FIC: Navigational Techniques (Gil/Nick)
Title: Navigational Techniques
Author: Knightmusic
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Gil/Nick
Summary: "I rarely end up where I was intending to go, but often I end up somewhere that I needed to be."
Author's Note/Warnings: Random little PWP. Doesn't fit with any of my other stories. Just Gil + Nick = hot sex. I wish I could wake up more mornings with something like this in my head.
Disclaimer: Who in their right mind would EVER think I owned CSI. Of course, I'm not in my right mind....
"I rarely end up where I was intending to go, but often I end up somewhere that I needed to be."
-Dirk Gently (The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul by Douglas Adams)
He has just enough brain power to wonder how in the hell he got here. However, he doesn’t have nearly enough free brain cells to actually pursue that question, because most of his attention, and all of his body, is far too interested in documenting when his back hits the wall, when his shirt comes untucked, and mostly when Gil Grissom’s tongue enters his mouth.
Who cares how he got here?
Grissom’s hands are sliding up, under his shirt, and when his thumbs flick over his nipples, Nick yelps and sinks against the wall. Grissom pulls back to look at him, grins, in a singularly evil way, at that, and goes after them again. Nick wants to retaliate, but all power of movement seems to have transferred control from his brain to Grissom’s hands. He bucks, shivers and writhes under the touches, and can’t do much else.
He does curse the shirt that he’s wearing, especially when Grissom latches his mouth onto his neck. He wants the garment off. Now. And if he’d just had the foresight to wear something with buttons they could get rid of his without having to loose the attention Grissom is paying to that spot under his ear.
Finally, growling in frustration, he pushes Grissom away just long enough to yank the polo up over his head. He reaches to pull Grissom back, but doesn’t have to. And then he discovers that fingers teasing his nipples are completely overrated, because they’ve got nothing, nothing at all on Grissom’s mouth and teeth.
There couldn’t be enough air in the entire world to help him catch his breath, and he stays there, helpless and loving it, under Grissom’s attack for infinite moments before he decides that it’s really time he do something of his own.
He goes for the throat, metaphorically speaking, opens Grissom’s pants and slides his hand in. And the only thing better than the warm, solid feel of Gris’s cock in his hand is the way his body goes suddenly, completely rigid; tensing up against him, and the inarticulate bellowed curse he lets out so close to Nick’s ear.
Now Grissom is the one who moves in reaction to what Nick does; Grissom who is gasping, panting and still cursing a blue streak. And Nick is so elated he’s not sure whether it’s more likely that he’ll laugh, cry or orgasm first.
Now that he’s finally got this, he has no idea what he wants first. He thinks of all the ways it could go.
He imagines just dropping to his knees and sucking Grissom off right here. Of course, he can’t think too hard about it, because that would bring the party to a close before they’d even gotten to the good music. It’s not like he’s ever sucked a cock before, but he thinks he could probably pick up the technique pretty quickly. After all, at least in his own experience, a hot, wet mouth was a hot, wet mouth, and having someone who actually wanted to go down on you was most of the race right there. He’s pretty sure Grissom won’t mind a few amateur mistakes along the way.
But, of course, if he does that, he won’t get to look the man in the face anymore, and that’s a particularly stunning sight right now. Grissom appears to have lost all higher brain functions, and most of his secondary ones as well. He’s barely moving, with the exception of his lips and tongue on Nick’s skin, and the occasional grind of his hips. His hands are braced on the wall on either side of Nick’s head, and his eyes are rolled back, half closed in a completely slack face. It’s the closest to stupid he’s ever seen Grissom look, and it’s a pretty amazing thing.
His knees nearly go out at the thought that maybe, just maybe, if he plays his cards right, it’s a look he’ll get to see a lot more of in the future.
“Nicky,” Grissom moans, and bites Nick’s shoulder very gently, and Nick moans a little bit himself.
Maybe he shouldn’t be considering all the other things they could be doing, because - Grissom rolls his hips, thrusting into Nick’s hand and grinding against his leg, and Nick shudders and has to lean his head against one of Grissom’s arms - because what they’re doing right now is pretty spectacular, and even if Grissom never lays a hand on his cock, Nick is pretty sure he’s going to come soon.
But even with the resolve to stay in the moment, and just feel and enjoy the warmth, the weight, the smell, and the sounds of Gil Grissom in this completely unforeseen context, Nick can’t help but let his mind wander. Fabulous images are racing through his head, and he can’t do more than glance at each, because they make him shiver and feel far too warm at the same time, and that’s a recipe for instant overload in his body.
He wonders if Grissom wants to fuck him, and that thought drops his gut in terror at the same time it sends him soaring on a lust-high. It’s not like he’s never thought about it. It’s certainly not like he’s never beaten off thinking about it, but it’s always been something he was pretty sure he’d have to work up to. And now, where it’s a very real possibility, and he’s got that reality in his hand, he knows he’d have to work up to it.
But even so, as Grissom starts to regain control; moves his hands off the wall and down Nick’s body, as he moans over and over something that sounds a lot like Nick’s name, Nick thinks that there’s nothing that voice could ask him to do that he would refuse.
It seems Grissom has gotten a grip on himself, and also on Nick’s belt. But he doesn’t unbuckle it. Instead he pulls, lifting Nick away from the wall.
“This way,” he mumbles, then lifts his head away from Nick’s shoulder long enough to grin. “I’d rather not have ejaculate on my walls.”
It should have killed the mood right there. But it didn’t; far from it. It’s such an endearingly, excruciatingly Grissom thing to say, and it reminds Nick in a single second of all the reasons why he adores this man and why he’s hot for him. And it makes it very difficult to follow him down the hall to his bedroom and not just bend him over the nearest piece of furniture.
He probably wouldn’t want ejaculate on his leather sofa, either.
Once they get into the bedroom, Nick thoroughly intends to put at least one of his plans into action, but Grissom, being Grissom, preempts him. It surprises the hell out of Nick that he shoves him back onto the bed, but it’s such a turn-on that he hardly notices. He waits, wondering why Gris doesn’t join him, pounce on him, something. Instead, he stands, looking down at Nick.
“Nick,” he begins, and Nick knows that Gris’s speaking voice is supposed to be a hell of a lot higher than that. “Have you ever done this before?”
He considers lying, just because he doesn’t want Gris to think that anything’s off limits. He’s a big boy, he can handle himself just fine in a bed. And he’s all about new experiences. But he knows that Grissom would be hurt by a lie, so he shakes his head.
“I didn’t think so,” Grissom says, and bites the outside corner of his bottom lip, thinking.
Nick wants to scream, Don’t do that! because he’s so close to blowing his load anyway, he knows he can’t take any more of Grissom’s unconscious, devastatingly sexy mannerisms. At least, he thinks, if that lip needs to be chewed on, have the decency to let me do it!
“Right,” Grissom says, mercifully releasing the aforementioned lip, before purposefully digging through one of his drawers. Nick hoists himself up on his elbows, and watches as a condom and lube hit the bed next to him.
Nick’s stomach tightens, because this does make him nervous. At least Gris asked. He’ll know to keep it slow, give him time to get used to it. He trusts him that far.
Gris gets rid of shoes and socks, his own and Nicks, and then finally, finally crawls on top of him on the bed. And of all the scenarios Nick has concocted, he finds that all he wants right now is this. He pulls Gris down, meeting in a kiss that is so sloppy and awkward it can’t be anything but scorchingly hot.
“Why the hell are you still dressed?” he asks, from around a mouthful of Grissom’s ear.
“Dunno,” Grissom gasps. “Help?”
Wow. He’s made Gil Grissom go inarticulate. That’s gotta be something to document. But something more important to document in the Book of Nick’s Experiences would be the process of getting Grissom naked. He yanks at the shirt, doing most of it himself because Grissom is far more interested in mouthing along Nick’s chest. Nick tosses the shirt away, and pushes Grissom up to get a good look at him. Then he thinks, I’ll show you, and goes after his nipples.
Another bellow, and Gris’s eyes roll back in his head. He recovers quickly, and looks down at Nick, eyes glinting in a way Nick had never even imagined. He’s seen Grissom look intent and purposeful before, but never like this.
And now it’s a race to see who can get the other’s pants off first. It probably would have gone more smoothly if they’d cooperated, but neither one was willing to drop their own mission to help the other.
When they’re finally naked, Nick sucks a lungful of air, leans back and squeezes his eyes shut. This is going to last, damnit! Apparently Grissom is having thoughts along a similar line, because in a few seconds Nick hears the rip of the condom packet. He opens his eyes, now getting a little worried about this, but determined to see it through.
Gris looks up at him and must be reading the expression on his face. He smiles and leans down to kiss his cheek. There’s nothing urgent or feverish in that gesture; it’s all calming and comforting.
“It’s okay,” he whispers. “Don’t worry.” And if Gil Grissom tells him not to worry, then he thinks he can hang with that. He relaxes and waits for whatever comes next.
But whatever he’d been expecting, it certainly hadn’t been for the feel of the condom on his own dick. His eyes fly open and he looks at Grissom in puzzlement. Gris straddles him and bends to kiss him again; open mouthed and urgent.
“Now,” he whispers. “Need you.”
Holy. Fucking. Hell.
This was not even close to being one of his scenarios. Somehow it never occurred to him that Gris would consent to taking it from him. Nick makes a strangled, gasping noise as he tries to grapple with this. This is way too good, better than he’d ever imagined, and he hopes that Gris is as strung out as he is, because there’s no way this is going to last.
Grissom slides himself down onto Nick’s cock and Nick nearly sobs at how good it feels. That prompts a concerned, “Nicky?” from Grissom. Gris’s voice sounds a little strained, nearly breaking on the word, and Nick sits up, pulling him down to meet halfway.
“Gil,” he whimpers, kissing him as hard as he can, and he realizes he’s not sure what tastes better; Gil’s mouth or Gil’s name. It’s hardly the first time that he’s used Grissom’s given name, but it certainly carries a different weight now. He used to call him ‘Gris’ when he wanted, in the most manly way possible, to express some kind of affection. Give him a nickname; that means he’s your friend.
But now he’s so much more than a friend. Now he’s someone who, if Nick isn’t careful, or if he’s lucky, that Nick could fall in love with. Although Nick has the slight suspicion that he already has.
“Gil,” he says again, and Gil’s smile is so genuine, so warm and happy, and just the slightest bit goofy that Nick can barely stand it.
As much as Nick wants to draw this moment out; live in this glowing intimacy forever, that’s not going to happen. Gil is working himself on Nick’s cock, making his blood boil and bones melt, and he tries his best to keep up, to match rhythm, but feels he’s making a lot of amateur mistakes. As predicted, Gil doesn’t seem to mind.
His hands find Gil’s cock again, and one of Gil’s hands already on it. He almost pushes it away, wanting to do this himself, but finds, unexpectedly, that stroking Gil off while holding his hand may be one of his new favorite things in life.
He’s afraid he’ll lose track of Gil if this keeps going, so he watches, focuses, memorizes his face, his body. And now everything is getting faster, fuzzier, and when it finally ends he’s not sure whether it was more like an explosion or a meltdown. He’s also not sure if that loud noise was his voice, or Gil’s, or just the sound of his own blood in his ears.
All he’s sure of are Gil’s bright blue eyes.
He’s completely dazed and winded, and is sure he’ll never move again. But really, that isn’t such a bad thing. Certainly he’s sweaty and sticky, and Gil’s kinda heavy, but all those things are trivial. His arms feel like dead weight, but eventually he can move them again; bring them up to caress Gil’s back.
“How the hell did we get here?” Nick asks, grinning stupidly when Gil finally rolls off of him. Gil grins back.
“You know, I really don’t care,” he says, and leans in to kiss him. And Nick finds he doesn’t care either, just lays back and enjoys the kiss like he did everything else.
“Just one question,” he says, after they break apart. Gil raises an eyebrow. Someday, soon, he’ll have to tell him how sexy that is. “Do you think that, after I go home, we go to work and whatever, that we’ll be able to find our way back here again?”
Gil is still for a split second before he laughs; just a light chuckle but it warms Nick’s insides to hear it.
“Oh, I think we can count on it,” he says.