Of Life and Living - Book 2: Chapter 1

[laurelgardner]

Title: Of Life and Living - Book 2: Chapter 1
Author: laurelgardner
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Gil/Greg, Nick/Sara, Catherine/OMC, Warrick/OFC
Summary: Getting what you wish for can be devastating. Or perfect. Or just maybe it's both. At any rate, it ain't easy.
Author's Note/Warnings: Remember how I said no one was going to get pregnant? I lied. But at least it's someone with a uterus, and I doubt you'll care anyway. Some ickiness, reference to child abuse and molestation, murder, typical CSI stuff.
Disclaimer: I would never, ever try to get any money for this.

Book 1 of this story can be found here. It is highly recommended that you do not try to dive in in the middle.


Book 2: Chapter 1

In the light of the setting sun, Gil studied Greg's sleeping form beside him on the bed. How could there be such a profound, inexplicable pleasure in simply watching someone sleep? He remembered a time, two years ago, when they'd all been pulling those doubles on old cases, that Greg had fallen asleep on the break room couch between shifts. Gil had sat down next to him and waited, simply because he didn't want to wake him until it was absolutely necessary. It was one of few cherished memories from that time. Watching Greg sleep, still and almost childlike, had created a tiny oasis of calm for those few minutes, and Gil had remembered why he did his job.

He remembered the first time he'd met Greg. Gil had taken one look at him, assumed him to be an entry-level intern, and asked if he knew where the new DNA guy was. He'd liked Greg from the start, though he'd been dismayed, initially, at the younger man's apparent inability to take himself seriously. He'd been seen by half the lab as simply a lovable doofus, and he'd played right into that perception.

Grissom knew, though, just how unusually good Greg was at his work, even if one didn't take his youth into consideration. So he'd been pleased when he'd seen Greg begin to buck the teasing comments of his colleagues and fight for his place as a field agent. Gil could still remember one of the first conversations he'd had with Greg on the subject;

" 'Out there' means a pay cut."

"I'm not about the money."

And what Gil had heard in that was, "I'm not in this for what I can get out of it."

Gil reached out a hand to softly stroke Greg's hair. Fondness had turned to respect, but when had he first become aware of the attraction? He'd known for years that he had the capacity to feel this way about another man. The fact had never bothered him, but still, the idea had remained exclusively theoretical in his life. Physical attractions were easy enough to come by, but any feelings beyond that had not been a part of his experience. Until Greg.

When he'd become a CSI, Greg had grown a great deal in a short time. He had matured quickly as a person, learned new skills at astonishing rate, and approached each case with a robust curiosity that was rivaled only by Grissom's own.

The realization had been gradual, though, Gil realized. Greg had come to fill the position of Gil's right hand, once occupied by Catherine. It was different with Greg, though; no bickering, none of the expectations of quid-pro-quo he'd occasionally sensed from her. Just Greg, quietly at his side, his friend in and outside of the lab, and Gil's last remaining link with his sanity.

In a way, it was a mark against Gil's powers of observation; he'd thought he'd known exactly how Greg felt towards him, what the nature of their relationship was. He'd never seriously entertained the idea that love of this kind might be a part of that.

Memories of that morning stirred deliciously in his head; kissing through the driver's side window; the sound of Greg's voice in his ear as he touched Gil intimately; the taste of Greg when Gil had returned the favor, and the way he'd curled his fingers in Gil's hair and moaned.

The memories alone were overwhelming. He didn't know how he would survive this, the sudden fulfillment of wishes he hadn't truly known he had. But now that they'd been granted, he knew how deeply his desire ran. It was best not to think about how he might lose what he'd just gained, how he would ever find the strength to face the ensuing darkness.

He was almost afraid of Greg waking up. Past experience had taught him that when it came to sleeping with someone, waking up beside a person could be a bigger moment of truth than going to bed with them. He watched Greg sleep a few minutes more, then, unable to stand the suspense any longer, he reached over and gently nudged him.

Slowly, Greg stirred to life. He blinked at Gil a few times, squinty and confused, then his face broke into a wide grin.

"Hey," he murmured. "Is it time to get up?"

"Almost," said Gil.

"I like you more than my alarm clock," said Greg. He reached up to wrap his arms around Gil, pulling him down. They kissed leisurely for a moment, then Greg pulled away and glanced at the clock. He frowned.

"Oh. I usually like to leave myself a bit more time than this," said Greg. "Just FYI."

Gil glanced at the clock and frowned. "Really? How long does it take you to get ready?"

"Hey," said Greg. "This hair doesn't do itself, you know. I'm gonna have to huff it now…unless…" he grinned coquettishly, "we shower at the same time."

Greg got no arguments from Gil on that front, but in the end, he didn't think it saved them much time. It was too easy to forget about washing quickly or efficiently in favor of the slow enjoyment of each other's bodies. It wasn't about sex this time, but closeness. Exploration.

Gil lathered Greg's back, reaching around while facing him, while Greg massaged Gil's scalp with a pungent, herb-scented shampoo. It would probably dull his sense of smell for the day, but he didn't care. Wrapping his arms around Greg's waist, Gil pulled him close.

Greg rested his head on Gil's shoulder for a moment, sighing contentedly.

"So," he said. "You glad we did it?"

Gil smiled at the question. "I am, Greg."

After showering, Gil retrieved his clothes and was distressed to find them visibly wrinkled, rumbled as they'd been by the previous night's festivities, then discarded on the floor. But there was nothing to be done for it; they'd let time slip away from them in the shower, and now he didn't have enough of it left to make a run to his house without being late for work. He wondered if anyone would notice.

He felt suddenly ridiculous as he stared at himself in Greg's bedroom mirror. How had he gotten here, the very last place he would have expected to find himself twenty-four hours ago? It was not that Gil was unused to surprises, he simply didn't find that he surprised himself all that often, and having a sexual encounter with a male colleague nearly 20 years his junior definitely constituted surprising behavior.

It had all seemed so simple when they were in bed together, when they had been Greg and Gil, not CSI Sanders and Supervisor Grissom. There would be backlash from this, he knew, interference with their professional lives, maybe even of the worst kind. Gil knew this and feared it, but what scared him even more was the fact that it didn't make him regret a thing.

Greg came into the bedroom presently, clean and dressed and seeking a pair of shoes that had found their way under his bed.

"So," he said as he slipped them on. "Should we take my car, or yours?"

Gil stared at him for a moment, open-mouthed. Then Greg laughed.

"I'm kidding, Gil," he said. "If you like, we can even go five minutes apart. So we don't arrive together."

This time he wasn't joking, and Gil found he was actually tempted to take Greg up on the offer, but he shook his head. He had to be an adult about this, even if what he really wanted to do was climb under the covers with Greg and not come out for at least a week.

"We can go together, Greg," he said. "Let's ride."

* * * * *

Greg whistled to himself as he waltzed into the break room. He pretended not to notice that Sara and Warrick instantly clammed up whatever furtive conversation they'd been having before he stepped in.

"Good morning," he said brightly, "or, uh, good evening. Take your pick. Are you guys talking about me again?"

"No," said Sara, trying to squeeze back a smile that told Greg that they had been.

"We were just wondering what you're so happy about today," said Warrick.

Greg gave an exaggerated shrug. "What can I say? Life is good, the world's a beautiful place…" He poured himself a cup of coffee. "I have a feeling I'm gonna O.D. on caffeine today," he said. "Not much sleep last night, you know." He looked meaningfully at Warrick and winked.

Warrick narrowed his eyes. "Greg," he said, "does this have anything to do with the fact that Grissom's wearing the same clothes he had on yesterday?"

You just couldn't fool two CSIs. Smirking, Greg crossed the room to where his friends were sitting. He leaned in close to them. "It might."

Sara shrieked. "Grissom? Oh my god. I don't believe it!"

Warrick's face held a look of amusement and mild fascination. "So how did this happen, exactly?"

Greg beamed at him. "I finally took your advice. I told him."

Sara waved a hand in little circles, gesturing for him to continue. "And…?"

Greg blinked innocently at her. "A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell, Sara," he said, but then leaned in between and spoke very softly; "But I will say this: I can see why he likes to wear his pants loose."

For a moment, they stared at him in disbelief. Then Warrick laughed, squinty-eyes and shaking his head. Sara covered her ears and kicked Greg playfully.

"T.M.I, Greg!" she cried, but she was smiling, too. "I wasn't asking for those details!"

Greg nodded, and when he spoke his tone was serious. "Well," he said, "it was kind of weird, actually. He got nervous. He…" Greg felt warning bells going off inside his head. He realized he was just about to give away something he shouldn't, details and experiences that really needed to stay between him and Gil. It was different, dating someone your friends already knew, and he would have to keep himself in check. He shook his head. "He was surprised. In a good way."

It was too early to confide anything deeper than that, he decided, and luckily, Sara and Warrick seemed satisfied by his explanation. They both told Greg they were happy for him, and the conversation moved on.

"Good luck with that," Sara told him.

"Yeah. Take care, okay?" said Warrick. Be careful, you mean, thought Greg.

He knew they'd continue their excited chatter on the subject once he'd left the room again, but really, what could they say to him now? Greg was grateful, at least, that they'd known about his crush for a while, because it meant they were used to the idea, at least in theory, of him and Gil as a couple.

But Greg thought for a long time about what he hadn't told them, about how strangely Gil had reacted to Greg's confession of love. Their whole encounter last night had been strange, come to think of it. Wonderful, but odd, and not at all what Greg would have expected, had he expected anything.

Well, maybe he had.

Greg wondered, idly, if Gil would tell his therapist about it.

* * * * *

(recorded in the office of Dr. Ellen Greene)

GRISSOM: You look surprised, Doctor.

GREENE:I am. (pause) Please tell you aren't doing this just to spite me after our last conversation.

GRISSOM: (laughs) No. I can promise you that's not the case.

GREENE: It is a bit sudden, though.

GRISSOM: It is.

GREENE: Well, I know you better than to accuse you of being rash…

GRISSOM: (pause) Actually, I'm not so sure you shouldn't.

GREENE: Why's that? Do you feel like you've rushed into this?

GRISSOM: Not exactly. I feel like I'm losing myself in it.

GREENE: What do you mean?

GRISSOM: Enjoying it too much

(there is a long pause on the tape, followed by the loud sounds of Dr. Greene's laughter.)

Gil's cell phone rang as he was on his way home. He answered it one-handed.

"Grissom."

"Hey." Greg's voice. "Look, um…I wasn't sure if you'd want to get together tonight. I mean, I would, but if you'd rather have the night to yourself…"

"I'd love to see you, Greg," said Gil. It was an easy choice; he'd missed Greg all night, which was strange, considering how nearby they'd been. But to have him so close, and yet still inaccessible, have been the worst kind of torture.

"Okay," said Greg. "I'm seriously jonesing for sushi right now. Have you eaten?"

"No," said Gil. "I just came from a session." He didn't know why he couldn't bring himself to say what kind of a session it was, but Greg knew, so he didn't have to.

"Well, how'd that go?" Greg asked him.

"I've been informed that I'm hopeless," Gil said with bleak humor. Greg laughed.

"You are," he agreed. "So, you hungry? You up for some raw dead things?"

Gil was, and Greg promised to pick some up on his way over. Gil pulled into his driveway just as they ended their conversation. He flipped his cell shut and sighed, feeling a sudden sense of trepidation. How long had it been since he had brought a lover into his home? He thought for a moment…Natalie, she had been the last one. Natalie, the touring flautist with the San Francisco opera. Natalie, who hadn't even stayed the night.

He couldn't say what had gone wrong there…except perhaps that she had only been looking for a one-night stand to begin with; that made the most sense. After all, if you're only in town for a few nights, what else would it be? That was the way most people thought of things, Gil knew now, and not the way he did. He never looked for anything less than something that could be everything, something worth rearranging the moon and the stars and half your life for, if necessary.

Greg, it seemed, wanted at least a few days worth of action. And that was a start.

Gil stepped inside his house through his front door, leaving it unlocked for Greg, then wandered aimlessly into his kitchen, looking for something to serve with dinner. He wished he had sake, which would be perfect to go with the sushi Greg was bringing, but the best he could produce was a dry white. Unchilled. He stuck it in the ice box to speed things up.

He heard his front door opening while he was still stooped down by the freezer door. He straightened up quickly at the noise and turned around. There was Greg, standing in the entry, a take-out bag hanging from his fingers and a shy smile on his face.

For a long moment, neither moved or said a word, eyes locked from across the room.

"Hey," he finally said, and suddenly Gil couldn't fathom how he'd managed to go two hours without seeing him, ten hours without kissing him. Eyes never leaving Greg's, he came around the bar and stood face-to-face with him in the entry way. Wordlessly he took the take-out bag from Greg's hand and set it down on a nearby bench, then leaned in and placed his hands on either side of Greg's face.

Greg placed one of his own hands over Gil's, tilting his head to kiss the palm. Then, in a move that neither man seemed to initiate on his own, they slid into a hug, one that could have been a platonic embrace.

Gil couldn't remember the last time he'd held someone like this, been held like this. Greg squeezed him tightly, nuzzling the base of Gil's neck. "I missed you," he murmured.

Chemical addiction. That's what this was. It was largely hormonal and what was more, Gil knew it. But he didn't care. "I missed you," he said.

Greg reached down and took Gil's hand. "Come on," he said, and started to pull Gil in the direction of the bedroom. "Let's just do it right now. Otherwise I'll be distracted all night."

Gil didn't argue, feeling much the same way himself. He allowed Greg to lead him into his bedroom, and a minute later he found himself on his back in bed, lying atop the still-tucked coverlet, his lover straddling him and bent over to kiss him.

"Gil," he said softly, tasting the skin just below Gil's chin, "I want you…inside of me. Are you ready for that?"

"I think so," said Gil.

Greg seemed to be bent on doing all the work himself, undressing himself and Gil with slow determination. Gil was happy to lie back and oblige him, letting his world fade into that place of sensations, of unspoken communications. Greg was with him now, and for the time being, there was no reason to think about anything other than that.

Greg continued to go slowly, but he kissed Gil's skin hungrily, like he was trying to touch his mouth to every bit of exposed flesh. Neck, shoulders, chest, the curve of his ribcage below his arms, then holding Gil's hand to his mouth and tasting it, sucking briefly on the fingers. Almost motionless, Gil watched in wonder, eyes half-lidded.

Gil's pants were the last thing to go, and Greg moved himself down as he removed them, kissing Gil's navel, then the crease at the top of his thigh as the skin was exposed. Then Gil closed his eyes, unable to watch as Greg moved closer to his shaft, then groaned as he felt Greg's mouth touch him. When he opened his eyes again, he saw Greg's staring back at him, piercing him with their gaze even as he worked his mouth on Gil's cock.

And it was that look, those eyes, that took Gil's breath away. It surprised him that it should be that way, especially when this was the first time Greg had done this for him, and especially when his mouth and tongue felt so amazingly good, but somehow, the warm intensity of Greg's _expression struck him to the core of his being.

It was over all too quickly, though, and Greg removed himself. Gil groaned involuntarily, the sound falling from him in a breath of air he didn't even realize he'd been holding in. Crawling back up to the head of the bed, Greg patted his cheek sympathetically.

Leaning in to kiss him, he then said, "Next time I do that, I'll finish you. I promise." And that made Gil's brain turn to jelly, right there.

Greg rustled in the pocket of his jacket, lying beside them on the bed, and produced the two items necessary for their joining. Gil was impressed by his forethought, and wondered if Greg had known that Gil wouldn't have what they needed in his home. Seven years was a long time to keep making unnecessary purchases, no matter how optimistic you were.

Christ, he'd really told Greg that, hadn't he?

But a moment later, he was sorry he'd let his thoughts wander to his own pathetic past sex life, because his present sex life was very good, and Greg was on top of him again. He rolled on the condom unceremoniously, but took a little more time with the lube, warming it between his fingers first. He bent down for one more lingering kiss, then slowly began to ease Gil inside him.

It wasn't exactly easy, not for either of them. They both breathed heavily, Greg cursed a little in sheer astonishment, and neither of them could keep from laughing. It worked, though, and once Greg was settled down against him, body adjusting to Gil's presence, their eyes met in a moment of acknowledged comfort and ease.

Greg moved slowly at first, working Gil inside him. He started to stroke his own cock, but Gil brushed his hand aside and replaced it with his own, not quite willing to just lie passively while Greg did everything. He loved the solid feel of Greg in his hand like this, and Greg's body around him was indescribable, almost too intense too bear.

They kissed, then, Greg bending over as Gil lifted up to meet him, and Gil heard the muffled sound of his own moan. He felt Greg smile as he heard it, then fell back onto the mattress, overwhelmed with sensations. Through the fog of thick pleasure in his mind, the reminder surfaced that he needed to remember what he was doing for Greg, too. He moved his hand faster on Greg's cock, even as he used what little leverage he had to thrust harder and faster upwards.

Greg just smiled down at him, a lazy happy look on his face as he ran his hands over Gil's chest. He only tensed a little as he came, but he cried out loudly, then fell forward on top of Gil.

"Wow," he croaked, and Gil let out a breathless laugh, momentarily distracted. Greg kissed his neck, then stretched out a hand to entwine their fingers together. A minute or two later, Gil climaxed himself, so hard it actually shook him. Wow indeed.

He lay panting under Greg for a long time after that, heavy with encroaching sleepiness. Greg slid slowly off him.

"You gonna stay with me, here?" Greg asked, petting Gil's hair. Gil groaned, unable to speak as his eyelids grew heavier…

He didn't sleep for too long, he didn't think. When he woke up, he hadn't moved, but Greg was gone and the throw blanket that usually lay folded at the foot of his bed was now draped over him. He sighed and stretched, wondering if he'd ever felt this relaxed before. He heard the sounds of Greg rummaging in the kitchen, and sat up suddenly, realizing he'd forgotten about the wine in the freezer.

But before he could rush to check on it, Greg burst into the room, a smile on his face and a tray of sushi in hand. He was wearing his boxers, now, and paused in the doorway, an odd _expression on his face as he looked at Gil.

"What?" he asked.

Greg shook his head. "I dunno. You just looked so cute."

Gil frowned. "Cute?" he echoed, disbelieving. He couldn't remember anyone ever calling him "cute," not in a very long time.

Greg sat down on the bed. "Yeah. Cute." He set the tray down.

"Looks good," said Gil. "I had a bottle of Riesling, but I think I destroyed it."

Greg's face lit up. "No, I found it. I forgot. Hang on." He disappeared back to the kitchen, returning a moment later with the frosty bottle and two wine glasses. He handed one to Gil, along with a pair of chopsticks.

"I think," he said, "it's time for a naked sushi party."

Gil raised an eyebrow. "A naked sushi party, Greg?" he echoed. "If that's the case, you're hardly dressed for the occasion.

Without a word, Greg squirmed out of his boxers, making the mattress shake a little as he did so. Gil had to steady the tray as he prepared for them to eat, dissolving little lumps of wasabi into a saucer of soy sauce. Greg tossed his underwear away, then inspected what Gil was doing.

"Is that all you're going to use?" he asked.

A challenge. Gil smiled. "I thought I would go easy on you, Greg."

"Ho ho!" Cleary affronted by the insinuation, Greg seized his own chopsticks and tripled the amount of horseradish paste in the mixture. He grinned mischievously at Gil. "Can you take it?"

Calmly, Gil selected a piece of raw tuna, drenched it in the sauce, and ate it. He didn't flinch. Greg acknowledged this move with a nod, then repeated it, soaking his slice of salmon even more thoroughly. Then, upping the ante, he selected a prawn roll and handed it to Gil.

Gil mouth turned up in a small smile; did Greg think he didn't know about the hidden lump of the green stuff that sushi chefs traditionally concealed inside prawn pieces, out of sight between rice and fish? An idea occurred to him…

Gil accepted the offering, took a small bite, and coughed. Shaking his head, he handed it back to Greg, who whooped victoriously.

"Guess I win," he said, and downed the prawn in one bite. His eyes watered in pain, but he managed it.

"Impressive," said Gil, but as he spoke, he picked up the prawn's twin, slathered it in extra wasabi, and ate it without batting an eyelash.

Greg gaped at him. "You were bluffing!" he accused.

"Mmm-hmm," mused Gil, his mouth full. He swallowed, then said, "I was eating horseradish before you were born, Greg."

"Guess I never stood a chance," said Greg.

"Nope."

"Smartass," Greg grumbled fondly. "Want some of this wine?"

Gil held out his glass and Greg poured, leaning forward on the bed.

"Whoops, "said Gil, as the bed jostled and wine spilled over onto his hand and arm. He licked it off. Greg froze and peered at him intently.

"Do that again," he said. Gil blinked, then rolled his eyes at Greg.

"No," said Greg. "I'm serious." He seized Gil's hand and licked off what was left of the sticky residue himself, eyes locked with Gil's. Gil was irresistibly reminded of a similar moment less than half an hour ago, and was amazed to find that the memory already caused a tremor of something like awe inside him.

Greg fed him his next piece of tuna, eyes watching Gil's mouth as he ate.

"Damn," he said. "I love your mouth."

Gil couldn't help but laugh; it was such a strange thing to say, especially in the way Greg said it like that, so wide-eyed and captivated. But even in the face of Gil's laughter, Greg made no apology for saying it. The intent look still in his eyes, he leaned forward and kissed Gil, so softly he barely felt it start.

When the kiss had ended, he raised his glass to Gil's.

"Here's to us, Gil," he said