When Greg finally got home early in the morning after his shift, he immediately collapsed onto his sofa and fell asleep. He'd been so exhausted he completely forgot Nick was supposed to come over, until there was a knock on his door shortly after nine.
Grumbling, Greg hauled himself off the couch and practically sleepwalked over to the door. When he swung it open, he squinted against the brightness of the hallway lights.
"You look like hell," said Nick, eyes raking over the younger man.
That was probably true. "Hey," said Greg, "this is kinda like déjà vu, isn't it? Are you going to get me drunk and molest me again?" He batted his eyes innocently.
Playfully, Nick captured the young CSI into a swift headlock, pushing them both into the apartment and kicking the door closed behind them. "If I recall, you molested yourself Greggo," he said. "Not that I didn't enjoy it, mind you." Then, with no apparent provocation at all, Nick proceeded to give Greg the most intense noogie of his life. A moment later, Greg came up from the chokehold looking as though he'd been electrocuted.
"Well, I'm wide awake now," Greg said, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He watched Nick sit down on one of the stools behind the small breakfast bar. "You're certainly in a good mood," the young man commented, heading over to the fridge. He snatched a bottle of water off the door and cracked open the lid.
"Warrick and I just got through with a major case. Let me just say that I won't be sad to see the end of that mess," he vented, looking even more relieved than he sounded.
Greg nodded, gulping back a mouthful of water. "The dead lawyer in the park, right?"
"Yeah. I'm just glad it's over with." Nick tilted his head to the side, staring at Greg. "So how about you? How's your case?"
Setting down his water bottle, Greg delved into that day's events, telling Nick all about he and Sara's findings thus far.
"So after we found out it was fleece, I went back to the house to try and find whatever she was smothered with. Turns out it was one of those stupid Snuggie things—you know, the blankets with the sleeves? The killer just left it laying there in the bedroom."
"No kidding," said Nick, resting his arms on the counter.
"I was able to pull a couple hairs off of it, and even a bit of saliva. They may all be the vic's, but I guess we'll find out soon enough." Greg was about to ask Nick if he wanted to order breakfast when he suddenly remembered something and frowned. "You know, I had to face Hodges today with this ridiculous thing on my neck," he stated, pointing at his hickey. "His reaction was so far off from what I expected. He seemed almost happy—like it was visible proof of what he thinks he knows, but no one else will believe."
Nick shrugged. "Pretty ironic that he's been right this whole time, isn't it? I probably owe the guy a bit more credit, actually."
"Wait, what do you mean he's been right? He thinks we're fucking."
"And aren't we?" Nick challenged, crooking an eyebrow. "If he means in the literal sense then I guess he'd be wrong, but just because two people haven't had intercourse doesn't mean they're not lovers."
Greg could feel his heart pounding heavily in his chest. He had to be dreaming—maybe he was still asleep on his couch. That made more sense to him than what he'd just heard Nick say. Then again, Greg didn't want to be dreaming. Just because he was terrified didn't mean he was disappointed.
"Lovers, eh?" He offered Nick a playful wink. "Sounds much classier than fuck-buddy or friend with benefits, I'll give you that much."
Nick laughed, pulling Greg in across the bar for a soft kiss. "Never liked fuck-buddy anyway. It sounds like two people that have no feelings for one another—that just fuck for sex and nothing else," he said disdainfully.
Wryly, Greg thought to himself: well I'll be damned, he really is old-fashioned.
"I want you to know that this means more to me than that," Nick continued, casting a sincere look Greg's way. The young CSI could see it in Nick's eyes that the man was telling the truth. It made Greg feel light-headed.
Taking a deep breath, he replied, "That goes for me too, Nicky."
"Good news. The husband's back."
Greg stopped dead in his tracks, nearly spilling coffee all over both of them. He stared at Sara in disbelief. "You're kidding—where the hell was he?"
"Florida. On a business trip, apparently. Vartann looked into it and it checks out. We had no choice but to release him," Sara explained. "Though before he left I got his prints, a DNA sample, and had the chance to ask him about the purple Snuggie you found in the bedroom. He said it was Charlotte's, so that gets us nowhere."
Just then, both Sara and Greg's phones went off. Greg's was a page from Mia asking for him in the DNA lab right away. "Is that Mia?" Greg asked, gesturing to Sara's phone.
"Yep. She must have something on those hairs. Let's go."
The young CSI followed Sara down the hallway toward the DNA lab, where Mia was standing in front of the printer waiting for them.
"I think you'll be pleased with this," she told them, handing Sara a sheet of paper hot from the printer. "The saliva and several of the hairs on the blanket came back as a match to your vic."
"Makes sense if she owned it like the husband says—and the saliva is consistent with her being smothered," said Greg, thinking aloud.
"That's not even the best part," Mia continued. "One of the hairs didn't match either the victim or the husband. I ran it through CODIS and got a hit for a Silvia Tedesco. Did one year in a low-security women's facility for theft under five thousand, and was released six months ago."
Greg ran a hand over his hair, deep in thought. "How did another woman's hair get on the murder weapon?"
"Well, that's what we have to find out." Sara turned back to Mia, who had just taken a seat in front of her computer. "Is there a current address listed for her?"
Mia shook her head. "Unfortunately, I couldn't find one in either the criminal database or her DMV records. Looks like you guys are going on another manhunt."
"More like a womanhunt this time," Greg chimed in, half-serious. He was still thoroughly puzzled by the fact that the unknown hair had produced a female suspect. What could her relation to the victim be?
A few minutes later, he and Sara had made their way over to the print lab to check on how things were doing. Sara's dusting of the Beretta M9 had yielded three different sets of prints. As with the hairs, two were immediately ruled out—one being the husband's, the other belonging to the victim—and the third was still running through AFIS.
"Who do you suppose Silvia Tedesco is to the victim?" Greg asked casually while they were waiting. "Friend, lover ...cleaning lady?"
"Hard to say based on a single hair on the vic's blanket. There are just too many possible ways it could have gotten there. The only way we'll know who she is for sure is if we can get her address."
"Wait a second..." Greg began slowly. "If Silvia was someone important in Charlotte Pierce's life, wouldn't the husband know her? He might be able to give us an address."
Sara's eyes shone with possibility. "Good thinking, Greg. I'll get Vartann to bring him back in." Just as Sara was reaching for her cell phone, the computer in the room began beeping like an alarm clock. Sara hurried over to check the results of the fingerprint scan.
"Anything?" Greg asked curiously.
"Whoever else handled that gun—their prints aren't in AFIS. It's still an unknown," she told him, staring at the computer screen dejectedly.
Greg slumped in his chair. Well there went the wind from their sails—just when it seemed like they might actually be getting somewhere too. He glanced over at Sara. "Did you check to see if Silvia Tedesco's prints are on file anywhere?"
"I was just about to, actually." The sound of rapid typing filled the room. "Nope, it doesn't look like it," she replied a few moments later.
"If we could get Silvia's prints and match them to the unknown on that gun... it'd be enough for a search warrant. Maybe even a conviction."
Turning around, Sara cast him a very mature look that made Greg swallow nervously. "You're getting ahead of the evidence, Greg," she warned him. "While it's true that whoever these prints belong to shot Charlotte Pierce—I found partials on both the trigger and the grip of the gun—they may not even belong to Silvia Tedesco. Even if they did, we'd still need motive. Keep that in mind."
"Right. Sorry," said Greg, feeling stupid. How was it that he always managed to highlight his inexperience in front of the other CSI's?
"No harm done." Sara flashed him a reassuring smile. "Hey, if it makes you feel any better, even Grissom was in the same boat as you once."
Greg gaped at her in surprise. Really—he should anticipate by now that Sara always seemed to know what he was thinking. "I don't know," he began skeptically, "I'm not sure I can picture Grissom as a trainee. I just assumed he always knew what he was doing."
"I think Grissom may have been a bad example," said Sara, laughing.
"Funny, I've always thought of myself as the opposite."
Both Sara and Greg turned around to find their supervisor, Gil Grissom, standing in the doorway in full suit and tie.
"How was court?" Sara inquired.
"Oh, the usual. Full of lawyers and various other reptiles."
Greg cracked a grin. That was Grissom alright—not a day went by without some kind of animal metaphor. Greg was really beginning to enjoy them. They always managed to add a little something extra to his day.
"How is the case coming along?" Grissom asked, fiddling with his tie.
"Making progress. We have a new suspect whose address we're trying to track down." Sara glanced sidelong at Greg. "Not only that, but Greg has been doing a great job. He found our murder weapon."
There was a smile in Grissom's eyes that made Greg feel extremely proud of himself. "Well I'm very glad to hear that. Keep up the good work you two." Promptly, he turned around and headed off down the hallway, still fiddling with his tie.
"You didn't have to say that, you know," Greg said, shooting an appreciative gaze Sara's way.
"Maybe not," she replied with a shrug, "but I wanted to." She smiled warmly at Greg. "Now let's get the husband back in here and see what he knows about Silvia Tedesco."
Greg was suddenly jolted awake by the sound of his cell phone vibrating on the coffee table. Covered in a thin sheen of sweat, Greg began to sit up and glanced at his surroundings. He was in Nick's living room—wait, when had he fallen asleep? The last thing he remembered they'd been watching a movie...
Still, that wasn't the most bizarre thing to think about. The dream Greg had just woken up from weighed heavily on his mind.
"Oh hey, you're awake," came Nick's voice from the kitchen. "I just ordered a pizza. I hope mushrooms and green peppers are okay."
"You're not going to believe what I just dreamt," Greg stated, rubbing at his sleepy eyes. "It's about Hodges of all people."
Nick poked his head into the living room, crooking an eyebrow. "Let me guess—you had a sex dream about him?"
Greg paled. "Well... yeah," he stammered. "How'd you know?"
"Because I had a sex dream about him too," Nick replied, far too casually for Greg's liking. The young CSI immediately rose from the couch and hurried into the kitchen, staring at Nick as though he'd suddenly grown another head.
"You're kidding!" Greg said in disbelief. "What happened in yours?"
Nick smiled as though recalling a particularly pleasant memory. "You invited him over to your apartment one day—he shows up and finds me there with you. Instead of walking out the door like he probably should, he decides to stay, and the two of us end up having our wicked way with him."
Greg surprised himself by finding that thought quite intriguing. The notion of Hodges as a sexual being was something that had never even crossed his mind until now. Was it just a strange coincidence that he and Nick had both dreamt about the man? Greg couldn't deny that he'd found the retelling of Nick's dream rather... exhilarating.
"What exactly does our wicked way entail?" Greg asked, slithering up to the brawny Texan and pinning him gently against the counter.
Nick chuckled throatily. "I should have known that story would put you in the mood." He reached up to twine his fingers in the soft hairs at the base of Greg's scalp. "Let's just say that handcuffs were involved."
"Mmm," Greg groaned, resting his forehead against Nick's. "I like the sound of that." Roughly, he seized the other man's lips in a demanding kiss. Nick moaned into his mouth—a raw, needy sound that Greg yearned to hear more of. "Well," Greg championed, his hand resting on Nick's fly, "look who else got hard from that dream. Maybe I should do something about this little problem. What do you say, Nicky?"
The Texan nodded slowly. Smirking, Greg dropped down to his knees and unbuttoned Nick's khakis, letting them drop to the floor at his feet. The look of anticipation on the other CSI's face was almost satisfaction enough for Greg—of course, that didn't mean he was stopping there. He was going to give Nick what he wanted, and do a damn good job of it.
When Greg freed Nick from the confines of his boxers, he wasn't prepared for the realization that followed. Despite their being lovers for a few weeks now, Greg had never actually seen the man's penis. He'd felt it up on several occasions, but had never laid eyes upon the actual flesh—the sight of which he was now mesmerized by. When, after a loaded pause, he suckled the tip into his mouth experimentally, Nick groaned and braced himself against the counter.
"Oh fuck," he exclaimed, his voice hitching when Greg took him deeper. His knuckles had gone white from gripping the counter so hard.
Soon, when Greg's head began slowly bobbing up and down, a string of delicious moans escaped Nick's lips. The noises were making Greg painfully hard himself—he wanted nothing more than to reach between his legs and give himself release, but he didn't. This wasn't about him, it was about Nick.
Just as Greg had been thinking that thought, he felt Nick's hands in his hair, pulling him off. The young man stared up at his lover questioningly.
"Take off your shirt," Nick ordered.
Licking his lips, Greg did as he was told, pulling his green t-shirt up and over his head. Again, he gazed up at Nick. The man's eyes raked over his smooth, pale chest. Greg's skin tingled as if it could somehow feel the man's stare.
"Now the rest," Nick continued. "I want you naked as the day you were born, Sanders."
A grin spread across Greg's face. He could work with that. Slowly, he began the process of stripping himself naked under Nick's ravenous eye. Once Greg rose to his feet, the first thing to go were his socks, then his jeans—until all he was left with were his boxers. When he went to remove those also, he hesitated—not out of nervousness, and certainly not out of modesty—but rather, just to tease the other man.
Nick's patience was not infinite, however. "Off. Now," he commanded, gesturing to the lone article of clothing that separated Greg from complete exposure. Nick's cock, glistening from Greg's saliva, still stood upright against his belly. Greg eyed it greedily, longing for it back in his mouth.
Consequently, he relented his ill-considered standoff. He stripped off his boxers and held his hands out widely as if to say: this is me, in all my glory.
"Perfect," said Nick, so quietly it was almost a whisper. Before Greg had the chance to respond, he was pulled into one of the most intense kisses of his life. Nick was all over him—his tongue dancing with Greg's, nibbling his lower lip, trailing kisses down his neck. It felt so good that Greg never wanted it to end. But when they finally broke apart, Greg dropped to his knees happily and picked up where he left off.
If possible, the Texan seemed even harder than before. When Greg felt him pulse against his tongue, he almost came right then and there.
"Greg," Nick moaned, his face contorted in pleasure. "Fuck, I'm close."
Not long after Nick spoke those words, Greg's mouth was suddenly full with thick pulses of come. He swallowed what he could, but some still managed to trickle past his lips and onto the floor.
A few moments later, he released Nick's cock and licked it clean, resting back on his heels like an obedient puppy dog when he was finished.
"I still have some under my tongue if you want a taste," said Greg, his voice thick with arousal. Greg wasn't sure if Nick would take him up on that offer, but lo and behold, the man helped Greg up to his feet and pressed their lips together.
"Bedroom," breathed Nick as soon as they broke apart. "I'm not finished with you yet."
Greg beamed. "I hope not." He led the way to Nick's bedroom, flopping face-up on the large mattress. Stripping off the remainder of his own clothing, Nick soon joined him, crawling atop Greg with a feral look in his eyes. Amazingly, he was just beginning to get hard again. "Can't get enough of me?" Greg joked, letting his gaze linger on Nick's cock.
"I'm starting to think it might never be possible to get enough of you," Nick told him, straddling Greg's thighs.
"Ditto." Greg ran a hand up Nick's chest, letting his fingers trail over smooth stomach muscle. When he reached one of the man's nipples, he gave it a playful tweak. "Nicky?" he said tentatively.
"What is it, Greggo?"
Greg had never quite learned the art of subtlety, so he decided to simple come right out with it. "I want..." he began, locking eyes with Nick, "I want you to fuck me. Real intercourse. I want to feel you inside me."
Nick appeared thunderstruck. He leaned down so that the two of them were almost nose to nose. "Are y-you sure, G?"
Greg pressed a soft kiss to the Texan's lips. "Yes. I want you, please!" He bucked his hips, showcasing the straining erection resting against his belly. "Fuck me Nicky..."
That, apparently, was all the motivation Nick needed. He reached into his nightstand and fished out a condom. "I want you to be sure," he told Greg, ripping open the wrapper and casting it aside.
"I am!" Greg assured him. "Please—!"
Just then, the sound of knocking pulled both men out of the moment.
"Great," said Nick, springing from the bed in irritation. Greg frowned, watching the other CSI throw on a robe. "That'll be the pizza guy. Perfect timing."
Greg let his head flop back onto the mattress as Nick hurried out of the room. He couldn't believe their luck—at this rate Greg would soon be suffering from a very painful case of blue balls.
A few minutes later, when the voices from the living room could no longer be heard, Greg caught the sound of the apartment door closing. He called out, "Nicky, you better get back here right now." It was barely a few seconds before he got his wish.
Throwing off his robe, Nick crawled back into the bed. Greg spread his legs wantonly in invitation, hoping it would incite Nick to stop hesitating.
"I'm not doing this without at least preparing you first," Nick told him. He pressed his index and middle fingers against Greg's lips. "Open up."
Greg conceded, allowing Nick to slip the digits into his mouth. Once the fingers were slick with saliva, Nick brought them down to Greg's entrance and slowly inserted one.
It was at that moment that Greg became acutely aware of how long it had been since he'd last done this. When Nick worked his way up to two, and eventually three fingers, the pain became much more difficult to ignore. Still, Greg was determined to overcome it—he wanted this too much.
Gradually, he became more and more accustomed to the feel of the three fingers inside him. When the tension finally seemed to drain out of his body, he knew he was ready.
"Nick, please!" Greg begged the man, shamelessly bucking his hips. The need in Greg's voice was almost painful. Nick heard it for what it was and finally made up his mind. He reached for the opened condom from earlier and hurried to put it on.
When he positioned himself between Greg's spread legs, the young man's breathing seemed to quicken in anticipation.
"You don't know how long I've been waiting for this, Greggo," Nick revealed. Slowly, he pushed past the thick ring of muscle at Greg's entrance. Both men moaned loudly when the tip of his penis was fully inside. "Ever since I first saw you in the lab, it's been torture watching you work. All I wanted to do was bend you over your desk and fuck you like this."
These revelations were certainly new to Greg. Even with less than half of his cognitive processes functioning, he still had it in him to be shocked. In between shallow breaths, he asked, "What took you so long to act on it?"
Nick slid in further, making Greg clutch the sheets at his sides. "Fear, I guess? Respect for the working environment? I don't know. They were all bullshit excuses," Nick stated, a twinge of frustration lurking beneath his cool exterior. "I'm just glad I stopped letting them get in the way."
"Me too," said Greg. He looked up at Nick with bright eyes, hoping the Texan would hear the sincerity in his voice. "You're not the only one that wanted this..."
Nick smiled in acknowledgement. Slowly, he thrust in the remainder of the way, not stopping until he was fully buried inside Greg. It was such an intense feeling for both parties that Nick chose to remain there for a while, savouring the feeling of being as deep inside Greg as he could possibly be.
This feels right, a voice in the back of Greg's mind told him. Not just physically, either. All my past experiences with men have been purely about sex, but this is different. I've never felt connected like this...
"Greggo, look at me," Nick coaxed, gradually starting to move inside his lover. When their eyes met, Nick began a series of deep, unhurried thrusts that slowly brought the animal within Greg to the surface. When Nick perfected his angle just enough to nudge Greg's prostate, the young CSI arched off the bed and cried out hoarsely. Nick took the opportunity to run his calloused fingertips over Greg's chest, letting them linger on each spot where a rib was visible through the young man's pale skin.
Greg's reaction to the touches was interesting—he let his chest fall back to the mattress, effectively squirming away from the scrutiny, and bucked his hips as though to distract Nick. Next, he raised his hands above his head and grappled for purchase on the headboard, all the while moaning, "Harder, Nicky..."
Clever, Nick thought to himself. Still, he couldn't deny wanting to fill Greg's request. When he picked up his pace, he was rewarded with the deeply arousing sight of Greg writhing beneath him. The feel of his already tight channel walls contracting around Nick's cock sent the Texan into overdrive. When he leaned down, Greg brought his face up to meet Nick's eagerly. The kiss they shared was hungry, possessive, erotic—Nick punctuated it by wrapping his hand around Greg's aching cock and bringing him off in a handful of rough strokes.
With Nick still tweaking that sensitive spot inside of Greg that made him lose all control, it was no surprise that he'd been teetering on the edge. The sound Greg made as he exploded over his stomach and chest was half guttural moan, half sigh. The sight of him afterward, exhausted and covered in his own come, was almost too much stimulation for Nick to handle.
Panting heavily, Greg leaned up and sucked one of Nick's nipples into his mouth. "Come on Nicky, I want to feel you come inside me," he whispered, his tongue lapping at the hardened pink nub.
"I love it when you talk dirty," said Nick, reaching down to grab Greg's chin. "Maybe I should come in that filthy little mouth of yours."
"Been there, done that," Greg replied, eyes dark. The forceful grip on his chin was really turning him on. He liked it when Nick was rough with him—it made his body ache with needs that he wasn't even consciously aware of. "Come inside me Nicky, I know you want to."
Sharply, Nick turned the young man's face to the side and brought his lips right down to Greg's ear. "Little slut... is that what you want?" he whispered, still thrusting into him deeply.
"Yessss," Greg hissed, "fucking do it!"
Nick was right on the edge, he could feel it. With their increasing frequency, his thrusts lost their normal rhythm, which Nick replaced by driving into Greg with total abandon. Greg was moaning like a dying man, which Nick soon joined him in. When the Texan's release finally came, it was marked by a low growl and the shuddering of his body as his orgasm took hold. Greg stared up at the man in awe as Nick's thrusts slowed and gradually came to a stop.
Greg finally let go of the headboard. There were dark red impressions on his palms from where he'd been gripping it so hard. Leisurely, he reached up to cup Nick's cheek, letting his fingers trace tenderly over the man's skin. "I could ask you for anything in bed and you'd do it, wouldn't you?" Greg posed.
Nick decided to answer honestly. "Probably," he said.
Greg smirked at him. "Stop being so amazing. You're making me look bad."
Slowly, Nick pulled out of his lover. "Me? You're the one who does anything and everything I say in bed. Isn't that right Greggo?" He cast the young CSI a knowing grin, but Greg merely rolled his eyes. "No? Well I bet if I told you to flip over and let me fuck you right now you'd do it."
Greg sat up slightly, resting on his elbows. "So you really do think I'm a slut."
Nick's light-hearted demeanour vanished right away. "No, of course not," he said sternly. "Greg, I was joking about that. It was just me talking dirty, I didn't mean to imply—"
"I know," the young man interjected. "I just wanted to see if you'd be able to talk your way out of that one." Outwardly, Nick rolled his eyes, but secretly a wave of relief washed over him. "And in case you hadn't noticed," Greg continued, "I nearly jizzed all over myself—again—when you said it." He made a grand, sweeping gesture down at his groin, where once again, his penis stood at attention.
Nick stared down at it in disbelief. "Jesus Greg, is there ever a time when you're not hard?"
"Not with you around."
Chuckling, Nick shook his head. Disposing of their used condom, he flopped down on the bed beside Greg and pulled the covers up over both of them.
"This is good, don't you think?" the Texan asked. Greg cast him a puzzled look, prompting Nick to clarify, "The two of us, I mean."
"I'm starting to think it's perfect, actually," Greg explained, rolling onto his side to stare at the other man. "You understand my job, the weird hours I work, and you aren't scared off by my kinks either. I've never had that before."
Every day Nick had seen more and more of what lay behind Greg's stylish, wacky-haired exterior—it had been an adventure from day one—but this was him opening up on another level completely. Touched by his lover's sincerity, Nick brought a hand to Greg's face and brushed away a few errant strands of hair from his forehead. The truth was that Nick really cared for this crazy kid.
"Like, for example," Greg continued, unaware of the thoughts running through Nick's mind, "I can tell you I'm into dog collars, or spanking, or even breathplay, and it doesn't send you running in the other direction. That's pretty cool."
"Breathplay?"
The dismayed look on Nick's face made Greg laugh. "Well, you're still not running away, so that's a good sign."