nickngreg | October Challenge (Reply)

Hey hey! Here's my fic for this month's Bump in the Night challenge.

Title: Untitled (Bump in the Night)
Rating: PG
Summary: Fluffy oneshot. Something goes bump in the night. *wink wink*

Nick’s jaw cracked ominously as he stretched under the covers. The room was dark thanks to the thick curtains drawn at the window, not to mention the moonless October night. He rolled over and drew his arm around the warm form next to him, slightly snoring as he slept. Greg usually did not snore unless he was exhausted. And he very well should be, they had worked a triple homicide fashioned after a slasher flick just about twelve hours ago, and Greg had performed admirably. Greg had gotten home after Nick had fallen asleep; he had fallen into bed, snoring before he hit the mattress. Nick let a smile drift across his mouth in pride. His younger lover had shown up the senior CSI’s by finding the one clue that led them to the perpetrator; he deserved to snore. Nick wiggled closer and hugged Greg closer to his body, eliciting a slight moany groan from the sleeping man.

He tipped his head forward and pressed a soft kiss to the back of Greg’s neck, relishing the feeling of the baby soft hair growing there.

“Hey,” Greg’s voice said, thick with sleep.

“Sorry, G. Go back to sleep,” Nick said, kissing Greg’s neck again. Greg turned over so that they were facing one another. He slipped his arm under Nick’s, grabbing his waist and pulling them close.

“What’s up?” Greg asked softly. His eyelids still drooped, but they held the ever bright glint that always hinted at something a little more.

“Nothin’. I just…you were just there…and…” Nick felt the blush creeping into his cheeks and was embarrassed, even though he knew Greg could not possibly see it in the dark.

“Nick Stokes, are you trying to be romantic?”

“So what if I am?”

“Couldn’t you wait until I’m awake, at least? I can’t enjoy your attentions in the REM cycle.” Nick did not say anything in return; he pulled Greg flush up against him, pressing his lips firmly to Greg’s. Their kisses tonight held not the impatient, dominating passion they usually had. No, tonight they were slow and simmering, betraying the deepest feelings felt by both. There was not the usual frenzied clash of teeth and tongues; it was all soft lips and nibbles, fingers through hair, stroking cheeks, necks, backs. Their breaths were coming in short pants as the kisses became more demanding. Nick toyed with the hem of Greg’s shirt, pushing it up past his belly button. Just before he pulled the shirt off, however, a large crash cut through the silence of the room.

“What the hell?” Nick sat straight up, listening hard.

“What was it?” Greg asked, staring up at Nick.

“You didn’t hear that crash?”

“No. It was probably just a cat outside or something. Come back down here.” Greg patted the bed.

Nick frowned, still listening. “No, I think it came from our office.” As if on cue, another muffled crash resounded through the house. Nick threw off the blankets and crossed quickly to his gun sitting on the dresser.

“Nicky, come on. You can’t shoot everything that goes bump in the night. I think I left the window open in the office. The wind is probably blowing stuff around.” Greg was sitting up now, his hair sticking out in all directions. Nick was sorely tempted to drop his weapon and leap on the sleepy man, but he heard a new sound, a sort of scratching and moaning.

“G, don’t tell me you can’t hear that!” And then he was gone through the door of their bedroom. Greg sighed and crawled out of bed, wincing at the feeling of the cold wood on his bare feet. He caught up to the Texan at the end of the hall, around the corner from the office. Nick was completely silent, holding his breath to listen, but no sound was coming from the room. Greg squeezed Nick’s shoulder.

“Come back to bed,” he mouthed, only to be met with a furtive shake of Nick’s head. He pointed to his ear and then to the office as the scratching sound began anew. He held three fingers in the air, and counted down slowly. Three. Two. One.

Nick rounded the corner and rushed through the office door, gun drawn at the ready.

“LVPD!” he bellowed, screeching to a halt in the middle of the room. The room was an utter disaster. Papers were strewn all about the floor, some ripped, others soggy. A chair was overturned, and the rug disturbed. A potted plant had been tipped over, and the soil had been tracked all over. Books lay open, their pages flapping in the slight breeze from an open window. Nick’s antique fountain pen set was on the floor, the bottle of black ink dripping slowly into a puddle, which the perpetrator had tracked through. Nick’s eyes followed the black trail of prints and landed on a huddled brown figure in the corner of the room.

Greg pushed past him and lifted up the huddled form. It picked its head up, and Nick found himself staring into the brown eyes of a Labrador puppy. Nick opened his mouth to say something, but his throat was tight with emotion and no sound came out. His old dog had passed just before Greg and he got together, and Nick missed him sorely. It was clear that Greg had gotten him a new puppy. Nick lifted a tremulous hand and scratched the pup behind the ears, dodging the sharp, playful teeth.

“Greg, I…” he managed to choke out. He was stopped by Greg’s lips on his own, their proximity pressing the warm furry head into Nick’s chest.

“Happy Halloween, Nicky.”