Nick walked around the desk and crouched down in front of the older man. Grissom had seen the movement and his eyes rose fractionally. Nick placed his hands on the knees, a light, unconsciously quizzical touch. Stokes came from a big family; five sisters, one brother, and he was the seventh, youngest child. Touching had been a way of communication in his life and he had never had any problems with it. He didn't think about it, he just did it.
Gil Grissom was the complete opposite. Human contact was an alien subject to him. Hugs, pats, touches... everything.
So Nick was currently in quite foreign waters here. But Grissom made no move to dislodge the contact.
[Hello] Nick signed with one hand, the other a warm pressure on Gil's knee.
[I hear] came the reply. [Just thinking]
Nick's response was a smile of relief, but his hands never lost contact with the older man's legs. Gil straightened a bit, his right hand resting on his thigh, just a fraction away from Nick's.
I'm suicidal, I know it, Stokes thought. Or desperate. Out of my mind. Crazy. Take a pick.
Because he slipped his hand over Grissom's, curling the fingers around the unresisting counterparts, then squeezing lightly.
Then his boss shocked him. He turned his hand, neatly fitting it into the loose grip, closing the fingers around Nick's. He squeezed back lightly. Their eyes met and held, Nick crouching down in front of his boss and friend, offering silent comfort and understanding.
And Grissom accepted.
 

Eight hours later found Nicholas Stokes on his couch in his apartment, a beer in one hand, eyes staring at the TV screen without even following the game. If anyone would have asked, he didn't even have an idea who was playing who, let alone the current score.
I held hands with my boss.
It was all that went round and round in his head.
I held hands with my boss!
At the time he hadn't thought much of it. It had been Nick reacting to the distress of a friend, someone who was sadly not very well equipped to deal with such strong emotions. Gil Grissom wasn't a very emotional man, at least what he showed to the world. Nick thought that if someone had trouble showing his happiness as well as his pain to the world, he would have a lot of trouble confessing he had those emotions at all. And in all the years he had known the older man, he hadn't seen him quite like last night before.
I held hands with my boss...
Because Grissom needed human contact. He had opened up to Nick before, freely talking about the otosclerosis diagnosis with him. He had been vulnerable then, just like now.
When I held hands with my boss.
I held hands with Gil Grissom.
Nick took a swig of the beer.
And Grissom had held back...

* * *

The sun was not yet completely down behind the mountains, but the shift had already started. Sun light still touched the Strip and its hotels, with their million lights and equally numerous guests and customers. It was hot outside, a typical June evening, and it promised no release for the night.
For the five men and women of the Las Vegas CSI night shift, neither weather nor physical comfort played any role. Only the crime site was important. A CSI went where the crime had happened.
"Warrick, Nick, 480 out on Clark and 7th."
Warrick took the assignment slip and glanced over it. 480. Hit and run. The victim was a sixteen year old teenager.
"You and me, huh?" Nick teased.
"The dream team," Brown chuckled.
"Catherine, I have a 502 for you."
"Drunken driver?"
"For you to find out," Grissom answered with a fine smile. "He claims otherwise."
"Don't they always?"
"Sara, with me. We've got ourselves a jumper. Excalibur Hotel."
"Yippee," came the moderately enthusiastic reply.
"All right people, get processing!" Grissom ordered, snapping his folder shut.
Nick followed Warrick out to the Tahoe to check their gear and then drive off to the crime scene. Part of him was disappointed that he wouldn't be working with Grissom; another part was very much relieved.

* * *

Within the next two weeks, Nick found himself starting to look forward to each night, no matter the case, no matter whether he worked with any of the others or not. Yes, he had had a solo assignment again, but somehow, working with Grissom seemed more like an achievement, a reward, than handling things on his own.
Using Gil as a sounding board for his theories was no longer a hardship, no longer a matter of feeling incompetent because he couldn't solve it on his own. He wanted to listen to him, his voice, his input, the endless source of tidbits and sometimes so unrelated spouts of Grissom Wisdom. The man was a fountain of knowledge and one only had to tap it.
Coffee breaks in each other's company were enjoyed. When they were alone, it was also the time to practice sign language. Nick still went to the Gilbert College of the Deaf, and he would continue to do so, but signing with Grissom was why he had started it. He inquired into his hearing and received honest answers. They talked about Grissom's mother, how she had mastered life with a sense missing, and Nick heard the love and reverence the older man had for his mother out of each sentence.
So it was only natural to invite his friend over to dinner one Sunday evening after a successfully closed case. Nick didn't think of it as a big deal; he had done the same with Warrick before. They had had a good meal, some beers, had hung out in front of the TV watching a game… generally, they had had a great time. With Grissom, the game would be out of the question, but it would give Nick the chance to get to know him better.
 

Gil Grissom looked at his younger colleague and friend as if Nick had just spouted the sentence in Greek. But no, it had been in plain English, and it had sounded like 'You wanna come over for dinner?'
Curious.
He had just come from a court date, presenting the evidence the criminalists had gathered, and he was still dressed in his black suit and tie. Nick was actually bouncing on the balls of his feet, eyes alight, that open smile on his features.
And he had heard himself saying 'yes.'.
Curious and curiouser.
So Grissom found himself standing outside the townhouse Nick had moved into about six months ago, briefly wondering what he was doing here.
Having dinner with a friend, his alert mind informing him. And was that sarcasm he heard?
Their relationship had changed slowly ever since the child prostitution case, the unsolved case. Nick had been there after it had been over, had silently given him strength when he had wanted to just throw something at the wall. Grissom wasn't a violent man, but child abuse always got to him.
Then there had been the revelation about knowing how to sign. Nick hadn't said it out straight forward, but from what he had explained, Gil knew his younger colleague had pieced things together a while ago and he had voluntarily started college courses on sign language. Because of him. His boss. His supervisor. His friend.
Something inside of him had jumped at that, had embraced it, had felt warmed by it. Of all the people he would have expected, Nick Stokes had done it.
"Hey, Gris," he was greeted when he rang the bell.
Nick was dressed in black jeans and a black shirt with gray highlighting the shoulder seams and sides. He smiled widely at his guest and Grissom tried to ignore what the smile was doing to him.
[Welcome] Nick signed, still grinning.
[Thank you] was the reply and Grissom smiled.
Dinner was a surprise. Not just the candle on the table, the good plates, the wine. The soup had been wonderful and the moment the chicken was placed in front of him, complete with rice and salad, Grissom was very sure that Nick Stokes hadn't ordered out for it.
"My grandma's recipe," the younger man answered the unspoken question. "Always wanted to try it out, but I never had the chance. I don't usually cook for myself. And Warrick's a burger and fries kinda guy."
Grissom gave him another curious look, adding the pieces together.
 

Nick enjoyed the dinner company. He rarely cooked for himself because he ended up with too many leftovers and his fridge was too small to take all the food. He was single, he worked all night, he slept when others had breakfast or lunch, and when he went into work, he usually grabbed a bite to eat on the way. His days off he spent with the few friends he had in Vegas, went to games if they happened on those days, and he studied sign. He had gotten a whole new set of friends at the college and he liked hanging out with them. They might not go to movies, but Nick had had a lot of great times, just talking, making fun of things, or watching TV and trying to lip read. He was abysmal at that and the other students liked to tease him with it. He took it with his usual good humor.
So now he had a dinner guest, one he had never expected to see in his home. Grissom had accepted the invitation and it had come as a huge surprise. He had prepared the table, set out the plates, even added a candle to it. Just for the looks. Nick hadn't really thought about it and he definitely hadn't seen it as a romantic overture.
"So, how was work?" Nick now asked.
So far, eating had been a silent affair. He wasn't used to that. At home, with so many siblings, it had always been noisy. With his friends, there was always chatter, even if it was in sign language. With Grissom, it was…. silence.
"We worked the last case together," came the mild rebuke.
"Ah, yeah, sure. I know that."
Way to step into it, Nicky.
"So… court date went all right?"
Grissom's brows rose and he looked at him, a piece of chicken on his fork, poised in front of his lips. He ate it, chewing slowly.
"The suspect was convicted."
"Good." Nick stumbled. "Good. So, you ever go to a game?" he tried again.
"Game?"
"Well, y'know… baseball, basketball, anything?"
"No."
So much for getting to know the man through dinner and small talk.
"What do you do in your free time then?"
"What free time?"
Nick evaded the dark blue eyes, rallying to keep his composure. He knew he was about to blush.
There was light amusement in Grissom's expression as Nick glanced back at him.
"I read," his boss said.
"Oh. What?"
"Forensic science books. Monthly magazines. Newsletters."
Figures. "Uhm, books? I mean, as in novels…"
"No, not really."
"Ah." Nick cleaned his plate of food. "Uh, you want some more?" he asked as he looked at the similarly empty plate of his friend.
"No, thank you. It was quite good."
He flashed a grin at him. "Thanks. I'll tell my grandmother."
"She may have provided the recipe, but the cook prepares the food."
Nick quickly turned away, aware he was blushing now. "Coffee?" he tried to cover his reaction.
"That would be nice."
Walking over to the coffee machine, Nick tried to get the raging emotions under control. What was wrong with him? He turned and nearly ran into his boss, who was carrying the leftovers and plates.
"Where do you want them?" Grissom asked calmly.
"I…ah… sink," Nick stuttered.
Shit.
"You don't have to…"
"It's common courtesy, Nick," Gil explained.
Of course. Courteous. He should have known. But it was still nice. Different. And very much Gil Grissom.
Taking the coffee mug, he handed it over to the older man. "Black," he only said.
Grissom took it, smiling. "As usual."
Nick answered the smile, feeling awkward. With Warrick, he would have gone over to the TV, watched a game or two, eaten some snacks. But Grissom had just shared a whole dinner with him and now… now he was at a loss. And Gil looked at him like he was a lab specimen. He shivered slightly. Not because he felt unwell, but because… because…
Shit, Nick, get a grip on yourself! What's wrong with you?
Coffee was finished in silence, leaning against the kitchen counter. Grissom had his back resting against the kitchen island, silent, observing.
Observing Nick.
Who was observing Grissom in turn. Dressed in dark pants and a light gray shirt with a black jacket over it, his boss looked great.
Whoa! he backpedaled. Wrong side of the track! Dangerous waters.
Blue eyes studied the mug, then rose to meet Nick's observative gaze. "More coffee?" Stokes stuttered, caught.
You're checking out your boss, for crying out loud!
And you noticed his built, how he is just your height, perfect. The silvery gray that had severely encroached on the formerly dark hair, the handsome, round features, the sharp eyes, the frown lines around his mouth that smoothed when he was very relaxed, giving him a youthful appearance
Like right now.
Shit!
Nick was reeling.
The man looks good enough to kiss, a voice called happily and for a moment, he was terrified that he might have said it out loud, because there was a distinct shift in Grissom's face.
He was looking even closer at Nick.
What are you thinking? he screamed at himself. You're checking out the *boss*!
Oh gawd…
"No, thank you," Grissom answered calmly. He placed the empty mug in the dishwasher. "I should go, Nick."
No! Nick found himself protesting, but he never voiced it.
"Thanks for dinner."
"My pleasure."
Even if it was a disaster. Nick had never felt so strange, so at a loss… so very ill-equipped with a date.
No, not a date! Definitely not a date! Shit, shit, shit!
"See you tomorrow night," he said his good-byes, glad to notice his voice was steady.
Grissom smiled. "Tomorrow."
And with that, Nick was alone again.
He leaned against the closed door, exhaling explosively. "What's going on here?" he whispered.
You were trying to come onto your boss? a voice suggested.
No, not really.
You developed feelings? Inappropriate feelings?
Yeah, something like it.
It had to stop. Now.

* * *

Grissom watched his younger friend closely the week following the dinner invitation. Nick was working just as efficiently on every case as before, but he had started to… change. He was pulling away. It was the only way to describe his behavior.
Where before he had greeted him cheerfully, there was now a distanced tone to it. They no longer shared a coffee break and Nick had stopped inviting him along to games he wanted to visit and which Grissom had always declined so far. Nick shied away from touches, he evaded closer contact. One time in the lab Grissom had bent over his shoulder to take a look at what the other CSI was scribbling concerning a crime scene, and he had noticed how Nick had tensed up immediately.
There was only one way to find out what was going on. And Grissom's method was always the direct one.
 
 

Nick sat in the lab, staring at the piece of glass they had found at the latest crime scene, not seeing much. His mind was whirling around the botched up dinner. It had been a week now and nothing had changed. If anything, it had gotten worse. The realization of that one evening, the sudden surge of emotions, hadn't dissipated. It had developed. By now he was painfully aware of Gil Grissom's nearness, his body heat if he was too close, his smiles, the twinkles in his eyes, the way he watched Stokes.
But only because of the ruined evening.
Nick, my boy, you were so stupid. So incredibly stupid! He's your boss, damnit! And Gil Grissom was not into it. Not at all. Men? No way. The man had no private life, no sex life, no interest in it. It was a waste of time.
But he persisted in feeling what he felt. He insisted on feeling something for this man.
Shit!
So when Grissom called him to his office, he walked into the cluttered room with a feeling of rising dread. He was sure Gil could hear his hammering heart from where he sat.
"Nick, I'd like to talk to you."
"Uh, sure."
"Something is bothering you. I'd like to know what it is."
Always the direct way. Grissom didn't beat around the bush; it wasn't something he believed in doing. Ask and receive an answer. Ask directly and stun the other person into answering just as directly.
Not with Nick, though. He knew the Grissom Interrogation Method.
"It's nothing, Gris."
"It has to be something because I noticed."
It might have been an attempt at humor; you could never be sure. Nick couldn't smile, though. So Grissom had noticed. Great.
"It has nothing to do with work," he replied almost defensively.
"But it does. You are detaching yourself, Nick. That is not healthy in our line of work. You have to be here one hundred percent."
"I am here a hundred percent!" Nick snapped. "But if you're not happy with my work, spit it out and don't go around asking what's bothering me, 'kay?"
Gil tilted his head a fraction, wearing that quizzical expression again. "You're a good CSI. I don't want to lose you, Nick. Something is bothering you and whatever it is, I am losing you more and more each day."
Shit! Nick cursed silently. Part of him, the part that hoped and prayed and had developed the softer feelings, cheered at the words, interpreting them its way. But the logical part refused to feel hope. This was his boss talking.
"Nicky? Talk to me?"
"I can't!" he almost yelled.
"Why?"
"Because you are what's bothering me!" Nick blurted, horrified by his confession.
Again, the blue eyes quizzed him, trying to see into his mind, his soul.
"Something has changed!" Nick went on, desperate now. "It changed a while ago and it keeps changing. I can't stop it. I just can't!"
"Nick…"
"I…." At a loss, he fluidly changed into the only language he could think of using to express his deepest feelings. [I’m developing feelings for you!] he signed, movements abrupt and angry. [Deeper feelings. Unhealthy feelings. I think I’ve fallen in love with you. I’m sorry]
And with that he turned and left the suddenly constricting office, rushing past the labs and conference rooms to his locker. Without really thinking, he grabbed his jacket and car keys, and left.
 

In his office, Gil Grissom studied the closed door, a thoughtful expression on his face.

* * *

Nick drove aimlessly around for about an hour, then finally stopped in his own driveway, staring at the townhouse he had moved into after the affair with Nigel Crane. He hadn't been able to live in that place a minute longer. He had sold it and immediately moved into this little beauty. Now he stared at the house, remembering the evening with Grissom.
Gil Grissom, in his home. The way he had looked at him, observed him, the way he had made him feel.
No the hot rushes he had experienced as a teenager when a girl had given him the wordless invitation to flirt.
Not the wonderful tingle he experienced with beautiful women. And there were many giving him the eyes. Some he had gotten to know more closely, but not too many. Not after Kristy anyway.
It was something else. Something warm and wonderful. Something he had never felt before. Not the wetting-your-pants kinda thing. More like a soul-deep contentment.
And now the scene in the office.
Nick let his head sink against the steering wheel, hands clenching into the hard leather. He was close to throwing up. He felt so sick, so… embarrassed. Ashamed.
Maybe he should call in tomorrow. Not come in. Claim he had the flue or something.
Or something.
Nick smiled humorlessly. No, he couldn't lie. Grissom would know, would see through it, and Nick wasn't a coward. He would face tomorrow, with a heavy heart and the knowledge of what would come.
Because he knew exactly what would happen.
Take it like man, Nicky boy, he thought as he climbed out of the car.
It's over.

* * *

"Nick, my office, please?"
Here we go. Nick felt something inside of him knot up and freeze. He wanted to turn and run, but he couldn't. Grissom was his boss and he had ordered him into his office. Why couldn't he have had a call for a crime scene? He was on standby 24/7, he knew that, but those calls came at the most inappropriate moments, never when you needed them. So he had come to work, punched in, and had awaited this moment.
"Whatcha do, Nick?" Warrick called.
He dredged up a smile. "No idea, man."
Just confessed my love to the boss. To Grissom. Shit, I was so stupid.
And desperate.
And foolish.
Way too close to the emotional surface. He always was.
So he walked into the office, the lion's den, so to speak, and closed the door after himself. Grissom sat in his chair and looked at him, hands folded, resting on the desk.
"Listen," Nick said before Grissom could say anything, "if you wanna fire me for what I said last night, no problem. I'll make it easy on you. I'll hand in my resignation tonight."
A quizzical expression crossed the older man's face. It was the one he wore when confronted with a riddle, one he was close to solving. Not this one, though. It wasn't a riddle. The cat was out of the bag and Nick would soon be out of employment.
"Nick, please sit down."
"I rather take it standing."
Grissom smiled that mysteriously little smile. "You never gave me a chance to answer," he said softly, voice even.
"Cause I knew what you'd say."
"Oh? Am I that predictable?"
Normally, he would have smiled at that, but Nick felt far from smiling. "No, but you don't have to be. I know what happens when one guy declares his love for the other. I also know the way to the door. No need to kick my butt that way."
"Actually, I never even considered that to be an option."
Nick started to hate the calm tone that usually soothed him when he was getting riled up because of a case.
"You didn't…"
"I just said that."
"You're not going to kick me out because I came on to you?" Nick tried to clarify. Impossible!
"Is that what you did?"
Yes, he truly hated that tone now. He felt like a subject Grissom was interrogating.
"I… I don't know," he stuttered.
"I think you do, Nicky."
Oh, and how he hated it when Grissom called him that. Not because he despised the nick name. He actually liked it. Gil had been the first to call him that and the others had picked up on it. Still, it felt like something special between them; at least for Nick.
"And if you want to know if I'm insulted by what you said yesterday… no."
"Uhm…?"
"Gather the evidence, Nick. What do you see?"
"I… I… you're not insulted, you aren't throwing me out… Then what…?"
"I’m flattered."
That floored him. Now he had to sit down.
"You never said… I mean… there was nothing that…"
"Nick, you are my subordinate," Grissom explained.
Stokes flinched. Yeah, sure, right. Rub it in, boss.
"It would be considered sexual harassment."
Grissom was his boss. He was his… boss. Superior. Sexual harassment.
"Oh, man!" he moaned and buried his head in his hands, slumping.
Grissom rose and walked over to the other man. He gently touched Nick's shoulder, making the younger man look up. Nick shot a puzzled look at his boss, his friend, but only received another mysterious smile. More like a smirk, really.
"Follow the reason we're having this conversation," came the advise, then Grissom left his office. "The evidence doesn't lie."
And Nick was alone, thoughts whirling.

* * *

Three days passed and neither man had much time for private moments. Nick was up to his elbows in his case. Literally. A dead woman had been found in the local purification plant. It was a solo case and he was glad for it. While the whole matter was very straight forward, it gave him enough time to think, be it at the site or in the lab.
So he thought. About the last weeks, the developing friendship, their times together, the dinner – which still embarrassed him – the scene in the office, his fear, Gil's reaction, and his words.
Grissom was his boss. No doubt about it. He had been a colleague till the day Jim Brass had been transferred back to Homicide because of the Holly Gribbs debacle. Back then, they had been nothing but colleagues. The friendship had developed slowly and it still was. He knew more about Sara, Warrick and Catherine than about Grissom.
That had changed drastically.
So Grissom was now his boss and his friend. Who apparently returned some of the feelings Nick hadn't been able to control. But he couldn't act on them.
Because he was the superior.
Because it would be sexual harassment.
It wasn't like they were in the military and fraternization was forbidden. They were working for the police, not actually police officers but criminalists. No one said anything against getting to know the other, even closely, even intimately, and Nick knew for a fact that one of the dayshift guys was now together with a lab tech. They had been an item for a year now. There was talk about marriage.
So it was a superior-subordinate thing. Maybe even a Grissom thing.
He smiled wryly. If it was the latter, he was totally lost. The Grissom Zone was one scary place to be.
Evidence, Nicky, he reminded himself. Gather the evidence. The evidence doesn't lie.
And the evidence spoke clearly. Gil Grissom was interested. But was he as interested as Nick?
He would have to find out – right after he wrapped up this case and got the reports and evidence to the DA. Then it was time for the criminalist to leave his coat in here and the private person Nick Stokes to get thinking on another puzzle.

* * *

He took it slow. No need to rush into something again, draw the wrong conclusions and make a fool of himself, Nick thought, grimacing as he recalled the scene at the office. Grissom didn't so much as hint at what had occurred and Nick was grateful for it. He had stepped into it big time once too often already.
So he started out with the coffee and dinner breaks again. Hanging out around Grissom, asking him for his opinion or input, bouncing ideas off him, without making too obvious that he sought out the boss. No need for the others to think he was sucking up to Grissom.
A hot flood raced through him and he swallowed.
Shit...
Not the thought he had wanted to have, especially connected the other man!
Then there was a visit to the college. Nick took great care in attending his classes, taking part in the exams, and he would continue to do so. They had met Dr. Gilbert and she and Grissom had talked. She had teased him about needing a lot more practice still, that Nick was getting better at signing than the man he had learned it for. That remark had stunned the normally so unflappable man.
[Until today I didn't know who the friend Nick learned to sign for was. Now I do] she had told him calmly while Nick tried not to blush. [It is good you have someone to talk to, aside from me]
Stokes had really been looking for a hole to sink into. He hated to have people talk about him while he was there.
[Thank you] Grissom signed when they were alone.
[What for?] came the slightly confused question.
[Learning]
And with that, Nick gazed after the other man, puzzled, but also strangely pleased by the simple words.
 

A few days after the disastrous first dinner, both men were back at Nick's place again. No dinner this time, just sharing a beer and -- watching TV. A special was on and Grissom had simply sat with him when the opening title had appeared. Now, twenty minutes into the program, Nick had slouched back into the couch, enjoying himself. A lot! He wasn't even aware of how close he was to Grissom until their knees touched.
He stiffened, expecting the older man to pull away, but nothing of the like happened. Gil only glanced at him, looking very much relaxed, then turned his attention back to the program. Nothing else happened, but to Nick, events had been monumental.
They were courting, he realized. Plain and simple. Like he had done in high school, only then he had been stumbling around, trying to impress the girls, while also fighting down hormones that threatened to make a fool out of him. Here, with Grissom, he still felt like a fool sometimes, someone who had no idea what he was getting himself into, but this time there were no hormones involved. And Grissom was definitely not like any of the girls he had had an eye on in high school.
Grissom was… just Grissom.
 

Over the period of a week, more such encounters happened. They were innocent in and by themselves, but they grew in meaning with each passing day and culminated in that one Sunday afternoon when Nick lost the battle with his exhaustion. Hiking through the mountains in the current heat wave, looking for clues as to where the body two hikers had found could have come from, had taken its toll. He was physically fit, but two hard cases following up on each other had really beaten him. He fell asleep on the couch -- while Grissom made coffee.
Nick woke to the strange but nice feeling of being held, a hand tenderly stroking his back in long, soothing motions. Sometimes it came back to caress his neck, his short hair, stroke over his temple. He was horizontal, head resting on something soft but still firm, and he felt warm. For a moment, Nick just enjoyed the multiple sensations, then his tired brain added one and one, and came up with...
"Gris?" he blurted and sat up abruptly, flailing to keep his balance.
The hand slipped from his shoulders and he immediately mourned its loss, but then the reality of the situation slammed back in. Grissom had sat next to him for -- he shot a look at the clock -- two hours, had touched him, caressed him... while Nick had been laying with his head on Grissom's lap.
"Feel better?" Grissom just asked, voice mild, almost amused.
"Uh, yeah, I.... sorry to fall asleep on you." His sleep-muddled brain was fighting to wake up.
He had fallen asleep on his boss.
Slept with his boss.
ON his boss, he corrected frantically.
"I didn't mind."
Nick tried to fight back the warmth suffusing him. "Uhm..."
"It was nice, Nicky," Gil added softly.
"Really?"
"Yes."
"'kay."
Part of him screamed at him to listen to his instincts, to go with the flow, another, much stronger part, was too shy. 'What if's' were floating around in his mind.
You think after all that happened, after all the hints, he'll turn you down? You have to make the first step, Nicky-boy. Remember his words about superiors and sexual harassment.
Grissom just looked at him, that typical expression on his face; patient, expectant, mildly amused, and perpetually curious. It was an expression that had, in the past, gotten Nick's blood pressure up, always expecting Grissom to remark on his work, point out a failure in his deductions, in his notes, in his processing. Nothing had ever come forward, not even in the evaluations, but the look still did that to him.
His brain sputtered and choked, desperately trying to find the first gear and shift into second.
"Why?"
"Why what?" Grissom wanted to know.
Did I just say that? Nick thought frantically. Shit, he had! From Grissom's quizzical expression he had asked.
"Why me?" he croaked.
Jitters raced through him. God, he was suicidal. He had said that out loud, too.
"Have you looked into a mirror lately, Nick?"
Nick swallowed his disappointment and lowered his eyes. That again. His looks. Women went for it, men, too. And Grissom. Resignation filled him. Why not Grissom, too? He was, after all, only human. He probably had desires and cravings, needs and wants. Sure he had them. One such craving obviously involved Nick.
Well, at least I know where he's coming from, what to expect, he added sadly.
"I found you attractive from day one," Gil said, voice calm, reaching into his thoughts. "And then I got to know you."
Nick's head came up and he blinked in confusion. 'Come again? He dug the looks and then he got to know me?'
"What does that have to do with anything?" he blurted.
That infuriating Grissom smile was back. One eyebrow arched. "A lot. You are a very handsome man. No one has to look twice to notice that. I don't judge people, especially by their looks. I still find you attractive, Nicky, but now I know you."
Stokes opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again.
Process, Nicky, he told himself. Process! Gather the evidence. You did it before, you're good at it. You're a level 3.
Grissom thougt he was attractive. Okay, he could deal with that. He dealt with it every time a suspect or witness or even one from the force gave him that look. Nothing new there.
'He found me attractive right from the start. Geez! Over four years now? Running on five? And it never ever showed. Nothing happened. No clues.
He got to know me. He became a colleague and then a friend. He looked beyond the outside package. He looked inside…'
Nick swallowed and stared at his boss, who was simply smirking at him. Right that moment, he didn't know if he should either strangle the man or kiss him.
Take the less messy option, a little voice poked insistently.
Aw hell ….
With one single movement he leaned toward the other man, sneaking a hand around Grissom’s neck. He heard the man gasp slightly when his lips brushed over Gil’s, and he almost stopped, expecting his boss to pull away. Grissom didn’t. He didn't pull away, he didn't push him off, he didn't do anything.
Nick sank back again, closing his eyes, waiting for the hurricane to hit him. When there was nothing he carefully opened his eyes, glancing at his boss. Grissom just looked at him with an unreadable expression on his face, watching him closely. Then the well-known Grissom-smile tugged at his lips.
“You finally found the courage, Nicky?”
//Maybe I should’ve taken the other option… //
Nick’s eyes widened when he heard the next words, whispered so softly and … yes, tenderly. He had never heard Grissom speak that way.
“Took you long enough.” .
Then he felt those lips again, pressing against his, asking, not demanding, and hell, he just opened up under the gentle request, granting and inviting. And his invitation was taken, when Grissom intensified the kiss, fingertips ghosting over Nick’s temple and neck and he closed his eyes to just enjoy this precious moment.
Whoa, the man knew how to take one’s breath away!
Literally, Nick mused, when he had to pull away to grant his body’s rather insistent inquiry for oxygen. Somehow his perspective seemed to have gotten screwed because he was looking at his ceiling right now … and into a pair of expressive blue eyes. Okay, so when had he ended up horizontal? With larger parts of his body covered by larger parts of Grissom’s body who was leaning over him now. Okay, not those body parts, thank goodness, though one certain part of his anatomy apparently wanted to announce an advanced interest in the previous events.
Then it really hit him, and he blushed deeply. He was sporting a hard-on from a simple kiss. Gil Grissom’s kiss. His boss’s kiss, for crying out loud!
“Uhm … Gris, I … uh … “
“Don’t you worry, Nicky. It’s a natural bodily reaction to certain stimuli.“
Only Grissom could sound so analytical in a situation like this.
Where was the proverbial hole to sink into when one needed it?
“I’d be rather concerned if you wouldn’t show such a reaction.”
O-kay?
“I really love it when you get all clinical, Gris,” Nick groaned, trying to wriggle out under his – well?
Boss?
Friend?
Maybe… lover?
"Oh?"
Eyebrows rose and the blue eyes danced with amusement.
Nick could get lost in those eyes. Just looking at them, set in the boyishly handsome face, framed by the silverish graying hair… Ah hell, he had it bad.
For his boss.
Who had just kissed him into the depth of the couch.
Shit.
“I need a coffee.”
Grissom simply smiled.
 

Fifteen minutes later, Nick sat at the kitchen table, sipping at the hot brew. Never had preparing coffee taken so long. Never had he been so aware of his audience as he did so.
[What was that?] Nick finally signed.
Grissom placed his cup on the worn wooden table, smiling faintly. [It’s called a kiss] he answered, switching to sign as well.
Nick grimaced. [I noticed]
Grissom smirked again. Something tingled inside Nick, and he looked away quickly.
“Nick?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you ever think about it this way?”
“Not really.”
“Then maybe you should.”
“Never thought I had a chance,” Nick murmured, not meeting the other man's eyes.
"Nick, I want to be sure you know what this means."
Nick shot him a quizzical look. "I don't understand."
"It's about what is developing here," Grissom explained, voice level, calm, as if talking about a science subject.
"About the two of us being men?"
"Partly."
"Or is it that you're my boss?"
Grissom smiled slightly. "That is another part of the equation."
"You just kissed me, Gil."
"Yes. I did."
"Care to spill it? I'm not good at riddles at the moment!" Nick exploded, annoyed.
"Nick, you're thirty-two. I'm not."
"So?" Nick had never thought about the age difference. It just hadn't been important.
"I'm fifteen years your senior."
"I don't care!"
Grissom studied him silently. "Maybe you should."
"Why?" Stokes demanded. "What does age have to do with it? My feelings aren't determined by it!"
The other man smiled. [Think. Take your time. No rush. I will be there] he told him, face serious.
[Nothing will change what I feel] Stokes answered.
"Have you ever been with a man?" Grissom asked reasonably.
"No. And that's not the point!"
"It is. One of many. Give yourself time, Nicky."
Gil favored him with a soft, private smile that made him shiver. And with that, he left the townhouse, and with it Nick, giving him the necessary distance and time.

* * *

Their work kept interrupting. As usual. It gave Nick lots of time to think and one thought occurred again and again. How much experience did Grissom have? The older man didn't strike him as someone who walked both sides of the fence. Hell, Nick would be hard pressed to recall seeing him date a woman. If you excluded the forensic anthropologist by the name of Terri Miller, but she was married now. Whatever had been between the two, it had never really gotten off from base one. But Grissom must have had same gender experience, right?
Right…
That kiss had been… whoa. It had gone right down south and had ignited something that was now simmering slowly.
Grissom had experience. He must have been with a man before. Kissed one, at least. There had been no hesitation, no revulsion, just… reaction.
When? Where? How?
He finally gathered up the courage to ask, and of all the places, it was in the middle of a casino. They had just gone off shift and since it was after sunrise and the buffets were good, Nick had invited Gil along. To his surprise, his boss had accepted, startling him slightly with the smile and nod.
So now they sat on the balcony overlooking the casino's gambling hall, having breakfast, listening to muted noise from below. Their table was a corner one, giving them privacy, and no waitress came, except for refills. They had gone to the buffet, heaped food on their plates, and returned, now having a leisurely breakfast.
"I've been thinking," Nick finally started, getting his courage together after he had filled his stomach and received a refill of coffee.
Grissom shot him an encouraging look.
"You kissed me back," he simply said, no introduction; they didn't need one.
It got him a nod. "I did."
"You weren't actually… shocked. You… encouraged it."
"Yes."
"But as my supervisor you couldn't make the first move."
Grissom smiled, apparently pleased with Nick's deductions. He popped a slice of melon into his mouth and chewed.
"So you had me make it."
Another slight nod. Grissom was watching him attentively.
"And that led me to questions."
"Only if you ask will you receive answers. Only if you are ready to learn can you ask them."
Grissom words of wisdom. Nick chuckled. "Yeah, well… I'm not sure how to…"
"Try the straight forward way, Nick."
[Have you been with a man before?] Nick signed, falling back into the shared language. He usually did when it came to emotional topics. Few had come up in their past conversations -- so far anyway.
[That depends on what you define as 'been with a man']
He exhaled explosively. [You kissed one before?]
[Yes]
[Had sex with one?]
A smile crossed the other man's lips. [I experimented]
"Experimented?" Nick blurted.
The smile turned into a chuckle. "I have always been fascinated by the human body, as well as human society. What makes a same gender relationship acceptable in one culture and a crime in another? Why turn to the same gender for sexual release even if the opposite one is available? What draws someone to the same gender?"
"And?"
"There are no answers, Nicky. Scientists have tried to prove one theory or another, but there is no common explanation."
"So… you experimented… to see if you liked other men?" Nick asked, incredulous.
Grissom smiled again. "Yes."
"And you did."
"Yes."
"Women, too."
"Yes."
"When?" he blurted.
"Mostly in my college years. College seems to be the place to make these discoveries, a socially acceptable place to exchange knowledge and gather information."
"Uh-huh. How much…" He stopped. [How far did you go?] he finally signed.
[With a man or with the experiments?]
There was a teasing light in the older man's eyes and Nick blinked.
[You… what do you mean… experiments?]
"Use your mind, Nicky."
"Toys?" he finally stuttered.
"Yes."
Nick felt a hot rush race through him at the image popping up in his mind. A younger Gil Grissom, using toys… Alone in his bedroom, maybe a video to stimulate himself, though Nick didn't think he would do such a thing. And toys… there was a wide range of them.
"You actually tried it out on your own?"
"Of course. How else can you experience what others describe in so many books and texts? I am a scientist, Nicky. I crave knowledge."
"Even that?"
"There is no limit to knowledge," Gil simply stated.
Sheesh! Nick didn't know if he would ever have gone that far. Sure, he had wondered what it would feel like, but except for the normal handjob, there had never been any further experimentation. He knew what he liked and women had given him blowjobs, but he had never had a man do it. Gary had simply jerked him off. A few kisses, some touching, then the head rush of a climax. Nothing more, nothing less.
"You… went all the way?"
"Yes."
Nick swallowed. [With a man, too?]
Grissom smiled. "Theory and practice," was his cryptic reply.
Good god!
[Have you ever been in a relationship?] he asked after a while.
[No]
His heart sank. Okay, just experiments. Flings. Gil Grissom didn't do close relationships; he was married to his job. Nick gazed into his by now luke warm coffee. That meant he wouldn't get much more than he already had. It made his stomach clench.
"I had no interest in them until now," Grissom added calmly.
Nick's head snapped up. He studied the face across the table, wild hope surging through him. "Until now?" he repeated.
"Yes."
Gather the evidence, Nicky, Stokes reminded himself.
Grissom was leading him along the path, making sure he didn't lose his way, but he never pushed him anywhere. He had shown him where to go. Step after step.
Gil was interested.
He had experience.
Never a relationship.
Just flings.
So if he only wanted a roll between the sheets with one of his colleagues, would he have waited so long? Would he have told Nick all the things he now knew? Wouldn't he have taken what he wanted the night they had kissed? Nick would have given in, he knew that now. He would have given Grissom what he wanted. But the other man had backed off, told him to think about it, give himself time.
[You want a relationship?] he asked, hands shaking imperceptibly.
[I think you know the answer]
Nick swallowed. "I'd like that," he said softly.
Grissom smiled and emptied his coffee. "So would I."
"It's just…." [It's been a while]
[How long?]
[Years, actually. College] He grimaced slightly. [Some fumbling around. Never anything serious]
[We won't do anything you are not comfortable with. You set the pace.]
"Thank you," was the soft answer.
And that was that. They paid, left the hotel casino, and Nick dropped his boss off at his home. There was a tell-tale eye contact, then Nick leaned slightly forward, as if asking permission. They were in Grissom's driveway, the neighborhood was deserted, but Stokes had no idea if Grissom would even want this.
Lips brushed over his. A feathery light touch, then a bit more pressure, and then Grissom sat back, smiling.
"See you tonight, Nicky," he only said and left the car.
Nick inhaled deeply, smiling. "Yeah. See ya."

* * *

Their relationship progressed slowly. They talked a lot when they were together or just shared couch space in mutual, comfortable silence. Nick knew they didn't have too many hobbies both enjoyed. Gil was an entomologist with all his heart and he loved bugs in every variation. If he wasn't playing around with them, he was reading forensic journals. The man loved his job and he was endlessly curious, always ready to learn something new.
Nick turn was more of an outdoors person. He liked sports, he went hiking if time allowed it, and when he didn't want to go out, he stayed home with the latest game on his computer. It was a passion he shared with Greg.
Still, for all their differences, the two men found each other's company highly enjoyable. Nick lay on the couch, watching a game on TV, the sound turned down a bit since his lover had to work. Grissom was reclined between Nick's legs, his back pressed against the younger man's chest. One hand held a pen, currently resting on a well-muscled thigh, the other a book. Next to Nick on the couch lay a notepad, which was sometimes used for scribbles. Stokes's hands stroked over his lover at intervalls, as if reassuring himself that this was real.
The game neared the end when Gil finally put the book away, lying back completely. "Who is winning?" he asked almost lazily.
Nick grinned. "The Jays."
"Ah."
"And you have no idea who they are."
Grissom's expression said it all.
Nick leaned down and nibbled at one ear. "If that was a cockroach race, you could name 'em all, huh?"
"Of course."
Strong hand played with his fingers as Nick threaded them into the gentle grip, holding tight. Grissom was running inquisitive fingertips over the silver band he wore on his left middle finger.
"It was a gift," he said softly, without ever hearing the question. "From a friend."
Grissom stroked his finger. "You never took it off."
"She was a college friend. We met the first day and really hit it off. Both of us had a good time and kept each other going. She was a great person, like another sister.... a little sister. Went to teach in Boston. Before she left, she gave me the rings. For friendship. She died before I came here, while I was with the PD... Drunk driver."
"I'm sorry," Grissom said quietly. He never stopped his caress, gentle fingers reading every line and indention in the silver ring as if it was in Braille.
"Not your fault." Nick nuzzled the sun-tanned neck. "Was a long time ago."
Resting his head on the broad shoulder, he watched the rest of the game.

*

For Gil Grissom, the time together with Nick was a learning experience. He would never stop learning something new, he wanted knowledge, and there was no field of study, no subject, that didn't hold some interest. Now the topic was family… relationships… and it was so very new to him.
Grissom learned about what it meant to be in a family of six other siblings, about parental expectations, peer pressure, and the fight to be the best, even when people judged you by your looks. Nick wasn't the typical science geek; he was a buff. But instead of duking it out on the football field, he had taken science courses. His three years with the Dallas PD hadn't really fulfilled him and he had dedicated himself to being someone behind the scenes, not right in the middle.
In their time together, Nick grew used to the strong hands stroking his back and sides, the stubbled skin against his when he touched the other man's face, and he relaxed.
But then there was work. Nothing had changed there.
"Don't get me wrong, Nick. I am your friend, but I'm also your boss, your supervisor," Grissom had told him firmly.
"I know that, Gris." Serious brown eyes held his. "You afraid I'm gonna pull you into a broom closet and kiss you senseless?" Nick teased.
Gil smiled briefly. "I want this relationship, Nicky, never doubt that. Never doubt me, whatever happens at work."
"I know. I understand. We walk into the building, we are on duty. I'm a professional, Gil. I can do it."
"I know you can."
And he did.
There were no tell-tale looks, no hidden touches. It was work. Their private time was something else.

* * *

It was a day after his latest case and Nick was busy switching on the dishwasher. As he straightened, wincing as his knotted muscles protested, he became aware of the close scrutiny he was under.
Grissom looked at him, head slightly tilted to the side, as if in deep concentration, and for a split second Nick thought he had lost his hearing again. But then the man rose, stepped over to him and stretched out a hand. Nick blinked, puzzled, but took the offered hand without further thinking. Gil just guided him over to his bedroom, carefully sitting him down on the bed, and kneeling in front of him to remove his shoes.
“Gil?”
Grissom looked up and smiled briefly, reassuringly and with warmth. “Trust me. Nothing you’re not comfortable with, remember?”
Nick simply nodded, not trusting his voice when he looked down at his boss, kneeling in front of him. Whatever impulse made him reach out and stroke his fingertips over Grissom’s face he’d never be able to tell. But the look it earned him, the bright smile warm and tender, was worth it. Grissom removed his own shoes and sat down on the bed beside Nick. He pushed a pillow under his head and stretched out his hand again. Nick hesitated for only a second before he slowly sank down in the offered embrace. Grissom cradled his head against his shoulder, one hand caressing his back in long slow strokes, until he finally eased into the other man’s arms, no longer vibrating with tension.
His boss… no, his friend, the man who could kiss him almost senseless, the man he loved.
Gil Grissom …
“You’re tense,” a deep soft voice pulled him out of his thoughts. ”Relax.”
It was followed by a featherlike kiss on his head. Nick hesitantly lifted his hand, putting it on the other man’s broad chest, to find it gently covered by Gil’s own hand. A thumb stroking his skin, Nick relaxed with a soft sigh, closing his eyes and listening to the steady heartbeat slowly accompanying him into slumber.
 

Coming around was a slow but steady process. Curled up on his side, a pillow beneath his head and his blanket pulled over him, Nick felt warm and secure. Then something popped up in his mind, something that had happened yesterday – and realization was confirmed by an unfamiliar weight on his waist. The weight of an arm wrapped loosely around him, an arm attached to a dozing figure behind him.
Oh my …
Stokes slowly turned around looking into two sleepy blue eyes, blinking at him lazily.
“Gil?”
“I hope you didn’t expect someone else.”
“You’re still here.”
“You noticed.” Grissom rose on one elbow, regarding him patiently.
“Yeah … “
And then Nick simply reached up, grabbed Grissom’s head and pulled the other man in for a kiss.

* * *

Nick felt on top of the world, and others noticed it, too. In the locker room, Warrick shot him an amused look.
"Someone's in a good mood," he remarked, closing the buttons on his shirt.
Nick gave him a carefree, cheerful grin. "Yep."
"Got a date?"
"Not that it's any of your business, man, but yeah."
Brown chuckled. "She must be something."
Nick didn't answer, but his eyes sparkled and Warrick smiled at that.
"Good for you. Just don't tell her whatcha do for a living. Might scare her off."
"Doubt it."
Warrick closed his locker, still smiling. "See ya. And don't do anything I wouldn't."
"Not likely, man!" Nick called after him, laughing.

* * *

As it had become habit over the last two weeks, Grissom dropped by after his shift and the two men shared a leisurely breakfast. It wasn't always that they could sit together in the morning, mostly because the end of one's shift didn't necessarily mean the end of work. Overtime was a given, and Grissom had paperwork to take care of additionally to the cases he worked on or with.
The last one had been grueling for the whole team. With the exception of Nick and Sara, the other three had been working a double homicide, with the possibility of a third victim, who had been found just in time. Nick and Sara in turn had crawled around the mountain, into caves, looking for a body.
Now that it was over, things went back to normal, but only until the next case.
They put the dishes away and retreated to the bedroom to get some rest. Their relationship had developed – on an intellectual level. Nick had talked about his college years, had explained about his first experiences with another man. It had never progressed any further than a hand job and some kissing and petting. Grissom in turn had found himself talking about his own memories, his mother, their relationship, the deafness. They often came back to his progressing handicap, the otosclerosis, and Nick gently but firmly insisted he look into possible surgery, but he never pushed. He was a good listener, he asked quiet questions, and he let Grissom set the pace. Just like Grissom let Nick set the pace in their relationship. So far, kissing and cuddling had been the most serious interaction.
Nick had gotten used to the feeling of Grissom’s heartbeat under his ears, the feeling of the rise and fall of his chest under his fingers, or the other man’s arms wrapped securely around him. He had gotten used to the feeling of Grissom’s lips on his – well, make that addicted to. But Nick hadn’t so much as touched his not-quite-yet-lover any more intimately than they were currently doing. Like times before he was laying in Grissom’s arms, felt the languid stroke of a gentle hand on his back, the soothing caress of a hand over his arm. Laying there, on his bed, eyes closed, simply reveling in the feeling of having Gil Grissom.
Nick’s hand roamed over Grissom’s chest. He knew by now how that felt. Taking a slow breath he moved his hand deeper toward the waistband of the sweat pants and slipped it under the man’s shirt, placing it where it had been before. But now there wasn’t any hindering clothes between his fingers and naked skin. Carefully he slid higher, noticing the slight tingle of chest hair against his fingertips, and even higher until he reached… He felt a slight hitch in the breathing, and carefully ran his fingertips over the tip of a slowly hardening nipple. This time he heard Gil inhale more deeply, that and the slight increase of pressure on his back the only reaction.
Like that, huh?
Nick spread his fingers, flattening his hand and letting it wander over Grissom’s chest, exploring both the body and its reactions, as slight as they were. Careful gliding over the now completely hard nipples evoked the most intense response – Grissom was starting to breathe harder.
Yeah, he liked that indeed.
The younger man stroked the chest under his hands, marveling at the different feel to his own hardened planes. Nick worked out regularly, kept fit, and he was proud of his looks. Women loved it, he knew. Kristy had been the last to see him in all his glory. But Grissom was different. First of all, he was a man; actually, he was the first man Nick had ever been interested in. They were about the same size height wise, but where Nick worked out, Grissom spent his free time away from gyms. Like every CSI he had to be physically fit, but he didn't sport an athlete's body. He wasn't fat, just… stocky.
"Nick?" Grissom's soft voice interrupted his contemplations.
He looked up, flushing lightly as he discovered the mild smile on his lover's face.
"Sorry," he whispered. "I just…"
"You compared."
Straight-forward. Hitting the truth. Nick flushed deeper.
"Kinda."
"And your conclusion?"
"Not enough visual evidence to draw one," he said hesitantly.
Grissom chuckled and one hand cupped his neck, pulling him down into a long, slow kiss.
“Do you think this would be easier with my shirt off?”
“Hmmm … could be helpful.”
When Grissom rose and slipped out of his shirt, Nick couldn’t help watching. He had never seen him without even a t-shirt. Gil caught his gaze when he turned and held it.
“Like what you see?”
Was there a hint of nervousness in his voice? Nick let his eyes wander purposefully over the exposed body, noticing the fine chest hair, the compact form – and he reached out slowly, touching carefully as if he was afraid Grissom would pull away, as if this was a dream.
“Yeah. I like what I see.”
Grissom smiled and Nick could only imagine at what. Stokes was no virgin to love, but he was new to this kind of love. College experience didn't compare to it. His hands mapped the older man and teased his nipples, experimenting. He finally pulled Grissom back, into his arms, taking one hand and slowly guiding it under his sweater. Gil understood and carefully stroked the patch of skin under his fingers, eliciting a gasp.
Hell, when had a simple touch like that ever run sparks over his nerve endings?
"Nick, if you want to know something, ask," Grissom reminded gently.
"I…. I feel stupid, Gil," came the stumbled reply.
"Why?"
"I'm a grown man. I mean, I know all about the mechanics, but…"
"You're confused. Maybe even scared."
Nick evaded the knowing eyes.
"It is okay to ask, Nick. Age has nothing to do with it. You always learn. Every day. You can only do that by asking questions."
Nick leaned forward and planted a loving kiss on Gil's lips. "Thank you."
"What for?"
"Your patience."
Grissom smiled. "I want you to be sure, Nicky. Of everything we do. You set the pace."
"Yeah, well, as slow as it is…. It's hot already," came the murmured reply.
"Obviously." Grissom rubbed over the lean sides, along the ribs, aware of the well-developed muscles.
With a soft sigh Nick pulled Grissom close, claiming his lover’s lips all over again, while he was held tightly against the broad chest. Hands ran up his back to tightly knotted muscles, rubbing over them. Nick groaned.
Grissom broke the kiss, frowning at him.
“Don’t tell me your back doesn’t ache. The muscles are as hard as a rock.”
“Yeah well, it does. Crawling around mother nature's finest does that to you every now and then.”
“Hm. I don’t believe you have any massage oil, do you?”
“Nope.”
“I thought as much. Lotion?"
"Cabinet. Gil, what…?"
Grissom silenced him with a little kiss. "Be right back."
And with that he went into the bathroom, only to return a moment later with the bottle in hand.
"Take your sweater off."
Nick did just that.
Grissom let his eyes wander over the firm muscles, the hairless chest. He liked what he saw, Nick could see that.
"Turn around," came the next instructions.
Rolling onto his stomach, head resting on his folded arms, Nick waited. He had received massages before, of course, but – well, the very thought of it made a certain part of anatomy announce its interest. The mattress dipped and then he felt the weight of his lover as Grissom straddled his hips, warm, slick hands resting on his shoulders.
Gil started to knead his stiff muscles, working himself down his shoulder blades and upper arms, then changing the motion into long, wide and soothing strokes. Unfortunately it didn’t soothe him – on the contrary. The movement of his lover’s body over him, the sensation of hands all over his back, massaging and caressing -- the simple touches were starting to leave fiery trails behind and making him breath harder.
“Don’t fight it, Nick,” a calm voice whispered at his ear, arm reaching around him, unfolding his, slick hands wandering down his flanks.
Nick sighed and stirred, trying to get more comfortable, as well as increase the contact. He gasped when his silent request was granted, Grissom stretching out over him. For the first time he felt his lover skin to skin .
“Turn.”
When he followed the quietly uttered request he was looking directly into Grissom’s expressive blue eyes – eyes that were somewhat hazed themselves, speaking of a yearning Nick had never seen his oh so collected boss display. Grissom carefully ran his hands over his chest and sides, the touch losing nothing of its tenderness Nick had felt before, yet intense and - highly erotic.
Grissom brushed over one erect nipple, head tilted slightly in an unspoken question.
'Only as far as you're comfortable with,' he had promised. The delicate touch sent sparks down Nick’s spine, adding to the heat he was already feeling there. Moaning softly, he pulled Gil’s head down, giving his answer in a wordless more passionate manner, hips twitching involuntarily when his lover maintained his ministrations with increased fervor.
When his hips bucked again he felt an answering pressure, and he thrust helplessly, caught in Grissom’s loving tenderness and desire, igniting his own and building it up like a volcano’s heat that had to find it’s release in an eruption sooner or later. Nick felt the familiar tingle concentrating in his groin and, arching into his lover’s touch, weaved his hands into Grissom’s hair, moaning and sobbing the other man's name as completion washed coherent thinking away.
 

Coming back had him still catching his breath, being held firmly by two strong arms.
“God, Gil … “ he breathed, running his hands over his lover’s back.
“It’s been a while?”
“Since I came in my pants? Could say that…" Light embarrassment floated in the breathless voice. "You didn’t even touch me.”
Gil reached up and cupped the flushed face, caressing the strong jaw. “I thought I did,” he replied, eyes dancing.
“Yeah, well, you know what I mean.”
Grissom smiled, planting a soft kiss on his lips before shifting slightly. Something caught Nick’s attention and he gazed at Grissom in surprise.
“Gris? What about … ?”
“I’m not twenty any longer, Nick. At my age, the urge doesn't overrun you any more. I'm fine."
Nick looked down at the quite visible bulge. "Oh really," he drawled.
Grissom sighed. "Nicky, I don't need…"
"You only have to ask," Nick threw Grissom's own words back at him. "And I don't mind, Gil."
Stokes slowly placed his hands on the other man’s chest. One caressing a definitely interested nipple, he let the other one languidly glide down south. When he reached the waistband he hesitated for a brief second before letting it slip inside. Grissom’s eyes closed briefly and he gave a shuddering breath as Nick's hand closed around the hardness.
“Nick … “
“Maybe you don’t have to, Gris. But maybe you want to?”
“You don’t have to do this … “
“I know,” Nick whispered, rolling around so he was leaning over his lover, shifting a little to give him more room, while he started to explore more of Gil Grissom. “But I want to, too.”
Nick slanted his lips over Grissom's, coaxed his mouth open, all the time gently but firmly manipulating his hardness. Grissom knew he couldn't fight it, so he went with the flow. His hands ran through the short hair, over the muscular, sweaty back, moaning as Nick's explorations became bolder.
Nick had helped himself to release often enough to know what he liked. Chances were, Grissom liked it, too. He simply applied that knowledge to Gil, who had no complaints.
Another hitch of breath, a barely suppressed twitch of hips told him Grissom was holding back nevertheless.
“Relax,” he breathed over Grissom’s flushed skin, working himself from lips to earlobe, teething and licking the sensitive spots he knew he would find there. “Don’t fight it, Gris.”
He was rewarded with another shuddering moan as Gil gave up his firm self-control and started thrusting into his hand. Suddenly Nick learned a lot more about Gil Grissom than he had thought of: to his utter surprise the sharp-witted and controlled CSI supervisor turned out to be a rather vocal lover. Stokes had to admit he enjoyed it immensely, every soft sound, moan and even whimper Grissom gave while writhing under his ministrations, hands roaming over his back, head fallen back on the pillow until he clenched his fingers into his shoulders, suddenly becoming rigid in Nick’s arms.
“Nick… I...“ Gil panted, clouded blue eyes catching his.
“I know, It’s all right. Let go.”
Which he did with a low cry, only swallowed by a passionate kiss, while clinging on to Nick, trembling through his own shattering climax.

* * *

Catherine Willows stood in the door to her friend's office, watching the man work. He was concentrating on a book, scribbling notes from the pages. His glasses were perched on his nose and he seemed deep in thought. But still, something was different. Subtly, but it was there.
"Tell me you're seeing someone."
Grissom's head shot up and he blinked, clearly surprised to see her there. "Pardon?"
"Tell me you're seeing someone, Grissom."
"I fail to see why that would interest you."
She pushed away from the door and walked over to him, smiling. "Well, as a colleague, not at all. As a friend, a lot. You're either seeing someone, Gil, or I've to assume you're taking something. You look far too happy…"
That got her a pair of raised eyebrows. "And I'm not normally looking happy?"
Willows chuckled. "You look as you always do. You've got the Grissom look." She made a general, waving gesture. "Now… you've got that twinkle. You're happy, Gil. I'm happy that you are happy, just curious."
He placed the pen on the table and took the reading glasses of. "To satisfy your curiosity, yes, I am seeing someone."
Catherine looked pleased. "Good for you. Human contact. Just don't scare her away."
"I doubt I can."
"Hm, sounds serious."
He shrugged.
"Grissom, you keep surprising me. I never figured you as a relationship kinda person." Catherine shrugged. "But I should know by now. The moment I think I've got you pegged, you keep pulling something new from that hat of yours."
Grissom gave her a mild smile. "It keeps you and everyone else on their toes."
"Right. Well, don't step on your lady friend's toes. Whoever she is, she's good for you."
And with that she left him alone, pretty sure he was following her departure with one of his half puzzled and half bemused looks.

*

"Lady friend, hm?"
There was a teasing light in Nick's eyes as he shrugged into his t-shirt. He was dressed up in dark sweat pants, a light gray t-shirt and running shoes. Ready for his work-out.
Grissom shrugged as he closed the locker he rarely used, except when he had to go into pathology. Like right now. He was wearing his coat and the protective glasses were in one pocket.
"I didn't have it in me to burst her bubble," was all he answered.
Nick chuckled. "Think she could stomach it?"
Blue eyes were thoughtful but serious. "Catherine, yes, I think so. She would probably remind me of how such a relationship would kill my career, put everything I worked for in jeopardy, but she'd accept it."
Nick closed his locker and leaned against it, equally serious. "I don't want this to break your neck, Gris," he said softly.
"It won't."
"But…"
"Nick, I'd be the first to confess that this work is my life. I love what I do, the suspense, the puzzle, the chase," Grissom told him. "But I never looked up the career ladder. I never wanted to have this position. It happened, I learned to deal with it."
Stokes sighed softly. Both men gazed at each other from their respective places, keeping the agreed upon distance, keeping the professionalism alive.
"What about you?" Grissom suddenly asked. "What do you aspire to be?"
"According to whose career plans?" came the weary reply. "My parents are both in law enforcement, both working at court. They have their careers, they want their children to have them as well. I tried the police and found it wasn't my thing. This is. I like what I do. And I'm not looking for your job, Gris. No offense, but the politics…?" He flashed him a grin. "Not my turf."
"None taken. Politics age you prematurely."
Nick chuckled. "Yeah. So… if this ever hits the fan… well, as long as I can work the field, I'll do it. If not… no idea. I'll deal with it when it happens. If it happens."
Gil nodded and walked out the locker room. "We both will," was all he said.
Nick watched him go, then grabbed his gym bag and headed for his work-out.

* * *

"Man, you can't be serious!"
"Do I look like I'm joking?"
Nick regarded his lover, noting the twinkle in the blue eyes, the smile tugging at his lips. "Actually… yeah, you do. C'mon… I can't do it!"
"It's relaxing, Nicky. Clears the head."
"And the stomach."
"It's why we'll have food afterwards," Gil explained patiently, pulling the heavy security clasps shut. "Lean back, enjoy."
Nick stared at the railtracks spreading out before him, disappearing into the night. "Relax he says," he murmured, hands clenching into the thick plastic as the little car started with a rumble and jostle. "Enjoy… Enjoy puking my guts out?"
The moment the rollercoaster hit the first dive, he screamed with the best of them. And somewhere around the first loop, he heard a delighted laugh from the man next to him.

* * *

Gil Grissom wasn't ashamed of his body. He knew what shape it was in and it was functional for its purposes. He wasn't an athlete, but he didn't need to be. His weapon was his brain and it was in a body that was neither a testosterone explosion site, nor a shapeless blob. He had never compared himself of others, because he knew who he was and where he wanted to go. That his lover was younger and well-developed was of no embarrassment either. He would never compare himself to the other man.
Their little romp on the bed had led to more frequent encounters in different states of undress. When they had finally been both completely naked, he had not shied away from the exploratory hands or eyes, and he had explored himself. Skin against skin.
Nick had slowly opened up, become bolder, and hand jobs had become more frequent. The first blowjob had literally blown Nick away. Grissom still smiled when he remembered the incredulous expression on his lover's face, quickly followed by bliss, then the scream of release. He had received blowjobs before – from women. Never from a man. It wasn't the blowjob that had floored him; it had been the fact of who had given it to him.
Gil Grissom.
Between his spread legs, on the mattress, giving it the same intense and unwavering attention he applied to crime scene investigation.
Nick hadn't tried it himself yet, but as usual, Grissom would not push. Nick set the pace.
Now they lay spooned together, not ready to get up and face the world. Gil's hand lay on the firm stomach, caressing it lightly, enjoying the feeling. He loved Nick's body, the firmness, the prominent display of muscles under deceptively smooth skin. Not too much, just right. Sometimes, Grissom would simply map it with his fingers, follow the individual traces of muscle, sinews and bone, fascinated and awed in one. He would kiss and nibble at the broad shoulders, arouse and soothe with his hands, simply enjoy the feel of this man against him, under him, with him. It was addicting, and he wouldn't want to give it up for anything.
"Gil?" Nick murmured, eyes half shut, totally at ease.
"Hm?"
"What's it feel like? Going all the way, I mean. Being inside… another man."
Grissom pushed himself up on one elbow, looking at the younger man. "For me, it feels wonderful, Nick," he answered honestly. "But it's different from man to man. Some like it, others don't. Not everyone wants it. It's not required in a relationship for both partners to be willing to do it. Many couples have only one partner preferring penetration."
"How do I know I won't like it if I don't try?"
He chuckled. "Good question."
"I... read up on things," Nick mumbled, slightly embarrassed. "It… can hurt."
"At the beginning, yes. It is a tight muscle and forcing it open is painful."
Nick was silent and Grissom kissed the nearest temple.
"Only in the beginning, Nicky. It can be wonderful. Incredible."
He let his hand caress the slender flank to the hip and thigh, then back again.
"Do you want to do it?" Nick asked.
"I'd like to, yes. But you have to be comfortable with it."
"So you're a top?" he teased.
Grissom smiled. "I hate to put a label on myself."
Nick chuckled. "You've done both?"
"In a quest for knowledge, you experience everything to the fullest."
"Ah." Nick turned so he was on his back, Gil perched over him. He pulled his lover into a long, loving kiss. The tongue that explored his mouth with slow sensuality sent tremors of desire through every muscle in Grissom's body.
"How painful?" Nick asked in a near-whisper when they parted.
"Do you trust me, Nicky?" was the question in return.
Stokes met his eyes, his own open, unguarded. "Completely."
He leaned down and kissed him. "I will show you, Nick, slowly. Step by step." He pushed up again. "Do you want to?"
A slow nod. "Yes."
Grissom detached himself slowly and walked into the bathroom, collecting the lotion. He returned and placed the bottle on the nightstand. Gil crawled to his lover and began to kiss him again, feeling the tension, almost tasting the fear.
"Nick, you know we don't have to do it," he repeated.
"But you'd like to be in me."
"This isn't about me. It's about us. I won't hurt you because of something I want and you don't." Serious blue eyes met wide brown ones.
Nick's hands glided over the lightly furred chest. "I trust you, Gil."
"Which is the very reason why I won't force you into something."
"You wanted to show me… How?"
Grissom studied the younger man, seeing curiosity warring with apprehension. "Turn on your side," he instructed calmly.
Nick rolled onto his side, his back to Grissom. Gil began to massage the tense muscles again, sliding a hand between the strong legs, brushing over the most intimate parts in a soothing caress. Nick closed his eyes and gave a soft humming sound, his upper leg lifting almost on its own, granting more access. Gil smiled and continued, brushing over one butt cheek, then back down again.
"Feels nice," Nick murmured.
"I know it does."
He took the bottle of lotion and squirted some on his hand, warming it and then continuing the massage.
Time was of no meaning as he relaxed his lover. Nick's eyes were closed and he was growing harder, so Gil decided to take the next step. Gentle fingers slipped between the well-oiled butt cheeks, coating the crack liberally. As his finger brushed over the tight muscle, Nick gasped.
"Relax, Nicky," Grissom whispered, keeping up the light pressure, letting Nick get a feeling for the foreign object invading his most private area. "Relax."
He continued for a while, changing the pressure, never slipping inside.
"That feels… strange… nice…" Nick whispered. "Wow…."
He was growing harder. Grissom smiled. He used more oil and continued the gentle invasion.
"Relax," he whispered again, not putting pressure on the closed muscle. "Relax."
And then he slipped inside. Nick stiffened at the sudden invasion, but he didn't look like he was in pain. Grissom was completely still, not moving the digit now firmly in his lover, giving him time to adjust.
"Weird," Nick breathed.
An experimental twitch brought no complaint.
"The male human body is a wonderful construction, Nicky," Grissom murmured, his finger searching for that one spot. "Unlike the female body, it has a small gland in the lower rectum that, when stimulated through the anal canal, brings pleasure."
"Gris…" Nick groaned. "No lectures… yaaah!"
The exclamation interrupted whatever complaint he had been about to utter.
"As I just demonstrated," Gil added smugly.
"Good god!"
He continued to brush over the small protrusion and Nick cried out again. Grissom kept his pace, slowly stimulating his lover from the inside, one arm sneaking around Nick’s body to pull the trembling form close against his own, brushing over the firm chest, caressing his neck with his lips and teeth, enjoying every cry and sob, every moan, every thrust of the other man’s hips against his hand and other parts of his anatomy. Nick grabbed his arm and squeezed it firmly as if holding on for dear life as his body was shaken by a hard and powerful climax.
Grissom waited until the muscles stopped clenching around his finger before he carefully pulled back, stroking the other man’s heaving chest. Nick was still riding out the aftermath of his climax, eyes closed. His breathing was only slowly decreasing, and Gil just waited for him to come back. He cleaned up the mess with a towel and then held his lover close, until Nick stirred, moving around in his embrace to face him.
“… Gil, that … wow…,“ he breathed.
And then Grissom found himself held and thoroughly, deeply and eagerly kissed. Hands were roaming over his body, down his back and sides, searching and finding. Being rolled on his back and blanketed by his lover’s body, Grissom twitched into the hand closing around him, moaning into the kiss at the sudden contact. Nick broke the kiss and looked down on him, emotions clearly displayed on his features.
[I love you]
Before Grissom could utter his surprise, he was silenced when eager lips were slanted over his.
Nick had declared his love to him in some ways before, but he had never used ‘the famous three words’. Not really, and not that it was necessary, but somehow, the fact that he was doing it now, touched something deep inside Grissom. When the need for air made Nick pull away, Grissom pulled his head up to make him look into his eyes.
[I know], he signed, [and I love you]
He was rewarded with a wide Nick-Stokes-smile, and the younger man returned his attention to his still very interested body, giving him not many choices but to go with it. Gil wrapped his arms around him as Nick slid a leg between his thighs, spreading them slightly. The feeling of his younger lover’s lips on his chest, his nipples and wandering further down made Grissom shiver with a desire he hadn’t felt in a long time. Nick was licking and kissing his way around his navel, ignoring what was stretching out underneath and paid attention to the sensitive skin of his inner thighs -- which made Gil sigh and shudder, when Nick slowly drew near where he would really like to feel him. Yet he didn't really anticipate him to do what came next.
Grissom almost screamed, jerking up with the sudden unexpected sensation of a moist heat on his hardness. What Nick lacked in experience he made up with enthusiasm and tenderness, and Grissom didn’t last long. How he managed to warn the younger man, or if he did warn him at all, he had no idea, but as he clenched the sheets he was entirely grateful for not having immediate neighbors.
His scream could have woken the dead.
Nick returned the favor and cleaned up, throwing the towel in the general direction of the hamper. Sliding up his body, he took Gil into his arms, placing a long sensuous kiss on his lips, then simply cradled his head on his chest, pulling the blanked over them both.
Being held close afterwards was a change for Gil Grissom, and he lazily contemplated on today’s events as he fell asleep in Nick’s arms.

* * *

Grissom sat in his office, slowly but steadily making a dent into his paperwork, automatically reading and signing reports. His mind was rolling around the events of last night and he couldn't push the image of Nick in the throes of orgasm away. His younger lover had opened up to him, in more ways than one, encouraging Grissom to touch him again, deeply, penetrating, stimulating him, until he came with a cry of release. They had spent hours, Gil teasing and arousing, kissing, licking and stroking his lover into a mindless orgasm. Grissom had been awed by the trust Nick placed in him, the way he gave him control, how beautifully he reacted. And it surprised Grissom how much it meant to him personally. This wasn't some fling, for either man. This was more. Slow steps for a lasting relationship, and he was more than willing to take them.
Holding him in the afterglow, feeling Nick's hand on him, coaxing him into hardness and later release... it was so new to Grissom, he sometimes thought it wasn't real. He hadn't thought his secret attraction to his colleague and subordinate would ever be more than that. He had actually decided that his life, as it was, was enough. God, he had been so wrong. Teaching Nick about same-gender love was an experience in itself. His lover was willing, sometimes apprehensive, but very much willing.
Part of Grissom was still afraid that when Nick knew enough, when Gil himself grew older, the younger man would up and leave him for another man. A younger man.

//"Idiot," Nick murmured softly, warm breath ghosting over a peaked nipple. "I'm not gonna run into someone else's arms."
"I'm not getting younger, Nicky," Grissom reminded him softly.
"You really got an age problem, Gris." Brown eyes looked seriously at him as Stokes pushed himself up to look at Grissom. "I told you before and I'll tell you again: I don't care about the age difference. So I'm younger! What about it? You afraid you can't keep up?" Anger crept into the normally smooth voice. "You got a hell of a lot more experience than I can ever hope to get! If someone should be afraid, it's me! You're the first guy I let me touch this way. You'll be the first man inside me..."
Gentle fingers touched Nick's lips and he fell silent. Grissom felt a little thrill at the words; Nick wanted him -- intimately. "Nick, I'm not a people person. Everyone knows that. You are. You go out into the world and you're a very attractive man. I'm looking at this long-term," he said matter-of-factly. "In this relationship, I'd be dealt the short end."
Nick tilted his head, then pursed his lips and kissed the silencing fingers. "Long-term?" he asked quietly.
"Yes."
"Cool."
He leaned forward and kissed Grissom tenderly. The older man answered the kiss, enjoying the closeness.
"No short end, Gil. No end at all." Nick running his fingers over the chest. "Attractive, hm?"
Gil met the chocolate colored eyes, smiling. "Very," he murmured.
"You never said so."
"I did. In the beginning. You asked why you."
Nick exhaled softly. "Yeah, well, that doesn't count. Not really."
"I thought you knew I really meant it."
"It's nice to hear it again."
Grissom caressed one temple with the back of his fingers. "You're a very handsome man, Nick."
"So you think I'll run after someone else?"
He was silent, aware how stupid it was to confess to that fear. Gil Grissom; afraid. It boggled the mind.
"I won't, Gil. Never. You're it for me. Everything I want."
"You're into Gruesome Grissom?" he teased, using the nick name he had been given by some of his peers at the PD.
"Makes me real hot. You make me hot, Gil. Age only improved you..."
Grissom smiled and hugged him closer, warmth again running through him.//

Brass interrupted his thoughts as he walked into the semi-dark office, eyes sweeping over the collection of dead animals in glass jars and live, eight-legged ones in their glass cages.
"I'm on my way to a bomb site," he said conversationally. "You up for some digging?"
Grissom shot him a quizzical look and Jim elaborated,
"Someone blew up a good-sized part of the new Henderson office building. The site has been secured and we need someone from the nerd squad."
Gil shot Brass a mildly disapproving look at the nickname. The captain just smirked.
Grissom collected some papers and placed them into the outbox, then rose and followed his friend outside.

* * *

Nick looked at his watch for the tenth time, frowning as he read the time. It was six in the morning and he was waiting for Grissom. His boss had been called to a crime scene where a bomb had gone off, killing two security guards and injuring a dozen more people. That had been four hours ago. Even taking into account that it might be a while, four hours was long. Grissom should have been back by now.
Not that he was keeping tabs on his lover.
Not really.
It was just… they had a breakfast planned and for the last week, it would be the first they actually could have kept a date on. Lately, work had been pressuring all of the team.
Discovering one of his co-workers, Nick hurried over to the layout room where Sara Sidle had just disappeared into.
"Hey, Sara. You seen Grissom?" he asked.
She looked up, face pale, eyes too wide for his liking. "You haven't heard?" she asked, voice a bit choked.
"Heard what?"
"A second bomb went off at the crime scene Grissom was processing. He's in the hospital."
Nick felt the room drop away from him. He wasn't even aware of Sara shouting his name as he turned on his heels, running to the garage. Halfway out of the parking lot he realized he didn't even know where Grissom was, what hospital, and he called dispatch, requesting the information.
Then he was on his way.

* * *

Catherine Willows had been on her way to Grissom's crime scene when she had heard about the second bomb going off. She had arrived to see the paramedics pull away. One of the officers on site had informed her about what had happened and she had immediately followed the ambulance. Warrick was still at his own scene and Sara would be needed at the second site they had been called to tonight. Nick was in the lab.
She had arrived almost with the ambulance, running along with the gurney carrying a semi-conscious, bleeding Grissom, and had been ready to answer all the questions the nurse had needed to have filled. Now she was waiting.
But no longer alone. Nick had arrived just a few minutes earlier, looking pale, almost frightened, close to frantic if she was any judge of it, refusing to leave.
"Take it from my overtime!" he had only snarled.
She had noticed the fledgling friendship between the two different men. Catherine thought it was a good thing, mainly because Grissom needed human contact and Nick was a very open person, close to people, not shying away from them. When she had discovered that Stokes knew sign language, she figured it was that that had brought them closer.
"What happened?" Nick asked.
"Apparently a bomb was overlooked. It went off as Grissom and Brass were scouring around the remains of the building."
"I thought the site was secured!"
"Brass told me it was. He was here a while ago. Just got a few bruises. He's on his way to talk to the officers who arrived on the scene, as well as the bomb squad. Someone screwed up."
"You can say that again! This shouldn't have happened!"
"Ms. Willows?"
The doctor approaching them smiled at the two worried criminalists. She was an African-American, maybe in her forties, looking calmly at them.
"How is he?" Catherine wanted to know.
"Mr. Grissom has sustained a mild concussion and a broken right wrist, as well as multiple contusions on his chest, back and arms. We'll keep him here over night for observation. If there are no complications, he can go home tomorrow."
"Can we see him?" Nick asked.
"We're currently transferring him to his room, but yes, after that you can see him. He'll be a bit groggy from the painkillers. He might even feel nauseous, but that is only natural."
Catherine looked at the younger man and made a decision. "You go and check on him, Nicky, I'll inform the others."
"You sure?"
She waved it away, pleased to see her decision had been right. There was relief in Stokes's eyes. "Yeah."
 

Nick walked into the room and closed the door, sharp eyes taking in the low setting of the light, the only occupied bed, the silent, pale figure in it. Grissom had bruises on his face, as well as on the left hand. The right was in a plaster case. Broken wrist. He was dressed in a pale blue hospital-issue gown, making him even paler.
"Gil?" he said softly.
Blue eyes opened and blinked several times, trying to clear a probably cloudy vision. "Nick?"
"Yeah."
"What are you doing here?"
It wasn't a question Nick had expected and something rushed through him. It was worry, fear and anger combined, and it exploded out of him.
"What am I doing here?" he repeated, incredulous. "You walked into an unsecured crime scene! That's why I'm here. What the fuck were you thinking?"
"It was secure," came the weak reply.
"The hell it was! A bomb blew up in your face! I don't call that secure! You could have ended up like Holly!"
Something flashed over the battered features, but Nick didn't take the time to interpret its meaning.
"Do you know how often you've put yourself in danger in the last three years? You faced a mad woman with a gun! You lowered your weapon, for crying out loud! You went and talked to a suspect on your own without back-up, and he nearly took your head off with a wrench and a shovel. And what about that crazy magician? You went into that house alone! Again without back-up! Are you trying to get yourself killed?!"
Grissom shot him a confused look. "Nick, I did my job."
"Your job?!" Stokes exploded, fear driving him on. "You told me again and again that we are supposed to work with back-up. And that we're not the police! There you go playing police officer, Grissom!"
"Circumstances…"
"Bullshit! You could've waited back then, you could've waited now!"
He knew he was getting irrational. If the police declared the crime scene safe, the investigators went in. Every CSI had to trust into the officer's judgment.
"The crime scene was secured," Gil reminded him, sounding tired.
"A fucking bomb went off! If you want to get yourself killed, tell me, Gris! You can just shoot me now 'cause I won't survive it!"
Shock reigned the pale features. Blue eyes studied the heavily breathing, very agitated man.
"You're… worried."
Awe swung in Grissom's voice. Awe and disbelief.
"You're damn right I am! We all are!"
"Why?"
"Why?" Nick repeated, staring at him. "You have to ask why? 'Cause you sometimes get tunnel vision on a case! 'Cause you tend to forget the world around you then, forget the evil in people! You treat them like a lab specimen under a microscope, safe and secure! 'Cause you're lying here, hurt and injured. Cause some idiot fucked up a crime scene and you almost died for it! You could have ended up on one of the slabs down in Robbins' department, you know that?"
Nick's eyes were deceptively bright. He hated himself for it, but he had never been able to hide his emotions very well. Growing up in such a large family where there was a lot of support and no need to suppress had done that.
"You're a friend, Grissom. Our friend!" Nick shook his head. "You don't understand that, do you?"
He waited a heartbeat, then smiled sadly.
"No, you don't. You never knew. You never saw. We are your friends. We worry about you, Gil."
[And I love you] he signed, hand movements abrupt and desperate. [Goddamnit, I love you!]
"Nicky…" Gil tried, making moves to sit up.
Wrong move. He paled dramatically, then turned rather green. Nick was just fast enough to grab the small container the nurses had left at the bedside for just that moment. Grissom emptied his stomach, heaving painfully. As he sank back, eyes closed, shaking, Nick reached for a towel and wiped his mouth, then went to get a glass of water and wet down the towel. He wiped his lover's face, then handed him some water and let him rinse his mouth. The bucket was then emptied in the toilet.
Nick returned and looked at the shaky man. Gentle hand caressed the pale face.
"Sorry," Gil whispered, sounding exhausted.
"Not your fault." Nick placed a little kiss on Grissom's forehead. "Sorry I yelled. I… I just lost it. Sorry."
"Don't apologize." Hooded eyes watched him. "You said what you felt. I'm glad you did."
Nick kept up his tender caress. "Uh-huh. We talk more later. Sleep now. If you're a good boy, the doc's letting you out tomorrow. Don't even think I'll let you anywhere alone. Doc said as long as you have someone with you, they'll let you go."
"Nick, you don't have to…"
"No, I don't. But I want to. End of discussion."
And Grissom gave in. Too tired, to beaten, to actually argue. Nick smiled fondly as the man he loved slipped into sleep.

* * *

Nick had been to Grissom's townhouse before, but he had never realized how huge the place was. And how impersonal. Now, a day after the bomb had gone off and with a rather tired Gil at his side, he walked over to the bedroom, pushing the door open. It was one place he had never been before. All the time they had now been together, it had always been at his place.
Probably to make him feel safer, more secure, he now thought. Grissom had never offered to get to his place.
The bedroom was a large, square space, with white stone walls, a bookshelf, and of course, the bed. No pictures, no mementos, nothing more personal than a case of butterflies. Just like in the living room. And like the whole townhouse, the main colors were bland. White, brown, black and silver.
"C'mon, Gil," he coaxed his lover and maneuvered him to the bed. "Let's get you settled."
Grissom didn't even protest, a sign how exhausted he was. He was already wearing sweat pants, something Nick had brought him from his own place and which more or less fit him, and a sweater. Now Nick settled him on the bed, pulled off the shoes and then pushed the painkillers into his unresisting hands.
"Take them, then settle in and relax."
A water bottle helped with the pills and Nick pulled the blankets over the injured man, smiling as he sat on the edge of the bed. He ran a hand over the less bruised side of the face.
"You need anything else?"
"No, thank you, Nick."
"I'll be outside, in case you think of something."
"Thank you."
Nick carefully got up, not wanting to jostle his lover too much, and left the bedroom. He kept the door partially open, just in case.
Going over to the fridge, he opened the door and checked the contents.
Should have known, he thought with a grimace. A carton of milk, two bottles of water, lots of petri dishes, some bugs in a glass…. Grissom's fridge. What else?
He'd have to go shopping. Gil needed fluids, light food, and Nick had to drive over to his place to get some clothes for his overnight stay here.
He took out his cell phone and dialed Catherine's number.
"Yeah, Cath, it's me. Nick. I took Grissom home from the hospital… no, he's out of it… I'm going to stock up the fridge…. Yeah, I know what he keeps in there, don't worry. I'll try to get some food into him…. No, I can handle it. I know you have court today and Warrick and Sara are busy on their cases. I'll stay with him and come in tonight. Sure… no sweat. No, I can do it…. Thanks, Cath. See ya."
Nick closed the cell and for a moment, he was surprised. Catherine had actually offered to let him take a day off. But he knew that to let everything appear normal, he would have to go to work tonight. He wouldn't risk exposing their still developing relationship because of some teenage botch-up.
As hard as it was.
As painful as it was.
But overtime was out of the question.

*

Grissom woke, feeling better than last night but still dizzy and slightly nauseous. At least the urge to empty his stomach wasn't overpowering enough to request a bucket. Sleep had helped and another painkiller would do the rest. Turning carefully, he swung his legs slowly out of bed, equally slowly sitting up. He needed to go to the bathroom. His bladder was quite insistent.
As his bare feet touched the ground, his eyes fell on the lump that he couldn't remember ever seeing there before. A large lump, human shaped, wrapped in a sleeping bag.
Nick?
The discovery of his lover curled up on the floor, sleeping in front of the door, did several things to the normally so stoic criminalist. He felt warm. Foremost, it was warmth. Then a strange tingle raced through him, followed by curiosity and annoyance. But the annoyance was quickly drowned by the realization how touched he was by Nick's presence. The younger man could have slept on the bed, with him, but instead of disturbing his injured lover, Nick had taken the hardwood floor. It had to be uncomfortable.
"You're awake."
The sleepy voice broke him out of his thoughts and he blinked. He must have gone off into space, as Nick so often claimed. He hadn't even seen Nick move.
Now Stokes untangled himself from the sleeping bag and padded over to him. "Where you're up to?"
"Bathroom."
"'kay. Lemme help."
Grissom didn't even protest. He knew he needed help, because his gait was far from steady. Nick left him alone in the bathroom, but the door wasn't shut and he was hovering just outside. When Grissom was done, he was escorted back to the bed. Painkillers were put into his hand, as well as a bottle, then he was told to swallow them.
"You didn't have to stay," Gil said softly as he settled back again.
Nick, looking rumpled and very adorable in his wrinkled t-shirt and boxers, smiled. "No, but I wanted to. You up for food? I made soup last night and there is lots of leftovers."
"Soup? For breakfast?"
"I can make you toast. No bacon or eggs, though. Doc said to take it easy. And by the way, it's close to eleven."
"Oh. Toast sounds nice."
"Then toast it is."

* * *

The others dropped by one after another over the next days. No one stayed long, mainly because it was clear just how much Grissom still hurt. Catherine just told him to let his body rest, get better, and not show his face in the office. Grissom just nodded, taking note of the concern, and for the first time, he thought about it. Everyone had been concerned. Not just in a friendly manner, inquiring politely about his state of health. No, it had gone deeper.
Friendship.
More than working colleagues.
It was still puzzling, but he was starting to see the changes.
Nick came over after each shift, rarely pulling more than thirty minutes of overtime, and he stayed till his next shift. His clothes were now in the hamper or the laundry room, his food was in the fridge, his toiletries in the bathroom.
And Nick Stokes was in his bed.
Gil smiled and looked at his bed partner, who was currently unaware of being watched. Nick had crashed after a long night, looking like hell. Gil hadn't remarked on it, but he had taken notice. Like he had noticed so many things lately. About the world in general and Nick in particular. And about himself. It felt good to have someone around, not to be alone all the time.
Yes, Grissom had to get used to so much human contact, but it he would never have thought that it didn't bother him as much. If asked before, he would have fended off anyone coming too close and he might even have openly avoided contact. His people skills were sometimes close to abysmal. But Nick knew him, had worked with him for years, and he accepted all the quirks and strangeness. He also accepted the need to be alone; Stokes was a single himself and not used to having someone around all the time.
That Nick had camped out on his bedroom floor the first night had told him more than any words. He hadn't wanted to disturb Grissom, that was what he had said. Gil had told him he either slept in his own bed, in his own home, or he used Grissom's. It was large enough for two people. After a token protest, it was what Nick had done.
Nick moved and suddenly blinked his eyes open. The dark gaze settled on him and a slow smile crossed the stubbled features.
"You're awake," he murmured.
"Astute power of observation," Grissom remarked.
"Hey, I'm a CSI level 3. Didn't make it by sleeping with the boss."
"No, you definitely didn't."
"How's your head?"
"Fine. I took my pills."
Nick pushed himself up. "Good. Hand?"
"Still attached."
"Funny guy."
Grissom smiled. "I live, Nick. I'm okay."
Serious brown eyes looked at him and the smile faded.
"Nicky…"
A warm hand cupping his face stopped him, then Nick leaned forward and brushed his lips over his. "Yes, you're alive. I know that." He touched the plaster case around Gil's right wrist. "And I want you to stay that way."
Grissom pulled the other man close, feeling Nick sink against him, seeking his presence. "It was an accident, Nick."
"It was criminal negligence," Stokes growled, tensing slightly. "And you walking into situations without back-up is gross idiocy."
The older man sighed. "I was doing my job, but I promise to take more care in the future."
"You better," came the soft whisper. "You better." Nick studied him closely. "You okay with me here? I mean, I know I've been hanging around a lot. Can't help it, man. I'm worried. Just tell me if you need distance, okay? I don't have to be here if you don't want to…
Grissom silenced him with a finger on the lips. "I'm not used to having people in my house," he confessed, "but you're no longer 'people', Nick. I want to get used to you."
Nick smiled, part of it relief. "Okay. You know you can tell me to shove off if you want some solitary time. I really do understand."
"Right now, I want to enjoy the crowd," Gil murmured.
"Gotcha."

* * *

Grissom was back to work five days after the incident. Nick had almost thrown a fit when his lover had announced he wouldn't stay home any longer. The concussion headache had receded and was barely bothering him, and he could work around the handicap of having a hand in plaster. There was no winning against Grissom stubbornness, so Stokes had simply growled 'fine' and had accepted it.
Now, sitting in his office, going through the paperwork, Gil muttered a curse under his breath. He had to sign papers and that was out of the question. At least if it had to be even remotely legible. He couldn't write with his right and his left hand scrawl was more like chicken scratch.
"Knock, knock," an amused voice interrupted his scowling.
He looked up and directed his scowl at his visitor. Jim Brass simply smiled and slouched into one of the two chairs.
"Not even a bomb blast can make you stay home, hm?" he teased.
"I'm fine, Jim. I told Catherine, Warrick, Sara and Nick, and I'm telling you."
"You were thrown several feet, ended up in the ER with a concussion and a broken wrist, and you call that fine? I really have to update my dictionary. Grissom-English, English-Grissom."
"Very funny."
"Thought so myself. Thought you might want to know that the officer in charge of the crime site was suspended without pay. A full investigation has been launched. The whole thing's more than just negligence. We cold have ended up dead."
"I know, but we didn't."
"Doesn't change it."
Grissom just nodded slowly. He knew what could have happened. Nick's nightmares reminded him of it. His younger lover had woken once every night in the last three days, terrified, dreaming of Gil dying. Not just the bomb blast, but also at the hands of a woman with a gun or a man with a shovel.

//Grissom looked up from his reading when he heard the door to the bedroom open. It was just past noon and Nick had come home around eight, they had had breakfast, and then Stokes had dropped off to bed. In the few days Grissom had already been forced to stay off work, his body rhythm had changed slightly. He no longer stayed awake all night and slept a few hours throughout the day. Gil knew he would get used to the graveyard shift hours in no time the moment he was back at work.
Catherine had brought by the memos, reports and all the other back-log material he should have read ages ago, smirking at him. Nothing else. Just smirking. It was infuriating.
And then Grissom had discovered just how much had by-passed him because he hated paperwork, hated to be a paper-pusher when his job was to solve crimes. All the reading had led to one memorable talk with Conrad Ecklie, the dayshift supervisor, the second day Grissom had been out of the hospital. On pain meds, hand in a cast, he had stormed into the PD in the morning and confronted his colleague. Ecklie should have told him about changes that affected them both but he hadn't. Grissom had had to read old information, forwarded to him by some kind soul, to find out.
Well, he felt better now, Gil mused. Ecklie had just been speechless.
Now, in the middle of a forensic science report from last week, Nick shuffled out of the bedroom, looking very much dead on his feet but not like he was likely to go back to sleep. He went into the kitchen, took a bottle of water out of the fridge and took a few sips. Then he came back.
"Nick?" Grissom asked quietly.
Hazy, slightly troubled brown eyes looked at him. "Oh hey," he mumbled.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, fine…"
He didn't look it, but Grissom let it go. From all the signs, Nick had had a bad dream, but he wouldn't push him. Not now.
Stokes disappeared in the bedroom again, firmly shutting the door.//

Gil had looked in on him an hour later, had watched him sleep, and he had been there when Nick's nightmare had struck again. It wasn't the only time, it hadn't been the last. Each time he had comforted him as best as possible, but he knew it would take a while for Nick to accept what had happened.
"So, how's paperwork?" Brass asked with a grin, interrupting his trip down memory lane.
"Slow," Grissom answered levelly.
The captain looked at the cast, raising his eyebrows. The other man just looked back, eyebrows dipping fractionally.
"Well, that's what you get for being a work-a-holic." He pushed himself out of the chair. "See ya around, Gris."
Grissom didn't answer, just sighed and leaned back. He took his glasses off and rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. The painkillers helped, but the light ache was coming back.
He went back to work with a sigh, but didn't seem to be able to concentrate any more. After another hour, Grissom gave up, frustrated and annoyed. The others were in the field, including Nick, so he left a brief message and went in search for a ride to his house. In the end it was Greg who took him.

* * *

Grissom flexed his right hand carefully, breathing a secret sigh of relief. The cast was off. Finally. After weeks of having either a plaster cast or a more flexible version to start physiotherapy, he could finally move again. Freely. No more left-handed scrawls, no more taking care not to get the bandages wet. He thanked the nurse, listened to the advise from the doctor to continue therapy and then finally left the hospital.
Only to stop right outside the entrance, drawn between amusement and chagrin. A black Ford F-150 was parked in the temporary parking space assigned to those who only wanted to drop someone off or pick a patient up. Leaning against the vehicle, arms crossed over his t-shirt covered chest, Nick scowled at his lover.
Grissom knew why. He hadn't exactly told anyone that today was the day. Not even Nick. Stokes had been working with Sara on a new case, collecting evidence in a road accident with a multi-car pile-up outside the airport. Gil had to confess he had also forgotten about the appointment until he had barely made it on time, taking a cab from the PD.
"Getting forgetful with old age?" Nick now asked, voice level.
"Apparently. Nick..."
Stokes sighed and waved it off. "Since you didn't remember to catch the Stokes Cab Ride here, how about I'll take you home? I'm done for today."
Grissom smiled and accepted, sliding into the passenger seat of the car. Nick wove through morning traffic. They arrived at Grissom's place thirty minutes later.
"It wasn't intentional, Nick," Gil said as he sat in the car, not ready to go without an explanation. "I nearly forgot about it, too."
Nick turned, dark eyes watching him steadily. "Yeah, I figured as much. But you didn't have to take a cab, that's what I meant. I'd gladly have taken you. It's no bother. Part of the bargain.... y'know?"
The older man smiled. "I'm starting to understand that."
Nick touched the now unencumbered hand and ran feathery strokes over it, making Grissom shiver. "Nice."
"I think so myself."
"More rehab?"
"Yes." Gil looked at his lover, then let his gaze travel to his townhouse. "Why are we still in the car?"
Nick chuckled. "'Cause I wasn't sure if I'd stay."
Blue eyes met and held the darker pair. "Nothing has changed. You're very much welcome in my home -- even without having to play nursemaid."
Stokes smiled. "Thanks."
Gil raised a questioning eyebrow and the younger man laughed.
"Coming, coming."
Grissom took great delight in preparing a light breakfast. It felt good to move so freely again. Nick talked about his current case and Gil gave him some more food for thought, as well as serving toast, and they chatted for a while. Nick yawned and looked embarrassed, but Grissom just smiled.
"Go to bed," he instructed gently.
"Yes, Mom."
"I mean it."
"So did I." A mischievous light twinkled in the dark eyes.
Grissom shot him a pointed look and Nick chuckled, pushing himself up. He walked over to the bedroom and disappeared inside.
Gil smiled to himself, clearing the table of dirty dishes and leftovers. Pleased with everything, he checked on Nick and found him still awake.
"Waiting for you," his younger lover said softly. "If you wanna go in tonight, you need your beauty sleep."
True. Only too true. And he was sleepy, so catching up on sleep now would probably the best.
Changing into his pajamas, slipping into the bed beside Nick, Grissom couldn't help but feel content. The feeling doubled as Nick snuggled up against him, closing is eyes.
"Night," he murmured.
"Night, Nicky," was the equally soft reply.

* * *

Gil Grissom wasn’t quite used to waking up close to a warm, hard body spooned up behind him, or an arm wrapped around his waist, holding him securely to said body. Even after being together with Nick for some months now, waking up with his lover still at his side sometimes confused him. The time between dream and dawn, not really asleep anymore, not quite awake. In the past he had simply ignored this state, climbed out of bed and took care of whatever business his day might have in its bag for him. But not anymore, not with Nick in his bed. Now he wanted to enjoy this leisurely moment, enjoy its quality to the extent. A warm hand slowly sneaked under his shirt, finding its sure way to his soft spots, ghosting over his skin like a butterfly’s wing, both tickling and exciting. Seconds later it was the soft blow of a breath on his neck, followed by a pair of hot lips.
“Somebody’s awake,” Stokes whispered, continuing the tender ministrations of his body, and Grissom sighed softly, turning around in his lover’s arms to claim a kiss.
“Not quite,” he murmured, gasping when Nick paid closer attention to what he had found under his shirt. Damn, why did he have to be so sensitive?
“Lemme help with that.” Teeth scratched over the skin of his neck, a tongue made him shiver, a harder bite shudder.
“Get rid o’ that.” Nick tugged at his shirt, which landed on the floor in no time, closely followed by two pairs of boxers. Nick took his right arm, carefully flexing the hand and fingers, before he pressed his lips on the wrist, working his way up Grissom’s arm to the hollow of his neck, sucking, licking, kissing. The moment Stokes reached his chest Grissom felt like the proverbial melted puddle. God, but the man was a fast student, and he was proving that fact all over again. A hand roamed over his belly and down south, between his legs and over the sensitive inner thighs, eliciting a soft moan. Fingers brushed over his hardness, base to tip and back, followed by a slightly rough tongue. Gil clenched his fingers in the sheets and whimpered when the caress was intensified. Soothing hands ran over his inner thighs and his back, cool and slick, stroking, teasing, caressing and slowly pressing … whoa!
Grissom’s eyes flew open at the unexpected contact and he stiffened, trying to catch his breath. Unexpected yes, unwelcome no. Nick hadn’t touched him there before, though Grissom had shown him how it felt. Gil hadn’t ever asked him to return the favor, though he wouldn’t exactly mind. Mind? He’d love nothing more than to feel Nick inside of him, yet he didn’t want to scare his lover by pushing the matter. It was wonderful as it was.
“Nick… you don’t … “
“Have to do that, yeah. Know that one already. What if I want to, Gris?” His lover slid up his body, taking his head into his hands, and Grissom looked into the chocolate depths of eyes. He could lose himself in those eyes, especially at moments like this when they were dark and deep and clouded with a haze only desire produced.
“’Sides, if it eases your mind, I’m entirely egoistic here.”
“In what way?”
“Love to see you like this, love to hear you, knowing it’s me causing it. Love to make you come. Turns me on.” Nick bent over him, cutting off any comment with a kiss that left Grissom panting when his lover broke it to return his attention to more straining matters.
When Nick’s slick finger slipped inside him and started a torturing slow motion, brushing over the secret spot with every move, Grissom felt his brain simply evaporate.
“Love you,” he heard Nick whisper hoarsely, smiling at him and lowering his head. After twenty-five minutes – and even some begging on his part, he couldn’t believe it! -  Grissom came screaming. Again.
 

“Interesting.”
“Did you observe?”
“Sure. That’s what you always tell me to do, right?”
Silence.
“Gris?”
“Yes?”
“You’d like to … be in me?”
Grissom inhaled, careful regarding his answer. “Yes,” he said after a second of silence, “and since you’re asking, yes,  I’d like to feel you in me, too.”
“Oh”
“Oh?”
“I … somehow it’s a thought I haven’t exactly … wrapped my mind around so far.”
“What? Me liking it?” Grissom stroked his younger lover’s back, Nick’s hand leisurely roaming circles over his chest. He could almost hear the wheels in Stokes’s mind spin.
“Hmmm … never pictured you to be a… bottom, you know.”
“That’s nothing but a label, and I told you before I don’t put a label on myself, or judge people. It’s something I like, that’s all. It’s not something I have to have at all costs, Nicky.”
“Hm-hmm … “
"You know, I think I’d like it, too. To feel you, I mean. It’s just…" Nick's voice faltered.
"You’re afraid?"
There was a short hesitation, then Grissom felt the other man nod against him.
"Don’t be," was the soft reply. "If I’d die tomorrow, I’d go as a happy man."
Nick jerked out of his arms, sitting up abruptly. He looked at him from eyes that weren’t soft and deep anymore. Now they were burning with anger.
[Don’t you EVER say that again, Gil Grissom] he signed abruptly. [Haven’t you learned anything?]
[Sorry]
The anger didn't abate. Lines marred the other's face, and they weren't laugh lines. [You’d better be. We had this discussion before, and I do so not want to lose you. Do you finally get it? That I love you? That I’ll never let you go? That I want to spend the rest of my life with you?!]
Grissom stared into his lover’s stormy eyes for a whole ten seconds before he pulled him into a long deep kiss.
[Getting it now]
[Good!]
 “How about something to eat? I’m starved.”
“Lead the way, MacDuff.”
“And all the king’s horses and all the king’s men … “
Grissom raised one eyebrow.
“Wrong author.” Then he tilted his head, smiling slightly. “You ever been to Stratford Upon Avon?”
“No…?”
Grissom grinned. Broadly.
 

Half an hour later in the kitchen, Nick wrapped an arm around his lover.
“By the way: we don’t have to travel to England.”
“Oh?” Grissom raised one quizzical eyebrow, not quite getting what his lover was up to.
“Royal Shakespeare Company, AS YOU LIKE IT, they’re at the Kennedy Center this year.”
“Hm … you’d like to go?”
“Do you?”
Grissom watched his lover for a moment. “Yes, “ he said slowly, “ yes, I think I’d like to.”
“Deal.”

* * *

Catherine Willows was a lot of things. A mother, a criminalist, a friend, but she was also a woman, and as a woman she trusted her instincts. Her intuition. Even if men sometimes laughed about 'female intuition', she listened to hers and lately, she had used her criminalistic mind, her friendship to the people on the team, as well.
First there had been the hatching friendship between Nick and Grissom. After over four years, the two men had suddenly developed more than a working relationship. Sure, Nick had always been loyal to his boss, even when Gil had been suspended and the whole team had stood behind him. He had worked hard, had tried to get Grissom's attention as well as his acceptance, and he was a very good CSI.
That had changed slowly. Nick was no longer so hell-bent on proving himself. He was more settled.
Now the friendship between Grissom and Nick had strengthened. Over the course of the last months, ever since the child prostitution case and the murder at the Shaman, the two men had found something new.
Catherine had been surprised to find out that part of this new friendship was Nick's ability to sign. She hadn't known that and neither had any of the others. Grissom, sure, they had found that out. Nick? Not at all.
Still waters, she mused.
Then there had been a chance in behavior in the weeks to follow. Nick had first seemed more at ease, then there was a bout of tension, followed by easiness once more. An easiness that had apparently infected Grissom as well. Her friend and boss had slowly but surely turned… human. It was the only way to put it. He was more accessible, if that was a word for it. But he was still Grissom and nothing had changed too much to be suspicious.
Then had come the revelation of Grissom having a lady friend. Who would have thought? After Terri Miller, Catherine had really given up on the man. He was terrible with relationships and whoever stepped into his life would have to have nerves of steel, a lot of patience, acceptance of strangeness and crazy hours, as well as an understanding of a genius mind behind an unassuming mask of friendly observation and perpetual curiosity.
Apparently there was someone. She had never inquired further. Grissom's private life was just that: private.
And then the bomb incident had happened. It had shocked them all, but most of all she had been shocked and surprised about Nick's reaction. Stokes had been ready to tear someone's head off, only to calm down and volunteer to stay with Grissom the first night out of the hospital.
The two men had become close friends, she mused.
Good for Grissom.

* * *

Nick smiled as he hopped out of his truck, walking over to the man standing in front of the townhouse, waiting.
"You ready?" he called cheerfully.
Gil Grissom studied his younger lover, noting the old, faded blue jeans hugging the shapely legs, the worn boots that spoke of miles hiking, and the dark blue t-shirt. A black baseball cap shielded his eyes, which were hidden behind sunglasses anyway. Nick looked edible and he probably knew it.
"Tell me again why you insisted on this?" he asked as Nick tossed his bag into the back.
"'Cause you need some time away from it all. No calls, no beepers, no crimes. Go out, relax, enjoy yourself."
"And I can't do that here?"
"Nope."
"Ah."
"Hop in, Gris."
Grissom slid into the passenger seat and buckled up. Nick shifted into gear and they headed out. I-15; East.

* * *

Grissom raised his eyebrows at the sight that greeted them as Nick took the Ford off the highway and down Exit 16. Twenty miles later his suspicions as to what the destination of their little trip might be were confirmed. Zion National Park. It was a five hours drive away from Las Vegas – including a lunch stop and one for gas --, it was a secluded area, and it was GREEN. Large trees, fresh cool air, and no phones where they were heading to.
Nick grinned at him as they stopped at the Park's visitor center and he paid the fee for their weekend admission and camping, then they were off again. Nick had dumped some maps into is lap and Grissom glanced over them. One was of the park and the ranger at the station had marked the way they had to drive to get to wherever Nick had decided they would stay.
Gil's eyebrows rose again as they went off the paved road and down a gravel drive that turned into a packed earth one and finally, after maybe twenty minutes, ended in front of a small wooden camping cabin.
"Here we are," Nick declared, smiling widely.
"I see," Grissom answered slowly and got out of the car, approaching their home for the next two days with the same careful investigative step as he would a fresh crime scene.
The cabin was just large enough for the two of them. It consisted of one large living room with a small fire place, a tiny kitchen, one bathroom, a room that contained a double bed and nothing else, and that was that. Spreading out in front of the door was a small porch, just right for two camping chairs, a table and some lanterns. Of course the cabin had  electricity, but no TV. And Nick had insisted on leaving the laptop at home.
"Nice, hm?" Nick asked, grinning, dimples at their best.
"It is… functional."
Their bags were thrown into the living room. "There's a river not far away for some fishing. Really calms the mind. And if you're up for some leg stretching, you and me could hike a bit. Nice trails. Emerald Pools is fantastic. We could also ride along the Virgin River."
Nick's eyes were alight with enthusiasm and Grissom had to smile. His lover. He had known him for years now, they had been together for some months, and he would probably never get used to the energy this man had.
"And there's always the sunset…" Nick's voice had dropped, growing husky. "Takes your breath away. No one to crowd you, no screaming neighbor kids, no campers, no nothing. Just the two of us."
Grissom felt a little tingle in his stomach. Maybe a weekend in the wilderness wasn't such a bad idea.

*

The night’s breeze made the candles on the porch flicker. Nick had a beer in his hand, watching his lover as he reclined in his chair, eyes on the darkness around him, listening. There was a tilt of the head sometimes, then a barely perceptible smile. It was just a twitch of the lips, but Nick knew that it meant Gil had identified another animal sound.
The day had been wonderful. They had unpacked and then Nick had managed to convince the other man to take a hike around the campground. Their little cabin was located in a clearing, mostly surrounded by trees, but with a phenomenal view and the sunset had been truly breathtaking. Having dinner and then a beer outside on the small porch had been a fitting end to a great first day.
"Othoptera."
Nick blinked. "The same to you," he quipped.
Grissom shot him a mildly disapproving look, something Nick was very much used to. "Grasshoppers," the older man translated.
"So that's the racket out here," he teased.
The look was back. "The Othoptera are renowned for the songs and in some Eastern countries males are kept in small cages specifically so that the keepers can enjoy their song. Males of the Gryllus campestris have at least three different songs. One to attract the female, a second song to woo the female after she has been attracted, and a third, competitive song to sing at other males."
Nick smiled widely at his lover. "I love it when you get all romantic on me, Gris."
Grissom just shot him a look, but he didn't comment. Nick loved to hear him talk, quote from books and texts, listen to the spouts of knowledge. It was Grissom's way to teach people, to make them think, to jumpstart their brains. Sometimes it was just random application of facts, like right now, as the entomologist had come to the forefront.
“Gil?" he asked after minutes of just hearing the cricket songs. "There’s a science question I’ve been pondering. You think you can help me with it?”
“If I can. What is it?”
“I’ve been wondering if the flavor of lubrication has any effect on its viscosity, especially when – in use?
Grissom blinked, slightly surprised. He studied Nick, who kept his features carefully schooled.
“Hm, I don’t think so," Gil finally answered, voice as calm and level as usually when he talked facts and science. "The chemical additives that are the base for the taste wouldn’t influence the thickness, but the change in temperature would. You would have to experiment with it to gather further information.”
“Really?”
“Really. “
“Hm… I’ve got strawberry, banana and the peach.”  Nick spread the three tubes on the table.
Grissom stared at them.
"Gather the evidence, Grissom," Nick whispered in a husky voice as he rose, collected the tubes and walked into the cabin. "It doesn't lie."
 

Grissom was thunderstruck for a second. His usually so fast and agile brain was suddenly a mass of sludge between his ears, synapses collapsing under the sizzle and spark of misfiring messages.
He frowned, blinked, frowned again. Then he all but jumped to his feet and rushed after his younger lover.
The sight that greeted him left him almost breathless: Nick was lying on the bed and the illumination of the candles was doing an interesting play of light and shadows on his naked body. A body he knew intimately by now. Every muscle, every sinew, every secret erotic spot. A body he loved and admired and now longed to touch. Nick had one leg bent, the other one stretched out, and his hand…
“You started without me,” Gil breathed, watching the slow  teasing motion of the agile fingers.
Nick came to his knees as Grissom approached the bed, hands slipping under his shirt.
“Wanna catch up? Come to bed, Gil.”
The voice was low, enticing, husky – and went right into the most primitve part of the brain without even asking the civilized side for permission.
As Grissom sank into the embrace of his lover’s arms, something on the nightstand caught his attention, and his eyes widened in surprise.
“Nick?”
His lover nodded, nipping at his neck. “Yeah. Want you, Gil. All the way.”
 

This night heard the ecstatic screams of two men. Several times.

* * *

Gil Grissom walked out onto the porch, a glass of wine in his hand, and sat down on the camping chair, hissing when making a wrong move. He felt wonderfully sore in certain parts of his body that hadn’t felt sore in – well, a while. And Nick would feel the same as soon as he woke up. Yes, his lover had wanted him all right, all the way indeed. And it had been like nothing he had ever experienced before. So, why did he sit out here, in the cool night’s air, watching  the stars move instead of being in there, in bed with his lover, dreaming?
Because he couldn’t sleep.
“Gil?”
Damn.
“Whatcha doin’ here?”
“Go back to bed, Nick. I’m all right.”
“Nope, you ain’t. If you were, you’d be in my arms at the moment.”  Nick stepped closer, into his line of view, arms crossed over his chest, his expression one of worry.
“So?”
“Nick… “
Stokes rolled his eyes. “Aw, no. Don’t tell me you’re at it again?” He stepped closer. “What do I have to do to convince you that I. Love. You?”
Grissom smiled. “Don’t worry, I got that. It’s… “
Nick threw one leg over Grissom’s and straddled him, taking away his glass and putting his hands on his hips.
“What, Gil? The sex? That was… like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.”
“I’m not getting any younger.”
“Tell you what: neither am I.”
Grissom felt Nick’s arms close around him, his hands slowly stroking over his back.
“Gil?” he quizzed softly, coaxing him into talkng.
“Why me?”
A second of silence.
“You have to ask?”
A nod.
“Grissom, self doubt doesn’t suit you. Okay, why you? You’re a damn attractive man. No,“ his comment was silenced by a finger over his lips. “you ARE. Maybe not at first sight, but at the second. And you taught me to take closer looks. You challenged me. You challenge everybody, and you love it when that challenge is met, because you want people to learn, use their brains instead of their brawn. You have an influence on people. Just take a look at us, your team. You have the most loyal team a supervisor could wish for, and you don’t even realize it. You don’t even expect it. But they’d follow you through hell and back, and so would I. You’re the most charismatic man I’ve ever met and you know so many things. You even knew more about sex than I did.” Nick grinned. “And I bet there’s more to learn, right?”
“There’s always more to learn, Nicky.”
“See? That’s what I mean. And I love you because you are compassionate and tender, even if you don’t show it to everybody. And you’re passionate as well. Just HOW passionate you proved to me some hours ago.” Nick bent over to claim a long tender kiss. “And I’m damn proud I’m the only one who knows that part of you, Gil Grissom. Who you let see it.”
Gil closed his arms around the narrow hips, pulling his younger lover closer. He inhaled, realizing something.
“I love you, Nick.”
He had never said it out loud.
Nick leaned his forehead against his, smiling.
“Then do so, Gil. Love me.”