Title: The List
By: TresMaxwell
Warnings: M/M
Rating: PG-13 (just to be safe)
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Archives: If you'd like, just let me know and give me credit...
Feedback: *sits up on hind legs and begs* Please...
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters of CSI; they belong to CBS and all of the creators. The story idea is entirely mine. Don't bother suing me, I live in a cardboard box in the gutter, or at least my mind does...
This was an idea I had a few weeks ago and decided to go through with it.
Summary: Greg has a very interesting list hidden in his sock drawer...

Nick entered his apartment after a grueling shift that had entailed several dismembered bodies and a suspect with a disturbing grin that was going to haunt him for a few weeks. He toed off his shoes in the front hall and dropped his keys on the counter, while making a perfect bee-line for the fridge and a nice, cold beer.

The rest of the apartment seemed relatively calm considering that Nick shared his residence with Greg Sanders. His lover was the joy in his life, but the man was not a quiet human being and it was easy to tell when he was home. Nick wouldn't have given it much thought, except for the fact that he knew Greg had clocked out before he had.

Nick flicked the top off his bottle of Sam Adams and stuck the opener back in the drawer. When Greg still didn't make his presence known, the Texan took a quick peek into their garage. The lab tech's jalopy of a car was missing.

So Greggo was out. That would give him a chance to grab a quick shower before he was tackled. He took a long swig from his beer, set it on the counter and headed for the bathroom. A nice, hot shower would be perfect to sooth the tension that had built up over the day.

He found the list by accident, pure dumb luck fueled by his own habit of investigating the unusual. Nick was standing at the dresser, in nothing but a towel, pawing through the drawers for a pair of socks. It was the last thing he needed. The rest of his clothes for the evening were laid out on the bed he and Greg shared: a tight, black t-shirt, washed-out blue jeans that only fit current fashion trends because he'd owned them for ten years, a pair of navy boxers, and a belt with one of the Texas-sized belt buckles that Greg loved.

Since he hadn't done laundry in a few weeks, he couldn't find a single pair of socks. Rather than go without them, Nick turned to the drawers below his. Greg had a plethora of clothing and Nick assumed that he'd have some socks to spare. He located a pair that suited his needs and was about to close the drawer when something caught his eye.

The journal was well hidden under piles of clean clothes and Nick wouldn't have been able to see it had they not been so behind on the laundry. Curiosity getting the best of him, the level three CSI pulled the spiral out of its hiding place. It seemed unobtrusive enough, so why would Greg bother hiding it under his socks?

Nick forgot about getting dressed for the moment and opened up the secret journal. He honestly didn't know what he was going to find, but the list spelled out in Greg's scratchy handwriting was about as expected as a pink elephant coming through the Las Vegas Police Department in handcuffs.

For several moments, Nick just stared at the page, reading without comprehension, but the words slowly sunk into his numb brain. The list was mostly composed of sexual acts, some of which caused Nick to blush to his very toes. There were at least twenty or thirty of these 'ideas', some of which were already crossed off.

Nick turned his attention to the ones that were scribbled through, trying to read around the black ink that obscured them. The farther he got, the more the ideas were sounding familiar. Everything that was marked through was something that Greg had convinced him to do at some point or another. The range was extreme, covering everything from holding hands in public, to having sex on the island in their kitchen. Some of it hadn't required any convincing on Greg's part, just a nudge in the right direction.

Once he'd discerned that it was a list of things Greg wanted to do with him, he began looking at the lines that they hadn't gotten to yet. Some of the ideas made him curl his toes at the thought of potential embarrassment, but others had him getting hot with lust.

The literal novel of Greg's sexual desires engrossed Nick so fully that he didn't hear his younger lover rustling in the kitchen with bags of groceries. It wasn't until Greg was peering over his shoulder that he even realized that he had company.

"I, personally, want to try out number sixteen ASAP," Greg mentioned casually, startling Nick into dropping the journal.

The Texan's heart skipped a beat or two as he whirled to face Greg. Guilt and panic fought lust for control, but guilt somehow managed to win out. If he hadn't just been found paging through something Greg had taken the time to hide, he would have jumped the other man.

Greg really didn't seem too mad about Nick's snooping. He knelt to pick up the forgotten notebook and opened it to the second page, reading aloud, "'Number sixteen, have sex in a public restroom at a nightclub.' That just seems like it would be an adrenaline rush, know what I mean? Especially after we get each other all hot and bothered on the dance floor."

It took Nick a moment to find his voice, but, when he did, it was low and slightly husky, "You really want to do all this?"

"Hell yes! These are some of my greatest fantasies, but of course, we had to work up to some of this."

"Thus the little stuff, like holding hands in public?"

"Yeah."

Nick nodded easily and chewed his lip. He defiantly wasn't ready for number sixteen, but maybe they could settle on something else on Greg's list. There was one in particular that caught his eye.

A slow smile spread over the Texan's face and he drawled, "Well, why don't you let me get dressed, and we'll try out number eleven."

Greg blinked and had to glance down at the list. To his delight, eleven included an evening out at the local gay bar that he'd been trying to talk Nick into for weeks. The bleach-blonde CSI grinned and looked back up at his lover, who had slipped on his jeans and was doing up his belt. "You're really willing to go check out Fusion?" Greg asked, unable to hide his excitement.

Nick pulled his shirt over his chiseled upper body and laughed. "Sure, why not? It's not like we're going to a regular bar and making out. No one's going to bother us there."

"Hmm... I might have to add that to the list."

"Greg!"
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End