thanks, mom,” Nick says at last, resigned to the fact that more complicated expression has escaped him for the time being. Allowing Jillian to pick up the conversational slack, as he knows she will, Nick lets out a long breath, cradles the phone between neck and shoulder and wraps his free arm tightly around his man.

**~*~**

Nick watches Greg run down the last flight of stairs to the main door of their apartment building with a mixture of amusement and envy at his boundless energy and enthusiasm for the most mundane of activities.

He turns as he wrenches the heavy door open and looks up at Nick, exasperated. Rakes his hands through hair that Nick can’t believe he actually bothered to style for a trip to the store. Not that he doesn’t look good. He does, because Nick is staring. Shaken out of it by Greg’s theatrical throat-clearing, though, Nick notes, he looks more entertained than frustrated now.

“You know, I don’t even think the store will be open, G. It’s a public holiday.” Nick descends the stairs at a more civilised pace and follows Greg out onto the street.

“You just have to know where to go, that’s all,” Greg replies. “And you didn’t have to come with me if you didn’t want to.”

Shooting him a look, Nick waits as Greg drops to tie a rebellious shoelace. He did have to, because the expression on Greg’s face when he announced that he ‘needed ice cream’ shortly following the phone call makes Nick think that things might get interesting. And if that’s the case, he certainly wants to be part of the ice cream choosing process. However cold it is outside.

“Crap, it’s freezing,” Nick hisses, chilled by an unexpected gust of wind. Pulling the sleeves of his worn blue hoodie down over his fingers.

Greg looks up, eyes glinting. “Poor Nicky,” he whispers dangerously. Getting to his feet and stepping close. “Want me to warm you up?”

Nick’s breath catches in his chest at the proximity, the promise in Greg’s eyes, fingers itching to touch. Just a small touch, just...a second blast of cold air in Nick’s hair reminds him where they are. Outside, on the street. Not inside their apartment, but standing next to the building. In the open air. This is new. They can’t. And yet. Heart pounding gracelessly, Nick can’t look away from Greg’s face, the half-deserted street fading to silence as he whispers “Yes,” and impulsively tugs Greg closer and kisses his cold lips.

Greg’s small sound of surprise makes Nick smile into the kiss, exhilarated, knowing Greg never expected him to do it. It’s brief, just seconds, the tip of Greg’s tongue touching his is fleeting, but it still makes him shudder. When they pull apart, Greg is flushed pink and smiling so hard he’s in danger of shattering into a thousand pieces. Nick is suddenly warm, the cool air now welcome against his skin as he composes himself and zips Greg’s jacket up protectively.

“Thank you, I’m warmer now,” Nick murmurs, looking down but unable to suppress the smile. “Shall we go find this store?”

Greg opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by two sounds in such rapid succession that Nick has trouble determining which came first. The loud slam of a car door and an equally loud voice that Nick vaguely recognises.

“What the fuck?” the voice spits.

Suddenly cold again, Nick flicks a glance over Greg’s shoulder, scanning the street until his eyes rest on the tall, dark-haired man approaching them and he is able to put the voice and the owner together. Greg is frozen to the spot, eyes wide. He doesn’t want to turn around and Nick doesn’t blame him. He thinks he knows what’s coming, or at least he has a vague idea, and through the fear and adrenaline coursing through his body, there’s a prod of shame in the fact that he’s unsure how to handle it.

Nick doesn’t like confrontation, never has, and though he can handle himself, this is different.

“Don’t fuckin’ ignore me, faggot,” the antagonist warns, now less than ten feet away.

Greg flinches visibly at the word and closes his eyes briefly. Slowly, he turns around as though getting ready to face a firing squad, and Nick instinctively takes a step forward to stand beside him.

“Don’t speak to me like that.”

Nick’s jaw is set and he knows his voice sounds stronger than he feels. He wants to stay calm, even though he can see into the man’s eyes with each step closer and the look of absolute disgust reflected within in them fills Nick with a fury he didn’t know he possessed. He doesn’t look at Greg because somewhere amongst the rage and fear is the basic urge to touch, to reassure, and that certainly won’t help. The man, for whom Greg’s politest name is ‘Laura’s idiot boyfriend’, laughs shortly.

“You should be grateful I’m not punching your fuckin’ lights out, freakshow. I can’t believe I’ve even slept in the same building as someone like you. You’re sick.”

He actually does spit this time, the expectorant landing inches away from Greg’s shoe. Nick’s not touching him but he senses the ripple of tension through his boyfriend’s body and his hands almost unconsciously curl into fists at his sides.

“Look, why don’t you just back off,” Nick forces out. He’s so close now, hostility pouring off him in waves. Violence is not the answer. It’s just like calming an unstable suspect, that’s all. “Think about what you’re doing.”

“Doing?” he laughs again, harsh and cold in Nick’s ears. “You think I’d actually touch either of you, you sick fuck? You or your bitch? Please.” He glances at Greg with deliberate, precision timing and that’s all it takes.

“Fuck you!” Greg explodes, rage carrying him forward, fists raised, knuckles white, and Greg’s not a violent person but Nick has never, ever seen him this angry. The dark-haired man doesn’t move, yet, everything slows down around Nick and he knows he has maybe two or three seconds to react.

Barely breathing, he grabs Greg, both shoulders, hard, pulling him away as the door next to them opens and a female voice rips through the air.
Nick’s head is spinning and he can’t make out what is said, only that the man curls his lip, expression murderous, and stalks away into the building, letting the door slam behind him. At the sound, Nick flinches and turns to look at Greg. Nick releases his shoulders and Greg stares back at him, eyes steady and chin lifted boldly, only his shaking fingers giving him away.

“Let’s go inside,” Nick says, enclosing those trembling fingers in his and tugging gently. Not caring who sees them.

**~*~**

It isn’t until they are safely back in their apartment and the door closes behind them that Greg falls apart. Two steps into the hall and he finds his voice again, muttering to himself or to Nick, it’s hard to tell. Over and over.

“Never been spoken to like that, fucking never...lived here three years...never...it’s fucking Vegas, you know? Who does he think he is? Fucking jackass with his fucking shiny car...saying that to you, god!” Greg explodes, almost spinning around on the spot, energy pouring out of him but not the usual energy, this is pain and anxiety and fear.

Nick, still nauseous and humming with his own adrenaline rush, wants to comfort but none of the words seem right.

“I’m not anyone’s bitch,” Greg hisses, pacing now. Stops suddenly and turns to Nick and his hunted eyes tear Nick inside. “...am I?” he asks, almost in a whisper.

“No.” Nick’s voice is forceful, and he knows now what he needs to do. Greg is still shaking as Nick moves closer and directs him against the wall. Pressing close, taking Greg’s face in both hands, forcing eye contact. “No, you’re not. That guy was an ass and you know it. You’ve always known it.”

Greg nods uncertainly, still shaking, tentative fingers on Nick’s back transmitting the static crackle from Greg’s body into his and back. Breathing hard, caught up, needing the connection, to reassure himself as much as Greg, Nick kisses him, hard. Relieved, calmed to feel Greg melt against him, hot mouth, cold skin, taking each breath together and clinging to each other. The kiss is frantic, bruising, the demonstration of absolute, true comfort that only Greg can give to him and vice versa. Nick is still livid, but none of that matters compared to this.

The fingers on his hips, now under his clothes, grip hard and as he pulls away, Greg’s eyes are wet and flickering with pain.

“I’m sorry,” Nick whispers, and the eyes waver with confusion. “I kissed you. It’s my fault.”

The shiver is back, cascading down Nick’s thighs, every muscle tensed, Greg’s voice strong, vehement, raspy, words spoken almost against his lips, Nick feels every word.

“Don’t ever apologise for that.”

“Ok.”

Taking Greg’s mouth again, Nick pushes him hard into the wall, not rough now but strong, urgent, uncompromising. Someone moans out loud and Nick honestly doesn’t know which of them makes the sound. Draws back. Greg’s darkened eyes, his ruffled hair, reddened, swollen lips, tension in every crease between knitted eyebrows.

“I love you. I love you, Greg.”

Each word slow and deliberate, like the hand Nick slides between them, unfastening Greg’s jeans, pushing them down and pressing his palm against the stirring, heated flesh. Almost smiling at Greg’s gasp of surprise, not just because he’s being touched but because he is already half hard. Nick is less surprised. He knows enough about stressful situations, about fear and adrenaline and tension to know that sometimes, a rush is a rush, whatever form it takes. And that sometimes, the best relief is the most basic.

Kissing the soft lips one more time, Nick drops to the floor and licks his lips, sliding Greg’s cock into his mouth, licking and sucking gently until he’s fully hard and leaking salty fluid against Nick’s tongue. Thighs trembling and hands scrabbling at the wall behind him. Nick wraps his hand around the shaft, his other hand rubbing, sweeping long soothing strokes up and down Greg’s leg from hip to knee as he moves, keeping the pressure firm and even, flicking his tongue over all the places that drive Greg crazy. No holding back, knowing this won’t last long, and it’s not about that. Greg needs this, needs the relief and needs to feel in control. Nick needs to give it to him. Nick just listens, tastes, allowing Greg to push harder into his mouth, hips coming away from the wall as he gets close. Feels the shaking subside with each slide, each lick, each stroke, the tension slipping away as Greg tips his head back against the wall and whimpers softly. So close now.

Swept up in sensation, driven toward the release that isn’t even his own, Nick looks up, not slowing down for a moment. His eyes meeting Greg’s in a snap of electricity and that’s it. He just stares, unable to tear his eyes away as Greg arches off the wall and spills forcefully down his throat.

“God, Nicky...I love you,” he cries helplessly, grabbing Nick’s shoulder to hold himself up.

He does not remove his eyes from Greg’s once as he licks him clean, redresses him and they move as one to the couch. Full length, twisted together, fingers under clothes and still.

**~*~**

The soft, yellow winter sun is fading, low in the sky as both sets of breathing slow, and Nick opens his eyes at last. He has not been asleep, but the darkness behind his eyelids was temporarily soothing as he lay underneath Greg, pressed down into the worn leather cushions and consciously forced the tension to evaporate from his body.

Greg’s face is turned away from him but his hands are moving, one in Nick’s hair and one stroking his side, under the fleecy fabric; so Nick knows he’s awake. Having gone over and over the whole incident in his head, Nick is perplexed at the ease with which he has found resolution. It shouldn’t be so easy. So easy to tell himself that the guy is an idiot and it doesn’t matter what he says or thinks. And yet, somehow it is.

Maybe it’s because of how things went with his family. Maybe it’s because he just doesn’t care any more. Maybe it’s because of the absolute solace that comes with just being held. Just lying here, together, feeling Greg’s warm weight all over him, his hands and legs and heartbeat and every breath. It’s that feeling that maybe, if he can hold Greg tight enough, if Greg can hold him tight enough, they can keep each other safe. Not from jerks like that one, but from the whole world.

“Nobody at work will be like that, you know,” Greg says eventually, hands stilling.

“Of course not,” Nick replies, frowning and resting his hands on Greg’s back. When had he ever thought they would?

“I just thought that...” Greg stops. Huffs out a long hard breath and continues. “I thought that maybe after that...you’ll never want to tell anyone about us.”

Nick can’t decide if that’s painful or exasperating. He knows he has been holding back, keeping their relationship a secret from their co-workers, but he doesn’t believe he’s unreasonable in thinking that this afternoon’s phone call goes some way to redressing the balance. Surely?

“Greg, where were you this afternoon, when I told my mother how much I love you?” Nick asks, unable to keep a little of the hurt out of his voice. “As for everyone else...if you think that something like that is going to change anything then...” ...then I’m offended, he adds inside his head. “I’ll get there, Greg, I promise.”

Silence hangs in the air for a moment or two, and Greg absently resumes his hair stroking as he thinks.

“Thank you for telling your mom about me.”

Nick sighs. “You don’t have to be grateful, Greg, I should have done it a long time ago.”

Greg shifts and presses his mouth against Nick’s chest. He exhales thoughtfully and Nick can feel the heat of it through the soft fabric.

“Maybe. Maybe not. You weren’t ready a long time ago.”

The silence that follows Greg’s remark is comfortable rather than heavy, and Nick realizes, not for the first time, how patient this man really is. He thinks that some of their colleagues would be very surprised if they knew just how patient Greg Sanders can be. In fact, there are a lot of things that would surprise them about Greg Sanders. His Greg.

And what will you do for him, Nick? whispers the little voice in his head. Something impulsive, something selfless, something...

“Hey, do you want to go to Jacqui’s?” he asks, taking a deep breath and stroking Greg’s hair uncertainly. He still really, really doesn’t want to, but this isn’t about him. It’s about Greg.

Greg looks up in surprise, right into Nick’s eyes. His expression conveys shock and some other nameless emotion that makes Nick swallow the dry lump that has suddenly materialised in his throat.

“We’ve still got time, if we call,” he adds, playing with strands of blond hair. “She said...”

“I love you,” Greg whispers, cutting him off and shifting against his body to claim Nick’s lips in a brief but intense kiss. He smiles, just slightly, a slight lifting of the corners of his mouth, but it’s enough to make Nick’s heart thump in his chest.

“I love you too,” Nick replies, puzzled. Sometimes Greg still confuses the hell out of him. He doesn’t mind as such, just wishes he had some kind of interpretation book for Greg’s thousands of different glances.

“Maybe later,” Greg says at last, dropping his head back to Nick’s chest and wrapping himself more securely around his older partner. “Let’s just be together for a little while longer,” he adds, effectively echoing Nick’s earlier sentiment.

Nick smiles into his hair and holds him closer. He’ll go anywhere for Greg but right now, there’s nowhere he would rather be than right here. And he’s thankful.

**~*~**

We'll do it all
Everything
On our own

We don't need
Anything
Or anyone

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

I need your grace
To remind me
To find my own

All that I am
All that I ever was
Is here in your perfect eyes, they're all I can see

I don't know where
Confused about how as well
Just know that these things will never change for us at all

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

 

December Akevitt is a traditional Scandinavian drink, generally drunk as shots, at Christmas. Thanks BflyW for info and translation, and for the fabulous CD covers (which I have to post separately...)

Lyrics from ‘Heaven’ by DJ Sammy (Yanou’s Candlelight Mix) which I know isn’t the original, but it’s the version I love and the version I had on repeat while I wrote this :)

**~*~**

He’s tried it with the curtains closed. He’s tried it with the curtains open. He’s tried it naked, sprawled out across cold sheets, and curled up on his side wearing a slightly too tight t-shirt and track pants that Greg left behind. He’s tried it wrapped up in the oversized, soft comforter that they bought together when the weather started to turn cold, and he’s tried it with all the covers and blankets thrown to the floor. Music on, music off; his own and Greg’s. Nothing works. Nick just can’t sleep.

He stares up at the ceiling and groans softly. It’s no good. Nick knows he has got used to sharing a bed with Greg, but it still comes as somewhat of a painful surprise that without him, Nick cannot get to sleep at all. He desperately needs to sleep, because it’s been two days since Greg left, and Nick is exhausted. Miserable. Frustrated. Aching for the warm, lively, comforting presence that he has become so accustomed to over the last few months. Needing Greg so much that he feels sick. This is the longest they have been apart since Nick moved in, and he’s going mad with it.

Nick turns his head on the pillows that still smell like Greg’s hair and considers getting up and walking around the apartment again. It seemed to work, a little, the night before. After a good hour’s pacing he thinks he managed to drift off for about the same length of time before the alarm shrilled and reminded him that however much he was pathetically and irrationally falling apart without his boyfriend, he still had to go to work.

Cringing, Nick tries to push work out of his head for now, not only because it’s not exactly conducive to the peaceful sleep he’s striving for, but because he thinks he has a couple of apologies to make during this next shift. Because a sleep-deprived, fractious Nick Stokes, as it turns out, does not exactly endear himself to his colleagues.

Because it wasn’t Catherine’s fault that someone used the last of the sugar in the break room so that Nick had to drink his coffee without. She had only been standing there, and despite the fact that Nick knows Catherine doesn’t even take sugar in her coffee, she still had to listen to his ten-minute rant about god damn thoughtless co-workers. Which, Nick thinks with shame, she accepted with unreasonably good grace. In fact, she looked almost sympathetic.

Because it wasn’t Warrick’s fault, either, that he found himself assigned to a case Nick had been working solo up until that point. Not that it stopped a frazzled, affronted Nick from nearly biting his head off when he found out, or from flat-out refusing to enter into his friend’s well-intentioned attempts to cheer him up.

And because it isn’t anyone else’s fault that Nick is unhappy. It’s his fault, and the knowledge sits uncomfortably. If he had been brave enough to tell his co-workers about him and Greg, he wouldn’t be alone right now. Because then they could have asked for the same days off, and this would never have happened.

Nick, here, and Greg at his parents’ place in California, three days before Christmas.

He just wants Greg to come home. Not being with him hurts, and in all honesty Nick thinks he would be happy, right now, just to hear Greg’s voice. But, unsurprisingly, the famous Stokes stubbornness easily wins out over what is an undeniably sappy desire, and so far, Nick has managed to avoid calling. He doesn’t think he’ll hold on for much longer, but even so...despite the fact that he loves Greg more than he ever thought possible, Nick doesn’t much care for the idea of Greg knowing that he can’t function without him.

It’s just one more day. That’s all. Then he’ll be home, and everything will be ok.

When the harsh ringing cuts into Nick’s thoughts he sighs and gropes around blindly on the nightstand to answer. Much as he doesn’t usually relish being called into work early, in this instance he decides it may actually be preferable to lying in an empty, silent apartment not sleeping. He yawns until his jaw clicks and answers. Sets the phone to speaker and drops it onto his chest.

“Stokes.”

“Hi, Nicky.” The voice that fills the room is not Grissom’s, but Greg’s. Nick’s heart leaps and he exhales slowly. Flooded with relief, and the sting of shame that he didn’t just screw up his stupid pride and call Greg when he wanted to.

“Hey.”

“I miss yooou,” Greg slurs, voice slightly louder than usual. Nick raises an eyebrow in the dark.

“Greg, are you drunk?”

There is silence for a moment or two, and he waits. Knows he doesn’t usually have to wait long for Greg to speak, but there’s not much that is usual about an intoxicated Greg. In fact, Greg rarely gets drunk at all, and certainly not emotional, out of control, slurring drunk.

“Yes. Yes, I am,” Greg says decisively after a moment, and Nick suddenly wants to laugh, but he holds it in. “And I miss you.”

Nick sighs and rubs his eyes, shifting uncomfortably at the dull pain that ripples through his stomach at the words.

I miss you too, Greg.

“It was your idea,” he replies impulsively, and immediately regrets the tone. Knows it’s a reaction to the pain and that it won’t help matters to get at Greg, especially not when he’s inebriated.

Somewhat surprisingly, Greg agrees with him.

“Yes,” he replies. “It was. A really bad idea. Idea of the very worst I’ve ever had,” he adds mournfully.

Nick does laugh then, and as he relaxes slightly and folds his arms behind his head on the pillow, he wonders whether or not to tell Greg that he sounds like Yoda when he’s drunk. Probably better not.

“No,” he soothes. “It’s good that you got to see your family before Christmas, G. Just wish I could have been with you.”

And did he really say that? Nick thinks for a moment, feeling a strange pull of unexpected satisfaction that not only did he say it, but he meant it, too. Because however much the idea of meeting Greg’s family terrifies him, he’ll take that over...over this, any time. Not that they had any choice, because he has to work and Greg has three days off, but all the same, the realization is significant. He smiles at the ceiling.

“Me too.” Greg pauses. “I think the room’s spinning.”

Glancing at the bright green numbers on the clock on his nightstand, Nick frowns.

“Greg, it’s 4.30 in the afternoon.”

“Yes!” Greg says indignantly. “Why aren’t you not asleep? No. Why are you not...I know what I mean. Which is the main thing.”

“You called me,” Nick says easily, smiling. Feeling curiously vulnerable about his current state of insomnia and the reason for it. Not wanting to reveal that he just can’t sleep without Greg next to him.

“It’s Papa Olaf’s fault,” Greg says darkly. “Akevitt shots after lunch. I miss your hands,” he adds, seemingly at random.

“My hands?” Nick retracts his hands from under his head and regards them in the near darkness. “What about them?”

He has a pretty good idea what about them, but the thought of hearing Greg say it is tempting, even if he is drunk. Greg sighs softly and Nick drops one hand to his bare chest, sliding his fingertips over cool skin. Smiling at the stir of interest in his borrowed track pants just at the sound of Greg’s quickened breath.

“All over me,” Greg replies at last, voice dropping into a slightly slurred version of the tone he uses to whisper all kinds of filth into Nick’s ear when they are together in this room. Nick closes his eyes. “And your mouth. Missing your mouth very much, Nicky. Love your mouth on me...everywhere.”

“Oh, god,” Nick whispers, hand resting at his waistband. Skin warming as blood rushes to his cock, stiffening and pushing against the soft fabric, just at the sound of Greg’s voice.

Because he misses touching Greg so much that it rips him inside. Misses the soft, warm skin under his fingers and lips, misses it like crazy and it’s only been two days. He wonders distractedly when exactly he became this person who can’t stand not to be touching Greg. Realizes with a sharp twist of pleasure and pain that he can hardly remember not needing to touch Greg.

“Greg, where are you?” Nick doesn’t know why he’s whispering, because there’s no one to overhear him, but he’s suddenly concerned that Greg could be in his parents’ living room for all he knows.

“Coming upstairs...heh.” Greg sniggers at his own words and Nick rolls his eyes and laughs softly at the same time. Unable to stop himself, he slips his hand under the waistband and sighs faintly as he wraps his fingers around his cock. “Need to lie down, I think...know what...? I’m so hard for you, Nicky.”

Fuck. Nick wonders, irrationally, why they’ve never done this before, because Greg’s half-sighed admission shoots straight down his spine to his cock, now fully hard and pulsing in his tight grip.

“Me too, Greg...want you so much,” he hisses, stroking himself slowly and closing his eyes. Screwing them shut and just listening to Greg’s voice as he mumbles, barely coherent, telling himself that if he thinks hard enough, he can feel warm hands on his skin, the brush of Greg’s hair against his chest, see lust-filled brown eyes in the darkness.

He knows he should be embarrassed, and he is, a little. Knows that his skin is heated and his face is burning, heart pounding, fingers sweaty as he trails his free hand over his chest, following the pattern of the first. But he’s so turned on that he almost doesn’t care what he says or how he sounds. Just like when Greg is here. And he wishes Greg was here so fucking much.

“Success!” Greg cries suddenly. Nick opens one eye but doesn’t slow the hand now slowly caressing his erection. “Bedroom. Ok, I’m in...and –“

A muffled thump followed immediately by repeated cursing in both English and Norwegian makes Nick jump. And frown. Shift slightly, taking care not to dislodge the phone still resting on his chest, maintaining the steady rhythm over his cock, needing it now, waiting for Greg to return.

“You ok?” Breathing slightly ragged.

“Yep. Jeg datt...um...I fell down.”

And he sounds so indignant that Nick can’t help laughing, somewhat breathlessly, the sound echoing around the room. “Lie down, then,” he murmurs, relaxing back into the pillows again.

Squirming pleasantly against the warmth spreading out from his groin to his extremities as he touches himself.

“Good idea. You’re so smart, Nicky, that’s why I love you,” Greg sighs. Nick can hear the smile in his voice, caught somewhere between tender and seductive, and the characteristic sound of rustling sheets, a zipper being lowered. “So, so much...and god...” Greg groans low in his throat and Nick’s breath catches. He knows that sound, and he knows what Greg is doing. “and I want you. Wish you were touching me...s’not the same.”

“What’s not the same, Greg?” Nick whispers, gripping harder and pushing into his hand. Greg moans softly.

“Jerking off,” Greg murmurs almost matter-of-factly. “Need to...mmm...need to come with you inside me...so bad...when I get home I want you to fuck me into the mattress...ok?”

“I think I can manage that, G,” Nick manages, so close now. It’s been two days, and that’s far too long. Fingers slippery, flying over hot, hard desperate flesh as Greg slides into incoherent, frenzied mumbling. “Want you too. Need you. Want to...” Nick takes a deep breath. “Want to kiss you until you can’t breathe and fuck you ‘til you scream.”

“Nick, god, that’s hot,” Greg pants harshly. “I think I’m...oh god...oh, fuck...Nick,” he whimpers and falls silent.

The sound of Greg’s release rips through Nick’s body like a wave and it won’t take much more, breathing hard and scraping nails over peaked nipples as he pushes hard into his fist, just needing to hear Greg’s voice one more time.

“Greg, I’m so close...want me to...Greg?”

Nick pauses, receiving no response. Silence. The only sound in the room his own ragged breathing. And then he hears it. A familiar soft snore. Another. And another, the regular, slow rhythm that assures him that Greg is fast asleep. Or passed out, it’s difficult to tell over the phone. One thing is for sure, Greg is going to have a headache tomorrow. Nick supposes he can take that up with his grandfather.

Somewhere between frustrated, amused and affectionate, Nick sighs. He still desperately needs release, but he’s going to have to do it without Greg’s help. Sort of.

...when I get home I want you to fuck me into the mattress...

The hand on his cock grips, slides, hard, fast...heat uncurling in the pit of his stomach, every muscle tensing as the sweet tension builds and something snaps deep inside him, and he comes in long, hard spurts over his own hand and stomach.

Nick exhales messily and sags into the mattress, sated. Somehow comforted, if only temporarily, he wipes his hand half-heartedly on the borrowed sweat pants and retrieves the phone from his chest as he turns onto his side. Greg’s soft breathing still issuing from the speaker. Nick thinks the sound is so reassuring that if it weren’t for the astronomical cost, he would leave the connection open and just listen, certain that the gentle rhythm would lull him into sleep.

But miraculously, Nick’s eyes and limbs are heavy and he’s drifting. So much so that he barely registers the sentimentality of that thought, just the fact that the dull ache of missing Greg has mellowed into something warm and altogether more bearable.

“I love you too, Greggo,” he whispers into the air as he fumbles to end the call. “Sleep well.”

Nick drops the phone to the floor, wraps the abandoned comforter around himself and himself around a pillow. As he gratefully relinquishes consciousness, he can smell lemon and coconut and chemicals and Greg, and he smiles.

**~*~**

Nick glances at the clock on the living room wall and drums his fingers impatiently on his knees. It seems to have barely moved since the last time he looked, and it’s driving him crazy. Greg should be home any time now, and yet time itself appears to have slowed down almost to a standstill. He has done everything he can think of to make it pass more quickly, but to no avail. He’s been for a run, showered, cooked, watched TV, tried to read a book...he has even cleaned, which, he thinks wryly, is some indicator of his current state of mind. The apartment is practically sparkling. Anything which can be cleaned has been cleaned. Now he has nothing to do but wait.

The few hours sleep Nick managed to snatch following his first attempt at phone sex allowed him to at least behave like a human being and a professional during the next shift, and allowed him to shamefacedly apologise to both Catherine and Warrick for snapping at them the night before. Apologies that were received with almost identical indulgent smiles that left Nick with the thought, even now, that Catherine and Warrick may be closer than they let on. In both instances, what Nick actually wanted to say was something along the lines of:

‘I’m sorry about yesterday. I’m having a hard time because Greg is away and I miss him.’

Of course, he said nothing of the sort, but sitting here now, aching and restless, Nick has come to a decision. He wants them to know. All of them. The CSIs, at any rate. The lab rats in attendance at Jacqui’s Thanksgiving dinner failed to even bat an eyelid when he and Greg turned up together. They didn’t even ask. Nick has no idea what he’s waiting for any more. There is still fear, of course, but that is a stupid reason not to do something, he knows that now. He has lost count of how many terrifying things have turned out to be the best decisions of his life recently. Had it not been for overcoming fear – of love, of openness, of vulnerability, of trust, of honesty – he wouldn’t have Greg at all.

Nick shudders involuntarily and jumps up from the couch to resume his pacing back and forth across the room. Reading and re-reading the text message he received a few hours ago when Greg woke up.

I’m sorry :( just to reitterate – very, very drunk. See you soon x

And Nick laughs again, because only Greg would use the word reiterate in a text message. And misspell it. The sudden click of Greg’s key in the door startles him, and the laugh softens into a huge, uncontrollable smile as he drops the phone onto the couch and stares at the door.

Greg closes the door behind him and looks up, straight into Nick’s eyes. His smile widens as they stare at each other, separated by several feet of hallway and nothing else. Blanketed with a relief that weakens him, Nick unconsciously reaches out to rest a steadying hand on the wall next to him and allows himself just a few more seconds to just look. Knowing, if he even had a sliver of doubt left, that this is it. Everything. Greg is doing nothing but standing there next to the door, smiling at him, and the sensation of completeness and sharp, almost painful elation is threatening to consume Nick. He wants to let it.

“Hi,” Greg says softly, dropping his heavy bag to the floor and shoving both hands into his jeans pockets in an almost nervous gesture.

He’s wearing possibly the ugliest Hawaiian shirt Nick has ever seen, untied sneakers and a worn, chocolate brown leather jacket that Nick has never seen before. Greg’s skin is flushed with the cold, dark eyes sparkling and he looks better than Nick thinks he has ever done.

“Come here,” Nick replies, holding out his arms and it’s a rough mixture of demand and plea.

Whatever it is, it works, because half a second later, Nick has a cold, delighted blond plastered against him, face buried in his neck and arms wrapped so tightly around him he can’t breathe, but it doesn’t matter. Nick throws his arms around Greg, fingers sliding over cool leather, down, slipping desperately under layers of clothing until they connect with the warm skin of Greg’s back. Stroking feverishly, relearning the sensation that he knows he can’t have forgotten in three days, but every nerve ending he possesses sings out with the connection and Nick doesn’t care.

Attaching his lips to Greg’s neck, sucking gently on the spot just behind his ear and noting the resultant low groan with dazed satisfaction. He inhales deeply, over and over again, citrus and smoke and leather and Greg. The nose against Nick’s neck is cold, as are the hands raking up his back, but he just holds Greg closer. Hardening almost instantly at the proximity he has been denied, and sighing, gratified, to feel Greg’s response against his hip.

“God, I missed you. I missed you so damn much, Greg.” Nick’s tone is low and harsh as they cling to each other and he no longer cares about sounding like a sap.

“I know,” Greg groans from somewhere below his left ear. “I’m not doing that again. Next time you’re coming with me, whether you like it or not.”

Nick smiles and pulls back, with some effort, so he can see Greg’s face. Seeing nothing but love and relief in the familiar dark eyes, he nods and brings warm hands up to frame his boyfriend’s cold face.

“I love you,” he says firmly. Brushes wind-flattened blond hair back from Greg’s face and kisses him.

Greg sighs contentedly and kisses back, capturing Nick’s bottom lip between his and sucking gently, before releasing it and opening Nick’s mouth with his own, the first touch of tongues in three days sending a shiver through both of them. Wrapping Greg’s hair around his fingers, Nick tugs him closer, tracing the contours of Greg’s mouth, letting their tongues play, fight for control of the kiss, even though Nick knows, as Greg has asserted many times, more often than not, control is nowhere to be seen when they are together. Pressed, welded together from shoulder to knee, the contact not only pleasurable but necessary, Nick needs it. Needs to feel every inch of this man against him. Needs his touch and his smell and the warmth of his lips, and the taste of bitter coffee and mints and sugar. He licks lightly along Greg’s upper lip and pulls away reluctantly to catch his breath, but doesn’t release Greg from his grip.

“Why didn’t you want me to pick you up from the airport?” Nick asks, searching Greg’s eyes.

He laughs, and the sound is warm and reassuring. “Because I would have jumped on you, much like this, and there would have been a scene, don’t you think?”

“I think there might,” Nick agrees, leaning back slightly to get a good look at the younger man. “You look good.”

“I look terrible, but thank you.” Greg quirks an amused eyebrow and kisses the corner of Nick’s mouth. “You put the lights up!” he observes with obvious pleasure, having stolen a glance over Nick’s shoulder into the living room.

“Yeah.”

Nick smiles and turns in Greg’s arms to look where he is looking, at the strings of small, sparkling white lights that Greg bought before he left and that Nick draped over every available surface and tacked across the living room walls while he was away. The room glows softly in the darkness of the December evening, and Nick will admit, it looks tasteful and somewhat festive, though he has never bothered decorating at Christmas since he left home.

“Thank you, Nicky. Love you too,” he breathes against Nick’s ear, making him shiver, pressing against him from behind, the fingers now stroking Nick’s belly slipping lower, tracing under the waistband of his jeans. Nick groans, needing the touch, and carefully turns back to face Greg.

“Do you remember what you said to me yesterday? What you wanted me to do as soon as you got home?”

Greg stares for a moment before the realization sweeps over his face, chocolate eyes darkening in an instant. He bites his lip. “Yes.” He kisses Nick hard, dragging him closer again. “Are you going to fuck me, Nick? I want you to.”

The words alone were enough yesterday, but they are nothing compared with the words and the eyes and the smile and the stroking fingers and denim-covered hardness and friction and heat.

Nick lets out a long, shuddering breath and grips Greg’s ass hard, crushing them together in an explosion of need. “Yeah. I’m going to...oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

Gritting his teeth in a valiant effort at self-control, Nick drops his head to rest on Greg’s shoulder briefly, before he pulls away, cursing under his breath, to retrieve his ringing cell phone from the couch.

“I wonder who that is,” Greg mutters, shoving his hands irritably back into his pockets.

His sarcasm is not lost on Nick, because it’s a fair bet they both know exactly who it is. There are only two people who might call Nick on his cell two hours before his shift is due to start, and one of them is currently standing behind him looking distinctly unimpressed, not to mention sexually frustrated.

“Yeah, I can come in now,” Nick replies, shooting Greg an apologetic look that earns an arched eyebrow and a slightly suggestive pout. “Overtime, sure, makes it all worthwhile. See you soon, Gris.”

Nick forces a hollow laugh and ends the call. Closes his eyes momentarily and sighs. He has lost count of the number of times this has happened now, and what’s worse, his supervisor seems to have an inadvertently horrifying sense of timing. More than once, they have been naked. In which case, Nick supposes, this shouldn’t even register on the frustration scale, but....fuck. Or not, as the case may be. It’s been so long, it feels like forever, not three days, since he tasted Greg’s skin and touched him all over and...Nick shakes his head, attempting composure. Looks appealingly at his aggrieved boyfriend.

“Fucking Grissom,” Greg sighs dramatically.

Nick laughs. “I suppose someone has to.”

Greg’s eyes snap to his instantly and his mouth falls slightly open before he smiles slowly in disbelief and catches Nick’s laughter.

“You’ve changed, Mr Stokes,” he says softly, teasing. Closes the distance between them and slides his arms around Nick’s neck, brushing worn leather against his skin.

“I have?”

Greg nods, looking thoughtful. “Yeah. Don’t take this the wrong way but...you’re a lot less uptight than you used to be. You’ve...um...lightened up...a lot,” Greg finishes, wrinkling his nose uncertainly but not retracting the statement.

Nick says nothing for a while, just plays with the zipper on Greg’s jacket and thinks. Mind inundated with images and snippets of conversations, arguments, discussions. Nick lets them flow around him and has to concede that Greg is right, he has changed.

“I panic less,” he offers suddenly, meeting Greg’s eyes again.

“You panic less,” Greg confirms, holding the eye contact for a moment. Breaking it, lacing his fingers through Nick’s with a resigned sigh. “And on that note, we need to move. You have a date with Grissom.”

Nick grimaces and Greg grins wickedly.

“Hang on, ‘we’?”

“I’m coming with you.”

“You’re coming...to the lab...early...when you don’t need to?” Nick is baffled.

“Yes.” Greg lifts his chin somewhat defiantly, though who he’s defying is beyond Nick.

“You just got back, don’t you want to chill out, or change, or something?”

“Or something,” Greg replies, smiling ruefully and rubbing his thumb in small, meaningful circles over Nick’s palm. Nick shivers lightly at the touch. “But that’s not happening, so I guess it’s Plan B, which...um....pretty much just involves being wherever you are.”

Greg closes his mouth tight, crosses his arms across his chest and looks studiously at the floor. Nick watches him carefully. The faint blush tinting Greg’s cheekbones does not escape his notice, and it warms him.

“Sap,” Nick whispers, lifting Greg’s chin with one finger and kissing him softly. “As if I can argue with that. Give me five minutes to change.”

“And you know, who knows what they’ve done to the DNA lab while I’ve been away,” Greg calls out, recovering himself; his voice floating into the bedroom from the hall as Nick changes his clothes.

**~*~**

“Fuck me,” Greg exclaims, unseen, four and a half minutes later. The door slams.

Nick shakes his head and laughs. He doesn’t ask, because he knows Greg won’t need to be pushed to expand on something that surprises him as much as that. And sure enough, Greg is standing next to the bed with the strangest expression on his face before Nick has even finished tying his shoelaces. Nick raises an eyebrow and waits.

“There’s something on the doorstep.” Greg pauses, screwing his face up thoughtfully. “Except we don’t have a doorstep, as such. What do you say, when someone leaves something outside the door to your apartment?”

“I don’t know, Greggo. How about ‘someone’s left something outside the door to our apartment’?” Nick smiles indulgently.

Greg sighs and kicks his ankle half-heartedly. “Always so literal, Nicky. Where’s your sense of the dramatic?”

“I don’t know. But you seem to have enough for both of us, so I’m not worried.” Nick smiles and Greg simply sticks out his tongue. “Are you going to tell me what someone left outside the door?”

“Come and see,” Greg whispers. With that, he turns and stalks out of the room. Nick watches him for a moment before following him into the kitchen.

“It’s a...basket of fruit.” Nick frowns and looks harder at the object Greg has placed on the kitchen table. He leans in and sets his palms flat on the table top, trying to examine it a little more closely.
He doesn’t notice Greg mirroring his posture across the table until their noses are almost touching.

“Yes,” confirms Greg softly, stealing a frustratingly gentle kiss from Nick before looking back down at the object that sits between them. “A fruit basket, if you will.”

“Maybe it’s an early Christmas present,” Nick muses.

“No.” Greg shakes his head. “The card says ‘sorry.’ Who says they’re sorry with fruit?” Greg’s tone is genuinely curious.

Nick plucks the small card out from where it is half-covered by an unfeasibly large bunch of grapes. Opens it.

“Please don’t worry about him, he won’t be coming here any more.

I dumped the bastard. Sorry about what he said. Merry Christmas

- Laura (9A),” he reads aloud, realization dawning instantly.

“Oh,” says Greg. He stares down at the fruit once more.

“It isn’t her that should be apologising,” Nick points out through gritted teeth.

Greg looks up sharply. “True. But an apology is an apology.”

He leans back toward Nick briefly, pressing lips against Nick’s jaw in a gesture of comfort. Nick recognises it as such and consciously relaxes, threading his fingers through Greg’s as they lie on the table top. Noticing with mild interest that Greg’s sudden, impulsive anger seems to have dissipated with time whilst his calm philosophising is temporarily abandoned at the prickling injustice he sees in a woman apologising for her homophobic jerk of an ex-boyfriend’s past behaviour.

He thinks though, that maybe he was right at the time, and it doesn’t matter about jerks like that, and Greg is right now, and an apology is an apology. Even when it’s from the wrong person, and even when it’s shaped like...like a basket of fruit.

Nick doesn’t know what to say about a fruit basket. It’s not like he’s ever received one before.

“It was nice of her,” he offers at last.

“Fruit,” Greg repeats, tracing incredulous fingers over the tuft of a large pineapple. “Fruit!”

“It’s good for you,” Nick ventures, face deadpan. “How about a banana before we go to work?”

Greg eyes him steadily, one corner of his mouth twitching as he tries not to smile. “I don’t like bananas, Nick.”

But still, he carefully selects the largest one, twists it away from the bunch and slides it into his jacket pocket as he follows Nick out of the door and down the stairs.

**~*~**

It is dark outside and Nick watches Greg cross the street to his car, the orange glow of the streetlight casting flickering shadows across his face and sparkling across the light covering of frost that crunches underfoot. Though it is only around eight thirty, the street is deserted. Nick exhales slowly, clouds of breath clearly visible in the cold night air. Turning away from Greg for a moment, he steps back and looks up at the window of their third floor apartment. Mostly in darkness, save for the strands of white lights easily discernable, glittering warmly through the glass. Smiling, Nick is seized by a compelling wave of wellbeing.

It’s two days before Christmas. He’s tingling all over with the pure joy of having Greg back. The strange excitement and fear of knowing what the night ahead might hold, even if Greg doesn’t, yet. Everything is cold and sparkling and warm and bright and sharp and he needs to hold onto it. Needs to do something...something...

“Greggo,” he calls, turning around. Greg pauses in unlocking his car and looks up. “Why don’t we just take my car?”

Nick allows himself a flicker of inward amusement at the puzzled expression on Greg’s face as he retraces his steps to where Nick’s car is parked right in front of the building. When Greg is close enough to touch, Nick grabs him by the sleeve of his jacket and presses him into the wall of the building in one swift movement. Takes a second to appreciate the spark of shock in Greg’s eyes and the cold, dry lips parted in surprise before Nick leans in and captures his mouth in a deep kiss. Demonstrating his inherent ability to go with the flow, Greg responds in seconds, tangling hands in Nick’s hair and kissing him back hungrily.

Nick can almost sense the confusion rippling from the other man, even as he submits to Nick’s strange behaviour without question. But Nick knows exactly what he’s doing, and it’s more than just a damn good kiss.

“What the hell was that for?” Greg demands breathlessly as Nick takes half a step back and lets him sag against the wall. “Not that I didn’t like it,”
he adds, lifting an eyebrow suggestively.

“When I kissed you here before...” he trails off and Greg frowns, eyes clouding. Remembering, Nick is sure, what he remembers about that day. He presses on. “I don’t want to think about that every time I stand out here. So I’m replacing it. With this.”

“Replacing the memory?” Greg clarifies. Voice soft, tentative. Cold fingers under Nick’s collar, stroking.

“Exactly.”

Nick rests his hands on Greg’s hips, still pinning him lightly against the wall. His heart is racing but no longer from fear. He thinks anyone could walk past right now and he wouldn’t move. In this moment, all that matters is Greg. He can’t read the smile that curves Greg’s lips but the words are clear enough.

“Better make it a good one, then.” Greg pushes off the wall and kisses him again.

**~*~**

“Mmm...very...satisfying,” Greg murmurs from the passenger seat, dropping the yellow skin to the dashboard.

Nick swallows and looks very hard at the road in front of him as he turns and pulls into the lab parking lot. Having swiftly re-evaluated the wisdom of his banana suggestion, he has come to the undeniable conclusion that Greg really is a diabolical tease. As, considering that Greg dislikes bananas, he has managed to make this one last the entire drive, devouring it with rapacious enjoyment, small noises of satisfaction escaping from him as he wrapped his mouth around the firm flesh. Nick is incredulous that Greg would do it for the sole purpose of torturing him. Incredulous and inconveniently turned on.

“Are you done?” he asks weakly.

“Mmhmm.” Greg licks his fingers slowly and grins as Nick chances looking at him. “Hey, do you have a mint? I really don’t like the taste of bananas.”

Nick stares at him a moment, the face a picture of innocence. He shakes his head in disbelief but still passes Greg a half-finished pack of mints from the glove compartment. “Could’ve fooled me,” he mutters under his breath. Greg laughs.

“Someone’s going to ask why I came with you, you know,” Greg says quietly, turning serious. One hand on the door handle.

Nick grips the steering wheel and stares at it, trying to breathe steadily. “I know.”

“Don’t you care?”

“No, Greg.” Loosens his grip and turns to look at his boyfriend. “It’s about time they knew.”

Something in Greg’s expression grips at Nick’s insides and won’t let go. He looks shocked for a moment but cannot control the huge smile that Nick would never want him to. Greg laughs, almost with relief and lightheadedness and drags Nick so close in the small space that all he can see and smell is hair product and leather and the bit of warm skin under Greg’s collar.

“Fuck. So we’re really doing this.”

“Yeah. We are.”

“How do you want to do this?” Greg mumbles, disentangling himself with some difficulty and pulling back to look at Nick.

“I hadn’t thought that far,” Nick admits with a sheepish smile. “I was hoping you’d have an idea, you’ve done this kind of thing before.”

“I’ve never had a relationship with a co-worker before, Nick.” Greg’s smile is suddenly tinged with nervousness. “And telling Jacqui doesn’t count, she’s like a conversational ninja.”

Nick laughs. “Let’s just get out of the car and take it from there.”

**~*~**

**~*~**

Three hours later, Nick’s patience with the ‘take it as it comes’ approach is wearing dangerously thin. It’s as though, having finally made the decision that he wants his colleagues to know, the weight of a months-old secret is now pressing down on him unbearably. Having headed straight to a scene in Henderson, Nick has spent the last few hours alternating between cursing Grissom and reflecting on the ironic fact that for once, he wishes he wasn’t working solo. As he heads back into the lab, loaded down with DNA and Trace samples, the only night shift CSI he has seen so far is his supervisor, and that was no more than a brief thanks for coming in early and the provision of a slip of paper containing his assignment.

It’s all very well, he reasons, resolving to tell them if they ask, but they can’t even do that if he doesn’t damn well see any of them. Striding into DNA, he dumps his armful of samples on Greg’s counter and leans on it with a heavy sigh. Warmed, despite his frustration, as he waits for Greg to finish his energetic pencil-drumming along with what sounds suspiciously like Christmas music. With a dramatic flourish, Greg flings both arms out to the sides and bows his head as if anticipating applause. Receiving none, he shrugs and drops the pencils back onto the glass with a clatter. Looks up and grins widely at Nick. Delighted at the flare of heat this still elicits, Nick grins back.

“Any reason for that murderous glare just now?” he enquires, shaking his head at Nick’s surprise. “I saw you. I can multi-task, you know.”

“Flirt,” admonishes Nick, taking in the fractionally raised eyebrow. “This telling people thing is driving me crazy. It’s like everyone’s avoiding me so I can’t do it.” He’s whining again, and he knows it.

“It’s a conspiracy,” Greg deadpans, though his eyes give him away. “To stop Nick Stokes from coming out at work.”

“Not helping.”

“Sorry. Wanna go get coffee? I need a break,” Greg offers in an attempt to placate, holding up his cup.

Coffee. Greg is of the opinion that coffee is the answer to everything, and as he follows the younger man to the break room, Nick has to concede that perhaps he’s right. Coffee would be really good right now. As the open doorway comes into view, Nick stops short. Catherine, Warrick and Sara are sitting around the table, engaged in a spirited discussion. Not that Nick actually hears them. Stomach churning, he digs his thumbnails into his palms and takes a deep breath. Thinks perhaps someone up there is laughing at him.

Well, you wanted to see them, didn’t you?

Nick is still arguing with his subconscious when Greg turns around, sensing his hesitation.

“What’s the matter?”

Looking from Greg to his three co-workers and back again, Nick makes a decision. He never wanted a big scene, or an epic speech. Maybe, just this.

“Actions speak louder than words, I think,” he says at last, meeting Greg’s eyes. Both eyebrows instantly shoot up and Nick suppresses a laugh, not quite ready to draw the trio’s attention to them. He knows what Greg is thinking instantly. “Not that, you...exhibitionist.” Greg just smiles silently and waits. “How about this?”

Nick draws in a long, fortifying breath and reaches out for Greg’s hand. Greg’s smile widens.

“Ok,” he whispers and wraps strong fingers more securely around Nick’s. “Though there might have to be words too.”

“No doubt,” Nick mutters, allowing Greg to tug him closer to the doorway. Oh, fuck.

“You’re wrong,” Sara is saying, waving her cup at Warrick. “The original was far superior. A remake just can’t compare, however hot the actress might be.”

“Come on, Sara, I’m only saying that – “ Warrick pauses as his eyes meet Nick’s.

“What?” Sara turns in her seat and follows Warrick’s gaze.

Catherine smirks and crosses her arms on the table, saying nothing.

Nick closes his eyes briefly against the insistent loop of ‘what the fuck am I doing?’ grinding through his head, hoping the flush he feels heating his skin isn’t as obvious as he thinks it is. His instinct is to let go of Greg, but it seems that Greg knows that and only grips his hand tighter, rough lab coat sleeve scraping the sensitive inside of his wrist, palm warm against Nick’s.

The silence stretches out, so full of expectation that he can’t stand it. Nick watches Warrick’s pale green eyes and Sara’s dark ones flick down to where he is now holding onto Greg’s hand like it is the only thing holding him up. Catherine’s blue gaze holds steady as the smirk increases in size.

Greg smiles next to him, gives his hand one last squeeze and releases it. “Your move,” he whispers out of the side of his mouth, effectively handing control to Nick, knowing he needs it right now.
Touches Nick’s arm briefly and leaves his side to pick up the coffee pot.

“Refill, anyone? No? Just me, then. Great.” Greg speaks quickly and his eyes are pleading. Say something.

Nick looks back at the table. “Greg and I are together,” he says suddenly. And that’s it. It feels like the first time he has spoken in years, and his voice sounds strange in his head, but he’s said it. “Thought you should know,” he adds.

Flicking a glance over to Greg, who just clutches the coffee pot harder. His smile is slightly lop-sided and completely infectious; Nick returns it because he has no choice. And because he wants to.

“Thank god for that,” Catherine says, breaking the silence. Nick turns to face her.

“At last!” Sara grins. Wraps slender fingers around her cup.

Nick is confused, and he wants to stay that way, absolutely does not want to acknowledge the message that is desperately trying to get through. That not one of them is surprised. With some apprehension, he looks at his best friend. Warrick shakes his head and laughs softly.

“I’ve known, man...Nick, it’s cool. Sit down before you fall down.” Warrick pushes an empty chair away from the table with his foot and Nick sinks into it gratefully.

“You all knew?” he groans, covering his face briefly, and it’s not a question, not really.

“Sorry, Nicky,” Catherine offers. Nick can’t decide if she sounds amused or apologetic.

He looks up again at Greg, who continues to lounge against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. His expression is one of happy satisfaction and his eyes radiate a calm pleasure that washes over Nick and wordlessly urges him to relax. He sighs, slightly humiliated but not yet beaten.

“You all knew,” he repeats, looking at each of them in turn, dropping his hands to the table top. “And it’s ok?” There’s no way he’s leaving anything to chance now.

“Of course,” Catherine affirms, turning to smile at Greg. He smiles back hesitantly and drops his eyes to the floor.

“Maybe we should have acted more surprised,” Sara adds somewhat obliquely, but there is no uncertainty in the grin she flashes at Nick.

“’Rick?” Nick prods, unsure. “Is this weird?” Not that it’s going to change my mind, he adds silently.

Warrick’s gaze shifts to Greg at the last word and Nick turns to watch the two men regard each other for a moment. His best friend and his boyfriend. Warrick’s expression appraising, Greg’s proud with a hint of challenge. To his surprise, Warrick shakes his head and laughs, a rich sound that fills the small room.

“Doesn’t matter what I think, Nick. But yeah, it’s cool.” He grins, showing straight white teeth. “And anyway, I’ve had long enough to get used to the idea.”

Nick slumps in his seat, feeling strangely drained, stunned and relieved. For some reason, this is not how he expected any of this to go.

“We were that obvious, huh?” Greg approaches the table to a chorus of yeses and lays a hand on Nick’s shoulder.

There is a pause for a moment before Sara speaks. “Don’t you think you should show them the list now, Catherine?” She folds her arms.

“What list?” Nick looks from Sara to Catherine and back again. “Please don’t tell me you guys had some kind of betting pool on us?” he asks weakly.

“Nothing like that,” soothes Catherine. Warrick raises an eyebrow and earns himself a brief warning glare from the blonde. “Of course not.”

“Hey, Sara...” Warrick pushes his chair back and grabs Sara’s arm, eyes widening. Propels her toward the door. “Weren’t you going to show me the results of that experiment? Yeah, I think you were...”

Nick watches them scuttle off down the corridor with interest before he turns his gaze back to Catherine, who is standing before the notice board in the corner of the room, flipping through old flyers and memos and department information. Finally, she pulls down a slightly dog-eared piece of paper that had been pinned behind several other notices, hidden from sight.

Getting up to stand beside Greg, they exchange glances. Greg shrugs.

Catherine perches on the edge of the table and looks down at the paper in her hands, somewhat shamefaced.

“I pinned this up here when I first realized you guys were a couple. I wanted to see if you could keep it a secret or not, so...anyone who thought there was something between you was...discreetly directed to add their name and the date.” Catherine pauses, looking from Nick to Greg and back again. “It was a slow night, ok?” she sighs and tucks her hair behind one ear. “And in my defence, I never thought it would go on for as long as this.”

“The relationship?” asks Greg, earning himself an eye roll from Catherine.

“The attempt at secrecy.”

Nick holds out his hand for the paper, taking it from Catherine. All it contains are names and dates.

“This has been pinned up here all this time and I never knew about it?” Nick shakes his head in disbelief.

“Evidently, Nicky, we’re sneakier than you are.” Catherine smirks.

She falls silent as Nick scans the page. The warmth pressed up against his back and steady breath against his neck tell him that Greg is reading over his shoulder with interest.

Catherine Willows - 5th April 2003

Jacqui Franco – 20th April 2003

Bobby Dawson – 12th June 2003

Warrick Brown - 17th August 2003

Sara Sidle – 21st October 2003

Nick stops reading and stares at the list, as he ceases to see a series of arbitrary dates but a string of occasions he can actually recall. Senses suddenly assaulted by an avalanche of images, first kisses and heatwaves and football games and semi-public declarations of love. He’s abruptly and thoroughly confounded that he didn’t know that they knew. He sighs resignedly and returns his eyes to the paper.

“Jacqui cheated!” Greg says at last, sounding indignant.

“She cheated?”

“Yes. I told her, that’s not fair. She didn’t guess,” Greg huffs, and Nick can’t help being amused that he’s so affronted.

“It wasn’t a competition, Greg. More of a....campaign,” Catherine ventures, examining her nails.

Nick is lost. “What?”

“Well, I decided that, um, in the event of every member of the night shift putting their names up there...we were going to confront you.”

“There’s a name missing?” Nick asks faintly, frowning. He wonders if it’s possible for this night to become any more surreal, but then again, thoughts like that are always dangerous.

“Yep. Grissom,” points out Greg gleefully. “Grissom’s name isn’t here. So we win!”

“April 5th?” Nick interrupts as a thought occurs to him. “Catherine, we weren’t together on April 5th.”

Catherine looks surprised. “It was the Monday...after you moved in together. You both looked...you looked different. Happy.”

Nick stares at her and then at Greg, who just smiles like he understands, and bumps Nick’s shoulder affectionately, setting off a warm, bubbly feeling in his gut.

“Ah, we were inevitable....so...we win?” Greg repeats, looking hopefully at Catherine.

“Like I said, it’s not a competition,” she replies stubbornly. Not a woman who likes to give up easily.

“Not a close one. We win.”

Catherine sighs, shooting Nick an unmistakeable ‘how do you put up with him?’ look that makes him flinch with surprise and then smile, taking an unconscious step closer to Greg that Catherine doesn’t miss, judging by the next look she sends his way. But she’s smiling too.

Finally she directs the cool blue gaze back to Greg.

“Technically,” she says, a playful edge to her words. “Unless you tell Grissom before he writes his name on this paper, you don’t ’win’.” And she snatches the sheet out of Nick’s hands.

Greg stares at her for a moment before his head whips around and Nick is fixed with a set of very hopeful, slightly anxious brown eyes.

“Thanks, Catherine,’ he mumbles drily, unable to stop the soft smile that is his instinctive response to Greg’s tried and tested persuasive/hopeful expression. “I’ll remember this, next time you need a favour from me.”

Catherine merely raises an eyebrow and pins the list back to the notice board as Greg drags him out into the corridor.

**~*~**

As he stands next to Greg in Grissom’s office some minutes later, Nick thinks that perhaps he needs to work on his defensive strategies when it comes to Greg’s puppy-eyes, because there is no way this is going to end well. Not least because Grissom’s silver hair is, at this moment, covered by a bright red, fur-trimmed Santa hat. Which, understandably, is making it somewhat difficult to focus on the task at hand. Nick fights down a smile and basks in the glow of his own self control.

“Did you lose a bet?” Greg enquires, curiosity no match for self-control in his case.

“Greg..!” Nick elbows him in the ribs. Doesn’t look at him because if he does Nick knows he’ll laugh, and laughing at his boss really isn’t going to help with this.

“Greg, believe me, you do not want to know.” Greg makes a small sound of disagreement, very close to a snort, but the look on Grissom’s face, incongruent with the flagrant festivity of the hat, seems to make him reconsider. “Did you need something? ...both of you?” he adds, curiosity flashing into usually unreadable blue eyes.

Nick swallows hard. He’s not really doing this, is he? Feeling Greg’s eyes on him, Nick finally turns his head to look. Though still trying hard to suppress an inappropriate smile, Greg’s eyes are steady with encouragement and the request that he does not need to vocalise.

I’m not doing this, Nick amends silently. We are.

“The thing is, Gris, we...ah...”

“In the spirit of Christmas, and all that sharing, generous spirited crap,” Greg interjects helpfully.

“Thanks, Greg.” Nick throws him a look, or tries to, because that damn smile is still threatening.

“You’re welcome. And because everyone else seems to know but you...”

“Greg and I are...” Involved? Dating? “...in a relationship,” he finishes. “With each other.”

“Thanks for clarifying, Nick,” Grissom says after a moment. Face almost expressionless, only the subtle knitting of brows and slight widening of eyes semi-obscured by wire-rimmed glasses giving him away. The hand resting on the desk twitches ever so slightly as the other is raised to his face to remove the glasses.

Grissom blinks. “How long, boys?”

“Since April,” Greg replies, and the silver eyebrows shoot up momentarily.

“And everyone else knew about this?” The older man’s voice is slightly strained, and Nick wonders how difficult it is for him to be the last to know something for once. He suspects, extremely, and for some reason that thought fills Nick with satisfaction. And the hat definitely helps.

“So it would seem,’ replies Greg, shrugging. “Apparently, it was obvious.”

Gil’s eyes flicker with anguished evenness. “Greg isn’t your subordinate, Nick. Or vice versa. I assume that if it was going to affect your work, it would have done by now.” He replaces his glasses and bats the white bobble of his hat away from his face. “I appreciate you telling me, though.”

Given that Greg’s shoulders are now silently shaking beside him, Nick opts to remove them both from the office before anything can go wrong. Thanking his bemused boss, Nick smiles pleasantly and steers Greg into the corridor where he leans against the wall and dissolves into uncontrollable laughter.

Nick decides that Grissom’s pretending not to be surprised expression needs some work. He resolves to try to surprise his supervisor more often.

**~*~**

“I thought it went well,” Greg calls from the kitchen, between banging cupboard doors open and shut.

“It did,” Nick almost whispers.

In truth, he is still working on the discomfort of being so obvious that only socially inept Grissom failed to pick up on the relationship, but even that cannot taint the feeling of freedom and release that comes with giving up the last of his secrets to the last of the people that matter to him.

Nick regards the spare room from the doorway, lost in thought.

“We should straighten this room up," he says to no one in particular, eyeing the piles of boxes and bags and junk they have tossed in there during the last few months.

"That sounds like a fun way to spend a day off,"
Greg replies, coming up behind him, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Nick smiles and reaches back for his hand, pulling Greg against his back and feeling the arms circle his waist and Greg's chin drop onto his shoulder. Greg is warm and he smells suspiciously like cinnamon. Nick wonders why his supposedly clever boyfriend thinks he can hide the fact that he has been eating the Christmas cookies again, but he says nothing about it, at least for now.

"I don't know, we could put some music on and...you know...thrash, or whatever. Get it done in no....what?" Greg is convulsing with laughter and Nick feels the tremors against his back and Greg's smile and snigger against his neck.

"Thrash? Oh, man, don't ever change, Nicky."

"Shut up," he mutters, but he's smiling because Greg is still pressed tight against him and is kissing his neck between snorts of laughter.

"Anyway," he continues. Deep breath. Because he has a point to make and he's damn well going to make it, even if Greg is licking behind his ear and...Nick snaps himself out of it with some effort. "If we have visitors, they need to be able to get to the bed."

"Yeah, like who?" Greg's tone is one of studied indifference and he doesn't stop what he's doing, but Nick hears the change in his breathing and he's not fooling anyone.

"Lily and Becca, maybe," Nick replies. Feeling Greg's hands flatten against his stomach as he tenses it. "My parents. Yours."

Nick pulls him round so that he is holding Greg. The younger man blinks and the corners of his mouth lift fractionally.

“You know...green really isn’t a good colour for a guest room....” ventures Greg.

He ducks his head, grinning, and pulls out of Nick’s embrace to step into the room. Runs a thoughtful hand down one mint green wall. Speaks again before Nick has a chance to compose a retort about green bedrooms. It’s been a while since he has had to.

“Hey, do you realize...our first kiss was in here, and the first time we...um...had sex...was in here, too.”

“This is true.” Nick watches him appreciatively from the doorway for a moment before joining Greg in the room and sliding arms around him, slipping under his shirt to rest in the small of his back.

He pulls Greg closer, feeling himself start to harden at the memory. So much insecurity, so much fear, so much desire, all those months ago. And still so much desire, Nick realizes, meeting Greg’s eyes and seeing every emotion and memory mirrored in them, every last bit of want in those eyes as strong as it was the first day he noticed it.

“Aren’t there any firsts left?” Greg asks, pouting.

Nick thinks. There must be. Some, he’s not quite ready for yet, but there is time yet for those things, he feels sure of it.

“Sure there are,” he reassures, rubbing circles on Greg’s back. “How about...the first time I tell you I want to spend the rest of my life with you...in a green bedroom?”

“I knew it!” Greg exclaims. “You said you weren’t but I knew you were!”

Greg’s grin warms him immeasurably but his words are puzzling.

“I said I wasn’t what?”

Clearing his throat pointedly, Greg frowns. “I’m not exactly the last of the great romantics, Greg,” he says, in an affected Southern drawl.

It takes Nick a second or two to place the words and to realize that Greg is repeating his own admission back to him. Tangled emotions rippling through him as he recalls the moment he spoke those words, though when he registers Greg’s hands on his face, all he feels is relief and gratitude.

“Is that supposed to be me?” he asks, feigning offence. Greg just smiles. “I don’t sound like that. You really think that’s romantic?”

“It is,” Greg almost whispers. “I’m glad everyone knows. Because I want to spend my life with you too.” He blinks, eyes suspiciously bright. “Sap,” he adds with a weak half smile that turns Nick’s stomach over.

Recovering himself, Nick fixes Greg with a mock-stern look, but holds him tighter. “You should be careful, I’m not sure if I’ve forgiven you yet for falling asleep on me the other night.”

Greg cringes apologetically. “I think you have, though,” he whispers, kissing Nick’s neck maddeningly softly.

“I think I have too.” Nick tilts his head, eyes closing, allowing Greg to trail feather light kisses along his jaw and behind his ear, each brush of lips against skin inflaming desire and reminding him that it’s been far, far too long. He shudders as the very tip of Greg’s tongue traces over his pulse point, making it jump in response.

He crushes Greg against him, heat and hardness, even separated by layers of fabric, feeling achingly good.

“Want me?” Greg asks, unsteady against his ear. Hot breath, warm lips. Yes.

“Need you,” he responds.

Sliding hands firmly up Greg’s back to push into his hair, cradle the back of his head and draw him into an intense, searing kiss. Pushing his tongue into Greg’s hot mouth, stroking, claiming, a demonstration of the closeness and connection that he really needs. Nick pulls away reluctantly to allow desperate hands to pull his thin sweater over his head, allowing those hands, now almost reverent, to stroke and trace his chest and abdomen as he shakily unbuttons Greg’s hideous shirt, pushing it back over his shoulders and to the floor. Nick falls on the exposed pale skin, mouth latching onto each nipple in turn, sighing as the soft, pink flesh hardens instantly against his tongue and teeth. Greg inhales sharply, hanging onto Nick’s belt loops as his head falls back and his eyes close.

Far, far too long, Nick affirms silently as he releases Greg’s nipple from between his teeth and licks a heated trail across his skin, connecting the dots between the dark freckles sprinkled sparingly over Greg’s chest and stomach. Tasting the skin, lightly salty and something unidentifiable that he knows so well now that it makes his heart ache with the familiarity of it all.

Nick wrenches himself away before he gets to the point where it will be impossible to stop, just pressing his palm lightly against Greg’s denim-encased erection, making his head snap up with a low groan. Nick looks right into unguarded, lust-hazed dark eyes and shivers.

“Don’t go anywhere.” He kisses Greg softly and almost stumbles from the room in his haste to gather what they need, as though Greg might disappear if he’s not fast enough.
Returning to the doorway in seconds, he stops, curiosity holding him in place for a moment as he watches Greg. Watches as he stands next to the bed in silent contemplation, eyes narrowed, then reaches over and sweeps everything off the bed in three swift movements, sending bags and clothes and boxes flying haphazardly to the floor. Leaving the slightly wrinkled cream sheets clear and flopping back onto them on his back, a smile of almost childlike satisfaction lighting his face. He looks up at Nick and laughs.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” he confesses, casually sliding one hand over his bare chest and slowly unbuttons his jeans, holding Nick’s gaze as he frees his hard, flushed cock and strokes it almost lazily.

“You are picking all of that up later,” Nick replies distractedly, eyes flicking between Greg’s mouth and his hand, the image sending painful need to his cock and propelling him toward the bed.

“Absolutely,” Greg pants harshly, arching into his own touch as he stares at Nick from under his eyelashes. “Now come over here and make love to me.”

Nick sheds his jeans and underwear and drops the condom and small bottle on the edge of the bed. Crawls onto the mattress, hooks fingers under Greg’s waistband and pulls until he is naked and exposed, the hairs on Greg’s bare thighs creating a delicious light friction as Nick’s cock drags across them. He leans, a knee either side of Greg’s hips, face inches from Greg’s.

“Thought you wanted me to fuck you into the mattress?” Nick asks, voice low with need.

Greg laughs breathlessly and licks his lips. “The two aren’t...oh god,” Nick encloses his cock in his fist. “...mutually exclusive.”

Nick smiles down at the man twisting and whimpering beneath him and feels, not for the first time, caught somewhere between amusement and lust. It’s only Greg that has ever made him feel this way. Only Greg that he wants to make him feel this way. Shifting back slightly, Nick makes a small sound of agreement and in one swift movement, lowers his head and takes Greg’s cock in his mouth.

From Greg’s strangled cry and the way his hips arch off the bed, he isn’t expecting the move. Nick presses on, sucking gently and collecting warm, salty fluid on his tongue, humming with pleasure as Greg unconsciously spreads his legs further apart, exposing himself to Nick’s trailing fingers and mumbling incoherently as Nick gropes for the plastic bottle, slicks his fingers and traces teasing circles around the twitching entrance as he continues to suck Greg’s cock.

“Fuck...you haven’t touched me in days, Nick,” he whimpers urgently, pulling at Nick’s hair. “You can’t think I’m gonna last...if you...keep doing that.”

“Don’t want you to last, want you to come,” Nick instructs, pulling his mouth away and fisting Greg’s weeping cock hard, looking into his pleading eyes before enveloping the firm, pulsing flesh once more.

Greg moans and pushes into his mouth. “Close.” The word is almost whispered into the air and Nick wants it so much, wants to hear it, feel it, taste it. He flicks his tongue over the hard flesh and pushes a slippery finger inside Greg’s ass as he tenses, cries out and explodes in repeated hot bursts down Nick’s throat.

Nick continues to stroke inside Greg until the aftershocks fade away, then releases him and crawls back up his body, pressing every inch of his heated skin against Greg’s, erection digging into his stomach, stroking messy hair back from his face and kissing him. Greg mumbles against his lips, caressing Nick’s tongue with his own and scraping blunt nails down his back.

When his eyes open, they burn into Nick’s with an intensity that surprises him, the heat of Greg’s need seemingly unquenched by his release. No one has ever wanted him like this. The feeling wraps around him as he stares down at Greg, flooding him with a warmth that constricts his throat and pricks at his eyes. Greg smiles and shifts underneath him, sliding firm skin against his trapped cock and making him tremble.

Not wanting to look away and break the connection, Nick reaches for what he needs, carefully sheaths himself and stares down into bottomless chocolate brown as he kneels between Greg’s thighs, fingers pushing once more into tight heat and twisting, watching his eyes widen, bottom lip caught between his teeth and the deep shudder tells Nick wordlessly right there...again...please. Stroking that spot over and over again until Greg’s cock stirs and hardens once more against his stomach. Eyes black and liquid with absolute trust and desire, Nick catches his breath. Hard to believe he has this. Easy to believe he will never want anything else.

“I love you, Greg,” he says softly, leaning down to kiss him hard, pushing inside, the first stroke careful, almost tentative, the second, deep, uncontrolled as the relief of being surrounded, gripped, held floods his body and he is caught up.

Nothing else but this. Greg’s legs around him and Greg’s soft cries and tightly shut eyes and hands on his back. Pushing up into him, wanting, needing, relishing every stroke. Nick grits his teeth and forces himself to slow down, almost impossible because what he’s doing feels too fucking good. Hard and slow, angling to give Greg exactly what he needs with every other stroke, wanting him balancing on the edge of need and satisfaction. Closer. Greg’s kisses taste like cinnamon and sugar, and that tongue is insistent.

“Love...you...harder,” Greg almost sobs, pulling away from his mouth and half twisting into the pillow.

Beautiful. Helpless. Powerful. Irresistible. Nick lets go of his control and grasps Greg’s shoulders, knowing he’ll leave a mark, breath ripped out, heart threatening to burst out of his chest as he slams into Greg as forcefully as he can, every ounce of strength and frustration and love he possesses fuelling the desperate movement of his hips, the connection pulling up and snapping inside him as Greg’s tight heat and “oh fuck, Nick, please” and sudden sticky eruption against his stomach combine to ignite white heat in his stomach and cock and everywhere as he cries Greg’s name and comes inside him with a relief so intense he thinks for a second he might black out.

Weakened, shaky, sated, he flops onto Greg’s chest, the rapid but steady rise and fall soothing, as is the gentle hand sweeping over his back.

“Nick?” He looks up into sleepy, appealing eyes. “Hi.”

“Hi, Greg.”

“I’m cold. Can we move?”

“God forbid you should fall asleep in a green bedroom, huh?” Nick yawns, hauling himself up and retrieving the nearest item of discarded clothing to clean up. “Again, at least,” he adds under his breath, a wry smile curving his lips.

Greg shrugs, smiling softly and allows himself to be pulled up. They move as one into the living room where it is pleasantly warm, and within minutes are tangled on the couch, covered in a blanket and drifting into much needed sleep.

**~*~**

Nick stretches luxuriously and opens his eyes, only half surprised to find himself naked on the couch, covered in a thick, warm blanket. He smiles sleepily as the past few hours filter in around him and he shifts onto his side, pulling the blanket closer around his body and looking around the living room. Semi-darkness and soft white lights and he can hear Greg somewhere close by, though he can’t see him.

“...I know,” he’s saying. “That’s what I said! Fruit! Seriously.”

Curious, Nick raises himself up on his elbows and peers over the back of the couch. Greg is pacing slowly between the kitchen and bedroom doors, waving his free arm demonstratively as he talks on the phone, even though whoever he is speaking to can’t see him and he clearly has no idea he is being watched. There is no urgency in his tone or his movements, but Nick knows by now that Greg is almost incapable of being still. He is, surprisingly, dressed, and Nick takes in the faded jeans and huge knitted sweater that swamps his lean frame but somehow still looks perfect on him. Greg’s hair is wet from the shower he must have taken while Nick was asleep, and waves gently against his forehead.

He pauses a moment in his pacing and leans heavily against the wall, rubbing at his face as he listens.

“Honestly? Yeah, I had a feeling that some of them knew.” Nick’s eyes widen and he holds his breath. “Because I didn’t want to freak him out, telling him that would have only made it harder for him.” Greg frowns and then laughs softly as he shakes his head at the unseen caller and resumes his pacing. “Because I love him,” he says simply.

Nick studies Greg carefully. His relaxed, open expression as he says those words. So easy, so obvious. He thinks maybe he should be angry that Greg never said anything, but he’s not, because there is so much consideration and care in Greg’s decision. Because Greg knows him so well. The simple truth is, Greg knows how to love him. Nick doesn’t need grand romantic gestures and symbols and proclamations. Just to be understood, and appreciated, and wanted and challenged and laughed at. To be wound up and prodded and forgiven and supported.

Nick still doesn’t believe that love conquers all, but looking at Greg covertly over the back of the couch, he is happy to concede that having someone that you love unreservedly standing beside you makes life more than a little bit better. Nick’s life has colour in it. It has texture. It has flavours. It has drama and occasional pain and frequent exhilaration. It has intermittent frustration and a predominant feeling of contentment. Warmth.

Greg Sanders is, in equal parts unexpectedly and inevitably, everything he needs. He is ugly shirts and terrible music and incessant talking. He is, quite frankly, a terrible cook. He likes trashy, inaccurate forensics shows and he has some bizarrely strong opinions on interior decorating. He is also considerate and sappy and filthy and surprising. He is part of a future that Nick never considered, and yet one that no one else seems remotely surprised by. Nick thinks that the surprise is in the fact that he’s ok with that.

When Greg glances over toward the couch, Nick instinctively drops back onto the cushions, as if he’s about to be caught out doing something wrong.

“No, he’s still sleeping.” He laughs. “I know, I must have. I’ll get him to call you when he wakes up.”

Nick knows he is being spoken about, but he can’t be sure who the caller is. He waits, silent.

“Thanks, that means a lot. Merry Christmas, Kendra. Bye.”

His sister’s name rolls off his boyfriend’s tongue in such an easily affectionate manner that it’s suddenly not weird at all that Greg has been chatting away to Kendra about him as though they are old friends.

“Hey, you’re awake.” Greg sinks to the floor next to the couch and lays his head on Nick’s chest. “Your sister called.”

“I didn’t hear it ring,” Nick comments. Greg doesn’t need to know he was listening.

“Of course you didn’t, you were out of it. I wore you out.”

Nick feels the smirk against his skin and much as he wants to protest, he knows it’s true, so he says nothing and just winds his fingers into Greg’s damp hair.

“Shut up,” he says at last. “Not close enough.”

Greg lifts his head, touches his lips to Nick’s in a slow and breath-stealing kiss and scrambles back onto the couch, shuffling as close as possible, wrapping his arms and legs around Nick and pulling the blanket tight around both of them.

“Close enough?” he asks, hair tickling Nick’s neck. Warm hands and wool and denim soft against his bare skin.

“Yeah.” Nick closes his eyes. “Perfect.”

**~*~**

Oh, once in your life you find someone
Who will turn your world around
Pick you up when you're feelin' down

Now, nothing could change what you mean to me.
There's a lot that I could say
But just hold me now,
‘Cause our love will light the way.

Baby you're all that I want.
When you're lying here in my arms
I'm finding it hard to believe
We're in heaven.

And love is all that I need
And I found it there in your heart.
It isn't too hard to see
We're in heaven.

Now our dreams are coming true.
Through the good times and the bad
I'll be standing there by you.

Next story in the series - Nine Love Songs - the Cutting Room Floor

 

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