Yeah, I thought it was going to be one chapter too. I was apparently wrong.

--

When Nick Stokes was a little boy, his mother had been making dinner on the stove one night as he watched, standing on tip toes to peer over the counter with curious eyes. The aroma of simmering food had been something he couldn't appreciate when he was young, all he knew was that it smelled delicious and he couldn't wait to eat it.

"Don't touch it, Nicky," she had warned, as she turned her back to rifle through one of the kitchen drawers. "You'll burn yourself."

Not five seconds had gone by before Nick was screaming. The same thing had happened with the toaster and the oven. And some twenty-odd years later, he still hadn't learned.

He conceded that it was Greg Sanders' fault, with that shit-talking mouth of his and that smug smile on his lips. Words edged with a combination of a sort of contempt and desire that Nick had never heard before. You want me. You want me. You want me. He heard it over and over again in his head. He wanted to shut the voice up like he did the first time, by pushing Greg up against the SUV, rough hands on his collar as he pressed his lips against the younger man's.

And, yes, he would be lying if he said he'd never fantasized about making that sarcastic, weird, cocky, loud-patterned-shirt-wearing, even-louder-music-listening, DNA-technitian-turned-CSI shut his mouth for two minutes -- or all night. But that's why it was a fantasy and he should've never touched the fire, because now it was burned into him, permanently.

Nick tried to remind himself that he liked women, petite women with perky breasts and heart-shaped asses and thin waists that he could almost wrap his large hands around. Women he could dominate and feel strong and manly with, women whose wrists he could encase in his hands, with blonde hair and smooth skin as he held him down, looking at those expressive brown eyes that could say so much and so little at the same time and -- okay. That thought process hadn't exactly gone as planned.

Well, so what, he liked Greg. It was a sexual desire, fueled by annoyance and curiosity, contempt and maybe even a little envy. A love-hate he could not explain, something he knew that was only a matter of time before he had to get it out of his system. The kiss hadn't even taken the edge off. In fact, it had only given him a taste of a drug he couldn't wait to get high off of again.

He sighed and turned onto his side frustrated with all of the thoughts racing through his head as he faced the windows. He hadn't closed the thick curtains before climbing into bed and the sun found his eyes. He contemplated getting up, but he knew it didn't matter. When he closed his eyes, what he would see was brighter and hotter and even less forgiving. So, instead, he prayed for either sleep or death. Both right now would've been sufficient.

Of course, the latter didn't come, but neither did the former. It was the longest few hours before work he had ever experienced, exacerbated by the fact that Nick had been unable to sleep for more than a half of an hour before waking again, glancing at the clock and dropping his head back onto the pillow with frustration. He just laid there, awake, thinking about that pink tongue running over his teeth and gums, those long fingers tracing up his back, lithe body against his, feeling his strength but Nick was stronger, and it made his heart race to think of overpowering the young man. He ached painfully, gave in and grasped himself between his legs and jerked off. But it wasn't enough. He didn't want to fantasize anymore. He didn't want his own hand anymore. He wanted Greg Sanders.

--

He found him at work that night, standing in front of a sheet that was hanging from the ceiling. It was riddled with blood and God-knew-what-else, and Greg was staring at it as if it was a priceless work of art, examining it with a furrowed brow and pursed lips. His arms were crossed over his chest, his legs hip-distance apart, and when that tongue darted over his lips, Nick couldn't just stand there and watch him anymore. He stepped into the room, startling Greg when he spoke.

"What is that?"

"God," he hissed, rubbing a hand over his mouth. "You scared the crap out of me."

"Sorry," Nick apologized, smiling in mild amusement as he stood beside him, close enough to feel the heat of Greg's body beside his, but not touching. Not yet.

Greg seemed unfazed by the proximity, focused on the sheet. "It's the bed sheet from my rape case. It just doesn't make sense. There are these two voids here in the blood, I just don't know how they got there. Was there something on the bed?"

"Yeah," Nick said, nodding, peering through glasses because he couldn't handle his contacts today. The concentration required to put them in had been too much for his unsteady hands. "Sara had a case similar to this a while ago. Turn around."

"Okay," the young man replied hesitantly, and Nick stood in front of him, trying to focus on the sheet but the heat emanating from Greg was making the hair on his arms stand on ends. He put his hands around Greg's slender wrists, bringing them up to either side of Greg's head. Electric fire shot from his hands to his spine, straight down to his groin. "What...?"

"Were her arms up like this when she was found? As if he held her down?"

"No," Greg said, his voice even as he brought them down to his sides. "They were here."

"She was choked to death," he stated, and Greg nodded. Nick brought his hands up to Greg's throat, feeling a rapid pulse against his fingers, the Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. "She was dead before he raped her, maybe?"

"Maybe," Greg replied, breathlessly. Nick brushed his thumb under Greg's chin, gently bending his head back, watching it elongate under his hands, wanting to put his lips on it, wanting to bite and nibble on it. He raised his lashes to see Greg watching him, peering down with almost black eyes.

"He killed her first," he said, applying pressure to that delicate neck, hearing Greg's breath catch. "When she was finally still, he had his hands on either side of her, his hands were where the voids are."

Almost reluctantly, he let go, putting his hands in position where the voids were. "See?"

"Yeah," Greg replied, but he was still staring at Nick. He cleared his throat, seeming sheepish as he stepped back. It pleased Nick to see Greg beside himself, for once in his life. "Thanks for your help."

"Anytime," he said, smiling disarmingly in that way he knew he could, and he was even more pleased when he saw Greg blush. "How do you feel?"

"What?"

"After last night," Nick replied, raising his eyebrows. "After all those drinks you had, you were pretty trashed. What, like, all three of them?"

"Ha," Greg retorted, crossing his arms again. "It was like...five."

"Oh, excuse me." Nick laughed, held his hands up in surrender. "Usually after that many I can't get out of bed in the morning, how did you manage to come in today?"

Greg narrowed his eyes, a tight smile on his lips. "Somehow."

"Ready to do it again tonight? I don't know if you remember, but you owe me a drink."

"I remember," Greg said, but nothing more. Nick furrowed his brow, stepping back further from the younger man. Greg seemed to sense his confusion and smiled, and this time Nick was the one disarmed. "How about the Hard Rock tonight?"

Nick smiled. "Sounds good."

--

Kissing again. Lips pressed hard against another set of lips, his body pressed hard against another body, hands around that delicate neck because Nick liked feeling strong and powerful over Greg. He tasted that fruity drink Greg had had at the bar while talking about the memorabilia on the wall but all Nick could concentrate on was the tongue moving inside of Greg's mouth when he spoke. He'd waited for this and here it was, pressed against the SUV again outside of Greg's apartment. Pushed Greg's chin up again with his thumb and this time he did kiss and bite and nibble on the soft skin. Greg's breath was rough and erratic, his hips pushing into Nick's, that erection pushing into Nick's thigh. That morning, and the next morning, and the morning afterwards. They ended up here after the restaurants and bars, same parking spot, same position, same fervent kissing and rubbing. It was thrilling and erotic and --

"Nick," he said, so quietly Nick almost didn't hear it. "Nick, please."

"Please, what?" he asked, and his heart raced faster at the idea of the answer.

"What are we doing?" he asked, giving Nick pause. He kept his hands on Greg's throat but looked up at him, his task set aside for now. "What do you want?"

"You said it a few days ago, didn't you?" Nick replied, the words rushing out. "You know what I want."

"Well, so far all we've done is make out until my mouth hurts," he stated, his hands dropping to his sides, and Nick let go of his neck. "I have stubble chafing. Three days now. Look."

"I see."

"It hurts."

"Yeah."

"When are you going to fuck me?" Greg asked, more blunt than Nick had expected. He had never fucked another man before, had never even kissed one before Greg. It was something he thought about, over and over, especially at night, but he had been satisfied with the kissing for the time being, pushing that other thing out of his head. If he had to be honest, he was scared. What if he wasn't any good at it? What if Greg wanted to do that to him? Oh, God, he couldn't -- "Nick, calm down."

He looked up in surprise, wondering how easily he could be read or if Greg was really just that perceptive. "I just, I don't know if I'm comfortable with that yet."

"Do you even want it to go there," Greg asked, almost offended, or is this just some kind of experiment you're getting a kick out of?"

"What?" Nick asked, taken aback, mostly because it was probably true. "What is this to you?"

"I don't know," Greg said, and there were those crossed arms again. "I kind of liked hanging out with you. I didn't really think you liked me."

"I didn't," he said, and immediately regretted the words the moment they escaped his mouth. The expression of hurt that was aimed in his direction was almost unbearable. "I mean, Greg, I liked working with you but -- "

"But you didn't like me," he shot, pushing Nick away from him forcefully. "I knew this was a mistake."

"What, you had this all planned out?" Nick asked, as Greg stepped onto the curb. He didn't like the lack of touch anymore, he just wanted to keep doing what they were doing before, the kissing and groping and --

"I liked you!" he admitted. "I mean, I really liked you. I thought you were this funny, cute, charming, smart guy. I guess I was wrong. Have a good night, Nick, see you at work tomorrow."

"Greg, wait," he pleaded, but he didn't follow him. He just watched him walk away and climbed the stairs to his apartment, the slamming of the door echoing in the complex. He winced, rolling his eyes at the sky as he walked around to the driver's side of his SUV. He sat inside, wishing he'd have followed Greg, but he couldn't. There was something unnerving about knowing the young man had had a crush on him. This had been purely sexual to Nick, something fun and naughty and experimental, and to Greg, this had been...what? Something serious?

"How do I get myself into this shit?" he asked himself out loud, as he turned over the engine, letting the cool air hit his face. He leaned against the steering wheel, hit his head against it and heard the car horn. Greg was sure wrong about him. He wasn't funny or cute or charming or smart. He was not funny and not cute and not charming and not smart. Definitely not smart.

He caught his eyes in the rearview mirror, wondering how he was going to deal with this later tonight when he saw Greg at work. He could apologize and take him out for a drink. Then they could go back to doing what they were doing before he so stupidly opened his mouth.

Man, he was so not smart. So not smart.

--

To be continued.