Author: vampfire
Author's e-mail: semperfi_neversaydie@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: Don't own CSI or its characters. Not making money off this.
Pairing: Warrick/Grissom
Rating: FRAO
Summary: Lady Heather finally figures out what Grissom really needs.
Notes: Could be considered AU, as I change what happens the second time Grissom and Lady Heather meet, and Catherine's B-story with Eddie can be assumed to take place before or after this, but not concurrently.
Warning: Mild pain (hey, it's a Lady Heather fic) but nothing hard-core.
Feedback: Please
***
He wasn't positive what he was doing here, why he hadn't left when the crime lab's business with Lady Heather's Dominion was over. Certainly he was curious about the entire dominant/submissive thing. He was always curious about novel or deviant behaviors; it was part of what made him such a good scientist. But curiosity didn't necessarily translate into the desire to experience it himself.
So why was he here? Was it Lady Heather? She was attractive, intelligent, and very sure of herself, very... dominant. Is that what he wanted after all, to see if he was capable of completely trusting another person for the first time in his life? To see what it was like to submit to her control?
"Gil..." Lady Heather reentered the room and sat by his side on the loveseat. She crossed one leg over the other as she leaned comfortably against the cushion. "You are not an easy man to read." She smiled at him. "And I know you like it that way. But you chose to remain here for a reason. I think I know what it is, but I want to be sure... How would you feel about a tour?"
"I've already had the tour. You forget - I've been here twice now."
"With your coworkers, on business. The tour I'm suggesting is... different than what you've seen before."
He agreed to the tour, feeling that damn curiosity again, and stood as she did.
She led him to a closet door and when she stepped inside, Grissom quirked his eyebrows up in surprise but followed gamely. It wasn't a closet after all but the entrance to a black-painted hallway, dimly lit with red light along the floor. As he followed her deeper into the dark passageway, Grissom wondered where on earth they were going and if there were secrets here that he would be obliged to object to from his position in law enforcement.
He followed the shadow of Lady Heather down the narrow hallway for some time before he realized it was brighter up ahead, just slightly. When she stopped and he automatically stopped beside her, he was surprised to find a one-way mirror formed most of the wall to their right. Instead of a suspect being interrogated on the other side, he found one of Heather's employees, dressed in lingerie and stiletto heels, playing the ends of a cat-o'-nine-tails over the exposed back of a young man.
"This hallway is sound-proofed," Heather told him, "And for at least the next three hours, no one is scheduled to use it."
"Voyeurism," Grissom said, analytically. "Another fetish you cater to?"
The man was wearing nothing but a pair of jeans, and he was leaning against the wall with both hands as though being frisked. The girl had moved to smack the whips into his back, leaving nine long marks, and the groan of not-quite-pain the young man made in response was loud and intimately close. Grissom looked for and found the unobtrusive speakers along the ceiling.
"Everyone is a voyeur, to some extent," Heather told him, leaning against the non-glass wall with a good view of both Grissom and the scene beside them. "Even you."
Grissom studied the pair in front of them a moment before telling her slowly, "I don't get any pleasure from watching someone else's pain."
"He's not entirely in pain," she pointed out, her comment punctuated by a lustful moan from the man in question.
"True," Grissom conceded, his eyes still on the scene. He watched for a few moments in silence, trying to put himself in that young man's position and predict his body's response. He was getting the distinct impression that he would have to *be* in that man's position to finally find the answer to his question. More to convince himself than to reveal anything to her, he said, "I don't think I would find anything but pain from what she's doing to him."
The woman had left several more sets of marks, and the man's groans seemed to hold more pain than pleasure. They were very loud in the small space, leaving Grissom unable to detach himself from what they were witnessing as much as he would like.
Lady Heather looked as though she was about to comment, but paused when a door opened in the room beyond them and a man dressed in black entered the room. Grissom was surprised to find him not in some strip club attire but an oxford shirt and dress slacks with neatly polished shoes. The girl gave him a hello smile, unseen by the young man whose back was to them, handed him the whip, and exited the room.
"Hello, Michael," he said, and Grissom froze at the sound of his voice so close. It was rich and accented, and his next words were detached, almost casual, "I hope you enjoyed the warm-up. Tricia does fine work; did you enjoy her?"
"Y-yes," the man said, his voice hoarse.
"Are you ready for me?" he asked, raising the weapon.
Michael almost sighed as he answered in the affirmative, and the whip was in motion before the consent was out of his mouth. The blow was nowhere near as restrained as Tricia's had been. Michael screamed in surprise when the whips struck his side and stumbled at the attacks that came in quick succession to each of his thighs and to his shoulders, making his arms flinch from supporting him against the wall. A brutal final blow to the center of his back made the man cry out in pain, his spine bowing, and left him sobbing as blood visibly welled in the cuts.
The man in black had moved closer with each attack, in quick athletic movements, and with the last blow he let the weapon fall to the floor and laid his fingers on the man's pale shoulders, massaging gently as he stepped in close.
He suddenly kissed the young man's neck. Michael's arms were visibly shaking where they held him upright as the man in black made his way to the edge of his jaw, thoroughly kissing his skin as he went. He ran his fingers down the man's sides, massaging lightly as he asked, "Was that good, Michael? Tell me what you want me to do."
"I want..." Michael gasped and tried to continue talking around the pain as the man in black ran his hands directly down his back, on either side of his spine, massaging firmly and smearing the blood from the wounds. "Hit me harder."
The man in black smiled as he licked Michael's neck and rewarded his answer by brushing his body firmly along Michael's backside. Michael gasped and tried to grind against him, groaning.
Grissom tore his eyes away, trying to regain composure. He was hard, really hard, and breathing way too fast. He looked over at his companion and was rewarded by her slow smile. From her posture, it was perfectly clear that she'd been watching him rather than the men in the next room. Grissom felt his face flushing red and tried to discretely take a deep breath as he willed his body to calm down.
Heather took pity on him and reached to a certain place along the wall that held the speaker controls, cutting off the sounds from the men beside them. In the deathly quiet that resulted, Grissom felt foolish for losing control, for letting himself get too wrapped up in what he was watching to remember what he was doing here.
Which was *what* exactly?
Lady Heather finally spoke, choosing not to mention that she'd been correct in saying he had a voyeuristic streak. "Have you ever been with a man, Gil?"
Grissom felt his face heat again. "No," he said, surprised but grateful that his voice sounded normal and even.
"I see," was all she said, and he could almost feel her mind working, putting together the pieces. "His name is Daniel," she said, nodding at the man in black. "He's very talented." She paused and glanced back into the room that Grissom was purposefully not looking at. "I believe he has some free time in his schedule tonight. I could talk to him once he has sated young Michael."
"No, thanks," Grissom said, or thought he said. A moment later he realized he still hadn't answered her. He opened his mouth to say it then closed it again. He was still rock hard. And he was now way beyond curious. If he didn't try it once, he would never know.
Lady Heather smiled at him. "I'll speak with him for you. Why don't you stay here and watch until they're done?" She flipped the speakers back on and brushed past him in the small hallway to go back the way they'd come.
***
It was nine in the morning when Grissom finally got home. He was emotionally and physically exhausted. He locked himself into the townhouse and made his way through it with purpose.
In the shower, he let the hot water sting his back until all the wounds he'd received in the past two and a half hours were begging for mercy. He didn't even notice them. The water running to the drain was tinged pink from his blood, and in truth he was probably exhausted enough to risk slipping into shock. But he was entirely oblivious to the rest of his body's state.
All his attention was focused on one crystal clear need, one that had been present since he'd stood there behind the one-way mirror with Heather and first laid eyes on Daniel. One that Daniel had gently and roughly and expertly toyed with and egged on and inflamed for the more than two hours they'd spent together after that.
He had both hands around himself. His back screamed in protest as he let himself fall back against the wall. And then he lost it, groaning out loud as he never allowed himself to, words spilling unbidden from his lips that he never heard as his world narrowed down to the throbbing pleasure between his legs. "Oh Ricky, Jesus, Ricky, Fuck..."
When it was over, he felt every single one of the wounds he'd ignored. He almost collapsed in the shower from the exhaustion. He didn't have the energy to wash or shave or anything other than turn off the water and manage to get out of the tub and reach a towel without tripping. If he had slipped, he wouldn't have had the strength to get back up.
He fell into bed face down and stayed like that because his back hurt worse than he could have ever imagined. His only coherent thought before he lost himself to sleep was: damn, it had all been worth it.
***
He paid for it dearly the next night at work. He could barely move without risking opening the wounds.
He had seen them in the mirror when he'd finally woken up and managed to climb out of bed, breathless with the pain it caused. He'd stared at them over his shoulder in the mirror for a long time, unable to decide what to do about them, in more ways than simply treating the injuries.
He had a full body memory of the previous night, of Daniel's short nails scratching down his back, exacerbating all the whip injuries and making Grissom shudder with the pain. Daniel's mouth had followed and he'd bitten his way across Grissom's skin, never hard enough to leave a mark until he reached his ass. Grissom craned to study the damage there. No whip marks, but darkening bruises from Daniel's teeth.
He showered and washed and dried with as little motion as possible, grunting in pain when one of the larger wounds got torn open from his movements. He wore a black button-down shirt to work with his usual black pants, aware that he was mirroring Daniel's attire but choosing to do so for the entirely practical reason that blood didn't show up well on black clothing. Maybe that was why Daniel had dressed in black too. He downed two aspirin with his coffee and headed into the lab.
He tried to appear normal at work, despite the pain and his preoccupation with the dilemma last night had left him with. But being able to barely move was not going to cut it in the field. He assigned himself to paperwork and sat without touching the back of his chair with ramrod posture most of the night, clearing backed-up work from his desk.
When Catherine asked him if he was feeling okay, he realized he really couldn't take this anymore tonight and sought an easy way out. He sighed and looked up at her from his desk. "Actually, I've been feeling a migraine coming on all night."
She gave him a sympathetic look. "Go home, Gil. Take something for it and get some sleep."
He let his eyes close a minute in a strange mix of pain and relief as he gave himself permission to leave the shift early, despite the fact that unlike a migraine, his pain was self-inflicted. He had to assure Catherine he was okay to drive, but he made his way stiffly out of the building and took more aspirin before even starting the car.
He slept poorly, awakened by the pain, but managed to get several hours worth before sitting at the kitchen table with coffee and more pain-killers. He did feel a lot better. The mirror had shown progress. Nothing was actively bleeding anymore.
But when it sank in that he'd left work early because of this, he vowed that it wouldn't happen again. It was an experiment, nothing more. He knew what went on in Lady Heather's Dominion now, firsthand, and he'd learned things about himself that would take some time to settle in, but he wasn't doing this to himself again.
***
He rode a desk the next night too, and Catherine gave him an understanding look when she found him there, thinking he was still feeling the migraine. But most of the night he spent staring at reports that he wasn't truly reading, trying to reestablish his world.
He was caught in an introspective and vulnerable state when his own personal walking wet dream came into his office.
Warrick greeted him with a smile and started to report on the results from his case, and Grissom felt his heartbeat speed up just at the sight of him. He could almost feel what Warrick's shirt would be like against the palms of his hands. He could see the skin beneath it, imagine his hands smooth along the tight muscles of the pecs and abs he'd glimpsed so few times but never forgotten.
Damn, it had never been this bad before.
Grissom managed to tune into what Warrick was saying and respond with what he hoped was appropriate advice, and then Warrick was walking away, leaving Grissom to even more upsetting truths than he'd originally been consumed with.
Grissom had always enjoyed working with Warrick. The man was a brilliant CSI, a hard and thorough worker. He was passionate about helping others, would go to the ends of the world to help a friend. And the way Grissom felt when they were working a case together, that perfect synchrony that he never quite found with the other members of his team...
For years, it had been wonderful. Just being in Warrick's presence had satisfied a need Grissom hadn't known he had. But then he'd realized, in one shocking and embarrassing moment, that he was responding to Warrick as more than a friend.
He'd been completely blindsided. The discovery had made him question nearly everything he thought he'd known about himself. He liked women, despite his horrible track record with heterosexual relationships. He did not have feelings like that for men. But when he could think of nothing but Warrick's body when he touched himself alone in his bedroom, he'd had to admit the real reason why Warrick Brown was his favorite CSI.
He'd been careful since then to make sure Warrick never picked up on how his boss really felt about him. He'd defined these self-realizations in the least painful way possible: as a single aberration. Grissom had continued to think of himself as heterosexual, with the single exception of being attracted to a man so sexy it must be impossible for any woman or man to keep their eyes off him.
But now Grissom had been in a very intimate, if somewhat nontraditional, sexual situation with another man for the first time, and despite the pain, it had been amazing, had in fact made every other sexual experience he'd ever had with a woman pale in comparison. And he hadn't even had intercourse with Daniel.
It took him the entire night to make the full mental leap. He couldn't just accept this about himself and move on; he had to categorize it and give it a label. That was the way his mind processed life. And once he'd done that and made his peace with it, he was fine again, better than he'd been before because now so many things made sense. It also gave him some hope for the future, because now there was a reason beyond his dismal social skills why none of his previous relationships had lasted. He was gay.
***
Grissom's sleep that night was sound. His back made a leap in the healing stages to where he could almost roll out of bed without wincing. When he got to work, he knew he was all right to go back out into the field. Despite the constant ache that was his back, he felt rejuvenated and more rested than he'd been in ages. He handed out assignments with gusto, allowing himself the not insignificant luxury of assigning Warrick to the same case he intended to take.
He attacked the crime scene, became absorbed in it as he always did. And then, when they'd done half the work and were deep into processing, his gaze which was supposed to be sweeping the base boards for evidence hit on Warrick Brown and stuck there. The man was oblivious, which was a good thing in the interest of maintaining a professional relationship, because Grissom was not fully in control of his facial expression at the moment.
Warrick had ducked down beside the sink, hefting a wrench to loosen the pipes so he could check the trap for evidence. Grissom found himself fascinated by the way the muscles of Warrick's arms worked as he readjusted the wrench.
Grissom tried to pull his gaze away but only succeeded in becoming absorbed in Warrick's equally impressive legs, the muscles bunched from crouching, almost visible despite being covered from view by his pants. He followed the curve of them to his ass, tight and so unnaturally tempting.
Grissom managed to stop gawking at his coworker, who really shouldn't be allowed to wear clothes that tight while he was at work, and relocated to another room to process, willing his aroused body to stand down.
He hadn't quite succeeded in that when Warrick sauntered in, his physique again distracting all of Grissom's attention. The one night with Daniel seemed to have re-wired his body, made him unable to focus with Warrick standing so close.
"I'm sorry, Warrick; what was that?" Grissom tried to ask casually, as though he'd been absorbed in the crime scene rather than the scene of his attractive subordinate. Despite his best efforts, he felt his neck redden as he asked Warrick to repeat himself.
Warrick gave him an unreadable look and gently repeated his news of the sink trap's contents. Then something made his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Gris..." he said, stepping closer and making Grissom panic, thinking surely Warrick had noticed his aroused state and was going to make some comment on it.
Warrick took his hand and Grissom let him, thrilling in the contact, shivering down his body all the way to his straining cock.
But Warrick had pulled his hand closer, letting his long-sleeved shirt gape open enough to expose his wrist. A wrist that was angry red with welts. Grissom realized what Warrick had seen and snatched his hand back, trying to step away. Warrick was quick and stepped with him, going for his other hand and finding similar wounds.
"What happened?" Warrick asked, breathless with surprise, probably as much from the way Grissom had resisted letting him study the injury as from discovering it in the first place.
Grissom had regained his personal space now, his arms at his sides and the wounds safely covered by his sleeves. "Nothing," he said, though he felt his neck flush and his ears burn.
"Those are ligature marks, Gris," Warrick said in disbelief. His voice only got more incredulous as he kept speaking, "How the hell did you get rope burns? Did someone tie you up?"
Grissom glanced away, picking a corner of the room to study so he wouldn't have to meet Warrick's eyes. Despite the discovery, he was still hard. The remote possibility that Warrick would figure out why he'd been tied up was incredibly heady.
"It's private, Warrick. I would appreciate it if you didn't say anything to anyone."
"Sure, Gris," Warrick agreed absently, though the worry was strong in his tone, along with confusion. He paused, seemed to be debating whether to leave this be. When he spoke, his voice was low and hard. "Grissom. Did someone hurt you?"
Grissom glanced at him, the severity of Warrick's tone dragging his gaze away from the corner he'd locked it on. Warrick looked ready to seriously injure someone. To protect him, Grissom realized with some shock. Emotions rolled through him that were too confusing to identify.
"No, Warrick," he said honestly. Then he paused and felt his skin burn again as he added, "It was consensual."
Warrick looked taken aback, but he studied his boss' face and seemed to get the hint that Grissom didn't want to talk about it, and went back to swabbing the bathroom.
***
Warrick had puzzled over it the rest of the shift and decided Grissom was seeing someone who had tied him to the headboard during sex. The mental image of some woman riding Gil Grissom while his wrists were bound was simultaneously too hot to imagine and too hilarious to make him take the hypothesis seriously.
But that was the best he'd come up with. Grissom had said it was consensual, and that was a word normally reserved for sex acts. Thinking of Grissom and sex acts in the same sentence brought up fantasies Warrick usually tried to keep a tight lid on while at work. He tried picturing some positions he would like to tie Grissom up in and came to the conclusion that the imagined loss of Grissom's hands along his skin was not worth it.
He'd been half-aroused most of the night, always coming back to thoughts along these lines. He'd been effectively working the case solo ever since he had spoiled Grissom's mood by catching the ligature wounds. When they'd returned to the lab, Grissom had taken half the evidence to a different room, processed it alone and returned it, then left to be updated on other ongoing cases while Warrick finished his work.
Warrick had cleaned up and sorted the evidence bags and done everything possible to put off seeing Grissom again tonight. It was late, way past time to go home, so he just bit the bullet and headed for Grissom's office.
Grissom was not at his desk. He was putting paperwork into a file cabinet across the room, and Warrick walked up behind him, waiting for him to push in the bottom drawer and stand up. He gazed at the man, as he always did when he got the chance, but stopped cold when he saw something on Grissom's neck. He couldn't for the life of him figure out what it was until a shift in Grissom's arms tipped his collar further open and showed him it was a cut. The end of what looked like a serious cut.
Warrick scared the shit out of his boss when Grissom finally finished with the file cabinet, rose, and turned around to find himself face-to-face with Warrick.
"Damn, Rick," he muttered, as his heart jumped into his throat. "You shouldn't sneak up on people!" He smiled, but Warrick wasn't smiling back. "Is there something wrong, Warrick?"
"Maybe," Warrick said mildly, "Turn around."
Grissom raised an eyebrow but slowly did as he was told. Warrick's warm hands were suddenly at his neck, and the feeling was so good he didn't realize what they were doing for a moment too long. Warrick had tugged his collar away and seen as much skin as he could. Sure enough, there was a cut, a few days old, down the side of his shoulder.
Grissom twisted out of his reach and turned to face him once it dawned on him what Warrick was doing. Shit. How had he been so careless? In only one shift, Warrick had discovered all of his injuries. Well, all of them that he was likely to. And if Warrick ferreted out a way to discover the bite marks on his ass, more power to him.
For Warrick, the pieces weren't falling into place. He stared at Grissom, trying to read the answers from his face. He tried for neutral rather than accusatory as he explained unnecessarily, "You've got something on your neck."
"I'm aware of that," Grissom told him, not nearly as briskly as he meant to. "It's nothing," he said dismissively and tried to move around him. Warrick's hands on his shoulders stopped him.
"That's what you said earlier. Take your shirt off, Gris," he told him, not about to let this slide. He had a clenching fear in his gut now. What the hell had happened to Grissom, and why was he trying to hide it?
"Please let it drop, Warrick." Grissom's face was expressionless, but his voice held a hint of a plea.
"Not gonna happen," Warrick said shortly. His nerves were wound so tight he knew better than to try to say more.
Grissom understood the finality of that tone. Warrick could be damn stubborn when he wanted to be, and right now Grissom didn't have the strength to fight it. He started unbuttoning his shirt, feeling a sudden twist of arousal at the realization that Warrick would figure this out, that he would *know*...
He stopped once the shirt was unbuttoned and un-tucked, hanging from his shoulders to reveal only a long stretch of his chest. He dropped his hands, his eyes challenging as he waited. Warrick gave him a look before reaching out to push the shirt off his shoulders. He let it fall to the floor, and Warrick nudged his bare shoulder to get him to turn around. Grissom obediently turned, not stopping until his back was to Warrick.
Warrick's breath hissed out between his teeth. Whatever he'd been dreading, it had nothing on this.
Ever since he'd seen the rope burns on Grissom's wrists and tried unsuccessfully to figure out alternative explanations, Warrick had been thinking Grissom was into rough sex. But this was so way beyond that. Warrick was speechless. He knew Grissom was waiting for his response, probably anxiously, but he didn't have one to give. This was simply too much to process.
His mind turned to those alternate explanations again, to some sort of scenario in which Grissom was abducted and tortured, then managed to escape and decided not to tell anyone about it. Because that was way more plausible than the rough sex hypothesis. This was beyond rough; this was... He flashed back to their first case involving Lady Heather's Dominion and the "equipment" they'd had to analyze for DNA.
Warrick felt blood rush to his face. Oh, man. The thing was, he really could imagine Grissom with her, on the receiving end of a whip. Oh, fuck. Warrick felt his body react to the image of Grissom naked, being beaten and loving it.
Oh shit, now Warrick was hard. And he was still standing here with his fingertips along Grissom's sides, a fantasy all on its own. Standing here with his boss half-naked in the middle of his office... For some reason how bad this might look didn't faze him.
He moved his hand lightly over Grissom's upper back, needing to know that what he was seeing was real. He could hardly wrap his brain around the conclusion he'd inescapably come to: that Grissom had allowed this to happen to him during sex.
Grissom let his eyes slide closed at Warrick's touch and didn't recall the urgency of the situation until Warrick's hands suddenly disappeared.
Warrick's voice was too even when he finally spoke. "You should put something on this. You could have permanent scars, you know."
He was trying his damnedest to treat this clinically, like a case.
Grissom replied in a voice that was too low, "I have. It's probably mostly been absorbed by my shirt."
"Do you have it with you?"
"Yes."
"Get it." Warrick wondered at himself briefly for giving his boss an order, but Grissom obeyed so readily it gave Warrick a whole new rush of submission and dominance images.
Warrick watched as Grissom walked calmly over to his desk and got the ointment from the top drawer. Warrick followed and took it from his hand, spinning Grissom around so he could again see the angry map of cuts that was his back. At this point, it was a helluva lot easier to look at than to try to meet Grissom's eyes.
"You shouldn't use Neosporin on an area this large," he said, detachedly.
"It was all I had." Grissom's eyes closed as Warrick's soft fingers and the cool ointment spread along the whip marks on his back, though every inch of his skin stung. He couldn't help but worry about what Warrick's reaction to this would be once he finally snapped out of the shock of it. He couldn't help but become aroused at the feel of his hands and the knowledge that Warrick had to have figured this out, had to know he'd let someone do this to him for the pleasure of it.
Warrick finished and went to a shelf to grab tissues to clean his fingers with, setting the Neosporin on the desk and tossing the tissues in the trash.
Grissom let Warrick approach him, knowing Warrick must be ready to confront him, but not risking eye contact yet. He felt suddenly vulnerable standing in front of him without a shirt. He realized then how much Warrick's reaction meant to him, how much he cared what Warrick thought of him.
"You went to Lady Heather's place?"
Grissom wasn't surprised that Warrick had gotten that far in deducing the situation. He answered simply, "Yes."
"Why'd you do it?" Warrick asked, showing no reaction to the admission.
"It was an experiment." He raised his eyes to meet Warrick's, aiming for cool and dispassionate.
Warrick found himself staring at him in flat-out amazement. Only Grissom... "An experiment?" he scoffed, his tone full of surprised disbelief.
"I was curious," he admitted, and Warrick could tell he was only meeting his eyes at great effort. "I had to know."
Warrick held his gaze and tried to keep his expression neutral as he again confronted the mental images of Grissom submitting himself to Lady Heather's control.
"Had to know what?" Warrick quietly demanded, his eyes pinning Grissom in place.
He didn't answer for a moment, and Warrick could see the hesitation in his eyes. "If I could trust another person."
His voice was uncertain. Warrick knew he was telling the truth, though maybe not all of it. Grissom's eyes told him there was more. When Grissom's answer sank in, Warrick saw red and had to look away, no longer trusting himself to meet Grissom's eyes.
Before he could stop himself, he said it. "So you went to a stranger. You trusted a stranger with... with your *life*." He tried to hold on to his calm and not give in to the sudden inexplicable urge to scream. Of all the unjust things in the world. Why couldn't Grissom trust *him* like that?
Warrick was hurt. He was hurting so bad and he knew Grissom wouldn't have a clue why, if he could even sense it. He shook his head in disbelief. He had to ask. "So how was it? Was it worth all this?" He waved at his back, riddled with red, angry cuts.
Grissom's eyes were caught in his, the questions ringing in his ears holding a hurt he didn't understand, and he couldn't lie. "Yes." His voice was hardly emotionless now. That one fierce word sang through Warrick's entire body.
The hurt was gone and now... Now, he was aroused as hell. This was Grissom, damnit, and with one word he'd just made the most deeply personal admission he'd ever told him. Warrick felt renewed arousal assault him as his mind filled with images of Grissom naked, aroused, coming...
Warrick walked away, had to get a moment to just breathe and try to sort out all the emotions tumbling through him. He leaned on Grissom's desk with both palms and closed his eyes, his back to Grissom. A moment later, Grissom's hand was on his shoulder, his touch hesitant.
"Gris," Warrick assured him. "I'm cool with this. Well, maybe not yet, but I will be. I'm sorry I went all ballistic on you and demanded you show me that. You're right about what you said earlier. It's private. It's your life and-" He stopped and turned to look up at Grissom sharply as a thought occurred to him. "You aren't... you don't have any more injuries, do you?"
"No." The bruises on his ass didn't count, not really.
"You'd better not be lying to me, Gris. Because I'll remove every stitch of clothing on your body if I have to," Warrick threatened, deadly serious until he realized what he'd just said and cracked a smile.
The corner of Grissom's mouth lifted in a return smile. "I promise."
"Grissom," Warrick said seriously. "I mean it about permanent scarring. You shouldn't, you know, go back there until your back is healed."
"I'm not going back," he said.
Warrick's eyebrows lifted in surprise. Grissom had already admitted to enjoying it...
"I said it was an experiment, Warrick. Not a relationship." Grissom had surprised him for the hundredth time tonight, and he knew it. "Go home, Rick," he told him, not unkindly. "I'm sorry you had to learn all this."
He didn't know what to say to Grissom, and even if he did, he admitted to himself that he was in no condition to say it. He was still reeling from everything. So he took his boss' advice and went home.
***
Warrick was pinned down, he couldn't tell how. He was also naked and incredibly close to orgasm. Someone entered his field of vision and he realized it was Lady Heather. She had something in her hand, but it wasn't a whip. It was Grissom's hand. She suddenly tugged Grissom into view and kissed him fully. She broke off and told him, "You've been so good, Gil... Here's your reward."
Another light push and she'd effectively thrust Grissom face to face with Warrick, who was still held immobile by some unseen force.
Warrick watched as Grissom looked his naked body up and down and wet his top lip with a quick flick of his tongue. Warrick groaned at the sight of it, and gasped harshly at what Grissom did next, which was drop to his knees and take him suddenly, fully into the warm heaven that was his mouth.
The sound of his own voice crying out woke Warrick from the dream, and he realized he was sweating all over, that he had a hand in his shorts holding himself, and that he needed it, now.
When it was over, he cursed for a full minute before he managed to get his breathing under control and became fully awake enough to assure himself that he was alone in his bedroom, that it had just been a dream, that Gil Grissom had never, and probably would never, slide his lips around him and bathe him with his tongue so expertly.
Warrick staggered out of bed towards the bathroom, shaking his head in disbelief at the fucked up thing that was his subconscious mind.
***
Grissom found himself anxious the next night to find out how Warrick would behave after his discoveries. He knew he could count on Warrick not to let anything slip to their colleagues. His worry was that Warrick would treat him differently, that the relationship he treasured the most would be ruined.
He talked with Warrick several times about the case, which they were wrapping up, and found Warrick was his usual self. Despite his initial shock, it seemed that Warrick had no intention of judging him. Rather than feeling uncomfortable with the knowledge that Warrick knew about his private life, Grissom felt relieved, accepted, if not understood. He also found himself gazing at Warrick's body, which he quickly put an end to and took himself away to speak with Greg.
Grissom finished his work in the lab and retreated to his office to read reports. But there he found his concentration lacking. It seemed time had made his memories of the night at Lady Heather's more poignant instead of fading them. He'd been woken from sleep several times last night to dreams of Daniel's hands and Warrick's voice, as his subconscious substituted the man he fantasized about for Lady Heather's employee. He fought to read for a while, but finally let himself remember...
The feel of the whip as it took him again, igniting all the previous lashes as it made its own mark. And then the hands on him, the skin warm against the slick pain that was now his back. Fingers on his nipples, his chest, running down his thighs and finally settling on his erection to bring him to the edge, only in time for another burning lash against his back.
He hadn't known the line between pain and pleasure was so easily blurred, hadn't known he could physically be this hard for this long without release and not go insane. And then the soft feel of lips, fingertips, the insistent tug in his balls, his mouth falling open in betrayal of his command to himself to remain silent. When his voice broke the silence of the pitch dark room, he didn't even recognize it as his own. "Please..."
Grissom's eyes snapped up from the paper he was blindly staring at, and he tried to reign in his control as Nick knocked at the door and walked in, talking about the mineral composition of some damn gravel that was key to placing a suspect at the crime scene.
When Nick left, his skin still felt too warm. He tried to force his eyes to trail over the first sentence of the report, but he was back in the darkened room again. The darkness had been his choice, perhaps because he was wondering if Heather had more rooms with one-way mirrors, or perhaps because he was too ashamed to face the man wearing black named Daniel.
He was still remembering what a foolish idea it had been to insist the lights be out, the darkness only prompting him to give into the fear inherent in the situation, making him that much more vulnerable to what Daniel was doing to him. Then Warrick was suddenly in the doorway, speaking excitedly. "Gris, our suspect got out on bail and ran. He went back to his apartment first and Brass wants us to find a clue to where he might have gone."
Grissom barely heard the words. He felt his already painfully aroused body surge as his eyes settled on Warrick's beautiful face. Grissom hoped his expression was distant, that the desire he felt for Warrick at that moment wasn't betrayed in his eyes.
"Okay," he said, knowing he had to stall. He swore he'd never been as hard in his life as he felt right then. He gestured to his desktop, "Give me a sec to wrap this up."
Warrick's eyebrows shot up in a moment of surprise before he recovered and said, "Sure." When he was gone, Grissom unbuttoned his pants under the cover of his desk and stuck his hand in to rearrange himself in the tight confines of his underwear, but he didn't immediately pull back out. Another scene to process was not what he needed right now. He needed to go home, to crawl into bed naked and...
Grissom buttoned up and focused entirely on the report, making himself read the first few sentences in the effort to distract himself. Several moments stretched by. He stood and leaned with his hands against the desk as he finished reading the paragraph, buying more time.
Warrick came back in and asked tentatively, "Gris?"
"Done," he announced and followed him out.
He could have sworn Warrick glanced at him more than a few times on the walk to the parking lot, but that could have just been his paranoia influencing his perception. During the drive to the scene, he focused himself on the job, but over an hour of working side-by-side with Warrick Brown did nothing to help his self-control.
Just the sight of him pulled at his groin, and Grissom was appalled at his lack of control over his body. He was stripping Warrick with his eyes as he talked to him about the case. The entire time they were in the small apartment combing the scene, he was more aware of Warrick's physical proximity than he was of the evidence he was searching for.
The car ride back to work was excruciating. He was exhausted from the nearly double-shift this had turned out to be and emotionally worn thin as he admitted to himself that his desire for Warrick and the unresolved events from Lady Heather's had gotten way out of control.
They got back from the scene and he was finally free to leave Warrick's presence and retreat to his office. Warrick was going to come get him when Greg finished running a test for them. Grissom's only goal before then was to calm down. Warrick's glances on the way back had definitely been more than Grissom's paranoia.
He tried to think of anything but Warrick, tried doing some of the never-ending paperwork, but nothing helped...
The darkness of the room was so deep his mind was making up spots of color. He couldn't tell when his eyes were opened or closed. When the whip bit him, he was sure he squeezed them tightly shut, or maybe that was when the hands ran over him in soothing comfort, arousing him beyond all endurance until his body was a shaking wreck. His own hands were bound above his head, his back to Daniel and the soft snap of the whip in the darkness, but he was held up by his own two feet, and by now he was exhausted, swaying and almost letting his wrists take his weight.
His breath came out in a groan as the hands caressed him, and his whole body shook in Daniel's arms as the man pulled him tightly to his torso from behind. As his injured back lit on fire, a soft weak sound escaped him, a whimper, and he didn't care. Didn't care about anything but the need to get off...
"Now," Daniel told him, his voice a whisper and the first he'd spoken in the past half hour. "You may come."
It was as though Daniel had been holding him back from release by one final thread and he'd just snapped it with the smooth force of his voice. The words were barely out of his mouth and Grissom's body surged to completion, his aching penis clasped tight in Daniel's demanding hands, his tender balls clenching painfully as his knees buckled and his body exploded.
In his office, Grissom realized the memory had left him too close; he was too far gone to calm down now. Hard as stone, he made his way through the hallway to the bathroom. It was deserted. He locked himself in the last stall and let his pants fall to his ankles, his hands falling to his hot skin.
His eyes were squeezed shut to block out his surroundings, and all he could see was Warrick. His favorite fantasies of Warrick consumed him, and Warrick was riding him as he felt the orgasm tremble through him and finally spill over in a wash of need.
Grissom cleaned up, hands shaking, and washed his face several times trying to ease the rapid beating of his heart, trying to will the cold water into removing some of the telling flush from his face.
He leaned against the sink a moment and closed his eyes. He'd never done that at work before. It had been an amazing rush to do it outside the privacy of his bedroom. And damn had he needed it. But now he had to face Warrick...
"Hey, where've you been?" Warrick asked lightly, when Grissom returned to his office to find him there.
"Bathroom," he muttered, moving past him to sit in his chair. Warrick was quiet a moment, and Grissom wondered if he knew. His face, despite his best efforts, was still a bit flushed. Maybe Warrick had seen him hard earlier, at the scene.
When he got up the nerve to meet Warrick's eyes, Warrick licked his lips. From the expression Warrick was clearly trying to keep from his face, Grissom knew that he knew. Shit.
He asked him a question about the results, and Warrick spoke up quickly, explaining that their theory had turned out to be right. They knew where the suspect had fled, and all they had to do was notify Brass and then call it a night.
Grissom managed to wrap up the case with him with all outward decorum. But the breakdown of his control had made a decision for him. This stopped now.
***
A sharp intake of breath from Grissom snapped Warrick's head up from the surface he was fingerprinting. When Grissom followed that with a quiet "fuck," Warrick's heart was immediately racing, his hands dropping the brush and reaching for his weapon. Had the perp returned to the scene?
He eased away from his gun; there was no one in the room but him and Grissom. Nick and Sara had been here mere moments ago following the blood trail and footprints with a camera and little markers, but apparently it had led them away.
Grissom was standing too stiffly next to an overturned chair he'd clearly been about to examine. "Shit, Gris," Warrick said as he tore off his gloves and crossed the room to his boss. There was a spreading blood spot on Grissom's gray shirt, on his lower back.
"Are you okay?" Warrick was asking tightly, taking the liberty of pulling Grissom's shirt up, even though he already had a good idea what he would find. "Fuck..."
Grissom handed him a hankerchief, which Warrick put over the wound and guided Grissom's hand to hold it there. "That isn't going to do it," he told him. "Wait right here."
He returned from their cars with a first aid kit and the change of clothing Grissom kept in his trunk. He efficiently doctored Grissom's back and used way too much tape to hold the gauze on, then told Grissom to hold still while he pulled the bloody shirt over his head and put the new one on so Grissom wouldn't have to move his arms and risk pulling the wound further open.
Because that was clearly what he'd done when he'd started to bend over to look at the chair on the floor: ripped open a long gash that was only one of many fresh wounds lacing over the fading lines of the previous whip marks.
"Thank you," Grissom told him, seeking eye contact, needing to know how Warrick was reacting to this.
Warrick nodded without speaking. He balled up the gray shirt and stuffed it in Grissom's bag along with the first aid kit and left to return them to his trunk.
He wasn't sure what to make of the emotions buzzing through him. He felt betrayed that he had believed his boss when Grissom had claimed it was an "experiment" and wasn't going to happen again. More than anything he felt jealous, as much as he hated to admit it. But if letting Lady Heather damage his body was what it took to make Gil Grissom happy, then who was Warrick to object? He clamped down on his emotions and returned to the house, ignoring Grissom and picking up his printing kit from where he'd left it.
***
It had been a mistake, on many levels, to go back. For one thing, the second time with Daniel hadn't done anything for what he'd hoped to accomplish: regaining control over his body's physical reactions to Warrick. And for another... no amount of painkillers could put his skin back together again. This time the tender flesh of his chest and stomach had taken the blows too, and it was impossible to get solid rest at night with no position to lie in that didn't hurt.
And then there was the fact that Warrick had found out. Warrick hadn't said a word about it when they'd all finished collecting evidence and trooped back to the lab to process, but Grissom could see he was hurt. Warrick must think he'd been lying when he'd said he wasn't going back.
Grissom was tired. He felt as though his life was spiraling out of control in slow motion.
***
Warrick was engaging in what he privately liked to refer to as premeditated masturbation. He'd focused on only one thing the entire drive home from work, and damned if he wasn't going to do something about it.
It hurt, tremendously, to know that Grissom was getting some from somebody else. But damned if Warrick wasn't going to get off on it.
If only he could convince Grissom that he could give him what he needed, that he could do whatever Lady Heather was doing to make him satisfied.
Warrick was sprawled luxuriously across his bed, lube within easy reach, one hand stroking himself as slow as he could stand while the other pressed two fingers inside himself. He'd tried, several times, to picture himself in Heather's place, whip and all, and just couldn't see himself treating Grissom like that. If he ever had the chance to have his way with Gil Grissom, he knew he'd be kissing and licking his way cherishingly over every inch of the man's body, not scarring it with pain.
What he *could* do was order the man around. A naked, aroused Gil Grissom obeying his every command was definitely something Warrick could handle. And the commands he would give... Strip. Suck me. Stroke yourself.
Oh, yeah. Warrick could live with being in control. He made his hands move even slower; he was so close to losing it, and he didn't want it to end so soon.
Surprisingly, the thought of Grissom in command was just as intoxicating. Warrick had never let anyone tie him up before; he'd never been with anyone quite that kinky. But imagining himself spread eagle and unable to move, unable to touch himself or Gil as the man slowly teased his body to absolute agony...
Warrick took his hands off himself with an effort and lay there feeling his heartbeat pound in his dick, fighting off the edge. And the thought of Gil inside him. Warrick squeezed in three fingers, pushing towards the perfect spot, right there... Gil pounding into him, ruthlessly, banging into his prostate over and over until he couldn't help but come... Warrick clutched himself with his free hand, stroking tip to base as he thrust up and fell into orgasm.
"Gil, oh baby, Gil..."
He let the tension fall out of his muscles, stretching his arms above him on the bed and tensing the muscles of his quads, feeling one last echo of release in his balls. He lay there in sleepy satiation and imagined having the sort of relationship with Grissom that would allow him to call him 'Gil.'
He loved calling Grissom by his given name. It seemed so illicit, almost as forbidden as some of the things he wanted to do to his boss. That Catherine got to call him that daily pissed him off to no end.
Sighing, he got up to hit the shower. The heartache he felt over his boss was still there, but at least he'd eased his body's ache for him temporarily.
***
Warrick was alone in the break room the next night, about ready to return to work when Grissom came in. He paused, knowing he'd sort of given Grissom the cold shoulder after finding the fresh injuries on his back and knew that his reaction had been more out of jealousy than anything else. He tentatively greeted his boss, "Hi, Gris."
"Hi, Warrick. Has the DNA come back from your-" Grissom trailed off as he reached down to the paper sitting on the table and turned it so he could see the words scribbled on the tiny squares of the crossword puzzle.
Warrick chuckled and answered as though Grissom hadn't become too distracted to finish his question. There were times when his boss was absolutely cute, for lack of a better term. "No, Sanders still has it. I'll let you know when I get the results."
"Okay," Grissom answered absently, having located a pen so he could set to work on the blank rows. Warrick watched as Grissom settled down at the table, unable to leave the puzzle half-finished. Warrick smirked. The man could be so predictable sometimes.
Warrick turned to go back to work, but accidentally knocked Greg's bag of coffee beans from the table when he moved. Reacting quickly, he reached out back behind him to try to save it. His position facing away from the table made his balance poor and, though he did snag the bag with one hand, he was forced to steady himself with the other on Grissom's thigh.
Grissom hissed a quick breath and practically leapt away from his touch, puzzle forgotten.
Warrick studied the now silent man sitting less than a foot away front of him. The only part of his body he'd touched was his leg. Warrick got a sudden vivid image of cuts lacing Grissom's legs.
"More injuries?" Warrick asked angrily, failing to keep his cool this time; his emotions were too raw. "I thought you said you weren't going back."
"I don't think that's any of your business," Grissom said calmly. His legs were unmarred, but he was not about to admit that he'd jumped at the sudden feel of Warrick's warm hand inches from his groin.
"Show me." It took Warrick's brain two seconds to hear what his mouth had just demanded, and when the words reached his ears, his body started to tighten uncontrollably.
"No, Warrick; I'm not stripping for you." Whoa, those were some words Grissom had never thought he'd hear himself say. Quite the opposite, in fact.
At this point Grissom was so hard there was nothing Warrick could say or demand that would make him stand up, much less drop his pants.
"Fine," Warrick said, his voice still hard and angry. Despite his tangle of emotions, the need to get the hell out of here before his boss noticed his erection was crystal clear. He turned and left the break room.
***
The next shift Warrick discovered that confronting Grissom had apparently been the wrong approach. The man shut him out completely, no longer throwing out the frivolous or insightful comments Warrick was so used to, the almost flirting lines that kept Warrick's world happy and full of fantasies.
To have Grissom treat him like this, to feel that Grissom was so distant he might as well be on the other side of the planet, hurt like a son of a bitch.
And as far as Warrick could tell, Grissom was treating everyone like that, jumping on Nick's case, telling Sara to suck it up when she tried to explain a personal issue she was having with a case, displaying zero tolerance for all of Greg's, well, Greg-ness. He bitched at Catherine too, but she gave it right back to him. And her calling him grouchy made his mood, if possible, even colder.
***
Warrick had done everything he could with his current case. What he needed was to go over a few things with Grissom and tie up the loose ends.
Normally he'd enjoy this part, going to Grissom with his hard work and figuring out the remaining details over a discussion with the man he loved working with so much. But given Grissom's recent mood, Warrick entered the office cautiously.
"Yes?" Grissom asked, pulling his eyes from something he was reading and looking like his time was too important to be bothered at the moment.
Warrick started summarizing his findings, getting no encouragement from his stony-faced boss whatsoever. He ended with, "Like I said, I wasn't positive about that so if you'd like to look over it..." He ended with a hopeful note, holding out the report.
"I'm sure it's fine, Warrick. Leave it on the desk," Grissom said, looking back to the paper he'd been reading and clearly dismissing him.
The hurt of being brushed off like that again pulled at his chest, but Warrick told himself it wasn't personal, that Grissom had been like that to everyone. It was so damned obviously linked to what he was doing with Lady Heather that Warrick had a notion to knock on the bitch's door and tell her to leave Gil Grissom the fuck alone.
He set the report on Grissom's desk and walked out of the office, pausing at the doorway as an idea he'd somehow missed the first time around boomeranged back to smack him in the head. He glanced at Grissom over his shoulder and made his decision, leaving the office with a purpose.
***
"I need to see Lady Heather," he told the girl at the door, as she started describing the various options he had since he had shown up without an appointment.
"I'm afraid Lady Heather is occupied at the moment. I can leave her your contact information-"
"Tell her I'm a friend of Gil Grissom and that I need to speak to her. I can wait as long as it takes her to become... unoccupied." He smirked at that, then sobered as he tried to convince himself that Grissom really had been working late tonight, finishing an almost double-shift because he didn't want to quit until the suspect was behind bars. Heather was *not* occupied with Gil Grissom tonight. God if he ran into Grissom here, Warrick would simply die on the spot.
The girl came back into the foyer only a few moments after she'd left. "Follow me," she told him. She led him upstairs, and he scanned the closed doors they passed for any sign of what was happening inside to produce the muffled screams and moans he could hear.
Then he was facing Lady Heather across a living room, and the girl who'd led him there had gone. Heather walked up to him, and he knew this was the part where he should explain why he was here.
He hesitated. He'd meant to come right to the point, knew exactly what it was he'd wanted to say. He just hadn't expected to be so damn jealous the moment he actually made contact with her. That she could have Gris that way... He swallowed the almost painful wave of jealousy and resolved to be civil.
"You're here about Gil," she said, since he hadn't said a word. "Is he all right?"
"Yes," Warrick said, thinking she was asking if there'd been some sort of emergency. "No," he amended, closing his eyes briefly to focus. "He's not all right. Whatever you're doing to him, it's not good. He's... unfocused at work, he's distant..." Warrick struggled to pinpoint what was wrong and hit it fairly easily, "He's not happy."
"Oh," was all she said, looking introspective. "I'd been sensing that. Until I heard you were here, I didn't know the reason for his unhappiness. I have a good idea now." She studied him, and Warrick felt uncomfortable. Suddenly she spoke, "He told you he's come here?"
"No," Warrick said, too many emotions rising in him to sort out. The rest of his retort came out sarcastic, "The scars clued me in."
"He won't scar," she said. "Not if he puts medication on the wounds."
"Well I'm glad to see you care about him," Warrick said, unable to keep his anger and his jealousy out of his tone.
"And I," she said pleasantly, and he got the distinct impression she was laughing at him, "am glad to see that *you* care about him." She gave him a small smile for reasons only known to her and told him, "I'll talk with Gil, Mr. Brown. I'm glad you came by. Is there... anything else I can do for you?"
Something in her voice was suggestive, and he again got a mental image of Grissom kneeling in front of her doing her bidding, and the anger washed over him hard enough to make him uncertain he wouldn't punch something. The wall at least, if not Lady Heather. "No," he growled and showed himself out.
***
Grissom was finally back in the one place where his crashing apart world made sense. Just being here brought a little clarity to his life. He'd admitted in a more honest moment that he was being too harsh on his coworkers and that he really owed Greg an apology. That last comment on his hair style had made the boy visibly cringe.
He sipped tea with Lady Heather and waited for Daniel to be ready. He still didn't like to speak to the man, had maintained the lights-out mandate and let the man arouse his body expertly but impersonally so that he could fantasize about Warrick Brown.
Grissom liked to be more in control of his life, of his body, than he had been recently. But it was as though that first time giving up control to Daniel had opened Pandora's Box. He'd become addicted to what Daniel could do for him. Addicted to the long-denied contact with another person. His own hand was no longer enough. And if he couldn't have Warrick, this would have to be good enough.
He wondered what was keeping Daniel. The man was usually prompt for his appointments. But Heather hadn't said a word about where he was. He looked at her, really looked at her for the first time since joining her in the living room, and found her lost in thought, a rarity for her to be distracted from any guest.
"Lady Heather?" he queried.
Her eyes focused on him, and she drew in a breath. "Gil, I was wrong." Lady Heather frowned at him, worriedly. "I was wrong about what you needed. And I'm glad you've enjoyed Daniel, but that hasn't solved the problem."
"I really don't know what you're talking about," Grissom managed, not liking Lady Heather's analysis. "Others might not consider this... healthy, but you of all people should see nothing wrong with me continuing to be with Daniel." He was a little miffed that the one place he felt sure he'd have support was failing him too.
"At first, I knew you were curious about us, about what goes on here. And I was willing to give you a taste of that; I admit I was looking forward to introducing you to this personally. But then I thought perhaps discovering the wonders of submission wasn't what you needed, that what you really needed was someone to end your confusion over your sexuality." She found his blush cute, and hid a smilen as she took another sip of tea. "But now I suspect the problem is more mundane than any of that."
He moved uncomfortably in his chair, very much disliking being under her microscope, but unable to deny how good she was at this.
"I think you're in love," she told him, smiling now and reaching out to touch the back of his hand on the table. "Do you want to tell me who it is?"
He was no longer visibly embarrassed, but shook his head mutely, unable and unwilling to let Heather know how stupid he truly was, a man unable to admit he was gay falling for a straight man.
"Or perhaps you'll allow me to guess," she said and he looked up at her in surprise. She knew no one in his life besides his co-workers and no matter how perceptive she was, there was no way she could have picked up on anything between him and Warrick. They hadn't even worked together the few times they'd been in her presence.
"Let's see... he's tall, with beautiful dark skin, a very nice build, and the most amazing green eyes."
Grissom was floored. His reaction gave him away and confirmed her suspicion. "How-"
She just smiled and told him, "I have my sources."
Grissom frowned at her response and opened his mouth to say something, closed it, and looked away, thinking. He reigned in his emotions before informing her, "It doesn't matter. He's straight. He doesn't have any interest in me."
"You're wrong."
His head whipped around to study her. "How do you know I'm wrong?"
"Gil, please trust me on this. I am not trying to be boastful, but I am rarely wrong about things like this. The feelings you have for Warrick are mutual. But he's hurt that you've been coming here."
"You're starting to sound less like Miss Cleo and more like you've spoken to Warrick," Grissom observed with a faint half-smile.
"Perhaps," she said, her smile giving her away. "But I do believe what you're looking for is Warrick, not anything this house can give you."
Grissom took refuge in his tea while he sat back to think. "Where *is* Daniel tonight?"
"He had another appointment come up," she told him, convincingly apologetic. "I'm afraid he won't be available tonight."
"I see," Grissom said. She was cutting him off, as it were.
***
Grissom made amends the next night at work, not by overtly apologizing but by acting the way he normally did, so much so that it seemed the past few nights hadn't happened. He recognized that Nick had worked his butt off on his newest case, to make up for his slip in the previous one, and honestly told him he'd done well. Grissom told Sara she should take the night off, maybe talk to the department psychologist if she was still having problems. She bristled at that until he also offered to listen if she needed to talk. Thankfully, she didn't take him up on it; Grissom had enough problems of his own right now to take on any of hers, but she perked up from the mere offer. Greg he treated similarly until the tech slowly turned his music back on and eventually turned it up loud enough to actually hear. His hair was astonishingly combed and wet down so it looked like the stereotypical male haircut. It bothered Grissom enough that he finally nodded at Greg's head and told him to "run your hands through that a few times or something; it looks strange."
Catherine was predictably more straightforward. "So I hear I can walk in here now without you biting my head off," she said, entering his office and coming up to his desk to take a seat.
"I wouldn't be so sure," he warned her, teasingly deadpan, finishing the sentence he was writing.
She looked at him until his attention left the page. "You okay now, or do you want to tell me what was up?"
"I'm fine," he said more gruffly than he'd meant to. He tempered it with a quick, "But thanks."
"All right," she allowed, but fixed him with a serious look. "But I *will* tell you, since you're sometimes surprisingly unobservant for a top-notch CSI..."
He gave her a look at that comment.
"...That everybody seems happy again around here except Warrick. And, you know, he is the only member of the team I *didn't* see you blow up at. Did you do something extra specially mean to him that I should be aware of?"
Somehow he thought the line, 'I didn't strip when he asked me to' was too much even for Catherine to handle. He settled with frowning and seriously saying, "I don't know."
"Well, why don't you find out?" she suggested pointedly, standing and heading back to work.
***
Grissom spent at least half an hour sitting in his office with his palms sweating as he tried to envision himself asking Warrick out on a date. He wondered if he could get away with just asking Warrick if he would sleep with him. That would leave a quick yes or no answer, so much less painful when it was a "no." Or maybe he could not say anything at all and just pull Warrick's body against his and kiss him before he had a chance to protest. Damnit, he thought bitterly, this came so easily to other people...
He was still fretting over how to start the sort of discussion with Warrick that would end up with the man's naked body wrapped around his when Warrick knocked on his door and walked in hesitantly.
"Grissom, can we talk?"
"Sure, Warrick," Grissom said, feeling a cold sweat break out over his entire body. He wanted Warrick so badly it was physically painful. Heather had seemed so sure that Warrick would be interested, but how could he risk her being wrong?
He watched Warrick as the man entered his office, licking his lip once but seeming to find reassurance in Grissom's gaze. Grissom just watched him move in the tight jeans he was wearing until his body was lowered into the chair in front of his desk.
Warrick sat forward in the chair, sounding regretful as he said, "Listen, man, I just wanted to say: I was wrong to judge you."
For a second, Grissom didn't know what he was talking about. Thankfully for him, Warrick continued, "It's your life and you've got a right to, you know, do whatever it is you want to do. I hate that it means hurting yourself, but that's my problem and I'll deal with it."
Grissom heard the words, knew Warrick was being sincere and kind to decide all this, but it was irrelevant now that Grissom had decided to leave Daniel and everyone else at Lady Heather's and go after the man he really wanted.
Warrick was looking at him a bit anxiously now, wanting some sort of response. But there was only one thing Grissom needed to know. "Warrick, do you like men?"
Warrick stared at him in complete shock. Where the hell had that come from? "Gris, man," he laughed nervously, moving in his seat, "You don't just ask someone who works for you a question like that!"
"I'm not asking as your supervisor."
Oh boy. Warrick's blood, already pounding through his veins, began to pool in his lap at the low tone of Grissom's voice.
He wasn't out to hardly anybody. But he met Grissom's serious gaze and decided this was a chance with Grissom that he couldn't pass up, no matter the personal cost. "Yeah, Gris," he said slowly, "I'm gay."
Grissom glanced down at the surface of his desk, saying quietly, "Are you... interested in me?"
What the fuck kind of question was that? Grissom had given him nothing, nothing at all, no glimpse of his own feelings, and he was demanding so, so much from Warrick. Grissom looked up at him and Warrick couldn't figure out what it was about his expression, so careful and so nervous... God, Grissom was scared shitless of Warrick's answer.
Warrick trusted Grissom. And he decided to make the leap. He met Grissom's eyes squarely and said boldly, "Yeah, I want you."
Grissom visibly swallowed, speechless. "Jesus," he finally murmured, gazing at the desktop. He looked up, towards Warrick but over his shoulder, avoiding eye contact. "Rick, are you busy tonight? I, uh, can't get into this here."
Then why the hell did *I* have to get into this here, Warrick wanted to demand. God, was Grissom going to turn him down after all this, take him somewhere and explain that he was flattered, really, but that he didn't like him 'like that'?
"Sure," was all Warrick could reply, feeling cut adrift.
"Okay," Grissom said, sounding uncertain now that they'd gotten this far. "Meet me after work. I'll drive."
***
Warrick could honestly say that he'd never spent a car ride more nervous than the trip to Grissom's townhouse. Grissom was absolutely silent, not even saying where they were going, though Warrick quickly recognized the neighborhood. Warrick kept trying to get a feel of what Grissom was thinking, but couldn't. He'd never seen Grissom like this, almost jumpy. His nervous energy made him achingly sexy, but Warrick could hardly enjoy it when all that was running through his head was how Grissom was going to turn him down, to kick him in the teeth after Warrick had trusted him enough to tell him the truth...
***
Grissom didn't know what to do. He had no clue whatsoever. God, he was so bad at this. They were supposed to talk when they arrived at his home, but Grissom didn't have even a hint about what to say. I want you to fuck me. I want you to show me what it's like to be with a man, for the first time.
He knew where he wanted this to end up; he just didn't know how to get them to that place. When he did try to come up with words, all that his mind was capable of doing was reminding him of the still unfathomable fact that Warrick wanted him. He could still here his voice, low and sexy telling him "I want you" like he meant it.
He'd had almost a continuous hard-on since those words had hit his ears, and the only thing in the world he wanted was to be in a position where he could rub himself against Warrick Brown.
He found himself turning off the engine. They were here. He walked to his front door automatically, not looking to see if Warrick had followed. God, he needed to come up with what to say...
When he closed the door behind Warrick, Grissom's eyes caught on his crotch and stayed there. It stunned him that Warrick could be hard for him. So fucking hard. So much for the talk: it turned out the only word he said was "Warrick..." as he reached for the man, continuing the rest of the conversation nonverbally.
Warrick's lips opened to him and Grissom kissed him eagerly, unable to believe the feelings this was creating. He'd thought vaguely that he would pull back and then they'd talk. Now he realized that wasn't going to be possible. He needed this. So much.
***
Warrick hit the wall squarely with his shoulders, his head rocking back into it as Grissom's mouth came down hard on his own. The first kiss had taken him completely by surprise, and he'd responded immediately, so relieved and so overjoyed that Grissom wanted this, wanted him.
And then Grissom had let out this little whine and just attacked him, deepening the kiss, bearing into him so that he felt teeth. Grissom was rough and harsh and so damned *desperate* that Warrick mostly just hung on for the ride.
Every instinct he had was telling him that he was going to get the best fuck of his life tonight. And if he couldn't sit at all the next day, well that was a very small price to pay.
Because now Grissom's cock was grinding into his, and he hadn't thought it was possible to get more aroused, but he felt his whole body tighten as Grissom's lips took his neck, kissing him thoroughly as he rode him into the wall.
Warrick had moved his hands up under Grissom's shirt and kneaded into his back, sliding up his spine and back down to clutch his ass, bringing their cocks even closer together.
Grissom was pulling at his clothes with the apparent intention of shoving them aside to reveal Warrick's body in the quickest way possible, without actually bothering to remove them. Warrick pulled Grissom's mouth off a sensitive nipple in order to rip the shirt over his head and down to the floor.
Then Grissom's mouth returned, and the fingers digging into his ass cheeks were massaging wickedly, effectively thrusting Warrick's cock out into Grissom's. Warrick groaned. Somehow his pants had gotten tangled at his knees, and he wanted everything out of the way. He pulled off both pants and boxers before Grissom reattached himself to his bare body.
And that was how he'd been completely stripped before Grissom lost a shred of clothing. Becoming totally naked was also the only thing Warrick had done that had gotten Grissom to slow down.
While the man ate him up with his eyes and moved his hands slowly over Warrick's skin in the single most arousing way possible, Warrick managed to unbutton the front of Grissom's shirt, finally parting it to rest his hands on the warmth of Grissom's skin.
And then Grissom's hand was cupping him, soft and warm and squeezing him slightly as his fingers caressed their way down his length. Warrick had to shove Grissom's hands away, gasping and holding them firmly until he was sure the crisis had passed.
"Shit, Gil," he breathed, going straight for Grissom's pants and shoving the underwear down with them in his urgency to reveal the package he'd been feeling prod into him. The thick weight of Grissom in his hands was enough to make his ass twinge with the expected pain of entry, but damn would it be welcome when it came.
Grissom's urgent hands on his ass brought their bodies together, hot and hard from head to toe. Grissom was biting lightly along the skin of his neck, his earlobe, driving him to complete distraction as his fingers clutched Warrick's ass possessively.
Warrick could not have been more shocked when Grissom whispered, roughly into his ear, "Take me, Warrick. Please. *Fuck* me."
He pressed their bodies even closer together as he said it, and the needy movement combined with the sound of Grissom's voice nearly had Warrick coming. He wanted *Warrick* to fuck *him*? The man seriously needed to work on his signals. But in the last moment of clarity Warrick would have all night, he realized this was the need Grissom had been trying to assuage by going to the Dominion all these times. And Warrick fully intended to be the only one to fulfill that need from now on.
Warrick grinned widely as he started pulling the sex-crazed man he used to know as his boss towards his own bedroom.
Relocating to the bed was a major improvement for Warrick's control. Some of Grissom's urgency passed, and Warrick was able to just touch and be touched and enjoy the exploration of the body he'd long fantasized about. Grissom's attention was intense and thorough as he mapped every sensitive inch of Warrick's skin. Warrick returned the favor greedily, his hands eventually settling on Grissom's ass and staying there. He began to toy with him, Grissom's command to fuck him ringing loud in his memory.
Grissom shivered a little as Warrick's attention focused on him, and moved to reach down to the floor beside them. When Warrick lifted his head from licking and kissing across the man's chest, Grissom wordlessly handed him a tube of lube he'd pulled from underneath the bed. Warrick took it gladly and idly wondered what else was under there.
He used it on Grissom's dick first, spreading it with the smooth palm of his hand and pads of his fingers at an agonizing pace that had Grissom squirming into the bed, his breath coming in thick gasps that went straight to Warrick's cock. Warrick finally wrapped his hand around him and stroked once, twice, drinking in Grissom's harsh breaths and heated gaze. He kept eye contact as he moved to cup his balls, rubbing them gently and causing a small needy sound to fall from Grissom's mouth.
Warrick had never imagined his always-in-control boss losing it as completely as this. Just watching him was about to make Warrick come. He felt a heady sense of power to be the one to undo Grissom like this.
Warrick began sliding himself along the warm muscle of Grissom's thigh, unable to neglect his aching cock any longer. He slid his fingers on Grissom's balls lower, and Grissom spread his legs willingly. More lube and Warrick was reaching into Grissom with a single finger, his cock pressed hard against his leg.
Grissom's breath hitched, became fast and short, and his hands dug into the sheets beneath them, desperate to hold himself still. Warrick kissed him and Grissom's arms went around his shoulders, powerfully, as he arched up against his stomach.
"Calm down, Gil," Warrick told him, kissing him again and hoping Grissom wasn't going to hyperventilate. "You're so tight; you've got to give me a minute to warm you up, okay?"
Grissom's whole body was flushed, and Warrick's brain nearly got shut out by his body's demand for him to just shove into this man and take him without any foreplay.
Grissom moved against Warrick's hand when Warrick finally got a finger all the way into him. And the heavy heat in Grissom's gaze was enough to nearly dissolve Warrick's control over the situation. Warrick leaned across the man's overly warm body to kiss him fiercely, loving the way Grissom groaned down his throat when Warrick moved inside him.
Grissom's facial expression as Warrick worked another finger inside of him and played with him had to be the hottest thing Warrick had ever seen. Grissom was moaning now, softly and slowly, and he hadn't relinquished his tight grip on Warrick's back. Warrick poured his attention into making it feel good and was rewarded by louder sounds.
"Yes..." Grissom moaned. His voice was so low and aroused Warrick didn't think he could ever get enough of it.
"Gil," Warrick said, still feeling a thrill to finally take the liberty of calling him that to his face, "Condom?"
It took Grissom a moment to comprehend, he was so lost in the feelings. "Um," he said, "Bottom drawer."
He made a small sound when Warrick's fingers left him, and the brief wait while Warrick found the correct piece of furniture whose bottom drawer to search was hardly enough to let his heart rate calm down.
Warrick climbed onto the bed, his lithe body stretching over Grissom's to retrieve a pillow. He sat back on his knees beside his boss and surveyed his flushed body, unable to believe it was all his for the taking. "Lift up," he told Grissom, pushing the pillow under his ass and settling between his legs.
Warrick ran his hands up and down Grisssom's legs as he leaned down to kiss him thoroughly, hungry with anticipation. "Is this okay?" he asked, breathless when he ended the kiss.
"Anything."
Warrick clenched his jaw tight to contain his very visceral response to that. He sat up and used the lube liberally over his sheathed cock before pressing inside. The gasps from Grissom were unbelievable, and Warrick could barely keep himself from shoving to the hilt into the tight heat. Slowly he eased in all the way and held himself there, removing one hand from Grissom's hip to palm the man's cock and gently stroke it back to bursting.
Warrick's body was taut with the strain. "I'm gonna move now, okay babe?"
Grissom nodded and groaned as Warrick eased almost out of him and then back in. After a few strokes, Warrick was throbbing closer to completion, still working Grissom's dick with one hand. He moved slowly, in short hard thrusts, and eventually nailed what he was aiming for, judging by Grissom's surprised grunt.
The groans and non-words that spilled from Grissom's throat after that became ecstatically enthusiastic as Warrick worked himself against that spot, in as rapid a rhythm as he could manage without losing control. Grissom's voice raining down on his ears was so damn arousing, his writhing body so provocative. It was like the man had never had a cock inside him before.
"Ricky, too much..." Grissom managed to warn him, his voice choked as his hands ran feverishly down Warrick's arms, across his chest, touching him in any way he could. Warrick groaned and eased into longer, slower strokes, and Grissom moaned obediently, clutching him close with strong arms.
Warrick knew he needed to move his arms to brace himself as he increased the pace. Grissom was groaning beautifully beneath him, his skin flushed red everywhere and sweat visible on his forehead as their eyes met hotly. "Touch yourself, Gil," Warrick ordered him as he released Gil's dick and positioned both of his own hands for maximum leverage, stroking deeply into Grissom's body.
Grissom gave another small moan and brought one hand down around himself with no further prompting. Warrick watched him as he rammed again into the right spot, feeling his own body shudder at how deliciously responsive Grissom was, at how visibly he was enjoying this.
Warrick had to hold himself still inside him for a moment to avoid what was becoming increasingly harder to stave off, and Grissom kept right on touching himself, thrusting his hips up into Warrick's to rock himself up and down Warrick's cock. Oh fuck...
Warrick bore down into him, fierce and desperate as he felt his whole body clench. Grissom cried out beneath him, his mouth falling open and his eyes suddenly heavy and hot upon his, finally closing in pleasure. The wet heat against Warrick's stomach came only a beat before he felt his own body lose it, bearing down on Grissom in agony as his body shuddered in release.
He came back to awareness with Grissom's body wrapped tight around his own, his arms clenched around Warrick's torso. Warrick moved to slide out of him and was immediately manhandled up the bed and into Grissom's embrace. Grissom's murmured words hit him then, "You're so beautiful, Ricky. Everything about you..."
Warrick smiled against his hot skin and moved back enough to meet his eyes. "Gris, I think you killed me. Thank you for that; you don't know how much I wanted that."
Grissom kissed him, heated and lazy and lustful, despite how thoroughly sated they both were. His lips eventually delved into Warrick's neck, his teeth working bluntly there until he sighed against Warrick's shoulder and finally felt comfortable enough for the talk he'd meant to have earlier. "Warrick, do you want to date?"
Warrick chuckled. "In case you don't realize this, babe, you've got the order wrong here. See, you're supposed to ask me that before we fuck through the floor."
"Ah," Grissom pretended to note wisely. But some small coil of fear had reared up that maybe this was all he would ever have with Warrick, one incredible fuck, never to be repeated.
His barely formed fears shattered at Warrick's words, as green eyes met his and Warrick assured him, "I want to date you. I want to have sex with you; I want everything about you. But I want exclusivity. I am not sharing you with Lady Heather, or anyone else."
"You've got me," Grissom told him. "You've got all of me."
***
(end)
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