I don't own and yadda. And also, don't worry.
They were drunk, and no, it hadn't happened on purpose. Nick is pretty sure that Greg was still half - or more - sober, considering his speech was fine. It came as a surprise to Nick, that he was almost out cold but Greg was still standing.
What's even more surprising to him is that they're on the topic of sex. Pure sex; all out, screwing like bunnies sex. And Nick finds it interesting how he's holding back, but Greg's not and Greg's still sober.
Nick finds himself taking note of everything, every little thing, Greg does or says, trying to figure out if the subtext is there or not. Greg's lips aren't moving, but Nick's still staring.
"So, Nicky, how do you like it?" his coworker finally asks, after a bout of silence. Nick raises an eyebrow, the numbness of the muscles in his face and neck hitting him full force. "How do you like sex?"
"No, uh-uh," Nick chuckles, setting the bottle down and falling backwards to stare at the ceiling and he's glad he has tomorrow night off, or he'd never make it through shift. "Not answering that."
"Why not? We're both guys,"
"Exactly. Guys don't talk about sex with other guys," Greg howls with laughter, stinging Nick's eardrums, and he'd cover his ears if they weren't preoccupied already, keeping him from doing anything tell-tale, e.g. touching himself.
"Are you kidding me? It's, like..." Greg shakes his head with more laughter, lighter this time, and Nick tries to think of a comeback but his head hurts already and he can't. There's silence as Greg quietly takes sips from his bottle, slowly, and Nick's still paying attention to every thing that he does. "Bet you like it rough," he thinks outloud, and Nick cocks an eyebrow at him. "Sex," he says, not even bothering to blink. Nick senses the blush before he feels it, and Greg smiles. "So I was right. How do you get her into bed, get her to get so...down and dirty?"
"I'm not having this conversation," Nick laughs-slash-groans, and he can't believe he's having it; the entire night seems so surreal to him, but he's sure that's the alcohol just getting to him, putting a foggy effect on everything, making it seem like a dream. I'm lying in bed. Bed bed bed. Nick considers trying to click his heels together and think 'there's no place like home' but he knows that's just being desperate, and besides, there's a part of him that wants to see where the night - well, his night - ends up.
Greg's set his bottle on the coffee table, and Nick looks up at the sound. Greg's staring at him intently, and Nick doesn't dare break eye contact, afraid he'll ruin everything. It goes on for a while, and Nick didn't know he was ever so interesting. "Come on, man. Spill your secrets," there's that familiar twinkle in his eye and Nick's not completely sure what to think of it anymore; it's always there when there's touching or engaging in what Nick so fondly calls 'subtext,' but it's not there when he's feeding Ecklie or any of the other CSIs some shit about his job, and it's definitely not there when he talks to the lab techs, Mandy and Wendy - hell, even Archie and Nick knows Greg's closer to Archie than him - and Nick wonders what makes him so special. If he wasn't trying to glue his mouth shut, he'd ask.
He can't hold his head up much longer, and so he breaks eye contact, guilty, and lolls it around on the floor for a while, thinking about what he should tell Greg. Make things up, tell him that he hasn't had sex since Kristy? Make things up, tell him that he's gotten laid by tons of women? Make things up, tell him he's gotten amazing sex since Kristy? Or does he tell him the truth, that the women he's had sex with didn't compare to the men, and that the men weren't nearly as attractive as the CSI sitting on his couch in front of him? Nick decides easily he has to lie.
"Or, you know..." Greg shrugs, twinkle still in his eye and Nick's not sure if he's flirting or teasing when he finishes. "You could just show me," Nick's sitting up before he knows it, and Greg's suddenly inches from him. Nick feels that burning feeling in his throat, that sensation that makes him feel like...
"Greg, I have...I have to..." he can't even finish the sentence and he knows it's going to come out anyway, and he's not sure what it's going to look like once he does. Greg may be disgusted, he may enjoy it, but Nick thinks that anyone who'd enjoy it would be crazy because it burns so much on the way up it makes him think he'll never drink alcohol again.
"Come on Nick, spit it out," Greg pushes, and that's all Nick needs to react. And suddenly, he's glad Greg's bathroom is close by, because he's crawling towards the toilet, trying to hold back the stinging feeling in his throat, and when he actually makes it to the toilet and starts vomiting, Greg's right there beside him, rubbing his back and offering soothing pieces of advice. Nick wonders if Greg got all his domestic skills from his mother, but then decides better of saying it out loud when his body sends him a signal by convulsing and making him vomit again.
Nick doesn't even feel the time go by, and Greg's still there, the weight of his arm plesant of Nick's back. Nick would probably be a little weirded out if he wasn't so out of it. Besides...he kind of enjoys it.
"Should've been a Sanders. We hold our liquor well," so that's why he's not drunk off his ass. Nick wonders if changing his name would make a difference, and then snorts at the thought. "Hey, you don't believe me? I'll have you know..."
"No, no, man, I believe you..." Nick stands to wash his face, and heads to the sink. Greg follows him, placing his hand on Nick's back again and trying to comfort him. Nick catches his eye in the mirror, and finds his answer. The subtext is completely real.
Greg's arms snake around his waist, and Nick feels like he's lost his place as the dominant one. Feeling the need to prove Greg wrong, he turns around and kisses him, proving he's not and never will be "the girl." Not that he's judging or anything.
Things lead to the bedroom, and Nick manages to get through sex before passing out, his arms slithering around Greg's warm body, glistened with sweat. He falls asleep sticky, stuck to Greg, but content. He wills away the regrets.
When he wakes up the next morning, he's pretty sure he's proved his point, that he's not the girl. But Greg has been replaced with a pillow, cold sheets below it, and he revises his thoughts. Greg has proven him wrong, he concludes, as he breaks down and sobs.