Title: He Touched Dawn
Author: discoxwithxme
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Fandom: CSI
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own CSI in any way, shape or form. As much as I'd like to... especially some choice people...
A/N: It took me *forever* to write this. Completely inspired by the Plain White T's song "1, 2, 3, 4".
A/N2: Set during season 5. Pre-GD, post-Who Shot Sherlock?.
Summary: Greg's having pre-wedding anxieties. Complete fluff!

***

It’s funny how, in moments like these, I can’t begin to say where I end and you begin. I’m sure it’s terribly cliché, but I never thought I’d be one of those people to tie the knot and settle down. I’ve always thought of myself as a free spirit, and that’s how I like it. I think that’s one of the things I love about you: You both respect and embrace my need to be free. Of course—

“No, no.”

He groans, presses fingertips into his temples and closes his eyes. Takes a few deep breaths before wadding up the paper and tossing it haphazardly across the room toward the general direction of the trash basin. The paper ball falls into a heap of similar ones surrounding the base of the trash basin, trembling slightly before rolling onto its side.

I can remember the first time you ever smiled at me. I was in the break room, and it was my first day on the job. I wasn’t used to the hustle and bustle of the lab yet, so I was vainly trying to make a cup of coffee in under ten seconds. Needless to say, I failed miserably. I spun around to head back to my lab and nearly bumped into you, sloshing my coffee all over my shirt and lab coat, and onto your pants and shoes. We shared an awkward moment where neither of us really knew how to react, before you smiled at me and started to laugh. I don’t know if anyone else notices, but when you smile—really smile—it’s not just with your mouth. It’s with your eyes, your hands, your body. You sort of flow like liquid sunshine, and as corny as that sounds, it’s the truth. You just… glow. Radiate. All over. It’s beautiful, and I’m still not used to being the only person who gets to bask in all of it.

His hand slams on the tabletop in frustration and he brushes the paper onto the floor, dropping his forehead onto the table with a sound thud. Groans, again. Mumbles incoherently into the surface of the desk before picking up his head and resting his chin on the wood. Lets his hands drop uselessly to his sides, dangling gracelessly.

“Having trouble?” Catherine’s voice is a welcome distraction and he smiles at her in greeting.

“No one told me this would be impossible,” he whines, sitting upright and gesturing for her to sit down beside him on the couch. She declines politely.

“Can’t stay long, have to help out the… groomsmaids?” she questions, cocking an eyebrow in contemplation. He shrugs. “Well, anyway; what’s the problem, stud? Surely you’re not in short supply of words.” The laughter in her tone makes him toss a wad of paper at her, which she dodges successfully.

“I just don’t know what to say, or how to say it. And don’t go there,” he warns playfully. “My natural charm, dashing good looks and garish intelligence are doing nothing for me; which is a surprise, as you can imagine.”

Catherine snorts. “Well, tiger, maybe that’s because those things don’t matter. We’re all just rabid, primal animals who want nothing but food and a mate, anyway.”

“Gee, thanks, Cath. Encouraging words on the best day of my life.”

She laughs and turns to leave, stopping short only to throw over her shoulder, “Just speak your mind, Greg. It’s never stopped you before, so what’s stopping you now?”

What’s stopping me now, he thinks, is common sense and logic. I’m not exactly a romantic. And I don’t think being brash and shameless is going to aid me in this situation.

He sighs, picks up another piece of paper and begins again.



It’s late, dark out, and Greg’s all of two seconds away from throwing a fit – because it’s seriously cold outside and Greg’s positive he’s becoming a human icicle – when Nick turns to him with a warm smile on his face, and suddenly Greg isn’t nearly as cold as he was.

“Aren’t they beautiful?” whispers Nick, glancing up at the stars and then back down at Greg. Greg can only nod, too entranced by the ethereal glow of moonlight on Nick’s face to really pay attention to anything else. “I thought you might like them,” he’s saying, eyes shining brilliantly and Greg’s wondering what breathing feels like and if he’s ever done it before.

“Yeah,” Greg says, dumbly, and he feels his face heat up from embarrassment. Nick laughs softly, though, and Greg is slowly caring less and less about himself and more and more about Nick and what it must feel like to kiss those unbelievable lips.

“Greg?” Nick’s face is closer than it was before—so close, so close—and Greg’s holding his breath before he even realizes it.

“Yes?” he whispers, eyes darting unwillingly between Nick’s eyes and his lips, and Greg wants to stop because he knows it’s noticeable but he can’t, but a part of him secretly wants Nick to know that he’s doing it.

Nick’s leaning forward, his breath ghosting out over Greg’s lips and Greg seriously wonders how it’s possible a person can go so long without breath and still be functioning properly (well, that’s a lie, because he is most definitely not functioning properly). His heart hammers painfully in his chest and Nick is there, right there, and Greg closes his eyes—

“You have something on your face.” Nick swipes a thumb underneath Greg’s eye and pulls back, staring intently at the eyelash balancing on the pad of his finger. Greg stutters, flushes a dark red and feels humiliatingly stupid. He turns away, tries to hide his face from Nick because he knows—he knows—that Nick doesn’t feel that way and never will. Chastises himself furiously, feeling like a complete idiot for even thinking that Nick would want to kiss him.

“Thanks,” mutters Greg, swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat and looking up at the stars. Crosses his arms over his chest tightly, hugs himself and wishes he was back home and in his own bed, because he suddenly feels like crying and it’s so irrepressibly annoying that Greg wants to cry harder. But it’s too cold for his eyes to water, so his nose gets runny instead and he sniffles, immediately wishing he hadn’t because he knows it sounds cringingly pitiful. At least, to him it does.

Greg watches, out of his peripheral, as Nick reaches up and curls a finger under his chin, turns his face back so that they’re staring each other in the eye. Watches, with disbelieving eyes, as Nick leans in and presses cold, smooth lips on his own, no traces of regret on his face. He suddenly wonders why his eyes are open while Nick Stokes is kissing him and why he’s analyzing it; shuts his eyes and responds possibly a bit too aggressively, but Nick doesn’t seem to mind so he doesn’t worry about it.

When they pull apart, Nick places a tender kiss below Greg’s eye. Greg has to swallow again. Nick then turns and starts to point out various constellations and Greg can’t keep the smile off of his face. Especially when Nick not-so-subtly slips his hand into Greg’s and laces their fingers together firmly.

His bed is the last place he wants to be right now, he thinks as Nick tugs him further into the desert to show him more constellations.



Two hours and possibly a hundred wadded-up pieces of paper later, and Greg is no closer to being finished than he was when he started, with an additional headache and rumbling stomach. Archie, Mandy, Wendy, Jacqui and Sophia stopped by in succession after Catherine, all with words of support and best wishes. None of them has helped him any.

He’s just started on another piece of paper when Sara knocks on the wall, standing a little awkwardly inside of the room and shuffling restlessly. The sun shines through the ceiling-to-floor windows covering the northern wall and highlights her form, and Greg’s briefly reminded of a time when he tried to convince himself and everyone around him that he wanted her as his own. He smiles at her and feels a wave of pride that Grissom was able to catch such a beautiful butterfly.

“It’s time,” she says, eying him inquisitively.

He swallows thickly, nods at her and gets up shakily. He’s not ready for this, isn’t sure he ever will be, and he knows it shows.

“You’ll do fine, Greg,” reassures Sara. “You love him, right?”

“God, yes. Love doesn’t even begin to describe…,” he flounders, waving his arms vaguely, desperately.

“Then what more do you need?” She raises an eyebrow, smiles at him, and he breathes evenly. Deeply. Because she’s right, as usual, and he feels a little silly that he was freaking out so much when the answer is so obvious and right in front of his face.



It probably deserves more elegance, more embellishment, more pizzazz, but Greg’s never been much of a romantic so he figures it’ll have to do. He rings the doorbell and bounces on the balls of his feet, his heart matching the tempo of the feet padding to the door. It swings open and Nick rubs at an eye sleepily, smiling at Greg.

“Hey,” croaks Nick, stepping back and inviting Greg further inside his home. Greg follows wordlessly, and when Nick shuts the door behind them he practically jumps on him.

Lips collide heatedly, Greg’s hands sliding into the short crop of brown hair on top of Nick’s head and Nick’s hands meeting at the dip in Greg’s back. The younger presses as closely into Nick as he can, realizing that he’ll never be able to get close enough, and the thought alone is scary, terrifying so he pushes it away and instead slips a tongue into Nick’s mouth. He thinks maybe Nick understands, though, because Nick is pulling him in tighter, gripping at him desperately and Greg feels the soul pour out of him and meld into Nick.

They finally have to pull apart—and Greg damns oxygen and the need to use it—and Nick presses his forehead into Greg’s. “Mm. Great way to wake up,” he mumbles, flicking a tongue over Greg’s bottom lip and he has to speak before Nick renders him incapable.

“I’ve never really said this before, and I’m not sure there is a perfect way to say this even though I hope there is and I wish I knew it, because that would make this so much easier and better because you deserve the best and only the best, and sadly I’m not sure I can give that to you but I want to try anyway if you’ll let me so I’m just going to go out on a limb and try this and I’m sorry if it doesn’t work or if you don’t feel the same but I can’t keep this inside any longer because I’m afraid I’ll burst and not in the good way and that would be bittersweet because I’ve never felt like this before and it’s scary and terrifying and amazing and breath-taking and I love it and hate it and I never want it to leave, or you to leave, and I just—“

Nick captures his lips, slides hands up his back to grip his shoulder blades and sensuously twirl their tongues around before breaking away. Greg breathes, heavily, and opens his mouth:

“I love you,” he lets out, breathlessly, and feels the world stop, tumble and skid to a halt. The few seconds it takes Nick to react feel like eternity, like the universe is in slow motion, and Greg knows higher brain functions have left him because all he can manage to think about is incoherent.

“Love you too,” Nick murmurs, against his lips, and the world slams back into orbit too quickly for Greg to get his balance so he falls into Nick. Nick catches him, and Greg feels like that’s a loaded statement. Like it’s a metaphor, and if it is, Greg thinks it might just be the best one.



“I’m ready,” he says, and she nods, gives him a tight hug before leaving to allow him a couple of minutes of privacy.

Greg fiddles with his tie, picks at the cuffs of his suit-jacket and looks intently in the huge vanity mirror. His hair is a mess, his face isn’t right and his posture looks off. He forces himself to turn away from the mirror and walks to the door, swings it open and marches out into the hallway with feigned confidence.

Approaches the doors leading into the courtyard and stops, suddenly, feels his feet fill with lead and he can’t seem to get enough air anymore. The doors are bigger, more ominous, surrounded by a velvet blackness that threatens to overwhelm him, suck him in and never let him go. He stumbles, throws himself into the bathroom and promptly vomits into the toilet. Clutches at the porcelain bowl, heaves and heaves until his stomach throbs and there’s nothing else to release but that doesn’t stop him from heaving. Greg rests his face against the side of the toilet, his head too hot and his hands to sweaty. His limbs too rubbery, his throat too sore. He doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to go in there and face them, face God, face Nick, face the world and the government. Face the public. Doesn’t want to do this anymore. He loves Nick, loves him with everything he has and maybe more than that, even though that doesn’t make sense, but everything both does and doesn’t when he’s around Nick so maybe that suffices.

He wants to be with Nick, wants to do this, he really does, but he’s not too sure he can. What about the cops? Society? The government? How are they going to treat Nick once he officially belongs to Greg? What about his family? Nick still hasn’t told them. Greg knows they won’t be happy, just as he knew his family wouldn’t mind a bit. His mom had cried, so happy that her baby boy had finally found someone to love and be equally loved by. As much as none of that matters, though, it’s not what’s stopping him from walking in there.

What if it doesn’t work out? What if Nick realizes he doesn’t want you, doesn’t need you? What if Nick realizes that he’s better off with a woman who can give him a family, who can make his own family proud? What if Nick wakes up one day and doesn’t like the sight of you lying next to him in his bed? What if he doesn’t really love you like you love him?

He lurches, grabs at the bowl and heaves again, hard. Coughs, feels something like liquid fire dripping down his face and landing into the water. Realizes, belatedly, that he’s crying, but doesn’t have enough spirit in him to care.

Why would he love you, anyway? What are you besides Greg Sanders, lab rat, geek and wannabe CSI? Maybe you did pass your CSI field test, but what does that prove? That you can collect and analyze evidence? Why can’t you analyze the evidence staring you in the face, CSI? Why can’t you interpret the situation at hand? Because you’re not good enough. You’ll never be good enough. You don’t deserve Nick. What have you ever done for him? He’s the one keeping you together now that you’re on separate shifts. It’s been hard on you both, and who was the one comforting who when it got to be too much? You’re unworthy, useless. Stupid to even think that Nick would really want this.

“Wallowing in self-pity? Come on, Greggo, I thought you were better than that.”

Warrick’s leaning against the doorframe, appraising Greg with his eyes and he feels inadequate, shameful underneath Warrick’s gaze. Nick’s his best friend, and he expects Greg to fill in a certain position as Nick’s boyfriend—fiancé—whatever. And here he is, on his wedding day, slumped over the toilet in the bathroom, puking his guts out and crying to himself like a teenage girl.

“Guess not,” he says, turning away and trying to regain what little dignity he has left. Wipes his mouth and chin with a piece of toilet paper and tosses it into the trash can carelessly.

“Aw, c’mon man,” Warrick says, coming in and crouching down beside Greg, “don’t be like that. What happened to the Greggo I know: the loudmouth, smartass, cocky, charming and energetic lab-rat-turned-CSI who makes all of our days a little brighter?”

“He grew up and quit kidding himself,” mumbles Greg, resting his forehead against his palms. “He got a taste of the real world.”

Warrick sighs, frowns sullenly. “I was dreading the day you would.” Raises a hand and places it on Greg’s shoulder, squeezes. “You aren’t seriously in here, brooding over the toilet on your wedding day, are you? Because I know you’re not thinking of leaving Nick at the alter.”

Greg doesn’t respond, and Warrick’s frown turns a shade darker than before. “I thought you were better than that, G. Guess I was wrong, then.” Warrick stands, takes his hand away and heads to the doorway. He stops, turns around and gives one long look at Greg’s body before leaving. Tells him as he leaves, “Nick’s a good man, Greg, and he doesn’t deserve this. When you’re ready to be a man and own up, we’re waiting.”

It takes a minute, but Greg finally stands and walks over to the mirror above the sink. Washes his face quickly before glancing in the mirror at his red-rimmed eyes and puffy lids, his pale complexion. Stares at his reflection for all of a second before pushing away from the counter and leaving the bathroom.

He doesn’t think twice when he pulls open the sliding glass door and walks outside into the crisp night air.



He looks like crap, and he knows it, but Greg thinks it’s reasonable considering the situation. He and Nick haven’t spoken in days, which is how long it’s been since Greg was able to breathe properly. He feels like he’s obsolete, like he can’t function without Nick around him, without hearing Nick’s voice or seeing his eyes light up with mirth. He misses Nick with everything he has, every fibre in his body and he’s never cried as much as he has in the past couple of nights. They’d had fights before but none of them have ever been as bad as this one, and Greg’s scared out of his mind that they’re at their end. He doesn’t want them to end, doesn’t want them to ever separate but he knows that if that’s what Nick wants then that’s what’s going to happen, because Greg only wants Nick to be happy and if he can’t be happy with Greg, then so be it.

He’s going through the motions, pouring coffee into his cup and stirring in all of his additions without really thinking about it. Instead, he’s mulling over all of the times he and Nick have fought, and how they’ve gotten worse with each fight. He wonders why he didn’t notice it sooner. As he dumps in all of his sugar, he’s thinking about all the times he and Nick laid in bed at night, post-coital, wrapped up in each other and free of all troubles and wiles. No complications, no stress, just them and the sheets and the warm, bubbly feeling in Greg’s chest that never goes away when Nick’s around. All the times they made love, and how nothing ever felt as perfect as the moment when he and Nick ceased to be two entities and instead became one beautiful, perfect clash of everything right and precious, everything beyond our understanding. When they became this unstoppable current of emotion so strong that Greg still has trouble even comprehending it, much less naming it.

Thinks of all the times Nick has kissed him and the world just dropped away.

He turns around, oblivious to the world around him and bumps into a firm body, coffee spilling over the rim of his cup and effectively ruining his shirt, lab coat, and the stranger’s pants and shoes. Greg splutters, sets his coffee cup on the counter and hurries to clean up his mess when a big, familiar hand closes around his wrist and stops him mid-flurry. Amused brown eyes meet with his and he hears a laugh that brings up a shudder of déjà vu.

Nick smiles at him, tugs him closer and kisses him gently. Greg breathes, and it’s a nice feeling.



It’s dark out, but the stars are luminous in the sky and Greg thinks it’s oddly fitting. They twinkle at him from above as he walks down the cobblestone pathway, chairs surrounding him on either side, people staring at him oddly, curiously, happily and knowingly.

Grissom, Sara, Catherine, Warrick, Sophia and Brass are on his left. Grissom’s got a quiet smile on his face, one that matches Sara’s; Catherine is trying in vain to hide a tissue, and Warrick is not trying to hide his smirk or the look in his eyes that tells Greg this is it, that there is no turning back. Sophia gives him a not-so-subtle thumbs up and Brass nods at him.

Archie, Wendy, Mandy, Bobby and his partner Mike, Jacqui (who came on request by Greg) and Hodges—which has Greg doing a double-take—are on his right, directly across from the CSIs and detectives, giving him their encouragement and support. Vega, Vartann and Mitch are sitting behind them, all formal and business-like but smiling at him with their eyes. Doc Robbins and Super Dave are behind Grissom and Sara, Doc with his wife and Greg feels the tension slowly sliding out of him. These are his friends, his family, his world; they’re here to support him, because they don’t care that he’s with another man, and they don’t care about all of the details that he so frequently worries himself sick over. You only get one life, and they know that.

The air is soft, comforting on his skin, the officiant welcoming and the crowd anxious. Greg meets Nick’s eyes and finds a smile on his face before he even goes to make one. Nick’s eyes are warm, loving, inviting and Greg suddenly doesn’t want to be anywhere else but here. With Nick, underneath the wooden archway laced with intricately woven vines and lights. With Nick, in a cave or underneath the ocean or in bed on a lazy Sunday. With Nick anywhere and everywhere. Just, as long as he’s with Nick.

He steps under the archway, Nick reflexively getting closer, and the preacher tells everyone they can sit down.



“Wow, this is… wow.” He’s speechless, as he usually is around Nick, but this time he thinks he has a good enough reason. Nick reaches out and wraps an arm around Greg’s waist, nuzzles his neck.

“Do you like it? I found it, and it’s in our price range and everything, and so I thought, ‘Why not?’”

Greg swallows, clutches at Nick’s arm and stutters. “I… It’s… God, Nick…”

“I take it you like it then,” Nick murmurs, kissing Greg’s neck and leading him toward the house. “Good, because I already placed a down payment.”

Greg gapes, openly. “So…”

“It’s ours,” Nick says, and the enormity of that word, ‘ours’, is so powerful that the minute Nick lets them inside to show Greg around the house, Greg throws him on the bare floor and they end up leaving at least two hours past when they originally planned to.

In the car, on the way back to Greg’s apartment, Greg squeezes Nick’s hand and speaks aloud. “I want to get married in that backyard.” He’s speaking figuratively, of course, but the intense look Nick gives him has his breath hiccupping in his throat.

“Okay,” Nick says, and four months later when Nick takes him out to stargaze like they did the first time they kissed, Nick proposes. Greg says yes.



It’s not a real wedding—it’s a “commitment ceremony”—but that doesn’t take away the all-consuming severity of the situation, nor does it diminish the passionate electricity visible between Nick and Greg as the officiant invites them all to relax and get comfortable.

“I’d like to thank all of you for coming here tonight, and for being such avid supporters, friends and a part of Nick and Greg’s family,” the officiant says, and Greg hears his mother sob in the audience. “I’ve not known these two men for very long, but I could tell from the moment they walked into my office that what they have, be it love or something stronger than that, something nameless,” he looks around at the crowd, “that what they have is real, substantial, and something I hope all of you can find one day, if you haven’t already.”

Greg doesn’t miss the secret glance Sara shoots Grissom, and when she sees she’s been caught she has the decency to blush. Greg grins, and with a start realizes he’s not apprehensive anymore. He feels at home here, with Nick, and he wants to stand atop of a mountain and scream to the world that Nick Stokes is his and his alone. It’s this thought that has him nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet, ready to wrap himself around Nick and hold him close, kiss him and love him and be swept up by Nick’s presence.

“Let’s get started, shall we? I’m sure you two are eager to be rid of us and be alone,” the officiant grins at the pair. “Nick? Why don’t you give your vows first.”



“So you and Nick, huh?”

Greg jumps, knocks his head into the shelf holding test tubes, pipettes and latex gloves. Rubbing his head and scowling, he offers a gruff, “What?”

Hodges snorts, crossing his arms over his chest. “You know what. I must say, I never would have thought of it myself. I mean, you and Nick Stokes? But now that I think about it, it was sort of obvious, really. You guys couldn’t be subtle if you tried. Well, you and Sara, but that’s another story.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Greg mumbles, but the flush colouring his face tells a different story.

“I think you do, Sanders,” Hodges leers, grinning, “and I have just one question for you.”

“Please, spare me the suspense, Hodges.”

A glare, before Hodges continues. “Why did you wait all of this time? I mean, you’ve been in love with the guy for years. And we all know that you are obnoxiously forward and loud, so…”

Greg tosses a box of fingerprint powder brushes at him and he catches it. “Way to weasel it out of a guy. I’ll definitely tell you now.”

“You didn’t let me finish,” Hodges says, handing Greg back the box. “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted. While you are unbelievably shameless, upright and hideously hyperactive; you’re also confident and smooth, and I’ve never seen you shy. So what, may I ask, was holding the infamous Greg Sanders from laying down the charm and finagling Nick Stokes into his bed?”

“Maybe it’s more than just a lay,” Greg snaps, bumping past Hodges and heading for the door. He doesn’t make it out, though, because Hodges makes him stop dead in his tracks.

“You really love the guy, don’t you?” Hodges’ tone is different, this time, and for some reason unknown to Greg, it makes the tension seep out of his shoulders. He wants to tell Hodges that maybe the guy isn’t so bad after all, that maybe Greg doesn’t actually hate him, and that maybe he’s smarter than Greg’s ever wanted to let on.

What he says, instead, is, “What’s it to you, anyway, Hodges?”

Hodges doesn’t say anything at first, but when he does, it’s still laced with that different tone and it throws Greg off his game. “He loves you too, you know. Guy would do anything for you. Never seen a man quite so head-over-heels in love as Nick is for you. It’s a little sickening, really. Makes the rest of us look bad.” He’s trying to add that snarky edge to his words, but he’s failing and Greg’s never been more relieved to hear someone in his life, oddly enough.

Greg turns around, smiles at Hodges and waves goodbye as he leaves. There’s a bounce in his step the rest of the night, and every time he passes Trace, Hodges hides a secret smile of his own.



“Well,” Nick starts, “I’m not very good with words, but, here goes…” He takes both of Greg’s hands in his own, brings them up to his chest and holds them there, cups them with his palms. “Out of all the things you make me feel, Greg, the one you make me feel the most is myself. When I’m around everyone else, I feel like I have to act a little differently, say things a bit more politely. But when I’m with you, I feel like… I don’t have to censor who I am. I feel like I can just be, feel and say… and you won’t judge me or look at me any different. You’ll just take it all in and give me the same in return. And you do. I love that, and you have no idea how comforting it is to know that no matter what, you’ll always accept who and what I am.

“I know that I can’t give you much, but I’m willing to give you everything I have, if you want it. I’m just a small town guy from Texas, out of his league over here in Sin City herself, Las Vegas; but I feel like… at risk of sounding like a girl, I feel like the wealthiest, luckiest man alive whenever I’m with you, and I’d give you the world if I could. I’m sure that there are tons of people in the world who are more deserving of you than I am, and I’m sure that they can offer you everything you’ll ever need; but what I’m offering you isn’t material, and it isn’t conditional. I’m offering you my love, my home, my heart and my soul, and I’d be the happiest man alive if you’d take it. I promise that I’ll always be there for you, and that I’ll always protect you, no matter what. And I’ll never stop loving you, even if you figure out, down the road, that you want someone better than me. I love you, Greg Sanders, and I hope you’ll become a permanent part of my life.”

There’s a loud sob, suddenly, and half of the people in the crowd jump. Jacqui looks sheepish and she clears her throat, before apologizing. Greg doesn’t take his eyes off of Nick. He’s found that he can’t swallow.

“Greg,” the officiant says softly, “it’s all you now, kid.”



“Hey, mom,” he says into the phone, Nick curling a protective arm around his waist.

“Greg! Honey, I’ve missed you so much. You never call us anymore. How are you, dear? Your father says hello.”

“Tell Dad I said ‘hi’. And I’ve been fine, Mom. But listen, as much as I’d love to catch up and fill you in with all of the juicy details of my life… that’s… that’s not why I called.”

“Oh? Well, pray tell, then.”

He takes a couple of deep, even breaths, relaxes into Nick’s warm embrace and decides that honesty is the best policy. As is straight-forwardness, sometimes. “I’m seeing someone.”

“Oh my God! What’s her name? Is she pretty? Is she nice? What’s she like? Tell me all about—“

“It’s a man, Mom. And his name is Nick.”

“…Oh.”

He swallows, suddenly scared. But he has to appear to be in control, otherwise she’ll have the advantage. He wants her to think he’s confident, not scared out of his mind. “Yeah.”

“Well, in that case… your father owes me thirty bucks.”

“I… what?”

“Yeah. He thought you would come out to us in person, I thought you would do it over the phone, and when you were already with someone.”

“You… you bet on when I would come out to you?” he questions, and he’s not sure if he should be incredulous or laughing. Nick smiles against the nape of his neck, and he squeezes Nick’s forearm.

“We did. Oh, goodie, that means I can get that purse I was looking at in the store the other day… Anyway. Honey, we’ve always known. You were just… different. We’re fine with it. We’d love to meet him, too. Is he good to you? Do you love him? You sound like you’re in love with him.”

“Yes, he’s great. And how would you know?” Greg asks, careful not to let Nick know what his mom said.

“It was the way you said his name. You’ve never been good at hiding anything, especially from your mother. Does he know you do?”

“I… don’t know.”

“You haven’t told him, then.”

“No, I have.” He feels defensive, even though she’s miles away, and it makes him nostalgic. He remembers when he was a teen and she questioned him about his friend, Alex.

“So why wouldn’t he know?”

“It’s just… I’ve said it, but, I don’t think I’ve proved it.” Nick gives him an inquisitive nip on his shoulder, but Greg dutifully ignores it.

“Why not? Baby, it doesn’t take grand gestures and fancy dates to prove your love to someone. Sometimes, all it takes is a simple comforting hand, or a kiss before you leave for work, or letting someone know you’re there for them, always. Do you think he needs you to get down on one knee to know how you feel?”

“No, I don’t. But I just… I’m not as good at it.”

“It’s not a competition, Greg. No one is better at ‘it’.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“It doesn’t sound like you do. Have you tried telling him?”

“Yes. But there wasn’t… there aren’t words.”

“So it’s like that… Well, maybe that speaks for itself, then.”



“I…”

He blanches, feeling cold, stiff, tense, scared, and in love all at once. There’s no way he can compete with what Nick just said. He can’t even rationalize his feelings to himself, so how in the world is he supposed to tell Nick?

“I love you, Nick.” He doesn’t know what to say, didn’t effectively write up his vows, but he can’t stop and he’s not going to. He thinks that maybe, it means more if it comes straight from the top of his head. “In fact, I don’t just love you. Love is such a general word. What I feel for you… it’s more than that. What I feel for you doesn’t have a label, or a name. It’s… I can’t even begin to describe it for you. There are no words. I’m a firm believer in the philosophy that sometimes, there aren’t words to define it, and sometimes it doesn’t need defining. I don’t want anyone else but you, Nick. There is no one better, and if there was I wouldn’t want them anyway. I don’t think there is such a thing as better and best when it comes to love.

“You’re not just a part of me, Nick, you’re everything about me. I would be nothing without you, and I never want to experience that again. I don’t even remember what it was like before you, and I hope I never have to. In my eyes, it’s just you, period. I don’t care where I am, or what I’m doing, as long as you’re there beside me. As long as you’re there for me to hold, care for, love and cherish and protect. To me, this isn’t anything akin to marriage. To me, this is… this is proof that where I end and you begin no longer exists. This ceremony means that you and I are one, forever and always.”

Nick squeezes his hands, tightly. Brings his right hand up and kisses it, and it’s so sweet and caring and wonderful that Greg knows his hopes of not crying during this are shot to hell.

The officiant clears his throat. “At this time, I would read a passage from scripture that alludes to the couple and their bond. However, both Nick and Greg have asked that I not, so instead I will read this excerpt from Sonnet 116, by William Shakespeare:

“Let me not to the marriage of true minds
admit impediments. Love is not love
which alters when it alteration finds,
or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
that looks on tempests and is never shaken.

“We will now exchange rings.” He signals to the back, and Lindsey comes running up the aisle, a pillow in her hand with two silver rings balanced on top. Everyone laughs as she stumbles up to them, offering up the pillow and looking at them with big, doe eyes. Greg smiles at her, ruffles her hair as the officiant takes the pillow. “Which one of you wants to slap it on first?” he asks. Nick chuckles.

“I guess I will,” he says, reaching out with more-than-shaky fingers and taking one of the rings off of the pillow. Greg extends his hand, and Nick takes it in his. The warmth that spreads throughout Greg’s body is pleasant and familiar. He loves it, and he’s not afraid to say that anymore.

The officiant nods at Nick, and Nick coughs before starting. “Uh… With this ring, I…,” he swallows, laughs a little and tries again, “with this ring, I promise to give you all of myself, with no exceptions. I promise that no matter the situation, the setting or the variable, I will always love you and I will always be yours. I give you this ring as my heart, and I place it on your finger in the hopes that it will always be with you, as yours will always be with me.” Nick slips it onto Greg’s finger, both of them shaking so bad it takes a couple of tries before they’re successful.

Greg takes his ring from the pillow and cups it in his palm, runs his finger over it reverently, looks up at Nick with fluid in his eyes that threatens to run over. “I give you this ring with every intention of caring for you, protecting you, loving you and offering you everything I am and no less. This ring—my ring—on your finger means that you’re mine, and I promise to keep up my end of the bargain. I couldn’t not be yours, even if I tried, anyway. This ring is a mediocre symbol of everything you are to me. I give it to you with the knowledge that you’re giving me the same.”

When Greg slips the ring on Nick’s finger, he doesn’t let go of his hand, rather pulls it and Nick closer to him. Nick smiles at him, and they’re both aware that they’re standing a little too close for this to be remotely sophisticated, but neither of them really care. Nick’s looking him in the eyes, raising his free hand and cupping Greg’s face and Greg feels his breath hitch just like it always does. Nick holds their joined hands tightly against his chest.

“Well, folks,” starts the officiant, “I officially pronounce these two united as one. Nick, Greg, you may—“

Greg doesn’t wait for him to finish. Launching himself forward, he meshes their lips together passionately, wrapping his free hand around Nick’s neck and holding him as close as possible. Nick takes their joined hands and raises them up, making Greg stand on his tiptoes before falling forward and against Nick’s pliant body. Greg doesn’t care that most of the people are probably getting uncomfortable right about now, because Nick’s lips are soft and plush and inviting, and he doesn’t want to pull away, even if his life depends on it. It’s only when the officiant coughs unsubtly that Nick pulls away, easing Greg back.

“Not so soon, tiger,” he purrs, “save some for later.”

The sound of applause, crying, whooping and cheering drown out Greg’s retort. Instead, he nuzzles into Nick’s neck as the officiant instructs the crowd to go into the house for the reception. Nick leads Greg behind them, keeping an arm around his waist and placing kisses into his hair as they walk.



“Remind me why we’re out here at this god-awful time of night?”

“Technically, it’s daytime, baby,” Nick says, brushing his lips over Greg’s hand. Greg gives him a dirty look and Nick laughs. “We’re out here because I wanted to show you something.”

Greg sighs, grumbles and shifts. “Well, the ground is uncomfortable and my butt hurts.”

“So sit in my lap,” suggests Nick, and he’s mildly surprised when Greg does just that. He wraps his arms around the younger man, pulling him in close and holding him tightly.

“What did you want to show me?” Greg asks, quietly, burying his face in Nick’s neck and yawning. Nick runs his fingers through Greg’s unkempt hair, playing with the curls around his ears.

“Patience is a virtue.”

“Well I’m not virtuous.”

Nick’s laughter is melodic, like a symphony in Greg’s ears and he smiles. They sit in silence for a good couple of minutes before Nick nudges Greg’s half-sleeping form.

“Hey, wake up.”

“’M awake…”

Nick points to the sky and Greg lazily follows with his eyes. The dark slowly starts to colour, orange highlighting the black seconds before a bright yellow blends with it. Silky red follows next, mixing with the other two before they overtake the sky. The sun starts to peak from the remnants of night, glowing like a beacon amongst the dusky hues and hazy black. As they fade and swirl together, like a sensual dance of lovers, Greg feels his heart thud in his chest in perfect synchrony with Nick’s.

“It’s…”

“Yeah,” Nick whispers, running a hand up Greg’s chest and cupping over his left pectoral. “Have you ever seen something so beautiful?”

Greg can’t keep the smile off of his face, or the extra hard thump from his heartbeat. “I have, and I can do you one better. I’ve touched it.”

***