Title: An Exercise in Cruelty
By: Rhysenn
Pairing: Gil/Nick
Rating: NC-17
Series: 1) The Sweet Science of Bruising
Warning: Sex of dubious consent.
Summary: Nick knew this was exactly how Gil would break him - a little at a time.

***

He spent twenty minutes in the bathroom. Five minutes to get himself off the floor and into the shower, five minutes under the running water with his forehead pressed against the cool wall tiles, and ten minutes to actually shower, dry himself and get dressed.

He didn't cry. He didn't feel like throwing up. In fact, he didn't even feel much at all.

When he stepped outside Gil was sitting on the sofa, waiting. Their eyes met; an almost-smile curled the sides of Gil's mouth, and the ever-calm focus of Gil's gaze made Nick feel vulnerable, exposed, naked again. Dirty. And he felt disgusted at himself for feeling this way, for being so - so weak.

"I'll get my keys," he mumbled, dropping his gaze and heading towards the bedroom.

Gil spoke up behind him. "I've already called a cab."

Nick stopped and turned back to Gil. "Huh."

"You haven't slept in twenty hours," Gil continued. "I don't think you're in a position to drive."

Nick stared at Gil for a moment longer; then he shrugged.

"Okay." His own voice sounded dull, vacant. "Guess not."

A brief flicker of emotion crossed Gil's face; he got to his feet and moved towards Nick. Instinctively, Nick took a step back - his own reflexive movement made Gil stop short, and Nick saw Gil's brow furrow, his mouth tighten in a thin line.

"Nick," Gil said, in a quiet command. "Come here."

Nick's heartbeat jumped; but he didn't move. A distance of ten feet between them and twenty minutes since the last time Gil laid hands on him was still far too close.

"Nick," Gil said again; the subtle warning in his voice was not lost on Nick. And a reckless part of Nick wanted to snap back, Yeah? And whatcha you gonna do if I don't?

But another part of him really didn't want to find out the answer to that.

Finally Nick took a step forward, and then another, slowly. Gil watched him, his gaze unwavering - and when Nick halted less than two feet away Gil reached out to touch him, and Nick had to force himself not to flinch.

Gil brushed his hand against Nick's cheek, tilting Nick's face upwards slightly - Nick closed his eyes, held still, and waited. Gil's fingers trailed lightly along his jaw line, settling on the cleft of his chin, lifting it gently so their gazes would be level when Nick opened his eyes.

"You all right?" Gil asked quietly.

Nick's eyes flashed open, and he found himself staring into Gil's eyes - they were misted over with a sheen of darkness, reflecting nothing, nothing but the depths of Gil's composed intensity.

Nick looked away; he didn't answer. He wasn't going to lie and say yes, he was all right, because how could he be? - but then he couldn't look Gil in the eyes and tell him that he fucking hated every bit of it. Because that's not the part that hurt the most.

A long moment passed in expectant silence, before Gil let his hand drop away from Nick's face. For a fleeting instant Nick thought that Gil was going to tell him he was sorry. I'm wrong all the time, Grissom had once told him. It's how I get to right.

It made Nick wonder what the hell Gil had been trying to get to, this time - because right definitely wasn't it.

But Gil didn't say anything; he just moved away, his manner unfazed as always, and sidestepped Nick as he headed towards the front door, where his suitcase sat. Nick hesitated, then followed him.

Gil opened the door, carried his suitcase out and then turned back to face Nick.

"You should get some rest," he said.

Nick wasn't sure if it was concern he heard in Gil's voice, or - guilt? regret? He really couldn't tell; and he didn't know if it would even make a difference.

"I'll call you from the hotel," Gil added.

"Okay."

Something softened in Gil's eyes. "Nick."

Nick willed himself not to react. They stood that way for what felt like an eternity - before Gil finally broke the stillness and reached forward, taking Nick's face in both his hands.

Then he leaned in and kissed Nick, full on the mouth.

Nick drew a sharp breath. The burn of Gil's stubble, Gil's tongue flickering out against his, the way Gil nibbled on his lower lip... it was so familiar, once so perfect, like their first time, when Gil had pulled their Tahoe over the side of the road on their way back from a crime scene and kissed him, right then and there - breaking Gil's rule that work should only ever be mixed with work.

Gil had broken a lot more than just rules since then.

Nick placed his hands on Gil's chest and pushed him away, firmly. They moved apart, and for a split second Nick thought he saw a flash of uncertainty in Gil's eyes. But then it was gone, like a trick of light and shadows, and Gil's composure eased back into place.

"I'm glad I got to see you, Nick," he said.

Nick narrowed his eyes and met Gil's gaze.

"Yeah," he replied flatly; the bitter taste of Gil on his lips made Nick's mouth twist and his voice harden as he added, "Thanks for stopping by."

Then he stepped back, and closed the door in Gil's face.


* * *



It was Nick's scheduled night off, although Ecklie had told him to be prepared to come back if they needed him, since the lab was already understaffed with Grissom away at the conference.

So when Nick's cell phone rang at ten to midnight, he hoped it was work calling him back - but it was Gil, who'd probably just checked into his hotel in Edinburgh.

Nick let it ring until the line cut off; about thirty seconds later the phone started ringing again, Gil's name flashing boldly on the lit LCD screen.

Nick lay back on the sofa, stared at the phone and then placed it on his bare stomach. He didn't want to talk to Gil; he just wanted to throw the damn phone into the drawer and go to sleep. But he couldn't do that. He knew he had to face up to this.

Finally, he sighed and answered the phone. "Stokes."

"What are you doing, Nick?" came Gil's voice, crisp and surprisingly clear given the long distance call. "I know tonight's your night off - and this is the sixth time I've called."

"Fifth time, Gil," Nick said, tiredly. "And yeah, I counted."

There was a pause on the other line.

"We need to talk."

"Really." Nick's mouth twisted bitterly. "I thought you weren't, you know, asking me. About stuff. That's what you said, right?"

"Look," there was a controlled tone in Gil's voice. "I understand if you're a little upset."

"You think I'm a little upset?" Nick sat upright, and uttered a short, harsh laugh. "And why would I be a little upset, Gil?"

Gil's voice was low, tight. "You know what I'm talking about."

"Oh, you mean the part where you fucked me over my bathroom sink this morning?" Five thousand miles between them made Nick bolder, allowed the anger to seep into his voice. "Well then, glad we're both on the same page here."

The silence on the line was longer this time.

"I did what I thought we both needed," Gil said, finally. "And we both needed that, Nick, whether you like to admit it or not."

"Fine," Nick shot back. "So, end of story. No big deal."

"Don't say it that way."

"Okay. So why don't you just tell me what you want me to say?"

A meaningful pause.

"You could admit that you liked it," finally came Gil's reply.

A crash of silence followed Gil's words; and Nick reeled as if someone had hit him squarely in the chest, crushing his ribs. He was so livid he almost couldn't breathe - and it took a tremendous effort for him to force out the words:

"You thought I liked it."

"Yes," Gil answered matter-of-factly. "I thought you did."

"So tell me," Nick said; and his voice shook from the rage and hurt welling up inside him, "exactly what did I do to give you that impression?"

A pensive pause; and then Gil said, "I suppose I just know you too well."

And all Nick could think was, Gil was lucky he was halfway around the world because if Gil had been standing right there, Nick's apartment would've turned into a crime scene.

"You wanna know something else?" Nick hissed, and bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. "Fuck you, Gil. Fuck you to hell."

The line went quiet. It was probably only for a few seconds, but in the deafening pulse throbbing in Nick's head it felt like forever before Gil finally spoke - his voice was calm, as always, but there was a new edge in his tone: clipped, forceful. Deadly.

"Stand up, Nick."

Nick gripped the phone tightly. "What?"

"I said, stand up," Gil repeated. "And take off your boxer shorts."

"What?"

"Your shirt, too, if you're wearing one - but I don't think you are."

"No," Nick said through gritted teeth. "No fucking way, Gil, I'm not playing another one of your sick little games!"

"You think this is a game, Nick?" Gil's voice was taut, relentless. "What did I do to give you that impression?"

The mockery of his own words back at him was more than Nick could take.

"That's it," he spat. "I'm gonna hang up right now."

"You can do that," Gil's reply was sharp, slicing. "But you won't. And you know why not? Because you know that if you hang up, I'll just call again. And if you don't pick up any of my calls I'll still be back in six and a half days." A significant pause. "So unless you want to quit your job and move out of Vegas before I get back, you're not going to hang up on me."

Just when Nick thought nothing Gil could say or do would ever surprise him anymore, Gil had once again proven him wrong.

"What do you want, Gil?" Nick shouted into the phone. "Why don't you just tell me what the hell you want from me?"

"I want you to shut up and listen to me," Gil answered. "And that's right, Nick, I'm not asking you."

Nick covered his eyes with his other hand. The anger subsided abruptly, and hurt took over - flooding through him, filling him with emptiness and grief and Nick just didn't have the strength to fight anymore.

"What happened, Gil?" Nick said desolately. "What happened to us?"

"I want you to do this for me, Nick," Gil continued as if he hadn't heard him. "I want you to let me give you what you want," he paused, "what you need."

"You don't know what I need," Nick whispered.

"Just do exactly as I say." Gil's voice softened, just a little. "Trust me, Nick."

Nick laughed hollowly.

"Trust you?" he echoed. "You want me to trust you, Gil?"

Gil ignored him.

"Stand up," he instructed. "Take your boxers off."

Nick sighed. He stood up, closed his eyes and mumbled, "Fine. It's done."

"Don't lie to me, Nick."

Nick bit his lip; finally he put the phone on the sofa, pulled down his boxers and stepped out of them. He was now completely naked; a warm shiver coursed up his spine as he picked up the phone again.

"Okay." Nick's voice was quiet with anguish.

"Good," Gil replied. "You can keep your eyes closed."

Startled, Nick opened his eyes; he had no idea how Gil knew he had been squeezing them shut.

"Now," Gil said, "take your cock in your hand."

The sound of Gil's voice saying those words sent a rush of arousal arcing through Nick; he inhaled sharply, but didn't move.

"And I want you to imagine that hand is mine," Gil continued, in a low, intense voice. "That those are my fingers around your shaft, stroking your cock until you're ready for me. Until you want more, but you're not going to get it until you tell me that."

Oh god. Nick felt his cock reacting even without him touching it - his hand slid lower, out of its own volition, and his fingers were sweaty as they closed around his stiffening cock.

"How does that feel, Nick?" came Gil's voice in his ear. "Does my hand around your dick make you so hard, so desperate for more -" Nick flushed in shame at Gil's words, and the disgusting truth in them. "Are you thinking about me, Nick, about how imagining you the way you are now turns me on so much - just think about that, how good it feels when I run my thumb over the head of your cock - yes, Nick, just like that -"

Nick's hand was moving faster, pumping his dick with quick, hard strokes - a choked sound escaped his lips before he could swallow it, and Nick could hear the smile in Gil's words.

"Very good, Nick." There was a satisfied tone in Gil's voice. "Now I want you to kneel on the sofa, facing the backrest. Keep your knees far apart enough to balance yourself."

And suddenly something clicked in Nick's mind - finally, Nick understood exactly what Gil was doing, and the blinding rush of this realization made him dizzy and sickened and aroused all at once.

Gil was making him reenact their first time together.

Five months ago. Nick's apartment, with Gil sitting on the sofa, Nick straddling him, bottoming from the top. Nick's hands on Gil's shoulders, Gil's hands on his waist, alternately pulling him down and raising his hips in counterpoint to Gil's slow, steady upward thrusts, Nick's legs on either side of Gil as he rode Gil's cock, so hard and so thick and so fucking good.

And now here he was, standing in front of the same sofa, alone, cell phone gripped in one hand, Gil's steady voice in his ear.

"Have you done what I said, Nick?"

Nick did as he was told. He climbed onto the sofa, steadying himself on the backrest with his free hand as he slid his knees slightly apart.

He swallowed. "Yeah."

"Do you remember the first time we were on your sofa like this, Nick?" Gil's voice was scratchy with arousal. "You were in this same position, knees spread, your dick hard as a rock in front of me. And can you remember what you asked me to do?"

Nick's lower lip trembled. "Yes."

"Then ask me again," Gil said, without missing a beat. "Tell me what you said to me that night."

Nick swallowed; his throat was so tight he could barely speak.

"I said -" he began weakly.

"Don't say I said, Nick," Gil interrupted. "Just say it."

Nick closed his eyes.

"I want you to fuck me," he whispered.

Nick could hear Gil smile. Nick was painfully hard now, and he knew there was no other way out of this, no way except to yield to what Gil wanted. Nick's hand tightened around his cock; he closed his eyes and started to stroke himself, harder.

Behind closed lids Nick remembered what it had felt like, the first time Gil's cock entered him - how it had burned, painful and exquisite, and he'd flinched a little and moved away, but Gil's hands had gripped his waist and held him still and then without warning Gil thrust upwards, hard, all the way, and Nick had cried out and tasted blood in his mouth.

"Bend your knees, Nick, a little more," Gil word's sliced through him now, stoking the imaginary-real sensation. "I'm right there, beneath you, and you're lowering yourself onto me - slowly, the way you like it, I'm stretching you wide open, and you can feel me, pushing inside you -"

"Oh god." Nick let out a ragged moan; his hips twisted forward rhythmically, pumping into his fist with sharp, frantic strokes. The other palm that still held the phone to his ear was covered in sweat, and he clutched the phone in his hand so tightly that the crescents of his fingernails dug into his flesh.

"How does it feel, Nick?" Gil continued ruthlessly. "It must feel good, my cock all the way up your ass - and that's not even enough for you, is it, because you're moving against me, up and down, fucking yourself on my dick, taking me deeper - you want this, Nick, you know you need this and you want to let go, you want -"

And Nick came, hard - he made a loud, choked sound, like a gasp and a sob and a helpless cry, and arched his back and gripped his cock as quick, hot spurts sprayed all over his hand and on the sofa. The fingers of his other hand loosened, and the phone clattered loudly to the floor.

When he could give no more, Nick's knees buckled under him and he collapsed onto the sofa. The tears that spilled from his eyes were his shame, as was the wet stickiness of his drying come smeared all over his hands, staining the sofa.

And in that moment Nick knew this was exactly how Gil would break him - a little at a time.

He curled up and buried his face in the crook of his elbow; and he sobbed, for what he and Gil once were, for the twisted, miserable pleasure he'd just had, which was a bittersweet reminder of a place they could never go back to, a time when Gil had never hurt him and Nick never thought he would.

A steady beep-beep from his phone somewhere on the floor told Nick that he had just received a new text message. Nick looked around, and saw it lying a distance away, under the coffee table.

He crawled over and picked up his phone; the line had been cut, but the message was from Gil.

And it read, simply: I love you too, Nick.




- fin -

***