Title: Light and Love
Fandom: CSI: Vegas
Characters: Nick/Greg
Rating: Somewhere between 13 and R A little sexy.
Summary: Greg and Nick have made the plunge *childish sniggering* and now it's the morning after. Greg's POV.
Warnings: Just naked boys in bed. I restrained the geeky science references as much as I could. Schmoop.
Author's Notes: For 36. "Love sought is good, but giv'n unsought is better." -Twelfth Night.
Greg awakens in a gentle curve over the soft edges of minutes he can not quite recall individually enough to number. The smell of warm skin next to him is the signal that tells him he is definitely awake now and not still in that place in between his dreams. He's never dreamed such a smell. The sun is high outside but filtered to a dull blue by the heavy blinds in the window and so only burns dimly behind the landscape of Nick's chest. Greg's hand is there, weak wrist pressed against Nick's ribs, and some courser motor functions allow him to brush it gently in a small arc over his flank, but nothing more sophisticated yet. Through his blurry, cock-eyed vision, he sees his fingertips curled lazily against the pale light on Nick's chest and they carve out a silly smiley face in the ambiguous monochromatic shadows there, the kind of thing you can only see when you're not fully conscious and your mind cares only for simple entertainment. He chuckles quietly and waggles his ring finger to make the face wink. Nick doesn't stir but to breathe softly through skyward-facing, parted lips.
Greg watches him breathe, peaceful and beautiful, and suddenly he wants it all, all at once. He feels his brow knit a little. He feels on the brink of being overcome and he has no idea why. His thoughts are pounding, wordless, and his heart would gape if it had a face. He wants to consume him, this, right now and without anymore delay even though he already knows from the night before that they can only get so close, that they can only stay awake and grappling with each other for so long before they give in to exhaustion and sleep. He wants to try again anyway, just looking at him.
Greg has always wanted to fall in love. To know what it feels like. Wanted it so bad, tried so hard to make it work with one lover after another. Never happened though. And Greg knows when to give up.
Still, whether from waking sloth or self control, he doesn't take, as the glimmer inside wants to. He has more consideration for Nick than that, more than he thinks he's ever had for anyone. Let him sleep a while longer. Instead Greg simply absorbs, slowly, carefully. His eyes trace and retrace every line where Nick's skin meets the air, the flush of sun across his chest and belly, alighting each odd hair, silvering the sparse cluster between his pectorals. It shadows his face toward Greg, but catches the tips of his eyelashes which flutter just slightly like the unconcious flicker of shimmering insect wings. Nick's arms bend akimbo above his head and his spine is loosely melted over the matress. He looks like a careless, languorous god, Greg thinks with a small smile. His thrown-together pose fully imprinted upon Greg's memory, he gives in to another level of want, and reaches with boneless fingers to touch him. He is so warm, even uncovered. Greg runs his fingertips and then palm over shoulder and abdomen and forhead, taking in the different texture of each, maleable, smooth, hard beneath, but it only lasts a moment. He can not restrain the clutching impluse of his body any longer. He has this enormous void, like most of him has sunken in, and the air frost bites his skin. It feels as if his only salvation could be this heated, sleeping form tucked under his chin and pressed inch to inch along him. Greg tries not to wake him, scoops him up, as much of the larger man that he can, turning, and draws him in to bring his face to his neck and settle his legs between his own. Skin slips on skin with a whisper, a shout compared to the silence of hours.
Nick's eyes crack open and a limp hand rubs at them before assenting to the movment and squeezing Greg around the middle, stealing his breath with strength Greg doesn't possess when fully awake, never mind still half asleep. The squeeze combines with a stretch that moves all the way down to his toes and elicits a funny grumble from Nick's lungs that makes Greg smile in spite of himself. Greg meets his unfocused eyes, and Nick smiles too, perhaps wryly, and mumbles something in Texan that Greg supposes was meant to be 'Good morning.' A wriggle seems to crawl over Nick's entire long body, this time from toes to head, and glue them together on every possible contact surface. This may be closer than they even got last night to total fusion. Occupying the same space at the same time, perhaps, can only be fully realized when you're too tired to try anymore. He should know that by now. Stop trying so hard. A watched pot never boils, a truth sought can not be found.
Greg finds himself back in that wordless place, amazed and astounded by everything he feels. Such a small change, such an enormous thing. The events of just a few hours shouldn't have such a dramatic effect. An act that can't really even be quantified, as can conception, or death, or a chemical reaction, a thing that isn't explainable on paper shouldn't have this power. Scary in a way, or it would be if it didn't feel so good. Such a small change to go from what they were yesterday to what they are today, and yet the reality is mind-boggling. It's heady and it's here, and the fact that he wasn't expecting it seems to point back to the nettlesome undefined boundaries of it. As if Love and Light are one in the same. They both seem to have a sense of humor.
He inhales the smell of Nick's hair mingled with a silky dampness of sweat behind his ear, and Nick seems to answer by nuzzling deeper into Greg's neck and mouthing a spot there until Greg shivers compulsively, happily. He feels Nick's lips curve into a smile against his skin, a little rough stubble heating it and scraping away the tickle of Nick's deep exhale. Nick picks himself up, rolling Greg fully onto his back and insinuates himself between Greg's legs until they fit together snug and perfect. Nick recovers them with the sheet and lowers himself to kiss his way down Greg's jaw to his ear and back to that spot that makes him shiver, and when he's comfortable, starts to roll his hips against Greg's within the locked cage he's made of their legs. Greg wants to smile, to laugh in utter joy and mirth, and maybe he will, in a bit. For now, he's busy being consumed, his mouth slack, gaping, while his heart, oblivious and content, pounds and drowns his thoughts away.
fin.
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