Fic: First Date (CSI, N/W, PG.13)

[starbright73]

Title: First Date – or clueing in the clueless. 1/2
Author: *bright
Rating: Not quite NC-17 but definitely PG-13.
Spoilers: Up to season 3
Pairing: Nick/Warrick
Category: Prompt “First Date” at ___nick_warrick
Summary: There are romantic first dates and then there are Nick 'n Rick dates.
Words: 12.408
Author's Note: Un-beta’d. Too big for one post so I had to cut it at the middle. Damn!
Disclaimer: Me own zip and nada, ‘cept an over active imagination.




They'd bickered all the way to the break-room. Nick jibing at him about losing the wager and needing to cough up the money. Warrick being adamant about that if he had lost, so had Nick. All right, it hadn't been the wife to put the husband out, but it wasn't the mistress either. And the real culprit, the brother-in-law had never been in question. According to him. Nick argued the fact that he'd wagered on that it wasn't anybody in the immediate family, the murder had been to random and sloppy for anyone that actually knew the victim to have to resort to. He'd argued that it had been a random killing. In Warrick's mind brothers-in-law were family and not random killers. To which Nick had protested and pulled a very cheap proof; the scientific fact that brothers-in-laws couldn't be identified by DNA as belonging to his spouse's family. That brothers-in-law were family, not by blood, but by judicial means. And he had certainly meant blood-relative and nothing else. Which of course had spiraled into a debate on jurisdiction and family-law until they both were out of arguments and the issue still unsolved.

Warrick grinned when he ordered Nick to look out for Greg before he poured them some of the lab-tech's Blue Hawaiian. He'd leave the twenty in Nick's pocket anyhow, then he'd drag the man out for pancakes as soon as this hellish shift was over and make him pay for breakfast. Because, in fact, he had lost but he'd never fess up to his defeat. The debates were half the fun of any bet with Nick. He'd just not let the opinionated man know he was right; he had never suspected the brother-in-law, but neither had Nick. He'd gunned for the co-owner of the construction business, a college-bud. And it had taken them two days to get a good-enough finger-print and a piece of a shirt to figure that out and present the slam dunk to the DA.

They were good at this, just as good as they were at stealing Greg's pricey coffee.

“Hey,” he nudged Nick's elbow and the man left his post by the door and sank to the empty chair at his side.

“We shouldn't hang out at the crime scene,” Nick threw him a glance. “All common criminals do that.”

“Yeah? Didn't know that you had such experience in that field.” Warrick grinned. “And I happen to know you bought Greg a pack of this over-priced stuff last month. Stokes, you better not be thinking about changing careers, coz' I'd have your ass in the slammer only by looking at you. You blush every time Greg checks his stash.”

“I so don't,” Nick grimaced and reached for the bowl of sugar. He jumped at the triumphant 'Ha!, from the door and sent a spoonful of sugar raining over the table.

“Man!” Warrick sighed at the jumpiness, it had been tripled in intensity since the Crane-case. He glared at the lab-tech advancing on them. Greg should know how sudden sounds and moves would jar Nick.

“So busted!” Greg planted his palms on the table and leaned in over it “You just don't put that amount of sugar in Blue Hawaiian. It's sacrilege!”
Nick peered, all puppy-eyed, at the lab-tech. “Greggo, you just can't deny me your sweet stuff, now can you? That would be cruel.”

Warrick was baffled at the honeyed tone.

Greg huffed and moved away to pour himself a cup. “And especially not this cheap white, bleached and refined sugar, that's just not classy enough.” Greg shook his head and moved over to the cupboard to retrieve a plastic container from behind some boxes. “This is what you need to sweeten it up. Raw sugar, Nick, the sugar of real men.” Placing the box before Nick, he theatrically bent his arm to show off his biceps under the lab-coat. Nick chuckled good-naturedly at the skinny lab-tech.

Warrick realized that it looked as though they were flirting. Greg was all over the place, inching closer to Nick over the table, reaching out to pour sugar into Nick's cup; a starry-eyed glance in Nick's direction when the heel of his hand touched Nick's fingers, wrapped around the cup. And Nick was smiling that smile that probably lured the pants off anyone he laid it on Flapping his long eyelashes, the hotter-than-the-sun smile deepening his dimples. It pissed Warrick off. He needed to stop the mating ritual he was witnessing.

“Sanders, how'd your date with the blond chick go?” He realized the diversion was fucking obvious the moment he opened his mouth.

“He's found the love of his life, Warr. He jones'd her epithelial for a thorough investigation.” Nick laughed, shaking his head. “Greggo's a real romantic.”

“I'm sure I'll make a name in the scientific community with a paper on how to establish personality traits in DNA from epithelial. I'll expose the lot of you and get myself a Nobel.”

Greg's eyes never wavered off Nick and Warrick shook his head n turn. “And Nick here made the 'get to know over a coffee' speech, I'm sure. I bet the two of you haven't scored in months.”

“That's why we're hooking up,” Greg replied and Nick coughed on his coffee. “To go bird hunting on one of the rare nights off we're allowed in this place. You up for that, Nick? The one that picks up the first bird gets to gloat.”

Warrick grinned at the blush on Nick's cheeks. “Sanders, let me tell you something about Nick here – he's all about love at first sight, followed with long elaborate build-ups involving flowers, late night dinners and he doesn't ever score before the fifth date. That is if the bird is still interested. Usually she's already flown the coop because this is actually the twenty-first century and gentlemen are a rare, and slightly suspicious, breed.”

Nick wiped coffee off his nose and glared. “That's it, Rick. You're never getting flowers from me again.”

“I'm gonna cry you a river, baby,” Warrick taunted.

“You can cry at the crime scene,” Grissom spoke from the door. “We have an assault at the O-Gallery, the janitor called it in. O'Reilly is waiting for you at the scene, I'll send Sara to the hospital to check the vic. And I need you two to process the scene. Greg, where's my results?”

“Being printed right now,” Greg promised, jumping up off the chair and filing past Grissom. Warrick looked at Nick tiredly when the two of them scrambled to their feet. Warrick getting the paper from Grissom while Nick put the cups away.

“You all right there, Nicky?” Grissom asked as Nick wiped his nose anew. The man just lifted his hand in a dismissive wave and took aim for the locker-room.

“He's just not quite managed the art of swallowing yet,” Warrick grinned and Grissom's eyes widened in slight surprise.

“Strong coffee,” Warrick clarified and followed the shorter man's hurried steps.

He couldn't help but laugh when he noticed Nick folding a twenty and pushing it through the creak in Greg's locker. Going for the Jackson in his own pocket, he extended it to Nick, who pushed it through the crack with a grin.

“I swear, Sanders is making a neat profit thanks to your bleeding heart.” Warrick muttered when he pulled out his vest.







The walk-through of the scene was brief. Multiple bloodied footprints showed the route the assailant had taken to escape, no signs of break-in on the door and everything seemed untouched, except the counter with postcards of the art, maps of Vegas and the cash register. There was a largish pool of still fresh blood right in front f it. No splatter, indicating that the bleeding hadn't been squirting all over the place. Probably why the victim was still alive. Nick sneaked a glance at Warrick, who was busy photographing the footprints. “I'll sample the blood just in case, Warr.”

“You think the vic got a piece of the perp?”

“Sure hope he did.”

“Or you just wanna have more samples for Sanders.”

Nick snorted and looked at the blood on the floor, trying to assess the amount when he knelt to take samples. There was no indication that the blood belonged to anybody but the victim, but he wanted to make sure anyhow. They worked in silence, Warrick advancing slowly while Nick meticulously labeled the swabs.

“What happened?” He asked when the detective arrived at his side while he lifted the camera to take the first detailed pictures of the counter.

“Partly slit throat,” O'Reilly spoke laconically. “Caucasian male fled the scene when the janitor heard noises and found the the suspect bent over the vic. Said that he thought they were kissing at first, then he must have realized that most don't bring a knife on their dates. “ O'Reilly grinned. “He called it in right away but we were unable to apprehend the perp.”

“Kissing?” Nick inquired, looking perturbed at the sturdy detective. “How come?”

“Take a look at the art, Stokes!” O'Reilly grinned and turned to walk away.

Nick rose to look at the photographs on the wall. They were all homo erotic compositions, erotic in a very subdued manner when compared to the eroticism in some magazine ads. He couldn't imagine someone would blow a fuse and stab some one over this? It was mostly skin to skin, biceps over abs and - his eyes stopped a photograph, unable to look away.

It was printed on pearly paper and the composition was perfect. The male bodies formed a perfect curve. The black model's back muscled and pressed to the slightly shorter caucasian's, who seemed melted into the hold. Their faces were turned away, but the way their necks were bent back spoke of a soul deep connection. Their arms were crossed in an X in the middle of the photograph. Their limbs lined up with one another's perfectly, hands used to underline the lustful need, exuding from the artwork.

What took his breath away was the strong forearm, the sinews and patterns of veins. How often had he not let his eyes linger on one just like it, watching the muscles play and literally felt the heat of the skin?

“Nick?”

He jumped and turned at Warrick's voice right behind him.

“Warrick, I can't see any weapon. The perp must have taken it with him.” He shrugged his shoulders, trying to shield the view for his bud. No need for him to know.

“You daydreaming, Stokes?”

Nick felt blood rush to his cheeks and cursed himself, silently but vehemently. Turning to continue photographing the scene, he spoke dismissively. “Just trying to figure out what went on in here.”

The low whistle that followed took him by surprise. He turned back and was met by a sharp beam of light nearly knocking him off his feet. “What the -?”

“You two-timing me, man?

“Wha-?” The sharp light disappeared and he blinked to readjust his vision.

Warrick was looking at the photo, a sly grin forming when the beam from the flashlight moved to follow the lines of the photo. “The dude looks just like you, man!”

Nick clammed his mouth over the third surprised 'what' in as many minutes. He stole a glance at the taller man, wondering if he somehow was developing a skill to read his mind? Of course, he wasn't looking at the skinny white dude, but the black muscular man behind him. “What you talking about?”

“Him!” The flash-light stalled at the turned face. “If I didn't know, I'da sworn that was you.”

Nick knew what his bud was hinting at; Nick Stokes, the prude that wouldn't have the balls to expose himself for the world to see. It was true but it pissed him off all the same. “How you know it isn't?” he asked coyly.

Was the light trembling? He narrowed his eyes and looked closer at his bud, trying to gauge the reaction. Warrick didn't look at him, his eyes were trained on the couple on the photo, the sly smile fading.

“How'd you know? Nick insisted.

Warrick had reassembled himself and turned to him, flashing a superior grin in his direction. Green eyes twinkling as eyebrows rose, creasing the brow and Nick felt the flush of heat on his cheeks. Of course Warrick knew. It was at his place Nick had silently freaked out after the Crane-incident, going all shivery and weak. He'd blamed it on the Vicodin but sensed that he hadn't ever conned his bud. Warrick was not one to miss how his eyes had looked for suspicious holes in the ceiling of every room he entered for a long while. Warrick knew he'd have to be shot before exposing himself like that.

“You mind taking the counter, Warrick? Dusting it so we can get outta here?” He turned away, mind set on finishing the shots of the bloody pool on the floor. Why didn't he just say it - 'mind taking me on the counter Warrick? The filter between his mouth and brain had somehow gotten unhinged by Warrick's cat-like gaze lingering on him. Warrick had always had the uncanny capacity to look straight through him.

“Counter sounds good to me.”

It sounded like a purr and Nick felt a shiver run down his spine. Damned the man to play him like this. He had to crouch down and breathe, willing the erection away. Getting a hard-on at a crime-scene was not a first, not with Warrick around. But under the circumstances it was utterly sick. Looking at the blood, imagining the fear the victim must have felt when he stared at the knife was enough to sober him up instantly. “You think it's a hate-crime?” he asked in a low voice, snapping the last detail photos of the counter.

“The money is still here so we can rule out robbery.” Warrick replied from behind the construction.

“Signs of struggle?” Nick rose to deposit the camera.

“Not that I can see.” Warrick's voice was muffled from behind the artsy metal counter. “There's an alarm here, bro! Why didn't he push the button?”

“He knew the guy?” Nick paused on his way to his kit. “No break-in, money left in the register and no struggle? Jealousy?”

Warrick emerged from under the desk and narrowed his eyes. “Jealousy? Bro, you've been hanging out with Sara too much. We're not killing machines.”

Nick rolled his eyes, “Yeah, I forgot that. No man has ever killed in a fit of jealousy. Would you mind stating your source on that, Rick?” He posed the camera in his kit and pulled out the dusting equipment. Then it hit min. “We, Warrick?”

“Huh?”

Gripping the print power and two brushes, Nick sauntered over. “We?” he repeated, “as in what exactly?”


“As in any sane male who's getting pissed at your stalling, Nick.” Warrick shook his head. “Hand me that brush and start from the left, I'll meet you in the middle. If there's prints, they have to be on this counter.”

“All right boss. Of course, by the position of the vic, all the important prints will be found on the right end. How is it we stand on solved cases this year?” he grinned.

“Shut up, Stokes. You're nowhere near my numbers.” The man chuckled and threw him a sidelong glance.

“Glad to hear you keep close tabs, bro.”





The photo had jarred Warrick; the sensual position, the slightly arched neck of the tanned man with the slender build and dark, short hair. The hands grabbing at each other, the closeness and ecstasy depicted in the tight embrace. He'd seen Nick without a shirt on several occasions, some of those occasions he'd used to jerk off to. And the man in the picture could so easily be his bud, melting into the embrace of the darker man behind him. For a moment he had felt a tug of jealousy at the mere thought of Nick getting it on with somebody else. Another male no less. He could take Nick getting off with chicks, but if he needed a male, he sure shouldn't look no further than to him. But the chances that Nick swung both way, as he did were close to nil. Still, the darkened eyes as his bud looked transfixed at the picture before them, had Warrick's libido pull at him, prompting him to make a move. But he didn't, he never would. If his move caused a rift between them, he'd never forgive himself. Friendship carried a long way, he'd never jeopardize that. Not that he wasn't tempted, he'd been tempted from the first time the Texan had arrived in Vegas, all square jawed and sweet in an alluring mixture of hard and soft. He'd watched Nick, like he always did, taking in the cues to assess what he was all about. Thing was that Nick wasn't that easy to read, despite the bleeding heart on the sleeve. There were depths there that Warrick suspected he'd never be privy to. It intrigued him and instilled the respect that kept him from risking the friendship they'd struck.

But it didn't stop him from wanting.

Like now, when they worked side by side. Nick's tongue slipping out from concentration when he had to lift a particularly demanding print. A hand going up to adjust his hair as he tilted his head to figure out the best way to get half a print off the table and the other half off the brochure lying on top of it. Warrick grinned when he watched Nick tape the folder in place before dusting and lifting the print. He could have taken the easy way and bagged the postcard and lifted the other half off the counter and have Mandy piece them together later.

That going the extra mile for anybody was the one thing he respected in Nick. It wasn't a thing that was common, not without expecting some kind of pay-off. In Nick it was innate, something he just did without even thinking about it. Just as innate as the gesture of his tongue slipping out when concentrated or in deep thought, driving Warrick out of his mind with the innocuous pinkness. Just like the heat radiating off the vibrant body at his side, he felt it without even touching. Just standing there an arm's length away he felt it sneak up on him, seep through his skin to settle somewhere around his heart. And it was heaven and hell in a neat package, designed to drive him off the deep end.

“You about done, bro?” He had to step away before he'd do something idiotic, like licking the neck of his bud.

Nick made a funny little huffing sound, leaning back to take a last look. “Don't see any other possible evidence, you?”

“Nope, just let me get the hard drive from the security cam and bag it before we head back.“ It was a relief to get out of Nick's personal space; he'd been bathed in the sound and cent of a certain Nick Stokes to a degree that had his head reeling dangerously close to stepping over the line and slam the man down on the counter to have his way with him, professionalism be damned.

He grinned at that, knew it would never happen, other than when alone in his bed, hand wrapped around his aching cock as he jerked off in solitude. It was never as good as having the real deal, but it what all he had and ever would have.

“It's just stupid, Warr. If this guy knew the vic enough to be let in after hours, he had to know about the security camera? Why do it here? I swear, sometimes I just don't get people.” Nick's voice was low and incredulous as he sealed the bags with the lifted prints.

“Wouldn't the more logic question be why do it at all?” Warrick shook his head at the direction of Nick's train of thought.

“Logic and love has a tendency to crash head on,” Nick stated like he knew it for certain.

“Sounds like someone has a crush and can't get over it,” Warrick mocked gleefully as he steered his steps to the kit waiting on the floor. “Don't tell me it's Sanders, man!”

“Why? Som'tnin' wrong with Sanders?” Nick drawled teasingly while picking up his kit.

“Too short for your likings, bro!” Was there a slight blush or was he seeing things?

“Would yah shut up already? We need to get this evidence logged and processed.”

Nick walked around him, close enough to make Warrick pause not to clash into him. He kept his gaze on the fine butt as they proceeded to the door, knowing that he was too close to the line he'd drawn for himself. His hand itched to reach out and grip Nick's neck and pull him in for a kiss. Sometimes Warrick suspected that it was more than sexual attraction he felt for the man, something so deep and primal that it kept his boundaries intact just because of a deep fear of losing something that was irreplaceable. He'd never express the word because it was over-used and cheapened to an extent that it had lost its true meaning.

What he felt was more than a word. And it scared the crap out of him. He was so fucking screwed.






Nick was loading the kits into the back of the Tahoe that was waiting for them in the alley. The street was deserted at this time of night and Nick was keeping an eye out. He felt something sinister in the air and O'Reilly and the cop that had accompanied him were nowhere to be seen. The squad car was parked in front of their truck, blocking the path. Warrick had cursed and was trying to radio the detective to get him to move it.

All he saw was the soiled knife, a shadow behind the tall CSI that suddenly growled a curse. An arm sneaked around Warrick's chest and without even reflecting, Nick took two steps up and gripped the arm, pulling it away from Warrick. The taller man launched backwards and had the assailant pressed up against the car. There was one last futile jab in the darkness before Nick got a secure grip and forced the assailant to lose his weapon and yanked him from behind Warrick to fall onto his chest over the hood. The man let out a whimper and Nick pressed him harder to the metal, growling at him.

“Where's the knife, Nick?” Warrick seemed in full control, despite the attack. Nick suddenly felt the onslaught of the fear he hadn't had time to recognize for what it was when he witnessed Warrick being attacked.

“You ok, man?” He asked, sounding winded.

“The knife, Nick!”

“Yeah, yeah, I think it's behind me.” He turned to look and the perp made a sudden move, forcing him to grip the wrist and pull the arm behind the back of the guy, precariously close to breaking it. The man whimpered and Nick pressed down harder, growling wordlessly.

“Jesus Nicky, don't suffocate him!” Warrick boxed his upper arm. “Over here, O'Reilly. We just did your job for you.”

“M'sorry Rick,” Nick mumbled when O'Reilly and his colleague came running around the corner, grabbing the assailant and he stepped away to let them frisk and cuff the man.

Warrick threw him a glance like he had weirded him out totally before he trained his eyes on the suspect. Nick felt small shivers in his arms, tiredness sweeping over him as the adrenaline-high vanished. It had been so close that his heart refused to settle. Rubbing his neck he peered up at the man standing in front of him. “Warrick? You okay, man? He didn't nick you, did he?”

“Not even close,” Warrick said, his eyes roaming up and down Nick's body. “ How about -.”

He was interrupted by the guttural snarl from the suspect, “ I'm fucking gonna kill you, pretty boy!”

Nick turned surprised and watched as O'Reilly started dragging the livid man towards the squad car. He resisted violently and spit in Nick's direction. “I'll fucking find you and kill you, you son of a bitch. You're gonna pay, ass-wipe!”

Warrick pushed Nick to the side and took a step in the assailant's direction. “You threatening him? Open that mouth of yours again and you'll have my boot in it so deep that your own teeth will bite your ass!”

“Warrick, whoa, chill!” Nick threw his arms around the taller man, having to strain forcefully to keep him off the punk. Using his full weight to stop him and have him back up to lean against the Tahoe. “Warr, geez, take it easy!”

He was breathless when he kept the man pressed up against the passenger door, his arms blocking Warrick's and preventing him from pulling his gun and shooting the loud-mouth. His bud's heart beat wildly, muscles tensing as he growled deep in his throat. He'd have to move back soon, the scent and the tenor in the body was giving him major trouble in one department. Resting his palm on Warrick's heart, he looked up, trying to calm the man with his gaze.

“It's all right, bro. He's in custody.” He didn't loosen his grip before the punk was in the squad car and O'Reilly was on the radio, getting back-up. Nick prayed that Warrick had been pissed off enough not to notice his predicament. Second hard-on in the most inappropriate of situations was a record even for him.

“You all right there?” O'Reilly asked when he'd had the ETA confirmed. “Had no idea the guy was hiding out here, we checked everywhere. Won't happen again. Good job!”

“He almost had Warrick,” Nick shook his head as if to rid himself of the fear, his heart still thundering behind his ribs. “I'm taking Warrick to the ER to have him checked out. He might have been nicked by the knife.”

“You what?” Warrick wheezed and freed himself, only to step up to stand toe to toe with him. “You were the one trying to get sliced up. Don't you ever go after a knife like that. You hear?”

“Wha-?”

“Pretty boys should just stay clear when the going gets rough,” Warrick glared, face barely an inch from his. “Go shut the door and get into the car. We'll get the evidence back to the lab and nothing else. And I'm driving!”

“The hell you are! You were attacked and -.”

Warrick gripped his shoulder, shaking him. “Think I didn't see? He missed you by a hair, dammit!”

“Wha-?” He blinked with rattled surprise.

“Shut up and get into the truck. Now!” Warrick sounded exasperated when he turned to get to the driver's side of the truck. He mumbled something under his breath as he walked away.

Nick simply shook his head and went to shut the door he'd left open while loading the last of the evidence. He didn't want to get into a major discussion at this point, after all they had made it and discussing with Warrick in this state of mind would lead nowhere. He'd just have to oblige and keep an eye on his bud.

With a investigating glance under his brow, he settled on the passenger seat and kept quiet, always the best option when Rick was boiling over. Not that he wouldn't keep an eye out, but he'd do it unnoticed.

Warrick pulled out as soon as O'Reilly had moved the squad car. Nick winced at the speed. But said nothing, not until Warrick almost ran a red. That's when he decided he'd had it and turned reprimand the man with a glare.

He was met with a dangerously wild, penetrating stare that left him speechless. The greens could tell a lot, and what they were saying right now had Nick's eyebrows rise in an arc of total incomprehension.

“Pretty boy?”

Opening his mouth, Nick found himself at a loss of words. He simply stared, wide-eyed, at his bud.

“Do you know the dude?” Warrick prodded, voice barely contained.

“Wha-? No!” Pouting he shook his head in denial, wondering if Warrick had been hit over his head without him noticing?

“So why'd he threaten you? Looked to me like he knew you.” Warrick looked away.

“Well, I was on top of him there for a while.” Nick tried, grinning despite the shudder he felt rippling down his spine from the memory of the knife in the darkness. He wasn't at ease with the way this discussion was heading. “Maybe he felt like he knew me?”

“Nick! If you know the guy, you can't be on the case, man. Don't you get it?”

“Warrick, damn!” Irritation had him fist his hands. Did Warrick think that little of him? That he'd jeopardize a case like that? “I've never seen the dude before! Think I wouldn't tell you if I had? I took him down, slammed him to the hood, of course he was pissed. What's your problem, man?”

“I took him down and my problem is that the moment he saw you, he got all riled up. I was watching him and I swear it seemed like he knew you. Then when you didn't pay him any attention he blew a fuse.”

“He had plenty of them blown to begin with,” Nick mumbled.

“Pretty boy? Not son of a bitch or motherfucker? That make sense to you?”

“Man, you're reading too much into what a punk, probably high on everything under the sun, said. I don't know him, I don't wanna know him and where is this all coming from?” He fixated the man in the driver's seat, totally lost as to the reason for this interrogation.

Warrick finally smiled. “Dude. I see you drooling over a photo with two nude males obviously going at it. You, a man who blushes at the mere hint of something the slightest out of the ordinary when it comes to sex. Then some pun comes up, ready off me to have you.”

“Shut up.” Nick winced, unable to rid himself of the possible outcome.

“Can you blame me for wondering?” Warrick asked, looking him at him from the side.

“Were there chains? Whips or multiple partners banging?” He finally let the anger shine through, snapping at the man. Was Warrick pulling his leg or did he really come off that innocent?

“So you're totally cool with two dudes getting it on?” Warrick's smile had grown wider.

“As cucumber,” Nick muttered in reply. “I'm fine as long as you don't come after me with a bull whip or demand I hang upside down, singing an opera, while doing it.”

“Noted,” Warrick let out with a soft, purring laughter that had Nick remain staring at him.




Warrick seriously questioned his sanity when he helped Nick gather the evidence from the truck. Had it been absolutely necessary to expose himself like he had? Why hadn't he just fessed up to having fantasies of a naked Nick in his bed, flushed and pleading. Hell, it didn't even have to be a bed as long as he got his hands on his bud. Did he really have to enjoy Nick pressed up to him to that extent? If the man had remained a second longer, he'd have started dry-humping him. Where was his self-control?

And why did it seem he had to know if Nick was okay with two males jumping each other? Why did it feel like he needed to prod even further? Was the okay an okay for everybody else, as long as Nick wasn't involved? Did he want to be involved? Had he been involved already? Why did the look in his bud's eyes when he was caught watching the photo have his own brain dangerously close to the melting point? Making up images of Nick in his hold, strong and lean. All muscle and sinews playing under the tanned skin glued to his own in? Why did he keep feeding the hunger that was about to chew him up and possibly spit him out, destroyed?

“Bro? You ok there man?”

Nick was standing a few feet away from him, evidence bags and kit in hand and brow creased with evident concern.

“Yeah, just thinking. We should give Archie the surveillance before anything else. If we see the punk arriving and exiting all bloodied, it's a slam dunk and all we have to do to connect the dots is to prove that the blood on the knife and shirt is the vic's.”

Nick ducked his head, looking at him pensively. “You realize we spent over an hour, dusting for evidence we might never need. But I'd rather had picked the perp up the traditional way than have him with a knife to your throat. You sure you're all right? Seemed to zone out there for a while.”

Warrick rolled his eyes. “The knife was never near me, man. Never try and sneak up on me from behind.”

“But every other angle is all right, boss?” Nick smiled sadly, all but convinced.

“Pretty boy.” Warrick retaliated with a taunting sneer, knowing that Nick had seen right through him. He'd almost had a heart attack at the scene, feeling someone sneaking up on him like that. Guess the joke was on him this time. He'd prided himself with always seeing to it that his back was covered, from anything and everybody. Tonight he was being exposed in all kinds of manners. It always seemed to happen around Nick; he'd get drawn into the emotional fields he usually avoided like the plague. Being more in tune with the concept of action and expected reaction which suited him better than pondering on how he felt about said actions and reactions. You never stop to ask why, that was a thing he'd learned early on, it only led to pain. Looking back and analysing the events was mostly futile, what had to be done had to be done.

Nick shoved him onwards with a low chuckle. “Don't worry, Rick, you're pretty hot yourself when you freak out all over the place. You scared the crap outta the dude, man!”

Yeah, that was Nick all right. They were able to make a joke out of almost everything if they felt the inclination to hide behind a wall of jibes, never revealing a thing. Most of the time it was just because on one level, Nick was so easy to hang with, on the other, he was pure hell. Like now, walking behind him on their way to the layout room, watching that one damned fine ass before him was hell, pure hell. And oh so sinfully tempting.

He reluctantly lifted his eyes when the man in front of him turned around abruptly and stopped in his tracks.

“Want coffee?”

“Huh?” Warrick blinked, trying to look casual.

“Man what's – you want me to bring you coffee after I drop this off to Greg?” Nick lifted the bag containing the knife, head tilted to the side and that concerned crease forming anew.

“Sure,” Warrick leered. “Can't stay away from Sanders more than a couple o' hours at the time, can you? What is it? Pretty boys flock like pifflings?”

Nick grinned and backed, pointing at him. “I'll tell him you said that! If you're real nice I'll even get the two of you out on a date.”

“Yeah? Thanks but no thanks, I can get my own dates, Stokes!”

Nick continued backing, tilting his head and smiling sweetly. ”Yeah? And how much did you have to cough up?”

Warrick sent him a death glare before he turned and stepped into the layout room to hide his grin. He could hear Nick's laughter down the corridor.

He sat down, dropping the evidence bags onto the table and leaned his head in his hands. This was spiraling out of control. He needed to get his head out of his ass and stop looking at Nick like he was candy on a stick. This was exactly why he'd steered his eyes and thoughts off Nick for as long as he'd known him. If this went on for much longer he'd spontaneously combust. You do not check out your co-worker's ass while on shift, he chided himself. You do not let yourself think about licking his neck, or pushing him up against the wall to have your way with him. Neither do you stare at the tongue the man has a tendency to stick out between those fucking lips. You don't wonder how they would feel around you, slick and soft.

He groaned when he lifted his face, was thinking about it really any better than actually doing it? His mind surely was everywhere else than on the case at hand. He was so screwed!





Nick was handling two coffees and sandwiches and his cell when he made his way back to the layout room. The balancing act was grating on his nerves and when Warrick seemed totally absorbed by the documents he was filling out, he growled and pushed his hip to the man's shoulder, averting him of help needed.

“Yeah, sounds fine,” he spoke into the phone, forced to give Warrick another push as the man simply stretched out his hand for the cup.

“Yeah, Warrick thinks he took him out, it was really I who saved his ass.” He grinned at the man finally looking up with a scowl on his face. Seeing the overloaded co-worker, he finally got off his ass and freed Nick off some of his load. To get his point across, Nick pouted and massaged his neck peering at the man freeing him of his burdens.

“I bet,” he spoke into the phone. “We have him booked for going off on Rick, and we're off to check the surveillance to see if we can place him at the scene. Then we'll just have to match the blood on his shirt to the vic's and he's a goner.”

He sank down on the stool and stretched his legs out in front of him. “Yeah, he's fine. Moody and sour, but fine. Or so he says. See yah later, Sar!”

“Rumor mill?” Warrick asked, eyeing the man in front of him. “What's the verdict?”

“Yeah,” Nick nodded. “What you think? The CSI were shaking in their boots while the cops saved their asses.”

“Of course,” Warrick gruffed in reply.

“Well you were kinda thrown off there for a while, Warr.” Nick smiled down to his cup. “And don't even try denying it.”

“Shut up, bro and hand me the sandwich. How's the vic?”

“Dead,” Nick replied morosely, stirring his coffee. “The surveillance tape?”

“Already at its destination. Somebody's got to work while you chat with Sanders.” Warrick snorted and sipped his coffee. His eyes widened in surprise. “Okay pretty boy, spill! What you do to Sanders to get your hands on his Hawaiian?”

Nick threw the man a disgusted glare. “Ever tried asking nicely for a cup?”

“Plenty of times. I always get the sermon on the rarity and the price. Guess only pretty boys get the actual java,” Warrick grinned, shaking his head and pushing a stack of documents in Nick's direction. “Start signing and maybe we'll be able to clock out on schedule this shift. Sara coming over with the vic's clothes?”

“She's gonna swing by holding and get the assailant's too.” Nick accepted the documents with a sigh and leaned in over the table. “I thought you were on top of this? How come I always get stuck with the the paperwork?” he whined.

“I'd rather be on top of someone – something else. 'Sides, no-one else can read your chicken scratch.” Warrick groaned over a mouthful of the sandwich.

“Freudian slip there? Date waiting on you?” Nick leaned in over the documents, rubbing his neck, trying to stop remembering Warrick's body-heat pressed to him at the scene. Warrick was so not helping right now. “You sure he didn't whack you over the head or something – you're starting to talk funny here.”

“He didn't stand a chance, man.” Warrick stepped to stand so close that Nick felt the darned heat radiate off him.

“Sure.” Nick reached for another document to sign.

“Wanna bet?” The taller man placed his hands on the edge of the table, leaning in close to Nick's shoulder.

The strong hands and the tendons playing on the forearm when Warrick shifted his weight had Nick's tongue slip out reflexively. This was just too much to handle right now. “Yeah? And what you've got to offer?”

“Anything you want, Nicky.” The words were damned near purred and Nick's head shot up.

“You're gunning for my sandwich, right?”

“Anything.” Warrick leaned in even closer and Nick pushed the chair backward over the floor with his feet, away from the proximity. He met with the self-assured grin and cursed himself for the blush he felt literally flagging his own insecurities.

“Anything?” He tilted his head, looking at the man, a smile spreading despite the heat in his earlobes.

“Take me down like that dipstick intended to, Nicky, and you pick your reward.”

Nick rose from his seat, gathering the documents and placing them into the binder. Warrick remained close, shoulder to shoulder with him. Close enough for Nick to breathe in the mix of aftershave and that unique, wild and a tad dangerous yet so familiarly safe, scent of Warrick Brown. Close enough for him to see the glint of amusement in the green eyes. And a challenge, which of course, he was unable to resist.

“Aw man,” Nick shook his head. “You're really asking for it.”

“Exactly.” Warrick confirmed, following Nick as he walked to the shelf to lay the binder down. “Free card, bro. No one's ever gotten that with me before.”

“That's why I'm doubting your sincerity,” Nick grinned. He assessed every move Warrick made from the corner of his eye, waiting for an opening. It came when the man huffed and turned slightly away from him. His arms going up in a gesture of defeat.

Nick always knew he had the advantage of being a bit faster, thanks to his smaller frame. He had his arms around Warrick's chest in a fraction of a second, his hand on the hot skin of the neck, the other over the beating heart as he pulled the man to him. “You forgot the element of surprise, Rick.”

He yelped when he was pushed backwards, long arms coming to block the movements of his own, making him land with his back up against the wall, helplessly trapped.

Warrick's body was like molded to his, the shoulder so close he had to fight himself not to lean his head on it and breathe Warrick in. He felt Warrick chuckle; a low happy noise. The heat he had longed for suddenly too close, too intimate. He felt nothing else than the strong body pressing into his, breaths running calm and a hand holding onto his wrist, fingers pressed to the sensitive skin on his pulse-point. This was both a wish come true and his worst nightmare. When Warrick craned his head to look at him, purring something victorious about having him, he felt the first surge of panic. The purr went straight to his groin. He got hard so fast it pulled the air from his chest. In one heartbeat he had revealed everything he had spent years trying to hide. The next heartbeat had him totally mortified and by the third, he squirmed desperately to get away. By the fourth, Warrick was leaning in on him with all his weight, heat coursing through Nick's veins at the sensation of the simple movement. His fingers faltered and slid down his bud's chest, too slowly to be anything but a covert caress. The green eyes expressed surprise at the epiphany of an erection pressed against him.

Nick closed his eyes against the onslaught of the possible ramifications of what he'd just unwillingly revealed. His libido calmed enough to regain him some control. “Ok, bro you win, just -.”

“Nick?” The word was nothing more than a whisper, tumbling off Warrick's lips. But the expressed shock was enough for Nick to pull his arms off Warrick and push hard at the man's back, forcing him to step away. Humiliated he slid out from the trap, refusing to look at the man trying to block his path. What was there to say anyhow? There was no excuse for this, and he'd have to pay for this, he knew that. Just not right now, he wouldn't be able to handle that. He hesitated before he walked over to the table and grabbed the cup. There really was no need to storm out and cause a scene. Cursing himself silently he walked over to the door, his eyes downcast. He almost clashed with Sara who was on her way into the layout room, avoiding it at the last moment before his mask fell and he felt like hitting the wall hard in anger over having lost it.

“Gotta go,” he said when she spoke his name in wonder. He only managed half a smile before he filed out.

What's up guys?” She asked, obviously noting something was off.

“Hey bro!” Warrick finally spoke up but Nick had no intention to stay and listen. “Shit, Nick!”

He was unable to interpret the tone of Warrick's voice and felt nauseated when he walked briskly to the rest room. Not even noticing Greg at the table, he deposited the cup in the sink, leaned in over it and groaned. When turning to leave he was startled at the lab-tech's widened eyes and mumbled an excuse before he took off to the locker room.

He just needed to get out of here. Bailing really wasn't was he was about, but neither was exposing himself like he just had. His self-control was tenuous around Rick anyhow and today it had been shred to pieces. He needed to get those pieces glued to their place before he was eye to eye with Warrick, and he needed an excuse for what had happened. He needed somewhere to hide out.

He decided Archie and the AV lab was his only option. It still pertained to the case and it was hopefully Warrick-free at the moment. One hour, an hour he'd have to stay under the radar before he could go home and think up a credible story to why he was poking a woody into his bud's ass.



Part 2