Usually, on Nick's days off, he would sleep as late as possible, waking up sometimes close to midnight. He'd roll around in the bed sheets, stretching out, catching up on whatever he'd recorded on his DVR while drinking beer, and maybe even catching up on some of the newer erotic videos on his laptop. It really was, quite honestly, what he considered Heaven to be like. Except, instead of having to get up and answer the door when the food arrived, an angel would deliver it directly to his bed. He also hoped that in Heaven, he'd never have to get up to go to the bathroom because people didn't do that up there.
However, on this day, he'd set his alarm at the God-awful hour of six o'clock in the evening. It was the equivalent of waking up at four in the morning if you had a nine-to-five day job. And while Nick did try to live like a normal human being on his days off, and normal human beings had a real dinner at eight p.m., the proverbial jet-lag that came with it really sucked.
Thank God he had planned ahead and went to the store on his way home this morning. He'd only realized when he'd gotten there that he'd had no idea what the fuck to make for dinner. He liked to think of himself as a skilled cook, loved looking up recipes on the internet and trying new things. Going out to eat was expensive, and when you relied on government pay, that wasn't always the most responsible thing to do. And while he did occasionally enjoy taking himself out to dinner, there was something awkward about asking Greg to join him. That seemed so much like a...well, like a date. And he wasn't sure if he wanted to go there. Dinner at home seemed more comfortable for right now.
After circling the aisles with mostly the snow birds -- a term used to describe the retired that lived here in the winter and went back north for the summer -- he mused that sometime today he should decide what to cook, since he was incredibly tired from a long night at the Walker residence followed by a long night at the crime lab. And, surrounded by the elderly at this time of the morning, it was starting to make him feel old, and he felt it in every bone in his aching body.
Eventually, he'd decided on steak. There was a dark beer/brown sugar marinade that he loved to use, and along with some mashed potatoes and asparagus, he was sure he couldn't go wrong. He briefly worried that Greg might not like it, but pushed that thought aside. If he knew better, which he did -- he definitely knew better -- he would think there were butterflies in his stomach. Drunk, violent, spiteful butterflies with a grudge against Nick's insides.
Anyway, he woke up at six o'clock, showered, shaved, dressed. Dressed again. And again. And as he looked in his closet, he realized with disdain that everything he owned was black. Greg was always wearing some kind of crazy pattern in a loud color, how could Nick sit across the dinner table wearing something as boring as black?
He raked his fingers through his hair. What was wrong with him? He was acting like some kid, acting like he was back in Texas and getting ready for his first date with the captain of the cheerleading team back at A&M. Whatever, just pick a shirt, man!
Black it was. A fitted tee shirt and jeans. As per usual. He stepped into the kitchen at about seven o'clock, pulling his marinading steaks and asparagus out of the fridge, grabbing the potatoes off the counter, and went to work. He just hoped that Greg wouldn't be late. If Nick timed this perfectly, Greg would be arriving in the door just as he was plating the food.
At seven-thirty the doorbell rang. There went his timing. The potatoes were just beginning to boil and the steaks were only just hitting the cast-iron grill on the stove, nothing was ready for plating...but he couldn't help but put a hand to his stomach, trying to calm those drunk-ass butterflies.
He stepped to the door, glancing through the peephole and seeing Greg standing there, looking off to the left. He admired the straight nose, the soft jaw line, watched as Greg fidgeted impatiently, smoothing down his hair with both hands. Nick noticed the stripes on his sleeves as he did so, saw the different hues of blue and orange beneath a brown, corduroy blazer, nodded as he thought he couldn't have guessed better. As if sensing Nick there, he looked up and squinted, a mock-glare on his face.
"Let me in!" he called from the breezeway. "I can feel you looking at me. I come from a clairvoyant family, remember? Or maybe it's because the peephole got dark."
Nick couldn't help but smile as he stepped back to unlock the door. So that's how Greg could read him like a book, he silently considered with amusement. He pulled open the door, keeping his smile as he stepped aside to let the younger man pass. Couldn't help but travel the slender-fitting jeans from waist to toe with his eyes. "What's up, Greggo. You know you're early, right? Dinner's not ready yet."
"I know. I got up early to get ready, and then I got bored," he replied, holding out a bottle of wine like a waiter presenting it to his table. "Pino grisio. I wasn't sure what we were having, but I thought bringing beer would be too Superbowl. And I don't like red wine. Hence: pino."
"Ain't nothing wrong with that," Nick replied, stepping back into the kitchen to check on his food. Greg followed close behind, nearly bumping into him as he stopped at the stove. He could hear Greg inhaling through his nostrils.
"That smells awesome," the junior CSI stated, standing entirely too close. He was aware of that heat again, could smell the sharp cologne, almost feel the curves of Greg's body against his back. Almost. "I always figured you for a steak and potatoes kind of guy."
"Oh, yeah?" Nick asked, grabbing a wine key from the drawer, needing to step away from the tall man next to him, knowing if he didn't the steaks would burn endlessly on the stove. "Why's that?"
"You look like a meathead," was the reply he received, and he cocked an eyebrow at Greg's flash of white teeth. The young man took the wine key from Nick's hand with slender fingers, the shock of the touch causing Nick's breath to catch. Greg looked up at him from under dark eyelashes, his smile transforming into a knowing grin. "Thanks."
"No, thank you," Nick said, remembering his basic grammar. He continued, rather lamely, "And I'm not a meathead."
"Joke!" Greg exclaimed, opening the bottle in a way that indicated this definitely wasn't his first time. He looked up again. "I was a server in New York. Knew a guy who knew a guy, started as a busser and worked my way up. You wouldn't believe how much cash I made in mid-town."
"All your smarts and you were a server?" Nick asked, brow knitted as he dumped the potatoes into a strainer in the sink. He returned them to the pot, allowing the remaining water to evaporate. Had he ever known Greg lived in New York?
"Hey, man," he said, popping the cork with a grunt. "Aside from being incredibly attractive, you've gotta be smart to be a server. On your game and able to balance seven four-tops at one time."
"Four-tops?" Nick asked, puzzled.
"Restaurant lingo," he stated. "Four people. If there's two, it's a two-top. One, one-top. Et-cetera. Do you have any wine glasses?"
"No. Us meatheads only drink beer. Usually out of the can. Bottles are above me."
Greg's laugh was melodious as he opened the cabinets with abandon until he found a rock glass with an American flag on it. "Oh, my God, you are from Texas."
"Shut up," Nick shot, mashing potatoes with a fork. "It was a Christmas present from my mom. Now get out of my kitchen. Go in the living room and watch some TV or something. You're messing up my mojo."
"Yes, sir." Greg poured a copious amount of wine into his glass before returning to the stove for one last whiff. This time, his body did touch Nick's, so lightly the older man almost wasn't sure if it was wishful thinking. But then he felt a hand on his waist, searing him. "Looks as good as it smells."
Static from the stereo in the living room startled him back to the present, and he realized that Greg was gone. The touch had left him frozen, oblivious to his surroundings for a fraction of a second. He blinked hard as he went to the refrigerator for milk and butter, trying to compose himself as he heard radio station after radio station. Whatever Greg was in the mood for, he wasn't finding it.
"Can I plug in my iPod?" he called from the living room. "There's no good music on."
"Go for it."
Nick stepped away from the steaks for a minute and into the living room, knowing they had a few more minutes before they were finished. The asparagus was boiling, the potatoes were staying warm in the pot, he could take a minute to watch Greg stand in front of the bay window, looking out over the street. He stood with one hand casually in his jeans' pocket, the other wrapped around the rock glass. The setting sun hit his face, the deep glow of purple and pink settling on his skin, making him look radiant. Nick could almost see the music floating around him in the air. It started simple and then exploded in crescendo, the passion in the singer's voice as captivating as the sight in front of him.
"Edison would spin in his grave...
To ever see the light that you gave...
Don't want to take it nice and slow here...
Don't want to waste a minute more, dear...
The universe just vanished out of sight...
And all the stars collapsed behind the pitch black night...
And I can barely see your face in front of mine...
But it is knowing you are there that makes me fine..."
"Snow Patrol," Greg said suddenly, and Nick hadn't realized his presence had been known. "If you were going to ask who this was."
He turned slowly to look at Nick, smiled. Kept looking, and Nick opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. It hit him, all at once, that he didn't know what he was doing tonight. Dinner had seemed like a good idea but now Nick had not only lost all words but also his mind. What was he doing? Was he trying to court the young man watching him from across the room? Certainly he didn't need to seduce him. It had been obvious from their first night of drinking that Greg wanted him, and wasn't afraid to show it. So what, exactly, was the purpose of all this? Why had Nick invited him over? And why had Greg come?
He meant to ask, but instead, "How do you like your steak?" came out.
Greg's smile was gone but the amusement was shining in his eyes. "Medium rare, please."
"Good," he said simply, and then walked back into the kitchen. He needed a beer. Two had already been consumed before Greg had even gotten here, but Nick could handle his liquor. Two wasn't even enough to have a buzz. He pulled another one out of the fridge, twisting off the bottle-cap and tossing it into the trash almost violently. The precipice he had been standing on was starting to shake, was going to force him over the edge, and he didn't like it. Was Greg freaking out on the inside too? Somehow, he'd bet not. It annoyed him to think that he could be so anxious and Greg could take this all in stride, just like everything else. To just stand there so casually with his hand in his pocket, silent and stoic and so in control, while Nick was losing his mind in the kitchen.
"Are you okay?" Greg, from the doorway. Nick took a deep breath and turned to pull out two plates from the cabinet, trying to regain his composure.
"Yeah, just getting ready to plate up," Nick replied, busying himself with the task. "Do you need some more wine before we sit?"
"Yeah," he said, opening the refrigerator and pulling out the bottle. Make yourself at home, Nick thought, realizing then that Greg had not made haste in becoming comfortable in Nick's apartment. "You seem a little anxious." Hands on his shoulders, startling him. How could Greg do that? Not be there one moment, and the next he was kneading fingertips into Nick's muscles. Nick started, trying to relax...it did feel pretty nice. "Anything I can do to help?"
"That right there," he said, closing his eyes, leaning into the pressure on his shoulders. He felt Greg against him, felt Greg's lips on his neck, felt teeth scrape against his skin, smelled wine and cologne and it was making him crazy with desire. He wanted to subdue him and push him into the bed and show him that Nick was in control and Greg is the one who should be anxious. Nick felt a heat in his gut that he had to get a hold of before dinner got cold. It took most of his energy, but he managed to pull away, grabbing two hot plates and handing one to Greg. "Table. Sit. Now."
"Sure thing, Tarzan," Greg said, grinning madly, looking rather pleased with himself for ruffling Nick's feathers, and once again Nick had to use all of his energy not to wipe the smile from his face.
Oh, God, this was going to be a long night.
--
"I swear to God, Nick," Greg was saying, flashing those white teeth as he lazily held the glass of wine in his hand, elbow jutting up from the table. He was leaning forward, telling his story with such exuberance that Nick wondered why he hadn't liked listening to Greg's stories before. "Warrick looked up from the microscope and he had the little raccoon eyes. It took everything in my body not to laugh, when he left the lab -- "
"Wait a second," Nick interrupted, leaning back in his seat, legs splayed, acutely aware of one of Greg's leaning against one of his own. "You let Warrick leave the lab with ink circles around his eyes?"
"Yes!" Greg said, and held up a finger. "And nobody said anything to him for an hour and a half. I walked in on him washing off his face in the bathroom an hour and a half later, Nick."
"I hope you ran in the other direction," Nick offered, smirking.
"Please, I ain't scared," he said. "Just because I got the crap beat out of me once doesn't mean I can't fight. Ten against one, come on. All I need is the chance."
He mocked throwing punches like a boxer, and Nick was smiling even though he was wondering how Greg could talk about something like that so casually. Greg had been laid up in the hospital for days, a broken leg and arm, his face purple and puffy -- fuck, even some of his hair had been torn out -- and yet here he was, as if it had just been some kind of mild scuffle. It was like Nick likening his live burial to a few hours of alone time.
"Doesn't it..." Nick began, but wasn't sure if this was something he wanted to get into. Fuck it. "Doesn't it bother you? What happened to you?"
"Yes," he answered, and Nick wasn't expecting him to be so blunt. Greg shrugged, taking a sip of wine. "Sometimes I still freak out a little when I'm walking alone and hear somebody behind me. But I can't live in fear that it's going to happen again. The chances of it happening the first time were slim, if it happened again I think I'd play the lottery. Unless I was dead, of course. I'd better write down the numbers I want and keep them in my wallet."
"Greg." But he couldn't say anything else. He looked down, fingering his napkin. "Do you ever...dream about it...still?"
When he looked up again, he could see the soft smile on his companion's lips, the look of genuine compassion in his eyes. "Of course I do. Sometimes it's blurry, but sometimes it's so clear I wake up and it takes me a minute to realize I'm not there. But I'm not there, you know? I'm alive and they're in jail and that's that. I'm sure Mr. Piggy wishes he'd never passed the likes of me. The beating he's getting in jail is probably a lot worse than the one I got."
Nick's breath exploded from him, feeling relieved that even though it had been years since his kidnapping, it was okay for him to still be damaged. It was normal, and Nick hadn't felt normal for the first time in a long time.
"Thanks," he said to Greg, and he knew he didn't have to say anything more.
Greg nodded in recognition, and in moments his expression changed and there was a hint of mischief in his eyes. "So...I know what you like about me, but what is it that you don't like?"
Nick narrowed his eyes, smiling and holding up a hand in defense. "I don't think I want to play this game. It sounds like a trap."
"No, come on," Greg pleaded, putting his glass on the table and getting up to get more wine. Thankfully, he seemed to be able to hold his wine better than his liquor, although if Nick could guess by his more frequent giddiness, the man's inhibitions were definitely in question. "You said you got to know me a little and now you do like me, right? So what was it about me that put you off." He stepped back into the living room, but stood behind his chair instead of sitting in it. "Seriously. Maybe it'll help me make more friends if I know what it is about me that people don't like. Want to sit on the couch?"
"Yeah," Nick said, pushing his chair out and abandoning the empty plates and utensils. He grabbed his bottle of beer and sat down heavily into the leather, Greg joining him, sitting impossibly close. Their thighs were touching, Greg's hand was on Nick's leg, and he had to fight from shifting uncomfortably. It wasn't that he didn't like Greg touching him, it was just that he had a lot harder of a time forming sentences and thinking cognitively when he did.
"So...?"
"Greg, I don't think this is a good idea."
"I promise I won't get mad!"
Nick pursed his lips, sighed. Saw those persistent eyes and knew that this wasn't something Greg was going to give up on. He tried to find the words -- the right words, the ones that weren't going to make Greg think Nick was a jerk. "You're..."
"I'm...?"
"I'm getting there," he continued, peeling the label of the beer off of the glass. "You talk too much."
"But I thought everything I say is interesting," Greg interjected, pouting.
"I know, that's what's annoying about it," he stated, shrugging. "You talk and everybody listens to you. They hang on to your every word because you're so smart and you know what you're talking about, and you do it in this cute way that makes everybody like you even when you drive them crazy. Look at Catherine and Sara, they would do anything to protect you."
Greg smiled. "I am smart."
"I know you are," Nick said, and took another swig of beer. "You use big words that I don't even know what they mean sometimes, and that study you're doing on the effect of DNA and some kind of binding thing -- ?"
"The effect of DNA modifications on DNA processing by HIV-1 integrase and inhibitor binding," Greg clarified. "It's actually about the role of DNA backbone flexibility and an open catalytic site. Grissom's going to sponsor me, he's really impressed with my -- "
"Whatever, man," Nick said, bristling. "That's what I mean. Even when you say it it sounds interesting. You're too smart and you talk too much and you never stop moving and sometimes it makes me want to shut your mouth and keep you still."
He didn't actually mean to say it exactly like that, and he was afraid he'd really offended Greg, but when he looked at him he could see that coy smile on his face. Greg picked at the inseam on Nick's thigh, his fingertips just inches away from Nick's cock. That pink tongue sliding across his lips and then he said, "And how exactly would you do that?"
Nick didn't have to respond verbally. Instead, he leaned towards Greg, took a fistful of hair and kissed his mouth hard. Images of kissing pressed up against the SUV flashed through his mind as he pressed Greg up against the seat of the couch, feeling Greg's body against his own, feeling every inch of it beneath his. He pressed his hips into that slender waist, felt Greg's leg hooking around his, felt hands on his back, pulling him closer. He pushed his tongue into that mouth that never stopped talking, and even when they were kissing the young man was still vocal, moaning into his mouth and driving Nick mad.
Nick pushed his hands under Greg's shirt, the blazer had been abandoned a long time ago, sitting somewhere in the apartment. Felt smooth skin, wanted to see it. He fumbled clumsily at the buttons as fast as he could, pushed aside the fabric to see fair skin. His mouth moved from Greg's to the man's throat, to his neck, to his collarbone. He had never explored another man's body, and was excited to see what he would find. Greg's hands slipped up his shirt, pulling, tugging, and Nick sat up long enough to allow it to be pulled over his head. He caught Greg's expression, saw the pure lust in his eyes and felt a rush through his blood.
"You're hot," Greg muttered as his hands moved up the ridges of Nick's chest, the corners of his mouth tugging into a smile, and Nick could help but blush. Greg's smile widened. "And cute."
"Greg," he stammered suddenly, remembering himself. "I've never done this before. With a man, I mean."
"I figured that's what you meant," Greg replied, amused. His hands were traveling down Nick's shoulders, down his arms, slender fingers grasping around Nick's wrists, on either side of Greg's head. "You've done this with a woman right? Give it to her in the back door?"
And now it was Nick's turn to be amused. Only Greg would say something like that at a time like this. "Yes."
"Then you already know what you're doing."
Nick felt the confidence glow within himself, bursting into a hot flame that could challenge the sun and put it to shame. He leaned down and pressed his lips against Greg's once more, and this time Greg was the one to push his tongue into Nick's mouth. Felt hands in his hair, felt them on his arms, his back, his shoulders, Greg was everywhere at once and if Nick hadn't been sure that he wanted to do this before, he was pretty sure now.
"So tell me something, Greggo," he murmured into Greg's ear, hearing Greg sigh beneath him, feeling Greg struggle to get closer. It thrilled him to be back in control, to know that Greg had lost it between them and in himself. "You can sense the future right?"
"Yeah," was the breathy reply he received, followed by a sharp intake of air as Nick pressed his thigh into Greg's erection.
"So what's going to happen?" he asked. "Tell me my future."
"You're going to sleep tonight," he said, and Nick paused. He pulled back a little, looking into Greg's eyes, and for a moment he was startled by the true perceptiveness of the man beneath him. He had never mentioned his insomnia over the past few days to anyone. "But not before you show me how much you really do like me."
The young man slithered out from beneath Nick, standing up to push down his jeans. He stood there in the living room in his boxer-briefs, tight against his skin, all but showing Nick everything. God, those legs seemed miles long. He watched Greg move to the hallway, watched him turn and look back with dark eyes. "Are you coming? Or am I going to have to do this by myself?"
"No," Nick replied hastily, getting up from the couch, grinning as Greg raced down the hall and into Nick's bedroom. He crossed the threshold and it was like he was walking into somebody else's life. He saw Greg on the bed, laid back, propped up on elbows, those long legs splayed, his underwear abandoned on the floor, and Nick had never felt before that he could want another man like he wanted the one before him right now.
"I didn't think you could be so sexy," he blurted out, and when the words left his mouth, he realized how corny they sounded. But he meant it. Greg just smiled, almost lazily, the small night light glowing softly in the corner of the room, illuminating just enough. He crossed the room to the man on his bed, pushing down his own jeans and underwear and allowing them to slide to the floor. He knelt on the bed, his knees between Greg's legs, leaned back until he pressed his lips against Greg's once more.
"Nicky," the young man breathed into his mouth, delicate hands on either side of Nick's face, pulling him closer. "Oh, Nicky, please..."
And that was all he needed to fall recklessly right over that precipice. Within minutes, he was inside of Greg, moving against him as he held him in his arms. Greg's hands were everywhere, on his back and his shoulders and his arms, whispering into his ear, and Nick almost couldn't discern the difference between his voice and his touch, it was like he was everything all at once. And when he felt that familiar yet new throbbing around his cock, felt the familiar throbbing of his own, felt Greg gripping his body closer, heard him sigh his name so softly into his ear -- "Oh, Nicky...Nicky, Nicky, yes..." -- he knew he would never be the same.
--
To be continued, because I feel like there's more. Also, the study Greg is doing already exists, no infringement was meant on behalf of those way intelligent scientists. The next chapter isn't going to be written until after the season premiere. I'm not sure if I want to incorporate it into the story yet, so don't expect another update for another week or so. Sorry!