Title: Touched
Author: YS McCool
Email: ysmccool@yahoo.com
Website: http://www.squidge.org/~flashpoint/
Fandom(s): CSI: Vegas
Genre: slash
Pairing/Characters: Warrick/Gil
Rating: NC-17 (FRAO)
Summary: A post-action massage brings surprises.
Warnings: none

It was one of those scenes that if you used it in a classroom no one would get the answer right, because there simply wasn't one.

The team had been called to a shooting in one of the tonier neighborhoods where you had to have an encoded card just to drive through the gates and the streets looked like they were put down the day before. There was no garbage, no obtrusive signs, and no one on the sidewalks. At least until the flashing lights had arrived.

The victim, Stan Haskell, investment banker, had been shot through his door while looking through the peephole. A neighbor, Adele Costa, had called the police and reported hearing a gunshot. Thus the scene was set for Gil, Catherine, Warrick, and Nick to arrive.

Technically it was the swing shift's case, but the sheriff had asked for Gil to lend them a hand, on his day off, as if they needed it. He'd said as much to Catherine, but she was more politically savvy than Grissom and put him to work.

"It's all about perception, Gil," she explained. "You start on the door and if any of the powers-that-be come to bend your ear, you point them toward me and tell them I'm in charge of the scene." It worked. After two interruptions, Grissom was not bothered again.

Warrick was taking pictures of some footprints, then stood up. Grissom had worked with the man long enough to know he was mentally counting steps from the sidewalk to the front door; matching the stride he was calculating to the physical location. That's when Brown snapped off several shots of the gathering crowd. He signaled Nick over and the two of them discussed something before calling over Catherine. Grissom was left at the door, wondering what Warrick had seen.

The next part almost happened in slow motion. Haskell's widow, Suzanne, arrived with tyke, Taylor, in tow. Gil could only really see the top of the kid's head and a thick stand of spiky black hair that must have defied all attempts to brush it flat.

Neighbor Adele Duncan approached the widow. Something about her expression was all wrong. Grissom called out to Brass. "Jim!"

The widow moved toward the house, almost passing Warrick, Catherine, and Nick, when the neighbor ran up behind her and snatched the child from her arms. Things were still moving slowly to Grissom.

The neighbor not only had the child but a gun. She pointed it at the widow. The officers on the scene pulled their weapons and began explaining to the woman she was going nowhere with the kid. The other neighbors began running for their lives.

Suddenly Duncan threw the child. Gil could see the little girl's face plainly as she spun through the air and headed toward the hard and unforgiving concrete. Warrick leapt through the air, snatched the girl, pulled her to his chest, and curled protectively around her as he hit the sidewalk with a raw meaty sound.

"No survivors!" Duncan screeched as she leveled her gun at Warrick's back. In his mind, Gil could see the bullet traveling through Warrick and into the child. It never got a chance. Nick Stokes knocked Duncan to the ground with an excellently executed body-check. He struck her very, very hard and relieved her of her gun before the two of them were swarmed by the police.

Warrick placed the now crying little girl back in her mother's arms and got to his feet with Gil and Catherine's help. Gil couldn't remember moving at all. "Ow," Brown moaned. "Hitting concrete at speed hurts. I need to write that down for the next time."

Gil smashed his desire to crush Warrick to his chest by turning to Stokes. "Nick, I thought you were a baseball man, but I can see you have the football moves too. It reminded me of Deacon Jones."

Stokes snorted. "First, Deacon Jones, while incredibly fierce, played for the wrong team. The Rams?" He shuddered in very faked disgust. "Not while the Cowboys are still playing. Second, he was hitting men who weighed as much or more than he did. That woman barely topped 120 pounds."

"But none of the men he hit had a .9 mm," Warrick commented. He squeezed his friend's shoulder. "Thanks, Nick, you saved my bacon."

"What are friends for?" Stokes asked, brushing off the well-deserved praise.

"We still have a scene to process, guys," Catherine reminded her men. She placed her hands in the small of each man's back and patted them. Gil could never stop with a simple pat, so he never touched. "In celebration of your survival, dinner is on me."

"I'd love for you to feed me, Catherine," Nick stated. "Did I ever mention my hollow leg?"

"I think I've seen it in action before, Nick," Catherine assured Stokes.

They settled in to process the scene. Grissom turned his entire focus onto the work and put Warrick's near death out of his mind. And there it stayed until they were back at the lab and the three swing shift members were about to head out.

Grissom decided he'd been invited, that he was taking the rest of the day off, since it was supposed to be his day off anyway, and he would pay for his own meal.

Catherine didn't even flinch when he followed them to the parking lot. "Are you riding with me or driving yourself?"

"I'll drive," Grissom answered. Besides he needed the time to calm himself. The urge to touch Warrick was so strong it almost broke his will and drove him to his knees, where he would wrap his arms around the taller man's knees and thank the gods Brown was alive for Gil to subjugate himself to. This was bad. It was very, very bad.

The truck arrived almost on autopilot at Michael Meloni's, a particularly favored watering hole where low-paid, hardworking CSIs could count on a ten percent discount and a good meal. Catherine, Nick, and Warrick waited for him to get out of the truck and they entered the restaurant as a group.

The meal was delicious and everyone avoided talking about the earlier unpleasantness until Warrick had reached for a fallen napkin and groaned. "Ow, ow, ow," he hissed as he slowly straightened up.

Catherine patted his hand. "I should have let you get seen to instead of making you work for three more hours on a crime scene. Did you pull your back?"

"I'm pretty sure it's just deep bruises," Warrick assured her. "I can take some painkillers and sleep through most of my day off."

A flash of inspiration struck Gil like lightning. He formulated a plan, called himself a slut, but could not shame himself out of it. He fished a card out of his wallet. "Warrick, I have a complimentary massage card left for Healing Hands. Please accept it." He placed the highly ornate card, which folded out into two cupped hands, one black and one white. "They're usually pretty booked up, but the director and I are good friends." He stood up and took out his phone. "If you'll excuse me."

Grissom stepped away from the table and sought some privacy near the side of the restaurant without windows. It was empty over here. He dialed quickly and set his trap before returning to the table to find his colleagues discussing the case.

"I've seen some very vengeful women," Catherine stated. "The ones who are owed child support, the ones who have been ripped off, the ones who have been replaced, and even the ones who have been put in the hospital, but I've never seen a woman go after a man she used to laugh at in school and who she publicly declared to be beneath her."

"Then he graduated, met the lovely soon-to-be Mrs. Haskell, lost weight, built up a business, and bought the house next door to his former schoolmate and ignored her." Nick swirled the ice in his glass.

"She must have come on to him and he cut her cold," Warrick ventured. "Or he simply reminded her how she'd treated him in college."

"Either way, she lost it," Catherine stated. "No matter how irrational, stupid, and just plain sick it was, she decided to kill a man she had harmed."

"Then she compounds her sins by trying to kill his wife and child," Grissom added. "Perhaps she saw his happy home as an insult. Maybe she believed her rejection should have ruined him, not serve as the catalyst for his success."

"Hopefully she will have the rest of her miserable life to think about what she's done while she sits in prison," Catherine stated. "What a waste."

############################

Warrick couldn't believe this place. Healing Hands took up an entire floor of a downtown hotel and had guards all over the place. He'd had to surrender his cell phone and pager, but they were kept at a monitored station so should an emergency call come through he could be summoned.

"Mister Brown, you are assigned to room three. Mrs. Costa will escort you there herself," the obviously impressed attendant informed him.

Warrick looked over the attendant's shoulder to the super flattering painting of the founder of Healing Hands, Irene Costa. "Thanks."

Irene looked almost exactly like her painting -- African-American, light brown eyes, smooth skin, and a hint of wrinkle at the eye that would only attract a solid man. Even the robe, which looked like a Sari you'd buy on Rodeo Drive, matched the painting. "Mister Brown, we are so glad to service one of our boys in blue," she said sweetly as she took his arm and led him through some double doors. "Gilbert told me of your injury and I've prescribed a long, soaking hot bath, tea, and a slow, deep massage."

Warrick could have gotten everything but the massage at home, and he might have been able to swing that with the right amount of whining in the right ear. "That sounds wonderful," he said politely. Brown was very aware that Grissom had given up this treat in order for Warrick to get some relief. He was not about to insult the man's selfless gift.

Brown was taken into a private room, instructed to disrobe, shower, and climb into the deep swirling waters of the large tub. Warrick had takenk several deep breaths once he was alone and peeled off his clothes. He had not exaggerated his pain, in fact he'd played it down. Warrick was not a kid anymore and instinct had pushed his body to do what it remembered it could do, not what it was comfortable doing these days.

The shower was magnificent and the great waterfall-like spray coming down from overhead made him wish he could afford a setup like this. He reluctantly left the shower, not sure how much time he was allotted, and slipped into the tub. It was so large that he was able to fully stretch out on a section that was curved softly like a lounge chair and rest his head on a padded part of the rim.

Someone walked in and placed a large tray on the floor by the lip of the tub. It was Mrs. Costa. "The tea will refresh you," she promised.

Warrick accepted the tea and sipped it. It tasted like mangos and the heated vapors opened his nose in a most pleasant way. She was right, it was indeed relaxing.

Costa poured some lotion-like substance into her palm, rubbed it between her hands, then began shampooing Warrick's hair. Her hands were strong and comforting. Brown felt himself drifting and he set his almost empty cup down before he dropped it into the water.

His hair was rinsed twice, a second concoction was rubbed in, and allowed to sit and gently heat his scalp. This was rinsed out and a towel was wrapped around his head.

"Mister Brown, please relax as long as you wish," Costa said as she poured him a second cup of tea. "When you are ready, alight from the tub, dry yourself, ring the handbell, and lie face down on the table. Because you are, if I may say so, a large man, I've selected a strong male masseur to attend you. Do you object?"

"No," Warrick assured her, even if he was a little nervous about having some strange man put his hands on him. What if he threw a boner? How would he explain that? Or did the man see that all the time?

"Excellent," she said before leaving.

Warrick let the bubbles in the tub knock back the stiffness he'd felt and the tea really did help. Brown planned to take some with him as long as it wasn't measured out like gold because they were similarly priced.

Knowing if he didn't get out of the water soon he would fall asleep, Brown reluctantly got to his feet and stepped out of the tub. It took two towels to get him thoroughly dry and he wrapped a third around his waist before he rang the bell.

He laid himself out on the massage table, whose cool padded surface warmed to him and cradled him almost instantly. Again he was in danger of falling asleep.

"Mister Brown, we are here to serve," Costa announced softly. She removed the towel from his head and began massaging his scalp. A second pair of hands, large, masculine, and sturdy, started at his shoulders and gently worked their way down, oiling his flesh as they went.

Even in this limited fashion, it was a wonder, a true wonder, to touch Warrick Brown. Gil had always imagined the way the other man's flesh would feel to his naked hands. Over the years, Gil had broken down his internal rigidness towards Brown. He kept him at a distance that had slowly reduced itself down until they could almost sit in each other's laps. He only touched the man when he had on gloves. Now their naked flesh was in unrestricted and lubricated contact.

"You have beautiful skin, Mister Brown," Costa announced. "Whoever bruised you should be punished."

"That would be me," Brown mumbled. "I had to take a hard dive onto an even harder surface," he explained.

"Your masseur will have to work your muscles a little more intensely," Costa soothed. She indicated a second pot of oil that seemed to contain a thicker base product. Gil dipped his hands into it, relished the warmth, and used it on Warrick's long, sexy, and abused muscles.

"Mmmmmm, that feels so good," Warrick moaned. There was a slight dip in his hips and his ass clenched and relaxed underneath the towel. Gil removed the towel because it was keeping too much of the man covered.

Warrick's ass was even better in person than it had been in Grissom's imagination. Gil let his wrists and forearms brush against it time and again as he worked the heated oil into the younger man's back.

Gil lost himself in the sheer joy of touching his dream. He spent a substantial amount of time working on Warrick's long and elegant neck before giving equal attention to the man's broad shoulders. Brown was very responsive to Gil's touch and he'd given up on stifling his moans while his neck was being worked.

"You could do this for a living," Warrick purred.

Grissom understood intellectually why people assigned animal traits and names to their lovers. The hint of the untamed, the uncontrollable, perhaps even unpredictable added spice to what otherwise would be a dull, maybe laughable, exchange of body fluids. It had never "tripped his trigger" or "pushed his buttons". Until now. Warrick was an exotic jungle cat of dark fur, green eyes, and dangerous power and appetites and Gil was his weak and helpless prey.

Gil was hard and had been hard from the moment he'd placed his unprotected hands onto Warrick's naked flesh. There was no latex, no cloth, and no other barriers between them, other than Warrick's lack of knowledge of who was touching him.

Grissom was exhibiting all the classic signs of the receptive sexual partner. His nipples were like pebbles and even the brush of his own chest hair against them was thrilling. His ass was ready to be touched and was almost rippling with the need to be taken. The thought of Warrick's large hands griping and separating his asscheeks was enough to make Gil cry out "fuck me" in this very room.

Imagining and not having was painful. Touching and not having was going to drive him insane.

"I will allow you some privacy to finish your massage," Costa announced before she slipped from the room.

Gill paused his work long enough to lock the door. He did not want his fun interrupted.

Grissom went back to Warrick's shoulders and once he'd regained Brown's easy response to his touch, Gil moved down to that inviting ass. Or should he say "booty"? Brown had booty.

Gil had been a dedicated observer of the human bottom since just before his twelfth birthday. There was a girl, he never learned her name, wearing a blue and gold bikini. He just couldn't seem to stop watching her. He wrote about her in his journal, which he started when he was ten, and most of it was about her ass.

The lab boasted some really spectacular bottoms. Most of the time, Grissom looked people right in the eyes, but... well, he was only human. Among the women, the best asses in the lab belonged to Mia in DNA, Kenya in Records, and Catherine. Among the men, Archie in A/V, Nick Stokes, and Warrick ruled the roost when it came to ass.

Warrick had unblemished, nicely rounded cheeks with the slightly hollowed insets on the sides that indicated excellent muscle and it was the perfect width for Brown's height and weight. Gil could easily see himself holding that ass and begging in several languages for the younger man to go harder and deeper. Or... he could see himself slapping that ass when the younger man hesitated to give Gil all the thrust he could produce.

These were dangerous thoughts to have with the sexy man's flesh underneath his hands.

Gil used his thumbs to brush the tempting flesh surrounding Warrick's virginal asshole. It had to be virgin. Grissom knew no other man had gotten this close and he was about to get closer.

Grissom gently parted the larger man's thighs, climbed up on the table, and rested on his knees and lower legs. He could use both his strength and his weight to work on Warrick's tight thigh muscles.

"Yeah, that's it," Warrick swore in a voice deep and alluring. If this was the tone he could generate for a masseur, what did he sound like to a lover?

Gil had large hands, which allowed him to be a perfect gentleman and a perfect slut in the same motion. He had eight fingers gliding over Warrick's cheeks and two thumbs loving the larger man's perineum. That's when he saw it.

Warrick was so big. Very, very big. Porn star big. "Hurt me some more" big. "We can do it twice with the same cock" big. And he wasn't fully firm. Damn.

Gil had to calm down, which he barely managed to do by concentrating on the larger man's thighs and calves. Warrick had deflated by the time Gil allowed himself to go back to the younger man's ass.

"Yeah, that's so good," Warrick assured him as Gil massaged the larger man's fantasy-producing tush.

Knowing he was about to crack, Gil gently signaled Warrick to turn over. Brown obeyed and rolled over with his eyes, his mesmerizing eyes, closed.

Gil stared, his mouth almost watering. If he moved too soon now, this would be over. Brown would be out the door and possibly out of the lab, but most certainly out of Gil's reach.

He started at the soles of the larger man's feet; rubbing deep circles in them to release any tension that was left in Warrick's body. Gil let his hands move up first to the ankles and then to the calves without ever taking his gaze away from Brown's handsome face.

Warrick's mouth was slightly open and he kept his lower lip moist by licking it every few seconds. His eyes stayed closed. As much as Gil wanted to be looking into those eyes, he knew he hadn't gotten the younger man to the point of no return yet.

Gil moved his hands up to the flat plane of Warrick's hips. He carefully did not touch the larger man's penis. Not yet, but soon. Very, very soon.

Warrick twisted his hip ever so slightly, letting the head of his cock brush Gil's wrist. It caused both men to moan. Grissom bit his own lower lip to discipline himself.

"Sorry," Warrick apologized.

Gil didn't answer. He couldn't, his mouth had gone dry while watching Warrick's lips move. He rubbed reassuring circles around the younger man's navel until Warrick let out a slow hiss of held breath. Exquisite.

Warrick's nipples were just as hard as Gil's and they responded well to Grissom's confident touch. He rolled them, pulled them, and finally twisted them. "Damn," the big man moaned.

Grissom had less than a second to make a decision and he took it. Warrick was clean; he had to pass a blood test every month just as Gil had to, so Grissom did not need a dental dam for the next move. He lowered his head and took Warrick's cock into his mouth.

"Shit!" Brown shouted as his large hands came down to grip Gil's head. Warrick didn't push Gil away; he wickedly fucked the older man's mouth. "Oh you bitch," Warrick moaned helplessly. "Bitch, bitch, bitch," he chanted as his hips rocked into Gil's mouth.

Gil was loving it. He was loving the movement, the heat, the fantastic energy of Warrick's large cock moving in his mouth while the younger man's equally large hands moved from tender to frantic and back again over Gil's head. He slowed to tease the man and himself.

"Damn, Gris, don't stop," Warrick begged. "Don't stop. Don't. S-s-s-s-s-s-stop."

Grissom almost did stop when he heard his name, but Warrick's hands were as demanding as the rest of him. Gil had started this and he needed to finish.

Gil worked the top third of Warrick's cock, varying his speed, while his hands cupped and caressed the younger man's balls. He allowed the larger man to believe he was in charge as he controlled Gil's head, while Grissom totally controlled Warrick by the pressure and suction he used on the man's cock.

He took his time. Gil sped up, he slowed down, he teased the glans, and forced the slit open with the tip of his tongue. He spent more time working on Warrick's cock than the last three men he'd been with combined.

"Do I need to beg?" Warrick asked, voice cracking.

"Yes," Gil answered, sending his hot breath against Warrick's captured rod. "Beg for me to release you, Rick. Tell me you want to cum in my mouth."

"Damn," Warrick moaned. He gripped Gil's head and demonstrated that he hadn't been using all of his strength before. He lifted Gil's head and stared into his eyes. "I want to cum in your mouth, Gil. Please."

Gil used one hand to steady Warrick's cock and the second to pull his own rod from his loose pants so he could stroke his needy flesh. He laved every inch of Warrick's cock before going back to concentrate his attention on the first four inches of what had to be a true ten-incher, a rarity despite all of the chatroom bragging.

"Damn, Gil, damn," Warrick declared inarticulately. It was quite a change from his normal cool and calm cadence. Gil loved it. Warrick was stuck in monosyllabic mode because Gil Grissom was sucking his thick, heavy rod.

'Give it to me,' Gil silently begged. 'Don't hold back, sweet Warrick. Scream like the warrior you are.'

"Close," Warrick warned. He released Gil's head and grabbed the edge of the massage table instead. Someone had trained this man not to ram his oversized stick down his partner's throat and to let his partner be in control.

Gil didn't want the other man close, he wanted him over. He wanted Warrick so far tipped into madness that he had no choice but to come back for more and more and more.

"More, oh damn you, more," Warrick hissed. His entire body clinched, his muscles hardened, and his cock gushed, releasing the tension in his thighs, hips and ass. Warrick thrust up into Gil's mouth, coating the older man's tongue with his cum. "Ssssssssss," Warrick hissed.

Gil released the larger man's cock after one final lick. "Touch me," he pleaded. "Just touch me anywhere and that will be enough." Enough for now. If Warrick came back for more, Gil would train him to touch him in all of the best places.

Warrick grabbed Gil and pulled Grissom down on top of him. He rolled them over and pinned Gil down with his barely held back strength. His green eyes gazed harshly into Gil's for the longest moment of Grissom's life. Then he was kissing him.

Gil was shocked to his toes to find himself kissed and not hit by the man who had just looked at him so hard. Warrick's large hand came between them and gripped Gil's leaking cock and pumped.

He didn't have Grissom's years of experience of working another man's cock but he had obviously worked his own very well for many years. Within seconds, Gil's hips were rising up on their own to encourage Warrick to stroke his cock.

And Warrick kept kissing him. The big man's mouth was to die for and his demonstrated strength, tempered by his obvious care and kindness, was just as stimulating as his hand on Gil's dick.

Warrick pulled back and looked into Gil's eyes again. "Later we'll talk, but now I want to watch your face when you cum. Can you do that for me?" he asked.

Gil nodded. He could cum, Warrick had demanded it. He was cumming. He could cum forever. His juice got them both.

"Good thing there's a big shower right over there." Warrick bit down on Gil's shoulder where the neck became the shoulder. "Just a little nip so you can't pretend this was a dream tomorrow."

Gil looked up at Warrick and smiled. "You pretend bad things didn't happen, Warrick. This was not a bad thing."

"No, it wasn't," Warrick agreed as he rested his face against Gil's, "but I'll be expecting massages from you."

"Will they end like this?" Gil asked hopefully.

"Yes," Warrick agreed. He gripped Gil's hips in a predatory way that told Grissom that only the fact Gil had drained him was keeping Warrick's cock out of Gil's ass. "Oh, I think it could end better."

Gil smiled. "Have I ever told you that I like the way you think?"