Boxing the Compass

by Emily Brunson

(c)2002

Fandom: Crime Scene Investigation

Pairing: Nick/Gil

Summary: Everyone seems to be interested in fixing up Gil's love life, whether he wants them to or not

NOTES:. The timeline is indeterminate, but sometime in the late second season, and say it with me: "Before the season-two finale." My thanks to C and E for midwife duties and for being extremely cool folks.

This is obviously the first bit of a new story. More as time permits.

The only warning is an NC-17 label, and, well, it's fairly fluffy, at least so far, so's you know.

Comments of any ilk are always welcome, either on the list or in private. Hope you enjoy. Best, Em
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Boxing the Compass
by Emily Brunson
(c)2002

There's a bump in the basement
There's a knocking on the wall
In the pumping of the pistons
I swear I heard your call
There's a bump in the basement
There's a hole in the floor
There's a guard in the garden
Locking up the door
(Peter Gabriel, "The Tower That Ate People")



Cardinal Points
North


"Oooh. Evaluation time, I guess."

Gil glanced at Warrick and smiled. "Hey, you got your turn. Now I get mine."

"Fair enough." Warrick sat down in one of the chairs and leaned back. "So how'd I do?"

"Haven't done yours yet."

"Is it too late for bribes?"

Gil shook his head, grinning. "Technically, no, but I don't think you'll need one."

"That's good to hear. Any raises?"

"Possibly. I don't have the final decision on that."

"Because my rent's going up, man, I could use some extra cash."

"Just promise me you'll take the road more traveled for it, okay?"

"Ouch. Yeah."

Warrick didn't leave, and finally Gil frowned at him. "I didn't even ask you what you needed. Sorry."

"Nah, no big deal. Cath and me are heading out, gonna grab a beer. Wanna come?"

Gil surveyed his cluttered desk. "I shouldn't," he said heavily.

"Those ain't goin' anywhere."

"True. Sure. Why not."

Which was how he ended up in the postage-stamp bar they always went to after work, the one with normally very little cigarette smoke, few patrons, and a night bartender who never cut the drinks.

Warrick lifted his beer. "Good job tonight."

"Hear, hear," Catherine added, grinning when she clinked her glass against his.

"Absent friends," Gil said, and tasted his bourbon. Advantages of going to the same place all the time: Didn't have to tell the waitress what brand of booze he liked. "So where are Sara and Nick, anyway? Didn't want to come?"

Catherine sipped her martini. "Sara's still at work. Like you had to ask. No idea about Nick."

"Said he already had plans," Warrick told her.

"New lady friend?" Catherine smiled.

"Hell if I know."

"Hope so. Definitely adds some spice."

Warrick raised his eyebrows. "Sounds like there's a story there."

She winked at him. "There is, and conveniently enough he just walked in the door." She waved at a tall, stocky man near the entrance. "You guys behave yourselves, all right?"

"Don't we always?" Gil returned.

"More's the pity. See you bachelors later." She grabbed drink and purse and walked away, smiling.

"So it's just me and you, huh."

Gil nodded. "Looks like it." He took another pull off his bourbon, relishing the sweet heat in the back of his mouth. "So catch me up. Anything new?"

Warrick smiled and shrugged. "Not much. Staying out of trouble."

"Always good. Seeing anyone?"

"Man, you're really sociable tonight."

"I try to be, at least once a year."

"Annual thing, I get it. Yeah, I'm seeing somebody."

Gil nodded. "Anybody we know?"

"No one you know. Her name's Lola." He drank some beer. "Nurse over at Southwest."

"Sounds good."

"Yeah, we been out a few times. Great woman, gorgeous, smart. Now if we didn't work completely different schedules, maybe I'd get excited."

"Well, you could always put in for a transfer to Eck --"

"Don't EVEN go there."

Gil chuckled. "Forgive me my little amusements."

"That's torture, man, not amusement." Warrick shuddered theatrically. "And you?"

Gil looked up. "Me what?"

"Nice try, Grissom. You, seeing anyone?"

"Do you think I am?"

Warrick sighed, but his lips curved in a wry smile. "Gonna have to be on a damn rollercoaster before you spill, huh?"

"Hasn't been nine years yet," Gil reminded him.

"Right, right. So are you?"

"No."

"Too bad, man. All work and no play, know what I'm saying?"

"I've made my peace with being dull."

"Hey, Mona's got a friend. A doctor friend."

Now Gil laughed out loud. "Come on, Warrick, stop trying to fix me up."

"Can't blame a brother for trying."

"Thanks."

Warrick finished off his beer and glanced at his watch. "I gotta get. Coming?"

Gil lifted his drink. "Not done yet. I'll stick around for a while."

"Understood. Later, okay?"

"Later, Warrick."

He watched Catherine across the room, laughing at something the tall guy said. Good for her. Maybe this one might work out for her. God knew she deserved something to go right.

When his drink was gone he moved to the bar. Patrick came over, towel in
hand. "Hey, Grissom."

"Hi, Patrick."

"Another?"

Gil slid his glass forward. "Sure."

He watched Patrick pour, smiling when a fresh drink appeared in front of him. "Thanks."

"Flying solo tonight?"

"Don't you mean this morning?"

"Hey, it's about noon for me."

Gil chuffed a laugh. "Little later than that for me."

"God loves the night shift."

"Sometimes."

"Got any new gossip for me?"

Gil lifted an eyebrow. "Aren't I supposed to ask you that? You're the bartender here."

"Not after May. Bar exam. And I intend to pass on the first try."

"Good for you. You sure you want to leave all this behind?"

Patrick laughed. "Ohhhh yeah. Melissa's tired of seeing me about ten minutes a day. I'm tired of seeing her ten minutes a day."

"How's she doing?"

"Great. Did I tell you she was pregnant?"

Gil's eyes widened. "Congratulations. When?"

"About the same time I plan to become a lawyer."

"That's great, Patrick. Glad to hear it."

"When you gonna finally settle down, huh? Get married, buy a dog."

Gil looked at him. "I'm not the marrying type, remember?"

Patrick snorted, ignoring the customer waving at him from the other end of the bar. "Who says it's gotta be a woman?"

"True."

"Granted I see you about once a month, tops, but you seem like a nice guy. So you meet another nice guy and before you know it --"

"What? I'm supposed to marry him?"

Patrick shrugged. "Well, you could still get a dog."

"Actually," Gil said, laughing a little, "I could skip all the other parts and just get the dog."

"But ya miss all the fun parts in between." Patrick rolled his eyes at the guy down the bar. "Coming! That's it, one more, this guy's cut off." He walked away, shaking his head.

The second bourbon went down as smooth and sweet as the first, and then he drank a fast cup of coffee before heading out. At some point Catherine and her date had disappeared, so he walked alone to his truck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had all started as a joke. Or, well, maybe not precisely a joke, but a prank, a dare, something he did because someone said they didn't believe he would. That he COULD.

Shit, throw down a gauntlet like that and what was he supposed to do? Cave? No way.

So because it was completely out of character, everyone knew that, and above and beyond that a dare, and above and beyond THAT because everyone at the party was shit-faced drunk and nobody would remember most of this the next day, he did it.

And it really wasn't that big a deal. Kissing a guy felt quite a bit like kissing a girl, except with beard stubble. Wasn't much of a kiss, anyway, one smack and everyone cheered and he did a couple of shots, to either clear his head or muddle it further, never mind which, and that was that.

Might have been the shots, later, or something, had to be some kind of excuse for him making out with the same guy a couple of hours later. No big deal, right? He never even found out the guy's name, and nobody came anyway, so it wasn't like it was sex. Just kind of -- an experiment. One he never really planned on repeating. Not when there were women around, that was for sure.

Tonight, twelve years later and several hundred miles from Texas, mostly sober and with plenty of women around, he had absolutely no excuses.

"Oh, just kiss him already," someone had said at the club, he had no idea who, and so Brendan had. Enthusiastically. And yeah, he'd kissed back. Which left him here, in Brendan's apartment, half his clothes off and the rest in the process of becoming off, on his back on Brendan's bed with Brendan's tongue in his mouth.

Can't quite rationalize this one the way you did in college, can ya, Nicky boy?

"Uhh," Nick said weakly when Brendan came up for air.

"Yeah," Brendan agreed, and started a very industrious exploration of Nick's neck.

Kind of late to back out now, wasn't it?

It wasn't as if he'd intended to end up this way a few hours ago. Sometimes going out was like this, see? You started with a plan -- usually not that specific a plan, but at least a general idea of where you'd start, and an eye on where you'd like to end up. This had not been on the schedule.

Except hadn't it? One week after meeting Brendan at a friend's party, casual conversation crystallizing suddenly into what could only be defined as attraction, even though, well, he liked women, etc., etc. But Brendan was funny, rather smart, and, let's face it, just between us and the walls here, kind of a hottie. So Nick had gone to dinner with him, nice chitchat over a couple of medium-rare steaks, then the Club of the First Kiss(es), and now? Here.

And oh boy, there went his pants.

"I."

"Huh?" Brendan mumbled from some southerly portion of Nick's anatomy.

"Mmmmaybe we should slow down."

Brendan responded by putting Nick's cock in his mouth, and that sorta helped matters along.

He came embarrassingly fast, gazing down at Brendan's head bobbing between his legs, and he felt so good after that that he didn't much mind when Brendan stuck his finger up Nick's ass. THAT felt pretty damn good, too, in a weird sort of icky way, so he went along until it became obvious that fingers were not the only body parts destined to be up close and personal with his asshole, and then he shrank back against the pillows and closed his legs, prim as a virgin.

Which he was. Well, in this way.

"Come on, baby," Brendan groaned, prying at Nick's knees. "Let's do it. Come on."

He felt vaguely guilty for having a great orgasm while Brendan was still so obviously, er, raring to go. Not very fair, right? So he let Brendan get his legs apart and take care of a little preliminary business, and not too many minutes later he got fucked.

It wasn't until the next day that he could really think about whether or not he'd enjoyed it.

Staring at himself in the mirror while he shaved, he said, "I had sex with a guy." Face didn't look any different.

Body, now, that told the tale. Not loudly, not screaming WOW or OW or anything like that. He had some red places on his neck that were brand-new, oops, beard burn, and his ass could tell something invasive had been done recently. But nothing really hurt, and nothing really felt so good he felt really changed in any way.

He wore a turtleneck sweater to work and kind of forgot about it.

Until the next day, waking up after too little sleep to an erection and the evidence that at least one previous nocturnal emission had taken place, and the all-too-accurate camera in his mind replaying his little adventure in Brendan's bed. He willed the hard-on away, but it didn't pay any attention at all, so he finally jerked off thinking about Brendan's mouth on his dick and Brendan's cock up his ass.

After he came he lay flat on his back, breathing hard.

Hadn't been so bad, had it? In fact, pretty damn good.

What scared him was not the feel-good part, weirdly enough. What had him jumping off the bed like he had been lying on melted August hotpatch was the idea that he'd really, really like to feel that again.

And the companion idea that he knew exactly who he'd like to feel it from.

He showered briskly, and by the time he was done he'd decided not-thinking had a tremendous number of advantages over thinking. Chalk it up to experience, Nicky. That's all.

Yeah. Right.

Cardinal Points
East

Contrary to how it might appear to those he worked with, he did date. Sometimes. All right, rarely, and no one for the past four years. But who was counting?

Besides, Gil thought, rinsing his razor in running water and making his daily peace with the new gray that encroached so steadily on his dark hair, he was old. Medium-old, at least. And set in his ways, oh, most definitely. Dating was for the young. He was old enough to have lost his taste for the weirdness of it all. The incomprehensible nature of attraction. And didn't he see the results all too often of "attraction" gone most terribly wrong? Anything from Cath's dismal post-divorce trauma, now thankfully mostly resolved, to last night's homicide. Not particularly gruesome as these things went, but dead was dead, and passion was the main reason.

Not that his few relationships had ended in murder. Not that he knew of, anyway. It was simply easier this way. No need to make room for someone else's demands. Entertain their quirks, make compromises for the sake of togetherness. Had tried to, a few times, in his rather fumbling way. Not enough, of course, as these once-ago lovers had succinctly informed him.

He toweled his face dry and put the bathroom to rights. No, it really was better this way. Pluses outweighed the minuses. And all of that before he even had to tackle the idea that his romantic partners had been singularly male. Not that any of his current colleagues knew about that. He made sure of that.

He felt out of sorts going to work that afternoon. Still nagged a bit by what Warrick and Patrick had told him. Get a dog. Why would he get a dog when he had pets already? So they were bugs. It was a little tiresome that no one could appreciate the many positive qualities inherent in insects. And you didn't have to take them out in the middle of the night to piss, either.

Catherine was waiting for him, foot tapping impatiently.

"Late for a fire?" Gil asked calmly, opening his office door.

"In a manner of speaking, yes. How are you?"

He smiled and walked inside. "Fine, and you?"

"Great. Listen, I need a couple of hours off."

"You're not even on yet."

"I know. That's why I'm asking."

He dropped a pile of interdepartmental mail on his desk and pulled out his chair. "So take a couple of hours. Unless somebody's called in, I don't see a problem."

"Hey, Grissom?"

He looked up and smiled at Nick. "Yeah."

"Heard about the award. Congratulations."

"Thanks. How'd you hear about it?" he asked curiously.

"Oh, I got connections." Nick smirked.

"Award?" Catherine asked.

"No big deal."

"Like hell," Nick crowed. "I mean, it's not like I know exactly what you did to get it. But still."

"Get what?" Cath sounded a little plaintive now.

Gil smiled and sat down. "It's a certificate of distinction. The stuff I was doing with blowflies last year."

Catherine made a face. "Yum."

"Cochliomyia macellaria, otherwise known as the secondary screw worm."

"So who gave you the certificate?"

"The International Congress in Entomology," Nick pronounced with satisfaction.

"Calm down, Nick, it's a piece of paper."

"Aw, come on. More than that."

Gil chuckled. "Don't you have work to do?"

"All right, all right. But still."

"Go away, Nick."

Nick grinned and left.

"Man," Catherine said softly, watching him go. "I wish I had that effect on people."

Gil glanced up from his stack of memos. "What effect?"

"The one you have," she replied dryly, taking a seat across the desk from him.

"And that would be?"

"Come on, Gil. Half the people in the lab have crushes on you."

He blinked at her. "*Crushes*?"

She grinned and nodded. "Ohhh yeah. Don't tell me you hadn't noticed."

"I hadn't noticed," he said helplessly.

"Trust me."

"Wait a second. Crushes?"

"Very much so."

"As in...."

"Yep."

"But -- Who?"

She leaned back in her chair and laced her fingers together. "Oh, where to start? How about Nick?"

"WHAT?"

Catherine laughed, shaking her head. "Major hero worship. If you told him to jump off the building, he'd do it without even blinking. You got him right here." She tapped the palm of one hand and closed her fingers.

He drew back a little. "You're exaggerating."

"Whatever you say. But I'm right." She grinned.

"I." He looked at her warily.

"Relax. It's just a crush. Look, I gotta head out. Back in a couple of hours, okay? I'll call you when I'm done."

"Okay," he said weakly.

"Congratulations!"

"Thanks."

After she was gone he stared blankly at a policy memo.

Crush?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was both great and awful that Grissom picked him to work with that night. Great, because well, working with Grissom was an education every time. Never mind Nick felt kind of substandard by comparison. Everyone was substandard by comparison. The guy *ruled*. Kind of hard to do anything but play second fiddle to that.

Awful, because of other things.

Take now, for instance. Watching the way Grissom took in the scene, knowing it was macro and micro. Knowing no matter how much he tried, he was never going to see as much as this guy did.

Sometimes it was fairly amazing how attractive intelligence could really be.

"Are you working or meditating?" Grissom's dry voice said.

"Oh." Nick smiled sheepishly. "Working. Yep."

"Good. Got film?"

"Of course."

He concentrated on the pictures. Not everyone appreciated the value of good crime-scene photography. Especially nighttime shots. Wasn't like you just grabbed your Instamatic and started popping off pictures. If he couldn't be the all-knowing Grissom, at least he took good pictures.

And if it kept his mind off other matters, no harm there, either.

Off to the side he could hear Grissom and Brass going over the situation.

"No shortage of people who might have had her on their shit-list. Worked for PETA. Evidently a pretty radical animal-rights activist."

"Well, PETA tends to feature those," Grissom said dryly. "Anyone special on your list?"

"Husband out of town. Tokyo, business trip. No kids. Looks like maybe a B&E."

"They left her rings. I doubt it."

"You're the master, Yoda."

Nick listened to Grissom's quiet laugh. "She must have had animals. They might have witnessed the murder."

"Two dogs, in the back yard. Three cats, but I think they're hiding. Plus various assorted -- things. And a partridge in a pear tree. I don't think you'll get much out of interrogating them, though."

"You never know. Animals sometimes make excellent witnesses. Scent recognition, for one. Don't underestimate them."

"Whatever you say."

He caught a glimpse of Grissom leaning over the body, face utterly intent. "There's a zen koan that asks, 'Does a dog have Buddha-nature?'"

"I think that's a little out of my baileywick."

Nick smiled to himself. "Mu," he whispered, focusing the camera.

"What?"

He took the shot and belatedly looked around. "Huh?"

Grissom looked bemused. "You know that koan?"

Nick's face felt hot. "Read about it," he said awkwardly.

"You're studying Buddhism?"

"No, no." Nick shook his head, feeling idiotic. "Nah, I just read some stuff. You know. After that case."

"Right. The monks."

"I was curious."

Grissom smiled, and Nick flushed harder. "That's great, Nick," Grissom remarked. "It's a fascinating discipline."

Bewildering, more like, but Nick wasn't going to quibble. Not while he let himself bask in Grissom's brief warm regard. "Yeah, I guess it is," he said weakly.

And that was that, but even when he was packing up his stuff and stowing it in the Tahoe, he found himself still smiling. So, okay, one kind word from Grissom and his evening was pretty much made. Nothing new in that.

He flashed on his guilty afternoon fantasy and felt the smile slip away. No, nothing at all new. It was always like that. And right now, staring at a bunch of camera cases in the middle of a crime scene, it hit him hard. Always like that. Always, because he admired the guy? Was pretty much convinced that if anyone hung the moon it was Gil Grissom?

Or because of other things?

Nick closed the back of the Tahoe with cold hands and made a face. Other things, sure. Okay, it was possible. Amend that; more than possible, try probable. So what? Not like anything would come of it. Could. Grissom might have hung the moon, but he was about that far away, too, and besides, he was the boss. And Nick wasn't --

What? Gay? Of course not. Except for last night's aberration, and that was all it was. An aberration. A very hot aberration, maybe, sure, but nothing else.

He glanced over at Grissom, taking his leave of Brass and Melody Schumacher's now-covered body, and had to swallow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

NOTES: Gil's yenta treatment continues, and Nicky makes a new friend. No warnings, just still fairly fluffy. I don't know if Gil is short for Gilbert or not, and am not saying it is, but then these are just nicknames anyway. As it were. Thanks to C for talking me through a crisis. More to come. Hope you enjoy! Best, Em
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Cardinal Points
West

By the next week he had lost track of Catherine's cryptic remarks. Not forgotten, no, definitely not that. But lost sight of, yes. Work and research made ferocious demands on his time, and he was okay with that. More than okay; this was his life. He'd given himself permission years ago to be as absorbed by what he did as he felt like being, and these days that was pretty damn absorbed.

So it took him completely by surprise when a random phone call turned out to be from an old and very dear friend.

"Hola, chuy, como estas?"

Gil blinked. "Manny?"

"The one and only. How you doin', Gilberto?"

"I'm great," Gil said, leaning back in his chair and grinning. "My God. How the hell are you?"

"Muy bien, gracias, and I'm right here in town, so you got plans tonight."

"What brings you to Vegas?"

"My granddaughter Angie got married last week in Reno, so me and Cruz, we thought we'd take us a little vacation, too. Get away from all those fuckin' old people for a while."

Gil laughed. "Hey, you chose Florida, remember? Nice weather, close to Roberto and --"

"Yeah, yeah. It ain't so bad. Hey, I won me a few bucks at the casino. So what you say? Let us take you to dinner."

"Deal," Gil stated, still grinning. "I look forward to it."

"Me too, compadre. Been too damn long."

"That it has. What, five years?"

"At least. Want us to come pick you up? Get a look at that fancy lab I keep hearing about."

"That would be great. You know where we are?"

"No, but I bet the taxi driver will."

"True. Okay, say eight o'clock?"

"We'll be there. See you soon, chuy."

Gil grinned and hung up.

And it was flat-out great to see Manny and Cruz again. Took him back, way back, to California and a life he hadn't thought much about in too many years.

"Very slick," Manny observed, looking around with the same sharp-eyed gaze Gil remembered. There wasn't any black left in Manny's hair, not anymore, but turning seventy hadn't even begun to take away the edge. Still a detective, even if a retired one, and still one of the smartest, savviest people Gil had had the honor to work with.

"Looks like Quantico," Cruz added, sending a knowing smile Gil's way.

He nodded, putting his hand over hers and letting her take his elbow. The years hadn't been quite as kind to Cruz Covarrubias, but even as thin and fragile as she had become, he thought she was still beautiful. "Hopefully better than that," he returned with a grin. "Come on, I'll introduce you to my team."

He found most of them in the materials analysis lab, of course; more than enough for them to do tonight. Gil grinned and motioned his visitors inside. "Hey, guys. Want you to meet a couple of friends of mine, from way back."

"Way, WAY back," Manny said, shaking his head.

"Manuel and Cruz Covarrubias. Manny and I worked together in California."

"Warrick Brown." Warrick shook Manny's hand vigorously, and Cruz's a lot more carefully. "Nice to meet you."

Gil felt a ridiculous sense of pride, watching his new team mix with the leader of the old. Wouldn't trade a single one, not for anything.

"So I bet you could tell us a few stories about Grissom here," Nick said, grinning.

"More than a few," Manny replied. He elbowed Gil in the ribs. "Most of which I think Gilberto would pay me not to tell, am I right, compadre?"

"I take the fifth on that one."

After a much longer tour than he'd anticipated, and a hastily arranged deal with Catherine to cover him while he was gone, he took his old friends to the bistro he liked, and that too took a lot more time than he really had. But who the hell cared? It had been far, far too long since he'd sat here with these two people and just jawed.

"You look good, Gilberto." Manny gave him an approving nod. "Always knew you'd end up the boss."

Gil smiled and took a sip of his wine. "Not exactly the boss. But somewhat, yes."

"Take my advice: Don't let them take you out of the field. Worst decision I ever made."

"I thought you liked being deputy chief."

Manny shrugged. "It was all right. But it'll make you old. Old before your time."

"Didn't make you old."

"Ahh, flattery will get you everywhere, chuy."

"Is it time for me to remind you how much I hate that nickname?"

Manny's eyes twinkled. "That's why I use it."

"So Gilberto." Cruz's voice was soft, tinted with Mexico even after all these years. "You need to settle down. Find someone special."

Gil kept his smile firmly in place. Neither one of the Covarrubiases had ever said anything to him about his lifestyle choices, and he had always been grateful for that. They didn't approve, that he knew. But the initial don't-ask, don't-tell policy had softened over the years they'd worked together, and now, many years after Gil had said yes to the job in Vegas and goodbye to California, pretty much for good, he couldn't feel a trace of censure.

"Maybe one of these days," he answered lightly. "Work keeps me pretty busy."

"Work." She made an elegantly distasteful grimace. "Work will always be there. People, they won't, hijo. People, they don't stick around." She reached out and patted his hand, her cool slim fingers absurdly welcome. "Find yourself a nice boy, Gilberto. Plant a garden. Manuel has a wonderful garden, did he tell you?"

Manny rolled his eyes a little. "Not that tough in Florida. Throw out some seeds and wait. You have a tree in the morning."

Gil grinned. "I'll definitely keep it in mind." The grin faded when he took in Cruz's determined expression. Oh, no. Evidently something had changed, after all, because it didn't look like she was ready to drop the subject just yet.

"I can see it in your eyes," she observed quietly, not teasing this time. "There is somebody, isn't there?"

He felt his face coloring. "No. I wish there were, but no. No one."

"But someone you wish?"

Gil looked down at his veal. "I don't know. Maybe."

"So what are you waiting for? A sign from God?" She crossed herself automatically. "Maybe, but in the meantime God wants you to look out for yourself, hijo mio. Eh, Manuel?"

Manny leaned over the table. "Forgive her, Gil. Old women, they like to play matchmaker."

Gil gave him a flustered nod, and Cruz smacked Manny's wrist. "Do you blame me? Such a handsome man, and nobody to come home to at night." Her black eyes met Gil's squarely. "So tell him. What have you got to lose?"

He ducked his head, forcing a smile. "I'll think about it. All right?"

She flapped her hand dismissively. "Nothing to think about. Do. That's all."

"Cruz Maria, stop it. Can't you see the man is embarrassed? What he does with his life is his business, not ours."

"All right. But you think about it, Gilberto. Time flies like a bird. Next thing you know, it's over. Don't waste it on work."

After a moment Manny interrupted with some tales of folks they'd worked with in Santa Monica, and fortunately Gil's private life was left alone. Good dessert, excellent coffee, and he could see both his friends were tired.

Outside, Gil frowned at Manny. "I can take you back to your hotel. You don't need --"

"Go back to work, chuy," Manny said mildly. "We'll be just fine."

A ridiculous sense of loss crept over him. "I miss you," Gil said, shaking his head. "Don't wait another five years, you hear?"

"Nothing stopping you from coming to Florida." Manny grinned, showing bright white teeth. "Any time, Gil. We'd love to have you."

"I'll do that. I promise."

He hugged Manny hard, and Cruz not so hard but with no less love. And stood watching while their taxi hove away through brisk traffic, until he couldn't tell which taillights were theirs anymore.

With a lump in his throat he climbed into the Tahoe and just sat for a moment, thinking.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He finished up late and tired, but feeling pretty good nonetheless. Not every night you broke the case in less than six hours, and it hadn't been a piece of cake, either.

Hell, at least it hadn't involved getting shot at, aimed at, or otherwise having his life directly threatened. These days that was a definite plus.

"Hey, Nicky."

Nick looked around and grinned. "Hey, Mike. What're you doing hanging out here?"

"Relishing the sweet flavor of success." McAda slouched against the wall, slanted smile fully in place. Looked about as tired as Nick felt, but with that same tinge of triumph. "That was some good work you did out there. Very nice."

"Thanks." Nick finished buttoning his shirt, and closed the locker door. "I've had a great teacher."

Mike lifted his chin. "Yeah, Grissom. The best. So come on, lemme buy you a drink."

"It's 10:00 in the morning."

"Not to me it ain't."

"Me, either. What the hell. You're on."

He waved at Sara when he saw her down the hallway, but the state of her lab coat suggested she wasn't anywhere near ready to split. "Man, she works too much," he observed, shaking his head. "Practically lives here."

Mike smiled. "Sounds like my partner."

"Is he okay?"

"Yeah, fine. Just a scratch or two. He'll live."

He spied Grissom around the corner and grimaced at the immediate panicky twinge in his chest. No need for anything but bragging this time, Nicky-boy. You done good, and even Griss knows it.

As the man demonstrated about four seconds later.

"Nice job, Nick." Grissom smiled beautifully. "Most people would've missed the burn marks. Good catch."

"Thanks," Nick said awkwardly. "Did the same thing to my car once; guess it stuck out."

"Mike." Grissom shook McAda's hand briefly. "Good to see you."

"Same here. Been a while."

"And yet so little has changed."

McAda shrugged. "We ain't ever gonna be out of a job, that's for sure. You still playing with bugs?"

"What can I say? It's a hobby."

The detective gave Nick an eloquent look, and grinned. "Me and Gil here used to work some together, back when I first came out here from LA. Hey, Grissom, stay out of trouble, all right?"

"I'll do my best," Grissom said gravely. "You off, Nick?"

Nick nodded. "Sara's still around."

Grissom rolled his eyes. "There's a surprise. I'll go pry her hands off the microscope. See you later."

"Later."

McAda's car turned out to be a perfectly cared-for convertible Lincoln, and Nick whistled a little, taking it in. "My dad would murder to get his hands on this," he exclaimed, stepping back for a look. "Very classy. What, 1961?"

"You know your cars."

Nick grinned. "Rubbed off from my dad. He's the collector."

McAda gave him a smile in return.

They had a couple of beers at a restaurant that probably shouldn't have been serving alcohol with breakfast but did anyway. Nick ate ravenously, distantly aware Mike was kind of watching him, not really thinking about that yet. It felt really good to hang out with Mike, listen to what he had to say about working here, and LA, and NYC.

"So you're from New York?" Nick asked, when breakfast was done and he came up for air.

"Born and raised."

"How in the hell did you wind up here?"

Mike grinned his slanted grin again. "Don't we all ask that question?" He sipped his third beer. "Wife wanted to move to LA. She was an actress."

"And?"

"Worked with LAPD for a couple of years. Got divorced, hated LA, got a job here."

"You miss back east?"

Mike shrugged. "Sometimes. It ain't so bad here. Shitload better than LA."

"Have any kids?"

"Nope."

In his turn he responded to Mike's questions, telling a little about his own life. Not that much to tell, so it didn't take long.

"So what kind of plans you got?" Mike asked.

"You mean, for the future?"

"Sure."

"I have no idea," Nick admitted, grinning and shaking his head. "Do what I'm doing now, I guess. I like it. Mostly."

"You're good at it." Mike wasn't smiling. "Real good."

"Thanks," Nick said weakly.

"Okay, I'm beat. Gotta head out." He eyed Nick's two dead beers on the table. "I'm guessin' you're okay to drive?"

"Sure. No problem."

"All right." Mike killed his last beer, dropped some money on the table, and dazzled Nick with a wide grin. "Lemme take you to dinner sometime, huh?"

"Uh. Sssure. That's -- Okay."

Mike stood up, and touched Nick's shoulder on the way by, just a fast, friendly squeeze. "Later, kiddo."

Nick just sat there after he left. Tired brain trying to make sense of that. Mike McAda didn't seem like -- But that was -- And the guy was, okay, good-looking: nebulous mid-forties-age, blue eyes and black Irish hair shot with silver, good shape, confident, and put that all together and it sounded a lot like --

"Oh, crap," Nick whispered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Here." Gil handed over some towels. "Did you get yourself looked at by somebody, at least?"

"Well." Nick dabbed under his nose.

"He kick you? In the side?"

"What? Oh. No, I think I ran into something."

"Let me see."

His amygdala-brain whispered again while Nick took his shirt off. Distant whisper, but startling. His mouth was uncomfortably dry. "Damn it, Nick," he heard himself say. "You might have broken a rib."

Nick squinted down at himself, face comically surprised. "Just cracked, maybe. I remember what that feels like." He wrinkled his nose, and then winced. "Got any aspirin?"

Without knowing he was going to do it, Gil reached out and touched Nick's bare side, ghosting his fingers over the dark bruised area. He heard Nick draw a fast shallow breath, and looked directly in his eyes, afraid he'd hurt him.

Odd, how he'd really never noticed the color. Brown, but not just brown. Flecks of gold, green, lots of colors, not plain brown at all. The bruise under his left eye was dull red, painful-looking, and seeing it made Gil's throat feel tight with rage.

"It's okay," Nick whispered, looking shocked, and mesmerized.

"It's not okay," Gil forced out. Nick's skin felt like warm silk under his hand, vibrating with tension. "It's not."

Nick swallowed, and his lips parted, but if he was going to speak Gil never had the chance to hear it. Instead they both flinched when something outside the office hit the floor with a crash, and Gil snatched his hand away as if Nick had burned him.

"You should get that checked by a doctor," Gil said more curtly than he intended, retreating to the safety of his desk.

Nick shrugged back into his shirt fast, nodding without quite meeting his eyes. "I'll do that. Listen, I better get that stuff processed. The fingerprints." He was at the doorway when Gil spoke again.

"Be careful, Nicky. Okay?"

Nick looked back at him. "Do my best," he replied, unsmiling. His mouth quirked down a little, he disappeared down the hallway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By Sunday he'd pretty much decided he was losing his mind.

The week really hadn't been so bad, with the gigantic exception of Thursday, when he'd managed to wreck his car and his face in two separate violent encounters. But since then he hadn't been able to regain his equilibrium. Everything felt off, wrong, slanted, and it showed.

Take last night's date, for example. If "date" was the right word, since he didn't really know what the hell he was doing.

It should have been lots of things -- scary, exciting, hot? But mostly he was tired, and distracted, and when it came time to get down to the fun part of the evening, he just wasn't all that interested. To give him the great deal of credit he deserved, Mike hadn't seemed too pissed about that. More like cautious. The second time he'd taken Nick to dinner, and probably he'd figured it would turn out the way the first one had -- pretty much fucking Nick through the mattress -- but it hadn't, and Nick didn't have a very good explanation for why that was so. Mike was attractive, funny, a real nice guy. But it all seemed kind of flat. Not even boring, just not what Nick wanted to be doing right then.

So he'd apologized in a weak sort of way, let Mike drop him off without more than a fast kiss good night, and came home. To wander around, restless as he'd been 24/7 since Thursday.

It wasn't until Sunday morning that he realized he wasn't thinking about the wreck, or the junkie who'd lit into him later that night shrieking like a wet, pissed-off cat. It was the bit after.

The bit with Grissom.

And that was crazy, for so many reasons he couldn't even begin to list them all. Because it hadn't BEEN anything, just a fraction of a second where he'd felt like a fly stuck in Grissom's weird hypnotizing web. In the midst of getting chewed out -- unfairly, he thought -- for the fuckup at the jeweler's, this incredible ringing moment of connection.

But even if Grissom dug guys -- which he might, hell, wasn't like Nick was in any position to have a clue -- there was no WAY Grissom could know Nick was finding out he did. The ladies' man? No way.

He went to bed late, and lay there sleepless, trying to force his mind away from its little Grissom-centric circle. Didn't help that he was going back to work tomorrow. At this point he thought he'd probably jump out of his skin if Grissom even LOOKED at him, much less touched him again.

Oh God, that way there be dragons. He put a pillow over his head and closed his eyes.

He hitched a ride with Catherine to work, and tried not to look as nervous as he felt. She picked up on it anyway. Of course.

"Everything okay?"

Nick gave her a fast smile. "Fine, thanks."

She stopped for a red light and looked him over. "Your face looks better. You sure you're okay?"

"I'm good."

Walking into the lab he was pretty sure he caught a weird look from Warrick, but there wasn't time to ask him about it. But then in the midst of getting their assignments and trying his best not to just stare at Grissom like he'd never seen him before, he got the same kind of wall-eyed
blink from Sara.

Outside in the hallway, he stopped her. "What?"

Sara blinked again. "What's up?"

"What was that look?"

"What look?"

Nick rolled his eyes. "THAT look! The one you're giving me right now!"

Sara looked flustered. "There's no look, Nick, I promise. I…gotta go do some stuff."

She was smiling again when she walked away, and it completely creeped him out.

Warrick wasn't any more forthcoming at first. Griss had paired them working a DB outside the city, so there were lots of miles during which Nick was determined to get this -- whatever it was -- in the open.

"Why do you think there's something up?"

Nick glared at him. "Because you've given me the hairy eyeball all night and I want to know why! Did I do something? Does somebody know something I don't?"

Warrick made a face, rendered a little diabolical by the green glow of the dash lights. "Jeez, Nick, way to sound paranoid. What's the problem here?"

"Tell me."

"Nothin', man." Warrick's mouth quirked a little. "Just, you know. Well."

"WHAT?"

"Heard some stuff."

Nick regarded him balefully. "What stuff?"

"You know, maybe you oughta be telling me."

Nick's heart did a stuttery little cha-cha in his chest. "Why do you say that?" he asked cautiously.

Warrick smiled at the road. "You going out with Mike O'Cantey?"

"Uh." Nick sat back.

"Because I took Belinda out the other night, and. Well." Warrick glanced at him, still smiling a little. "But you know, if you don't want to tell me, I mean --"

"We had dinner," Nick interrupted. He stared at the highway unfolding darkly in front of them. "So. Yeah, I guess I went out with him."

"It's cool. You know, just sorta took me by surprise, that's all."

"So that's why the looks."

"Aw, man, I'm sorry about that. You know, just kind of unexpected."

They rode in silence for about five miles. Then Warrick looked at him again. "So, you gay?"

Nick swallowed his surprise, and took a second before replying, "Honestly? I don't know."

"Wow." Warrick shook his head slowly.

"It's no big deal," Nick grated between his teeth. His head was starting to ache. "I just -- I mean, Mike asked me out, you know, and then -- But I don't know, I just went. And that's all there is."

Warrick laughed, not derisively, as much as Nick was prepared for that. But this wasn't censure, just -- whatever it was. "It doesn't bother me, man," Warrick told him gently. "Long as it doesn't hurt anybody? Live and let live. But you gotta admit it's kinda surprising. That's all."

Nick snorted softly. "Yeah," he agreed. "Was for me, too."

By the time they got back to the lab his head was pounding for real, and his mood was pretty much in the toilet. Even seeing Grissom didn't much change things. Nick gave him a bleak nod when he asked if they'd gotten some decent evidence, and stalked off to hide behind a microscope for a while.

Grissom showed up again about two hours later, not long before shift end. Nick pushed back from the table and sighed. "What's up?"

"I was about to ask you that." Grissom leaned against the end of the table. "Headache?"

Nick frowned at him. "How'd you know?"

Grissom smiled. "You know your own," he said cryptically.

"Huh?"

"It shows. Take anything?"

Nick kept on frowning. "What? No, no I was trying to finish this stuff up first."

"Come on, I've got some Advil in the office. Tell me what you've got so far."

He tailed Grissom down the hall, reciting what few facts he'd been able to scrounge from the site, which didn't take that long. He accepted the pills; whether or not they'd kill this thudding in his head remained to be seen.

"Thanks." He made himself smile. "I better get back to it."

There was an odd expression on Grissom's face, and Nick felt another little bump in his chest. "Leave it," Grissom told him. "It'll keep."

Nick blinked at him. "Wh --"

"You look tired. Why don't you go on home?"

"I." Nick nodded. "If it's okay?"

"Of course it's okay." Grissom produced a stilted smile. "Go ahead."

He got about halfway down the hall before he remembered. Turning, he said, "Gil?"

Grissom was still standing there, and he gave Nick an alert look. "Yeah."

"Don't suppose Catherine's still here?"

"I think she's in court this morning. Why?"

Nick made a face. "She's my ride. Never mind." He turned again, thinking about how much cash he had on him, and heard footsteps.

"Come on." Grissom walked up. "I'll give you a lift."

It was possibly one of the weirdest half-hours of Nick's life, and what was weird about it was that he wasn't the weird one. Grissom just didn't seem like himself. One moment chummy, talking about crap at the office; the next taut, lips thin with tension. It felt like he was sitting next to a doppelganger.

"Is everything okay?" Nick asked cautiously, about a mile from his condo.

Grissom gave him another flashy, unrevealing smile. "Yeah. Why?"

"Dunno. You seem kinda out of it. Preoccupied," he amended.

The smile went away. No reading his expression, hidden behind sunglasses, but Nick thought Grissom was holding the steering wheel a little tightly. "Just thinking."

Nick nodded and shrugged.

It wasn't much further to his place. Following an urge he chalked up to friendliness, Nick turned and looked at Grissom. "You want some coffee or something?"

Another unreadable look. "Sure," Grissom replied softly. "Could use some."

Inside he made coffee fast, conscious of Grissom wandering around the living room. Man, the guy hadn't ever even been here before; good thing he cleaned up a little this past weekend. Felt kind of -- what? Anxious. A good kind of anxious.

When he emerged from the kitchen with two mugs of coffee he hoped was good enough, Grissom looked over. "These are nice," he commented, lifting his chin at the triptych on the wall. "They're originals?"

Nick handed him his coffee. "My sister. She gave them to me a few years back."

Grissom sipped his coffee and looked at them again. "She's good. Very good."

"Working in Chicago now, ad agency. But she paints on the side." Nick smiled. "That's our cabin in Aspen. I mean, my dad's cabin. Summer house. Well, you gotta squint a little, but it's in there."

"No, I see it." His gaze encompassed the whole room. "You've got a nice place here."

"I'd take the credit, but I had a lot of help. Family," he amended when Grissom glanced at him. "And IKEA."

"Ah."

Feeling weirdly jittery, Nick sat down, and watched Grissom take a seat on the sofa. "You -- You want some sugar in that or something?"

Grissom smiled. "No. This is fine. Headache any better?"

"What? Oh. Yeah, yeah it's better." He drank some coffee he didn't want, and nodded busily.

"I like this neighborhood, too." Grissom frowned at him. "You rent or own?"

"Uh. Own."

"I've been thinking about getting a new place."

Nick blinked at him. "Thought you loved your condo. Townhouse."

Grissom's expression was as inscrutable as blank parchment. "Thinking about it."

It wasn't Nick's chief interest, but he was excruciatingly aware that he would sit here and talk about anything the guy wanted, as long as it felt this way. Real estate, politics, religion, anything. Dust mites. Lint. Furry sex. He didn't care. It just felt so fucking good.

So maybe he'd balk at furry sex. He didn't actually know much about furry sex. Had only recently come across the term. But he was willing to learn, if --

Well, THAT was a dangerous area to skirt. He flushed, and rambled right on past Grissom's inquiringly raised eyebrow.

When the coffee was gone the conversation dried up, too. Nick squelched an amazingly strong pang of disappointment and stood up, reaching for Grissom's cup.

"I'll help you wash up," Grissom said calmly.

Nick gave him what he prayed was a cool smile, and ducked into the kitchen.

This kind of silence was oppressive. He didn't have a clue what to say, and far too much of a clue as to why he was so goddamn tongue-tied. As for Grissom? Who the hell could say? It was like trying to second-guess God.

And just when he'd hit that point where he had to say SOMETHING, didn't matter what or how damned inane it was, anything to ease the tension that was making his skin try to crawl right off his back, he reached for the dish towel at the same time Grissom did, and that touch made him drop the mug, barely hearing it crack into several pieces. Because that touch was like being electrocuted. Every single nerve in his body, sizzling into shocked, freaky life.

"Sorry," Grissom said hoarsely, standing there with his hand frozen against Nick's.

No problem, Nick thought about saying vaguely, but the words died before he could make them happen. Caught in the web again, stuck gazing dumbstruck into Grissom's goddamn bottomless eyes. And all Nick's brain could cough up was, If this isn't what I think it is, I'm gonna be so fucking embarrassed I'll have to quit. Move. Change my name, emigrate to Australia.

The corners of Gil's mouth quirked up a tiny bit, and he leaned forward and kissed him right on the mouth.

Later -- and there was later, when he went over that moment about 500 times, reliving it so often it took on an air of myth roughly three minutes after it happened -- he thought how weird it was, too, because it wasn't like any first kiss he'd ever experienced. Those were usually at least
somewhat awkward. Even when they were hot, they were cautious, too, because this was new, and you never knew if it was going to be as good as you hoped it would be.

Except this wasn't cautious, at all. And it wasn't awkward, even thought it should have been.

What it was, was devastating. As if his body already knew exactly what Gil's felt like against his own, his flavor, his particular energy.

Or maybe it was simply that Gil was kissing him just as hard and hot as he was kissing Gil, and that was all they needed. None of the reasons really mattered, anyway.

He came up for air with Gil's hand cupping his cheek, gasping for air and clutching the counter because he could barely stand up. This close he could count Gil's eyelashes if he wanted to -- and a part of him immediately said, Sure! Why not! See the crinkles at the corners of those
obliterating eyes, memorizing every goddamn PORE.

Gil smiled slowly, thumb skating over Nick's lower lip. "Well, that beats the hell out of real estate," he said in a low voice completely new to Nick's ears. The tone sent a new flicker of heat racing up Nick's spine.

This time he managed to get his arms around Gil's neck, and had about a millisecond to marvel at Gil's own arms around HIM, before he fell into another kiss that made thought as impossible as levitating.

When Gil broke away Nick nearly screamed.

"It's okay," Gil whispered, smiling again, eyes flickering over Nick's face as if he, too, were doing that memorization thing. "There's time."

Nick swallowed and realized the whistling sound in his ears was his own breathing, fast and frantic. He gave a dizzy shake of his head, suddenly an inch from crying. Oh Jesus, it was like dying and going to heaven, and he wasn't sure he could stand it. It was just too GOOD.

Gil pulled him closer, and Nick closed his eyes and shivered.

Chapter 5

Intercardinal Points
Southeast

A part of him felt drunk. Mind reeling, inhibitions evaporated. That part wanted to do a lot of things he'd never let himself even picture until now, having to do with getting rid of clothes and having Nick's body all to himself, a greedy mix of exploration and satisfaction.

Another part of him shook its head and murmured, "It's not all about getting your rocks off, Grissom."

He wasn't sure if the latter was strong enough to beat the former, and he wasn't sure if he wanted it to be.

Nick's eyes were almost blank with desire, lids drooping, his arms tight around Gil's neck. "Do that again," he said in a shaky voice.

With a titanic effort Gil made himself move his hands, stop his busy exploration of Nick's ass and grasp Nick's arms instead. "Slow down," he murmured, absolutely unsure if he wanted to, himself. "We have all the --"

Nick pulled the collar of Gil's shirt down and kissed his neck hotly, and Gil's voice broke. Too long, it had been far, far too long since he'd been this close to ANY human being, much less someone he'd quietly and hopefully invisibly lusted after for years. Why slow down? Why not just DO IT?

Except this wasn't the kind of sex he wanted, not really. Not if he wanted it to last. And so he drew back with difficulty, taking Nick's hot face between his hands, kissing him gently and not letting Nick OR himself make that kiss into the more it so very much wanted to become.

"Not here," Gil whispered. "Not like this."

Nick's face was almost tragic with thwarted lust. "Then HOW?"

"Come here."

He took Nick's hand to lead him back into the living room. He hadn't been exaggerating; he liked Nick's condo. And right now that comfortable couch seemed like the best place. At least it wasn't the bed.

Or the floor.

He swallowed and sat down, bringing Nick with him.

"What did you mean?" Nick asked in a warbling voice. It shocked Gil a little to see how Nick was shaking. Desire, or maybe just anxiety? Who could say?

Gil cleared his throat. "I mean I don't want to just fuck you."

"You can." Nick leaned into him, kissing the corner of his mouth. "I want you to."

Oh, I got that much, believe me. Loud and clear. Gil nodded. "I will," he whispered, and had to smile when Nick twitched. "But right now I want to kiss you."

"Okay," Nick said immediately.

And yet it was so easy to ignore what his hands were doing while he did just that. Pulling Nick's shirt up, letting his hungry fingers find smooth, sleek skin.

And while he was otherwise engaged, Nick had managed to get Gil's own shirt open, breaking that neverending kiss to work his way down. Gil made a startled, hoarse sound when Nick's mouth latched onto one of his nipples.

Nick looked up at him, unsmiling but eyes glinting. "Lean back," he said throatily.

So Gil did.

One disadvantage of such a long drought in one's sex life was that control felt unbelievably slippery. He groaned when Nick started unfastening his trousers, and blearily thought that if he hadn't already been semi-lying down that would have knocked him over, from sheer blazing
arousal. Shouldn't be passive like this, shouldn't just LET him, but why the hell not? Why not, when it felt as incredible -- as perfect -- as it did?

He risked a look down and saw Nick bend to take Gil's cock in his mouth, and had to close his eyes fast to not simply come right then and there.

Without watching, he could let go a little. Feel what Nick was doing. NICK. There it was again. But then it wasn't just Nick, it was Nick's tongue, Nick's MOUTH, and Gil couldn't remember it ever feeling this good. Ever. Maybe just because it had been so long, but he didn't think so. The part of him that could still think.

You were going to wait, that part said indignantly. You were going to --

Oh, fuck THAT.

He reached down with blind hands and grabbed Nick's face, feeling hot distended cheeks, and a hard painful twinge squeezed his balls at the idea of him being INSIDE there, Nick was sucking his COCK.

"Oh, shit," Gil said waveringly, and then he couldn't say anything at all, because he was coming.

Even after all that -- all THAT -- he could have started all over again from just cracking his eyes open and staring down at Nick. Eyes not brown but black with desire, gazing at him, drilling into him, and still nuzzling Gil's spent cock like it was all he'd ever wanted in his life, all he'd ever want again.

Muscles bunching and twitching like cut electrical cables, Gil forced himself up, meeting Nick's open kiss with a click of teeth. No words, because he didn't think his vocal cords would work, and what would he say? Thanks? No, better not to speak at all. Words just wouldn't cut it.

With a little of the pressure off -- as it were -- he could focus now. See the hectic red in Nick's cheeks, the way that flush went down to disappear under the collar of his shirt. Wonder just how far down that blush went.

All the way, as it happened.

He undressed Nick with all the care Nick hadn't used, that Gil hadn't wanted him to use. When Nick tried to help, to speed him up, he batted the hands away, smiling a little, shaking his head. No, he was going to unwrap Nick like a goddamn Christmas present, see what was under there. All smooth skin and pebbly nipples, little indentation at the waist from his underwear, and below that, oh.

Nick collapsed backward to let him peel his jeans off, one arm curled loosely above his head. The other trailed over his belly, no longer shaking from frustration but anticipation. Gil was a little reassured to notice Nick didn't look down, either. Only at him, a dark, hot gaze that somehow made Gil feel deft, graceful.

He dropped Nick's clothes on the floor and gazed down at Nick's bare body. No urgency now, he had all the time in the world.

Nick's face crumpled. "Please," he whispered.

It occurred to him, right before he took Nick's fever-hot cock in his mouth, that he could fall in love. Perhaps already had.

It felt amazingly good.

Nick made a thick, astonished sound when Gil sucked him inside. Jerked his lean hips and cursed melodically, and it felt good that he didn't have any stamina either, just as on the edge as Gil had been, maybe more, shouting when Gil took the tight sac of his balls in hand and swallowed him deep. Nick came beating his hand against the cushions, toes curled, and when Gil let go of his balls and slipped his thumb in the dark barely visible pucker of Nick's asshole, Nick strained and cried out again, coming so hard it was like a convulsion.

Throat tight with feelings he didn't have names for -- didn't care what they were called -- Gil sat back, watching Nick peel his eyes open, chest heaving. Gil smiled slowly, and Nick drew his shaking arm across his forehead, wiping away sweat.

"Wow," Nick whispered, giving him a slanted grin.

Gil nodded, stroking Nick's thighs and feeling the lingering twitch in the muscles. "Yeah," he agreed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Maybe this did mean he was gay. After all, he'd slept with -- had sex with, who had time for sleeping? -- three different guys in as many weeks. Come to think of it, he hadn't slept with three different women in as much time in ages. College? Maybe once or twice, but not counting
that, he considered himself fortunate if he got to the bed stage with ONE woman, let alone three.

So if he'd screwed three different men, why'd the third feel so much better than the rest?

Nick smiled to himself. Save that question for the slackers in the class.

But that night at work, everything was different. Everything. And there could only be one explanation for that, one fantastic, slightly terrifying reason, who now stood with his glasses slid halfway down his nose, a smudge of carbon on his cheek, and yesterday's pants on, studying a printout and looking so simultaneously geeky and handsome that Nick felt as if he might have to either cry or tackle him where he stood.

"Don't do that," Gil murmured, without taking his eyes off his DNA results.

Nick fought down a grin. "Don't do what?"

"Don't you have work to do?"

"Yeah. But I gotta wait for Cath. Until she gets back, I'm just sorta here."

Gil lifted his nose out of his computer papers and pushed his glasses up. His mouth twitched, like he wanted to smile and wouldn't quite let himself. "Saturday. Remember? Not until Saturday."

Nick nodded slowly, still smiling. "I remember."

"So while you sit there, not working, I have work to do."

"I'm not stopping you. Just sitting here, minding my own business."

The smile almost emerged. "This is going to be a long night, isn't it?" he murmured, cheeks going a little pink.

"Gonna be a long week," Nick drawled, and crossed his legs.

Gil grinned and turned away, but not before Nick saw him go a lot redder.

He had no idea what had inspired -- or possessed -- Gil to instate this incredibly frustrating idea. Wait until the weekend to fuck. Well, they'd already fucked; what was the big deal?

Except it wasn't just fucking Gil was referring to, and deep down where his libido was too frustrated to go, Nick understood the idea.

"It's new," Gil told him calmly, sometime earlier that day. "I don't want to rush it. We aren't in a hurry. Are we?"

Nick smiled against Gil's shirt and shook his head. "Not me."

Because he wasn't in any hurry, not really, certainly at that particular moment, with Gil's arm around him and the smell of Gil's skin in his nostrils. He could have stayed like THAT forever. Pretty much.

But right now, fidgeting a little and watching Gil's ass as he walked back into his office, it was Saturday that sounded like forever, as in eternally distant, and he was growing more and more certain he wasn't going to be able to just be -- whatever -- until that far-off date. Not and retain any semblance of sanity.

His new cell phone startled him with its alien wheep, and he sat up to answer it.

"Hey, Nick."

Nick sat up even straighter. "Hey, Mike."

"You doin' okay?"

"Y-yeah. Yeah, I'm doing great." He closed his eyes and made a face.

"Just wanted to make sure we're still on for tomorrow. Pick you up?"

"Well, I think --"

"Come on, baby, I haven't seen you in days." Mike's voice got softer. "I missed you."

Oh, crap. "Okay," Nick said, fumbling. "Wh -- What time?"

"Pick you up around nine? You done by then?"

"Sssure. Yeah. That's good."

"See you then."

He hung up and sat there, good humor vanished. So he'd forgotten completely that he had a date tomorrow morning. And just exactly why had he said yes? Some godawful stupid plan to let Mike down gently? Or because it was easier to say yes just then than it would have been to tell him the truth. Like that was going to be easier face-to-face. Riiiiight.

Nick leaned back and said, "Fuck."

"Sorry?"

He glanced over at Catherine. "Sorry."

She walked over, quirking a little sideways smile. "Something wrong?"

"Just a little snag," Nick muttered. "I'm good. We outta here?"

"Yep."

Working the case calmed him down, forced him to focus, and by the time they got back to the lab he felt a little more with it. Murder was pretty salutary, if nothing else. The rest of the night went by pretty quickly, and he felt a little jolt of shock when he glanced at the clock at one point and saw that it was already five.

All the anxiety came washing back, like water precariously held by a dam, suddenly breaking loose. Jittery and unhappy, he prowled around until he located Gil, and waited for him to finish his conversation with Sara and Warrick before lifting his chin at him.

"What's up?" Gil asked him, all business.

"I know this is crappy timing, but can I talk to you for a second?" He met Gil's inquiring eyes and added, "In private."

Gil nodded slowly. "Sure."

It occurred to him that there was more than one down side to combining personal lives with professional. For one thing, you could talk in private, but if you did it too much people would start to notice. And Nick wasn't sure he felt too good about people noticing. Not yet.

"Something wrong?" Gil asked, closing the door to his office behind them.

Nick stood awkwardly by the desk. "I just needed to tell you something. I mean, it's not that big a deal, but --"

"Tell me." Gil smiled faintly and walked over to perch on the edge of his desk.

"I didn't tell you -- yesterday -- about something. I forgot. I mean, completely forgot." He waited for Gil to nod before lumbering on. "Before, you know -- you and me --" it gave him a funny little zing to say the words "-- I was. Well, I mean, I went out with somebody else a couple of times."

"I may have heard about that," Gil replied mildly.

Nick blinked. "You did?"

"A rumor. I never put much stock in rumors."

"I forgot we were supposed to get together today," Nick blurted. "But it's not a problem, I mean, you know. I need to talk to him anyway. About. You know."

"You're okay with that?"

"What? Telling him?"

Gil nodded again, smile vanished.

"Of course I am! I just -- I should have told him when he called me, but I was here, and. Well."

"Mike O'Cantey?"

Nick swallowed and nodded. "Guess that was part of the rumor, huh."

"Mike's a good man," Gil observed slowly.

"Yeah, but, I mean. He's not you."

He liked the color that bloomed in Gil's cheeks. "I don't want you to do anything you'll regret, Nick," Gil told him, crossing his arms. "You don't have to rush things."

"I'm not," Nick said immediately. "I just don't think it's right, you know, to make him think -- When there's no --" He broke off helplessly.

Gil finally smiled again. "I understand. Let me know what happens, okay?"

"We're still on for Saturday, right?"

He could have lived and died inside that answering smile. "Yeah," Gil said softly. "We're on."

Taking a deep breath, Nick said, "Could I."

"Could you what?"

"I want to kiss you."

"We're at work."

"I know. I just."

Gil stood up and walked closer. "It's hardly the right time." But his lips still curved in that Cheshire smile.

"Just once."

That brief kiss made every nerve in his body sing into life. Nick smiled an inch from Gil's mouth. "You sure you don't want to make it earlier than Saturday?"

Gil regarded him unreadably for a second, and then made a funny sound before surprising him with another fast, hard kiss. "No," Gil said thickly. "And you're not helping."

Nick kept on smiling. "Good," he whispered.

Intercardinal Points
Northeast

He was still in his office, poking without much enthusiasm at his beetle paper, when Warrick stuck his head in.

"Yo, Grissom, quittin' time."

Gil looked up. "Guess it is."

Warrick leaned against the door frame, hands in his pockets. "You doing okay?" he asked, smile fading.

"Of course. Why do you ask?" He started gathering up pages of notes.

"Because I know that look, and it ain't good."

"I'm fine," Gil said with a brief smile. "Just wrapping up here. Anything new on that stalker report?"

Warrick shook his head. "I'm starting to think it isn't legit. No footprints, no trace evidence at all. If it's the boyfriend, he's got some serious practice hiding his tracks." He shrugged. "Makes me think about the guy that stalked Nick last year. Man, do you know how bad I wanted to tell that lady what a REAL stalker can do?"

Gil nodded, stuffing papers into his bulging briefcase. "Crane was an exception," he observed with more calm than he felt, considering the subject. "A true sociopath. Most stalkers really are frustrated boyfriends, or girlfriends. Did she take out a court order against the guy?"

"Said she'd do that today." He waited for Gil to turn off his computer, and was fidgeting a little when Gil looked back at him.

"Something else on your mind?"

Warrick made a face and glanced over his shoulder. "Speaking of Nick. Look," he said in a low, unhappy voice. "You know, that stuff I told you about yesterday. I had no right to tell you that. What I saw. None of my business."

Gil picked up his briefcase and walked to the door, waiting for Warrick to follow before shutting it behind them. "I don't pay that much attention to rumors, Warrick. It's already forgotten," he added glibly, forcing a smile.

"It's just that I talked to him about it, you know. Earlier." Warrick shoved his hands back in his pockets, slouching as he walked beside him. "And to be honest with you, I feel like shit for spreading that story. Even as far as I did. So for what it's worth, you know. I just wanted to tell you that."

Gil smiled and clasped Warrick's shoulder briefly. "I'm glad you did."

He waved Warrick off before heading for his truck. About halfway there he spotted Jim Brass pulling up, and waited for him.

"Calling it a night?" Jim looked tired, moreso than usual, no spring to his step at all.

"Think so. You all right?"

"Truth? I'm beat." Jim gave him a slight smile and shook his head. "Florida's sounding better and better."

Gil snorted and smiled. "Come on," he told him, nodding at his truck. "Buy you some breakfast. If you're gonna talk about retirement, I need coffee."

He took them to the diner Jim liked, the one that served heart attacks on plates. As long as he didn't make a habit of it, Gil figured he could get away with some serious cholesterol. He smiled at the sleepy-looking waitress while they placed their order, and glanced at Jim to find him studying Gil himself, eyes narrowed a little.

"What?" Gil asked, sipping his coffee.

"Oh, no." Jim shook his head firmly. "Don't pull that crap on me. You come off a long-ass shift, everybody else dragging their ass around like 200-pound luggage, and you look like you just won the Lotto? So. What happen, you discover a new species of bug?"

Gil laughed out loud, and set his cup carefully on the table. "No. No new bugs."

"Gotta be something, because if you smile any bigger I'm gonna start thinking you're a long-lost Osmond relative."

"Life is good," Gil replied, trying to master his smile and completely failing. "It's a nice morning. I'm content."

"So what's his name?"

Gil stared at him, and Jim sighed, smiling a little himself. "I ain't a cop for nothing, you know," he added in a gentler voice. "And I haven't seen you look so goddamn smug since 1996. So you met somebody, huh."

Gil raised his eyebrows, and then shrugged and nodded. "Yeah," he told him, picking up his coffee cup and taking a big swallow. "I met somebody."

"Been a long time. Gonna take another shot?"

"I think I'd be crazy not to," Gil said honestly.

Jim leaned back and draped one arm over his side of the booth. "I tell you, if it were me?" He sighed. "I'd have to think long and hard about stepping back into the ring. You can say this about being single: You may not feel much love from your own hand, but it doesn't pick a fight with you the next morning, either."

Gil laughed. "Maybe so."

Jim nodded slowly. "But this is different."

Gil shot him a wary glance. "I don't know," he said carefully. "I'd like to think it will be, yes. Whether or not that turns out to be the case, remains to be seen."

The waitress came over before Jim could say anything to that, and they watched her pile the plates on the table. "You sure you're going to eat all that?" Gil asked.

"Yep," Jim returned blithely, tucking his napkin in his lap. "Best biscuits in Nevada, right here." He picked one up and gestured with it before taking a huge bite. "Mmm. Heaven," he added, spraying a few crumbs.

Gil turned his plate around and picked up his fork. "You were saying?" He took a bite of his omelet.

"What? Oh. Nah, I mean, just the usual. Be careful, all of that."

"Why do you say that?"

Jim sopped up egg yolk with his biscuit. "Because I'm an old cynic, remember?" He ate a bite and shook his head. "Hell, I don't have an opinion. Don't even know who you're talking about. How could I know?"

"He's younger than me. A lot younger," Gil amended.

"So? Buy a sportscar, you'll be all set."

Gil snorted and grinned. "I already had my midlife crisis."

"Ugh. I remember."

"This isn't like that." He paused, poking at his food without much interest. "I'm not sure what this is."

"Yeah, you are."

He looked up, and felt a strange pang of emotion at the tired warmth in Jim's gaze. "And when it's good," Jim said softly, "then it's good. It's good, right?"

Gil nodded. "It's very good."

"Then enjoy the fuck out of it."

"I think I'm gonna do just that."

Jim stabbed a piece of ham with his fork. "So does this young thing have a name?"

"He does."

"But you're not gonna tell me what it is," Jim added, chewing busily.

"Not just yet."

"Somebody I know?"

Gil looked down at his plate. "Would that bother you?"

"If it bothered me I wouldn't be sitting here with you, now, would I?"

"I'm sorry. That wasn't deserved."

"Forget it. Listen, I'm telling you, do what you want to do. Make hay while the sun shines."

Gil winced. "You really are a pessimist, aren't you?"

"To the bone." Jim smiled faintly. "But remember: All pessimists are just optimists with hangovers."

"Ouch."

"Right? I mean, it's true."

"There's no sadder sight than a young pessimist, except an old optimist."

Jim snorted and grinned. "You make that up?"

"Mark Twain."

"Lemme tell you something about pessimists. They're just waiting to be proved wrong. So prove me wrong. And eat your damn breakfast. I'm not having a stroke all by myself."

Gil grinned at him, and set to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Working the night shift had its pluses and minuses. Among the pluses were such things as being off work during the day, so you could do things like shop or pay bills when the crowds were thinnest. Wasn't much of a perk, but sometimes it came in handy.

But a big minus was the warped appearance it gave your social life. Which was the reason Nick found himself on a date at 9:00 in the morning.

A date he didn't want to be on. A date he couldn't quite understand how he'd ended up on, anyway.

"Rough night?" Mike asked, casting him a searching look.

Nick shrugged and tried to look nonchalant. "Had worse."

"When's your car get out of the shop?"

"Friday, I think. I hope."

"Did a real number on it, huh."

Nick gazed out the passenger-side window. "Yeah," he replied softly. "Sure did."

The situation had an uneasy sense of familiarity to it. Not that specific; he couldn't call to mind exactly when he'd felt this way before. But he had, and that made him wonder vaguely why that was so. Being someplace he didn't much want to be, trying to act as if he didn't feel that way. Why put himself through it? Why not just bail?

Except it would be awkward. And just the thought of that, the idea, made him fidget a little in his seat. There had to be a way to resolve this more delicately. He just didn't know what that way might be, exactly.

At the next red light Mike turned to look at him. "You sure you're all right?" he asked baldly.

"I'm okay."

"Because you seem really out of it. What's going on, Nicky?"

Don't call me that, he thought, and forced a smile. "Just thinking, I guess." Tell him. TELL him.

Mike snorted and smiled. "Know something? You think too much."

Nick made himself keep smiling. "So where are we going?"

"No idea."

He froze when Mike's hand suddenly insinuated itself on his thigh. Oh GOD. The anxious part of his brain leaped forward nimbly in time, already envisioning this goddamn conversation. Why didn't you say something? Why'd you let me think this was something it's not? Why didn't you tell me the truth on the phone this morning?

His stomach twisted painfully. How'd he manage to end up in this situation again? No good ending in sight. No way to let Mike down without pissing him off, or worse, hurting him.

So later, he figured that was the main reason why he didn't do anything at all. Not about the warm hand a little too high up on his thigh, or the other stuff, either. Just sat there, because it was the easiest thing to do.

And it was probably that same shaky judgement that didn't object when Mike pulled up in front of his apartment and ushered Nick inside.

"Want some coffee? A beer?"

Nick shook his head. His hands were ice-cold. "No, thanks."

Mike came up behind him and started kneading his shoulders with deft fingers. "Man, you're so tense, Nicky," he murmured. "You sure nothing's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Nick said faintly. "I need -- There was something."

"What?" Mike's lips were warm on the back of his neck, and it sent a shiver of reluctant interest through Nick's groin. And that was the worst part, because he was here to let Mike DOWN, not go through with this. Except how in the hell was he supposed to do that when he was already HERE? Not even a goddamn car to escape in, when the time came.

Mike slid his arms around him and ran his fingers over Nick's chest, flicking past his hard nipples. "Relax," Mike breathed into Nick's ear. "God, musta been some shift last night. Never seen you this wired."

It hit him, the exact moment when he made the decision. A crystal-clear moment of understanding, so familiar it was both terrifying and weirdly reassuring. Just go along with him, and get out. It's easiest that way. So you have to do some things you don't want to do. It won't kill you. Just get it over with, and then you can fix it some other time. Make sure it doesn't happen again.

Except even when he let Mike kiss him, a part of his mind knew that it WAS happening again, and how the fuck was that? Because he had Gil now, or at least he might have him, and if he had to choose, Mike was going to draw the shorter stick any day of the week. MUCH shorter stick. Nice guy, but against Gil? No contest.

Everything after that had the same feel of recognizable territory. The parts of his body that were brainless, stupid, reacting pleasurably no matter what else. He lay down on Mike's bed and his dick was hard, because his dick didn't really care who did those things that felt so good, it just cared that it DID feel good. And at some point, around the time Mike slid his own cock up Nick's ass, his mind checked out. Took a breather, had a little siesta, while his brainless body went through the prescribed motions.

Mike drove him home when it was over. Nick smiled and nodded and it got him to his own condo, out of Mike's car, Mike who had no fucking clue, wasn't allowed to understand, and that wasn't his fault. Without thought Nick could get himself inside, close the door, relish how quiet it was. How wonderfully safe.

His brain woke up while he was in the shower. Making him scrub the parts of his body that felt so dirty, staying in there until the water ran cool, and then cold. And all that time, mumbling the same dumb lines. Not again. Not this shit AGAIN. How? Why'd this happen? I didn't say anything, so I wanted it to happen, right? Except I didn't, I didn't want to be there. So if I didn't, why didn't I say something? Must have wanted it to happen. I fucking came, didn't I? Wasn't that proof?

He crawled into bed later and closed his eyes. It was over. Don't have to worry about it anymore. And Gil's going to make this all better. He's the part you've been waiting for. Because it didn't feel wrong with him. It felt right, for the first time. Ever. So that's what you gotta keep remembering.

And for God's sake, don't fuck it up.

Intercardinal Points
Southwest

"Is it Saturday yet?"

Gil kept right on doing what he was doing, smiling a little against Nick's skin. "Not yet. It's just Thursday."

Nick drew a harsh breath when Gil kissed the soft curve of his throat. "You said -- we weren't gonna -- do this yet."

"Is that a no?"

"No, God no. I mean, that's a yes. I mean, no. Aw, crap," Nick groaned, and Gil had to laugh.

"Guess it's a good thing I have tinted windows," Gil murmured.

Nick regarded him from half-closed eyes, breathing hard. "We're gonna be late."

Gil drew back. "That was just hello," he replied with mock innocence. "We don't have time for anything really untoward."

"Figures," Nick muttered, eyeing him balefully. "That wasn't real nice of you, you know."

"But it was fun."

Nick cracked a smile. "Yeah. Yeah, it was."

Gil grinned and put the truck in gear.

The whole week had been like this. Moments grabbed here and there, and yet holding to that deadline, the one he was increasingly sure had been absolutely insane to suggest in the first place. But not doing it -- "It," as Nick put it, always saying it like it was capitalized -- gave what they did do a kind of heat he was enjoying. Enjoying, no, WALLOWING in. Forbidden fruit tasting that much sweeter. And Nick was sweet. Oh, God, Nick was addictive.

He got them onto the interstate, and then looked over, smile fading. That look again. The one he was pretty sure Nick didn't know he sometimes wore. That pinched, distant look.

"What is it?" Gil asked quietly, and Nick squeezed his hand.

"Just thinking."

"About?"

Nick glanced at him and shook his head. "Just crap. No big deal."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." This time Nick's smile looked like the real thing. "I'm sure."

By the time they got to the lab Gil had let go of the feeling. But the other feeling -- the one centered much lower in his anatomy -- was still working, still paying way too much damn attention. By the time he'd handed out assignments, answered questions, dodged a few phone calls, he felt like he might just be going insane.

"Helloooooo. Houston, we've lost touch with Grissom."

Gil looked at Catherine and made a face. "Funny. You know, a Grissom died working for NASA."

"I do know. Relative?"

"No, but still."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine, but you haven't heard a word I've said, and I'm by God not gonna sit here and repeat everything I say over and over again until you decide to listen. Want me to tape it? That way once you --"

"That won't be necessary," he interrupted, a little huffily. "I'm listening. Go on."

And he did listen, but he couldn't make himself care that much. Too filled with that heady helium-balloon feeling, that got so much worse when he caught sight of Nick down the hall. Christ, it ought to be illegal for someone to look that good in plain old chinos and black shirt. Probably was, someplace. Good thing he didn't live there.

It wasn't until he realized he'd been staring at the same slide under the microscope for a ridiculously long time and couldn't even remember what he was looking for, that he decided to do something about it.

He found Nick down the hall, fortunately alone, glaring at a computer screen.

"Hey," Gil said, and had to swallow.

Nick gave him a relieved smile. "Hey. What's up?"

My blood pressure, Gil thought, and made himself smile, too. "Come with me."

Nick blinked, but saved his work and stood up. "Everything okay?" he asked, smile fading a little.

"Everything's fine." Gil glanced around the hall and then grabbed Nick's wrist. The folly of it made him feel giddy. He grinned. "Break time."

Nick's eyes widened a little, but he came right along with him.

There was a lot of the lab his crew didn't use very often. Administrative offices, the file rooms. He dragged Nick down the hall, thanking God for a pretty busy night keeping most everyone out from underfoot, and just grinned at Nick's breathless questions. What's going on? Um, Gil?

At the end of the hall he looked around again, and then opened the door and pulled Nick inside. The air smelled like paper, cleaning solution. Could have been Spanish fly for the effect it had on Gil.

"Mmph." Nick grunted when Gil pushed him against the wall. "What are you doing?" he squeaked in a scandalized voice.

"Not what. Who." Gil kissed him hard, and after a startled second Nick's body molded up against his own, arms sliding around his neck.

"We're in a CLOSET," Nick whispered, still sounding shocked, but gratifyingly throaty, too.

Gil nuzzled his neck and started pulling Nick's black shirt out of his pants. "I know," he agreed, keeping his voice pitched low.

"But what if --"

"I know," Gil repeated, lips pressed against Nick's throat. He felt Nick's erection hard against his own, and smiled. "Better be quiet."

"Oh, my God."

As much as the increasingly small rational part of his brain informed him it was nuts, he simply didn't give a shit anymore. He listened to Nick's harsh, turned-on breathing and unfastened Nick's pants deftly.

Nick grunted when Gil put his hand on his dick. "Oh, shit," Nick said clearly. His eyes were wide and black in the dim light.

Gil leaned against him, keeping his fingers stroking Nick's erection. "I'm sorry," he murmured, a flicker of discomfort rippling through him. "If this isn't a good time --"

"It's a good time," Nick babbled, thrusting his hips against him. "Just don't stop."

He'd thought sometimes about doing this, over the years. Getting it on with somebody right there at work, danger of being discovered, in flagrante. Never thought it would actually happen. It just wasn't something GRISSOM would do, right?

Except right now, kneeling on the floor of a broom closet with Nick's hard cock about an inch from his lips, he didn't much give a fuck what GRISSOM would do. He'd do what he wanted to do, what was driving him around the bend for want of doing, and the preconceptions could simply wait outside.

Nick's thighs were shaking under Gil's hands. With a satisfied smile Gil leaned forward and took Nick's cock in his mouth. Nick groaned softly, fingers plucking at Gil's hair, and rocked his hips a little.

It was highly unprofessional, of course. But when lack of professionalism felt this good, Gil thought maybe he'd been vastly underestimating its appeal for way too many years.

~~~~~~~~~~~

It took him by surprise, but not completely. Making out in the truck before work had already left him jittery, so horny he could barely stand it. Even work hadn't calmed the waters that much. Sure, searching fingerprint databases wasn't exactly erotic. But he was on edge all evening, and when he saw Gil's expression, standing there in the doorway with eyes so hot they practically set Nick's shirt on fire, and bouncing a little on the balls of his feet, he already kinda knew what the guy had in mind.

But it was still a bit of a shock to do it in a goddamn BROOM CLOSET.

Nick drew a fast breath and wiped sweat off his forehead with one trembling hand. The other was exploring, seeing by touch what he couldn't see all that well with his eyes.

Getting a blow job from Grissom in the middle of his shift. Well, THAT was a break in the old routine.

"Shit," Nick hissed, biting down on his lower lip so hard he wondered if it was going to bleed. This keeping silent shit was for the BIRDS, how in the fuck did Gil expect him to be QUIET? His knees were shaking, and he had his butt pressed up against something that was poking him, and not in a good way. But the good stuff was SO good, Gil's mouth on his dick like warm honey, hand inside Nick's pants rolling his balls until he was ready to scream.

Nope, can't scream there, Nicky boy, unless you want an audience. And wouldn't THAT be nice.

He did make his lip bleed when he came, fucking Gil's incredible mouth and hanging onto a shelf with his free hand, hoping nothing fell off and broke and asphyxiated them.

And it left him so hot he didn't even wait for Gil to stand up. Just dropped to his knees, popping out of Gil's mouth with a sound like a lollipop and giving himself a nice scrape on the back from whatever it was he'd been leaning against. Didn't care. Gil's lips had Nick's COME on them, and it made him feel like he was crawling out of his own skin, absolutely desperate to kiss him, show him how much that fucking ROCKED.

"I don't care about Saturday," Nick hissed against Gil's open mouth. "Close enough."

"I agree," Gil said in a weird, hoarse voice.

His pants were already open, so all it took was standing up again to peel them off. Gil kept right on kneeling, staring up at him with such a look of open hunger Nick's knees went all rubbery again. He stepped out of his shorts and felt like crowing when he heard Gil's harsh breathing.

"Do it," Nick said urgently, turning around and looking around for something to hold onto. So it was a mop that had given him the scrape on his back. He shoved it to the side and put his hands flat on the wall.

Gil didn't say anything at all. Just nothing for a second, and then his hands, warm and deft, sliding up the backs of Nick's thighs and smoothing over his ass.

It felt so good it hurt. He shuffled his legs wider apart and leaned forward, forehead pressed against his bicep. The closet might as well have been a suite at a ritzy hotel; he didn't care if it was Clorox in the air, he just wanted it. This. The way Gil touched him, so sure, so perfect that every movement sent paralyzing chills up Nick's spine.

Gil's fingers trailed down between his ass cheeks and Nick bit down on his own arm to keep from crying out. "God," Gil whispered, so close Nick could feel his breath on his skin. "You're so beautiful."

Chewing on his lip again, Nick shivered, listening to the soft sounds of Gil standing up, the jagged sound of a zipper. Oh GOD, not at all the way he had pictured this particular act taking place, but better than his brain could have EVER cooked up, because he had no precedent for feeling this way. Had never -- ever -- felt this sense of expectant, absolute JOY.

Gil's spit-slick finger slid inside him, and he moaned. "There's -- a condom," Nick rasped. "In my wallet."

Gil's chuckle made his hackles rise helplessly. "Good."

It took a second for Gil to do his thing, and then he was pressing against him, easy, sure, opening him up. A moment of throat-tightening pain, thinking Good thing it's a lubed rubber, and then Nick opened his eyes and drew a gigantic whoop of air when Gil slid all the way inside him, one long nerve-shattering thrust.

"Shit," Nick blurted, squinting his eyes shut.

"Relax," Gil murmured against his ear, body flat against his back. "Relax, honey." His voice was anything but relaxed, but his hands smoothed along Nick's flanks, warm and easy.

Nick arched his back a little, and the pain morphed into a slow kind of breathless pleasure. So different, my Christ, how could it feel so different, but it did, not like before, not fast and painful and sorta nastily hot, but delicious.

Gil slid slowly out and back in again, hands sliding down to grip Nick's hips more firmly. "I could stay like this forever," he whispered, voice thin with tension. "You feel so good."

Bending a little more at the waist, Nick pushed his ass back against him, unthinking, smiling tremulously when Gil drew a breath and thrust again, a little faster this time. And again, and then that was all there was in the goddamn world, this tiny room and its clean, astringent smells, and his body connected with Gil's, the feel of him, the sound of Gil's harsh breathing and his own stifled grunts of pleasure. Until it was just as fast as it had been two days ago, only that was two YEARS ago and two light-years away for all the resemblance that held to this. The greedy feel of taking Gil's cock INSIDE him, knowing Gil was about to come.

Gil did it silently, plastered against him, shoving deep and then a long shiver migrating from his body to Nick's, shudder of pleasure, and feeling it Nick coughed with surprise and came, too, quicksilver-fast second orgasm shocked out of him.

After what felt like a very long time, a very good long time, he heard Gil sigh, felt his arms curving around Nick's waist. "I still don't want it to end," he said in a nearly soundless whisper.

"I don't, either," Nick breathed, eyes stinging. "Stay. Stay like this."

With Gil's face pressed against his shoulderblade, he could feel him smile. "I can't, honey. We can't."

Nick drew a shivering breath when Gil slid out of him, and shocked himself again by sobbing.

"Hey." Gil drew back and put his hands on Nick's shoulders, turning him to face him. "What's wrong?" he asked in an anxious whisper. "Nicky?"

Even the name made the stinging pain in his chest worse. Nick pressed forward blindly, kissing him without any skill at all, just fumbling for that connection. Gil kissed him firmly and then put his hands on Nick's wet cheeks, studying him with concern in his eyes. "What's wrong, honey?"

"Nothing," Nick gasped, hitching out another sob. "Nothing's wrong. It's right."

Gil smiled hesitantly, brow furrowed. "Yeah?"

"It's never been like that. Never." Nick smiled through the tears that just kept right on going. "I never knew."

Now it was Gil who kissed him sweetly, wiping away the wetness with gentle fingers. "Neither did I," he murmured, and pulled him close.

(To be continued in chapter eight)