Chapter 2

Concern filled the tall African American CSI's green eyes. "What's gotten into you, man? You know I don't swing that way."

A sheepish look settled on Nick's face. "I-I can't explain it, 'Rick. I've known him for a total of about ten minutes. I don't even know anything about him, but..."

The concern was replaced by a wide, knowing smile.

"What?" Nick asked, wondering if 'Rick had suddenly noticed something on his face, or noticed a spot he'd missed while shaving.

"You've got it bad, bro," was all Warrick would say, though.

Nick felt his face heat, and knew he had to have turned bright red. He didn't have to inquire about what Warrick meant, he knew.

Clapping his hand on Nick's shoulder, Warrick finally spoke again, "You've found the other half of your soul, Nicky. A lot of people go through their whole lives never being drawn to another person the way you're being drawn to him."

Warrick noted the flood of happiness on Nick's face. He allowed a smile to take over his own face, as he met his friend's eyes again. The unmistakable pain just below the surface of the happiness in Nick's brown orbs drew forth a concerned, "What is it?" from Warrick.

Nick looked through the glass wall towards Greg again. The younger man seemed to have found a use and care guide for one of the machines, and was thumbing through it, still oblivious to the fact that he had an audience. "He's been hurt, 'Rick."

"I thought you said you didn't..." Warrick trailed off, as Nick turned his pain filled gaze back on his friend.

"He flinched from me, 'Rick. All I did was hand him an evidence envelope, and he recoiled like I was a rattler. And he's fucking terrified of Grissom. The one person here he probably has the least to fear from, and he's scared stiff of the man. He hides it well, but I saw right through him." Nick's voice had thickened, his accent deepening, as his emotions were conveyed with his words. "Somebody hurt him, and all I want to do is pull him to me and hold him, 'Rick. I don't know if he'll ever let me."

"Nicky, if anyone can help him, it's you," Warrick said, squeezing Nick's shoulder before pulling Nick reluctantly from the DNA lab with, "We better get to work, before Grissom gives us a reason to fear him."

Greg had known Nick was watching him through the glass walls surrounding the DNA lab. For once in his life, it didn't bother him. On the contrary, it made him feel safer than he'd felt in a long time.

~~~CSI~~~

As Greg fell, exhausted, into his bed, he pondered the way the rest of his night had gone. He'd met the rest of the graveyard shift CSIs, Warrick Brown, and Catherine Willows. He had found himself able to slide into an easy comradery with the Negro – he shook his head, reminding himself that in this time the proper term was African American – African American CSI. The mocha skinned man had a way about him that instantly set others at ease. Catherine Willows was a different story. While he didn't find himself terrified of her, as he was of Grissom, he still wasn't totally at ease with her around. Her blond haired, blue eyed good looks would have put her among the elite in his own time. And while he continuously reminded himself that things were different here, he still found it difficult to relax around those who would have been subjugating him in his own era.

The parts of his shift that he remembered the clearest, and with the fondest memories, were the times Nick had come in. The older man always preceded his entry to the DNA lab with a good natured laugh in the corridor, as though someone had told him a funny joke. The quietly spoken, "Hey, G!" as the older man crossed the threshold, caressed his ears as he imagined Nick's hands would eventually caress his body, sending shivers of delight down his frame.

And any time the older man entered the lab, he moved with almost exaggerated slowness, doing his best to put Greg at ease. There were no sudden moves, no loudly voiced exclamations when results weren't what he'd been expecting. And each time he left, it was with that same, "You're safe here, G," that he'd voiced earlier.

The last time Nick came in the lab, just an hour before the end of shift, Greg had offered the older man a small, shy smile of thanks. Nick had rewarded him with a smile wide enough to fit the state of Texas in. During Nick's short visits, he had offered up small tidbits of information about himself – no doubt, trying to get Greg to offer some information up of his own. One of those tidbits had been about growing up on a horse ranch in the great state of Texas.

Greg promised himself, that as soon as he had some time, he'd find out everything about Texas that he could. About all he knew was that it was the largest of the fifty states.

As he drifted into sleep, Greg prayed he would sleep deeply enough that he wouldn't dream.

The dream started as it always did. He was pressed ruthlessly up against the cold tile of the men's room bathroom at the lab where he was being forced to help bring about the end of the world for so many people. The guard who followed him around while he tended to his duties was forcing his cock into Greg's ass, and Greg was biting his lip to keep from screaming out in pain. He'd learned early on, the louder he was, the more the guard liked it. The guard was beginning to thrust in and out of him, when the dream... changed.

Greg could describe it no other way. One minute, he could feel the cold of the tiles seeping into his chest and cheek, the next, he was laying on his back in a warm, soft bed. He was naked, now, but he was surprisingly not bothered by it, as he thought he should be.

A low, playful laugh, followed by, "Hey, G!" caressed his ears. And now, hands were caressing his body. He forced his eyes open, and felt his heart rate speed up at the sight before him. Nick was leaning towards him, pink tongue swiping over desire swollen lips, eyes locked on one of Greg's nipples.

When the tip of Nick's tongue flicked over Greg's nipple, teasing it into a hard nub, Greg arched his back, a needy moan escaping his lips. And something else happened, something the Nazi guard had never had the satisfaction of causing. Blood rushed to Greg's cock, bringing it to quick attention. Nick brought their groins together, causing Greg to buck under him with a shouted, "Oh, my God!"

Greg awoke to the feeling of a wet spot in his pajama bottoms, and the knowledge that he was still painfully hard. He'd never had a dream that intense in his life. He'd never had a dream that started as a nightmare, only to turn into a dream so full of passion. It seemed that even in Greg's dreams, Nick was protecting him.

In his own time, Greg would never have considered acting on his impulses to bed a man. It just wasn't accepted. He had discovered that this time was much more tolerant, so he had every intention of acting on his desire for Nick, so with the other man's image firmly in mind, he reached down and stroked himself through his pajama bottoms. It had been so long since he'd wanted anything like this, that he came almost immediately.

~~~CSI~~~

Across town, Nick was standing under a spray of hot water in the shower. He'd had the most vivid dream he'd ever had, and it had left him more than a little confused.

He'd been looking down on a bathroom he didn't recognize. It was obviously a public restroom, as there were two toilet stalls, and two urinals. The floor and walls were all white ceramic tile, giving the place a cold, institutional feel. The way the florescent lights glared off the tiles only added to that feeling.

There were two men in the room. One had the other pushed face first against the tile wall. With a shock of recognition, Nick realized the man against the wall was Greg. His dark hair was shaved down to stubble, and he was thin enough that his bones protruded painfully from his skin. His trousers had been pushed down around his ankles, and a white lab coat was hiked up above his butt. His eyes were squeezed shut, and he had his upper teeth sunk painfully into his lower lip in an obvious effort to keep quiet. A small whimper of fear and pain still managed to escape his throat, though.

Rage building inside him, Nick focused his attention on the man forcing himself on Greg. The man was a giant, towering over Greg's six one with ease, making him at least six seven. His hair was so light a blond it was almost white. He hadn't bothered to push his pants down, had only unbuckled his belt and opened the fly to release his cock. The clothing the man wore were an olive green color, and around his left biceps there was a red cloth with a white circle. In the white circle was a swastika.

As with all dreams, perspective can change in the blink of an eye. Nick went from hovering over the scene to standing right behind the two men. He grabbed the soldier by the shoulder, pulling him back so hard and fast, the man stumbled and fell. Nick knelt over the prone Nazi soldier, his hand going to the man's throat.

There was a strangled, "Nicky!" then the dream changed again.

Now, Nick was hovering over Greg's naked body. The younger man was sprawled out on Nick's bed, his eyes tightly closed, but there was no fear.

A gentle laugh bubbled up from Nick's throat, and he murmured, "Hey, G!" Allowing his hands to wander over Greg's body, he watched Greg open his eyes, marveled at their beauty. Leaning forward, he swiped his tongue over suddenly swollen lips and eyed the nipple he longed to taste.

Flicking his tongue over Greg's nipple, Nick was rewarded by the younger man arching into him and letting out a needy moan. He felt his cock swell and lengthen, brought it down to rub against Greg's. This time, the younger man bucked under him, shouting, "Oh, my God!"

He'd awakened laying on his stomach in a pool of cum. But that hadn't been the end of it. He was still rock hard. He'd had to carefully maneuver himself off the bed, as even the slightest touch on his taut flesh threatened to transform him into a gooey puddle. Stumbling to the bathroom, he turned on the shower as hot as he could stand it, then got in. After pouring a generous amount of liquid soap into his hand, he had fisted his cock, tugging and twisting at it until he shot ropes of white cum over the shower wall.

Now that he was back in firm control of himself, he thought about the first part of his dream again. That was the confusing part. Surely his brain was using the Nazi soldier as a symbol for whomever had hurt Greg. That was how the brain worked during sleep, after all. It had just seemed so real, too real. He couldn't seem to shake the feeling that he was on the cusp of having something profound revealed to him.