FIC: Garnet and Steel, CSI, Gil/Greg, kink, NC-17
Title: Garnet and Steel
Author: elmyraemilie
Fandom: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Pairing: Gil/Greg
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A true fetish is not a preference; it is a requirement.
Author's Notes: Written for gblvr, who won the story I offered in the Live Long and Marry auction, by which fans raised over $50,000 to further the cause of equal marriage rights. The prompt was a photo of a model in a corset, and the request that part of the story involve Gil helping Greg dress in the corset.
My thanks to my betas black_dahlia and sara_merry99, especially to Sara, who called me on taking the easy way out.
“It’s almost August,” Greg said to Gil. He slotted another clean plate into the draining rack as Gil put a dry glass into the cupboard.
“Mmm.” Exchanging his damp dishtowel for a dry one, Gil picked up a plate wiped it off. “And?”
“And...” The broiler pan was the last thing left to wash. Greg plucked it from the counter with two fingers and dunked it in the suds. “It’s your birthday in August. I was wondering what you’d like.”
“You don’t have to--”
Holding up one soapy hand, Greg flagged him. “Nonono. I don’t have to, but I want to. Last year, I wracked my brains trying to think of something. I mean, it was kind of weird, since we weren’t together or anything, even though I was starting to hope.” He moved the rack to the drainer and started scrubbing the pan part of the broiler. “This year, I want to do it right. So, what do you want?”
Gil leaned against the counter. “Did you have something particular in mind?”
“No. Anything you want, Gil. Really.” He handed over the pan with the sweet smile that made Gil smile back every time.
“Let me think about it. I’ll let you know.”
XOXOX
They were driving back to the lab from Kyle Canyon with the truck full of evidence from a robbery/homicide when Greg brought it up again. “Did you think about what you want for your birthday?”
There was a second's hesitation, or maybe it was just that Gil was merging onto the interstate. "Would you like to go out to that new supper club?" There seemed to be more, so Greg waited. "It would be nice to dress up for some occasion other than court."
"If that's what you want to do, that's what we'll do. I'll call for reservations, maybe next Thursday? We're both off. And I'll take my dark blue suit to the cleaner's tomorrow."
"Just give it to me and I'll take it in with mine. I'll make sure everything will be ready. Don't worry about it."
Shaking his head, Greg smiled over at Gil. "Nothing you want for a present?"
"No," said Gil. "Going out together, listening to some jazz, having a really fine meal--that's a wonderful birthday gift." They had come to the exit for the lab, and the light at the top of the ramp was red. Gil turned to him. "I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I will."
There was something in his expression, a light or a flicker of something that caught Greg's eye. But then they were pulling into a parking space and Hodges was waiting at the side door for the rush on the trace, and he needed to get moving.
XOXOX
Greg checked the contents of his bag once more before he started the car. Spare t-shirt for tomorrow, dress shoes and socks, a new tie, a couple pairs of underwear. The shirt and the suit were waiting for him at Gil's place. There might be a day when Gil's place and his place were the same, but for now, Greg would take things as slow as Gil needed. There was no lack of ardor between them, and no lack of intimacy. They both took what was happening between them very seriously, Greg thought; it was more a steady, hot burn than a wildfire, and that was just the way it ought to be.
He let himself in and called out "Hello!" as he dropped his keys on the dining room table. Gil replied from upstairs, so he trotted up the steps to the bedroom, bag in hand.
"Hi," he said, planting a kiss on the back of Gil's neck.
"Hi yourself." What he got in reply was a welcoming kiss and then some. Greg dropped his carryall to the floor and wrapped both arms around Gil, giving as good as he got. They were headed toward the point where a kiss was no longer just a kiss when Gil pulled back. "Hi," he said again, and Greg smiled.
"I'm happy to see you, too." He studied the familiar, beloved face and narrowed his eyes a little bit. "Is everything all right? You look kind of...solemn."
With his eyes on the center of Greg's chest, Gil nodded. "It's fine." He hesitated, then said, "I have something to discuss with you." He stood aside and gestured toward the bed. Greg frowned a little and took a step forward, thinking he was meant to sit down. There was no place for him to sit, though; a beribboned box about the size and shape of a sofa cushion occupied a good portion of the mattress.
For some obscure reason, that irritated him. "Gil, this is your birthday, not mine. I wanted to buy you a gift and you said you didn't want anything. What's up with the present?"
A heavy sigh preceded Gil's answer. "It's not actually for you, it's primarily for me, though I hope very much that you like it. Would you open it? Then we can talk."
The feelings in Greg's belly kept changing places: first the irritation was on top, then worry; then a faintly wounded sensation took over, only to be supplanted by curiosity. While curiosity still had the upper hand, he reached for the gauzy bow and pulled the loose end of it to free the top of the package.
A froth of snow-white tissue paper fluffed up when he removed the lid; it was so feminine, so completely unlike Gil, that it took Greg by surprise. He brushed the overlapping leaves aside and found more tissue wrapped in secure folds around two flat objects, a smaller one on top of a larger one.
He jerked back when Gil reached over to lift the smaller packet away.
"Sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to startle you. It would just work better if you opened that part first."
Sucking in a deep breath, Greg sighed out, "Okay," and picked up the larger item. It weighed more than he expected, and it was flexible, but in one direction only. He slipped his fingers underneath the tucked fold of tissue that kept it wrapped up and with deliberate slowness peeled away the covering.
For a moment, all he could do was stare. It was...was it for him? Gil said it was for him, but not for him. For Gil.
For Gil.
"Greg?"
Greg shook his head. "Wow. I, um.... It's.... I guess I don't know what to say." Gil was hovering at arm's length; he looked as though he was braced for just about any reaction. It was important, all of a sudden, to hear Gil talk to him about what was in the box. "Gil?"
"You don't have to. I'll just return it and we'll say no more about it. It's not important, not at all--"
There was a fatal chasm opening at their feet. It was up to Greg to change course. "But it is. I can see it is. Tell me about this. Please?"
Drawing a deep breath, Gil reached into the box. "This is called a fetish corset. It was made for the male figure. The outside is satin, and it's lined with cotton so it will be soft against your skin. There are a number of steel stays called boning sewn at the waist." He held it out so Greg could see a series of posts and loops in the front. "This is the busk, where the corset hooks together." With careful hands, as though he was lifting something fragile and dear, he turned the corset over. The garnet red satin shimmered in the light from the bedside lamp. "The laces are very strong. They are loosened when the corset is taken off, but it's unhooked at the front, not unlaced at the back. They're meant to stay threaded in the grommets. The grommets are set through a final pair of steel stays." Finally, he looked away from the corset, but not at Greg. "I'm told a corset is very comfortable when it's properly adjusted."
Greg ran a finger down the unyielding edge where the black criss-crossing laces lay. "It's not about comfort, Gil. Don't try to sell it to me." He could feel Gil draw back, so he took hold of the arm closest to him. "Tell me why. Show me what's in the other package. I just...give me what I need so I can understand." He pulled on the arm he held so Gil would turn to face him.
Gil cleared his throat and raised his eyes to Greg's. "It's a thing I have. Men, masculine men, wearing this very feminine garment. It accentuates their essential maleness somehow. It's more than just a turn-on for me. It's deeper than that."
Brushing the backs of his fingers along Gil's jaw, Greg thought for a moment. "So it's something you can't imagine doing without?"
"Yes."
"Anyone who wants to be with you long-term, that person would need to be able to do this, wear this?"
"Certainly not every day, but yes, something essential would be missing without it, and I don't think the relationship would last. But I don't want to torment...a man I care about by insisting on this when they aren't comfortable with it. Completely comfortable." Gil's voice had risen a little; it was raspy, as though his throat was tight, and he wrapped his fingers around Greg's bicep and squeezed. "Mere tolerance is worse than disdain."
The story behind those words tempted Greg, but he tucked it away as a quest for the future. First, he had to navigate the present.
"I won't know how it feels unless I put it on." Gil's brows rose in an expression of cautious hope, and Greg squeezed his hand. "It's not something I ever considered, you know. Can I just give it a try it tonight? Then we'll be able to talk about it. An open-minded trial, no promises, no prejudgments. OK?"
"All right. That's more than fair." He leaned in to press a firm, chaste kiss on Greg's mouth. "Shall I show you what's in the other package?"
XOXOX
The other package contained a pair of silk stockings. There was a sense of restraint to Gil's tone when he volunteered to shave Greg's legs so the stockings would feel better. Greg couldn't hide his smile at the eagerness Gil was trying to conceal. Gil looked away, but Greg wouldn't let him hide; it took some reassurance, but afterward Gil seemed less afraid to let his delight be seen.
When he was a kid, Greg had shaved his legs twice: once for a swim meet that he lost anyway, and once for Halloween when he and his girlfriend switched genders. Those occasions had nothing in common with this. He and Gil showered together, then after Gil put on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, he spread a towel over a kitchen stool for Greg to sit on. With a fresh blade in his razor, a towel, a basin of hot water and a can of shaving cream, he settled on the floor at Greg's feet.
"You have such long legs. Very sexy," he said, spreading the cream over his skin. He began at the top, right where thigh met groin, and shaved downward in long, slow strokes, pausing frequently to rinse the blade.
"Feels sexy," said Greg after a minute. The hairless skin tingled, and every current of air--the motion of Gil's hands, Gil's breath--teased at his awakened nerves. It stimulated him in a new way, made him nervous, made him want to fill the charged silence. "Maybe you should trim my pubes, too, get them tidied up."
Gil looked up from his attention to Greg's kneecap. "Do you want me to?"
"You don't have to, just fooling--"
"But do you want me to? It would be my pleasure." He rested the razor in the water bowl for a moment and focused on Greg's face, one thumb idly rubbing over newly-shaven skin.
"Oh. I...Seriously?"
"Seriously."
That would make it really, really hard to be on time for their dinner reservations, because Gil touching his pubic region the way he was touching his legs would send Greg over the moon. But Gil wanted it--they both wanted it, and Greg was completely prepared to do without dinner if that's what it took to make Gil happy.
"Would you?"
It was Gil's turn for a small, amused smile. "When I finish here." He picked up the razor and resumed his steady, careful strokes, each one revealing more tanned skin behind the veil of white foam.
The silence grew, this time unhindered. Now and then Gil would lean in and kiss a newly bare spot. He took great care at the curves of ankle and knee, and finally asked Greg to stand so he could finish the backs of his thighs. Greg was half-hard; his cock swung down to hang heavy between his legs. Gil gave it a kiss on his way past, and Greg sucked in a breath.
"You're quite excited."
"A gorgeous man, who I happen to love, kneeling in front of me fondling my legs. I'd better be excited."
Behind him, Gil sighed. "I suppose, but it's not a given." He ran his hands up Greg's legs and planted a kiss on his right ass cheek. "That's done. Let me freshen the water and I'll take care of your pubes."
As Gil poured the water into the sink, Greg lifted the bowl away and set it aside. Taking Gil's face in his hands, he leaned in and pressed their mouths together. The little sound of surprise from Gil went straight to his cock and he crowded in, relishing the feeling of his nakedness against Gil's clothed body. Gil wrapped one hand around the back of his neck and brushed the fingers of the other over the smooth top of Greg's thigh. Greg needed pressure, friction, something to rub on; he shifted so he had one of Gil's strong legs between his own. The kiss was sloppy and hard; Gil's teasing fingers kept up their reminder on the shaved skin. Finally, Greg wrapped a hand around his dick and started to stroke. Gil brushed it away and gentled the kiss, though Greg whined and pushed forward for more.
"No, no. Wait. Don't want to have to wash all over again before I trim you." He squeezed Greg's hand and kissed him on the cheek. "Trust me. You won't be frustrated when we leave for the restaurant." He kissed him again, little pecks against his cheeks and chin, until Greg relaxed.
"OK, but I'm holding you to that. It's going to be tough to work around my hard-on, though."
Gil just smiled a wicked smile and brandished the razor. Greg's cock retreated, despite his confidence in Gil's steady hands.
"Lean back, sweetheart." With the razor, Gil straightened the edge of Greg's curls and and cleared away hair from the crease of his thighs. Then he chose a comb from the bathroom vanity and used the scissors to trim it all to an even length. Greg's libido was gradually overcoming its fear of blades; he was hard again by the time Gil finished. He'd shut his eyes, willing away the hard-on as Gil put things away, when he felt a hot mouth wrap around his dick. He gave a startled shriek and thrust forward into his lover's expert mouth. It didn't take long; between the sensual play of Gil shaving him and the irresistible power of that hot, wet tongue, Greg climaxed in record time.
Gil stood and smiled, licking his lips like a cat caught in the cream. "There. We've still got plenty of time."
XOXOX
Greg trailed Gil into the bedroom. So far, so good, but now he needed to get his head around what came next. He reached into the fluff of tissue for the corset, but Gil laid a hand on his arm.
"Why don't you stretch out on the bed? You're going to need some help with that. I'll be with you in a minute."
It was like he'd been cast in a two-man play but they'd only given the script to Gil. Greg took his cue and moved the corset box to lie down on his side on top of the coverlet. Gil went to the closet, took out their suits and shirts and hooked the hangers over the top of the closet doors. He slipped out of his clothing and folded it into a stack on the hamper, undershorts on top. He took a pair of plain boxers from his dresser and put them on directly in Greg's line of sight.
It was never hard to watch Gil, but his movements now were so deliberate, Greg couldn't take his eyes away. The gray suit pants were next, pulled up but not fastened until the bright white shirt was closed to the last button from the top and tucked into the waist band. Greg watched Gil cover his body, remembering the morning before, when he'd kissed the nipple that the white broadcloth was now drawn over; remembering the shower they'd just shared, when he'd rested his hand right there, where the fine summer wool of Gil's suit pants now closed with zipper and button and belt. Black socks came next, and then the shiny dress shoes were taken out from the closet; instead of sitting down to put them on, Gil slipped his feet into them and then dropped a knee to the floor to tie each lace. Finally, he took his cufflinks from their box in the top drawer of his dresser and fastened the starched cuffs of his shirt.
As he tugged the shirtsleeves into place, he said, "Let me help you with that now."
Gil's state of formal undress--suit pants but no coat, dress shirt but no tie, cuffs closed but collar open--made Greg feel all the more bare. He rose as Gil lifted the corset from its box and slipped open the front busk. Stepping up behind Greg, he wrapped the corset around his torso. Automatically, Greg reached down to begin fastening it, but Gil breathed, "Shhhhh," so he lifted his arms out of the way and tilted his head to the side to let Gil manipulate the shiny hooks. The soft cotton lining caressed his belly; it felt cool, but it warmed as it touched his skin. Gil's shirt collar brushed against his upper back; he laid little kisses over Greg's shoulders while he worked.
The final hook was mated to its eye. Greg lifted one shoulder and then the other to test the way the corset moved around his body. It was loose, and rested low against his hips. Gil kissed him once more directly on the back of his neck. His voice was low and intense. "Now I'll tighten the laces. Just stand steady."
There was no sudden compression; instead, the feeling of the laces moving against the skin of his back first brought the corset up to rest centered at his waist. The upper portion drew in snug against his ribs, and then the lower part contracted, settling in over the curve of his back. The next pull at the center brought the lining tight against his waist. Five more tugs down the length of the back and the upper and lower parts were equally taut. The sensation was that of being supported rather than restricted. Gil did something to the laces at the waist and hip, and Greg waited for more pulling, but none came.
When Gil ran his hands over the stretched satin that surrounded him, a wave of goosebumps spread over Greg's arms. He could feel Gil behind him, pressed against him, hard and urgent. "So beautiful." A deep breath, and then he stepped back. "How is it?"
As Greg turned to answer the warm grasp of the fabric held his ribs and made him move more from the shoulder. "It's fine," he said. There was more to say: It's stiff, it's secure, it feels like your arms around me. Too much too soon, though; Gil's quiet restraint was affecting Greg as well, and he let just those two words carry the weight of the rest.
Gil couldn't seem to take his hands away. He turned Greg around, touching his waist; he tested the busk at the front by slipping his fingers between the velvet edging at the top of the corset and Greg's skin; he traced the vee of Greg's torso as it tapered from armpit to waist, and the faint curve from waist to pelvis. Greg stole a kiss, and Gil smiled. "You look wonderful. I'm going to have a hard time behaving myself tonight. Are you ready to try the stockings?"
"Sure."
The garters were separate; Gil attached them to the fasteners under the bottom of the corset, then guided Greg to sit on the edge of the bed. He knelt down to take one stocking from the wrapping paper, gathering its length up in his fingers. Greg pointed his toes and felt the slight tension of the fine knitted silk around the sensitized skin of his leg as Gil eased the stocking upward. When the length of it was unrolled, Gil looked it over with a critical eye and shifted the part just above Greg's knee a little to the left before he slipped it into the clip at the end of the garter. When he'd finished the other side, he stood up and extended a hand to Greg. "Here, let me fasten the back."
As he had in the bathroom, Greg stood up; once again, his cock was beginning to fill. Gil adjusted the garter straps and fastened the stockings into them. There was a pause; then Greg felt the weight of Gil's head resting against his back, and the tender, featherlight slip of his fingers over the boned waist, down to the thin taut silk on his legs.
"Oh, god." A deep breath, and then, "I've wanted this..." The touch, the sighing voice, the weight of adoration held Greg immobile for a long moment until Gil lifted his head and stepped back. When Greg turned, he saw him looking away almost pointedly, peeling the drycleaner's filmy wrapping from dark blue Italian wool, looking at anything but Greg wearing the garnet satin and sheer silk.
"Here, let me--"
"No!" Gil held the trousers in front of him. In a calmer tone, he went on, "You're going to find your flexibility is limited now. I'll help you." He held out the pants and Greg stepped into them. The waist, which he'd had tailored to fit his slim body, was the least bit loose now. Gil held out the shirt, slipped it over Greg's arms, buttoned it, tucked it in, closed the trousers. The shirt cuffs were buttoned, and then, following some catechism known only to Gil, Greg was invited to sit so his socks and shoes could be put on.
Finally, Greg intercepted him as he reached for a necktie. "Hey."
Gil eyes snapped up to meet his, but he didn't speak.
"Come here." He held his arms open. It took a moment, but Gil stepped forward and Greg wrapped him up, kissing his cheeks and his forehead before homing in on his mouth. He poured himself into it, all his heart right there in the pulse of his lips against Gil's. The stiff formality in Gil's manner withstood this onslaught until Greg brushed his face with tender fingertips and whispered, "I love you" against his temple; then Gil melted into him.
When they parted, Gil kept his eyes closed for a second. When he opened them, his smile was bashful. "Sorry. I'm kind of overwhelmed."
Tilting his head to one side, Greg considered. "Well, you just helped me. Can I help you now?" Gil raised his brows in question, but nodded, so Greg collected the necktie Gil had laid out for himself and threaded it beneath his shirt collar, tied the four-in-hand, and fastened the collar button so he could settle the knot in place. He handed Gil his watch and the heavy gold class ring he wore on formal occasions, then put on his own tie. Greg didn't know if one could become accustomed to the wearing of a corset--it was so undeniably there, holding his body, in small ways changing the way he moved--but the sensation was at least becoming more familiar as he went about the business of knot and collar. Finally, he held Gil's coat out to him, slipped it onto his shoulders and stepped to the front to button the top button. Gil smiled and returned the favor, with some caressing touches to the places where the corset rested on Greg's body.
"Ready?"
Gil checked his watch. "Yes. We're going to be a few minutes late." He flashed Greg the first ordinary smile of the evening. "But all things considered, I think we've done very well."
XOXOX
The club wasn't as crowded as Greg had expected; their reservation stood between early dinner and supper-after-the-show. Gil walked close behind him as they followed the maitre'd to a half-round booth part of the way down the flight of shallow stairs that led to the dance floor. On the bandstand, spotlights flared on the instruments waiting for the musicians to return from their break.
The booths had some privacy; the tall backs of the banquettes kept each table from the sight of other patrons, even though their tiered arrangement gave a good view of the band. Greg could hardly disguise his joy when he felt Gil take his right hand where it rested on the seat. To cover his delight, he sipped his water and glanced at the menu.
"It all looks really good. What are you going to have?"
"I don't know. The ceviche, maybe. I haven't had that in a long time. Have you ever tried it?"
The the band returned to the little stage just as server was taking their order. The set opened with "Mood Indigo," which drew a few couples onto the dance floor. Greg and Gil talked in fits and starts; sometimes Gil would stop to listen to the music, his thumb rubbing back and forth across the hand he'd captured as they were seated. A new kind of charge arced between them, something different than the usual awareness Greg felt whenever Gil was around. There was scarcely a moment that did not find Gil touching him in some way--brushing his leg beneath the table cloth, slipping a hand between his back and the seat. More often than not, the contact was in a place covered by Gil's birthday gift. Greg could not resist pushing back a little bit. He tucked one leg up so the small bump of the garter at the front of his thigh rested against Gil. He dared a glance to see the reaction; Gil's eyes were on his, hot and half wild.
At that moment, their plates appeared in front of them. Gil blinked and looked around as though he'd just remembered where he was; with a murmured a thank you to the server he reached for his napkin. Greg put both feet on the floor.
The food was delicious, beautifully prepared and presented, but Greg was too distracted to do it justice. At odd moments, his senses would register the constriction of the corset, the silky slide of his trousers over the stockings or his lack of underclothing; a frisson of desire would rocket up his spine. Gil praised the dish he'd ordered, but he didn't eat much of his dinner, either. At last, they both laid down their forks. Their server required some reassurance that their food was satisfactory when he came to take the plates away. He tried to offer an aperitif and coffee, but Gil shook his head and requested the check. Greg had scarcely laid down the pen after signing the receipt before Gil pulled him from his seat and toward the exit.
XOXOX
Gil's hands were wrapped around Greg's waist, massaging, fingers following the vertical ribs of boning through his shirt. They were standing in the living room. He'd been hustled in from the car, and they were barely inside when Gil got a grip on him. Greg was pretty sure that the neighbors were calling 911 to report a gunshot, given how hard the front door slammed when Gil kicked it closed. If the sirens blared in front of the house, neither one of them would notice anyway. Teeth skated along the contour of his jaw and he tilted his head back to encourage more. With his hands threaded into Gil's hair, he concentrated on keeping his balance and absorbing all the amazing, overwhelming desire that flooded toward him.
"God." Gil changed angles and started kissing behind Greg's right ear, while his fingers traveled back and forth over the top edge of the corset where it was masked by the smooth cotton dress shirt. Greg sucked in a breath when one knuckle brushed his nipple. "You drove me crazy tonight. I wanted to kiss you right there." He fastened their mouths together while his fingers worked their way down the buttons. "I couldn't stop thinking about it, you wearing it, the color against your skin--"
"Tie," gasped Greg, yanking at it himself, kicking off his shoes. Gil growled and backed away, but propelled him toward the bedroom with an arm around his waist. Greg tossed the tie toward the dresser and struggled free of his jacket while Gil went at the shirt buttons again. He didn't stop this time, not until the shirt that had been put on so carefully was stripped back from Greg's shoulders and the corset could be seen above the waist of his trousers.
"God." Dropping his hands to his sides, Gil stepped back a pace. "You're so..." Something flickered across his face and his eyes darted to meet Greg's; he looked guilty, as though he'd been caught in some petty crime. He licked his lips. "Are you OK?"
Greg let the shirt slip off his wrists so his hands were free to unfasten his belt and his pants. He let them drop open; they slid down to ride low on his hips, framing his swollen cock in a triangle made by navy wool and deep red satin. Palms flat, fingers spread, he ran his hands over his erection and up the front of the corset, pressing in, teasing his nipples with his thumbs. The downward stroke served to ease the pants down his thighs. One forward step left the suit behind and brought him eye to eye with Gil.
"I'm fine." He took Gil's hands and put them where he wanted them, right on the boning above his pelvis. "Are you OK?"
The provocation was deliberate, but the reaction was still a surprise. With a choked groan, Gil wrapped him in his arms and buried his face against his neck. "I love you," he whispered. He ran his fingertips over the patterns made by the laces over Greg's spine. A fine tremor ran through his body; Greg held him tight and kissed his hair, his shoulder, and the fluttering pulse-point under the skin of his throat. Gil's fingers followed the corset laces down and trailed along the demarcation between satin and skin. Lightning-fast and white-hot, passion flared again. He pressed in, one hand clutching Greg's ass, the other hooked under the lower edge of the corset. He ground their cocks together, and Greg answered him with his own hands on Gil's hips.
They had come to stand beside the bed; Greg turned just a bit to open the drawer of the bedside table and fish out the lube. He held it up. "Get out of those clothes. Do you want to get me ready, or should I..."
"Yes. Yes, you do it. I...I'll be right there."
"How do you want me?"
Gil was making an uncharacteristically sloppy job of stripping out of his clothing. He looked up from untying his shoes, his trousers bunched at his calves. "It's probably easier on you if you're on your hands and knees. The compression at the waist--"
He trailed off when Greg knelt just below the pillows. "Like this?" He coated his fingers in lube and, balancing himself with a grip on the headboard, reached back to slip a finger inside. When Gil didn't reply, he looked to see what he was doing. Gil's shirt was open and he had a fist around his cock, not stroking but gripping tightly. His eyes were glued to Greg. When he realized that Greg was waiting for an answer, he nodded once and turned his back, shucking off the rest of his clothing and throwing it at the hamper.
The steady slide of his own fingers was already almost unbearable. Greg groaned when Gil knelt behind him; he grabbed for the headboard and pushed back as Gil thrust in with his own fingers. The intensity of Gil's desire, the foreign sensation of tightness at his waist and hips, the luscious transgression of a taboo--it was all driving him crazy.
"Come on, come on, that's good enough. I want you inside me." He looked back over his shoulder again; Gil was panting as he lined his cock up and thrust in, all at once.
"Yeah!" Greg yelled. He rocked forward so he could have the pleasure of that burn all over again. Gil was right with him, matching stroke for stroke, his hands gripping Greg's waist as though he was trying to get away.
There was no finesse involved in their coupling. They fucked. The bed rocked with their fervor; Greg tried to reach his own dripping cock, but Gil's pounding rhythm forced him to put both hands on the headboard to keep himself upright. Behind him, Gil was everywhere at once--scratching at his ass cheeks, fingers under the garters, kissing his skin between the corset laces and pulling at them with his teeth. When he bit down hard between the corset and Greg's shoulder blade, that finished it. Greg came with a howl, babbling, cursing in half-words and sounds as the outrageous pleasure dragged him under. Gil's grunts and hissing breaths resolved into a cry of "Greg!" as he melded them together, his cock thrust as deep as it would go into Greg's body. A few stuttering strokes followed, and then he stilled, his face resting against the red satin.
After a moment, Greg straightened a little. Gil shifted back to sit on the bed; he was out of breath. Once again he turned his face away.
"Hey." Reaching out, Greg cupped his chin. "What's wrong?"
Gil swiped a hand over his cheeks and shook his head.
Greg leaned in to kiss him, but Gil had retreated again. He felt a righteous, protective anger well up in him. Someone had shamed Gil for this, but that was going to stop right now. He kissed the cheek he could reach and slid off the bed.
"I'm going to clean up a little. Don't go anywhere."
When he got back, Gil was sitting up against the pillows, the covers pulled up to his waist. The corset box was on the floor. Greg picked it up and put it carefully on the chest at the foot of the bed and stretched, pulling his arms back behind his head. "You were right. It is pretty comfortable." He ran his hands over the busk.
"Can you get it off?" It was Gil's lab voice; he could have been asking if Greg would hand him a swab.
"I don't want to take it off yet." Gil's face remained impassive, though he shifted under the blanket. When Greg sat down on the edge of the bed, he scooted over a little. Greg followed; this was no time for distance. "Talk to me."
"Greg, I don't--"
"No. You need to tell me what happened. You've been on this roller-coaster ride all evening. One minute you're crazy turned-on and happy, and the next minute you won't even look at me. Right now, if there's a problem between us about this corset, it's with you, not me. Now. Tell me." He waited then, in silence, until Gil's eyes met his.
"It was really nothing." Greg raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Finally, Gil went on. "When you're young, or at least when I was young, you buy Playboy and Penthouse, that sort of thing. The only photos that did anything for me were the ones where the model was wearing a corset." He'd looked back down again; he was toying with a loose thread in the bedspread. "Once I got to college, it dawned on me that I was gay. That was kind of a shock, you know? It wasn't exactly socially acceptable, even by the mid-seventies. Over break one spring, I went up to San Francisco, figuring I'd get it out of my system once and for all. It was...pretty educational. I was in heaven. My first kiss with a man, my first date with a man, my first club. That was the first time I saw a man in a corset, and I couldn't take my eyes off of him. I'm afraid I got a little persistent, and they threw me out of the place." He smiled ruefully up at Greg, who huffed out a little laugh and shook his head.
Gil took a big breath and went on. "So I did my research, and I discovered that male corsetry was, well, not a common fetish, but not unheard of, either. But I kept it to myself. It was tough enough to get dates as it was." He sighed and slouched back against the pillows. "When I was in grad school, I fell in love with a guy named Dean. He was working in agricultural entomology, so we saw a lot of each other. He was gorgeous and popular, but he seemed genuinely attracted to me. I couldn't believe how lucky I was. We went out for months, spent almost all our free time together. There was lots of talk about trust and committment. It felt like the real thing, right? So I got my nerve up and asked him to try a corset. And he did. In hindsight, I think I was fooling myself. I just wanted..." He stopped and closed his eyes.
Brushing a curl back from Gil's forehead, Greg whispered, "You wanted him to give you what you needed. Nothing wrong with that."
This time Gil laughed, bitter and dry as desert sand. "Oh, no. Nothing wrong with it. At first he seemed to like it, and I was on cloud nine. When I look back, it's easy to see that he was just humoring me. I practically had to beg him to wear it after the first couple times, and he got out of it as quickly as he could after we'd finished. By that spring I was trying to get my research cleaned up and ready to publish, and I was busy all the time. I did my best to keep up the relationship, but he go more and more demanding, and things started to change. It got so that when we were together, all we did was fight. He threw the corset into the arguments every chance he got. Mocked me, said I couldn't get it up without playing dress-up."
While Gil paused in his story, Greg picked up one of his hands and kissed the back of it. Gil cleared his throat and went on.
"I finally told him that if he was unhappy we had no business being together. He tried to smooth things over, but by the week before graduation,I'd had enough." Another sigh. "He had the last word. After we broke up, he told everyone he knew that I was sick, and that he'd broken up with me because I forced him to do sick, kinky things. My thesis advisor got wind of it. He had a serious talk with me about how my 'private behavior' might affect my career."
Greg's heart was in his throat. "Oh, Gil."
"Well, needless to say, I got rid of the corset immediately."
"You've never tried again?"
"No. I've had some liaisons, but they were all about the fetish. No one I've actually dated."
That hurt. Gil soaked up affection like a basking cat. The image of him with some faceless man in a mechanical parody of intimacy twisted in Greg's gut.
"Well, that's history. No more." He stretched out on the bed and pulled Gil's arm around his waist, over the corset. "It's you and me now. You're not sick, and this is not some dirty secret. I want it to be part of what we do together. Just promise me something."
The look on Gil's face was caution and hope in equal parts. "What is that?"
"You have to tell me what you need, and you have to trust me. OK?"
Brows drawn down in a little frown, Gil leaned back and studied Greg's face for several moments. It was hard, but Greg kept his countenance and returned the gaze as steadily as he could.
"You really mean that, don't you?"
"I do."
The touch of Gil's hand on the corset was so light Greg scarcely felt it. "So we can do this again."
"And again, and again."
Blue eyes, the clouds lifted from their depths, regarded him over a warm, quiet smile. "We'll wear it out," he said. He snugged one arm around Greg's waist and pulled him close for a kiss, then began to unlatch the busk.
"I'll buy you another one for your birthday next year."
Gil kissed him again; Greg was sure he could taste happiness on Gil's lips. "Bet on it."
Author: elmyraemilie
Fandom: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Pairing: Gil/Greg
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A true fetish is not a preference; it is a requirement.
Author's Notes: Written for gblvr, who won the story I offered in the Live Long and Marry auction, by which fans raised over $50,000 to further the cause of equal marriage rights. The prompt was a photo of a model in a corset, and the request that part of the story involve Gil helping Greg dress in the corset.
My thanks to my betas black_dahlia and sara_merry99, especially to Sara, who called me on taking the easy way out.
“It’s almost August,” Greg said to Gil. He slotted another clean plate into the draining rack as Gil put a dry glass into the cupboard.
“Mmm.” Exchanging his damp dishtowel for a dry one, Gil picked up a plate wiped it off. “And?”
“And...” The broiler pan was the last thing left to wash. Greg plucked it from the counter with two fingers and dunked it in the suds. “It’s your birthday in August. I was wondering what you’d like.”
“You don’t have to--”
Holding up one soapy hand, Greg flagged him. “Nonono. I don’t have to, but I want to. Last year, I wracked my brains trying to think of something. I mean, it was kind of weird, since we weren’t together or anything, even though I was starting to hope.” He moved the rack to the drainer and started scrubbing the pan part of the broiler. “This year, I want to do it right. So, what do you want?”
Gil leaned against the counter. “Did you have something particular in mind?”
“No. Anything you want, Gil. Really.” He handed over the pan with the sweet smile that made Gil smile back every time.
“Let me think about it. I’ll let you know.”
XOXOX
They were driving back to the lab from Kyle Canyon with the truck full of evidence from a robbery/homicide when Greg brought it up again. “Did you think about what you want for your birthday?”
There was a second's hesitation, or maybe it was just that Gil was merging onto the interstate. "Would you like to go out to that new supper club?" There seemed to be more, so Greg waited. "It would be nice to dress up for some occasion other than court."
"If that's what you want to do, that's what we'll do. I'll call for reservations, maybe next Thursday? We're both off. And I'll take my dark blue suit to the cleaner's tomorrow."
"Just give it to me and I'll take it in with mine. I'll make sure everything will be ready. Don't worry about it."
Shaking his head, Greg smiled over at Gil. "Nothing you want for a present?"
"No," said Gil. "Going out together, listening to some jazz, having a really fine meal--that's a wonderful birthday gift." They had come to the exit for the lab, and the light at the top of the ramp was red. Gil turned to him. "I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I will."
There was something in his expression, a light or a flicker of something that caught Greg's eye. But then they were pulling into a parking space and Hodges was waiting at the side door for the rush on the trace, and he needed to get moving.
XOXOX
Greg checked the contents of his bag once more before he started the car. Spare t-shirt for tomorrow, dress shoes and socks, a new tie, a couple pairs of underwear. The shirt and the suit were waiting for him at Gil's place. There might be a day when Gil's place and his place were the same, but for now, Greg would take things as slow as Gil needed. There was no lack of ardor between them, and no lack of intimacy. They both took what was happening between them very seriously, Greg thought; it was more a steady, hot burn than a wildfire, and that was just the way it ought to be.
He let himself in and called out "Hello!" as he dropped his keys on the dining room table. Gil replied from upstairs, so he trotted up the steps to the bedroom, bag in hand.
"Hi," he said, planting a kiss on the back of Gil's neck.
"Hi yourself." What he got in reply was a welcoming kiss and then some. Greg dropped his carryall to the floor and wrapped both arms around Gil, giving as good as he got. They were headed toward the point where a kiss was no longer just a kiss when Gil pulled back. "Hi," he said again, and Greg smiled.
"I'm happy to see you, too." He studied the familiar, beloved face and narrowed his eyes a little bit. "Is everything all right? You look kind of...solemn."
With his eyes on the center of Greg's chest, Gil nodded. "It's fine." He hesitated, then said, "I have something to discuss with you." He stood aside and gestured toward the bed. Greg frowned a little and took a step forward, thinking he was meant to sit down. There was no place for him to sit, though; a beribboned box about the size and shape of a sofa cushion occupied a good portion of the mattress.
For some obscure reason, that irritated him. "Gil, this is your birthday, not mine. I wanted to buy you a gift and you said you didn't want anything. What's up with the present?"
A heavy sigh preceded Gil's answer. "It's not actually for you, it's primarily for me, though I hope very much that you like it. Would you open it? Then we can talk."
The feelings in Greg's belly kept changing places: first the irritation was on top, then worry; then a faintly wounded sensation took over, only to be supplanted by curiosity. While curiosity still had the upper hand, he reached for the gauzy bow and pulled the loose end of it to free the top of the package.
A froth of snow-white tissue paper fluffed up when he removed the lid; it was so feminine, so completely unlike Gil, that it took Greg by surprise. He brushed the overlapping leaves aside and found more tissue wrapped in secure folds around two flat objects, a smaller one on top of a larger one.
He jerked back when Gil reached over to lift the smaller packet away.
"Sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to startle you. It would just work better if you opened that part first."
Sucking in a deep breath, Greg sighed out, "Okay," and picked up the larger item. It weighed more than he expected, and it was flexible, but in one direction only. He slipped his fingers underneath the tucked fold of tissue that kept it wrapped up and with deliberate slowness peeled away the covering.
For a moment, all he could do was stare. It was...was it for him? Gil said it was for him, but not for him. For Gil.
For Gil.
"Greg?"
Greg shook his head. "Wow. I, um.... It's.... I guess I don't know what to say." Gil was hovering at arm's length; he looked as though he was braced for just about any reaction. It was important, all of a sudden, to hear Gil talk to him about what was in the box. "Gil?"
"You don't have to. I'll just return it and we'll say no more about it. It's not important, not at all--"
There was a fatal chasm opening at their feet. It was up to Greg to change course. "But it is. I can see it is. Tell me about this. Please?"
Drawing a deep breath, Gil reached into the box. "This is called a fetish corset. It was made for the male figure. The outside is satin, and it's lined with cotton so it will be soft against your skin. There are a number of steel stays called boning sewn at the waist." He held it out so Greg could see a series of posts and loops in the front. "This is the busk, where the corset hooks together." With careful hands, as though he was lifting something fragile and dear, he turned the corset over. The garnet red satin shimmered in the light from the bedside lamp. "The laces are very strong. They are loosened when the corset is taken off, but it's unhooked at the front, not unlaced at the back. They're meant to stay threaded in the grommets. The grommets are set through a final pair of steel stays." Finally, he looked away from the corset, but not at Greg. "I'm told a corset is very comfortable when it's properly adjusted."
Greg ran a finger down the unyielding edge where the black criss-crossing laces lay. "It's not about comfort, Gil. Don't try to sell it to me." He could feel Gil draw back, so he took hold of the arm closest to him. "Tell me why. Show me what's in the other package. I just...give me what I need so I can understand." He pulled on the arm he held so Gil would turn to face him.
Gil cleared his throat and raised his eyes to Greg's. "It's a thing I have. Men, masculine men, wearing this very feminine garment. It accentuates their essential maleness somehow. It's more than just a turn-on for me. It's deeper than that."
Brushing the backs of his fingers along Gil's jaw, Greg thought for a moment. "So it's something you can't imagine doing without?"
"Yes."
"Anyone who wants to be with you long-term, that person would need to be able to do this, wear this?"
"Certainly not every day, but yes, something essential would be missing without it, and I don't think the relationship would last. But I don't want to torment...a man I care about by insisting on this when they aren't comfortable with it. Completely comfortable." Gil's voice had risen a little; it was raspy, as though his throat was tight, and he wrapped his fingers around Greg's bicep and squeezed. "Mere tolerance is worse than disdain."
The story behind those words tempted Greg, but he tucked it away as a quest for the future. First, he had to navigate the present.
"I won't know how it feels unless I put it on." Gil's brows rose in an expression of cautious hope, and Greg squeezed his hand. "It's not something I ever considered, you know. Can I just give it a try it tonight? Then we'll be able to talk about it. An open-minded trial, no promises, no prejudgments. OK?"
"All right. That's more than fair." He leaned in to press a firm, chaste kiss on Greg's mouth. "Shall I show you what's in the other package?"
XOXOX
The other package contained a pair of silk stockings. There was a sense of restraint to Gil's tone when he volunteered to shave Greg's legs so the stockings would feel better. Greg couldn't hide his smile at the eagerness Gil was trying to conceal. Gil looked away, but Greg wouldn't let him hide; it took some reassurance, but afterward Gil seemed less afraid to let his delight be seen.
When he was a kid, Greg had shaved his legs twice: once for a swim meet that he lost anyway, and once for Halloween when he and his girlfriend switched genders. Those occasions had nothing in common with this. He and Gil showered together, then after Gil put on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, he spread a towel over a kitchen stool for Greg to sit on. With a fresh blade in his razor, a towel, a basin of hot water and a can of shaving cream, he settled on the floor at Greg's feet.
"You have such long legs. Very sexy," he said, spreading the cream over his skin. He began at the top, right where thigh met groin, and shaved downward in long, slow strokes, pausing frequently to rinse the blade.
"Feels sexy," said Greg after a minute. The hairless skin tingled, and every current of air--the motion of Gil's hands, Gil's breath--teased at his awakened nerves. It stimulated him in a new way, made him nervous, made him want to fill the charged silence. "Maybe you should trim my pubes, too, get them tidied up."
Gil looked up from his attention to Greg's kneecap. "Do you want me to?"
"You don't have to, just fooling--"
"But do you want me to? It would be my pleasure." He rested the razor in the water bowl for a moment and focused on Greg's face, one thumb idly rubbing over newly-shaven skin.
"Oh. I...Seriously?"
"Seriously."
That would make it really, really hard to be on time for their dinner reservations, because Gil touching his pubic region the way he was touching his legs would send Greg over the moon. But Gil wanted it--they both wanted it, and Greg was completely prepared to do without dinner if that's what it took to make Gil happy.
"Would you?"
It was Gil's turn for a small, amused smile. "When I finish here." He picked up the razor and resumed his steady, careful strokes, each one revealing more tanned skin behind the veil of white foam.
The silence grew, this time unhindered. Now and then Gil would lean in and kiss a newly bare spot. He took great care at the curves of ankle and knee, and finally asked Greg to stand so he could finish the backs of his thighs. Greg was half-hard; his cock swung down to hang heavy between his legs. Gil gave it a kiss on his way past, and Greg sucked in a breath.
"You're quite excited."
"A gorgeous man, who I happen to love, kneeling in front of me fondling my legs. I'd better be excited."
Behind him, Gil sighed. "I suppose, but it's not a given." He ran his hands up Greg's legs and planted a kiss on his right ass cheek. "That's done. Let me freshen the water and I'll take care of your pubes."
As Gil poured the water into the sink, Greg lifted the bowl away and set it aside. Taking Gil's face in his hands, he leaned in and pressed their mouths together. The little sound of surprise from Gil went straight to his cock and he crowded in, relishing the feeling of his nakedness against Gil's clothed body. Gil wrapped one hand around the back of his neck and brushed the fingers of the other over the smooth top of Greg's thigh. Greg needed pressure, friction, something to rub on; he shifted so he had one of Gil's strong legs between his own. The kiss was sloppy and hard; Gil's teasing fingers kept up their reminder on the shaved skin. Finally, Greg wrapped a hand around his dick and started to stroke. Gil brushed it away and gentled the kiss, though Greg whined and pushed forward for more.
"No, no. Wait. Don't want to have to wash all over again before I trim you." He squeezed Greg's hand and kissed him on the cheek. "Trust me. You won't be frustrated when we leave for the restaurant." He kissed him again, little pecks against his cheeks and chin, until Greg relaxed.
"OK, but I'm holding you to that. It's going to be tough to work around my hard-on, though."
Gil just smiled a wicked smile and brandished the razor. Greg's cock retreated, despite his confidence in Gil's steady hands.
"Lean back, sweetheart." With the razor, Gil straightened the edge of Greg's curls and and cleared away hair from the crease of his thighs. Then he chose a comb from the bathroom vanity and used the scissors to trim it all to an even length. Greg's libido was gradually overcoming its fear of blades; he was hard again by the time Gil finished. He'd shut his eyes, willing away the hard-on as Gil put things away, when he felt a hot mouth wrap around his dick. He gave a startled shriek and thrust forward into his lover's expert mouth. It didn't take long; between the sensual play of Gil shaving him and the irresistible power of that hot, wet tongue, Greg climaxed in record time.
Gil stood and smiled, licking his lips like a cat caught in the cream. "There. We've still got plenty of time."
XOXOX
Greg trailed Gil into the bedroom. So far, so good, but now he needed to get his head around what came next. He reached into the fluff of tissue for the corset, but Gil laid a hand on his arm.
"Why don't you stretch out on the bed? You're going to need some help with that. I'll be with you in a minute."
It was like he'd been cast in a two-man play but they'd only given the script to Gil. Greg took his cue and moved the corset box to lie down on his side on top of the coverlet. Gil went to the closet, took out their suits and shirts and hooked the hangers over the top of the closet doors. He slipped out of his clothing and folded it into a stack on the hamper, undershorts on top. He took a pair of plain boxers from his dresser and put them on directly in Greg's line of sight.
It was never hard to watch Gil, but his movements now were so deliberate, Greg couldn't take his eyes away. The gray suit pants were next, pulled up but not fastened until the bright white shirt was closed to the last button from the top and tucked into the waist band. Greg watched Gil cover his body, remembering the morning before, when he'd kissed the nipple that the white broadcloth was now drawn over; remembering the shower they'd just shared, when he'd rested his hand right there, where the fine summer wool of Gil's suit pants now closed with zipper and button and belt. Black socks came next, and then the shiny dress shoes were taken out from the closet; instead of sitting down to put them on, Gil slipped his feet into them and then dropped a knee to the floor to tie each lace. Finally, he took his cufflinks from their box in the top drawer of his dresser and fastened the starched cuffs of his shirt.
As he tugged the shirtsleeves into place, he said, "Let me help you with that now."
Gil's state of formal undress--suit pants but no coat, dress shirt but no tie, cuffs closed but collar open--made Greg feel all the more bare. He rose as Gil lifted the corset from its box and slipped open the front busk. Stepping up behind Greg, he wrapped the corset around his torso. Automatically, Greg reached down to begin fastening it, but Gil breathed, "Shhhhh," so he lifted his arms out of the way and tilted his head to the side to let Gil manipulate the shiny hooks. The soft cotton lining caressed his belly; it felt cool, but it warmed as it touched his skin. Gil's shirt collar brushed against his upper back; he laid little kisses over Greg's shoulders while he worked.
The final hook was mated to its eye. Greg lifted one shoulder and then the other to test the way the corset moved around his body. It was loose, and rested low against his hips. Gil kissed him once more directly on the back of his neck. His voice was low and intense. "Now I'll tighten the laces. Just stand steady."
There was no sudden compression; instead, the feeling of the laces moving against the skin of his back first brought the corset up to rest centered at his waist. The upper portion drew in snug against his ribs, and then the lower part contracted, settling in over the curve of his back. The next pull at the center brought the lining tight against his waist. Five more tugs down the length of the back and the upper and lower parts were equally taut. The sensation was that of being supported rather than restricted. Gil did something to the laces at the waist and hip, and Greg waited for more pulling, but none came.
When Gil ran his hands over the stretched satin that surrounded him, a wave of goosebumps spread over Greg's arms. He could feel Gil behind him, pressed against him, hard and urgent. "So beautiful." A deep breath, and then he stepped back. "How is it?"
As Greg turned to answer the warm grasp of the fabric held his ribs and made him move more from the shoulder. "It's fine," he said. There was more to say: It's stiff, it's secure, it feels like your arms around me. Too much too soon, though; Gil's quiet restraint was affecting Greg as well, and he let just those two words carry the weight of the rest.
Gil couldn't seem to take his hands away. He turned Greg around, touching his waist; he tested the busk at the front by slipping his fingers between the velvet edging at the top of the corset and Greg's skin; he traced the vee of Greg's torso as it tapered from armpit to waist, and the faint curve from waist to pelvis. Greg stole a kiss, and Gil smiled. "You look wonderful. I'm going to have a hard time behaving myself tonight. Are you ready to try the stockings?"
"Sure."
The garters were separate; Gil attached them to the fasteners under the bottom of the corset, then guided Greg to sit on the edge of the bed. He knelt down to take one stocking from the wrapping paper, gathering its length up in his fingers. Greg pointed his toes and felt the slight tension of the fine knitted silk around the sensitized skin of his leg as Gil eased the stocking upward. When the length of it was unrolled, Gil looked it over with a critical eye and shifted the part just above Greg's knee a little to the left before he slipped it into the clip at the end of the garter. When he'd finished the other side, he stood up and extended a hand to Greg. "Here, let me fasten the back."
As he had in the bathroom, Greg stood up; once again, his cock was beginning to fill. Gil adjusted the garter straps and fastened the stockings into them. There was a pause; then Greg felt the weight of Gil's head resting against his back, and the tender, featherlight slip of his fingers over the boned waist, down to the thin taut silk on his legs.
"Oh, god." A deep breath, and then, "I've wanted this..." The touch, the sighing voice, the weight of adoration held Greg immobile for a long moment until Gil lifted his head and stepped back. When Greg turned, he saw him looking away almost pointedly, peeling the drycleaner's filmy wrapping from dark blue Italian wool, looking at anything but Greg wearing the garnet satin and sheer silk.
"Here, let me--"
"No!" Gil held the trousers in front of him. In a calmer tone, he went on, "You're going to find your flexibility is limited now. I'll help you." He held out the pants and Greg stepped into them. The waist, which he'd had tailored to fit his slim body, was the least bit loose now. Gil held out the shirt, slipped it over Greg's arms, buttoned it, tucked it in, closed the trousers. The shirt cuffs were buttoned, and then, following some catechism known only to Gil, Greg was invited to sit so his socks and shoes could be put on.
Finally, Greg intercepted him as he reached for a necktie. "Hey."
Gil eyes snapped up to meet his, but he didn't speak.
"Come here." He held his arms open. It took a moment, but Gil stepped forward and Greg wrapped him up, kissing his cheeks and his forehead before homing in on his mouth. He poured himself into it, all his heart right there in the pulse of his lips against Gil's. The stiff formality in Gil's manner withstood this onslaught until Greg brushed his face with tender fingertips and whispered, "I love you" against his temple; then Gil melted into him.
When they parted, Gil kept his eyes closed for a second. When he opened them, his smile was bashful. "Sorry. I'm kind of overwhelmed."
Tilting his head to one side, Greg considered. "Well, you just helped me. Can I help you now?" Gil raised his brows in question, but nodded, so Greg collected the necktie Gil had laid out for himself and threaded it beneath his shirt collar, tied the four-in-hand, and fastened the collar button so he could settle the knot in place. He handed Gil his watch and the heavy gold class ring he wore on formal occasions, then put on his own tie. Greg didn't know if one could become accustomed to the wearing of a corset--it was so undeniably there, holding his body, in small ways changing the way he moved--but the sensation was at least becoming more familiar as he went about the business of knot and collar. Finally, he held Gil's coat out to him, slipped it onto his shoulders and stepped to the front to button the top button. Gil smiled and returned the favor, with some caressing touches to the places where the corset rested on Greg's body.
"Ready?"
Gil checked his watch. "Yes. We're going to be a few minutes late." He flashed Greg the first ordinary smile of the evening. "But all things considered, I think we've done very well."
XOXOX
The club wasn't as crowded as Greg had expected; their reservation stood between early dinner and supper-after-the-show. Gil walked close behind him as they followed the maitre'd to a half-round booth part of the way down the flight of shallow stairs that led to the dance floor. On the bandstand, spotlights flared on the instruments waiting for the musicians to return from their break.
The booths had some privacy; the tall backs of the banquettes kept each table from the sight of other patrons, even though their tiered arrangement gave a good view of the band. Greg could hardly disguise his joy when he felt Gil take his right hand where it rested on the seat. To cover his delight, he sipped his water and glanced at the menu.
"It all looks really good. What are you going to have?"
"I don't know. The ceviche, maybe. I haven't had that in a long time. Have you ever tried it?"
The the band returned to the little stage just as server was taking their order. The set opened with "Mood Indigo," which drew a few couples onto the dance floor. Greg and Gil talked in fits and starts; sometimes Gil would stop to listen to the music, his thumb rubbing back and forth across the hand he'd captured as they were seated. A new kind of charge arced between them, something different than the usual awareness Greg felt whenever Gil was around. There was scarcely a moment that did not find Gil touching him in some way--brushing his leg beneath the table cloth, slipping a hand between his back and the seat. More often than not, the contact was in a place covered by Gil's birthday gift. Greg could not resist pushing back a little bit. He tucked one leg up so the small bump of the garter at the front of his thigh rested against Gil. He dared a glance to see the reaction; Gil's eyes were on his, hot and half wild.
At that moment, their plates appeared in front of them. Gil blinked and looked around as though he'd just remembered where he was; with a murmured a thank you to the server he reached for his napkin. Greg put both feet on the floor.
The food was delicious, beautifully prepared and presented, but Greg was too distracted to do it justice. At odd moments, his senses would register the constriction of the corset, the silky slide of his trousers over the stockings or his lack of underclothing; a frisson of desire would rocket up his spine. Gil praised the dish he'd ordered, but he didn't eat much of his dinner, either. At last, they both laid down their forks. Their server required some reassurance that their food was satisfactory when he came to take the plates away. He tried to offer an aperitif and coffee, but Gil shook his head and requested the check. Greg had scarcely laid down the pen after signing the receipt before Gil pulled him from his seat and toward the exit.
XOXOX
Gil's hands were wrapped around Greg's waist, massaging, fingers following the vertical ribs of boning through his shirt. They were standing in the living room. He'd been hustled in from the car, and they were barely inside when Gil got a grip on him. Greg was pretty sure that the neighbors were calling 911 to report a gunshot, given how hard the front door slammed when Gil kicked it closed. If the sirens blared in front of the house, neither one of them would notice anyway. Teeth skated along the contour of his jaw and he tilted his head back to encourage more. With his hands threaded into Gil's hair, he concentrated on keeping his balance and absorbing all the amazing, overwhelming desire that flooded toward him.
"God." Gil changed angles and started kissing behind Greg's right ear, while his fingers traveled back and forth over the top edge of the corset where it was masked by the smooth cotton dress shirt. Greg sucked in a breath when one knuckle brushed his nipple. "You drove me crazy tonight. I wanted to kiss you right there." He fastened their mouths together while his fingers worked their way down the buttons. "I couldn't stop thinking about it, you wearing it, the color against your skin--"
"Tie," gasped Greg, yanking at it himself, kicking off his shoes. Gil growled and backed away, but propelled him toward the bedroom with an arm around his waist. Greg tossed the tie toward the dresser and struggled free of his jacket while Gil went at the shirt buttons again. He didn't stop this time, not until the shirt that had been put on so carefully was stripped back from Greg's shoulders and the corset could be seen above the waist of his trousers.
"God." Dropping his hands to his sides, Gil stepped back a pace. "You're so..." Something flickered across his face and his eyes darted to meet Greg's; he looked guilty, as though he'd been caught in some petty crime. He licked his lips. "Are you OK?"
Greg let the shirt slip off his wrists so his hands were free to unfasten his belt and his pants. He let them drop open; they slid down to ride low on his hips, framing his swollen cock in a triangle made by navy wool and deep red satin. Palms flat, fingers spread, he ran his hands over his erection and up the front of the corset, pressing in, teasing his nipples with his thumbs. The downward stroke served to ease the pants down his thighs. One forward step left the suit behind and brought him eye to eye with Gil.
"I'm fine." He took Gil's hands and put them where he wanted them, right on the boning above his pelvis. "Are you OK?"
The provocation was deliberate, but the reaction was still a surprise. With a choked groan, Gil wrapped him in his arms and buried his face against his neck. "I love you," he whispered. He ran his fingertips over the patterns made by the laces over Greg's spine. A fine tremor ran through his body; Greg held him tight and kissed his hair, his shoulder, and the fluttering pulse-point under the skin of his throat. Gil's fingers followed the corset laces down and trailed along the demarcation between satin and skin. Lightning-fast and white-hot, passion flared again. He pressed in, one hand clutching Greg's ass, the other hooked under the lower edge of the corset. He ground their cocks together, and Greg answered him with his own hands on Gil's hips.
They had come to stand beside the bed; Greg turned just a bit to open the drawer of the bedside table and fish out the lube. He held it up. "Get out of those clothes. Do you want to get me ready, or should I..."
"Yes. Yes, you do it. I...I'll be right there."
"How do you want me?"
Gil was making an uncharacteristically sloppy job of stripping out of his clothing. He looked up from untying his shoes, his trousers bunched at his calves. "It's probably easier on you if you're on your hands and knees. The compression at the waist--"
He trailed off when Greg knelt just below the pillows. "Like this?" He coated his fingers in lube and, balancing himself with a grip on the headboard, reached back to slip a finger inside. When Gil didn't reply, he looked to see what he was doing. Gil's shirt was open and he had a fist around his cock, not stroking but gripping tightly. His eyes were glued to Greg. When he realized that Greg was waiting for an answer, he nodded once and turned his back, shucking off the rest of his clothing and throwing it at the hamper.
The steady slide of his own fingers was already almost unbearable. Greg groaned when Gil knelt behind him; he grabbed for the headboard and pushed back as Gil thrust in with his own fingers. The intensity of Gil's desire, the foreign sensation of tightness at his waist and hips, the luscious transgression of a taboo--it was all driving him crazy.
"Come on, come on, that's good enough. I want you inside me." He looked back over his shoulder again; Gil was panting as he lined his cock up and thrust in, all at once.
"Yeah!" Greg yelled. He rocked forward so he could have the pleasure of that burn all over again. Gil was right with him, matching stroke for stroke, his hands gripping Greg's waist as though he was trying to get away.
There was no finesse involved in their coupling. They fucked. The bed rocked with their fervor; Greg tried to reach his own dripping cock, but Gil's pounding rhythm forced him to put both hands on the headboard to keep himself upright. Behind him, Gil was everywhere at once--scratching at his ass cheeks, fingers under the garters, kissing his skin between the corset laces and pulling at them with his teeth. When he bit down hard between the corset and Greg's shoulder blade, that finished it. Greg came with a howl, babbling, cursing in half-words and sounds as the outrageous pleasure dragged him under. Gil's grunts and hissing breaths resolved into a cry of "Greg!" as he melded them together, his cock thrust as deep as it would go into Greg's body. A few stuttering strokes followed, and then he stilled, his face resting against the red satin.
After a moment, Greg straightened a little. Gil shifted back to sit on the bed; he was out of breath. Once again he turned his face away.
"Hey." Reaching out, Greg cupped his chin. "What's wrong?"
Gil swiped a hand over his cheeks and shook his head.
Greg leaned in to kiss him, but Gil had retreated again. He felt a righteous, protective anger well up in him. Someone had shamed Gil for this, but that was going to stop right now. He kissed the cheek he could reach and slid off the bed.
"I'm going to clean up a little. Don't go anywhere."
When he got back, Gil was sitting up against the pillows, the covers pulled up to his waist. The corset box was on the floor. Greg picked it up and put it carefully on the chest at the foot of the bed and stretched, pulling his arms back behind his head. "You were right. It is pretty comfortable." He ran his hands over the busk.
"Can you get it off?" It was Gil's lab voice; he could have been asking if Greg would hand him a swab.
"I don't want to take it off yet." Gil's face remained impassive, though he shifted under the blanket. When Greg sat down on the edge of the bed, he scooted over a little. Greg followed; this was no time for distance. "Talk to me."
"Greg, I don't--"
"No. You need to tell me what happened. You've been on this roller-coaster ride all evening. One minute you're crazy turned-on and happy, and the next minute you won't even look at me. Right now, if there's a problem between us about this corset, it's with you, not me. Now. Tell me." He waited then, in silence, until Gil's eyes met his.
"It was really nothing." Greg raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Finally, Gil went on. "When you're young, or at least when I was young, you buy Playboy and Penthouse, that sort of thing. The only photos that did anything for me were the ones where the model was wearing a corset." He'd looked back down again; he was toying with a loose thread in the bedspread. "Once I got to college, it dawned on me that I was gay. That was kind of a shock, you know? It wasn't exactly socially acceptable, even by the mid-seventies. Over break one spring, I went up to San Francisco, figuring I'd get it out of my system once and for all. It was...pretty educational. I was in heaven. My first kiss with a man, my first date with a man, my first club. That was the first time I saw a man in a corset, and I couldn't take my eyes off of him. I'm afraid I got a little persistent, and they threw me out of the place." He smiled ruefully up at Greg, who huffed out a little laugh and shook his head.
Gil took a big breath and went on. "So I did my research, and I discovered that male corsetry was, well, not a common fetish, but not unheard of, either. But I kept it to myself. It was tough enough to get dates as it was." He sighed and slouched back against the pillows. "When I was in grad school, I fell in love with a guy named Dean. He was working in agricultural entomology, so we saw a lot of each other. He was gorgeous and popular, but he seemed genuinely attracted to me. I couldn't believe how lucky I was. We went out for months, spent almost all our free time together. There was lots of talk about trust and committment. It felt like the real thing, right? So I got my nerve up and asked him to try a corset. And he did. In hindsight, I think I was fooling myself. I just wanted..." He stopped and closed his eyes.
Brushing a curl back from Gil's forehead, Greg whispered, "You wanted him to give you what you needed. Nothing wrong with that."
This time Gil laughed, bitter and dry as desert sand. "Oh, no. Nothing wrong with it. At first he seemed to like it, and I was on cloud nine. When I look back, it's easy to see that he was just humoring me. I practically had to beg him to wear it after the first couple times, and he got out of it as quickly as he could after we'd finished. By that spring I was trying to get my research cleaned up and ready to publish, and I was busy all the time. I did my best to keep up the relationship, but he go more and more demanding, and things started to change. It got so that when we were together, all we did was fight. He threw the corset into the arguments every chance he got. Mocked me, said I couldn't get it up without playing dress-up."
While Gil paused in his story, Greg picked up one of his hands and kissed the back of it. Gil cleared his throat and went on.
"I finally told him that if he was unhappy we had no business being together. He tried to smooth things over, but by the week before graduation,I'd had enough." Another sigh. "He had the last word. After we broke up, he told everyone he knew that I was sick, and that he'd broken up with me because I forced him to do sick, kinky things. My thesis advisor got wind of it. He had a serious talk with me about how my 'private behavior' might affect my career."
Greg's heart was in his throat. "Oh, Gil."
"Well, needless to say, I got rid of the corset immediately."
"You've never tried again?"
"No. I've had some liaisons, but they were all about the fetish. No one I've actually dated."
That hurt. Gil soaked up affection like a basking cat. The image of him with some faceless man in a mechanical parody of intimacy twisted in Greg's gut.
"Well, that's history. No more." He stretched out on the bed and pulled Gil's arm around his waist, over the corset. "It's you and me now. You're not sick, and this is not some dirty secret. I want it to be part of what we do together. Just promise me something."
The look on Gil's face was caution and hope in equal parts. "What is that?"
"You have to tell me what you need, and you have to trust me. OK?"
Brows drawn down in a little frown, Gil leaned back and studied Greg's face for several moments. It was hard, but Greg kept his countenance and returned the gaze as steadily as he could.
"You really mean that, don't you?"
"I do."
The touch of Gil's hand on the corset was so light Greg scarcely felt it. "So we can do this again."
"And again, and again."
Blue eyes, the clouds lifted from their depths, regarded him over a warm, quiet smile. "We'll wear it out," he said. He snugged one arm around Greg's waist and pulled him close for a kiss, then began to unlatch the busk.
"I'll buy you another one for your birthday next year."
Gil kissed him again; Greg was sure he could taste happiness on Gil's lips. "Bet on it."