Title: Riddles
By: Emily Brunson
Pairing: Gil/Nick
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Cows drink water, and Nick wants to prove Gil wrong.

I.

If you break me
I do not stop working,
If you touch me
I may be snared,
If you lose me
Nothing will matter.

  

As long as he'd worked in the forensics game, he couldn't remember ever feeling this way. This strong a combination of two opposing elements, dread and anticipation.

It carried, too. Not a person on his team wasn't on edge. They looked tired, nervous, and downright wary. Which wasn't all that surprising, all things considered. But it was wrong, glaringly wrong. And there wasn't a soul there who didn't know why things were so off.

Gil handed out assignments without any chitchat. It hurt a little that no one else chatted, either. None of the normal badinage, no dry comments from Warrick or Catherine. Nothing. Just nods and tight looks and silence.

"Any questions? Good. Let me know what you find out." He waited for them all to stand up and sort themselves out, and then added, "Nick? A moment."

Everybody else beat it like their shoes were on fire. Not surprising.

"Close the door," Gil told him.

Nick's face was a flat mask of calm. He shoved the door closed with one foot and crossed his arms. "What's up?"

Gil sat back in his chair and gazed at him. "You know what? I'm tired of this little game we're playing here. It wasn't fun when it started, and it sure as hell isn't fun now."

The mask shivered into an expression of familiar, mulish anger. "Who's the one playing games, Grissom?" Nick retorted. "Gonna ask me another riddle? Because if you aren't, I got work to do."

"No riddles. And the work can wait. Get over this, Nick. Get over it now."

"Riiight." An exaggeratedly Texan drawl. "No problem."

"You want an apology? All right, I apologize. But I also stand by what I said earlier. You aren't ready. And you're showing me right now just how not-ready you really are."

Nick gave him a cold, hateful smile. "Well, we all know you never make mistakes. Far be it from me to --"

"Don't say it," Gil stated harshly. "Don't piss me off any more than you already have."

"What do you want me to do? Say thank you?" Nick snorted eloquently. His face was flushed dull red. "Humiliation's a lousy goddamn teaching method."

Without planning it Grissom stood up fast, the chair shooting back and banging against the wall. "I'm not your teacher," he snapped. "I'm your boss. You asked me to tell you like a man, I did that. Now act like a man yourself and deal!"

The red was going away; Nick looked stricken, and furious. "I do the damn work! You want me to act like a man and punch your goddamn lights out? That what you want?"

Gil felt a weird, easy smile twist his lips. "Give it your best shot, Nicky."

There was a frozen moment where he saw just how pasty white Nick's face had gotten. And then Nick was snarling something incoherent and stepping close enough Gil could almost feel the rage baking off him. "Don't tempt me," he whispered, eyes flat black and lethal.

"You hate me? That it?"

"Getting there." Nick grinned, showing a lot of teeth. "Next stop."

"Hate me because I'm right?"

The grin disappeared.

"What do you want, Nick?" Gil asked, not backing away an inch. "You want my approval? Is that what this is about?"

"What difference does it make?" Nick ground out, breathing fast and raggedly. "Won't get it."

"You don't need it! What difference does my approval make? Do the work! That's all I ask!"

Nick's expression was horribly transparent. "It's not fair," he said in a shocked voice. "What do I have to do to get one word out of you? What do you want me to do?"

There was a reason why he avoided getting too angry. Lots of them, actually, but mostly the one he recognized now. The one that had him smiling without any humor at all, heart thumping wildly in his chest. The one that made him not care. At all. "What do you want ME to do?" he asked evenly. "Isn't that really more the question?"

"I hate you," Nick whispered. His eyes glinted with savage tears. "God, I hate you so much."

"Do you?" Gil took a step forward, enjoying the way Nick started, the clumsy retreat. "You want me to hate you, too?" He stepped forward again, and again, backing Nick up against the table behind him.

"Fuck you."

"No. Fuck YOU."

Touching Nick's chest was like laying his bare palm on a live electric wire: current leaped off Nick's body, hot and ashamed and horribly alluring. Gil almost groaned, feeling Nick's heart galloping under his palm, his own dick suddenly steely hard inside his pants.

Now would be the time to STOP, Grissom, some ragged, wailing voice inside his head cried. Now, before you let this man -- this KID -- lure you into doing something far more unprofessional and far less forgiveable than being inexperienced at your job.

And then Nick made a wavering sound and arched up against him, eyes closed and leaking tears while he pressed his groin against Gil's. The wailing scream inside Gil's head cut off like someone had slit its throat.

"Go ahead and hate me," Gil said icily, thrusting his leg between Nick's thighs and relishing the garbled, furious sound Nick made in response. "But let's be honest about what you REALLY want, all right?"

"You can't -- do this." Nick shivered against him, eyes still hot with rage but almost bleeding desire at the same time, need, a gaping chasm of desperate need that made Gil feel sick, and strung out with anger.

"Shut up, goddamn it," Gil said, and grabbed the front of Nick's shirt to pull him against him.

The kiss hurt. Nick fought him, probably not as hard as he might have but enough to leave bruises on Gil's shoulders, the flavor of blood and coppery-tasting lust in his mouth. And then Nick dug his fingers into Gil's muscles and kissed back, furiously, expertly.

Under the shirt Nick's skin was fever-hot and silky over hard muscle. He made a mewling sound against Gil's lips and Gil thought blearily about a fine line between love and hate before shoving the files and abandoned coffee cups off the table and slamming Nick down on his back.

"This what you want?" he asked harshly, standing between Nick's flung-open thighs and tilting his hips a little. A sharp, thin blade of pain blossomed behind his right eye. "Will this be enough?"

Nick's legs locked around Gil's hips, strong as steel. His lips were stretched in a terrible grimace. "Not yet," he said in a strangled whisper. He sat up with a wrench of muscles and kissed him, a painful bang against Gil's teeth.

Anger was a funny thing. He was angry, so he should want to do something with that anger: yell, or strike out, or something. But this was a whole different flavor of anger, sickening, painful, and utterly indistinguishable from pure raw lust.

This was how people raped. Not from desire, but rage, and the sick-sweet taste of power.

His hands didn't shake at all when he unfastened Nick's jeans. Nick on the other hand was shaking like a leaf, flopping back on the table so hard it had to hurt, jittering and panting underneath him.

Sanity returned in the form of denim puddled on the floor, and the excruciating sight of Nick's bare lower body, all smooth flexing muscle and no tan and helpless erection.

Gil shivered and shook his head. Under his reaching hand Nick's cheek was hot and wet with tears. "God, Nick," he whispered raggedly.

Nick's lips drew back in a snarl, and he turned his head and sank his teeth into Gil's hand.

"You BITCH," Gil heard himself say, as if from a very distant place. Wondering, but only briefly; the rest of him was aching with immediate, stark rage. He glanced at the blood on his hand and back at Nick's grinning face, and whatever the moment of misgiving might have meant, it was gone.

It gave him a jolt of fiery satisfaction, the way Nick bit his own hand when Gil shoved into him. Good: matching wounds. The sounds Nick made were a horrifyingly wonderful aphrodisiac, as delicious as the feel of his tight flesh hot and flexing around Gil's dick.

Fine, THIS was what you wanted, you sullen little-boy BITCH. And you GOT it.

He thrust fast and silently, aware of Nick's legs around him, the heave of his belly, the flagging erection returning. Nick came with a curdled scream, eyes clenched shut and face turned into an ugly rictus of pleasure. Even before he lost himself in the mindlessness of orgasm Gil felt the way rage and desire were already turning into disgust. At himself or Nick, he couldn't tell.

When he was done he zipped himself up with hands that did tremble now. Nick lay bonelessly on the table, legs limp, only his belly still moving with his ragged breathing.

Gil nearly tripped over the forgotten jeans on the floor, and picked them up with something approaching horror. The pain behind his eye was a rabid animal, snarling and spitting and biting.

"That'll do," Nick said behind him, and Gil spun around.

Some of the shock he felt was mirrored on Nick's face. But there was a bleak kind of satisfaction, too, and a little triumph as well. "Coulda just hit me," Nick added.

"Go home," Gil said hoarsely. His bitten hand throbbed in time with the headache.

Nick eased himself off the table, wincing but not losing the little smirk. "Gonna fire me instead?" he asked bitterly, but he held his jeans in front of him like a barrier, mortified after the fact. Far, far too late.

Gil swallowed nausea. "Get out. Please." He shut his eyes. "Get out."

He heard the muffled sounds of Nick putting his pants on, and then there was a body too close to his own. His eyes shot open, and Nick smiled, friendly look completely belied by the heat and lingering rage in his gaze.

"I'll suck you next time," he whispered, teeth showing. "How about that?" And leaned in to kiss Gil's shocked mouth once, hard, before ducking out the door.

II.

To unravel me
You need a simple key,
No key that was made
By locksmith's hand,
But a key that only I
Will understand.

 

By the time he got home he was starting to flip out.

Of course he should have flipped out a long time ago, right? All things considered. Wasn't every day he had it out with the boss, and it sure as all hell wasn't every day that Grissom fucked him.

Whoa, there was the term he hadn't really thought about until now. Fucked him. Got his pants off, threw him on a table, and shoved his dick up his ass.

Not that his ass had forgotten anything, doncha know. His ass was screaming about a fast encounter with Gigantor, and now that he thought about it he wasn't walking all that easily, either. Kind of, well, limping, if the flat-out truth were known.

He got a beer out of the fridge and drank it straight down, ignored the slight cold-headache and grabbed another before he walked away. Ought to feel -- something besides what he was feeling. Right? Ought to be ashamed, or feel like he'd been raped or something. Because that was what it had been.

Right?

Only he didn't feel that way. He felt wired, bizarrely energized, and still so fucking pissed he could have chewed up nails and spit out paper clips.

If Grissom had stuck it to him, why'd he feel like such a goddamn winner?

He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. Man, he even LOOKED fucked.

In the shower he found bruises he didn't know were there. On his back, on his arms, oh yeah, on his ass. Bet Grissom has a few, too. Wonder if he had to get a stitch or two in that hand.

He hoped he did.

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

The bizarre sense of triumph didn't disappear by the next night, either. Flared high, instead, catching Grissom's bandaged hand, the way he wouldn't meet Nick's eyes at all.

If it were anyone else, he'd have said the guy looked SCARED.

He teamed with Catherine that night, working with such easy enthusiasm it earned him a few suspicious glances.

"What?" he barked finally, after yet another walleyed look.

"Nothing. You're a little ray of sunshine tonight."

He grinned. "Aren't I?"

"So?"

"Life is good, Cath."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

Back at the ranch, Paw was looking a little less nervous.

"Nice work," Grissom pronounced, studiously aiming the compliment at Nick and Catherine both.

Nick watched him walk away. "If you had to be a character from Bonanza, which one would you be?"

"That's a serious question?"

"Sure, why not."

"I have no idea."

"Guess I'd be Little Joe."

"Well, Joe, I think Hop Sing's got some DNA results for us."

He shot her an amused look.

It was a busy night, since -- as everyone proceeded to remind him every five minutes or so -- they'd been short-handed last night. Nick took it all amiably, did his stuff, didn't argue. Wasn't his idea.

When everyone but Sara had split, he went looking for Grissom.

He found him alone in one of the labs, staring with familiar focus at a slide sample. After Nick just stood there, waiting, Grissom finally spoke. "If you're all done you can head out," he remarked calmly, adjusting the microscope.

"Hand hurt?"

Grissom paused, still not looking at him. "Not really." He looked back into the microscope. "Ass hurt?"

Nick rocked back on his heels, heart doing a little stutter in his chest. "Not really."

"Go home. Just go home, Nick."

Nick walked stiff-legged over to the table and leaned over, across from Grissom. "Make me," he whispered, and grinned.

This time Grissom finally did look at him. A stony glance that wiped the grin away. "No," he replied evenly. "No more. That's it. We're done."

"Nobody's here. I just saw Sara heading for the door. You think anybody cares?"

"I care. Go."

"Aw. And here I thought you didn't."

No change in the flat look, but Grissom's nostrils flared. Ah, nice sign. "Are you having fun with this? Is this your idea of a good time?"

Nick smiled. "You have no idea what my idea of a good time really is," he whispered.

"You WANT me to fire you?"

Nick walked around the table, taking his time. The back of Grissom's neck looked horribly vulnerable. Enticing. "I was thinking something else," Nick murmured, and laid a kiss on that bare nape.

Grissom whipped around so fast it made Nick flinch. The unwounded hand grabbed Nick's wrist, iron-tight. His dick was suddenly rigid inside his pants.

"Don't play any more games with me, Nick," Grissom said harshly. The lab's murky light gave his face a malevolent cast. "It's not amusing, and it's definitely not professional."

"It's hot," Nick said silkily.

The angry glitter in Grissom's eyes intensified. "Go HOME, damn you," he rasped.

Nick smiled mockingly. "What about being honest about what you really want?" He brought Grissom's hand up to his mouth and licked the soft inside of his wrist.

Grissom hissed.

"I got a few talents I didn't put on my resume," Nick continued, keeping his eyes locked with Grissom's rapt, angry gaze. "Lemme show you."

Grissom's dick was just as hard as his own, trapped inside those nice wool trousers. The lab's tile floor felt icy under his knees.

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

It hit him, looking down at what Nick was just about to do, that he could put a stop to it if he wanted. This -- whatever it was, this angry hateful lust that made his mind feel as if it had melted to slag, this bizarre dizzying kink that had leapt up between them, a horny phoenix born from the ashes of rage and sublimated desire.

If he wanted.

He didn't want to. What he wanted to do was reach down and push himself deeper inside Nick's hot wet mouth, make him take it ALL, yeah, choke on it, you little bitch, you wanted it, you GOT it, baby.

And Nick took it, too, deep-throating him without an ounce of hesitation, eyes closed and lashes dusky on his cheeks.

"Shit," Gil heard himself whimper, and the needy sound of his own voice pissed him off all over again. Road to Hell, Gil. Meaning to do right doesn't make any difference when you go ahead and fuck up anyway.

Nick made a low purring moan, vibrating the length of Gil's aching dick, and Gil reached down and held Nick's face with tight fingers, barely able to stand the sight. FUCK him, the cocky little prick, said he'd blow you and by God he's doing it, and so well he's about to make you --

He cursed and shoved hard into Nick's throat. Every pulse of his orgasm felt like it sent another few ounces of his brain coursing into Nick's stomach.

Fuck it, maybe it'd make him smarter.

Even after, Nick kept right on sucking, eyes open now, regarding him with dark avid fascination. His hands kneaded the insides of Gil's trembling thighs.

"Stop," Gil said hoarsely.

Nick let Gil's deflated cock slide obscenely out of his mouth. He had come on his lips, and licked it off, still that hungry, triumphant look in his eyes. "Mmm," he murmured, and smiled. "You know, they say you can tell what a guy had for dinner by the taste of his --"

"Shut up," Gil snapped. "Christ."

"Maybe I shoulda put it on my resume after all." Nick was getting up now, or rather slithering up, hands gripping Gil's thighs and putting altogether too much of his own body in contact with Gil's. "We could have skipped all that crap the past three years."

"Nick, stop it. Please."

Standing now, WAY too far into Gil's personal space, Nick took one of Gil's hands and kissed the fingertips. The sensation sent a jolt of heat down Gil's spine. With a twisted grin that Gil had never seen, Nick repeated, "Make me."

Nick's mouth tasted like come, and the flavor was disgustingly erotic. Nick tightened his grip on Gil's hand, bringing it down to slide it between his own legs. "Make me -- come," he whispered against Gil's mouth.

He grabbed him hard enough to hurt, and Nick made a hoarse sound of pain, so mixed with anger and pleasure Gil felt his hackles rise. "You like that?" Gil asked nastily, squeezing again. "That what you like?"

Nick pushed his hips forward, hands tight on Gil's shoulders. "Shit," he breathed. His head lolled back, and Gil arched up, placing a biting kiss in the soft curve of Nick's throat. Another broken grunt of pain, and he yelped when Gil's fingers tightened yet again.

"You've got all kinds of little secrets, don't you, Nicky?" Gil whispered, relishing the hard heat under his hand, the smooth feel of fabric bunching between his fingers.

Nick's breath came in short gasps, his teeth bared in a tense grimace. "Come on," he grated, hips jerking, pushing against Gil's hand. "Come ON."

Gil stood up finally, keeping his grip but motionless. Leaning forward until his lips were an inch from Nick's, he murmured, "Beg for it."

Nick drew back, a shocked look on his face, and Gil felt a hot stab of angry pleasure at the sight. "Come on," he added mockingly, "you wanna come? Ask me nicely."

"Fuck you," Nick spat weakly. Sweat shone on the curve of his strong jaw.

"That wasn't what I had in mind." Gil shook his head slowly.

Nick flushed, licking his lips. But he didn't back away. Didn't do anything, really.

"You wanted to play the game, Nicky," Gil said evenly, fingers keeping just the right amount of pressure on Nick's trapped, iron-hard dick. "But it's my turn, get it? You play by my rules now. And Grissom says: Beg for it. Beg me to let you come. And maybe I will."

He wanted to crow at the look of mixed rage and shame and raw lust on Nick's all-too-open features. "All right," Nick snapped, swallowing. "Please. All right? Please, just -- aw, fuck, just do it, goddamn it, all right?"

"Better, but not sufficient." Gil did grin now, savoring it. "More. Like you mean it, Nick."

"Bastard," Nick whined. "You goddamn --"

"All right, I'll stop."

"Please, God, just let me come, PLEASE." He made a funny little strangled noise, a throat-caught wheeze of need, and leaned forward, mouth an inch from Gil's ear. "Please, Gil, do it, do it, please just DO --"

As unplanned as it certainly must have been, hearing his given name broke the weird thread of control. He stroked Nick brutally, skating the edge between pleasure and agony, and Nick howled into his shoulder, arching and humping and coming right there, in his pants.

He let him catch his breath, a few seconds of an embrace so close it almost felt GOOD. And then Gil drew back, using his unbitten, come-redolent hand to grasp Nick's face hard.

"Never again," he whispered icily. Oh Christ, the look in Nick's eyes, that sated dizzy gorgeous LOOK. "You got that? Not here, not anywhere. Do you understand?"

Nick's eyelashes fluttered. And then he smiled, a bizarrely dreamy, calculating expression that made the illusion pop like a soap bubble. "Yeah," he breathed. "Not until next time."

III.

What does man love more than life
Fear more than death or mortal strife
What the poor have, the rich require,
And what contented men desire,
What the miser spends and the spendthrift saves
And all men carry to their graves?

 

He barely saw Nick the rest of the week. On purpose, of course. There was no feasible way to absent himself entirely from the lab, even if he'd wanted to, but he did his level best to ensure their contact was limited, and always chaperoned by one unwitting person or more.

The smirk on Nick's face, occasional but all too clear, showed him his machinations weren't exactly subtle. But that mattered less than the bare fact of keeping himself away from Nick as much as possible.

The entire situation took on a surreal quality. With time and distance he could say to himself, That was an aberration, a momentary lapse in judgement brought on by anger and proximity. Nothing more. But nothing changed the fact of his reaction to Nick's infrequent presence. Like a crystal goblet resonating to one particular pitch and no others, his nerves went haywire the minute he saw Nick's face, or just glimpsed him down the hall. Anywhere. Those brief moments made his breathing quicken, his heart speed up, and his dick dismayingly hard.

It didn't help the already sorry state of affairs that Nick was intent on playing that particular trump card for all it was worth.

Was that good-ol-boy demeanor really such a facade? There wasn't a cell in Gil's body that believed it could be faked that perfectly; therefore it wasn't, completely. And yet there were the facts. Facts like their two heated, dizzily furious encounters.

How did you balance the one against the other? It didn't balance. Couldn't.

Fact was, far from being the open book he appeared to be, Nick was a conundrum. And it was to Gil's shame that that particular puzzle had an allure he hadn't attributed to a living human being in so long he couldn't remember ever doing it.

By Friday he felt like a walking, talking, wide-open nerve ending. And he wasn't hiding it well, either. No one escaped the sharp edge of his tongue, deservedly or not. He did his best to control it, but he was fraying, and the fact that he knew the answer to the problem only made him more determined to overcome the need for a cure at all.

Which of course meant that on Saturday morning, when decent folks were having leisurely breakfasts and pondering the delicious expanse of weekend opening up before them, he found himself at his car, tired and irritable and altogether unprepared for the source of his frustration appearing at his side.

"Wanna get something to eat?"

He gave Nick what he prayed was his most withering look, and snorted. "No," he said briefly, opening the door and flinging his briefcase in the back. "I'm going home."

"Maybe you need a massage."

The amused tone made him immediately angry, and it didn't help knowing Nick already knew that. "Oh really."

"I'm just saying. You look really tense."

Only anger gave him the strength to meet Nick's knowing eyes. Anger was the answer. Without it he wouldn't be able to stand it. "Maybe you're right," Gil said frostily. "In any case --"

"You said you didn't want to play any more games. So why don't you stop playing? If it's just an itch, scratch it, man."

"Is that what this is to you? Scratching an ITCH?"

Nick shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"Oh, for God's sake --"

"Look, if it makes any difference, I'm sorry, all right?" Nick's eyes, sullen again but somehow wounded as well, flickered back up.

Gil smiled, even though amusement was not on the agenda for this particular encounter. "No, you're not."

"Didn't hear you complaining."

"You heard me trying to keep this from happening again, Nick. That's what you heard."

Nick rolled his eyes. "Right, tell me you don't pop a boner just thinking about it." His own smile was bitter and bright with that same mix of anger and hurt.

"I can't do that. But that doesn't mean it's right."

"Fuck right. What about what you want?"

"Goddamn it, Nick, where's the pod? Where is this coming from?"

"Answer the question. What do YOU want?"

Gil stood there, breathing a little too fast, and stared at him. What did he want? If he really wanted to bail, wouldn't he have done so by now? Which meant the events of the past week had essentially been voluntary, as much as he'd like to think otherwise. Which in turn meant --

"Forget it," Nick said harshly, his expression gone stony. "Doesn't matter. Yeah, go home, Grissom." He turned away.

"You called me Gil a few days ago," Gil said.

Nick was walking away, digging in his pocket for keys. "Won't happen again."

~~~~~~~~~~

Whatever he expected, which wasn't much considering the way things had played out earlier, it sure as hell wasn't Grissom standing at the door when he answered the bell.

The fast surge of adrenaline made his stomach turn. "What?" Nick barked.

Grissom didn't look furtive, or anything but kind of pissed, and majorly bothered. "I don't like it when people just walk away from me."

Nick shrugged. "Yeah, well, get used to it."

Grissom's foot stopped him from closing the door. "Are you always this rude to your guests?" Grissom asked in a deceptively mild voice.

"You're not a guest."

"Invite me in."

"Aw, Christ. Do what you want." Nick swallowed a ridiculous flare of -- something -- and turned away.

"I don't think I've ever seen your place before."

"Well, here it is."

"Nice." It felt like Grissom was undressing him, the way his eyes took in Nick's house, his stuff. Unexpectedly intimate. "Very you."

Nick crossed his arms. "Why are you here?"

"We need to talk," Grissom said baldly. His expression was utterly calm, unreadable.

"Right."

"I mean it, Nick. This can't continue. Not like this."

Nick raised his eyebrows. "That's not the same as not at all," he countered as coolly as he could.

Grissom's Zen-master veneer rippled a little. "No," he said, blinking. "It's not."

"So tell me what this is, huh?" Nick sighed and sat down hard on the sofa.

Grissom took a seat opposite him. "Honestly? I don't have a clue. I'll say this for you: Not many things surprise me anymore. You did."

"Yeah, well, I suck at riddles, but I can still hide a few aces up my sleeve."

Grissom frowned. "You know something? I really, really wish you'd get off that. It's over, done with, we're on to something else now."

"Say that again," Nick muttered, studying his hands.

"Tell me what you're thinking."

Nick forced a hard smile. "About how much I'd like a damn beer right about now."

The answering smile on Grissom's face wasn't hard at all. "So have one," he replied simply.

He got a beer out of the fridge, and then another. What the hell. Grissom nodded his thanks and held the bottle loosely, resuming his surveillance.

The beer tasted salty and so cold it made his teeth hurt. "I don't know what you want me to say," Nick mumbled after a very long moment of silence.

"Okay." Grissom sipped his beer and shrugged. "Tell me how long you're going to be pissed about the riddle."

Yesterday the tone would have been enough to set him off yet again. Today, though, it all seemed pretty silly. Stupid, in an annoying way. "I'll get over it," he replied briefly. "Always do."

Grissom nodded slowly. "So," he continued in a remote voice, "if I tell you I'd like to find out what sex might be like without wanting to rip your throat out at the same time -- What would you say then?"

All the cold beers on the planet wouldn't have been enough to stave off the heat that rose suddenly, scalding his face. "Uh." He had to swallow; the blunt question made his brain slow down to a trudge. "I don't. Know."

"It's highly unprofessional, of course," Grissom told him in a weird, light voice. His expression was wry. "But then, that hasn't stopped us before."

Now he was pretty sure his face would explode into flames any moment now, and the image was enough to make him snicker, for all that it was pretty gross. "Nope."

"And why do you think that is?"

He risked a look, and saw nothing but a little humor and a lot of attention on Grissom's face. No mockery, even though his entire body was tensed, absolutely ready for it. "Heat of the moment," he replied slowly.

"It's possible. Maybe something else."

Resisting the urge to roll the sweaty cold beer bottle over his hot cheeks, Nick said, "I dunno. Maybe."

"Maybe fighting gave us an excuse to do something we wanted to do anyway."

"Man." Nick stood up fast, almost dropping the bottle he held. "I think -- I mean, that's --"

Grissom stood, too, easy grace that made Nick feel clumsy, oafish. He put his beer on the table and stepped toward him. "Maybe talking's overrated," Grissom observed gravely.

When he edged into Nick's space it felt utterly bizarre. No rage to give him nerve, no indignation to make him feel righteous. Just -- bodies, in really close proximity. His heart sped up unsteadily. "Are you sure --"

Grissom's hand touched his waist, and he forgot how to talk. The beer bottle slipped out of his nerveless fingers about the same moment Grissom's mouth covered his own.

IV.

Easily beaten,
Never free,
I drive men mad
For love of me.

 

"Shut up."

Gil reined in his smile and kept his eyes trained forward. He didn’t have to look. Nick’s shocked expression was there in the prim hiss of his words.

"Why?" Gil asked, voice pitched just loud enough to carry. "Scared?"

He felt it when Nick flinched. "No," Nick whispered angrily. "But -- But –"

"Spread your legs."

This time Nick did more than flinch; he outright jumped. Might have been the words. Might also have been Gil’s hand on his thigh, under the table. "What?"

"You’re hard, aren’t you? Right here in the middle of all these people. Show me."

When he met Nick’s eyes he almost heard the sizzle. All that honest shock, and alongside it, a flare of baking heat. Nick drew a deep breath. "You gotta be shitting me," he muttered in a hoarse voice.

Gil regarded him impassively. "Do it."

"You fucker." But Nick leaned back in his chair and let his legs part, and yes, he was hard. Christ, he was –

"Want me to fuck you?" Gil asked conversationally, smiling at someone two tables away.

Nick made a strangled sound and his hips arched up just a fraction.

"I think you do." Gil cupped his hand over Nick’s erection, keeping the smile. "I think you want it so bad you can practically feel it right now, can’t you?"

"Stop it," Nick grated. "They’re about to make a speech."

"It’s a retirement party. There’ll be lots of speeches. Unzip your pants."

Nick gave him a furious look, and Gil shook his head, grinning. "Don’t lose the game face, honey," he murmured. "People might be watching."

"Bastard." But Nick sat up and faced forward, and even put a smile on his own face, even if to Gil’s eyes it was less than absolutely carefree.

"Better. Now do what I told you."

Nick’s clenched jaw twitched. His hands touched Gil’s, danced away, returned. He made another funny noise when he unzipped his trousers.

"That’s it," Gil whispered, and had to fight for a second to keep his own face neutral. Nick’s cock was hot and heavy in his hand, silky skin throbbing. Gil squeezed a fraction, and heard Nick draw a harsh eager breath. "I could make you come right here," Gil added, running his thumb down to the crown, rubbing it over the slit. "Think you could do that and not make a sound?"

"Don’t," Nick said throatily, and swallowed. "Jesus."

"Want me to stop?"

"Yes, goddamn it."

"Don’t lie to me. Do you want me to stop?"

A beat. "What do YOU think?" in an angrily petulant voice.

Gil grinned again. "I think you’re just about ready."

"What –"

"Zip your pants back up."

Nick’s jaw popped. "I can’t," he hissed furiously.

"You better, because we’re about to stand up."

In truth he wasn’t sure if he could, either, since his own dick was getting into the act as well. But he smirked at Nick’s aghast look. "It’s gonna SHOW!"

"Yes," Gil said calmly, nodding. "It is. And moreso if you don’t tuck it away first."

"Fuck you," Nick whispered, and made a garbled sound while he forced his cock back inside his pants. A slow drop of sweat made it down his clenched jaw.

The room was pretty much filled with drunk people, anyway, but it gave Gil a flare of dark glee to see how flushed Nick’s face was as he pushed himself back from the table. His suit coat gave him a modicum of decency, but it only took a somewhat closer look to see his trousers tented in front.

Beautiful.

Gil smiled at the people at their table as he stood up. If anyone else from CSI were here, he doubted even he would have had the nerve do pull something like this. But Gil himself was the only one who’d been around long enough to have known Joe Kuykendahl. Joe headed over to Municipal even before Catherine joined the team. So Gil was the only one to be invited to Joe’s belated retirement party, and so no one they worked with on a daily basis was around to see Nick get led around by the balls.

The thought made Gil’s dick sit up a little straighter, and he drew a deep breath. Not just yet. Soon, but not yet.

He watched Nick starting to button his coat, and caught his arm. "No, no, no. No covering up."

Nick gave him a muleish look, and stopped. Which made Gil’s skin tingle. "You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?"

"Immensely," Gil agreed. "Onward."

And honestly, it wasn’t as if entire tablefuls of conversations were drying up while people took in Nick walking by with a hard-on. In fact he’d be surprised if a single person noticed, much less cared. But it was the effect it had on Nick that fired him. And that Nick did it when he so clearly didn’t want to.

THAT, now. That was lovely.

At the exit he took Nick’s elbow and steered him smoothly. "Where are we going?" Nick asked, in a voice that was now more impatient lust than anxiety.

"Where would you like to go?"

"Home would be a good start."

Gil smiled and shook his head. "That’s not where we’re going." He nodded at a vaguely familiar face in the lobby and pushed Nick in the direction of the left hallway.

It was old habit to scope out places when he first walked in. Just taking in the environs, making sure no suspects were still on the premises, checking out possible hiding places so there were no nasty surprises waiting for him when his guard was down. And even if tonight was a social occasion instead of work, well, you never knew when knowing where you were might come in handy.

As it did, now.

"What the fuck?" Nick said in the grandmotherly-prim voice that so amused Gil. So funny, when Nick was so very much not virtuous in any way, shape, or form.

"Just keep walking."

Nick bumped an umbrella with his hip and flinched. "This is a -- What IS this place?"

Gil darted a glance to all sides and followed him. "A cloakroom. Used to be the hat-check room when men actually wore hats."

"What, they wear cloaks now?" Nick shot back, which made Gil laugh, too. "What are we DOING here?"

Gil gave him a little push, nothing major, just enough to bring Nick up short against the back wall. Gil leaned into him, mashing him against the wallpaper. "We’re gonna fuck," he said softly, and kissed him.

Nick kissed back for a second, and then went rigid. His eyes were enormous and black with shock. "HERE?"

"We did it in the lab the first time." Gil leaned against him and pressed a hot kiss to the angle of Nick’s strong jaw. "What’s so new about it?"

"There are PEOPLE here, for god’s sake! Like, two feet away!"

"With a wall between us," Gil agreed. "Take off your clothes."

"N- No!"

Gil moved back enough to get his hand between Nick’s legs. "You saying you don’t want it?" he asked silkily, giving Nick a gentle squeeze.

Nick’s eyes narrowed. "You saying you’re gonna give me what I want?" he retorted, tongue slipping out to wet his lips. "Right here in front of God and everyone?"

"Oh, all you want and more."

Nick leaned forward and kissed him hard, sucking Gil’s lower lip between his teeth and biting down. "Don’t start what you can’t finish," he hissed.

"Never." Gil met his hard glare steadily.

Nick’s hands shook when he reached up to unbutton his shirt, but he didn’t break the eye contact. "They’re gonna hear us," he said, baring pebbly hard nipples as he pulled shirt and jacket off in one fast yank. His teeth showed in a fast, nasty grin. "You okay with that?"

"I can be quiet when I have to be. Can you?"

"Try me and see."

Gil slapped Nick’s hands away from his belt and grinned. "Doing it." He unbuckled Nick’s belt and worked at his pants. "You like this, don’t you?" he added, unzipping Nick’s pants.

"Just can’t keep your hands off me, can you?" Nick shot back. He arched his back and drew a noisy breath when Gil shucked his pants down past his hips. "Shit."

He did a thorough job, although the sight of Nick’s erect cock bobbing a few inches from his face made him wrestle a little more with Nick’s shoes than was absolutely necessary. And then Nick didn’t have anything on at all, as naked as the day was long, and Gil sat back on his heels for a second and sucked in a deep breath, because Nick naked in a room full of coats and umbrellas and shopping bags was shocking, and nasty, and so erotic Gil noticed his own hands starting to tremble just a little bit, too.

He met Nick’s fiery gaze as he stood up, and said, "Get me ready."

Nick twitched a hot little smile and knelt obediently. "Yes SIR," he whispered.

Gil had to brace himself on the wall when Nick got his pants undone. And the way it looked when Nick took him into his mouth, sweet JESUS, he’d never reach the point where that sight didn’t make him feel as if he was crawling out of his own skin from sheer electric amazed delight. Nick’s pink tongue laving him slowly, lips stretching to accommodate his girth. It took every ounce of self-possession he could still grasp to not simply bury himself inside that warm energetic mouth and do it right there.

Instead he stood upright and stepped back, pulling his cock out of Nick’s mouth with an audible wet slurp. "That’ll do," Gil said as evenly as he could, and forced a smile. "Stand up."

Nick was smiling, too, but with a familiar edge to it. His jaw jutted stubbornly. "Just gonna do me right here, huh? What’re you gonna do if somebody walks in?"

"Don’t worry about that. Turn around."

Nick’s eyes flashed that combination of anger and heat that Gil remembered from that first night in his office, and then he did it, turning around and leaning forward, bracing his forearms against the wall. The muscles stood out on his shoulders and back, bright lights creating chiaroscuro effects of light and shadow that trailed down to his narrow waist.

Gil drew a deep breath and smacked both his hands on Nick’s ass, massaging firmly. "Lower," he said hoarsely. "Spread your legs."

Nick’s back arched as he leaned lower, almost parallel to the ground. Muscles flexed under Gil’s hands. Gil swallowed and pushed up against him. "Want it?" he asked softly.

Nick flinched and spraddled his legs further apart. "What do you THINK?"

"I want to hear you say it. Say you want my dick up your ass."

"Aw, fuck. I want it, okay? Christ."

Chewing on his lower lip for a little control, Gil rubbed the head of his cock against Nick’s asshole. "Tell me. Convince me."

"Jesus H. Christ, I TOLD you –"

"That’s not what I want to hear."

"I want you to fuck my ass, all right?" Nick’s voice was high with strain. "Do it, man, fuck me, make me take it, just –"

Holding Nick’s hips firmly, Gil nudged inside him, and Nick’s voice wavered off into a hoarse, surprised grunt. "That it, Nicky?" Gil asked. "That what you want?"

Nick’s fingers scrabbled on the wall, fighting for purchase. "Oh, shit, godDAMN, YES." A shudder ran visibly through his taut body. "Come on, all of it, gimme the rest."

Gil arched his hips and sank inside him, and closed his eyes for a second, because nothing should feel this good, it was unbearable, Nick’s heat and that elastic feel of his body flexing and twitching around him, no fucking wonder this was still illegal in too many states.

Nick coughed out a strangled groan, and Gil’s eyes blinked open again. "Careful," he said in a strained whisper. "People, remember?"

"Fuck you," Nick whined, and flexed hard on him. "Come on. Come ON."

Gil drew back and thrust deep, grinning. "What will they see, huh? See you bent over taking it up the ass? You don’t care, do you? All you care about is this." He thrust again, hard, and Nick shuddered, breathing fast and noisily.

"S’all – you think about, isn’t it?" Nick gasped, forehead braced against his arm. Sweat was beading in the groove of his spine. "Can’t – think about anything else."

Gil raked his fingers down Nick’s spine and felt him tremble. "You should see yourself," he said through gritted teeth, trying not to speed up and feeling the control wavering, buffeted by the waves of pleasure enveloping his entire groin. "Jesus."

About the time he saw Nick bite his own arm, eyes clenched shut, he lost the ability to talk. It was all heat and friction and the way he could FEEL Nick tensing up, see the ripples in his muscular back that said he was getting so close, and not even touching his goddamn dick, just getting into the feel of Gil’s dick inside HIM. And then Gil forgot about the speeches going on in the big room down the hall, and the two women who worked the coat room, the hotel guests who were probably standing on the other side of that wall and having conversations about what to have for dinner and what show to try and catch later on tonight, and instead of caring about any of that, Gil sped up until he couldn’t even tell where his body ended and Nick’s stopped, fanning that flame until he felt Nick stagger a little and jolt, once, twice, voice spouting thick nonsense syllables while he squeezed Gil’s dick hard in the midst of his orgasm, and Gil just let it happen, that hot hard twist to his balls and the bone-creaking spasms that followed.

The first thing he heard when he came back from wherever it was the mind went when the pleasure took over, was Nick’s steam-engine gasps for breath, so mixed up with Gil’s own harsh breathing that it was hard to tell them apart. He looked down dizzily and saw the red imprints of his fingers on Nick’s sweaty flesh.

And then it sank in, where they were, what they’d just done, and Gil looked around fast, half-expecting to see someone there, face slack with astonishment and offense. But there wasn’t anyone, and he choked out a thin laugh as he peeled his hands off Nick’s hips and slid free of him. Nick reeled forward against the wall and leaned heavily, turning his head to glance at Gil.

"I think I sprained something," Nick rasped, and his knees went out from under him and deposited him on the carpeted floor.

Feeling a stupid grin spread over his face, Gil fished a handful of tissues out of his pocket and wiped himself off before hastily zipping his trousers. "Here." He held out his hand. "Come on."

It took much longer than it should have to get Nick back in his clothes. Because they were kissing, and laughing, and then more kisses, and Jesus, they were making more noise AFTER than they had during. But finally Nick was relatively decent, if extremely rumpled, and if anyone in history had ever looked more completely FUCKED than this, Gil hadn’t heard of it. But dressed.

"We can still make the last speech," Gil murmured against Nick’s lips. "Hasn’t been that long."

Nick sucked Gil’s lower lip into his mouth, brief but hard, and grinned. "I don’t think so."

"Maybe you’re right," Gil agreed, and grinned back.

 V.

 

Each morning I appear
To lie at your feet,
All day I will follow
No matter how fast you run,
Yet I nearly perish
In the midday sun.

 

 

"You know, maybe you oughta try a leash."

Gil closed his eyes briefly, and then turned. "Hello, Conrad," he said with as much weary cordiality as he could find. "Leash for what?"

Ecklie’s smile made him feel even more tired. Sly, obscurely delighted, it was an expression he knew all too well. "For whom, you mean," Ecklie corrected with a smirk. "Mike McAda told me all about it."

"It’s late, and I’m not in the mood for riddles," Gil said sharply. "If you have something to say, say it; if not, go away."

"You mean you –" Ecklie’s mouth opened in an "o" of mock-surprise. "Well, I guess it could have been worse. Maybe."

"What –"

"But letting a member of your own team beat the crap out of a suspect?" Ecklie shook his head slowly and sighed. "Either not everyone’s ready to go out without a chaperone, or you’ve got a discipline problem there, Gil."

Too shocked to completely register the gibe, Gil blinked at him. "Beat up a suspect? Who beat up a suspect?"

"At least it wasn’t a prostitute this time. Although you know, might have been better that way. She’d be less likely to press charges." Ecklie’s eyes sparkled malevolently. "This one just might."

In the handful of seconds it took Gil to make the leap from beating to prostitute to Nick, Jim Brass had appeared at the end of the hall. Gil swallowed easy, useless anger and made himself shrug. "If there’s a problem, I’ll handle it, Conrad. In the meantime I’m sure you have some kind of work to do. Don’t you?"

Ecklie just kept smiling, even when he walked away.

Gil didn’t wait for Brass to find him; he headed straight for him, heart speeding up with the expectation of trouble. "What happened?" he snapped.

"And good morning to you, too," Brass said. "Guess you heard about our little fracas earlier."

"I heard Nick beat up a suspect. You saw it?"

Brass made a face. "’Beat up’ is such a strong way of putting it. Guy won’t even have any bruises. Nicky just got a little – zealous, that’s all. And not without provocation."

"Why don’t you start at the top?" Gil asked thinly. "And then I’ll go find Nick."

In Gil’s office, Brass was looking more uncomfortable. "Don’t be too hard on the guy, Gil," he said, grabbing a chair. "If me and four other cops were standing right there watching, you think we’d have let things go too far?"

Gil regarded him from across his desk. "And just how far did they go?"

"Far enough to get us a confession, and trust me, that’s the part people will remember."

"A forced confession is useless, Jim, Jesus, what in the hell are –"

"It’ll stick. McAda’ll make sure it does."

"Christ." Gil rolled his eyes. "I might have known. Where’s Nick?"

"Should be on his way in now. Look, he didn’t do anything you or I wouldn’t have done."

"I wouldn’t hit a suspect," Gil retorted coldly. "If he did, he crossed the line."

Brass’s expression was hard to read. "It’ll all work out, Gil," he said in a calm voice. "Nowhere near as big as it sounds."

By the time Nick actually did show up, Gil had heard the story from two other witnesses, including another, non-McAda cop. The details varied, but the gist of it was the same he’d gotten from Brass and his snide excuse for a colleague, Ecklie. He didn’t go looking. Nick would find him.

"Hey." Nick leaned against the door jamb, slanted grin as blithe as morning sunshine. "Wanna grab some breakfast?"

Gil regarded him stoically. "Come inside, Nick."

The grin faded a little, but Nick nodded and came in, slinging himself into the same chair Brass had used not so long ago. "Everything okay?"

"I heard about what happened."

"You did?" Nick nodded and shrugged. "Turned out better than I thought, you know? I mean, the guy blew over like a house of cards once we showed him the evidence." The grin came back, stronger. "Might have known you wouldn’t be there to see it," Nick added, flopping back in the chair. "Figures."

Gil tried to work some spit into his Sahara-dry mouth. "Turned out better?" he asked, too startled to watch his tone. "You think that was good?"

"Well, yeah." Nick eyed him with a spark of uncertainty. "Guy confessed. Slicker than snot."

"After you manhandled him into it."

That wiped Nick’s smile away completely; he sat up straighter in his chair. "Cut me some slack, man," he said, frowning. "I figured you’d be happy. Badda-bing, badda-boom, case solved, you know? I mean, I didn’t HURT the guy."

"You held the man’s face a half-inch from a stove burner, Nick," Gil shot back harshly. "You could have seriously injured him! And for what? To prove you were right? Since when do you think stunts like that are department policy? Bully suspects into confessing? Where’d you learn that?"

Nick’s cheeks had lost color, making his eyes look even darker than usual. "It was a lot more than a half-inch," he said, jaw muscles ticking. "And a lot more than he gave his girlfriend the night he put her in the goddamn ER! I gave him a taste of his own medicine, and he blurted the whole thing out! So where’s the crime there? Wiped that smug smile right off his face, I promise you that." He shook his head, staring at Gil. "Man, I thought you’d be supportive, you know? I got results!"

"Yes, and at what cost? You gunning to be another Mike McAda? Huh? No matter what, the end justifies the means? Is that it?"

Nick sagged a little, still shaking his head. "Man, WHAT is the big deal?" he asked in a stricken voice. "I didn’t even HURT the guy, for Christ’s sake, and you’re acting like I’m goddamn Dirty Harry!"

It felt nauseatingly familiar to be angry. Different verse of the same old tired goddamn song. Gil stood up fast and the room swam a little around him before stabilizing. "If you have to ask that question," he enunciated clearly, "you aren’t the man I hired four years ago."

"Whoa, whoa. Wrong answer." Nick was smiling again, only this looked familiar, too, and not in a good way. He stood up, easy lithe motion that made Gil feel clumsy. "I AM that guy. I mean, YOU should know."

"What’s -- Because –"

Nick’s grin got wider, and meaner. "Because you’re fucking me every chance you get? This your new idea of foreplay? Fuck me over at work so you can fuck me up the ass later? That your kink?"

Flummoxed, Gil stared at him. "You think because we’re -- That I – what? I’ll let you just do whatever you WANT? No questions asked?"

"I think you’d at least appreciate a happy ending! Everything turned out fine!"

"I’m your boss, Nick," Gil said frigidly, gripping the edge of the desk so tightly his fingernails sang out with pain. "I’ll be the judge of what’s fine. And this is anything but. What you did goes against everything we stand for. You think I won’t hold you to the same standards as the rest of the team? You’re wrong. Dead wrong."

"Aw, man, I don’t fucking believe this." Nick paced a couple of steps away and back, stiff-legged, bouncing with tension. "Wait, you know what? Yeah. Yeah, I think I am different. In fact I KNOW I am. And that’s not just when you got me on my goddamn back, all right? I’m not just a goddamn employee!"

"When you’re here, you ARE an employee. Nothing more and nothing less."

He saw the way it hit Nick, the flinch. He didn’t care.

"Well, then," Nick said after a moment. His voice was about a perfect fifth higher than usual, but his smile was lethal. "I guess this is where we come to it, huh?"

"You push me every single day," Gil grated. "And I let you get away with it. But so help me God I’m not going to let you make your own rules to suit the occasion. You know better! You KNOW what you did was wrong. And I’m not going to sit by and ignore it!"

"Oh, fuck you," Nick said clearly.

He was briefly sorry the desk separated them; the urge to hit Nick was so strong he felt it resonating in the very marrow of his bones. The irony of that impulse didn’t escape him, either, and added to the boiling anger. "I’m your superior officer here," Gil said, forcing a cold smile of his own. "I could fire you for this. Do you realize that?"

Nick crossed his arms, not so fast that Gil didn’t see his hands trembling. "Ooh, but then." He grinned without any humor at all. "No more nookie for you, Dr. Grissom."

With a muttered curse Gil reached out his arm and shoved the clutter off his desk, sending a rain of files and papers and assorted crap flying. The noise made Nick flinch, and Gil felt distantly gleeful. "Get this through your head, Nick," Gil hissed, leaning forward on the now-bare desk. "What happens here and what happens out there are two entirely separate things."

Nick walked up until his hips were pressed against the opposite side of the desk, his face terribly close to Gil’s. "No," he whispered, still smiling. "They’re not. Or am I the only one who remembers you raping me on that table over there?"

The word hit Gil like a sharp slap. "Revisionist history," he said hoarsely, recoiling. "You know that as well as I do."

"Maybe we should see how the chief interprets the evidence. Older, closeted supervisor, gets younger employee alone in his office, makes a pass –" Nick raised his eyebrow and cocked his head to one side. "You know, I think he just might not like that too well. What do you think?"

"God damn it, Nick –"

"You want to treat me like a tool on the job? Fine." The first and only flicker of hurt Gil saw came and went on Nick’s white features. "Whatever gets you through the day. But don’t you DARE stand there and act like you can keep this shit separate! Any more than I do! You want to threaten my job? I’ll threaten yours. We can both play that game, but you better be DAMN sure what you’re doing, Gil, because I’m GOOD at games, remember?" The light glinted on his bared teeth.

During Nick’s speech Gil had gone cold, and now he fought down a shiver, clenching his teeth at the soul-sucking ice in the pit of his stomach. "This is no game," he said distantly. "Make no mistake about that. You’re subject to the same censure as anyone else. Including me," he added, and swallowed. "There’ll be an official reprimand on your record."

"And who reprimands you?" Nick spat, coughing out a harsh caw of a laugh. "But I guess they’d have to find out first, wouldn’t they?"

"Jesus, Nick. What in the hell did you expect me to do? Congratulate you? If you were Warrick, do you think I wouldn’t be saying the exact same thing?"

Nick’s mouth twisted in a bitter smile. "I don’t know, are you fucking him, too?"

Gil drew back. "This conversation is over. You walk away, right now, and this doesn’t have to get any worse than it already is. Is that understood?"

"Mike was right. I should have known."

"Mike McAda?" Gil straightened, staring at him. "Since when do you listen to what McAda says?"

"We hang out sometimes," Nick replied coolly, dark eyes flat with mixed anger and pain. "What, you don’t like that? Not like you have any say in the matter."

"So that’s how you’ve suddenly decided that threatening a suspect is kosher. I knew it wasn’t your idea." Gil snorted. "Had McAda’s fingerprints all over it."

"You jealous?"

"Jealous? Right now I don’t even know who you are, Nick."

"Sure you do. You know me pretty goddamn well."

"Go home," Gil said hoarsely. "And if this happens again, there’ll be more than a reprimand."

"You son of a bitch," Nick whispered. "None of it means shit to you, does it? Not any of it."

"What it means to me, I’m not prepared to discuss here," Gil shot back. "This is business, Nick! We don’t function in a vacuum! If you can’t check your personal issues at the door, then maybe this isn’t the job for you."

Nick nodded slowly. "Maybe not." His voice was choked. "But you’re fucking stuck with me, man. I ain’t going anywhere."

Gil met his terrible gaze for a moment, and almost gasped when Nick ripped his eyes away and stumbled to the door. Even after Nick was gone, Gil stood there, frozen, unable to move. Finally he sagged into his chair. The floor of his office was covered in papers, and his coffee cup lay in several pieces a few feet away.

After a long pause he levered himself out of the chair and started cleaning up.

---

Nothing helped. Before, he’d cooled off pretty fast. This time? How many times did this make, now? Times when Nick had made him so mad he couldn’t think, couldn’t contemplate the ramifications of what he was doing. Times when Nick tore through that polished veneer of self-sufficiency and forced Gil to react.

Too many. One time was too many, and they were way past that first time. At home Gil paced around, tired and not at all sleepy, wishing for sleep and knowing the thought for a lie.

By the time evening came around, he was fraying. The urge to call Nick, or go over, was disgustingly strong. Why call? To keep fighting? Batter his head against that stubborn, reactionary mindset until only one was left standing? Or do something else just as counterproductive and set himself up for a rerun of what had happened too many times already?

When he realized he had an erection thinking about it, he changed clothes and left for the lab.

But work wasn’t easier. Not when Nick’s square-jawed, calculating visage greeted him all too often. It was a bad night: busy, tense, too many dead bodies and not enough people to sort it all out, figure out who was who and what was what. He partnered Nick with Sara, met Nick’s hot stare with what he prayed was equanimity, and immersed himself in work.

Time crawled on its belly, slowed by his exhaustion, but eventually there was nothing more he could do than wait. Wait for reports, wait for test results, wait for – something. He filled out a form on Nick and then wadded it up viciously. Maybe Nick was right. Maybe it didn’t really matter how they got results, as long as results were gotten.

The idea didn’t make him feel any better.

Not too long before the end of his shift, he finally stalked over to DNA. Inside Greg was hunched over a microscope, humming tunelessly, looking so at home and busy Gil felt impotently angry.

"Greg."

"Yeah," Greg mumbled. "Just a sec."

"Now, Greg."

That got him a wide-eyed look. "Oh, hey, Grissom. Sorry, I was –"

"You promised me my analysis two hours ago," Gil interrupted, crossing his arms. "Backed up or not, I can’t do a thing until you cough it up. So would you mind expediting –"

Greg held up a hand, waving, and Gil broke off. "Your test results?" Greg looked astonished. "Listen, I had those done ages ago. Didn’t Nick tell you?"

The cold feeling coalesced in his belly, immediate and biting. "Nick?" Gil asked smoothly. "What would Nick know about it?"

"No, I mean, he was here a while back –" Greg glanced at the clock. "Jeez, like three hours ago. I had the stuff, he said he’d drop it by you. You telling me he didn’t?"

"You gave them to Nick."

Greg’s expression turned frankly worried. "Look, if he didn’t –"

"And what would Nick want with my DNA results? Did he tell you he was working the same case? What would lead you to think that Nick would have ANY interest in this case?"

"He was headed your way, I thought he’d do what he said he did. I can print you another copy, I mean, that’s no prob –"

"In future," Gil pronounced, feeling oddly lightheaded, "my test results come only to me. Not to Nick, not to a middleman. You got that, Greg?"

"S-sure. Yeah, of course I got it. But –"

Gil was already walking away.

Looking around didn’t turn anything up. He found Sara doing fiber analysis – something he expected Nick to be doing – but she didn’t know where Nick was. Catherine was still out. And Nick was nowhere.

He startled Warrick in the locker room, hitting the door so hard it bounced off the wall and left a chip in the paint. Warrick stood stock-still, holding his shirt half-over his head. "What’d I do?" he asked in a calm voice.

"Where’s Nick?" Gil demanded harshly.

"Yo, man, chill. He’s already gone. Headed out like, half an hour ago." Warrick pulled his shirt on and kept right on staring at him. "What’s going on?"

Gil’s cell phone rang, and he fished it out of his pocket with cold fingers. "Never mind," he replied, and turned.

In the hallway he answered the call. Brass sounded eager. "Just thought you’d like to know we made the arrest. Caught the guy trying to make a run for it."

Gil stood very still. "You got the DNA results?"

"Yeah, Nicky dropped ‘em by, said he was saving you the trip. Good work, Gil. As always."

"I see," Gil said tonelessly. "Did Nick happen to mention where he was headed?"

"Nah. It’s late, probably went home. Why?"

Gil hung up without answering.

The sun was just edging up to the horizon when he peeled out. The drive to Nick’s condo normally took about half an hour; today he was going to cut that in half. It occurred to him halfway there that he probably should wait it out. Let the anger cool off, not get him into as much trouble as it had on previous occasions. It also occurred to him that he wasn’t going to rest until he’d had a chance to say what he wanted to say, and damn the consequences.

He passed a couple of people while he was walking up to Nick’s condo. Normal people, going to regular 9-5 office jobs. Nothing about his life was normal. He swallowed thick rage and banged on Nick’s door.

Nick opened the door fast, and it only took a millisecond to see the truth in his face. Writ large in the dancing light of his eyes, the half-smile quirking the corners of his mouth. "Took you long enough," Nick said, and grinned.

Gil put his hand in the center of Nick’s chest and pushed, hard. Nick fumbled backward and Gil followed, kicking the door shut behind him.

"I was just saving you the trouble, you know." Nick had come up against the back of the couch, and now put one hand out to touch the upholstery. The smile was gone; the weird hectic look in his eyes wasn’t. "Some people would thank me."

"Is this the kind of game you want to play, Nick?" Gil asked harshly, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "Guerilla tactics? Sneaking behind my back, counting on my good graces? My graces aren’t so good these days."

Nick leaned one hip on the couch and crossed his arms. "Hey, I just thought you were into games," he replied coolly. "But I guess it isn’t as much fun when somebody else makes up the rules, now, is it?"

Gil found a smile on his face. It felt good. "Sure, we can play games. Or maybe for once we could try something new. How about the truth?"

"Where’s the fun in that?" Nick snapped.

"I think it could be lots of fun. How about I start? I have no idea what you’re trying to make me do here." Gil swallowed. "Because you’re pushing, you always push, but I can’t figure out where. You want me to let you just run wild in the lab? Make up your own rules, always knowing Grissom’s gonna support you no matter what?"

Nick shrugged, but some of the sparkle had left his eyes; he looked sullen now. "That’s bullshit."

"Is it? I mean, that’s pretty much what you told me last night. And then today, I mean, you did that to save me the trouble?" Gil coughed a harsh laugh. "THAT, Nick, is bullshit. We both know it. We’re back to square one, aren’t we? Back to where we first started. You did it to fuck with me."

"I didn’t."

"Of course you did! Jesus, at least admit it! You did it to piss me off. And it worked," Gil added in a conversational tone, nodding. "Oh, it worked, all right."

To his surprise Nick dropped his gaze, cheeks flushed. "What, you want me to say I’m sorry?"

"God DAMN it, Nick, I want you to TELL ME what you WANT!" When he stepped forward, Nick edged back, a halting step-ball-change that pressed him flat against the couch. "You want me to be angry? Fine. What else do you want?"

Nick drew a breath, but let it out a second later without saying anything, eyes black and thunderous.

Without planning it at all Gil slapped him, hard.

The blow rocked Nick back, and for a second he clawed at the couch for balance. When he looked up his expression was a paradigm of absolute shock. "You – fucker," he breathed, eyes wide.

This time when he slapped him, he knew Nick could have stopped it. Good reflexes, good muscles, he could have reached out and grabbed Gil’s wrist before his hand connected again with Nick’s cheek. But he didn’t, instead taking the blow and coming back with a terrible grin on his face.

"Write me up for undue force, and beat me up later?" Nick wiped his lip with the back of his hand. His fingers were trembling. "Now that’s rich, Gil. Oh, that’s fucking priceless."

Gil drew a careful breath. His heart hammered in his chest. "Is this what you want?" he repeated, stepping forward until his body was only a few inches from Nick’s taut form. "Because I can’t tell. It seems like violence is the only thing that works on you."

Nick’s grin slipped, leaving him looking scared, and tense with raw anger. "How would you KNOW?" he whispered jerkily. "How would you ever fucking know?"

"Since you won’t tell me? Process of elimination. Want me to do that some more? Huh?" He reached out and smacked Nick’s reddening cheek, not hard enough for a slap. Once, twice, again, until Nick growled and his fingers closed around Gil’s wrist. "What, is that not it?" Gil grinned. "You tell me, Nicky. Tell me."

Instead of talking Nick pushed, hard, and Gil staggered back before he caught his balance.

"The evidence never lies," Nick hissed mockingly. "Isn’t that what you always say?"

"Yeah." Gil nodded. "It always tells the truth. Want to know what the evidence says about you?"

He had a second’s warning in the flicker of Nick’s eyes. And then Nick made an inarticulate noise and launched himself at him.

The first thing he thought about was the price he would be paying the next few days for this. Too damn old to duke it out with anyone, much less someone he’d made so angry he could no longer think clearly.

The second thing to occur to him came right on the heels of the first, because for all Nick’s toned muscles he wasn’t a very good fighter. Or wrestler, more specifically, since by that point they were rolling on the floor. A few hits connected; Gil oofed when Nick’s flailing fist caught him a glancing blow on the chin.

Nick had the strength, more than Gil did, but he wasn’t very good because he wasn’t thinking. And Gil still was. Somehow, in the middle of fighting off the spitting catamount that Nick had become, Gil was in the moment, gauging Nick’s weak spots, using his fury against him.

"Damn it, Nick, stop," Gil wheezed, staring up at Nick and easily dodging one bunched-up fist. He reached up to grab Nick’s arm and kicked at his leg at the same time, and Nick flipped neatly, spraying curses and landing hard on his back. Gil rolled and leaned over him, using his weight to pin Nick down. "Don’t make me do this."

Nick’s face contorted and he wrenched himself to the left, almost unseating Gil before his momentum ran out. This time Gil pinned him on his belly, right arm twisted behind his back. When Nick struggled Gil pulled, and the sound of Nick’s hoarse grunt of pain sent shivers of horror and glee down his spine.

"What is it you want?" Gil asked, gulping air. "Tell me. Tell me and I’ll let you up."

"FUCK you," Nick gasped. "Let me GO."

"No fucking way. Is this it?" Gil leaned forward and pressed a fast, hard kiss against the sweaty nape of Nick’s neck, retreating a split-second before Nick threw his head back. "Sex and violence, Nick? Is that all you want? I don’t think it is. And I think you’re scared out of your mind to admit it."

"You got – no fucking – clue," Nick whispered, face against the carpet.

"Oh, I do. I have evidence." Gil arched his hips against Nick’s ass, and smiled distantly when Nick wriggled. Then he reached down with his free hand and began unfastening his belt. "You don’t want to like this, but you do," Gil continued conversationally, rolling his hips a little and sliding the belt free. "And the only way your mind will wrap around it is to make it like this. Isn’t it?"

Nick had gone still beneath him, but bucked frantically when he felt the leather loop around his imprisoned wrist. "Don’t," he said, shaking his head fast. "Do- don’t."

With one wrist already bound, it was a lot easier to capture the other one. Nick howled with mixed pain and outrage while Gil tightened the belt, pulling Nick’s wrists together and cinching them stoutly. Then Gil leaned forward again, placing his lips against the curve of Nick’s ear. "It’s best when you can pretend you don’t have a choice," Gil whispered. "Isn’t it? It wasn’t rape, Nicky. Not then, and not now. Admit that. Just tell me the truth."

"NO!" Nick screamed, writhing and kicking uselessly.

"I’ll force it out of you if you make me." Gil slid his knee between Nick’s taut thighs and used his weight to keep Nick from kicking him. "Do you believe me? I can. Believe me, I can."

Nick’s struggles slowed, whether from defeat or exhaustion, Gil wasn’t sure. His arms trembled visibly, and Gil could almost hear the creak of stressed muscles. "Let me go," Nick whispered. "Please. Oh, please, fucking let me GO."

A thin icy pain blossomed in Gil’s chest, and he had to swallow. "Not yet, Nicky. Not yet."

Nick stiffened when Gil touched his waist. Bucking again, silent and deathly intent, face mashed into the carpet while Gil inexorably lifted him by the hips. But it wasn’t really hard to do. Hold him around the waist, sit on his feet to keep him from kicking the shit out of him, and use the free hand to undo his jeans.

"Relax," Gil whispered, stroking his hand up the thin skin over Nick’s spine. "Stop fighting, Nick. Just stop."

"Get off me," Nick wailed. "You fucker, get OFF me."

"Sshhh." Gil slid his hand under the waistband of Nick’s jeans and pushed them down, past the tight globes of his ass, uncovering crisp blue cotton boxers.

Nick yelped and tried to throw himself sideways, and Gil smacked him hard on the ass. His fingers stung as he rubbed the place he’d hit. "No," he said in his most reasonable voice.

"You can’t DO this!" Nick arched his back and then cried out when Gil’s hand smacked down again. "God DAMN it!"

Gil yanked the boxers down and ran his hand over Nick’s bare, reddened buttock. "Yes, I can. And you know that."

By the time he’d worked Nick’s pants and shorts off, Nick had run through just about every epithet Gil had ever heard, shouted and screeched and pleaded in his increasingly hoarse voice. The back of his shirt was dark with sweat, and his struggles were weakening with what Gil believed was honest exhaustion.

"Say it," Gil murmured, throat tight. "Oh, Nicky, just say it."

Nick coughed a scratchy half-sob and said nothing at all.

When he took the condom out of his pocket he flashed on that first exalting, horrifying time in Gil’s office. Nick’s flushed face, that sullen challenge, and underneath, the flicker of something Gil had hardly dared believe might be there. All the curses and the anger, passive aggression crap, masking the small bit of Nick hidden inside. Protected, savagely at times, and for what? Fear? What else?

He hadn’t even been all that conscious of his erection before, but now, gazing down at Nick’s tense body, that expanse of bare spanked bottom and flushed skin, Gil had to choke down a groan. Nick went absolutely still at the crackle of the condom’s plastic wrapper. And then berserk, when Gil spread Nick’s thighs. And Gil had to think, fighting to keep Nick on his belly, that this wasn’t anger any more. Nick was worn out. No, this was pure fear.

"Stop it," Gil told him thickly. "Stop it, Nick, stop doing this. Stop doing it to both of us. Stop being afraid."

"I’m not afraid," Nick said in a choked voice. "I’m not fucking afraid of you!"

"You’re lying. You’re scared shitless." Gil felt a smile trembling at the corners of his mouth. "But I want you to see that you don’t have to be."

Nick made a terrible sound when Gil’s cock touched his asshole. A low, awful cry that made Gil’s hackles try to stand up. Gil eased himself down and laid his cheek on Nick’s back, arms shaking with a combination of stress and gut-deep arousal. "Is it so bad," he murmured, "that you have to make it this hard? Is it so wrong? Just tell me."

"I don’t know," Nick said, and sobbed once before going limp beneath him. "I don’t know anymore."

"Was it rape? Do you honestly believe that?"

Nick’s shoulders bunched with the effort of trying not to cry. "What do you think?" came his thick reply.

Gil kissed the back of his neck, and smiled when Nick didn’t fight this time. "I think I want you to tell me this time. Don’t turn the question around. Tell me. Did you want it?"

"Yeah," Nick whispered, sounding defeated. "I wanted it, all right?"

He saw Nick tense again when Gil pressed inside him, but the sound Nick made wasn’t negation. It was soft, and hoarse, and aroused, however reluctantly. "Relax," Gil whispered, easing forward. "I’m going to untie your hands. Because we don’t need that. We don’t need any of it, any of this crap we’ve been doing. Do we?"

Nick said nothing, but when Gil loosened the belt all Nick did was let his arms lie limp at his sides, sighing a little.

"Tell me," Gil said more urgently. "Tell me it’s crap, Nick. Tell me it’s all a cover for what you really want." He drew a deep breath and held himself still with a titanic effort. "Do you want this?" he added, angling his hips and inching deeper inside Nick’s body.

Nick made another soft sound and moved underneath him, not to escape, sliding his legs wider. "Yes," he whispered. "Yes, okay?"

"And the rest? Did you want that?"

"I don’t -- I don’t know. No. Not really."

Gil slid home inside him and felt Nick’s flesh twitching around him, relaxing, opening up. The sensation was exquisitely erotic. "No more, Nicky," Gil told him in a tight voice. "I don’t want that either. But I want this. I want YOU. Do you want me?"

"Yes," Nick said breathlessly. His back bowed as he lifted his hips a little, pushing against Gil. "Fuck yes."

"Then you’ve GOT me, damn it."

Nick’s soft laugh sounded flustered, and then it broke into a moan when Gil slid back and then forward again, shoving as deep as he could get.

When he looked back on it later, that morning in Nick’s condominium, he was never able to call to mind exactly what he’d done after that string of reluctant admissions. He remembered the gist of it: the clutch of Nick’s ass around Gil’s dick, the way Nick’s voice rose and fell and wavered as he came closer and closer to the edge. The taste of Nick’s skin, salty and slick. But the details were lost in the blur of motion, his own impending orgasm, the startling gut-deep joy of sex without games. It began with a riddle, but somewhere he’d lost sight of which riddle Nick was really struggling to answer. Which question Gil was really posing. And now, close to losing his last threads of control, Gil had the answer.

And even better, maybe Nick did, as well.

---

The noise shocked him. Who’d changed the station on the radio? This wasn’t right, this jangling sound that made every muscle in his body tense when he wasn’t even completely awake yet, damn it, what in the hell

"Sorry," came a muffled voice close by. The noise cut off.

Gil opened his eyes and stared at Nick’s face.

"I sleep kinda hard," Nick added, and yawned. "So I turn the alarm up loud."

"Really loud," Gil managed.

"Uh huh." Nick sagged back down, turned on his side. His face had a pillow crease zagging up one cheek.

"Nick?"

Nick’s eyes were already closed again. "Nuh."

"What time is it?"

"Guh. Fi’."

Gazing at Nick’s relaxed face Gil felt a tiny smile quirking the corners of his mouth. He sat up a little, leaning on one elbow, and reached out to touch his thumb to Nick’s dented cheek. "We need to get up," he said softly. "Come on."

"Jus’ a sec."

"Want me to pull rank on you?"

Nick’s eyes flicked open, filled with groggy surprise, and Gil grinned. "Just kidding."

"Jerk." But Nick was smiling a little, too. "You’re still here."

Gil nodded. "I am."

"Figured you’d – leave. You know. After."

Gil considered, and shook his head slowly. "Not anymore. Unless you want me to."

"No." Nick gazed at him, his expression terribly open. "I don’t want you to."

"Good. How do you feel?"

Nick grinned, a sparkle in his eyes. "Pretty damn good, considering I got kinda beat up this morning. You?"

"Fine," Gil said. His smile felt easy and perfectly natural. "Better than fine."

Nick’s expression sobered, but the light in his dark gaze didn’t fade. "Tough love, huh?"

"Whatever works. And it worked. Didn’t it?"

"Yeah." Nick looked away. "Jesus, it seems so stupid now. I don’t get it, I mean, you were right, I guess. I just – I don’t know what I was thinking. Guess I wasn’t, most of the time."

"Does it matter?" Gil replied softly, and caught Nick’s eye again. He smiled. "Worked out all right. Even if it took quite a bit to get here."

"I guess. I mean, yeah. Yeah, it did."

"You do have coffee, right?"

Nick snorted and reached up to rub his eyes. Faint red marks braceleted his wrists, and Gil felt a tiny flicker of regret flare before he squashed it. "Coming right up."

Gil sat at the bar while Nick shuffled around the kitchen making coffee. Not much talking, but Gil felt fine with that. Content to watch Nick, sloppy in an ancient Oilers tee shirt and baggy jeans, and thinking about – not much at all, actually. Just there.

The coffee was good, and very strong. Eventually Nick produced English muffins and wolfed down two while Gil made one last longer. Pushing the last big bite in his mouth, Nick grabbed a napkin and wiped his lips. "Starving," he remarked indistinctly.

"I noticed. You want to stop for something more substantial on the way to the lab?"

Nick nodded enthusiastically. "That’d be great. Rosa’s?"

"Where else?"

"Cool."

When the breakfast thing were put away Gil glanced at him. "Flip you for the shower?"

Nick gave him a slow grin. "I don’t think that’s necessary, do you?" he said. The tone of his voice sent a prickle arcing up Gil’s spine.

In the bathroom they undressed quickly, and then Nick grabbed Gil’s wrist and pulled him into the shower. The hot water felt delicious on his skin. Almost as good as the coffee-flavored kiss Nick gave him a moment later.

"We’re going to be late," Gil muttered against Nick’s mouth, feeling his hands sliding around Nick’s waist, exploring the sleek wet skin of his back.

"Yep." Nick tilted his head and pressed his lips beneath Gil’s jaw. His hands slid up Gil’s arms to touch his shoulders. "I don’t care," he added. "Do you?"

"Not a bit."

This time he was sure every moment would be etched into his memory for the rest of his life. Every detail, the taste of Nick’s mouth and the feel of his ass cupped in Gil’s hands, slick with soap. The inarticulate groan Gil heard himself make when Nick turned around and braced himself on the tiled wall, back glistening wetly and water racing down the groove of his spine. And Nick’s answering throaty cry when Gil slid into him, no anger now, no petulance, no pretense, just honest pleasure, eager and sure.

The lateness of the hour didn’t matter. He took his time, long enough that the water was running tepid before he arched his back and spent himself inside Nick’s body. And felt Nick’s tension, the involuntary soft curse as he went completely still and then jerked spasmodically, ass gripping Gil tight and sending a shock wave of ecstasy through his groin.

Breathing hard, he levered himself regretfully away, letting the coolish water between them, rinsing away sweat and other things. Nick released a deep shuddery sigh and turned slowly, revealing a red face and a wonderfully sated look.

"Water’s getting cold," Nick observed shakily, lips turned up in a smile.

"Better hurry up."

"We could call in."

Gil grinned and shook his head. "Nope. No way."

Nick slithered against him and slid his hand between Gil’s legs. "You sure?" he asked smokily, an inch from Gil’s mouth. "Because it feels like you could go another –"

"Later," Gil interrupted, laughing a little. He let himself enjoy Nick’s touch for a second and then pulled away.

"Damn. I’m gonna hold you to that."

"I’m counting on it," Gil replied lightly.

He borrowed one of Nick’s shirts and wondered if anyone would recognize it. And realized with a flicker of startled pleasure that he didn’t much care if they did. Nick had exorcised whatever issue he’d been carrying around. If he could do that, Gil could damn well handle a suspicious shirt or two.

Buttoning the shirt, he glanced over at Nick, busy shoving his feet into socks. "There’s a lot we should talk about," Gil said evenly. "Someday."

Nick looked up. "Yeah," he replied after a silent moment. "Probably is. Someday."

"There’s time, though."

The sweet warmth in Nick’s eyes made Gil feel like a cat, luxuriating in sunlight. "Guess there is, isn’t there?"

"Yeah," Gil agreed. "All we want."

 

END

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