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nickngregTitle: Prettier and Younger, But Not Any Better Off
Chapter: 1
Rating: PG-13, but that's subject to change as the story progresses
Warning: Er...light swearing, suggestion of non con
Summary: A series of cases plaguing the crime lab come together as Nick and Greg work out the clues.
Spoilers: Light ones for Fannysmackin' and Who Shot Sherlock
“This guy looks familiar,” Nick Stokes said to himself, snapping photos of the latest victim to be processed by the Las Vegas Crime Lab. He was standing in a dimly lit hospital room at Desert Palm awaiting an SAE kit and diagnosis for the young man he was photographing. Nick looked at the man again and felt a shiver sneak down his spine. The man had sandy brown hair that was on the longish side, just starting to curl at the ends. Beneath the purpling bruises on his face was a straight nose and round cheekbones; his skin used to be smooth but was now scraped in all possible manners. Nick remembered where he had seen this guy before: he could have been the twin brother of three recent victims of similar crimes.
Nick passed a hand over his eyes, stopping to massage the bridge of his nose. So they had a serial abuser running around on the streets. This victim, like the others, had been found in a parking garage near the strip, no certain one in particular. Each victim had been brutally beaten and robbed. Worst of all, each had been sexually assaulted; the perpetrator had not left a trace of himself yet. Nick gingerly lifted the hand of the drugged man and proceeded to gather any evidence under his fingernails. As he slid the wooden stick under the last nail, Nick jumped nearly a foot when the hand he was holding clenched suddenly around his own. His victim was awake and terrified by the sounds he was making.
“Where am I?” he wailed. “What happened?” He continued to babble until Nick placed a hand on his heaving chest and pressed gently.
“Calm down, sir,” Nick said warmly, “You’re at Desert Palm, you’ve been beat up pretty bad. Do you remember anything that happened?” The man stopped struggling and sank back into the pillows with his eyes closed. He said nothing for a period of time; Nick thought he had fallen back asleep. As he turned to pack up his kit, however, he heard the man’s voice.
“I didn’t see their faces,” he said, barely above a whisper.
“You didn’t?”
“They were wearing ski mufflers or something. Black fabric.”
Nick closed his mouth and breathed hard through his nose. So there was more than one perpetrator, now, and they covered their faces.
“What’s your name, sir?”
“Aaron Jones.”
“Can you give me a run-down of your night?” Nick asked.
The young man nodded slowly before swallowing. “I turned 21 two days ago, so my buddies thought they would take me to the casino. I actually won,” there was a little spark of emotion other than pain when he said these words, but when he continued, it was in the same monotone voice as before. “I won three purple chips. That’s fifteen hundred dollars, man. After, we went out for drinks. I don’t remember how many I had.” He stopped there, looking sheepish.
“Hey, we’ve all been there, don’t worry about it. At least you were legal,” Nick said. “What happened after drinks?”
The young man’s eyebrows scrunched together as he struggled to remember the night. “We went back to the parking garage. My buddies were on a different level. I was on the top, I love parking on the top, no one else parks there. We said goodbye, and then I rode the elevator to the top. When I got to my car, something hit me on the side of my head…” he trailed off apologetically.
“I understand. Do you remember seeing anyone on your level or anywhere in the parking garage?”
“There was a group of older guys on the same level as my friends…I think there was a couple on the same level as me, but they were…busy. The night guard, a couple of gang bangers, oh, there was a homeless guy on my level. He was asleep when I passed him. I remember because I was excited to go home and sleep off the alcohol. Sorry, I know that wasn’t much help.”
“No, no, that helps. Alright, I want you to feel better. I’m going to talk to your doctor and go back to the crime lab to process your evidence. Maybe these guys left something this time.” Nick turned to leave, but stopped short when the young man asked a question.
“What do you mean, this time?”
Nick was not sure whether he should tell the man about the other victims; he was saved the trouble.
“There were other attacks, weren’t there? I’m not the first.” Nick nodded slowly. He heard a slow intake of breath, and turned in time to see a tear slide down the man’s bruised cheek. Not wanting to embarrass the man, Nick slowly retreated from the room, running into the doctor on the way out.
“Hey doc, what can you tell me?” Nick asked softly.
“This patient is the worst case so far, though all of them were bad. He has several hairline fractures, one on his left ulna, two on his right. Three ribs are cracked, telling me he was probably kicked,” the doctor said. He was a rotund, cheery-looking individual, complete with rosy red cheeks, and so receiving this type of information waxed ironic. “He is suffering from a major concussion; I’m amazed he could remember anything. The worst is the area of his assault. He suffered internal tearing and trauma from the assault; it seems this victim was actually penetrated fully rather than a couple of inches like the other victims. Here’s the SAE kit, I sure hope you find something this time,” the doctor finished, handing Nick a large bindle of evidence.
“Thanks. Can I get a copy of your diagnosis, too?” Nick asked.
“Yessir, I made an extra one. I know how you CSI’s like that kind of stuff,” the doctor said, stuffing a paper into Nick’s already full arms.
“Nice to know someone’s paying attention. Thanks again.” Nick turned and shuffled awkwardly to his Denali under the weight of his processing kit, the SAE kit, his camera, and the new documents.
A short drive later, he parked his car in the parking garage and slid out despondently. It looked like it was going to be a long night. He flipped open the hatch door and began sorting through the mess in the back of the SUV. While sorting, Nick failed to notice another Denali screeching to a halt in the parking space next to him, but there was no mistaking the roar coming from inside. As the driver clambered out of the vehicle, Nick straightened up. There was no mistaking who it was. As if the gray sweater-vest over the pale blue button down paired with black skate shoes were not enough, the spiky hair and jaunty walk were definitely telling. The fact that the man was still shaking his hips to the now silenced music confirmed Nick’s surmise without question.
“Hey, stranger,” he said to the retreating form. Greg Sanders turned around, his features lit by a bright smile, the one that was all teeth and innocence.
“Hey, Nick. Just get back from the hospital?” Greg replied, walking over to Nick.
“Yeah. Gotta whole bunch of evidence to process and log.”
Greg patted Nick hard on the cheek. “Poor baby.”
“I actually have something to show you, follow me.” Nick walked back toward the driver’s seat of his Denali, Greg so close behind he could feel the younger man’s breath on his neck. They were effectively nestled between both SUV’s, so when Nick grabbed Greg by the shoulders and pressed him against the vehicle, not even the security camera could see them. Nick leaned onto Greg’s chest and brushed his lips against the tempting pink ones.
“I missed you too, baby,” Greg mumbled on the lips now furiously attacking his own.
“No talking,” Nick said roughly before diving back in. He traced Greg’s lower lip with his tongue and growled happily when Greg opened his mouth, allowing the kiss to deepen. Feeling Greg slide slowly down the Denali, Nick threw one arm around the slim waist and clamped another in the spiky hair on the back of Greg’s head. Their tongues slid against each other, twining around one another and then exploring favorite places in the other’s mouth. Teeth clicked as the kiss became more erratic with passion, but the need for oxygen forced them apart.
“Good god, Cowboy. Miss me?” Greg asked, panting and slightly flushed, his dark pink lips wet and parted.
“Where have you been this week?” Nick replied while watching with fascination as his thumb traced random paths across Greg’s smooth cheek and down his neck, coming to a stop on the bony protrusion of his collarbone.
“Working, baby, just like you.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
“We’re both off on Sunday,” whispered Greg, using his fingertips to scrape lightly across one of Nick’s pectorals.
Nick growled, “I can’t wait,” before descending on the pink lips again. As he ravaged his lover’s mouth, all other external stimuli failed to affect him. That is, Nick stopped looking, stopped listening. He focused on the smell, the taste, the feel of Greg’s lips against his own. He felt the vibration as Greg moaned appreciatively into the kiss. He tasted the general hint of coffee that was always on Greg’s tongue, and also mint gum and what Nick guessed to be powdered sugar from the left over dozen donuts that they had bought over the weekend. Nick inhaled as he nibbled on Greg’s addictive mouth, smelling the oranges of Greg’s soap, the slight chemical smell of Greg’s hair product, and the hint of earthy musk that was Greg’s own brand and quickly becoming Nick’s favorite. Nick threaded his fingers through the sandy brown hair as he lost himself in his lover’s presence.
Before he could register what was happening, Greg put both hands on his chest and shoved him hard; he bumped his head on the opposite vehicle.
“Stokes, you’ve crossed the line!” Greg raised his voice, “If you try that again, I’ll inform Grissom.” Nick knew his mouth was wide open with shock as he stared back at his lover who had moments before thrown him against a car. Greg was staring back, his eyebrows drawn in anger, but the anger did not reach his deep brown eyes. What Nick saw was alarm and a hint of fear mixed with panic. Nick felt his own eyebrows draw together. Then he heard the unmistakable shuffle of footsteps. He snapped his head to the right and realized that the security guard was ambling by, staring avidly. It all clicked into place.
“Sorry, Sanders. I was out of line. I need to go, anyway.” Nick dipped his head to hide the intense blush that was working its way up his face. He gave a halfhearted wave to the guard before shoving his upper body as far as he could into the back of his Denali, ostensibly gathering his evidence. He listened as the footsteps got quieter before dying off completely. He heard Greg move closer but jumped when a warm hand settled on his ass.
“That was a close one. Sorry I pushed you,” Greg said, giving Nick an affectionate squeeze. Nick straightened up and grabbed Greg’s hand.
“Yeah, that was close. It’s okay, though, I wanted a lump there,” he pointed to the bruising area of his skull. “Makes it look like I have more hair there.”
Greg’s eyes glinted and his mouth quirked into a small smile. “Oh damn. I forgot the Rogaine at the grocery store yesterday.”
“Oh shut up.”
“You started it.”
Nick wrapped his arm around Greg’s waist and planted a kiss on the mischievous smile. “Yeah, I did. I’ll see you later?”
“Griss called me to a scene; I had to come by and restock before I met him. Someone attacked in a parking garage or something.”
“Yeah…hey, we may be working the same case, G. Is it the parking garage behind the Luxor?”
“Yeah,” Greg replied. “I guess you’ll have to control yourself, boss. Can’t be hitting on your inferiors on the job.”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re wearing the jeans, though.”
Greg leaned his head to the side, twisting his body in an effort to look at his own ass. “I am.” With that, he slapped Nick on the ass and proceeded into the building, leaving Nick to wrestle all the evidence out of his Denali by himself.
--- - - - - - -
Greg smiled to himself as he left Nick behind, feeling, as always, unbelievably lucky to have hooked a real winner like the Texan. The years of flirting and dancing around one another finally came to a crescendo after his beating, when Nick broke down in the hospital room. That day Nick confessed his slew of nightmares that kept him awake every time Greg got hurt, his endless nights of jacking off to Greg fantasies and his growing love of the exuberant ex lab technician. It would be an understatement to say that Greg was surprised; Greg was floored by this onslaught of truths. In fact, if he had not been lying down already, he most probably would have fallen over. He had never really expected Nick to return his feelings. Greg was content with flirting with Nick till the cows came home and then using any and all the memories to pleasure himself with Nick’s name on his lips. Greg fell in love with Nick the day that he became a CSI because through his training and proficiency tests, Nick was the only one who did not deride him for failing his one proficiency test at the nightclub. Nick was the only one who supported him and helped him whenever Greg needed it; Nick seemed to be on call whenever Greg wanted, and Greg admired the loyalty. If Nick was this loyal to a friend, Greg could only imagine how devoted he would be as a lover. So that day Nick confessed, Greg felt an odd weight lift from his chest. He had not realized it then, but the weight was that of unrequited love. As soon as Greg realized that he would get love from Nick, he realized how miserable his life was without it. And they made out a few days later, and Greg knew he would never be able to go back to life without Nick. Something about the broad arms felt like home, and Greg never wanted to leave.
Finally inside the building, Greg quickly gathered the necessary supplies to refill his depleted kit. He waved a hasty hello to Mandy and Wendy, had a short bicker with Hodges, and joked around with Archie for a few seconds before returning to the parking garage, giving the guard an awkward wave, and hopping in his SUV.
Grissom was already processing the scene when he walked up, apparently absorbed in bug activity or whatever it was that interested him. Greg always liked to know what interested Grissom because, as much as he hated to admit it, Grissom’s miniscule clues usually ended up being the case-breakers.
“Hey, Grissom,” Greg said, setting his kit down carefully, so as not to disturb the scene.
“You’re late, Greg,” Grissom said, without looking up.
“I had to refill my kit. I ran into Nick on the way, he said this is his crime scene too. So we, uh, went over the victim’s details.”
“Good, what did he say?” Greg bit his tongue.
“I actually don’t remember. Nick will probably call you, though.” Grissom was quiet for a moment.
“Look at this, Greg, tell me what you see.” Greg shuffled over to where Grissom was squatting. He looked at the area on the pavement where Grissom’s finger pointed. Aside from a black spot of old gum, the cement appeared pretty plain. Greg leaned in closer and noticed a faint spot. “What do you suppose that is?”
“It looks like something is drying. Have you swabbed it?”
“I was about to when you showed up,” Grissom said, handing Greg a Q-tip. “I’ll let you do the honors.”
“Gee, thanks, Grissom,” Greg said moodily as he swiped the swab through the wetness. It proved to be a little more viscous than water, but less so blood. “I think it’s spit.”
Grissom raised his eyebrow, his mouth set authoritatively.
“Sorry, saliva. I think it’s saliva.”
“Greg, you really need to work on your vocabulary, it makes the scene easier to process and the court doesn’t have to decipher colloquial terms.”
“Yeah, Grissom, thanks,” Greg grumbled as he labeled the swab unknown saliva sample. The one thing about working with Grissom, while informative and interesting in the extreme, was that he had to do everything textbook. With the others Greg could joke around and speak how he wanted, but with Grissom it was only processing and protocol. In fact, he wished Nick was here and Grissom was logging evidence, because at least then he could pick on his lover if he got bored. But it was Grissom, and so the next three hours were spent in near silence as they combed over the rest of the cement and the nearby vehicles. Just as Greg was stretching his aching back, something caught his eye. It was wedged between the hood of the closest car and the windshield, in the one inch space occupied by the windshield wipers and the air vents.
He hurried over to his case, extracting his forceps and an evidence bag, before returning to the car. As he fished the object out, he called to Grissom.
“Grissom, I may have something here. It looks like a poker chip, but it’s wedged pretty deeply into this space.” Grissom wandered over serenely, a slight smile on his lips as he watched Greg struggle with the forceps. Finally, after much maneuvering and swearing, under his breath of course, Greg popped the purple plastic disc out.
“It may not be related, but bag it. We’ll print it back at the lab, but I’ll have this car impounded to our garage just to be sure. Nice eye, Greg.” Greg felt himself grinning widely as he sealed and labeled the evidence bag. It was rare that Grissom directly complimented him, so when it happened, Greg could not help but walk a little taller. Ever since that day that he failed his proficiency test, he constantly second-guessed himself on the field. It was nice to know he did something right occasionally. As he packed the last of the evidence into his Denali, Greg sought permission to leave. Grissom was talking on his cell phone, surely to Sara, but he gave Greg a little nod. Greg did not wait for him to change his mind; he leapt into his SUV, cranked up the volume of the radio, and screeched out of the parking garage, eager to get back to the lab and maybe check up on Nick.
Ah, yes, I’m back my dears with a new fic. And for once I didn’t end the chapter with a cliffie. I hope you are enjoying this so far, bad things are going to happen though. So be prepared. Not much else to update as of yet, but I’ll get to work ASAP on the next chapter.
Lovelovelove
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Date: 2007-10-18 05:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-18 07:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-19 02:33 am (UTC):(
This was great tho.