fic - Five Love Songs
Aug. 14th, 2008 11:04 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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nickngregTitle: Five Love Songs
Rating: PG-13 for swears
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Summary: Twenty minutes later, Nick has successfully put out the fire and gives Greg an icepack for his head. “Well, at least we didn’t have to call the fire department,” he says brightly.
A/N: HOLY SHIT, I WROTE A HAPPY FIC, GUYS! ::does a dance of joy:: The first bit is [Bad username or site: @ livejournal.com]’s fault. You can find the topic and subsequent conversation here.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything, everything belongs to its respectful owner, all that jazz.
i. – “She Is Beautiful,” by Andrew WK
“Wake up, sleepy head!”
Nick Stokes groans in his sleep and pulls the covers over his head. “What time is it?” he asks, his voice slurred and the question muffled by the duvet.
“It’s time for you to get up and eat some breakfast.”
“Greg, it’s our day off. Can we just sleep?”
“No,” Greg says and unceremoniously tears off the blankets.
Nick lets out a cry of protest but stops when he sees Greg standing next to the bed holding a tray and smiling that wide “I’m-cuter-than-you-and-trust-me-I-know-it” smile. “Did you make me breakfast?” Nick asks.
Greg rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that’s why I’ve been standing here like a dumb ass for the past fifteen minutes.” He hands Nick the tray.
Cautiously, Nick takes it, takes one smell and feels about ready to throw up. Burnt toast, a glass of orange juice that’s been in the fridge for about eight months now, black pancakes drenched in syrup and something that looks like… “Greg, is that cat vomit?”
“No, that’s cereal, stupid.”
“Why does it look like cat puke?”
Greg sighs. “Because you didn’t have any cereal and I wanted to make you some. See, I made this from scratch. It looks like Coco Puffs but tastes like Lucky Charms.” He sniffs disdainfully in a way that reminds Nick of Hodges. “I’m a genius.”
Slowly, Nick looks down at the cereal then up at Greg before noticing that Greg’s hair is wet. “I didn’t hear the shower running…”
“Yeah, about that– ” Greg begins, when the smoke detector goes off. “Oh, shit, not again.”
Nick follows Greg into the kitchen, where smoke pours from the oven and music blasts. “Did you try to make pancakes in the oven?” Nick shouts over the music. He can hear snippets of it, mostly And though I never know you, I look at your face and I give everything I got to this beautiful girl, she’s the only thing I live for in the whole wide world.
Greg is silent for a long time and all Nick can hear is the smoke detector blaring and the music before, “Maybe.” He runs for the sink and grabs the nozzle. Turning it on, he angles it at the burning oven and pulls on it, until he slips on the wet floor, tangled up in the hose and falls. “Ow, fuck!” he swears.
Twenty minutes later, Nick has successfully put out the fire and gives Greg an icepack for his head. “Well, at least we didn’t have to call the fire department,” he says brightly.
Greg scowls. “My ego is bruised. So is my ass.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what you get for trying to be romantic.”
ii. – “Just Like Heaven,” by the Cure
Nick closes his eyes and leans his head back. His head aches and all he wants to do is go home and collapse in bed.
“Well, that was fun,” Greg chirps brightly as he climbs in the Denali.
“Only because that one girl gave you her phone number,” Nick mutters darkly.
Greg smiles at the memory. “She was cute, wasn’t she?”
“I’m pretty sure she was seventeen.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because she was wearing an Eldorado High School T-shirt that had “’08” on the back, indicating she graduates this year. And I heard her talking to Sofia and she mentioned that the vic was helping her plan her birthday party for next week, so you’re shit outta luck, bud. Besides, you already have a boyfriend.”
Greg sighs. “Would you be up for a threesome?”
Nick snorts. “Just take us back to the lab, man. I’m tired.” He opens his eyes when he sees Greg starting to put a CD in. “No way, G. Veto. No Cure tonight.”
“Come on, Nicky,” Greg pleads, and Nick knows that tone and he knows that Greg knows it can turn his knees into Jell-O and makes him putty in Greg’s hands. “Just a few songs. Then we can listen to… the Dixie Chicks or something.” At Nick’s sigh of defeat, Greg cackles and puts it in the CD player. “Come on, Nicky, this is a love song. It’ll get you in the mood.”
Closing his eyes, Nick listens to the music and he has to admit that he sort of likes it. He’s not too fond of Greg singing along, though.
“Daylight licked me into shape,” Greg croons, slaughtering the song the way his father killed pigs back in Dallas. “I must have been asleep for days. And moving lips to breathe her name, I opened up my eyes to find myself alone.”
Just when Nick gets completely comfortable and finds himself able to block out the sound of Greg’s singing, he hears sirens. “Are you joking?” he moans.
Greg pulls over and rolls down the window, grinning at the unsmiling cop. “Is there a problem, officer?”
“Sir, did you notice the three stop signs back there?” the cop asks, jerking his thumb behind him. Before, Greg can answer, the officer states, “You ran three stop signs and I’m going to need to see your driver’s license and registration for this vehicle.”
When the officer walks away for a moment, Greg looks at Nick with large, pleading eyes. “I’m sorry. I know you just wanted to go home and – ”
Nick cuffs him on the head. “Just… shut up for a while, Greg.”
iii. – “Exit Music (for a Film),” by Radiohead
“I never really liked this version of Romeo and Juliet, to be honest,” Nick confesses. “It felt too fast, you know? I always thought I was going to have a seizure.”
Greg glares at him. “Shh! This is the best part!”
“This is the part where Romeo kills himself,” Nick points out.
“Shut up!” Greg growls and shoves more popcorn in his mouth, washing it down with a Jack and Coke.
Nick does as he’s told and watches as Leonardo diCaprio sobs over Claire Danes’s seemingly dead body. “Would you kill yourself if you thought I died?” Nick blurts out.
“What did I say about shutting up?” Greg demands. Then he says, “Maybe.” He snuggles up against Nick. “I’m just going to warn you, the last time I watched this, I cried like a child.”
“I’ve got tissues handy,” Nick supplies.
Greg wasn’t lying, Nick realizes, because the floodgates open as Juliet watches her Romeo die in her arms. “Why did he drink the poison?” Greg nearly wails. “They were so good for each other!”
Awkwardly, Nick wraps his arms around Greg. “Um, their suicide helped end the family’s feud?”
“But they were in love,” Greg whines.
For never was there a tale of more woe than that of Juliet and her Romeo, the newscaster finishes and Nick sighs as he listens to the ending music. It’s something soft and slow, very pretty, he decides. Breathe, keep breathing. Don’t lose your nerve. Breathe, keep breathing. I can’t do this alone. Sing us a song, a song to keep us warm. There’s such a chill, such a chill.
“Greg? Listen to this,” Nick murmurs, shaking the younger man slightly. “Listen to this music, it’s beautiful.”
Greg’s answer is a loud snore and Nick sighs. “Come on, lover boy,” he mutters. “Let’s get you to bed.”
iv. – “Feel Like Makin’ Love,” by Bad Company
Nick is really starting to understand Grissom’s “no loud music in the lab” policy.
He tries not to gawk as Greg dances around, shaking his ass and waving his arms around. Oh, God, now he’s playing the air guitar.
“You can stop now, Sanders,” Hodges tells him.
“You can blow me, Hodges,” Greg returns. “I’ll have you know that the Greg Sanders Experiment is going to blow Davey Hodges and the Lemons out of the freaking water. You wanna know why?”
“Not really.”
Greg ignores him. “Because I’ve got Wendy as my back-up dancer.”
Wendy looks up. “Why did no one tell me this?”
“Because Sanders lives in a fantasy land where he actually has a purpose,” Hodges tells her.
Again, Greg goes back to ignoring Hodges and shaking his ass. “Baby, if I think about you, I think about lo-o-ove. Darlin’, if I live without you, I live without lo-ove,” Greg sings, doing some sort of butchered Michael Jackson dance moves. “And if I had those golden dreams of yesterdays– ” here, he adds a sort of air-grind and backs up until he’s in the hall, still shaking his ass and Nick’s pretty sure he’s died of embarrassment.
He’s resurrected and dies again when he sees Grissom walking down the hall, absorbed in a case file. “Oh, fuck,” is all Nick manages to say when Greg rubs his backside against their supervisor.
“Feel like makin’ love!” Greg shouts finishing his song.
“Greg?”
The blonde spins around, giving Grissom that wide, deer in the headlights look. “Yes, sir?”
Grissom looks unperturbed as he stares at the young CSI. “No music in the lab.”
“Technically, there wasn’t any playing. I was just singing.” Greg flashes Grissom his winning smile.
“And no singing,” Grissom adds, before heading back to his office.
Greg sighs and saunters over to Nick, collapsing next to him. “So, was that hot or what?”
Nick blinks. “G, I think I’ve been more aroused when Ecklie’s chewing on my ass than when you sing and grind on Griss.”
v. – “Maps,” by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, Nick sighs. He’s still not sure why he’s come to this stupid conference. Sure, he’s been wanting to see Los Angeles for a while, but now he’s starting to see why Greg called it a “massive shithole built on a pair of donkey balls.”
He jumps when he hears the phone ring and scrambles to answer it. G. Sanders flashes back at him. “Hey,” he says.
“Hey.” Greg sounds tired but pleased to hear him. “How was your flight?”
“As well as could be expected,” Nick answers, checking the clock. It’s two in the afternoon. “Greg, shouldn’t you be sleeping?”
“I just wanted to check up on you. Make sure you’re doing all right.”
Nick can’t help but smile at that. “Thanks.”
“Just doing my duty,” Greg tells him and yawns. “Check your suitcase. I put something in there when you weren’t looking.”
“If you put plastic explosives in my bag, I will be very unhappy.”
Greg chuckles. “Talk to you later. Love you.”
Nick says, “I love you, too,” to the dial tone before he opens his suitcase. Inside, he sees a CD case and a note. He opens the note first.
To Nicky, love Greg.
Smiling a little, Nick takes the CD out of the case and puts it in his little portable player.
The first song starts out with a trembling guitar chord, then the drums start up. The singer is female with a slow, sexy voice. Pack up, I’ve strayed enough. Oh, say, say, say, oh, say, say, say, she sings, and Nick wonders why Greg would like this song enough to put it on a mix CD. Wait, they don’t love you like I love you. Wait, they don’t love like I love you, she pleads. My kind’s your kind, I’ll stay the same. Pack up, don’t stray, oh, say, say, say. Wait, they don’t love you like I love you. Wait, they don’t love you like I love you. Maps, they don’t love you like I love you.
Nick feels a rush of affection for Greg and puts the song on repeat before texting him, “I won’t stray.”
end.
Rating: PG-13 for swears
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Summary: Twenty minutes later, Nick has successfully put out the fire and gives Greg an icepack for his head. “Well, at least we didn’t have to call the fire department,” he says brightly.
A/N: HOLY SHIT, I WROTE A HAPPY FIC, GUYS! ::does a dance of joy:: The first bit is [Bad username or site: @ livejournal.com]’s fault. You can find the topic and subsequent conversation here.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything, everything belongs to its respectful owner, all that jazz.
i. – “She Is Beautiful,” by Andrew WK
“Wake up, sleepy head!”
Nick Stokes groans in his sleep and pulls the covers over his head. “What time is it?” he asks, his voice slurred and the question muffled by the duvet.
“It’s time for you to get up and eat some breakfast.”
“Greg, it’s our day off. Can we just sleep?”
“No,” Greg says and unceremoniously tears off the blankets.
Nick lets out a cry of protest but stops when he sees Greg standing next to the bed holding a tray and smiling that wide “I’m-cuter-than-you-and-trust-me-I-know-it” smile. “Did you make me breakfast?” Nick asks.
Greg rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that’s why I’ve been standing here like a dumb ass for the past fifteen minutes.” He hands Nick the tray.
Cautiously, Nick takes it, takes one smell and feels about ready to throw up. Burnt toast, a glass of orange juice that’s been in the fridge for about eight months now, black pancakes drenched in syrup and something that looks like… “Greg, is that cat vomit?”
“No, that’s cereal, stupid.”
“Why does it look like cat puke?”
Greg sighs. “Because you didn’t have any cereal and I wanted to make you some. See, I made this from scratch. It looks like Coco Puffs but tastes like Lucky Charms.” He sniffs disdainfully in a way that reminds Nick of Hodges. “I’m a genius.”
Slowly, Nick looks down at the cereal then up at Greg before noticing that Greg’s hair is wet. “I didn’t hear the shower running…”
“Yeah, about that– ” Greg begins, when the smoke detector goes off. “Oh, shit, not again.”
Nick follows Greg into the kitchen, where smoke pours from the oven and music blasts. “Did you try to make pancakes in the oven?” Nick shouts over the music. He can hear snippets of it, mostly And though I never know you, I look at your face and I give everything I got to this beautiful girl, she’s the only thing I live for in the whole wide world.
Greg is silent for a long time and all Nick can hear is the smoke detector blaring and the music before, “Maybe.” He runs for the sink and grabs the nozzle. Turning it on, he angles it at the burning oven and pulls on it, until he slips on the wet floor, tangled up in the hose and falls. “Ow, fuck!” he swears.
Twenty minutes later, Nick has successfully put out the fire and gives Greg an icepack for his head. “Well, at least we didn’t have to call the fire department,” he says brightly.
Greg scowls. “My ego is bruised. So is my ass.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what you get for trying to be romantic.”
ii. – “Just Like Heaven,” by the Cure
Nick closes his eyes and leans his head back. His head aches and all he wants to do is go home and collapse in bed.
“Well, that was fun,” Greg chirps brightly as he climbs in the Denali.
“Only because that one girl gave you her phone number,” Nick mutters darkly.
Greg smiles at the memory. “She was cute, wasn’t she?”
“I’m pretty sure she was seventeen.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because she was wearing an Eldorado High School T-shirt that had “’08” on the back, indicating she graduates this year. And I heard her talking to Sofia and she mentioned that the vic was helping her plan her birthday party for next week, so you’re shit outta luck, bud. Besides, you already have a boyfriend.”
Greg sighs. “Would you be up for a threesome?”
Nick snorts. “Just take us back to the lab, man. I’m tired.” He opens his eyes when he sees Greg starting to put a CD in. “No way, G. Veto. No Cure tonight.”
“Come on, Nicky,” Greg pleads, and Nick knows that tone and he knows that Greg knows it can turn his knees into Jell-O and makes him putty in Greg’s hands. “Just a few songs. Then we can listen to… the Dixie Chicks or something.” At Nick’s sigh of defeat, Greg cackles and puts it in the CD player. “Come on, Nicky, this is a love song. It’ll get you in the mood.”
Closing his eyes, Nick listens to the music and he has to admit that he sort of likes it. He’s not too fond of Greg singing along, though.
“Daylight licked me into shape,” Greg croons, slaughtering the song the way his father killed pigs back in Dallas. “I must have been asleep for days. And moving lips to breathe her name, I opened up my eyes to find myself alone.”
Just when Nick gets completely comfortable and finds himself able to block out the sound of Greg’s singing, he hears sirens. “Are you joking?” he moans.
Greg pulls over and rolls down the window, grinning at the unsmiling cop. “Is there a problem, officer?”
“Sir, did you notice the three stop signs back there?” the cop asks, jerking his thumb behind him. Before, Greg can answer, the officer states, “You ran three stop signs and I’m going to need to see your driver’s license and registration for this vehicle.”
When the officer walks away for a moment, Greg looks at Nick with large, pleading eyes. “I’m sorry. I know you just wanted to go home and – ”
Nick cuffs him on the head. “Just… shut up for a while, Greg.”
iii. – “Exit Music (for a Film),” by Radiohead
“I never really liked this version of Romeo and Juliet, to be honest,” Nick confesses. “It felt too fast, you know? I always thought I was going to have a seizure.”
Greg glares at him. “Shh! This is the best part!”
“This is the part where Romeo kills himself,” Nick points out.
“Shut up!” Greg growls and shoves more popcorn in his mouth, washing it down with a Jack and Coke.
Nick does as he’s told and watches as Leonardo diCaprio sobs over Claire Danes’s seemingly dead body. “Would you kill yourself if you thought I died?” Nick blurts out.
“What did I say about shutting up?” Greg demands. Then he says, “Maybe.” He snuggles up against Nick. “I’m just going to warn you, the last time I watched this, I cried like a child.”
“I’ve got tissues handy,” Nick supplies.
Greg wasn’t lying, Nick realizes, because the floodgates open as Juliet watches her Romeo die in her arms. “Why did he drink the poison?” Greg nearly wails. “They were so good for each other!”
Awkwardly, Nick wraps his arms around Greg. “Um, their suicide helped end the family’s feud?”
“But they were in love,” Greg whines.
For never was there a tale of more woe than that of Juliet and her Romeo, the newscaster finishes and Nick sighs as he listens to the ending music. It’s something soft and slow, very pretty, he decides. Breathe, keep breathing. Don’t lose your nerve. Breathe, keep breathing. I can’t do this alone. Sing us a song, a song to keep us warm. There’s such a chill, such a chill.
“Greg? Listen to this,” Nick murmurs, shaking the younger man slightly. “Listen to this music, it’s beautiful.”
Greg’s answer is a loud snore and Nick sighs. “Come on, lover boy,” he mutters. “Let’s get you to bed.”
iv. – “Feel Like Makin’ Love,” by Bad Company
Nick is really starting to understand Grissom’s “no loud music in the lab” policy.
He tries not to gawk as Greg dances around, shaking his ass and waving his arms around. Oh, God, now he’s playing the air guitar.
“You can stop now, Sanders,” Hodges tells him.
“You can blow me, Hodges,” Greg returns. “I’ll have you know that the Greg Sanders Experiment is going to blow Davey Hodges and the Lemons out of the freaking water. You wanna know why?”
“Not really.”
Greg ignores him. “Because I’ve got Wendy as my back-up dancer.”
Wendy looks up. “Why did no one tell me this?”
“Because Sanders lives in a fantasy land where he actually has a purpose,” Hodges tells her.
Again, Greg goes back to ignoring Hodges and shaking his ass. “Baby, if I think about you, I think about lo-o-ove. Darlin’, if I live without you, I live without lo-ove,” Greg sings, doing some sort of butchered Michael Jackson dance moves. “And if I had those golden dreams of yesterdays– ” here, he adds a sort of air-grind and backs up until he’s in the hall, still shaking his ass and Nick’s pretty sure he’s died of embarrassment.
He’s resurrected and dies again when he sees Grissom walking down the hall, absorbed in a case file. “Oh, fuck,” is all Nick manages to say when Greg rubs his backside against their supervisor.
“Feel like makin’ love!” Greg shouts finishing his song.
“Greg?”
The blonde spins around, giving Grissom that wide, deer in the headlights look. “Yes, sir?”
Grissom looks unperturbed as he stares at the young CSI. “No music in the lab.”
“Technically, there wasn’t any playing. I was just singing.” Greg flashes Grissom his winning smile.
“And no singing,” Grissom adds, before heading back to his office.
Greg sighs and saunters over to Nick, collapsing next to him. “So, was that hot or what?”
Nick blinks. “G, I think I’ve been more aroused when Ecklie’s chewing on my ass than when you sing and grind on Griss.”
v. – “Maps,” by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, Nick sighs. He’s still not sure why he’s come to this stupid conference. Sure, he’s been wanting to see Los Angeles for a while, but now he’s starting to see why Greg called it a “massive shithole built on a pair of donkey balls.”
He jumps when he hears the phone ring and scrambles to answer it. G. Sanders flashes back at him. “Hey,” he says.
“Hey.” Greg sounds tired but pleased to hear him. “How was your flight?”
“As well as could be expected,” Nick answers, checking the clock. It’s two in the afternoon. “Greg, shouldn’t you be sleeping?”
“I just wanted to check up on you. Make sure you’re doing all right.”
Nick can’t help but smile at that. “Thanks.”
“Just doing my duty,” Greg tells him and yawns. “Check your suitcase. I put something in there when you weren’t looking.”
“If you put plastic explosives in my bag, I will be very unhappy.”
Greg chuckles. “Talk to you later. Love you.”
Nick says, “I love you, too,” to the dial tone before he opens his suitcase. Inside, he sees a CD case and a note. He opens the note first.
To Nicky, love Greg.
Smiling a little, Nick takes the CD out of the case and puts it in his little portable player.
The first song starts out with a trembling guitar chord, then the drums start up. The singer is female with a slow, sexy voice. Pack up, I’ve strayed enough. Oh, say, say, say, oh, say, say, say, she sings, and Nick wonders why Greg would like this song enough to put it on a mix CD. Wait, they don’t love you like I love you. Wait, they don’t love like I love you, she pleads. My kind’s your kind, I’ll stay the same. Pack up, don’t stray, oh, say, say, say. Wait, they don’t love you like I love you. Wait, they don’t love you like I love you. Maps, they don’t love you like I love you.
Nick feels a rush of affection for Greg and puts the song on repeat before texting him, “I won’t stray.”
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no subject
Date: 2008-08-15 05:59 am (UTC)Chelle
no subject
Date: 2008-08-15 06:18 am (UTC)(Dude, Hodges is one of my heroes. Do not be ashamed of your Hodges!love)
no subject
Date: 2008-08-15 09:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-15 10:47 pm (UTC)crack
Date: 2008-08-16 08:31 pm (UTC)Vignette things are fun, but mine are always long and arduous--like, I tell a single complete story via the vignettes, you know what I mean. I wish I had the free-and-easy, loosen-up-the-underwear-elastic mentality that allowed me to write 'nettes with the same *theme* (Nick and Greg are an item and Greg is, well, a bit overGreglike, much to his own amusement and Nick's annoyance and embarassment. (Though he will *never* top the dancing in the headress bit, in my opinion; I wish they'd've let him take the lab coat off, he probably really could have shaken the place down. Okay, the drumming in the augmented face mask and rubber glove on his head comes close.) But without a common plot thread, I would simply flounder. I can't write short. So here is another (cheerful) example of why you make me sick*AHEM* demonstrate a capability I greatly envy.
Good on the funnies. :D
no subject
Date: 2008-08-17 07:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-17 07:16 pm (UTC)Re: crack
Date: 2008-08-17 07:19 pm (UTC)Greg in the headdress just... God. There is no topping that. "Now... it's all woman! *head toss*" Although, yes, the drumming comes close. That was just amazing. "I always wanted to be a rock star."
You could totes write short. It's not hard! You just need a wandering mind like mine! :)
Thanks so much. :D