Title: Stranded
By: Chapin CSI
Pairing: Gil/Greg
Rating: PG-13
Note: AU, all you need to know is that when Gil & Greg met at a convention, sparks flew. They didn't know who the other was, but they were immediately attracted to each other. Unfortunately, before they could say more than 'hello,' someone mentioned the fact that Greg would soon be working in Las Vegas. And that was the end of it.
NOTE2: NOTE: the books Grissom read are: Pox: Genius, Madness, And The Mysteries Of Syphilis, by Deborah Hayden; Dry: A Memoir, by Augusten Burroughs –I'm a big fan of his. Greg reads from 'In A Far Country', by Jack London.
Warning: I don't speak English and it shows in my stories; luckily, my readers are very forgiving. Thanks!
Summary: G & G find themselves stranded in the desert... Will romance flourish in such an arid place?

***

Greg shielded his eyes from the sun as he looked up and down the road.

Nothing.

He'd been standing on the same spot for what felt like hours, hoping to get a glimpse of a car or an helicopter. He was quickly reaching a point where seeing someone in a bicycle would have cheered him up.

He needed to see something –anything- that broke the monotony of the landscape surrounding him. But nothing changed. There was only the desert, the distant cliffs, the sky devoid of clouds, and the sun. His head was beginning to hurt; he was sweating like a pig, and his shirt was stuck to his skin.

Greg glanced at his watch. Nick had been gone for only a couple of hours and would not be back any time soon -unless he miraculously caught up with some rangers, or a citizen armed with better means of communication than a puny cell phone.

Greg shook his head. Who would have thought their little trip would end up this gruesomely? One minute they were driving and taking in the sights; the next, they were confronted with an unexpected crime scene.

Greg glanced at the vehicle parked a few feet away from where he stood. The windows were clouded due to gases oozing from the dead man slumped behind the wheel, making it extremely difficult to see what was inside.

Not that Greg wanted to see it again. Hopefully, he would not have to. After all, he was not in Clark County; someone else would have to deal with this crime scene.

"Thank God." Greg said aloud, and he was surprised at how dry his mouth felt, and how cracked his lips already were.

God, it was hot.

Not for the first time, he wished he'd returned to Las Vegas by plane. Sure, it would have meant ending the trip in a less adventurous way, but at least he would be home by now.

Instead, he'd stuck by Nick and Grissom, who in turn had heeded the advice of a ranger who'd told them about the new museum in Santa Margarita, a small town close to the Grand Canyon.

If they had taken a helicopter things would have turned out fine; but Nick had insisted on driving and, surprisingly, Grissom had agreed, noting how much he'd like to study any insects they might encounter.

Well, Greg was all for getting closer to nature, even if that meant stopping every half-hour to run after some hairy bug. After five hours, however, the novelty had worn off. The trip was turning into a big bore…

…Until they came upon a vehicle that stood in the middle of the road.

This in itself was out of the ordinary; but when they saw that the car was riddled with recent bullet holes, they knew that something was very wrong.

The clincher was the license plate number.

It was a number they'd learned by heart after hearing it mentioned over and over in the news. According to the police, the license plate belonged to a getaway car used in a recent bank robbery.

So, while the Feds were looking for this car up North, the robbers took another road; the least-expected one. Only, it was a road that led to nowhere –at least for the one person inside the car.

Grissom had acted swiftly: He ordered Nick to go get help, while he and Greg stayed behind to prevent any contamination of the crime scene.

While Grissom took steps to preserve the evidence, Greg's main concern was on their own lives, which was the reason he had a gun in his pocket. The ranger at the last post insisted on giving it to them as a precaution, and Greg didn't hesitate to take it.

If the bad guys decide to come back, he would be prepared.

"If I'm still alive," Greg muttered, wiping the sweat off his face.

He looked over his shoulder in Grissom's direction.

Grissom was sitting inside the makeshift tent they'd put up under a mesquite tree. He was reading, and he looked calm and comfortable, just as if he was in some luxury beach resort and not in the middle of the desert.

Greg scowled. It was the tenth time he'd turned to look at Grissom, and so far he hadn't caught his boss in the act of checking him out.

Greg was disappointed.

He'd been standing here, silhouetted against the clear sky, with his clothes nicely hugging his body, and not once had Grissom even looked in his direction.

It was frustrating for Greg; if the roles had been changed and Grissom had stood here, the young man would have certainly taken a long look.

"Not that there would be much to see," Greg mused aloud. With Grissom's baggy clothes covering his body the way they did, practically everything was left to the imagination.

But Greg had a fertile imagination.

Greg shook his head again.

It was at times like this that he wondered if his initial perception of Grissom had been correct. They'd met six years earlier in a convention, and Greg still recalled his first impression of the man who would become his boss.

Mostly, he remembered the attraction that seemed to sizzle between them as they exchanged their first hello. Greg still believed they would have ended in one or the other's bedroom, if someone hadn't mentioned that they would soon be coworkers.

Once Grissom realized that he was going to be Greg's boss, forget it. From then on, Grissom kept his distance and Greg acted accordingly.

Still, there were times when they talked and a sort of flirting ensued, and Greg couldn't help but wonder if Grissom still remembered their first encounter, and if he regretted not taking a chance.

Then today, when Grissom sent Nick to Santa Margarita, Greg wondered if there was some ulterior motive behind this decision. For the young man, the possibility of being alone with Grissom in the middle of the desert was exciting, filled with possibilities.

Now, he wasn't so sure.

Greg glanced at Grissom again.

The man was engrossed by his book.

'Oh, well,' Greg thought.

***

When Greg got back to the tent, he reached for his bottle of water, only to find it empty. He forgot that it was the fact that his bottle was empty that had prompted him to get up and take a look around in the first place.

Reality hit Greg once more: There would be no more water until Nick came back.

And he was hotter now, after standing under the sun.

Enviously, he glanced at Grissom, who looked cool as a cucumber.

Or maybe not so cool. On a second glance Greg noticed the dark patches staining Grissom's armpits. Grissom's face was flushed under the ratty straw hat he had on, and his beard was drenched with sweat, too.

And yet he was calmly reading, while Greg was agonizing.

Looking for some distraction, Greg picked up his own book and opened it, only to put it down again. He'd made a mistake by bringing this book; it was all about the desert and the effect of heat on people stupid enough to stumble around without enough water.

It was an informative book but not what he needed at the moment.

With some irritation, Greg noticed that Grissom's book was written by Jack London, which meant that it was probably all about the Klondike and the gold rush, and the ravages caused by the long, snowy winters.

Grissom's mind was probably miles and miles away.

He hadn't even needed to drink much water; Grissom's bottle still held half its contents. He had taken only a few small sips of water, while Greg had gulped down half as soon as he opened his bottle.

But Greg didn't regret it. He didn't believe in delaying gratification; he'd enjoyed the water while it was cold, while Gil had let it go tepid.

Ha.

Still, water was water, and Grissom's warmed up water looked good now.

Greg wondered if Grissom would give him some. It wasn't fair to take water from his boss but, on the other hand, Greg was seriously thirsty.

"It's hot, huh?" Greg said conversationally.

Gil didn't even look up.

"It's hot," Greg repeated, and this time he got a response:

"Mmmmh."

Greg waited a couple of minutes, and then he spoke again.

"Hum, Grissom…" he said, "I'm thirsty -"

Grissom didn't look up. His one reaction was an eyebrow that rose almost imperceptibly.

Greg was piqued by Grissom's indifference.

"I think I'm dying here." He said, but all he got was a scoff from Grissom. "I'm serious," Greg added. He softened his tone, "Can I have some of your -"

"No."

"No? Why not? You've got plenty of water -"

Grissom glanced up.

"I told you to pace yourself, remember?"

Greg was incredulous.

"So you're just going to let me die of thirst?"

"You're not going to die." Grissom said dismissively before turning back to his book.

"I will if I don't have some water."

Grissom reluctantly looked at Greg again. After a moment, he shook his head.

"You're like a kid, sometimes." He said.

"I'm not!"

"A spoilt kid." Gil added.

Greg shrugged.

"Well," he said, "I guess I am. I was an only kid -"

"So was I." Gil interrupted dryly.

"Damn." Greg muttered. Then he glanced at Grissom "You'd never mentioned this before." he said. "An only kid, huh? It makes sense."

Grissom opened his mouth to ask what Greg meant by that, but he thought better of it. He turned his attention back to his book but could only read a couple of lines before he got interrupted again.

"Grissom?"

"What." Grissom said impatiently.

"I'm not kidding. I'm thirsty."

Grissom put his book down.

"Greg," he said calmly, and by the tone he used, Greg knew he was in for a lecture.

"I asked you to pace yourself when it came to drinking the water." Grissom said calmly, "I told you to stay put. Instead, you emptied the bottle in ten minutes and then you stood under the sun for half an hour-"

Greg wasn't in the mood for this.

"And your point is?" he interrupted.

"You didn't follow my instructions." Grissom said.

"Yeah, well -"

"I'm your boss, Greg."

"You're my boss in Clark County." Greg replied.

Grissom's left eyebrow rose.

Greg's words alone could be taken as insubordination, but fortunately for the young man, Grissom had recognized the teasing tone he'd used.

And Grissom smiled faintly at this because, yes, they were not back in Las Vegas.

"You're right," he said, "We're not in Clark county."

Greg was surprised by Grissom's fair reaction.

"Still," Grissom continued, "common sense says you should stay out of the sun at this time of the day."

"Yeah," Greg said reluctantly, "You're right, but -"

"But?"

"Well… You're not using your common sense either," Greg said. "You shouldn't hoard water for later, Grissom. No matter whether you feel thirsty or not, you should drink small amounts of water throughout the day, keep yourself constantly hydrated."

He looked at Grissom in the eye, "Once dehydration sets in, you're not able to make sound decisions." He lifted his book, "It says so, here."

Grissom's eyebrows rose.

"All right," he said slowly, "I'll bow to your superior knowledge then," and he picked up his bottle, opened it, and drank a third of its contents. He actually smacked his lips as he did this. And then he put the cap back on.

Greg's eyes widened.

"You're not gonna give me a sip?"

Grissom stared at him, as if he really needed to think it over.

"Oh, all right," he said, and he turned to the field kit that lay by his side. He opened it, and to Greg's amazement, uncovered about a dozen bottles of water inside.

"I thought that was your crime-scene kit!" Greg exclaimed.

"This is my emergency kit." Grissom said placidly. He picked up a couple of bottles and passed them to Greg, who hurriedly uncapped one and drank a good half.

Greg wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Grissom ignored the question. He simply closed the kit and picked up his book again.

Greg frowned.

"Is there anything else there that I should know about?" Greg asked suspiciously. "Food, perhaps?"

"Granola bars and a couple of apples." Grissom said without looking up. "For dinner," he added pointedly.

Greg kept looking at him.

"You were screwing around with me," he accused.

"I wasn't."

"Yes, you were," Greg said indignantly, "You were playing mind-games with me! I mean, who's the kid, now?"

Grissom didn't answer. But he was smiling as he picked up his book again.

***

Greg read the last few pages of his book, and then he closed it. He glanced at his watch. It was four o'clock.

The day was still hot.

Idly, Greg glanced at Grissom. The man was still quietly reading.

"Hey, Grissom."

Grissom's response was a mere 'mmmmh?'

"I'm bored," Greg said.

Gil didn't look up.

"Read something." He said.

"I finished my book already."

"Then read it again."

"But I've already read it once."

Grissom glanced at Greg.

"And?"

"And, I already know what it's all about." Greg said reasonably.

Grissom frowned. "You didn't like it?"

"I did," Greg said smiling. "It's gory, it's filled with anecdotes, it's -"

"Then read it again." Grissom said again, "Surely, you've reread a favorite book before."

"No, I haven't," Greg replied. He peered at the book in Gil's hands "What are you reading?"

Gil lifted the book so Greg could see the cover, "'Thirteen Tales of Terror,'" he said.

"I know the title," Greg said, "What are you reading right now?"

Grissom passed him the book, his thumb firmly wedged between the pages. Greg took it and read aloud.

"'When a man journeys into a far country, he must be prepared to forget many of the things he has learned; he must abandon the old ideals and the old gods -"

"-and oftentimes, he must reverse the very codes by which his conduct has hitherto been shaped." Grissom finished.

"Whoa!" Greg said, "You know this piece from memory. You must have read it a hundred times."

"A hundred-and-one," Gil replied smugly.

"Wow," Greg said. "Talk about boring," he added as an afterthought.

Gil frowned over this but before he could make a comment, Greg lifted the book and sniffed it.

"It smells like you!" He said in wonder, "Where do you keep your books -inside your closet?"

Grissom frowned over this comment. It was inappropriate, and it made him uncomfortable. It also bothered him, the fact that Greg thought he smelled of old books.

Greg didn't notice Grissom's reaction. The young man was still browsing Grissom's book and making comments.

"Old books can be comforting." Grissom said, picking the book that Greg had discarded.

Greg shrugged. "All I'm saying is, there are lots of new books out there."

Greg glanced at him.

"I read new books all the time," Grissom replied.

"Oh, yeah?" Greg challenged, "Name two."

"'Pox,' and 'Dry,'" was the prompt response.

"Syphilis and Alcoholism," Greg replied quickly, and this earned him a look of interest from Grissom.

"Did you read those, too?"

"No," Greg said sheepishly, "I read the reviews."

Greg was silent for a moment, and then he added, "So, you're willing to read something new, uh?" He smiled mischievously, "You know, I'd always wondered whether you had it in you to try something new."

"Well -"

"And now I've gotta wonder how far you would go when trying something new."

Grissom had the feeling that they weren't talking about books anymore.

He glared at Greg.

"Read," he ordered.

And Greg obeyed… for about five minutes.

Soon he staring at Grissom again.

Grissom looked up.

"What?" he glared.

"Can I ask you something?" Greg said, and he waited until Grissom put his book down. "Why didn't you let me go get help?"

The question took Grissom by surprise. The question, and the tone that Greg used; the young man was definitely not smiling this time.

Before Grissom could answer, Greg continued.

"I mean, I could have gone to Santa Margarita," he said.

"No, you couldn't." Grissom said firmly.

This was definitely not the answer Greg was hoping for. He was speechless; and then he got angry.

"What, you thought I'd get lost, or something?" he asked indignantly.

"No, but -"

"Or that I wouldn't know what to do or who to talk to once I got to the nearest town?" Greg was surprised at how pissed off he sounded. Well, he was pissed off. He was thirsty and sore and bored, while Nick was comfortably driving a car with air conditioning. "Nick could have stayed here," he argued.

"No, he couldn't." Gil said calmly. "It was his turn to go get help. He's already done guard duty."

"Guard duty? What's that?"

"Stay with a dead body until reinforcements come." Gil explained. "Rookies have to do it sometime. It was your turn."

Greg's anger was instantly deflated.

"Oh." He said.

"Two years ago, Nick spent the night at a rundown house, keeping an eye on a db while the police sorted out a gang dispute," Grissom explained, "He's also spent time in the desert, in similar conditions to these," he said, eyeing his surroundings.

"Every CSI has to pay his dues, so to speak," Gil added conversationally, "Warrick has done guard duty already, Sara has not. She has gone looking for help on several occasions -on foot, even- but Warrick hasn't, so if we ever get in a situation like this -"

"He'll have to go," Greg finished. He looked curiously at Gil, "You keep track of all those things?"

"Of course." Grissom said matter-of-factly. "I wouldn't want any of my underlings to think I'm favoring one of them over the other."

Greg felt his cheeks burn, and it wasn't because of the sun.

"So, this is my turn," he said.

"Exactly."

Greg nodded slowly.

"I'll do my job, then," Greg said contritely. "I'll keep that d.b. safe -"

"You just have to keep an eye on the car, Greg," Grissom warned, "I don't want you to start wrestling with snakes, ok?"

Greg was silent for a moment.

"Can I ask you another question?" he said.

Grissom looked up from the book.

"Why did you stay?" Greg asked, "I mean, you didn't have to, right? Unless you didn't think I could do guard duty on my own."

"You're perfectly capable of preserving the evidence, Greg."

"So... You could have gone with Nick."

"I suppose."

Greg's heart pounded faster in his chest.

"So, why didn't you?" he insisted.

Grissom put his book down.

"Because you're a sociable person, Greg." he said. "You wouldn't stand being alone for more than a couple of hours. I figured that after three hours here, you'd start talking to yourself. After four hours, you'd be ranting. One night here on your own, and you'd start humping a mesquite tree."

Greg gaped.

Grissom was smiling, clearly pleased with his own wit.

Greg was piqued.

"Is that right?" he asked. But instead of letting his irritation get the best of him, he changed tactics.

He smiled.

"You know, you might be right. And I'm glad you stayed, Grissom. After all… you're far cuddlier than a tree."

Grissom looked up sharply. And incredulously. He couldn't believe Greg had just said that.

Now it was Greg's turn to smile.

"You know, I was thinking… It'll be hours before Nick comes back," he said, "We'll probably have to spend the night here, alone."

He paused to let these words sink in.

"It gets cold at this time of the year," he continued.

"We have blankets," Grissom said mechanically. He didn't like the smug smile on Greg's face.

"That's great." Greg nodded. "Of course, you know there are better ways of preserving body heat." he added. When Grissom looked up sharply, Greg added, "According to the book, two people lying naked against each other under a blanket have better chances of survival."

Grissom flushed.

Greg smiled faintly.

"But who knows?" he added, "Maybe Nick will come before we get to that." And he opened the book and read…

Or pretended to, anyway.

It was more entertaining to keep a watch on Grissom, who all of a sudden was glancing at the road, probably in the hopes of seeing someone –anyone- approaching.

Grissom would have probably welcomed the sight of someone on a bicycle.

***

Bed time comes early when you're stranded in the desert.

It was one of the lessons Greg had learned so far: Once the sun sets, there is little left for you to do -unless you have an alternative source of light. But if you don't even have enough batteries to keep your Maglite going, then the best you can do is get into your tent and find something to do in the dark. If you have a friend with you, then you can talk, tell each other stories, or you can sing Kumbaya.

But if you don't have much to say to the person you're stranded with, then you simply get under the covers and pretend you're asleep.

And that's exactly what Greg did.

Unaccustomed to going to bed so early in the evening, however, Greg had been awake all this time.

It didn't help that there was a full moon. The light wasn't bright enough to let him read; just enough to let him see every creature that crawled, slithered, rustled, and scrambled in the near vicinity.

Not daring to move an inch, Greg had followed those creatures with his eyes, ready to act in case any of them came in his direction. Not an easy task, since the moonlight lent an eerie glow to every surface, casting weird shadows and making him see movement where there was none.

Apparently, the moon produced its own sort of mirages. Whenever Greg saw one of these, his first impulse was to say something about it. But he stopped himself just in time. He didn't want to draw Grissom's attention to himself. He didn't want to talk -period.

But then, he had talked too much already.

He'd talked and talked, despite Grissom's little interest. Then he'd spent the rest of the afternoon making all sort of jokes about their sleeping arrangements. He'd done this, knowing full well that Grissom would panic at the idea of sleeping with a colleague -even if 'sleep' was all that they were going to do.

On hindsight, Greg had to admit he'd really gone overboard with these jokes. Maybe the fact that they were far away from the lab heartened him. The problem came later, when he sat back and waited for Grissom to come up with some clumsy explanation as to why they shouldn't sleep together.

It turned out that Grissom was the most practical of men. As soon as the temperature started to drop, he decided that huddling together under two blankets made more sense than using one blanket each. Grissom had even prepared their bed himself, removing rocks from the area where they would lie down.

Greg could hardly believe it. He had joked about it, but lying next to Grissom was no laughing matter. It was damn uncomfortable, and not only because of the hard soil underneath. They could hardly move, for starters. The blankets were tightly tucked underneath them, so every time one of them took a deep breath or made a sudden movement, the other felt it.

And while lying next to Grissom seemed like a fantasy come true for Greg, it was not. Because in his fantasies, they didn't lie down like this; in his fantasies they turned to each other and did things to each to each other and, more importantly, they talked.

Oh, yeah. In Greg's fantasies, Grissom did and said all the right things. In fact, he was the one who always broached the subject of sex, love, or whatever it was that Greg was craving at the time.

Fantasy Grissom knew about Greg's feelings and did something about them, while the real Grissom -

Greg smiled ruefully.

The real Grissom flushed when he heard Greg's jokes but pretended not to understand what they were all about.

The real Grissom fell asleep the minute his head touched the ground.

The real Grissom would never do or say the right thing.

It was damn frustrating.

Idly, Greg moved his head just enough to take a look at his boss. He discovered, to his surprise, that Grissom was awake and staring at the sky.

"Hey," Greg said.

"Mmmmh."

"Thought you were asleep."

"Mmmh."

Greg was silent for a moment. He stared at the same patch of sky that Grissom was looking at. After a moment, he spoke again.

"I'm not sleeping tonight." Greg said.

"Try."

"No, I mean. Look at those stars." Greg said. "How often do we get to lie down and just –just look at the sky?"

"I do it once a month," Grissom said smugly.

Greg glanced at his boss. Grissom's self-satisfied smirk bothered him.

"Really," Greg said, "And how often do you get to lie down and look at the sky in someone else's company?" he challenged.

Grissom opened his mouth but didn't say anything.

"Well?"

Grissom looked at Greg for the first time.

"I don't," he admitted.

Greg smiled to himself.

"So," he said after a moment, "What is it that you do? Do you drive to the desert and put up a tent? Do you meet some fellow Entomologist and go chasing after beetles -"

Grissom shook his head.

"I stay home," he said reluctantly. "I set up a telescope in the roof and -" he let the word trail off.

"Cool," Greg said sincerely. He liked the idea of setting a telescope in the roof of his building and studying the stars. He'd been looking for a telescope for some time now. "I bet you know the names of all those constellations," Greg said, tilting his head in the sky's direction.

Grissom smiled.

"I bet you know them, too," he said.

Greg had to admit that he did. He knew stuff, and it flattered him that Grissom acknowledged this fact.

Grissom looked away again, and Greg took the chance to study his face. It wasn't often that he could be this close to Grissom, while the man simply relaxed. For once, he didn't have to sneak the glances; this time he could ogle all he wanted.

After a moment, Greg patted his pockets until he found something. He tried to be inconspicuous about it but the rustling sounds he made attracted Grissom's attention.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm unwrapping a stick of gum," Greg replied. "If I'm not sleeping, at least I'll have something to do." He glanced at Grissom, "Wanna piece?"

Grissom hesitated. Then he remembered that he probably would not be getting much sleep.

"Ok."

Greg passed him a piece of gum under the blankets, and soon they were both chewing gum.

Inevitably, Greg broke the silence once again.

"So, Grissom," he said in a deceptively casual tone, "Have you ever kissed someone under a full moon?"

Grissom's chewing stopped. He didn't answer.

"I thought so," Greg said smugly. He looked at Grissom for a long time. "Would you like to?"

Grissom shook his head.

"I don't think so."

"Come on, how can you say that? Think of it. The stars, the moon… someone you like by your side…"

Grissom didn't comment.

"Well," Greg continued, "I'd do it. If I had someone I like by my side, that is."

Grissom glanced at Greg for a moment, then he looked away. They were in silence for a while.

Then Greg spoke again.

"Tell me this," he said, "If that someone didn't work for you, would you do it?"

Grissom shook his head almost imperceptibly.

"Greg, even if I wanted to do this…"

"Yes?"

"I haven't kissed anyone in years, so -"

Greg's eyebrows rose.

"That's not something a guy should proclaim, you know."

Grissom looked at Greg.

"I'm not proclaiming it," He said quietly, "I'm just being honest."

"Still," Greg muttered. "That's not the way to sell yourself." But after a moment, he patted Grissom's shoulder under the covers. "It's ok," he said magnanimously, "I'm sure it'll come back to you. Kissing's like riding a bicycle."

Grissom smiled faintly.

"I haven't ridden a bicycle in years, either."

"You haven't?" Greg asked, his eyebrows rising in an exaggerated surprise, "Then what the hell have you been doing all these years?"

But he was smiling as he said this.

Grissom didn't smile back.

"I've been dreaming." He said pointedly.

Greg's mischievous smile faded. There was something in Grissom's eyes that reminded him of that day, all those years ago, when they met.

Greg's heart beat faster.

"Well," he said, choosing his next words with care. "Dreaming's good," he said gently. "But, you know, sometimes you need a little reality in your life, too. Sometimes you have to get up and do things -" he tentatively laid a hand on Grissom's chest. "- if you know what I mean." he finished.

Grissom's lips parted.

"Ok," he said softly. "Find me a bicycle, then."

Greg chuckled.

Grissom was smiling faintly, too.

Greg's fingers touched the top button on Gil's shirt.

"What about…?" he said, the word trailing off.

Grissom's smile faded.

"I don't know." He said.

Greg nodded. He understood Grissom's reticence even if he didn't share it.

"Look," he said. "The way I see it… We're practically in the middle of nowhere, Grissom. I mean, anything can happen to us here. We could be struck by lightning, you know. A scorpion could crawl in, thinking this is just another cozy cave -"

"A snake could, too." Grissom added helpfully.

"Thanks for the reminder," Greg glared.

"You're welcome," Grissom said, a small, bemused smile tilting the corners of his mouth.

Greg did a double take. Grissom was smiling… That was a good sign.

"So," Greg said, "You agree that this could really be our last chance, uh? We're all alone here, we have minty-fresh breath… Plus, what happens in the desert, stays in the desert."

"That sounds good," Grissom said.

Greg took this as an invitation. He leant forward and gently touched Gil's lips with his own. He pulled back to gauge Grissom's reaction. There was a solemn expression on the older man's face.

And suddenly, Greg realized what a big deal this really was. Grissom spent years without kissing, let alone having sex with anyone. Suddenly, Greg felt that this was like –like being with a virgin, he supposed. A big deal.

Greg's hand gently cradled Grissom's face. He was about to kiss Grissom again, when a sudden roar surprised them both. They froze.

"What was that?"

"I think it's a car," Grissom's said.

Greg gaped. "You don't think..."

They hurriedly lifted a flat of the tent and looked outside. The car with the dead guy was standing there, untouched.

"I can't see anything." Greg muttered. In their silent surroundings, every noise was magnified. If there was a car coming up, it might not be as close as they thought.

"It could be Nick," Grissom said, pushing the blankets away.

"The idiot!" Greg blurted out. He glanced at Grissom, who seemed surprised by Greg's reaction. Greg shrugged. "He wasn't supposed to be here yet."

"Maybe it's the bank robbers," Grissom retorted.

"Shit!" Greg exclaimed, scrambling around in search of his gun. He pulled from under the rolled towel he'd used as a pillow.

"Wait!" Grissom warned.

By now, two vehicles could be seen approaching. And under the pale light of the moon, they ID'd the logo of the Santa Margarita Ranger Patrol.

"It's Nick," Greg said.

"The idiot," Grissom said under his breath.

***

Greg opened the door of his room and peered into the hallway. It was empty.

Good.

He got out, closed the door behind him, and then cautiously moved towards the stairs. The wood creaked under his feet but fortunately for him, that noise was drowned by raised voices coming from the canteen. It was dinner time, and the rangers were making the most of it.

Between assisting the FBI in their investigation and giving their visitors from Las Vegas a tour of the park, they'd had their hands full. Since the park was seriously understaffed, most of them had been up since the night before, when they followed Nick into the desert.

Greg smiled to himself. He'd counted on the rangers getting together; it would give him more liberty to move around the park.

Still, he took precautions. He acted like an undercover cop in a dangerous mission; he avoided any well-lighted areas, and he glanced around before taking the path that led to the visitors' bungalows.

He didn't want anyone to know he was going to visit Grissom.

They had kept a respectful distance all day, he and Grissom. They'd hardly talked, and when they did, they'd directed their comments to Nick who, fortunately, never noticed that his coworkers were acting like feuding parents who tell their kids things that aren't really meant for them but for the other parent.

Only, he and Grissom weren't feuding. They were just afraid of betraying themselves with a look or a word. At least, that's how Greg felt. After opening up about his own feelings the night before, there was no turning back for him.

So, while he'd enjoyed the sights, his mind had been busily planning on what to do later.

He'd tried to broach the subject to Grissom, but the older man had retired early. It was up to Greg, now.

He felt confident as he entered the bungalow area. In a twist of fate that seemed too good to be true, the park authorities had given Grissom the only bungalow that was finished.

Which meant Grissom was all alone down there…

What more could they ask for?

Greg wasn't exactly religious but by now he'd started to believe that some higher power was helping him along. A gay higher power. Greg smiled to himself.

He didn't have any difficulty locating Grissom's bungalow; it was the only one with a light on. And a roof.

Greg walked up the door… And suddenly, his confidence started to falter. He lifted his hand to knock on the door, only to leave his hand hanging in mid-air.

"Come on," he muttered impatiently. "Just do it."

He took one last deep breath, and then he knocked.

There was a pause. A long pause, in fact. Then, there was the sound of a chair being pushed back, and the muted sound of Grissom's steps on the wooden floor.

Grissom didn't immediately open the door, and Greg could picture him reaching for the doorknob only to hold back. Maybe he was even giving himself a pep-talk too?

Finally the door opened. Grissom stood there, looking solemnly at Greg. Solemnly, and a little scared, in Greg's opinion.

Greg nodded casually.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey, Greg," Grissom said quietly.

They stood, looking at each other for a moment. Greg fished around for something to say. Something other than, 'so, you wanna have sex or not?' that is.

"So," he said, glancing over Grissom's shoulder, "Are you gonna give me a tour of your bungalow?"

This was a reasonable request and it did the trick.

Grissom moved to a side, letting Greg in. "There's not much to see," he said as he closed the door.

Greg glanced around. The only light in the room came from a lamp on the bedside table, but it was more than enough. The room was small and, as Grissom had said, there was not much to see.

"Adobe," Greg muttered, glancing at the walls.

The room was sparsely furnished. Apart from the bedside table, there was only a chest of drawers and a chair. And, of course, a bed. A twin bed.

It wasn't much, but under the half-light it looked cozy. A few throw rugs would have made all the difference.

Greg glanced at Grissom, who was still standing by the door.

"Nice room." he said.

"What about you?" Grissom asked, "You're bunking with Nick, right?"

"Not anymore," Greg replied.

"Why?" Grissom frowned.

Greg shrugged.

"I told Nick I ate six burritos; he quickly asked for new accommodations."

Grissom was appalled.

"Did you eat six burritos?" he asked.

Greg chuckled.

"Nah. I just wanted the room to myself. I didn't want anybody asking questions in case I wanted to, you know, go out and explore the grounds. And besides, Nicky wanted an excuse to leave. Didn't you notice the looks he was giving Susan, our guide? I bet he's bunking with her, right now."

Grissom didn't comment.

Greg moved around the room, and then he sat on the bed. He resisted the impulse to bounce. He patted the thick Santa Fe blanket that covered the bed. Nice.

"You know, I'm glad that Nick came along when he did. Last night, I mean. Sex on the ground isn't really comfortable, you know." He looked at Grissom, but the older man didn't say anything.

"I mean," Greg continued, "A twin bed doesn't look that comfortable either, but compared to sleeping outside -" he paused.

Grissom looked at Greg as if he didn't know what the young man was talking about.

Grissom's lack of response was shattering Greg's confidence. By now, he was wondering if coming here had been a good idea after all.

'Oh, shit,' Greg thought. 'What now?'

He looked around for inspiration, and suddenly he remembered he hadn't come empty-handed.

"Hey," he said, jumping up from the bed, "I got something for you." He took something from the pocket of his denim jacket and handed it to Grissom. It was a small glass jar.

Grissom examined the jar. At some point it must have contained baby food of some kind, but now it held a huge desert cockroach. Grissom gently tilted the jar but the cockroach didn't move. He quickly glanced at the lid. It didn't have any holes on.

He was appalled.

"Greg -"

"Hey, it was already dead when I put it there," Greg said defensively.

Grissom looked at him over the rim of his glasses.

"Are you sure?"

Greg gave him a look.

"Do you think I would have touched that thing if it had been alive?" he asked reasonably, "I found it near in the backyard," he explained, "I wanted a jar like the ones they used at the museum exhibit but all they had were baby food jars. There's a drawer full of jars like this in the kitchen. As to why would a ranger eat baby food, well, is a mystery to me."

Grissom smiled faintly. He looked back at the cockroach and examined it from several angles. Then he looked up again.

"Thanks, Greg." He said cordially, "I'm gonna study it. Then after I'm finished, we'll put it back where you found it."

Greg frowned as Grissom put the jar down on the chest of drawers.

"Back in the backyard? Why?"

"Because we're at a preserve, Greg," Grissom said in full-teacher mode, "A dead creature like this will feed other, smaller ones."

"Circle of life," Greg said in comprehension. "I guess I should have thought of that." He paused for a moment, and then he added deliberately. "A dead cockroach wasn't my first choice for a gift, you know. But there's no gift shop here, so -" He smiled at Grissom.

Again, Grissom didn't reply.

And now, Greg started getting nervous; so nervous, in fact, that he started to feel the urge to talk -and talk, and talk.

"I almost forgot," he said, "I've got something else," he patted his pockets again. "I don't know about your preferences, so -" Greg was muttering, "I thought I'd bring all sort of things… Just in case."

Grissom frowned as Greg began laying things on the bed: A silk scarf, several pieces of string, and, surprisingly, a pair of handcuffs. Mystified, Grissom looked up.

"The scarf can be used as a blindfold," Greg explained, "The string, well, you can use it, you know, to tie down something -or someone. Ditto the handcuffs. No condoms," he added apologetically. "The pharmacy was closed. And anyway, buying condoms would have probably been a bad idea, huh. They would have wondered why I was getting them -"

Greg forced himself to stop talking. He looked at Grissom, hoping the older man would finally say or do something.

Grissom was glancing at the objects on the bed, and the look on his face clearly said, 'what the hell is this?'

'Oh, fuck,' Greg thought. He never expected Grissom to grab him and throw him on the bed the minute he entered the room but come on, shouldn't he say something at least?

Defeated, Greg looked away, and his attention was immediately drawn to the window. It was closed but the curtains were not drawn yet, and Greg used it as an excuse to turn his back on Grissom. He didn't think he could look at Grissom's clueless mug anymore.

Greg peered outside. It was dark, but he could see the outline of the mountains against the sky.

"Nice view," Greg said. "It's great to be at a park that hasn't opened, you know? It's quiet and unspoiled.

He was making all these comments, while the only thought in his head was, 'Just 24 hours ago I almost kissed this guy, and now -'

He kept talking. " I liked the carvings we saw today," he said conversationally. "Did you take any pictures of -" he turned as he spoke, and to his surprise he found that Grissom was not standing by the door anymore; he had sneaked closer and now was just behind him.

A bigger surprise came when Grissom unceremoniously grabbed Greg's face with both hands and, before Greg knew what was happening, leant closer and kissed him.

Greg's first impression was that Grissom wasn't kidding when he said he hadn't kissed anyone in years.

Grissom had completely miscalculated and his mouth missed Greg's by a few inches. His kiss landed on the young man's jaw.

Still, a kiss was a kiss. And Grissom didn't seem discouraged by his blunder, either. In fact, taking this first step emboldened him to do more; he eagerly kissed Greg's face, and he persevered until his mouth found the intended target.

Once he did, he slowed down. He even sneaked a glance to gauge Greg's reaction.

If Grissom had kept his eyes open all along, he would have seen every emotion play on Greg's eyes. There was wide-eyed surprise at first, then some amusement, (and a little tenderness, too) at Grissom's clumsy efforts).

But once Grissom's kiss deepened, Greg found that there was nothing amusing about it. It was getting serious -and good.

'Finally,' Greg thought, and he threw one arm around Grissom's neck. The other hand he kept free in order to touch Grissom anywhere he could reach.

Grissom pulled back briefly.

"I didn't get you a gift," he said breathlessly.

"Are you kidding?" Greg replied, equally out of breath, "I know you've got something for me," he said, pointedly glancing down, "I can feel it."

And then they were kissing again, hungrily. They kept moving about the room, each trying to dominate the other. They would have gone on and on like this, if Grissom hadn't managed to get Greg up against a wall.

With Greg safely cornered, Grissom's hands were finally free. He quickly opened Greg's shirt with a swift movement (he was clearly not in the mood to bother with buttons). He tossed the shirt away and then he impatiently tugged at the t-shirt that Greg was wearing underneath.

Greg helped by lifting his arms, and by tossing the t-shirt himself. He was smiling all along, slightly amused by Grissom's sudden eagerness.

This was a side of Grissom no one knew.

Greg's smile widened when he tried to undo his own belt and Grissom insisted on doing it himself.

Greg chuckled.

"You just have to be in control, uh." he said indulgently.

Grissom looked up sharply. For some reason, Greg's innocent comment made him pause. He looked at Greg as if he were seeing him for the first time tonight. He looked at Greg's hair, which was messier than usual after Grissom's ministrations; Greg's lips -which were slightly swollen because of Grissom's kisses. Then his gaze met Greg's.

After a moment, Grissom shook his head. He cupped Greg's face with tenderness now.

"No," he said, "I don't have to be in control."

***

'You did it.'

That was Greg's first thought after he woke up from his brief stupor.

He blinked his eyes open and the first thing he saw was the ceiling, with its unvarnished wood beams. The room was dark, with only a little light coming though the thin curtains. They must have turned off the lamp at some point but Greg didn't remember when.

But other events of the night were still fresh in his mind. Like the look of surprise on Grissom's face when Greg roughly grabbed him by the front of his shirt. But what did Grissom expect? Once he said he needn't to be in charge, it was obvious that Greg was going to take over.

To his credit, Grissom didn't resist when Greg made him walk backwards until the back of his legs bumped against the bed, nor did he protest when Greg unceremoniously pushed him over. But he did grunt an 'ouch' when he fell on the bed, not with the bounce that Greg expected, but with a hollow thump. The bed was definitely not made for bouncing.

But any complaints Grissom might have had went unsaid because Greg immediately fell on him and shut him up with a kiss. A real kiss this time.

Greg smiled as he remembered all this. Things had turned out ok -better than he expected, really. And while this bed wasn't the most comfortable he'd ever been in, it had served them well then and now. He was nicely tucked under the sheets and the thick Santa Fe blanket, and it seemed that Grissom was doing just fine, too.

Greg eyed him with interest. Contrary to what he'd expected, Grissom didn't take much space in bed. He was unobtrusively lying on his side, with his legs slightly bent. Under the faint moonlight, he looked completely relaxed. It seemed that the CSI supervisor wasn't at all troubled by the fact that he'd just slept with a coworker, in a national park, with dozens of rangers as potential witnesses.

'We did it,' Greg thought, and the thought warmed him over. He'd just had sex with Grissom, for God's sake. Greg Sanders -former DNA wonder boy turned CSI -had just nailed the most elusive man he'd ever met.

He wanted to stretch his arms and legs in satisfaction, but he held back when he remembered that space was cramped in the bed. On his right side, the huge lampshade blocked any movement; on his left side, there was Grissom. Greg didn't have the heart to wake up the poor guy. After the events of the night, he needed all the rest he could get.

But Greg felt like jumping out of bed and doing a few cartwheels. Not that he'd ever done any, but that's how he felt, anyway. He felt energized, good about himself. He was wowed by the fact that he and Grissom had finally done it. It seemed unreal, even with all the physical evidence at his disposal -the aching muscles, the scents of semen and sweat...

It was like a dream; a great one.

And yet…

There was something missing.

Something silly -and Greg was the first to admit it was silly.

It was just that in his fantasies, they always woke up in each other's arms. Sweaty and sticky, with their arms and legs entangled under the covers -so entangled, that for a confusing moment they didn't know where one ended and the other began. They were always so close that instead of rolling away, they inevitably started making love again.

But in real life, things didn't turn out that way. In real life, Grissom slept with his arms tightly crossed around himself and the blanket neatly tucked underneath, as if to ward off the cold.

Only it wasn't that cold.

It was more like an attempt to keep anyone from getting too close.

Over the years, Greg had heard people say that Grissom just didn't need anybody. He'd never quite believed it, convinced as he was that Grissom only needed someone to steer him in the right direction. But looking at Grissom now, he couldn't help wondering if the rumors might be true after all. They were in a narrow bed, yet Grissom had effectively managed to isolate himself.

There were only a couple of inches of space between them, but they might as well be in separate beds. It was a weird feeling, and it put a damper on Greg's enthusiasm. The young man looked away. He stared at the ceiling for a long time, wondering 'what now?'

He was losing confidence, and he resented that. 'We slept together,' he thought. That was a fact. He should be gloating instead of speculating over Grissom's sleeping habits.

Greg glanced at Grissom again, and the sight of the sleeping man irritated him. Why should he be in a turmoil while Grissom sleep peacefully? It wasn't fair.

Determined to change the situation, Greg turned his head and closed his eyes. He needed to get some sleep; otherwise, he was going to keep thinking and thinking until he ended up ruining a great night.

He tried to relax. He slowed down his breathing, he used every trick that worked for him in the past… to no avail. After a while, he opened his eyes and exhaled morosely.

"Can't sleep?"

Grissom's quiet question took Greg by surprise.

"Hey," Greg said, "I thought you were asleep."

"I was," Grissom replied. "But your thoughts were getting too loud."

"Uh?" Greg frowned. He wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. They were talking in hushed tones, as if there was someone else in the room who might hear.

"Your thoughts," Grissom repeated. "You were thinking about something." He paused. When Greg didn't reply, he added, "And you were taking deep breaths and shaking your head -"

Greg realized that Grissom had been awake for a longer time than he'd suspected.

"It's nothing," Greg said quietly. "I was just thinking."

"Uh, oh."

Greg smiled faintly. He looked at Grissom for a moment, noting once again the way the older man had managed to keep himself apart in the bed.

This time it seemed more amusing than irritating.

"You look like a human cocoon," Greg said, and under the dim light, he saw Grissom smile.

Greg kept his gaze on Gil's mouth, thinking how much he'd like to kiss it.

He would have, except that Grissom looked so damned untouchable. So, instead of kissing Grissom, he teased him.

"So, Dr. Grissom," he said, using his best British accent, "How do you feel now that your celibacy has come to an end?"

Grissom chuckled but didn't reply.

"No, really," Greg insisted, using his own voice, "Are you ok?"

Greg's concern was genuine and Grissom recognized it as such.

"Yeah," Gil said quietly, "I'm ok."

"So, no regrets, huh?"

"None."

"Good," Greg said. He kept his gaze on Grissom; the more he looked, the more he wanted to reach for him and kiss him silly, but he managed to hold back the impulse.

"By the way," Greg said casually, "You acted like an asshole, last night." The tenderness in his voice belied the harshness of his words, but Grissom was still taken aback by them.

"Me? Why?"

"'Cause you were acting like you didn't know what I was here for," Greg said, "You just stood there and let me do all the talking -"

"Sorry," Grissom said sheepishly.

"I was starting to think I'd made the worst mistake of my life by coming here -"

"Greg," Gil interrupted, "I knew what you were here for. I was just nervous."

Now it was Greg's turn to be surprised.

"You were?"

"Yeah," Gil admitted. "Of course, I was. I hadn't done this in a long time, remember?"

"Oh," Greg muttered, "Yeah. I forgot."

"And just when I was coming to terms with the fact that you were here, you suddenly started talking about blindfolds and handcuffs -" Grissom glared.

"Oh, that," Greg smiled apologetically, "Sorry."

"Did you think I needed the props?"

"Not really. I don't know," Greg said hesitantly, "I thought you might. Look," he added when he noticed Gil's look of bewilderement. "The truth is, I don't know you, Grissom. It's hard to know what you might like. I mean, sometimes you come off as a prude, but most of the time you're so open-minded, it's like you might be game for just about anything.

"I mean," he continued, "Think of the people we've met in the past few years. Trannies, doms and subs, people who dress as furry animals, tall people who're attracted to little people. Others were repelled or scandalized but not you; you never batted an eye."

"I just don't judge people, Greg."

"I know that," Greg said, "But the thing is… Some of these people were attracted to you, Grissom. And I believe the feeling was mutual."

"Oh." Grissom's eyebrows rose in surprise. "You thought I was interested in them."

Greg nodded.

Grissom didn't immediately reply.

"I may have been," Grissom said thoughtfully, "People are fascinating, sometimes."

Greg frowned. Grissom's words weren't exactly reassuring. That he didn't have anything to do with all those people seemed obvious, but it didn't mean he didn't want to. So where did that leave Greg? After all, he didn't know if there was anything fascinating about himself.

Grissom broke the silence.

"You should get some sleep, Greg." he said. "You're driving tomorrow."

"I know," Greg said. "I've tried but -" he shrugged.

Grissom stirred under the covers until he managed to extricate one arm. He reached for Greg's shoulder.

"Turn around," he said.

"What?"

"Turn around," Grissom repeated, motioning Greg to turn the other way.

Greg resisted.

"What, you don't want me to look at you?"

"It's not that," Grissom replied. "I want you to turn around so I can help you relax."

"Oh," Greg said, perking up, "Why didn't you just say so?" and he promptly turned on his right side. He shivered in anticipation, convinced that Grissom's 'help' had something to do with sex.

What Grissom had in mind, however, was a back rub.

Greg didn't complain. It felt good, to be the object of Grissom's touch.

Grissom started massaging Greg's neck, first with one hand, then with both. He worked on Greg's shoulders and then on his back, digging into the tense muscles with the tips of his fingers. His touch was efficient, and soon it was drawing groans and sighs from the young man.

"Oh, yeah," Greg groaned at one point.

Grissom's knowledge of the human body was definitely paying off, and Greg started to relax.

He was so far gone that he didn't immediately notice when Grissom's hands wandered from the back to the front of his body.

He did notice though, when Grissom started kissing the back of his neck, and his ear. By the time Grissom started pushing the covers away in order to get closer to Greg, it was clear that rest was the last thing in Grissom's mind.

To Greg, this was an unexpected development. But he was more than ok with it.

He leant back into Grissom's embrace.

"So, Grissom," he said huskily, "You don't need me to wear a leather mask, or a dog collar…?"

Behind him, Grissom's body shook with stifled laughter.

"I could get a rabbit suit if you want -" Greg continued, "Or I could borrow Rocky Raccoon's costume; I believe it's still in the evidence room. Or maybe I should simply pour some civet oil on my jeans -"

Grissom didn't reply. He was too busy kissing Greg's neck.

"I'll try anything -" Greg added. He was babbling but he couldn't help it. Grissom's passionate display had taken him by surprise, and the only way he could deal with it was by making fun of it. He couldn't stop -not even after Grissom's hand slid down his belly and unceremoniously grabbed him.

"Oh, God," Greg gasped, "That's…" he gulped. He wanted to say that it felt good, but he didn't. Instead, he tried to joke about it. "Grissom, I, hum, got a confession to make. I lied when I said I'd try anything."

"Greg -"

"I mean, wearing a costume might be fun, but there are some other things that, well, I just could never do -" he continued.

"Greg -" said with growing exasperation.

"I mean, it was OK for Mimosa, but I like having a penis -"

"Greg, will you just shut up?"

"Ok," Greg said, and he turned around and impulsively kissed Grissom. Unfortunately, Grissom, who also wanted the kiss, tilted his head in the wrong direction, and their noses clashed.

"Ouch!"

"Sorry -"

"It's ok -"

Greg held Grissom's furry jaw with both hands and they kissed with no misshaps this time.

When they pulled apart, Grissom looked into Greg's eyes.

"I want you," he said, and it sounded like an apology; as if he was asking more than they'd agreed on.

"It's ok," Greg said again.

They kissed more leisurely this time. The urgency that had gripped them earlier in the night was gone, replaced by certainty. They knew they'd get there; they might as well enjoy the road to sexual gratification.

Their tongues did a little mutual exploration as their arms and legs engaged in a sort of dance under the covers. It was good, but their passion was building up, and this time Grissom took the lead. He rolled them over until Greg was underneath.

Grissom propped himself on one arm.

"I want you," he said, and this time there was no apology in his voice. He grounded his body against Greg's, effectively trapping their erections together, and prompting Greg to wrap his arms and legs around Grissom.

"I got you," Greg said firmly.

Grissom bent down to kiss Greg, and after a moment, he started to move. Greg met him halfway, his body arching to meet Grissom's powerful thrusts. It was good, it was intense, and it didn't take long for them to achieve perfection together.

They'd consciously tried to keep their voices down, earlier in the night.

This time, they were loud.

---

They didn't immediately move afterwards, except to take big gulps of air. Once he got his breath back, Grissom, who was still on top of Greg, tried to roll away. The young man simply tightened the hold he'd kept around Gil's shoulders.

"No," Greg muttered.

Grissom resisted. "Greg -" he said, and then he added something unintelligible. But Greg was adamant; he kept his arms around Grissom.

"It's ok," Greg said reassuringly. He assumed Grissom was thinking of the time he'd almost smothered Greg by lowering a 280-pound dummy on top of him to test a theory. But Grissom didn't weigh anywhere near 280. He was a little heavy, but Greg didn't mind. It felt good. Like being smothered under a dozen Santa Fe blankets. Warm and cozy.

If Greg had understood Grissom's garbled mumblings, he would have insisted on moving away himself. The truth was, Grissom wasn't concerned about crushing Greg; in fact, what he mumbled to Greg was, 'Greg, your pubic bone's boring a hole in my stomach!' But he was too exhausted to argue; after shifting a little to a side, he just fell asleep, his face tucked into Greg's neck.

Greg fell asleep too -finally- but not before taking note of the way they were lying, all wrapped up in each other.

Now, this was a fantasy come true.

***

"Can't find one of my socks."

Greg stood in the middle of the room, looking at the floor. He had most of his clothes on; he'd picked the pieces from every corner in the room, putting them on as soon as he found them. But one sock remained elusive.

Earlier on, he'd turned on the lamp on the bedside table but the light didn't reach into every corner of the room; and when he reached for the switch on the wall, Grissom apologetically informed him that it didn't work.

Greg glanced at Grissom. In the gloomy light, he looked very comfortable, leaning back on the pillows. The sight irritated Greg.

"You should get up and help me find it," he said.

"I'm comfortable, here." Grissom said placidly. "Besides, my clothes are all here," he added, eyeing the heap at the foot of the bed.

Greg didn't insist. It was his own fault, after all, that he'd had to crawl around looking for his clothes. The night before, he'd put on a show as he took off his clothes. He didn't just let them fall on the floor; he tossed them in the air, making all sort of funny noises as they hit the wall or the ceiling.

It was done in fun, and by the way Grissom was looking at him, it was obvious that he appreciated the unusual strip tease.

"There's only one place I haven't searched," Greg said, approaching the bed. He lifted the heavy blanket by a corner and glanced underneath.

"It's not here, Greg."

"How do you know? You haven't even looked."

Greg sat on the edge of the bed and dug his hand under the top sheet. He kept his gaze on Grissom as he did this. He didn't need to look; if there was a sock, he would find it; he trusted his tactile abilities. Besides, he'd rather stare at Grissom; he looked kinda cute, with his hair all tousled up.

Suddenly, Greg smirked.

"I think I found something," he announced.

"That's not a sock," Grissom said, wincing.

"Sorry," Greg said, although he didn't look sorry at all. Greg's reasoning was that if Grissom didn't want to be felt up, then he should get up and help him search for the sock. But Grissom didn't move, and so Greg tried another tactic. "If they find my sock in your room, they're gonna wonder how it got here, you know."

"Actually, it's the sheets I'm more concerned about," Grissom countered. "There's a substantial amount of ejaculate on them."

Greg lifted the top sheet and looked around. Grissom was right; there were several pools of dry semen there.

"They'll just think you spent the night 'spanking the monkey'," Greg said reasonably.

Grissom's eyebrows rose.

"They'll never believe this is all mine."

"Not unless you brought a stash of Viagra with you," Greg agreed humorously. "On second thought, they might not even notice." he added, "I don't think any of the rangers here has any interest in playing CSI. They seem more interested in becoming FBI agents."

Greg abandoned his search in the bed, deciding instead to crawl underneath to conduct a more thorough search there.

"Spanking the monkey, Greg?" Grissom asked in bemusement.

Greg reappeared on the other side of the bed and smiled at Grissom.

Grissom smiled back.

They stayed like this for a long while, simply staring at each other and smiling. And even though they didn't say a word, they really didn't need to.

'We did it,' their smiles said.

It was an intimate moment that was unfortunately interrupted when unfamiliar sounds reached their ears. Somewhere in the park, someone called out a name, and then a car started.

Their smiles faded.

"First patrol," Greg said mechanically, "They leave each morning at five."

Grissom nodded almost imperceptibly.

The new day was beginning. It was time to let reality back into their lives. Greg rose.

"I guess I'll just have to leave without the sock," he muttered.

"It's right behind you," Grissom said quietly.

"What?" Greg frowned.

"Your sock. It's right behind you."

Greg looked around but there was nothing on the floor.

"Up there," Grissom said, "On that picture frame."

Greg looked up. There was a picture on the wall and the sock was caught in the wooden frame.

Greg looked back at Grissom.

"You knew!" he said incredulously, "You let me crawl under the bed and under the table while you knew all along that it wasn't there! Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought you'd find it sooner. It was right there, Greg," Grissom said reasonably. "I didn't hide it."

"You should have told me," Greg glared as he took the sock down.

Grissom smiled winningly at him.

Greg was pissed off but it was hard to resist that mischievous grin. And suddenly, a thought dawned on him.

"You enjoy pushing my buttons" He said. He studied Grissom for a moment. "You're a handful," he said, surprised at this sudden realization.

"No, I'm not," Grissom said, amused at this assessment of him.

"Oh, yes, you are." Greg replied. He walked back to the bed and stood on Grissom's side. "You're a handful and a half."

He lifted his hand and after a moment's hesitation he laid it on top of Grissom's head. He buried his fingers in the curly hair. Gently, he massaged the older man's temple.

Grissom closed his eyes as he submitted to Greg's ministrations. He hummed in satisfaction.

"You know, it's funny." Greg said after a moment, "People say you're boring. And cold."

Grissom looked up. If he was hurt by Greg's comment, he didn't let on.

"Do they?" he asked noncommittally.

"Yeah," Greg said. "But then, what do they know, right?" he looked into Grissom's eyes. "You're not cold. And you're not boring."

Grissom smiled faintly.

"Thanks, Greg."

Greg dropped his hand. After a moment, he sat at the foot of the bed and started putting on his socks. The sudden silence bothered him. Maybe it bothered Grissom too, because he cut into it with a brisk announcement.

"I know what I'm gonna do about these sheets. I'm gonna drop them at the laundry room myself."

"Good idea," Greg said, glancing over his shoulder.

Grissom swung his legs off the bed. He stood and started gathering the sheets.

Greg glanced at him covertly. Grissom looked good naked. He was in a good shape, for a man of his age. He was fun, too. More fun than Greg had ever surmised.

There was never a dull moment with Grissom -

And with this thought, it suddenly dawned on Greg that he was seeing Grissom as boyfriend material.

It was a surprise. For six years he'd fantasized about Grissom, but that was all about the sex . He was curious, and as time passed, his curiosity had intensified. For Greg, a sexual encounter with Grissom was the means to satiate this curiosity -a chance to scratch his itch, so to speak.

But now he found there was more to it than just sex. There was the camaraderie, for instance. The tenderness. There was so much he didn't know about Grissom yet; so much he'd like to find out…

Greg noticed the faint purple traces that his fingers had left on Grissom's arms. Greg wanted to touch Gil again, grab him like he did the night before, take him –

Grissom turned and noticed that Greg had been looking at him all along.

"Do you remember when we met?" Greg asked suddenly. "It was at the end of a convention -" he added, in case Grissom didn't remember.

"You were at the buffet table." Grissom said. He remembered, all right.

"Yeah! I was filling my plate when you suddenly said something about onions. I didn't know if it was a pick-up line or not, but -"

"It was a clumsy thing to say," Grissom admitted.

"Hey, it gave us something to talk about," Greg said magnanimously, "And vitamin deficiencies during the Civil War was as good as subject as any."

Grissom smiled faintly. "We seemed to know the subject well."

"A little too well." Greg replied. "And you know, anybody else would have been put off by the subject, but not us. We were turned-on by the conversation. It was like…" he hesitated, and then he looked up as a sudden thought dawned on him. "It was like we were trying to blind each other with science, wasn't it?"

"You may be right," Grissom said thoughtfully. "I've always found it stimulating, the way you seem to know everything."

"Look who's talking." Greg replied.

Grissom shook his head.

"You're younger, Greg; you've had less time to learn. And you've had a life, whereas me -" he let the word trail off.

Greg glanced down. Yeah, he'd had a life. He'd done a lot, these past six years.

And not all of it had anything to do with science.

He'd slept with other guys, for instance. He'd even fallen in love a couple of times… While all Grissom did was dream.

Greg felt a pang of guilt.

He tried to mask his discomfort with a smile.

"So this is where we were headed for that night, right?" he said, "If the Director hadn't come along to make the introductions, we would have ended up in my room."

Grissom didn't reply.

"I used to wonder, you know?" Greg continued, "I spent six years wondering what being with you would be like."

Grissom's eyebrow moved almost imperceptibly when he heard this.

"Well…" he paused, "Now you know."

"It's the longest I've had to wait for sex, you know."

Greg regretted this comment almost immediately. He hadn't planned on talking about his promiscuity, and there he was, practically admitting to it.

Grissom merely nodded.

"I can imagine," he said quietly.

"Not that I regret the waiting," Greg added hastily. He was looking closely at Grissom, but if the older man was jealous or disappointed at Greg's promiscuity, he didn't let on. His face was a blank.

"I mean," Greg added, "It's not that I don't wish we did this sooner, but, anyway, I'm glad things turned out the way they did -" he looked expectantly at Grissom, who Grissom merely smiled noncommittally.

Greg was starting to feel like the night before, when he was doing all the talking and Grissom was merely looking at him with an 'I-don't-know-what-you-mean' expression on his face.

It pissed him off.

Grissom should know that this was their last chance to talk. Once they were back on the road with Nick, their chances would be nil. Alert and dependable, Nick was the kind of guy you wanted around in a long drive, but just this once Greg wished someone else had come; someone who'd fall asleep and give his coworkers a little privacy.

But it looked like Grissom had nothing to say. He turned and continued stripping the bed. Greg shook his head.

'Fine,' he thought.

He finished putting on his socks and then picked up his shoes. It turned out he'd taken them off without untying it first the night before, and as a result, the knots were tight. Greg tugged at the shoelaces but his fingernails were too short for the task. He had to do it with his teeth.

It took him a little time but it worked. He untied one shoe and then the next.

When he looked up, he noticed that Grissom was looking attentively at him.

"What?" Greg asked morosely.

Grissom shook his head.

"I was thinking that seeing you get dressed is almost as entertaining as seeing you get undressed," he said softly.

Greg stared at Gil for a moment.

"You wanna know what I was thinking?" he asked quietly. He waited until Grissom nodded. "I was thinking that we could easily do this again."

Greg hesitated. He wanted to choose his next words with care, but in the end he found it easier to use humor.

"Next time there's a crime scene deep in the desert, give me a call," he said. "I'll be more than happy to drive off the highway and get us stranded somewhere."

Grissom hesitated.

"Greg -"

Grissom didn't finish what he was going to say but Greg reacted as if he had actually voiced an objection.

"Oh, I know," he said, "We can't voluntarily get stranded because it would be unethical and it's our duty to be there for the police; not to mention the fact that you're my boss and I'm your subordinate, blah, blah, blah -" he let his voice trail off.

"That's not what I was going to say," Grissom said calmly.

Greg waited.

"And?" he prompted. When Grissom didn't respond, he added, "You wanna be with me, Grissom? Because if you do, then this is the right time to say it."

"It's not so simple -"

Greg paused for a moment.

"I could ask Ecklie for a reassignment," he said suddenly. Greg didn't know where the words came from but they were effective. Grissom looked up in alarm.

"Once I'm in a different shift there'll be no conflict," Greg continued, "I'll just tell Ecklie that I -"

"No," Grissom said abruptly.

"If you're not my boss, then -"

"I can't let you do that." Grissom said firmly, effectively silencing the young man. The next words didn't come as easily, though. His lips parted twice before he could manage to say, "I need you."

There was real emotion behind those words. Finally.

"I need you with me," Gil added. It looked like there was more he wanted to say but didn't quite know how.

But for Greg, it was enough. He knew how difficult it must be for Grissom to say things like these. Just listening to Grissom say these things was difficult enough.

Greg knew better than to get all emotional about it, though.

"Ok," he said good naturedly. "Good, 'cause I'd rather not ask any favors from Ecklie. Wouldn't like to make Hodges jealous," he smirked. "Not that I wouldn't do it, if you asked me."

"I'm not going to."

"Good. But…what about this?" he said, vaguely glancing at the bed. "You sure we can handle it?"

Grissom hesitated for just a second.

"We'll find a way," he said.

THE END

***