Warrick wiggled the prone man's bottom. "Come on, Gil," he encouraged.
"I've dreamed of having a younger insatiable lover, but it's not working out like I'd planned," Gil complained tiredly.
Warrick chuckled. "I'm not asking you to give it up again," he promised.
"You're not?" Gil whined in disappointment. He rolled over and slowly spread his thighs. Warrick could tell that his man was stiff and sore but Gil's saucy smile said he was up for the challenge.
"I'm going to Club Mystique and you're coming with me," Warrick announced.
Gil's eyebrow arched. There were volumes of sarcasm related by the simple gesture. "That's a velvet rope place and I only get past velvet ropes when there's also yellow crime scene tape to go with it."
"You'll get in tonight because you'll be on my arm," Warrick assured the other man. He pulled Gil up into a sitting position and kissed him. "I'm playing a set, I gave my word, and I need the money," he ticked off. "I want you there, sitting where I can see you as you perform the duties of being my muse."
"I've never been a muse before," Gil said softly.
"It looks good on your resume," Warrick assured him as he pulled the older man out of the bed and onto his feet. "Shower, brush your teeth, and hurry along."
Gil's lips quirked into a smile. "Is this the way you treat your women?" he asked.
"No," Warrick admitted. "I would have said, 'hurry along, baby'."
Gil frowned. "I want to hear it," he prompted.
Warrick almost laughed, but managed to hold it in. "Hurry along, Baby."
"That's better," Gil declared as he made his way to the bathroom.
"High maintenance," Warrick whispered.
<><><>=============<><><>=============<><><>
Gil expected to be ignored in Club Mystique. He'd thought that he would occupy his table alone, stretch out his scotch with numerous glasses of water, and maybe a snack. It hadn't worked out that way.
Warrick had introduced him to several people, grabbed a table close to the stage, and didn't leave until he'd gathered a diverse and sizeable group to occupy the table with Gil. Grissom spent a great deal of the time grinning like an idiot as both young men and women flirted shamelessly with him. His graying beard was a big hit.
By the time Warrick and his musical group hit the stage, two young women and one young man were taking turns sitting on his lap and dictating their humorous and naughty Christmas wish lists. Too bad the holiday was so far away, or Grissom would have been tempted to fulfill their lists then and there. Gil had no idea the oh so serious Warrick Brown had such amusing friends.
Warrick's band specialized in Funk-laced Jazz with some "old school" R&B thrown in for "flava". Gil had this explained to him by a very, very beautiful woman named Elise who had the most intoxicating amber eyes Gil had ever seen. She was petite with the kind of bottom that would make other women jealous and men drool. She spoke three languages and was funny in all of them. Elise was the kind of woman who could make a man crash and burn and all of his male friends would call him lucky.
She was married to the bass player, who was at least ten years younger than her, and they had two small children. Oh, well. Elise was still very entertaining.
Between sets, Gil and Warrick had dinner at the Balcony Restaurant where Warrick told Gil about his dream career as a successful musician. Not so successful that he was a drugged out shell of a man who had eleven children with eleven different mothers.
"My goodness, you look just like my husband," a woman gasped. She was expensively and elegantly dressed. Two conditions that didn't always go together in Las Vegas.
"I do?" Gil asked. He was once mistaken for Kenny Rogers and the man wouldn't go away until he'd gotten an autograph. Nick laughed himself sick over that one but never spread the story at the lab. A fact Gil was very grateful for.
"No, I mean him." She nodded toward Warrick. "Were you born here?"
The look on Warrick's face could not be interpreted by Gil. He was going to lie, that much Gil knew, but Grissom didn't know why.
"No, Mum, I'm from Jamaica," Warrick explained in a very good Jamaican accent, "and me father is still there."
"Oh," the lady said before walking away.
Warrick bent over his plate and ate quickly.
"That's a trick I need to learn," Gil said, breaking the silence. "Maybe a British or French accent would do it."
Warrick swallowed and a tiny smile flitted across his lips. "Chicago. You sound almost like you're from Chicago."
"I've heard that before," Gil noted. "My father was from Chicago. Your father?"
"I don't have a father, Gil, just a sperm donor I've never met and I'm not even sure of his name. On my birth certificate, it says 'father unknown'."
Gil cringed. He'd lost his father when he was very young, but at least he'd had one. "I'm sorry."
"Well, as long as it's not you, you don't have much to apologize for," Warrick replied. He went back to eating.
"You were already in school before I could have started fathering anyone," Gil assured him. "I was a late bloomer."
Warrick looked up from his plate and Gil resisted the urge to lick the sauce away from the corner of his mouth. "You were smart to save your handsome years for later in life. I'm really shallow and I couldn't sleep with an unattractive man."
"That's good to know." Gil let his eyes track the woman's path to the table where she sat down. Now she was talking to a waiter and pointing at their table. Apparently Brown's accent had put her off for only a little while.
Warrick wiped his mouth. "Ready to go?"
Gil had finished his meal and was lingering over his water with the slice of lime in it. "Of course." Grissom allowed Warrick to pay the check and Warrick allowed him to leave the tip.
The second set crowd was about nine times the size of the first. The place was packed and Gil only had a seat because the people at "their" table had saved it.
Warrick sang about his anguish over a broken heart, a cheating woman, and the cruelty of life in general before busting out the dance songs that had most of the audience up and moving to the music. Gil was not a dancer, but none of the women at the table would accept that excuse. He lumbered around to the first song, showed significant improvement during the second song, and was actually not shaming himself by the third song.
His lover closed out the evening with a very soulful version of Elton John's "Blue Eyes". Who could that be but him? Elise kept grinning at Gil, but never said anything about the song but to declare that it was excellent. The audience agreed.
<><><>=============<><><>=============<><><>
Post concert time meant one of two things -- food or sex. Warrick wasn't hungry... for food.
Gil made a strange sound that could only be joy when he got tossed onto the bed and had his pants yanked down. The naughty boy wasn't wearing any underwear. That read like an "always open" sign to Warrick.
And a pre-lubed hole said "come right in". That's what Gil had been doing in the bathroom.
Warrick dropped his pants, climbed onto the bed, and slipped on a condom. "You can scream my name if you like."
Gil like to be handled during sex. He liked to feel possessed, conquered, and taken and Warrick liked to do those things. He took the man roughly, held him down, and grunted the dirtiest things that came to his mind until Gil was whimpering "yes, yes, yes" over and over again.
When Gil finally did shout "no", it wasn't because he wanted Warrick to stop but because he hadn't wanted to cum. "Damn," he cursed.
"It's okay," Warrick promised as he slowed down. "We'll do it again and again."
"Is that a promise?" Gil asked so softly that Warrick almost missed it.
"Yes," Warrick promised. It would be an easy promise to keep. "We've got the whole Gay Kama Sutra thing to go through. Now hush, unless you want to moan."
Gil's body relaxed and his honey hole tightened, sending Warrick into the abyss of sensual boy-boy pleasure. Damn, it was so good.
Warrick extracted himself and rolled the smaller man onto his back. Soft comforting words might have been called for at that moment, but Brown didn't have any. He kissed Gil instead. A long slow sweet kiss that lasted long enough for Warrick to go soft and for Gil to get hard. Warrick didn't have any oral technique to employ, but he'd been jacking off since he was twelve. He knew what to do.
"Yes, oh gawd, yeah," Gil encouraged.
Warrick played the man like a musical instrument, taking the man up and down the scale until only a high note was possible. He cuddled the older man close and licked his ear until Gil stopped trembling. "Do you want me to stay the night?"
Gil looked at him. "You'd never make it to the door if you tried to leave," he swore.
Warrick had the sense not to laugh and a smile was also out of the question. "I'll take that as a yes." He cuddled the other man a little tighter and drifted off.
<><><>=============<><><>=============<><><>
Sexy all-night cuddle sessions were all well and good, but if Warrick didn't want to go to work in the same clothes he'd been wearing two days before, thereby supplanting Greg as lab slut, then he needed to get home to shower and change.
When Warrick arrived home there was an expensive sedan in his driveway. Wonderful. If it was another politician, there was going to be trouble.
Brown tapped on the driver's window. "I think you're in the wrong driveway."
The back window lowered. "And I don't think you're Jamaican, Warrick Brown," the woman from the restaurant announced. "I'm also sure that my husband is your father."
Warrick rolled his eyes. "Lady, I've made it for over thirty years without a father. If he needs blood, bone marrow, or a kidney, he's come to the wrong place. I work for the state government, so I don't have any money. There will be no tearful reunions because he's about twenty-five years too late for that." He gritted his teeth to prevent himself from yelling. "Now, I need you to get your big car out of my driveway so I can get ready for work."
"Warrick, I really need to talk to you," the woman pleaded, "but I won't interfere in your life." She tapped the driver on the shoulder. "Drive on," she ordered.
Warrick had to give the driver his props. He slid that big sedan out of the driveway and onto the street without having to wait for Warrick to move his car. Brown wouldn't have tried it.
By the time he'd gotten to work, he had honestly forgotten all about the crazy woman in the car. Greg was on the warpath because a day shift tech had screwed up and Greg had to be pulled out of the field and thrown back into the lab to straighten it up. Nick was blushing because someone had sent him six-dozen yellow roses and a two-pound box of expensive imported chocolates. No details were forthcoming from the Texan. Sarah was having some intense conversation with Gil and she did not look happy.
Warrick changed clothes and got to work. He actually managed to finish his eight-hour shift in slightly less than nine hours. He'd planned to invite Gil over or to show up at the man's door, but Ecklie ruined that plan by pulling Gil into his office and closing the door. Uh-oh. A closed door meant a long-winded recitation of Grissom and his team's many sins. Gil would be in a foul mood, so Warrick headed home.
Brown drove down his street while thinking about a long bath, some food, and a dirty phone call to Gil. It would have to substitute for hotter sweatier things. And damn, the big car was back.
Warrick tapped on the back window. "Don't you have some money to count?" he asked after the lady rolled down the window.
"Warrick, my name is Jacquelyn Summers and my husband's name is Michael," the lady announced. "I'd like you to meet him."
"Not going to happen," Warrick assured the woman. She was again smartly dressed with a triple strand of pearls at her throat and the march of time brought to a halt by her careful application of makeup to her light cocoa skin.
Tears formed in the woman's eyes. "Michael is dying and he wants to see you."
"But lady, my father is already dead." Warrick headed into his house and didn't look back. But that didn't keep her from ringing the doorbell. Warrick ignored it as long as he could. "Lady, are you --" Brown stopped because he was looking at Gil. "I thought you were someone else."
"Good," Gil replied. "I like a pillow name, but I draw the line at 'Lady'." Grissom stepped inside. "Is that her again?"
"She was in my driveway yesterday," Warrick informed the older man.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Gil asked, giving Warrick the "you're a bad boyfriend" look.
"When did I have time to tell you that?" Warrick countered.
Gil frowned and Warrick could almost see the man going through the day. "Point taken," he answered. "What does she want?"
"She wants me to meet her dying husband, who she has convinced herself is my sperm donor," Warrick answered.
"Do you want to see him?" Gil asked.
"No," Warrick replied immediately. "I've gone from 'was it me' to hate to total indifference on the subject. And none of that is getting you naked."
Gil looked so surprised that Warrick nearly laughed at the man. "I don't often get caught out like that." He kissed Warrick's nose. "Thank you."
"I didn't want to fail to live up to your past lovers," Warrick explained.
"How can you fail against past lovers when all I remember is you?" Gil asked, his blue eyes shining.
"Damn, that was a good line," Warrick said admiringly. "You are the master. Let me rustle up some food so you can keep up your strength."
"I'd like that. What do you have?" Gil asked.
"Frozen dinners, tuna, sardines, peanut butter, and all the crackers you can eat," Warrick admitted. "There are days when I really regret moving out of my grandmother's house."
"We could order in," Gil suggested. "I know this great Cuban place and they de--" he stopped because someone rang the doorbell.
Warrick rolled his eyes and went to the door. "Yes?" he asked politely. If Gil hadn't been just three feet behind him, the greeting would have been different.
"May I come in?" Jacquelyn Summers asked. She stood stiffly, almost as if she expected to be struck.
Warrick wasn't sure how long he stood there before he finally stepped back. "Come in," he said reluctantly.
"Warrick, I know you have issues with Michael, but you should know that until I tracked you down after I saw you at the restaurant, he did not know you existed," Summers explained.
"Try again," Warrick said in disbelief.
"He broke up with your mother and joined the Air Force. He left home not two months later and he never heard from Regina again." Summers smiled hopefully.
"What's he got?" Warrick asked, shocking her with a change of subject.
"Pancreatic cancer," Summers answered. "It's very aggressive. We came to Las Vegas to get some experimental treatment at the University Hospital."
"It's a good hospital," Gil said soothingly.
"Jacquelyn Summers, this is Gil Grissom," Warrick introduced.
"I've actually heard you lecture, Doctor Grissom. I didn't recognize you with the beard," Jacquelyn explained. "I run the Bailey-Weiss Institute, we arranged for you to speak to the staff."
Gil puzzled. "That was about nine years ago. I'm sorry I didn't recognize you."
The woman smiled for the first time. "I'm Doctor Jacquelyn Baily. I always use my maiden name for work," she explained. "I've lost seventy-five pounds since then. I was developing health issues and I --" she stopped. "This isn't about me. Michael did not know you existed, Warrick. Now he does. Won't you see him? You could meet your siblings. We have five children."
"Five?" Warrick asked. That was a big family these days.
"Two born, three adopted, but don't ask me to tell you which is which. I've told them all that I was in labor with them for close to twenty hours." She laughed and Warrick could not help but smile.
She carefully reached out and took Warrick's hands. Her fingers were strong, as if she did real work and was not a wealthy lady of leisure. "You've both been cheated out of a relationship. You still have time. He's tough. He won't go quickly when there's so much unfinished between the two of you." The tears were flowing now and her makeup held.
Warrick was a weak fool for a woman in tears. He hugged her and she held on tight. "Okay, I'll go see him. I'll go right now."
"We'll go right now," Gil corrected. "I was promised food."
The big sedan fit three in the back with room to spare. There was a little refrigerator, but it was filled with bottled water instead of the expected booze. Warrick had one and passed Gil one too. Jacquelyn declined a water.
During the ride, Gil and Summers went into insect overload and Warrick lost track of the conversation. The highlights were that Summers's lab bred beneficial insects for the farming and horticultural industries and Gil was all up into that. Warrick suppressed an "ick".
Warrick had been expecting a man lying on his bed, wasted and hooked up to seven machines that beeped. Michael Summers was sitting in a chair and looking out of the window. He was bald, thin but toned, and wearing a royal blue robe and cheetah-patterned slippers. Warrick had those exact same slippers.
"Mike, Warrick and Gil Grissom have come for a visit," Jacquelyn announced as they stepped into the room.
Mike turned from the window and regarded them with his light green eyes. Warrick and Mike locked gazes and Warrick knew he was looking into his father's eyes. None of his mother's people had eyes like his. He'd always known they came from his father.
"Hello, Warrick. Forgive me for not standing." Mike looked up at Warrick expectantly.
Warrick crossed the room and gently took the older man's hand and shook it. "It's ah... freaky to finally meet you."
Mike laughed then coughed until he bent over. Warrick held onto the smaller man's shaking body. "Sorry," he wheezed once the coughing had ended, "I used to be a lot stronger. The chemo takes it out of you. I used to have almost as much hair as you. Now, I don't even need to shave."
Warrick helped the man up and all but carried him to the bed. He covered him up and buzzed the nurse.
"Yes?" the disembodied voice inquired.
"He was coughing really hard," Warrick explained.
"Do you need assistance, Mister Summers?" the voice asked. Nowadays, you could never tell who was on the other end of the intercom. It could be a nurse, a nurse's aid, a technician, or even a volunteer who did nothing but monitor the intercom.
"No, I'm fine, Louise, though it's always good to see you," Mike answered.
The young woman on the intercom tittered and Jacquelyn rolled her eyes.
"Flat on his back and still flirting," Jacquelyn complained.
"You can't take all of my fun away," Mike asserted. He gripped Warrick's hand. "Jack tells me you're a CSI level III. I'm so proud. Regina would have been proud too."
"I'd like to think so," Warrick responded. His mother had wanted to see him educated and enjoying a job that challenged him. He was doing that.
"What did your mother tell you about me?" Mike asked. His eyes were so intense that Warrick wondered if he had the same kind of gaze.
"Nothing. You were never mentioned. Not your name, a description... nothing. I remember one time my Grams stating that something I'd done was 'just like his father' and my mother slapped her." Warrick paused because the memory was still intense. "That frightened me because my mother never struck anyone, especially not Grams."
A tear leaked out of the corner of Mike's left eye. "I need to explain why she hated me. I'm hoping you'll have a different reaction."
Warrick pulled up a chair and had a seat. "Go on," he encouraged.
"Your mother was a very jealous woman. I couldn't be too nice to other women or speak about my past relationships," Mike began.
Warrick cringed. He'd dated women like that and had left them as soon as physically possible. They were hell to be with.
"One day we ran into Reilly at the racetrack. It had been a great day. We'd won some money and Regina was talking about getting a place of our own and the future and stuff like that. Reilly practically jumped into my arms and made one of those high-pitched squeals he was famous for.
"I introduced them and Reilly told us he was performing at the Hot Shores Club and that he could get us tickets. If you don't know about the Hot Shores, it was in the Paradise before they tore down the original hotel. They named the new high rollers lounge something else when they rebuilt the hotel."
"The Peacock Feather," Gil supplied. "Would that have been Reilly O'Shane?"
"The same," Mike answered.
"He was one of the best fan dancers in town and had a great singing voice," Gil explained. "I saw his last show. He was stunning. Then they tore down the hotel and he refused to work in Vegas again. It just broke his heart. The rumors of what they offered him to come back were staggering."
"And they were probably true," Mike said. He gently squeezed Warrick's hand.
Reilly was a man, but women were fan dancers. So Reilly was a female impersonator who could dance and sing. The boyz would have been so excited.
"After Reilly had left, Regina asked me how I knew him. I told her the truth. We had dated during my sophomore year." Mike paused. "She slapped me, then kicked and punched me. She cried and screamed and called me names I didn't think she knew.
"I tried to explain that while I was bisexual, I was also monogamous, but it didn't matter. I'd dated a man and that meant I was a fag and a fag had no place in her life. I called her a bigot and said it would ruin her life. It was the last thing I said to her." He sighed. "I wrote her a letter, but she sent it back to me unopened. I took that as her final word. I joined the Air Force and it was the last time I was ever in Vegas."
Warrick patted the older man's hand. "You didn't miss much. The city doesn't change, just new clothes hiding the same old sins."
Mike began to sob. "I missed you," he choked out. "If Jack hadn't seen you in that restaurant and been so persistent, I would have never known you were my son."
"She tracked me down in hours," Warrick noted. "That's kind of unsettling."
"You should see me track down a lost shipment," Jacquelyn quipped. "I know how to strike fear in a shipper's heart."
"They invented all of that electronic tracking just because of her," Mike explained in a conspiratorial tone. "Tell me about yourself. What do you do for fun? Do you want to get your Master's degree? Have you been able to travel? Do you have a pet? Are you with someone? Do I have any grandchildren?"
Warrick blinked. It was amazing someone so short of breath could ask that many questions. "I play music semi-professionally. Yes, I want my degree. I've traveled a bit, but not like I've dreamed. No pets. I've just started seeing someone new and I don't know if I pass muster or not. Yes, you have a grandchild. His name is Chili, real name Charles Warrick Brown, and he's eight years old. He and his mother, Barbara, live in Atlanta with Barbara's husband Cedric. Chili and I hang out at least one week a year and I get to call him anytime that I want. Cedric is begging me to let him adopt Chili because he and Barbara are going to have a baby and he wants the full family thing."
"Taking away that one week," Mike finished for him. "Don't do it."
"In Atlanta?" Jacquelyn interrupted. "My God, we live in Atlanta. I could have been ruining a grandchild."
"You still have time, Jack," Mike soothed. Silence fell on the room. Jack still had time but Mike did not.
A nurse stepped into the room with a small tray of medicines and shots. "It's time for your meds, Mister Summers, and I'm afraid that visiting hours are up until noon. You can stay, Mrs. Summers."
"Will you come back?" Mike asked, not letting go of Warrick's hand.
Warrick was torn. The man was nice enough, but this was draining. It was like being on one of Gil's roller coasters and being strapped in upside down. You didn't know where you were going and you couldn't guess what was going to happen next.
The tears in the older man's eyes decided him. It was a few hours of his life and comfort for a dying man who had never intentionally hurt Warrick.
"Sure, I'll slip in after shift tomorrow," Warrick promised.
"Could you bring Chili's picture?" Mike asked hopefully.
"I've got video," Warrick announced. He pointed at the DVD player underneath the television. This was a top-end suite. "I've already burned it to DVD."
"That would be great." Mike hissed as the nurse plunged a needle into his thin arm.
"Just go back to the car and the driver will take you home or to a restaurant and then home," Jacquelyn instructed. "Thank you for coming here, Warrick. It was a generous thing to do."
Warrick nodded, unable to think of a thing to say. He was not used to that feeling. The two men walked out and Warrick kept quiet until they were in the car with the partition up.
"Just tell me one thing, Gil," Warrick demanded as he leaned toward the shorter man.
"What's that?" Gil asked.
"Tell me you never slept with Reilly," Warrick insisted.
Gil looked shocked. "No, I was still holding onto my heterosexuality back then. Besides, Reilly was in a very long-term relationship with a pit boss at the casino. Like Mike, he never had more than one playmate at a time." He touched Warrick's chin, lifting it. "That's the way I conduct myself."
Warrick smiled. "I'm glad to hear it." He placed his arm around Gil's shoulders. "If you and my father had slept with the same man, I could never touch you again." He shivered.
The End
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