FIC: Closeted (was "Coming Out")
Title: Closeted
Author: LaurelGardner
Pairings: Greg/Grissom
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: This is SLASH, kiddies. Don't be shocked if you read it and it offends...
Summary: Here's the complete, grown-up version. I've changed the title for clarity's sake (too many fics shared the previous title) In which two CSI's discover that sometimes you have to go into the closet to come out of it. (takes place during season 5). This is an answer to sporkyoracle 's challenge to lock two CSI's in a closet together.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, and if I did, they'd get very tired very quickly.
Catherine was laughing on the other end of the cell phone call, laughing so loudly even Greg could hear it.
"Yeah...no, you heard me right," Grissom was saying. Greg could make out his form in the uneven slots of light, filtering through the horizontal blinds. Suddenly, his features twisted in a grimace. "It's a walk-in, Catherine," he said in an irritated tone, "There's more room than that. Look, how far are you?" There was silence as Catherine answered. "Okay. I'll see you then. Thanks." He ended the call and flipped the cell phone shut. Turning to Greg, he said, "Just because a door has a latch, doesn't mean there's a knob on both sides, Greg. Next time, take a look before you close it." He shook his head.
Greg nodded morosely, then sighed, his shoulders sagging as his eyes sunk to the floor. "So how long are we stuck in here?" he asked.
"Catherine says she's at least thirty minutes away."
Greg looked up sharply. "Thirty?" He started to sink to his knees, leaning against the side wall. "Oh, man," he breathed, "Oh, man..." This was the last thing he needed right now. No, he thought, screwing up again in the first place was the last thing he'd needed, being stuck in a small space with Grissom for thirty minutes right afterwords...well, that was somewhere beyond the last thing he needed. He shook his head, buried his face in his hands.
"Greg, are you claustrophobic?" To Greg's surprise, Grissom's voice contained urgent, almost fearful concern. When Greg didn't reply right away, he said. "It's okay, just take some deep breaths, try not to think about it."
Stupefied, Greg raised his head. Grissom was crouched near him, though not too near, and his face held a sympathy that Greg had never seen there. For a moment, Greg almost wished he was claustrophobic if only it would mean that he could keep that look of caring on Grissom's face...but he shook his head.
"No," he said awkwardly, "I'm not. I'm...fine, I..."
"It's okay, Greg," said Grissom, with a little bit of his normal firmness. "You're human. We all have something. I don't like heights."
Greg peered at him, distracted by this revelation. "You don't?"
Grissom smiled and shook his head. "No."
"But aren't you the roller coaster guy?"
A small laugh, through his nose. "That's different. I'm strapped in." Grissom eased onto the floor beside Greg, back to the wall. They'd cleared the closet as part of the scene, it was okay to relax a little.
"No kidding," said Greg.
There was a moment's pause
"You feeling better?" Grissom asked.
Now it was Greg's turn to laugh. "I'm not claustrophobic, Grissom."
Grissom frowned in confusion, but didn't respond to this.
"I just..I feel like such an idiot sometimes," Greg said, and as he spoke, he was surprised to feel a lump form in his throat, and he couldn't keep the sound of it out of his voice. He didn't want to be having this conversation, but he couldn't help it. "I just want to do something right in front of you for a change... anything, just once."
There. It was out. Now Grissom would scoff at him... or worse, say nothing.
But instead, Greg heard him say, "You do lots of things right, Greg."
Greg stared at Grissom. "Then why do you threaten to fire me every other week?"
Grissom didn't miss a beat. "Because that's the job," he said. "It's not about how good you are, it's about how good you need to be. And you need to be better."
Greg sighed.
"But so do I." Grissom added.
"What?"
"And Catherine, and Sara and Nick and Warrick. We all do. We'll know we're good enough when every criminal gets caught, when every jury ruling falls on the side of truth."
Greg cocked his head. "Do you think that'll ever happen?"
"It doesn't matter what I think."
"Yeah, but do you?"
Grissom smiled. "No. Not in my lifetime."
He relaxed against the wall, and an amiable silence fell between the two of them. Greg studied him as Grissom's head leaned back and eyes closed, thinking this moment was more than a little surreal. His superior looked tired now, tired and vulnerable, and seemed suddenly human to Greg in a way he never had before. He wondered what it must be like to be this man, to live the life he lead in the way he chose lead it, and found he was amazed to think he had never wondered this before. To his surprise, he suddenly felt less than eager for Catherine to show up and end their time alone together. He felt on the verge of understanding something important, and he wanted to keep talking, to hear the man say something else that might be revealing. But Grissom had shut down for the moment, and was giving no indication of wanting to continue a conversation, so it would be up to Greg to jump-start things again.
Like an idiot, he heard himself say, "So this guy walks into a bar."
Grissom didn't open his eyes, didn't give any indication he'd heard what Greg had said for a long moment. Then he turned his head and opened his eyes.
"What did you say?" he asked.
Greg grinned self-consciously. "This guy walks into a bar. He's got this frog on his head. The bartender says, 'Hey pal, where'd you get that?'" Greg paused for effect. "The frog says, 'I dunno, man, it just started out as this little bump on my ass!'"
Grissom shook his head as though in disbelief, but chuckled a little nonetheless. Then he turned to Greg.
"A man in an unhappy marriage is sitting at home one night. His wife comes to him, insists that he go out and buy her some cigarettes. He just wants to get out of the house for a while, so he does. But when he gets to the store, he sees that they're out of her brand. He knows she won't be happy with anything else, so he decides to go next door to a bar that he knows sells cigarettes. While he's there's, he treats himself to a whiskey sour, and while he's drinking it, he looks down the bar, and right next to him is the most beautiful woman he's ever seen."
"Oh yeah?" piped Greg, "What does she look like?"
"I don't know, Greg. Use your imagination." He continued, "Right in front of this woman, on the bar, he sees an expensive cigarette lighter engraved with the image of the Quetzalcoatl." He paused and looked inquiringly at Greg.
"Aztec plumed serpent god. I gotcha," said Greg with satisfaction.
"Very good, Greg. So this man, as it turns out, is interested in ancient Aztec mythology, and for this reason, he works up the courage to start talking to this woman. She's equally passionate about the subject; that's why she has the cigarette lighter. So they get into a conversation, and she tells him that she's just come back from an archaeological expedition in Mexico and managed to smuggle a few pieces from the dig back in her suitcase, would he like to see them? He says of course he would, so they go back to her apartment."
Greg raised his eyebrows.
"So they go there, they look at the artifacts, they talk some more, they have a great time, they share half a bottle of Tequila. One thing leads to another, and before they know it, they're in the bedroom sharing a night of passion."
"Aha!"
"Yeah, well, ancient Mexican history does that to people. So afterwords, he realizes what he's done and regrets it. He gets so nervous he breaks into a sweat, so he borrows some talcum powder from her dresser to put on his hands. Then he confesses to this woman that he's married, apologizes, tells her how amazing he thinks she is, but he has to leave her. He goes home to his wife. By now, he's been gone for hours, so she gets mad, demands to know where he's been all this time. He's an honest guy, so he tells her the whole story, from the bar, to the Quetzalcoatl, to the Tequila, to the other woman's bed. She looks at him and says, 'Do you expect me to believe that? Hold out your hands.' He does, she looks at them and says, 'You lying bum. You don't fool me. You've been out bowling!'"
Greg waited for the rest, but Grissom just leaned back again, looking pleased with himself.
"That's it?" Greg cried, and Grissom just kept smiling. Greg groaned. "Shaggy dog story, man!" He shook his head. "That's awful."
"No," argued Grissom calmly, "it's brilliant. Because the real punchline is in the reaction of the person I tell it to."
"Isn't that pretty selfish?" Greg asked.
"I never said it wasn't."
Greg shook his head. "Ancient Aztec mythology..." he breathed. Then he laughed, only a little at first, but louder as the humor of it started to dawn on him. Grissom joined in, both of them laughing at the sheer clever stupidity of it.
"I cannot believe you told that whole thing," he said. He glanced at his wrist, but realized he wasn't wearing his watch. "How long have we been here?" he asked.
"About ten minutes," Grissom answered. "Why? Am I such bad company?"
The question wasn't asked in earnest, it was impersonal, just Grissom being good humored in one of the few ways he knew how. But Greg took it seriously, and he fixed Grissom with a look.
"No," he said. "You're not."
Grissom returned his gaze, and Greg could see that the significance was not lost on him. The two of them said nothing for a long time, they just watched each other. Then Grissom spoke.
"Greg," he said, "I want you to know...the way I am with you at work...it's not personal."
Greg nodded. "Yeah, I know," he said softly.
"Something I'm learning about myself, " Grissom continued, "is how I am with people. I give everything, or I give nothing. So it surprises me when anyone cares what I think of them. I don't expect it."
Greg gave him a puzzled look. He was trying to work this out in his head. "So...you think the only reason I'd care what you thought of me was if...I don't know, you'd done something to prove what was in it for me?"
Grissom didn't answer, but Greg had known him long enough to realize that this wasn't a denial; quite the opposite, it probably meant he was seriously considering what he'd said.
Greg shook his head. "No way, man, that's not how it is. Maybe with some people, but not with me." He was gripped with fierce emotion, and he reached out to take hold of Grissom's arm, leaning in closer to him. "I look at you, and do you know what I see? I see everything I'm not..everything I wish I could be. Don't you know that?"
Grissom frowned, desperate confusion on his face. "What?"
"That's why I care what you think," said Greg, "That's why it's so hard that you can't stand me." Tears came now, and he couldn't speak, trying for all the world to squeeze them back.
Grissom was frozen for a moment, then he slowly shook his head, eyes still staring forward into Greg's. "Have I ever said that?" he asked softly. This time Greg didn't answer. "Greg, " he said, "You impress me so much."
Greg laughed a bitter laugh. The tears were running down his face now, despite his best efforts. "You're kidding."
"No," Grissom said, "I mean it. Because you screw up, but you listen to criticism and learn from it, and you go back and do a better job the next time. And every year I know you, you get more serious about what you're doing. That's what matters, and you get it. And I'm really glad you do."
"Why?"
Grissom smiled. "Because it gives me a good reason for being glad to see you every day." And as if Greg wasn't surprised enough by this expression, Grissom reached up and ruffled his hair.
Later, Greg wasn't able to say what possessed him. Certainly the strangeness of this wonderful, warm moment played a part, and perhaps it was just his trademark impetuousness rearing its head, or knowing that nothing he did could shake this man's professional attitude toward him, or maybe all the years of wanting, wanting but barely understanding what he wanted, were finally surfacing...but whatever the reason, in that instant he leaned forward and kissed Gil Grissom on the lips, very briefly.
The kiss was light and chaste, but far from innocent. It was invitation without expectation, and the instant he'd done it, he felt glad he had, whatever the outcome. He pulled away slowly, and allowed himself an amused smile at Grissom's stunned expression.
"Well," he said, "There it is. Now you know I'mmph..!"
That was all he managed to say.
Grissom had grabbed him, pulled him back and covered Greg's mouth with his own; he was now kissing him in a way Greg had always fantasized older people knew how to. He wrapped his arms around the older man, held on tight and tried to give as good as he was getting.
Somehow, everything was going so fast and so slow at the same time. His heart was pounding like he couldn't remember it ever doing before, and he felt a thrill, like a jolt of electricity shoot through the core of his body. As good as it was though, he eventually started to feel like he was drowning, so he worked a hand between their bodies and pushed against Grissom's chest. Instantly he was released.
Grissom pulled away, crestfallen. . "I..I'm sorry," he stammered, "I thought..."
Greg laughed breathlessly. "No," he gasped, "Just...had to breathe."
He watched as the confusion on Grissom's face melted into humor. They both laughed, holding each other tightly. "Does this mean I can call you Gill, now?" Greg asked.
Grissom shrugged. "I don't understand why no one ever does."
Greg smiled. "It's because you're untouchable," he said. Tenderly, he kissed Grissom's cheek, moving down to his jaw then up to his ear. He felt the arms around him tighten possessively.
"So," he whispered, "how long do we have until Catherine gets here?"
Grissom pulled away and turned to look into Greg's face. "Excuse me?"
"Catherine. How long?"
"I talked to her about fifteen minutes ago," said Grissom, then he got a wary look in his eye. "Greg..?"
"I think that's enough time," he said, "I work fast. Whaddya say?"
But he didn't wait to hear what Grissom had to say. Greg launched himself at the older man's neck, kissing what little skin was exposed and starting on the shirt buttons. He'd gotten one of them undone before Grissom slowly, deliberately seized his hands and stopped him.
"No, Greg," he said, his voice gentle but firm.
"Why not?"
Grissom fixed him in his gaze. "Because a crime was committed here," he said.
"Not in here, it wasn't," said Greg.
"We still can't," argued Grissom. "We'll contaminate the scene."
Greg just grinned wider.
"Not the way I work."
Greg wasn't about to take 'no' for an answer so easily, and it wasn't just because he wanted it. There needed to be resolution, completion of some kind before they left this closet and went back to their lives, something that would leave no room for regret, no way to back out and pretend nothing had happened.
So before Grissom had time to formulate another response, Greg was kissing him with all he had, trying like hell to convince him. He was pretty sure it was working, too, because Gil was kissing him back again and not trying to protest further.
Time for phase two, thought Greg. He moved his mouth to continue what he'd started on Gil's neck and chest, trailing hungry kissing over every available inch of skin and trying to open the shirt and reveal more. One spot at his throat elicited a particularly potent response, and Gil groaned his name.
"Ah, you like that, do yah?"
Gil just curled his fingers in Greg's hair.
Greg moved so that he was kneeling between Grissom's legs, ran one hand over the man's thigh's and teased him with just the touch of his fingertips.
"Hurry up, Greg!" Grissom breathed. He was clearly trying to sound gruff and mask but could not mask the need in his voice. If only they had more time, Greg would make him wait, make him suffer...he smiled at the thought. But for now, he would just be obedient one more time. He moved down Gil's chest with his hands and mouth, exhaling so that the heat of his breath would permeate the fabric. Unsurprisingly, Grissom was quiet and controlled in his reaction to Greg's administrations, but there were subtle signs; his heavy, uneven breathing, the tension in his muscles.
Greg's right hand cupped the older man's crotch, and he looked to Grissom's face for confirmation. Gil nodded fervently, squeezing his eyes shut in desperate anticipation, so Greg quickly opened the pants and eased a hand inside. Gil gasped as those fingers made contact with his swollen flesh, and Greg smirked as he imagined how the man would react to what was coming next; he was more than ready for it. Greg himself was content to save his own gratification for another time; he regularly took matters into his own hand (so to speak) as a part of his morning routine, and it was still early enough in the day that he knew release would probably be too long in coming, half-hard though he already was. For now it was enough, more than enough, just to be giving.
He wrapped his fingers around Gil's erection and carefully pulled it free. He heard the man sigh as he surrendered himself, fully, to Greg's touch.
Greg had done this many times before, had enjoyed it many times, but this was different. Gil was different. Being near him like this, Greg knew, was something sacred, something that didn't happen often. He wanted this to be good, so good the man wouldn't even be able to feel awkward about it later.
He ran his fingers up the length of the firm shaft with slow, steady pressure. Just a few strokes like that, enough to whet the appetite, then he bent forward, licked his lips, and took half the length in his mouth.
Grissom tensed, then slowly relaxed, releasing his breath in a long, ragged exhalation. He twined the fingers of one hand in Greg's hair once more, and with the other, sought Greg's own free hand and clasped it.
Greg thought his heart skipped a beat. That was different, definitely different. Unexpected but...not a bad thing. He reminded himself to focus on the task at hand, though, redoubling his efforts as he judged his rhythm; when to change, when to tease, when to bear down and give it to him.
Suddenly, Grissom's cell phone was ringing. Shit.
He is not going to answer that. But even as Greg thought this, he felt the hand holding his pull away to fumble about in jacket pockets, retrieve the device, and flip it open.
"Grissom." Greg could hear the strain in his voice, and wondered if the caller did.
"Uh...you okay?" It was Catherine; Greg was so close he could hear her. Apparently, she'd noticed something.
Gil cleared his throat. "Yah," he said, sounding more controlled, but meanwhile the fingers in Greg's hair tightened.
"Good," she said, "I need some help finding the place. I'm in the neighborhood, but I can't find the street."
Grissom didn't answer right away. Greg could tell by the angle of his arm that he was holding the phone away from his mouth as a slight groan escaped him.
She was close, then. Shit. Well, they would have to stop now, cut their losses and hope Gil could find an excuse to stay sitting down for a while. He started to pull away, but Gil held him in place, just long enough to let Greg know he wasn't ready to give up, yet.
Then he said. "Catherine, you're cutting out." Then he turned the phone off.
Greg was stunned. He never thought the guy could be such a good liar. He could hear that Grissom was dialing her number, now, and she picked up.
"Hi."
"Hi." Catherine repeated her request for directions, then described where she was.
"Do you see a house with a white fence?" said Gil.
"The one with all the flowers?"
"That's the one."
"It's up ahead."
"Drive until you get to it."
Silence while Catherine obeyed. Gil had to fight hard to be quiet now and was hissing through his teeth. He was close, he must be close...
"Okay, I'm in front of it."
"Do you see a blue house up ahead?"
"No." A pause. "There was a light blue house a little way back. I passed it."
"Are you coming east?" Grissom asked.
"East? Why would I be coming east?"
A deep breath out, phone pulled away. "I thought you were. Well then, it's back the other way."
Silence again while she drove. Grissom was so tense, Greg knew he had to be nearly there. He heard him switch off the phone again, perhaps out of discretion, perhaps out of respect...
Then it happened. Still he was quiet, but it was strong, Greg could tell. He stayed with him through the tidal wave, not letting up until the last aftershocks were long over.
The phone rang again. Grissom turned it on but waited for Catherine to speak first; he was still breathing hard.
"I lost you again," she said. "I think I found it...yah, this is the street. Number 413?" A pause. "Grissom?"
"Number 413," he confirmed. "The back door is unlocked. We're in the master bedroom closet, but take a good look at the kitchen before you come up here, I wanna know what you think."
"Okay." The call ended.
Greg leaned back, smirking and wiping his mouth while Gil zipped up. Their eyes met for a moment, and Greg started laughing uncontrollably. Grissom just smiled.
When Catherine arrive a few minutes later, she opened the closet door and regarded them with amusement.
"Well, don't you two look cozy," she said.
"Mmm hmm," agreed Grissom. "Why don't you join us?"
Greg coughed, and Catherine frowned at him. "You okay?" she asked.
"It's just the dust," Grissom explained.
Catherine continued to frown. "Uh huh..." She shook her head. "C'mon. I want you guys to see what I found in the kitchen."
"We'll meet you down there," said Grissom, standing up. "Greg and I need to wash up again before we handle any evidence. "
If Catherine thought there was anything odd about this, she gave no sign; she merely nodded and left the room.
The master bedroom connected to a bathroom, which, luckily, had also been cleared. They went inside and washed their hands in silence. Now Greg was starting to worry, and he felt the tension settle on him as a weight in his stomach. Grissom was being so casual about it, maybe Greg had misjudged him. Maybe this encounter would be the beginning as well as the end of things between them...
But as he reached to turn the water off, Grissom seized his hand. Greg met his eyes.
"Can you be at my place at seven tonight?" he asked quietly.
Greg stared for a moment, then nodded.
"Do you want to?"
A dangerous question, but Greg didn't hesitate. "Yes."
The uncertainly on Grissom's face melted into a grin. He squeezed Greg's shoulder.
"Good," he said. "Let's get back to work."
He led the way out of the bathroom. Greg watched him for a moment, smiling, then followed.