Title: Under the Influence
By: flipflopadd1ct
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: PG-13
Summary: As he pulls into his parking spot at the lab, Nick berates himself for the millionth time: he wishes he hadn't made his first move when he was drunk.

***

Greg's laughing obnoxiously again, laughing so hard he's spilling beer onto the tabletop.

This is something Nick has noticed during the three or so times he's been drunk with Greg: Greg is a giggly drunk. When he's wasted, it takes next to nothing to make Greg laugh until he's crying.

But Nick's pretty far gone, too. In fact, he's laughing just as much as Greg is; the fact that Greg's joke was the worst joke ever told is irrelevant.

Greg's red in the face. His shirt is stained from beer. Nick knows, even though his mind is fuzzy from alcohol, that he looks just as bad.

Nick had asked Greg out for drinks after work, as a celebration of sorts. After all, they'd cracked one of the toughest cases of their careers so far – two college co-eds found dead in their dorm. What better way to celebrate a closed case than with a case of beer?

The bar is crowded, smoky, loud, but Nick's senses are so clouded that he probably wouldn't remember his own name if asked.

He's barely aware that Greg's talking to him. His attention has drifted to the way Greg's shirt is stretching across his chest.

Nick finally pulls his gaze away to look at his cell, checking the time. He shakes his head, blinks, and wipes his eyes. Seeing what time it is, he stands, stumbling slightly over his chair.

"I think I got to go, Greggo," Nick slurs, dragging out the final "o."

Greg snorts, his face cracking into a drunken grin. "Hey, look," he giggles. "Nicky's a poet...did you know it?" And he starts laughing again.

Nick chuckles, watches Greg get up too. Nick slings an arm around Greg's shoulder, good-naturedly, and they make their way towards the door, Greg yapping the whole way.

Another fact about a drunken Greg Sanders: he's talkative. Way more talkative than usual.

Together, they lean into the door until it swings open, ready to call separate taxis and part ways. However...

"Uh-oh," Greg says, child-like.

They chose the wrong door.

The alley is dark; a disgusting mix of smells floats in the air. The street is in sight to their left.

"Wrong door, Nicky?" Greg starts rambling again. "Ew, it's gross out here, don't you think, Nicky? I don't think we can get a taxi here. No taxis here. Nope. We should probably go...thaaat way. We've worked enough cases in alleys to know-"

Later, when Nick wakes with a hangover and manages to remember a few hazy memories of the night, he will blame his next action on the alcohol.

Nick mutters "Greg, shut up," and grabs the other man by the collar, pushing him against the wall with more force than intended.

Greg's about to say "Ow" when Nick's mouth closes on his.

Nick tastes beer and nachos and none of it's really romantic, just hot and wet and desperate, Nick grinding his hips into Greg with pent-up desire. And Greg kisses Nick back just as forcefully, sliding his tongue over Nick's teeth and exploring Nick's mouth, his hands wandering under Nick's shirt.

Greg's hand is palming Nick's growing erection through is jeans when Nick suddenly pulls away.

"Sorry," Nick splutters, wiping his mouth. "Shit, sorry, Greg. Shit..."

He fumbles his way in the dark, back towards the street where he flags down a taxi and heads home.

Greg shakes his head to clear it. He fixes his shirt and follows the route Nick took. He might be drunk but he still knows they moved too fast.

~

Kissing Greg in the alleyway is the only memory Nick has of the night before. And it's a vivid memory, too – Greg warm, pressed against him, hot and wanting and ready.

As he pulls into his parking spot at the lab, Nick berates himself for the millionth time: he wishes he hadn't made his first move when he was drunk.

Nick doesn't see Greg all shift.

Nick's changing his shoes in the locker room when he hears the main open and close. He senses Greg's presence before he sees him.

Greg's standing at his open locker.

"I'm sorry-" Nick starts.

"We were drunk," Greg finishes, shrugging his shoulders. He unbuttons his shirt.

"I shouldn't have done it."

"Done what? Kissed me?" Greg's not looking at him.

"No. I shouldn't have left."

Greg pauses in the middle of undoing his button-fly jeans. The expression on his face makes it obvious; he wasn't expecting that answer.

Like the night before, Nick's kissing him before he knows what's happening. And this time it's completely different – they're sober, and Nick notes that Greg tastes like mint this time. The cliché of time standing still comes to Nick's mind as Greg returns the kiss with matching passion. It's slower than last time, a kiss made of more than lust.

They break apart in silence and Nick rests a hand on Greg's bare chest.

"I hope that one was better," Nick says with a suddenly sheepish grin.

"Yeah, I'd say so." Greg looks dazed.

"You got plans after work?"

"I don't know, do I?" Greg winks as he pulls off his dirty jeans and reaches for a new pair, fully aware that a very interested Nick is watching.

"I was thinking about drinks at the Coffee Cabana. How's that sound?"

Nick's leaning against his locker, hands shoved into his pockets.

Greg feigns deep thought before grinning and nodding. "I'd like that."

***