CSI
In The Maize by Nefertiti [Reviews - 3]

In The Maize


Summary: When Greg and Nick get lost in a corn field, their adventure turns from frightening to sexy. Horror, comedy and lots of smut. I’m not sure a fic can contain any more than that.

Author's Note: This was fun to write, and probably the kinkiest thing I've ever done, though it isn't often I write smut (I feel like once I've written one smutty scene, all the rest after make me feel like I'm repeating myself). But here it is. My kinky kinda funny, almost scary Nick and Greg porn story. Enjoy.




It was a moonless night, which meant that Nick and Greg had to rely on their flashlights in order to guide them to the head. They walked through rows upon rows of corn, trying to find the trail they had lost several minutes ago. Nick led the way, his flashlight trained on the dirt in front of him as he batted away corn husks and leaves in their path. Greg looked around and shivered as an ill wind blew across his skin.

It was close to Halloween, and every year the local farms set up haunted hay rides for customers who came to pick up their pumpkins. Unfortunately, this particular hay ride had proved to be a little too realistic. Five carts had passed and gasped at the decapitated corpse strewn over a few bales of bloody hay before one of the drivers actually realized that it wasn’t one of their props.

As if that wasn’t the worst of it, by the time the worker had returned with his boss to the bales of hay, the body was gone. Which meant that the killer knew that hiding the corpse in plain sight was not as successful as he’d planned. Bits of the corpse, specifically the head, had been found somewhere in the middle of the corn field Nick and Greg were now desperately trying to navigate, but the police had been shoddy with their markers, and now the two CSIs were lost.

“Do you think the killer’s still here?” Greg asked, his eyes darting around nervously for something suspicious.

Nick said nothing, which only served to answer Greg’s questions. But after a moment, he replied, “The cops swept the area, I’m sure everything is safe.”

“It’s a fucking corn field,” Greg snapped. “How thoroughly can you search it?”

Nick didn’t answer him directly. “Greg, let’s just find the head and get out of here, OK? No more questions.”

“Sorry…” Greg mumbled, but his eyes continued to dart around the corn field. The plants were a few feet taller than both of them, and it made Greg uneasy. He couldn’t see anything beyond Nick’s shoulders, or the green leafy crop on either side of him.

And then, there was movement out of the corner of his eye and Greg stopped walking to focus on it. For a moment, he thought it was some mad chainsaw-wielding serial killer come to slaughter the both of them and his heart pounded in his chest. But then, rationality kicked in and he decided that it could have been one of the many cops patrolling the field, and maybe they should ask for directions.

But the more Greg focused on the point where the movement had occurred, the more he began to doubt himself. Had anything actually moved at all, or had it just been his overactive imagination? After a few seconds, the corn stalks were completely still again, except for the occasional rusting of leaves produced by the mischievous wind.

It’s playing tricks on me, Greg thought, then turned around to follow Nick only to find that the Texan was no longer there. His heartbeat accelerated again and he was suddenly warmer, especially around the collar. He looked around, but all he could see was darkness and corn, and no Nick Stokes. He moved forward down the row, looking for the end of it, calling out Nick’s name to no avail. He tried to remember how big the farmers had said the corn field was. Had they told him in acres or square miles? Greg couldn’t recall, but all of a sudden it was the biggest corn field in the world, because Greg couldn’t see a way out of it.

He figured Nick must have stepped through one of the rows. Perhaps he’d even found where the head was. It occurred to Greg that they still didn’t know where the rest of the victim was. Greg wondered if he might stumble across it, and then asked himself whether or not that would be a good thing.

Greg pushed two corn plants on his left aside and stepped into the next row, looking up and down it with no sign of Nick. He guessed that the Texan must have gone in the opposite direction, so turned around and battled with the corn for two more rows, but he still couldn’t find Nick. He chewed on his lip, wondering what he should try next. He called out Nick’s name again, but no reply. He wondered if this corn was a special breed which swallowed all sound waves. He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that it was eerily silent, and this fact unnerved him.

He went through another wall of corn into a brand new row and followed it East, in the direction he’d been heading with Nick before he’d lost him. His eyes darted from side to side, looking for any kind of movement that might help him find his friend. He called his name a few more times, before reaching into his pocket and stepping through another row of corn. He was just pulling out his cell phone when he stopped.

“I knew I smelled something funny,” he said, wrinkling his nose as he stared at the headless corpse, which the flies seemed able to find, but not the police. Rolling his eyes, he brought his phone to his ear when he felt something cold and hard press under his chin.

He dropped the phone and his kit with a clatter, and his hands flew to the arm around his neck as he struggled, feeling the hot, wet, reeking breath of his assailant against the side of his neck.

“There’s a good boy,” a harsh voice cooed in his ear.

Cold fear spilled down Greg’s spine, stimulating every single pore and spawning goose bumps in its wake. He stared at the headless body, as if it were impossible to look away. He saw the flies continue to circle around it like vultures, and he wondered if he would resemble the bloody, broken carcass any time soon.

He continued to struggle, even as he was losing oxygen, the image of the decomposing corpse burning behind his eyelids. He clawed at the arm that held him tightly, wishing he could at least cry out. And then, just as he was getting dizzy, he kicked backwards as hard as he could and hit the shins of his attacker, causing the man to let go. He fell forward and scrambled to the side of the corn field, trying to get to his feet. He heard a click, and then someone cursing.

“Feel lucky I’m outta bullets,” the attacker growled, still aiming the gun directly at Greg’s head. In the darkness, and in the cloudy fear that was rapidly taking over Greg’s mind, he couldn’t make out any discernable features. All he could see was that this man was tall, and looked rugged, like a mountain lion somehow made human. He also appeared to be wearing some sort of flannel shirt, which under different circumstances might have been the most appalling thing about him. But considering he held a gun (albeit without bullets), Greg decided that the flannel was the least of his worries.

“I do,” Greg assured him, as if agreeing with the crazy killer might dissuade him from killing him.

Whatever logic there was behind this conclusion, it must have been flawed, because the mountain lion man took two steps toward him. “That’s all right, though,” said the man in flannel, dropping his gun and pulling out another one. “I’ll just use yours.”

Greg fought the urge to roll his eyes at his own stupidity and encouraged his feet to move, leaping up as fast as he could, gripping corn stalks to steady himself as he disappeared in the next row. A shot rang out and he flinched, as if it had hit him, but he felt no pain. He ran as fast as he could, air rushing in and out of his lungs as the blood pumped faster in his veins. Speed was the key, and Greg ran down the row, disappearing again through another wall of corn, and then another, hoping that he could somehow lose his pursuer, find a police officer or, in an ideal world, both.

He didn’t stop to look behind him because he felt that if he did, he would get shot with his own gun. And that sort of death definitely doesn’t make for an impressive obituary. Shot in a corn field by his own gun running away from a man in an ugly flannel shirt. That was definitely not the way Greg wanted to die. In fact, given his job, he had considered this moment often enough to compile a list of the top five ways he wanted to die. Number one was in the arms of a lover well into old age. Who that lover was depended on his mood, and ran the gamut from Carmen Electra to Hugh Jackman. Right at that moment, Greg was in a Hugh Jackman sort of mood. He would have given anything for Jackman, preferably in full Wolverine costume, come and slash up that fucking flannel shirt.

Not that he needed saving. Greg Sanders never needed to be saved.

Another gunshot rang out and he rapidly retracted that thought. Saving was a much better alternative to death by a flannel shirt. So he picked up speed, running through the corn as fast as he could possibly manage, and he looked over his shoulder to see if the flannel monster was far behind only to feel a sharp pain in the side of his head, and then suddenly blinded, he fell to the ground with a thump.




Greg’s eyes fluttered open to find himself staring up once again at the night sky, only this time it was littered with stars and a round, white moon which peered down at him curiously. Greg slowly sat up and rubbed his head, which wasn’t throbbing as badly as he expected, considering something just whacked him remarkably hard. He found that he was sitting on a mound of dirt and dusted himself off slightly. Raising his head to look around, he saw several rounded rectangular shapes in a row in front of him that definitely did not resemble corn.

“Where am I?” he asked himself, knowing that the question would be fruitless. As his eyes began to adjust, he realizes the strange shapes were stones, headstones to be precise. His hands patted the freshly dug dirt beneath him, moving outward until they found cool, moist blades of grass.

He heard a twig snap somewhere nearby and his breath caught in his throat. His head whipped to the left where he saw an old, spindly tree, reaching its knotted and pointed branches up into the sky as if to capture and pull down the moon in its bony clutches. But at the base of that tree was a shadowy figure who was leaning against the trunk. Greg couldn’t tell if the person was facing towards him or away from him. But then, the man began to walk towards him and that became very clear.

“Who’s there?” Greg called, his heart racing, his palms sweating, and his mouth suddenly very dry.

“Relax,” came a smooth and familiar voice as the figure stepped into the moonlight. “It’s just me.” Greg was soothed by the warm southern drawl that curled around Nick’s vowels. He wore lose jeans, but a remarkably tight black t-shirt, and his hair was slicked back in a manner that Greg had never seen before. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not.

He let out a sigh of relief. “Jesus Christ, I thought you were going to kill me!”

Nick smirked. “I still might. The night is still young, after all.”

Greg was suddenly wary. He leaned backwards, his elbows and forearms digging into the mound of dirt on top of which he sat . Nick crouched down at his feet and looked up at him hungrily.

“Where are we?” Greg asked.

“The last place you’ll ever be,” Nick returned, licking his lips hungrily like a predator.

Though his skin began to tingle with fear again, Greg made no move to escape. In fact, he didn’t move at all. He just continued to take deep breaths as he waited for Nick to make his move, whatever that would be. Greg vaguely wondered if the Texan was preparing to slit his throat.

“Am I safe here?” Greg asked.

In response, Nick began to crawl forward, slowly, like a lion in the grass. His hands and knees slithered on either side of Greg’s legs until he was straddling Greg’s hips, leaning back, his hands gliding up and down Greg’s forearms as his eyes, half-lidded, stared at Greg with a wild spark.

And Greg didn’t look away. He was hypnotized by Nick’s surprisingly agile movements. He still had no idea where he was, but it felt as if none of that mattered, so long as Nick was here, wanting him in any and every possible way imaginable.

“Take me, then,” Greg dared, his eyes narrowing with a challenging smile.

Greg felt rough, calloused hands slide up his arms and over his shoulders and then up to cup his face. Nick dived forward, his tongue penetrating Greg’s eager mouth as the younger man reveled in the taste of something ineffably bittersweet. He found himself being pushed backwards into the ground by Nick’s strong, insisting hands, which slid over the surface of his shirt and then up again. As his tongue explored the depths of Greg’s dry mouth, his fingers fiddled with the top button of Greg’s shirt, slowly undoing it before going to the next one, taking his sweet time.

Greg was already writhing, already desperate and he reached up a hand around the base of Nick’s neck to pull the Texan deeper into the juicy, exhilarating kiss, urging him to go faster, but it was clear who was in control of the moment. While Nick deepened the kiss as encouraged, his meticulous unbuttoning retained its slow, agonizing progress. Greg’s heart was beating so fast, he swore that if it went any faster it would run out of energy and stop. His number one way to die flickered in his mind, and Nick immediately replaced Jackman as the leading man in Greg’s fantasy.

Nick continued to ravage him as his hands came painfully close to Greg’s waist. Greg thrust upwards, but Nick gripped his hip and pushed him back.

“Easy, tiger,” he whispered in Greg’s ear before nipping the edge of it and kissing back down Greg’s neck. His hands snaked under the unbuttoned shirt and glided up to the shoulders where he pushed off the shirt and Greg let it fall off of his shoulders. Nick kissed furiously down Greg’s neck, eliciting a gasp every time his lips contacted Greg’s skin. His tongue swirled around Greg’s nipple, his fingers rolled up and down his sides, tantalizing him and sending trills of anticipation everywhere they roamed.

Nick closed his lips and sucked momentarily on Greg’s nipple before continuing on his journey southward, his tongue painting a slick wet trail down the center of his remarkably toned abdomen. It was much toner than Greg remembered it being, but dismissed this thought as Nick’s tongue dipped and swiveled in his naval.

Nick pinched the metal tab of Greg’s zipper and his eyes moved upwards to see Greg’s desperate expression, the younger man already panting for breath as Nick painfully pulled the zipper down and it popped open, tooth by tiny metal tooth. And Greg fought everything he had to keep his hands from flying there to help him. He chewed on his lip to keep his mind occupied, his eyes constantly on Nick, because there was nothing in the world now worthy even of a glance.

Nick reached into Greg’s jeans and found his straining, eager cock. The breath was stolen straight from Greg’s lungs the minute his fingers closed around it, but the very second that hot, wet tongue made contact with the base, Greg’s fingernails clawed at the fresh dirt beneath him, his fingers biting into the ground—

But just as soon as he had started, Greg felt him stop and when he opened his eyes, he and Nick were face to face and the Texan had that teasingly sadistic grin on his infuriatingly smug visage.

“Huh?” Greg managed to whimper, uselessly.

“Can’t be over that quickly,” Nick purred. He leaned back on his knees, his hands gripping Greg’s shoulders and pulling him upwards into another mad, deep, passionate kiss, his arms entwined around Greg so tightly, the younger man felt as wonderfully constricted as if they were ropes. It was then, as Greg’s chest pressed against his voracious lover, that he realized there was a thin fabric barrier still between them. The Texan was still fully clothed, whereas Greg’s shirt laid abandoned on the ground, his pants open, and his cock protruding like a fertility god’s.

His hands gravitated towards the hem of Nick’s shirt, but he felt the Texan shake his head against Greg’s lips.

“Nuh uh,” Nick breathed, before pushing Greg’s shoulders away from him again.

Instead of falling back into the soft dirt, Greg felt cold marble flat against his back. Nick had pushed him so hard that if he hadn’t already been breathless it might have knocked the wind out of him. Greg watched with aching expectation as Nick rose to his feet and towered over him, reaching both hands out to Greg which the younger man eagerly took. Nick hoisted Greg to his feet, his lips nipping playfully at Greg’s neck as his fingers crawled like spiders up and down his chiseled back. Again, with Nick, Greg felt sexier than he knew he must be in real life, but he pushed this thought away, living in the moment with this insatiable wild man.

And then, without warning, Nick spun Greg around so fast the younger man stumbled forward, gripping the marble stone to keep from toppling over it. Nick’s hands slithered down over his sides until they reached Greg’s hips where the rhythm slowed and Greg felt the fabric of his jeans gradually pulled down over his hips, his thighs, his calves…

Sweet moist lips kissed and sucked the small of his back, slowly but very, very surely moving lower inch by inch as each hand fondled an ass cheek, gently squeezing and unsqueezing, and Greg had a sharp intake of breath when Nick finally reached his hole, lingering there for a moment before moving upwards again. Greg exhaled a quivering breath as Nick’s mouth moved up his spine, his strong, rough hands roaming leisurely over his stomach, his abs, his pecks, then down again, closer, closer, excruciatingly close, just an inch lower and he would have it—

But instantaneously, the hands withdrew to Greg’s hips, and the younger man was simultaneously disappointed and confused until he felt something firm and fierce enter him from behind.

Greg gripped the gravestone and dropped his head, emitting a quiet, “Oh God…” as Nick pressed deliberately into him, every inch filling him fuller, deeper, and Greg begged him to go faster, but Nick didn’t listen. Greg grit his teeth when Nick was finally inside up to the hilt and let out a tiny whimper as the Texan retreated, slightly faster than he had entered, but then Nick pumped into him again, the speed gradually picking up like a steam engine just starting up. Greg closed his eyes tight as Nick moved steadily in and out, every time hitting just the right spot and all the right nerves, in and out and in and out and Greg’s mind was awhirl with sensation.

And then, when Nick had found his rhythm, the hands on his hips glided forward gripping Greg’s cock from both sides at first before one slid back to Greg’s hips again. The hand on his cock matched the rhythm with which Nick was moving in and out of him easily and they became the two prominent melodies that joined the mind-blowing harmonic symphony in its crescendo.

“Oh God…” Greg repeated over and over. “Oh fucking Jesus Christ, Nick, oh my God…”

Nick leaned over, never slowing in his rhythm. “God has nothing to do with it,” he whispered in Greg’s ear, his voice steady and full of such control, Greg went weak, and then he just went, went somewhere else, and stayed there for a moment as he pulsed with pure paralyzing pleasure, his mouth open in a frozen, silent scream, his whole body quaking, his fingers digging into solid marble as he came, and he came, and he came crashing down.

Absolutely exhausted, he slumped over the gravestone, feeling the sticky white liquid between his chest and the stone as Nick pulled out. He was content to just stay there, clinging to the headstone for dear life, his mind hazy and content, his body dazed and spent.

“You might want to put some clothes on,” Nick suggested, and Greg felt something hit his back. He reluctantly stood up and pulled up his jeans and boxers, seizing his shirt which was now at his feet while he was down there. “I mean, I like your current look but I think you’d feel better with something more modest for the funeral.”

Greg buttoned his jeans and stopped, his shirt in hand as he looked up at Nick, not understanding, but the Texan wasn’t there anymore. Greg’s head darted from left to right, but no sign of him. He called out Nick’s name, quietly at first, then louder until he was screaming at the top of his lungs. He looked at the tree, which seemed suddenly much closer now than it had been when he’d first woken up, and it loomed over him ominously. Greg took a few steps toward it, tilting his head to the side as he searched for Nick as if his lover would be hidden somewhere in the bark.

Finding nothing there but shadows, Greg turned around and looked at the headstone that Nick had fucked him under and against.

The white ejaculate trickled down the front of it, but the name engraved on it was deep and dark.

GREG SANDERS




He felt a sharp pain in his cheek and flinched. “Ow!” he cried, making his annoyance known to whoever had been bold enough to slap him in the first place.

“Christ, Greg, what the fuck?!” some panicked person cried, his voice cracking.

Greg groaned. “You tell me…” he said. “And, um, OW!”

“You said that already,” said a person Greg could finally identify as Nick.

“That’s because you slapped me,” Greg mumbled, rubbing his cheek. “And it hurt!” He opened his eyes and blinked a few times before Nick’s fuzzy face came into focus. “It is you,” he said, reassuring himself. He felt his cheeks grow a degree warmer. “Um… any particular reason you’re so close?”

Nick blinked, as if he hadn’t been expecting that question, then immediately sat backwards on his haunches. “I was just worried…” he mumbled. “You weren’t waking up, and, um, you were groaning. I thought you were in pain at first until I saw…” His eyes drifted to one side and Greg followed his gaze where they both saw a bulge in Greg’s pants.

“Aw, Jesus,” Greg muttered, shifting immediately and sitting up far faster than he probably should have with his head condition. “What happened anyway? Did that fucker pistol whip me? I swear to God, I’ll—”

“Greg, you ran into a scarecrow,” said Nick, nodding upwards.

Greg turned to look over his shoulder and see what Nick was nodding at. There, right in front of him, stood a scarecrow with spindly fingers of hay sticking out of practically everywhere. At about where Greg’s head might be if he were standing up was a wooden pole hung horizontal to keep up the scarecrow’s arms. Some hay had been dislodged from the dummy’s left arm, and Greg deduced that that was where his head had come in contact with it.

“Oh…” he said. “You mean I wasn’t pistol-whipped by a flannel-wearing mountain lion?”

“Mountain lion?” Nick asked. “Greg, what are you talking about?” His hand was against Greg’s forehead. “Oh shit, please don’t tell me you have a concussion, I really don’t want to stop off at the hospital on the way back to the lab, not to mention explaining this fiasco to Grissom—”

“I can see your concern is completely about my health, and I thank you for it,” Greg said snidely.

Nick looked slightly bashful. “Well, there’d be that factor too…”

Greg noticed Nick’s eyes once again move to the unprecedented swelling in Greg’s jeans.

“I had a funny dream, OK?” Greg snapped, almost defensively.

Nick, startled, jumped backwards like a frightened rabbit and nodded rapidly. “Oh, yeah, of course, we all have those, it’s just…”

Greg was slightly unnerved. “What?”

Nick avoided his eyes. “Well, I don’t really know what you were dreamin’, or, well, anything, but, uh… Do you always call out my name during dreams like that?”

Greg blanched. “What? No! Not possible, not even, not, I mean, not you—Oh God, could this night get any more embarrassing? Get my own gun stolen and used against me, chased like a stupid animal in a corn field, bested by a fucking scarecrow, and now—”

“Because,” Nick interrupted, looking up with the hint of a smile. “Sometimes, I call out yours.”

Everything seemed to stop, but in reality it was only Greg’s thought processes. He shook his head to start them again. “I’m sorry, come again?”

Nick smiled, seemingly amazed as he shook his head at Greg. “Do you know how terrified I was when I lost you? When I looked over my shoulder and you weren’t there?”

“Aha, yes, that would be scary,” said Greg, nodding until the pulsing pain in his head reminded him that he shouldn’t do that. “Realizing that I’m not there to protect you.”

Nick’s lips twitched. “Yeah. That’s why I was scared all right.” His fingers flew to Greg’s temple and his smile faded, his brow furrowing. “Jesus, that scarecrow conked you pretty good, didn’t it?”

“He won the first round but I’ll win the second,” Greg assured him. He looked up at the scarecrow above them and shook a fist at it. “Curse you, Scarecrow!” He turned to Nick. “Hey, look at that, suddenly I sound like Batman.”

Nick laughed quietly, tucking a stray tuft of hair behind Greg’s ear. “You know there was a killer out here for a while?” Nick said, a hint of concern in his voice. “Police apprehended him only twenty minutes ago, and when I heard, and I still couldn’t find you, I thought…”

“Sh…” Greg whispered, putting a finger to Nick’s lips. “I’m OK, aren’t I?” He rubbed his head. “I mean, comparatively.”

Nick put a tender hand against Greg’s cheek. “Don’t disappear like that again, you hear?”

Greg nodded, flashing Nick a reassuring smile before his head came to a halt. There was a heavily pregnant pause as they continued to stare at each other, and it was only inevitable that Nick would fall onto Greg’s lips. The kiss was gentle, warm, sensual and inviting, delightfully sweet and reassuring and Greg reclined onto the ground and Nick followed. A strange sense of déjà vu washed over Greg as he felt the cool earth beneath him and Nick on top of him, but this was much different than his dream had been, much more graceful and smoother, like a secret dance they were sharing under the clear black sky, surrounded by tall husks of corn.

Nick’s movements were slow, cautious, and exploratory, his tongue lightly probing Greg’s mouth, a sense of curiosity and excitement in his touch as his hands mapped every part of Greg’s body, over the shirt and then down underneath it, his fingers tracing every line, making note of every groove, as if for future reference. And Greg knew that his features weren't as ruggedly well defined as they had been in his dreams, but still simply being with Nick just made him feel that much sexier.

And Greg explored him in turn, hands on either side of Nick’s face as his fingertips ran over the coarse stubble on his chin before moving back into his fine hair, his hands massaging the scalp, keeping Nick close. And again, Greg thought of the number one way he wanted to die, and his permanent idea was now etched at the front of his mind. Goodbye Hugh and Carmen, and hello Nick Stokes, because only Nick Stokes would do, ninety-nine years old in a soft linen bed, with all of their bad memories forgotten in their senile, dementia-ridden mind, and yet they had somehow managed to maintain some fragment of every kiss, every touch, every second spent together over the years, until it all faded away into the night sky and sailed off somewhere beyond the universe.

This thought would have been enough, but now Greg was living the fantasy, and it was so much better than any fantasy, so much safer and more tender and real. His dream had been absolutely sensational, and yet this still managed to be better, so much better than anything he had ever dreamed up, even better than kinky graveyard sex.

And they weren’t even having sex yet. They were simply kissing, quietly, contentedly, peacefully on the bed of a corn field, their hands learning every curve about each other, memorizing every unique detail as if it were a line in a script, a private play performed only for each other.

Languidly, Greg rolled onto his side, and then carefully pushed Nick onto his back, managing not to break away from his lips. He knew exactly what he was doing, what he wanted to do, because Nick had done so much for him in his dreams. He broke the kiss and Nick gasped for air as Greg moved down his jaw line and to his neck, and the way Nick shivered when Greg lightly sucked on a small part of his neck, Greg knew he had found the fabled sensitive spot that was different for everyone. He licked it and allowed his breath to dance over it, sending tingling sensations over Nick’s skin. Meanwhile, Greg’s hand moved downwards and silently slipped beneath the hem of Nick’s black jeans after deftly unbuttoning them.

“Greg…” Nick panted, catching Greg’s hand. “Don’t…”

Greg stopped and hoisted himself up enough just to look Nick in the eyes. “But I want to,” he said with a reassuring grin. “And I know you want it, too.”

His hand slid further until he found his goal and his fingers wrapped around Nick’s cock one finger at a time. He looked up to see Nick’s eyes were closed, his mouth hanging open and Greg watched his expression as his hand glided over the skin of Nick’s hard cock, back and forth, slowly at first, and then he began to build speed. At this point, he dove forward, kissing and suckling that spot where Nick’s neck met his shoulder, and he felt the Texan writhe beneath him.

“Cops…” Nick panted. “They’ll be looking for… ah, Greg…”

Greg knew that he had him now, and Nick had completely surrendered to him. The fact that Nick trusted him so completely made Greg shiver. His free hand slithered over Nick’s chest and up into his hair as he licked up Nick’s neck and nibbled playfully on his ear. “No one will find us,” he tried to assure his lover. “It’s just you and me, babe.”

Nick groaned, seemingly in agreement as Greg continued to milk him for everything he had, his hands twisting, lightly squeezing, tugging swirling around Nick’s rigid, burning cock. Greg readied himself, increasing the pace as he felt the change in Nick, but then something happened that he didn’t expect.

Hot, rough hands had claimed him, and he hadn’t even realized what Nick’s hands had been doing, but apparently they’d decided to unzip his jeans, and Greg almost froze at the unexpected contact. He smiled and kissed Nick’s temple.

“Well, you’re just full of surprises,” he whispered.

Nick said nothing, he simply matched Greg’s rhythm, easily dancing in step with the music Greg was strumming. And both of them were so close by this point, so titillated, so wrapped up in each other and lost in the moment, that it didn’t take much longer for them to explode, at the same time, that pulsating pleasure engulfing the both of them, and this time Greg could feel that Nick was completely with him, and that they were sharing this moment together, and it was whole and complete and indescribable and… and…

When it was over, Greg collapsed on top of Nick and buried his face in the Texan’s shoulder. “You’re not what I expected at all,” he panted.

He felt Nick shift beneath him. “I didn’t live up to your expectations?”

Greg almost laughed. “Oh if you only knew… by exactly how much you surpassed my expectations…” He wanted to tell Nick that this had been more than just great sex, it had been one of the most intimate things Greg had ever experienced. But he held his tongue. He knew enough to keep a few secrets to himself. “I tried to make this about you, and you go and—”

“Return the favor,” Nick whispered, kissing the top of his head.

And then, they heard something in the distance, the rustling of corn, and Greg feared that the flannel killer had returned. He scrambled off of Nick, and his cheeks flushed red when he remembered that Nick had said they’d already apprehended him. He tried to clean himself up as best he could. He zipped up his jeans and noticed a stain on his thigh and snorted.

“That’ll be yours,” he muttered with a smile.

Nick didn’t seem to hear him as he, too, got to his feet and tried to make himself look presentable. Although, Greg saw similar stains on his jeans, and smirked at the fact that they were much more prominent on the darker material.

“Now how are we going to explain this away?” Greg asked, gesturing at his jeans.

Nick snorted. “Oh please, it’s hardly noticeable. Besides, you wanted this, remember?” He came closer and slid his hands over Greg’s hips, pecking him quickly before the sounds of their names broke them apart.

“Nick? Greg?” Catherine Willows pushed her way through a row of corn and stopped in her tracks at the sight of them. “Here you are. Come on, boys, what are you doing with this scarecrow? Don’t you know we still have two crime scenes to process?”

Nick nodded. “Yes, Catherine. I’ll take Greg there in just a sec.”

Catherine looked suspiciously from one to the other, as if she knew exactly what they’d been doing before she arrived. Greg almost burst out laughing right there, but he managed to keep himself under control. And then, Catherine turned around and disappeared behind the corn again.

“Do you think she noticed?” Nick asked.

“Who knows?” Greg replied, carelessly. “Probably not really. Or at least, not everything. The only witness is this guy over here.” He gestured at the scarecrow.

“Do you think he can keep a secret?” Nick asked.

Greg shrugged. “If we threaten him, he might.” He walked right up to the scarecrow and narrowed his eyes. “Say a word to anyone about this and we’ll set you on fire, you here?”

The scarecrow stared at him with black, circular eyes and a triangle nose.

Greg turned to Nick. “It appears he’s already taken a vow of silence. I believe our secret will die with him.” His hands rested on Nick’s chest for a moment before moving up to his shoulders and around his neck. “We really must do this again sometime, though,” he said.

“In a corn field?” Nick asked, cocking his eyebrows.

“Do you know the kinds of things that rhyme with ‘corn,’ Nick?” Greg asked suggestively.

Nick was not impressed. “You can’t be serious. You liked it, down in the dirt, with corn husks and leaves all around us?”

“What can I say, I don’t mind getting a little dirty,” said Greg.

“Well, if you insist,” Nick sighed, dramatically rolling his eyes. His hands moved up Greg’s back and he smiled. “I think we can arrange something. Maybe not in a corn field, though.” He kissed him quickly, and they broke apart, beginning to walk away down the row.

Greg decided to confess. “I had a dream we had sex in a graveyard.”

Nick chuckled. “Aha. You’re just a little twisted, you know that?”

“It was on top of my grave,” Greg went on, ignoring Nick. “You suppose that’s symbolic?”

“I suppose your synapses were firing, you were horny, and you thought you were going to die,” Nick surmised, simply.

“In other words, no,” Greg deduced, entwining his fingers with Nick's.

“I don’t believe dreams mean anything,” Nick replied. “Well, at least not anything symbolic.”

Greg wasn’t so sure, but was ready to shrug off such an odd dream as fantasy-driven fiction. “Yeah, maybe you’re right,” he said.

And the scarecrow watched them with silent eyes and a Mona Lisa smile until they pushed through a wall of corn and disappeared from its sight.
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