One Step at a Time

Greg’s next free night, he wandered past The Blue Note about a dozen times before sucking it up and stepping inside where the Kinsey Quintet was already in the middle of their set. As he searched for an empty seat, his eyes landed on the young man playing the upright bass on the corner of the stage, and he felt his temperature rise twenty degrees.

The dark curls shook as Jack’s left hand moved up and down the fingerboard, his right plucking at the thick strings. The plush lips were curled into a smile, his eyes closed as he lost himself in the music. Greg had to wonder if this was anything what he looked like while having sex, then promptly discarded the thought from his head. If he’d learned one thing from Warrick, it was to respect the music. He leaned with one shoulder against the wall and concentrated on watching Jack perform. It was amazing how such a slight young man, lean almost to the point of being too skinny, could manage to produce such rich sounds from an instrument taller than he was.

Just watching, Greg could almost feel the calluses on those large, long-fingered hands caressing his skin. A shiver ran through his body and again he had to force himself to think innocent thoughts. He was not going to get a hard-on standing in the middle of a club--or, at least, not this time--and he was not going to do anything to ruin his chances with Jack.

The song came to an end and he joined the audience in appreciative applause. Greg couldn’t recall hearing a note that had been played, but he appreciated the musicians nonetheless. His eyes again scoured the room for a seat and he started at seeing Warrick sitting at one of the booths in the corner. The tall man was clapping for the band while at the same time staring at Greg with a smirk on his face.

Greg narrowed his eyes at his coworker, but made his way over to the booth anyway.

“Are you spying on me?”

“Yeah. Nick and I have a bet going regarding your sudden interest in jazz, and I’m not about to lose it.”

“What if I told you it was none of your business?”

Warrick just smiled and stretched his arms over the back of the booth.

“Fine,” Greg said sliding in next to him, placing an order with the server who suddenly appeared. “Gin and tonic, Blue Sapphire, on him.”

Warrick arched an eyebrow but nodded his assent and the server went off to fetch Greg’s drink.

“So what do I get in exchange for footing the bill?”

“The pleasure of my company,” Greg grinned, then devoted his attention to the stage as the next song began.

“Lucky me,” he muttered, but Greg didn’t seem to hear him. His eyes were glued to the stage and Warrick could tell from the intense look on his face that the music was the last thing on Greg’s mind. He followed the younger man’s eye-line and saw that it was focused on the bass player.

Uh-oh.

If there was one thing Warrick knew, it was trouble, and that man was trouble. No one could get involved with a guy who looked that good without getting loaded down with the baggage that came along with him--and the fact he was a musician made the baggage twice as heavy. No, this was not good. Warrick’d had enough of watching his friends get hurt and he’d do anything to avoid seeing them in any more pain. He’d just have to find a way to extract Greg from this little infatuation, though from the smitten look on his friend’s face, it wasn’t going to be easy.

As soon as the band finished their set, Greg made a beeline over to Jack, who immediately singled him out from all his admirers.

“Greg, you made it!”

“Wouldn’t have missed it. I’ve got to say--you’re incredible!”

“Just me, or our music?” Jack grinned as he finished packing up his bass.

“There was music?” Greg asked with pretend innocence, and the other man laughed.

“So have you got the rest of the night off, or do I need to make this a quick conversation?”

“My night’s free,” he said, and Jack’s eyes gleamed.

“I’m glad to hear it. Let me stash my gear, say my good-byes, and how about we get something to eat? A good show always leaves me hungry,” he said, looking Greg over from head to toe.

“I think we can manage to find something that’ll satisfy you,” Greg countered with a cheeky grin. “I’ll be over there when you’re ready.”

Jack looked over to the booth where Warrick was sitting, and he held the man’s green-eyed gaze, Warrick watching them them with the appetite of a starving man walking into Eden.

“Friend of yours?” he asked, a slow smile crossing his face.

“Coworker, the jazz lover I was telling you about.”

“Can’t wait to hear what he thought of the set. I’ll just be a few minutes.”

Greg wandered back over to Warrick, catching the stormy look on his friend’s face.

“Something wrong?”

“The guy you were just talking to--he the reason we’re here?”

“He’s the reason I’m here. I don’t know what you’re here for.”

“Greg, are you sure about him?”

“As sure as I can be about anyone,” he said, puzzled by Warrick’s concern. “Why? Do you know something?”

“Nothing specific, no. Just a hunch.”

“Oh, well then,” Greg said, his face clearing and a smile perching on his lips, “I’m not going to worry.”

“You should really learn to trust a man’s instincts.”

“The only thing I trust is hard evidence, and so far, you don’t have any.”

“Greg--”

“Warrick, how old am I?”

The other CSI narrowed his eyes at the sharpness to Greg’s tone. “I don’t know. Thirty?”

“Close enough. Technically that makes me well past the age when I’m considered an adult, right? So why is it everyone at the lab treats me like their errant kid brother? I’m humored, I’m patronized, I’m tolerated, but I’m rarely taken seriously. Warrick, I’ve been blown up. I’ve seen things that, outside of you, no one else in this room has seen. I’ve experienced things no one else has experienced. Fuck, I’ve even got an IQ higher than yours so we both know I’m not fucking stupid. I work my ass off to prove to all of you that I’m worthy, but so far, it hasn’t made a dent. What is it going to take for you people to see me--really see me? What do I have to do?”

Warrick just stared at him, unable to answer through the wave of guilt that had stolen his voice. He knew the kid--no, not a kid, Greg--he knew Greg was right, but he also knew it didn’t make a bit of difference.

There was just something about him, something Warrick couldn’t explain to his friend, his fellow CSI, that made him want to keep Greg cocooned from the harshness of reality. They all felt it, even though they knew Greg had been personally acquainted with the world in ways they would never understand. Maybe that’s why they tried to protect him. One look into his eyes not yet shadowed by life’s true horrors and they wanted to make sure he didn’t see more than he already had.

But he would see more--he would see it all. Greg was a CSI now. He’d come eye to eye with the terrible shit people did to each other, the worst humanity was capable of thinking up, and there was nothing they could do to save him.

So why try and protect him? Why not let him go, let him learn his own lessons? Why not watch that ever-present optimism and love of life fade even further until there was nothing left?

Because if Greg was lost, what hope was there for the rest of them?

“It isn’t you, Greg. Just trust me on this one. The guy is bad news. He’s no good for you.”

He tried not to feel too angry when the other man started to laugh.

“It’s funny you should say that. The song I met him over is called ‘He’s No Good For You’. Maybe it’s a sign.”

“One you should heed.”

“One I’m going to ignore. I’m not marrying the guy, Warrick. We’re just grabbing a bite to eat.”

Warrick would have put in another round of protests, but the man in question chose that moment to make an appearance, and the CSI tried not to jump across the table and strangle him when he saw the smile that crossed Greg’s face. This guy did not deserve that smile, though, hell, he had to admit the man was pretty enough to make even him want to squirm in his seat. Men were not meant to be that pretty, he decided, unable to tear his eyes away as Greg made introductions. He hadn’t felt such an attraction since his early college years, hadn’t indulged in anyone male since then either, and damnit, this was no time to start. He was there to help Greg, nothing more.

“I hear you’re a jazz lover,” Jack said as he sat down next to Greg.

“I dabble,” Warrick shrugged.

“He does more than dabble,” Greg said, flashing his friend a look of awe. “He’s an amazing pianist.”

“Yeah?” Jack said with unfeigned interest.

“Don’t take his word for it. He’s never heard me play.”

“I’ve heard enough from others,” Greg said, refusing to back down.

“We should get you up on that stage, prove him right,” Jack said, nodding towards the platform which was empty except for the baby grand.

He shook his head. “Maybe some other time. I think the stage is still smoking from you guys’ set.”

“We were really on tonight,” Jack said, brown eyes glowing with the memory, and Warrick could tell he was still feeling the music. He knew what that was like, when a set reached a level that shot far out of this mundane dimension. It was the greatest high in the world. “I’m glad you were here for it. Anything else would have been a disappointment.”

“I doubt that. I’ve heard you guys are good even when you’re off.”

“Far be it for me to deny it,” Jack grinned, and Warrick found the tips of his mouth wanting to curl outward. The man certainly did have an infectious grin, and that meant it was time for him to go if he started smiling at the guy.

“Well, I should be heading out,” Warrick said, sliding towards the edge of the booth. “Early day tomorrow.”

Jack and Greg both moved to stand up and the three men stood staring at each other. Warrick wanted to say something to stop this, give Greg one final warning, but he knew the best thing he could do now was keep quiet.

“Nice meeting you,” he said, nodding towards Jack.

“You should come back. I’ll put you both on the list.”

“Cool. Greg, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you,” Greg said, telling Warrick with his eyes that everything was going to be fine.

He walked out of the club, turning back only once to see the two looking at each other with silly grins on their faces. It all seemed so innocent, but didn’t things like this always start out as innocent?

“Be careful, Greg,” he whispered, then left the club.


Okay, this was a little bit more than ‘a bite to eat’, Greg thought as their mouths met in a clash of hunger and need, skin and cocks rubbing together in the search for even the slightest relief, but fuck all if he was going to object.

He lifted his hips as Jack pressed a lubed finger inside of him and moaned for him to hurry. He felt like he was going to burst into a million pieces if he didn’t get the musician in him, filling him, fucking him. Greg reached for Jack’s mouth, but the musician moved away, holding himself just out of range. He instead placed teasing butterfly kisses across Greg’s jaw, his chin, his nose, and down along his neck.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Jack said, sliding in another finger while his teeth grazed against the skin of Greg’s collarbone and began sucking hard enough to leave a mark. He moved down to nibble at a pebbled nipple until Greg was whimpering with the pain for release.

“Jack! Damnit, Jack!”

“Yes, beautiful?” he asked, grinning up at Greg, brown eyes glinting mischievously from beneath the messy brown curls.

“Fuck me, you bastard!”

The musician chuckled. “Flattery. I like it,” he said, then crawled up Greg’s body to claim his mouth with another kiss, readying himself at the willing opening. He met Greg’s eyes and held his gaze as he slowly entered the CSI. He continued watching Greg, moving with patient deliberate thrusts until Greg felt as if he’d died and been reborn and died again, he was in such a state of absolute agony and bliss.

Finally, Jack’s control began to slip and he moved faster, positioning himself so that with each thrust Greg was filled with white fire. A hand wrapped around his cock, a few quick strokes all it took to bring him to completion. Jack continued to hold his softening cock, pumping it in time with each thrust until Greg’s entire body was on sensation overload. As he felt Jack burst inside of him, he was as near to passing out as he could ever recall, and definitely beyond caring.

Jack slowly withdrew, tying off the condom and wrapping it in a tissue before collapsing next to Greg. He grabbed another tissue and languidly wiped Greg’s stomach clean while kissing his chest. Greg smiled down at him, grabbing the tissue and throwing it on the floor before pulling Jack up to wrap his arms around him. For several minutes, the two lay there, holding each other and quietly wondering what was next.

“You want to stay?” he finally asked, and Jack looked up at him, smiling.

“I’d like that.”

They curled into each other, arms and legs entwining, bodies touching, and eventually drifted off to sleep.