"Hey, Nicky?" Nick looked up from the laptop perched across his thighs. "Do you like Hodges?" Greg asked him, swallowing a mouthful of burrito.

"Yeah, sure I do." The Texan cast him a furtive look. "Why do you ask?"

Greg shrugged, reaching for his glass of water. "I guess I was just thinking about the three of us."

"Just thinking about the three of us, or hoping it'll happen again?" Nick asked perceptively. Caught by surprise, Greg nearly choked on the drink of water he'd been taking. "Hey, there's no shame in wanting something," Nick told him, reaching over to rub his lover's back.

"You're getting a bit too good at that," Greg noted with a frown. He set his glass of water down on the coffee table. "Have you been taking tips from Sara?"

Nick let his hand wander down to Greg's lower back, slowly massaging the tense muscles he found there. "No. I just know you, that's all," he said, his hand wandering even further down until it gently cupped Greg's ass. "You know, when you first suggested we bring Hodges home with us at the bar, I wasn't sure what to think..."

"I noticed," Greg said with a laugh. "You just stood there and stared at me."

Nick smiled softly. "Can you blame me for being surprised?" He gave Greg's butt a reassuring squeeze, making the young man laugh. "I wouldn't have said yes unless I was really on board—so you didn't force me into anything. I hope you know that," he stated, watching Greg nod.

"Yeah, I know. It still sort of freaks me out though, that it really happened." A wide smile spread across the young CSI's face as he recalled that night in his mind. "Pretty wild, wasn't it?"

"One thing's for sure—I'll never be able to look at Hodges the same way," Nick laughed. Greg knew exactly what he meant. "Except for his obsession with you, I didn't even think he was gay," the Texan went on. "After being subjected to all his unnecessarily detailed stories about women, I just assumed he was straight."

"Maybe he's bi?" Greg suggested. "After all, who doesn't appreciate an attractive woman every once in a while?" He winked suggestively at his lover.

"Some of us can do a bit better than once in a while," Nick teased.

In retribution, Greg picked up one of the couch cushions and tossed it at Nick's head, but the older CSI knocked it away. "That's only 'cause women drool all over themselves for those muscles of yours," he said, offering Nick's rippling bicep a calculating glance. "Thanks to my scrawny Norwegian genes, the ladies never get to know my winning personality."

Nick raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Did I just hear you say winning personality?" he asked skeptically.

"Oh hush. You love it."

"I do indeed," Nick conceded. "As a matter of fact, I wouldn't have my Greggo any other way." Setting aside his laptop, he reached over and pulled Greg on top of him so the young man straddled his thighs.

"I think I'm beginning to understand why you're so good with women," Greg mused, wiggling playfully in Nick's lap. "You come across with all this Texan bravado, but inside you're just a big softy."

The older man laughed. "Oh really?" He slid a warm hand under the hem of Greg's t-shirt, letting it rest gently against his stomach. "And you know this how?"

Greg smiled. "I just know you, that's all," he said, repeating Nick's earlier statement. In response to his words, the expression on Nick's face was pure adoration. It made Greg feel like he was floating on cloud nine.

"Stop being so adorable, or I won't be responsible for what happens next."

An air of intrigue became visible on Greg's face. Knowing it would drive Nick crazy, he squirmed eagerly in his lover's lap and asked, "What might that be?"

Nick's tongue darted out of his mouth, licking at his lips almost unconsciously. His hand trailed upward from Greg's stomach—intending to make contact with a nipple, but suddenly stopped when his fingers ghosted over the young man's ribs.

"Greggo," Nick began appraisingly, "you're so skinny... I can feel your ribs through your skin."

The young CSI knit his brow. Nick noted with concern that the colour seemed to have drained from Greg's face. Where he'd been comfortable and relaxed in Nick's lap mere moments ago, he was now stiff and awkward.

"I told you I was scrawny. It runs in my family," Greg insisted. When he made to lift himself from his lover's lap, Nick stopped him.

"Why won't you let me talk to you about this?" he asked. Greg didn't answer—he was purposefully staring away from Nick. "Greggo, look at me," the Texan demanded, capturing his lover's jaw and bringing them face to face. Greg glared at him and made an angry noise in the back of his throat, but Nick ignored both acts. "The first time we had sex, you tried to do this exact same thing. Tell me why."

Growling, Greg reached up and pried Nick's hand off his chin. When he tried to get up a second time, however, Nick seized his wrists and wasn't prepared to let go. He wanted answers.

"Mmm," Greg moaned, chuckling. His eyes were dark. "I like it when you get rough."

"This isn't about sex, Greg. Answer the question."

"Don't tell me you're not turned on, Nicky..." he purred, writhing seductively in his lover's lap. "I'll let you hold me down and fuck me raw right now. Bareback, if you want."

"Jesus Christ, Greg!" Nick exclaimed. "Are you really so desperate not to talk about this that you'd let me fuck you without a condom?" Greg stared coldly at him. Angrily, Nick tightened his grip on the young man's wrists, making him cry out in pain. "Tell me you didn't just say that!"

"Did it ever cross your mind that I might be embarrassed about being skinny?" Greg snarled. Nick's mouth hung open in shock. Never in his life had he heard Greg raise his voice. "You don't fucking own me Nick, I don't have to answer to you! Now let go of me."

Still in shock, Nick slowly released Greg's wrists. Immediately, the young CSI sprung from his lap as though he'd been burned. Bristling, Greg snatched his car keys off the coffee table and trudged out of Nick's living room.

Nick hung his head, feeling like an idiot. "Greg, I was just worried about you," he called, rising from the couch to follow the young man. He managed to catch Greg by the shirt just as he reached the front door. Desperately, Nick wrapped his arms around him from behind, pressing their bodies together. "Don't leave. Please."

Greg muttered something under his breath that Nick's wasn't able to catch. "Greg?" he asked tentatively.

Savagely, Greg spun around on his heel. The look in his eyes was murderous. "I bet Hodges would fuck me bareback," he snapped.

The anger welled up inside Nick so fast that he barely knew what was happening. "Hodges would do anything you fucking asked him to, Greg—without any concern for anyone else. You know he doesn't care about you the way I do, but you still have the fucking nerve to say that to me?" He let out a tense sigh. "Unbelievable."

Greg looked stricken. It was obvious he hadn't expected Nick to react so harshly.

"You've been fucking around with him, haven't you?" Nick asked suddenly, a sick feeling in his stomach. Meekly, Greg nodded. The Texan took a handful of ragged breaths, trying to calm himself down. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know..." Greg hung his head. "God, I'm sorry Nick," he said brokenly. "I shouldn't have said that, and I shouldn't have lied to you about Hodges."

Nick pressed his lover against him in a forgiving hug. "It's okay," he empathized, gently running a hand over Greg's hair. Comforted, the young man let his head rest in the crook of Nick's neck.

"Greggo?" the older man asked. Slowly, Greg looked up at him. "You'd tell me if you had a problem with food, wouldn't you?"

A heartbreaking look came over Greg's face. Nick hoped he'd never have to see it again. "Of course," his lover finally said. "You're the first person I'd tell."

"Okay," Nick whispered, letting Greg's head rest on his shoulder once more. For the moment, he felt reassured—and that was enough for him.


The silver Denali came to a slow stop in front of the small bungalow, and Greg cut the engine. In all honesty, he wasn't sure what he was doing here. His earlier fight with Nick had left him knocked for six—he didn't know what the hell to do with himself. For the past half-hour he'd simply been driving around aimlessly, trying to work off some of the excess emotion he was carrying around. Unfortunately, it didn't seem to be working. He needed another way to vent... thus, he'd ended up here.

As he headed up the narrow walkway, he kept thinking to himself that maybe this wasn't the best idea considering what had just happened. Conversely, his brain told his feet to keep walking and before he knew it, he was on the front porch ringing the doorbell.

The moment Hodges opened the door, it was too late for second thoughts.

"Greg," he said, obviously surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Can I come in? Please?"

After taking one look at the pleading expression on Greg's face, Hodges opened the door wide enough for him to enter. "Is something wrong?" he asked, studying his guest curiously. Greg stood awkwardly in the foyer, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans.

"I need a favour," he stated. "I need you to fuck me."

Hodges looked torn between amusement and concern. He brought a hand up to the back of his neck uneasily. "You're serious," he remarked, as though he was having trouble believing it. "Something happened. What's wrong, Sanders?"

"What's wrong?" Greg seethed, balling his hands into fists at his sides. "I'll tell you what's wrong, David. You're not fucking me right now. So get to it."

Slowly, Hodges frowned. "If this is your idea of talking dirty, it's doing the opposite of turning me on," he confessed, a wary look in his eyes. "And you're lucky my mom's not home to hear this, by the way."

Ignoring him, Greg glanced down the hallway. "Where's your room?"

"It's the one at the end of the hall..." Hodges replied. Immediately, Greg took off in the specified direction. "Greg, what are you doing?" the trace technician asked, following along after him.

Greg didn't respond. He stepped into Hodges' room and pulled his t-shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor.

Hodges gave an exasperated sigh when he entered the room to find Greg stripping off his jeans and shoes. "Why are you doing this?" he questioned. "And you'd better tell me, Sanders, or I'm not fucking you."

After yanking off his socks, the young CSI glanced up. "I want you," he declared, crossing his arms over his chest. "Come on, why else would I be doing this? It's sex, Hodges. Your cock up my ass. Think you can manage?"

"Yes, thank you for the valuable instructions Sanders but I know how to have sex."

Proceeding as though he hadn't heard the man, Greg tugged off his boxers and let them drop to the floor. Next, he crawled onto Hodges' bed and lay face up. The room had gone eerily silent.

"Come on you pussy. Fuck me!" Greg snarled, spreading his legs enticingly. It gave Hodges a perfect view of what lay between his thighs.

"Greg... you're not even hard," Hodges said uncomfortably. There was a disheartened expression on his face that Greg couldn't look at—he turned his head to the side, feeling tears sting his eyes.

"Please," Greg begged brokenly, still unable to meet the man's eyes. "Please, David. I need this..."

Tentatively, Hodges crawled onto the bed. With a sigh, he began slowly unbuttoning his shirt. "Are you going to tell me what happened?" Greg shook his head. "Then at least tell me how you got these bruises," he said, ghosting his fingers over the purpling skin on one of Greg's wrists.

The young man brought his arm to his face as though he hadn't even known the bruises were there. "Nick gave them to me," he whispered, choking back a sob.

"Nick did this to you?" Hodges' mild was reeling. He sat back on his heels. "Is he hurting you?"

"No!" Greg shouted, shooting up into a sitting position. "It's not like that. It was just an accident." He stared down at his wrists in disbelief. "Nick cares about me..."

Tossing his shirt to the side, Hodges began removing his pants and boxers. "I know he does, Greg. But he must have really crushed your wrists to give you bruises like this."

"I was too mad at him to notice," Greg divulged, watching Hodges free himself from the remainder of his clothing. "I don't want to talk about Nick."

Hodges sighed, but nodded. "Lean back, okay? Just get comfortable," he said, reaching into the top drawer of his nightstand. Taking a deep breath, Greg acquiesced, letting his head fall back onto the pillow.

However, when Greg noticed Hodges return with a condom and a bottle of lube in his hand, his relaxation was broken. Greg's hand darted out to seize the man's arm before he could use either article.

"What—" the trace technician began, but was interrupted.

"No condom."

Hodges stared at him in alarm. "You're kidding, right?" Greg shook his head, a pleading look in his eyes. "No way, Sanders. I don't care how upset you are."

Greg frowned. "You don't understand. I need this," he insisted, flipping Hodges onto his back and straddling him.

The lab tech paled. "Are you crazy?" he exclaimed, feeling Greg's hand on his cock, positioning it against the young man's entrance. He tried to wrestle Greg out of the position but there was no stopping him. "Never mind the condom; you're going to hurt yourself. You don't have to do this..."

It was as if Greg couldn't even hear him. A moment later, when he got the alignment right, Greg hurriedly impaled himself on Hodges' cock. Not only was he not prepared for the sudden penetration, but there was no lube, and he took the man's entire length in one thrust.

The pained cry that tore itself from Greg's throat chilled Hodges to the very bone. He couldn't imagine why Greg would want to hurt himself like this—all he knew was that he felt deeply ashamed for being hard.

"Greg... are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he said tensely. His eyes were closed. Hodges did note with some relief, however, that Greg's formerly uninterested cock was now half-hard. When Greg slowly started to move, a sharp groan escaped the young man's lips. "You feel so good inside me," he breathed, picking up his pace.

Hodges was having a hard time denying how arousing it was to watch Greg ride his cock, even under the circumstances. Part of him wanted to let go of his reservations and just enjoy it, but he couldn't. Not completely, at least.

Still, Hodges reached up and cupped Greg's face with his hands, watching those beautiful brown eyes slowly flutter open. "I'm weak when it comes to you," he admitted. "I'm sorry." Greg stared down at him in surprise.

"Why are you sorry?" the Norwegian asked in between laboured breaths. "You're giving me what I want."

When Greg brought himself down on a particularly forceful thrust, Hodges moaned, letting his hands roam into Greg's hair. "What you want and what's good for you seem to be two different things," he stated.

Greg paused his movements to reposition himself with his head closer to David's, then continued his tempo. "They always are," he said shrewdly. Unable to resist, Hodges leaned up and captured Greg's lips in a kiss. The young CSI yielded completely to him, parting his lips to let Hodges' tongue plunder his mouth.

Soon enough, Greg's pace started to become erratic and more aggressive. He broke their kiss to catch his breath, moaning when he pushed himself down onto Hodges and found his own sweet spot.

Hodges was finding it difficult not to come too soon. Greg was incredibly tight around him, and without a condom, every sensation was enhanced that much more. When the stimulation became too much to bear, however—it was impossible to hold back any longer.

"Greg, let me pull out, I'm—"

"Coming?" Greg asked. "Scared you're gonna knock me up?" Hodges was happier than he could express to see Greg's sense of humour return. Regardless, he started to answer no, but was cut off. "Then do it. Come inside me," Greg dared him.

Hodges wanted to say no, but it was too late. He bucked his hips up into Greg with the force of his orgasm, groaning at the erotic sensation of coming inside the young man without a condom. All the while, Greg sucked and nipped at his neck, leaving tiny little teeth marks up and down the pale flesh.

Once he recovered from his orgasm, Hodges reached out to grasp Greg's penis and lend a helping hand. It didn't take long for Greg to come; when he did, Hodges drank in the sight like a man dying of thirst. Most of Greg's semen ended up on Hodges' stomach and hand, but some managed to stray even further. When Greg had finally ridden out his final wave of pleasure, he drooped bonelessly onto the trace technician's chest.

The two of them lay there, gasping for breath, for what felt like a very long time.

"Is it okay if I sleep here?" Greg asked, finally deciding to break the silence.

Hodges ran a hand over the Norwegian's back, letting it roam the smooth expanse of skin like an explorer discovering new land. "As long as you don't ask me for sex when we wake up."

Greg pressed their foreheads together and smiled. "I won't. I promise."