Eye See...Seven Ate Nine (ic789) wrote in ballistics_lab,
Eye See...Seven Ate Nine
ic789
ballistics_lab

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FIC: C20 (Nick/Bobby)-1/3

TITLE: C2O-1/3
AUTHOR: ic789
PAIRING: Nick Stokes/Bobby Dawson
RATING: NC-17
SPOILERS: Second half of Season 7
DISCLAIMER: I wish I owned them...sigh...
SUMMARY: Nick struggles with his sexual ability.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I've been so remiss in posting, although this story has been one of many rolling around in my head for such a long time, a dribble if you will. All comments welcome. :)



Nick looked at his phone again once he was in the locker room. “C2O” from B. Dawson was the text message sent less than five minutes after he left home for the lab. Due to their work schedules, they hadn’t seen each other after hours for a few days.

“What’s that mean?” Sara startled him looking over his shoulder. “Why didn’t he text me?”

“Uh…,” quickly closing his phone and turning to his locker, Nick hoped that she didn’t see the red creeping into his cheeks. “I think it’s a mistake.”

“Do you think he found a match to one of the guns?” She insisted.

“It wasn’t meant for me,” he tried again, pulling out his boots.

“See, this is why dating a co-worker isn’t good, it interferes with the case.”

“I told ya’. It’s a mistake. He’s been overworked, just like us.”

“Bobby Dawson doesn’t make mistakes.” She glared at him and closed her locker. “I’m going to talk to him.”

Sighing, he finished his routine, finally putting on his black vest and heading directly to the break room for assignments. He skulked past Bobby’s office, watching his boyfriend shake his head in wonderment trying to diffuse Sara.

“Did anyone else get a ‘C2O’ text from Bobby?” Sara announced entering the room a few minutes later.

“What are you talking about?” Greg piped up.

“Does C2O mean anything to you?” Sara turned her fury on Greg.

“Di-carbon monoxide? From Bobby? Should it?”

“Warrick, Nick, you’ve got a 419 in the service area of the Luxor.” Gil stood at the doorway taking care of business. “Greg, you’re with me on a break-in. Catherine and Sara, finish up that Elbat case.” Gil closed his folder as Warrick left, followed by Nick.

“Catherine, have you ever heard of a text…,” they overheard Sara.

“What’s she cryin’ about now?” Warrick murmured to Nick as they left the building.

“I don’t know.” Shaking his head, he hoped it would deter further questioning.

“C2O” caused Nick’s phone to vibrate as he drove Warrick’s truck back from the Luxor’s wig convention murder. The evidence was going to prove that a balding man killed a young woman for making a poor hair weave that didn’t stay together in chlorine. Before Nick could get his hands off the wheel, Warrick grabbed the phone.

“What’s this? It’s from Bobby.”

“What are ya’ doin’ pickin’ up my phone?” Nick frowned slightly.

“I knew you couldn’t drive and get your phone at the same time.” Warrick teased. “Bobby D. texted you the letters ‘C2O.’ What’s up?

“IDK.”

“ONo, don’t tell me you text your BF.” Warrick rolled his eyes and shot a goofy expression at his best friend.

“Y? UR my BFF.” Nick made a face in answer. “Besides, I know that ya’ text Tina all the time.”

“Yeah, and you know why. It’s the only way we can communicate without yelling anymore. Why are you getting “C2O” from Bobby?”

“IDK, ask him.” Nick responded coolly, hoping that the conversation would end. He wasn’t happy answering these questions.

“Uh-oh, trouble in paradise?”

“MYOB, I’ll start processing the clothes if ya’ drop this at trace, K?” Nick gave Warrick the keys and went to get the evidence from the back of the Denali. He knew that the victim’s clothes creeped his partner out; and he wouldn’t have to go near Bobby’s office.

“Hey Nicky, TY.”

It was the end of shift and Nick knew that Bobby was looking for him. Everyone at the lab informed him when he visited the various departments. An early evening shootout had caused Bobby to work well into the night. He’d received two more “C2O” texts from his boyfriend.

Bobby was hunched over his microscope, and Nick noticed the empty RedBull cans in the garbage. Shaking his head, he comfortingly rubbed Bobby’s tense back with one hand. “Hey Country, how’re ya’ doin’?”

“Well look what the dog finally dragged in. I’ve been textin’ ya’ all day. Why’re ya’ blowin’ me off?” Bobby never minced words when he was really tired. Rubbing his hands over his face, he looked at Nick. “I guess we aren’t gonna see each other this morning, huh?”

“I’m beat. Call me when you’re awake.” Leaning over, Nick whispered, “I love ya,” and kissed the side of his boyfriend’s head quickly.

“Hey, ya’ didn’t answer my question, why didn’t ya’ reply to my texts?” Bobby yawned. He stood and stretched, stopping as he saw the red flush creep up Nick’s neck. “You’re embarrassed, aren’t ya’?”

“I…,” Nick stammered as a yawn took over his face.

“Hey Bobby, are you finished with the Tanya Dine’s bullets? I want to get a warrant for her uncle’s home.” Catherine interrupted them. “Nick, I thought you left.”

“Yeah, I’ll see ya’.” Nick looked at Bobby, and when he didn’t receive a gesture, he left.

He’d never thought of himself as a prude, but Bobby Dawson opened doors in the bedroom that Nick never considered entering. It wasn’t so much that they were doing anything outrageous, just versatile enough to make Nick uncomfortable when he reflected back on it. It was pleasure beyond his wildest fantasies, and Bobby made it seem very natural and easy. He knew that Bobby had more sexual experience than himself, but he hated wondering who taught him those tricks.

Their last sexual tryst left Nick laying on his back hyperventilating in sweat and writhing uncontrollably in ecstasy. Bobby was concerned enough to call paramedics as Nick was flushed bright red from his face to his genitals, panting hard, eyes fluttering. As Nick resumed his composure, he yanked the phone from Bobby and told them that he was okay, just a little too much sun exposure. Bobby hung up angrily.

“Ya’ really scared me. Haven’t ya’ ever done anything like that before?" He stood over the bed, "Are ya’ sure you’re okay, Hon?”

Nick tried to catch his breath, and pulled a pillow over his still throbbing and drooling, erect penis in embarrassment. “Bobbo…give me a sec.”

When Bobby saw the normal color and breathing return to Nick’s face and body, he relaxed and laid back down on the bed, arms reaching to hold his lover’s spent body, slowly moving the pillow to a much more comfortable place under their heads. They wrapped up close to each other and slept soundly.

They slept in, past the alarm, awakening to Eva standing by the bed complaining of the phone ringing. “Daddy, please tell Mr. Grissom where you and Uncle Nicky are.” She held out the phone expectantly. Nick took it slowly, unsure what to say in front of her.

“Sure.”

“Daddy, I don’t want to be late for Sheila’s birthday party. Who’s gonna drive me?”

“I’ll drop ya’ off on my way to the lab.” Nick rubbed his eyes and looked at Eva and Bobby. “Double homicide, and Warrick can’t make it in even though he’s on call.” He told Bobby sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Eva ran to Nick’s side of the bed in delight.

“How long Uncle Nicky? They’re goin’ on a nature hike, and I don’t wanna be late.”

“Eight minutes, Punkin’. I promise. Go downstairs, push the button on the coffee machine, and get your shoes on, and Good Mornin’ Honey,” he leaned over and gave her a hug.

“Hey, how about givin’ your Daddy some love?” Bobby gave them both a pretend look of annoyance. She ran back to his bed side and he pulled her into a famous Dawson hug with lots of kisses. Eva skipped out of the room none the wiser and both men let out sighs of relief.

“I can’t believe ya’ do those things to me and ya’ have a daughter…”

“Ya’ promised her eight minutes,” Bobby smiled and playfully pushed Nick out of the bed, moving the sheets and comforter around himself like a cocoon, snuggling in the warmth.

“Don’t get too comfy my friend, there was a gun involved.” Nick kissed Bobby’s stomach and then left heading to the bathroom for one of his famous three minute showers.

That was four days ago. Driving home, Nick adjusted himself three times to accommodate his erection remembering it, specifically the orgasm.
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