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[let-fate-decide.livejournal.com]

Title: Distraction
Rating: PG-13.
Characters/Pairing: Nick/Greg.
Summary: Greg distracts Nick. Tsk, tsk. - 460 words.
Warnings/Spoilers: Nope.
Disclaimer: Yes, I own CSI. That's why Eric got no screentime.
Prompt/Challenge: Challenge five at crimeinthelight, 'feeling the heat'.


"God, can you believe how hot it is outside? I swear, there'd better be no murder tonight. If there is, well, I'm gonna have to kill someone. Which doesn't exactly solve my problem. I'll just think of something else."

Greg had been rambling, but Nick had only nodded his head silently, eyes following the late afternoon baseball game. Suddenly, out of nowhere, he felt a cold, wet finger run down his bare chest, and he couldn't help the shudder that followed. Heard Greg laugh next to him and sent a sharp glare his way, only making the man laugh harder at him.

"Watching the game." He mumbled, watched the hitter swing, watched as it was said to be foul ball. Yeah, right.

"What was that, Nicky?"

Nick rolled his eyes, then reached over and poked Greg's side, smirking to himself, all the while never looking away.

"Said I was watching the game. It's top of the 8th, just hold up for a bit." He stated louder, getting annoyed with the tactics Greg was using.

"Top of the what?" Nick knew Greg was teasing him now, because both of them watched games together, and Greg knew how the game worked. Then again, they usually got distracted half-way through, but still, that's not the point.

Nick also knew not giving Greg an answer would annoy the hell outta him, so he just went back to the game. Damn, those guys must be dying, he thought. After a few moments (and a few strikes later), he heard Greg scoff to himself, mumuring something under his breath.

"What was that?" Nick asked, amused.

"Oh, nothing. Just said I think I'm going to go wash the cars."

Oh, no, Nick thought, you're not gonna win at this one. Not this time.

"Fun."

"Yep. With the nice, cold hose."

Caught himself before he looked over, only turned his head slightly, giving Greg a small smile before looking back, except now he wasn't paying any attention the announcers, his thoughts now focused on the hand running up his arm. No, no, no, not winning.

"Runnin' all over me. Oh, God, that feels so damn nice. Gonna join me, Nicky?" Was all Greg said before climbing up off the couch, walking towards the front door, swinging his hips, looking back only for a beat, giving Nick that sly grin that he knows too well.

"Ah, what the hell. I'll catch the score online." He said before throwing the remote onto the table in front of him, game forgotten.

Half an hour later, both soaked with sweat and water from the hose, they lay in the back of Nick's truck, shorts long gone, both catching their breath. Finally, Greg spoke.

"Who's the one paying for the detail?"

Nick just looked at him, then gathered Greg in his arms, rolling them over, whispering harshly in his ear.

"Obviously you."