It was funny how the simplest things seemed to change everything. How it was the simplest gestures that made the difference, that showed you how someone really felt deep down inside. One would think Nick never asking Greg how he was doing with the apartment hunting, not even once before they'd gone from being colleagues, friends, and temporary roommates to something more, would have made Greg realize that Nick did want him around, maybe for good. But after all that, after the sex and the cuddling and the deepening bond between them, Greg still worried. He still found himself trying to curb some of his episodes of "enthusiasm," just in case he might annoy Nick. He kept his possessions neater than normal, emptied the dishwasher, and folded the laundry, all so that Nick wouldn't judge him too slobby. He made long distance calls to his parents and non-Vegas friends only on his cell phone. He even kept the crowing about his superiority over Nick in the forum of video games to a minimum. After all, he wanted to stay here, in Nick's apartment, in Nick's bed, in Nick's arms, firmly ensconced in Nick's life, and he wasn't willing to give Nick any ammunition if he ever decided that he was sick of being around Greg all the time.
Greg spent several months in that vague place, tiptoeing (as much as a guy like Greg could ever tiptoe) around in Nick's life, ever careful and cautious to keep Nick happy with the state of their present existence. Then one day he walked out of the bathroom, and that fragile state of uncertainty that Greg had so vigilantly created shattered. It was a simple moment that shocked Greg, filling him with peace, happiness, and relief.
Nick was changing the message on his answering machine. Greg stood there just outside of the bathroom, clutching at the towel that hung around his waist, as Nick's voice changed his life. "This is Nick. I'm not home right now, and neither is Greg, but if you leave us a message we'll get back to you as soon as we can. Thanks, and we hope you have a great day."
The answering machine beeped and a monotone voice said, "your outgoing message has been recorded." As the machine beeped again, Greg dropped his towel, bounded across the room, and threw himself on Nick. "Sanders! What the hell!" Nick exclaimed. "You're all wet" – Greg moved so that he was no longer hugging Nick from behind but plastered against his front – "…and naked."
"Yup," Greg said as he rubbed up against Nick, not caring that he was getting Nick's clean jeans and shirt soaking wet. "Naked as I can be. You like me naked, don't you Nick?" he asked, grinning cheekily.
Nick groaned. "Yeah, I definitely do, Greggo," he answered, voice husky with newly risen desire. "Which is why I'm really regretting telling Sara and Catherine I'd meet them for lunch to discuss the case. And if I don't go change right now and run out the door, I'm going to be late."
"So be late," Greg panted in Nick's ear before nipping the lobe.
"Fuck," Nick moaned, frustrated. "I hate you, I really, really do."
Greg snorted. "No, you don't."
Nick sighed. "You're right. I don't," he said with a regretful tone, as he extricated himself from Greg's wet, naked, and oh-so-tempting embrace.
Two and a half minutes later, a now dry Nick kissed a naked Greg goodbye. With one long look, full of unresolved desire, he headed out to his car, muttering about lab technicians who were too sexy for their own good and were really going to get him fired someday. Greg grinned, knowing that Nick would try to finish his "business lunch" as quickly as possible before running home for a long afternoon in bed. Chuckling happily, he pressed a button on the answering machine, plopped down on the couch, and listened to the only love letter he'd probably ever get from Nick. He couldn't wait until Nick got home. Home to their home.
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