Pairing no. 320: Warrick Brown (CSI) / The Devil (Brimstone)
TITLE: Idle Hands
AUTHOR: kangeiko
PAIRING: Warrick Brown (CSI) / The Devil (Brimstone)
RATING: R
SUMMARY: Set pre-season 1, Warrick affirms his lack of belief in spontaneous human combustion. And picks up strange men in bars.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine.
WORD COUNT: c. 1100. I think.
NOTE: This was NOT the grand novella I intended to write. But I'm in the middle of moving house, so I beg your indulgence.
FURTHER NOTE: It's still Sept 1 here, so I assume that this is on time...
***
The poor man burst into flames, said all three of the witnesses. He was shot in the head, through both eyes; there was simply no call for such things to happen. It was uncouth to flaunt the laws of nature.
All three witnesses turned out to be British.
*
"There is no such thing as spontaneous human combustion."
Maria (new, cute and available) was laughing at him. "So what would you call it, then?" She took another photograph of the scorch marks. "A freak accident involving some stray oxygen?" She knelt carefully, angling the camera so she could photograph and mock at the same time.
Warrick frowned. "How about - an unexplained, localised incident involving…" He paused, searching for the right word. The floor offered little help, so he looked up at the ceiling. Other than the scorch marks, there really wasn't that much there to help him.
"Combustible cigarettes? Flammable fedoras?" She was laughing again, tossing curly black hair away from her face. "Keep digging, dear. I believe you."
She climbed to her feet and gestured to the small pile of ash and large number of scorch marks that constituted the remains of their vic. "I'm done, I think. Have fun, but be careful around it 'cause I think that the coroner still wants to have a look."
He couldn't help a laugh at that himself. A look? At what, exactly?
*
After Warrick Brown sold his soul, he smiled at the barman and bought himself another beer. Three hours later, Ezekiel Stone disappeared in an inexplicable manner from the county lock-up.
*
When Luce - because that was all the name he offered and Warrick wasn't about to pry when the man had his hands down Warrick's pants - leaned back against the wall, Warrick saw how deeply lined his cheeks were. He's old, Warrick thought, surprised, he's much older than I thought.
The lines on Luce's cheeks deepened with the crooked smile that followed.
Warrick had the strangest feeling that Luce found him rather amusing. He would have been insulted, but then Luce dug sharp nails into the tender flesh of the tip of his cock and Warrick found himself concentrating on breathing and nothing else. "Oh Jesus, just like that," he gasped, and Luce laughed.
"Kindly choose another way to express your appreciation," he murmured, voice sweet and heavy with malice. His kiss drew blood, of course; Warrick's head was already spinning with the possibilities. A hotel room at the far end of the first floor; Murder Central and he's drawn so much blood already; what am I doing? But things don't work that way and he knows it.
*
There are some things you get to choose and some things you don't. Warrick Brown chose to walk into the Casino and chose to sit down by the roulette wheel. He chose to smile at the well-dressed man that sat down next to him and eventually struck up a conversation about strange things in the papers. And as Warrick Brown does not believe in spontaneous human combustion, he talks and talks and talks because that night Gil said, "I'm not sure what to think, Warrick," and didn't listen at all.
Luce listened. Luce smiled and nodded in all the right places. And when Warrick leaned in after eight too many whiskeys, Luce pulled him closer and laughed against his open mouth. "Let's go to my room," he said. "Let's talk some more."
And Warrick Brown was young enough and stupid enough to follow.
*
Ezekiel Stone was the de facto suspect, with all three witnesses swearing that they saw him fire the gun once and twice before the victim literally caught fire and disintegrated where he stood. Warrick didn't believe a word of it, of course. There's no such thing as spontaneous human combustion.
Luce, Warrick noted with some interest that night, had a series of tattoos trailing up his spine; glyphs that Warrick did not recognise. They tasted of salt and copper and Warrick was briefly puzzled, for the rest of Luce tasted of nothing at all. This can't be right, he thought. No one can taste of nothing.
There's no such thing as spontaneous human combustion.
*
To state the obvious, Warrick had never been fucked before. Well, not like that, at any rate. Not to have his wrists and ankles pressed into the bed and to have a curious, hot tongue lick its way downwards. There are just some things that had never been done to his body before and when he felt the wet tip penetrate his body he couldn't help but keen softly. His hips thrust back helplessly, ungracefully.
It should not be a stranger doing this, it should not. But what was he to do when Gil pushed him away? No emergency survival guide that Warrick had ever read covered the nightmare scenario of what to do after you kiss your boss.
And he pushes you away.
*
Somewhere along the line, somewhere it turned out was too far too late to do anything about it, Warrick changed his mind. The entire thing was undignified, it was true; too wet and messy and there were arms and legs forced into ungainly positions. This was not what sex was about. This was not what sex with Gil would have been about, he was sure. He looked ridiculous.
Luce... did not.
Warrick had the mortifying thought that this stranger he'd taken to his bed, this stranger that had put hands where Warrick did not ordinarily permit hands to wander, this stranger he'd kissed and pretended was Gil -
- was laughing at him.
*
There's no point to gambling if you are not afraid of losing. Stake all you have, all you are on a single hand, and the flush of humiliation and horror as the ball falls just so, on that number, not the one required - yes. That will take care of the rest.
Games are the devil's work.
He takes whoever loses.
*
"Thank you," Luce said, the words dissolving into a growl as he pushed Warrick's half-resisting body back onto the bed. "No - no, you stay put. I'll see myself out."
He paused on his way to the door. "I know that this is mostly meaningless, but - this humiliation is far worse than what you endured earlier and believed to be the end of your career. And, this, too, shall pass." He smiled, showing teeth. "Your boss will ignore your little faux pas. I suggest you do the same, Warrick David Brown." He closed the door soundlessly.
Humiliation flushing his entire body, Warrick tugged futilely on the restraints keeping him spread-eagled on the hotel bed. The gag chafed as he struggled against it.
On the small of his back, a dark tattoo blossomed into existence.
He didn't notice.
*
"Your capacity for cruelty never ceases to amaze me."
"I'm shocked! Hurt! Horrified!"
"Yeah. You could have just spirited me out of lock-up, you know, instead of ruining that poor man's life."
"Oh, do hush up. That'll teach him to pick up strange men in bars."
"Again I say - it was needlessly cruel."
"Yes, it was. And fun, too."
*
fin
AUTHOR: kangeiko
PAIRING: Warrick Brown (CSI) / The Devil (Brimstone)
RATING: R
SUMMARY: Set pre-season 1, Warrick affirms his lack of belief in spontaneous human combustion. And picks up strange men in bars.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine.
WORD COUNT: c. 1100. I think.
NOTE: This was NOT the grand novella I intended to write. But I'm in the middle of moving house, so I beg your indulgence.
FURTHER NOTE: It's still Sept 1 here, so I assume that this is on time...
***
The poor man burst into flames, said all three of the witnesses. He was shot in the head, through both eyes; there was simply no call for such things to happen. It was uncouth to flaunt the laws of nature.
All three witnesses turned out to be British.
*
"There is no such thing as spontaneous human combustion."
Maria (new, cute and available) was laughing at him. "So what would you call it, then?" She took another photograph of the scorch marks. "A freak accident involving some stray oxygen?" She knelt carefully, angling the camera so she could photograph and mock at the same time.
Warrick frowned. "How about - an unexplained, localised incident involving…" He paused, searching for the right word. The floor offered little help, so he looked up at the ceiling. Other than the scorch marks, there really wasn't that much there to help him.
"Combustible cigarettes? Flammable fedoras?" She was laughing again, tossing curly black hair away from her face. "Keep digging, dear. I believe you."
She climbed to her feet and gestured to the small pile of ash and large number of scorch marks that constituted the remains of their vic. "I'm done, I think. Have fun, but be careful around it 'cause I think that the coroner still wants to have a look."
He couldn't help a laugh at that himself. A look? At what, exactly?
*
After Warrick Brown sold his soul, he smiled at the barman and bought himself another beer. Three hours later, Ezekiel Stone disappeared in an inexplicable manner from the county lock-up.
*
When Luce - because that was all the name he offered and Warrick wasn't about to pry when the man had his hands down Warrick's pants - leaned back against the wall, Warrick saw how deeply lined his cheeks were. He's old, Warrick thought, surprised, he's much older than I thought.
The lines on Luce's cheeks deepened with the crooked smile that followed.
Warrick had the strangest feeling that Luce found him rather amusing. He would have been insulted, but then Luce dug sharp nails into the tender flesh of the tip of his cock and Warrick found himself concentrating on breathing and nothing else. "Oh Jesus, just like that," he gasped, and Luce laughed.
"Kindly choose another way to express your appreciation," he murmured, voice sweet and heavy with malice. His kiss drew blood, of course; Warrick's head was already spinning with the possibilities. A hotel room at the far end of the first floor; Murder Central and he's drawn so much blood already; what am I doing? But things don't work that way and he knows it.
*
There are some things you get to choose and some things you don't. Warrick Brown chose to walk into the Casino and chose to sit down by the roulette wheel. He chose to smile at the well-dressed man that sat down next to him and eventually struck up a conversation about strange things in the papers. And as Warrick Brown does not believe in spontaneous human combustion, he talks and talks and talks because that night Gil said, "I'm not sure what to think, Warrick," and didn't listen at all.
Luce listened. Luce smiled and nodded in all the right places. And when Warrick leaned in after eight too many whiskeys, Luce pulled him closer and laughed against his open mouth. "Let's go to my room," he said. "Let's talk some more."
And Warrick Brown was young enough and stupid enough to follow.
*
Ezekiel Stone was the de facto suspect, with all three witnesses swearing that they saw him fire the gun once and twice before the victim literally caught fire and disintegrated where he stood. Warrick didn't believe a word of it, of course. There's no such thing as spontaneous human combustion.
Luce, Warrick noted with some interest that night, had a series of tattoos trailing up his spine; glyphs that Warrick did not recognise. They tasted of salt and copper and Warrick was briefly puzzled, for the rest of Luce tasted of nothing at all. This can't be right, he thought. No one can taste of nothing.
There's no such thing as spontaneous human combustion.
*
To state the obvious, Warrick had never been fucked before. Well, not like that, at any rate. Not to have his wrists and ankles pressed into the bed and to have a curious, hot tongue lick its way downwards. There are just some things that had never been done to his body before and when he felt the wet tip penetrate his body he couldn't help but keen softly. His hips thrust back helplessly, ungracefully.
It should not be a stranger doing this, it should not. But what was he to do when Gil pushed him away? No emergency survival guide that Warrick had ever read covered the nightmare scenario of what to do after you kiss your boss.
And he pushes you away.
*
Somewhere along the line, somewhere it turned out was too far too late to do anything about it, Warrick changed his mind. The entire thing was undignified, it was true; too wet and messy and there were arms and legs forced into ungainly positions. This was not what sex was about. This was not what sex with Gil would have been about, he was sure. He looked ridiculous.
Luce... did not.
Warrick had the mortifying thought that this stranger he'd taken to his bed, this stranger that had put hands where Warrick did not ordinarily permit hands to wander, this stranger he'd kissed and pretended was Gil -
- was laughing at him.
*
There's no point to gambling if you are not afraid of losing. Stake all you have, all you are on a single hand, and the flush of humiliation and horror as the ball falls just so, on that number, not the one required - yes. That will take care of the rest.
Games are the devil's work.
He takes whoever loses.
*
"Thank you," Luce said, the words dissolving into a growl as he pushed Warrick's half-resisting body back onto the bed. "No - no, you stay put. I'll see myself out."
He paused on his way to the door. "I know that this is mostly meaningless, but - this humiliation is far worse than what you endured earlier and believed to be the end of your career. And, this, too, shall pass." He smiled, showing teeth. "Your boss will ignore your little faux pas. I suggest you do the same, Warrick David Brown." He closed the door soundlessly.
Humiliation flushing his entire body, Warrick tugged futilely on the restraints keeping him spread-eagled on the hotel bed. The gag chafed as he struggled against it.
On the small of his back, a dark tattoo blossomed into existence.
He didn't notice.
*
"Your capacity for cruelty never ceases to amaze me."
"I'm shocked! Hurt! Horrified!"
"Yeah. You could have just spirited me out of lock-up, you know, instead of ruining that poor man's life."
"Oh, do hush up. That'll teach him to pick up strange men in bars."
"Again I say - it was needlessly cruel."
"Yes, it was. And fun, too."
*
fin