Title: Five Dates Nick Stokes Never Went On
By: amazonqueenkate
Fandom: CSI: Vegas
Pairing: Nick/Various (including Nick/Bobby)
Prompt: 082 - If
Word Count: 787
Rating: Slightly older kids for a reference to Nicky gettin' some.
Author's Notes: Many thanks to the girl for the beta, who could have been packing instead of doing this.

I.

He'd never realized how tall Sara was, or how long her legs were, until she was wearing a knee-length skirt and sitting across from him in the restaurant, her skin glowing golden in the soft candlelight. She laughed easily after a glass of Chardonnay, her voice soft and sweet, quiet like the rest of the upscale restaurant.

He treated her to all the best food and drink ... vegetarian for them both, out of respect for the meat she'd sworn off after the pig incident ... and for two hours they discussed families, friendships, and the expatriate feeling of being in Las Vegas, but belonging somewhere else.

At the end of the evening, they stood awkwardly outside the door to her apartment complex, and when he kissed her, she tasted like cherry gloss and Chardonnay across his tongue.

II.

When Hodges and Greg had cornered him in the locker room about a blind date, he had considered ignoring him, but Jacqui's sharp tongue screaming out curses as the hockey players clashed on the ice amused him into a quiet smile. She wagged her foam finger in his face when he chuckled at her curses, playfully intimidating while yet another player ended up in the penalty box.

They attempted to share an extra-large popcorn, but most of it ended up on the floor or in the hair of the heckler two rows down. Between periods, when the heckler stocked up on beer, they watched the zamboni circle the ice and discussed sports stats, favorite players, and the chances of Vegas ever having a national team.

At the end of the evening, they said their goodbyes at the entrance to the arena, and when he hugged her, he smelled the hovering crispness of Rocky Mountain snow.

III.

The dance club shook with every thump of the pounding R&B bass line, and while he wasn't a particularly good dancer, he watched Catherine's every motion in the flickering, multicolored lights of the dance floor. Her tank top ... an inch too short with a neck an inch too deep ... clung to her every curve like a second skin, and more than once, a stranger passed by and slapped her ass. When it happened, she just grinned, and tipped her hips in time with the music.

The drinks all had strange, exotic names ... Fruit Basket Blues, Desert Rain, Cactus Kiss ... and smelled like either the produce section or a flower shop, but they went down smooth as the conversation, mostly about the other club patrons, and which other woman Catherine jokingly suggested they corral into joining them.

At the end of the evening, they tangled breathlessly in the sheets, and when she sighed completion into his ear, he heard the wind across the desert, breaking the heat.

IV.

Sofia liked sophistication and elegance when she was off the clock, leading him around the art museum with the slightest trepidation, even in her neat, dark pants and pressed shirt. The building whispered around them, a hushed admiration of genius as groups moved slowly from room to room in tight clusters, pilgrimages to a painted promised land.

She stopped them often in front of her favorites, explaining in subdued tones the technique and finesse that created the masterpiece before them. Her face sparkled with excitement before some, a girl meeting Santa Claus for the first time, drawing him into her low voice and gentle, almost bashful smile.

At the end of the evening, they clung to one another on her leather sofa, and when he ran his hands down her sides, he felt the cool, smooth marble of Venus DiMilo.

V.

The sun glinted off the crystal blue of Lake Tahoe, bright white light reflecting out into the world as he propped himself up on his elbows and admired the view. The makeshift picnic ... not in a basket but a large paper sack ... lay decimated at his side, little more than bread crusts and potato chip crumbs. A seagull circled above, breaking the quiet by shrieking into the blue sky.

Neither said anything, but watched the horizon, the slope of sand-brown hills against the ideal sky, the shimmering water below and the white-hot sun above. Shadows spread across the sand and blanket from the sparse trees, mild shade that broke the heavy heat of a Vegas spring and told no secrets when ... intoxicated by the picnic beer or something stronger ... they kissed with quiet passion that he'd never expected.

At the end of the evening, they loaded the pickup truck, and when he watched Bobby Dawson smile softly at him with crinkled corners to his eyes, he saw all the possibilities unfold before him, lake-surface placid and blue-sky beautiful.