One Good Man by Geekwriter

Email: geekwriter143@yahoo.com
Pairing: Greg/Nick
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: slash, strong sexual content
Summary: Greg and Nick attend a forensics seminar in San Francisco, and things progress from there.
A/N: Title is from a Janis Joplin song, because she's pure San Francisco


Title: One Good Man – Part One

He'd never been one for the city. Sure, Dallas had been huge, but in a sprawling, suburban way. Even Las Vegas was spread out once you left the strip, and its neighborhoods and abundance of open space let you forget how big the city actually was.

San Francisco wasn't like that. San Francisco was people on top of people, buildings narrow and tall smashed up against other buildings, just as narrow and just as tall, up and down every hill, as far as the eye could see. Not that he could see very far, because even though it was eleven o'clock, and even though it was June, the city was encased in fog.

Nick was disoriented by the fog, by the hills, by the sheer number of people on the streets. He was glad to be with Greg, to tell the truth, glad just to follow blindly as Greg talked a mile a minute, fitting so perfectly into the city that Nick was beginning to see him in a new light.

He'd always thought of Greg as a little weird, and he'd chalked it up to him being cooped up in the lab all day, maybe to years of inhaling God knows what chemicals day in and day out. But there, on the streets of San Francisco, Nick saw that what he'd perceived as weird was merely the stamp of Greg's hometown. Just like Nick's accent pegged him as a Texan, Greg's eccentricities and freedom placed him squarely at home in the most diverse city Nick had ever seen.

As Nick trudged after Greg, up and down the hills towards North Beach, they passed Chinese grandmothers carrying pale red plastic sacks full of unknown goods, teenagers wearing the baggiest jeans Nick had ever seen and tight day-glo tops accessorized with pacifiers, spiky Technicolor hair and, in one case, a gas mask painted light blue with glittery white clouds. A woman in a business suit walked quickly around a circle of hippies playing hacky -sack while waiting for the light to change, and Nick couldn't be exactly sure but he had a suspicion that the tall, beautiful black woman in the red dress was maybe not a woman at all.

Greg didn't seem fazed, didn't even flinch when a homeless guy jumped out of the bushes and yelled, "Raar!" like something out of a B-grade horror movie.

"Didn't scare me," was all Greg said, and he kept walking without missing a beat, continued on with his description of the blocks they were passing as if nothing strange had happened at all.

"Greggo," Nick said, struggling to keep up with Greg's quick pace. He was in shape, sure, but he'd never encountered anything like these hills before, never ending, just as soon as you were up and down one there was another one in front of you even steeper than the last. "Uh, Greggo, did a homeless guy just jump out of the bushes and growl at us?"

"Yeah," Greg said easily, turning and walking backwards up the hill, his hands resting casually in his pockets as he gazed at Nick.

"Why?"

"If they scare you, you're supposed to give them a dollar."

"What?"

Greg smiled an easy, relaxed grin. He was so at home in the city Nick could feel it radiating from his pores. "They jump out of the bushes to scare you, and if they succeed you're supposed to give them a dollar."

"You're supposed to pay guys for jumping out of the bushes and scaring you?"

Greg nodded and said, "Yeah," as if the whole idea was perfectly reasonable.

Nick whistled low between his teeth. If that was normal here, he didn't have to wonder why Greg came off as weird.

"What?" Greg asked, sensing that Nick was thinking something he didn't want to say.

Nick smiled to deflect the question. "I didn't know this conference was going to involve mountain climbing."

Greg laughed and turned back around, never breaking stride. "Don't worry," he said over his shoulder. "A few more steps and it's all downhill, I promise."

It was the first time Nick had ever heard that phrase used to indicate something good, and he had to admit that it sounded very good indeed.

When he'd told Greg he wanted to spend the morning sight seeing, he'd been thinking more about Fisherman's Wharf than tramping through the city's cool summer streets. When he broached the suggestion Greg had actually gasped.

"Blasphemy," Greg hissed. "You're never again to utter those words in my presence."

"What?" Nick had asked. "What's so bad about Fisherman's Wharf? It's on all the tourist maps."

Greg had snatched the map out of Nick's hands. "I forbid it," he said. "Fisherman's Wharf is nothing but a mall with sea lions. No self-respecting person goes to Fisherman's Wharf, Nick. Were I to be seen there I could never show my face in this city again."

Nick didn't mention that he hadn't expected Greg to come with him. It was his hometown, after all, and Nick had expected him to spend his first day there catching up with family and friends.

He didn't mind the company, though, and was a lot more comfortable following Greg than he would have been on his own with only a map to guide him, so he acquiesced and agreed to take Greg's tour of the city.

Which was how he found himself at the top of a hill that seemed far too steep for cars, let alone pedestrians, catching his breath and leaning forward to rest his hands on his knees. Nick laughed and shook his head. "Then, my friend, you have not lived."

"You sure you don't mind showing me around?" Nick asked. He'd asked before, but Greg had just shrugged the question off. "I mean, how long has it been since you've seen your folks, man? I thought for sure they'd be at the airport waiting to snatch you away for a lutefisk brunch."

Greg cringed. "That's another thing I don't ever want to hear you say again. Lutefisk." He shuddered as if recalling a particularly disturbing memory.

"I'm just saying that if the conference was in Dallas I'd have more family on me than the Osmonds."

Greg's eyes darkened for a moment, then he forced a smile. "Well, you know, they're busy. They're both at work. We'll have dinner sometime this week, I'm sure, but days are bad for them."

Nick yawned and straightened up. "Me, too, man. Shit. They can't have graveyard conferences for those of us who work nights?"

"I'm sure they'll have comment cards you can write the suggestion on," Greg said with a grin. "Come on. I'm starving and there's a little Korean place around the corner that serves kim pap so good you'll think you've died and gone to heaven. Just remember, soju may be served in shot glasses, but that doesn't mean you down it like a shot." He smiled his quirky, disarming smile. "Trust me. I learned that the hard way. I ended up half-naked on Turk Street engaged to a very large, very hairy man named Roscoe." He frowned. "At least, that's what my friends tell me. I don't really remember. Something about a bicycle chain, a merry-go-round, and maybe a bottle of peroxide…the whole night's really very fuzzy."

Nick laughed and started down the hill. "San Francisco's a very weird town, Greg."

Greg sighed a contented sigh as he fell in step with Nick. "Yeah. It's great, isn't it?"


Nick settled onto a stool at the hotel bar and ordered a scotch on the rocks. He was usually a serious beer drinker, but he definitely needed something stiffer. That had been, without a doubt, the most boring, torturous, completely mind-numbing waste of four hours he'd ever spent. A speech on "The Criminalist as Citizen," followed by drawn out introductions of the conference's guest lecturers, ending with a droning, uninspiring speech about the increasing importance of criminalists in the post-9/11 world.

Not to mention that he'd have been half asleep even if the speeches had been interesting. And, of course, now that it was over and getting late he was suddenly awake. Because his body's clock was stubborn, and the sun going down had become his signal to wake up for so long he didn't know how to fight it.

It had been a long day with the flight in, checking into the hotel, going on Greg's walking tour, the conference registration, and the tedious introductory lectures, and what he wanted was to fall into bed and sleep. But his body didn't know that's what he wanted, and even as he downed his scotch he felt a surge of renewed energy.

"Hey," Greg said, sliding in next to him. "I know that this is my first conference and everything, but if this is the way things are going to continue, I think I'll skip the lectures and go to Fisherman's Wharf, instead."

"Blasphemer," Nick said, barely holding back his grin. "It's not usually that bad. I'm sure things will pick up tomorrow."

Greg nodded and swept his eyes over the room. He was so close that Nick could smell him, could feel the soft heat of his body.

"I'm heading to bed," Nick said, pulling away from Greg as nonchalantly as he could. "Coming?"

Greg smirked at him and raised his eyebrows. "Well, usually I insist on dinner first, or at least a drink."

The words startled him and he knew he should say something, anything, but he couldn't even begin to remember how to speak.

"Uh, that was a joke," Greg said, elbowing him playfully. "Calm down, Nick, I'm not gonna jump you in your sleep or anything."

"I, uh, yeah. Yeah, I know," Nick said. "I'm not worried, man." The thought of Greg jumping him in his sleep wasn't what worried him, what worried him was that for a minute he'd really thought about what it would be like to go to bed with the young lab tech.

"Uh," Greg said, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I hate to ask you this, man, but do you think you could maybe hold off on sleep for a couple hours? I'm really hitting it off with that fingerprint analyst from Des Moines, and, uh…"

Nick smiled and chuckled softly. "Yeah, man, that's cool. Give me ten minutes in the room and I'll be out of there. I think maybe I'll try my luck with the hottie from Miami."

"Ballistics chick?" Greg asked, nodding. "Very nice. Oh, here comes Teresa—"

"From Des Moines," Nick said.

"Right. See you later, buddy. Ten minutes?"

"All I need," Nick said. He made sure to keep smiling until he was in the elevator. He was glad he was the only one in it. He leaned back against the wall and rubbed his hands over his face. Greg? He could not be attracted to Greg. It was sleep deprivation doing it, he knew, and the fact that he hadn't gotten laid in two months.

Once he got to the room he washed his face and brushed his teeth. He changed out of his shirt and tie, tossed his dress slacks over the back of a chair and pulled on a pair of well-fitting Levis, instead. He slipped his feet into a comfortable pair of loafers and pulled on a tight black t-shirt.

As beautiful as Calleigh from Miami was, she wasn't who Nick was thinking about. Even if he had been interested, he wouldn't have insulted her by assuming she was the kind of woman who'd get involved with someone she'd just met at a professional conference.

No, he wasn't thinking about the ballistics expert at all as he checked his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He ran his hand over his hair, tousled it so it lost its preppy, professional appearance. He wasn't the hottest thing he'd ever seen, but he wasn't bad. He leaned in to inspect the wrinkles that had begun to form around his eyes and sighed. He couldn't remember when it had happened; he'd just noticed them one day with more than a little surprise. Sure, he was in his 30's, but when the hell had he gotten so old?

"Early thirties," he told himself. He shook his head and turned away from the mirror. That was as good at it was going to get.

He snagged his black leather jacket since he knew there'd be a chill in the air. Funny how cold it could be in June. He'd always assumed California was an eternally sunny paradise.

He knew where to go without looking at a map. He'd researched it on the internet in the weeks prior to the conference, committed the names and addresses of places he wanted to go to memory so that he wouldn't leave a paper trail that could expose him.

He felt more than a little embarrassed telling the cab driver where to take him, but the cabbie wasn't fazed in the least. Hell, it was San Francisco, and Nick knew he was hardly the first tourist to hit the gay bars.

He thought he maybe should be excited. After all, San Francisco was supposed to be the gay Mecca. He'd always wanted to go, maybe to check out Pride, definitely to get laid. And there he was, not at Pride but he knew getting laid was more than a possibility. Nick had never had trouble getting laid, no matter what city he was in, and he told himself that getting laid was all he needed.

The delusions of youth were long gone. Years of working in law enforcement, both as a cop and a CSI, made it very clear that his was not a profession that welcomed gay men with open arms. Sure, there were policies in place, and the party line was that the city of Las Vegas did not discriminate on the basis of race, color, religion, gender, national origin, age or handicap. Nick had been in law enforcement long enough to know that it was bullshit. Official policies weren't enough to change the minds of generations of personnel, and even if they had been, there was still no policy to prevent discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation.

He wouldn't ever be able to have a long-term relationship with anyone and keep his secret at the same time. Hell, digging up secrets was what CSI's did. It was his job or his personal life, and Nick had chosen his job. His only relationships were fleeting one-night stands where first names often weren't exchanged, let alone last names or phone numbers.

It suited him fine. His job didn't exactly leave much room for dating, anyway. When he needed a release he went out to a club or the baths. It was simple and efficient, and it worked.

Except Nick hadn't had sex with anyone in two months and though that's what he thought he'd be after once he got to the club, he realized that he wasn't interested. It felt good to dance, felt good to move his body to the beat in the dark, to feel other men's bodies brush and grind against his, but he had no desire to take it to the back room.

Wrinkles weren't the only thing his 30's had brought him. He was lonely. He was getting too old for one night stands and hand jobs in clubs' bathroom stalls. But he'd made his decision, and he knew he had to stand by it if he didn't want his professional life to crumble at his feet.

The men in the club all looked the same. They looked the same as the men he'd seen in the clubs in Dallas, and they looked the same as the men he'd seen in the clubs in Vegas. Beautiful, buff, walking proof that physical perfection was, indeed, possible.

Nick left the dance floor, and ordered a shot of tequila. That's what he'd always drunk during his wild college years. Get a few shots of tequila in him and good-old-boy Nick was forgotten and circuit-boy Nick was born.

He threw back the shot, turned and surveyed the club. It was a mass of writhing, beautiful men. He could watch them, find the most beautiful, take him to the back room and fuck his brains out, but he didn't want to. It was too much hassle.

He knew if anyone had told him a decade earlier that he'd find hot sex with gorgeous men boring he would have laughed his ass off. Now? Now he knew he could have an entire bottle of tequila and he'd still find the club and its patrons more annoying than arousing.

He took another cab back to the hotel. He'd been gone for a little over two hours, but he didn't know if that gave Greg enough time, so he sat in the hotel bar and nursed a beer. At least one of them was getting laid.

Finally, he decided to head back to the room a little before two am. He listened at the door before opening it, and when he did the room was dark.

From the dim light coming through the curtains Nick could see that Greg was alone, and asleep. He couldn't smell the tang of sex in the air, but he didn't know if it was because Greg had struck out or because one of the windows was cracked, letting in the noise of the street below and the cool night air.

Greg was in boxers and a t-shirt, the covers thrown to the side, and as Nick started to get undressed he paused to gaze at Greg's still form for a moment. He was stretched out on his stomach, one arm tucked beneath his chest at an awkward angle, the other arm thrown wide. His face was smashed against a pillow, which did nothing to mask the soft sound of his snore.

Nick grinned as he toed off his loafers. It was a sad state of affairs when he'd just gotten back from the hottest club in San Francisco and he still thought Greg Sanders was the most attractive man he'd seen all night. He was definitely off his game.

He shook his head, stripped down to his boxer briefs, and climbed into bed. It should have annoyed him, but the rhythmic sound of Greg snoring was endearing, and it lulled him to sleep.


Title: One Good Man – Part Two

Nick awoke with a bladder so full, it made him think of one of his brother Joe's more colorful sayings. *Damn, man, I've gotta piss so bad I can taste it.* Not that Nick could taste it, but he did have to piss, and piss bad.

He shivered as he threw the covers back. The air was cool on his skin and he felt goose bumps rise on his arms and the back of his neck as he tried the bathroom door. Thankfully, it wasn't locked and his eyes practically rolled back in his head as he began to release the ache in his bladder.

The bathroom was nice and warm, and once he was done Nick stretched his arms up and clasped them above his head, working out the kinks in his back. "How'd things go with Teresa?" he asked just before he flushed.

He heard a gasp from the other side of the shower curtain and the dull, echo-y thud of what he assumed was a shampoo bottle hitting the shower floor. "Jesus," Greg said, finally. "Give a guy a heart attack."

Nick chuckled. "Didn’t mean to scare you. Just had to drain the lizard." A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. That was one of Joe's sayings, too. "So?"

"So what?" Greg asked. "I'm naked in here, you know."

"I didn't figure you showered with your clothes on. Damn, don't you have any brothers?"

"Only child. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Five brothers, one bathroom. If a guy's gotta go, man, who cares who's in the shower? It's not like I can see you or anything. Tell me about Teresa."

"Ah, I didn't like her that much. She had a mustache once you got up close, and her hair kind of smelled like cream of mushroom soup."

"She shot you down, huh?" Nick asked.

"Like a Messerschmitt. Are you just gonna stand there and talk all morning, because I'd like to get on with my shower and you're making me self-conscious."

"Sorry, man," Nick said. "Just don't take too long. I gotta take one, too."

"Yeah, yeah. Just shut the door behind you; you're letting out all the steam."

The room didn't seem quite so cold once he was out of the bathroom, but Nick still slid back under the covers. He reached for the remote with the intention of catching the morning news when the phone rang.

"Stokes," he said out of force of habit after he picked it up.

"I'm looking for Greg Sanders," a woman's smooth voice said. Maybe Greg hadn't struck out with Teresa that badly after all.

"Uh, he's in the shower right now," Nick explained. "Can I take a message?"

The woman sighed. "I'm just trying to figure out what his schedule is. This is Annika, by the way, his mother."

Nick grinned. "Oh, hey Mrs. Sanders."

"The last time I spoke with Greg he wasn't sure what the conference schedule would be like," she said. "Jeff and I would like to take him to dinner tonight. Do you know how late the presentations are going to run?"

"Well, ma'am," he said, letting his accent thicken the way he always did when talking to someone's parents, "I'd have to check to be sure, but I think most everything winds up by five, five thirty."

"Mmm, well that works much better with our schedules than what Greg said earlier. What did you say your name was again?"

"Nick. Nick Stokes."

"And you're his…" she paused, and Nick sensed that she was searching for the right word. "Partner?"

"Oh, no, ma'am," Nick said. "Just a fellow CSI. They don't partner us up like they do in the PD."

"Well, Jeff and I would be delighted for you to come along," she said. "We're always glad to meet Greg's friends."

And Nick would have begged off, would have said he didn't want to impose, but he was dying to meet Greg's parents and he knew the rest of the lab would be more than interested to hear about the couple that had spawned the fledgling CSI. "Well, that's right kind of you, ma'am," he said. "I'd just love that."

"Wonderful. Say, Sachi's at eight-thirty?"

"Sure." Nick said. He was about to say something else when he heard the line click. He looked at the phone for a moment before hanging it back up.

"What's wrong with your voice?" Greg asked as he emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam.

"What do you mean?"

"'Why, that's right kind of you, ma'am,'" Greg mocked him. "I'll just saddle up my horse and ride on over."

Nick laughed. "Yeah. Old habit. The deeper my accent, the more parents seem to like me. I don't even know I'm doing it anymore."

"Parents?" Greg asked as he rubbed a towel over his head vigorously to dry his hair. "Whose parents?"

"Yours," Nick said. "Well, your mom."

And if Nick hadn't been so surprised by the look on Greg's face he would have laughed. His eyes had popped wide and his jaw had dropped open in what Nick had always assumed was an expression only possible in cartoons. Greg sucked in a quick breath. "My mother?" he asked in a harsh whisper that was part disbelief and part accusation.

"Well, I…"

"How did you even get a hold of my mother?"

"I didn't," Nick said, not sure why he had to defend himself but feeling like he had to anyway. "She—she called here. You were in the shower. She invited us to dinner."

"Dinner?" Greg asked. "Both of us?"

Nick nodded.

Greg gripped the towel tight for a moment, before chucking it across the room. "Perfect," he snapped. "That's just fucking perfect."

Nick watched him stalk over to his suitcase but didn't say a word. He wasn't sure what to say.

"That's so like her," Greg muttered to himself as he yanked his suitcase open and dug through it. "So perfectly like her to just call, just call and just fucking invite us out to dinner."

"Uh, Greggo, something you wanna talk about?" Nick asked softly.

"No," Greg said, snatching up a rolled pair of socks. He straightened up and sighed. When he looked over at Nick his shoulders sagged. "I'm sorry," he said. He sat down on the end of his bed and started to pull his socks on. "I just…things with my parents are complicated."

"So I take it."

"She's just…I told her no and she just doesn't ever listen to me. She's always so convinced that whatever she thinks is right, never even considers what other people might want. She didn't even say goodbye before she hung up the phone, did she?"

Nick shook his head. "No."

"Typical. They both do it. They think saying goodbye is unnecessary, that hanging up the phone is a more efficient way of ending a phone call."

"If you don't wanna go I'll call her back and—"

"No," Greg cut him off. "No, it'll be fine. I just…I get worked up over nothing. Dinner will be fine. You'll probably love them."

"I'm not so sure anymore."

Greg shot him a wry grin. "Well, you can always tell everybody back at work that you've discovered the underlying reason that I'm the weirdest thing ever to hit the Vegas PD."

Nick felt guilt gnawing at his stomach all through his shower, all through breakfast, even through the morning's presentations. He tried to concentrate on new developments in geographical profiling, but instead he just felt like he'd made an unforgivable mistake. And for what? For accepting a dinner invitation?

He tried to apologize at lunch, but Greg waved him off. "Look, I'm sorry," Greg said. "I didn't mean to freak out like that. It's embarrassing, and for the sake of my pride, will you just forget it?"

Nick could hardly refuse to let a man keep his pride, so he swallowed his guilt and changed the subject, asking Greg how he liked the lecture on the possibility of finding a gene linked to criminal behavior.

By seven forty-five, though, Nick was really starting to regret accepting Mrs. Sander's dinner invitation, especially when Greg emerged from the bathroom with his shirt tucked in, his hair neatly combed and parted on one side.

"All right," he said. "Who are you and what did you do with Greg Sanders?"

"Ha ha," pod-person Greg said, checking his reflection in the mirror.

"I don't think I've ever seen you with your hair combed before."

"And the reason for that is because with my hair combed, I look like a dork," Greg shot back. He smoothed a hand over his hair. "Ready to go? Sachi's is only about a twenty-minute walk from here. Or we could take a cab."

"Walking's fine," Nick said.

On the walk there, Greg started up his narration of the city again, pointing out random things like a house where Janis Joplin had supposedly crashed once, the alley where he and his friends had been mugged by three drag queens with guns, and a corner where they'd once shot a scene for "Party of Five."

Nick pretended to be interested in the sites, but he was worried about Greg. Though he wouldn't exactly call them good friends, he knew enough about him to know that when he chattered on and on like that it meant he was nervous.

"That it?" Nick asked as he saw the sign for the restaurant across the street and down about half a block.

Greg nodded and rubbed the palms of his hands on his jeans. He took a deep breath, as if to steady himself. "I should probably warn you," he said. "My parents are analysts."

"What, like stock analysts?"

Greg shook his head. "No. Psychoanalysts. Freudian."

"Your parents are shrinks?"

"Psychoanalysts," Greg said. "Believe me, it would be easier if they were shrinks. Then maybe they'd medicate themselves." He stopped walking as they neared the restaurant and took several deep breaths.

"You really didn't want to see them this trip, did you?" Nick asked, regretting the question the moment it was out of his mouth. He hadn't meant it to, but it sounded like an accusation.

"Look, I know it sounds terrible. I know it probably makes me a shitty son, but they freak me out. It's like I can't sneeze without it having to mean something, can't have a conversation with them without one or both of them digging into my brain." He gripped his head in his hands for emphasis.

"Careful. You're messing up your hair."

"Fuck my hair," Greg said. "I so wish I'd done a few shots back at the hotel bar."

"Well, we passed a liquor store a ways back if you wanna—"

"No," Greg said. "No. Might as well take the punishment like a man. Face it head on without the use of any chemical coping mechanisms, which is so not the way I usually handle things. When I come back for Christmas I get drunk on the plane and stay soused until I'm back in Vegas. It makes for about a week-long hangover, but it's so worth it."

"I…shit, Greg. If I'd known this I'd never had told your mom we'd come to dinner. It's just…you always talk so affectionately about Papa Olaf."

"Yeah, well, how can you not love an 83 year-old man who talks openly about his penile implants?"

Nick laughed. "Christ. And I thought I came from a screwed up family."

Greg sighed. "Everyone comes from a screwed up family. If we didn't, nobody'd ever leave home. Come on. I'll be fine, and if we're late I'm sure my parents will have some Freudian explanation for that that will probably deal with the penis, the vagina, shit, or, if we're lucky, a combination of all three."

"Sounds lucky," Nick said, following Greg across the street.

The restaurant was small and as soon as they walked in Greg sighed and fixed his eyes on a square table near the window. "Jeff," Greg said, walking towards the table, "Annika, good to see you."

And Nick would have asked why Greg called his parents by their first names, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

"This is Nick," Greg said, pulling out a chair to sit down.

"Hey," Nick said, more than a little surprised that neither one of Greg's parents made any move to get up and hug their son. He sat down at the only empty spot left, between Annika and Greg, across from Greg's father, Jeff.

He was surprised, too, at the way they looked. Not that there was anything wrong with them, but they just seemed so…not Greg. Annika was pretty, but not beautiful, her dark hair pulled back in a simple ponytail at the nape of her neck. She wore a black sweater and no jewelry, no makeup. Jeff was even blander, if that was possible. Navy blue sweater, a round face with blonde hair, watery blue eyes, nearly invisibly pale eyebrows. Nick couldn't help but think that Jeff was an eyewitness's worst nightmare—there was nothing about him that caught your attention, no one detail that popped. And Greg definitely hadn't gotten his good looks from his father's side of the family.

"Jeff and I found the most adorable little antiques store today," Annika said, and once again Nick was startled but tried not to show it. No 'I haven't seen you in so long' or 'I'm so glad to see you,' just a story about an antiques shop that Nick was sure Greg could care less about.

The rest of dinner continued on in the same way. Jeff and Annika talked about their latest antiques acquisitions, Greg told them basic information about work, but the conversation never became anything more than small talk. It wasn't at all the way Nick was used to a family dinner being, but since he'd gotten Greg into the dinner in the first place, he figured the only thing he could do was help him out. He found that his smile and his thickest accent seemed to charm Greg's parents the same as anyone else's, no matter how aloof they were.

It seemed the very opposite from the "brain digging," Greg had mentioned earlier, though he had picked up the fact that Annika was a little pushy. She was the one who directed most of their mindless conversation, and neither Jeff nor Greg seemed inclined to stop her from doing it. In fact, Greg didn't do much talking at all, just answered the odd question one of his parents threw his way.

"Tell me, Nick," Annika said as the waiter brought four bowls of some ice cream whose flavor Nick couldn't quite identify. "What do your parents do?"

"Well, my father's a judge on the Texas State Supreme Court," Nick said, "and my mother's a public defender."

"Interesting," said Jeff. "Is your entire family involved in the judicial system?"

"Pretty much," Nick said. He thought the ice cream tasted a little like tea. "All my brothers and my sister went to law school, and that's what they expected me to do, too, I guess, but I felt more cut out for the other side of the system."

"How many brothers?" Annika asked.

"Five."

"Mmm." She nodded and rested her chin on her hand as she gazed at him. "And you felt the need to differentiate yourself from them. I assume you're the youngest."

"No analysis at the dinner table," Greg said, shooting his mother a dark look.

"It's all right," Nick said. He felt a little bit like they were digging at his brain, but it was better than the mind-numbing small talk "She's right, I did want to be different from them, be my own person. And I think I'm much better as a CSI than I ever would be in a courtroom."

"And why's that?" Jeff asked.

"Well, the courtroom is about flash, about flair, about trying to get people to come around to your way of thinking. Being a CSI is more straightforward. You collect and analyze the evidence, solve a puzzle. You don't have to convince anyone of anything, because the evidence does it for you."

"So you feel that you lack the persuasiveness a lawyer needs in order to be successful?" Annika asked.

Greg cleared his throat. "Let's move on to another topic of conversation."

Annika looked over at her son and sighed. "There's no need to get defensive, Greg." She looked at Nick and smiled warmly. "Greg tends to be overprotective of men he finds attractive," she explained.

And Nick started to wish that they'd go back to the small talk, because he suddenly had a very bad feeling about where the conversation was going.

"Are you lovers?" Annika asked.

"N-no," Nick stammered.

"You didn't seem to understand my question on the phone this morning, so I didn't think you were."

"Do you know many homosexuals?" Jeff asked brightly, as if the dinner conversation hadn't suddenly taken a turn into the Twilight Zone.

"Uh…a few," Nick said.

"The pathology is actually very interesting," Jeff said.

"It became personal when Greg came out to us," Annika said, glancing at Greg briefly, "but of course we were aware of it before that. You can't live in San Francisco for very long without becoming interested in the causes of homosexuality."

"What happens," Jeff said as he leaned in towards Nick, "is that the child becomes stunted during the anal stage, when the primary erotic activity is evacuation of the bowels."

Nick bit down hard on the inside of his cheek and just said, "Mmm-hmm."

"I mean, let's be honest here. It feels good to take a dump. Can we agree on that?"

Nick could see Greg slowly sliding down in his chair. "Uh," Nick said. "Well, I…"

"Of course it does." Jeff smiled and slapped his hand down on the tabletop. "Now, if the child becomes stunted during the anal stage of development, his primary focus for sexual pleasure will be the anus and he'll never move on to the penile stage."

"And," said Annika, "of course every boy is frightened of the vagina, since it represents the void from which he first entered the world and he's afraid that re-entering it will cause him to be sucked back into that void."

"Right," Nick drawled. Greg was so low in his chair that Nick was afraid he was going to slide off it onto the floor.

"So, being afraid of the vagina and being focused on the anus as the primary vehicle for erotic feelings combine to form the collection of behaviors that we term 'homosexuality,'" finished Jeff with a pleased smile.

Nick got the impression that Jeff expected him to applaud his stunning conclusion. It was the combination of the wine, lack of sleep, and the shame he felt radiating off Greg's body in waves that made him say, "Yeah, but what if he doesn't take it up the ass?"

"I don't follow," Annika said calmly, the question not offending her the way Nick had wanted it to.

"Well, I don't know for certain that Greg takes it up the ass," Nick said, much more calmly than he felt. "You're just assuming that he does because it fits your theories. Did you ever bother to ask him if he likes to take it up the ass?"

Greg let out a little squeak of laughter tinged with hysteria that Nick figured wasn't a good sign. He knew perfectly well that he wasn't wearing a watch, but he looked at his wrist anyway and said, "Aw, man, will you look at the time? We've gotta go, Greggo, get ready for that presentation tomorrow."

"Oh," said Annika pleasantly as Nick and Greg stood up, "Greg, you didn't mention you were giving a presentation at the conference."

Greg smiled weakly and seemed about to say something, but then changed his mind. "Uh, see you at Christmas," he said before hurrying out of the restaurant.

"What time is your presentation?" Annika asked and Nick just stared at her for a moment as he realized she had no idea what she'd just done to Greg and no idea that he and Nick were leaving because of it.

"It was, uh, nice to meet you," Nick said. He figured since they weren't big on goodbyes that he wouldn't bother.

He couldn't find Greg at first, then decided to follow the sounds of retching coming from behind a parked car a block away. He got there just as Greg was straightening back up.

"I was gonna ask you if you wanted to go get drunk," Nick said, "but I'm thinking maybe that's not such a good idea anymore."

Greg wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'm all right," he said. "Just dry heaves. It happens sometime when I'm stressed. I'll be fine. And I would absolutely love to get drunk right now."

"Great," Nick clapped him on the back. "Lead the way, city boy."

They bought a bottle of Jack Daniel's at a small corner liquor store and passed it back and forth as they walked silently along the darkened streets. Greg surprised Nick by buying a pack of cigarettes, too, and when they got to the bottom of a hill where they were somewhat sheltered from the wind Greg lit one with shaky hands.

"Didn't know you smoked," Nick said, leaning back against a building.

"Old habit." Greg wrapped his arms around his waist and looked up and down the street. "Fuck. Where's a cab when you need one?"

"It's not so cold here," Nick said, patting the side of the building with his hand. "Less wind."

Greg leaned against the wall a few feet away from Nick.

They stood there silently for a while as Greg smoked. Finally, Nick said, "I think your parents need therapy."

Greg let out a choking laugh that let Nick know he was dangerously close to tears.

"I'm serious, G. I mean, there's screwed up and then there's screwed up. And I kind of suspect your father has a scat fetish."

Greg groaned and rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. "You'll notice," he said, "that they conveniently forgot to mention the classic Freudian explanation for homosexuality."

"What's that?"

"Overly aggressive mother and a passive father. "

"They did fail to mention that, didn't they?"

"Well, if they did then they'd have to blame themselves. This way they can just blame me." Greg took a long drag on his cigarette, then flicked it into the gutter.

"You need more Jack?" Nick asked, holding up the bottle.

Greg shook his head. He closed his eyes and laughed softly. "Damn. The lab is going to have a field day with this."

"I'm not gonna tell anybody," Nick said softly, making sure the cap on the liquor bottle was tight before slipping it into his pocket. "I didn't know you were gay."

"I'm bi, actually. And it's not exactly the kind of thing I advertise at work."

"Yeah," Nick said, nodding slowly.

"And I do, by the way."

"Do what?"

"Like taking it up the ass."

Nick let out a slow breath as he gazed at Greg. He licked his lips and pushed away from the wall, turned so that he and Greg were just inches apart. He shouldn't be feeling it, he knew, but he was more aroused than he'd been in months. Just the thought of what it would be like to have Greg beneath him, panting, moaning…

"Are you gonna kick my ass, now?" Greg asked after Nick had stared at him for a long moment. "Because I know you're not normally a violent guy, but considering your background, you know, being from Texas and coming from a frat, I'm thinking that your first reaction to the fact that I like getting fucked is to kick my ass. And while I know that you've probably kicked more than one faggot's ass in your lifetime, I'm asking you to reconsider your gut reaction because I'm not really a big fan of pain. Or blood."

Nick reached up and placed one hand firmly on the wall next to Greg's head. He tried to tell himself that just because Greg liked it, it didn't mean that Greg necessarily wanted it from him. He didn't listen, though, couldn't think of anything except how close their bodies were.

Greg's breathing was shallow and his eyes were wide. "I…I know karate. I can't remember any of it right now, but it could easily come back to me any minute. And though I never made it past a green belt, I might accidentally be deadly."

"Shh," Nick whispered, reaching up to touch Greg's dark pink lips with his fingertips. "You talk too much. I'm not gonna hurt you." He slid his hands down Greg's chest, gripped his shirt in both hands and tugged it out of his waistband. He slipped his fingers beneath the hem and placed his hands against Greg's taut stomach.

Greg swallowed hard as he gazed into Nick's eyes. "You're gonna…oh."

"Yeah," Nick whispered. "Oh." He slid his hands over Greg's chest, brushed his hard nipples gently, then began to squeeze and twist.

Greg's neck arched back, exposing his tender throat as he let out a low groan.

Nick leaned and kissed Greg's throat, laved his tongue over his Adam's apple, bit down on the soft flesh where his neck met his shoulders.

Greg's arms came up around Nick's waist and pulled him forward until their bodies were pressed together and Nick growled as he felt Greg's erection rubbing against his own.

Their first kiss was hungry, searching. Nick slid Greg's lips apart with his tongue and was greeted with Greg's tongue against his own. He could taste whiskey and smoke and he thought maybe it was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted.

Greg slid his hands down, gripped Nick's ass and pulled him even closer, ground up against him and moaned into the kiss. "

"This OK?" Nick asked breathlessly against Greg's cheek as he gripped Greg's slim hips in his hands, pressed him harder against the wall.

"Yeah," Greg said. His eyes were closed and he tipped his head forward, pressed his face into the crook of Nick's neck, let his tongue slip out to taste Nick's skin.

"Feeling any better?"

Greg nodded, then pulled his mouth away from Nick's neck. "This isn't just a manifestation of your hero complex, is it? Because as nice as this is, I've never really been a big fan of pity fucks, especially when I'm the one being pitied."

Nick shook his head slowly, grazed Greg's lips lightly with his own. "No pity here, I promise you." He slid his hand between their bodies and squeezed Greg's hard-on through his jeans.

Greg moaned and tipped his head back, giving Nick access to the sweet, tender flesh of his neck once more. He gave Greg's hard-on another squeeze, began to stroke it slowly.

"Nick," Greg gasped. "This might be San Francisco, but we'll still get arrested for indecent exposure if we don't take this somewhere private."

"Hotel?" Nick asked, grinding his hips slowly against Greg's.

"Yeah," Greg whispered. "And now I really wish we had a cab."

Nick took Greg's hand in his own and stepped back, gave Greg a little tug. "Come on. We'll make it."

The hurried through the dark streets, laughing and stopping to kiss and grope at one another more than once along the way.

By the time they got back to the room, Nick's face burned from the cold and his fingers were numb but he didn't care, couldn't think of anything but slamming Greg against the door and kissing him hard, feeling Greg's teeth sharp against his lip but not caring, using his tongue to coax Greg's mouth open and moaning as he felt Greg's tongue soft and hot against his own.

He slid Greg's shirt up, couldn't get Greg out of his clothes fast enough, couldn't get out of his own clothes nearly fast enough. They kissed and fumbled their way towards the bed, but Nick still felt like they were too far away. He grabbed Greg again, pulled him close, loving the feeling of his bare skin rubbing against Greg's bare skin.

"Jesus," Greg whispered as his fingers closed around Nick's throbbing erection. "You're big."

"Mmmm," Nick rocked against him slowly. "You like 'em big?"

Greg's voice was barely a whisper. "Yeah."

"I'm gonna fuck you," Nick whispered against Greg's ear. "I'm gonna fuck you slow, fuck you all night. You want that? You want me to fuck you until your eyes roll back in your head, until you're screaming cuz it feels so good, until you forget your own name?"

Greg's only response was a whimper, then, "Do you have a condom?"

Nick shoved him back onto the bed. "Yeah."

With condoms and lube in hand Nick climbed onto the bed, knelt between Greg's legs, lifted them and pressed Greg's knees against his shoulders. He dripped lube onto his fingers and slid them against Greg's pucker, and with the first bit of pressure Greg opened for him and he slid his fingers inside, slicking him up, getting him ready for what lay ahead.

Greg moaned, arched up against him, slid his hands beneath his thighs to hold his legs apart for Nick.

"This what you like? You like my fingers in your ass?" Nick asked in a low purr. He didn't know where it came from, the voice that came out of his mouth during sex, he just knew that when he was turned on he could say things that he'd be embarrassed to even think in a more rational state of mind.

Greg nodded and looked up at him, his breathing coming hard. "Yes," he whispered.

"You want more?"

Greg nodded again and moaned as Nick slid a third finger inside him. He rotated his wrist slowly and grinned when Greg whimpered and ground back against him.

"What else?" Nick asked. "What else do you want, huh?"

Greg whimpered again, stared up at him with pleading eyes.

"I need you to tell me, Greg. Tell me what you want."

Greg took a deep breath, then another. He shuddered as Nick's fingers brushed against his prostate. "Your cock," he said finally. He flicked his tongue out to wet his lips. "I want your cock inside me."

It was all Nick needed to hear. He ripped the condom packet open with his teeth, slid it over his dick with one hand, and in one smooth movement he pulled his fingers out of Greg's ass and replaced them with the head of his cock.

Greg groaned and wrapped his legs around Nick's hips, tried to pull him in deeper.

"Slow," Nick whispered, letting his hips slide forward with steady pressure.

"Now." Greg gripped Nick's shoulders hard. "All of it. Now."

"There's no hurry," Nick said.

Greg let out a half laugh, half sob and tossed his head back. "God," he groaned, drawing the word out like a sigh.

Nick inched into him slowly, feeling Greg open and spread for him, feeling the tight passage let him in without him having to force it. He stopped moving once he was all the way inside, gazed down into Greg's eyes. "You ready?" he asked.

"Yes." There was no hesitation in Greg's voice at all, so Nick began to move. He kept his strokes shallow at first, kept them slow, didn't know how much Greg could take or how he liked it.

Greg made it clear, though, when he gripped the hair at the back of Nick's head, yanked Nick's head down towards his and growled, "Fuck me, goddamnit."

Nick couldn't close his eyes, couldn't look away from Greg's face, his cheeks flushed pink, his lips parted, his neck arched back as he moaned every time Nick thrust into him. This was good. This was right. This was better than every anonymous fuck Nick had ever had, looking down into the eyes of a man he knew, a man he cared about. Aware of more than just his own pleasure this time, aware this time of the pleasure he was giving, pleasure that Greg was not shy about expressing, if his grunts and moans as he bucked up against Nick's body were anything to go by.

And he wanted to go slow. He knew he could, had done it enough times in the past that he knew he could prolong the pleasure, keep going until Greg was delirious, and though the thought of making the younger man lose his mind with pleasure was tempting, Nick couldn't fight how good it felt. He barely had enough control to keep from pinning Greg to the bed, collapsing on top of him, and pumping his hips like a jackrabbit until he came.

He was close. Had sex ever felt so good? Had anything ever been better than the way it felt to slide into Greg's body, to feel Greg's long legs wrapped around his waist?

Greg was close, too, he could feel it. He knew the signs, knew from the way Greg's breath was hitching in his chest, the way he was frantically trying to pull Nick even deeper inside him, the way his thighs trembled and flexed.

"Nick," Greg cried as he came, "Nick, Nick, oh God, Nick." And the sound of Greg's voice, the helpless, desperate way he called out Nick's name brought him over the edge. His climax was white hot, starting deep in the pit of his belly but spreading through him like wildfire, making him feel like he was coming apart, like when he collapsed it would be the end, because you couldn't exist after something that unbelievably good, could you?

Nick lay in a daze, not aware of just how he'd left Greg's body and ended up on his back, not sure of who'd pulled the covers back or when. He was just floating. His bones had melted, he could feel it, knew they were nothing but liquefied calcium under his skin.

He knew Greg was beside him, heard him say, "Wow."

"Mmm," was all he could manage before his eyes closed and he melted into sleep.


Title: One Good Man – Part Three Author: geekwriter

Nick groaned softly and stretched. His muscles were sore, his triceps and abs especially, and his eyes were itchy like they got every time he slept in his contacts. He felt the heat of another body in the bed and slid towards it as if by instinct. He pressed his chest against the sleeping man's back, slid an arm around his waist and placed his hand flat on the man's abdomen. Nick hummed contentedly in the back of his throat as he felt the man press back against him.

"What time is it?" Nick asked, his voice thick with sleep.

"Early, yet," Greg whispered, reaching back to slide his hand along Nick's thigh. "Go back to sleep."

Nick nuzzled his face against the back of Greg's neck and began to drift towards sleep. His eyelids fluttered open. Greg?

The night before came back to him in a dizzying rush. Meeting Greg's parents, getting a bottle of Jack, making out on a deserted street corner, hurrying back to the hotel so that they could…

Nick's cock began to lengthen and swell as he remembered the feeling of Greg's fingers in his hair, Greg's mouth against his mouth, Greg's legs wrapped tightly around his waist.

"Good morning to you, too," Greg murmured, grinding back against Nick's growing erection.

"Greg," Nick whispered.

Greg slid his hand over Nick's and pulled it up against his chest. "I had the weirdest dream. I was in this spelling bee, and everyone in the audience had spaghetti for heads. I was so hungry but I was trying not to think about it since if I tried to eat any of the spaghetti heads I'd get disqualified, and then when I got up to the mic I couldn't even remember how to spell gammahydroxybutyrate."

Nick laughed softly. "I wonder what the Freudian interpretation of that would be."

Greg groaned, then turned so that he and Nick were facing. He slid one leg up over Nick's hip and snuggled into Nick's arms, nuzzling his face into the space beneath Nick's chin. "No dream analysis allowed in bed," he said. "In fact," he yawned, "no analysis of any kind." He slid his fingers lazily through the hair on the back of Nick's head and sighed contentedly.

Nick couldn't deny how good it felt. He knew it wasn't smart, knew it would probably turn out to be one of the biggest mistakes he'd ever made, but it felt so damn good to hold Greg in his arms. He slid his hand up and down Greg's back, then realized that the oddly smooth patterns of skin he felt were burn scars. As he felt the scars against his fingertips, he wondered how he could have forgotten about them.

"Does it hurt?" he asked softly.

"A little sore." Greg's voice was groggy. "But I kind of like it. You were a little crazy there at the end."

Nick smiled into Greg's hair. "No, I…I meant your back."

"Oh. No. Doesn't hurt." He began to pepper Nick's neck with soft kisses. "It felt a little tight after the burns first healed, but it's fine now. And even though they look slightly Freddy Krueger, at least I got a good story out of it."

"How do you figure?"

"Well, come on. Explosions are cool. Not as cool as motorcycle accidents, maybe, but a close second."

Nick pulled back so he could see Greg's face. "Have you ever actually seen a motorcycle accident?"

"I'm not saying the accidents themselves are cool, I'm just saying that it's cool to be able to say you were in a motorcycle accident. Like Keanu Reeves."

"Motorcycle accidents turn people into hamburger, Greg."

"And hand grenades turn people into tomato soup. I know. I'm just saying that if I have to have scars, getting blown up makes for a better story than if I'd set my bong on fire."

"You know the PD does random drug tests."

"Of course I know. I get good overtime to process them. And I stopped smoking weed in tenth grade, so don't worry about it." He ran his thumb along Nick's lower lip. "You're such a cop sometimes."

"Just don't want you getting into any trouble," Nick whispered before kissing the tip of Greg's thumb.

"Mmm…how chivalrous of you," Greg murmured, tightening his leg around Nick's hip, drawing their bodies close together.

Nick moaned softly as he felt Greg's erection rub up against his own. "You sure you wanna start anything? We might be late for the morning lectures."

Greg lifted his head up to glance at the clock. "It's early," he said, planting kisses along Nick's jaw line. "We've got at least two hours."

Nick grinned and rolled Greg over onto his back, pinned his arms above his head. "Still might be late," he whispered, his breath hot against Greg's ear. Greg shivered, making Nick smile. "The ear, huh?" he asked softly.

Greg groaned and arched up against him as Nick began to suck on his earlobe.

"So beautiful," Nick murmured. "So, so beautiful…"

"You, too." Greg finally managed to pull his arms from Nick's grasp. He slid his hands up and down Nick's back, pulled him close, held him tight as their bodies rocked slowly together.

Nick moaned against Greg's neck as Greg slid his finger between Nick's ass cheeks and rubbed gently.

"Feel nice?" Greg asked.

"Yeah."

Greg slid out from under him, planted kisses along Nick's spine as his fingers continued their exploration. "You want me to fuck you?" Greg asked softly.

Nick pushed up on his elbows. "I don't usually…"

Greg smiled and pressed on Nick's shoulder. "Well, then, it's time to move outside your comfort zone." He leaned close and kissed the back of Nick's neck.

"Greg, really, I—"

"Shh," Greg murmured. "It's OK. I'm not going to do anything you won't like, I promise. Do you trust me?"

Nick took a deep breath and nodded as he felt one of Greg's hands caress his ass. "Yeah. I trust you."

Slowly, Greg kissed his way down Nick's muscular back. Nick closed his eyes and took a deep breath, let himself relax as Greg's mouth burned across his skin, as his fingers prodded and spread him open.

And, Jesus, that was Greg's tongue. That was Greg's tongue he felt against his asshole, hot and wet, lapping and circling around the tight pucker. He shuddered and couldn't help but arch up against him. Greg moaned in response, and Nick felt the hum all though his body. His breath was coming in unsteady jerks as Greg parted his ass cheeks with his hands so that he could have better access to Nick's hole.

He'd had it done to him before, of course, but it hadn't ever felt like that. It hadn't ever felt so intimate, so hot, so dirty in the best possible sense of the word.

Nick actually cried out as he felt Greg's tongue enter him and ease past the tight ring of muscle. His entire body shuddered and his mind must have short circuited because he couldn't think anything except, "More, more, more."

Then Greg replaced his tongue with a finger and Nick thought he might crawl out of his skin. Jesus. He'd never been that on edge, that turned on, not even the night before when he'd first slid his cock into Greg's willing hole.

"Feel good?" Greg asked softly, his breath warm against the skin of Nick's lower back.

Nick moaned and arched up against Greg's hand in response.

"You want more?"

He whimpered, nodded, and was rewarded with another finger and Greg's mouth on him again, his tongue tracing around the opening of Nick's pucker.

"Do you want it all?" Greg asked. He wasn't talking dirty like Nick had the night before, he was just asking. His voice was soft and as gentle as the fingers he was using to slowly fuck Nick's ass.

"Yes," Nick gasped. "God, Greg, need you inside me." He wanted to cry when he felt Greg's fingers leave him, wanted to beg for him to never stop. He heard the rustle of the condom, wrapper, though, knew what Greg was doing.

Greg positioned his body over Nick's, kissed the back of his neck. "Tell me if it hurts," he whispered. "Tell me if you want me to stop."

Nick nodded, reached back to grip Greg's head and pull him down for a sloppy, off-center kiss.

And when Greg entered him it was like fireworks were going off behind his eyelids. There was pain, yes, but he pushed back against it and didn't tell Greg to stop because it felt so good. Felt so amazing to be filled like that, to feel himself stretch and open for Greg's cock.

He pushed up onto his hands and knees, the better to receive Greg's slow, measured thrusts. Greg wrapped one arm around his chest and held him close. "Is it OK?" Greg asked.

Nick let out a half laugh, half moan and nodded. "So good. God, baby, you feel so good inside me."

Greg smiled and kissed the back of Nick's neck. "Just wanna make you feel good," he whispered.

Nick rocked back against him, meeting every one of Greg's thrusts. It was maddening, the slow, steady pace Greg had set. He could feel Greg's cock pulling out, nearly leaving him, then sliding back in, spreading him over and over again.

It wasn't the frantic sex Nick was used to. It wasn't the quick, anonymous "I'm gonna fuck your brains out" sex that he'd always had before.

Not that it wasn't good, because it was. It was toe-curling, sheet-twisting good. It's just that Greg fucked him so slowly, leisurely, as if they had all the time in the world, as if it were about more than just getting off.

And that's what got him, what turned him on and what terrified him at the same time—the knowledge that they weren't just fucking. It meant something, didn't it? It had to mean something. The way he felt, brand new and beautiful and invincible, that had to mean something.

He was almost surprised when he came. He'd been focusing on so much more than himself, had been focusing on the way Greg felt inside him, the soft sounds Greg was making, the way their bodies rocked together then apart, that he hadn't been concentrating on how close he was. He came hard, twisting the sheets in his hands, and Greg's mouth was on his back, kissing him, tasting his sweat, whispering, "That's good, baby, so good. Come on, baby, come for me."

When Greg came he could feel it, could feel the hot pulses inside him, filling the condom.

Nick collapsed down onto the mattress, Greg on top of him, and he reached back to stroke Greg's hair. He hated it when Greg pulled out of him. It was the only part that was really uncomfortable because he suddenly felt so empty.

"You're good at that," Nick said breathlessly as Greg stretched out beside him.

Greg smiled lazily. "Well, I am a man of many talents."

Nick let his eyes close. "What time is it?"

"We have a while before the alarm goes off. Sleep."

Nick nodded and was asleep before he could say anything else. When the alarm went off it was the most terrible sound he'd ever heard, and he groaned and pulled a pillow over his head.

"Come on, sleepy head," Greg said, pulling the pillow away. "If you get up I promise to wash your back."

Nick opened one eye and grunted a response.

"And I'll make you coffee, just the way you like it."

Nick pushed himself up off the bed and stumbled towards the bathroom. His body ached. His muscles were tight and sore. He wasn't a kid anymore, couldn't fuck the night away and wake up refreshed the next morning none the worse for wear.

The hot water and Greg's nimble fingers helped ease his aching muscles, but not even Greg's coffee could make him fully awake.

Once Nick was settled into the morning lecture he wished he'd had another cup of Greg's coffee, or four. His head began to tilt forward as he let his eyes close. He jerked his head back up and blinked his eyes a few times, stifled a yawn. He was paying attention. He was. The lecturer was talking about…double sided tape? He had no idea what she was talking about. He'd been dozing through most of the lecture, no matter how hard he tried to tell himself he was awake.

He looked at the clock. Another hour? He stifled another yawn. Another hour of a lecture he couldn't pay attention to sounded like torture. His back was starting to tighten up and ache, the room was too hot, and his ass had fallen asleep. Well, not all of his ass. He felt a pleasant throb each time he shifted in his seat, could still feel where Greg's cock had been..

Nick blushed and crossed his legs, even though no one was paying any attention to him or the hard-on growing in his pants.

He only had an hour. He could do an hour. An hour about…masking tape. She was talking about masking tape. Which made sense, because he remembered that the lecture was about how to lift prints from atypical surfaces, like the sticky side of a piece of tape.

He was paying attention to the lecture. Hell, he'd even take notes. He was concentrating on masking tape, and not thinking at all about the way Greg's tongue had felt in his ass. Greg's hot, warm tongue lapping against his asshole, sending shivers of ecstasy through every cell in his body.

No, he was definitely not thinking about the way Greg's breath had felt on the back of his neck, not thinking about the soft words he'd whispered as he slid his cock slowly inside Nick. He wasn't thinking about Greg's arms wrapped around his chest, or the dizzying sensation of being so full, stretched so wide and how amazingly delicious it had been. He wasn't thinking about how he'd never really enjoyed it before, not until Greg. He wasn't thinking about Greg doing it again.

He was paying attention to the lecture. He was listening. Really, he was. He was absolutely not thinking about finding the conference room Greg was in, dragging him away from the lecture about gene sequencing or whatever, taking him back up to the room and fucking his brains out. Nick was most definitely not thinking about that.

By the time the lecture was over Nick had managed to get his hard-on to go down, but he was pretty sure his balls were going to turn blue.

He wandered down the hall past the other convention rooms, supposedly making his way towards the buffet lunch in lecture hall 3, but really just looking for Greg.

He heard Greg's voice before he saw him and he headed towards Greg's bright tone as if guided by instinct.

"It was pretty basic," Greg was saying as Nick made his way through the crowd towards him. "Using epithelials from the surface of the lockbox, I just amplified three STR loci using a polymerase chain reaction. Oh, hey, Nick."

"Hey," Nick said, feeling a grin spread across his face.

"This is Nick Stokes, he works with me in Vegas. He's a CSI 3," Greg said. "Nick, this is Teresa Dample, she's a fingerprint tech from Des Moines."

Nick hadn't even paid any attention to the girl standing too close to Greg. When he turned and looked at her he realized she was the one Greg had been hoping to score with their first night. She was pretty enough, he guessed, but she did kind of have a mustache. And if she didn't take her hand off Greg's arm within the next three seconds Nick was going to have to remove it for her.

"Des Moines, huh?" Nick asked. "Are you friends with Trudy?"

Teresa shook her head. "Trudy…?"

"Greg's wife, Trudy. She's from Des Moines, isn't she Greg?"

Greg choked on his coffee.

"Careful there," Nick said, patting him on the back.

"I…should go find my friends," Teresa said.

Nick grinned at her and waved as Teresa walked away and Greg tried to calm his coughing spell.

"Trudy?" Greg asked. "You gave me a wife named Trudy?"

"First name I could think of."

"Yeah, but a wife? You couldn’t have said she was just a girlfriend?"

Nick shrugged. "A girlfriend wouldn't have scared her off so fast."

Greg smirked, then shook his head as he walked towards the elevators. "Coming?" he asked, glancing behind him at Nick.

Nick grinned and nodded.

"So," Greg said once the elevator doors were closed. "Trudy."

"Could have been worse. I could have named her Ethel."

"I'm still curious as to why you gave me a wife at all."

"Oh, come on. That bitch was all over you."

Greg smirked and leaned back against the elevator wall. "Aw, yeah," he said, nodding.

"What?" Nick asked as the doors opened on their floor.

Greg just grinned. Nick noticed that he was actually strutting on his way to the room.

"What was all that about?" Nick asked as the hotel room door closed behind him.

Greg grinned and crossed his arms over his chest. "You were totally jealous."

Nick shrugged. "She just seemed to be hanging all over you. I did you a favor."

"Uh-huh. Because it has nothing to do with you wanting me all to yourself. Nothing to do with me completely rocking your world. Twice."

"Maybe a little bit of that last part," Nick said, reaching out to touch Greg's cheek.

"You're totally addicted, aren't you?" Greg asked.

"Now, I wouldn't say addicted," Nick murmured as he pulled Greg's body against his. "But, you know, it's kinda nice."

"Mmm. Kinda nice," Greg said as he slid his hands down to grip Nick's tight ass. "I'm kind of addicted to you, too."

Nick smiled as he pressed his cheek to Greg's.

"Never before in my entire life have I gotten turned on during a lecture on identifying separate DNA strands in a multiple donor sample," Greg said, kissing his way down Nick's chest. "I hope nobody saw that I was getting wood. They're gonna think I'm a pervert when really I was just thinking about you." He unfastened the button on Nick's pants and tugged the zipper down.

Nick clicked his tongue and shook his head. "I'm surprised at your unprofessional behavior, Sanders."

Greg rolled his eyes. "Sure you are," he said before parting his lips and taking Nick's cock into his mouth.

Nick groaned and braced his hands against Greg's shoulders to steady himself. Greg's mouth was so warm, so wet, his tongue so soft as it lapped against the underside of his cockhead, teasing the ultra-sensitive nerve endings there.

Greg wrapped his hand around the base of Nick's cock and stroked it as he concentrated on teasing and licking around the head. Nick shivered and moaned, gripped Greg's shoulders tight, had to fight every urge just to grab Greg's head in his hands and fuck his mouth, shove his cock down Greg's throat.

"You're killing me here," Nick gasped. "Jesus, Greg, don't tease me. Take it all."

Greg pulled his mouth off Nick's cock and stroked it against his cheek as he grinned. "You like?" he asked, licking a stripe from the base of Nick's cock to the tip.

Nick nodded, ran his fingers through Greg's hair. "Take it all."

Greg kissed the tip of Nick's cock, licked a drop of iridescent precum blossoming at the tip. He swirled his tongue around his cockhead, kissed it again, parted his lips to take just the first inch into his mouth.

"I mean it, Greg." Nick was panting. "God, just fucking suck it."

"All in due time," Greg whispered, kissing along the underside of Nick's erection, then sliding his tongue over Nick's balls.

Nick cried out in frustration and yanked Greg to his feet, clawed at his clothes, pulling them off as quickly as he could.

Greg gasped as Nick shoved him onto the bed. "Impatient, much?" he asked, trying to tease but unable to keep the lust out of his voice. He'd never had anyone that frantic for him before.

"You," Nick said as he peeled his shirt off, "are gonna see what happens to teases."

Greg smiled a giddy smile. "Am I gonna like it?"

Nick nodded as he stripped out of his pants. "Oh, yeah." He gripped Greg's ankle, pulled him down the bed, slid his hands up to Greg's hips and flipped him over.

Greg bit his lip and ground his hips against the mattress as Nick stroked the small of his back with one hand and reached for the condoms and lube with the other. He liked how strong Nick was, how forceful he could be. To him, that was one of the best parts about being with a guy, having someone whose strength matched his own.

"You ready?" Nick asked in a throaty voice that made Greg shudder.

"Yeah."

"Get on your hands and knees."

Greg pushed himself up, pressed back against the touch of Nick's hands on his ass.

Nick knelt between Greg's spread legs, ran his hand up, slid his fingers over the shiny pink skin that marred Greg's back. He leaned to kiss the scars gently, turned his head and rubbed them against his cheek.

"Nick," Greg whispered in a shaky voice.

"You're so beautiful," Nick murmured, rocking against him.

"Please," Greg whispered. "Please, Nick. Now."

He didn't hesitate, just rolled on the condom and slicked up with lube then entered Greg quickly.

Greg cried out and arched his head back.

"Yeah," Nick growled as he gripped Greg's slim hips in his hands. "Yeah, that's what teases get."

Greg whimpered as he started to press back into Nick's thrusts. "Gonna have to tease you more often," he panted.

"You like it like this? You like it when I just take you? Just shove my cock up your hot little ass?"

Greg nodded, gripped the sheets in his hands, collapsed down onto his elbows, resting his head against his forearms.

Nick's fingers were strong, holding Greg's hips so tight that he'd have fingertip shaped bruises there later. He held on tight, holding Greg still, pulling him back to meet each forceful thrust.

And he may not have been in his 20's anymore, but he could still fuck with the best of them. And three times in a 24 hour period was hardly his record, but then again he really wasn't in his 20's anymore.

He slid his arms around Greg's chest, pulled him up so that his own chest rubbed against Greg's back. "Love being inside of you," he whispered.

Greg groaned and arched his head back, giving Nick access to the smooth skin of his throat.

Nick slid his hand down Greg's taut stomach and gripped his cock tight. He stroked it slowly, timing it with the grinding thrusts of his hips, making Greg laugh and moan and shiver.

"I thought about you all morning," Nick murmured.

"Me, too."

"I couldn't think about anything but this, anything but having you in my arms again."

"I know." Greg's breath caught in his throat as Nick stroked his cock. "Jesus, Nick, if you don't stop that soon I'm gonna…"

"Gonna what?" Nick asked, continuing to slide his hand up and down Greg's erection. "You gonna come for me baby? That what you're gonna do?"

Greg nodded, then let out a strangled cry as he shot his load across the sheets, body going rigid, ass flexing convulsively around Nick's cock.

A few more thrusts and Nick was coming, too, and then they collapsed onto the bed, laughing and kissing, their sweaty, sticky bodies wrapped together.

"So," Greg whispered against Nick's shoulder, "what do you think this bed would look like if we shined the ALS on it?"

Nick laughed softly, rubbing the small of Greg's back with his fingers. "Never use the ALS in your hotel room, man. There are some things you just don't wanna know."

"Well, you know, if it's just ours…"

"Trust me. It's never just yours."

Greg smiled and nuzzled against Nick's warm skin. "So," he said again after they'd caught their breath. "Tell me more about Trudy. She's totally hot, right?"

Nick growled and pulled Greg close against him. "She's a total dog, a bitch on wheels, and she makes your life a living hell."

Greg sighed and draped his arm across Nick's chest. "Why'd I marry her, then?"

He slid his fingers through Greg's sweat damp hair. "Forget about Trudy, baby. She's in the past. It's just you and me, now."


Title: One Good Man – Part Four

Author: geekwriter

Nick stretched out on the bed after his second shower of the day, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. Greg was sitting on the edge of the bed flipping through a sheaf of paper stapled at the corner. Nick reached out and rubbed the small of his back lazily.

"What you looking at?" he asked in a sleepy drawl.

"Schedule," Greg said. He frowned as he flipped another page. "There's really not much left," he said.

"How do you mean?"

"Well, yesterday they presented the paper on human variables contributing to the imprecision of air-displacement pipettes—which rocked, by the way—and this morning was the lecture on using a Y-STR triplex after autosomal multiplexes, which is by far the high point of the entire conference. This afternoon, though, what is there? Solubility of polylactide fiber? Come on. I read about that in a journal a year ago. Everybody knows you need to rely on solubility testing for PLA."

"It has the same melting point behavior and birefringence as rayon and polypropylene," Nick said, rolling to one side and propping himself up on his elbow.

"Exactly. Even you know that."

"Hey. Hair and fiber analysis is my specialty, you know."

Greg looked over at him sheepishly. "Yeah. Sorry. I got carried away. But my point is that everything I wanted to hear about has already been presented." He flopped down on the bed, either not aware or not caring that the towel around his waist had come undone. He looked over at Nick. "Which lecture are you going to?"

Nick yawned and closed his eyes. "I'm not," he mumbled.

"Can you do that?"

Nick opened one eye. "Do what?"

"Not go. I mean, isn't the point of attending a conference to actually attend the conference?

He yawned again and rolled onto his side, snuggling into the pillow. "I either sleep through it here or sleep through it down there," he said. "Either way, I'm not going to learn anything."

"Huh."

Nick opened one eye again. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

"Greg…"

"I'm just surprised, that's all. You never seemed to me like the kind of guy to cut class."

Nick closed his eyes. "It's not high school, Greg. They're not going to give us detention if we miss one lecture."

"Yeah, but this is my first conference. Sara said it was important to properly utilize my time here, to not let anything go to waste."

Nick sighed and rolled onto his back, then propped himself up on his elbows. "You're taking time-management advice from a woman whose only hobbies are overtime and listening to the police scanner?"

"Well, she does manage to pack a lot of work into every day."

"She's also heading straight towards burnout." He dropped back onto the bed. "You gotta take a break every once in a while. You've gotta know when you're too tired from three rounds of mind blowing sex in less than 24 hours to get up, get dressed, and sit through a lecture that you won't be able to focus on because you're just plum fucked out."

Greg slid over to press his face against Nick's shoulder. "Plum fucked out, huh? Is that a Texan phrase?"

Nick yawned. "Technically, it's 'plum tuckered out.' I took some liberties."

Greg kissed his shoulder gently. "Then go ahead and git you some shut eye, dagburnit."

Nick smiled sleepily.

"Think anybody'd mind if I went to the lecture called 'Corpse as Crime Scene?'"

"I don't see why they would. Like you said, the point of a conference is to actually attend the conference."

"Well, yeah, but I'm not a CSI. I thought maybe I was supposed to stick to the lab rat lectures."

"You're a part-time trainee. Might as well play both sides of the field."

Greg smirked. "Story of my life."

Nick opened his eyes sleepily. "What?"

He kissed Nick's forehead. "Nothing. Go to sleep."

Nick snuggled further into the sheets and sighed contentedly as he heard Greg shuffle around the room, getting dressed. He was asleep before Greg left the room and didn't awaken until he felt gentle fingers against his face.

"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty," Greg whispered, planting feathery kisses along Nick's cheekbone.

Nick groaned and stretched, smiled up into Greg's eyes. "Hey."

"Hey yourself." Greg sat back and trailed his fingers down Nick's bare chest. "Were you asleep this whole time?"

"Guess I was." Nick stretched and propped himself up on his elbows. "Smells good. What is it?"

Greg grinned. "I ran over to a little Greek place down the way. I figured you'd be hungry. I got souvlaki, dolmathes, spanikopita…"

Nick smirked. "Don't you ever eat American food? Like…pizza? Or Chinese takeout?"

Greg laughed. "You're telling me Chinese takeout is American food?"

Nick shrugged. "You know what I mean."

"If we had another day I'd take you to Chinatown and get you roasted chicken feet. Now that's Chinese."

He laughed at the face Nick made and patted his leg through the covers. "Come on, get up and eat. I'm taking you out tonight."

Nick pulled on a pair of jeans and sat at the room's small table as Greg set Styrofoam containers of food on its surface. "Where we going?" he asked, opening a container and studying its contents.

"Dolmathes," Greg said. "Lamb and rice wrapped in grape leaves with a lemon sauce."

"Uh-huh," Nick said.

Greg handed him a plastic fork. "Just eat it. They're good. And if you don't like them, that just means there's more for me."

Nick poked at one of the dark green bundles with his fork. "You never told me where we were going." "I just figured you might like to see some San Francisco nightlife."

"I've already been to the clubs."

"Where'd you go?" Greg asked. "Castro Street?" He scoffed. "That's so not my scene. You'll see. This is real San Francisco, the stuff they don't put in the guidebooks."

Nick had taken a bite of the dolmathes, and he had to admit they were good. "We're not going to end up drunk and half naked, engaged to hairy men named Roscoe, are we?" he asked after swallowing.

Greg laughed. "Only if we're lucky."

They ate in comfortable silence. It was only towards the end of the meal that Nick was awake enough to think to ask Greg about his lectures. "How'd 'The Corpse as Crime Scene' go?"

Greg pursed his lips and toyed with his fork for a moment. "Well, I didn't vomit," he said. Nick smiled.

"But I really wanted to."

"You get used to it," Nick said.

"I don't know. I think I'm always gonna want to vomit when I see the kind of mutilation they showed us in those slides. I don't care how long I do this—I'll never understand why people do things like that."

"We don't have to understand why" Nick said. "We answer who, what, where, and how. Leave the why to philosophers and priests. I just meant that you get used to the nausea. Just remember to breathe through your mouth and smile."

"Smile?"

"Suppresses the gag reflex."

Greg smirked. "Now, how have I been deep-throating all these years without knowing that?"

Nick smiled back at him. "I didn't know you could deep throat."

"Well, you never gave me the chance." He leaned forward and brushed his fingers along Nick's thigh.

"You want a demonstration?"

Nick kissed him, sighing as he felt the other man's full lips against his own. "Later," he whispered against Greg's mouth. "I'm an old man, you know. I need time to recuperate."

Greg laughed at that. "Fine." He patted Nick's knee.

"Get dressed."

"What should I wear?"

Greg looked at him for a long moment and bit his lower lip, then smiled a sly smile.

"What?"

"It should be illegal for you to wear clothes."

Nick blushed and ducked his head down.

"I'm not kidding. Although, you're pretty scandalous in just a pair of jeans. We're definitely going to have to cover you up tonight because you just look far too good the way you are right now." He unzipped his suitcase and started digging through it.

"Greg, I'm not wearing one of your zany shirts."

Greg looked over at him with a smirk. "Zany?"

Nick nodded. "Zany."

Greg looked back down at his suitcase. "How about…Marilyn Manson?"

"No."

"Rob Zombie?"

"No."

"The Circle Jerks?"

"Definitely not, Greg. I've got my own clothes."

Greg sighed. "It's just as well. You'd probably stretch 'em out with those hunky shoulders and biceps of yours. It's just…" he sighed and looked at Nick for a long moment.

"Just what?"

"You look like a cop."

Nick laughed. "What's wrong with that?"

"What's wrong with that is that cops aren't exactly welcome where we're headed."

"I'm clean cut, Greg," Nick said, going over to his own suitcase and flipping back the top. "I always have been, always will be." He pulled out the black t-shirt he'd worn out to the clubs their first night there. "How's this?" he asked after pulling it on. Greg looked at him, then licked his lips. "You, uh, you sure you don't want a demonstration of my deep throat technique?"

Nick laughed.

"I'm not kidding. You put on your glasses and I'm taking you by force, I swear to God."

"You like my glasses?" Nick asked. "I always thought they kinda made me look like a geek."

Greg crossed the room and slipped his arms around Nick's waist. "You're totally hot in your glasses," he whispered, brushing his nose against Nick's.

"You think so, huh?" Nick's voice had dropped to a husky drawl.

Greg nodded, then brushed their lips together.

"Definitely," he whispered.

Nick parted his lips, let his tongue slip out to taste Greg's lips, then slip inside the other man's mouth.

He slid his arms up Greg's back and pulled him close. Greg moaned and gripped Nick's ass in his hands, started to rub against him.

"Later," Nick whispered, breaking the kiss. "Old man, remember?"

"You don't feel like an old man."

"Tell that to my aching muscles." He kissed Greg softly and reached up to caress his face. "Later. I promise."

Greg pulled away reluctantly. "OK, but I'm holding you to that promise."

Nick smiled and turned back to his suitcase to find a pair of socks. After pulling them on he stretched out on the bed to watch Greg get ready. He pulled on baggy, worn jeans, held up by what used to be an old GM station wagon seat belt. His green ringer t-shirt was faded and on the front was a distressed screen print of an owl and the words "Give a Hoot, Don't Pollute." Nick liked the way it fit Greg's slim frame—tight, but not too tight. Greg put on a necklace made of chain and a black leather wristband. The black zip-up sweater he pulled on had holes forming along the shoulder seams, and the cuffs were frayed and hung nearly to Greg's fingertips.

"I'll be ready in two seconds," Greg said as he headed towards the bathroom, tapping a pencil against his palm.

"I'm good," Nick told him. He sat up and stretched, found his shoes and slipped them on, then headed towards the bathroom to lean against the doorframe. Greg was standing in front of the mirror, leaning forward with his head turned to the side. Both his hands were up near the eye closest to the mirror and Nick had to look at him for a moment before he realized that Greg was applying eyeliner.

Greg started to smudge the line with his middle finger when he noticed Nick standing in the doorway. He turned and smiled. "Ready," he said.

Nick was silent for a moment. "Blam," he said, finally.

"Is that good?"

Nick nodded. "I…uh, I never thought I'd like eyeliner on guys, but on you it's…blam."

Greg laughed and leaned back against the counter.

"You want some?"

"I don't think so."

"Come on. Just a little bit."

Nick shook his head. "I don't think I'm quite the eyeliner type, Greggo."

Greg smiled and laid the eyeliner pencil down on the counter. "It's just as well. I really don't need you looking any hotter than you already do."

They left the hotel, but instead of getting a cab, Greg led Nick down the street to the bus stop.

"You gonna tell me where we're going?" Nick asked as Greg lounged against the side of the bus kiosk.

"Just a few places where I used to hang out," Greg said, shrugging. "Really low key."

Nick smirked. "Low key? You?"

"Fine. Low key compared to the bars on Castro. No strobe lights, no techno beats, no gym-bunnies flexing on the dance floor. Actually, no dance floor now that I think about it."

"Too bad, I was looking forward to grinding against you on the dance floor."

"Later," Greg said with a wink as the bus pulled up.

Nick wasn't exactly sure, since he hadn't completely gotten a grip on San Francisco's geography, but he was pretty sure they were heading in the direction of the Castro. Greg motioned for him to follow him off the bus before they got there, though, and when Nick looked around he realized they were in a run-down neighborhood, the walls of buildings covered with flyers and graffiti.

"Uh, are we gonna get mugged?" Nick asked as he followed Greg down the dark street.

Greg seemed to think about that for a moment. "It's always a possibility," he said. "But I doubt it. Come on. Moe's is just around the corner."

"Who's Moe?"

"It's a bar. When I was interning with the SFPD I used to come here practically every night."

"Why?" Nick asked. "Is it a popular hangout for known felons?"

Greg bumped his shoulder against Nick's. "No. Well, maybe. But we went there mainly because the beer's cheap and they don't water down their drinks." Nick was about to reply to that when he heard a high-pitched squeal about half a block in front of them. When he looked up, he saw a girl with black and bright blue hair done up in crazy pigtails flapping her arms wildly as she ran straight towards them.



This story is still a WiP, so hopefully new chapters will be up soon. (*hints to author*)- Of course I'm still in the process of putting up what she's currently written. So now- HOME? or FANFICS?