Title: Freaky Friday
Author: Sam
Email: HawkDancng@aol.com
Fandom: CSI
Pairing: Grissom/Nick/Greg
Rating: Mild PG
Summary: Ever had one of those conversations that blindsides you and makes you wonder what the hell just happened? Kicker is, this challenge response started out sooo much different...
Notes: Challenge response. Unbeta’d. First posted CSI fic of any kind. Oh the title? No relation to the movie by the same name...
Peja's challenge 1: Use the words "unconditional love" in a story Challenge 2: Words to be included in improv: games/touch/drenched/ blast/ tush Challenge 3: an Opening lines challenge: "You can't play a player...."
Warnings: Not really, no.
Disclaimer: Not mine and never will be. No harm intended, just pleasant diversion before bed.
Url: None.
Freaky Friday
by Sam
"You can't play a player if you’ve never played the game, Nick."
"What makes you think I haven’t?" Hands set on the wheel, fending off the morning rush hour traffic, Gil Grissom pinned his colleague with a sideways glare. The Texan’s jaw was set and slightly lifted, eyes glittering dangerously close to...something. Something Grissom was equally sure Nick knew absolutely nothing about.
"Played games?" his boss asked, one eyebrow lifted enough in a pointed look Nick could easily read.
The strong chin jutted out a little more at the layer of disapproval in the question, his hands clenched unconsciously on the console where it rested between them. "Or that I don’t know the rules already?"
An eyebrow rose. "Do you?"
He watched as Nick held on to the stubborn part him a minute more before acquiescing slowly; sill on edge, still in dangerous waters. "And you do?" The eyebrow rose a trifle higher. "Show me."
A statement that that was as much a demand as question. And suddenly that rash, foolhardy challenge was all it took to make up his mind. If Nick Stokes was determined to blindly jump into foreign waters, the younger man had no idea just how deep he had landed.
"Alright."
That was it. No shocked or scandalized glares that boring-homebody-science geek Grissom would even know about The Game or The Rules...no prevarications or protests that this was all just theory and conjecture. Just ‘alright’.
The terse nod rolled over Nick like a heat wave and drenched him in nervous sweat; because, apparently, it *wasn’t* all conjecture and abstract theory. Grissom really *did* know.
With that realization, everything was suddenly sensitized. Nick felt the warm air of another beautiful southern Nevada dawn on his skin from the open window as the older CSI parked in front of his townhouse, felt the rocking shift of the SUV roll under his tush as Grissom shut the door.
"Be at Greg’s in one hour." Getting out of the dark Tahoe, Gil stopped on Nick’s side, the younger man still pinned in his seat, uncertain as to what he had just gotten himself into. Eyebrows rose over the mirrored shades. "Come prepared to scream, Nick."
"Scream?"
Ok, was that croak really his?
Must have been for Grissom’s mouth twitched up in a grin and the almost tender touch on his shoulder ghosted up his neck just under his ear before falling away. The creases of his face evened out and Nick could almost see the blue eyes twinkle in the fond admonishment he sometimes used when he was in a good mood.
He felt his heart hammer in his chest.
"And beg."
"Aw, man..." Nick groaned.
"Greg’s," the voice was harder now; the tone a command rather than the Entomologist's usual quiet confidence. "One hour, Nick."
With that, he was gone, turning and making his way inside, the contrast of the darkness within his home swallowing him even before the solid oak door swung shut.
The helpful addition wasn’t so helpful and Nick found he had to walk a little funny around the hood; working his way up into the Tahoe was an adventure in and of itself.
What was *that*?
*Love, * Stokes thought to himself and sighed, reflex checking the rear view as he pulled out of the parking lot though Grissom had long since gone inside. *How did a hypothetical conversation on unconditional love turn into a bondage session with my boss?*
Strangely enough, the butterflies calmed a little and Nick felt a smile break free, flashing the guy beside him in a brand new Passat. The light changed the guy lagged behind as Nick blast ahead, suddenly very eager to get home, showered and where he was told to be. *Greg’s door...*
"Gift horses, Stokes," he admonished himself. Turning the corner on onto Melbourne, the smile shifted again until he laughed, a short, simple bark of pure anticipation.
"Freaky Friday, man," he told himself with a grin. "Freaky Friday."
*Wonder if I should bring the handcuffs?*
end