(Untitled)

[subduction]

HELLS MOTHERFUCKING YES.

So, yes, okay, I may or may not have spent my Saturday night eating noodles at the kitchen table while exstasis read me summaries of Fall Out Boy AUs, but -- sometimes you win some, too, is what I'm saying, 'cause goddamn. That was the best show I have been to in years.

Also, hi, I live in Toronto now! Further updates, y'know,

Comments

[ex_thissuga]

oh my god, oh my GOD JESS OH MY GOD.

"Grissom--"

Gil glances up, glasses on just a little bit crooked. it means Greg's heart skips a beat, to see it; Gil probably doesn't see the speck of oil on his own nose, and it makes him that much more approachable. "Greg."

Greg doesn't know how to start. "I, uh."

"Have you checked their alibi?" Gil says to him. His face is calm, impassive as ever. He doesn't even glance over to where the two guys are stand-- slouching all over each other. Greg swallows. Gil knows him way too well, obviously; that or he's an open fucking book, cheeks flushed and breathing just a little heavier. Greg never could divorce his mind - or the rest of him - from a case and suspects as well as Gil could.

Gil waits, and-- right, question. "Brass confirmed they were at a club opening all of yesterday. Pe-- Wentz was the star DJ. Besides, I don't think either of them are strong enough to lift two hundred and fifty pound man and hurl him over the railing, not even together."

"Noticed, hmm?" Gil says, and it's all he says, but, *oh*. oh. Greg swallows again. "I want you back in the lab tomorrow night, Greg, but we're done here for now. Give me your evidence and I'll log it." I'll put my name on it, no conflict of interest, you're not working with those two.

Greg nods, hands Gil his notepad and trace evidence baggies. "Are you," and he pitches his voice lower. "Are you going home later?"

Gil's face, impassive until now, looks rueful, disappointed. "I have to work," is all he says. Then he raises a perfectly arched eyebrow, and a hint of a smile appears. Gil says, "Have a good night, greg."

Greg glances over to where Pete and Ryan are slouched against the brick. Pete is kicking at imaginary dust, apparently fascinated by his mobile phone, tapping away on it at inhuman speeds. Ryan is occasionally looking over his shoulder, but mostly Ryan's staring back at the two of them. Suddenly, Greg's phone buzzes at his side. It's an unknown area code. The message says just are u coming then? or is your boyfriend not gonna let u?

It's not possible; it's too far away to see their faces properly. Greg swears he can make out Pete's huge grin, and-- Ryan's got a perfectly arched eyebrow raised, waiting for Greg to mentally catch up. the mirror image - thirty years older, impossibly hotter - is staring up at him from where Gil is kneeling on the ground. Greg swallows. he gets the feeling he may be in trouble.

AHAHHAHAHAHAHAHA. HAH.

[sinsense]

The message says just are u coming then? or is your boyfriend not gonna let u?
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHAHA

OH MY GOD OH MY GOD YES. THE ENNNNNNND. Nothing can beat that. NOTHING.

I am squirming around in my seat, snorting with the effort of repressing my giggles, because then my father will demand to be read my pornfiction. And I'm not sharing!

[ex_thissuga]

you have to WRITE the porn part first! really!!

seriously, I can so picture Grissom calling Greg in the middle, and having Pete answer while Ryan's fucking him, and Grissom being all, "is he being difficult?" and Ryan just commanding pete, "put him on speaker for a minute."

because OH MY GOD.

[sinsense]

GYAH I HADN'T EVEN THOUGHT OF THAT PART.

[apologies to subduction for RANDOMPORNing your LJ]
Greg tries not to think about how the last motel room they worked lit up under blacklight; he tries not to think about how their DNA is being layered over everyone else's. He tries to hold on to the sensation Ryan's slippery fingers on the fold of his knee while still blocking out the thought of trace evidence. He tries to lick around Pete's fingers in his mouth without thinking about shreds of skin, fingernail, tongue.

"Pay attention," Ryan says, lifting Greg's knee higher. His cock is spreading Greg open; Greg's muscles burn, in his ass, his thighs. Ryan is blank-faced above him, Pete grinning over and above him. "Pay attention," Ryan repeats, and Greg tries, he tries.

The phone rings. Pete takes his fingers out of Greg's mouth and leans away.

"I have to," Greg says, but he's tied up, he can't get to the phone. Ryan rocks in deeper, and whatever Greg was going to say gets lost in a moan.

Pete says, "Greg Sanders, CSI."

Greg opens his mouth. Pete slips two fingers back in, shutting Greg up, and says, "Yeah, yeah he is." Pete gives a bark of laughter at the response. He tosses the phone down on the bed next to Greg. Greg rolls his eyes back to look at Pete, but Pete doesn't say anything, just grins.

Greg's eyes snap to the phone when Grissom speaks. "Greg," Grissom says, and Greg's hips buck. Ryan tightens his fingers and grins at Pete.

"Good idea," Ryan says.

"It wasn't mine," Pete says.

Of course it wasn't, Greg thinks, fond and exasperated.

"Focus, Greg," Grissom says.

Pete takes his fingers out of Greg's mouth, leaving the corner of Greg's mouth wet. "It's hard," Greg says, his voice thin and a little wobbly.

"The difficult task is the most worthwhile," Grissom says dryly. Ryan pulls back and shoves hard back in, and Greg tips his head back and moans, finally feeling only that.

[ex_thissuga]

Pete says, "what do you want him to do?" lazily, like he doesn't have two fingers inside Ryan, like he doesn't already have a condom on. "or-- talk to him," pete says, a burst of inspiration. he closes his eyes, a brief flare of patrick on the phone coming loud and clear, and he knows - that look on Greg's face, the intensity, when the speaker phone went on. pete knows that look. pete knows that.

Greg's eyes are closed, and Ryan's moaning quietly. Pete can still hear the quiet voice of the older guy - pete doesn't even know his name - muttering to Greg, and Greg's breathing hitching more and more in response. Pete's impossibly hard, eyes wide open on Greg's face, chin tucked on Ryan's skinny shoulder. He doesn't think he can fuck Ryan anymore; doesn't think he's going to get much past watching the two of them, Greg spread open and hands wrapped around the scarves holding him down.

the phone is saying, "People are beginning to wonder who I'm talking to." Greg gasps, and the phone adds, "Catherine's waiting outside my office. I suppose I should talk to her."

Pete opens his mouth, but Greg beats him to it, "no," greg says, "no, please, stay, stay here--" and that does pete in, the desperate plea, the need--

and pete comes against Ryan's thigh.

the voice on the other end of the phone is amused; it says, "alright, greg, but-- Catherine, I'm just on a call right now," and then, "no, it can't wait."

Pete leans down, hopes this guy isn't dirty enough to have his end of the line on speaker as well, to say, "it really can't."

[sinsense]

Ryan laughs, but it's broken in his throat as he finally starts to fuck Greg. Greg spreads his legs, thighs trembling even in Ryan's hands, and twists his head, pressing his cheek and the side of his nose into his arm. "Gil," he whispers, and then makes a noise, jarred in his throat by Ryan's thrusts. He wants to tell Gil about the trace, about how the room is a crime scene in his head, how he's already thinking about how he would work the perimeter, but he's embarrassed, afraid Ryan and Pete will say something, anything.

"Take Nick with you to the airport scene," Grissom says, speaking away from the phone, and, "I'll take a look at the file later. Yes, I promise." There's the sound of a door opening and then clicking closed, and Grissom breathes as raggedly as he ever will, a quick rush out over the speaker. "Greg," Gil repeats, and Greg flexes his hips up, stretches his thighs wider, and grinds up into Ryan's hand on his cock. "Greg, listen to me," Gil says, and Greg bites down on his arm. Gil says, "I need you to come, right now."

His voice isn't any different than usual, and surprisingly that's what does it, that pushes the crime scene out of Greg's head and makes him focus only on the feeling of his muscles protesting, his body flexing around the intrusion of someone else. He comes in long, almost awful pulses, whining high in his throat and twitching under Ryan's hands.

"Holy shit," Pete murmurs, and presses his mouth into Ryan's shoulder. Greg silently agrees.

[ex_thissuga]

ahahahaa! I have had this comment in my inbox with a "todo" star for like, a week?

-

later, as in after Greg resurfaces and finds Ryan stretched out with one skinny leg tossed over Greg's hip and one over Pete's, Greg feels a bit foolish. Greg's good in bed, no worries, but these guys seem so, so out of his orbit, somehow--

Pete's still tapping away on his phone; he glances over to Greg and smiles that impossibly wide grin, all teeth and crinkled eyes. "hey," he murmurs. "Awake, huh?"

Greg nods, trying not to move too much. One of Ryan's hands is tucked up under Greg's chin, and sleeping, Ryan looks about sixteen years old. He swallows, opens his mouth, closes it again.

Pete puts the phone down, shifts a bit. He's leaning against the headboard, so Greg figures he didn't even drift off for a minute-- Pete interrupts his thoughts with, "I feel like a massive dork." Greg blinks at him. Pete shrugs, smiles again, wide and yet-- he adds, "I came like, by myself."

Greg starts to grin a bit back, opens his mouth but Pete railroads right over him in a whisper. "I know, I mean, it's not supposed to. But I mean."

Greg glances down at Ryan, wondering how he can look so impossibly young while sleeping. did he cultivate that look the rest of the time, or what? Greg tries not to compare Ryan's expression with the people they end up locking up for being too old too soon. Greg looks back at Pete. Instead of answering, Greg comments, "he's really out, isn't he."

Pete shrugs. "They've been on the road. he's probably been exhausted for a while."

etc. wherein they're all dorky together. ahahahaha. sigh.