Title: High Maintenance
Author: Nicci
Pairing: Grissom/Warrick
Rating: NC-17
Note: Many thanks to Sonia who showed me the way with regards to this story. And a huge hug and heart felt appreciation to my beta, Sammi.
Spoilers: Post ep story to S4 "Turn Of The Screws."
Summary: Last night, something had changed and he wasn't exactly sure of the meaning. Post ep story to "Turn Of The Screws".

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The best intentions are fraught with disappointments." - Quote by Gil Grissom

 

 

 

Nothing mysterious about where he was standing. 

 

This street, far more familiar than he wanted to admit, having had driven many times in the area long after the shift had ended.  He would park his truck and stare at the door illuminated by the streetlights and debated on whether he should approach the man inside.

 

He didn't consider himself a stalker, although his action might have had seemed that way.  The meaning of the word actually demoralizing, and hell, it was his job to find the evidence that would incarcerate crazy people like that.  He remembered what that stalker had done to Nick.  No way could anyone label him as the same as that fucker.

 

No, his drive-bys had happened at times of weakness.  In which during those moments, his need for Gil was more than he could endure.  He would sit inside the dark truck, staring at the door that had kept Gil from him, and contemplated on his chances.  Nothing he'd ever done had ever clued Gil in that he was interested in him, anyway.  Warrick just wasn't on Gil's radar, or it had seemed that way. 

 

If truth be told and Warrick's heart and mind could speak, they would accuse him of having more than a passing interest.  

 

Last night, something had changed and Warrick wasn't exactly sure of its meaning.  He was determined to discover why and, for that reason, he was standing at the front door of Gil's condo in the light of the day, instead of sitting inside his truck during the wee hours of the morning, brooding. 

 

The day had transformed into mid-afternoon and the proof of the change saw people moving about, obviously going about their Saturday's activities.  If he weren't so nervous, he could've enjoyed the scenery.  Nothing was so pleasurable as watching people getting on with their lives especially since his own life consisted of immersing himself in dark and horrendous crimes.

 

Warrick looked around and found what he was looking for.  Gil's had parked his Tahoe down the street.  Good, Gil should be home.  Recognizing that he might get some answers, his level of confidence wore down and worry replaced it like an inverted scale.  He was this kid riding a stolen bicycle, unaware of the destination of the ride. 

 

God, had he hallucinated, last night?  Had Gil really tracked him down to the club, looking exceptionally fine in black pants and top and a beige colored jacket?  Warrick thought he could've been high.  High from drinking one can of beer.  He hadn't smoked marijuana since his freshmen days at ULV when he was involved in unscrupulous activities. 

 

Well, whatever, he thought.  He was here and this was Vegas, baby.  Rolling the dice meant risk and he, after all, loved the thrill of the challenge.

 

Despite his cool bravado, Warrick pounded on the door to Gil's condo as if the casinos had gone on strike and they'd refused admittance to desperate and crazy people.  He did feel foolish and probably looked foolish as well.  He peered over his shoulders wondering if anyone was staring at him.

 

"Is something wrong, Warrick?" 

 

Warrick's head whipped around and his eyes quickly filled with the image of Gil in his doorway.  "No.  How're you doing, man."  Gil was in a grumpy mood.  He'd hoped for a better reaction.

 

"Come in."  Gil tied the belt to his bathrobe as he drew the edges securely around his body.  Sleepy eyes squinted from tiredness.  Warrick recognized the exhaustion from working a long shift investigating a crime scene.

 

The elegant man of last night had disappeared.  In its place stood someone wearing a ratty bathrobe, bare legs peeking from underneath, and wavy hair strands lay flat against his head.  Gray hairs on his chest peeked through the opening of his robe.  Gil sounded irritated and looked disheveled.  Warrick wanted to do crazy things to this man. 

 

Like an obedient child, he followed Gil into his living room.  Rarely seen, the room was as he'd remembered - stark and dull.  Ivory colored painted walls surrounded the few pieces of furniture.

 

He preferred bright blues and greens, vivid and vibrant colors.  Grissom needed a decorator to liven up this place.  Warrick shook his head.  Thinking about decoration was ludicrous to the reason why he was there, and he breathed in deeply to still the jitters.  A sudden idea popped inside his head.  The image of flapping chicken wings scrolled across his imagination.  Yeah man, he was so like those chickens. 

 

"You look tired," Warrick said, trying to conjure up some coolness.   

 

Turning to face him, Gil said, "Two hours sleep so far."

 

"How's the case going?"  Warrick hated being uncouth, but the dead man could go to heaven for all that he cared.

 

Gil sat on one of the few chairs in the living room, elbows resting on the chrome armrest of the chair.  "Unsolved," he said, answering Warrick's question.  "We're waiting for Greg to complete the DNA results."

 

Warrick paced the living room as he listened to Gil's response.  Gil allowed him into his home, yet denied him the release of tension he needed.  That shit bothered him.  He waited for the offer to have a seat.  And seeing none was forthcoming, he saw a perfect spot for support.  He strode over to the corner wall, leaned back, and returned Gil's stare from a reasonably safe distance.  Warrick refused to show he was upset at Gil's lukewarm welcome.  

 

Still the intensity of the Gil's expression caused Warrick to feel as though he was an insect and Gil was examining him under the lens of a microscope.  The flow of words from Gil died, which was strange, Gil always had something to say to him even if the conversation was mostly about work or a question on how he held up to avoiding gambling at the casinos.   

 

Shifting weight from one foot to the other, Warrick stood firm under the intense focus.  Damn, this was Gil's home.  He would've thought the man would offer something - anything - the silence was killing him.  Well, hey, it was time to force this little discussion.  "I came because I want to finish our talk from last night." 

 

"My mistake, Warrick.  It should have never started.  There's nothing to discuss."

 

That hurt on so many levels.  Hearing the finality in Gil's voice went straight to his chest.

 

Another chair stood nearby.  Warrick grabbed it and hauled it over into Gil's direct line of vision.  Those flapping chicken wings he'd imagined earlier went into resting mode.  Denial could either make or break the person.  He wasn't having any of that without getting an explanation from Gil.

 

"You wanna tell me why you came to the club?"  Warrick asked getting to the point of his visit. 

 

"No."

 

He almost wanted to laugh.  The answer was no surprise.  "Come on, man.  You can't leave me hanging like this."

 

"Catherine filled me in on the Tessa Press' case.  It had bothered her.  As I said last night, I wanted to make sure you were okay."  Gil sat straight in the chair like a wooden soldier. 

 

Tessa Press, yeah.  An image of her thirteen years old body lying face up in the cold night under a dark and lonely bridge was suddenly there in his vision.  Catherine was right - it was bad.  Investigating the death of children was never easy, but this one, man.  Her mother should get life in prison.

 

Warrick slumped in the chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him.  "It was nasty.  I'm fine now.  You know, you could assign these cases to one of the other guys.  I hate these cases," Warrick admitted.

 

"You know how I assign resources, Warrick.  You and Catherine serve these cases well."

 

"And you couldn't wait until I came into work to ask me.  Come on, Gil.  There was a lot more going on there." 

 

Gil cocked his head to the side in that familiar way when he was thinking.  The absence of emotion made his face solemn and thoughtful.  He shifted his body in the chair.  Fingers appeared at the side of his face.  He rubbed his temples and Warrick knew that Gil had become agitated.     

 

"You know, I thought for a minute...  I spent many years on the beach, at the place of my birth, with nature and death.  That's my entire life.  Who am I to upset the order of things?" 

 

"Sure, man.  I see chicken wing flapping here."  Nevertheless, Warrick was surprised at hearing the revealing words.

 

"Warrick," Gil said, cautiously.

 

Warrick heeded the warning tone like a good trooper.  He couldn't resist, no need trying when he was this close.  He wouldn't have fitted well in military school. 

 

He lifted his body out of the chair and quickly closed the distance between him and Gil.  He leaned over the older man.  Gil had little choice but to look up at Warrick.  Wariness replaced the somber look on his face.

 

Warrick had no choice but to take advantage of the situation he'd unintentionally had set into play.  Bending down, he grasped Gil and kissed him.  Felt the shock of his mouth pressing against thin, dry lips.  Lips he'd wanted to kiss the night before.  He heard the intake of Gil's own disbelief.  Warm breath grazed over his skin.  The thin, dry lips softened, responding to Warrick's touch.      

 

As much as he wanted to linger, Warrick slid away from Gil, his tongue, though, had ventured out and roamed over the surface of Gil's closing mouth.  He wanted to savor the taste of Gil, to leave Gil with soft and wet impressions.   

 

Blue eyes stared at him, alive and wondering, as Warrick sat back down in the chair.  There was a chance, Warrick hoped.  He could feel it in his bones and his spirits rose up from the possibility. 

 

But the life in those blue eyes blanked and shielded away any emotion that had been there.  Gil had reverted back to his typical expression.

 

"Order is good."  Warrick continued the conversation as if nothing had happened.  "I don't think you buy into this orderly life of yours anymore.  That's what last night was about."

 

"You're not listening."  Gil said, mouth tightened and the chin tilted upward.  

 

"I hear you.  But Gil, you gave me an opening and I'm taking it.  You may think you want to continue living like a hermit."  Warrick spread his hand in the air to emphasize the solitary atmosphere of Gil's living space.  "Your body tells me something different.  It tells me that Gil Grissom wants Warrick Brown despite the mental masturbation in denial."

 

"My work is my life.  I get very involved.  It requires my absolute attention.  I'm not what you need." 

 

"I know you Gil.  I'm not high maintenance.  Your mind is one of the things I love about you," Warrick said.  And there it was, right there out in the open, that mere interest was so much more.

 

"High maintenance?"  Gil repeated, a smile of restraint appeared on his face.    

   

"Yeah, baby.  Some lovers require constant attention.  You know the kind.  Dinner together every night, communication two and three times a day, constant wooing, wanting reassurance, wanting to touch all the time."

 

Warrick waited for a reaction from Gil.  Nervous jitters came back, although, on the outside his appearance seemed cool and confident.  He was fighting for Gil and the person he fought for sat in his chair quiet and unmoving.  As if the words Warrick had spoken were ineffective, as if they weren't convincing enough to Gil that he could fit into his life.  If the kiss didn't change Gil's mind, and Warrick could still feel the ghost of Gil's lips on his and on how Gil had responded to him, then he knew he was out of options. 

 

All the longing and desire for Gil buried deep inside of him wrapping him up into a tight ball.  Warrick had known, had known rejection was a great possibility.  It just that at the club, Gil had seemed different, soft and relaxed, just as needy as he was in each other's personal space.  It was the desire emanating from Gil that had given Warrick the courage to face him today.  He figured someone in Gil's past had messed with his head.  What other reasons could it be for his resistance?

 

"I'm exhausted."  Gil stood as he pushed back his chair. 

 

Fuck, he'd forgotten about the case Gil started on the previous night.  He remembered why Gil had left the club after receiving a call from Brass.  Gil's presence and subsequent departure had him in total confusion that caused him a sleepless night and made him a determined man in the morning.  At least he hadn't thought of Tessa Press.  

 

"Go back to bed.  Get your beauty rest.  I'll see you at work."  Warrick stood up and started for the entrance out. 

 

"Warrick?" 

 

"Yeah," he responded, looking back over his shoulders.

 

"Follow me."  Gil waved a hand at Warrick.

 

Gil didn't have to repeat his request.  Warrick strolled up to Gil.  

 

"I am tired, but I want you to stay.  You think you can rest alongside an old man?"

 

"You don't have to ask me twice, old man."

 

Gil reached up and pecked him on the lips.  Grabbing onto his hand, Gil said, "Come with me, son."

 

 

This wasn't what he'd expected, not now, not tomorrow, not two days later.  What he'd wanted was an opportunity to draw Gil out from behind his wall of solitude, and just maybe, he would see Warrick. 

 

Gil let go of his hand and walked to the bed, the bathrobe sliding off his shoulders to the floor.  Warrick thought: just like him to go off and leave him standing.  He'd developed this familiarity with Gil's back - clothed in a bathrobe, street clothes, and now in boxers and undershirt.  What a bummer, he was hoping Gil was bare under that damn robe. 

 

Apparently, Gil sense of decorum had left his mind.  Warrick was hovering in the bedroom, at a loss of what he was supposed to do.  

 

The undershirt rose up, revealing pale skin, Gil drew it over his shoulders and let the shirt drop to the carpeted floor with less grace than the bathrobe.  He sat down on the edge of the bed and slid backward until the back of his body had touched the headboard. 

 

Warrick hands slid inside his pants' pocket.  Standing in the middle of the bedroom, he balanced the weight of his body on one leg and tilted his head to the side.  Watching Gil as his demeanor changed.  No longer covered with clothes, the graying hairs sparsely covered a bare chest.  An arm landed over a bent knee, and the other leg flexed, then spread out in a relaxed position.  There was a wicked smile on the tired face that gave Warrick the chills.  This definitely was another side to Gil Grissom.

 

And that look was back, except the intensity turned up several notches higher and was of a different flavor.  It ate Warrick up.  There was much more to Gil like how the blue eyes were now sexy, hot, and begging. 

 

"Undress, now," Gil demanded.

 

No problem, Warrick was in for more than the quarter.  Two can play this game.  He slowly peeled off each piece of clothing, flexing muscles along the way.  Down to his underwear, feeling the cool air grazing over his skin, he shivered from anticipation. 

 

Warrick kept his eyes affixed to the man on the bed.  Saw how his bit of teasing affected Gil, who had become more than a spectator.  There again was that hot expression that said more than mere words, meant more than the simple request to undress.  Warrick got hard from just watching Gil's hand stroking on his crotch.


And he wondered at the image, watching the slow back and forth movement of the pale hand, at the shape of that hard cock hidden under the material of a pair of paisley printed boxers.  Was it long, short, thick or round?  Warrick thought about the feel of his hand wrapping around that pale hardness. 

 

His eyes traveled up the body to face blue eyes for a one-to-one stare.  None of it mattered, the physical shape of his body.  All that mattered was that this was Gil.  It was Gil that he wanted.  And he was hot.

 

Warrick pounced, no longer holding back.  Straight on top of Gil, who pushed him off gently and said in a firm voice, "Rest."


Warrick growled.  "Tease."  Gil had a cruel streak flowing in those veins of his.    


Did someone say rest?  Rest lasted for about two minutes flat.  Whom did Gil think he was fooling anyway: not with hot hands on his body, jerking off his underwear.  Warrick tried to return the favor, but Gil was having none of that.  Slapping Warrick's helping hand away, Gil removed that ugly pair of paisley boxers.  Then touching, man.  Gil all over him, planting kisses everywhere, sharing the love. 

Wow.  Damn.  Warrick shook under lips, tongue, hands, and the weight of Gil's body on him.  Who would've thought Gil could get it on.  Warrick could've been just as happy watching Gil sleep, listening to his breathing, cataloging all of his unconscious movements.  What they were doing together was like, yeah, and more preferable.     

 

 

 

He had Gil pressed inside his arms, his body curled around Gil.  They were lying on their sides on the bed and connected in the most elemental way between two people lusting after each other.  Each time Gil rocked backward, the sweaty texture of his skin caused the nipples on Warrick's chest to harden with sensation.  Each time Warrick thrust forward, his cock went deeper inside Gil and he shook from the pleasure of the hot and dark place clenching him.

 

Gil groaned.

 

Warrick heard the sound and he kept moving.  His arm acted as a pillow for Gil's head.  "Are you okay, baby?"  Warrick whispered in the ear near his lips. 

 

Fingers slipped across the bed and wrapped around Warrick's hand.  Warrick moved, back and forth, he buried so deep inside of Gil, he hesitated before he pulled back.  He wanted to stay in that hot, tight place. 

 

Gil never did answer him.  Instead, Gil grasped Warrick's finger, brought it to his mouth, and bit down as his response.  He sucked it inside that breathy mouth and eased the nip of pain Warrick felt. 

 

God, Warrick's cock throbbed.  He gulped in air just to hold on. 

 

"Don't do that or I won't last," Warrick said. 


"Really."  Gil reached around, his hand clamping down on Warrick's neck.  "Kiss me."


Arm tightened, Warrick pressed in closer.  Shifted his weight so that he wouldn't lose the connection, wanting to give Gil what he wanted, what they both needed.  A kiss - a simple request, Gil surprisingly passionate, open, his feelings lay out for Warrick's stroking.

Hips rose and met; Warrick strained over Gil's body.  Warrick kissed the side of Gil's mouth panting with pleasure.  Ah, man, they were sweet sounds to his ears.  He shifted his body just a little more and captured those groans with his lips. 


Grasping a pale thigh, he held on.  Can't let go he breathed the words silently.  Make it good for Gil. 


Urgency peeled back his skin and exposed raw nerves.  The need for completion beating at his will to stay; the rocking of pale hips wore him down to just give in.  And yet, Warrick needed a deeper connection and it couldn't happen in this position, and naturally, because Warrick knew how this went, he pushed Gil over with his weight.  Gil rolled from the pressure of Warrick's movement onto his stomach.


Beads of moisture trickled off his eyelashes, he blinked and groaned and moved for a better grip.  He covered Gil with his body and Gil lifted his hips to receive him.  So much better this way and he could move, move, and move.

 

Warrick saw through the haze of lust glazing his eyes: the glistening skin on the pale back, the width of shoulders, the profile of Gil's face lying on the bed slacked with passion.  He nipped those shoulders as he curled even tighter and kissed the face below.  Thrusting faster and deeper, the sensation, so good, he closed his eyes when Gil bit him on the arm as if he tried to hold back, something.  The action sent a searing, hot white flame to Warrick's stomach. 

"Baby, I can't..."

"Don't," Gil whispered.

Warrick reached under Gil's stomach and found what he was looking for, something hot and hard.  He stroked back and forth, Gil moved with the rhythm, grunting out his exertions.  Gil's hand joined his and together they rocked into each other. 

Gil was the first to come apart, the sounds of his release ripped through the air.  And this tipped Warrick off, hearing Gil, loving the taste of his pleasure, it sent Warrick to place he could no longer hold back.  Didn't want to and couldn't.  Wanted to and tried, he wanted to stay and his body had other ideas.  Warrick gripped Gil so tight he feared bruising him.  Warrick gave into the shuddering, to the hot sensations overwhelming and unstoppable.  He surrendered himself and his body to the keeping of the man lying beneath him. 

Damn. 

He thought he'd told Gil he loved him. 

 

 

 

Warrick snuggled in the crook of Gil's arm.  He was listening to the soft thumping in his chest.  His breathing had finally returned to normal, the relaxed body indicated Gil was slipping into sleep. 

 

Even now, Warrick couldn't let his hands stilled their movement.  He brushed lightly over the chest, stomach, and hips.  He wasn't nearly as tired, but felt a deep sense of satisfaction. 

He had gotten through to Gil and that alone was a wonder.  The fact he had sex with him was short of a miracle. 

"Warrick."

"Yeah."  He responded with his own sleepy voice. 

"I want you to be high maintenance."

Warrick drew up onto his elbow and looked down at a face so relaxed, the expression faded away the years.  "Gil, baby, the phrase is an euphemistic slang term for..."

"Oh I know what it means.  Whenever you're feeling neglected, remind me okay."

A soft smile played around his lips, but the eyes, Warrick saw the seriousness.  "I'm not going anywhere.  You'd have to do something like murder someone."

Gil laughed, softly.  He drew the back of his fingers down the side of Warrick's face and brought him closer for a gentle, almost chaste kiss. 

Placing his head back on Gil's shoulders, Warrick heard him say, "I love you, too."

 

 

Nick, Sara, Catherine, and Warrick sat at the conference table waiting for Gil to hand out the assignments for the night.  Gil sat on one side of the square shaped table.  Warrick had grabbed a seat at the far end on the opposite side. 

"Nick.  You've a 407.  You're working solo tonight.  Catherine and Warrick, 420A, homicide.  A child found dead at a family member's house.  Sara is with me.  A woman was raped at ULV."

"Another one."  Warrick moaned under his breath. 

"Yeah, man," said Catherine, sitting next to him. 

Warrick's shoulders slumped.  His mind wondered over another case of violence against children.  A mix of hostility, vulnerability, and compassion stirred within him.  Fuck, gotta get your shit together for this.  He sat with unfocused eyes remembering the image of Tessa Press.  That happened three months ago and the violence against children seemed to get worse despite statistical data saying otherwise.  Gil had told him the stats for this type of crime were  high during the early nineties.  Warrick just couldn't imagine it. 

Reality shifted, a change in movement, his head lifted straight into the gaze of sharp, pale blue eyes.  They captured him with their intensity and snapped him back to the present. 

He heard the scrapping of chairs pulled back from the table.  The others were leaving the room. 

"You know I hate these cases."  Warrick said when they were alone. 

"I do."  The voice responded in a tone of neutrality.  Gil gave him his famous stoic look. 

"I'm off.  When this case is closed, I'll be requiring special attention."

"I'm sure there won't be any problems there.  You'll be more than adequately compensated."  Gil's eyes blinked and the expression on his face softened.  A hint of a smile appeared behind the moustache and beard. 

Warrick nodded his head at Gil, and strolled out of the conference room, down the hall, and out the door into the parking lot.  Catherine was probably there already with kits and camera.  Everything was fine.  Different, thrilling, the same, new discovery, he was never alone as much anymore. 

A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth.  Mentally Warrick mapped out the steps to speed up the conclusions to the case.  Ridiculous, he knew that and it was pure wishful thinking for sure, but it was the growing excitement that made Warrick smile, for he was looking forward to exacting his pound of revenge on one pale, soft yet lovable body. 


THE END

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