Title: Hey Nicky…
Author: Dee
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 739
Pairings: Gil/Nick
Characters: Gil Grissom and Nick Stokes
Warnings: Fluff
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: In my dreams they are like, totally mine!
Beta: jayceepat and podga for their invaluable help in the Americanisation of the fic and their insightful comments. I thank high_striker for his wonderful icons. I am indebted to the three of them. Any errors are mine.
A/N: A little something written specifically for a picture I saw; high_striker made the icon at my request and I dedicate this little bit of nonsense to him!

"Hey Nicky, I need a hand…"

“For God’s sake Gil, put it away, we’re in public.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Can’t you control yourself?”

“Not…much. It’s your fault.”

“Why am I not surprised you’d blame it all on me?”

“Well, you wanted to take up this…sport, do you call it?”

“Golf is a sport. What do you think it is?”

“A waste of time?”

“Gil!”

“Nick!”

“You must be enjoying it, based on the evidence; the ‘wood’ you’re sportin’ there.”

“Nothing to do with the golf…per se...”

“Go on…I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Well, it’s your ass Nicky, every time you swing it around when you drive that ball, and then when you crouch down to measure the hole. All I see is that ass of yours, teasing me, inviting me…”

“I’m always crouching down at work; God, don’t tell me you walk around sporting a boner all shift long?”

“No; well not that often anyway, I am more concentrated on work, at work. It’s just here, there’s not much else to do except watch your ass.”

“Well next time we come golfing, you can’t wear those white trousers. It’s way toooooo…obvious.”

“I like these trousers, they’re very comfortable. Do we have to come again? We could try some other sport…together.”

“Like what?”

“Sexual athletics.”

“Sexual…? Are you serious?”

“Perfectly. A little…innovation and exertion and I’m sure we could burn up a few more calories, and get more exercise.”

“And fresh air?”

“I don’t see why not; there’s our back yard. We could go up to the canyon, or even the desert. Lay a blanket down…you get my drift?”

“Let me get this right, you, Gil Grissom, private man, secretive man, extraordinaire, want us to indulge in some sort of extreme sexual activities in our back yard, where neighbours could see us, hear us, drop by, even?”

“We could be discreet.”

“Yeah…like you shouting, ‘Now, Nicky, now’, or what about, ‘God, do it Nicky, do it, yesssss’. That’d be discreet.”

“There you are, you see, your fault again. If you didn’t excite me so much, I’d be more restrained.”

“Yeah, like I make you shout.”

“You do Nicky, you do.”

“That’s kinda nice, you know.”

“Tell me about it. Hey, how about I drive the ball into the rough and then go and search for it…together, of course…and you could take care of business…give me a helping hand, as it were, or even a helping mouth?”

“Oh, please tell me you are not serious. Tell me.”

“…”

“Jesus, you are.”

“Well it would get rid of the evidence and as you pointed out, we are in public. And, you know how hard it is to get rid of an erection?”

“Think of a case, on the doc’s autopsy table.”

“That’s not going to help.”

“Oh my God. Tell me you didn’t just say that; you get turned on, at autopsies?”

“Of course I don’t get turned on; but thinking about it isn’t going to get rid of this?”

“Gil Grissom stop it twitching, you’ll be leaking all over your pants in a minute.”

“All the more reason for you to take care of…”

“I am not doing it, and that’s final.”

“I’ll drive into the rough then, do it myself and then come back; you can keep watch.”

“NO. I’m not doing that, what if someone comes along?”

“Well, warn me.”

“Oh and how do you propose I do that? Call out, ‘Gil, stop masturbating, there’s someone coming.’?”

“Well I rather hoped I’d be the one coming…but you could whistle...that Texan thing you like.”

“THAT Texan thing, as you so fondly call it, is my favourite. ‘The Yellow Rose of Texas'.”

“Yes, that’s the one.”

“This is ridiculous. We’re here to play a round of golf, is all, and I will not be waylaid by your fantasies. Take your putt.”

“Okay. Hey, if I hole it, will you do it then?”

“You so won’t hole it, man; you must be thirty feet away. Yeah, go on, hole it, I’ll blow you…in that wood, over there.”

“Right.”

“Aren’t you going to check the hole and determine which club to use?”

“No, got a good eye, this club’ll do.”

“Yeah……………………..……….I don’t fucking believe it. How the fuck did you do that?”

“Skill; and the promise of your tongue licking my dick, your teeth scraping it and, especially, your mouth, sucking me off. Over there, I believe.”

The End