Duties and Desires
Chapter 4
Warning: This chapter contains some slash from the novel's side. No heavy duty descriptions, but it's definitely there.
A/N: This fic isn't like anything I've ever written, so I thank each and every one of you for your support and for the awesome reviews. Here's your newest dose of crack ;)
This chapter is for none other than my brilliant, uber-talented beta and the coolest friend, the EllipsesBandit.
"You should open your lecture with a joke," Greg announced as he walked into Grissom's office.
Grissom peered at him over his glasses. "Oh?"
Greg stood in front of the desk. "Yeah. Jokes are a great way to grab a students' attention. Something like: 'What goes zzub, zzub?'"
"A bee flying backward," Grissom answered a second later.
"Okaaay…what about 'what do bees chew?'"
"Bumble gum." Grissom pursed his lips. "Lindsey told me those jokes when she was five. Besides, I'm giving a lecture on blowflies."
"'What do get when you cross a fly with-"
Grissom interrupted him before Greg could finish. "Did you know that I go to about twenty universities a year? I also get another fifteen invitations."
Taking a seat, Greg shook his head.
"I've never used a joke in any of my lectures, so I think I'm doing alright." Grissom's lips quirked. "But thank you for the advice."
"I finished my robbery case." Greg handed him the file. "I knew women loved shoes, but this was taking it to an extreme."
Opening the folder, Grissom commented, "Well, it was twenty pairs of Jimmy Choo's and Manolo Blahnik's," referring to the property stolen.
"I had to lock 'em in the evidence vault before Wendy and Catherine took off with a pair. And then Mandy asked me if she could try--" There was a knock, and Greg turned to see Nick.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," the Texan began. "But the computers are acting up again, and we need your password," he looked at Grissom, "to override the system."
Grissom sighed. "Okay, I'll be there in a minute." Before leaving, he told Greg, "Thank you for finishing this. Why don't you go see if Sara and Warrick need help on their case?"
"Of course," Greg said. "I will lend my super investigative powers to others."
Grissom's forehead creased as he raised an eyebrow at the former lab. Greg was about to follow when he noticed the large brown book.
The novel.
Grissom still hadn't gotten rid of that thing. As far as Greg was concerned, the book should have been burned and the ashes put in a mason jar, buried 600 feet below the earth's surface. Craig and Dick…it just made him nauseous thinking about it.
Still, it would be entertaining to read. He had overheard Sara and Brass having a hushed conversation about the plot; it sounded interesting, especially the parts with Catherine's counterpart and Grissom as some dashing hero. Somehow, he didn't picture his boss being the handsome, caring male lead.
But then what if he opened to part with a sex scene? He liked Grissom and Sara, but did not want to read about them getting it on. Brass, too. And what if the writer had included a scene with Craig and Dick.
No way.
But then again, there might be some interesting parts with Lorraine. Who knows? She could like experimenting with the other nurses.
Tapping his fingers on the desk, Greg gave up and decided to take Duties and Desires. He'd just skim the pages before reading fully. That should work just fine.
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Craig leaned passed Dick to place the file on the shelf. The overwhelming musky scent of the handsome man teased Craig's nostrils; a scent that always clouded his brain, making him completely unaware of everything except Dick. It was a heady combination of sandalwood and a sweet spice he could never quite identify. However, Craig would gladly become a detective to solve that particular mystery.
Greg shuddered as he walked down the hallway. He had spent about ten minutes in Grissom's office, flipping through the novel. But it turned out to be about five minutes too many. There were many entertaining parts: Tim Copper reciting poetry in a candle lit rose petal drawn setting (Brass' idea of romance had to be opening a beer for his lady friend while watching a football game); Gage breaking down after Cara's kidnapping (were Grissom's eyes capable of making tears?); and Daniel Rodgers proposing to Lorraine (he laughed so hard, he started wheezing).
But in between those passages, Greg accidentally ran across the parts with Dick and Craig. Though he didn't read too much detail, he did read enough that his brain wouldn't let him forget; the words replayed themselves over and over.
Taking a deep breath, he tried to clear his head. He thought of the upcoming Rolling Stones concert and how he scored great seats. He'd purchased two tickets with the intention of taking a date; maybe he'd ask Wendy or that cute red head on swing shift.
Just as Greg rounded the corner, he overheard Mandy talking to Henry.
"Have you seen Nick?" she asked in exasperation. "He was bugging me earlier for some fingerprint matches and now that I have them, he's disappeared."
Dick threaded his fingers through Craig's slightly tousled hair. The younger man tensed at first, but soon relaxed encouraging Dick to continue with his ministrations. Unable to resist any loner, Dick licked his lips, and asked in a deep, husky voice—
Greg stopped in front of the layout room, and bent slightly to his right. With an open hand, he tapped the side of his head, next to his ear. "Get out, get out, get out," he harshly whispered.
"What's wrong?" He looked to see Sara sitting at the table. "Do you have water in your ear?"
He stood up straight, and saw Warrick on the other side, giving him a strange look. "Uh, no…I, uh…I just have a song stuck in my head that I want out." Walking in, he frowned when he saw contents of a garbage bag spread out.
Warrick moved some banana peels. "What's the song?"
"You don't want to know."
Sara smirked. "Listening to the Spice Girls again?"
Greg scowled. "That was just one time." Turning his attention to the garbage, he tried not to get too close. "So what are you guys looking for?"
"We got a new case where the victim was killed with poisoned food; we're thinking pomegranate. So we're looking for any evidence of the fruit in the suspect's garbage," Sara explained.
"And if you find any, you want me to run it to trace."
Sara didn't say anything as she placed a box of gloves, rather forcefully, in front of him. He took the hint, and reluctantly donned a pair.
If anything, the smell was going to keep him distracted.
"Did you hear it's supposed to be ninety-five this weekend?" Greg commented.
"Ninety-five!" Sara exclaimed. "Two days ago they said the weather was supposed to be in the low eighties."
Looking up from the pile, Warrick said, "Nope. I heard the same thing as Greg. We may even break one-hundred by next week."
She shook her head in disgust. "You'd think with the new technology they have, the Doppler 4000 or whatever number they're up to, weathermen would be able to make more accurate predictions."
"It'd be nice," Warrick agreed. "But it still looks like the sweltering heat is coming back."
Leaning closer, Craig could feel the gentle breaths coming from Dick's mouth. The panting, warm teasing heat against his lips drove Craig to think of nothing but the beautiful man in front of him. Craig tried to calm the incessant pounding of his heart as he realized—
Greg clenched his jaw and shuddered again. How was it possible that one stupid word could trigger his mind into playing those stupid, stupid lines from the book? He wished he had never read the damn thing. Luckily though, he trashed the novel, saving anyone else from having to read it.
"What's wrong?" Sara's question ripped him from his thoughts.
"Um, uh…nothing. Nothing at all." He cleared his throat. "Why?"
"You just seemed tense there. Like you put your hand on some rotten eggs."
He seized the opportunity. "No, uh, not eggs…it was chicken," he said, showing her the pieces of meat he found moments before. "Just, just chicken."
She frowned in disgust. "Even worse."
The three went back to work, and Greg silently started to name The Beatles number one hits. After that, he planned on going through the James Bond films. Hell, he'd even try to name all the hot dog brands he bought for the Gable case—just anything to keep his mind off of the book.
Thinking of Nick like that was just wrong. He and Nick were friends--good friends. They were practically brothers, with their frequent pranks on each other and the constant name-calling.
The writer was one twisted person if they were pairing up relatives. Yuck.
Holding up a half full jar of jelly and what looked like a mostly full bottle of ketchup, Sara announced, "This person was just wasteful."
"That's nothing," Warrick countered. "I found a block of cheese that had hardly been used and a couple of partially eaten yogurt containers."
"Then the pomegranate should be in here." Greg gestured to mess.
Warrick merely raised an eyebrow. "We collected eight bags from the house."
Greg groaned in frustration; he did not want to lend his super, crime-fighting abilities for this.
"Here's a candy bar with a few bites out of it," Sara said. "Who just nibbles on chocolate?"
Craig ran his hands up Dick's sweat-dappled back; the skin was softer than he imagined contrasting sharply with the cut muscles underneath. Giving into his desires, Craig leaned forward to nibble on the delectable flesh that was Dick's earlobe.
Clenching his jaw again, Greg closed his eyes and growled in frustration. Get out, get out, get out he kept chanting in his brain.
"I know this is bad, but it's not the end of the world," Sara told him.
Warrick nodded. "Yeah, man, you need to relax."
He quickly relaxed into the passionate kiss, tasting nothing but—
"I'm sorry." Greg quickly peeled off his gloves. "I have to go…" He balled up his fist. "I need some fresh air." Before Warrick and Sara could protest, he quickly added, "I'll be back…I just…need some air."
He kept his head down as he walked quickly passed the trace and toxicology labs. None of his other distractions had worked, so he figured going outside would help. The fresh oxygen would kill all of those dirty lines that had taken up residence in his head. He'd show them.
When he was in the reception area, Greg pace increased knowing the door to the outside was near. A few more seconds and he'd be outside, and free of the novel. Unfortunately, with his eyes concentrated on the floor, he walked into the person in front of him. He was nearly knocked down, but was caught by two strong arms.
"Whoa! You alright there, partner?"
Greg looked up to find himself face-to-face with Nick Stokes' bright brown eyes. The young C.S.I. glanced down, and felt his eyes nearly fall out of their sockets when he saw his hand wrapped around the Texan's bicep and the other hand on his forearm. And they were close enough to where Greg could feel Nick's breath fanning over his face.
To make matters worse, they were in this awkward…hold in the middle of the reception area; where the writer could possibly be lurking; using this innocent mishap to their advantage. Probably planning a sequel…
Quickly removing his hands, Greg took two steps back. "I-I'm fine."
Nick's brow furrowed. "You sure? You sure didn't twist your ankle or anything?" He moved closer, causing Greg to step back again.
"No, no, no. I'm fine," he quickly answered, holding a hand up. "I-I was on my out, and I wasn't looking, and I'm sorry."
"Are you sure you're alright?" Nick asked slowly. "You seem kind of flustered."
Greg shook his head in nervous disbelief. "Flustered? Me? No way! I just…I need some air…and I needed to get out. I mean, I have no reason to be flustered." He chuckled. "I mean I just bumped into you. That's like bumping into your brother. Nothing more. Completely innocent."
The wrinkles in Nick's forehead deepened. "Uh huh," he said before walking into the lab.
Greg blew out a breath and bolted for the door. Maybe he'd leave early tonight. He'd watch football, drink a beer, and use a drill on something. Yes. Good plan.
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TBC