FIC: To Whom It May Concern (CSI Vegas slash, NC17) 1/?
FIC: To Whom It May Concern (1/?)
Author: Foofy (niceandfluffy)
Rating: NC17
Setting: CSI Vegas, probably around the third/fourth series
Disclaimer: Piece of fanfiction for entertainment purposes
Summary:When a tip off suggests that there may be murderous films being produced and distributed in Vegas, the male members of the CSI team try an undercover stunt to recover more evidence. However, their tenuous foray into the BDSM scene leads to unexpected and occasionally unwelcome discoveries within the group itself.
Primary pairings: Gil/Nick, Warrick/Nick, Warrick/Greg, although there are variations throughout the fic between the main characters.
Warnings: Kink, BDSM, non-con scenes (although not between principle characters)
Author Notes: This is a complete work of fiction, and some practises have been adapted for entertainment or plot purposes.
*
CHAPTER ONE
*
It had been too long. His wrists had moved on from simple discomfort to burning agony, the bonds digging into his flesh and sending sharp spikes of pain to travel down his arms with each movement. His breathing was laboured, his chest heavy and painful as he struggled to find what he needed to survive.
He had almost grown used to the darkness, a friend that caressed over him, making him feel less vulnerable in his nudity; they always switched the lights on when they returned, giving him nowhere to hide, and the lack of vision simply meant that they were currently uninterested in him. That worked well enough for him; sweat clung to every inch of his trembling body as he tried to work through the agony that his back and thighs screamed over. The first few beatings had been possible to work through, but each subsequent time brought with it new pain upon pain. They didn’t care of his growing fear and distress, but then why would they? He didn’t know them. They didn’t know him. His screams and sobs merely enhanced their pleasures.
He took a deeper, shaking breath, and curled his hands into fists as he attempted to pull away from the bonds that held him. Nothing. Not even a little give.
And suddenly the lights switched on.
*
“Why us?”
It was a simple question, yet one that had more than its fair share of complexities. Gil ran his finger across his chin thoughtfully as he continued to read the report he had been given, ignoring for a moment the little blaze of animation that was occurring in the room he was occupying. On the table sat the photographs of the men in question, taken from publicity shots at clubs several years ago, glossy and typically absent of the type of behaviour that they stood accused of.
Gil could also tell without looking that he was being carefully surveyed by their current guest, her presence the reason for their location in one of the interrogation rooms rather than their familiar lab spaces. Lady Heather had been mostly silent, merely answering one or two of the questions that no one else dared to attempt, but her silent time had been time well spent; cool eyes had surveyed each of the room’s occupants carefully, and Gil already knew that she had come to a decision regarding each person’s character and likely needs, desires and vulnerabilities. It was, after all, what she did, and she did it well. Well enough that when she had come to him with her concerns, he was not at liberty simply to file it away under ‘overactive imagination.’
However, Nick’s question still hadn’t been answered, thrown out like a gauntlet for only the bravest soul to reach out and take it. Finally Brass sighed wearily from the wall he was leaning against, and gave a weary shrug.
“Because at this point we have little to suggest a crime has been committed. Yeah, we have undercover people in the department, but you should see the paperwork involved in getting them. With a bit of evidence, a name or two, then sure, we might be able to set up something official. With what is essentially word of mouth, with no physical evidence to back any of it up?” Brass made a shrugging gesture. “It’ll be dismissed.”
There was another little period of silence around the table. Nick sat back slowly again his chair and looked carefully at their guest, his gaze thoughtful but without confrontation, as Nick was wont to do. Gil was unsurprised on the way Nick was handling the subject matter and indeed their visitor; his faintly apologetic gaze was pretty standard, let alone when it was aimed at a good looking woman who was wearing a bustier so tight that it looked like it should have been cracking ribs.
“No offence, Lady Heather,” Nick drawled softly, his Texan lilt caressing the words. “but why can’t your people keep an eye on them and we’ll come in when there’s more evidence? Why d’you need anyone else to come in?”
“Trust.” Gil spoke up mildly. Nick looked at him incredulously.
“Trust?” he repeated dubiously, the word spoken as though he was checking his hearing, and earning himself a particular look from Gil over the top of the paperwork.
“Trust,” he confirmed, with the smallest of smiles. “Lady Heather’s business depends upon its patrons’ confidence in their privacy and security. Equally, should we really be placing civilians in possible harm’s way?”
Apparently Nick hadn’t really considered that aspect as he flushed slightly, and glanced at Warrick with the slightest of pleading looks. Warrick leaned back lazily in his chair and looked back at the table with a distinctly more challenging look in his eyes.
“Privacy and security, eh? That mean we’re gonna be limited on surveillance as well?” his eyes flickered from Gil’s to Lady Heather’s and then back again, completely unafraid of the topic. “Because I’m all up for privacy, but not if my ass is in deep shit at the time.”
“The public rooms will not have recorded surveillance, although naturally we will keep a close eye upon you.” Lady Heather spoke up from her end of the table, her voice neat, clipped and perfectly controlled. “However, if you were successful in gaining this man’s attention, I would expect that your conversation will be taken to one of the private rooms. We can organise one in particular, and that room could have as much or as little surveillance as you required.”
“And we can’t just get an invitation to meet this guy alone and do it that way? Y’know, some real private gathering?” Warrick continued in the critical tones of someone who wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t April 1st. “It’s gotta be this party?”
Lady Heather smiled at him patiently. Gil was faintly reminded of a childless aunt that liked their nephews over for visits, but on their own, sticky finger free, terms.
“Previously, I have only ever gained his interest for these parties,” she replied softly. “I have many other events, often more personal, but he has declined each one. I doubt whether there would be anything I could offer that would break this particular habit.”
“And we don’t really want to start spooking him if these reports are accurate,” Brass added from his wall. Warrick made a sulky noise, and then exchanged a glance with Nick. Catherine, who had been watching from her chair with a slight smile on her face, turned her attention to Lady Heather.
“I’m unclear on how you know.. or rather, strongly suspect.. that this particular claim is legitimate?” she asked thoughtfully, picking up her own copy of the report and reading the top line before looking across at her. “I’m sure that many of your guests speak of things that have a lot of wishful thinking on their part than any type of reality. I’ve heard of snuff films in the past, but as far as I know they tend to either be a hoax or just a particularly well made amateur horror film.”
Lady Heather put her hands together in an almost prim fashion on the table. “Indeed. Many clients try to shield their insecurities through acts of boasting, or occasionally claims that turn out to be an exaggeration on the truth. The majority of these people do not last long in my establishment, as it does tend to be a little tiresome after a while, but some simply go through a phase when they first begin. They attempt to compete.. the successful ones soon recognise that this is not what we look to achieve.”
She gave the most delicate shrug that Gil had seen that wasn’t part of a ballet routine.
“However, in this case I have heard enough to believe there may well be something in the reports that have come to light. It may not be murder, but I suspect there have been many cases where consent has not been given, and significant injuries caused. I would consider my sources completely reliable, and not prone to flights of fancy. Whatever they did witness, it was sufficiently realistic enough for them to break confidences in discussing that client’s removal from the house. Many of my sources are businessmen, professionals in their field. They do not scare easily, as I am sure you understand,”
Brass shifted grumpily. “Let me guess. These sources aren’t intending to come forward to make an official statement, yeah?”
Lady Heather gave the smallest of nods in response. “The risks are too great for them, and it is, as you know, word of mouth. I doubt whether any court would be willing to base anything on their testimony.”
“So what are we expected to do here?” Nick spoke up from the table, his finger toying with the paperwork in front of him. “Just walk me through it. This is one of those kinky parties you hold, right, with leather and collars and spanking and whatever else you guys get up to. And you want us to go to it to try to find some solid evidence to pin on .. well, anything? You guys realise that we’re going to stick out like a fluffy teddy bear in an army camp, yeah?”
That particular phrase managed to get an eyebrow raise aimed at him by Catherine, that was deflected by a helpless shrug and a little boy grin. “Was thinkin’ of saying ‘stick out like a sore thumb’, but I kinda get the impression that sore thumbs aren’t exactly unusual in a punishment club. Teddy bears or not, you get my point.”
“I do indeed,” Lady Heather murmured. “Perhaps you could inform me on your own sexual inclinations? I may be able to arrange something that suits your needs a little more snugly.”
Nick’s flush increased dramatically as the room’s attention focused on him in interest.
“Uh, I don’t think that’s really necessary,” he said hastily, obviously giving Warrick a kick in the leg to stop Brown’s lazy smirk spreading any further. Nick shifted position uncomfortably, but continued in dogged determination. “And you’re avoiding my question. Regardless of the ‘snugness’ of my role, what are we supposed to do at this party? It’s male only, right?”
“Indeed. I have evenings for all variables, and this one focuses on the masculine persuasion,” Lady Heather carefully picked up a file she had placed to the side, and opened it. She gently pushed it towards Nick, who automatically eyed it suspiciously. She chuckled. “It is not covered in poison, and neither is it required for fingerprints. You can relax a little bit, Mr Stokes.”
Taking advantage of Nick’s additional flush of embarrassment, Warrick stole the file first. He frowned at the top photograph, his intense look assessing the picture before passing it to the still slightly flustered Texan to his right. That done, Warrick began to pass out the little bundles of information to the others, before returning to his own.
Silence reigned as pages were turned and photographs assessed.
“That is the event room itself,” Lady Heather spoke softly, although the utter silence of the table allowed her mild tone to take on dramatically loud proportions. “Empty at this time, obviously. You can see that it has one large central room, with stairs and balconies leading upwards to the private rooms. We prefer rooms of that nature being at least first floor..it might not guarantee privacy, but it does make it slightly harder for external surveillance. I personally have men watching from the corners of the rooms, in keeping with the mood and scene but also acting as additional security. It can get a little loud in the room, and also the light is poor. Shadows are marvellous for the soul, but can encourage more nefarious activities. There are also serving boys, who report any issue immediately if they feel there is any concern. I take my clients’ safety very seriously. The rooms upstairs are private, but they do have the security cameras in place.”
“And your clients don’t have an issue with the possibility you might possess photographs of them in compromising positions?” Catherine spoke up again, having apparently been transfixed by the photograph of a young man dressed in very little on the next page. Lady Heather smiled gently.
“The large majority of my clients tend to be well educated, intelligent people,” here her eyes rose to meet Grissom’s in faint amusement, before moving back to Catherine. “They are all aware that I would have enough evidence to cause significant disruption to their lives even without the camera, if it was my intention. However, my reputation is without fault for good reason - which, of course, is why I do appreciate that this operation is subtle. I cannot afford to lose my good reputation, regardless of what occurs with the gentleman in question.”
Warrick was busy rotating his photograph, squinting at it every so often. “You got any floor-plans of these private rooms? I can’t make out that corner.”
“That would be a large, custom made bed platform. For this particular event, much is done verbally rather than physically, which is why I believe it is possible for select members of your group to slip into role for a brief period without needing to .. ,” Lady Heather paused to delicately select the best phrase for the task. “.. fully immerse themselves in the culture. There are, of course, supplies available in the rooms. Drinks, lubricants, toys and other such items.”
“Shackles on the walls,” Warrick observed, still frowning at the picture. Lady Heather looks faintly surprised.
“Well, yes. I like to be prepared, and some masters do have somewhat unruly boys.” she smiled warmly at him. “They like to teach them.”
“Uh-huh,” Warrick’s dubious gaze flickered over to her before returning to squint at the photograph. “School’s changed a lot since I was a kid.”
Catherine was still looking at the next photograph. “Moving back to Nick’s original question,” she said thoughtfully. “I’m assuming the intention is for a small group of our staff to form a .. what, gang? Harem? .. and dress for the part. They’re not expected to actually use any of these toys, or take on any of the actual physical kinks other than to act in the right manner for this type of event. The aim is to get the target to offer something that would allow us to investigate further, whether that be a location, name of a past victim, copy of the film itself or whatever. We’re likely to get that information in one of the private rooms, away from others, on the assumption that our man is likely to be pretty select on where and what information he offers.”
“Isn’t this getting into entrapment areas?” Nick said dubiously.
“There’s no investigation at the moment,” Brass spoke up from his wall. “This’ll be working out whether there’s any evidence to be had. From what I’ve heard, there’s a chance that this guy finds like minded others to identify future ‘boys’, or whatever you’re calling the vics, then offers them films in exchange. Get us one of those films and we’ll take it from there. Personally, I’m expecting a home made sex horror flick, no offence to your sources. Realistic if you’re in a particular situation and you’ve been told some realistic sounding ploy, but give it to a doctor and they’ll start criticising the blood splatter.”
“If there ain’t an investigation,” Warrick said slowly. “Then is this one of those off the clock moments? Aren’t we risking some type of sexual conflict of interest if we can’t say why we’re doing it?”
“Don’t worry.” Brass replied. “I’ll get you the necessary paperwork if there’s awkward questions.”
Warrick shot him a glance over his shoulder. “You can get random paperwork on dubious kink parties?”
“Hey, I can get random paperwork on pretty much anything at all if there’s good reason for it. One of the perks of the job.”
“So,” Sara had been silent up until now, although Grissom had noted the occasional amused look she shot to both Nick and Warrick whenever anything embarrassing turned up. She licked her lips and sat back on her chair with the smug air of someone who knew that the uncomfortable costumes were not destined for her. “I’m supposed to be on surveillance, with Catherine?”
“And run through any information we might be able to glean, yes.” Gil replied. “I’m considering having an earpiece, to allow relay of information immediately. Do you think that would be a problem?” the second question was addressed to Lady Heather.
“I would expect not. If you are the owner of a group of boys, then you would be expected to hold significant influence in and outside of the club. An earpiece would be less common, but not startlingly unusual.” she replied.
Sara’s mouth twitched upwards in a manner that suggested she was attempting to hold in a laugh, her eyes fixed on a blatantly uncomfortable Nick in what was an apparent attempt to get him to squirm through the chair. “Can I help to choose the costumes?”
“Oh, I’m up for that as well,” Catherine added, finally looking up from her photograph. She eyed both Nick and Warrick in a thoughtful, slightly predatory way, and then turned her attention to Grissom and Brass. “So it’s just Gil going, right? You two aren’t going to have a fight over who’s going to play alpha dog?”
Brass held up his hands. “You can keep me out of it. My back’s been killing me as it is without sexual acrobatics.”
“Okay, then we’ll focus on you for the leader’s role,” Catherine had a particularly calculating look in her eye as she ran her eye over Gil in clear assessment. It was also clear by her little wince that he had been found wanting when it came to leader dress codes. Her gaze moved back to Nick and Warrick, who apparently had given their breath of relief a little too quickly, and then glanced back at Gil. “Are they going to be enough for you?”
“They’re both strong, fit young men, and I assume I’d be expected to use them both for sexual pleasure. Exactly how much stamina are you expecting me to have?” Gil queried idly, ignoring the little shocked cough-choke coming from Nick’s direction. “And I’m not going to be taking said sexual pleasure at the event, Nicholas. Calm down.”
“Perhaps you could have Greg as well? He’s into that scene.. well, in theory, if not in practise,” Sara suggested in a particularly sweet and cheerful voice. “That’ll bring it up to three.”
“I would recommend three,” Lady Heather agreed thoughtfully. “Two tends to have a strangely bodyguard feel to the arrangement, although this can be altered depending on what your boys are doing at the time. And if your Greg is more enamoured with the concept of the event-,”
“- he may act in a more submissive manner,” Grissom mused. “Yes. We’ll talk to him.”
Nick groaned in disbelief, rubbing the back of his neck and leaning closer to Warrick. “At least it’ll stop him asking me for fieldwork,” he murmured. “The worst I can normally do to him is a bowl full of maggots.”
“And you’re saying that as though he might actually object to all this,” Warrick replied back in an equally low tone. Grissom raised an eyebrow.
“Were those volunteers to go speak to him?” he asked pointedly.
“I’ll do it,” Sara interrupted, eyes gleaming a little too much. Nick frowned at her, then rolled his eyes.
“You’re only keen to bring him in ‘cause you reckon Greg’ll tell you everything,” he pointed out dryly. Sara gave him a bright smile as she scooped the paperwork from the table and began to rise.
“True. And he will, too.” she gave him a little wink, and then sauntered out with the photographs thankfully shielded by another piece of paper. Gil watched her leave in faint amusement before turning back to the others in the room. He was always impressed by the levels of embarrassment that life provided, and there was a remarkable selection on display. Nick, of course, was leading the cause, looking as though he was destined to be stripped naked, painted in a random, possibly luminous colour, and then displayed in the middle of the busiest traffic route they could find. Warrick was still busying himself with photographs, although he had the slightly wary expression of one who was watching out for a trap to turn up at any minute. Catherine, who was rarely embarrassed, was still staring in fascination at the photographs that Heather had provided, which was most likely fuelling Stokes’ discomfort even further. Brass was leaning against the wall still with the faintest of smiles on his features; leather or not, this was still surrounding a serious matter, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy himself once the all clear had been sounded. And then there was Lady Heather herself, prim, neat, calm and simply waiting for the rest of the table to continue where they wished.
“I have many available props if you wish to organise the clothing,” Lady Heather was murmured softly to Catherine, who was sat next to her. “Although I would perhaps recommend an evening at the house to be able to study what fashions are popular in this area. Although I am certain your little group will attract attention, I suspect it may be better not to attract it for more flamboyant reasons.”
“Oh, agreed,” Catherine tapped the photograph. “Is he still at your house?”
“Yes. His name is Mark, a quite accomplished masseuse, I might add, if you wish for me to arrange a session.” Lady Heather smiled warmly. “His uniform can be arranged-,”
“Perhaps we’d better get back to the practicalities in hand?” Brass suggested. “Not least because I’m supposed to be in a meeting in about half an hour, and I’d prefer not to go from oiled sexuality straight into paperwork for overtime working without at least a few minutes pause. This event is happening on Friday, yes? Giving us three days preparation.”
“Preparation?” Warrick’s eyebrow rose, and for the first time there was a hint of concern to his voice. “We’re talking about setting up cameras rather than anything else, right?”
There was a silence that was infused with meaningful suggestion. Gil leaned back in his chair and studied Lady Heather for a moment, running through his memories of what her house possessed. Much of the house was purely decorated to appeal to base natures, fulfilling a personal expectation of what such a house should look like rather than any practicality; after all, the dedicated could find their own dungeon in a neat parlour room, surrounded by delicate china. Décor was easy enough to overlook, once the initial surprise had died down, in much the same way as members of CSI could look at the majority of death scenes without a flicker of emotion. They had a job to do, and that was what they all focused on.
On the other hand, even the most dedicated to the job could easily spook in an unexpected situation without the appropriate training. Their cover might not need to be perfect, but it needed to be adequate to suggest that this was not their first time on the scene. Greg, strangely enough, would be perfect. At worst his mouth would be a little too active, and that was what Gil imagined ball gags were there for. Warrick had a bluff face through years of gambling, ensuring that any surprise he had was relatively hidden as long as he was prepared. And then there was the steady innocence that was Nick Stokes…
Apparently he had been looking at Nick a little too long for comfort as the other man shifted positions, and aimed a guarded scowl in his direction.
“What?” Nick queried with the slow, heavy tones of one that was highly suspicious that the universe was plotting against him. Gil waved with a hand absent-mindedly and settled back on his chair, still thoughtful.
“Just thinking.”
Apparently this wasn’t a particularly reassuring answer as Nick’s eyes narrowed even further, his finger beginning to tap irritably on the tabletop. Warrick gave him an amused look and slapped him on the shoulder.
“Steady, bro. Just relax a bit.”
“I’m relaxed.” Nick’s normally casual Texan drawl had suddenly discovered its ability for teeth.
“Sure you are.” Warrick drawled.
“Leave Nicky alone.” Catherine spoke up without looking away from her photographs. “This whole situation has been thrust upon all of us. He’s allowed to be uncomfortable.”
Nick’s expression turned exasperated. “I am not-,”
“Cool, there’s thrusting already?” Greg’s voice broke through the minor disagreement. “Oh, this is going to be better than I thought! So, what we talking about? Do we have roles and fake names? Whose feet am I supposed to be kissing?”
“Those would be mine,” Grissom offered from the head of the table. “And I doubt whether fake first names would be anything other than another thing to memorise.”
“Oh. Well, I’m used to grovelling at your feet, so that’s easy enough.” Greg put his hands in his pockets, then met Lady Heather’s interested look from across the table. “Uh, in a metaphorical sense. Unless I’ve dropped something, but to be honest I don’t tend to drop things because I am very good at my work.”
“Greg, feel free to shut up at any point,” Catherine murmured kindly. Greg gave her a slightly embarrassed grin, although the boy apparently had no intention of stopping.
“So… are we going to practice, or are we getting leaflets on best etiquette instead?” he looked around the group. “’Cause.. and granted, I’m just going by a hunch and the colour of Nick’s face at the moment.. but I’m not sure you guys are particularly up to speed with this type of event. I mean, I know I’m not. I’ve seen them enough, and read a few bits and pieces, but that’s as far as it’s gone.”
The suggestion was digested by the rest of the room. Warrick raised an eyebrow that spoke of wary dubiousness. Nick simply looked a little sicker, as though he had eaten five chocolate cakes by himself and then had been offered a Twinkie. Sara stood by the doorway and smirked slightly, a little too pleased by the result of her suggestion to bring Greg into play. Catherine looked up at Gil and frowned thoughtfully, placing the paperwork carefully on the tabletop with the delicate movements of one who was about to make a point.
“Well?” she enquired politely. “I’m sure that’s probably what you’ve been thinking about as well, so don’t give me that innocent expression.”
Gil tilted his head to one side slightly in acknowledgement. “Well, I had considered it. I sincerely doubt whether we would glean any information at all if we’re known to be complete novices.”
“You would all be welcome to attend a session at the house,” Lady Heather offered smoothly, without the flicker of surprise. “Should you wish to acclimatise yourselves.”
“This acclimatising likely to involve alcohol?” Warrick leaned back in his chair. “Just a drink or two.”
Lady Heather pursed her lips in slight disapproval, but tilted her head gracefully. “Yes, if it eases you.”
“Oh yeah. It will.” Warrick looked a fraction happier.
“And we’d just be looking around, not needing to do anything?” Nick finally managed to get his throat to work again. “Just getting a feel for it, without it getting a feel for us?”
Gil raised an eyebrow. “That was remarkably poetic, Nick.”
“No offence, Griss, but fuck poetic, she’s got enough leather straps in there to tie down a herd of elephants.” Nick flashed steady dark eyes onto him, and then turned back to Lady Heather with a strange mix of determination and apology. The woman in question merely chuckled, and probably would have patted the young man on the hand if she could reach. Instead she smiled at him with the fondness of an elderly aunt and a favoured, if chocolate covered, nephew.
“Nothing physical will happen to you if you do not wish it to happen,” she assured him. “I understand you were most concerned about the spanking element,”
A whole new level of flush added to Nick’s cheeks, which was both remarkably impressive and colourful. “Uh-,”
“You’re going to spank us?” Greg aimed a slightly bewildered look at Grissom. “Isn’t that.. y’know.. dodgy protocol?”
“I wasn’t planning on spanking anyone, unless those DNA reports aren’t done,” Gil tossed back at him mildly. Greg snapped a salute, taking the hint.
“Understood, sah!” his cheerful grin beamed around the table. “So, when are we doing this? I need to organise my diary.”
“And get a diary as well?” Sara asked sweetly from the doorway. Greg shrugged good naturedly at the dig and sat down on the free chair, watching them expectantly. The corner of Gil’s mouth flickered upward, before he adjusted his glasses and looked back down at the paperwork again. Greg’s mouth might have a little too much energy to spare, but a little enthusiasm was exactly what the table required.
“Perhaps we could practise tomorrow evening?” he suggested, with a little side glance to their host. Another little tilt of Lady Heather’s head confirmed that this was adequate with her own plans. Catherine pursed her lips and sat back, her attention aimed at the mistress of the house.
“Is this just for the boys, or can I get my massage as well?”
“Ah, man, how is it fair that we end up in servitude and the women get spa treatments?” Nick protested.
“If you don’t feel like you’re in servitude at the moment, clearly I need to improve the team’s discipline.” Gil made an idle observation. That earned him a little sulky look from Nick, who sat back against his chair in a manner that suggested he was itching to fold his arms in a teenage manner. His movement made Grissom watch him for a few moments longer. Sulkiness was one thing, but true discomfort was another, and Nick didn’t exactly have a reputation for enjoying the wilder aspects of Vegas as it was. “If you’re truly not comfortable with this, Nick, there is absolutely no pressure for you to-,”
“Hey, hey, I’m in, ‘kay?” Nick immediately broke in. “I’m not just gonna sit back whilst you guys are off on a dangerous undercover mission,”
Lady Heather raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Are you implying that my house is dangerous, Mr Stokes?”
“Okay, no offence again Lady H, but I can only cope with one person moaning at me at a time,” Nick offered her a rueful smile. Greg looked surprised.
“Aw, so that means you’re not good for orgies?”
“No, that..,” brain engaged with mouth. “..uh.. look…I-,”
“I think that means Nicky’s in, and stop asking him those types of questions,” came Brass’ dry response as he parted company from his favoured lurking spot and headed to the door. “Since you all seem to have come to a similar conclusion, I’m going to leave you to schedule and expect to see the memo on my desk by the end of the day, okay? You don’t need me here whilst you organise your erotic diary and embarrass the hell out of Nick.”
Gil smiled back at him in acknowledgement, and allowed his eyes to twinkle as the door shut behind the vanishing homicide detective. Well, it would certainly make for an interesting afternoon, at the very least.
*
As agreed, the group invaded the Dominion the next evening. Always the hostess, Heather had organised the women to visit her masseurs and to take the tour, led by colourfully dressed woman called Charlotte who left cheerfully discussing to an obviously fascinated Catherine that her web was widely recommended by many different resources as ‘an alternative shackle’. Gil smiled to himself ruefully. If Catherine didn’t come out of this experience without some hints and tips on male management, she clearly wasn’t trying hard enough.
The men had been led to a private room of their own, a richly decorated parlour where a solid oak antique clock tick-tocked in the corner and candles flickered their light in the corners. The fabrics that clung to the chairs were in rich shades, expensive velvet that caressed the palm as Gil stroked his hand along it.
Greg was apparently in personal heaven; his eyes had widened enough that it seemed they had accidentally hired a lab technician who was approximately twelve years old, and he was moving around the room eagerly, trying to see everything and locate holes and windows to peer through.
“Oh, this is great!,” he said, almost turning himself into a mobile fire hazard after brushing too close to a candle. “I mean, this is exactly how I thought it would be!”
“That would be the point,” Gil remarked idly. “If you’re attempting to appeal to a fantasy, then decoration is vital to allow people to immerse themselves within it.”
“Still creepy,” Nick murmured at Warrick’s shoulder, clearly not intending to be overheard. Warrick gave a little snort of obvious agreement, then wandered to a dark wood antique sideboard and squinted at the black and white photographs that had been placed in silver frames.
“So these are just the starter rooms, yeh?” he tossed over his shoulder as he looked. “All the action takes place in rooms around the back?”
“Ordinarily, yes. Although we occasionally have scenes set in these rooms, they tend to be purely psychological. There are many items here that would be difficult to clean, as I’m certain you understand,” Heather watched the systematic way that Warrick was working his way around the room, a faint smile playing at her lips. “Are you looking for something in particular?”
“Me? Nah. Just getting a feel for the place,” Warrick continued his careful prowl, a prowl that Gil recognised as being the usual one that the man used to process crime scenes. Even his hands remained well away from any surfaces, automatically refusing to add his prints to the polish.
On the other hand, at least Warrick was relaxing, which was more than could be said for the still stationary Nick. His discomfort level had obviously risen dramatically since Warrick had moved away, although Gil knew that it would probably take a hardened session in the ‘back rooms’ before the man would bring himself to admit it. There was a particularly wary look in Nick’s dark eyes that suggested that he was waiting for someone or something to pounce on him, like a teenage actor hired to appear in a horror film.
Gil met Heather’s gaze thoughtfully, and then moved to sit down on one of the perfectly balanced couches. The quality of the seat was incredible, the cushions taking his weight and distribute it as evenly as only expense could do, the touch of the fabric a glorious texture against the skin of his palm.
“A drink, perhaps?” Heather offered softly. “We have some particularly good red wine…,” her gaze moved back to Nick thoughtfully, who blatantly needed more than a bit of wine “.. or perhaps some scotch?”
“Scotch sounds good,” there was nothing wrong with Warrick’s hearing, despite his attention still firmly fixed on his miniature investigation. Greg, meanwhile, had finished his own tour of the room, and had returned in order to flop into a chair next to Gil. He glanced across at the sideboard, where Heather was retrieving crystal glasses, and then back at Gil with a smile so broad that it could possibly swallow a snooker cue sideways.
“So, what’s the plan? We going to do the full house expedition, or are we supposed to do some role-play as well?” his eyes sparkled in the candlelight eagerly, Greg all but trembling in nervous anticipation. That particular comment grasped Nick’s attention, although not quite enough for him to miss the scotch that was offered to him. He accepted it gratefully, although his eyes soon moved back to Greg.
“Role-play?”
“You know,” Greg waved a hand carelessly, then gleefully took hold of his own drink. “taking on a character, acting-,”
“Yeah, I know what role play is, I’m just interested in what you want us to do with it,” Nick paused to take a healthy slug of his drink, a mouthful that almost drained it dry. He earned himself a concerned look from Warrick, who had taken a pause in his own tour to claim his glass.
“Better take it slow, bro, you didn’t eat anything before we left, ‘member?” he warned in a low voice. Nick waved that off with a hand, which was thankfully not the hand that was still clutching the drink itself. Gil swirled his own drink around thoughtfully.
“If you wish to begin to take a feel for your characters, then I wouldn’t have any objection,” he mused softly, watching the way the liquid seemed to glow in the organic light.
“So, what, we all call you ‘master’?” Nick snorted softly, before finishing his drink and carefully putting it down on a side table. “Or is it more than that?”
Gil’s eyes met Heather’s again, the woman tilting her head in agreement. She gently waved a hand towards another chair to Nick, who finally took the hint, and then smiled so charmingly at Warrick that the man abandoned his research. It didn’t, of course, manage to get him to actually sit down, but then Gil suspect that Warrick’s position directly behind Nick’s chair was likely to benefit the group’s emotional levels much more than anything else.
“I believe that a demonstration might be in order,” she said softly as she turned and walked toward the door. Greg perked up even more, which was statistically impressive. Nick shifted uncomfortably in his chair, a finger rubbing against his chin as he tried to hide his emotional upheaval, and only relaxed fractionally as Warrick rested his wide palm on Nick’s shoulder and squeezed it encouragingly. Gil’s gaze returned to the doorway, where a neatly dressed man in a suit was strolling through, a friendly smile aimed directly at him.
“Good evening,” a neatly manicured hand was offered to him to shake. “Please, don’t get up. My name is Peter, and this is Jonathan.”
The ‘Jonathan’ aspect was aimed at a younger man who had followed behind him, neat and tidy but in casual t-shirt and black trousers. If it hadn’t been for a sturdy leather genuine dog collar around the young man’s throat, Gil doubted whether they would have found him remarkable at all, even with the topic of conversation. Lady Heather smiled at them and murmured a little apology before slipping out of the door; by the way the other three were watching Peter and his puppy, Gil doubted whether they had even noticed her leave.
“Pleased to meet you.” Gil shook the offered hand, and then raised an eyebrow. “Will you require introductions?”
“Unnecessary. You’re Gil, yes? That’s all I really need to know,” Peter smiled at him before sitting down on a chair that Jonathan had obtained for him. He crossed his ankles in a remarkably prim manner as the younger man sank to his knees next to him, his gaze kept away from the others as though Jonathan had an unwavering fascination with the rug.
“I understand you’re looking for assistance when it comes to disciplining and educating your boys,” Peter seemed completely unfazed by the suggestion, although that was understandable; Heather was unlikely to bring in anyone she did not personally trust, or who was inexperienced in such a matter. Gil suspected that the particularly cool Peter had seen more than the one ‘boy’ under his command, and would see many more.
Gil tilted his head in agreement. “Assistance would be gratefully received,”
There was another movement to his left, which signified that Nick had once again fidgeted in discomfort. From the way Peter’s eyes slightly narrowed in irritation, Gil had a sneaking suspicion that restlessness was one of the cardinal sins on the training manual, not assisted by Nick’s unimpressed expression. Sure enough, Peter looked back at Gil, running his tongue over his bottom lip in what Gil recognised as a delicate way to give the speaker time to think of the diplomatic phrasing.
“I understand the level of punishment is .. shall we shall, restricted?” he said casually.
“Hell, yeah,” Nick muttered. That earned him yet another look, one that suggested that Nick would personally be in for a particularly long discipline session had the answer been ‘no’.
Peter leaned back in his chair, returning his gaze to Gil once more.
“As I understand it, you would like to know how to act within our particular Gathering. To a certain extent, that will be something that is solely decided between you and your partners, what you’re both happy with. However, there are normally some fundamental principles. Much of it is common sense, and the art of respect,” he said smoothly. “It should feel natural, like an alpha wolf at the head of a working pack. Human nature being as it is, you cannot - and indeed, should not - expect obedience at every minute of every day, but what is perfectly accepted out of the public eye is not the same as what is acceptable within it. If there are conflicts,” here, the sentence appeared to be aimed at Nick. “it should remain out of sight, unless you are intending for an obvious rebuke. There should be no question in other’s eyes on exactly who holds the whip.”
Gil didn’t even need to look at either Warrick or Nick to know that two steady glares were being aimed at him for the mention of ‘whip’.
“For us, I believe the whip would be metaphorical,” he replied idly. Peter gave a little knowledgeable smile.
“Yes, I’ve heard that before.” he shrugged, unconcerned. “As you wish. Either way, a boy has his own particular rules to act by. Each master has his own quirks - who hasn’t? - but generally you can find some common aspects to all of them, ordinarily as a result of social upbringing. These are the ones that I personally favour during events, although I confess to being a stickler for traditions. A boy should be silent unless spoken to, or given permission to speak freely. A boy should always be conscious of where his master is, and be attentive to his needs and desires.. as a result, you will find that most boys will not stray too far from their masters, as you will see Jonathan here demonstrating,”
Peter broke off to smile down at his own ‘boy’, and place a hand on his head in what was clearly a genuinely affectionate way. Jonathan left the wonders of the rug to smile upwards, relaxed pleasure shining in the surprisingly vivid blue eyes before the man looked back down again. After a few pets of his boy’s head, Peter returned his attention to Gil and the list he had been reciting.
“Boys should obviously do as they are instructed, without question. If confusion has occurred from the order, it tends to be better simply for the communication to be done non-verbally.. perhaps a look, or a hesitation… rather than a forthright question, although obviously that will depend on your personal situation, how important it is, and who is watching. Boys should not rush their tasks, or look as though it is beneath them,” here the comment was once again aimed at an unrepentant Nick. “Other than that, your own personal style will dictate how you find your own path. Each event tends to hold differences, of course, in the same way that most clubs will have a similar theme but different practises.”
Gil was about to speak when he felt a strange nudge against his leg. He looked down at the rebellious limb in bemusement, and then at Greg who apparently was squirming to ask questions but not wanting to ruin his ‘obedience’ before they had even started. He chuckled in amusement, and then shrugged to himself. They might as well start off as they meant to go on, and he had a suspicion that Greg was more than happy to experience as much as he possibly could whilst he had the chance.
“It appears one of my ‘boys’ has a few questions to ask. Would you be happy to oblige..?”
“By all means,” Peter turned his attention to Greg, a little pause as his eye ran down the young man thoughtfully. Greg waited patiently for the observation to finish, before clearing his throat and leaning forward a little more.
“Okay, I’ve got a few ideas on how I should follow Gil-,” he hesitated as an obvious wince flickered through Peter’s expression. “- my master? Cool. Okay, my master around, but how do I attract his attention if I need him without being rude or, y’know, actually poking him? I’ve been told I have sharp fingernails,” Greg glanced at his hands ruefully for a moment, and then looked back up in interest.
“I prefer the brushing method,” Peter replied after a moment’s pause. “Although the boy should be close, he shouldn’t be so close that location is uncomfortable, or restricts movement. If you’re close enough to brush his arm, or thigh, then you should be able to attract his attention sufficiently. Needless to say, this is for non-emergencies. As for your fingernails, I’m quite surprised that’s been allowed to occur…?”
A gaze flickered to Gil thoughtfully, a statement that Heather had not informed the man that his interviewees were complete novices when it came to any male relationship. Greg looked surprised, and then snapped his fingers.
“Oh, right, what with the sex and all. Yeah, good point,”
“I have someone else do the preparation work,” Gil replied casually, having to ignore the sudden cough from the side which stated that Nick hadn’t been expecting the comment. “Everyone has their different skills, don’t they?”
Peter’s gaze flickered to Nick again; a disapproving look that stated that he was struggling to find a particular skill associated with him. “Clearly.”
Now was a good time to move Peter’s mind away from either Warrick or Nick, and back onto the subject in hand. Gil placed his drink on the side, and then pushed himself up further.
“Would you mind if we practised?”
“By all means,” Peter sat further in his chair, Jonathan’s head rising in interest as Gil stood and gave a little nudge to Greg’s leg to prompt him to stand. He swept his gaze towards the others, and was met with a thoughtful look from Warrick and a suspicious look from Nick that wasn’t quite sure whether to be embarrassed or rebellious. Greg, thankfully, was more than happy to play along; scrambling to his feet, he gave him a bright smile, and tugged on his t-shirt.
“You want me to strip slightly? I don’t have the other accessories,” he indicated the lack of a collar with a finger.
“Stripping ‘slightly’ is a peculiar angle to go for, but if you wish..,” Gil trailed off as Greg’s shirt vanished, leaving a grin and a slim, smooth, youthful torso that was all but wriggling in nervous energy. Perhaps the whisky had been a bad idea after all when it came to Greg, who apparently had needed absolutely no encouragement to get into the swing of things. Gil took a few steps forward, giving them space between their ‘scene’ and the chairs, and then waited until Greg had stepped in behind him.
“So is this a good distance between Gil… master, sorry.. and me?” Greg’s frown spoke of how intently he was to get things right. Peter smiled and gave a little nod.
“Yes, that looks fine. I would normally advise any following boys to be slightly to one side, to allow their master to see them with a turn of his head rather than having to completely turn to speak to them.” he watched in approval as Greg shuffled slightly to the left hand side, still keeping the distance. “Perfect. You will be restricted on what’s possible when there’s a larger number, of course, but I would recommend the third simply walking behind. As you won’t be able to see what they’re doing, it should be either the most experienced or the one with the greatest trust.”
“Like a bodyguard formation, yeah?” Warrick’s gruff voice broke through, unbothered by ‘boy etiquette’, just as Gil knew he would be. Peter turned his attention to Warrick, giving him the same, thoughtful, assessing look as he had with Greg, and Gil suddenly felt a strange territorial need to alter that. Warrick was his man, regardless of reality or play, and strangers eying him up was unexpectedly not something that settled well. Greg was another matter, wriggling enough that attention was almost automatic, but there were limits even for him. This was likely to be something he would have to terms with; Gil suspected that few went to the events without the desire to show off their partners at least slightly, and admiring glances were likely to occur.
A small cough brought Peter’s gaze back onto himself and the topic in hand. Peter tilted his head slightly, perhaps in apology that his attention had been distracted.
“That’s correct.” he answered Warrick’s question to the man himself, which surprised Gil slightly. “Although aggression itself would be frowned upon, of course. You would need to look as though you are there to attend to his needs rather than simply protect him.” Peter’s gaze slid from the casually lounging Warrick to the defiant dark eyes of Nick thoughtfully, then back onto Gil. A rueful smile flickered in the corner of his mouth. “It seems that you will have your work cut out for you with this little group,”
Gil gave a careless shrug, and then looked at the other two in what he hoped wasn’t too much of a pointed way. They only had a few days; a little acceptance of their situation had to happen, otherwise they would be spotted within a few steps of the door. Apparently his steady gaze managed to transmit at least some of his reproach, as Nick shifted positions again in guilty discomfort, and then gave Warrick - partner in crime - a little side glance. A few moments later and Nick had eased himself up from the chair, although his movements were stiff enough to suggest that the man had already met up with at least five of the punishments already.
“Warrick, you’re at the rear,” Gil made the decision, knowing that the less flappable Warrick was likely to actually stay there.
“’Kay,” Warrick used the same, slightly disinterested tone as he had before, although Gil smelt the scent of a bluff. Nick came to rest a few steps away from Greg, taking the right hand position, and giving his younger colleague an amused look. Gil was suddenly reminded of Nick’s cop background as the Texan settled into a ‘waiting for instruction’ stance, looking all the world as though he had been put on protective duty.
“Okay,” Nick looked faintly critical as he assessed their positions. “This all looks great for when we’re on the move, but what happens when we’re not? We’re taking up a lot of floor space here. Any pattern for dispersal when we arrive in the room, or are we just going for what makes sense at the time? Let’s say you were coming in this room, and were going to sit down on that particular sofa there, and you had a guy to your left. Greg drops down by your feet, because, well, he’s just plain good at it, and we’ll hover behind you?”
“Sounds reasonable.” Gil decided, after running Nick’s suggestions through his mind for a moment, and feeling the relief that Nick was finally making a positive contribution flow through his body. “Just make sure you’re able to catch my eye if necessary every so often. And if I call you, come immediately to the front and kneel down,”
“Both knees like we’re praying, or one knee like we’re proposing?” Nick chewed on that thought, his voice drawling the question. Gil raised an eyebrow.
“That makes a difference to you?”
“Sure does, one’s easier to get up from,” Nick explained, with a little shrug. Peter watched them for a moment in clear exasperation, and then aimed another unimpressed look at Nick.
“You know, if you were my boy you wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week,” he commented archly. Nick gave him a winning smile that didn’t quite match the expression in his eyes.
“Duly noted, and thanks a whole heap for your input, sir,”
“Nicholas.” Gil growled softly. Readjustment was one thing, but rudeness was another, although the fact that Nick was uncomfortable enough to answer back spoke volumes. Thankfully it didn’t take much to drag him back to the original mindset; a steady look and Nick groaned in exasperation before falling silent again, a little tilt of the head communicating that message had been received and at least faintly understood.
Greg was watching them with the wide eyed, slightly uncomfortable expression of a child watching his parents squabble, not entirely sure which side to support. He raised his hand cautiously.
“Um, should we practise you giving some orders?” his voice was cheerfully bright, obviously trying to attract attention away from Nick. “I could do the running and fetching ones, if you want, save us struggling on working out who’s doing what for the minor stuff. Then the other two can stand around looking pretty or tough, or tough in a manly model way,”
That particular phrase caused the older CSIs to exchange a weary glance. Gil smiled to himself and shook his head.
“Much as I like the idea of you running around for me, I suspect that any practise we do at this exact point in time will seem more like giving instructions to a retriever dog rather than the day to day things I’d expect. I have every confidence that you’d be able to follow out a firm instruction to the best of your ability,” he replied softly. Greg looked disappointed.
“Awww, couldn’t I just do a few? Y’know, to get into the mood of things?” Wide, pleadingly persuasive brown eyes looked at him beseechingly. “Tea? Coffee? Foot massage?”
“Silence?” Warrick suggested.
“Oh, I’m not sure that’s on the menu..,” Greg mused over the intricacies of his personal service carte du jour, then beamed at Gil. “So, can I start? Sir? Master? My Lord?”
Gil was suddenly aware of an amused, sympathetic look aimed at him from their current guide, who had returned to stroking his own boy’s head as though the man was actually a cat.
“Oh, yes. Definitely got your work cut out for you,” Peter murmured in amusement. And as Gil studied the eager, slightly over excited and probably half drunk face of Greg, then glanced at the wary eyes of the others, he had to admit Peter was probably right.
But then, he did love a challenge.
*
Author: Foofy (niceandfluffy)
Rating: NC17
Setting: CSI Vegas, probably around the third/fourth series
Disclaimer: Piece of fanfiction for entertainment purposes
Summary:When a tip off suggests that there may be murderous films being produced and distributed in Vegas, the male members of the CSI team try an undercover stunt to recover more evidence. However, their tenuous foray into the BDSM scene leads to unexpected and occasionally unwelcome discoveries within the group itself.
Primary pairings: Gil/Nick, Warrick/Nick, Warrick/Greg, although there are variations throughout the fic between the main characters.
Warnings: Kink, BDSM, non-con scenes (although not between principle characters)
Author Notes: This is a complete work of fiction, and some practises have been adapted for entertainment or plot purposes.
*
CHAPTER ONE
*
It had been too long. His wrists had moved on from simple discomfort to burning agony, the bonds digging into his flesh and sending sharp spikes of pain to travel down his arms with each movement. His breathing was laboured, his chest heavy and painful as he struggled to find what he needed to survive.
He had almost grown used to the darkness, a friend that caressed over him, making him feel less vulnerable in his nudity; they always switched the lights on when they returned, giving him nowhere to hide, and the lack of vision simply meant that they were currently uninterested in him. That worked well enough for him; sweat clung to every inch of his trembling body as he tried to work through the agony that his back and thighs screamed over. The first few beatings had been possible to work through, but each subsequent time brought with it new pain upon pain. They didn’t care of his growing fear and distress, but then why would they? He didn’t know them. They didn’t know him. His screams and sobs merely enhanced their pleasures.
He took a deeper, shaking breath, and curled his hands into fists as he attempted to pull away from the bonds that held him. Nothing. Not even a little give.
And suddenly the lights switched on.
*
“Why us?”
It was a simple question, yet one that had more than its fair share of complexities. Gil ran his finger across his chin thoughtfully as he continued to read the report he had been given, ignoring for a moment the little blaze of animation that was occurring in the room he was occupying. On the table sat the photographs of the men in question, taken from publicity shots at clubs several years ago, glossy and typically absent of the type of behaviour that they stood accused of.
Gil could also tell without looking that he was being carefully surveyed by their current guest, her presence the reason for their location in one of the interrogation rooms rather than their familiar lab spaces. Lady Heather had been mostly silent, merely answering one or two of the questions that no one else dared to attempt, but her silent time had been time well spent; cool eyes had surveyed each of the room’s occupants carefully, and Gil already knew that she had come to a decision regarding each person’s character and likely needs, desires and vulnerabilities. It was, after all, what she did, and she did it well. Well enough that when she had come to him with her concerns, he was not at liberty simply to file it away under ‘overactive imagination.’
However, Nick’s question still hadn’t been answered, thrown out like a gauntlet for only the bravest soul to reach out and take it. Finally Brass sighed wearily from the wall he was leaning against, and gave a weary shrug.
“Because at this point we have little to suggest a crime has been committed. Yeah, we have undercover people in the department, but you should see the paperwork involved in getting them. With a bit of evidence, a name or two, then sure, we might be able to set up something official. With what is essentially word of mouth, with no physical evidence to back any of it up?” Brass made a shrugging gesture. “It’ll be dismissed.”
There was another little period of silence around the table. Nick sat back slowly again his chair and looked carefully at their guest, his gaze thoughtful but without confrontation, as Nick was wont to do. Gil was unsurprised on the way Nick was handling the subject matter and indeed their visitor; his faintly apologetic gaze was pretty standard, let alone when it was aimed at a good looking woman who was wearing a bustier so tight that it looked like it should have been cracking ribs.
“No offence, Lady Heather,” Nick drawled softly, his Texan lilt caressing the words. “but why can’t your people keep an eye on them and we’ll come in when there’s more evidence? Why d’you need anyone else to come in?”
“Trust.” Gil spoke up mildly. Nick looked at him incredulously.
“Trust?” he repeated dubiously, the word spoken as though he was checking his hearing, and earning himself a particular look from Gil over the top of the paperwork.
“Trust,” he confirmed, with the smallest of smiles. “Lady Heather’s business depends upon its patrons’ confidence in their privacy and security. Equally, should we really be placing civilians in possible harm’s way?”
Apparently Nick hadn’t really considered that aspect as he flushed slightly, and glanced at Warrick with the slightest of pleading looks. Warrick leaned back lazily in his chair and looked back at the table with a distinctly more challenging look in his eyes.
“Privacy and security, eh? That mean we’re gonna be limited on surveillance as well?” his eyes flickered from Gil’s to Lady Heather’s and then back again, completely unafraid of the topic. “Because I’m all up for privacy, but not if my ass is in deep shit at the time.”
“The public rooms will not have recorded surveillance, although naturally we will keep a close eye upon you.” Lady Heather spoke up from her end of the table, her voice neat, clipped and perfectly controlled. “However, if you were successful in gaining this man’s attention, I would expect that your conversation will be taken to one of the private rooms. We can organise one in particular, and that room could have as much or as little surveillance as you required.”
“And we can’t just get an invitation to meet this guy alone and do it that way? Y’know, some real private gathering?” Warrick continued in the critical tones of someone who wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t April 1st. “It’s gotta be this party?”
Lady Heather smiled at him patiently. Gil was faintly reminded of a childless aunt that liked their nephews over for visits, but on their own, sticky finger free, terms.
“Previously, I have only ever gained his interest for these parties,” she replied softly. “I have many other events, often more personal, but he has declined each one. I doubt whether there would be anything I could offer that would break this particular habit.”
“And we don’t really want to start spooking him if these reports are accurate,” Brass added from his wall. Warrick made a sulky noise, and then exchanged a glance with Nick. Catherine, who had been watching from her chair with a slight smile on her face, turned her attention to Lady Heather.
“I’m unclear on how you know.. or rather, strongly suspect.. that this particular claim is legitimate?” she asked thoughtfully, picking up her own copy of the report and reading the top line before looking across at her. “I’m sure that many of your guests speak of things that have a lot of wishful thinking on their part than any type of reality. I’ve heard of snuff films in the past, but as far as I know they tend to either be a hoax or just a particularly well made amateur horror film.”
Lady Heather put her hands together in an almost prim fashion on the table. “Indeed. Many clients try to shield their insecurities through acts of boasting, or occasionally claims that turn out to be an exaggeration on the truth. The majority of these people do not last long in my establishment, as it does tend to be a little tiresome after a while, but some simply go through a phase when they first begin. They attempt to compete.. the successful ones soon recognise that this is not what we look to achieve.”
She gave the most delicate shrug that Gil had seen that wasn’t part of a ballet routine.
“However, in this case I have heard enough to believe there may well be something in the reports that have come to light. It may not be murder, but I suspect there have been many cases where consent has not been given, and significant injuries caused. I would consider my sources completely reliable, and not prone to flights of fancy. Whatever they did witness, it was sufficiently realistic enough for them to break confidences in discussing that client’s removal from the house. Many of my sources are businessmen, professionals in their field. They do not scare easily, as I am sure you understand,”
Brass shifted grumpily. “Let me guess. These sources aren’t intending to come forward to make an official statement, yeah?”
Lady Heather gave the smallest of nods in response. “The risks are too great for them, and it is, as you know, word of mouth. I doubt whether any court would be willing to base anything on their testimony.”
“So what are we expected to do here?” Nick spoke up from the table, his finger toying with the paperwork in front of him. “Just walk me through it. This is one of those kinky parties you hold, right, with leather and collars and spanking and whatever else you guys get up to. And you want us to go to it to try to find some solid evidence to pin on .. well, anything? You guys realise that we’re going to stick out like a fluffy teddy bear in an army camp, yeah?”
That particular phrase managed to get an eyebrow raise aimed at him by Catherine, that was deflected by a helpless shrug and a little boy grin. “Was thinkin’ of saying ‘stick out like a sore thumb’, but I kinda get the impression that sore thumbs aren’t exactly unusual in a punishment club. Teddy bears or not, you get my point.”
“I do indeed,” Lady Heather murmured. “Perhaps you could inform me on your own sexual inclinations? I may be able to arrange something that suits your needs a little more snugly.”
Nick’s flush increased dramatically as the room’s attention focused on him in interest.
“Uh, I don’t think that’s really necessary,” he said hastily, obviously giving Warrick a kick in the leg to stop Brown’s lazy smirk spreading any further. Nick shifted position uncomfortably, but continued in dogged determination. “And you’re avoiding my question. Regardless of the ‘snugness’ of my role, what are we supposed to do at this party? It’s male only, right?”
“Indeed. I have evenings for all variables, and this one focuses on the masculine persuasion,” Lady Heather carefully picked up a file she had placed to the side, and opened it. She gently pushed it towards Nick, who automatically eyed it suspiciously. She chuckled. “It is not covered in poison, and neither is it required for fingerprints. You can relax a little bit, Mr Stokes.”
Taking advantage of Nick’s additional flush of embarrassment, Warrick stole the file first. He frowned at the top photograph, his intense look assessing the picture before passing it to the still slightly flustered Texan to his right. That done, Warrick began to pass out the little bundles of information to the others, before returning to his own.
Silence reigned as pages were turned and photographs assessed.
“That is the event room itself,” Lady Heather spoke softly, although the utter silence of the table allowed her mild tone to take on dramatically loud proportions. “Empty at this time, obviously. You can see that it has one large central room, with stairs and balconies leading upwards to the private rooms. We prefer rooms of that nature being at least first floor..it might not guarantee privacy, but it does make it slightly harder for external surveillance. I personally have men watching from the corners of the rooms, in keeping with the mood and scene but also acting as additional security. It can get a little loud in the room, and also the light is poor. Shadows are marvellous for the soul, but can encourage more nefarious activities. There are also serving boys, who report any issue immediately if they feel there is any concern. I take my clients’ safety very seriously. The rooms upstairs are private, but they do have the security cameras in place.”
“And your clients don’t have an issue with the possibility you might possess photographs of them in compromising positions?” Catherine spoke up again, having apparently been transfixed by the photograph of a young man dressed in very little on the next page. Lady Heather smiled gently.
“The large majority of my clients tend to be well educated, intelligent people,” here her eyes rose to meet Grissom’s in faint amusement, before moving back to Catherine. “They are all aware that I would have enough evidence to cause significant disruption to their lives even without the camera, if it was my intention. However, my reputation is without fault for good reason - which, of course, is why I do appreciate that this operation is subtle. I cannot afford to lose my good reputation, regardless of what occurs with the gentleman in question.”
Warrick was busy rotating his photograph, squinting at it every so often. “You got any floor-plans of these private rooms? I can’t make out that corner.”
“That would be a large, custom made bed platform. For this particular event, much is done verbally rather than physically, which is why I believe it is possible for select members of your group to slip into role for a brief period without needing to .. ,” Lady Heather paused to delicately select the best phrase for the task. “.. fully immerse themselves in the culture. There are, of course, supplies available in the rooms. Drinks, lubricants, toys and other such items.”
“Shackles on the walls,” Warrick observed, still frowning at the picture. Lady Heather looks faintly surprised.
“Well, yes. I like to be prepared, and some masters do have somewhat unruly boys.” she smiled warmly at him. “They like to teach them.”
“Uh-huh,” Warrick’s dubious gaze flickered over to her before returning to squint at the photograph. “School’s changed a lot since I was a kid.”
Catherine was still looking at the next photograph. “Moving back to Nick’s original question,” she said thoughtfully. “I’m assuming the intention is for a small group of our staff to form a .. what, gang? Harem? .. and dress for the part. They’re not expected to actually use any of these toys, or take on any of the actual physical kinks other than to act in the right manner for this type of event. The aim is to get the target to offer something that would allow us to investigate further, whether that be a location, name of a past victim, copy of the film itself or whatever. We’re likely to get that information in one of the private rooms, away from others, on the assumption that our man is likely to be pretty select on where and what information he offers.”
“Isn’t this getting into entrapment areas?” Nick said dubiously.
“There’s no investigation at the moment,” Brass spoke up from his wall. “This’ll be working out whether there’s any evidence to be had. From what I’ve heard, there’s a chance that this guy finds like minded others to identify future ‘boys’, or whatever you’re calling the vics, then offers them films in exchange. Get us one of those films and we’ll take it from there. Personally, I’m expecting a home made sex horror flick, no offence to your sources. Realistic if you’re in a particular situation and you’ve been told some realistic sounding ploy, but give it to a doctor and they’ll start criticising the blood splatter.”
“If there ain’t an investigation,” Warrick said slowly. “Then is this one of those off the clock moments? Aren’t we risking some type of sexual conflict of interest if we can’t say why we’re doing it?”
“Don’t worry.” Brass replied. “I’ll get you the necessary paperwork if there’s awkward questions.”
Warrick shot him a glance over his shoulder. “You can get random paperwork on dubious kink parties?”
“Hey, I can get random paperwork on pretty much anything at all if there’s good reason for it. One of the perks of the job.”
“So,” Sara had been silent up until now, although Grissom had noted the occasional amused look she shot to both Nick and Warrick whenever anything embarrassing turned up. She licked her lips and sat back on her chair with the smug air of someone who knew that the uncomfortable costumes were not destined for her. “I’m supposed to be on surveillance, with Catherine?”
“And run through any information we might be able to glean, yes.” Gil replied. “I’m considering having an earpiece, to allow relay of information immediately. Do you think that would be a problem?” the second question was addressed to Lady Heather.
“I would expect not. If you are the owner of a group of boys, then you would be expected to hold significant influence in and outside of the club. An earpiece would be less common, but not startlingly unusual.” she replied.
Sara’s mouth twitched upwards in a manner that suggested she was attempting to hold in a laugh, her eyes fixed on a blatantly uncomfortable Nick in what was an apparent attempt to get him to squirm through the chair. “Can I help to choose the costumes?”
“Oh, I’m up for that as well,” Catherine added, finally looking up from her photograph. She eyed both Nick and Warrick in a thoughtful, slightly predatory way, and then turned her attention to Grissom and Brass. “So it’s just Gil going, right? You two aren’t going to have a fight over who’s going to play alpha dog?”
Brass held up his hands. “You can keep me out of it. My back’s been killing me as it is without sexual acrobatics.”
“Okay, then we’ll focus on you for the leader’s role,” Catherine had a particularly calculating look in her eye as she ran her eye over Gil in clear assessment. It was also clear by her little wince that he had been found wanting when it came to leader dress codes. Her gaze moved back to Nick and Warrick, who apparently had given their breath of relief a little too quickly, and then glanced back at Gil. “Are they going to be enough for you?”
“They’re both strong, fit young men, and I assume I’d be expected to use them both for sexual pleasure. Exactly how much stamina are you expecting me to have?” Gil queried idly, ignoring the little shocked cough-choke coming from Nick’s direction. “And I’m not going to be taking said sexual pleasure at the event, Nicholas. Calm down.”
“Perhaps you could have Greg as well? He’s into that scene.. well, in theory, if not in practise,” Sara suggested in a particularly sweet and cheerful voice. “That’ll bring it up to three.”
“I would recommend three,” Lady Heather agreed thoughtfully. “Two tends to have a strangely bodyguard feel to the arrangement, although this can be altered depending on what your boys are doing at the time. And if your Greg is more enamoured with the concept of the event-,”
“- he may act in a more submissive manner,” Grissom mused. “Yes. We’ll talk to him.”
Nick groaned in disbelief, rubbing the back of his neck and leaning closer to Warrick. “At least it’ll stop him asking me for fieldwork,” he murmured. “The worst I can normally do to him is a bowl full of maggots.”
“And you’re saying that as though he might actually object to all this,” Warrick replied back in an equally low tone. Grissom raised an eyebrow.
“Were those volunteers to go speak to him?” he asked pointedly.
“I’ll do it,” Sara interrupted, eyes gleaming a little too much. Nick frowned at her, then rolled his eyes.
“You’re only keen to bring him in ‘cause you reckon Greg’ll tell you everything,” he pointed out dryly. Sara gave him a bright smile as she scooped the paperwork from the table and began to rise.
“True. And he will, too.” she gave him a little wink, and then sauntered out with the photographs thankfully shielded by another piece of paper. Gil watched her leave in faint amusement before turning back to the others in the room. He was always impressed by the levels of embarrassment that life provided, and there was a remarkable selection on display. Nick, of course, was leading the cause, looking as though he was destined to be stripped naked, painted in a random, possibly luminous colour, and then displayed in the middle of the busiest traffic route they could find. Warrick was still busying himself with photographs, although he had the slightly wary expression of one who was watching out for a trap to turn up at any minute. Catherine, who was rarely embarrassed, was still staring in fascination at the photographs that Heather had provided, which was most likely fuelling Stokes’ discomfort even further. Brass was leaning against the wall still with the faintest of smiles on his features; leather or not, this was still surrounding a serious matter, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy himself once the all clear had been sounded. And then there was Lady Heather herself, prim, neat, calm and simply waiting for the rest of the table to continue where they wished.
“I have many available props if you wish to organise the clothing,” Lady Heather was murmured softly to Catherine, who was sat next to her. “Although I would perhaps recommend an evening at the house to be able to study what fashions are popular in this area. Although I am certain your little group will attract attention, I suspect it may be better not to attract it for more flamboyant reasons.”
“Oh, agreed,” Catherine tapped the photograph. “Is he still at your house?”
“Yes. His name is Mark, a quite accomplished masseuse, I might add, if you wish for me to arrange a session.” Lady Heather smiled warmly. “His uniform can be arranged-,”
“Perhaps we’d better get back to the practicalities in hand?” Brass suggested. “Not least because I’m supposed to be in a meeting in about half an hour, and I’d prefer not to go from oiled sexuality straight into paperwork for overtime working without at least a few minutes pause. This event is happening on Friday, yes? Giving us three days preparation.”
“Preparation?” Warrick’s eyebrow rose, and for the first time there was a hint of concern to his voice. “We’re talking about setting up cameras rather than anything else, right?”
There was a silence that was infused with meaningful suggestion. Gil leaned back in his chair and studied Lady Heather for a moment, running through his memories of what her house possessed. Much of the house was purely decorated to appeal to base natures, fulfilling a personal expectation of what such a house should look like rather than any practicality; after all, the dedicated could find their own dungeon in a neat parlour room, surrounded by delicate china. Décor was easy enough to overlook, once the initial surprise had died down, in much the same way as members of CSI could look at the majority of death scenes without a flicker of emotion. They had a job to do, and that was what they all focused on.
On the other hand, even the most dedicated to the job could easily spook in an unexpected situation without the appropriate training. Their cover might not need to be perfect, but it needed to be adequate to suggest that this was not their first time on the scene. Greg, strangely enough, would be perfect. At worst his mouth would be a little too active, and that was what Gil imagined ball gags were there for. Warrick had a bluff face through years of gambling, ensuring that any surprise he had was relatively hidden as long as he was prepared. And then there was the steady innocence that was Nick Stokes…
Apparently he had been looking at Nick a little too long for comfort as the other man shifted positions, and aimed a guarded scowl in his direction.
“What?” Nick queried with the slow, heavy tones of one that was highly suspicious that the universe was plotting against him. Gil waved with a hand absent-mindedly and settled back on his chair, still thoughtful.
“Just thinking.”
Apparently this wasn’t a particularly reassuring answer as Nick’s eyes narrowed even further, his finger beginning to tap irritably on the tabletop. Warrick gave him an amused look and slapped him on the shoulder.
“Steady, bro. Just relax a bit.”
“I’m relaxed.” Nick’s normally casual Texan drawl had suddenly discovered its ability for teeth.
“Sure you are.” Warrick drawled.
“Leave Nicky alone.” Catherine spoke up without looking away from her photographs. “This whole situation has been thrust upon all of us. He’s allowed to be uncomfortable.”
Nick’s expression turned exasperated. “I am not-,”
“Cool, there’s thrusting already?” Greg’s voice broke through the minor disagreement. “Oh, this is going to be better than I thought! So, what we talking about? Do we have roles and fake names? Whose feet am I supposed to be kissing?”
“Those would be mine,” Grissom offered from the head of the table. “And I doubt whether fake first names would be anything other than another thing to memorise.”
“Oh. Well, I’m used to grovelling at your feet, so that’s easy enough.” Greg put his hands in his pockets, then met Lady Heather’s interested look from across the table. “Uh, in a metaphorical sense. Unless I’ve dropped something, but to be honest I don’t tend to drop things because I am very good at my work.”
“Greg, feel free to shut up at any point,” Catherine murmured kindly. Greg gave her a slightly embarrassed grin, although the boy apparently had no intention of stopping.
“So… are we going to practice, or are we getting leaflets on best etiquette instead?” he looked around the group. “’Cause.. and granted, I’m just going by a hunch and the colour of Nick’s face at the moment.. but I’m not sure you guys are particularly up to speed with this type of event. I mean, I know I’m not. I’ve seen them enough, and read a few bits and pieces, but that’s as far as it’s gone.”
The suggestion was digested by the rest of the room. Warrick raised an eyebrow that spoke of wary dubiousness. Nick simply looked a little sicker, as though he had eaten five chocolate cakes by himself and then had been offered a Twinkie. Sara stood by the doorway and smirked slightly, a little too pleased by the result of her suggestion to bring Greg into play. Catherine looked up at Gil and frowned thoughtfully, placing the paperwork carefully on the tabletop with the delicate movements of one who was about to make a point.
“Well?” she enquired politely. “I’m sure that’s probably what you’ve been thinking about as well, so don’t give me that innocent expression.”
Gil tilted his head to one side slightly in acknowledgement. “Well, I had considered it. I sincerely doubt whether we would glean any information at all if we’re known to be complete novices.”
“You would all be welcome to attend a session at the house,” Lady Heather offered smoothly, without the flicker of surprise. “Should you wish to acclimatise yourselves.”
“This acclimatising likely to involve alcohol?” Warrick leaned back in his chair. “Just a drink or two.”
Lady Heather pursed her lips in slight disapproval, but tilted her head gracefully. “Yes, if it eases you.”
“Oh yeah. It will.” Warrick looked a fraction happier.
“And we’d just be looking around, not needing to do anything?” Nick finally managed to get his throat to work again. “Just getting a feel for it, without it getting a feel for us?”
Gil raised an eyebrow. “That was remarkably poetic, Nick.”
“No offence, Griss, but fuck poetic, she’s got enough leather straps in there to tie down a herd of elephants.” Nick flashed steady dark eyes onto him, and then turned back to Lady Heather with a strange mix of determination and apology. The woman in question merely chuckled, and probably would have patted the young man on the hand if she could reach. Instead she smiled at him with the fondness of an elderly aunt and a favoured, if chocolate covered, nephew.
“Nothing physical will happen to you if you do not wish it to happen,” she assured him. “I understand you were most concerned about the spanking element,”
A whole new level of flush added to Nick’s cheeks, which was both remarkably impressive and colourful. “Uh-,”
“You’re going to spank us?” Greg aimed a slightly bewildered look at Grissom. “Isn’t that.. y’know.. dodgy protocol?”
“I wasn’t planning on spanking anyone, unless those DNA reports aren’t done,” Gil tossed back at him mildly. Greg snapped a salute, taking the hint.
“Understood, sah!” his cheerful grin beamed around the table. “So, when are we doing this? I need to organise my diary.”
“And get a diary as well?” Sara asked sweetly from the doorway. Greg shrugged good naturedly at the dig and sat down on the free chair, watching them expectantly. The corner of Gil’s mouth flickered upward, before he adjusted his glasses and looked back down at the paperwork again. Greg’s mouth might have a little too much energy to spare, but a little enthusiasm was exactly what the table required.
“Perhaps we could practise tomorrow evening?” he suggested, with a little side glance to their host. Another little tilt of Lady Heather’s head confirmed that this was adequate with her own plans. Catherine pursed her lips and sat back, her attention aimed at the mistress of the house.
“Is this just for the boys, or can I get my massage as well?”
“Ah, man, how is it fair that we end up in servitude and the women get spa treatments?” Nick protested.
“If you don’t feel like you’re in servitude at the moment, clearly I need to improve the team’s discipline.” Gil made an idle observation. That earned him a little sulky look from Nick, who sat back against his chair in a manner that suggested he was itching to fold his arms in a teenage manner. His movement made Grissom watch him for a few moments longer. Sulkiness was one thing, but true discomfort was another, and Nick didn’t exactly have a reputation for enjoying the wilder aspects of Vegas as it was. “If you’re truly not comfortable with this, Nick, there is absolutely no pressure for you to-,”
“Hey, hey, I’m in, ‘kay?” Nick immediately broke in. “I’m not just gonna sit back whilst you guys are off on a dangerous undercover mission,”
Lady Heather raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Are you implying that my house is dangerous, Mr Stokes?”
“Okay, no offence again Lady H, but I can only cope with one person moaning at me at a time,” Nick offered her a rueful smile. Greg looked surprised.
“Aw, so that means you’re not good for orgies?”
“No, that..,” brain engaged with mouth. “..uh.. look…I-,”
“I think that means Nicky’s in, and stop asking him those types of questions,” came Brass’ dry response as he parted company from his favoured lurking spot and headed to the door. “Since you all seem to have come to a similar conclusion, I’m going to leave you to schedule and expect to see the memo on my desk by the end of the day, okay? You don’t need me here whilst you organise your erotic diary and embarrass the hell out of Nick.”
Gil smiled back at him in acknowledgement, and allowed his eyes to twinkle as the door shut behind the vanishing homicide detective. Well, it would certainly make for an interesting afternoon, at the very least.
*
As agreed, the group invaded the Dominion the next evening. Always the hostess, Heather had organised the women to visit her masseurs and to take the tour, led by colourfully dressed woman called Charlotte who left cheerfully discussing to an obviously fascinated Catherine that her web was widely recommended by many different resources as ‘an alternative shackle’. Gil smiled to himself ruefully. If Catherine didn’t come out of this experience without some hints and tips on male management, she clearly wasn’t trying hard enough.
The men had been led to a private room of their own, a richly decorated parlour where a solid oak antique clock tick-tocked in the corner and candles flickered their light in the corners. The fabrics that clung to the chairs were in rich shades, expensive velvet that caressed the palm as Gil stroked his hand along it.
Greg was apparently in personal heaven; his eyes had widened enough that it seemed they had accidentally hired a lab technician who was approximately twelve years old, and he was moving around the room eagerly, trying to see everything and locate holes and windows to peer through.
“Oh, this is great!,” he said, almost turning himself into a mobile fire hazard after brushing too close to a candle. “I mean, this is exactly how I thought it would be!”
“That would be the point,” Gil remarked idly. “If you’re attempting to appeal to a fantasy, then decoration is vital to allow people to immerse themselves within it.”
“Still creepy,” Nick murmured at Warrick’s shoulder, clearly not intending to be overheard. Warrick gave a little snort of obvious agreement, then wandered to a dark wood antique sideboard and squinted at the black and white photographs that had been placed in silver frames.
“So these are just the starter rooms, yeh?” he tossed over his shoulder as he looked. “All the action takes place in rooms around the back?”
“Ordinarily, yes. Although we occasionally have scenes set in these rooms, they tend to be purely psychological. There are many items here that would be difficult to clean, as I’m certain you understand,” Heather watched the systematic way that Warrick was working his way around the room, a faint smile playing at her lips. “Are you looking for something in particular?”
“Me? Nah. Just getting a feel for the place,” Warrick continued his careful prowl, a prowl that Gil recognised as being the usual one that the man used to process crime scenes. Even his hands remained well away from any surfaces, automatically refusing to add his prints to the polish.
On the other hand, at least Warrick was relaxing, which was more than could be said for the still stationary Nick. His discomfort level had obviously risen dramatically since Warrick had moved away, although Gil knew that it would probably take a hardened session in the ‘back rooms’ before the man would bring himself to admit it. There was a particularly wary look in Nick’s dark eyes that suggested that he was waiting for someone or something to pounce on him, like a teenage actor hired to appear in a horror film.
Gil met Heather’s gaze thoughtfully, and then moved to sit down on one of the perfectly balanced couches. The quality of the seat was incredible, the cushions taking his weight and distribute it as evenly as only expense could do, the touch of the fabric a glorious texture against the skin of his palm.
“A drink, perhaps?” Heather offered softly. “We have some particularly good red wine…,” her gaze moved back to Nick thoughtfully, who blatantly needed more than a bit of wine “.. or perhaps some scotch?”
“Scotch sounds good,” there was nothing wrong with Warrick’s hearing, despite his attention still firmly fixed on his miniature investigation. Greg, meanwhile, had finished his own tour of the room, and had returned in order to flop into a chair next to Gil. He glanced across at the sideboard, where Heather was retrieving crystal glasses, and then back at Gil with a smile so broad that it could possibly swallow a snooker cue sideways.
“So, what’s the plan? We going to do the full house expedition, or are we supposed to do some role-play as well?” his eyes sparkled in the candlelight eagerly, Greg all but trembling in nervous anticipation. That particular comment grasped Nick’s attention, although not quite enough for him to miss the scotch that was offered to him. He accepted it gratefully, although his eyes soon moved back to Greg.
“Role-play?”
“You know,” Greg waved a hand carelessly, then gleefully took hold of his own drink. “taking on a character, acting-,”
“Yeah, I know what role play is, I’m just interested in what you want us to do with it,” Nick paused to take a healthy slug of his drink, a mouthful that almost drained it dry. He earned himself a concerned look from Warrick, who had taken a pause in his own tour to claim his glass.
“Better take it slow, bro, you didn’t eat anything before we left, ‘member?” he warned in a low voice. Nick waved that off with a hand, which was thankfully not the hand that was still clutching the drink itself. Gil swirled his own drink around thoughtfully.
“If you wish to begin to take a feel for your characters, then I wouldn’t have any objection,” he mused softly, watching the way the liquid seemed to glow in the organic light.
“So, what, we all call you ‘master’?” Nick snorted softly, before finishing his drink and carefully putting it down on a side table. “Or is it more than that?”
Gil’s eyes met Heather’s again, the woman tilting her head in agreement. She gently waved a hand towards another chair to Nick, who finally took the hint, and then smiled so charmingly at Warrick that the man abandoned his research. It didn’t, of course, manage to get him to actually sit down, but then Gil suspect that Warrick’s position directly behind Nick’s chair was likely to benefit the group’s emotional levels much more than anything else.
“I believe that a demonstration might be in order,” she said softly as she turned and walked toward the door. Greg perked up even more, which was statistically impressive. Nick shifted uncomfortably in his chair, a finger rubbing against his chin as he tried to hide his emotional upheaval, and only relaxed fractionally as Warrick rested his wide palm on Nick’s shoulder and squeezed it encouragingly. Gil’s gaze returned to the doorway, where a neatly dressed man in a suit was strolling through, a friendly smile aimed directly at him.
“Good evening,” a neatly manicured hand was offered to him to shake. “Please, don’t get up. My name is Peter, and this is Jonathan.”
The ‘Jonathan’ aspect was aimed at a younger man who had followed behind him, neat and tidy but in casual t-shirt and black trousers. If it hadn’t been for a sturdy leather genuine dog collar around the young man’s throat, Gil doubted whether they would have found him remarkable at all, even with the topic of conversation. Lady Heather smiled at them and murmured a little apology before slipping out of the door; by the way the other three were watching Peter and his puppy, Gil doubted whether they had even noticed her leave.
“Pleased to meet you.” Gil shook the offered hand, and then raised an eyebrow. “Will you require introductions?”
“Unnecessary. You’re Gil, yes? That’s all I really need to know,” Peter smiled at him before sitting down on a chair that Jonathan had obtained for him. He crossed his ankles in a remarkably prim manner as the younger man sank to his knees next to him, his gaze kept away from the others as though Jonathan had an unwavering fascination with the rug.
“I understand you’re looking for assistance when it comes to disciplining and educating your boys,” Peter seemed completely unfazed by the suggestion, although that was understandable; Heather was unlikely to bring in anyone she did not personally trust, or who was inexperienced in such a matter. Gil suspected that the particularly cool Peter had seen more than the one ‘boy’ under his command, and would see many more.
Gil tilted his head in agreement. “Assistance would be gratefully received,”
There was another movement to his left, which signified that Nick had once again fidgeted in discomfort. From the way Peter’s eyes slightly narrowed in irritation, Gil had a sneaking suspicion that restlessness was one of the cardinal sins on the training manual, not assisted by Nick’s unimpressed expression. Sure enough, Peter looked back at Gil, running his tongue over his bottom lip in what Gil recognised as a delicate way to give the speaker time to think of the diplomatic phrasing.
“I understand the level of punishment is .. shall we shall, restricted?” he said casually.
“Hell, yeah,” Nick muttered. That earned him yet another look, one that suggested that Nick would personally be in for a particularly long discipline session had the answer been ‘no’.
Peter leaned back in his chair, returning his gaze to Gil once more.
“As I understand it, you would like to know how to act within our particular Gathering. To a certain extent, that will be something that is solely decided between you and your partners, what you’re both happy with. However, there are normally some fundamental principles. Much of it is common sense, and the art of respect,” he said smoothly. “It should feel natural, like an alpha wolf at the head of a working pack. Human nature being as it is, you cannot - and indeed, should not - expect obedience at every minute of every day, but what is perfectly accepted out of the public eye is not the same as what is acceptable within it. If there are conflicts,” here, the sentence appeared to be aimed at Nick. “it should remain out of sight, unless you are intending for an obvious rebuke. There should be no question in other’s eyes on exactly who holds the whip.”
Gil didn’t even need to look at either Warrick or Nick to know that two steady glares were being aimed at him for the mention of ‘whip’.
“For us, I believe the whip would be metaphorical,” he replied idly. Peter gave a little knowledgeable smile.
“Yes, I’ve heard that before.” he shrugged, unconcerned. “As you wish. Either way, a boy has his own particular rules to act by. Each master has his own quirks - who hasn’t? - but generally you can find some common aspects to all of them, ordinarily as a result of social upbringing. These are the ones that I personally favour during events, although I confess to being a stickler for traditions. A boy should be silent unless spoken to, or given permission to speak freely. A boy should always be conscious of where his master is, and be attentive to his needs and desires.. as a result, you will find that most boys will not stray too far from their masters, as you will see Jonathan here demonstrating,”
Peter broke off to smile down at his own ‘boy’, and place a hand on his head in what was clearly a genuinely affectionate way. Jonathan left the wonders of the rug to smile upwards, relaxed pleasure shining in the surprisingly vivid blue eyes before the man looked back down again. After a few pets of his boy’s head, Peter returned his attention to Gil and the list he had been reciting.
“Boys should obviously do as they are instructed, without question. If confusion has occurred from the order, it tends to be better simply for the communication to be done non-verbally.. perhaps a look, or a hesitation… rather than a forthright question, although obviously that will depend on your personal situation, how important it is, and who is watching. Boys should not rush their tasks, or look as though it is beneath them,” here the comment was once again aimed at an unrepentant Nick. “Other than that, your own personal style will dictate how you find your own path. Each event tends to hold differences, of course, in the same way that most clubs will have a similar theme but different practises.”
Gil was about to speak when he felt a strange nudge against his leg. He looked down at the rebellious limb in bemusement, and then at Greg who apparently was squirming to ask questions but not wanting to ruin his ‘obedience’ before they had even started. He chuckled in amusement, and then shrugged to himself. They might as well start off as they meant to go on, and he had a suspicion that Greg was more than happy to experience as much as he possibly could whilst he had the chance.
“It appears one of my ‘boys’ has a few questions to ask. Would you be happy to oblige..?”
“By all means,” Peter turned his attention to Greg, a little pause as his eye ran down the young man thoughtfully. Greg waited patiently for the observation to finish, before clearing his throat and leaning forward a little more.
“Okay, I’ve got a few ideas on how I should follow Gil-,” he hesitated as an obvious wince flickered through Peter’s expression. “- my master? Cool. Okay, my master around, but how do I attract his attention if I need him without being rude or, y’know, actually poking him? I’ve been told I have sharp fingernails,” Greg glanced at his hands ruefully for a moment, and then looked back up in interest.
“I prefer the brushing method,” Peter replied after a moment’s pause. “Although the boy should be close, he shouldn’t be so close that location is uncomfortable, or restricts movement. If you’re close enough to brush his arm, or thigh, then you should be able to attract his attention sufficiently. Needless to say, this is for non-emergencies. As for your fingernails, I’m quite surprised that’s been allowed to occur…?”
A gaze flickered to Gil thoughtfully, a statement that Heather had not informed the man that his interviewees were complete novices when it came to any male relationship. Greg looked surprised, and then snapped his fingers.
“Oh, right, what with the sex and all. Yeah, good point,”
“I have someone else do the preparation work,” Gil replied casually, having to ignore the sudden cough from the side which stated that Nick hadn’t been expecting the comment. “Everyone has their different skills, don’t they?”
Peter’s gaze flickered to Nick again; a disapproving look that stated that he was struggling to find a particular skill associated with him. “Clearly.”
Now was a good time to move Peter’s mind away from either Warrick or Nick, and back onto the subject in hand. Gil placed his drink on the side, and then pushed himself up further.
“Would you mind if we practised?”
“By all means,” Peter sat further in his chair, Jonathan’s head rising in interest as Gil stood and gave a little nudge to Greg’s leg to prompt him to stand. He swept his gaze towards the others, and was met with a thoughtful look from Warrick and a suspicious look from Nick that wasn’t quite sure whether to be embarrassed or rebellious. Greg, thankfully, was more than happy to play along; scrambling to his feet, he gave him a bright smile, and tugged on his t-shirt.
“You want me to strip slightly? I don’t have the other accessories,” he indicated the lack of a collar with a finger.
“Stripping ‘slightly’ is a peculiar angle to go for, but if you wish..,” Gil trailed off as Greg’s shirt vanished, leaving a grin and a slim, smooth, youthful torso that was all but wriggling in nervous energy. Perhaps the whisky had been a bad idea after all when it came to Greg, who apparently had needed absolutely no encouragement to get into the swing of things. Gil took a few steps forward, giving them space between their ‘scene’ and the chairs, and then waited until Greg had stepped in behind him.
“So is this a good distance between Gil… master, sorry.. and me?” Greg’s frown spoke of how intently he was to get things right. Peter smiled and gave a little nod.
“Yes, that looks fine. I would normally advise any following boys to be slightly to one side, to allow their master to see them with a turn of his head rather than having to completely turn to speak to them.” he watched in approval as Greg shuffled slightly to the left hand side, still keeping the distance. “Perfect. You will be restricted on what’s possible when there’s a larger number, of course, but I would recommend the third simply walking behind. As you won’t be able to see what they’re doing, it should be either the most experienced or the one with the greatest trust.”
“Like a bodyguard formation, yeah?” Warrick’s gruff voice broke through, unbothered by ‘boy etiquette’, just as Gil knew he would be. Peter turned his attention to Warrick, giving him the same, thoughtful, assessing look as he had with Greg, and Gil suddenly felt a strange territorial need to alter that. Warrick was his man, regardless of reality or play, and strangers eying him up was unexpectedly not something that settled well. Greg was another matter, wriggling enough that attention was almost automatic, but there were limits even for him. This was likely to be something he would have to terms with; Gil suspected that few went to the events without the desire to show off their partners at least slightly, and admiring glances were likely to occur.
A small cough brought Peter’s gaze back onto himself and the topic in hand. Peter tilted his head slightly, perhaps in apology that his attention had been distracted.
“That’s correct.” he answered Warrick’s question to the man himself, which surprised Gil slightly. “Although aggression itself would be frowned upon, of course. You would need to look as though you are there to attend to his needs rather than simply protect him.” Peter’s gaze slid from the casually lounging Warrick to the defiant dark eyes of Nick thoughtfully, then back onto Gil. A rueful smile flickered in the corner of his mouth. “It seems that you will have your work cut out for you with this little group,”
Gil gave a careless shrug, and then looked at the other two in what he hoped wasn’t too much of a pointed way. They only had a few days; a little acceptance of their situation had to happen, otherwise they would be spotted within a few steps of the door. Apparently his steady gaze managed to transmit at least some of his reproach, as Nick shifted positions again in guilty discomfort, and then gave Warrick - partner in crime - a little side glance. A few moments later and Nick had eased himself up from the chair, although his movements were stiff enough to suggest that the man had already met up with at least five of the punishments already.
“Warrick, you’re at the rear,” Gil made the decision, knowing that the less flappable Warrick was likely to actually stay there.
“’Kay,” Warrick used the same, slightly disinterested tone as he had before, although Gil smelt the scent of a bluff. Nick came to rest a few steps away from Greg, taking the right hand position, and giving his younger colleague an amused look. Gil was suddenly reminded of Nick’s cop background as the Texan settled into a ‘waiting for instruction’ stance, looking all the world as though he had been put on protective duty.
“Okay,” Nick looked faintly critical as he assessed their positions. “This all looks great for when we’re on the move, but what happens when we’re not? We’re taking up a lot of floor space here. Any pattern for dispersal when we arrive in the room, or are we just going for what makes sense at the time? Let’s say you were coming in this room, and were going to sit down on that particular sofa there, and you had a guy to your left. Greg drops down by your feet, because, well, he’s just plain good at it, and we’ll hover behind you?”
“Sounds reasonable.” Gil decided, after running Nick’s suggestions through his mind for a moment, and feeling the relief that Nick was finally making a positive contribution flow through his body. “Just make sure you’re able to catch my eye if necessary every so often. And if I call you, come immediately to the front and kneel down,”
“Both knees like we’re praying, or one knee like we’re proposing?” Nick chewed on that thought, his voice drawling the question. Gil raised an eyebrow.
“That makes a difference to you?”
“Sure does, one’s easier to get up from,” Nick explained, with a little shrug. Peter watched them for a moment in clear exasperation, and then aimed another unimpressed look at Nick.
“You know, if you were my boy you wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week,” he commented archly. Nick gave him a winning smile that didn’t quite match the expression in his eyes.
“Duly noted, and thanks a whole heap for your input, sir,”
“Nicholas.” Gil growled softly. Readjustment was one thing, but rudeness was another, although the fact that Nick was uncomfortable enough to answer back spoke volumes. Thankfully it didn’t take much to drag him back to the original mindset; a steady look and Nick groaned in exasperation before falling silent again, a little tilt of the head communicating that message had been received and at least faintly understood.
Greg was watching them with the wide eyed, slightly uncomfortable expression of a child watching his parents squabble, not entirely sure which side to support. He raised his hand cautiously.
“Um, should we practise you giving some orders?” his voice was cheerfully bright, obviously trying to attract attention away from Nick. “I could do the running and fetching ones, if you want, save us struggling on working out who’s doing what for the minor stuff. Then the other two can stand around looking pretty or tough, or tough in a manly model way,”
That particular phrase caused the older CSIs to exchange a weary glance. Gil smiled to himself and shook his head.
“Much as I like the idea of you running around for me, I suspect that any practise we do at this exact point in time will seem more like giving instructions to a retriever dog rather than the day to day things I’d expect. I have every confidence that you’d be able to follow out a firm instruction to the best of your ability,” he replied softly. Greg looked disappointed.
“Awww, couldn’t I just do a few? Y’know, to get into the mood of things?” Wide, pleadingly persuasive brown eyes looked at him beseechingly. “Tea? Coffee? Foot massage?”
“Silence?” Warrick suggested.
“Oh, I’m not sure that’s on the menu..,” Greg mused over the intricacies of his personal service carte du jour, then beamed at Gil. “So, can I start? Sir? Master? My Lord?”
Gil was suddenly aware of an amused, sympathetic look aimed at him from their current guide, who had returned to stroking his own boy’s head as though the man was actually a cat.
“Oh, yes. Definitely got your work cut out for you,” Peter murmured in amusement. And as Gil studied the eager, slightly over excited and probably half drunk face of Greg, then glanced at the wary eyes of the others, he had to admit Peter was probably right.
But then, he did love a challenge.
*