FIC: To Whom It May Concern (CSI Slash NC17) 8/?
FIC: To Whom It May Concern (8/?)
Rating: NC17
Setting: CSI Vegas
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.
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*
His body was still slick from the shower, a towel wrapped around his middle and his skin free from the leather constraints that had started to feel a little too natural. Warrick ran his hand through his damp hair, and then glanced sideways at the bathroom where Greg was still under the spray. The younger man seemed to have slowly come out of his daze as Nick had recovered, but there was still a distinct lack of bounce in the other man’s steps, like a child who had discovered that not everyone enjoyed Christmas.
Warrick shrugged to himself and began to unpack his fresh clothing, not bothering to look up as the shower switched itself off.
“How you doing?” he called as there was a fumble by the doorway and a little thud that suggested a hip had misjudged the location of the door handle. There was a little creak behind him as the door opened. Warrick turned to face him before frowning. Greg had managed to get a smile on his face, but his posture still looked as though he was expecting to be led out to a wall and face a firing squad.
“I ain’ gonna bother asking whether you’re okay, man,” he commented after a moment. “Cause you clearly aren’t. Here,”
He tossed the man a pair of boxers - Warrick’s own, but hell, if going commando was what he’d have to cope with then it was a minor price to pay - and turned to allow him some privacy. There was the slow, whispered noise of cautious movement behind him before a cautious hand on his back stated that privacy really wasn’t the first thing on Greg’s mind. Warrick simply continued with what he was doing, allowing the comfort of contact to soothe whatever torment was going through the younger man’s mind.
“I guess I never thought how it was gonna end,” Greg said finally, after spending long enough with his hand on Warrick’s back to recognise the fact that he wasn’t going to get chucked off. “I wasn’t expecting quite so much screaming.”
“Yeah, I understand,” Warrick murmured. And he did, too. What physical actions they had done that night had been strangely fine, easy enough to put to the back of his mind rather than worry over them; no serious damage was being done, everyone was there who wanted to be, yadda yadda yadda. Yeah, that was pretty simple. But the sound of Nick’s distress was one that automatically conquered up some automatic responses, his voice alone telling him that Warrick should be acting, and the fact that the consensual situation had meant Warrick had nothing to rescue him from had been damned hard to deal with. Even now he still felt faintly guilty, despite the fact that he couldn’t quite pin point why.
Greg’s hand stroked the small of Warrick’s back again, a strangely soothing gesture as though Warrick was actually some form of pet. This was accompanied by a companionable silence, although Warrick could already sense that Greg wanted to say something had hadn’t quite worked out how to do it. After a few minutes of slight frustration, Warrick rolled his eyes and smiled grimly. They couldn’t just stay here like this, mostly nude and certainly not at home; they had to get Nick home for a start, and towels were all very well but there was no way he was trying to drive Nick’s car back wearing nothing else but a hastily created kilt to save his modesty. If Greg was planning some type of action or speech, hell, it had better speed up the schedule.
“You wanna say something, man?” he probed.
“Yeah.” There was another long silence, then a guilty, embarrassed chuckle. “Not sure how, though.”
“Sounds interesting. Just try forming a few words, ‘kay? Ain’ gonna get offended.” Warrick replied easily, digging out his jeans from the bag. The hand caressed a little more, and then Greg sighed in a slightly dramatic way that suggested he was about to abseil down a massive cliff rather than simply speak.
“What you were doing in there.. to me. That was just to calm me down, right? You didn’t actually want to… y’know,”
Warrick paused to reflect on the implications of the words and then smiled to himself ruefully. Ah. That.
“Depends,” he said casually. “You actually wanting to ‘y’know’, or was ‘y’knowing’ another part you were acting about? And you gotta stop hanging around Nick, man, you’re picking up all his bad habits about not being able to speak bluntly. If you don’t like the usual words, go for the scientific. Sounds hot as well, if ya do it right.”
Greg processed that. “So no blood splatter?”
“Yeah.” Warrick grinned. “Although I can see you purring ‘Hey, gimmie a sample of your DNA and I’ll process it immediately’ in a real interesting position,”
There was a soft chuckle, which he was pleased about. Having Greg as a startled bunny really didn’t suit the man. Warrick grinned again, then turned and suddenly found the hand resting on his belly instead. He glanced down, then upwards again in amusement.
“So…?” he prompted. “You tell me the motivation of that question and I’ll give you the answer.”
Greg flushed slightly, which was a novel experience. “Yeah, well, it was just that we were both .. y’know-,”
“Y’know either means fucking or it means naked, you can’t use it for everything, ‘kay?” Warrick raised an eyebrow. “Keep going.”
“Okay, naked, and we’re in a bedroom with a big bed, and I’m .. well… interested, and I wanted to know whether you’re interested too.” Greg studied him with what was probably the steadiest gaze the man had. “Cause if you were, then .. well, we don’t have to be back for another half hour, right?”
“I last longer than half an hour,” Warrick replied mildly, and a little automatically. Bantering with Nick on a regular basis often meant his mouth responded before his brain fully registered the repercussions.
“Um.. is that a yes?” Greg frowned at him, his eyes lost in careful calculation. Warrick hesitated, uncertain what he had meant himself. The fact that the conversation had turned to sex hadn’t been unexpected; if anyone went into a fetish club with the intention of doing what they were doing, they were pretty damned naïve to assume the topic wouldn’t come up somewhere. The whole place was geared up to appeal to fantasies, and there was such a wide variety that somewhere, something had to appeal. You just had to get yourself in the right mind frame to appreciate it, and from the look in Greg’s eyes, Warrick had a sneaking suspicion the young man was already there.
There was a clear and obvious response to what Greg was suggesting. Touching was one thing. Friendly hugs and team work and support were fine. Even the lightest of kisses and affection were possible, although half the time it depended on exactly which part of the body was having the attention. But anything further than that was crossing a line that was going to be damned hard to ignore in future; once you’d gone that extra step, both guys had to be on exactly the same page before it caused ripples in both the social and work areas. The clear answer was no.
And then there was the much more appealing answer that Warrick was genuinely surprised to find himself considering. He had no idea exactly what had sparked off Greg’s offer, given the kid’s rather excitable nature. Sure, the situation was tense, and tension often led to a sudden, uncontrollable need to find release in whatever manner you could grab with both hands. Then there was the fact that Greg wasn’t exactly shy when it came to sex itself; how much sex the kid got was another matter, but that wasn’t through lack of intent. Then there were probably half a dozen other reasons, from the possible to the downright unlikely. When it came down to it, did it really matter? They’d just watched their work supervisor beat the hell out of one of their colleagues, and to the greater extent assisted in it. If that didn’t make for a fucked up day, then Warrick wasn’t sure what did. And with fucked up days came fucked up behaviour in all shapes and sizes.
He watched the hand carefully run over his stomach and up over his chest, ghosting over his nipples. He could feel himself physically respond, slowly but steadily, an impatient tickling sensation that was building a little foundation of need deep inside him, soft at the moment but with a gentle but persistent throb; the drip-drip-drip of the erotic tap that would eventually overflow. Warrick growled softly, fuelled by frustration and indecision, and then studied the other man carefully. Greg didn’t flinch from the intense inspection, his eyes full of nervous anticipation and his body clearly itching to move, and at least that was something. ‘Shit, we shouldn’t have done that’ was one thing; distress and regret was entirely another.
Warrick lifted his own hand and ran the fingertips down the smooth, damp plain of Greg’s chest, then slowly back up again to tickle under the man’s chin. Greg shivered, his eyes brightening as he squirmed under the contact, then groaned as Warrick’s hand moved downwards. Yeah, they could try to analyse it. Could try to admit to themselves that the pressure of their ‘mission’ was probably the main source of their frustration, but what the hell would that achieve? Picking through the ashes was something that Nick did. Warrick was quite happy just to grab a thought and go with it, depending on damage. And hell, Greg could bounce back so easily he could be used as the ball for tennis tournaments.
Warrick chuckled roughly.
“Well,” he drawled. “might just be a yes. One condition, though. No ‘um’s. Not in the mood for indecision, y’know?”
“Oh, I’m pretty decided,” Greg gave a firm, eager nod, the bounce finally resurfacing in his eyes. “I just wasn’t sure whether you’d punch me for it,”
Well, that was fair enough. Kid didn’t know what he was letting himself in for, but hell, life was for learning, right? Warrick simply slid his hands down Greg’s side for a moment before bodily tossing him onto the bed and climbing after him. There was a time and place for talking, and now really wasn’t it. Greg stared up at him with wide eyes and his mouth opened in a perfect O, before the man finally got his shit together and laughed in delight. Warrick suddenly found Greg’s hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer, and the young man’s legs wrapped around his waist as though the man had suddenly morphed into a lemur.
He would have liked to think there had been some carefully crafted plan to their embrace, but it wasn’t destined to happen. Any sense they still possessed disintegrated as mouths clashed roughly, teeth and tongues vying for dominance in a battle Warrick hadn’t expected. Greg had been playing the good little slave for so long that he had forgotten that the man had levels of obedience he gave to each person; Grissom, he was essentially shit scared of. Catherine, he was wary but flirty with. Warrick was .. well, that was to be determined. And Nick, of course, was his little playmate, someone to cuff and hug and do all the other stuff normally seen on children’s tv, except without the puppets getting involved.
Well, Greg was about to realise that Warrick was definitely up there to be wary of, even if it was wary in a ‘shit, what’s he going to do’ way. He growled menacingly and nipped down the other man’s neck, his hands sliding down Greg’s smooth sides and earning himself a little wriggle of ticklish shock. A predatory grin crept over Warrick’s face. Oh, ticklish. Perfect. Acceptable torture.
“What.. aaaghmgh!!!” limbs suddenly flailed as Warrick’s finger tips found some of the best sensitive spots that Greg possessed, and hell, it was a damned good response. Almost as good as the way that Greg was grinding against him, hard, needy, and turning Warrick’s personal need into a roaring blaze. Their mouths met again, desperation and frustration blending together perfectly, and Warrick groaned weakly as Greg bucked against him once more, as eager as a puppy with a particularly good leg to hump.
From that point on, it was a sexual mishmash of pleasure. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t choreographed. Even a porn editor probably would have had difficulty working out what the hell they were doing, but hell, it felt good, and it felt right and it didn’t feel like he was taking the kid and fucking the hell out of him because he happened to be in the right place at the right time. Warrick’s mouth feasted greedily on Greg’s skin, his tongue licking over the slightly salty smoothness as his throat purred out his pleasure. He could feel Greg swallow, the little ‘nph!’ noises of pleasure vibrating from him for a moment before Greg wriggled again impatiently, the hard line of his cock grinding against Warrick’s with such persistence that there was no way he could ignore it.
“Hey!” Warrick bit a nipple in retaliation as Greg’s hands slid down Warrick’s back to dig his nails into his ass, and grinned wickedly at the little squeak of pain-frustration in response. Greg panted and wriggled, his legs wrapping even harder around Warrick and grinding upwards as hard as he possibly could. Fuck, the friction was incredible. Warrick’s eyes screwed shut as he growled out helplessly, his body moving of its own accord as he desperately sought more, greedily seeking out everything that he liked and grabbing as much as he could of it.
Suddenly the lemur-boy let go and began to twist as though to get up. Warrick cracked open an eye and looked at him in bemusement.
“Uh.. I hit something I shouldn’t?”
“Fuck, no,” Greg panted, his eyes sparkling and his face flushed. “I just wanna roll over. So you can fuck me.”
Warrick ran that through his mind, and then shrugged. “Sounds good to me.”
He pushed himself off and crawled to the head of the bed, pulling open the top drawer and looking in satisfaction at the condoms and lube that had already been put there in readiness. Seizing them, he glanced over his shoulder and felt his eyes darken at the scene. Yeah, Greg was getting himself fucked. Seriously fucked. There was no way he was gonna let the kid just stay on his hands and knees like that, his legs spread wantonly to give Warrick the best ever view. Something like that had to be accepted for the present it was, and Warrick was definitely in the mood to start unwrapping.
Pouring a large quantity of lube in the palm of his hand and rubbing them together, Warrick crawled closer on his knees and all but draped himself over the warm, trembling body.
“You actually done this before, kid?” he rumbled in Greg’s ear as his hand stroked down eager, tense muscle and between the younger man’s legs. He was unsurprised to find the other man was already hard and eager, Greg trying to spread his legs so wide that Warrick suspected the man was well on a way to a stretched tendon. His slick hand slid over the engorged organ calmly and firmly, feeling Greg’s hips twitch forward automatically, desperate for further contact. A little ‘mm-mm-mm’ noise from Greg’s throat encouraged him further, which was a hell of a lot better than Greg’s usual commentary.
His question, Warrick noted, remained completely unanswered, which normally meant no in one way or other. His money was on Greg’s experience revolving around the rutting, fumbling, all hands on deck type of sex, rather than thrown against a wall and fucked until his teeth rattled. Was that a problem? Well, probably not. Warrick calmly trailed his hands over Greg’s balls and back, allowing one fingertip to circle around the rim of the other man’s hole as he began to kiss and nip at Greg’s shoulders.
“Uhhhhyeahfuck,” the little breathy noises probably had some basis of communication in them, but as long as it was generally good then Warrick wasn’t planning to pay too much attention to them. His tongue traced along the lines of Greg’s muscles, tasting soap and the fresh taste of cleanliness from a freshly scrubbed male rather than the usual, slightly salty taste he would normally expect from someone quite so excited. And hell, Greg was as excitable as a child at a theme park with free rides and balloons all over the place; the little squeaks of excitement continued, shivering with exhilaration and anticipation, and Greg seemed to be in a desperate need to back his hips directly onto Warrick’s hardened length, regardless of whether things were actually lined up or not.
Warrick growled, and gave him a firm slap on the rear. “Stop it. My rules.”
Whine-whimper stated that Warrick’s rules currently sucked big time. Warrick nipped Greg’s neck and calmly slid a finger through the ring of tense muscle as smoothly as he could, burrowing as deep as possible before Greg’s body worked out what the hell was going on and slammed the clamps down. Warrick’s finger suddenly found itself in a vice-like grip as Greg’s voice turned from whimper to erk! in a few seconds.
“Yeah. Thought so,” Warrick said in amusement, continuing his lazy licking spree as his finger waited for release on good behaviour. Greg gasped and bowed his head, panting softly in his need to snatch the air for his own personal supply. Slowly Warrick began to move the finger, circling slowly before he began to press against the solid wall of the other man’s body. A little jerk of Greg’s hips and yet another gasp for air stated that this was appreciated in a startled way, although Greg was nothing if not adaptive; within a few seconds Warrick felt the insistent nudges backward, stating that Greg was more than happy if said finger continued its mission.
For a while there was nothing more than the soft grunts and pants of men lost in their own sensations and thoughts; Warrick’s mouth continued to feast on Greg’s skin, delighting in the texture and taste and feeling his body ache with each groan that the younger man made, each little backwards nudge and each roll of the hips that deliberately rubbed firm buttock against Warrick’s own burning need. Greg’s excitement knew no limits, it seemed. His voice was soft and needy, little greedy moans as Greg bucked backwards; Warrick’s finger began to slowly slide in and out, feeling the tight ring of muscle reluctantly ease under his ministrations.
One finger soon became two, tight, curling his fingers deep into Greg’s body and watching him jerk in response. And that wasn’t even the limit to what his fingers were feeling in the mood for; Warrick growled hungrily and bit at Greg’s neck as he slowly began to twist them deep in him, feeling the younger man shudder helplessly underneath him as he did so, then persistently, determinedly, thrusting back on the fingers as though he had a personal, burning wish to become a Sanders kebab.
“God, yeah,” Greg’s voice was full of happy wonder, a small child at the gates of Disneyland. Warrick chuckled throatily, unable to stop himself from grinding his hips against Greg’s leg again like a horny dog, and then twisted his fingers once more. Greg’s breath hitched as fingers brushed against prostate, a little whimper whine suggesting that his ability to communicate had gone on a short but intensive break, then he gasped again.
“C’mon.. now..!” he whined, his hips shivering and moving enough that he was fucking himself without Warrick’s assistance. A needy wail accompanied Warrick’s fingers brief exit to shove even more lube on, then the wrapper was broken and the condom smoothed on. Was this a good idea? Of course not. Nothing ever was, if you sat down and properly looked at things, but hell, if Warrick sat down and looked at everything in his life he’d still probably be sitting in his childhood bedroom. Sometimes you just had to grab life by the throat and go with it, and currently life was telling him that grabbing hold of Greg, one of the few men who could properly appreciate what chaos they had just witnessed, and then fucking him senseless was a damned good idea. You didn’t just walk away from what they just did, and it couldn’t end in just a flat whimper; things like that just didn’t. Even if they hadn’t done anything now, it would burn deep in both of them, over and over until it exploded some other time, normally some other time that wasn’t quite so convenient and yeah, life was telling him that the odds were good to-
- oh, fuck it. Warrick smiled to himself ruefully. Life was also telling him he was just scrabbling for excuses, but hell, he could live with that. He could live with pretty much anything right about now, as long as his aching, hardened, desperate cock ended up buried so deep in Greg Sanders body that the man was probably going to get his kidney kebabed.
“Relax and push out, ‘kay?” he warned as he lined himself up, and was treated to the sight of Greg dipping his head as he widened his legs even further - kid was clearly some weird acrobat in his spare time - and moaned in encouragement. Not that encouragement was needed; it was like the sprinkles to a particularly over smothered chocolate cake. Warrick growled deep in his throat and took a good grip on Greg’s hips, his fingers curling into the lean muscle as he positioned himself carefully and began to ease himself into the tight, velvet heat.
From that point on, things got hard, fast, messy, desperate and even damned better than he had hoped for. The night had taken its toll on all of them, but Warrick hadn’t appreciated exactly how tense he had been until he was gripped so hard that stars flashed in front of his vision until he snapped himself out of it. His thrusts were slow to begin with, but began to pick up speed, reading his young lover’s responses from his posture and actions. Listening to them, after all, was damned deceptive; Greg all but howled out his sensations, a strange mix of ooh! and argggh!, but each time the arrgggh seemed to outnumber the ooh and Warrick began to slow down, Greg gritted his teeth and slammed back onto him with such strength that Warrick’s balance wobbled. Perhaps there was some strange formula that Warrick didn’t know about: 2Oh over 1Arggh = blissful Greg, but that was taking it all to a whole new level of freakdom he was pretty damned sure he didn’t need to think about.
He could feel the sweat beading on his forehead as he continued, Warrick’s hands tightening on Greg’s hips to keep the young man from shifting around the bed and ruining his strokes. Every so often he managed to land in a slight position that wasn’t quite where he had intended, hitting the internal wall of the man rather than deeper inside him, and causing a ripple effect that was a mix of faint guilt and massive lust as the reaction gripped and vibrated through him. Greg never sat still in his lab, and he kept up this habit now; he trembled and shuddered, shifted his hips, thrust back, thrust forward, ducked his head, everything but staying still, and Warrick had a faint regret he didn’t make use of the shackles when he had the chance. Greased eels had nothing on Greg Sanders, although granted said eels weren’t exactly invited to the erotic party.
Warrick’s nails were digging in, he knew that, but god, he just couldn’t help himself. Each little tremble, each moan, each whispered curse and each thrust simply added to his own personal torment, the frustrated ache in the very core of him building to the extent that he was almost tempted to howl himself. Pleasure stabbed deep within him each time the tight tunnel gripped harder, soothing over the busier thoughts in Warrick’s mind and allowing him to focus, just this once, on what was happening between them. Fuck the rest of the world, even if it was just for half an hour of ball aching, ass ripping, throat wearing sex. Reality would catch up with them soon enough; for now, it was just the groans and the sweat and the movement and the burning, agonising pressure that was building to an unstoppable climax.
That was unsurprising. What surprised the fuck out of him was the fact that Greg managed to get there first. Clearly Sanders was as impatient as Sara made him out to be.
“Wha-?” Warrick managed to get out before crying out in surprise and sheer sensation as Greg all but froze in place - an unusual situation at the best of times - and then simply seemed to clamp down, his back arching and his body trembling so hard that anyone would be forgiven in thinking the man was naked in the middle of the artic circle. Greg’s orgasm was unstoppable and relentless, and was taking no prisoners; Warrick was aware of the sheer tightness through his hazy ability to think before he was essentially milked dry, each little shudder that Greg gave transmitted so well to his overly sensitive cock that it was impossible to resist. Warrick’s teeth clamped down on Greg’s shoulder to muffle the noise, an automatic response that later he would regret, but at that exact point the social niceties could just go hang. Warrick felt his body all but empty inside out, a little trickle of sweat running down his cheek as he whimpered through the orgasm.
Without a word, they both slowly collapsed onto the mattress, each heaving for breath, sticky and exhausted. Warrick’s eyes had drifted closed automatically, his body softening and sliding from Greg but not moving far; one arm wrapped around the younger man’s chest and pulled him closer into a little sweaty bear hug, hearing the man gasp for breath as his shuddering slowly, slowly began to die down.
For five minutes they did nothing at all, which seemed right somehow. They didn’t need to acknowledge anything. They didn’t really need to speak, as their bodies had confirmed everything they had wanted to know. The problems of the night had been briefly forgotten, leaving only the more pleasurable aspects; the erotica, the excitement, the uniqueness of their situation, and Warrick felt Greg relax happily against him as the tension flowed out of him.
Warrick bent his head and licked gently at the tooth marks he had left on Greg’s shoulder.
“How y’doing?” he murmured in his ear.
“Dying happy,” came the sleepy, pleased response, Greg as pliable and as loose-limbed as a puppy in his arms. Greg squirmed slightly to look up at him. “You?”
Warrick chuckled a throaty laugh, and licked a little more. “Yeah. M’good.”
“Just good?”
“’Kay, don’t get yourself all cocky,” Warrick smiled at him ruefully before gently slapping him on the rear again. The hand paused, and then he winced. “And you need another shower.”
“Later,” Greg yawned widely, and burrowed down further with the dedication of one who wasn’t planning on putting his ass on the mattress any time soon. Warrick huffed a laugh, and then slapped him again. Spanking Greg was surprisingly addictive.
“We gotta drive Nick back, remember?”
“Mmpffh? Oh. Yeah. Fuck,” Greg squirmed on the bed lazily, then winced and looked down. “Ah shit.. I think I’m ruining their bed linen.”
“You mean there’s a ‘think’ about that sentence?” Warrick snorted softly, then looked down at the blanket which did seem particularly expensive, in the way that it was presumably intended to be. “This is a fetish club, man, weird shit happens. I bet they’ve got real good laundry service to cope with even you.”
“Whoa,” Greg looked down again. “They’re good.”
He eased himself up onto hands and knees again and gingerly crawled off the bed, slowly standing up with all the ease of an elderly man with arthritis. Warrick watched him for a short while, then shook his head in faint amusement. His eyes fell on Greg’s hips and winced at the sight of nail marks in the paler skin, testament to how hard he had been gripping him.
“Guess I got a bit too rough there,” he said gruffly, and not without a little discomfort. Greg looked at him in faint bewilderment, and then looked down at himself.
“Why, what’s wrong with me?” he shifted his hips, then made a ‘ohhh’ noise as he spotted the raised marks surrounded by red. Greg ran his fingertips over his hide, then shrugged and grinned back at him. “Cool. I get battle scars!”
Warrick rolled his eyes, and then gestured idly at the tooth marks on Greg’s shoulder that he was bewildered the man hadn’t really noticed yet. Greg watched Warrick’s fingers with the puzzled delight of a cat that had spotted movement and was just waiting to pounce, then followed the indication to his neck.
“Oh!” he moved to the mirror on the dressing table and squinted at it. “Whoa. You got hungry!”
“Just remember to wear a top that’ll cover it, yeah?” Warrick reminded him. Greg glanced back at him in puzzlement, then gave a nod and a snap of the fingers.
“Oh, sure. Don’t worry, no one’ll suspect anything.” He looked back at the mirror and brushed his fingers across the bite again, and Warrick swore that the man’s expression was almost proud. He shook his head slowly, then slipped off the bed himself and walked to the shower. It was a one off event, to tackle what they’d seen and done that night, just as Nick and Gil’s little bondage exploration wasn’t exactly going to occur again. In a way, they’d simply done their own part of the deal; no one got out untouched in this type of situation, regardless of the intent.
And yet, regardless how much Warrick told himself that everything was done and dusted and finished, there was a nagging feeling that life wasn’t quite done with them.
Not by a long shot.
*
The art of conversation was a tricky beast to subdue. The concept itself was relatively easy; you opened your mouth, you chose the words that best described what you wished to say, and then you said them. And yet, when it came down to it, it was impressive how often the same words gained completely separate meanings. It was even more impressive how often the right words for the right situation always failed to turn up until about six hours after the event itself.
For this reason, Gil often preferred to delay important conversations in order to write himself a little mental script to follow. Life was unpredictable, but people were people, and often followed their own behavioural patterns closely enough that a rough idea of their reactions could be gained.
Like Nicky, for example, solid, loyal, dependable Nicky, the man who was more than capable of finding his own route through orders he disliked but who took pains never to directly offend anyone if he could possibly avoid it. Other than child molesters, of course, but even then he showed more restraint than anyone else; only people who properly knew him could see the anger blazing deep in those expressive dark eyes, even as his softly drawled voice went through the usual motions.
Abusers aside, Nicky was relatively simple in his beliefs. He was, Gil mused, a good man, a typically good man, and it only took one night of looking around Vegas to know how rare a typically good man was. There were good men, certainly, but in their own personal ways with their own personal flaws. Warrick was a fine example of such a person; a good heart with a sneaky mind, and at this point in time, Gil would have liked a little bit of sneakiness to appeal to. The innocence and occasional incomprehension in Nick’s eyes was occasionally painful to witness, knowing he was smashing through a few beliefs that Nick would have been quite happy not to realise.
Which brought them swiftly back to the conversation in hand. Gil sighed as he walked around the room, occasionally picking up items to study them at close range. Nick lay on his stomach on the couch, watching Gil watch the room.
“Okay.” Nick said finally. “What was Catherine talking about?”
Damn. That was the flaw in letting the silence build; the conversation had a nasty tendency to find an uncomfortable spot to start. Gil raised his eyebrows in a minor shrug, and ran his fingers across the smooth surface of the ornament idly.
“Simply? She’s attaching long term affection to the situation.” Gil replied after a moment’s thought. “And taking it to the next practical level. Would you like a drink?”
“No, thanks.” Nick shifted himself upwards, propping himself on his forearms as he watched him and thought things over. “So what you’re saying is that she thinks we’re gonna have a romantic fling because you did what you did?”
“Essentially.”
“Hey, whatever happened to chocolate and dinner before dating?” Nick grumbled, pausing for a moment before querying again with the idle, casual voice of one who wasn’t feeling particularly idle or casual. “She’s wrong, yeah?”
Gil studied him carefully. “You’re asking me whether I’m intending to date you?”
Nick hesitated, clearly not having thought of it in that way. He flushed and shook his head. “Well.. no.”
“Then what did you mean? If you have to ask on whether she’s wrong, you must be considering that there is a slight possibility that she could be right,” Gil was impressed at the level his own voice was at, calm, mild and as inoffensive as a vanilla cupcake at a baking convention. Nick didn’t quite splutter but his flush took on a brighter hue, his embarrassment palpable. Gil smiled slightly, his voice dropping lower as he returned to study his ornament. “..for truth is truth to the end of reckoning.”
“Okay, I’m having a hard enough time without Shakespeare turning up here, y’know?” Nick protested softly, and shifted uncomfortably on the couch. “So everything’s the same as it was before, right?”
“No. Everything changes.” Gil looked back at the slightly frustrated expression and smiled ruefully. “Although if you mean, has this encounter damaged our past relationship, then I don’t think it has. What we did balanced on trust. Unless I damaged your faith in me for doing it..?”
“Well, no, of course not.” Nick looked slightly appalled.
“There’s actually no ‘of course’ about it. Few men would do what you just did, regardless of how highly they regarded their superiors.” Gil replied calmly, although he was beginning to feel the hint of tension enter his body at Nick’s refusal to properly discuss it. Perhaps Catherine might have had a point. “It would be natural to consider me differently afterwards.”
“You’re still Grissom.” There was an obstinate look in Nick’s eyes that was a little too familiar, Nick’s world beliefs holding firm. “Nothing changed between us but a few bruises, and I’ve had bruises from cases before, y’know?”
“Directly caused by me?” Gil raised an eyebrow.
“Well, I guess so. It’s your order that gets me in there in the first place,” Nick shrugged.
“And your carelessness that gets you in harm’s way,” Gil rebuked him gently. “I don’t recall any order that specifically said ‘get yourself an injury’,”
Nick chuckled softly and readjusted his position. “Okay, okay, don’t get your knickers in a twist, man. I ain’ questioning your ability as a supervisor.”
That was more than Gil was. Each word Nick spoke was slowly clawing uncomfortably in his mind, the man’s denial of what he had actually done a little too obvious. Nick was clearly filing the whole situation away under a hard but normal work situation, and if Gil actually thought that was an accurate statement of what Nick himself thought then he wouldn’t have worried himself. But no, there was a guilty strength in Nick’s eyes that stated Stokes knew what they had done had entered into boundaries that were completely ungoverned and mostly disapproved of in a normal work environment, and even Nick’s hard and fast need to sacrifice himself for the good of the team was finding issues on how to fully justify what he had done solely on work grounds.
“Mmm,” Gil said, in a voice that was non-committal. Nick frowned.
“You saying you think of me differently afterwards?” he said, a little roughly, and Gil could already see the angry defensiveness blaze in Nick’s eyes. Oh yes, that was not the reaction of a man who couldn’t see the implications of what he had just done.
“Not in the way you’re thinking,” Gil replied softly.
“Oh great, you mind reading now too?” Nick’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “So what am I thinkin’?”
“You think I now view you as some type of whore because of what you were happy to do, so you’re trying to hide behind the ‘I was under orders’ excuse to avoid thinking about it.” Gil’s voice was completely mild, but the reaction on Nick was the same as though he actually slapped him. His dark expressive eyes widened, then couldn’t quite decide whether to soften in upset or harden in anger.
“I don’t, of course,” Gil spoke up after watching this display for a few moments. “Although now I’m wondering whether you do.”
“I don’t.” Nick’s voice was harsh and rough. “I did what I had to do. And why you making this harder on me? You guys are the ones who asked me to get into this, not the other way round. You want a job done, expect it done properly.”
“Nick, I’m not intending to make it harder on you-,”
“Well, you are. Turning this whole damned thing into some type of therapy, and for what? So you can excuse your own actions? If you’re trying to say I’m viewing what we did in some way that was more than just what we set out to do, then start looking at yourself as well. I felt what you were like, Griss. You were excited, and I don’t mean in the whole ‘ooh, I got tickets to the match’ type way. If you want to start putting anyone under the microscope, start looking much closer to home, eh?” Nick’s voice was almost hard to recognise, the soft Texan drawl hardened enough that it came out unnaturally cold for him. However, Gil had to confess the man had a point.
“Yes, I was.” Gil spoke as naturally as he could. The evidence had been there, and it was not something he was willing to deny. Whether he had been willing to speak it was another matter, but if the question was there, he had a care of duty to answer it. However, Nick clearly wasn’t expecting the confession. Angry eyes turned to confusion, the younger man struggling to accept the answer, and Gil could see that point as well. There were circumstances in a working life that needed to be worked through, and having your supervisor confirm that he was sexually excited to physically beat his subordinate was ..
.. well, it was bad protocol, for a start, and that was only the beginnings of their associated problems.
“.. yeah?” he said doubtfully.
“You sound surprised.” The mildness in his voice hadn’t changed, but it was becoming harder keep up with each passing syllable. “You said yourself that I was excited. I was. I don’t think either of us would be able to forget that particular brand of evidence. You’re a good looking man who I respect greatly, both in the field and off it, and we were engaged in what for me is a highly charged sexual act of trust.”
Nick hesitated, the look in his eyes suggesting he wasn’t quite sure he should have made quite so much of a fuss if people were happy to admit to things.
“Oh.” he struggled with words for a moment, before confused eyes looked up again with the innocent incomprehension that often made Nick so damned appealing, a man still stubbornly trying to make sense in a messy world. “But if it was sexually charged for you-,”
“I shouldn’t have done it, no.” Gil spoke quietly and genuinely regretfully. He should have known that his control wouldn’t have lasted. “It was inappropriate of me, and unfair on you. And for that I’m sorry.”
“Oh.” For some reason the word seemed tinged with disappointment. Nick was silent for a moment, before beautifully wide eyes - and hell, he was going to have to avoid using that terminology - back to him in confusion. “But we were doing it for a good reason, right?”
A child needing the assurances that the monsters under the bed weren’t as scary as he first thought. Gil smiled at him gently, and gave a nod. That, at least, he was confident on.
“If this continues in the way I think it will, we’ll get what we came for. We’ll either clear them or convict them. You did well. Very well. And I’m sorry what happened to you with Blake.. I should have anticipated what he would have done.” Gil’s voice was heavy with remorse. Nick flushed slightly, and shook his head.
“Not your fault.”
“Yes. It was. Even if this was not a work situation, you were bound and under my protection. You trusted me to keep you safe, and I failed in that,”
“You didn’t fail in anything,” Nick’s voice was heated. “I understood the risks. And it wasn’t anything important.”
Gil looked at him in incomprehension. “It wasn’t anything important..? This happens to you on a regular basis?”
Nick flushed angrily. “If you’re asking me whether that’s my first time with being touched when I don’t want to be touched, no, it’s not. But if I can cope with that, I can cope with one finger up me, ‘kay?”
“You shouldn’t have to ‘cope’ with things at all-,” Gil found more than enough anger and alarm flickering in his voice over the unexpected confession. Nick shook his head, and slowly slipped off the couch, padding barefoot to pick up the boxers he had refused earlier. The towel slipped, showing a display of patterned skin that ranged from red to the first hints of blue, and Gil couldn’t stop his gaze from falling to it. The marks were harder than Gil had first intended, but he had managed to persuade himself that it was necessary as Nick had handled each one and steadied himself for more. The contrast between the strong power of Nick’s back and the beaten vulnerability of his rear made Gil’s throat ache, and in that moment he knew damned well that whatever they had said, he would always see Nick differently. Nick was no longer just a work colleague and friend, he was a man in his own sexual right, and that was going to be hard to ignore.
“Okay, now what?” Nick’s impatient voice broke through Gil’s thoughts like a brick through glass. “You’ve got that expression on your face. The one where you’re considering doing something really stupid.”
And that had changed as well, their personal relationship. Nick had been angry with him before, but he had always shown restraint simply out of automatic respect for his position. Gil had wanted his colleagues to treat him a little less like a boss outside of work and a little more like a human, but the others had remained remarkably resistant to it. Not any more, it seemed. Despite the fact that his own position had been strapped to a wall, Nick’s mind had clearly and finally made the leap between colleagues and friends on a level playing field, his usual ‘sir, yes sir!’ attitude replaced with one that fitted Catherine more than Nick. Not that it was a bad thing, other than ruining yet another assurance that things would go on as normal.
“I was simply thinking,”
“… about?” Nick winced as he straightened, and was about to try putting on his tight jeans before Gil stopped him and simply passed him a pair of loose fitting trousers. Given the tightness of the clothing Nick normally wore, the man would probably need them actually cutting off if he had attempted to put them on.
“Tomorrow,”
Nick stilled before steady, intense, dark eyes lifted to him. “Am I going to be transferred to a different shift?” he asked bluntly. Gil stared at him, completely taken aback by the suggestion.
“It wasn’t my intention, no. There would be no question we would do this scene had I expected to lose any member of staff over it. Do you want to be transferred?”
“Of course I don’t. But it’s not up to me, is it?” Nick scowled as he pulled on his t-shirt. Gil watched him in bewilderment. It was like having a completely different person in front of him, the satisfied man flipped so quickly to the sullen anger of a teenager not quite in control over his emotions.
“Nick, I’m not planning to do anything to you or your working position. I’m simply considering our conduct during working hours, if that was likely to alter.” Gil’s eyes narrowed. “You seem insecure.”
“Insecure?” Nick laughed in amusement, and then shook his head. “It’s gotta be great as a supervisor, head in the clouds all the time. You know as well as I do that all it takes is a rumour to go around and people’ll make our lives miserable-,”
“-and you knew this before we started, so what’s changed?”
“Probably the knowledge of who’s going to get the rap if that rumour actually turns up! It’s not going to be you moving away, is it?” Nick’s anger was solid, marred only by the flicker of genuine fear in the centre of his eyes, the little boy who had only considered the consequences after the cookie had been eaten. Or, perhaps, the young gang member who had joined for community and belonging, only to find himself abandoned and alone as soon as the cops turned up to his door with a warrant.
Gil watched him put on his boots and begin to lace them up, Nick’s brow furrowed in unnecessary concentration for the task. “I don’t think any less of you for what you did. In fact, quite the opposite,”
“Well, good.” Nick seemed less than satisfied as he stood up and looked across at him with a sullen expression that was more often seen on a toddler dragged around the shops. Gil frowned at him, still trying to work out the change of pace.
“.. but you don’t have the same opinion of me, do you?” he said softly. “You don’t think I can protect you any more. That I don’t want to protect you. And that’s simply not true.”
“Fortune telling really ain’t your forte, boss.” Nick replied dryly. “And I think we’re done here, right? I’ll go round up the other two, get ‘em home. And yes,” he sighed as Gil opened his mouth. “Warrick’s gonna be driving.”
Nick gave a little salute and turned to leave the room, leaving Gil a little loss for words. What had just happened? He was almost sure they had a lover’s quarrel without fulfilling either of the usual criteria; lover or quarrel. He opened his mouth to speak, but there was absolutely nothing he could think of to say other than to request the man to stay, and you couldn’t ask someone to do that without actually having some idea on what was going to happen if they said yes. He would protect the man as best he could, fight for him every step of the way, take the blow should a blow be struck, and yet those were all simply words that Nick would easily dismiss.
Nick paused at the door, giving one last look over his shoulder.
“Look, don’t worry about it, man,” he said softly with a sad, innocent smile that made Gil’s heart ache. “I’ll cope. I always do. Nothing’ll change.”
And Gil wanted to tell him once again that he shouldn’t have to cope, that the time when Nick had been fighting on his own was well and truly over, but the words simply failed to arrive in time and the horribly final click of the door behind Nick sounded far too quickly. Gil closed his eyes and sank back. And now they had to cope with the consequences.
Oh yes, that probably hadn’t gone as Catherine had intended.
*
TBC
Rating: NC17
Setting: CSI Vegas
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.
Please check tags for past chapters
Banner by fanarts_series. Thank you very much! ^^
*
His body was still slick from the shower, a towel wrapped around his middle and his skin free from the leather constraints that had started to feel a little too natural. Warrick ran his hand through his damp hair, and then glanced sideways at the bathroom where Greg was still under the spray. The younger man seemed to have slowly come out of his daze as Nick had recovered, but there was still a distinct lack of bounce in the other man’s steps, like a child who had discovered that not everyone enjoyed Christmas.
Warrick shrugged to himself and began to unpack his fresh clothing, not bothering to look up as the shower switched itself off.
“How you doing?” he called as there was a fumble by the doorway and a little thud that suggested a hip had misjudged the location of the door handle. There was a little creak behind him as the door opened. Warrick turned to face him before frowning. Greg had managed to get a smile on his face, but his posture still looked as though he was expecting to be led out to a wall and face a firing squad.
“I ain’ gonna bother asking whether you’re okay, man,” he commented after a moment. “Cause you clearly aren’t. Here,”
He tossed the man a pair of boxers - Warrick’s own, but hell, if going commando was what he’d have to cope with then it was a minor price to pay - and turned to allow him some privacy. There was the slow, whispered noise of cautious movement behind him before a cautious hand on his back stated that privacy really wasn’t the first thing on Greg’s mind. Warrick simply continued with what he was doing, allowing the comfort of contact to soothe whatever torment was going through the younger man’s mind.
“I guess I never thought how it was gonna end,” Greg said finally, after spending long enough with his hand on Warrick’s back to recognise the fact that he wasn’t going to get chucked off. “I wasn’t expecting quite so much screaming.”
“Yeah, I understand,” Warrick murmured. And he did, too. What physical actions they had done that night had been strangely fine, easy enough to put to the back of his mind rather than worry over them; no serious damage was being done, everyone was there who wanted to be, yadda yadda yadda. Yeah, that was pretty simple. But the sound of Nick’s distress was one that automatically conquered up some automatic responses, his voice alone telling him that Warrick should be acting, and the fact that the consensual situation had meant Warrick had nothing to rescue him from had been damned hard to deal with. Even now he still felt faintly guilty, despite the fact that he couldn’t quite pin point why.
Greg’s hand stroked the small of Warrick’s back again, a strangely soothing gesture as though Warrick was actually some form of pet. This was accompanied by a companionable silence, although Warrick could already sense that Greg wanted to say something had hadn’t quite worked out how to do it. After a few minutes of slight frustration, Warrick rolled his eyes and smiled grimly. They couldn’t just stay here like this, mostly nude and certainly not at home; they had to get Nick home for a start, and towels were all very well but there was no way he was trying to drive Nick’s car back wearing nothing else but a hastily created kilt to save his modesty. If Greg was planning some type of action or speech, hell, it had better speed up the schedule.
“You wanna say something, man?” he probed.
“Yeah.” There was another long silence, then a guilty, embarrassed chuckle. “Not sure how, though.”
“Sounds interesting. Just try forming a few words, ‘kay? Ain’ gonna get offended.” Warrick replied easily, digging out his jeans from the bag. The hand caressed a little more, and then Greg sighed in a slightly dramatic way that suggested he was about to abseil down a massive cliff rather than simply speak.
“What you were doing in there.. to me. That was just to calm me down, right? You didn’t actually want to… y’know,”
Warrick paused to reflect on the implications of the words and then smiled to himself ruefully. Ah. That.
“Depends,” he said casually. “You actually wanting to ‘y’know’, or was ‘y’knowing’ another part you were acting about? And you gotta stop hanging around Nick, man, you’re picking up all his bad habits about not being able to speak bluntly. If you don’t like the usual words, go for the scientific. Sounds hot as well, if ya do it right.”
Greg processed that. “So no blood splatter?”
“Yeah.” Warrick grinned. “Although I can see you purring ‘Hey, gimmie a sample of your DNA and I’ll process it immediately’ in a real interesting position,”
There was a soft chuckle, which he was pleased about. Having Greg as a startled bunny really didn’t suit the man. Warrick grinned again, then turned and suddenly found the hand resting on his belly instead. He glanced down, then upwards again in amusement.
“So…?” he prompted. “You tell me the motivation of that question and I’ll give you the answer.”
Greg flushed slightly, which was a novel experience. “Yeah, well, it was just that we were both .. y’know-,”
“Y’know either means fucking or it means naked, you can’t use it for everything, ‘kay?” Warrick raised an eyebrow. “Keep going.”
“Okay, naked, and we’re in a bedroom with a big bed, and I’m .. well… interested, and I wanted to know whether you’re interested too.” Greg studied him with what was probably the steadiest gaze the man had. “Cause if you were, then .. well, we don’t have to be back for another half hour, right?”
“I last longer than half an hour,” Warrick replied mildly, and a little automatically. Bantering with Nick on a regular basis often meant his mouth responded before his brain fully registered the repercussions.
“Um.. is that a yes?” Greg frowned at him, his eyes lost in careful calculation. Warrick hesitated, uncertain what he had meant himself. The fact that the conversation had turned to sex hadn’t been unexpected; if anyone went into a fetish club with the intention of doing what they were doing, they were pretty damned naïve to assume the topic wouldn’t come up somewhere. The whole place was geared up to appeal to fantasies, and there was such a wide variety that somewhere, something had to appeal. You just had to get yourself in the right mind frame to appreciate it, and from the look in Greg’s eyes, Warrick had a sneaking suspicion the young man was already there.
There was a clear and obvious response to what Greg was suggesting. Touching was one thing. Friendly hugs and team work and support were fine. Even the lightest of kisses and affection were possible, although half the time it depended on exactly which part of the body was having the attention. But anything further than that was crossing a line that was going to be damned hard to ignore in future; once you’d gone that extra step, both guys had to be on exactly the same page before it caused ripples in both the social and work areas. The clear answer was no.
And then there was the much more appealing answer that Warrick was genuinely surprised to find himself considering. He had no idea exactly what had sparked off Greg’s offer, given the kid’s rather excitable nature. Sure, the situation was tense, and tension often led to a sudden, uncontrollable need to find release in whatever manner you could grab with both hands. Then there was the fact that Greg wasn’t exactly shy when it came to sex itself; how much sex the kid got was another matter, but that wasn’t through lack of intent. Then there were probably half a dozen other reasons, from the possible to the downright unlikely. When it came down to it, did it really matter? They’d just watched their work supervisor beat the hell out of one of their colleagues, and to the greater extent assisted in it. If that didn’t make for a fucked up day, then Warrick wasn’t sure what did. And with fucked up days came fucked up behaviour in all shapes and sizes.
He watched the hand carefully run over his stomach and up over his chest, ghosting over his nipples. He could feel himself physically respond, slowly but steadily, an impatient tickling sensation that was building a little foundation of need deep inside him, soft at the moment but with a gentle but persistent throb; the drip-drip-drip of the erotic tap that would eventually overflow. Warrick growled softly, fuelled by frustration and indecision, and then studied the other man carefully. Greg didn’t flinch from the intense inspection, his eyes full of nervous anticipation and his body clearly itching to move, and at least that was something. ‘Shit, we shouldn’t have done that’ was one thing; distress and regret was entirely another.
Warrick lifted his own hand and ran the fingertips down the smooth, damp plain of Greg’s chest, then slowly back up again to tickle under the man’s chin. Greg shivered, his eyes brightening as he squirmed under the contact, then groaned as Warrick’s hand moved downwards. Yeah, they could try to analyse it. Could try to admit to themselves that the pressure of their ‘mission’ was probably the main source of their frustration, but what the hell would that achieve? Picking through the ashes was something that Nick did. Warrick was quite happy just to grab a thought and go with it, depending on damage. And hell, Greg could bounce back so easily he could be used as the ball for tennis tournaments.
Warrick chuckled roughly.
“Well,” he drawled. “might just be a yes. One condition, though. No ‘um’s. Not in the mood for indecision, y’know?”
“Oh, I’m pretty decided,” Greg gave a firm, eager nod, the bounce finally resurfacing in his eyes. “I just wasn’t sure whether you’d punch me for it,”
Well, that was fair enough. Kid didn’t know what he was letting himself in for, but hell, life was for learning, right? Warrick simply slid his hands down Greg’s side for a moment before bodily tossing him onto the bed and climbing after him. There was a time and place for talking, and now really wasn’t it. Greg stared up at him with wide eyes and his mouth opened in a perfect O, before the man finally got his shit together and laughed in delight. Warrick suddenly found Greg’s hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer, and the young man’s legs wrapped around his waist as though the man had suddenly morphed into a lemur.
He would have liked to think there had been some carefully crafted plan to their embrace, but it wasn’t destined to happen. Any sense they still possessed disintegrated as mouths clashed roughly, teeth and tongues vying for dominance in a battle Warrick hadn’t expected. Greg had been playing the good little slave for so long that he had forgotten that the man had levels of obedience he gave to each person; Grissom, he was essentially shit scared of. Catherine, he was wary but flirty with. Warrick was .. well, that was to be determined. And Nick, of course, was his little playmate, someone to cuff and hug and do all the other stuff normally seen on children’s tv, except without the puppets getting involved.
Well, Greg was about to realise that Warrick was definitely up there to be wary of, even if it was wary in a ‘shit, what’s he going to do’ way. He growled menacingly and nipped down the other man’s neck, his hands sliding down Greg’s smooth sides and earning himself a little wriggle of ticklish shock. A predatory grin crept over Warrick’s face. Oh, ticklish. Perfect. Acceptable torture.
“What.. aaaghmgh!!!” limbs suddenly flailed as Warrick’s finger tips found some of the best sensitive spots that Greg possessed, and hell, it was a damned good response. Almost as good as the way that Greg was grinding against him, hard, needy, and turning Warrick’s personal need into a roaring blaze. Their mouths met again, desperation and frustration blending together perfectly, and Warrick groaned weakly as Greg bucked against him once more, as eager as a puppy with a particularly good leg to hump.
From that point on, it was a sexual mishmash of pleasure. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t choreographed. Even a porn editor probably would have had difficulty working out what the hell they were doing, but hell, it felt good, and it felt right and it didn’t feel like he was taking the kid and fucking the hell out of him because he happened to be in the right place at the right time. Warrick’s mouth feasted greedily on Greg’s skin, his tongue licking over the slightly salty smoothness as his throat purred out his pleasure. He could feel Greg swallow, the little ‘nph!’ noises of pleasure vibrating from him for a moment before Greg wriggled again impatiently, the hard line of his cock grinding against Warrick’s with such persistence that there was no way he could ignore it.
“Hey!” Warrick bit a nipple in retaliation as Greg’s hands slid down Warrick’s back to dig his nails into his ass, and grinned wickedly at the little squeak of pain-frustration in response. Greg panted and wriggled, his legs wrapping even harder around Warrick and grinding upwards as hard as he possibly could. Fuck, the friction was incredible. Warrick’s eyes screwed shut as he growled out helplessly, his body moving of its own accord as he desperately sought more, greedily seeking out everything that he liked and grabbing as much as he could of it.
Suddenly the lemur-boy let go and began to twist as though to get up. Warrick cracked open an eye and looked at him in bemusement.
“Uh.. I hit something I shouldn’t?”
“Fuck, no,” Greg panted, his eyes sparkling and his face flushed. “I just wanna roll over. So you can fuck me.”
Warrick ran that through his mind, and then shrugged. “Sounds good to me.”
He pushed himself off and crawled to the head of the bed, pulling open the top drawer and looking in satisfaction at the condoms and lube that had already been put there in readiness. Seizing them, he glanced over his shoulder and felt his eyes darken at the scene. Yeah, Greg was getting himself fucked. Seriously fucked. There was no way he was gonna let the kid just stay on his hands and knees like that, his legs spread wantonly to give Warrick the best ever view. Something like that had to be accepted for the present it was, and Warrick was definitely in the mood to start unwrapping.
Pouring a large quantity of lube in the palm of his hand and rubbing them together, Warrick crawled closer on his knees and all but draped himself over the warm, trembling body.
“You actually done this before, kid?” he rumbled in Greg’s ear as his hand stroked down eager, tense muscle and between the younger man’s legs. He was unsurprised to find the other man was already hard and eager, Greg trying to spread his legs so wide that Warrick suspected the man was well on a way to a stretched tendon. His slick hand slid over the engorged organ calmly and firmly, feeling Greg’s hips twitch forward automatically, desperate for further contact. A little ‘mm-mm-mm’ noise from Greg’s throat encouraged him further, which was a hell of a lot better than Greg’s usual commentary.
His question, Warrick noted, remained completely unanswered, which normally meant no in one way or other. His money was on Greg’s experience revolving around the rutting, fumbling, all hands on deck type of sex, rather than thrown against a wall and fucked until his teeth rattled. Was that a problem? Well, probably not. Warrick calmly trailed his hands over Greg’s balls and back, allowing one fingertip to circle around the rim of the other man’s hole as he began to kiss and nip at Greg’s shoulders.
“Uhhhhyeahfuck,” the little breathy noises probably had some basis of communication in them, but as long as it was generally good then Warrick wasn’t planning to pay too much attention to them. His tongue traced along the lines of Greg’s muscles, tasting soap and the fresh taste of cleanliness from a freshly scrubbed male rather than the usual, slightly salty taste he would normally expect from someone quite so excited. And hell, Greg was as excitable as a child at a theme park with free rides and balloons all over the place; the little squeaks of excitement continued, shivering with exhilaration and anticipation, and Greg seemed to be in a desperate need to back his hips directly onto Warrick’s hardened length, regardless of whether things were actually lined up or not.
Warrick growled, and gave him a firm slap on the rear. “Stop it. My rules.”
Whine-whimper stated that Warrick’s rules currently sucked big time. Warrick nipped Greg’s neck and calmly slid a finger through the ring of tense muscle as smoothly as he could, burrowing as deep as possible before Greg’s body worked out what the hell was going on and slammed the clamps down. Warrick’s finger suddenly found itself in a vice-like grip as Greg’s voice turned from whimper to erk! in a few seconds.
“Yeah. Thought so,” Warrick said in amusement, continuing his lazy licking spree as his finger waited for release on good behaviour. Greg gasped and bowed his head, panting softly in his need to snatch the air for his own personal supply. Slowly Warrick began to move the finger, circling slowly before he began to press against the solid wall of the other man’s body. A little jerk of Greg’s hips and yet another gasp for air stated that this was appreciated in a startled way, although Greg was nothing if not adaptive; within a few seconds Warrick felt the insistent nudges backward, stating that Greg was more than happy if said finger continued its mission.
For a while there was nothing more than the soft grunts and pants of men lost in their own sensations and thoughts; Warrick’s mouth continued to feast on Greg’s skin, delighting in the texture and taste and feeling his body ache with each groan that the younger man made, each little backwards nudge and each roll of the hips that deliberately rubbed firm buttock against Warrick’s own burning need. Greg’s excitement knew no limits, it seemed. His voice was soft and needy, little greedy moans as Greg bucked backwards; Warrick’s finger began to slowly slide in and out, feeling the tight ring of muscle reluctantly ease under his ministrations.
One finger soon became two, tight, curling his fingers deep into Greg’s body and watching him jerk in response. And that wasn’t even the limit to what his fingers were feeling in the mood for; Warrick growled hungrily and bit at Greg’s neck as he slowly began to twist them deep in him, feeling the younger man shudder helplessly underneath him as he did so, then persistently, determinedly, thrusting back on the fingers as though he had a personal, burning wish to become a Sanders kebab.
“God, yeah,” Greg’s voice was full of happy wonder, a small child at the gates of Disneyland. Warrick chuckled throatily, unable to stop himself from grinding his hips against Greg’s leg again like a horny dog, and then twisted his fingers once more. Greg’s breath hitched as fingers brushed against prostate, a little whimper whine suggesting that his ability to communicate had gone on a short but intensive break, then he gasped again.
“C’mon.. now..!” he whined, his hips shivering and moving enough that he was fucking himself without Warrick’s assistance. A needy wail accompanied Warrick’s fingers brief exit to shove even more lube on, then the wrapper was broken and the condom smoothed on. Was this a good idea? Of course not. Nothing ever was, if you sat down and properly looked at things, but hell, if Warrick sat down and looked at everything in his life he’d still probably be sitting in his childhood bedroom. Sometimes you just had to grab life by the throat and go with it, and currently life was telling him that grabbing hold of Greg, one of the few men who could properly appreciate what chaos they had just witnessed, and then fucking him senseless was a damned good idea. You didn’t just walk away from what they just did, and it couldn’t end in just a flat whimper; things like that just didn’t. Even if they hadn’t done anything now, it would burn deep in both of them, over and over until it exploded some other time, normally some other time that wasn’t quite so convenient and yeah, life was telling him that the odds were good to-
- oh, fuck it. Warrick smiled to himself ruefully. Life was also telling him he was just scrabbling for excuses, but hell, he could live with that. He could live with pretty much anything right about now, as long as his aching, hardened, desperate cock ended up buried so deep in Greg Sanders body that the man was probably going to get his kidney kebabed.
“Relax and push out, ‘kay?” he warned as he lined himself up, and was treated to the sight of Greg dipping his head as he widened his legs even further - kid was clearly some weird acrobat in his spare time - and moaned in encouragement. Not that encouragement was needed; it was like the sprinkles to a particularly over smothered chocolate cake. Warrick growled deep in his throat and took a good grip on Greg’s hips, his fingers curling into the lean muscle as he positioned himself carefully and began to ease himself into the tight, velvet heat.
From that point on, things got hard, fast, messy, desperate and even damned better than he had hoped for. The night had taken its toll on all of them, but Warrick hadn’t appreciated exactly how tense he had been until he was gripped so hard that stars flashed in front of his vision until he snapped himself out of it. His thrusts were slow to begin with, but began to pick up speed, reading his young lover’s responses from his posture and actions. Listening to them, after all, was damned deceptive; Greg all but howled out his sensations, a strange mix of ooh! and argggh!, but each time the arrgggh seemed to outnumber the ooh and Warrick began to slow down, Greg gritted his teeth and slammed back onto him with such strength that Warrick’s balance wobbled. Perhaps there was some strange formula that Warrick didn’t know about: 2Oh over 1Arggh = blissful Greg, but that was taking it all to a whole new level of freakdom he was pretty damned sure he didn’t need to think about.
He could feel the sweat beading on his forehead as he continued, Warrick’s hands tightening on Greg’s hips to keep the young man from shifting around the bed and ruining his strokes. Every so often he managed to land in a slight position that wasn’t quite where he had intended, hitting the internal wall of the man rather than deeper inside him, and causing a ripple effect that was a mix of faint guilt and massive lust as the reaction gripped and vibrated through him. Greg never sat still in his lab, and he kept up this habit now; he trembled and shuddered, shifted his hips, thrust back, thrust forward, ducked his head, everything but staying still, and Warrick had a faint regret he didn’t make use of the shackles when he had the chance. Greased eels had nothing on Greg Sanders, although granted said eels weren’t exactly invited to the erotic party.
Warrick’s nails were digging in, he knew that, but god, he just couldn’t help himself. Each little tremble, each moan, each whispered curse and each thrust simply added to his own personal torment, the frustrated ache in the very core of him building to the extent that he was almost tempted to howl himself. Pleasure stabbed deep within him each time the tight tunnel gripped harder, soothing over the busier thoughts in Warrick’s mind and allowing him to focus, just this once, on what was happening between them. Fuck the rest of the world, even if it was just for half an hour of ball aching, ass ripping, throat wearing sex. Reality would catch up with them soon enough; for now, it was just the groans and the sweat and the movement and the burning, agonising pressure that was building to an unstoppable climax.
That was unsurprising. What surprised the fuck out of him was the fact that Greg managed to get there first. Clearly Sanders was as impatient as Sara made him out to be.
“Wha-?” Warrick managed to get out before crying out in surprise and sheer sensation as Greg all but froze in place - an unusual situation at the best of times - and then simply seemed to clamp down, his back arching and his body trembling so hard that anyone would be forgiven in thinking the man was naked in the middle of the artic circle. Greg’s orgasm was unstoppable and relentless, and was taking no prisoners; Warrick was aware of the sheer tightness through his hazy ability to think before he was essentially milked dry, each little shudder that Greg gave transmitted so well to his overly sensitive cock that it was impossible to resist. Warrick’s teeth clamped down on Greg’s shoulder to muffle the noise, an automatic response that later he would regret, but at that exact point the social niceties could just go hang. Warrick felt his body all but empty inside out, a little trickle of sweat running down his cheek as he whimpered through the orgasm.
Without a word, they both slowly collapsed onto the mattress, each heaving for breath, sticky and exhausted. Warrick’s eyes had drifted closed automatically, his body softening and sliding from Greg but not moving far; one arm wrapped around the younger man’s chest and pulled him closer into a little sweaty bear hug, hearing the man gasp for breath as his shuddering slowly, slowly began to die down.
For five minutes they did nothing at all, which seemed right somehow. They didn’t need to acknowledge anything. They didn’t really need to speak, as their bodies had confirmed everything they had wanted to know. The problems of the night had been briefly forgotten, leaving only the more pleasurable aspects; the erotica, the excitement, the uniqueness of their situation, and Warrick felt Greg relax happily against him as the tension flowed out of him.
Warrick bent his head and licked gently at the tooth marks he had left on Greg’s shoulder.
“How y’doing?” he murmured in his ear.
“Dying happy,” came the sleepy, pleased response, Greg as pliable and as loose-limbed as a puppy in his arms. Greg squirmed slightly to look up at him. “You?”
Warrick chuckled a throaty laugh, and licked a little more. “Yeah. M’good.”
“Just good?”
“’Kay, don’t get yourself all cocky,” Warrick smiled at him ruefully before gently slapping him on the rear again. The hand paused, and then he winced. “And you need another shower.”
“Later,” Greg yawned widely, and burrowed down further with the dedication of one who wasn’t planning on putting his ass on the mattress any time soon. Warrick huffed a laugh, and then slapped him again. Spanking Greg was surprisingly addictive.
“We gotta drive Nick back, remember?”
“Mmpffh? Oh. Yeah. Fuck,” Greg squirmed on the bed lazily, then winced and looked down. “Ah shit.. I think I’m ruining their bed linen.”
“You mean there’s a ‘think’ about that sentence?” Warrick snorted softly, then looked down at the blanket which did seem particularly expensive, in the way that it was presumably intended to be. “This is a fetish club, man, weird shit happens. I bet they’ve got real good laundry service to cope with even you.”
“Whoa,” Greg looked down again. “They’re good.”
He eased himself up onto hands and knees again and gingerly crawled off the bed, slowly standing up with all the ease of an elderly man with arthritis. Warrick watched him for a short while, then shook his head in faint amusement. His eyes fell on Greg’s hips and winced at the sight of nail marks in the paler skin, testament to how hard he had been gripping him.
“Guess I got a bit too rough there,” he said gruffly, and not without a little discomfort. Greg looked at him in faint bewilderment, and then looked down at himself.
“Why, what’s wrong with me?” he shifted his hips, then made a ‘ohhh’ noise as he spotted the raised marks surrounded by red. Greg ran his fingertips over his hide, then shrugged and grinned back at him. “Cool. I get battle scars!”
Warrick rolled his eyes, and then gestured idly at the tooth marks on Greg’s shoulder that he was bewildered the man hadn’t really noticed yet. Greg watched Warrick’s fingers with the puzzled delight of a cat that had spotted movement and was just waiting to pounce, then followed the indication to his neck.
“Oh!” he moved to the mirror on the dressing table and squinted at it. “Whoa. You got hungry!”
“Just remember to wear a top that’ll cover it, yeah?” Warrick reminded him. Greg glanced back at him in puzzlement, then gave a nod and a snap of the fingers.
“Oh, sure. Don’t worry, no one’ll suspect anything.” He looked back at the mirror and brushed his fingers across the bite again, and Warrick swore that the man’s expression was almost proud. He shook his head slowly, then slipped off the bed himself and walked to the shower. It was a one off event, to tackle what they’d seen and done that night, just as Nick and Gil’s little bondage exploration wasn’t exactly going to occur again. In a way, they’d simply done their own part of the deal; no one got out untouched in this type of situation, regardless of the intent.
And yet, regardless how much Warrick told himself that everything was done and dusted and finished, there was a nagging feeling that life wasn’t quite done with them.
Not by a long shot.
*
The art of conversation was a tricky beast to subdue. The concept itself was relatively easy; you opened your mouth, you chose the words that best described what you wished to say, and then you said them. And yet, when it came down to it, it was impressive how often the same words gained completely separate meanings. It was even more impressive how often the right words for the right situation always failed to turn up until about six hours after the event itself.
For this reason, Gil often preferred to delay important conversations in order to write himself a little mental script to follow. Life was unpredictable, but people were people, and often followed their own behavioural patterns closely enough that a rough idea of their reactions could be gained.
Like Nicky, for example, solid, loyal, dependable Nicky, the man who was more than capable of finding his own route through orders he disliked but who took pains never to directly offend anyone if he could possibly avoid it. Other than child molesters, of course, but even then he showed more restraint than anyone else; only people who properly knew him could see the anger blazing deep in those expressive dark eyes, even as his softly drawled voice went through the usual motions.
Abusers aside, Nicky was relatively simple in his beliefs. He was, Gil mused, a good man, a typically good man, and it only took one night of looking around Vegas to know how rare a typically good man was. There were good men, certainly, but in their own personal ways with their own personal flaws. Warrick was a fine example of such a person; a good heart with a sneaky mind, and at this point in time, Gil would have liked a little bit of sneakiness to appeal to. The innocence and occasional incomprehension in Nick’s eyes was occasionally painful to witness, knowing he was smashing through a few beliefs that Nick would have been quite happy not to realise.
Which brought them swiftly back to the conversation in hand. Gil sighed as he walked around the room, occasionally picking up items to study them at close range. Nick lay on his stomach on the couch, watching Gil watch the room.
“Okay.” Nick said finally. “What was Catherine talking about?”
Damn. That was the flaw in letting the silence build; the conversation had a nasty tendency to find an uncomfortable spot to start. Gil raised his eyebrows in a minor shrug, and ran his fingers across the smooth surface of the ornament idly.
“Simply? She’s attaching long term affection to the situation.” Gil replied after a moment’s thought. “And taking it to the next practical level. Would you like a drink?”
“No, thanks.” Nick shifted himself upwards, propping himself on his forearms as he watched him and thought things over. “So what you’re saying is that she thinks we’re gonna have a romantic fling because you did what you did?”
“Essentially.”
“Hey, whatever happened to chocolate and dinner before dating?” Nick grumbled, pausing for a moment before querying again with the idle, casual voice of one who wasn’t feeling particularly idle or casual. “She’s wrong, yeah?”
Gil studied him carefully. “You’re asking me whether I’m intending to date you?”
Nick hesitated, clearly not having thought of it in that way. He flushed and shook his head. “Well.. no.”
“Then what did you mean? If you have to ask on whether she’s wrong, you must be considering that there is a slight possibility that she could be right,” Gil was impressed at the level his own voice was at, calm, mild and as inoffensive as a vanilla cupcake at a baking convention. Nick didn’t quite splutter but his flush took on a brighter hue, his embarrassment palpable. Gil smiled slightly, his voice dropping lower as he returned to study his ornament. “..for truth is truth to the end of reckoning.”
“Okay, I’m having a hard enough time without Shakespeare turning up here, y’know?” Nick protested softly, and shifted uncomfortably on the couch. “So everything’s the same as it was before, right?”
“No. Everything changes.” Gil looked back at the slightly frustrated expression and smiled ruefully. “Although if you mean, has this encounter damaged our past relationship, then I don’t think it has. What we did balanced on trust. Unless I damaged your faith in me for doing it..?”
“Well, no, of course not.” Nick looked slightly appalled.
“There’s actually no ‘of course’ about it. Few men would do what you just did, regardless of how highly they regarded their superiors.” Gil replied calmly, although he was beginning to feel the hint of tension enter his body at Nick’s refusal to properly discuss it. Perhaps Catherine might have had a point. “It would be natural to consider me differently afterwards.”
“You’re still Grissom.” There was an obstinate look in Nick’s eyes that was a little too familiar, Nick’s world beliefs holding firm. “Nothing changed between us but a few bruises, and I’ve had bruises from cases before, y’know?”
“Directly caused by me?” Gil raised an eyebrow.
“Well, I guess so. It’s your order that gets me in there in the first place,” Nick shrugged.
“And your carelessness that gets you in harm’s way,” Gil rebuked him gently. “I don’t recall any order that specifically said ‘get yourself an injury’,”
Nick chuckled softly and readjusted his position. “Okay, okay, don’t get your knickers in a twist, man. I ain’ questioning your ability as a supervisor.”
That was more than Gil was. Each word Nick spoke was slowly clawing uncomfortably in his mind, the man’s denial of what he had actually done a little too obvious. Nick was clearly filing the whole situation away under a hard but normal work situation, and if Gil actually thought that was an accurate statement of what Nick himself thought then he wouldn’t have worried himself. But no, there was a guilty strength in Nick’s eyes that stated Stokes knew what they had done had entered into boundaries that were completely ungoverned and mostly disapproved of in a normal work environment, and even Nick’s hard and fast need to sacrifice himself for the good of the team was finding issues on how to fully justify what he had done solely on work grounds.
“Mmm,” Gil said, in a voice that was non-committal. Nick frowned.
“You saying you think of me differently afterwards?” he said, a little roughly, and Gil could already see the angry defensiveness blaze in Nick’s eyes. Oh yes, that was not the reaction of a man who couldn’t see the implications of what he had just done.
“Not in the way you’re thinking,” Gil replied softly.
“Oh great, you mind reading now too?” Nick’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “So what am I thinkin’?”
“You think I now view you as some type of whore because of what you were happy to do, so you’re trying to hide behind the ‘I was under orders’ excuse to avoid thinking about it.” Gil’s voice was completely mild, but the reaction on Nick was the same as though he actually slapped him. His dark expressive eyes widened, then couldn’t quite decide whether to soften in upset or harden in anger.
“I don’t, of course,” Gil spoke up after watching this display for a few moments. “Although now I’m wondering whether you do.”
“I don’t.” Nick’s voice was harsh and rough. “I did what I had to do. And why you making this harder on me? You guys are the ones who asked me to get into this, not the other way round. You want a job done, expect it done properly.”
“Nick, I’m not intending to make it harder on you-,”
“Well, you are. Turning this whole damned thing into some type of therapy, and for what? So you can excuse your own actions? If you’re trying to say I’m viewing what we did in some way that was more than just what we set out to do, then start looking at yourself as well. I felt what you were like, Griss. You were excited, and I don’t mean in the whole ‘ooh, I got tickets to the match’ type way. If you want to start putting anyone under the microscope, start looking much closer to home, eh?” Nick’s voice was almost hard to recognise, the soft Texan drawl hardened enough that it came out unnaturally cold for him. However, Gil had to confess the man had a point.
“Yes, I was.” Gil spoke as naturally as he could. The evidence had been there, and it was not something he was willing to deny. Whether he had been willing to speak it was another matter, but if the question was there, he had a care of duty to answer it. However, Nick clearly wasn’t expecting the confession. Angry eyes turned to confusion, the younger man struggling to accept the answer, and Gil could see that point as well. There were circumstances in a working life that needed to be worked through, and having your supervisor confirm that he was sexually excited to physically beat his subordinate was ..
.. well, it was bad protocol, for a start, and that was only the beginnings of their associated problems.
“.. yeah?” he said doubtfully.
“You sound surprised.” The mildness in his voice hadn’t changed, but it was becoming harder keep up with each passing syllable. “You said yourself that I was excited. I was. I don’t think either of us would be able to forget that particular brand of evidence. You’re a good looking man who I respect greatly, both in the field and off it, and we were engaged in what for me is a highly charged sexual act of trust.”
Nick hesitated, the look in his eyes suggesting he wasn’t quite sure he should have made quite so much of a fuss if people were happy to admit to things.
“Oh.” he struggled with words for a moment, before confused eyes looked up again with the innocent incomprehension that often made Nick so damned appealing, a man still stubbornly trying to make sense in a messy world. “But if it was sexually charged for you-,”
“I shouldn’t have done it, no.” Gil spoke quietly and genuinely regretfully. He should have known that his control wouldn’t have lasted. “It was inappropriate of me, and unfair on you. And for that I’m sorry.”
“Oh.” For some reason the word seemed tinged with disappointment. Nick was silent for a moment, before beautifully wide eyes - and hell, he was going to have to avoid using that terminology - back to him in confusion. “But we were doing it for a good reason, right?”
A child needing the assurances that the monsters under the bed weren’t as scary as he first thought. Gil smiled at him gently, and gave a nod. That, at least, he was confident on.
“If this continues in the way I think it will, we’ll get what we came for. We’ll either clear them or convict them. You did well. Very well. And I’m sorry what happened to you with Blake.. I should have anticipated what he would have done.” Gil’s voice was heavy with remorse. Nick flushed slightly, and shook his head.
“Not your fault.”
“Yes. It was. Even if this was not a work situation, you were bound and under my protection. You trusted me to keep you safe, and I failed in that,”
“You didn’t fail in anything,” Nick’s voice was heated. “I understood the risks. And it wasn’t anything important.”
Gil looked at him in incomprehension. “It wasn’t anything important..? This happens to you on a regular basis?”
Nick flushed angrily. “If you’re asking me whether that’s my first time with being touched when I don’t want to be touched, no, it’s not. But if I can cope with that, I can cope with one finger up me, ‘kay?”
“You shouldn’t have to ‘cope’ with things at all-,” Gil found more than enough anger and alarm flickering in his voice over the unexpected confession. Nick shook his head, and slowly slipped off the couch, padding barefoot to pick up the boxers he had refused earlier. The towel slipped, showing a display of patterned skin that ranged from red to the first hints of blue, and Gil couldn’t stop his gaze from falling to it. The marks were harder than Gil had first intended, but he had managed to persuade himself that it was necessary as Nick had handled each one and steadied himself for more. The contrast between the strong power of Nick’s back and the beaten vulnerability of his rear made Gil’s throat ache, and in that moment he knew damned well that whatever they had said, he would always see Nick differently. Nick was no longer just a work colleague and friend, he was a man in his own sexual right, and that was going to be hard to ignore.
“Okay, now what?” Nick’s impatient voice broke through Gil’s thoughts like a brick through glass. “You’ve got that expression on your face. The one where you’re considering doing something really stupid.”
And that had changed as well, their personal relationship. Nick had been angry with him before, but he had always shown restraint simply out of automatic respect for his position. Gil had wanted his colleagues to treat him a little less like a boss outside of work and a little more like a human, but the others had remained remarkably resistant to it. Not any more, it seemed. Despite the fact that his own position had been strapped to a wall, Nick’s mind had clearly and finally made the leap between colleagues and friends on a level playing field, his usual ‘sir, yes sir!’ attitude replaced with one that fitted Catherine more than Nick. Not that it was a bad thing, other than ruining yet another assurance that things would go on as normal.
“I was simply thinking,”
“… about?” Nick winced as he straightened, and was about to try putting on his tight jeans before Gil stopped him and simply passed him a pair of loose fitting trousers. Given the tightness of the clothing Nick normally wore, the man would probably need them actually cutting off if he had attempted to put them on.
“Tomorrow,”
Nick stilled before steady, intense, dark eyes lifted to him. “Am I going to be transferred to a different shift?” he asked bluntly. Gil stared at him, completely taken aback by the suggestion.
“It wasn’t my intention, no. There would be no question we would do this scene had I expected to lose any member of staff over it. Do you want to be transferred?”
“Of course I don’t. But it’s not up to me, is it?” Nick scowled as he pulled on his t-shirt. Gil watched him in bewilderment. It was like having a completely different person in front of him, the satisfied man flipped so quickly to the sullen anger of a teenager not quite in control over his emotions.
“Nick, I’m not planning to do anything to you or your working position. I’m simply considering our conduct during working hours, if that was likely to alter.” Gil’s eyes narrowed. “You seem insecure.”
“Insecure?” Nick laughed in amusement, and then shook his head. “It’s gotta be great as a supervisor, head in the clouds all the time. You know as well as I do that all it takes is a rumour to go around and people’ll make our lives miserable-,”
“-and you knew this before we started, so what’s changed?”
“Probably the knowledge of who’s going to get the rap if that rumour actually turns up! It’s not going to be you moving away, is it?” Nick’s anger was solid, marred only by the flicker of genuine fear in the centre of his eyes, the little boy who had only considered the consequences after the cookie had been eaten. Or, perhaps, the young gang member who had joined for community and belonging, only to find himself abandoned and alone as soon as the cops turned up to his door with a warrant.
Gil watched him put on his boots and begin to lace them up, Nick’s brow furrowed in unnecessary concentration for the task. “I don’t think any less of you for what you did. In fact, quite the opposite,”
“Well, good.” Nick seemed less than satisfied as he stood up and looked across at him with a sullen expression that was more often seen on a toddler dragged around the shops. Gil frowned at him, still trying to work out the change of pace.
“.. but you don’t have the same opinion of me, do you?” he said softly. “You don’t think I can protect you any more. That I don’t want to protect you. And that’s simply not true.”
“Fortune telling really ain’t your forte, boss.” Nick replied dryly. “And I think we’re done here, right? I’ll go round up the other two, get ‘em home. And yes,” he sighed as Gil opened his mouth. “Warrick’s gonna be driving.”
Nick gave a little salute and turned to leave the room, leaving Gil a little loss for words. What had just happened? He was almost sure they had a lover’s quarrel without fulfilling either of the usual criteria; lover or quarrel. He opened his mouth to speak, but there was absolutely nothing he could think of to say other than to request the man to stay, and you couldn’t ask someone to do that without actually having some idea on what was going to happen if they said yes. He would protect the man as best he could, fight for him every step of the way, take the blow should a blow be struck, and yet those were all simply words that Nick would easily dismiss.
Nick paused at the door, giving one last look over his shoulder.
“Look, don’t worry about it, man,” he said softly with a sad, innocent smile that made Gil’s heart ache. “I’ll cope. I always do. Nothing’ll change.”
And Gil wanted to tell him once again that he shouldn’t have to cope, that the time when Nick had been fighting on his own was well and truly over, but the words simply failed to arrive in time and the horribly final click of the door behind Nick sounded far too quickly. Gil closed his eyes and sank back. And now they had to cope with the consequences.
Oh yes, that probably hadn’t gone as Catherine had intended.
*
TBC