A/N: The author of this work does not in any way profit from the story. All creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s). CSI:Crime Scene Investigation is the property of CBS
This one-shot takes place some months after episode 8x11 'Bull'. I really hope you like it, please leave a comment...I live for reviews!
Pillow Talk
The sky had just begun to lighten with a barely perceptible glow, a faint line on the horizon signifying the onset of dawn. Las Vegas may be the city that never sleeps, but peace still existed in the residential neighbourhoods. In the early hours of the morning, the suburbs were hushed and still.
In a quiet bedroom filled only with the sound of steady breathing, Nick Stokes lay staring at the ceiling. Unable to sleep he counted the cracks in the plaster and when he was finished he counted them again. Tapping his fingers on his stomach he considered getting up, but the bed was comfortable and he was reluctant to leave the warmth of the covers.
Beside him Greg stirred, sighing deeply in his sleep as he rolled over onto his side, his back to Nick.
"Greg?" Nick whispered.
Greg didn't respond so Nick tried again, louder.
"Greg? You awake?"
"Mmmmm."
"Yeah. I can't sleep either," Nick scratched absentmindedly at his belly.
Greg was silent save for his deep and steady breathing.
"Know what I'd love right now?" Nick continued.
"Mmmm?" Greg mumbled.
"A corndog." Nick announced. The more he thought about it, the more he could almost taste it, the cornbread crispy and golden wrapped around a hot dog bursting with flavour. He nearly smacked his lips at the thought.
"A corndog?" Greg repeated; his voice thick with sleep.
"A corndog on a stick, like at a fair or a rodeo or somethin'. With mustard. Yeah. A corndog on a stick drippin' with mustard. I'd love that."
"'S winter Nick. No rodeos." Greg murmured, burrowing his head deeper into his pillow.
"When we were kids we used to go to the rodeo all the time," Nick continued as if he hadn't heard Greg. "We'd bet corndogs on the barrel races." Nick laughed at the memory then turned his head on his pillow to look at Greg.
Greg rolled onto his back, eyes shut as he tried to hold on to sleep. "Mmmph. Did you win?" He finally asked.
"Nah. I always picked the wrong horse. Went by the name I liked best instead of the stats."
Greg licked his lips before replying, "When's the last time you were at a rodeo?"
"Aside from the bull ridin' case we were on?"
"Mmmmm," Greg affirmed, eyes still shut and voice laden with sleep.
"I honestly can't remember." Nick said thoughtfully, turning his head to gaze back at the ceiling as he tried to recall. Memories of rodeos filled his mind. He could almost smell the musk of sweaty horses mingled with the earthy scent of churned dirt. He could hear the laughter and buzz of conversation rising above the clatter of fairground games. If he closed his eyes he could feel sticky cotton candy stuck to his hands, the sugar crystallizing on his tongue. Once again the taste of a corndog filled his mouth, his tongue nearly stinging with the memory of their heat, they were always far too good a snack to wait for the crisp batter to cool.
The room fell silent again as light began to creep in past the curtains. Greg drifted back down into sleep, his breathing slow and steady.
Nick lay happily recalling his childhood, eyes closed against the light stealing into the room. Sleep still eluded him, but with his mind occupied he didn't mind. He was content to lie beside Greg in the warmth of their bed as the world slowly lightened around them.
Suddenly Nick's eyes snapped open as an idea occurred to him. He smiled then rolled onto his side, slinging one arm around Greg's waist. Grinning widely he nuzzled into Greg's neck before he broke the silence, eager and excited.
"Greg? Do you think it'd be easy to make homemade corndogs?"
***