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Title: Not Really Here
By: sandersyager
Pairing: Tony/Greg Sanders (CSI)
Fandom: NCIS/CSI
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: vague through end of season six for CSI and season three on NCIS.
Summary: At least he doesn't smell like sawdust.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to CBS, et al. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: Sometime this spring, I realized my OTP was an orgy involving Nick Stokes, Warrick Brown, Greg Sanders, Tony DiNozzo, Abby Sciuto, Gil Grissom, Gibbs, and Lady Heather. blueraccoon fed carrots to a little bitty bit of a bunny and the sucker grew. This is a little response to the season finales of CSI and NCIS, sending two of the Vegas boys to comfort Abby and Tony and maybe lick their own wounds a little. *Please note, this fic does not contain an actual orgy, only hints of that universe.*

***

Tony gets home late, nearer to eleven than the eight o'clock he'd promised Greg on the phone. The apartment is quiet as he lets himself in, the smell of chocolate heavy in the air and competing with coffee. Since Greg arrived, the coffee maker hasn't been turned off and there's always a fresh pot of the pricy Blue Hawaiian Greg prefers. There's jazz on the speakers, soft instrumentals, Coltrane, maybe. That's Warrick, taking over as their unofficial DJ and Tony has to admit 'Rick's got great taste. He manages to know just what they all need to hear at any given hour and keep the stereo programmed just so. He thought he'd be more territorial, honestly, less comfortable with the Vegas boys moving in, but really, he's glad they're here.

Greg's stretched on the couch, a book open on his chest and his eyes closed, snoring softly. Tony pauses to look at him in the dim light from the coffee table, reaching one hand down to brush Greg's hair back from his forehead. He's not Tony's type, he prefers older, a little rougher maybe, harder. Gibbs. And Greg's as different from Gibbs as anyone could be, but he's a good kid—that's how Tony thinks of him, like McGee. And like McGee, Tony hopes Greg will never see the sorts of things that he has, or develop the kinds of hard shells that Warrick and Gibbs use to the meet the world. Never be hurt like Nick and Abby have, although truth be told, Abby's come away from her experiences fairing a little better than Nicky has.

Tony made the mistake of calling Greg sweet once, and still thinks he is, especially in sleep. Greg was quick to correct him, saying "I'm not sweet, I'm fierce," just before pouncing on Tony. That was the trip to Kentucky, Warrick's idea, for the Derby. Tony had been shocked when Gibbs agreed to it, even taking vacation days to accompany them. But that was before, when Gibbs was around. He's not now, and Tony is tired, and Greg's blinking at him sleepily and making room for Tony to sit on the edge of the couch.

"Hi," Greg says softly, turning into Tony's palm at his cheek. His lips are gentle, dry, as he presses a kiss into Tony's hand. "I made dinner, nothing special, but we put a plate in the fridge for you."

Tony smiles, moving to set the book aside, careful to lay it down so Greg won't lose his place. "Are you sleeping alone tonight?" What the question really means is where are Abby and Warrick, and how bad of a night has it been?

"She's okay, Tony. It was just a little freak out, and it's been pretty quiet since dinner," Greg sits up, drawing his knees up to his chest. "We got her to eat, some, and Warrick... It all depends on what she needs, right? Who she needs?"

"Yeah," Tony says, standing up and pulling Greg with him. He draws Greg into a quick hug then looks at him, hands on his shoulders. "I'm glad you made this trip. She needs you. We both do," Tony leans in, brushing a soft kiss over Greg's lips. Greg looks startled when Tony steps back. "What? Too forward?"

Greg shakes his head. "Just... unexpected. I mean, I know you like Nick and you and Warrick, god, but..."

Tony smiles at the blush creeping over Greg's cheeks, how innocent he can look, although Tony knows he's about as innocent as Abby, which is to say not at all. "But not you?" he finishes, stroking Greg's cheek with the back of his hand.

"I'm not them," Greg says softly, meeting Tony's eyes. "Gil... Gil said we should give you whatever you needed." There's a faint tremor to Greg's voice that Tony's not sure he's ever heard before, and the weight of his words, the meaning, hits him hard. Probably harder than it should. Any of the visits between households have come with instructions, he isn't naive enough to think this one didn't, but he's not given much thought to what it really means for Gil to have allowed the trip without Gibbs' presence.

Tony's willing to take over at the office. He's keeping Abby together, as much as he can, taking care of two apartments and a house, but the implication here is something else. He watches as Greg's face changes, eyes dropping, breath slow and even, as he reaches for Tony's hand and guides it to the back of his neck. This isn't a role he wants.

"Greg, I don't need that," Tony shakes his head, struggling to find the right words around the lump forming in his throat. "I'm not Gibbs, or didn't Abby tell you?" He manages a wry smile, touching a finger to Greg's chin. "Just be here with me. I'm going to eat and you can tell me about Vegas' most twisted sex crimes. Then we can figure out sleeping arrangements."

Greg nods slowly, squaring his shoulders as he looks back at Tony. "So, did Nick tell you about his truck getting stolen from a scene?" He's up and it's almost like it never happened, except Tony's hands are a little unsteady and his heart's louder in his ears than it ought to be as they move to the kitchen.

"It's not you," Tony interrupts Greg's story, something about a wedding and versions of the truth that he can't quite follow. Greg stops, placing the coffee pot back on the warmer and looks at Tony. "What I need, you can't give me. It's him, you know? I used to think I could be like him, and I can do the job, I can be a good agent, but I can't be him. Not like that."

"Yeah," Greg sighs, leaning against the counter next to Tony. "It's hard to be away from them." His hand is soft and warm, smoother than Tony remembered, as he covers Tony's fingers. "That kiss, by the way? I wouldn't exactly mind if you did that more often. Like, you know, now-ish?"

"You're right about one thing," Tony says, turning toward Greg. "You're definitely not Warrick or Nick," he says, tilting his head to touch his lips to Greg's again, kissing him a little more firmly this time. He just brushes his tongue against Greg's, and Greg, of course, tastes like coffee. Somewhere, mixed in with the feeling of soft lips and the sounds of breathing, is a sharp moment of missing Gibbs, and Tony feels Greg's fingers curl into his shirt. "At least you don't smell like sawdust," he murmurs, sliding his lips over Greg's throat.

***