FIC: Bowtie Ball, 1/3, NC-17, Grissom/Stokes
Title: Bowtie Ball
Author: Tara Keezer
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Grissom/Stokes
Summary: Nick’s a man with a mission; Gil gets dragged along.
Author’s Note/Warnings: D/s elements, all consensual; mildly spoilerish for the mid season 5 changes.
Disclaimer: I’m not Zuiker nor anyone else associated with the CSI franchise, so I own squat in that direction. I do, however, own a spiffy new dishwasher that actually works.
~*~*~
Part 1
“Stokes! My office. Now.”
Nick looked up, his mouth slightly open as Catherine stalked off. Without turning away from the break room door, he said, “She doesn’t sound too happy.”
Warrick said absently, “She’ll be even less happy if you make her wait.”
“Yeah.” Nick stood. “Wish me luck, man.”
“You’re gonna need it.”
~*~*~
Nick stepped into Catherine’s office with more than a little caution. “Hey, Catherine. You wanted to see me?”
“No, I wanted to throttle you,” she said, glaring at him from behind her desk. “Fortunately for everyone concerned, Gil managed to talk me out of it.”
At that point, Nick noticed that Grissom was also in the room, leaning against the wall. He had a grim expression, and Nick was never more grateful than at that moment that the man was no longer his direct supervisor. Nick gave him what he hoped was an easy-going-nothing’s-wrong-here-move-along-people kind of grin. “Hey, Griss. What are you doing here?”
“Sit down, Nick,” Grissom said, clearly unimpressed by the grin.
When he took a seat, Catherine began with, “You know, when Sara talked to the FBI behind Gil’s back a few years ago, I thought he overreacted to the situation.”
Beads of sweat popped out on Nick’s forehead. “Catherine -”
“After all, she just wanted to help catch a killer, and she had the right physical type to match the victim profile,” she continued.
“I can explain -”
“It wasn’t until I got a call from Ecklie about how happy he was that you volunteered to help the FBI on a case I’ve never even heard of that I realized just how much restraint Gil showed with Sara,” she said, her voice rising as she stepped on Nick’s attempts to defend himself. “How could you? You didn’t even talk to me about it first.”
“I just -” Nick broke off, frustrated at his sudden insecurity. “Did he tell you why they need to go in?”
“It doesn’t matter, Nick. You’re a CSI, not a police officer.” Her voice becoming increasingly shrill. “You can’t just go off like this behind my back. Do you have any -”
“Catherine.” Gil’s quiet voice managed to break into her rant. “I know how you feel, and I don’t blame you. But yelling won’t do you any good, and it may end up getting you on suspension.” He flashed a quick smile at her. “Trust me on that.”
She nodded once in acknowledgement of his point. “Fine. You talk to him, because right now, I can’t. Not without shouting.” She stood up, her movements as abrupt as her words. “I’ll be in trace.”
Nick winced at the sound of the door slamming behind him then looked at Grissom. “Okay, so you know some of what’s going on. But what you might not know is that this is really important. You have to talk to her - get her to go along.”
“Is it important enough to risk a highly valued member of CSI?” Grissom cocked his head slightly. “Because I’d really like to know why you think your health and well-being aren’t as important as anyone else’s.”
“What? No!” Nick stood up and paced. “It’s not like that.”
His patience slipped a little at that, and Grissom frowned. “Oh? From where I’m standing, it’s exactly like that.”
“I didn’t volunteer for an undercover drug operation -”
“No. You didn’t.” Grissom took a steadying breath before continuing. “You volunteered for something worse.”
Genuinely confused by the older man’s reaction, Nick stopped pacing. “How can it be worse, man? It’s just a party. There won’t even be any weapons.”
“It’s not ‘just’ a party. It’s a party for a specific subsection of the domination and submission scene.” Grissom pursed his lips as he stared up at Nick. “There’s not a chance in hell they’d buy you as a dominant, so you’ll have to go as a submissive.”
Nick worked his mouth as a blush stole up his face from his neck. “What makes you say that?”
“The way you’ve been acting since you walked in doesn’t lend itself to making anyone believe you can be a dominant. You’re squirming, Nick, all but begging for approval,” Grissom said, his voice matter-of-fact.
Scowling, he answered, “That’s what Lady Heather said.”
“I know.”
Nick blinked. “How?”
Grissom sighed. “She called me after you talked to her.” When Nick just stared, he added, “She was concerned over how little you know about any part of the local scene, let alone the Bowtie Ball.”
“I just wanted her to give me some pointers - you know - so I can play my part,” Nick said, his voice taking on a hint of pleading. He hated that he was proving Lady Heather and Grissom’s point about his personality, but even more, he hated the idea that Grissom might raise a big enough stink to get him pulled from the operation.
“Your part,” Grissom said flatly. “You see this as a role, nothing that can touch you personally.”
“Well. Sure.”
“Who’s going to play the ‘role’ of your master?”
Nick flinched slightly at the question. “Special Agent Carsters said she’d do it.”
“She can’t. The Bowtie Ball is a men-only function.”
His earlier blush had faded somewhat, but now it returned in full bloom. Still, Nick dug in his heels. “Then Special Agent Fisher can play the role.”
Grissom asked, “Was he the one who approached you about this?”
“Well. I talked to him first, but yeah, he’s in charge.”
Grissom shook his head. “He didn’t even do enough background research to understand the dynamics of the Bowtie Ball. Is this really the man you want to trust to keep you safe while you’re wandering around naked in a room full of strangers?”
Gulping once then twice, Nick stammered out, “Naked?”
“Submissives don’t get to wear clothes at the ball, Nick. Makes it easier to treat them like sex toys. It will be up to your master to ensure that you aren’t too badly abused.” Grissom took another deep breath. “I’ll ask you again - do you trust Special Agent Fisher to keep you safe and sane?”
After a long moment, Nick’s shoulders drooped and his head hung down. “No. I guess not.”
“So this is an end to this nonsense, right?”
Before Grissom could take a step to leave, Nick said firmly, “No. It isn’t.”
“Nick -”
“I may not trust Fisher, but I trust you,” he said, his face animated with the excitement of coming up with an acceptable compromise.
“What are you talking about?”
“You could go as my master,” Nick said quickly. “It would be perfect!”
Grissom stared at the younger man as if he’d just grown a second head. “No - it wouldn’t.”
“Yes it would!” Nick started pacing again, his excitement showing on his face. “I trust you with my life, and this isn’t nearly that dangerous. You could do it, and -”
“No!” At Nick’s crestfallen expression, Grissom added more gently, “I don’t know what this is all about, but even if -”
“Pedophilia,” Nick interrupted. When Grissom didn’t respond, he said, “The FBI got a tip that one of the men attending the ball was bragging about bringing fourteen-year-old twins along this year. Said something about selling them as a matched set.”
His eyes narrowed, Grissom remained silent for a moment. “You sound like you’re personally involved. You shouldn’t do this.”
“How could I not be personally involved? We’re talking about kids here. Boys who don’t have a say in what happens to them - who have to do whatever the grownup tells them to do.” Nick stopped pacing a couple of feet from Grissom. “If the tip is real, this may be the only chance anyone has to get those boys out of a bad situation.”
Grissom said softly, “You don’t know what you’re getting into - how dangerous it is.”
“It’s not like there will be guns there,” Nick said confidently. After a pause, he said uncertainly, “There won’t be guns, will there?”
“Most of the time, it’s possible to survive a gunshot wound,” Grissom said. “What you’re talking about doing - Nick, the danger is to your emotional well-being. Recovering from that kind of injury is a hell of a lot harder than recovering from a physical injury.”
Mule stubborn, Nick clenched his jaw in the face of Grissom’s concern. “I’m doing this with or without you, Griss. I have to.”
Shaking his head, Grissom said, “It’s a bad idea, Nicky. Really bad.”
~*~*~
After two days of ceaseless nagging, Grissom finally agreed to give Nick a chance to prove he could handle it - under the close supervision of Lady Heather. The two men sat in her back parlor, with Grissom waiting patiently while Nick fidgeted nearby.
After a few minutes, Gil said, “If you’re serious about doing this, you need to learn to sit still.”
Startled, Nick froze in the act of picking up yet another magazine. He sat back slowly, watching Grissom the entire time. “Yes, master.”
“Stop that.”
“Actually, if you truly plan to take Nick to the ball, you should encourage him to continue to call you master,” said Lady Heather as she stopped just inside the door. “I suggest that you use a paddle to reinforce the idea that he should never speak to you disrespectfully again.”
Grissom stood up when she entered the room. “Lady Heather, thank you for agreeing to provide guidance.”
“As I’m the one who tipped the FBI in the first place, I could hardly turn you down.” She sat in a large armchair, ignoring their startled glances, and motioned to Grissom to take his seat again.
“The call came from you?” Nick’s foot started tapping. “How long have you known about what was going to happen at the ball?”
“Since about two hours before I spoke with Special Agent Fisher,” she said, unperturbed by the younger man’s sudden anger. “And before you ask why I didn’t call immediately, it’s because I wanted to verify the information. Would either of you like tea?”
“I would,” Grissom said. “New china?”
“I found the set the last time I went to London.” She put in a lump of sugar and handed the cup to Grissom. “Mr. Stokes? Would you like anything in your tea?”
About to answer with an impatient no, Nick caught sight of the warning in Grissom’s eyes and forced himself to back down. “No thank you, Lady Heather. I’ll take it plain.”
She gave him an approving smile and handed the cup over before pouring her own tea. To Grissom, she said, “Have you told him everything he can expect, should he choose to go through with this plan?”
Grissom frowned slightly. “I would rather the information come from you.”
“Understandable, all things considered. We can discuss it later.” Lady Heather looked at Nick for a moment. “You said on the phone that you can handle anything that’s thrown at you.”
“That’s right,” he said easily, sitting back in his chair.
She gave him a small smile and looked at him through half-closed eyes. “Stand up and remove your clothing.”
His teacup halfway to his mouth, Nick froze, feeling uncomfortably like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi-truck. “Beg your pardon, ma’am?”
“Your clothing, Nick. Remove it.” After a heartbeat, she added, “Now.”
Nick slowly put his cup down, looking to Grissom for a bit of direction and hoping for encouragement to stay dressed. When the other man just sat and waited without expressing an interest one way or the other, Nick bit back a sigh and stood. He pulled off his long-sleeved t-shirt and was about to unbutton his pants when Lady Heather stopped him.
“You did that too quickly. Put your shirt back on, then follow my instructions.”
His face was bright red by now - he was sure of it. “You have to be kidding me.”
“She’s not. And if you can’t handle submitting to another person in the safe company of a colleague and a close acquaintance, how do you think you’ll be able to handle it a month from now when you’re in a ballroom with two hundred other men?” Grissom sipped his tea as though nothing out of the ordinary were happening, and that, thought Nick, might be part of the problem. Grissom was handling this far too calmly.
He put his shirt back on and looked at Lady Heather, waiting for her direction.
“Grip the hem of your shirt with one hand and pull it up slowly.” When he did so, baring his abdomen, she said, “Run your hand languidly across the skin of your belly.”
Grissom’s eyebrows went up, and he looked over at Lady Heather. “‘Languidly?’”
She glanced at him. “It’s a good word and describes perfectly what I want Nick to do.”
“I wasn’t criticizing. I was simply curious.” Grissom turned back to Nick. “I believe you were told to do something with your hand.”
“Geez, Griss -”
“I’ll ask again: if you can’t handle it here, with just two of us watching, how are you going to handle it at the ball?” Grissom’s expression grew distant. “Either do as you’re instructed, or I end this now.”
Nick stared at him as he tentatively moved his hand along his abdomen.
“That’s good, Nick. Keep looking at your master,” Lady Heather said softly. “Use your hand the way you want him to use his on you.”
Her comment stalled Nick’s movement. “Um, his what?”
“His hand, Nick,” she said with mildly exaggerated patience. “Pretend that your hand is his hand, and touch yourself the way you want him to touch you.”
It took a few tries for Nick to find his voice. “I never - I just - I mean -”
Grissom, his face closed and distant, rescued him. Sort of. “It’s a men-only party for dominants and submissives, and you’re talking about going there undercover. Did you think you would be able to get through the party without at least one display of sexual submission to me?”
“Well, no. But I didn’t think that would be, you know, totally public,” he said, his embarrassment reaching near-lethal levels.
Irritated, Grissom asked, “Does the phrase, ‘submissives go naked at the ball’ ring any bells for you?”
“Yeah. I just wasn’t thinking.” Nick ducked his head.
“Clearly.” Grissom took a deep breath and shook his head slightly. “Have I mentioned that I think this is a bad idea?”
Nick grimaced. “Yeah. A few dozen times.” He began touching his belly with short, hard motions.
“Is that truly how you like to be touched?” Lady Heather leaned forward. “Generally speaking, even masochists prefer caresses to be just that - caresses.”
“Sorry, ma’am,” he mumbled. Nick took a shaky breath and slowed down the movement of his hand. He closed his eyes and -
“Eyes open and on your master, Nick.” She sat back again and took a sip of her tea. “When you close your eyes, you close yourself off from him, and you can’t do that.”
Nick’s face went an even brighter shade of red as he caught Grissom’s eye, uncertain if it was better or worse that the man was sitting there as if this kind of thing happened all the time. Deciding it was irritating, Nick barely noticed when Grissom’s apparent disinterest sparked a determination to make him sit up and take notice of what was happening.
He pulled the hem of his shirt just a little bit higher and ran his fingertips lightly along his abdomen. With the second pass, he paused at his belly button, swirling a finger around the edge of it once then twice before briefly dipping into it. When Gil blinked, Nick tilted his head forward to look at him from beneath his eyelashes. He dragged his fingers along the waistband of his cargo pants, returning to the button to play with it.
Her voice soft and low, Lady Heather said, “Unsnap your pants then raise your shirt above your nipples.”
Though she didn’t quite break the spell Nick had put himself under, he fumbled slightly at her words. His eyes still locked on Grissom, Nick did as she asked then took it one step further, tweaking his right nipple to hardness.
“Take your shirt off, Nick, and let it drop to your feet,” she said.
Nick did so, biting back a smile when Grissom shifted in his seat.
“Grasp the tab of your zipper and pull it down slowly.”
About to follow Lady Heather’s instruction, Nick realized his hand was refusing to exert the necessary downward thrust to unzip his pants. He stood there for a moment, frozen, trying to understand why his little dance wasn’t working any longer. When Lady Heather said, “Nick?” he looked at her, his mouth working as he tried to form words.
“If I’m not mistaken, Nick is having trouble with that last order.” Grissom finished his tea and set the cup and saucer on the tea tray before standing up. “Lady Heather, I want to thank you again for -“
“I can do this, damn it!” With a sharp tug, Nick lowered the zipper. He gave up on the possibility of finesse for this particular striptease and simply shoved his slacks and underwear down his legs. It wasn’t until that moment that he remembered he was wearing -
“Nick?”
“Yes, Lady Heather?” He forced himself to look at her, steadfastly ignoring the heat spreading along his skin.
“When stripping for your master, you should bear in mind that it’s always best to start after you’ve removed your socks and boots,” she said with perfect sincerity. Nick might have believed she was serious if not for the amusement lighting up her eyes.
“Yes, ma’am.” Nick shifted from foot to foot, trying to find a way to be comfortable with the situation. In the end, he settled for standing at rest.
“Hands at your side, Nick.” When he complied, Lady Heather studied him as she sat there sipping her tea.
“Don’t you think he has a good body, Mr. Grissom?”
Nick held his breath as Grissom looked him over. It might not have been so bad if he’d just stood there, but no. He had to walk over to him and then around to his back, which meant - “I know what you’re thinking.”
Still standing behind Nick, Grissom asked in an interested tone, “You do?”
Nick dropped his chin to his chest. “It was a dare. That’s all. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“You have a tattoo of a Paddington Bear on your left buttock, and it doesn’t mean anything?”
At that, Nick squatted down to pull up his pants and get the hell out of Lady Heather’s Dominion. He should have listened to Grissom in the first place and left it up to the FBI to figure out, but no, he had to get stubborn. About to stand up, he recalled the reason - reasons - for his determination to see this thing through. Nick took a moment to compose himself then untied the laces of both boots. Without saying a word, he finished undressing, leaving his boots and socks in the pile of clothing on the floor as he stepped aside.
Lady Heather murmured, “Very good, Nick.” In a louder voice, she said, “Presentation is everything. As Mr. Grissom’s toy, you’ll naturally be expected to show proper obeisance to him, but it’s important to remember that you must also show pride in your situation.”
Nick blinked. “Pride? You mean like standing tall?”
There was a suspicious cough from Grissom, even as Lady Heather smiled. “In more ways than one. Bear in mind that your arousal must be evident at all times.”
“Oh hell.” Surely by now, all the blood in his body was at the surface of his skin. With nothing flowing to his brain, maybe he would pass out. Quickly.
She continued, “The other masters will expect you to be entirely attentive to your own master’s desire at every single moment.”
Nick, who had come to the sad conclusion that violent blushing wouldn’t make him faint after all, said, “I’m not sure I can, uh, keep it up like that.”
“It would take a solid six months of training to get you to that point.” Her smile deepened briefly. “Fortunately for you, allowances are made for new slaves. Your master will be allowed to use a cock ring on you to ensure that you don’t embarrass him in front of everyone.”
“Oh god.” Nick broke into a sweat at the mental image she’d given him, and if he wasn’t mistaken, that wasn’t the only -
“This experiment is at an end,” Grissom said from the left, startling Nick. “Look at him. He’s too humiliated at the thought of it. He’d never survive the party.”
“I’m looking, though not at his face.” Lady Heather gestured downward. “Humiliation arouses him.”
Grissom frowned as he examined the evidence before him, and Nick found himself getting just a little bit harder. “He’s standing naked in front of a beautiful woman. How could he not be aroused?”
“He’s looking at you, not me,” she said, amused. “Nick, I don’t believe I ever told you to stop caressing yourself.”
Startled, both by the turn of the conversation and by Lady Heather’s admonition, Nick began again to stroke his fingers along his belly.
“Remember to touch yourself the way you want your master to touch you,” she said softly.
His eyes on Griss - his master, Nick imagined what it would be like to have the older man’s hands on him and found the thought of it wasn’t too bad. Okay, yeah, there was a what-the-fuck factor, because really, he’d never been into guys except for that one time at the frat, but with Lady Heather and Griss - his master staring at him, Nick was starting to see the attraction. In a weird kind of way that he’d never admit to, even under penalty of -
Damn, that felt good. Nick couldn’t remember ever just taking the time to touch himself other than in the shower or to jerk off. He never realized that patch of skin just below his belly button was so damn sensitive. Without thinking about it, Nick started to wrap his fingers around his cock.
In a sharp voice, Lady Heather admonished, “Stop that. You’re only allowed to touch yourself when your master permits it.”
Nick mumbled, “Sorry, ma’am,” as she crooked her finger for his master to go over to her.
Grissom leaned down as she whispered something - something that made him frown and shake his head. Nick wanted to ask what they were talking about, but he’d slid a little too deeply into the moment and discovered he couldn’t have asked if his life depended on it.
Scary? Hell yes. And oddly, it was safe, too. Grissom - his master could be a lot of things, but right at the top of that list was trustworthy with a capital trust.
The short argument over with, his master caught Nick’s gaze again. “Run your thumb around the head of your cock.”
He did as he was told and waited for further instruction.
His master frowned at him. “Nick, who am I?”
He blinked lazily. “You’re my master.”
“Who else am I?”
Something in the older man’s voice - the tension, maybe - snapped Nick’s link to the fantasy he’d gotten lost in, and suddenly, he recalled himself and the situation. “Shit.”
Still looking concerned, Grissom asked again, “Who else am I?”
Embarrassed, and not in the toe-tingling way, Nick’s hand dropped to his side. “You’re Gil Grissom, night supervisor at Criminalistics.”
Grissom shot a hard look at him before turning to Lady Heather. “Thank you for your time this morning, but I don’t think we’ll need your services any longer.”
“What? Hang on a minute, Griss!” Abruptly recalling that he was naked, Nick covered his groin with both hands. “I was doing it - getting into it. You know I was.”
“Yeah. You were,” he answered. “In fact, you were so into it that I could have had you do pretty much whatever I thought might be amusing, and you would have gone along with it, wouldn’t you?”
More than anything, Nick wanted to be able to lie. Too bad he couldn’t. “Maybe not whatever you thought of, but probably a lot of it,” he said, his head hanging down.
“We’re not doing this. You’re too vulnerable.” Grissom shook his head and walked to the door. “Get dressed, Nicky.”
“Like hell we’re not!” Nick surprised the other two with his outburst. “There are a couple of kids in danger, and I’m not letting them stay that way.”
Grissom didn’t look at Nick when he said, “Let someone else rescue them.”
“No.” The word was as flat and unyielding as the expression on Nick’s face. “And if you don’t go with me, Fisher can be my master.”
Pausing at the door, Grissom turned to face Nick. “Are you blackmailing me?”
“If that’s what it takes.”
The two men stared at each other for a long moment before Lady Heather murmured, “He may have gotten lost, but he was able to find himself.”
Grissom focused on Lady Heather. “What makes you think he’ll be able to find himself later on?”
“What makes you think he won’t?”
Part 2
Author: Tara Keezer
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Grissom/Stokes
Summary: Nick’s a man with a mission; Gil gets dragged along.
Author’s Note/Warnings: D/s elements, all consensual; mildly spoilerish for the mid season 5 changes.
Disclaimer: I’m not Zuiker nor anyone else associated with the CSI franchise, so I own squat in that direction. I do, however, own a spiffy new dishwasher that actually works.
~*~*~
Part 1
“Stokes! My office. Now.”
Nick looked up, his mouth slightly open as Catherine stalked off. Without turning away from the break room door, he said, “She doesn’t sound too happy.”
Warrick said absently, “She’ll be even less happy if you make her wait.”
“Yeah.” Nick stood. “Wish me luck, man.”
“You’re gonna need it.”
~*~*~
Nick stepped into Catherine’s office with more than a little caution. “Hey, Catherine. You wanted to see me?”
“No, I wanted to throttle you,” she said, glaring at him from behind her desk. “Fortunately for everyone concerned, Gil managed to talk me out of it.”
At that point, Nick noticed that Grissom was also in the room, leaning against the wall. He had a grim expression, and Nick was never more grateful than at that moment that the man was no longer his direct supervisor. Nick gave him what he hoped was an easy-going-nothing’s-wrong-here-move-along-people kind of grin. “Hey, Griss. What are you doing here?”
“Sit down, Nick,” Grissom said, clearly unimpressed by the grin.
When he took a seat, Catherine began with, “You know, when Sara talked to the FBI behind Gil’s back a few years ago, I thought he overreacted to the situation.”
Beads of sweat popped out on Nick’s forehead. “Catherine -”
“After all, she just wanted to help catch a killer, and she had the right physical type to match the victim profile,” she continued.
“I can explain -”
“It wasn’t until I got a call from Ecklie about how happy he was that you volunteered to help the FBI on a case I’ve never even heard of that I realized just how much restraint Gil showed with Sara,” she said, her voice rising as she stepped on Nick’s attempts to defend himself. “How could you? You didn’t even talk to me about it first.”
“I just -” Nick broke off, frustrated at his sudden insecurity. “Did he tell you why they need to go in?”
“It doesn’t matter, Nick. You’re a CSI, not a police officer.” Her voice becoming increasingly shrill. “You can’t just go off like this behind my back. Do you have any -”
“Catherine.” Gil’s quiet voice managed to break into her rant. “I know how you feel, and I don’t blame you. But yelling won’t do you any good, and it may end up getting you on suspension.” He flashed a quick smile at her. “Trust me on that.”
She nodded once in acknowledgement of his point. “Fine. You talk to him, because right now, I can’t. Not without shouting.” She stood up, her movements as abrupt as her words. “I’ll be in trace.”
Nick winced at the sound of the door slamming behind him then looked at Grissom. “Okay, so you know some of what’s going on. But what you might not know is that this is really important. You have to talk to her - get her to go along.”
“Is it important enough to risk a highly valued member of CSI?” Grissom cocked his head slightly. “Because I’d really like to know why you think your health and well-being aren’t as important as anyone else’s.”
“What? No!” Nick stood up and paced. “It’s not like that.”
His patience slipped a little at that, and Grissom frowned. “Oh? From where I’m standing, it’s exactly like that.”
“I didn’t volunteer for an undercover drug operation -”
“No. You didn’t.” Grissom took a steadying breath before continuing. “You volunteered for something worse.”
Genuinely confused by the older man’s reaction, Nick stopped pacing. “How can it be worse, man? It’s just a party. There won’t even be any weapons.”
“It’s not ‘just’ a party. It’s a party for a specific subsection of the domination and submission scene.” Grissom pursed his lips as he stared up at Nick. “There’s not a chance in hell they’d buy you as a dominant, so you’ll have to go as a submissive.”
Nick worked his mouth as a blush stole up his face from his neck. “What makes you say that?”
“The way you’ve been acting since you walked in doesn’t lend itself to making anyone believe you can be a dominant. You’re squirming, Nick, all but begging for approval,” Grissom said, his voice matter-of-fact.
Scowling, he answered, “That’s what Lady Heather said.”
“I know.”
Nick blinked. “How?”
Grissom sighed. “She called me after you talked to her.” When Nick just stared, he added, “She was concerned over how little you know about any part of the local scene, let alone the Bowtie Ball.”
“I just wanted her to give me some pointers - you know - so I can play my part,” Nick said, his voice taking on a hint of pleading. He hated that he was proving Lady Heather and Grissom’s point about his personality, but even more, he hated the idea that Grissom might raise a big enough stink to get him pulled from the operation.
“Your part,” Grissom said flatly. “You see this as a role, nothing that can touch you personally.”
“Well. Sure.”
“Who’s going to play the ‘role’ of your master?”
Nick flinched slightly at the question. “Special Agent Carsters said she’d do it.”
“She can’t. The Bowtie Ball is a men-only function.”
His earlier blush had faded somewhat, but now it returned in full bloom. Still, Nick dug in his heels. “Then Special Agent Fisher can play the role.”
Grissom asked, “Was he the one who approached you about this?”
“Well. I talked to him first, but yeah, he’s in charge.”
Grissom shook his head. “He didn’t even do enough background research to understand the dynamics of the Bowtie Ball. Is this really the man you want to trust to keep you safe while you’re wandering around naked in a room full of strangers?”
Gulping once then twice, Nick stammered out, “Naked?”
“Submissives don’t get to wear clothes at the ball, Nick. Makes it easier to treat them like sex toys. It will be up to your master to ensure that you aren’t too badly abused.” Grissom took another deep breath. “I’ll ask you again - do you trust Special Agent Fisher to keep you safe and sane?”
After a long moment, Nick’s shoulders drooped and his head hung down. “No. I guess not.”
“So this is an end to this nonsense, right?”
Before Grissom could take a step to leave, Nick said firmly, “No. It isn’t.”
“Nick -”
“I may not trust Fisher, but I trust you,” he said, his face animated with the excitement of coming up with an acceptable compromise.
“What are you talking about?”
“You could go as my master,” Nick said quickly. “It would be perfect!”
Grissom stared at the younger man as if he’d just grown a second head. “No - it wouldn’t.”
“Yes it would!” Nick started pacing again, his excitement showing on his face. “I trust you with my life, and this isn’t nearly that dangerous. You could do it, and -”
“No!” At Nick’s crestfallen expression, Grissom added more gently, “I don’t know what this is all about, but even if -”
“Pedophilia,” Nick interrupted. When Grissom didn’t respond, he said, “The FBI got a tip that one of the men attending the ball was bragging about bringing fourteen-year-old twins along this year. Said something about selling them as a matched set.”
His eyes narrowed, Grissom remained silent for a moment. “You sound like you’re personally involved. You shouldn’t do this.”
“How could I not be personally involved? We’re talking about kids here. Boys who don’t have a say in what happens to them - who have to do whatever the grownup tells them to do.” Nick stopped pacing a couple of feet from Grissom. “If the tip is real, this may be the only chance anyone has to get those boys out of a bad situation.”
Grissom said softly, “You don’t know what you’re getting into - how dangerous it is.”
“It’s not like there will be guns there,” Nick said confidently. After a pause, he said uncertainly, “There won’t be guns, will there?”
“Most of the time, it’s possible to survive a gunshot wound,” Grissom said. “What you’re talking about doing - Nick, the danger is to your emotional well-being. Recovering from that kind of injury is a hell of a lot harder than recovering from a physical injury.”
Mule stubborn, Nick clenched his jaw in the face of Grissom’s concern. “I’m doing this with or without you, Griss. I have to.”
Shaking his head, Grissom said, “It’s a bad idea, Nicky. Really bad.”
~*~*~
After two days of ceaseless nagging, Grissom finally agreed to give Nick a chance to prove he could handle it - under the close supervision of Lady Heather. The two men sat in her back parlor, with Grissom waiting patiently while Nick fidgeted nearby.
After a few minutes, Gil said, “If you’re serious about doing this, you need to learn to sit still.”
Startled, Nick froze in the act of picking up yet another magazine. He sat back slowly, watching Grissom the entire time. “Yes, master.”
“Stop that.”
“Actually, if you truly plan to take Nick to the ball, you should encourage him to continue to call you master,” said Lady Heather as she stopped just inside the door. “I suggest that you use a paddle to reinforce the idea that he should never speak to you disrespectfully again.”
Grissom stood up when she entered the room. “Lady Heather, thank you for agreeing to provide guidance.”
“As I’m the one who tipped the FBI in the first place, I could hardly turn you down.” She sat in a large armchair, ignoring their startled glances, and motioned to Grissom to take his seat again.
“The call came from you?” Nick’s foot started tapping. “How long have you known about what was going to happen at the ball?”
“Since about two hours before I spoke with Special Agent Fisher,” she said, unperturbed by the younger man’s sudden anger. “And before you ask why I didn’t call immediately, it’s because I wanted to verify the information. Would either of you like tea?”
“I would,” Grissom said. “New china?”
“I found the set the last time I went to London.” She put in a lump of sugar and handed the cup to Grissom. “Mr. Stokes? Would you like anything in your tea?”
About to answer with an impatient no, Nick caught sight of the warning in Grissom’s eyes and forced himself to back down. “No thank you, Lady Heather. I’ll take it plain.”
She gave him an approving smile and handed the cup over before pouring her own tea. To Grissom, she said, “Have you told him everything he can expect, should he choose to go through with this plan?”
Grissom frowned slightly. “I would rather the information come from you.”
“Understandable, all things considered. We can discuss it later.” Lady Heather looked at Nick for a moment. “You said on the phone that you can handle anything that’s thrown at you.”
“That’s right,” he said easily, sitting back in his chair.
She gave him a small smile and looked at him through half-closed eyes. “Stand up and remove your clothing.”
His teacup halfway to his mouth, Nick froze, feeling uncomfortably like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi-truck. “Beg your pardon, ma’am?”
“Your clothing, Nick. Remove it.” After a heartbeat, she added, “Now.”
Nick slowly put his cup down, looking to Grissom for a bit of direction and hoping for encouragement to stay dressed. When the other man just sat and waited without expressing an interest one way or the other, Nick bit back a sigh and stood. He pulled off his long-sleeved t-shirt and was about to unbutton his pants when Lady Heather stopped him.
“You did that too quickly. Put your shirt back on, then follow my instructions.”
His face was bright red by now - he was sure of it. “You have to be kidding me.”
“She’s not. And if you can’t handle submitting to another person in the safe company of a colleague and a close acquaintance, how do you think you’ll be able to handle it a month from now when you’re in a ballroom with two hundred other men?” Grissom sipped his tea as though nothing out of the ordinary were happening, and that, thought Nick, might be part of the problem. Grissom was handling this far too calmly.
He put his shirt back on and looked at Lady Heather, waiting for her direction.
“Grip the hem of your shirt with one hand and pull it up slowly.” When he did so, baring his abdomen, she said, “Run your hand languidly across the skin of your belly.”
Grissom’s eyebrows went up, and he looked over at Lady Heather. “‘Languidly?’”
She glanced at him. “It’s a good word and describes perfectly what I want Nick to do.”
“I wasn’t criticizing. I was simply curious.” Grissom turned back to Nick. “I believe you were told to do something with your hand.”
“Geez, Griss -”
“I’ll ask again: if you can’t handle it here, with just two of us watching, how are you going to handle it at the ball?” Grissom’s expression grew distant. “Either do as you’re instructed, or I end this now.”
Nick stared at him as he tentatively moved his hand along his abdomen.
“That’s good, Nick. Keep looking at your master,” Lady Heather said softly. “Use your hand the way you want him to use his on you.”
Her comment stalled Nick’s movement. “Um, his what?”
“His hand, Nick,” she said with mildly exaggerated patience. “Pretend that your hand is his hand, and touch yourself the way you want him to touch you.”
It took a few tries for Nick to find his voice. “I never - I just - I mean -”
Grissom, his face closed and distant, rescued him. Sort of. “It’s a men-only party for dominants and submissives, and you’re talking about going there undercover. Did you think you would be able to get through the party without at least one display of sexual submission to me?”
“Well, no. But I didn’t think that would be, you know, totally public,” he said, his embarrassment reaching near-lethal levels.
Irritated, Grissom asked, “Does the phrase, ‘submissives go naked at the ball’ ring any bells for you?”
“Yeah. I just wasn’t thinking.” Nick ducked his head.
“Clearly.” Grissom took a deep breath and shook his head slightly. “Have I mentioned that I think this is a bad idea?”
Nick grimaced. “Yeah. A few dozen times.” He began touching his belly with short, hard motions.
“Is that truly how you like to be touched?” Lady Heather leaned forward. “Generally speaking, even masochists prefer caresses to be just that - caresses.”
“Sorry, ma’am,” he mumbled. Nick took a shaky breath and slowed down the movement of his hand. He closed his eyes and -
“Eyes open and on your master, Nick.” She sat back again and took a sip of her tea. “When you close your eyes, you close yourself off from him, and you can’t do that.”
Nick’s face went an even brighter shade of red as he caught Grissom’s eye, uncertain if it was better or worse that the man was sitting there as if this kind of thing happened all the time. Deciding it was irritating, Nick barely noticed when Grissom’s apparent disinterest sparked a determination to make him sit up and take notice of what was happening.
He pulled the hem of his shirt just a little bit higher and ran his fingertips lightly along his abdomen. With the second pass, he paused at his belly button, swirling a finger around the edge of it once then twice before briefly dipping into it. When Gil blinked, Nick tilted his head forward to look at him from beneath his eyelashes. He dragged his fingers along the waistband of his cargo pants, returning to the button to play with it.
Her voice soft and low, Lady Heather said, “Unsnap your pants then raise your shirt above your nipples.”
Though she didn’t quite break the spell Nick had put himself under, he fumbled slightly at her words. His eyes still locked on Grissom, Nick did as she asked then took it one step further, tweaking his right nipple to hardness.
“Take your shirt off, Nick, and let it drop to your feet,” she said.
Nick did so, biting back a smile when Grissom shifted in his seat.
“Grasp the tab of your zipper and pull it down slowly.”
About to follow Lady Heather’s instruction, Nick realized his hand was refusing to exert the necessary downward thrust to unzip his pants. He stood there for a moment, frozen, trying to understand why his little dance wasn’t working any longer. When Lady Heather said, “Nick?” he looked at her, his mouth working as he tried to form words.
“If I’m not mistaken, Nick is having trouble with that last order.” Grissom finished his tea and set the cup and saucer on the tea tray before standing up. “Lady Heather, I want to thank you again for -“
“I can do this, damn it!” With a sharp tug, Nick lowered the zipper. He gave up on the possibility of finesse for this particular striptease and simply shoved his slacks and underwear down his legs. It wasn’t until that moment that he remembered he was wearing -
“Nick?”
“Yes, Lady Heather?” He forced himself to look at her, steadfastly ignoring the heat spreading along his skin.
“When stripping for your master, you should bear in mind that it’s always best to start after you’ve removed your socks and boots,” she said with perfect sincerity. Nick might have believed she was serious if not for the amusement lighting up her eyes.
“Yes, ma’am.” Nick shifted from foot to foot, trying to find a way to be comfortable with the situation. In the end, he settled for standing at rest.
“Hands at your side, Nick.” When he complied, Lady Heather studied him as she sat there sipping her tea.
“Don’t you think he has a good body, Mr. Grissom?”
Nick held his breath as Grissom looked him over. It might not have been so bad if he’d just stood there, but no. He had to walk over to him and then around to his back, which meant - “I know what you’re thinking.”
Still standing behind Nick, Grissom asked in an interested tone, “You do?”
Nick dropped his chin to his chest. “It was a dare. That’s all. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“You have a tattoo of a Paddington Bear on your left buttock, and it doesn’t mean anything?”
At that, Nick squatted down to pull up his pants and get the hell out of Lady Heather’s Dominion. He should have listened to Grissom in the first place and left it up to the FBI to figure out, but no, he had to get stubborn. About to stand up, he recalled the reason - reasons - for his determination to see this thing through. Nick took a moment to compose himself then untied the laces of both boots. Without saying a word, he finished undressing, leaving his boots and socks in the pile of clothing on the floor as he stepped aside.
Lady Heather murmured, “Very good, Nick.” In a louder voice, she said, “Presentation is everything. As Mr. Grissom’s toy, you’ll naturally be expected to show proper obeisance to him, but it’s important to remember that you must also show pride in your situation.”
Nick blinked. “Pride? You mean like standing tall?”
There was a suspicious cough from Grissom, even as Lady Heather smiled. “In more ways than one. Bear in mind that your arousal must be evident at all times.”
“Oh hell.” Surely by now, all the blood in his body was at the surface of his skin. With nothing flowing to his brain, maybe he would pass out. Quickly.
She continued, “The other masters will expect you to be entirely attentive to your own master’s desire at every single moment.”
Nick, who had come to the sad conclusion that violent blushing wouldn’t make him faint after all, said, “I’m not sure I can, uh, keep it up like that.”
“It would take a solid six months of training to get you to that point.” Her smile deepened briefly. “Fortunately for you, allowances are made for new slaves. Your master will be allowed to use a cock ring on you to ensure that you don’t embarrass him in front of everyone.”
“Oh god.” Nick broke into a sweat at the mental image she’d given him, and if he wasn’t mistaken, that wasn’t the only -
“This experiment is at an end,” Grissom said from the left, startling Nick. “Look at him. He’s too humiliated at the thought of it. He’d never survive the party.”
“I’m looking, though not at his face.” Lady Heather gestured downward. “Humiliation arouses him.”
Grissom frowned as he examined the evidence before him, and Nick found himself getting just a little bit harder. “He’s standing naked in front of a beautiful woman. How could he not be aroused?”
“He’s looking at you, not me,” she said, amused. “Nick, I don’t believe I ever told you to stop caressing yourself.”
Startled, both by the turn of the conversation and by Lady Heather’s admonition, Nick began again to stroke his fingers along his belly.
“Remember to touch yourself the way you want your master to touch you,” she said softly.
His eyes on Griss - his master, Nick imagined what it would be like to have the older man’s hands on him and found the thought of it wasn’t too bad. Okay, yeah, there was a what-the-fuck factor, because really, he’d never been into guys except for that one time at the frat, but with Lady Heather and Griss - his master staring at him, Nick was starting to see the attraction. In a weird kind of way that he’d never admit to, even under penalty of -
Damn, that felt good. Nick couldn’t remember ever just taking the time to touch himself other than in the shower or to jerk off. He never realized that patch of skin just below his belly button was so damn sensitive. Without thinking about it, Nick started to wrap his fingers around his cock.
In a sharp voice, Lady Heather admonished, “Stop that. You’re only allowed to touch yourself when your master permits it.”
Nick mumbled, “Sorry, ma’am,” as she crooked her finger for his master to go over to her.
Grissom leaned down as she whispered something - something that made him frown and shake his head. Nick wanted to ask what they were talking about, but he’d slid a little too deeply into the moment and discovered he couldn’t have asked if his life depended on it.
Scary? Hell yes. And oddly, it was safe, too. Grissom - his master could be a lot of things, but right at the top of that list was trustworthy with a capital trust.
The short argument over with, his master caught Nick’s gaze again. “Run your thumb around the head of your cock.”
He did as he was told and waited for further instruction.
His master frowned at him. “Nick, who am I?”
He blinked lazily. “You’re my master.”
“Who else am I?”
Something in the older man’s voice - the tension, maybe - snapped Nick’s link to the fantasy he’d gotten lost in, and suddenly, he recalled himself and the situation. “Shit.”
Still looking concerned, Grissom asked again, “Who else am I?”
Embarrassed, and not in the toe-tingling way, Nick’s hand dropped to his side. “You’re Gil Grissom, night supervisor at Criminalistics.”
Grissom shot a hard look at him before turning to Lady Heather. “Thank you for your time this morning, but I don’t think we’ll need your services any longer.”
“What? Hang on a minute, Griss!” Abruptly recalling that he was naked, Nick covered his groin with both hands. “I was doing it - getting into it. You know I was.”
“Yeah. You were,” he answered. “In fact, you were so into it that I could have had you do pretty much whatever I thought might be amusing, and you would have gone along with it, wouldn’t you?”
More than anything, Nick wanted to be able to lie. Too bad he couldn’t. “Maybe not whatever you thought of, but probably a lot of it,” he said, his head hanging down.
“We’re not doing this. You’re too vulnerable.” Grissom shook his head and walked to the door. “Get dressed, Nicky.”
“Like hell we’re not!” Nick surprised the other two with his outburst. “There are a couple of kids in danger, and I’m not letting them stay that way.”
Grissom didn’t look at Nick when he said, “Let someone else rescue them.”
“No.” The word was as flat and unyielding as the expression on Nick’s face. “And if you don’t go with me, Fisher can be my master.”
Pausing at the door, Grissom turned to face Nick. “Are you blackmailing me?”
“If that’s what it takes.”
The two men stared at each other for a long moment before Lady Heather murmured, “He may have gotten lost, but he was able to find himself.”
Grissom focused on Lady Heather. “What makes you think he’ll be able to find himself later on?”
“What makes you think he won’t?”
Part 2