A/N: Another quick update. Jeez, I don't know what's gotten into me this week! Anyway, this chapter is slightly longer than the last (by a few hundred words), but this one has considerably less of a point (meaning it's random). Still smutty, but not as bad as last time. Usual disclaimer applies. Enjoy!

Chapter 10

Never quit, I follow through
I hate mess but I love you
Oh what to do with my impromptu baby?
So be wise
Cuz this (man) satisfies
You've got a prize, but don't compromise
You're one lucky baby"

The next morning, Ryan woke up early. He looked over at Greg's soundly sleeping form and smiled slightly. Leaning over, he brushed a gentle kiss against Greg's cheek before standing and padding down the hallway to the kitchen.

He made a fresh pot of coffee, and while it brewed he walked over to the window, staring out at the early morning in Miami. He loved mornings like this. Even though the sun would dispel any trace of fog before Greg even got up, thin wisps still clung to the buildings and hugged the palm trees. Ryan could just see the crashing waves break against the white sand of one of the beaches nearby from where he stood, and he smiled.

He loved Miami. The red sun dyed everything pink. Despite every crime scene he went to, despite every person who lied and murdered and stole and raped, he could still find that magic with every sunrise. It was the people that were evil, not the city.

Sighing, he turned back to the coffee machine, noting happily that it was finally done. He poured himself a cup and inhaled the fragrantly rich aroma. As strange as it may sound, one of the best things Greg ever did for Ryan was bringing his Blue Hawaiian with him from Vegas.

Thoroughly content, Ryan wrapped his fingers around the mug and went into the living room, stretching out on the couch. He looked around at the wreckage from the night before and sighed deeply, his good mood dissipating quickly.

Books were strewn everywhere, some landing upside down, open or on their spines. Ryan winced. All of the spines of his books were probably cracked now. He picked one up off his couch and grimaced. His grandfather's copy of Ivanhoe. The poor old man had probably turned over in his grave. Ryan closed it and set it reverently on the table before sighing as he looked around,

Close to three hundred books lay scattered on the floor, in clumps or alone. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Ryan sighed again as he thought about how much time it was going to take for him to up all the books and put them back in alphabetical order (according to author, of course).

Then there was the fact that he had no bookshelves to put them on. Majority of the bookcase lay in splintered pieces on the ground, covering the books in a light coat of wood dust. Frowning deeply, Ryan closed his eyes and lay back against the couch. Maybe he should let Greg deal with it. A humorless laugh escaped his lips. Fat chance of that.

Shaking his head resignedly, Ryan settled back into his previous mood of contentment and took a long sip of his coffee. Sure, his apartment was in shambles and some priceless books were probably mutilated beyond repair and some wood splinters had probably gotten stuck so far down in the carpet that they would never come out, but what did that matter? He and Greg were still together, and were working this out, and that was a miracle in itself, a miracle that despite all still teetered on tenuous ground.

Ryan heard the alarm go off in the bedroom, heard Greg fumble for it, cursing. Then he watched Greg stumble out of the bedroom into the kitchen, automatically going for the coffee. Taking a sip from his own mug, Ryan watched with a bemused expression as Greg gulped down an entire cup of coffee before his eyes were even open all the way. "Morning," said Ryan, smirking at him.

Greg cracked one eyelid and growled, "I hate morning people."

"Nice to see you, too," said Ryan cheerfully, draining his mug and setting it down on the coffee table.

Simply glaring at him, Greg poured himself another cup of coffee. Ryan stretched and glanced at the clock. "Are you showering first or am I?"

Grinning widely, Greg suggested off-handedly, "We could shower together…"

Ryan gave him a look. "Nice try, buddy, but not so much. Someone has to do the laundry, and we both know you're not going to do it."

Greg gave Ryan his best puppy-dog look. "Please?" he begged. "Showering alone is so…lonely."

"Pobre cito, lo siento," said Ryan sarcastically. He slapped Greg on the butt. "Get a move on, or we're going to be late for work."

"Fine," sighed Greg. Giving Ryan one last sad look, he slumped off toward the bathroom.

Ryan just rolled his eyes and headed back into the bedroom. Looking around, he groaned aloud, taking in the state of the bedroom. Somehow, it seemed that whatever room Greg went into always ended up looking like a hurricane had hit. Greg had been up for a grand total of ten minutes, and the bedroom was a mess. Clothes hung out of the dresser drawers and littered the floor. Groaning again, Ryan bent and began to pick up all the clothes that lay everywhere. He picked up socks and shirts, pants and boxers (some of which he found in rather odd places). When he had gathered an armful, he cast a despairing eye about the room. There was still more to be picked up.

Ryan frowned deeply. Now, he loved Greg, but one of their rules (number 17, to be exact) was that housework was to be shared. Ryan didn't see why he should have to pick up after Greg all the time. Greg was a grown man after all.

With this in mind, Ryan set his jaw resolutely and stomped toward the bathroom, still baring Greg's dirty clothes. "Oh, Greg…" he called, knocking on the door.

"Hey, come on in," called Greg. "Did you change your mind about showering together?"

"No, actually, I have a job for you," said Ryan, dangerously sweet. He opened the door and marched in. Greg stuck his head out of the shower and watched as Ryan dumped the clothes on the floor. "These are yours, I believe, so you can wash them."

Greg's brow furrowed as he looked at the clothes. "That shirt's not," he said, pointing at a green t-shirt. "That's your shirt, so you can wash it."

Rolling his eyes again, Ryan said exasperatedly, "That's not my shirt. I put all my clothes in the hamper, like you're supposed to. All the clothes in our bedroom were YOURS."

Shaking his head resolutely, Greg said stubbornly, "No, I know for a fact that's not my shirt. Come on, bring it here. I'll prove it."

Ryan stalked over to Greg, bringing with him the shirt in question. "Here it is. Now prove it."

Greg just grinned and pulled Ryan into the shower with him. Ryan gaped at Greg as the hot water soaked through his pajamas. "Greg, what the hell—" he yelped, but Greg effectively cut him off by pushing him against the shower wall and kissing him deeply. Ryan kissed him hungrily back before pushing Greg away and looking dismally down at his PJs. "Greg, you got my clothes wet!" he exclaimed.

Simply smiling, Greg said seductively, "Well, the soaking wet look is really hot on you."

"Damn, boy," whispered Ryan, kissing Greg. "If I've got you so hot and bothered, we might want to fix that."

"Mmm, I can agree with that," growled Greg, pulling Ryan's shirt off and tossing it outside the shower. Ryan stepped out of his boxers and threw them outside the shower as well, kissing Greg hard. Greg grinned and knelt down, ready to please Ryan however he wanted.

Thirty minutes later, Ryan and Greg lay together, completely naked and spent on the bed. Ryan looked over at Greg. "We're gonna be late for work."

"Screw work," muttered Greg, rolling over to look at Ryan. "I want to screw you again."

Ryan smiled but got of bed, going over to his dresser and grabbing some clean clothes. "You may not care about being late, but I do. Besides," he added, throwing a glance at Greg, "don't you want to be a CSI?"

"Hell yes," said Greg, sitting up straight. "I forgot Horatio said that."

Ryan tossed a t-shirt at him. "Then get your ass moving."

Greg gave Ryan a grin. "For you, anything," he drawled, standing up and pulling the shirt on. "Anything."