at home, with the boys, with guests.
Title: Conflict of Interest, pt. 3
Rating: NC-17 (smuttage).
Pairing: Nick/Greg (CSI)
Warnings/Spoilers: Follows part 1 and part 2. Futurefic.
Summary: In which Greg's relative comes to visit. Nick and Greg find themselves in a pickle.
Note: Sleep does wonders to the brain, giving nice dreams about the boys, for example.
Nick is nervous. He moves around the house, ticking off his mental checklist. Sparkling tiles, clean bathrooms, stacks of freshly laundered towels, clean sheets, spotless rooms, clean fridge, and dishes washed and stored away. He looks at the clock and is about to throw himself onto the couch, when the front door opens.
"Nick! We're here!" Greg shouts. Nick takes a couple of deep breaths and tries to walk calmly towards the door. He feels perspiration surfacing on the palms of his hands and slight tremors too, as he puts one foot after the other.
Greg is dragging in a big, heavy suitcase (that must've broken a few airport porters' backs on the way). Most of all, Nick spots the woman standing just inside the threshold scanning everything around her like they're potential crime evidence. At what Nick thinks as 5-foot-7, she isn't who he expected at all.
He takes a step forward and holds his right hand out. "Welcome to Las Vegas, Ma'am," Nick says, trying to hide his grimace under a smile.
"Come closer," Greg says as he locks the front door. "And speak louder."
Greg takes the woman's hand into his and places it in Nick's. "Tante Silje can't see or hear properly now, and her glasses and hearing aid are in her bag," Greg explains.
Nick looks down at the hand, not at all frail although wrinkled and weathered.
She straightens up a little bit more and clears her throat. "You must be Nick," she says and Nick thinks about fjords and ice caps.
"Yes, Ma'am," Nick answers. "Welcome to Las Vegas."
"Speak up," she says as she extricates her hand from Nick's grasp. "I'm almost deaf."
"Yes, Ma'am," Nick replies and stiffens as Greg wraps an arm around Nick's waist, nipping at his throat. "Hey, Greggo."
"His name is Greg. Or Gregory," Silje snaps at him, and Nick looks at Greg who looks rather apologetic.
Greg releases his hold on Nick and reaches for Silje's hand. "It's okay. He calls me that all the time. I don't mind. Let's get you to your bedroom, okay; and you can put your hearing aid on. My throat is sore." Greg leads her away with a curt, "Grab the suitcase, Nick, please?"
Nick picks the suitcase (which does weigh a lot) and hears Silje's "You still talk too much." He follows them down the corridor, dumps the suitcase, and leaves. He has never been a coward, but there is always a first time. It's not cowardice, Nick reasons to himself, it's a tactical retreat -- wisely choosing one's fight.
---
Greg appears ten minutes later and flings himself next to Nick on the couch. He lets out a distressed sigh and snuggles up to Nick. "She's catching a nap. Jet lag."
"Does she need to be that hostile and intimidating?" Nick asks, kissing Greg's forehead and lets Greg's gel-hardened hair rub a rash onto his neck.
"She was with the PST until recently. It's her job. She's paid to be intimidating."
"PST?"
"Politiets Sikkerhetstjeneste," Greg answers, as he slips his hand underneath Nick's shirt.
"Ploti-what?" Nick feels dread. It doesn't sound like a "housewife" or "nurse" or "teacher" or, anything tame at all.
"The Police Security Agency. Like the Secret Services and such." Greg feels Nick does an honest-to-goodness whole-body shiver. It's either because of Greg's fingernails scraping on Nick's nipples or...
"She's not going to shoot me, is she?"
Nick likes Greg's chuckle and feels the tension slip away. "Nick," Greg says, "She can't even see properly."
"Even the more dangerous, then," Nick mumbles. Nick can actually see it played out, Sorry! I was aiming at the knee. Honest. Did I really shoot him in the heart?
"Stop thinking, Nick," Greg whispers in his ears. "I'm trying to jerk you off, here." Greg unbuttons Nick's jeans, spits a couple of time into his palm, and slips his hand underneath Nick's briefs.
"You're wearing underwear. Naughty, naughty," Greg coos, before nibbling away at his earlobe.
"Are you... is it... you know..." Nick tries to find the correct words, but the strain in his jeans is just too good.
"What?" Greg snickers and lengthens his stroke.
"She's not gonna... That... I mean..." Nick suddenly understands how it feels to be stupid. He jerks into Greg's hand. "Fuck!"
"Indeed," Greg grins "Later. I'll let you fuck me later."
Nick tries, he really does. He tries valiantly to not give in. But Greg is so insistent and he is leaking. Nick thinks that he is going to stain his jeans, and it's his last clean jeans. Nick also thinks that he's missing something, like he has to say something.
A small cough sends Nick jumping. He grabs his jeans and zips it up in record time. In fact that isn't the only one that accomplishes something in record time. Huh. Erect to flaccid in under a second. Who knew? Nick thinks and in other less stressful occasions he would've laughed too.
"Don't mind me," Silje says as she walks towards the television. She switches it on and Britney Spears appeared on screen. She flicks through the channels and settles for an opera.
"Tante Silje! I thought..." Greg stammers out.
"Can't sleep," she answers, as she arranges herself in the recliner Greg likes very much. She takes her time adjusting her very thick eyeglasses, repositions her earpiece, and cranks up the volume. "You should get a room."
"Tante Silje... I..." Nick marvels at Greg who can still talk, while Nick feels like he's going to keel over.
"Oh, act all embarrassed," she laughs. "I was young once too." She cranks up the volume a bit more and smiles indulgently, "Now nobody can hear you."
Both men stare at her, humming to the music. Greg is the first to rediscover his motor skills and tows Nick with him.
---
In bed and naked, usually Nick doesn't need too much encouragement. But, they find themselves in a very awkward situation with neither of them knowing where to start.
"So..." Greg tries.
"Yeah."
"No fucking tonight then? No in-and-out action to be had tonight? You know, mano a mano. Sex?" Greg takes a deep breath and is about to launch into a tirade of what Nick comes to know as 'Talking Dirty in Bed, with Greg', but ends up exhaling loudly and banging his head against the headboard. "This is useless."
"I don't think I can get it up, Greg." TV noise filters into the bedroom and Nick thinks if he can, ever again.
"Wanna try Kamasutra?" Greg offers. Nick stares at Greg for a long second and Greg sighs again, "Maybe not, then."
"So..." Nick ventures.
"Yeah?" Greg shifts and adjusts the sheet over his body.
"What's the story?"
"What's what story?"
"With 'Greggo'. She doesn't sound happy when I call you that." Nick settles with stroking Greg's upper arm, a gesture which Greg appreciates.
"Oh, long story. Old news. Gone and buried. No biggie," Greg says.
"Might as well tell the story. We have a long night ahead of us," Nick tries not to sound desperate or frustrated.
"Well..." Greg takes another deep breath and pauses. He looks up at Nick, then at the door, and shouts on top of his lungs. "Tante Silje! I know you're out there!"
A loud huff and a snort later, Nick hears an exaggerated shuffling of feet.
"Thank you!" Greg shouts again and sighs.
"This is going to be a long night, isn't it?" Nick tells the ceiling.
---
Rating: NC-17 (smuttage).
Pairing: Nick/Greg (CSI)
Warnings/Spoilers: Follows part 1 and part 2. Futurefic.
Summary: In which Greg's relative comes to visit. Nick and Greg find themselves in a pickle.
Note: Sleep does wonders to the brain, giving nice dreams about the boys, for example.
Nick is nervous. He moves around the house, ticking off his mental checklist. Sparkling tiles, clean bathrooms, stacks of freshly laundered towels, clean sheets, spotless rooms, clean fridge, and dishes washed and stored away. He looks at the clock and is about to throw himself onto the couch, when the front door opens.
"Nick! We're here!" Greg shouts. Nick takes a couple of deep breaths and tries to walk calmly towards the door. He feels perspiration surfacing on the palms of his hands and slight tremors too, as he puts one foot after the other.
Greg is dragging in a big, heavy suitcase (that must've broken a few airport porters' backs on the way). Most of all, Nick spots the woman standing just inside the threshold scanning everything around her like they're potential crime evidence. At what Nick thinks as 5-foot-7, she isn't who he expected at all.
He takes a step forward and holds his right hand out. "Welcome to Las Vegas, Ma'am," Nick says, trying to hide his grimace under a smile.
"Come closer," Greg says as he locks the front door. "And speak louder."
Greg takes the woman's hand into his and places it in Nick's. "Tante Silje can't see or hear properly now, and her glasses and hearing aid are in her bag," Greg explains.
Nick looks down at the hand, not at all frail although wrinkled and weathered.
She straightens up a little bit more and clears her throat. "You must be Nick," she says and Nick thinks about fjords and ice caps.
"Yes, Ma'am," Nick answers. "Welcome to Las Vegas."
"Speak up," she says as she extricates her hand from Nick's grasp. "I'm almost deaf."
"Yes, Ma'am," Nick replies and stiffens as Greg wraps an arm around Nick's waist, nipping at his throat. "Hey, Greggo."
"His name is Greg. Or Gregory," Silje snaps at him, and Nick looks at Greg who looks rather apologetic.
Greg releases his hold on Nick and reaches for Silje's hand. "It's okay. He calls me that all the time. I don't mind. Let's get you to your bedroom, okay; and you can put your hearing aid on. My throat is sore." Greg leads her away with a curt, "Grab the suitcase, Nick, please?"
Nick picks the suitcase (which does weigh a lot) and hears Silje's "You still talk too much." He follows them down the corridor, dumps the suitcase, and leaves. He has never been a coward, but there is always a first time. It's not cowardice, Nick reasons to himself, it's a tactical retreat -- wisely choosing one's fight.
---
Greg appears ten minutes later and flings himself next to Nick on the couch. He lets out a distressed sigh and snuggles up to Nick. "She's catching a nap. Jet lag."
"Does she need to be that hostile and intimidating?" Nick asks, kissing Greg's forehead and lets Greg's gel-hardened hair rub a rash onto his neck.
"She was with the PST until recently. It's her job. She's paid to be intimidating."
"PST?"
"Politiets Sikkerhetstjeneste," Greg answers, as he slips his hand underneath Nick's shirt.
"Ploti-what?" Nick feels dread. It doesn't sound like a "housewife" or "nurse" or "teacher" or, anything tame at all.
"The Police Security Agency. Like the Secret Services and such." Greg feels Nick does an honest-to-goodness whole-body shiver. It's either because of Greg's fingernails scraping on Nick's nipples or...
"She's not going to shoot me, is she?"
Nick likes Greg's chuckle and feels the tension slip away. "Nick," Greg says, "She can't even see properly."
"Even the more dangerous, then," Nick mumbles. Nick can actually see it played out, Sorry! I was aiming at the knee. Honest. Did I really shoot him in the heart?
"Stop thinking, Nick," Greg whispers in his ears. "I'm trying to jerk you off, here." Greg unbuttons Nick's jeans, spits a couple of time into his palm, and slips his hand underneath Nick's briefs.
"You're wearing underwear. Naughty, naughty," Greg coos, before nibbling away at his earlobe.
"Are you... is it... you know..." Nick tries to find the correct words, but the strain in his jeans is just too good.
"What?" Greg snickers and lengthens his stroke.
"She's not gonna... That... I mean..." Nick suddenly understands how it feels to be stupid. He jerks into Greg's hand. "Fuck!"
"Indeed," Greg grins "Later. I'll let you fuck me later."
Nick tries, he really does. He tries valiantly to not give in. But Greg is so insistent and he is leaking. Nick thinks that he is going to stain his jeans, and it's his last clean jeans. Nick also thinks that he's missing something, like he has to say something.
A small cough sends Nick jumping. He grabs his jeans and zips it up in record time. In fact that isn't the only one that accomplishes something in record time. Huh. Erect to flaccid in under a second. Who knew? Nick thinks and in other less stressful occasions he would've laughed too.
"Don't mind me," Silje says as she walks towards the television. She switches it on and Britney Spears appeared on screen. She flicks through the channels and settles for an opera.
"Tante Silje! I thought..." Greg stammers out.
"Can't sleep," she answers, as she arranges herself in the recliner Greg likes very much. She takes her time adjusting her very thick eyeglasses, repositions her earpiece, and cranks up the volume. "You should get a room."
"Tante Silje... I..." Nick marvels at Greg who can still talk, while Nick feels like he's going to keel over.
"Oh, act all embarrassed," she laughs. "I was young once too." She cranks up the volume a bit more and smiles indulgently, "Now nobody can hear you."
Both men stare at her, humming to the music. Greg is the first to rediscover his motor skills and tows Nick with him.
---
In bed and naked, usually Nick doesn't need too much encouragement. But, they find themselves in a very awkward situation with neither of them knowing where to start.
"So..." Greg tries.
"Yeah."
"No fucking tonight then? No in-and-out action to be had tonight? You know, mano a mano. Sex?" Greg takes a deep breath and is about to launch into a tirade of what Nick comes to know as 'Talking Dirty in Bed, with Greg', but ends up exhaling loudly and banging his head against the headboard. "This is useless."
"I don't think I can get it up, Greg." TV noise filters into the bedroom and Nick thinks if he can, ever again.
"Wanna try Kamasutra?" Greg offers. Nick stares at Greg for a long second and Greg sighs again, "Maybe not, then."
"So..." Nick ventures.
"Yeah?" Greg shifts and adjusts the sheet over his body.
"What's the story?"
"What's what story?"
"With 'Greggo'. She doesn't sound happy when I call you that." Nick settles with stroking Greg's upper arm, a gesture which Greg appreciates.
"Oh, long story. Old news. Gone and buried. No biggie," Greg says.
"Might as well tell the story. We have a long night ahead of us," Nick tries not to sound desperate or frustrated.
"Well..." Greg takes another deep breath and pauses. He looks up at Nick, then at the door, and shouts on top of his lungs. "Tante Silje! I know you're out there!"
A loud huff and a snort later, Nick hears an exaggerated shuffling of feet.
"Thank you!" Greg shouts again and sighs.
"This is going to be a long night, isn't it?" Nick tells the ceiling.
---