By: Star Kindler
Pairing: Gil/Greg
Summary: Greg doesn't let a little thing like Gil's self-reliance get in his way.
Greg plopped down onto the bench as soon as he entered the locker room. It had been a loooong double shift, especially when the entire thing was spent analyzing the scene of a murder-suicide that left seven family members dead. The only reason the double hadn't trickled into a full-blown triple shift was because they'd finished the scene and most of the team had already maxed out their overtime for the month, and Ecklie was having a small herd of elephants, particularly since Grissom himself was on his fifth shift in a row. Not that Greg particularly cared. Personally, he was grateful to the prickly bastard, because he was dead on his feet, physically drained, if not mentally exhausted.
A loud thud of something or someone hitting the lockers had Greg raising his head to see what was going on. Well, speak of the walking dead. "Hey, Grissom. You okay?"
Grissom was standing in next to the locker he'd run into, rubbing his arm and glaring at the inanimate metal clearly in his way. Greg, far-gone enough on Grissom to think the reaction was too cute for words, stifled a chuckle.
"I'm fine. I simply wasn't paying attention to where I was going," Grissom mumbled.
Greg sat up and watched in silence as Grissom sat on the bench in front of his locker and stared at his lock. A grin spread across Greg's face when he realized Grissom couldn't remember his own locker combination. Turning to his own lock before Grissom caught him all puppy-eyed and grinning like a moron, he said, "So, any plans for the day? Got a hot date?"
"Only with my mattress," was the muttered reply.
"That could be fun with the right person," Greg said jovially as he changed into a t-shirt and stuffed his dirty clothes into his bag.
"I wouldn't know," Grissom said while he yawned.
Surprised by the answer—not because Grissom wasn't seeing anyone, but because he actually answered the question and didn't give his usual dissecting look until the questioner all but ran from the room—Greg closed his locker and turned to see Grissom still hadn't moved. "Grissom, is there a problem?"
A heavy sigh was released and Grissom's shoulders slumped even more, something Greg wouldn't have thought was possible at the moment.
"I can't remember my combination," Grissom admitted with a soft laugh.
The word adorable flitted through Greg's mind as he bit down on his own chuckle. Grissom must be miles beyond tired if he couldn't remember. The man had a memory like an elephant. There was nothing left for Greg to do but take pity, so he hopped over the bench and settled back down next to Grissom and opened the lock for him. "There you are," he said, giving Grissom a happy, lopsided grin.
Grissom's eyes narrowed as he stared Greg down. "How did you know my locker combination?"
Greg swallowed down the mixture of desire and nervousness that formed a lump in his throat and rolled his eyes. "I've been here for six years, Gris, and you may not know this, but half the time you mutter the numbers under your breath while you open the lock. I wouldn't be surprised if everyone else didn't know it as well."
Grissom winced and started chewing on his bottom lip. "Maybe I should change it."
Greg watched Grissom worry his bottom lip with rapt attention. This was an expression he'd never seen on Grissom's face before, and he kinda liked it. It made Grissom look younger than his years. It took him a few seconds to realize Grissom had said something and then to process what that something was. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. Well, maybe I would if Sara knows your combination, but the rest of us would never dare to use it. We all know you would feel violated if we did something like that. I mean, hey, after that thing with Nick, I don't think anyone around here is going to invade someone else's privacy…" Seeing the glazed over expression on Grissom's face as he tried to keep up with him, Greg sighed. "Okay, I'm shutting up now, because you're obviously too tired to keep up with my ramblings, and I have no idea what the hell I'm talking about. Come on, I'll give you a ride home."
Grissom shook his head. "I don't need a ride home. I'll be fine."
"Grissom, you just ran into an immobile line of lockers. You can't remember your locker combination. I doubt you can remember your own middle name."
Grissom let out a huge yawn. "Course I can. It's…Harrison. After my father, may he rot in hell." Another jaw-cracking yawn threatened to split Grissom's face in half.
Ooh, a pretty little tidbit to hold over Sara's head when the nights were long and boring. "Okay, Mr. Gilbert Harrison Grissom, you are obviously exhausted, because I don't think you would have said that otherwise, at least not to me. I'm taking you home, because you can't drive when you're this tired."
"It's fine, Greg. I can take a cab home," Grissom insisted as he grabbed his bag from his locker and slammed the door shut.
Greg, after watching Grissom try to put the lock back on a few times without success, snatched it from his hand and put it on himself. "You're not wasting money on a cab when you've got your very own Greg Sanders Taxi Service right here. Now, get up and come on."
Standing up, Grissom turned his head and glared at Greg. "Where do you get off ordering your boss around?"
Greg ignored the "hairy eyeball" glare, as Nick referred to that particular Grissom expression, and all but pushed him into the hallway. "You're not my boss."
"Oh, really? Then who is, I would like to know, because last time I looked you were under my supervision. And kindly get your hands off me."
God, the man was belligerent and testy when he was exhausted, not at all the Grissom-like calm Greg was used to. Pleading silently for the patience of a saint, Greg said, "As of ten minutes ago, no one. We are off the clock, which means the only boss of me is me, and I'm telling myself it's about time someone put their foot down with you, before you go off and do something stupid, like get yourself killed because you're too tired to drive and too stubborn to ask for assistance. You do have friends around here that would do anything for you, even take a bullet if need be. You know, I think it's about time someone bossed little Gil Grissom around, because he obviously can't take proper care of himself."
"And you've decided that it's going to be you, I presume," Grissom snapped as he intensified his glare.
Greg was unfazed. Though Grissom didn't know it, he looked more like a tired puppy than a formidable opponent. Besides, Greg knew the man would never raise his hand against anyone in anger. Not even him at his most annoying. "Yes. Everyone else is gone, so it is up to me to take care of you, my friend. Now, will you please get into the car?" he asked as he opened the passenger-side door. He even batted his eyelashes as a bonus, something that was lost on Grissom.
Grissom looked around with a lost expression. "We're already outside? When the hell did that happen?"
Now Grissom looked like a lost puppy, and Greg couldn't suppress a smile. He just hoped it didn't look too sappy and lovesick, not that Grissom would notice in his state. "Yeah, we are, and it looks like it might be getting ready to storm soon," he said as he pointed toward the west, where some dark, ominous clouds were quickly piling up. He could see lightning striking in the distance, though no thunder could be heard. Greg thought it might be another hour or so before they got hit with the storm, and he hoped to be safely indoors when it hit. He never liked thunderstorms.
Sighing with defeat, Grissom slid into the passenger seat and buckled up. He pulled the door to, just as Greg slid into the driver's seat. After a few seconds, he said, "I'm sorry, Greg."
"For what?" Greg asked as he buckled his seatbelt.
"For being an ass. There's a reason why I don't like people around or going anywhere after long shifts," Grissom said with a self-deprecating smile. "I'm a touch cranky when I'm exhausted."
Greg shook his head and turned the ignition. "Really? I hadn't noticed." He looked over and gave Grissom a blinding smile to let him know he was teasing. "Nothing to apologize for. You've been working way too much. The reason for the three new hires on swing shift was to cut down on our overtime."
"What can I say? My work is my life," Grissom mumbled. "It's all I've ever been good at."
Greg focused on getting them out of the parking lot without causing damage to any other cars—though the urge to ding Ecklie's fender was almost too tempting to ignore. When he finally pulled out into traffic, he turned to look at Grissom, though he had no idea what to say to the man's last comment. He needn't have worried, however, because Grissom was already fast asleep, his head leaning against the window.
Greg smiled and turned his full attention to the road. Did Grissom really believe that the only thing he was good at was investigating crime scenes? Greg didn't believe it, but once he thought about it for a few moments, he could see why Grissom might think that. The guy's main purpose in life seemed to be closing himself off to everyone else, not allowing anyone else in if he could help it. People like Catherine and Brass had managed to worm their way in, but Sara hadn't, no matter how hard she tried.
Greg wasn't stupid. He knew if Grissom weren't so tired and worried about driving or falling asleep in a cab with a stranger, he'd have never agreed to let Greg take him home. If Greg hadn't suspected Grissom really needed someone to be there, he never would have intervened.
And that, Greg thought, was most likely Sara's biggest problem. She didn't just let things flow, let them happen naturally and take things as they came. When it came to Grissom, she was like a tidal wave heading for the mainland. She was all emotion and want and need, and she just didn't understand that she was drowning the man with her not so subtle come-ons and demands, and not in the good way. Greg wondered how she couldn't see the desperate need to run the opposite way as fast as he could in Grissom's eyes whenever she cornered him, but Greg did. When he was in the lab, he saw a lot that no one else probably did. He'd seen the way Sara always followed Grissom around, how she cornered him and said things when Grissom least expected it. The few times Greg had been able to interrupt with a timely DNA result, he'd seen the palpable relief and gratefulness on Grissom's face. The smile Grissom had for him those times had certainly made his day. Now that Greg was in the field, he couldn't always give Grissom that respite, and he didn't know whether or not Sara was still as aggressive. Probably was.
Grissom's reaction to Sara was precisely why Greg had never said anything about his own lustful adoration for his boss. He'd been bitten by the smitten-bug almost from the moment Grissom had walked into his lab on Greg's first day. Grissom had been a little less serious back then, when he didn't have the burden of being responsible for an entire team and didn't have a lovesick CSI—who was a pair of binoculars shy of stalking him—following his every move, and the smile he gave Greg when he introduced himself was pretty enough to make Greg's spinal cord melt and fuse to his vertebrae.
It didn't take long after that for Greg to become a lost cause. At one time, he'd thought Grissom might be receptive, but then the Holly thing happened, Grissom was made supervisor, and Sara came to Las Vegas, and things just unraveled from there.
As he stopped at a stoplight, Greg glanced over at Grissom and sighed. The thought that things might have been different if that day had never happened crossed his mind, as it did every once in a great while, and Greg pushed it aside. It made him kind of sad when he really thought about it.
Traffic was light, so it only took about twenty minutes to get to Grissom's townhouse. After shutting off the car, Greg turned to gaze at Grissom for a few moments.
God, the man is beautiful, Greg thought to himself. He'd always thought so, but when Grissom was asleep, and he was free of all the worry his position usually placed upon him, he was even more so, in Greg's humble opinion. Maybe others wouldn't agree, but what did he care?
After a moment's reluctance, Greg reached out and clasped Grissom's shoulder. Shaking Grissom slightly, Greg said, "Gris, we're here." Bleary eyes opened and turned to stare at him, and Greg smiled. "Think you can wake up long enough for me to get you inside?"
A small nod was followed by a huge yawn, and Greg got out of the car and made it to the other side by the time Grissom managed to get his door open. Greg caught a hold of Grissom's arm as he stumbled out of the car—Greg really needed to think about getting a bigger car—and hovered close enough to catch Grissom if he became unsteady, because really, the man's eyes were barely open.
A few attempts at the lock later, and they were finally inside. Greg took the keys from Grissom's hands and gave him a slight push. "Go lay down before you fall over."
"I have to lock up," Grissom yawned.
Greg shook his head and gave Grissom another light push. "I'll worry about that. Go, get some sleep."
Grissom turned as he headed toward the bedroom and gave Greg a sleepy smile. "Thanks, Greg."
"Hey, no need to thank me. We're friends. But you're welcome anyway," Greg said. He watched until Grissom disappeared around the corner, and then he went into the kitchen to see what, if anything, Grissom had to make to eat. Greg hadn't eaten in fifteen hours, and he was starving.
Perusal of the cabinets and the refrigerator had Greg speculating that Grissom survived by eating chocolate covered insects and fast food, because there was absolutely nothing edible in the kitchen.
"Eating out so much is so not good for him," Greg muttered to himself, ignoring the fact that he sounded like Grissom's mother. "I guess it's off to the store for me. I'd better get moving if I don't want to be caught in the storm."
He recalled seeing one of those big Wal-Marts, the kind that had a grocery store inside, about a half mile away, and he thought he might be able to get there, buy some groceries (the edible stuff not containing insects), and get back again before the storms came in.
First things first, he wanted to check on Grissom and make sure the man didn't pass out in the bathroom. When he got into the bedroom, he barely suppressed a laugh. Grissom was passed out, all right, but he was lying on the bed, on his stomach, his face half-buried in a pillow, his mouth open, and he was snoring lightly.
Rolling his eyes and pointedly not thinking about how cute Grissom was at the moment, Greg went inside and pulled off Grissom's shoes and socks, his watch, and with a little maneuvering, his belt. Greg doubted jumping up and down on the bed and shooting bullets through the ceiling would wake Grissom up at this point, so he didn't take Grissom's current state as some sort of unconditional trust or anything.
After he pulled a blanket over his boss, he grabbed the keys from the table where Grissom had tossed them earlier, and headed out, locking the door behind him.
Greg managed to lug in the last of the bags into the house before the first raindrops splattered on the cement path leading to Grissom's front door. It had been a near thing, since he got a checker that took forever to scan and bag his groceries, and by the time he'd walked out of Wal-Mart, pushing the heavy, filled-to-the-rim basket in front of him, lightning was striking all around him, so near he could hear the deafening crash as the bolts hit the ground. At one point, he thought he might have felt tiny electric shocks and his arm hair stand on end, but it was probably just his imagination. Probably. Imagined or not, he'd never moved so fast in his life as he threw those plastic bags into his car. The only thing he took care with was the loaf of bread and the eggs, because he was not standing out in this weather cleaning slimy, runny goop off his seats.
After checking on Grissom, who hadn't moved in the entire time Greg was gone—leaving Greg to wonder if Grissom was always so still while in bed, a thought which was quickly banished because it led to other thoughts, like what Grissom was like in bed—so Greg left him to sleep and went to put away the food and make himself a quick meal of toast with peanut butter (smooth, because crunchy was the creation of something evil, never mind that it was made of peanuts anyway) and strawberry jam while he cooked up some biscuits. That would take at least twenty minutes, when you counted in making eggs as well, and he just couldn't wait.
As he chewed on his toast, and walked around the living room, checking out everything from Grissom's CD and DVD collections to the mounted butterflies gracing the walls, Greg debated about whether or not he should wake Grissom, to see if he wanted something to eat. On one hand, Grissom might not appreciate being woken up to eat, since he hadn't had much sleep at all. But on the other hand, Greg didn't know how long it had been since Grissom had eaten, and he'd hate for Grissom to get up in the middle of the day and have to fix himself something when he was so tired. In the end, Greg decided just waking him for a moment and asking him was the lesser of evils, since the man was so tired he'd just be able to roll over and go back to sleep.
Greg, after putting his saucer and glass in the sink, stole into Grissom's room and squatted down until he was eye-level with Grissom's face. His heart fluttered a little at the sweet, peaceful expression presented for his viewing enjoyment, and he kinda hated to ruin it, but he reached out anyway and shook Grissom's shoulder. "Hey, Gris. Wake up a minute. Gris?"
A low groan and fluttering eyelids were the only indication that Grissom heard him. A moment later, Greg was rewarded with an up-close-and-personal view of Grissom's pretty blue eyes, and Greg knew if he wasn't in love with the man already, he would be now.
"Hey, Gris, I just wanted to know if you were hungry. Didn't want you in here starving," Greg explained, though from the glassy look in Grissom's eyes, he wasn't sure if he was understood.
"Nuh-uh."
That was the most coherent answer Greg was most likely to get. "Okay, go back to sleep," he whispered. Try as he might, he couldn't keep his hand from reaching out to stroke the skin at Grissom's hairline. Just what the hell was he doing, taking advantage of the moment like this?
Feeling ashamed of himself, Greg started to pull his hand away, but before he could, Grissom reached out and grabbed his hand. Greg held his breath, waiting for the yelling that was sure to come, because no one took advantage of Gil Grissom and got away with it. But the yelling never came, and no one in the world would have been more surprised than Greg when Grissom removed his hand from Greg's, only to wrap it around the back of Greg's neck and pull him down until their lips met in a slow, lingering kiss.
Oh, it was sweet. No tongues, no passion or sense of desperation, but it was the best kiss Greg ever received in his entire life, and he never, ever wanted it to end. He could die here, and that would be okay, because this was what heaven was. The kiss was just lips, soft lips moving over his in such a way it was making his groin tingle and his toes curl. He couldn't help but whimper when Grissom finally let him go and pulled away.
Greg watched, mesmerized, as Grissom closed his eyes again and settled down. He was about to stand when he heard four words he never thought he'd ever hear, especially not from Grissom. They were said in a low but clear voice, "I love you, Greg."
Instead of rising, Greg fell flat on his ass and sat there, on the floor next to the bed, and stared up at Grissom. He just said he loved me. He just said he loved me. Me, Greg Sanders. Oh, God, what the hell do I do now?
Quit gaping at the sleeping man and get off the floor, you idiot, he answered himself. Then you're going to go back into the kitchen and keep an eye on your breakfast, before you burn it and Grissom's townhouse down, because the man isn't going to love you too much if you barbecue his cockroaches.
Right. He got up, careful not trip over anything and make too much noise in general. He checked on his biscuits as soon as he made it back into the kitchen, and then went about making some eggs, careful to keep his mind on his task and not letting it wander too much to what Grissom's actions implicated. Trying to figure out just what the hell was going on could wait five or ten more minutes.
As soon as he sat down and started poking at his food, Greg allowed himself to think about what just happened. Did Grissom really mean what he said? Greg thought he did, because while Grissom may not have been completely awake and coherent, he wasn't in the midst of a dream, either. So maybe, just maybe, Grissom—Gil, that pesky little voice in the back of his head supplied, since it was best Greg didn't think of him as his boss and more like a friend in this situation—had some interest in him that wasn't strictly platonic.
Greg forked some eggs into his mouth and chewed as he mulled the situation over. If Gil really felt something for him, which he hesitated to label as love because he didn't want his hopes to get up too high, then it would be just the greatest thing ever. The first thing he needed to do was figure that out, and if he was right, find out how receptive to him Gil was.
Oh, he wasn't stupid. Greg knew it was going to be tough going, because Gil just didn't let himself feel anything if he could help it, but this was so worth it.
It wasn't until after Greg finished breakfast, washed the dishes, and made up the couch that Greg finally decided just how he would go about catching himself a Gil Grissom of his very own.
It wasn't the annoying trill of an alarm clock or the shrill ringing of a phone that stirred Gil from his slumber, but the distinct aroma of coffee that flooded his senses and coaxed him from his deep sound sleep.
Gil rolled over onto his back and stretched long and slow, taking pleasure of just waking up whenever, not having to be jarred from slumber when he wasn't ready. Slowly blinking his eyes to get the bleariness out of them, Gil turned his head to the right to look at the clock.
Only when his brain translated the red glow of the numbers to tell him the actual time—nine-fifteen p.m.—did the fact that the alarm should have gone off over an hour ago and there shouldn't be the smell of fresh-brewed coffee wafting through the air permeate his clouded, sleepy brain.
He shot up out of bed, wincing at the stab of pain his lower back retaliated with for being abused in such a way, and walked out of his room and down the hallway, careful to be as quiet as possible. When he reached the living room, a low, pleasant, somewhat familiar humming drifted through the kitchen doorway. His entire body relaxed as he leaned against the doorway and watched as Greg bustled around the kitchen.
It was obvious to Gil that Greg had stayed the day. Greg's clothes were a wrinkled mess, he was walking around barefoot, and his hair was all over the place, not the normal, intentional mess it usually was. And there was something about the way Greg moved about, as if he belonged in Gil's home. Gil wasn't sure whether that should trouble him or not. At the moment, he didn't think it really mattered all that much. "Hello, Greg. Making yourself at home?"
Much to Gil's amusement, flour went flying over Greg's head and dusted him with a light layer as Greg whirled around and clutched his heart in melodramatic fashion.
"Geez, Gil, give me a heart attack. You would have to be a stealth bomber, even in your own home."
Gil raised his eyebrow in surprise. He couldn't recall Greg ever using his first name before, and it made him feel oddly pleased. "May I ask what you're doing?"
"Well, I was making pancake batter until you scared the piss out of me, almost literally, I might add. Now that you're up, which do you want, chocolate chip or blueberry pancakes?"
"You cook?" Gil asked, filing away the information under the "Fun Facts to Know About Greg Sanders" file in his memory.
Greg shook his head. "Not very much. I can cook simple meals for lunch and dinner, but I am a god when it comes to pancakes. They were a favorite dish of Papa Olaf's, and he taught me when I was in high school. Said I should at least know how to make something, so when I was on my own I wouldn't starve completely."
"I would really love to sample your culinary delights, but I have less than forty-five minutes to get to work," Gil said, not all that surprised to feel regret about having to leave. He'd never lied about his feelings concerning Greg, at least not to himself, and he would love to spend some time in Greg's company, even if it were under the guise of platonic friendship.
Greg shook his head. "Ecklie called about five hours ago, waking me out of a sound sleep, the jerk. He left a message on your machine. You can listen to his ramblings, but the gist of it is that you, Mr. Maxed-Out-On-Overtime, are to take the night off, since everything for your case will take at least a day to process, and you're not needed."
Gil was about to protest, but Greg's fingers pressed against his lips, stopping him from speaking. "No need to worry about anything, Gil. Catherine is going to take your place, since she hasn't had a double in a while. Lindsey is at a weeklong camping trip with her best friend, so Catherine doesn't have to worry about her. If there's anything dire that needs your attention, she will call."
"And you know all this how?" Gil asked against Greg's fingers, which hadn't yet moved from his mouth.
Greg pulled his fingers away and gave Gil a lopsided grin. "Catherine called ten minutes after Ecklie. So, what'll it be? Chocolate chip or blueberry?"
"Blueberry," Gil said. "Would it be too much to ask for a cup of coffee?"
"Not at all. Sit, and I'll bring it to you. You look like you still might fall over." Greg poured blueberries into the batter as Gil walked out of the kitchen.
Gil slid into a seat at his dining table and sighed, though whether it was a sigh of contentment or disappointment, he didn't know. Contentment, he decided, as a steaming cup was waved under his nostrils. It would be good for him to take the night off, especially now that he remembered Greg was off tonight as well. He wondered if he could get Greg to stay, without actually having to come right out and ask. Pathetic, he knew, but what could he say? He was a little masochistic that way. "Mm, that smells wonderful," Gil said as he took the mug from Greg's hands. "Thank you." After taking a sip, he smiled in delight. "My coffee never tastes this good. Maybe I should move you in so you could make coffee every morning."
"It should be good. It's my Blue Hawaiian. I had a bag out in the car. I was going to take it into the lab last shift, but I forgot, so you benefit. And I definitely wouldn't mind moving in. This place is a lot better than my dinky apartment," Greg said with a laugh. "I hope you don't mind, but I had a look around the place while you were sleeping. Figured I'd better, since it would at least give me some bragging rights at work."
Gil smiled to himself, knowing Greg would most likely drive Sara insane with information. To Greg, he said, "So, you've been snooping through my things, have you? Find anything interesting?" He knew Greg hadn't snooped too badly, probably not as much as he would have liked, but Gil still had to ask.
Gil watched out of the corner of his eye as Greg pretended to think. "Let's see. I went through your closets, your CDs, your DVDs—didn't know you were an animated movie freak; we've definitely gotta get you down to the theater to see Madagascar."
Gil knew his movie collection was in plain sight, including his collection of Disney movies, but it didn't stop him from blushing at being caught. "My mom used to take me to see them every time Disney came out with one. The habit stuck with me over the years."
"Hey, no problem. I always go to the theater to see them. My favorite is The Emperor's New Groove."
"Mine's Fantasia," Gil offered up, pointedly ignoring the 'Well, duh' look Greg was sending his direction. "The 'Sorcerer's Apprentice' section, to be more specific."
"Me, I liked the flamingo with the yo-yo on Fantasia 2000," Greg said. "Let's see, what else did I do? Oh, yes. I dug through your desk, looked through all your pictures, found your porn stash and your toy collection—does your mother know you have those things?"
Gil rolled his eyes as he finished off his cup of coffee. "You did not find my porn and toy stash, and no, my mother doesn't know about my sex life, as well she shouldn't."
Greg grinned at him, making note of the fact that Gil didn't deny he had a stash. "Want another cup?" At Gil's nod, he headed into the kitchen. "What else did I do? Oh, yeah, I scrubbed the toilet with your toothbrush, used your tarantula for dart practice, and I sprayed Raid on your cockroaches. I think that about sums it up."
Gil headed back into the kitchen and took the cup of coffee thrust in front of him. "Sounds like you had an eventful day."
Greg shrugged his shoulders and started pouring batter onto the griddle. "Not particularly. I went to sleep after I went to the store, and only got up about half an hour ago."
"You went to the store?"
Greg snorted. "Ye~ah. Gil, your kitchen was a barren wasteland worthy of a setting for a horror novel. What in the world do you eat when you're at home?"
"I generally eat out," Gil said.
"Do you have any idea how not good that is? I think somebody needs to be looked after."
Gil smirked as he put the mug down and leaned against the counter, his folded arms resting on the marble surface. "You want the job? Jim and Catherine gave up long ago, and no one else seems up to the challenge."
Gil's eyebrows shot up in surprise as Greg reached around him, pressing his entire body against Gil's while he grabbed the spatula on the other side. There was no question in Gil's mind that the move was deliberate.
"I might be up to the challenge, if you asked nicely," Greg murmured into Gil's ear before he stepped away to turn the pancakes over. "Why don't you pour us some juice and get out the silverware. Do you want eggs or anything?"
"No, pancakes will be just fine. I hope you made enough. I'm starving," Gil said as he pulled the carton of orange juice out of the refrigerator. His eyebrows shot up again as he saw how full his refrigerator was. He opened the freezer and found quite a bit more than had been there last time he checked. "Greg, how much did you buy?"
"Enough to get you through the week. Seriously, Gil, you need to eat healthier. I'd kinda like to have you around for a while. We all would."
"I'll take that under advisement. You'll have to tell me what you spent, and I'll write you a check."
Another full body press against his back indicated to Gil that Greg was definitely hitting on him. Why? He had no idea. Until he knew for sure, he wasn't going to say anything.
"Don't worry about it," Greg said as he reached around Gil and pulled out a tub of margarine. "I'll just help you eat some of it, and we'll call it even. I'll even let you cook for me later."
"You're going to stay?" Gil couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice.
"Sure, unless you don't want me here?" Greg's voice wavered as he asked.
Now Greg didn't sound so sure of himself, and Gil found he didn't like that at all. "No, you can stay. I don't mind. I was surprised, that's all. I'd have thought you'd want to spend your off night with friends or something."
Greg grinned at him, his confidence back. "You are my friend, so that's exactly what I'm doing. Now, go, finish setting the table, and I'll be there in a few minutes."
Gil did, turning around once to look at Greg and smile, before going into the other room.
Greg was beyond chipper when he walked into the lab the next night. Hell, if anyone wanted the truth, he was positively giddy. He'd spent the entire night with Gil, and he enjoyed every single moment. They'd watched the first Lord of the Rings movie—finding out Gil was a Tolkien fan as well as a Star Wars aficionado solidified Greg's theory that Gil had been custom-made just for him—and they'd talked.
Gil actually talked. And not any of that vague crap he usually spouted off to everyone, driving them nuts because he never seemed to want to tell them anything, but real, solid facts about his life. Of course, Greg did more talking than Gil did, and Gil knew much more than he ever possibly wanted to know about Greg's family, but still. Greg had no doubt that he now knew infinitely more than Sara. It was too bad he didn't want to break Gil's trust; otherwise, he would be having so much fun with her right now, holding this over her head. Making Sara mad was fun when the nights were slow.
"You look like someone who had a nice night."
Greg beamed at Nick and nodded. "I did, very much so. I miss anything good?"
"Just Sara buttin' heads with Catherine over a case. Nothin' unusual. So, what did you do on your night off? It's not often I see you grinnin' like an idiot."
Greg shrugged, as if indifferent, but he knew the look on his face said otherwise. "Nothing much. Just hung out with a friend."
"Yeah, because you always look like that after hanging out with one of your friends. Come on, man. Who is she? Or is it a he this time?"
"He." Greg had come out to Nick not long after the Incident, as he and Nick referred to Nick's being buried alive, because it was much safer than saying 'you know, that time you were left in a coffin to die'. They'd become much closer friends during Nick's months of recovery, and Greg felt comfortable revealing more about himself. "Okay, so he's someone I'd really like to be more than my friend. Last night was a start."
Nick slapped him on the back. "Well, G, you've got your work cut out for you. Good luck, man."
"Thanks. How are things going between you and Brenda?"
"Great, man. We're goin' out tomorrow night. Thanks for settin' me up with her."
Greg threw Nick a bright smile. "Not a problem. I'm just glad my two closest friends hit it off so well."
"Yeah, and there's an added bonus as well. Brenda and I can always get together and bitch about you when you get annoying," Nick quipped as he closed his locker.
"Pardon me while I die laughing," Greg deadpanned as Nick walked out of the locker room. Shaking his head, he opened his own locker and got ready for work.
Gil settled behind his desk with the last reports on the murder-suicide, but he couldn't bring himself to open the folder. He probably should feel guilty about that, but making sure they were in order wasn't exactly a high priority, since the suspect died along with everyone else.
No, his mind was on a certain spiky-haired Level One CSI, who, if Gil was reading the signs correctly, was having a good time coming on to Gil every chance he got.
Really, what else was Gil supposed to think? Over the last few days, since they'd spent the entire night talking at Gil's place, Greg took every opportunity imaginable to touch him. Maybe, if it were only a time or two, Gil could have passed it off as accidental or merely friendly, but after at least twenty occurrences—including several which were most definitely in the realm of inappropriate for work—Gil couldn't write them off as anything other than deliberate.
But was Greg serious? Really serious, and not just doing some less-than-innocent flirting? Gil didn't know, but he did know that he was far too old to want to start anything that didn't have the potential to lead to a promising, lasting relationship. After spending some time with Greg and really talking to him, Gil knew he would be able to find that kind of relationship with Greg. But did Greg want that?
Gil didn't know, but he'd put feelers out, and if Greg really was serious about them being together, then Gil just might have one more try in him, which was something he hadn't thought possible in a long, long time.
A couple of hours before the end of night shift, Greg was about to enter Gil's office when he heard a loud bang and some semi-muted cursing going on from inside, and he hesitated for a few seconds before pushing the door open the rest of the way. Peering inside, he saw Gil rummaging around the pile of paperwork littering his desk. Looking down at the floor, Greg saw Gil's tarantula paperweight lying there, probably what he heard falling a few moments earlier.
Greg walked into the office, letting the door close behind him with a soft click. As he ambled over to the desk, he reached down and scooped up the paperweight from the floor. "Something wrong, Grissom?"
Gil slammed the papers he held in his hand down on his desk. "Yes, I can't find my damned glasses. They were here; I was using them. I dozed off for a few minutes when I felt a headache coming on, and when I got up, they were gone. I've been searching for the past ten minutes, my headache is back and threatening to enter migraine territory, and I can't find my glasses. So yes, Greg, I think there's something definitely wrong."
Greg watched Gil's tirade with fond amusement. God, the man was sexy, even when he was worked up into a snit. That Gil's glasses were resting securely on the top of his head only made the moment better. Greg could relate to that, since he'd misplaced his own glasses—thick glasses that made him look bug-eyed, and no one but Gil would ever know he possessed them because he was a certified geek already and didn't need any more help alerting the rest of the world to that fact—in the exact same way more than once.
Greg went around the desk, approaching Gil as one would a hurt and pissed off animal. He reached out and clasped Gil's arms, turning him slightly and pushing him into his chair. He sat down on the desk, directly in front of his boss. "Do me a favor; take a few deep breaths and let them out slowly."
Greg watched Gil close his eyes and breathe in deeply through his nose, and then release it slowly through slightly pursed lips. As Gil repeated the process a few more times, Greg did his best to resist the urge to just lean over and press his mouth against those kissable lips.
When Gil opened his eyes, Greg smiled down at him from his perch. "Better?"
"Yes," replied Gil, "though I still don't know where my glasses ran off to."
Greg gave him a warm, soft smile and reached over, removing the glasses from Gil's head and gently placing them in position. "They're always in the last place you look."
Gil stared at Greg for a few moments before letting out a deep, throaty chuckle. "I would have never thought to look there. I never place them on my head."
"You've been working too hard lately, and you simply forgot. I do it all the time."
"You wear glasses? I've never seen them."
Greg, feeling bold, reached out and stroked Gil's hair. His confidence grew when Gil didn't pull away. "That's 'cause I don't wear them here. I use contacts at work, but don't you dare tell Nick or Warrick, cause I told them I had perfect vision. Nick once told me I'd look like a real geek if I ever had to wear glasses, and I can't ruin my cool image, now can I?"
Gil laughed. "I suppose I look like a geek in these things then," he said, reaching up and touching the rims.
Greg shook his head and slid off the desk. "I don't think so. I've always liked them. They make you look sexy." Greg took a moment to enjoy the thunderstruck look on Gil's face before heading toward the door.
"They do not," Gil said, just before Greg walked out of the office.
Greg turned toward Gil and winked. "I think they do. Hang around after shift. I want to talk to you about something."
"What?" Gil asked, not sure if he should be afraid or not.
Greg's grin was enough to make Gil's nervousness go up a notch. "You'll see."
Shift was over, and it couldn't have come at a better time for Greg. For the last couple of hours, with no new scenes to process and his evidence from his current case being processed by various lab techs, he'd had nothing but time to think about what he was going to do.
He was going to ask Gil Grissom out on a date. Was he nuts? He didn't think so. He thought Gil was receptive to him. At the very least, Gil didn't get that awful look he did when Sara cornered him for one of her talks. That in itself was promising. Now, if he could just get Gil to agree to come over for breakfast, then he could see if maybe Gil was interested in just a little bit more.
The groan was sucked out of him with the force of a vacuum cleaner when he rounded the corner of the locker room and looked down the hallway. Gil was heading straight for him, nose buried in his clipboard. That was fine, but Sara was about twenty feet behind Gil, staring at him with a determination that made Greg just a little queasy. It was one of those things that intensified after Nick's near brush with death, Sara's renewed interest in Gil, that is…or at the very least her showing that interest.
It only took Greg a moment of blind panic to get moving. "Grissom!" he half-shouted as he ran down the hallway, skidding to a stop in front of the man. "Can I talk to you for a second?"
Gil looked at him as if he couldn't decide whether to be amused or annoyed. "Yes, you can. I thought you wanted to talk to me anyway."
Greg did an about face and placed a hand in the middle of Gil's back, leading him away from Sara, who was shooting daggers into Greg's back. "I do." When he was far enough away from Sara, he turned to face Gil and said in a voice only loud enough for Gil to hear, "I wanted to know if you'd like to come over to my place for breakfast. I'll make you my world famous pancakes."
"World famous, hmm?" Gil said with a smirk.
"In my world at least. I thought it would give us a chance to talk a little more, get to know each other better. I really would like to get to know you a lot better," Greg said, hoping the look on his face conveyed exactly how he wanted to get to know Gil.
Greg saw Gil watching him throughout his little speech, scrutinizing every word he said, so Greg tried to put as much of his sincerity into his expression and his words as he could. Apparently he succeeded, because Gil nodded and gave him a brilliant smile.
"I'd love to have breakfast with you. I just need to go to my office and put this away."
"Great. I'll just wait outside, then." Greg practically bounced away, only looking back once to see Sara calling out to Gil. Trusting that Gil would get rid of her, far more politely than he would, Greg headed out into bright, sunny morning. He slid on his sunglasses before he went completely blind and leaned against his car, arms and legs crossed.
A few minutes passed by before Sara stalked out of the door, heading toward her car. Greg smiled and waved at her, and as he expected, she looked undecided as to whether she should return the smile or run over and throttle him. Greg relaxed when she settled for a curt nod and a tight, not too friendly smile.
It was only a few minutes more, and then Gil was out the door, putting on his own sunglasses. "I'll follow you to your place, Greg," he said as he walked past Greg and stopped at his Tahoe.
"Great," Greg said, sliding into his car immediately. The knot of fear that had formed in his stomach when he thought Gil might change his mind about the whole thing disappeared as he started his car. He couldn't wait to get Gil home.
Greg grinned as he fumbled with the locks to his front door. Normally he wouldn't have a problem getting into his own home, but he didn't always have a Grissom plastered against his back. "Something I can do for you?"
"You've been teasing me for days. I thought I'd return the favor," Gil murmured into his ear.
Greg shivered and pushed back against him. "Oh, you're more than welcome to do anything you want to me, but I was kind of hoping to get inside before the neighbors get an eyeful. Mrs. DeMarco next door would never let me live it down. That woman's got a wicked sense of humor," Greg said.
"Then by all means, let's get inside," Gil said, though he didn't step away. If anything, he got even closer.
Greg finally managed to get the door open, even with his human coat hindering him. The two stumbled into the apartment, and Greg turned around, latching on to Gil, even as he kicked the door shut.
Greg tilted his head in invitation, desperate to get a real kiss from Gil when he actually knew he was kissing Greg, but he wasn't going to initiate it. Greg was ready to jump straight into bed, but he was determined to let Gil set the pace for their physical relationship.
Didn't seem like he needed to worry, because it only took a split second before Gil's mouth descended upon his, devouring him. Greg groaned as his lips parted under the onslaught, and his hands slid up Gil's arms and neck to twine in Gil's hair. This kiss was a million times better than the first. This one was full of heat and passion, tongues sliding against each other in a slow dance, teasing and tasting and coaxing in such a way that Greg thought he would go insane, but that was all right, because he had a feeling Gil wouldn't be far behind.
He didn't know how long they stood there, mouths sealed together and arms clinging to each other as each kiss melted into another, until Greg could barely remember his name, never mind where he was or what he was supposed to be doing. It was only until breathing through his nose wasn't enough that Greg managed to rip his mouth away from Gil's. Greg gasped and panted, letting his head fall back against the wall and his eyes close as Gil's tongue trailed down Greg's bottom lip and over his chin, and down his throat until a light suction was applied to Greg's Adam's apple. "God, Gil!"
"I thought we were going to talk," Gil mumbled between the kisses he trailed across Greg's neck, lapping up the salty sheen of sweat beginning to form in a light mist across Greg's skin.
Greg lifted his head from the thrown-back position he'd adopted when Gil started trying to suck the life out of his neck. God, the man wanted him to form coherent thoughts now? What was it Gil asked? Oh! "Can wait…after," he said as he pushed away from the wall and attempted to navigate to his rooms, not an easy feat for anyone with a five-foot-ten-inch vampire attached to his body. He only hoped Gil knew what he was talking about, because he didn't think he could explain anything in great detail at the moment.
Gil seemed to understand. He pulled back, his eyes never leaving Greg's as he reached up to unbutton his own shirt.
Greg watched as if in a trance as the pale skin of Gil's chest was revealed to him in small increments. The idea that he should be grabbing a camera and filming this moment so he could watch it over and over again was under serious consideration when the clearing of a throat knocked him out of his stupor. "Huh?"
Gil's chuckle was low and soft. "This works much better if you strip as well."
Huh? Stripped? Oh, yeah. Right. Clothes. Lots of clothes, and not enough skin, skin that could be plastered against Gil's skin. That thought was enough to get Greg moving, and he was divested of his shirt, shoes, and pants before Gil pulled his belt off.
Greg glanced up from pulling off his socks when he heard Gil laugh. "What?"
"Nothing. I'm just amazed by how eager you are."
"You have no idea," Greg said as he kicked off the sock attached to his toe and sent it flying toward Gil. He stood up and watched through his lashes as Gil removed his pants and his socks, and then stood there in all his glory for Greg's eyes to feast upon.
"I know I'm not—" Gil started to say, but Greg stepped up and placed his fingers on Gil's mouth. He knew where Gil was headed, and he didn't want to hear it.
"You are perfect," Greg told him. He moved his hands down, fingers spread wide, as he slid them over Gil's chest, stomach, and sides, and then down to Gil's hard, leaking erection. "Just who I want. Don't ever think you have to change or you're lacking in some way, 'cause you're not. Now, are we going to take this to the bed, or did you plan on us standing here all morning?"
Gil's mouth captured his in answer as he pulled Greg toward the bed. He turned them when the back of his legs hit the side of the bed, and he pushed Greg onto the mattress.
Using his hands to push his body back until he was able to rest his head on his pillows, Greg relaxed—as much as he could with his cock straining for attention—and waited until Gil crawled over him before bringing his hands up and pulling Gil's mouth down to his. Kissing Gil was something he'd never be able to get enough of, not even if they were together until the day one of them died. There would never be enough time.
Greg moaned when Gil's left hand slid down his thigh and brought the leg to rest over Gil's hip, only to have that same hand slide back up and over his ass to brush against his hole. "Yes, Gil, whatever you want!" he said as he broke the kiss to breathe. Puffs of hot air tickled the skin under Greg's ear as Gil laughed. Now that was a sound Greg could get used to hearing, often.
"I think we'll save that for another time," Gil whispered into his ear. "I don't think I'll last long enough today to really enjoy it." No more words were needed as he bit and licked and sucked his way down Greg's neck and chest.
Greg screamed Gil's name and arched his back so high anyone eyelevel with the mattress could see to the other side of the room, as his right nipple was sucked into Gil's hot mouth and teeth scraped against it, like a gentle bite. He was sure Mrs. DeMarco heard him clearly, but he didn't care, because Gil's mouth was relentless, teasing his nipples with long, slow licks and hard quick suction. There was no way Gil could know they were Greg's weakness. "Anything you want…anything…" At the moment, if Gil asked him to dress up like a cheerleader and hang from a ceiling fan while Gil tickled his feet with a feather, Greg was likely to do it, so long as Gil didn't stop.
Gil was so aroused he knew if he waited any longer, he was going to go off without Greg ever touching him, so he moved back up, ignoring Greg's whimpering protests at leaving his poor nipples bereft, and what did they ever do to him, and turned them over so Greg was lying atop him. He moved Greg around, until their cocks were lined up against each other, and then he coaxed his nearly incoherent partner into moving.
Greg's lust-filled mind cleared enough to figure out what Gil was getting at, and he began to move, thrusting against Gil. Greg lifted up until his arms were locked and his back was arched, as he thrust harder and faster, so close and desperate to find release.
Gil came first, Greg's name whispery as he gasped and shuddered, but his hands never left Greg's ass as he rode out his climax, pulling Greg's body against him, urging him to find release.
"Oh, fuck yes, Gil, love you, fuck!" Greg yelled out for the entire building to hear as he came between them, his come spurting and mingling with Gil's. He rode it out, his hips jerking slightly as he collapsed, shaking, on top of Gil.
It was a few moments before Greg had the presence of mind to roll off and use his shirt, which had ended up on the nightstand in his haste to strip, to clean them both off before their fluids dried and they really had a problem.
As soon as Greg was finished, Gil pulled him back and curled and arm and leg around him, kissing the top of Greg's head. "I thought we were going to do breakfast and talk."
Greg grinned and pressed a kiss to Gil's neck. "In a minute. 'M happy where I am right now."
"So am I," Gil said as he settled down.
Greg grinned when Gil's breathing deepened into that of sleep. Closing his eyes, he settled down to wait for Gil to wake up. He was starving, but he'd go without food for a week if it meant he could spend his mornings just like this.
