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[jettblack0110.livejournal.com]

 Title: Domestic Chores
Chapter: 5/12
Author: jettblack0110
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Language and hints at some boy love

 

“I’m not fit-shaced, Nicky,” slurred a very drunk Greg as he stumbled up the stairs, leaning heavily in Nick’s warm embrace.

“Oh really? So I’m just carrying up the stairs because you’re my new bride?” Nick replied, have far less margaritas than his enthusiastic lover.

“Gotta get your wurrghout someow,” Greg said, falling to his knee on the top step. It was Warrick’s birthday; Nick and Greg had treated him to a night at the bar playing pool. It just happened to be Two Dollar Margarita Night, and Greg was never one to say no to tequila. Nick felt the smile crawl across his lips as he watched Greg struggle to stand back up. “Fuck you, Nicky. Helb me up.” At least Greg had managed to enunciate the words that counted.

Nick hauled Greg up by his armpits but gave a slight cry of distress as the inebriated man jumped slightly and wrapped his lean legs around Nick’s waist.

“G, what are you doing?”

“I thought yuwer carryin me.” He nuzzled his face into Nick’s shoulder. Nick turned his head to the side avoiding the stench of cheap alcohol.

“We’re two feet from the door. Can’t you walk?”

“Nope. Stop spinning, will you?

“I’m not spinning, G, that would be the alcohol.” With much difficulty, Nick extracted his house key from his front pocket and slid it in the doorknob. As he turned the key, a wet mouth clamped itself over Nick’s. Greg tasted like lime and tequila and salt, and the kiss was increasingly sloppy. Nick pulled his face back with a disgusting squelch. “What are you doing?”

“Makin out with m’sexy boyfriend.”

“Greg, you taste more like a margarita than the margaritas did. Can’t you wait until tomorrow?”

“Yuwer th’won gropin me jusdaminnut ago.”

“I wasn’t groping you, I was getting the key out of my pocket.” But Greg was not listening. He had attached his mouth to Nick’s neck, leaving a sticky, lime-flavored trail of saliva. It was not that Nick did not want to screw Greg—he was always up for sex with Greg—but right now it would be like taking advantage of the drunk girls at the frat parties. If Greg was not going to remember it, why bother?

When his knees started to quiver, Nick realized he was still cradling a full-grown drunk man in his arms as if he were a little kid that had fallen asleep in the backseat. He snaked a hand back down to the doorknob and gave it a twist. Tripping over the threshold he deposited Greg unceremoniously on the couch.

“Hey, I was busy,” whined Greg, not moving from his current position. Nick had kicked his shoes off and was now examining his toes which were aching from his run in with the threshold.

“Yeah, yeah,” Nick muttered. “Baby, you really need to get to bed.”

“Not tired.”

“It’s not your sleep I’m worried about. You are gonna have one hell of a hangover tomorrow. Remember the last time you drank too much tequila? You had to call in sick for work.”

“S’ok. Hadn’t taken a sick day n’long time. Nowun knew.”

“I told Griss. He said it was a good thing it was a slow day.” He tucked his head back down to finish his examination for broken bones—his toes throbbed painfully—when he felt a breeze of cool air pass over his head. He snapped his eyes to his impaired lover, noticing he was now missing a shoe and glaring.

“You told Griz?” Greg fumbled with the other shoe, abandoning the shoelaces and just ripping it off.

“Yeah. I can’t lie to him, G, you know that.” Nick ducked this time as the other shoe made its way toward his head.

“Yur n’trouble now, Stoges.” He lurched off the couch and tackled Nick. Seeing as Nick was already sitting on the floor, it was not much of a feat, but nonetheless, Nick now had a very drunk CSI sitting on his chest.

“Baby, you’re crushing me,” Nick choked as Greg gave a few bounces.

“Nicky, you told m’secret to Grizzom. You need t’be punished.” He then finished what he had started earlier, placing open-mouthed smacks on Nick’s face and neck. Nick was not sure whether he was aroused or disgusted. On one hand, he never turned down foreplay with Greg, just as he did not turn down sex with Greg. On the other hand, Greg smelled like a brewery and apparently got more slobbery with more alcohol. Greg very obviously was aroused. When Greg unbuttoned Nick’s shirt and assaulted a nipple, Nick abandoned whatever qualms he had just had. He rolled them over, stood them up, and dragged Greg to the bedroom, lime-flavored saliva and all.

Nick awoke to the sound of bare feet on the floor, the bathroom door being thrown open, and the toilet lid slamming. He did not have to hear what came next to know that Greg was tasting those margaritas again. He smiled to himself smugly before rolling out of the heavenly warmth of their bed and stumbling to the kitchen. When he eventually ambled into the bathroom, he found Greg curled in the fetal position around the toilet. Grimacing at the creak his knees gave, Nick threw a small blanket over the slightly shivering form and set a glass of Sprite down by Greg’s head. He rubbed soothing circles on the pebbled back, and Greg exhaled a cross between a sigh and a moan.

“Don’t ever let me drink tequila again,” Greg said, his voice gravelly with sleep and bile.

“That’s what you said last time, remember? You threatened me with no sex last night if I didn’t let you have a margarita,” Nick said as he raised his other hand to stroke Greg’s forehead. “Drink the Sprite.”

“Mmmff, too tired.”

“And what happens when you have nothing left to throw up? Dry heaves are painful, G.”

“Fine,” Greg moaned before lifting his head up a fraction of an inch and tilting the glass to meet his lips. Nick took pity on his sick lover.

“Here, baby,” he said tenderly, “Put your head here in my lap.” Greg blinked slowly before rolling his head onto Nick’s knees. Nick threaded his fingers through the sleep-disheveled hair before kissing the soft temple of the sleeping man.

Somewhere in the confines of the house, Nick heard his cell phone ringing. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and groaned at the crick in his neck. He had fallen asleep sitting against the wall with Greg’s head in his lap.

The trill of the phone ceased, and Nick knew it was probably Grissom calling him in. At this moment, however, Nick did not care. Greg was snoring softly, his breath tickling the hairs on Nick’s leg. After throwing up four more times, Greg’s body finally finished the first round of punishment. But Nick knew the worst was yet to come. He eased Greg’s head onto a folded towel, taking great care not to wake him. Tiptoeing out of the bathroom, he went in search of the elusive, annoying cell phone. It was most likely that the phone was in his pants, wherever those were. Nick battled his own hang over headache, trying to remember where his pants had gone. Greg had jumped into his arms…they argued about something…there may have been flying shoes…then…Greg tackled him. Nick shuffled to the bedroom and found his pants awkwardly hanging from one of the bedposts. He shoved his hand in the pocket and extracted the phone. One Missed Call. No shit. Yep, it was Grissom. He listened to the message before shutting the phone off completely. No he would not get the message in time. No he would not be able to cover for one of Ecklie’s day grunts. No he did not think Greg could either.

Nick started a pot of Greg’s coffee, now a complete coffee connoisseur because of Greg. As the coffee brewed, he fished in the cabinet for Ibuprofen, and, finding a bottle, walked back to the bathroom. He found Greg groaning and massaging his temples.

“Oh, what did I do to deserve this?” Greg growled.

“You drank eight margaritas, hot shot.” Greg only moaned in reply. Nick took his share of pain reliever before tossing the bottle on Greg’s chest. “I’ve got coffee brewing.”

“Did I puke?”

“G, you’re in the bathroom. What do you think?” Greg blinked slowly and stupidly, realizing for the first time where he was.

“Is that all?”

“Well…you threw shoes at me. And then you slobbered on me. We fucked,” Nick maintained a casual tone.

“You fucked me when I was impaired?”

“Well, actually…” Nick trailed off. Greg’s eyes grew wide with comprehension.

“I should get drunk more often.”

“No! No. I like you sober, G.”

“Sober? Brother-Greg-would-you-like-to-say-grace sober?”

“No, not chaste. Just…let’s not repeat last night, ok?”

“You liked it.”

“The sex, yes. The vomiting, not so much.”

“Oh. Right. Did you sleep in the bathroom?” Nick nodded. “I love you.”

“Yeah yeah. You owe me big time, pal.” Greg pretended not to hear.

“So, about that coffee…” Nick cuffed him on the chin before hauling into his arms and planting a kiss on his forehead.

“I love you too, Greg.”

Comments

[boonesfarmgirl.livejournal.com]

This was so funny. Really hit the spot.

Poor Greg, doesn't remember the sex.

Chelle

[wojo62.livejournal.com]

I wouldn't turn down sex with Greg either, drunk or sober! Great story, very funny.