A/N: I thought it was time I wrote some CSI. Now, this is my first CSI fanfic ever, but it shouldn't suck because I've had some practice with West Wing previously. *g* So, go ahead and read already!

A Kiss

Nick leant closer. Slowly. Inch by inch. He could see the other body tensing but not able to run away, either because of being trapped between the desk and the approaching man or because it simply couldn't move, and he kept closing. He could already feel the other's warm breath on his face; nervous, uncertain, shocked gasps. Even closer, closer, closer.

Their lips brushed against each other.

He moved his lips softly at first, feeling, tasting the taste of the other's mouth, drawing in the sensation of his lips against his, but then the kiss deepened, became more demanding, even frantic. Lips cracked. Nick pressed his body against the other, making him take more support from the desk he was leaning against to. He forced -- no -- persuaded the man's lips more apart with the tip of his tongue, moving it slowly on them, caressing his upper lip, then the lower, finally diving in between. The man's hands grabbed the edge of the table, fingers squeezing it with whitened knuckles, as his balance shattered under the fierce force of the kiss.

It was a needing kiss. Longing. Wanting. Fervent.

Nick's hands couldn't resist touching, fingertips itching to feel his burning skin under them. They started moving, traced up the man's arms, reached the collarbones, the neck -- his touch on his bare skin, the other thumb brushing against the pulse point, made the man shiver -- and dived into his hair. He took the man's lower lip between his teeth, biting it briefly, not too hard but enough to make a silent groan escape from the other's throat. Or was it his, he wasn't sure anymore. Then the tongue slipped in again, started exploring the inside. Now he could feel the other's hands holding on to his waist, not pulling, not pushing, just holding. The touch made him move closer, encouraged. His knee disappeared between the other's, a thigh rubbed against the other.

With a gasp the lips parted, the bodies pulled slightly apart. He could feel the blood thudding in his lips, forced there by the suction. "Nick," the other mouthed, the word barely a sigh. Nick's fingers were still tangled in the other's short, dark hair; his other hand had wandered to his waist in some point and was now gripping it tightly. His breath was a pant, his chest rising up and down, up and down, as he drew in air. He kept staring into the other mans deep brown eyes, as widened as he imagined his owns were.

It took a second before there were movement again. The other man's body jerked, as is startled by the sudden realization of what had happened, and his hands pushed violently at Nick's chest. He lost his hold of him, surprised by the force of this frantic movement. "Get off of me," the man breathed. Hissed. "Get off." His hands thrust again, making Nick lose his balance and stumble backwards. All he had time to realize was the hem of the white lab coat brushing his knee when the young lab tech swooped by him.

"Greg..." he pleaded out, but it was too late. He was already gone.