Title: Possession
By: black_dahlia63
Pairing: Gil/Greg
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Gil and Greg discover something about each other.

A pair of eyes studies him from the other side of the small window in the door, and he is reminded for all the world of a scene from 'The Wizard Of Oz'; then he hears bolts drawn back and the door is opened for him, and with a nod to the bouncer he is readmitted into a world he has not been part of for a long time.

The music, formerly a distant thump as he approached the building, would deafen him now if his hearing were perfect; it is a mix of "Closer" by Nine Inch Nails and the Beatles' "Come Together", and it wraps around him like a blanket as he skirts the crowded dance floor. He has hardly found a seat when he is approached by a slender young man, notepad and pencil in hand, whose skill at lip reading over the music almost matches his own; several minutes later, drink in hand, he surveys his surroundings from the depths of the leather armchair.

He was introduced to this club several years since by a former lover, and while the location has changed several times the nature of the place has not. Although it is always packed he has never seen a lineup outside, because it is as private as the people who frequent it; it is for this reason he chooses to come here, because the side of himself that he reveals within these walls is not shown to the majority of those who consider themselves close to him.

Most of the time he is able to content himself with his books and his insects and his roller coasters, but there are nights like this when his darker side overtakes him. Even in this he is private, preferring to watch the public displays that take place here rather than participate in them. He will sit and study the people around him, in much the same way that he does when he is at work, until one of them chooses to approach him and the ritual begins in earnest.

He scans the crowd now over the rim of his glass, anticipation beginning to course through his veins as he wonders what the night will bring. The music changes to something bass-driven with German lyrics, and the crowd on the dance floor becomes a seething mass of human flesh. He leans back in his chair, aware of eyes falling on him occasionally in return, but he does nothing to acknowledge the glances; something is telling him that what he seeks has not presented itself yet, and in this as in what he does for a living he will be patient.

His dominant side is something that scared him at first, even more so than coming to terms with his bisexuality; sipping his drink, he lets his mind wander back to the first time he stepped over the threshold of Lady Heather's dominion. He recalls the expression on her face as she watched him handle the objects in some of the rooms, knowing now that she saw even in that first meeting the secret part of him that he had attempted to conceal from himself as well as those he works with who think they know him.

"Some people don't know what they want until I show them-"He thinks of his subsequent visits to Lady Heather, the ones that were a secret, and the things he learned about himself; the same dark excitement that would fill him then is gripping him now, and he is aware that beneath the black pants of his suit he has the beginnings of an erection.

He fixes his gaze on one of the dancers at the edge of the crowd, a young man in tight leather pants and a red T shirt with his back to him; there is something in the way he moves that speaks of barely-contained energy, and all at once he thinks of the private rooms at the far end of the club where there are things he could use to restrain this boy, subject him to his will...then the young man turns slightly, laughing at something one of the other dancers has said, and their eyes meet - and the sensation at his core now is not anticipation but shock, as his spine slowly turns to ice.
"Greg-"

The two of them stare at each other for what seems a long time, neither of them willing to be the first one to look away, and the room seems to shrink as he is enveloped by a sudden rush of desire that crowds out all the other emotions flooding his mind. This isn't right, he tells himself as he sits frozen, thinking of everything that could go wrong if he were to take this further, but in this moment he wants the young man in front of him so badly it hurts him.

Blinking to clear his thoughts, he nods towards the empty seat next to his own, and then he waits; after another long pause, Greg leaves the dance floor and makes his way to the armchair a scant foot from the one his employer sits in.

Sinking into the depths of the chair, he opens his mouth to speak, but Gil holds a hand up to silence him as the young man with the notepad and pencil appears at the table. "Yes, bring me another Scotch - Greg?"

"Tequila," Greg manages to say, knowing he will need a drink to fortify himself against whatever rebuke is undoubtedly coming for being found here. He falls silent then, looking down at the table, and when their drinks arrive he seizes his glass and empties it before looking up again. "You're on a case, right? I-"

"No," is the simple answer. "Are you?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"How old were you?"

"Seventeen when it finally happened," he replies. "But I think I must have known for a long time, because I wasn't-" He pauses, trying to find the words to explain himself. "It just felt right, you know?" The two of them have left the area near the dance floor and are sitting either side of one of the low tables in the chill-out area, a room separated from the rest of the club by thick glass walls so that the music is very distant. There are others in the room with them, couples hidden in little nooks of shadow, but he is careful to distance himself from Gil; to do otherwise might give away something he does not want to reveal yet - if at all - and he looks down at his hands as he continues. "Like something-"

"Fell into place?" Gil asks, and he sees Greg nod without looking up. "Who was he?"

"Older brother of the girl I finally lost my virginity to," Greg says, trying to smile. "How's that for irony? I kept seeing the two of them until she found out, and when she did it wasn't me she was pissed at - it was him, she got in this real knock down drag out fight with him, accused him of-"

"What? Corrupting you?" and there is a brief period of silence before his boss speaks again. "Why won't you look at me when you're speaking to me?"

"This is - uh - difficult-"

"Look up," Gil says quietly, knowing that with this command he is crossing the invisible line he has always drawn for himself. He has never become involved with anybody he works with, for fear of the ramifications should the relationship end; but now it is as though he is being pulled along, caught in some invisible riptide over which he has no control. He waits for Greg to lift his head, and when their eyes lock again he knows that Greg's desire in this moment matches his own.

"You don't know what you're asking, Greg-"

"What if I do?" There is a long silence then as the two of them study each other wordlessly, the murmured conversations in the room seeming to fade away - both of them knowing this should stop now, both of them realising that now they have begun this they can do nothing but continue.



"What if I do?" Greg asks again, and before Gil can answer a shadow falls across the two of them. A dark-haired man in his early thirties stands next to the table, dressed in black cargo pants and a button down shirt; Gil eyes him in silence for a few moments before crooking a finger, and when the man bends towards him he murmurs something in his ear. There is a wordless nod,and the man walks away from them; the door leading to the dance floor opens to let him out, and there is a brief blast of music before it closes again.

Greg turns to look across the table and Gil is already watching him, an undefineable expression in his eyes; in the silence that follows, he struggles to find the words that will explain what he has kept hidden for so long, but before he can open his mouth Gil has risen to his feet.

"You don't know what you're asking," he says once more, and his voice is taut. "Go home, Greg-" and he is gone without another word.

Greg watches his boss walk past the glass wall, and then his paralysis breaks; pushing his chair back, he walks swiftly from the quietness of the chillout room and heads in the direction taken by Gil moments before.

The hallway on the other side of the dance floor is not a part of the club he has been in before, but he is well aware of what goes on in the little rooms that line it; he watches Gil and his companion make their way to the room at the very end, and the door is pulled almost shut. He stands motionless, gripped by indecision, and then he heads down the narrow hallway himself; someone calls out to him from one of the rooms he passes, but he ignores them and keeps going.

Although he has not been in these rooms himself, he knows the unwritten code; a closed door signals a wish for privacy, whereas watching - or participating in - what might be taking place is permitted if the door has been left open. The one at the end of the hallway still stands ajar, and as he approaches it his footsteps become slower; he stands on the other side of it for some time, and when he finally looks into the room itself he stands rooted to the spot.

Clothes lie in a heap on the floor, and the dark-haired man is completely naked; he stands face forward against an X shaped cross made from some sort of dark wood, his hands stretching towards the tips of the upper beams. Gil is still clothed, with the exception of his suit jacket which is draped over a chair in the corner of the room, and he is pacing in a slow circle around the cross. He holds something in his hand that Greg cannot make out in the semi-darkness of the room, and he pauses occasionally to run a casual hand over the bare skin of the man standing against the cross; he leans towards the man, murmuring something too quietly for the words to reach the doorway, and then he takes a few steps back.

Greg recognises what is in Gil's hand then, and he watches him ply the flogger over his companion's back and buttocks and upper thighs; red stripes appear on the man's flesh, but he does not make a sound, although his hands clench on the upper beams of the cross and his head sags forward.

After what seems an inordinately long time, the flogger is set down on the nearby chair, and Gil approaches the cross again; he leans forward, his right hand reaching up to clasp the beam and let his fingers lace with his companion's while the fingers of his left hand trail slowly over the red marks on the man's back.

"You've missed me, haven't you?" His words are just audible now, and there is an edge to them; it is not the tone of voice he uses with suspects, but something darker, and as Greg continues to watch his mouth goes dry.

He sees Gil reach into his pants pocket and bring out something which is concealed in his hand before he moves around to the other side of the cross; he is occupied there for some time, whispering occasionally to the man in front of him who remains motionless, and then eventually he says,"Arms at your sides."

The command is obeyed instantly, and when Gil moves to turn his companion around it becomes evident that the man has been blindfolded by a strip of red fabric; tiny silver clamps have been fastened to his nipples, biting cruelly into the skin, but despite this the man is visibly aroused. Placing a hand on his shoulder, Gil leads him towards the other side of the room, where there is a sloping bench upholstered in what looks like leather; the dark-haired man lies face down on it, hands clasping at the end, and Gil moves back to the chair to fetch something else that has been placed there.

Greg stands frozen in place as Gil approaches his companion again, a small black paddle in his hand, and nothing is said in the room before blows begin to rain down in a steady stream. The man makes no sound for a long time, and then a single word is croaked out that Greg cannot distinguish through the roaring in his head.

Instantly, the paddle is dropped to the floor, and Gil moves to crouch at the head of the bench. He unfastens the blindfold, drawing it free, but the man remains motionless; his head continues to rest on the bench, his face turned to the wall, and even in the dim light it is possible to make out ugly purpling welts that practically cover his buttocks.

"Look at me," Gil says, and the edge is gone from his voice now; leaning closer still as the man obeys, he places a hand each side of his face, and his thumbs trace circles on his cheeks. "What's this?" he asks gently, his voice dropping another notch, becoming a caress in itself. "You've never cried before-" and he lets his forehead touch that of the man lying prone on the bench. "You did very, very well tonight," he says in a near-whisper, and he tilts his head slightly; the other man shifts in counterpoint, and their lips touch as their fingers wind themselves in each other's hair.

Greg is still unable to move, and he feels something pricking at the back of his eyes. There is an intimacy here that he has never felt himself with any of the lovers he has had, a closeness so overwhelming it stuns him; and the fact that it involves a man who has been the object of his hidden desires, the one whose image fuels his self-pleasuring, whose face he pictures when some anonymous man has been inside him-

-he forces himself to snap back to reality, to the hum of voices nearby and 'God Is A DJ' playing out on the dance floor, and he begins to run. Seemingly moments later he is outside, and he sinks down onto a low wall next to the parking lot; his head drops into his hands, and he draws deep, shuddering breaths as a million thoughts crowd his mind at once...but the one that burns itself into the space behind his eyes is that although he may not understand what he saw in that room it has touched some secret place inside him; even though Gil may say he doesn't know what he is asking, he wants this so badly now that it breaks his heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gil stands just inside the entrance to the club, watching headlights disappear into the distance as his lover is dispatched homeward in a taxi, and his eyes are distant.

He is drained by what has taken place, and not only physically - it has been some time since he has administered this severe a beating, and past experience tells him that come the morning he will not be able to lift his arm past shoulder level - but he is emotionally sapped too. The session in the room ended in lovemaking, the way his sessions with this man almost always did; but while there was physical release, he is still so full of pent-up emotion that he aches with it - and from the expression on his lover's face as he helped him dress, he knows that Matthew sensed it too.

Sighing gently, he nods to the bouncer and walks out into the night; breathing in the sticky heat, he turns to the part of the lot where he parked his car, and he is frozen - even though he had suspected, dared to hope -

Greg is standing next to the car, his body rigid with suppressed pain, his face awash with a flood of emotion; somehow Gil had suspected there might be tears, but there is merely a deep hurt in Greg's eyes as the two of them draw level with each other.

"You were watching, weren't you?"

"What makes you think I don't know what I'm asking?"Greg counters. "No!Don't!" and he jerks back as Gil puts a hand out. "Don't touch me! If I'm not good enough to be what he is to you, don't you touch me-"

"Greg," he calls out, forcing authority into his voice despite his exhaustion as he sees him turn away, instinct telling him that he has one opportunity to do this. "Turn round-"

"What?" is the angry response, and as Greg turns back now his eyes are bright with unshed tears. "You don't have the slightest idea how I really feel about you, or you wouldn't have left that door open," he says, the night's events finally loosening his tongue. "You don't know how I felt watching the two of you, you can't-"

"Yes, I do," he manages to say. "I wanted you to see, I wanted you to realise what it's like to be with me, because the last thing I want to do is force you into something you can't handle-" and as Greg stares at him he reaches out a hand, placing it on the back of the young man's neck; a tremor ripples beneath Gil's fingertips, and the moment is one he will remember his entire life.

The following day... Greg sits perched on his usual stool, managing to focus on the screen in front of him although his eyes, threaded with scarlet, are clear evidence of the scant two hours' sleep he managed to grasp once he returned home. The customary earphones are clamped over his head, doing nothing to mask the Marilyn Manson track audible from the doorway; under cover of the deafening music, even as he immerses himself in work, his mind is going back to the previous night -



He stands unable to move or look away, every nerve in his body seeming to begin and end under the fingertips gently brushing the nape of his neck; he can feel tears welling in his eyes and yet despite this he is painfully hard, his groin a solid mass of heat beneath the confining leather of his pants.

He is on emotional overload, pulled in so many different directions he fears he will snap; he has spent so many nights fantasising about this man, about how it would be were he to disclose his feelings and have them reciprocated, but faced with the reality of it he is rendered speechless.

Fingers latch in his hair, slowly drawing him closer, and his hands move to Gil's hips seemingly in slow motion. There is a fleeting moment of panic, of wanting to take it all back, of fearing this as much as he desires it, and then it is too late. He lets out a despairing whimper that is muffled as Gil's tongue parts his lips and is met with his own; eventually the kiss is broken and he leans his forehead against Gil's, panting softly and feeling as though his legs will give way at any moment.

"You poor boy," he hears Gil say, the words uttered in a slightly hoarse tone, and the hand on his neck moves to cradle the back of his head. "How long have you been carrying this?"

"I don't know," he replies in a whisper, but he knows - and suspects that Gil does too - that this is a lie; he lifts his head then and the two of them look at each other without speaking, the implications of the night's events sinking into their minds. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"No," Gil interrupts, still stroking the back of Greg's head, drinking in the vulnerability and desire on the young man's face. "We're past that now, aren't we?" He slides his hand down, letting his thumb rub the side of Greg's neck, watching him unconsciously lean his head into the caress - already so receptive to touch, even amid all the emotions aroused in him this evening, and a dark smile curves Gil's lips. "You want to do this, don't you?" and when there is no answer his fingers move with lightning speed to pinch Greg's earlobe. "Don't you, boy?"

"Yes," Greg manages to say, his heart hammering at the sudden contrast in sensation, knowing that at this moment he will yield to whatever is asked. "Please-"

"That's better-" Gil runs the back of his hand briefly over the side of Greg's face, watching his eyes close at the contact. "You know we're going to have to be careful, don't you?" and there is a silent nod. "I won't let anything happen to you, I've waited too long for this-"



-"Greg! Wake up!" He snaps back to the present as a hand falls on his shoulder, and when he swivels round Warrick is standing behind him with a grin on his face. "Shooting at Circus Circus, Griss wants you to come with me - man, you look like shit, what the hell were you up to last night?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Greg sinks onto the couch in his cluttered apartment, reaching for the remote and switching on the TV; his eyes are already half-closed, and as the news anchor speaks of an oil refinery explosion in the Middle East he drifts into sleep -

- to wake to the sound of the phone ringing, and when he moves to answer it he rolls off the couch onto the floor; looking at his watch, realising he has been asleep for two and a half hours, he snatches up the receiver. "Yeah?"

"Hello, Greg-" and the familiar voice, the one that spoke into his ear the previous night, makes his breath catch in his throat. "Were you asleep?"

"Yeah, I - um - it's been a long day-"

"If I send a cab in twenty minutes, will you be ready?"

"Yes-"

"Good-" and before he can say anything in response, the connection is cut. Rising to his feet, anticipation beginning to thread its way through him, he heads towards the bathroom, peeling off his clothes as he moves and hoping that the ancient boiler in the building will favour him with some hot water.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He gets out of the cab, his hair still damp from the shower, and walks up the path leading to the townhouse, flexing his fingers in a vain attempt to stop his hands shaking. He is no virgin, but he knows that what he is about to embark on is uncharted territory; and as his mind is wandering back to the previous night again, the door of the townhouse is opened before he has even had a chance to knock.

Gil stands framed in the doorway, barefoot, wearing faded jeans and a black T shirt. He looks his visitor up and down in silence, and the calculating expression on his face makes Greg unconsciously bite his lower lip before a hand is extended. "Hello, Greg," he says, his lips curving into a brief smile. "Come in-"


Gil closes the front door and then turns round again; Greg is watching him solemnly, hands clenched at his sides, the same pent-up longing mingled with apprehension radiating from him. He looks him up and down once more, thinking of how all his previous lovers have come into their relationship knowing what he expected of them, of how this one will be the first blank canvas he has ever been faced with - then he closes the few feet of space between them, reaching forward and framing Greg's face with his hands.

The kiss is deeper this time, more abandoned now that the two of them are alone; hands clutch at his wrists, his lower lip is pulled into Greg's mouth and bitten almost hard enough to break the skin, and when they pull apart again they are both breathing hard. He lowers his hands from Greg's face slowly, not breaking eye contact, studying the younger man's face for doubt and finding none; this done, he turns off the light in the hallway before heading for the stairs in silence with Greg a scant few inches behind him.


He pulls the drapes closed, shutting out the darkening sky and giving himself time to collect his thoughts. Turning away from the bedroom window, he sees Greg hovering in the doorway; he was not told to do this but chose to wait there himself, and this innate submissiveness brings a brief smile to Gil's lips. There is a high-backed leather chair near the foot of the bed, and he moves to settle in it; drawing in a deep breath and then letting it out slowly, he rests his hands on his knees and calls towards the doorway.

"Come in and shut the door behind you."

The door clicks shut and Greg walks slowly towards the chair, stopping a foot or so in front of it; he tries to read the expression on Gil's face, but it is hidden in shadow, and he can feel his hands shaking again. Being with his previous lovers has always reminded him of opening presents as a child - a mutual, gleeful shedding of clothes, the urgent, almost clumsy exploration of each other that followed - but he knows this encounter will be different, that it will carry a set of rules he is not yet familiar with.

"I want you to take your clothes off," Gil says, quiet authority evident in his voice. He watches as Greg bends to remove his shoes and socks, and as the young man's jeans mould themselves to the curve of his ass it is all Gil can do to prevent himself from reaching out to touch him; but he is determined to exercise the same self-control he will expect from Greg, and so he leans back in his chair again, his eyes fastened on what is taking place in front of him.

Straightening up, Greg pulls off the grey T shirt with its faded band logo, revealing the smooth hairless contours of his chest. He unfastens his jeans and lets them fall around his ankles before stepping out of them, and then he removes the dark pinstriped boxer shorts that are the last barrier to revealing himself completely naked; uncertain what he should do now, he folds his hands over his crotch, not daring to look at the man sitting a mere foot away.

"Put your hands at your sides and come closer." Gil leans forward slightly as the command is obeyed, studying Greg for some time without saying another word, and then he reaches a hand out towards him; he lets his thumb and forefinger toy with the metal ring set in the head of Greg's erect penis- a piercing he has seen on occasional murder victims, but not one that any of his own lovers have had - and when this elicits a soft inrush of breath he looks up. "How long have you had this?"

"Nearly two years-" and Greg's voice is slightly unsteady, his eyes closing as he feels Gil's hand on him. Fingertips move slowly along his shaft, barely touching him but still managing to intensify the pulse of heat inside him; then a hand curves around his balls, cupping them almost tentatively, and as his mind contrasts this maddeningly gentle caress with what he saw the previous night he is unable to hold back a low moan.


The exploration ceases instantly, and as he keeps his eyes closed he hears the chair creak; moments later he is drawn back against Gil's chest, held firmly by an arm pressed against his neck. Breath warms the side of his throat, and he can feel a rigid length of flesh separated from his bare buttocks by two layers of fabric; desire rising in him like a tide, he pushes his ass back back, and the grip on his neck tightens immediately - not enough to impede his breathing, but the idea that it could is enough to render him motionless.

"Here's how this works," he hears Gil say in his ear. "You move when I say you move, you talk when I tell you to answer-" and he feels fingernails raked slowly across his chest as Gil continues to speak. "I know you haven't done this before, so I won't push you further than I think you can go, but if it gets to be too much for you-" and Greg's right nipple is seized, quickly pinched just hard enough to make him bite his lip in order to remain silent "-you say 'red' and it stops-" There is silence then, and Greg hardly dares to breathe as he remains motionless.

He recalls the way he joked about the case the team worked on at Lady Heather's, he knows he should not want this; but overriding these thoughts is the same sensation he felt when he was seventeen and another boy kissed him - as though something is falling into place, something inside him that cannot be denied now he has acknowledged its existence...and then Gil speaks again, still maintaining the pressure of his arm across Greg's neck.

"Are you going to trust me enough to let me do this?"

"Yes." He speaks so faintly he is not sure his reply has registered, but then the arm falls away from his neck and he lets out the breath he has unconsciously been holding. Gil steps away from him, and the loss of contact provokes a pang of emptiness; then, as he finally dares to open his eyes again, a softly-spoken command reaches his ears.

"Move to the bed and lie down."

Walking slowly, as though hypnotised, he takes the handful of steps that bring him to the bed and climbs onto it; he lies at its centre, gazing up at the ceiling as soft footsteps are heard and a shadow falls across him.

"Arms over your head," Gil says, resting one knee on the edge of the bed as he leans over Greg. There are two lengths of dark cord in his hand and he uses them to fasten Greg's wrists to the posts at each corner of the top of the bed, tugging to check that the bonds are secure. "Too tight?"

"No-"

"Good," is the response, and a hand passes briefly over Greg's hair. "Now part your legs-" and Greg obeys, closing his eyes as he feels his ankles secured in the same manner. He is helpless now, totally exposed to the will of the man who has occupied his thoughts for so long, and this grips him with a dark longing that scares him; then a hand comes to rest on his head, and the next words that are spoken seem to come from a great distance.

"Open your eyes, Greg-" and when he obeys, Gil is looking down at him with an intensity that will stay with him in dreams for a long time; there is a scarf in his free hand, and as he looks down at Greg he lets it fall from his hand. "No, I'm not going to blindfold you," he says quietly, his eyes still fixed on Greg's. "I want you to see what I'm doing, and I want to watch your face-"

Gil reaches into the open drawer on the nightstand, removing one of the items he carefully placed in it earlier, before sitting on the side of the bed and looking at the young man spread-eagled at its centre. Greg is looking up at the ceiling again, the expression on his face one that has been on the faces of others who have entered this room - contemplative, retreating inward as they mentally prepare themselves for what they know is coming - and Gil is reminded of how Greg waited in the doorway without being asked to.

It's like he knows...

The back of a hand is placed on the side of his head, and Greg turns towards it; at the same time something soft is trailed down over his shoulder towards his chest, and a gentle sigh escapes his lips as his eyes lock with those of the man leaning over him.

"This feels right, doesn't it?" Gil murmurs, dragging the strip of rabbit fur in a lazy zig zag back and forth across Greg's torso. "Just like it did when you were seventeen - what was his name, Greg?"

"Josh," Greg replies, aware of how quiet his voice is, and as the fur is pulled slowly up and down each of his arms in turn his mind is filled with the memory of a night the summer before he turned eighteen - the rough surface of the pool house wall needling his back as his girlfriend's older brother leaned towards him, the mingled scents of suntan lotion and sweat, the seemingly inborn knowledge of where his hands were supposed to go...

He is unable to suppress a shiver as the fur is drawn over the soft skin of his inner thighs - an area of his body where past encounters have taught him he is extremely sensitive - and when he tries to arch his back, he realises just how little movement the restraints permit. The movement is repeated, the fur pulled higher and traced along the crease between each thigh and his lower belly; sucking in a deep breath, unable to comprehend the effect such a gentle caress is having on him, he turns his head to one side and breaks eye contact.

"I said I wanted to watch your face," Gil says, the hand on Greg's head latching in his hair and gently but firmly moving his head back to its former position; as he continues to speak, his other hand continues its ceaseless criss-crossing of Greg's immobilised form with the strip of fur. "What were you expecting this evening?" he asks, his tone calm and almost matter-of-fact. "What you saw last night? You're not anywhere near ready for that yet, and you might never be-" Gil leans closer then, and as he does so Greg remembers the kiss in the parking lot of the club a mere twenty four hours since; now, tied down so firmly he cannot raise his head the few inches it would take for his mouth to touch that of the man bending over him, he feels the need inside him become akin to physical pain.


"Maybe you don't even need it," Gil says in Greg's ear. "Maybe this is going to be enough - do you know how sensitive to touch you are?" He lets the strip of fur drift along the length of Greg's erection, the dark smile appearing on his lips again when the young man presses his lips tightly together to hide a moan. " Do you know I could do this to you for hours without letting you come?"

He repeats the movement, and the bed creaks as Greg arches against the cords. "I marked Matthew like that because-" and he breaks off when he sees something flicker in Greg's eyes at the mention of another man's name - hurt? Anger? Jealousy? It is gone before he can define it, but he realises it is evidence of the fact that Greg must have been keeping his feelings hidden the way he has himself, and another piece of the puzzle seems to drop into place as he strokes Greg's hair and the young man's eyes lock almost defiantly with his. "-because that's what he needed," he continues, setting the strip of fur down and reaching for something he has concealed under one of the pillows. "And I don't know what you need yet, but we're going to find out, aren't we?Aren't we?"Gil repeats when there is no reply to his question, his hand still beneath the pillow. "Answer me when I speak to you-"

"Y - yeah," Greg manages to say, his heart hammering as he tries to focus his eyes on the object in the hand of the man leaning over him - a handle short enough to be concealed for the most part under Gil's fingers, and fastened to it a small wheel surrounded by points that appear needle-sharp.

"I don't think you've seen one of these before, have you?" Gil says in the same quiet, matter-of-fact tone as before, the fingers of his free hand running through Greg's hair. "It takes a very steady hand to use one the right way-" He keeps his eyes on Greg's face as he begins to run his other hand slowly down the young man's right arm, the handle of the pinwheel balanced delicately between his fingers; the points move along the delicate skin of Greg's inner arm, barely touching it, but the sensation is still enough to elicit another sucked-in breath.

Greg's breathing slows and becomes deeper, his hands clenching into fists as the needlelike points of whatever is being traced over his body begin to press a little harder. The hand stroking his hair moves away as Gil shifts on the bed, angling himself towards Greg's feet, and the object in his hand begins a slow crawl up Greg's left calf; as the points move to dent his inner thigh he is unable to hold back a moan, and his ears pick up a soft chuckle.

"I finally got a sound out of you-" and there is a new tone in Gil's voice as he picks up the rabbit fur again, stroking it gently along the path recently taken by the pinwheel, and he feels Greg's entire body tense briefly at the contrast in sensation; he turns his head to look directly at Greg again, seeing raw emotion and vulnerability etched on the young man's face. "I think we've found what makes you tick, haven't we?" he says softly, knowing that to raise his voice any louder will betray his own feelings in this moment, that he must remain in control of himself as well as his guest for a little while longer.

Still maintaining eye contact, he lets the pinwheel resume its torturously slow journey, dragging it along the crease at the top of Greg's thigh; he rolls it infinitely carefully along the length of Greg's penis, the tiny points barely touching the swollen flesh, and he watches Greg's mouth open silently as his head presses back into the pillows. The strip of fur is gently drawn in the pinwheel's wake, and this produces a shuddering indrawn gasp of breath before Greg's eyelids flutter half-closed and there is a barely-audible whisper of, "Oh God,stop,stop-"

"Do you mean that?"he whispers back, leaning forward so that their faces are inches apart. "You know what to say if you mean it, don't you, Greg?" and he lets the pinwheel drop from his fingers before his hand returns to encircle Greg's painfully rigid shaft; his thumb brushes gently across the tip, feels the moisture that has already begun to build there, and he knows he has Greg on a hair trigger - and with the realisation of how long he has subconsciously waited to do this, his own arousal matches that of the young man restrained below him. "Say the word, that's all you have to do, and I'll stop," he says, and he waits, his eyes fixed on a face that even in the dimly-lit room seems flushed as though in the grip of a raging fever; and after what seems far too long a silence, there is a single hoarsely-uttered word in response.

"No-"

As soon as the word has been said aloud the maddeningly gentle stroking ceases, and when Greg is unable to prevent himself arching up in a futile attempt to prolong the contact his ears pick up that almost inaudible chuckle again.

"I wouldn't have to hurt you to get to you, would I?" Gil says in the same dark-silk tone of voice as he watches Greg sink back down again, his eyes closing all the way now. "I wouldn't have to mark that skin of yours, I'd just have to stop touching it-" and he straightens up then, pulling his T shirt over his head and relishing the room's airconditioned chill against his newly-bared torso; taking the few steps that bring him to the nightstand, he reaches into the drawer and brings out something which is laid on the bed.

He presses the back of one hand to the side of Greg's face, his lips curving into a smile when the touch makes the young man's eyes open instantly; laying his thumb against Greg's mouth, he presses lightly and watches Greg's lips part. His thumb is engulfed in warm wetness, nibbled gently, and the sensation goes straight to his core; he can feel his own erection straining against the crotch of his faded jeans, and he has to take a deep breath before he can trust himself to speak evenly. It would be so easy to stop this now, to unfasten the bonds and sink himself into the man beneath him; but something tells him that Greg is still testing him, that to give in to the desire flooding him in this moment will deprive them of something each of them has subconsciously wanted for a long time.

"You're very greedy, aren't you?" he says, pressing his thumb down on Greg's tongue for an instant before slowly removing it from his mouth. "You're stubborn, too-" and he trails one hand slowly down Greg's body as he steps back to sit on the edge of the bed again. "What do you think it's going to take for you to give in and tell me what you want?" He reaches for the item he placed on the bed, a thin, supple strip of tan leather with a velcro tab at each end; holding it between his thumb and forefinger, he leans to angle himself over Greg's lower belly, and as he lets his breath warm Greg's skin there is another sharp gasp from the head of the bed.

The strip of leather is looped beneath Greg's balls, the ends drawn up over the base of his shaft and fastened snugly in place; Gil glances towards the head of the bed and sees Greg's eyes have closed completely, his lower lip sucked into his mouth as he struggles to remain silent. "Greg," he says quietly, "open your eyes and look at me-" and after a few seconds the command is obeyed, Greg's eyes huge and dark - not filled with the near-defiance that was in them before, but with a combination of desire and fear of giving in to it.

"Do you know how beautiful you look right now?" Gil asks, leaning down to touch the leather strip; he drags his fingertips along Greg's swollen shaft, his nails gently scraping the flesh, and when he flicks at the metal ring he hears a muttered epithet hissed through gritted teeth as Greg digs his heels into the mattress. He moves to stretch himself out over Greg, his right hand stroking the young man's hair,and he presses his hips briefly down on Greg's; then he breaks the contact, shifting back to reach for the bottle he has been keeping in the front pocket of his jeans to allow his body heat to warm the contents.

Greg tries to raise his head to see what is happening, but a combination of the way he has been restrained and the dim lighting in the room make it impossible. He lies motionless, aware that he is shivering, hardly even daring to breathe - and then fingers that have been coated in slick warmth creep slowly along his inner thigh, and he arches up far enough to make the cords securing his ankles dig into his skin.

"How long has it been, Greg?" Gil murmurs, tracing a fingertip slowly between Greg's buttocks. "How long since you were used?" He teases the taut ring of muscle, the resulting whimper bringing that dark smile to his lips again, and he latches the fingers of his other hand in Greg's hair. "Answer me, boy," he says, the words spoken in a deceptively soft tone of voice, knowing from the ragged breathing reaching his ears that Greg will soon be beyond coherent speech. "Answer me, or I'll stop-"

"Th - three weeks-" and then Greg sucks in a sharp breath as a finger slides inside him; it is followed by another, probing gently, and the room starts to slip sideways as he is slowly engulfed by a weak, dissolving heat. "Please-"

"Please what?" comes a slightly hoarse whisper against his ear, the fingers wound in his hair pulling hard enough to make his scalp burn. "Who were you thinking of, Greg?" and now the fingers are completely buried inside him, angling perilously close to the spot that will make him explode if it is touched; everything that is being done to him is combining to bring him close to breaking point, overloading his senses, and the secret he thought would remain buried for ever is torn from his lips.

"You," he gasps, and his head is wrenched up from the pillows, Gil's mouth fastening on his in a savage, demanding kiss that steals his breath. They finally break apart, their faces scant inches from each other - and the dark intensity in Gil's eyes, combined with the myriad sensations being inflicted on Greg's body, is enough to finally break him.

"Red-"

The grasp on his hair is loosened immediately, fingertips brushing his face gently before Gil lifts himself up; the fingers inside him are slowly withdrawn, the loss of sensation drawing a faint moan from him, and then a shadow falls across him again as Gil leans over him and gently frees each of his wrists in turn. Even though he could sit up now, he finds himself unable to, and he lies motionless while Gil moves to the foot of the bed and loosens the cords restraining his ankles; his breath is coming in short gasps, the leather strap binding him is an exquisite torment, and he is unable to tear his gaze away when Gil steps back and removes the rest of his clothing.

Gil works his belt buckle loose, unzipping his jeans and stepping out of them; he sheds his underwear then, and there is a soft whimper as the young man lying on the bed sees him completely nude for the first time. Climbing back onto the bed, he reaches for the bottle again and kneels between Greg's thighs; he pours lube into his cupped palm before stroking it slowly and deliberately along his cock, knowing that making Greg watch him do this to himself will heighten his already feverish anticipation.

"Please," Greg says, his voice a near-whisper now, and it is the last intelligible word he speaks for some time; feeling hands cup his ass and lift it, he shifts slightly, and the slick, warm bluntness of Gil's dick lodges against the tightness of his ass for mere seconds before slowly easing inside. He is bigger than any of the other lovers Greg has had, almost to the point of hurting, and Greg realises he has let out on involuntary moan when hands cup his face and Gil's tongue traces his lips before sliding between them; the kiss is slow and tender this time, with none of the desperate need of the embrace that passed between them moments before.

Words are whispered against his half-open mouth, calming him even though he is too far over the edge to understand them now, and then Gil is buried in him to the hilt; he arches up towards him and suddenly everything seems to fit, not only the feel of the man inside him but something else, something that has been held in check until now. He closes his eyes again, one of his hands grasping the back of Gil's neck and the other clenching itself on the bedclothes, his grip becoming white-knuckled as the gentle rocking speeds up; the thrusts become shorter, more brutal, a mewling plea for release escapes his lips and he is dimly aware of a hand reaching between their bodies to tug the leather strap loose before something is growled in his ear. Bright light exploding behind his eyes, almost sobbing Gil's name, he climaxes, and as his semen jets between their bodies he feels Gil's hardness break inside him; collapsing back against the mattress in a near-faint, taking Gil's weight on top of him, he shivers violently in the aftermath of orgasm and barely registers the hands that move to cradle his head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They are lying on their sides facing each other, a tangle of limbs and spent body fluids; Gil knows there are so many things that protocol dictates now - a shower, a drink, a clean sheet on the bed so the two of them can sleep - but all he wants to do in this moment is lie and look at the gorgeous boy he has coveted for so long who is finally his. He runs his fingers gently through hair that is matted with sweat, and Greg opens his eyes; the uncertainty is gone from them now, and he leans up against Gil's hand with a sleepy, sated expression on his face.

"What happens tomorrow?"

"We'll deal with tomorrow when it happens," is the response, and Gil draws Greg's head to the hollow of his throat; it is not long before the young man's deep, even breathing speaks of true sleep, and Gil reaches to turn off the light on the nightstand. He closes his eyes then, exhaustion seeping into him the way it did the previous evening, and it is not long before sleep claims him too; and his last waking thought, one that he is not sure Greg realises yet, is that tonight has merely been the beginning.