Burning Love

[10th-letter.livejournal.com]

Help! I was attacked by a plot bunny wearing a leather jumpsuit! I really can't stop writing Nick/Greg fic. It's a disease, really. I swear, these boys can't get enough of each other.

Title: Bruning Love
Rating: R, just to be safe.
Warnings: Some language and implied sex. Oh, and leather. ;-)
Summary: Guess what's on Nick's iPod...



Greg Sanders didn’t know what to think. He had seen his boyfriend through some serious moment and

some light moments as well. He was willing to accept all of Nick’s quirks, Lord knows Nick accepted all of

Greg’s. But enough was enough. Greg should have know something was up when he heard the opening chords of

Jailhouse Rock coming from the bedroom he and Nick shared. Putting down the take-out Chinese he had

picked up on his way home, he followed the sounds. It couldn’t be. Could it? Greg was willing to put up

with the Toby Keith marathons and even the occasional Carrie Underwood song, but Elvis? The only thing that

would make it any more bizarre would be if Nick was wearing a white leather jumpsuit.


He was. Greg couldn’t believe his eyes. There was Nick, in a rhinestone studded jumpsuit dancing

around to the radio remix of A Little Less Conversation. He even had the sunglasses on. Greg was

fighting an internal battle. Would he burst out laughing, or would he be overcome at the sheer cuteness of

the scene? Either way, Nick looked really good in leather. Greg made a mental note to buy Nick another pair

of leather pants. As soon as Nick started playing air synthesizer, Greg couldn’t restrain himself. He burst

out laughing. Nick finally heard him.


“Jeez! Greg! You scared the shit outta me!” screamed Nick, spinning around. The chorus had kicked

in “A little less conversation, a little more action…”


“I couldn’t resist myself, Nick. You’re just too funny sometimes. You hound dog you.” Said Greg,

chuckling.


“Listen, Greg, you tell no one, got it?” said Nick sternly advancing on Greg. When Nick Stokes

got mad, you noticed. Luckily, Nick noticed the worried look on his boyfriend’s face and eased back a bit.


“No one knows but us and the wall paper. Besides, what do you expect me to say, ‘Hey, Grissom, I

walked in on Nick in an Elvis costume in the bedroom we share and I had to hold back not to fuck his brains

out right there while our dinner got cold.’?” Said Greg.


“So, ‘Fuck my brains out, huh?’ You know, this outfit is getting a little hot. Wanna help me out

of it?” Nick said, walking over to the bed, winking at Greg.


“Viva Las Vegas, baby!”