Fic: Expensive Gadgets (Gil/Greg)

[zaganthi]

Title: Expensive Gadgets
Author: zechsy & tzi
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Gil/Greg
Challenge: Year of the Cock
Summary: Submission is really an act of control. Gil likes it that way.
Author's Note/Warnings: From the Conundrum universe -- it's porno-rific
Disclaimer: They don't belong to us. If they did, there would be mad monkey sex.



There were fine lines between mentor and student, leader and led. Lines that existed for a reason but sometimes blurred and warped. Gil had always enjoyed learning from people who had been his students.

It was part of life, because one person couldn't hold all of the pieces of any given puzzle, and at the moment, Gil wasn't inclined to try. Not really. There were things that he wanted, that he needed, that he didn't often get. And there were people who were capable of giving those things to him.

More specifically, there was a person capable of giving those things to him.

"Shift your arms back behind you. Yeah. Like that's good."

"Okay." It was easy to move, to do what he was told because deep down, he knew it was just a game. Just a moment in time without any bad repercussions on his life, and with a lot of pleasure.

Deviance was fascinating to study, and like any mentally alluring topic, it was easy to slip over the edge of Observance Point and into the middle of Trying It Out. Trying It Out, as things happened, wasn't so bad. Actually, he would describe it as a great deal of fun, if anybody asked.

Maybe not so much the process with all of the knots, though.

There was a faint pull at his shoulders when slim, steady hands worked the ropes into place, silky things that felt as if they had been braided for greater strength. It wasn't enough to make it burn, or to make him seriously uncomfortable. He certainly *noticed* it, though.

"Now. Forward."

Gil noticed that he wasn't going anywhere with those ropes tied so well. When he leaned forwards he had no way to balance himself. Not with his arms bound comfortably behind him, palms out and knuckles pressed to the small of his back.

It was always unexpectedly hot that his partner was that considerate. Tied up with no escape, but at least nothing was going to go out of joint on him.

There was a slight bounce when he hit the mattress, but not much more. Not much more, and then there were ropes coming from behind him up over his shoulders and around his neck. That was new, but not threatening. They were quickly anchored in a firm knot, one just below his collar bone, and then spread apart to slide beneath his arms.

"I'm going to pull these around you to meet your wrists now."

He exhaled carefully, and tried to not squirm. "Yes..." Yes. He wanted circumstances to be beyond his control, even though they were still in his control. If he said no, it would stop. But tight thighs were pressing on either side of his ass, his partner up close and so personal as he added elaborateness to the knots.

"You're pretty like this."

Pretty. It was a bizarre word for someone his age, his shape, a turn of phrase that was faintly eccentric for someone so young. What on earth made him think of it?

Greg's lips were moist and warm when he leaned down to whisper in Gil's ear. "I love to see you like this."

It took a moment to formulate words past simple noise, to come up with the sense to express more than encouragement. He just wanted to breathe, to feel the steady, soft gusts of air against his skin. "W... Why?"

"You're always so in control," Greg explained against his skin, mouthing the back of Gil's neck. "Except when you aren't. Doesn't happen often, but when it does..." The rock of his hips pressed his prick against the back of Gil's thigh. "I find it highly erotic."

There was something about being tied up that made every motion profound, every sensation intense. He could feel the faint smear of pre-come from the head of Greg's dick, and he moaned when he pressed his cheek against the mattress. "Just here..." Just for you, but the words didn't come.

Greg knew them anyway, just like he knew that Gil's feet got cold, so he always left on his socks. It was faintly silly, and made Gil want to laugh at himself, at both of them, but... Well. It was nice, too. "Hm. Yeah. I know. I like that. I like a lot of things." Like the faint layer of fat over one tricep, like nuzzling against the place where torso and arm became shoulder.

That had to be some level of deviation in and of itself. He wasn't an exceptionally fit man. He wasn't a *stunner*. And he wasn't young. There had to be something desperately wrong with Greg, except Gil had already decided that he was selfishly never going to try to fix the other man.

Greg seemed pretty pleased with the arrangement.

"Mmnh." Gil closed his eyes faintly, because his field of vision was the weave of the sheets, the edge of the mattress, and the tilted line of the bedside stand where their cell phones laid. Greg had taken the batteries out of both of them. No interruptions allowed.

No phone calls. No pages. And they weren't getting out of bed to answer the door. That was part of the reason for the ropes, after all. If someone knocked, Gil would feel guilty and want to get up to answer. Greg wasn't going to let him.

"Now. I wonder what you could be wanting..." Ah. Greg's mouth dragged across the strong line of his shoulders, coming to settle low against his neck, mostly his spine. Gil could feel the slippery head of Greg's cock nudging against his balls, slick erratic pressure that was just so, just right. It gave him restless shivers, too eager to go right for the main course, such as it was. When he was on top, he could wait *forever* to do it, but when he was tied up, his self control shot itself to hell.

Gil groaned, biting the inside of his cheek to ground himself a little, and tried to shift against the ropes.

"You know, I'm kind of hungry," Greg said to him. "Do you think you might like chili later on tonight? The kind with those New Orleans style beans, I think..."

Teasing little bastard. Gil would get him later. Unfortunately, later wasn't *now*.

"Greeegg..." He had a little hip motion still, and shifted back against Greg's teasing dick before he hunched forwards, rubbing himself on the mattress.

"Oh. Not interested in supper, huh?" Greg could even laugh in bed, and normally, that was a very sexy thing. When he came, he'd get breathless, and he'd laugh, and Gil had never seen anything quite like that before. It just wasn't so funny when Gil wanted to get *fucked*. "I suppose I could see my way to giving you what you want... if you ask nicely."

It didn't take more than a second for him to respond to *that*. "Please..." Opening his eyes fully didn't help him see Greg, so he tried to test his range of motion and twist. "Please fuck me. I want..."

"Hm. Yeah. I know what you want." Ah, God, Greg was getting off of him, and Gil was going to kill him when he came back. "I know exactly what you need." Gil could hear the faint shhhht of the Rubbermaid box being pulled out from under the bed. "I'll give it to you," Greg promised.

"Please..." Perhaps, just perhaps, a faint note of whine slipped into his voice. But where before he'd had hands and reassuring legs on him, a cock almost in position, now there was just air. Air and Greg digging around in what Gil knew was the kinkiest box of sex toys that existed. The other CSIs had given Nicky some freaked out looks when he had recognized the font for the Erotica Boutique, but those looks weren't even half of what they'd give if they could see what Greg liked to play with on a regular basis.

Usually with Gil watching... but there was watching and then there was being.

Three weeks ago, Greg had taken a large vibrating butt plug out of that box. He'd carefully inserted it, stroked Gil's cock a few times, turned it on, and then had wandered out into his kitchen to get a carton of ice-cream and a spoon. It had taken twenty minutes of agonizing pleasure -- and half a carton of ice cream on Greg's side of the equation -- before Gil had broken down and started to beg Greg to turn it off.

He'd returned the favor just last week, which had been fun, and kinky, and had resulted in Greg standing up to eat breakfast. Gil had the best of all possible worlds held in the palm of his hands.

Well.

Except for the part where he didn't *know* what Greg was up to in that box.

"No... no, not this... not this... hmmm..."

Dammit.

He couldn't exactly squirm sideways to peer, not without gaining himself some repercussive 'wrath' in their game. Half of Greg's enjoyment came from making Gil wait and wonder, left to his mercies.

God alone knew what Greg was going to get off of the floor carrying, and what it was going to feel like. The only thing Gil was absolutely sure of was that he was going to love every last minute of it.

"Ahhh. There we go. That's it. Don't you think so?" The way that Greg waved it didn't let him see much. It was purple, and half of everything they owned was purple due to some twisted, bizarre love of the color that Greg had. Something about comic books that Gil wasn't coherent enough to contemplate at the moment. "Slick it up, put it in you... Mmmm..."

"Uhhm." Gil closed his eyes, more than willing to submit to it. "Please, anything..." Which he probably shouldn't have said. Maybe he was facing another session of 'see how long it takes to make Gil beg and really *mean* it'.

"I love this thing, myself," Greg told him conversationally. Gil could feel the bed dip under his weight as he sprawled out nearby. "Hm, God, and I know how you like to see it when I fuck myself with it. Your dick is incredible, really. I love playing with it, even if it's just a silicon imitation. That was the greatest idea you ever had, by the way."

Fingers.

Fingers were sneaking, sliding, slippery. Two at once, deep in Gil's hole, hard and hot.

He bit his tongue in lieu of a pillow, twisting his face against the mattress to muffle himself. Being spread that quick was always a sensation unto itself, a sharp punch of pleasure because he was relaxed and eager for it. There was such a thin line between something hurting and something feeling so good he could hardly stand it and wanted more.

"Nnn, Greg... Please." Please. Was he going to fuck Gil with... what, that silicone cast dick, and not his own? He wanted Greg in him or on him or something. Some sharp sensation. Living flesh, real skin, always felt so much better than latex and silicone.

"Pretty," Greg reminded him, and maybe Greg really thought so. Greg was crazy. Gil knew it. "Pretty when you're horny and on your *knees*, and all tied up..." Yeah, Greg was obviously enjoying himself just as much, and then....

Fuck.

*Fuck*. Not Greg's dick. Bigger, thicker, heavier, his *own*, the one they'd cast from *his* cock, the one that Greg had slept with and kissed goodnight for a solid week and a half before he would let Gil put it under the bed.

He had to groan, had to exhale raggedly because he wasn't used to *that*. Greg was used to it, but he wasn't, and fuck if that wasn't a strange thing for his mind to try to process. Greg was going to fuck him with his own dick, probably just as fast as Greg's hand could move when he was masturbating.

When silicone imitations of his own balls settled against his actual balls, Gil twisted, a faint whine leaving his throat. "Please..." Please, he couldn't just leave the thick thing in place in him. Couldn't just leave him alone there. Couldn't just...

"Pull your legs in tighter. Yeah. Yeah, like that." Ahhh. And there it was, Greg's cock, slick a little, too, and plunging between Gil's thighs. Fuuuuck. Fuck. Every motion shifted the dildo, and Gil's eyes were rolling back in his head from the sudden pleasure of it.

Ever motion bumped the head of Greg's cock against his balls, against his *cast* balls, against the dildo stuck firmly into him. It was decadent, and if Greg hadn't tied him in so well, Gil was half-sure his twisting and writhing against the mattress would have gotten him loose.

And behind him, Greg was filling the room with his voice, almost-coherent compared to Gil's noises, pants, begging sounds. It was like being fucked twice over, a constant tickle of sensation right against his perineum, against his balls, enough to make his brain stop ticking altogether and give him nothing but sensation. Nothing but *Greg* and sweat and rope and *dick*, *his* dick, shoved tight up his own ass when it usually belonged up Greg's.

"Un... uh... un..." Coherence was overrated. Sensation, the empirical evidence of the moment, was everything. He was coasting on it, the knowledge that his subconscious was paying attention to was half as hot as the reality of the smack of skin on skin, the burn of friction, the ache of his cock. It was teasing, because there was no withdrawal with the dildo stuck in him. Just the tap of Greg's lean hips smacking it into him a little, rhythmically. It was the worst kind of tease, and Gil wanted more. Moaned for more, moving his hands to try to touch Greg's stomach.

"No. No touching," Greg panted, shifting upwards and moving away. His *dick* was gone, the pressure was gone, and there wasn't any skin anymore. There was Greg, settling himself at the head of the bed with his dick in his hand. "You want to see me?" he asked. Gil could tell how bad he wanted it. "You want to see me do it? I know how much you like to watch it..."

His position slipped, and he flattened to the bed again as hopes of satisfaction skipped away from him again. He wanted to touch, he wanted skin, to feel, to... Anything. He still had a carbon copy of his own cock stuck up his ass, and Greg's dick was swollen, shiny and red. "Please..."

"God." Greg's voice was shaking, and his dick was so close. Gil could almost smell the arousal wafting off of him even as he reached out to close one hand over it firmly and stroke, offbeat presses of his hand, the other one slipping to press behind his balls. "Oh. God. Oh, fuck. Oh, God!"

He clenched his hands into fists for a moment, needing to keep himself from trying to get closer. He could definitely smell sex and sweat from Greg, and he wanted that. Wanted that hot, sweaty come smell, wanted the orgasm that it implied. Watching Greg stroke was amazing, even when he was half-coherent. The muscles just above the base of his cock shook, the muscles just inside Greg's thighs turned whip-tight.

"G-gonna..." Come, Greg didn't say, his entire body arching tight. It brought him in reach of Gil's mouth, but those fingers were clutching tight at the base, trying to stave it off. "Fuuuuuck!"

"Greeegg..." It came out as more of a rumble, and he really did try to move to get some sort of contact, even if it was just getting his shoulder against Greg's knee. Something.

That look was unreal, complete sex in a way that Gil didn't want anybody to see again but himself. "Tell me what you want?"

For his hands to unlock from being fists. For some motion, some sensation, he wanted, wanted Greg. "You." Shaky, sure, but he was firm in the word. He wanted Greg, wanted to touch him, wanted whatever he could get when he couldn't really move.

Slow, spreading grins were part of sex now. Gil figured he might die if he ever stopped getting them. "I'm yours. Just... don't count on me holding out." Yeah, well, they were both close. Just the thought of Greg shoving in and *fucking* him was phenomenal.

Gil wanted to hear that laugh, the breathless way Greg got. Wanted anything he could get. It was a relief when the mattress shifted, Greg finally moving to do something again. Something that ended up with a twist and a shift and Gil's hands pressed flat between his ass and the mattress.

"Got an *idea*," Greg said, climbing up over Gil. The cinnamon lube was out, smeared over Greg's fingers, and then Greg reached back to rub it into himself, sliding his fingers deep. "Fuuuuuck..."

It felt like stretching when he was turned that way, the dick up his ass jostled just enough to make his hard cock shiver. Watching Greg quickly glob himself full of lube didn't help. That was just what Greg did, though -- used a little too much, a little too happy to have it messy like that. Gil hadn't ever asked why. The why was pretty obvious: Greg liked it that way. Greg was going to fuck himself down on Gil, so he was right. Neither of them were going to last long.

Two fingers were enough, Gil guessed, because Greg's hand pulled away, found and slicked Gil's cock, and then, Jesus, Holy *Mary*, hot, tight, Greg had the most incredible *ass*, and his hand was sneaking back, finding the dildo, and *shifting* it so that Gil bucked up wildly into him.

"FUCK!"

Fucking amazing. Gil could use his heels for a little leverage, humping up against Greg, but that was it and that was all he needed to do, really. Greg was on top of him, so sexy as he seemed to loll where he sat on top of Gil's dick. His ass cheeks were hot on top of Gil's hips, the top of his thighs, but just a candle-flame compared to the blaze of being inside of his lover.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." Litany in time with the stroke of his own cock so deep in his ass that Gil couldn't think, and Greg riding him as if there wouldn't ever be another chance to have him. The words didn't hide the sheer desperate *need*, the way that Greg was already tightening around him even as he shifted up again and plunged back down.

Part of Gil's mind almost drifted off, separate from the sensations, watching the play of the corner lamp's light on Greg's legs every time muscles strained up and down again. But that didn't last long, and it joined the rest of him in the feeling of tight squeeze around his dick, erratic shoving of his own cock up his ass. The loud, moaning curses kept coming, and Greg's hands were shaking. He could tell. It gave the faintest weird (interesting?) shift to the way Gil was being fucked. So good. It was so good.

"Oh, God, oh, God, oh. Oh. OH! FUCK!" Greg's ass was grinding into his crotch, head thrown back, entire body gone tight and still as he went off, coming all over Gil's chest and belly. He exploded, and clamped down at the same time. Greg was tight, so tight, milking shuddering squeezing around Gil's dick. Just a couple more rough bucks up, then back down against his own cock's twin, and he was there with Greg. Panting, sweating, straining and then hitting the wall of pleasure.

All while tied up.

Life was *incredibly* fucking good. It was a shame that he couldn't appreciate how much for several minutes because his brain had completely lost all higher functions.

"I love your *dick*," Greg moaned against his chest sometime later, when Gil's thoughts were back more or less intact. Well. Sort of. There were hands fumbling at knots, but the younger man hadn't moved off of him quite yet. Gil was going soft, sure, but... he was still *in* there, and God, it felt unimaginable. If the rest of the office knew Greg was like that, Gil would be fighting them off on a regular basis.

It would've been hard to fight them off just then, because he couldn't feel his right arm. "Greg, that... killed brain cells," Gil finally decided. Soft but still inside of Greg was an amazing sensation, a little too much stimulation. The cinnamon lube burned some, and he hadn't noticed that before.

"Mhmmmm." That earned him a kiss, and a further loosening of ropes. "I have to move to let you out. Don't wanna." Hm... more kissing was good. He could withstand another minute or two of circulation loss. Or maybe not.

"That was good." He half-moaned that against Greg's mouth, leaning up to try to keep those kisses.

"C'mon. I have to get you out of this." One more kiss, and then Greg moved, shifted up and off of Gil with a groan that echoed to the ends of Gil's fingertips somehow. "Jesuuuus."

With Greg, Gil learned important lessons like a soft dick not being a useless one. At least he could still get a groan like that out of Greg, even *after*. "Fuck." Fuck, because the dick in his ass wasn't going to be soft coming out.

"Hm." Greg shifted to the side, turning him gently, fingers plucking at the knots in the ropes. "Your hands have gotta be falling asleep. Geeze. I'm sorry, just..." Just they both needed fucking, and sometimes a guy had to do what he had to do to get it.

"It's fine. I'm fine, and..." Gil trailed off into a quiet laugh. "Your ass is fine, too. Can you get... *me* out of me?"

Gil hated that he couldn't see that grin. "Sure." Knots were abandoned, and Greg's fingers probed between his cheeks, shifting, rocking, almost pulling and then settling it back in. "Sure you want me to?"

Fuck. Fuck, that was too much, enough to make him wince because his dick was trying to stir to life a little. "Yes, please..." Please take it *out*, or nudge him onto his stomach and start all over again. Either or, but not half-untied and teasing when he still couldn't get his hands loose.

"Yeah. Well, there's cruel and unusual and then there's fucking you when you're down. I think we can wait a while, huh?" The gentle slide was still almost too much, and it was a relief when it was out.

Gil was going to get his revenge. Absolutely. It was going to be *nice* vengeance, too. They played tit for tat in their own way, and neither one of them had a reason to complain. He'd learned a lot from Greg about the subtler things in relationships. About how good it felt in the aftermath of sex, and what it felt like to have no circulation at all in his hands.

"I think... my fingers are going to fall off, Greg."

"Right," Greg said, and there was a lot more hurrying behind him. Gil could feel Greg's hands at his wrists, plucking the ropes loose, and then his arms shifted, fell more or less to his side, and Gil couldn't help groaning because it felt so good. "Here. Let me rub your forearms..."

No one at work would've believed it. Except maybe Catherine. Maybe. The people who did know probably preferred not to think at all what they did in bed.

Gil liked to think about it quite a bit. He stretched, and shifted to roll onto his back, bringing his arms forwards at last so he could touch Greg. "They're fine. You're very conscientious when you do that."

"Well, I want you to be around for me to tie up a whole lot longer. You're sexy in ropes and your socks," Greg told him, squirming down until they were both comfortable.

Side by side, on top of each other a little. Gil got his arms around Greg, volunteering for the position of human mattress if only because he could straighten any kinks out of his back if he laid flat. "You're crazy."

"Yeah, well, you like it. You like it, and it makes you *horny*." Greg was very certain about that, no small amount smug. "Hey, lemme get the covers. And, um, if you're in the wet spot from where I rolled you over, we can move some...."

Gil shifted to the left, while Greg pulled away to drag the covers up from the end of the bed. "I like your crazy," Gil decided, sounding smug in return as he grabbed a pillow.

"Mhm," Greg agreed, curling up against him and adjusting the sheets and blankets around them. "Hey, so. Tomorrow. You gonna take me out and buy me that thing I saw, now that you're my sugar daddy?" The running joke about the loss of money Greg had suffered by becoming a CSI instead of staying in the lab was still pretty amusing to Gil.

"Maybe..." Not that he could remember what thing it *was*. Gil closed his eyes, arms loosely around Greg as they settled in. The comedown from sex like that was fantastic, and left him mellow and almost at peace. If Greg decided to say it was a car, Gil would at least give it contemplation. After all, he didn't have much trouble spending money on things that made life nicer or more comfortable.

Like an expensive stereo system. Or the washing machine that didn't make 'kthunk' noises. Or a Greg.