"Forever"(Nick/Greg,1/3)
May. 31st, 2007 10:32 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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nickngregDue to various circumstances, my muse has not been kind lately - this little thing jumped into my head recently, though, when I was sick and couldn’t sleep…hope it works, because there’s actual romance as opposed to my usual angst.
Title – Forever
Author -![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
black_dahlia63
Characters – Nick and Greg
Rating – R/NC17? There’s smut, anyway. Eventually.
Spoilers – Play With Fire in the second part
Disclaimer – not mine, just borrowing.
They were in the same restaurant where they spent part of every Saturday night that they weren’t in the lab; Nick had found it eight months ago when he was talking to a witness in a murder case the team was working, and he and Greg had been going there ever since. Most of its trade seemed to take place during weekday lunch hours, and as a result they practically had the place to themselves on Saturday evenings; the middle-aged female owner would fuss over them, tease them gently about ordering the same thing every time – Nick always had steak, Greg the blackened catfish – and always seemed to sense when they wanted to be left alone rather than see the latest photos of her grandchildren in New Orleans.
And tonight was one of the nights when she’d left them alone, approaching the table only to bring them more food or another pitcher of ice water. They’d rehashed the case which led to both of them giving evidence in court the previous morning, revisited the ongoing discussion about where they were going to spend Thanksgiving; every so often they would say the same thing at the same time, and there’d be a pause of a few seconds before they burst out laughing. There were periods of silence too, but not the kind born of awkwardness – rather, the kind that occur when you know someone so well that you don’t need to say something in order to make yourself understood.
“Let’s go to Dallas,” Greg said after one of these silences, and there was a smile on his face as he looked up from his now-empty plate. “May 17th is the big one for my folks, anyway, so -” and he didn’t get any further before Nick leant across the table and kissed him. The contact was brief, lasting only seconds, but it still made Greg’s breath catch because Nick didn’t do this in public very often; they leaned back in their chairs, still looking at each other, and before either of them could speak a shadow fell across the table.
“What about some coffee, you two? Dessert? I’ve got some of that bread pudding you like, fresh out of the oven -”
“Couldn’t manage it if I tried,” Greg replied. “I think I’d burst,” and his ears picked up a faint chuckle from across the table over the zydeco music emerging from the nearby speaker. “Nick?”
“Not this time,” Nick said with some regret, wishing he’d forgone his appetizer as he thought of their favourite dessert with its accompanying sauce made almost entirely of Jack Daniels. “Can you bring us the check?”
“Sure thing, sugar,” and as the restaurant owner bustled away Nick glanced across the table; Greg was looking at him steadily, a half-smile hovering on his lips and one eyebrow raised quizzically.
“What?”
“Thank you,” Nick said quietly, his throat tightening inexplicably. “For -”
“For what? You’re picking up the tab,” Greg interrupted, his smile widening, but he reached across the table to clasp Nick’s hand; there was another silence then, one that was broken when a Styrofoam box was set on the table between them. “Uh, Louise?” Greg said, turning his head. “We didn’t…”
“On the house,” was the immediate response. “Take it home and have it for breakfast,” and there was a warm smile to accompany the words as Nick delved into his pocket with his free hand in search of his wallet. “Next Saturday?”
“We’re working,” the two of them told her in unison, before a shared glance and more laughter as Greg let go of Nick’s hand and they pushed their chairs back. Nick handed over two folded bills, telling Louise to keep the change and suppressing a smile as the middle-aged woman ruffled Greg’s hair and said take care, darlin’ the way she always did; another thirty seconds brought the two of them outside, breathing in the humid late-evening air, and when Nick slung an arm round Greg’s shoulders as they walk towards the car Greg fell into step with him as though he’d been doing it his whole life.
************
The phone began to shrill as Greg was locking the apartment door, and Nick snatched the receiver out of its cradle on the fifth ring. “Hello?” he said, and his face lit up. “Mom! No, we went out to get something to eat…well, yeah, we have, actually - is Cisco on the extension?” and he kicked off his shoes as he walked along the hallway with the phone cradled between his left ear and his shoulder. “We were talking about it over supper…” and the rest of the conversation faded out as Greg walked into the kitchen.
He sat down, the takeout box in front of him on the table, and he looked around the kitchen that had been “theirs” for just over a year. He let his eyes take in the chipped Dallas Cowboys mug on the counter, the slips of paper held against the fridge door with magnets to remind them of Nick’s root canal appointment on Thursday and the tenants’ meeting the following week; his expression grew distant then, his ears picking up the far-off hum of Nick’s voice, and he thought about how different everything had become for him.
Forget all that shit about “gaydar”, because Greg had never thought it was anything to do with what team you played for. It was about looking at someone you found attractive, having them look back at you and knowing they’d take things further in a heartbeat if they could, and he’d seen just as many straight couples do that…
…and that’s exactly what had happened the first night he showed up at the lab and saw Nick; even now he could remember the handshake and the smile, the Texas drawl, the briefest of glances that had fired his blood and left him momentarily speechless despite the vow he’d always made never to come on to anyone he worked with. He’d spent that first shift wondering whether everything really was bigger in Texas, whether Nick was already seeing anybody and how serious it was if the answer was yes; then, at the end of the night, he’d leaned in the doorway of the locker room after everyone else except Nick was gone and made his move. He couldn’t remember what he’d suggested – breakfast? coffee? It hadn't been what he'd really wanted, anyway – but he remembered the look in Nick’s eyes as he’d nodded and slammed his locker door shut, and Greg had been half hard before they’d even reached the space in the parking lot where Nick had left his truck.
A ten minute drive had brought them to an apartment so unlike his own, one that didn’t have boxes everywhere because despite having lived there for almost a month he still hadn’t finished unpacking, and Greg still remembered every detail of the remainder of that night…the scrape of stubble against his neck, the clash of lips and teeth and tongue as they kissed, the way Nick’s hand had shaken while he’d put on a condom…then the tangle of limbs and grasping hands, the urgent whispers of yeah, like that and harder and c’mon which disintegrated into gasps and moans…
…but it was what happened afterwards that stuck in Greg’s mind even more.
“Christ, what the hell just happened?”
“Didn’t think you’d need that explaining, Mr. Stokes,” Greg says, and while he’s grinning the words are delivered in a shaky near-whisper, because “what just happened” has left him so wrung out that he doesn’t think he’ll be able to move for a week; then blood starts to migrate slowly back to his upstairs brain, and he plants a brief, demanding kiss on his companion’s mouth before levering himself up off crumpled sheets with a groan. He glances at the partly-open blinds and sees the beginnings of daylight filtering in – and damn is this going to play hell with his body clock, he should have been asleep hours ago, but he’s still grinning as he sets his feet on the floor because this has been so worth it.
“You don’t have to go,” that Southern drawl says, and Greg pauses in the midst of gathering up his clothes. “Sleep for a few hours, have breakfast, then I’ll kick you out,” Nick continues, as the younger man sits on the end of the bed to put on his socks. “Neither of us has to be anywhere till tomorrow night, right?”
“Nick…”
“Hey, no big deal,” Nick says, and in the dimly-lit room Greg picks out a brief flash of teeth in a smile, but it’s impossible to read the rest of his face. “At least tell me you’re not seeing someone else.”
“Why?”
“Wouldn’t mind doing this again,” is the answer. “Just don’t want to step on anyone else’s toes.”
“You won’t be,” Greg says as he starts to put on the rest of his clothes. “I don’t do relationships,” and he knows there’s a chance this might not go over too well – God knows, there’ve been times when it hasn’t in the past – but he’s always been honest with his partners and doesn’t see any reason to stop with this one. He’s got reasons for it, although nobody he’s ever dated has been told what they are; but he’s a good enough lover that most of the time guys accept that it’s only ever going to be the occasional night and don’t expect anything more…and damn, he hopes Nick Stokes falls into that group, because Greg wouldn’t mind doing this again either.
“Who does?” Nick replies, making Greg let out the breath he’s unconsciously been holding. “Probably isn’t a good idea to date someone you work with, anyway, right?” and if most of Greg’s conscious thought hadn’t evaporated through his dick several minutes previously he might have picked up the undercurrent in the words, but he’s still on too much of a high to do anything but take them literally. “Phone’s in the kitchen if you need it.”
“Got mine with me,” is the answer as Greg slides his feet into his shoes and locates his cell in one of the front pockets of his jeans after he’s zipped them up. Walking around to Nick’s side of the bed, he leans down for another kiss – one that lasts longer than the previous one and isn’t as demanding – and once it’s done, he’s flipping open his cell as he heads for the bedroom door. “Yeah, can I get a cab at – one second, okay?” and he can feel his face burning as he turns back towards the bed. “Nick, where are we?” he asks, hearing a soft chuckle that sends a tremor through his groin even though he could have sworn that after “what just happened” he wouldn’t have the strength to even think about sex for a week; he repeats the address Nick gives him into the phone, says “that’ll be fine” when he’s told someone will be there in ten minutes. He ponders kissing Nick again, decides against it – quit while you’re ahead, that’s always been his motto – and after telling Nick he’ll see him at work he makes his way out of the apartment. Sensation has finally returned to all his limbs by the time the elevator doors open onto the lobby, and he’s still smiling as he leans against the outside of the building to wait for his cab – because instead of collapsing in front of MTV with a microwave dinner after his shift, he’s wound up having two hours of the best sex he’s had in some time, and that’s not bad by anyone’s standards.
During the journey to the lab the following night, the fact that he’d broken his vow never to come on to someone he worked with had really had a chance to sink in, and Greg had found himself seized by an unaccustomed twinge of guilt; but he needn’t have worried, because by the time he arrived Nick hadn’t been there – called away along with one of the others to a murder/suicide just off the Strip, a case that had occupied most of the shift. Greg had spent his night discovering that there seemed to be an almost permanent backlog of work waiting for him, and by the time the shift was over he was barely able to keep his eyes open. He’d accepted an invitation to breakfast with some of the others at the nearby Denny’s, not because he was hungry but because a few mugs of coffee would at least keep him awake long enough to drive home; but he only made it as far as his car before he fell asleep, and his eyes snapped open when someone rapped sharply on the driver’s side window…
“Huh?” he says, rubbing his eyes with the heels of both hands. “Christ, I was – Nick.”
“Had to come back for my wallet,” Nick says, once the window has been rolled down. “You okay?”
“Long night,” Greg replies. “I’m supposed to…”
“Breakfast, I know,” is the response. “You don’t look like you need breakfast, though, you look like you need to sleep for a week,” and there’s friendly concern in the Texan’s dark eyes. “Come on, let me take you home.”
“Nick,” Greg says, “you don’t…”
“Listen,” Nick interrupts, a half-smile on his lips as he leans close enough to the window for the scent of whatever cologne he’s wearing to reach Greg’s nostrils, and all of a sudden that nagging guilt is back again. “Forget last night for a minute, okay? Get your ass into my truck before I have to carry you.”
*********
“I thought Grissom told us you moved to Vegas a month ago,” Nick says as he scans the living room, which – like the hallway of Greg’s tiny apartment – is full of boxes, most of which haven’t been opened. “What are all these?”
“It’s three weeks ago, actually,” Greg replies, rubbing his eyes again and feeling his face burning the way it did when he had to ask Nick for his address. “And – well, I’m not good at putting stuff away, okay?” and he tries to keep the defensiveness out of his voice as he speaks. “I said you didn’t want to come up here, didn’t I?”
“Hey, I missed breakfast to drive you home so you wouldn’t run off the road,” Nick retorts, and although he’s smiling it isn’t the same way he smiled the first time Greg saw him at the lab. “The least you can do is offer me coffee,” and fortunately there’s milk in the fridge that hasn’t become a science experiment; several minutes later the two of them are at opposite sides of Greg’s tiny kitchen table, each holding a mug of coffee, and eventually it’s Nick who breaks the silence. “Listen, Greg…”
“Forget it,” Greg says, holding his free hand up to silence the brush-off he’s certain is coming; although he’s trying to look casual about this he isn’t sure he’s succeeding - but he doesn’t know why he’s allowing himself to feel this bad, because after all it isn’t the first time something like this has happened, and he’s always succeeded in chalking it up to experience before. “You did something you didn’t mean to do, we’ve all been there.”
“No, wait,” Nick tells him quietly, and as he speaks he stares down into the contents of his mug. “Please,” and he looks up and waits for a nod before he carries on speaking. “I meant to do it, but I don’t know why,” he continues, the volume of his voice dropping even further. “It isn’t me, not now, and -” He breaks off again, and there’s a sigh that pulls at something in Greg’s gut. “I’m not ashamed of what I am, okay?” Nick says eventually. “It’s a long story, you won’t want to hear it, but…”
“What if I do?” Greg says then; he doesn’t know why he’s saying this – he’s always been like the Marines, don’t ask don’t tell - he just knows somehow that he’s got to, and he sees Nick’s head come up sharply. “You want to have supper before our next shift and talk? Not here,” he adds hastily, glancing around his untidy kitchen, and the words bring a tentative smile to Nick’s face. “You look like you could use a friend, that’s all,” he says, cursing himself as soon as the words are out because they must sound so stupid after what’s already happened between the two of them – but Nick’s response isn’t what Greg expects.
“Yeah,” the older man says, and there’s relief in the dark eyes that meet Greg’s. “Yeah, I could.”
They’d met up at Denny’s before their shift the following day, and there’d been cheeseburgers and fries and endless mugs of coffee while Nick had talked - the older man looking down at his hands most of the time, as though he didn’t want to see his companion’s reaction to what he was saying…
“I guess I’m just lucky my folks were cool with it,” Greg says, and he pushes away a plate where the food has long since gone cold. “They were used to not knowing what to expect from me by the time I came out, so it was probably just one more thing to them,” he continues, unable to stop himself from smiling. “They said it was fine with them as long as I was careful, pretty much the same as the day I got my first chemistry set – sorry,” he says, a sheepish expression on his face. “That’s probably more than you wanted to know, isn’t it?”
“No,” Nick tells him quietly. “You probably think it’s pretty stupid of me to have been afraid to tell my folks for so long, right?”
“Hey, if my dad was a judge in Texas, I’d probably have been the same,” Greg says, his throat tightening at the brittle smile that’s appeared on Nick’s face. “How did your mom handle it?”
“Better than dad did,” is the answer, and something softens in Nick’s eyes. “She hasn’t brought him round yet, I’m not sure anyone’s ever going to be able to do that, but at least I haven’t been cut off completely,” he continues. “Mind you, I know I won’t ever be able to take someone back to the ranch like the others do, but -” He breaks off then, forcing a snort of laughter and motioning the waitress over for more coffee; once their mugs have been refilled, he glances across the table, and while his mouth opens no words emerge.
“What you said last night at my place,” Greg says, breaking the silence. “About it not being you, not now…”
“When I first came to live out here,” Nick says, clasping his hands around his mug, “I thought to myself, I’m not going to run into anyone dad knows if I go to a bar or a club, you know? I was in them almost every night I wasn’t working, it was like I was making up for lost time, and I – well, it felt so good, I wasn’t hiding anything from anybody any longer.” Another pause, another gulp of coffee, and then he sucks in a deep breath before speaking again. “I just got tired of it, spending a night or two with someone and then moving on – it wasn’t the sex, that was still good,” and he forces another one of those half-smiles that don’t quite work. “It just wasn’t enough, I wanted it to mean something, and I stopped going to bars – god, must be more than a year ago,” he says, staring down into his mug again. “Damn, this is coming out all wrong,” he goes on after another lengthy silence. “I wish I thought the way you think, that’s all.”
“Me?”
“Not doing relationships,” Nick replies, and he looks up in time to catch the stricken look on Greg’s face. “Hey, you were honest with me,” he says, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Nothing happened that I didn’t want, I just – you know what? If you meant what you said last night, I could use a friend,” he goes on. “Everyone on the team knows I’m gay, they don’t have a problem with it, but they…”
“- haven’t been there,” Greg says, and he receives a nod in response. “Yeah, I meant what I said – I just – no, never mind.”
“What?”
“I thought people were supposed to have dinner and talk before they had sex,” he says before he can stop himself, and Nick chokes on a mouthful of coffee before bursting out laughing; when he regains his composure he’s smiling, a real smile this time, and the tightness in Greg’s throat is loosened. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Nick says, wiping his mouth with a napkin before he looks at his watch. “Damn, we need to go, we’ve been sitting here over two hours. No, I’ll get this one - you let me talk your ear off, the least I can do is pay for the privilege,” he adds when he sees his companion reaching into his pocket. This time, it’s Greg's turn to laugh, because he likes Nick despite the fact that this all seems to be happening in the wrong order; and even though he’d never have thought he’d say it, “just being friends” - actually sounds pretty good.
To be continued.
Title – Forever
Author -
black_dahlia63Characters – Nick and Greg
Rating – R/NC17? There’s smut, anyway. Eventually.
Spoilers – Play With Fire in the second part
Disclaimer – not mine, just borrowing.
They were in the same restaurant where they spent part of every Saturday night that they weren’t in the lab; Nick had found it eight months ago when he was talking to a witness in a murder case the team was working, and he and Greg had been going there ever since. Most of its trade seemed to take place during weekday lunch hours, and as a result they practically had the place to themselves on Saturday evenings; the middle-aged female owner would fuss over them, tease them gently about ordering the same thing every time – Nick always had steak, Greg the blackened catfish – and always seemed to sense when they wanted to be left alone rather than see the latest photos of her grandchildren in New Orleans.
And tonight was one of the nights when she’d left them alone, approaching the table only to bring them more food or another pitcher of ice water. They’d rehashed the case which led to both of them giving evidence in court the previous morning, revisited the ongoing discussion about where they were going to spend Thanksgiving; every so often they would say the same thing at the same time, and there’d be a pause of a few seconds before they burst out laughing. There were periods of silence too, but not the kind born of awkwardness – rather, the kind that occur when you know someone so well that you don’t need to say something in order to make yourself understood.
“Let’s go to Dallas,” Greg said after one of these silences, and there was a smile on his face as he looked up from his now-empty plate. “May 17th is the big one for my folks, anyway, so -” and he didn’t get any further before Nick leant across the table and kissed him. The contact was brief, lasting only seconds, but it still made Greg’s breath catch because Nick didn’t do this in public very often; they leaned back in their chairs, still looking at each other, and before either of them could speak a shadow fell across the table.
“What about some coffee, you two? Dessert? I’ve got some of that bread pudding you like, fresh out of the oven -”
“Couldn’t manage it if I tried,” Greg replied. “I think I’d burst,” and his ears picked up a faint chuckle from across the table over the zydeco music emerging from the nearby speaker. “Nick?”
“Not this time,” Nick said with some regret, wishing he’d forgone his appetizer as he thought of their favourite dessert with its accompanying sauce made almost entirely of Jack Daniels. “Can you bring us the check?”
“Sure thing, sugar,” and as the restaurant owner bustled away Nick glanced across the table; Greg was looking at him steadily, a half-smile hovering on his lips and one eyebrow raised quizzically.
“What?”
“Thank you,” Nick said quietly, his throat tightening inexplicably. “For -”
“For what? You’re picking up the tab,” Greg interrupted, his smile widening, but he reached across the table to clasp Nick’s hand; there was another silence then, one that was broken when a Styrofoam box was set on the table between them. “Uh, Louise?” Greg said, turning his head. “We didn’t…”
“On the house,” was the immediate response. “Take it home and have it for breakfast,” and there was a warm smile to accompany the words as Nick delved into his pocket with his free hand in search of his wallet. “Next Saturday?”
“We’re working,” the two of them told her in unison, before a shared glance and more laughter as Greg let go of Nick’s hand and they pushed their chairs back. Nick handed over two folded bills, telling Louise to keep the change and suppressing a smile as the middle-aged woman ruffled Greg’s hair and said take care, darlin’ the way she always did; another thirty seconds brought the two of them outside, breathing in the humid late-evening air, and when Nick slung an arm round Greg’s shoulders as they walk towards the car Greg fell into step with him as though he’d been doing it his whole life.
************
The phone began to shrill as Greg was locking the apartment door, and Nick snatched the receiver out of its cradle on the fifth ring. “Hello?” he said, and his face lit up. “Mom! No, we went out to get something to eat…well, yeah, we have, actually - is Cisco on the extension?” and he kicked off his shoes as he walked along the hallway with the phone cradled between his left ear and his shoulder. “We were talking about it over supper…” and the rest of the conversation faded out as Greg walked into the kitchen.
He sat down, the takeout box in front of him on the table, and he looked around the kitchen that had been “theirs” for just over a year. He let his eyes take in the chipped Dallas Cowboys mug on the counter, the slips of paper held against the fridge door with magnets to remind them of Nick’s root canal appointment on Thursday and the tenants’ meeting the following week; his expression grew distant then, his ears picking up the far-off hum of Nick’s voice, and he thought about how different everything had become for him.
Forget all that shit about “gaydar”, because Greg had never thought it was anything to do with what team you played for. It was about looking at someone you found attractive, having them look back at you and knowing they’d take things further in a heartbeat if they could, and he’d seen just as many straight couples do that…
…and that’s exactly what had happened the first night he showed up at the lab and saw Nick; even now he could remember the handshake and the smile, the Texas drawl, the briefest of glances that had fired his blood and left him momentarily speechless despite the vow he’d always made never to come on to anyone he worked with. He’d spent that first shift wondering whether everything really was bigger in Texas, whether Nick was already seeing anybody and how serious it was if the answer was yes; then, at the end of the night, he’d leaned in the doorway of the locker room after everyone else except Nick was gone and made his move. He couldn’t remember what he’d suggested – breakfast? coffee? It hadn't been what he'd really wanted, anyway – but he remembered the look in Nick’s eyes as he’d nodded and slammed his locker door shut, and Greg had been half hard before they’d even reached the space in the parking lot where Nick had left his truck.
A ten minute drive had brought them to an apartment so unlike his own, one that didn’t have boxes everywhere because despite having lived there for almost a month he still hadn’t finished unpacking, and Greg still remembered every detail of the remainder of that night…the scrape of stubble against his neck, the clash of lips and teeth and tongue as they kissed, the way Nick’s hand had shaken while he’d put on a condom…then the tangle of limbs and grasping hands, the urgent whispers of yeah, like that and harder and c’mon which disintegrated into gasps and moans…
…but it was what happened afterwards that stuck in Greg’s mind even more.
“Christ, what the hell just happened?”
“Didn’t think you’d need that explaining, Mr. Stokes,” Greg says, and while he’s grinning the words are delivered in a shaky near-whisper, because “what just happened” has left him so wrung out that he doesn’t think he’ll be able to move for a week; then blood starts to migrate slowly back to his upstairs brain, and he plants a brief, demanding kiss on his companion’s mouth before levering himself up off crumpled sheets with a groan. He glances at the partly-open blinds and sees the beginnings of daylight filtering in – and damn is this going to play hell with his body clock, he should have been asleep hours ago, but he’s still grinning as he sets his feet on the floor because this has been so worth it.
“You don’t have to go,” that Southern drawl says, and Greg pauses in the midst of gathering up his clothes. “Sleep for a few hours, have breakfast, then I’ll kick you out,” Nick continues, as the younger man sits on the end of the bed to put on his socks. “Neither of us has to be anywhere till tomorrow night, right?”
“Nick…”
“Hey, no big deal,” Nick says, and in the dimly-lit room Greg picks out a brief flash of teeth in a smile, but it’s impossible to read the rest of his face. “At least tell me you’re not seeing someone else.”
“Why?”
“Wouldn’t mind doing this again,” is the answer. “Just don’t want to step on anyone else’s toes.”
“You won’t be,” Greg says as he starts to put on the rest of his clothes. “I don’t do relationships,” and he knows there’s a chance this might not go over too well – God knows, there’ve been times when it hasn’t in the past – but he’s always been honest with his partners and doesn’t see any reason to stop with this one. He’s got reasons for it, although nobody he’s ever dated has been told what they are; but he’s a good enough lover that most of the time guys accept that it’s only ever going to be the occasional night and don’t expect anything more…and damn, he hopes Nick Stokes falls into that group, because Greg wouldn’t mind doing this again either.
“Who does?” Nick replies, making Greg let out the breath he’s unconsciously been holding. “Probably isn’t a good idea to date someone you work with, anyway, right?” and if most of Greg’s conscious thought hadn’t evaporated through his dick several minutes previously he might have picked up the undercurrent in the words, but he’s still on too much of a high to do anything but take them literally. “Phone’s in the kitchen if you need it.”
“Got mine with me,” is the answer as Greg slides his feet into his shoes and locates his cell in one of the front pockets of his jeans after he’s zipped them up. Walking around to Nick’s side of the bed, he leans down for another kiss – one that lasts longer than the previous one and isn’t as demanding – and once it’s done, he’s flipping open his cell as he heads for the bedroom door. “Yeah, can I get a cab at – one second, okay?” and he can feel his face burning as he turns back towards the bed. “Nick, where are we?” he asks, hearing a soft chuckle that sends a tremor through his groin even though he could have sworn that after “what just happened” he wouldn’t have the strength to even think about sex for a week; he repeats the address Nick gives him into the phone, says “that’ll be fine” when he’s told someone will be there in ten minutes. He ponders kissing Nick again, decides against it – quit while you’re ahead, that’s always been his motto – and after telling Nick he’ll see him at work he makes his way out of the apartment. Sensation has finally returned to all his limbs by the time the elevator doors open onto the lobby, and he’s still smiling as he leans against the outside of the building to wait for his cab – because instead of collapsing in front of MTV with a microwave dinner after his shift, he’s wound up having two hours of the best sex he’s had in some time, and that’s not bad by anyone’s standards.
During the journey to the lab the following night, the fact that he’d broken his vow never to come on to someone he worked with had really had a chance to sink in, and Greg had found himself seized by an unaccustomed twinge of guilt; but he needn’t have worried, because by the time he arrived Nick hadn’t been there – called away along with one of the others to a murder/suicide just off the Strip, a case that had occupied most of the shift. Greg had spent his night discovering that there seemed to be an almost permanent backlog of work waiting for him, and by the time the shift was over he was barely able to keep his eyes open. He’d accepted an invitation to breakfast with some of the others at the nearby Denny’s, not because he was hungry but because a few mugs of coffee would at least keep him awake long enough to drive home; but he only made it as far as his car before he fell asleep, and his eyes snapped open when someone rapped sharply on the driver’s side window…
“Huh?” he says, rubbing his eyes with the heels of both hands. “Christ, I was – Nick.”
“Had to come back for my wallet,” Nick says, once the window has been rolled down. “You okay?”
“Long night,” Greg replies. “I’m supposed to…”
“Breakfast, I know,” is the response. “You don’t look like you need breakfast, though, you look like you need to sleep for a week,” and there’s friendly concern in the Texan’s dark eyes. “Come on, let me take you home.”
“Nick,” Greg says, “you don’t…”
“Listen,” Nick interrupts, a half-smile on his lips as he leans close enough to the window for the scent of whatever cologne he’s wearing to reach Greg’s nostrils, and all of a sudden that nagging guilt is back again. “Forget last night for a minute, okay? Get your ass into my truck before I have to carry you.”
*********
“I thought Grissom told us you moved to Vegas a month ago,” Nick says as he scans the living room, which – like the hallway of Greg’s tiny apartment – is full of boxes, most of which haven’t been opened. “What are all these?”
“It’s three weeks ago, actually,” Greg replies, rubbing his eyes again and feeling his face burning the way it did when he had to ask Nick for his address. “And – well, I’m not good at putting stuff away, okay?” and he tries to keep the defensiveness out of his voice as he speaks. “I said you didn’t want to come up here, didn’t I?”
“Hey, I missed breakfast to drive you home so you wouldn’t run off the road,” Nick retorts, and although he’s smiling it isn’t the same way he smiled the first time Greg saw him at the lab. “The least you can do is offer me coffee,” and fortunately there’s milk in the fridge that hasn’t become a science experiment; several minutes later the two of them are at opposite sides of Greg’s tiny kitchen table, each holding a mug of coffee, and eventually it’s Nick who breaks the silence. “Listen, Greg…”
“Forget it,” Greg says, holding his free hand up to silence the brush-off he’s certain is coming; although he’s trying to look casual about this he isn’t sure he’s succeeding - but he doesn’t know why he’s allowing himself to feel this bad, because after all it isn’t the first time something like this has happened, and he’s always succeeded in chalking it up to experience before. “You did something you didn’t mean to do, we’ve all been there.”
“No, wait,” Nick tells him quietly, and as he speaks he stares down into the contents of his mug. “Please,” and he looks up and waits for a nod before he carries on speaking. “I meant to do it, but I don’t know why,” he continues, the volume of his voice dropping even further. “It isn’t me, not now, and -” He breaks off again, and there’s a sigh that pulls at something in Greg’s gut. “I’m not ashamed of what I am, okay?” Nick says eventually. “It’s a long story, you won’t want to hear it, but…”
“What if I do?” Greg says then; he doesn’t know why he’s saying this – he’s always been like the Marines, don’t ask don’t tell - he just knows somehow that he’s got to, and he sees Nick’s head come up sharply. “You want to have supper before our next shift and talk? Not here,” he adds hastily, glancing around his untidy kitchen, and the words bring a tentative smile to Nick’s face. “You look like you could use a friend, that’s all,” he says, cursing himself as soon as the words are out because they must sound so stupid after what’s already happened between the two of them – but Nick’s response isn’t what Greg expects.
“Yeah,” the older man says, and there’s relief in the dark eyes that meet Greg’s. “Yeah, I could.”
They’d met up at Denny’s before their shift the following day, and there’d been cheeseburgers and fries and endless mugs of coffee while Nick had talked - the older man looking down at his hands most of the time, as though he didn’t want to see his companion’s reaction to what he was saying…
“I guess I’m just lucky my folks were cool with it,” Greg says, and he pushes away a plate where the food has long since gone cold. “They were used to not knowing what to expect from me by the time I came out, so it was probably just one more thing to them,” he continues, unable to stop himself from smiling. “They said it was fine with them as long as I was careful, pretty much the same as the day I got my first chemistry set – sorry,” he says, a sheepish expression on his face. “That’s probably more than you wanted to know, isn’t it?”
“No,” Nick tells him quietly. “You probably think it’s pretty stupid of me to have been afraid to tell my folks for so long, right?”
“Hey, if my dad was a judge in Texas, I’d probably have been the same,” Greg says, his throat tightening at the brittle smile that’s appeared on Nick’s face. “How did your mom handle it?”
“Better than dad did,” is the answer, and something softens in Nick’s eyes. “She hasn’t brought him round yet, I’m not sure anyone’s ever going to be able to do that, but at least I haven’t been cut off completely,” he continues. “Mind you, I know I won’t ever be able to take someone back to the ranch like the others do, but -” He breaks off then, forcing a snort of laughter and motioning the waitress over for more coffee; once their mugs have been refilled, he glances across the table, and while his mouth opens no words emerge.
“What you said last night at my place,” Greg says, breaking the silence. “About it not being you, not now…”
“When I first came to live out here,” Nick says, clasping his hands around his mug, “I thought to myself, I’m not going to run into anyone dad knows if I go to a bar or a club, you know? I was in them almost every night I wasn’t working, it was like I was making up for lost time, and I – well, it felt so good, I wasn’t hiding anything from anybody any longer.” Another pause, another gulp of coffee, and then he sucks in a deep breath before speaking again. “I just got tired of it, spending a night or two with someone and then moving on – it wasn’t the sex, that was still good,” and he forces another one of those half-smiles that don’t quite work. “It just wasn’t enough, I wanted it to mean something, and I stopped going to bars – god, must be more than a year ago,” he says, staring down into his mug again. “Damn, this is coming out all wrong,” he goes on after another lengthy silence. “I wish I thought the way you think, that’s all.”
“Me?”
“Not doing relationships,” Nick replies, and he looks up in time to catch the stricken look on Greg’s face. “Hey, you were honest with me,” he says, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Nothing happened that I didn’t want, I just – you know what? If you meant what you said last night, I could use a friend,” he goes on. “Everyone on the team knows I’m gay, they don’t have a problem with it, but they…”
“- haven’t been there,” Greg says, and he receives a nod in response. “Yeah, I meant what I said – I just – no, never mind.”
“What?”
“I thought people were supposed to have dinner and talk before they had sex,” he says before he can stop himself, and Nick chokes on a mouthful of coffee before bursting out laughing; when he regains his composure he’s smiling, a real smile this time, and the tightness in Greg’s throat is loosened. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Nick says, wiping his mouth with a napkin before he looks at his watch. “Damn, we need to go, we’ve been sitting here over two hours. No, I’ll get this one - you let me talk your ear off, the least I can do is pay for the privilege,” he adds when he sees his companion reaching into his pocket. This time, it’s Greg's turn to laugh, because he likes Nick despite the fact that this all seems to be happening in the wrong order; and even though he’d never have thought he’d say it, “just being friends” - actually sounds pretty good.
To be continued.
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