Let the fic-posting games begin!
Compelling
Category: CSI. Slash. Nick/Greg.
Summary: Nick goes undercover, and he and Greg end up in serious trouble.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Angst, m/m sex, strong language, non-con (rape), violence, bigotry. DARK. I mean, sometimes I scare myself. RAPE IS NOT OKAY IN REAL LIFE.
Notes: CSI characters don’t belong to me, and they’re probably glad they don’t, cuz I play rough. I know this plot is probably in the running for the “Top 10 Most Contrived Plots Ever,” but just roll with it and I think you’ll enjoy the result. And big thanks go to Willow for the beta, and Juene Chat for the re-beta. If you love it/hate it, give me feedback: brighteyedjill@yahoo.com
Necessita c’induce, e non diletto. - Dante, Inferno.
(It is necessity, and not pleasure, that compels us.)
***********
Nick Stokes lingered in the hallway outside of the locker room, ostensibly talking to Sara, but really waiting for Greg to finish his shift. He wasn’t sure what he hoped to accomplish by waiting. In months of trying, he’d never known quite what to say when he got Greg alone. As soon as he saw the lab-tech-turned-CSI out of the corner of his eye, he waved goodbye to Sara, took a deep, calming breath, and headed for his locker.
“Hey Greg,” he said nonchalantly. He was rewarded with a quick smile and casual “hey” as Greg shrugged out of his lab coat. “Haven’t seen you all day,” Nick said, pretending to look for something in his locker. “Were you in the lab?” Shut up, Stokes. You know he was.
“Yeah. They needed my help to catch up with all the evidence from that blood bath at the Bellagio. What a mess.” Greg shook his head, and leaned casually against the bank of lockers. “How was your shift?”
“Oh, you know. I was working that hit-and-run, so…” Nick trailed off awkwardly. Very smooth, Stokes. Very well-planned.
“Well, at least you’re done for the day, right?” Greg asked. Was it Nick’s imagination that there was a gleam in his eye?
“Actually, I’m supposed to go meet with Brass and Grissom. Some special assignment they wanted me on. So…” Conversational gold, Nicky. Really. He’s swooning.
“Oh. Okay.” Greg looked at Nick for a moment, then down at his shoes, then back at Nick before saying, “Well, I’ll see you at work tomorrow, then.”
“Yeah. Okay,” said Nick, and fairly fled the room.
******
Nick looked at Grissom, then Brass, then back to Grissom. “You have got to be kidding,” he said incredulously.
Brass shook his head. “Not kidding. We need you, and it has to be tonight.”
“Look, Nicky,” Grissom said. “If you feel uncomfortable with this, I completely understand. You don’t have to go through with it.”
Nick saw Brass clench his jaw. “What happens if I don’t?” Nick asked.
“Then we don’t have a chance to get all the perps. If we’re lucky, we might be able to collar the one that comes to the pick-up site, but-.” Brass shrugged. “It’s unlikely we’ll find enough evidence to make a charge stick.”
“When I was on the force in Dallas, I did some undercover work, but nothing like this. I- I mean, what exactly do you need me to do?”
“You just need to go with them and wait until they do something that gives us probable cause, then call for back-up,” Brass explained. “We intercepted an out-of-towner, Nathan Lawrence, who was supposed to meet them tonight. Apparently he was coming to get some pointers from these guys. You’ll be posing as him.”
“Pointers?” Nick asked. “What kind of a crime ring is this?”
“Think cult,” said Brass. “Or conservative activists run amok.”
“They’re an anti-homosexual group, Nick,” Grissom said bluntly. “They kidnap gay men, and torture and sodomize them to show them the error of their ways.”
“Making a statement about the evils of homosexuality by raping gay men? That’s…” Nick couldn’t find the word he wanted.
“Twisted,” Grissom supplied.
“To say the least.” Nick suppressed a shudder.
Brass brought them back to business. “Listen, Nick. Our informant told us what they know about him: his name, what he looks like, that he’s from Texas--.”
Nick interrupted. “Why isn’t one of your guys doing this?”
“They don’t have the right combination of skills. Plus nobody else fits the description quite as nicely,” Brass said.
“We need a scientist’s eye and a cop’s instincts,” Grissom put in. “We’ll be counting on what
you see to help us interpret evidence from the other crime scenes.”
Nick wondered for a second if either Brass or Grissom knew of his sexual preferences, but nothing in their tone or body language indicated they’d been discussing anything other than his professional skills. He breathed an internal sigh of relief. “If this will help us get the bad guys, then I’ll do it,” he said finally.
“Good man,” said Brass. “I need to make some arrangements.” He walked out of Grissom’s office.
“Nick,” Grissom said seriously. “This could easily go too far. If you’re in any danger at all, get out. Understand?” Nick nodded. “I mean it. Don’t play the hero this time.”
“Yes sir,” said Nick. “I’ll be careful.”
****************
The leader seemed to be a clean-cut thirty-something named Jacco. He greeted “Nathan Lawrence” at the bus station and drove them in his rusty Buick to a seedy bar near Fremont Street where they were meeting the rest of the “team.” This was the tricky part; if Lawrence had lied about what these people knew about him, or tipped them off somehow, they’d probably make their move as soon as Nick was alone with them. But Jacco fell to chatting with him in the car, probably hoping to impress with his anti-queer rhetoric.
Nick listened to Jacco with half an ear, but with the greater share of his attention he mentally ran through the plan for the hundredth time, trying to find some angle Brass hadn’t thought of. The cell phone Archie had fitted with a GPS transponder was in his back pocket. Brass had grudgingly agreed that it was too risky to fit Nick with a wire; if he were patted down, his cover would be blown, and he’d be in real danger. So no wire, no badge, and no gun. At least Brass and a surveillance team were trailing him in an unmarked van. All he had to do was activate the emergency signal in the cell phone, and Brass would come charging to the rescue. Safety in triplicate. Then why didn’t Nick feel safe?
When they pulled into the parking lot of the Rusty Nail, Nick didn’t feel any more at ease. The place was a dive, with lots of motorcycles lined up on the street outside it. As he followed Jacco inside, Nick noted thankfully that the surveillance van had tailed them successfully thus far: it was pulling into the parking lot of the strip joint next door. Nick felt a little better knowing that Brass would be right there when he needed help.
The inside of the Rusty Nail was dark and loud. Nick swallowed his disgust at the smell of cheap beer and unwashed bodies. It didn’t matter if Nick Stokes wouldn’t be caught dead here; if this was the type of place Nathan Lawrence went to conduct “business,” then this was where Nick needed to be.
“Nathan” followed Jacco through the crowd to a corner table, whose occupants rose as they saw the men approach. . “Hey guys. This is Nathan,” Jacco shouted over the wailing jukebox, waving his hand in Nick’s direction. “Nathan, this is Charlie.” He indicated a skinny redhead in his early twenties who was polishing off a mug of beer. “It’s his first time out, but he’s a good man. And this is Marty.” Marty was older, forties probably, short and muscley, and he grunted in way of greeting. “You’ll meet Caz soon. He went fishing.” Jacco winked suggestively.
Nick pulled back one corner of his mouth to transform his usual beautiful smile into what he hoped was a cynical sneer. The guy next to him, Marty, licked his lips. “Don’t worry,” Charlie said knowingly. “Caz is great queer-bait.”
Jacco smiled. “Don’t let Caz hear you say that. Okay then. This is it.” He pulled a plastic bag out of his coat pocket and held it open. “Point of no return. Cell phones, wallets, keys, in the bag.”
Nick furrowed his brow in concern. “What?”
“We got to give up our stuff,” Charlie explained eagerly, dropping his wallet in the bag . “You know. For safety.”
Nick tried to hide his dismay. With no way to call for backup, he might not be able to handle the situation. Hopefully, Brass would still be able to follow the car. If anything went really wrong, he’d be nearby. But if Nick backed out now, they’d do what they were going to do anyway. Damn it.
Jacco looked at him expectantly, holding the bag open. “You in, man?”
Catch the bad guys. Don’t be a hero. Okay. Nick took the tracker/cell phone from his pocket, and dropped it in the bag. “Yeah. I’m in.”
************
The guys sat around drinking more beer while they waited. The quiet guy, Marty, had a van which had been parked out back of the Rusty Nail, and they’d all piled in to drive to this place, the basement of a crappy storefront. Nick had no idea if Brass and the surveillance team had followed him when he got into the van, or if they were still sitting in the parking lot of the bar, thinking that if Nick’s cell phone/tracker was inside, he was too. In any case, Nick reflected, the place was pretty sparse: a table and some chairs, a dirty mattress on the floor, and a sink in the corner. The bare light bulb that was the room’s only illumination added to the crime scene mystique. There wasn’t a lot he could use to defend himself if things got ugly.
Nick jumped when the door to the alley banged open, admitting a tall, blond twenty-something man carrying a person over his shoulder. Marty went to close the door while Jacco got up to shake the newcomer’s hand. “Hey Caz. Bring us something good?”
“You know I never let you down,” the blond said. “This guy was all over me. I think he almost creamed his pants when I asked if he wanted to go somewhere private.”
Charlie snickered. “Sounds like he’s in need of some rehabilitation, yeah?”
Caz threw the man down on the mattress and brushed off his shoulders. “Someone else goes next time, man. I’m going to have to scrub for hours to get this fucking faggot smell off me.”
The other men laughed, but Nick’s attention was on the man on the floor. He was blindfolded, his hands tied in front of him with rope, duct tape over his mouth, and seemingly unconscious. They must have taken him from a club, because he had on the tight jeans and tight t-shirt combo that was practically uniform in certain of the city’s gay clubs. In the low light, Nick couldn’t tell his age or distinguish his features, but the hair stood up on the back of Nick’s neck, and his stomach did a somersault.
“Oh hey, Nathan this is Caz, of course,” Jacco clapped Nick on the shoulder and gestured to the newcomer. “He’s our resident queer-catcher. Caz, Nathan.”
Nick muttered a polite “hey” to the blond, but his mind was racing. Could he take these four guys, single handedly? Probably not. He couldn’t run. He couldn’t just leave the guy they’d kidnapped. As if to emphasize Nick’s point, the bound man moaned softly.
“Great timing. Hey, you got the stuff?” Jacco asked, looking to Caz. Caz nodded and flashed Nick a malicious smile.
“Hey faggot. Hold still.” Jacco sat on the prone man’s chest, and put his hand over the duct-tape gag Caz held something under their victim’s nose. Nick didn’t realize what was happening until the man, fighting for breath, breathed in through his nose and some of the white powder fell from Caz’s hand onto the floor.
Nick took an involuntary step forward, mind racing. “This could easily go too far,” Grissom had said. Yeah. Come on, Stokes. DO something.
“What is that shit?” Charlie asked, wide-eyed.
Caz stood and sauntered past Nick, licking the rest of the powder off his fingers. “Crystal, man.” He took a baggie out of his pocket and waved it in Charlie’s face. “Meth.” Nick raised an eyebrow. He was sure Brass hadn’t mentioned drugs in the information he’d gotten from his informant.
Jacco noticed his concern and jumped in, eager to lecture. “We’ve found that drugs can be pretty useful for our purposes. We want him to remember every detail of his reeducation. The meth will help the whole thing burn a little brighter for him.”
“And we use it to enhance performance,” Caz added. “We’re certainly not faggots, so it helps to have a little something extra to help get the job done, you know?”
Jacco grinned. “Speaking of which, I think it’s time to ask him, don’t you?”
Nick felt sick. In the van on the way here, he’d heard Jacco explaining the philosophy behind this ritual to Charlie. “The idea is that faggots like to take it up the ass, right? So you play with ‘em a little. Let ‘em pick their own poison. You know? The faggot gets to pick who gives them their re-education.”
Jacco grabbed the prone man by the hair and dragged him into the circle of light thrown by the single bulb. Caz squatted before the victim and gently untied the blindfold; the groggy man blinked at the sudden light.
Nick stood frozen as the two other men edged closer to get a better look at their victim. It was Greg. Greg Sanders. There was a bruise purpling on his cheek and white reside from the meth sticking to the duct tape over his mouth, but it was unmistakably him. Greg tried to pull away, Jacco jerked him back by the hair, and then he was still, looking around the room until his eyes came to rest on Nick. No. Not Greg. Not him.
DO something, Stokes. Keep them talking. “He’s a little scrawny, Caz,” he joked, surprised at how casual his voice sounded. “Are you sure you shouldn’t have thrown him back?”
The group laughed, and Greg blinked several times, as if trying to convince himself there was nothing wrong with his sight. He wrenched his gaze away from Nick and didn’t look back at him. Nick, on the other hand, felt rooted to the spot, taking in every move of Greg’s, but unable to act.
“Hey, faggot.” Caz snapped his fingers in front of Greg’s face to get his attention. “Listen up. You’re very lucky tonight. Do you know why?” he asked quietly.
Greg narrowed his eyes, and Nick could have told Caz that he wasn’t going to provide an answer.
“Hey princess, the nice man asked you a question,” said Jacco.
Greg mumbled something into the tape that sounded suspiciously like “fuck you.”
“You’re lucky because you’re going to get saved tonight. We are giving you the opportunity to save yourself. Tonight, you’re going to learn why it’s not okay to be a faggot.”
Greg tried to turn his head away, but Caz grabbed his chin and turned it back to face him. “We’re going to help you. One of these nice men here,” he gestured around the room, “Is going to show you why you don’t like taking it up the ass as much as you thought you did.”
Nick saw a glint of fear in Greg’s eyes. “This is the participation part,” Jacco said. “You get to pick which one of us you want.”
Greg shook his head no.
“Aww,” said Caz, in mock disappointment. “He seemed so eager an hour ago. Now he doesn’t want to play.” Marty took a step closer, menacing. Caz waved him off. “Listen, queer. We’re giving you a choice. We’d prefer to not all have to do this, so you get to pick who’s teaching you tonight. If you don’t pick, we all have to participate.”
Nick heard the gun before he saw it: the metallic click of the safety coming off sounded sharply in the quiet basement. Jacco had a nine millimeter at the back of Greg’s neck. Greg heard the sound too, of course, knew what it was. He stilled, and closed his eyes.
“Or maybe this one is just beyond rehabilitation,” Jacco said with mock-concern. “If he doesn’t want to help save himself, maybe we should just end it for him.” Jacco leaned down close to Greg’s ear, but Nick couldn’t hear what was said.
“Right then.” Caz stood up and stepped back to stand in the semi-circle of guys facing Greg and Jacco. “You have until three to point to your choice, and then my friend here is going to put you out of your misery. One.”
Greg closed his eyes; Nick could hear him making noise through the tape, but couldn’t pick out words. Nick wondered crazily if he was praying. Charlie shifted nervously.
“Two.”
Jacco pressed the barrel of the gun into Greg’s neck. Nick calculated the distance between himself and Greg, counted how many steps it would take to get between his friend and the gun.
“Three.”
Before Nick could move, Greg raised his tied hands to point, and opened his eyes. He met Nick’s shocked stare with total calm.
“See!” Caz stepped forward to pat Greg’s cheek. “You’re on the road to recovery, faggot.” Jacco grabbed the back of Greg’s shirt to pull him over to the mattress, while Caz walked over to Nick. “Alright, Tex. Now you can get some practice.” Caz flashed him an anticipation-filled smile and pressed a baggie of white powder into his hand. “It works quicker if you snort than if you swallow,” he said, then turned back to the mattress.
Nick stared at the baggie in his hand. No way could he do this. Any of this. He had to get Greg out of here. Now. Jacco turned away from the mattress, and Nick saw the flash of the gun in his hand. If he could just get the gun…
“What’s the matter?” Jacco asked.
“Nothing,” Nick answered quickly. “I just… I don’t usually use this shit.”
Jacco smiled, but it wasn’t a nice expression. “Well, all in the line of duty, right? Hey-tell you what we’ll do--.”
Someone yelled, and when Nick turned his head to look, he saw Caz on the floor, and Greg stumbling towards the door. Now, Stokes. He lunged for Jacco, but the other man had already moved. A gunshot echoed around the room. Nick and Greg froze at the same time; for a moment, Nick thought his fellow CSI had been shot.
“I don’t have to miss,” Jacco said calmly. “Stop fucking around, faggot.”
“That fucker broke my nose!” Caz yelled. “God damnit!”
“Marty, go help Caz,” Jacco ordered. Marty went to Caz, who was still swearing viciously. “Charlie, put him back.” Charlie caught Greg by the shoulder and pushed him back towards the mattress. “Strip him,” Jacco added before turning back to Nick. “See, you just gotta show ‘em who’s boss.” Before Nick could respond, he grabbed the bag of meth. “I’ll cut you some lines. Come on.”
Jacco safety-ed the gun and stuck it in the back waistband of his jeans before taking a seat at the table and gesturing for Nick to do the same. He poured a small pile of the white powder on the table, and fished out a ShopCo Saver’s Card from his pocket.
“You’re with us, and you’re going to do it our way,” Jacco explained while he arranged the meth into three neat lines with the edge of his card. “Unless you think you’re not up to this. I mean, you were fag-boy’s choice, but we could make an exception. I think Caz is pretty pissed off.” Jacco jerked his head towards the corner to indicate his friend. “He’d be happy to take your place.”
Caz let out a muffled scream. “I had to put it back straight,” Marty explained sheepishly. Charlie looked up from untying Greg’s shoes to give Caz a sympathetic half-smile.
Nick bit his lip. If he couldn’t get the gun.. If he had to do this… He couldn’t go through with this. He couldn’t rape Greg. But if he didn’t… Wouldn’t one of the others hurt him more?
Jacco held out a rolled-up dollar bill. “Well?” he prompted.
I am never going to forgive myself, thought Nick, and took the bill. The first line burned, hard, and he turned away from the table, coughing.
Jacco patted him on the back. “Hey, it’s okay. Just one more.”
“One’s enough,” Nick said weakly.
“You’re a big guy. Two’s better. Go on.”
Nick snorted the second line under Jacco’s watchful eye, and held the bridge of his nose until the burning subsided. “Good,” said Jacco. “Just wait. You’ll start to feel it soon.” He guided Nick over to the mattress, near the others. Charlie was struggling to pull off Greg’s jeans, but Greg wasn’t cooperating.
Now, while they’re distracted, Nick told himself, and started to reach for the gun. Just before Nick got there, Jacco grabbed the gun out of his waistband. “Heads up,” he called, and tossed the gun to Caz, who pointed it at Greg.
“Bitch, you know I’m not going to hesitate to use this, so simmer down.” Greg stopped struggling and Charlie finished pulling off his pants. The t-shirt had to be torn off, as Greg’s tied hands were an obstacle. Charlie hesitated briefly and earned an impatient “Go on,” from Caz before pulling off Greg’s briefs, leaving him naked. Nick turned his head away, afraid to meet Greg’s eyes.
“Um, Jacco, I think he’s having trouble breathing,” Charlie said.
Nick looked back to see that Greg’s eyes were closed and his nostrils were flaring as he struggled for air. Make them take the tape off, Stokes. “Yeah, that shit’s hard on the nose,” Nick said with a little laugh.
“He can’t breathe,” Charlie repeated. “Dudes, I don’t want him to suffocate.”
“Calm down, okay. Take the tape off, if you’re so concerned,” Jacco said dismissively. Gag him, though. Hey, where’s that t-shirt you got off him?”
Charlie retrieved the t-shirt from where he’d thrown it, and ripped a strip off. Caz leaned over Greg and growled, “Don’t even think about screaming, or I’ll shoot you in the knee, and we’ll try again, okay?” Greg nodded, and Caz ripped off the duct tape. Greg took a few huge gulps of air before Charlie slipped the t-shirt strip into his mouth and tied it behind his head.
Jacco waved a hand in front of Nick’s face. “Hey. You feeling it?”
Nick had heard a lot in his law-enforcement training about how it felt to take various drugs, and now he catalogued each effect as it occurred. Tachycardia meant a faster pulse, hyperthermia: a higher body temperature, dilated pupils, euphoria, increased libido. Shit. For a moment, Nick wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt so good. Then he looked at Greg, naked on the floor, staring back at him, and he understood what addicts meant when they said their sex drive overwhelmed their logic. Nick knew Greg had been kidnapped, tied up, drugged, and stripped naked, but none of knowledge stopped Nick’s body from responding to the way Greg was displayed. “I am a terrible person,” Nick thought, immediately followed by, “Greg is an amazing man.”
“Yeah, he’s feeling it,” Caz said in a slightly stuffy voice. “Go ahead, Tex. Show us how it’s done.”
Nick’s head was spinning. Maybe he felt lightheaded because all his blood was rushing to his groin. He thought of the scene in the locker room hours earlier. If someone had told him then that later that night, he would be fucking Greg Sanders, he would have laughed in their face. How many times had he imagined them together? Him and Greg. This was far from Nick’s fantasy situation, but still, the object of his desire was there, naked, in front of him.
Nick knelt at the edge of the mattress and rested on hand on Greg’s ankle. He felt a jolt in his groin as he made contact with Greg. What had Jacco said? “Make things burn a little brighter?” His skin felt like needle-points of pleasure. And that was just his hand. He wondered how it would feel when--. He looked up to meet Greg’s eyes. Nick wasn’t sure what he read there: fear certainly, but something else, too. Nick felt his erection swell, and hoped what he saw in Greg’s eyes wasn’t hate.
“Go on,” Jacco said.
“It’s just… weird having an audience,” Nick temporized.
Jacco softened a bit. “Fair enough. Back off for now, guys. We’ll give you a little space to get started.” Charlie, Marty, Jacco, and Caz took a few steps back, leaving Nick and Greg together on the mattress.
Nick edged forward, running one hand up Greg’s leg, and considered how he could do this. Would it be easier if he didn’t have to look Greg in the face? He tried to read Greg’s eyes, see what he wanted him to do. He though he saw a nod, barely perceptible, and made his decision. It would be easier to see Greg’s reactions this way, make sure he didn’t hurt him.
Nick grabbed Greg’s leg and propped it up on his shoulder, lifting Greg’s hips and spreading him. He regretted that he had no lubricant, but since pain was the whole point of this exercise, he thought his comrades would frown on that. Nick settled for spitting on his fingers before positioning them at the entrance to Greg’s ass.
“Come on, just do it,” Charlie said.
“Hey, haven’t you ever fucked a girl this way?” Nick snapped. “It’s supposed to hurt him, not me, so I gotta loosen him up a bit, all right?”
Charlie shrugged while the other three laughed. “Aww, poor innocent Charlie,” Caz teased.
Quickly, while the guys were talking, Nick leaned close to Greg’s ear and whispered, “You have to act like I’m hurting you.” Then, louder, he said, “Don’t enjoy this too much, faggot.” With that, he eased two fingers into Greg’s ass.
Even though he should have been expecting it, Greg’s first yell startled Nick. Greg caught him off guard by trying to pull away, and Nick tightened his grip on the leg he was holding to pull the man back under him.
“I think you scared him, Tex,” Jacco said appreciatively. Nick turned around to wink at Jacco while he scissored his fingers inside Greg, trying to provide some preparation for what was to come. He brushed up against the prostate, and Greg gasped and arched his back. Nick swore silently, and tried to convey his contrition by moving his fingers away from that sensitive spot, but he could see Greg responding to the manipulation of his body. Unsurprising, Nick reflected, if the meth was having the same kind of effect on Greg that it was on him.
Again, Nick tried to gauge from Greg’s expression what he wanted, but Greg’s eyes were screwed tightly shut. In the state Nick was in, he certainly understood how sexual pleasure could block other sensations, and Greg should not have to suffer more than he needed to. With a silent plea that he was doing the right thing, Nick hooked his fingers to find the little bundle of nerves that could provide so much pleasure. Greg’s eyes flew open, and he moaned into the gag.
“Hey, this fag’s really enjoying himself,” Caz said, a note of accusation creeping into his tone.
“He won’t be for long,” Nick replied. “Just wait.” Hoping that Greg would pick up on the cue, he inserted another finger and jerked Greg’s leg back at the same time to make the movement look more violent than it was. Greg’s yell was mostly swallowed by the gag, but the high-pitched whimpers that followed cut through the air.
“I think he’s ready,” said Jacco. He took a condom out of his pocket and held it up.
Nick stood, letting Greg drop back onto the mattress, and took the condom. Nick swallowed his shame at the fact that his erection was straining against his pants. The drugs, Nick told himself for the tenth time. He unbuttoned his fly and pulled aside his boxers to slick on the condom. He took a breath to steady himself, then put on the voice he’d heard from macho guys his whole life. “Ready, cocksucker? It’s time to experience a real man.”
This time, when he knelt on the mattress, Greg tried to kick him. “Woah there, little mare,” Nick said, almost playfully. He easily caught Greg’s ankle and hoisted his leg up. The other leg kicked ineffectually, and Greg swung his tied hands at Nick’s head. Nick leaned back to avoid the blow, laughing meanly.
Jacco stepped over quickly, grabbed Greg’s hands and pinned them on the mattress above Greg’s head. Even through the gag, Nick could distinguish, “please” and, “don’t” from Greg’s panicked pleading. Jacco smiled at Nick and gave him an eager nod. Nick felt his skin crawl, but he returned the nod. He positioned himself near Greg’s ass. He could feel the man shaking, and he rested his free hand on Greg’s naked belly in an affectionate, soothing gesture he hoped would be mistaken for controlling.
When Nick pushed in, Greg screamed and renewed his struggling. Nick tried not to consider how much Greg was faking and how much pain he was really in. Nick kept pushing his hips forward, slowly and steadily, trying to give Greg’s muscles time to adjust. He noticed that Greg, clever Greg, was struggling mostly with his upper body so that he wouldn’t accidentally impale himself on Nick’s cock too quickly.
Once he was all the way in, Nick stopped for as long as he dared. The warm tightness around his cock was wonderful, and even through the latex, his skin felt super-sensitized. Each movement of Greg’s struggle sent a jolt of pleasure to Nick’s dopamine-saturated brain. Seized by the impulse to make Greg feel pleasure as well, Nick leaned down to catch a nipple gently in his teeth. Greg cried out sharply, but he arched his back a little, seating Nick’s cock more firmly inside of him, and Nick hoped that was a sign of acceptance, if not pleasure.
Clearly impatient, Caz moved around to the side of the mattress to get a better view, and Charlie and Marty crouched nearby. Jacco stroked Greg’s forehead and whispered to him. “I know you think you like taking it up the ass, faggot, but you’re wrong. After Tex here is done with you, you’ll wish you’d never heard of being queer.” Jacco nodded to Nick again.
Nick moved his hands to grip Greg’s hips, and started to thrust: shallow strokes which he made look more violent by moving his whole body. Greg screamed again, and Jacco covered his mouth and kept whispering into his ear. Nick leaned forward, changing his angle, and suddenly Greg struggled again, bucking wildly against the two men holding him. Nick slowed down, but Caz barked, “Don’t stop now.”
Nick kept thrusting, blocking out the comments of the other men egging him on, and focused on Greg. Beautiful Greg, lying naked under him, chest shining with sweat. Nick tried to shut out the sounds Greg was making: pitiful whimpering punctuated with occasional screams. He couldn’t. Greg’s cries hurt, but the pain was a dull throb, far away compared to the red-hot pleasure radiating from Nick’s groin.
The pleasure built up like water, like waves washing away the power of rational thought. Each thrust into Greg brought Nick closer to something, and each time he pulled out he got further away. Sex had never been so intense, or so maddening. He needed more-he needed to be closer to Greg. He braced his elbows on either side of Greg, and breathed in the smell of Greg’s sweat. He leaned into Greg’s chest, felt the rapid rise and fall of frantic breathing, the tingle of hot skin against his bare arms.
More contact. More. Nick wrapped one hand around Greg’s hard-on, trapped between their bodies, and stroked it roughly in time with his thrusting. Greg moaned into his gag and pressed his head back into the mattress. Nick looked up to judge Greg’s reaction, but caught Jacco’s lascivious stare instead, and looked away immediately from that cruel smile.
Nick wanted desperately to kiss Greg, to convince him of his affection, to remove any doubt of his love, but he couldn’t, so he settled for violence. He sunk his teeth into Greg’s shoulder. Greg cried out, and Nick’s cock was squeezed hard as Greg’s body spasmed. The red-hot pleasure poured out of Nick, ripping through his body and leaving a throbbing numbness in its wake. It was only as his orgasm subsided, and he pulled out carefully, that he realized Greg had come, too.
***************
Nick told Marty and the others to drop him off at the nearest bust stop. He hadn’t wanted to leave Greg, but couldn’t think of a way to justify staying. He has to be okay, Nick told himself a hundred times on the five-minute car ride. He will be okay. Nick had to will himself to listen when Jacco stopped him getting out of the van to explain about how to contact him and to congratulate him on his performance. He had to concentrate on not throwing up.
As soon as the van was out of sight, Nick sprinted with drug-fueled energy back to the alley door that led to the basement. Greg was still lying on the mattress, and Nick knelt gently next to him. He untied the gag. “Greg. Greggo. Hey.” He patted Greg’s cheek, and his eyes snapped open.
“Don’t touch me,” he rasped.
Nick pulled his hand away as if he’d been burned.
Greg’s eyes flashed hurt. “Don’t-don’t go. Nick, please. Just… Don’t touch me.”
Nick nodded, and swallowed hard. “I’m calling Grissom. And an ambulance.”
“Nick, you can’t, we can’t-.” Greg stumbled to a stop, but his eyes were pleading.
“You need an ambulance,” Nick said. After a moment, Greg nodded. Nick reached into his jacket pocket before he remembered that his cell phone wasn’t there. He reached for Greg’s discarded jeans, thanking his lucky stars that the cell phone was still in a side pocket, intact.
“First speed dial,” Greg rasped. Nick hit the button and waited.
“Grissom.” His boss’s even, confident greeting had never sounded more welcome. Or more
terrifying.
“Gris.” He hated himself for the waver in his voice. “Gris, we need you.”
************
Category: CSI. Slash. Nick/Greg.
Summary: Nick goes undercover, and he and Greg end up in serious trouble.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Angst, m/m sex, strong language, non-con (rape), violence, bigotry. DARK. I mean, sometimes I scare myself. RAPE IS NOT OKAY IN REAL LIFE.
Notes: CSI characters don’t belong to me, and they’re probably glad they don’t, cuz I play rough. I know this plot is probably in the running for the “Top 10 Most Contrived Plots Ever,” but just roll with it and I think you’ll enjoy the result. And big thanks go to Willow for the beta, and Juene Chat for the re-beta. If you love it/hate it, give me feedback: brighteyedjill@yahoo.com
Necessita c’induce, e non diletto. - Dante, Inferno.
(It is necessity, and not pleasure, that compels us.)
***********
Nick Stokes lingered in the hallway outside of the locker room, ostensibly talking to Sara, but really waiting for Greg to finish his shift. He wasn’t sure what he hoped to accomplish by waiting. In months of trying, he’d never known quite what to say when he got Greg alone. As soon as he saw the lab-tech-turned-CSI out of the corner of his eye, he waved goodbye to Sara, took a deep, calming breath, and headed for his locker.
“Hey Greg,” he said nonchalantly. He was rewarded with a quick smile and casual “hey” as Greg shrugged out of his lab coat. “Haven’t seen you all day,” Nick said, pretending to look for something in his locker. “Were you in the lab?” Shut up, Stokes. You know he was.
“Yeah. They needed my help to catch up with all the evidence from that blood bath at the Bellagio. What a mess.” Greg shook his head, and leaned casually against the bank of lockers. “How was your shift?”
“Oh, you know. I was working that hit-and-run, so…” Nick trailed off awkwardly. Very smooth, Stokes. Very well-planned.
“Well, at least you’re done for the day, right?” Greg asked. Was it Nick’s imagination that there was a gleam in his eye?
“Actually, I’m supposed to go meet with Brass and Grissom. Some special assignment they wanted me on. So…” Conversational gold, Nicky. Really. He’s swooning.
“Oh. Okay.” Greg looked at Nick for a moment, then down at his shoes, then back at Nick before saying, “Well, I’ll see you at work tomorrow, then.”
“Yeah. Okay,” said Nick, and fairly fled the room.
******
Nick looked at Grissom, then Brass, then back to Grissom. “You have got to be kidding,” he said incredulously.
Brass shook his head. “Not kidding. We need you, and it has to be tonight.”
“Look, Nicky,” Grissom said. “If you feel uncomfortable with this, I completely understand. You don’t have to go through with it.”
Nick saw Brass clench his jaw. “What happens if I don’t?” Nick asked.
“Then we don’t have a chance to get all the perps. If we’re lucky, we might be able to collar the one that comes to the pick-up site, but-.” Brass shrugged. “It’s unlikely we’ll find enough evidence to make a charge stick.”
“When I was on the force in Dallas, I did some undercover work, but nothing like this. I- I mean, what exactly do you need me to do?”
“You just need to go with them and wait until they do something that gives us probable cause, then call for back-up,” Brass explained. “We intercepted an out-of-towner, Nathan Lawrence, who was supposed to meet them tonight. Apparently he was coming to get some pointers from these guys. You’ll be posing as him.”
“Pointers?” Nick asked. “What kind of a crime ring is this?”
“Think cult,” said Brass. “Or conservative activists run amok.”
“They’re an anti-homosexual group, Nick,” Grissom said bluntly. “They kidnap gay men, and torture and sodomize them to show them the error of their ways.”
“Making a statement about the evils of homosexuality by raping gay men? That’s…” Nick couldn’t find the word he wanted.
“Twisted,” Grissom supplied.
“To say the least.” Nick suppressed a shudder.
Brass brought them back to business. “Listen, Nick. Our informant told us what they know about him: his name, what he looks like, that he’s from Texas--.”
Nick interrupted. “Why isn’t one of your guys doing this?”
“They don’t have the right combination of skills. Plus nobody else fits the description quite as nicely,” Brass said.
“We need a scientist’s eye and a cop’s instincts,” Grissom put in. “We’ll be counting on what
you see to help us interpret evidence from the other crime scenes.”
Nick wondered for a second if either Brass or Grissom knew of his sexual preferences, but nothing in their tone or body language indicated they’d been discussing anything other than his professional skills. He breathed an internal sigh of relief. “If this will help us get the bad guys, then I’ll do it,” he said finally.
“Good man,” said Brass. “I need to make some arrangements.” He walked out of Grissom’s office.
“Nick,” Grissom said seriously. “This could easily go too far. If you’re in any danger at all, get out. Understand?” Nick nodded. “I mean it. Don’t play the hero this time.”
“Yes sir,” said Nick. “I’ll be careful.”
****************
The leader seemed to be a clean-cut thirty-something named Jacco. He greeted “Nathan Lawrence” at the bus station and drove them in his rusty Buick to a seedy bar near Fremont Street where they were meeting the rest of the “team.” This was the tricky part; if Lawrence had lied about what these people knew about him, or tipped them off somehow, they’d probably make their move as soon as Nick was alone with them. But Jacco fell to chatting with him in the car, probably hoping to impress with his anti-queer rhetoric.
Nick listened to Jacco with half an ear, but with the greater share of his attention he mentally ran through the plan for the hundredth time, trying to find some angle Brass hadn’t thought of. The cell phone Archie had fitted with a GPS transponder was in his back pocket. Brass had grudgingly agreed that it was too risky to fit Nick with a wire; if he were patted down, his cover would be blown, and he’d be in real danger. So no wire, no badge, and no gun. At least Brass and a surveillance team were trailing him in an unmarked van. All he had to do was activate the emergency signal in the cell phone, and Brass would come charging to the rescue. Safety in triplicate. Then why didn’t Nick feel safe?
When they pulled into the parking lot of the Rusty Nail, Nick didn’t feel any more at ease. The place was a dive, with lots of motorcycles lined up on the street outside it. As he followed Jacco inside, Nick noted thankfully that the surveillance van had tailed them successfully thus far: it was pulling into the parking lot of the strip joint next door. Nick felt a little better knowing that Brass would be right there when he needed help.
The inside of the Rusty Nail was dark and loud. Nick swallowed his disgust at the smell of cheap beer and unwashed bodies. It didn’t matter if Nick Stokes wouldn’t be caught dead here; if this was the type of place Nathan Lawrence went to conduct “business,” then this was where Nick needed to be.
“Nathan” followed Jacco through the crowd to a corner table, whose occupants rose as they saw the men approach. . “Hey guys. This is Nathan,” Jacco shouted over the wailing jukebox, waving his hand in Nick’s direction. “Nathan, this is Charlie.” He indicated a skinny redhead in his early twenties who was polishing off a mug of beer. “It’s his first time out, but he’s a good man. And this is Marty.” Marty was older, forties probably, short and muscley, and he grunted in way of greeting. “You’ll meet Caz soon. He went fishing.” Jacco winked suggestively.
Nick pulled back one corner of his mouth to transform his usual beautiful smile into what he hoped was a cynical sneer. The guy next to him, Marty, licked his lips. “Don’t worry,” Charlie said knowingly. “Caz is great queer-bait.”
Jacco smiled. “Don’t let Caz hear you say that. Okay then. This is it.” He pulled a plastic bag out of his coat pocket and held it open. “Point of no return. Cell phones, wallets, keys, in the bag.”
Nick furrowed his brow in concern. “What?”
“We got to give up our stuff,” Charlie explained eagerly, dropping his wallet in the bag . “You know. For safety.”
Nick tried to hide his dismay. With no way to call for backup, he might not be able to handle the situation. Hopefully, Brass would still be able to follow the car. If anything went really wrong, he’d be nearby. But if Nick backed out now, they’d do what they were going to do anyway. Damn it.
Jacco looked at him expectantly, holding the bag open. “You in, man?”
Catch the bad guys. Don’t be a hero. Okay. Nick took the tracker/cell phone from his pocket, and dropped it in the bag. “Yeah. I’m in.”
************
The guys sat around drinking more beer while they waited. The quiet guy, Marty, had a van which had been parked out back of the Rusty Nail, and they’d all piled in to drive to this place, the basement of a crappy storefront. Nick had no idea if Brass and the surveillance team had followed him when he got into the van, or if they were still sitting in the parking lot of the bar, thinking that if Nick’s cell phone/tracker was inside, he was too. In any case, Nick reflected, the place was pretty sparse: a table and some chairs, a dirty mattress on the floor, and a sink in the corner. The bare light bulb that was the room’s only illumination added to the crime scene mystique. There wasn’t a lot he could use to defend himself if things got ugly.
Nick jumped when the door to the alley banged open, admitting a tall, blond twenty-something man carrying a person over his shoulder. Marty went to close the door while Jacco got up to shake the newcomer’s hand. “Hey Caz. Bring us something good?”
“You know I never let you down,” the blond said. “This guy was all over me. I think he almost creamed his pants when I asked if he wanted to go somewhere private.”
Charlie snickered. “Sounds like he’s in need of some rehabilitation, yeah?”
Caz threw the man down on the mattress and brushed off his shoulders. “Someone else goes next time, man. I’m going to have to scrub for hours to get this fucking faggot smell off me.”
The other men laughed, but Nick’s attention was on the man on the floor. He was blindfolded, his hands tied in front of him with rope, duct tape over his mouth, and seemingly unconscious. They must have taken him from a club, because he had on the tight jeans and tight t-shirt combo that was practically uniform in certain of the city’s gay clubs. In the low light, Nick couldn’t tell his age or distinguish his features, but the hair stood up on the back of Nick’s neck, and his stomach did a somersault.
“Oh hey, Nathan this is Caz, of course,” Jacco clapped Nick on the shoulder and gestured to the newcomer. “He’s our resident queer-catcher. Caz, Nathan.”
Nick muttered a polite “hey” to the blond, but his mind was racing. Could he take these four guys, single handedly? Probably not. He couldn’t run. He couldn’t just leave the guy they’d kidnapped. As if to emphasize Nick’s point, the bound man moaned softly.
“Great timing. Hey, you got the stuff?” Jacco asked, looking to Caz. Caz nodded and flashed Nick a malicious smile.
“Hey faggot. Hold still.” Jacco sat on the prone man’s chest, and put his hand over the duct-tape gag Caz held something under their victim’s nose. Nick didn’t realize what was happening until the man, fighting for breath, breathed in through his nose and some of the white powder fell from Caz’s hand onto the floor.
Nick took an involuntary step forward, mind racing. “This could easily go too far,” Grissom had said. Yeah. Come on, Stokes. DO something.
“What is that shit?” Charlie asked, wide-eyed.
Caz stood and sauntered past Nick, licking the rest of the powder off his fingers. “Crystal, man.” He took a baggie out of his pocket and waved it in Charlie’s face. “Meth.” Nick raised an eyebrow. He was sure Brass hadn’t mentioned drugs in the information he’d gotten from his informant.
Jacco noticed his concern and jumped in, eager to lecture. “We’ve found that drugs can be pretty useful for our purposes. We want him to remember every detail of his reeducation. The meth will help the whole thing burn a little brighter for him.”
“And we use it to enhance performance,” Caz added. “We’re certainly not faggots, so it helps to have a little something extra to help get the job done, you know?”
Jacco grinned. “Speaking of which, I think it’s time to ask him, don’t you?”
Nick felt sick. In the van on the way here, he’d heard Jacco explaining the philosophy behind this ritual to Charlie. “The idea is that faggots like to take it up the ass, right? So you play with ‘em a little. Let ‘em pick their own poison. You know? The faggot gets to pick who gives them their re-education.”
Jacco grabbed the prone man by the hair and dragged him into the circle of light thrown by the single bulb. Caz squatted before the victim and gently untied the blindfold; the groggy man blinked at the sudden light.
Nick stood frozen as the two other men edged closer to get a better look at their victim. It was Greg. Greg Sanders. There was a bruise purpling on his cheek and white reside from the meth sticking to the duct tape over his mouth, but it was unmistakably him. Greg tried to pull away, Jacco jerked him back by the hair, and then he was still, looking around the room until his eyes came to rest on Nick. No. Not Greg. Not him.
DO something, Stokes. Keep them talking. “He’s a little scrawny, Caz,” he joked, surprised at how casual his voice sounded. “Are you sure you shouldn’t have thrown him back?”
The group laughed, and Greg blinked several times, as if trying to convince himself there was nothing wrong with his sight. He wrenched his gaze away from Nick and didn’t look back at him. Nick, on the other hand, felt rooted to the spot, taking in every move of Greg’s, but unable to act.
“Hey, faggot.” Caz snapped his fingers in front of Greg’s face to get his attention. “Listen up. You’re very lucky tonight. Do you know why?” he asked quietly.
Greg narrowed his eyes, and Nick could have told Caz that he wasn’t going to provide an answer.
“Hey princess, the nice man asked you a question,” said Jacco.
Greg mumbled something into the tape that sounded suspiciously like “fuck you.”
“You’re lucky because you’re going to get saved tonight. We are giving you the opportunity to save yourself. Tonight, you’re going to learn why it’s not okay to be a faggot.”
Greg tried to turn his head away, but Caz grabbed his chin and turned it back to face him. “We’re going to help you. One of these nice men here,” he gestured around the room, “Is going to show you why you don’t like taking it up the ass as much as you thought you did.”
Nick saw a glint of fear in Greg’s eyes. “This is the participation part,” Jacco said. “You get to pick which one of us you want.”
Greg shook his head no.
“Aww,” said Caz, in mock disappointment. “He seemed so eager an hour ago. Now he doesn’t want to play.” Marty took a step closer, menacing. Caz waved him off. “Listen, queer. We’re giving you a choice. We’d prefer to not all have to do this, so you get to pick who’s teaching you tonight. If you don’t pick, we all have to participate.”
Nick heard the gun before he saw it: the metallic click of the safety coming off sounded sharply in the quiet basement. Jacco had a nine millimeter at the back of Greg’s neck. Greg heard the sound too, of course, knew what it was. He stilled, and closed his eyes.
“Or maybe this one is just beyond rehabilitation,” Jacco said with mock-concern. “If he doesn’t want to help save himself, maybe we should just end it for him.” Jacco leaned down close to Greg’s ear, but Nick couldn’t hear what was said.
“Right then.” Caz stood up and stepped back to stand in the semi-circle of guys facing Greg and Jacco. “You have until three to point to your choice, and then my friend here is going to put you out of your misery. One.”
Greg closed his eyes; Nick could hear him making noise through the tape, but couldn’t pick out words. Nick wondered crazily if he was praying. Charlie shifted nervously.
“Two.”
Jacco pressed the barrel of the gun into Greg’s neck. Nick calculated the distance between himself and Greg, counted how many steps it would take to get between his friend and the gun.
“Three.”
Before Nick could move, Greg raised his tied hands to point, and opened his eyes. He met Nick’s shocked stare with total calm.
“See!” Caz stepped forward to pat Greg’s cheek. “You’re on the road to recovery, faggot.” Jacco grabbed the back of Greg’s shirt to pull him over to the mattress, while Caz walked over to Nick. “Alright, Tex. Now you can get some practice.” Caz flashed him an anticipation-filled smile and pressed a baggie of white powder into his hand. “It works quicker if you snort than if you swallow,” he said, then turned back to the mattress.
Nick stared at the baggie in his hand. No way could he do this. Any of this. He had to get Greg out of here. Now. Jacco turned away from the mattress, and Nick saw the flash of the gun in his hand. If he could just get the gun…
“What’s the matter?” Jacco asked.
“Nothing,” Nick answered quickly. “I just… I don’t usually use this shit.”
Jacco smiled, but it wasn’t a nice expression. “Well, all in the line of duty, right? Hey-tell you what we’ll do--.”
Someone yelled, and when Nick turned his head to look, he saw Caz on the floor, and Greg stumbling towards the door. Now, Stokes. He lunged for Jacco, but the other man had already moved. A gunshot echoed around the room. Nick and Greg froze at the same time; for a moment, Nick thought his fellow CSI had been shot.
“I don’t have to miss,” Jacco said calmly. “Stop fucking around, faggot.”
“That fucker broke my nose!” Caz yelled. “God damnit!”
“Marty, go help Caz,” Jacco ordered. Marty went to Caz, who was still swearing viciously. “Charlie, put him back.” Charlie caught Greg by the shoulder and pushed him back towards the mattress. “Strip him,” Jacco added before turning back to Nick. “See, you just gotta show ‘em who’s boss.” Before Nick could respond, he grabbed the bag of meth. “I’ll cut you some lines. Come on.”
Jacco safety-ed the gun and stuck it in the back waistband of his jeans before taking a seat at the table and gesturing for Nick to do the same. He poured a small pile of the white powder on the table, and fished out a ShopCo Saver’s Card from his pocket.
“You’re with us, and you’re going to do it our way,” Jacco explained while he arranged the meth into three neat lines with the edge of his card. “Unless you think you’re not up to this. I mean, you were fag-boy’s choice, but we could make an exception. I think Caz is pretty pissed off.” Jacco jerked his head towards the corner to indicate his friend. “He’d be happy to take your place.”
Caz let out a muffled scream. “I had to put it back straight,” Marty explained sheepishly. Charlie looked up from untying Greg’s shoes to give Caz a sympathetic half-smile.
Nick bit his lip. If he couldn’t get the gun.. If he had to do this… He couldn’t go through with this. He couldn’t rape Greg. But if he didn’t… Wouldn’t one of the others hurt him more?
Jacco held out a rolled-up dollar bill. “Well?” he prompted.
I am never going to forgive myself, thought Nick, and took the bill. The first line burned, hard, and he turned away from the table, coughing.
Jacco patted him on the back. “Hey, it’s okay. Just one more.”
“One’s enough,” Nick said weakly.
“You’re a big guy. Two’s better. Go on.”
Nick snorted the second line under Jacco’s watchful eye, and held the bridge of his nose until the burning subsided. “Good,” said Jacco. “Just wait. You’ll start to feel it soon.” He guided Nick over to the mattress, near the others. Charlie was struggling to pull off Greg’s jeans, but Greg wasn’t cooperating.
Now, while they’re distracted, Nick told himself, and started to reach for the gun. Just before Nick got there, Jacco grabbed the gun out of his waistband. “Heads up,” he called, and tossed the gun to Caz, who pointed it at Greg.
“Bitch, you know I’m not going to hesitate to use this, so simmer down.” Greg stopped struggling and Charlie finished pulling off his pants. The t-shirt had to be torn off, as Greg’s tied hands were an obstacle. Charlie hesitated briefly and earned an impatient “Go on,” from Caz before pulling off Greg’s briefs, leaving him naked. Nick turned his head away, afraid to meet Greg’s eyes.
“Um, Jacco, I think he’s having trouble breathing,” Charlie said.
Nick looked back to see that Greg’s eyes were closed and his nostrils were flaring as he struggled for air. Make them take the tape off, Stokes. “Yeah, that shit’s hard on the nose,” Nick said with a little laugh.
“He can’t breathe,” Charlie repeated. “Dudes, I don’t want him to suffocate.”
“Calm down, okay. Take the tape off, if you’re so concerned,” Jacco said dismissively. Gag him, though. Hey, where’s that t-shirt you got off him?”
Charlie retrieved the t-shirt from where he’d thrown it, and ripped a strip off. Caz leaned over Greg and growled, “Don’t even think about screaming, or I’ll shoot you in the knee, and we’ll try again, okay?” Greg nodded, and Caz ripped off the duct tape. Greg took a few huge gulps of air before Charlie slipped the t-shirt strip into his mouth and tied it behind his head.
Jacco waved a hand in front of Nick’s face. “Hey. You feeling it?”
Nick had heard a lot in his law-enforcement training about how it felt to take various drugs, and now he catalogued each effect as it occurred. Tachycardia meant a faster pulse, hyperthermia: a higher body temperature, dilated pupils, euphoria, increased libido. Shit. For a moment, Nick wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt so good. Then he looked at Greg, naked on the floor, staring back at him, and he understood what addicts meant when they said their sex drive overwhelmed their logic. Nick knew Greg had been kidnapped, tied up, drugged, and stripped naked, but none of knowledge stopped Nick’s body from responding to the way Greg was displayed. “I am a terrible person,” Nick thought, immediately followed by, “Greg is an amazing man.”
“Yeah, he’s feeling it,” Caz said in a slightly stuffy voice. “Go ahead, Tex. Show us how it’s done.”
Nick’s head was spinning. Maybe he felt lightheaded because all his blood was rushing to his groin. He thought of the scene in the locker room hours earlier. If someone had told him then that later that night, he would be fucking Greg Sanders, he would have laughed in their face. How many times had he imagined them together? Him and Greg. This was far from Nick’s fantasy situation, but still, the object of his desire was there, naked, in front of him.
Nick knelt at the edge of the mattress and rested on hand on Greg’s ankle. He felt a jolt in his groin as he made contact with Greg. What had Jacco said? “Make things burn a little brighter?” His skin felt like needle-points of pleasure. And that was just his hand. He wondered how it would feel when--. He looked up to meet Greg’s eyes. Nick wasn’t sure what he read there: fear certainly, but something else, too. Nick felt his erection swell, and hoped what he saw in Greg’s eyes wasn’t hate.
“Go on,” Jacco said.
“It’s just… weird having an audience,” Nick temporized.
Jacco softened a bit. “Fair enough. Back off for now, guys. We’ll give you a little space to get started.” Charlie, Marty, Jacco, and Caz took a few steps back, leaving Nick and Greg together on the mattress.
Nick edged forward, running one hand up Greg’s leg, and considered how he could do this. Would it be easier if he didn’t have to look Greg in the face? He tried to read Greg’s eyes, see what he wanted him to do. He though he saw a nod, barely perceptible, and made his decision. It would be easier to see Greg’s reactions this way, make sure he didn’t hurt him.
Nick grabbed Greg’s leg and propped it up on his shoulder, lifting Greg’s hips and spreading him. He regretted that he had no lubricant, but since pain was the whole point of this exercise, he thought his comrades would frown on that. Nick settled for spitting on his fingers before positioning them at the entrance to Greg’s ass.
“Come on, just do it,” Charlie said.
“Hey, haven’t you ever fucked a girl this way?” Nick snapped. “It’s supposed to hurt him, not me, so I gotta loosen him up a bit, all right?”
Charlie shrugged while the other three laughed. “Aww, poor innocent Charlie,” Caz teased.
Quickly, while the guys were talking, Nick leaned close to Greg’s ear and whispered, “You have to act like I’m hurting you.” Then, louder, he said, “Don’t enjoy this too much, faggot.” With that, he eased two fingers into Greg’s ass.
Even though he should have been expecting it, Greg’s first yell startled Nick. Greg caught him off guard by trying to pull away, and Nick tightened his grip on the leg he was holding to pull the man back under him.
“I think you scared him, Tex,” Jacco said appreciatively. Nick turned around to wink at Jacco while he scissored his fingers inside Greg, trying to provide some preparation for what was to come. He brushed up against the prostate, and Greg gasped and arched his back. Nick swore silently, and tried to convey his contrition by moving his fingers away from that sensitive spot, but he could see Greg responding to the manipulation of his body. Unsurprising, Nick reflected, if the meth was having the same kind of effect on Greg that it was on him.
Again, Nick tried to gauge from Greg’s expression what he wanted, but Greg’s eyes were screwed tightly shut. In the state Nick was in, he certainly understood how sexual pleasure could block other sensations, and Greg should not have to suffer more than he needed to. With a silent plea that he was doing the right thing, Nick hooked his fingers to find the little bundle of nerves that could provide so much pleasure. Greg’s eyes flew open, and he moaned into the gag.
“Hey, this fag’s really enjoying himself,” Caz said, a note of accusation creeping into his tone.
“He won’t be for long,” Nick replied. “Just wait.” Hoping that Greg would pick up on the cue, he inserted another finger and jerked Greg’s leg back at the same time to make the movement look more violent than it was. Greg’s yell was mostly swallowed by the gag, but the high-pitched whimpers that followed cut through the air.
“I think he’s ready,” said Jacco. He took a condom out of his pocket and held it up.
Nick stood, letting Greg drop back onto the mattress, and took the condom. Nick swallowed his shame at the fact that his erection was straining against his pants. The drugs, Nick told himself for the tenth time. He unbuttoned his fly and pulled aside his boxers to slick on the condom. He took a breath to steady himself, then put on the voice he’d heard from macho guys his whole life. “Ready, cocksucker? It’s time to experience a real man.”
This time, when he knelt on the mattress, Greg tried to kick him. “Woah there, little mare,” Nick said, almost playfully. He easily caught Greg’s ankle and hoisted his leg up. The other leg kicked ineffectually, and Greg swung his tied hands at Nick’s head. Nick leaned back to avoid the blow, laughing meanly.
Jacco stepped over quickly, grabbed Greg’s hands and pinned them on the mattress above Greg’s head. Even through the gag, Nick could distinguish, “please” and, “don’t” from Greg’s panicked pleading. Jacco smiled at Nick and gave him an eager nod. Nick felt his skin crawl, but he returned the nod. He positioned himself near Greg’s ass. He could feel the man shaking, and he rested his free hand on Greg’s naked belly in an affectionate, soothing gesture he hoped would be mistaken for controlling.
When Nick pushed in, Greg screamed and renewed his struggling. Nick tried not to consider how much Greg was faking and how much pain he was really in. Nick kept pushing his hips forward, slowly and steadily, trying to give Greg’s muscles time to adjust. He noticed that Greg, clever Greg, was struggling mostly with his upper body so that he wouldn’t accidentally impale himself on Nick’s cock too quickly.
Once he was all the way in, Nick stopped for as long as he dared. The warm tightness around his cock was wonderful, and even through the latex, his skin felt super-sensitized. Each movement of Greg’s struggle sent a jolt of pleasure to Nick’s dopamine-saturated brain. Seized by the impulse to make Greg feel pleasure as well, Nick leaned down to catch a nipple gently in his teeth. Greg cried out sharply, but he arched his back a little, seating Nick’s cock more firmly inside of him, and Nick hoped that was a sign of acceptance, if not pleasure.
Clearly impatient, Caz moved around to the side of the mattress to get a better view, and Charlie and Marty crouched nearby. Jacco stroked Greg’s forehead and whispered to him. “I know you think you like taking it up the ass, faggot, but you’re wrong. After Tex here is done with you, you’ll wish you’d never heard of being queer.” Jacco nodded to Nick again.
Nick moved his hands to grip Greg’s hips, and started to thrust: shallow strokes which he made look more violent by moving his whole body. Greg screamed again, and Jacco covered his mouth and kept whispering into his ear. Nick leaned forward, changing his angle, and suddenly Greg struggled again, bucking wildly against the two men holding him. Nick slowed down, but Caz barked, “Don’t stop now.”
Nick kept thrusting, blocking out the comments of the other men egging him on, and focused on Greg. Beautiful Greg, lying naked under him, chest shining with sweat. Nick tried to shut out the sounds Greg was making: pitiful whimpering punctuated with occasional screams. He couldn’t. Greg’s cries hurt, but the pain was a dull throb, far away compared to the red-hot pleasure radiating from Nick’s groin.
The pleasure built up like water, like waves washing away the power of rational thought. Each thrust into Greg brought Nick closer to something, and each time he pulled out he got further away. Sex had never been so intense, or so maddening. He needed more-he needed to be closer to Greg. He braced his elbows on either side of Greg, and breathed in the smell of Greg’s sweat. He leaned into Greg’s chest, felt the rapid rise and fall of frantic breathing, the tingle of hot skin against his bare arms.
More contact. More. Nick wrapped one hand around Greg’s hard-on, trapped between their bodies, and stroked it roughly in time with his thrusting. Greg moaned into his gag and pressed his head back into the mattress. Nick looked up to judge Greg’s reaction, but caught Jacco’s lascivious stare instead, and looked away immediately from that cruel smile.
Nick wanted desperately to kiss Greg, to convince him of his affection, to remove any doubt of his love, but he couldn’t, so he settled for violence. He sunk his teeth into Greg’s shoulder. Greg cried out, and Nick’s cock was squeezed hard as Greg’s body spasmed. The red-hot pleasure poured out of Nick, ripping through his body and leaving a throbbing numbness in its wake. It was only as his orgasm subsided, and he pulled out carefully, that he realized Greg had come, too.
***************
Nick told Marty and the others to drop him off at the nearest bust stop. He hadn’t wanted to leave Greg, but couldn’t think of a way to justify staying. He has to be okay, Nick told himself a hundred times on the five-minute car ride. He will be okay. Nick had to will himself to listen when Jacco stopped him getting out of the van to explain about how to contact him and to congratulate him on his performance. He had to concentrate on not throwing up.
As soon as the van was out of sight, Nick sprinted with drug-fueled energy back to the alley door that led to the basement. Greg was still lying on the mattress, and Nick knelt gently next to him. He untied the gag. “Greg. Greggo. Hey.” He patted Greg’s cheek, and his eyes snapped open.
“Don’t touch me,” he rasped.
Nick pulled his hand away as if he’d been burned.
Greg’s eyes flashed hurt. “Don’t-don’t go. Nick, please. Just… Don’t touch me.”
Nick nodded, and swallowed hard. “I’m calling Grissom. And an ambulance.”
“Nick, you can’t, we can’t-.” Greg stumbled to a stop, but his eyes were pleading.
“You need an ambulance,” Nick said. After a moment, Greg nodded. Nick reached into his jacket pocket before he remembered that his cell phone wasn’t there. He reached for Greg’s discarded jeans, thanking his lucky stars that the cell phone was still in a side pocket, intact.
“First speed dial,” Greg rasped. Nick hit the button and waited.
“Grissom.” His boss’s even, confident greeting had never sounded more welcome. Or more
terrifying.
“Gris.” He hated himself for the waver in his voice. “Gris, we need you.”
************