CSI: Fic: Under Me You (Greg/Everybody, Gil/Greg, NC-17, companion piece to So Quite New)
Title: Under Me You (companion piece to So Quite New)
Author: mapsandlegends
Rating: NC-17/Adults Only
Pairing: Greg/Everybody, Gil/Greg
Warnings: Angst. Crackfic. Dubious consent - it turns out okay, but if non-con of any kind even remotely squicks you, you may not want to read. Slash and het. Un-betaed, but spellchecked. Also, complete use of present tense.
Summary: "Gil knows it was wrong, and he knows Greg might never forgive him. He won't lie to Greg if Greg asks. He only hopes Greg won't hate him, won't fear him when this is all over."
Author's Note: This story was written as a present for kate_mct's birthday. It's a companion piece to So Quite New, and is best read after the other story. Title from the E. E. Cummings poem "I Like My Body When It Is With Your". Also, semi-oblique Stargate references, yay.
Disclaimer: Alas, I must continue to live my dreams vicariously through fanfiction. All rights reserved by CBS/Alliance Atlantis/etc.
Gil knows it's wrong. Knows he shouldn't be having sex with Greg, not like this, not when no one in the room is capable of rational thought. While his conscious mind knows that he shouldn't be taking advantage of Greg this way, his body and his lizard hind-brain have gleefully informed him that there's no time like the present to fuck Greg senseless. Surely it can't be wrong to have this, have Greg, this once, if this is going to be his only chance.
He watches as fingers push and pull at Greg, watches his own fingers push into Greg. He has to turn his head and look away, afraid it's too much and that he won't last, and he has to. He needs to have something to remember later, to warm up the cold, lonely, empty spaces inside him. Gil wants to know that he didn't come the second he was inside Greg, wants to be able to take this memory out and marvel at the shining surface of it as he turns it over and over in his head.
So, instead, he looks at Wendy and Henry fighting over Greg's mouth until they get preoccupied with each other and fall away, kissing and petting with a frenzy that Gil is finally starting to understand.
This is bad, this is wrong, he can't help thinking when his higher thought processes manage to surface for a few seconds. But as he pushes home inside Greg - home - his thoughts give way to a secret animalistic joy at having Greg like this, under him and accepting him like Gil is everything Greg's ever wanted.
He might know it's wrong, but he can't stop; can't stop the rush of heat through his body as he pushes inside, can't stop the involuntary shudder at feeling Greg vice-tight around his cock and pushing back against his slow, sure thrusts. Gil feels like his face is on fire, his cheeks burnished red with exertion. He's panting now like he's starving for oxygen, and the only thing he knows with any certainty is that he can't stop. Can't stop now, can't stop himself from taking, giving, taking again.
And then he's staring at Greg's mouth around another man's cock - and he absolutely, desperately wants to rewrite the laws of physics so that he can be in two places at once. Because Greg is his. To prove it, Gil slams into Greg with a force that rocks the lab table and makes Greg moan against the cock in his mouth.
Gil sets a furious pace after that, hands scrabbling at Greg's thighs, pulling him as close as he can with Greg's legs still tied. Gil tries to get even closer, heedless of the cold edge of the lab table biting into his hips. His heart is thundering in his chest, and if Gil had any rational thoughts left in his head he might worry that he's on the verge of stroking out from the fierce, rhythmic pulsing of blood through his veins.
Gil's been reduced to a jumble of nerves and sensations, existing only in the immediacy of this one singularly perfect moment; all around him he can see cold glass and bright fluorescence, machines and metal, women and men, all of them touching, sliding, moving against Greg. They don't matter, though, because he has Greg now - and so what if he never has him again? He knows with a bone-deep clarity that this moment with Greg will always be his no matter what happens later.
And that's when he comes, stuttering, with short, sharp thrusts that bruise the well-padded skin of his hipbones as they knock against the edge of the lab table. Eyes shut tight, he slumps against someone's back, forehead resting on her shoulder as she undulates and twists against Greg once, twice more and then stills. The last thing he remembers is the feeling of utter contentment seeping through him. After that, there's nothing.
When Gil wakes up, he's naked except for the sheet covering him. His entire body flushes with embarrassment as he remembers why he's naked. A quicksilver flash of dismay shoots through him when he opens his eyes and realizes that not only is he naked with his modesty protected by only a sheet, but so are most of the other night shift employees. His employees.
Most of them are still asleep, but when he looks to his left he and sees Warrick's sly, toothy grin glinting at him through the darkness of the room, he groans and lets his head fall backwards with an audible thump.
Oh, god, he thinks, Oh, god. This is so not good.
When he realizes that they're all in the morgue, resting on a few spare gurneys - all strangely parked at haphazard angles to one another - he wonders if he can get Al to just go ahead and do his autopsy now, because he's sure someone's going to want his head on a platter.
Then, there are the meetings.
Gil misses the meeting with the Air Force, due in large part to being wholly unconscious; Ecklie has to field that one on his own. Ecklie agrees to cooperate with the Air Force, but refuses to keep his employees quarantined to the lab until the Air Force provides him with documentation regarding Unnamed Yellow Substance #15's pervasive nature, intoxicating effects and high absorption rates. He also demands medical confirmation that his employees are unharmed by Unnamed Yellow Substance #15 and refuses to budge until the Air Force provides him with the best doctors they have at Nellis. In the end, Ecklie still has Doc Robbins review their findings and asks him to do cursory examinations to be sure.
Once everyone's awake, they have the inevitable meeting regarding LVPD's sexual harassment policies and how they might have to bend the rules a little in this case. But Ecklie encourages anyone experiencing continued unwanted advances to report them.
Before they can all escape to go and die of shame - or in some cases take up where they left off, if Henry and Wendy are any indication - Ecklie offers everyone involved a week's paid vacation whenever they want it, and access to counseling if they feel they need it. People may think Ecklie's an asshole - and sometimes he is - but Gil is beginning to suspect that Ecklie secretly cares.
Then there's the private meeting between Gil and Ecklie where they discuss Greg's situation and they hash out as best they can what needs to be done to make things right for Greg. Ecklie asks Gil to talk to Greg on his own because he thinks that what Greg might need is someone he feels comfortable with, and as long as he doesn't wake up shrieking and shrinking back from Gil, Ecklie thinks Gil is someone Greg will listen to.
Gil doesn't agree, and in fact would be happier if they could just bury this whole incident as deep as possible. But he feels that he at least owes it to Greg to talk to him personally, after everything they've gone through in the last few hours. So he gathers up his courage and settles in at his desk, waiting for Greg to wake up.
Greg is sleeping heavily, face down on Gil's couch and dead to the world. Gil alternates between watching Greg sleep and reading the (hastily written) report in front of him. He's dreading the moment Greg wakes up and remembers what happened to him. His conscience is salved a little by the fact that Greg doesn't know any of the identities of the people who violated him, but Gil doesn't feel any less sick with that knowledge. He doesn't care if it was involuntary on his part, that he'd never have forced Greg into sex, he can't forgive himself.
Gil knows it was wrong, and he knows Greg might never forgive him. He won't lie to Greg if Greg asks. He only hopes Greg won't hate him, won't fear him when this is all over.
And then Greg, inexplicably, asks him to do it again, and Gil, for all of his quotes, for each tiny acorn of literary wisdom stored in his head, has never known any words sweeter than those.
Author: mapsandlegends
Rating: NC-17/Adults Only
Pairing: Greg/Everybody, Gil/Greg
Warnings: Angst. Crackfic. Dubious consent - it turns out okay, but if non-con of any kind even remotely squicks you, you may not want to read. Slash and het. Un-betaed, but spellchecked. Also, complete use of present tense.
Summary: "Gil knows it was wrong, and he knows Greg might never forgive him. He won't lie to Greg if Greg asks. He only hopes Greg won't hate him, won't fear him when this is all over."
Author's Note: This story was written as a present for kate_mct's birthday. It's a companion piece to So Quite New, and is best read after the other story. Title from the E. E. Cummings poem "I Like My Body When It Is With Your". Also, semi-oblique Stargate references, yay.
Disclaimer: Alas, I must continue to live my dreams vicariously through fanfiction. All rights reserved by CBS/Alliance Atlantis/etc.
Gil knows it's wrong. Knows he shouldn't be having sex with Greg, not like this, not when no one in the room is capable of rational thought. While his conscious mind knows that he shouldn't be taking advantage of Greg this way, his body and his lizard hind-brain have gleefully informed him that there's no time like the present to fuck Greg senseless. Surely it can't be wrong to have this, have Greg, this once, if this is going to be his only chance.
He watches as fingers push and pull at Greg, watches his own fingers push into Greg. He has to turn his head and look away, afraid it's too much and that he won't last, and he has to. He needs to have something to remember later, to warm up the cold, lonely, empty spaces inside him. Gil wants to know that he didn't come the second he was inside Greg, wants to be able to take this memory out and marvel at the shining surface of it as he turns it over and over in his head.
So, instead, he looks at Wendy and Henry fighting over Greg's mouth until they get preoccupied with each other and fall away, kissing and petting with a frenzy that Gil is finally starting to understand.
This is bad, this is wrong, he can't help thinking when his higher thought processes manage to surface for a few seconds. But as he pushes home inside Greg - home - his thoughts give way to a secret animalistic joy at having Greg like this, under him and accepting him like Gil is everything Greg's ever wanted.
He might know it's wrong, but he can't stop; can't stop the rush of heat through his body as he pushes inside, can't stop the involuntary shudder at feeling Greg vice-tight around his cock and pushing back against his slow, sure thrusts. Gil feels like his face is on fire, his cheeks burnished red with exertion. He's panting now like he's starving for oxygen, and the only thing he knows with any certainty is that he can't stop. Can't stop now, can't stop himself from taking, giving, taking again.
And then he's staring at Greg's mouth around another man's cock - and he absolutely, desperately wants to rewrite the laws of physics so that he can be in two places at once. Because Greg is his. To prove it, Gil slams into Greg with a force that rocks the lab table and makes Greg moan against the cock in his mouth.
Gil sets a furious pace after that, hands scrabbling at Greg's thighs, pulling him as close as he can with Greg's legs still tied. Gil tries to get even closer, heedless of the cold edge of the lab table biting into his hips. His heart is thundering in his chest, and if Gil had any rational thoughts left in his head he might worry that he's on the verge of stroking out from the fierce, rhythmic pulsing of blood through his veins.
Gil's been reduced to a jumble of nerves and sensations, existing only in the immediacy of this one singularly perfect moment; all around him he can see cold glass and bright fluorescence, machines and metal, women and men, all of them touching, sliding, moving against Greg. They don't matter, though, because he has Greg now - and so what if he never has him again? He knows with a bone-deep clarity that this moment with Greg will always be his no matter what happens later.
And that's when he comes, stuttering, with short, sharp thrusts that bruise the well-padded skin of his hipbones as they knock against the edge of the lab table. Eyes shut tight, he slumps against someone's back, forehead resting on her shoulder as she undulates and twists against Greg once, twice more and then stills. The last thing he remembers is the feeling of utter contentment seeping through him. After that, there's nothing.
When Gil wakes up, he's naked except for the sheet covering him. His entire body flushes with embarrassment as he remembers why he's naked. A quicksilver flash of dismay shoots through him when he opens his eyes and realizes that not only is he naked with his modesty protected by only a sheet, but so are most of the other night shift employees. His employees.
Most of them are still asleep, but when he looks to his left he and sees Warrick's sly, toothy grin glinting at him through the darkness of the room, he groans and lets his head fall backwards with an audible thump.
Oh, god, he thinks, Oh, god. This is so not good.
When he realizes that they're all in the morgue, resting on a few spare gurneys - all strangely parked at haphazard angles to one another - he wonders if he can get Al to just go ahead and do his autopsy now, because he's sure someone's going to want his head on a platter.
Then, there are the meetings.
Gil misses the meeting with the Air Force, due in large part to being wholly unconscious; Ecklie has to field that one on his own. Ecklie agrees to cooperate with the Air Force, but refuses to keep his employees quarantined to the lab until the Air Force provides him with documentation regarding Unnamed Yellow Substance #15's pervasive nature, intoxicating effects and high absorption rates. He also demands medical confirmation that his employees are unharmed by Unnamed Yellow Substance #15 and refuses to budge until the Air Force provides him with the best doctors they have at Nellis. In the end, Ecklie still has Doc Robbins review their findings and asks him to do cursory examinations to be sure.
Once everyone's awake, they have the inevitable meeting regarding LVPD's sexual harassment policies and how they might have to bend the rules a little in this case. But Ecklie encourages anyone experiencing continued unwanted advances to report them.
Before they can all escape to go and die of shame - or in some cases take up where they left off, if Henry and Wendy are any indication - Ecklie offers everyone involved a week's paid vacation whenever they want it, and access to counseling if they feel they need it. People may think Ecklie's an asshole - and sometimes he is - but Gil is beginning to suspect that Ecklie secretly cares.
Then there's the private meeting between Gil and Ecklie where they discuss Greg's situation and they hash out as best they can what needs to be done to make things right for Greg. Ecklie asks Gil to talk to Greg on his own because he thinks that what Greg might need is someone he feels comfortable with, and as long as he doesn't wake up shrieking and shrinking back from Gil, Ecklie thinks Gil is someone Greg will listen to.
Gil doesn't agree, and in fact would be happier if they could just bury this whole incident as deep as possible. But he feels that he at least owes it to Greg to talk to him personally, after everything they've gone through in the last few hours. So he gathers up his courage and settles in at his desk, waiting for Greg to wake up.
Greg is sleeping heavily, face down on Gil's couch and dead to the world. Gil alternates between watching Greg sleep and reading the (hastily written) report in front of him. He's dreading the moment Greg wakes up and remembers what happened to him. His conscience is salved a little by the fact that Greg doesn't know any of the identities of the people who violated him, but Gil doesn't feel any less sick with that knowledge. He doesn't care if it was involuntary on his part, that he'd never have forced Greg into sex, he can't forgive himself.
Gil knows it was wrong, and he knows Greg might never forgive him. He won't lie to Greg if Greg asks. He only hopes Greg won't hate him, won't fear him when this is all over.
And then Greg, inexplicably, asks him to do it again, and Gil, for all of his quotes, for each tiny acorn of literary wisdom stored in his head, has never known any words sweeter than those.