"I'm telling you, man, this place is bumping," Jerry insisted as he all but dragged Warrick out of his car. "Bitches be creaming, man," his friend insisted.
Warrick had known Jerry since high school but Brown did not want to meet the woman who would "cream" for Jerry. The man was almost as tall as Warrick but close to one hundred pounds heavier and he had no perceivable neck when viewed from almost any angle. The doorman, who was smaller than Jerry, looked noticeably nervous when he saw them approaching.
"We'll see," Brown responded. What he really wanted to say was 'what the hell am I doing here on the first night off I've had in two weeks?', but Jerry had been talking up this new club for almost a month.
The turnbacks, people the doorman didn't think were worthy to cross the threshold, would have gotten into almost any other club. And they let in Jerry? The man had no style whatsoever.
"Jerry," the doorman said actually smiling. "I was worried you'd go somewhere else tonight. We are so unbalanced."
Jerry all but snatched Warrick from the rope section where Brown was about to console a pouty-mouthed sister with huge breasts. If he were lucky, she could hold up a conversation the way she was holding up those tits.
"Come on, man," Jerry growled. "Duke, this is my friend Warrick. He's packing the heat."
Warrick frowned. There were two ways to take that and no one could convince him that his friend was talking about his cock. "I don't carry my weapon off duty, Jerry," he informed his friend.
"Right," Duke said as he stared pointedly at Warrick's crotch. He waved the metal detector wand over both men then let them inside.
"What was that?" Warrick demanded. He glared at his friend.
Jerry looked around. "Hey, the cages are down tonight. You ought to dance in one. The women will practically pull you out and fuck you."
Warrick made a disgusted noise. He was tired of one-night, hell one-hour, stands. He was tired of not knowing anything about the women who crawled over him, had their rides, and rolled on to the next man.
"Ladies and studs, The Whip welcomes you to Mardi Gras night. Check out our sexy men in the cages. Remember ladies, they're amateurs and you're not allowed to bruise them."
A feminine roar greeted this announcement and Warrick began calculating the male-to-female ratio. Not good. The men were really outnumbered. That almost never happened. Maybe the doorman was holding those women back because there weren't enough men inside.
"Hey, baby," a stunning, tall, blonde, green-eyed beauty whispered as she clutched at Warrick's arm. "Would you like to dance?"
"Okay," Warrick agreed. He was going to say something to Jerry, but his friend was already out of sight.
Brown found an opening on the floor and began to move to the music. As he was working his hips, another lady took up a position behind him and began grinding her crotch against his thigh. Warrick was down with that and kept the beat and the moves going smooth.
The lights were flashing now and the blonde began to unbutton Warrick's shirt. "Look at that stomach," she moaned. "Oh, you can fuck all night, can't you?"
"I can try," Brown answered.
"Have you ever done a three-way?" the woman behind him asked.
Warrick had a look. She was Asian, flawless, and sexy. Her black hair reached past her ass. Brown could see his hand buried in all of that silky hair and hanging on. "Yes, I have," he admitted. Both women moaned appreciatively. Well alright then.
The floor lights went out, the music level dropped slightly, and the colored lights danced around one cage.
"Bachelor number one is 5' 9", 155 pounds, 7 inches cut, black haired, brown eyed, and can say no in three languages but doesn't like to," the announcer declared. The lights focused on the cage and a masked Nick Stokes look-alike was illuminated. The women screamed.
Brown shuddered. He was standing in the dark as the music pounded around him and the two women unzipped his fly, pulled his cock out of his pants, and began sucking him.
"Nick," he moaned as he watched this dark-haired, white bad boy dance. If humping the cage -- shirtless, pants-less, with his tighty whities stretched to the limit over his plump, spankable ass -- could be called dancing. "Oh shit!" Warrick moaned.
It was a porn movie up there and around him. Two mouths became three and maybe four. One of the mouths had a mustache and Van Dyke. Someone began licking his ass. Warrick let them do it so he could moan as he watched the man who could be Nick move his body around.
The man became Nick in Brown's mind and he was trying to get Warrick to grab and give him the fucking that was the only answer to that kind of invitation. Jesus.
"The lights are coming back up, ladies," the announcer warned. "Please thank bachelor number one for his enthusiastic performance to a golden oldie -- Soft and Wet by Prince. Coming up is bachelor number two."
Warrick got his pants pulled back up and his cock stuffed back inside before he could have been nabbed for indecent exposure. Some of the other patrons were not so lucky. Two were so tangled in their stripped down pants that they'd ended up on the dance floor. One guy was begging for his pants back from two taunting women. Craziness. Security, both very large and serious women, finally returned the garment to him, but not before getting the guy's phone number.
The man with the Van Dyke -- cute, slender, tanned, brown hair, gray eyes, but no Nick Stokes -- licked his lips at Brown and stayed close as the next dancer's stats were read. Again, no Nick Stokes.
His pager went off and the simple sentence -- 419 3rd & Russet -- told Warrick all he needed to know. So much for a night off. Brown tried to make it off the dance floor, but he was surrounded. Finally he had to run for it. "Sorry, ladies, I have to go to work."
He'd arrived with his friend. Unfortunately his gear was in his own truck, and his truck was at home. Damn.
"Leaving?" Duke asked. "We need more men."
"I have to get to a crime scene. Can you hail me a cab?" Warrick inquired.
"You're a cop?" Duke asked after blowing his whistle.
"Criminalist," Warrick corrected.
"Really? I nearly got beaned by one of your guys last month," Duke reported. "He was throwing dummies out of the back of a pickup truck."
Brown shook his head. Grissom strikes again. "You're lucky. He made me eat bugs."
"That's disgusting," Duke replied as he screwed up his face.
[][][]=============[][][]=============[][][]
The scene didn't contain one dead body but six. It was a slaughter with two perps, one cop, and three innocent bystanders who couldn't hit the dirt fast enough. The cops caught the fleeing vehicle just outside the city limits and CSI was going to have to tie the car and its occupants to the scene even though the criminals had been followed from the shooting.
By the time the sun was fully up seven hours later, Warrick was riding back to HQ with Catherine at the wheel.
"Other than having to work on your day off, what's eating you, Rick?" she asked. Catherine was always direct. It was a trait Warrick normally appreciated.
"I let myself be talked into going to a club by a friend when I really only wanted to get some sleep. I kept telling myself I was tired of the hit and run life but there I stood in the one place guaranteed to have only hit and run women." Warrick rubbed his face and yawned.
"And?" she prompted.
"This club was about two-thirds women and they were pumped for action. I was lucky to get out of there with my clothes on my back," Brown reported.
"Maybe you ought to tell Nicky where this club is," Cat suggested. "The guy is still moping over whatshername."
"Debbie," Warrick supplied. "No way. If I nearly got stripped, Nicky would have ended up staked to the floor."
Catherine tittered. Catherine Willows did not titter in real life, which meant she was making fun of Warrick in her mind.
"Spill it," Warrick demanded. "Don't split your sides holding it in."
"Did you just suggest that you think Nick is better looking than you or more defenseless?" Catherine asked. Either answer was going to land him in hot water.
"He's cuter than I will ever be," Warrick answered, "and he's too polite for his own good. He wouldn't kick or punch his way out to escape. Then again, he might not want to escape." Brown tried to get more comfortable as the truck slowed to a crawl in the rush hour traffic. "That might be his fantasy death."
"Greg's maybe but not Nick's," Catherine corrected. She looked ahead at the unmoving traffic. "It's a wreck people, you've seen them before and if you have a television, you'll see it tonight. Idiots." She turned toward Brown. "Sorry, Rick, it looks like we're going to be creeping home. As I was saying, Nick wouldn't want to go down like that."
"Oh yeah. Nick is going to die a very old man surrounded by his great-great grandchildren," Warrick remembered. He leaned his seat back and slept until they arrived at the station.
It took him two hours to log all of their evidence and by then he was wide awake. A long shower had him refreshed enough to tackle traffic but only after he'd fed himself.
Nick caught up with him. "Going out for some food?" he asked.
"I'm about to pack some carbs and protein and I don't care who knows it," Warrick answered. "Come with?" he asked.
"Definitely," Nick agreed. "I'll drive," he offered. "I have the day off."
"Don't rub it in, Nick," Warrick warned. They had nothing else to say to each other until after they'd made it to the diner and placed their orders.
"Catherine said you thought I was cute," Nick suddenly announced. "How am I supposed to take that?"
"Do you have to take it at all?" Warrick asked. "And you're hearing it out of context."
"Context it for me," Nick insisted. He sipped his decaffeinated coffee.
"There was a club, it was full of charged women, and they nearly kept my clothes when I had to leave to come to work. I suggested that you, being cuter than I am, would have had a harder time escaping their attention." He'd stuck to the facts and had not volunteered more than he'd already given Catherine, who he was going to get.
"It's the cute part that bothers me," Nick explained.
"Because I said it?" Warrick asked.
"Because I'm over thirty and long past my cute years," Nick insisted.
Warrick gave his friend his best sad look as he attempted to put his long legs somewhere other than under other people's feet. He sighed. "If I promise not to call you cute again, will you let it go?"
"Okay," Nick agreed, giving Warrick one of his big smiles. A smile that big on Brown's face would make him look like the Joker. Those smiles fit perfectly on Stokes's face. "Where is this club?" he asked.
Brown shook his head. "Nick, the music is New Jack all the way, the crowd is nothing you'd want to wade into, and --"
"And I like to make my mind up about things like this on my own," Stokes finished stubbornly. His stubborn expression was kind of cute, too. It was alright for Warrick to think of his friend as being cute as long as he didn't say it.
"It's called The Whip and it's on Turner and Cross. Make out your will and invest in one of those tearaway jerseys," Warrick warned as their food arrived. He dug in, refusing to look Nick in the eyes.
"I can take care of myself, Rick," Nick informed him, his accent going thick on him. Stokes was the one who had started the trend of calling Warrick "Rick" and he made sure others had picked up on it. In retaliation, Warrick loved to call the other man "Nicky".
"Yes, you can," Brown agreed. The food tasted really good but it turned to stone in his stomach when Warrick made the mistake of looking at Nick. His friend looked frustrated. "What?"
"Warrick, you don't know what I'm into," Stokes informed him. "You have no idea at all."
"The Eagles, the Dallas Cowboys, acid-washed jeans, good steaks, Spanish guitar, Corona beer, barbeque, hard-boiled detective novels, birds, bird books, paintings of birds, the Audubon Society, and women who can play the 'little girl lost' card," Warrick ticked off. "I pay attention."
Nick looked surprised then smiled. "I guess you do," he admitted. "Ouch on the 'little girl lost' part though."
"If the white cowboy hat fits," Warrick muttered.
"What's Catherine into?" Nick asked.
Ah, the test. How observant was Warrick? Brown would play the game. "Lindsey, fast cars, bad boys though she'd deny it, rock and roll but old school, high fashion, calorie counting, nouveau cuisine, and high-tech spy novels."
Nick looked impressed. "Sara?"
"Work, work, work, micro brews, vegetarianism, long drives, work, men who like her mind, work, work, and, oh yeah, work," Warrick listed.
Nick snickered. "Greg?"
"I'll need to be asleep long before I could finish Greg's list. The man's mind never stops and he's a sensation junky." Warrick finished off his juice. He would have gotten another one but five bucks was way too much to pay for it. Damn, his plate was empty and he couldn't really remember eating it all. He checked Nick's plate for signs of unwanted food. No luck as it was empty too. "Looks like I need to get out of here. Can you give me a ride?"
"I brought you here, didn't I?" Nick reminded him. "You're not one of those guys who forgets who he came with?"
It was a good thing he'd finished eating or Warrick would have choked. Came with Nicky? That was going to dance in his head for a bit. "I always leave with the one who brought me to the dance."
[][][]=============[][][]=============[][][]
Nicky was down to his tighty whities and dancing on top of the bench in the locker room. "Come on, Warrick. Look at me, man. Don't you want to take me down?" He worked his hips as he pushed those stretched briefs down, down, down...
The alarm shattered the scene and Brown sat up so quickly he nearly went dizzy. "Fuck!" he cursed the empty room. "I'm too damn old for wet dreams," he informed his cock. Not that it would listen to him. Not that it had ever listened to him before.
Okay, he was going to have to treat this interest in Nick as if he were at a crime scene. He was going to have to become detached. After he jerked off in the shower.
The water pounded down his back trailed down his skin, and changed into fingers and a tongue wielded by a certain Texan. "Touch me, stroke me, and call my name," Warrick begged. "Tell me that you know me."
The imaginary fingers and tongues continued their dance down his back, across his shoulders, and over his belly until Brown decorated his palm with cum. He let the evidence wash down the drain.
"Okay, Warrick Brown, it's time for your game face," he told himself as he toweled down. "Put it on and keep it on."
It was good advice and would have worked better had Brown not walked into the dressing area to see Nick stepping into his coveralls. The smaller man's white briefs were stretched taut over his ass and then taken from view by the dark blue fabric of his coveralls.
"It's your day off, Nick, or did you forget?" Warrick teased. He always teased Nick. Nick always teased him. Brown needed to keep that going in order for his game face to stay in place.
"Sara sprained her ankle last night and Gris called me in," Nick explained. He turned around. "The scene was secured but the steps weren't. They collapsed underneath her," Stokes explained.
"They must have been really weak. Sara can barely touch 110 pounds," Warrick said worriedly.
"She fell right through and had to be pulled out," Nick reported. "She got treated and processed the scene before she left. Grissom said her ankle was purple and twice its normal size."
"Ow," Brown said sympathetically. "Do you want to go in for some flowers?"
"For Sara?" Nick asked, looking dubious. "Is Sara a flowers woman?"
Warrick touched the smaller man's shoulder and squeezed. "Nick, every woman is a flowers woman."
"Yes, we are," Sara agreed as she walk-clumped in on her crutches.
"What are you doing here?" Nick demanded. "You're supposed to be resting."
"They're spraying my apartment building today and I decided to come in and do lab work instead of suffocating." Sara lurched over to the bench and sat down. "Whew."
"You are not getting those flowers now," Nick informed her. He stalked off.
"What was that about?" Sara asked. She tossed her bag into her locker.
"It's his day off, Sara, and some people actually enjoy being away from work," Warrick explained patiently. Sara didn't get it. She rarely did. "I need to go get my assignments. Take it easy, Sara."
Warrick caught up with Nick and patted his friend on the back. He didn't have anything to say because he'd realized that he was sniffing the smaller man. Nick smelled like soap, clean skin, clean cotton, and something with a slightly musky and very appealing undertone.
"Warrick, take Nick with you to the Pulsar. DB in the men's bathroom," Grissom ordered.
Nick, ever competitive, snatched the paper before Warrick could get his hands on it. "I'll drive," he informed his friend before heading out.
Grissom arched an eyebrow, which was as good as jumping up and down for other people when expressing whatever emotion that had just made a fleeting appearance.
"It was his day off, you called him, and Sara hobbled in anyway," Brown explained. "He's pissed."
"Oh," Grissom responded. He seemed to struggle for something appropriate to say. It might have helped if Nick were actually there to hear it. "The case still needs to be worked."
"On it," Brown promised as he grabbed his kit and went out to the truck.
Nick was sitting behind the wheel and tapping it with his thumbs. "Are we going?" he asked testily.
"I'm not the one you're pissed at." Warrick climbed in the truck and placed his kit in the backseat. He clicked on his seatbelt. "Nicky, even if Grissom had guessed Sara would come in, she's not going to process too many scenes on crutches."
"Sara is probably lining up a powered wheelchair with all-terrain and stair climbing features." Nicky pulled out of the parking space.
Warrick smiled. "Let it go, Nicky. She has no family here, precious few friends who don't come with the building she hobbled to, and no outside interests that I've noticed. It must have been frightening for her to sit there with only her own thoughts for company."
Nicky gave him the evil eye at the stoplight. "You're pissing on my righteous anger, Rick," he warned.
"Sor-ry," Warrick said as he took out his notebook. He was going to make a shopping list, but couldn't get past the first item. Condoms. How many of the damn things did he buy?
"I was going to go to that club tonight," Nick announced.
Warrick sighed. He had a nice long speech to give but also decided to let it go. "You're a grown man, Nicky. It's not like you're my boyfriend or something. Have a good time, but if you come back bruised, it's on."
Something Brown had just said struck Nick as funny. Stokes was really laughing as they headed down the Strip. "It's on? You're ready to fight over bruises on my body?" he asked. "Are you going to go back to the club after dusting me for fingerprints and slap a few people around? Or will you throw down the glove and demand satisfaction?"
"If I were demanding satisfaction, Nick, I'd demand if from --" Brown shut up before Southern boy Nick kicked him out into the traffic and had to tell their boss that Warrick had jumped.
"From?" Nick prompted.
Warrick went back to his list. He added milk, orange juice, and baking soda to his list. Did he actually need baking soda? Of course not, but baking soda had nothing to do with holding Nick down and finding out if the former frat boy had learned how to kiss.
"Do you still think I'm cute?" Nick asked as he glided down their target street.
"No, Nick, I've moved on," Warrick informed his friend. "You are now officially ruggedly handsome. Your next level, should you decide to accept it, is suave and debonair. The debonair level is very expensive though and requires a hint of gray at your temples."
"Tuxedos?" Nick asked, getting into the fun.
"Morning, noon, and night," Brown replied. "The silk pajamas alone will snatch your next two paychecks right out of your hands." He waited for the truck to stop. "Let's go."
Warrick was able to stop thinking about Nick and concentrate on processing the evidence at the scene until Stokes gave him his theory of the death. A theory that both made Brown uncomfortable and perfect sense.
"I think he was servicing someone." Nick swabbed the man's mouth. "Semen," he declared. "Man, do you think he choked on it?"
Warrick prayed his voice stayed steady. "I wouldn't know." He took skin from underneath the victim's nails. "But the bruising around the eyes does point to asphyxiation."
"I hope he got off before he went," Nick said sincerely. It was a sentiment all men could appreciate.
Brown snapped the pictures. It didn't look like the guy had come and gone. There was no semen near his own penis.
When they'd finished the man was placed in a body bag and taken away. Brass was hovering in the doorway, waiting for them.
"I wish there were this many helpful people at my other scenes," the captain said. "Mister Olivetti was offering some oral attention to various men in celebration of his birthday."
"For the man who has everything?" Stokes asked.
Jim chuckled. "When you care to send the very best."
"Guys, the man is dead," Warrick felt inclined to remind his colleagues. "Maybe he should have stuck to blowing his candles."
Brass looked like he was going to lose it. "The, ah, eager participants are ready to give DNA."
Brown mechanically took swabs of the inside of each of the men's cheeks. He ignored the come-ons and concentrated on labeling each sample.
They headed back. Warrick automatically climbed into the passenger's seat and wrapped his arms around himself and tried to get warm. Not even Phantom Dancing Nearly-Naked Nick could bring him out of his mood.
Choking on someone's cock was not a pleasant way to die. Here he'd been imagining being all over Nick with his inexperienced hands and this guy, who must have known what he'd been doing, had died trying. It gave him cold shivers.
"Rick?" Nicky inquired. "Are you all right, man?"
"Just thinking," Warrick admitted. He sank back into his funk as they rolled along the Strip and headed back to HQ. Mostly he was thinking what an idiot he was to even dream about another man when he hadn't a clue what he was doing.
The silence made the return trip much shorter than their trek to the scene.
"It doesn't have to be like that, Warrick," Nick assured him. He reached over and gently squeezed Brown's thigh. "If you have someone who cares about you and has patience, it can be wonderful. Most men would be happy just to be able to look into your gorgeous eyes while you touched them." He paused as he parked the truck. "I would be."
Warrick sat in the truck for several minutes after Nick had left. He just couldn't wrap his mind around what Stokes had said to him. Nick would be happy to jack him off while looking into Brown's eyes? Is that what Nick had said or had Warrick imagined it? He went inside.
Al Robbins was looking down their vic's throat. "Lots of abrasions. He saw some rough action tonight."
"It was his birthday," Nick explained.
"I prefer a glass of champagne and a fine meal myself," Robbins responded dryly.
"He had that too," Warrick threw in.
"Whatever blows up your skirt," the coroner said. "I'll have to check the lungs, heart, stomach contents, and all. I'll let you know when I have something."
Warrick dropped his and Nick's swabs with Greg. The DNA tech was deep into his new Billie Holiday CDs that Brown had given him for his birthday. Warrick had found the younger man with tears in his eyes while he listened to the long-dead jazz singer's sad, mad voice sob to him through his headphones.
"Hey, man. I've got a bit of backlog going here," Greg reported. "It might be two hours before I start your group."
Warrick looked at the overflowing tray beside the tech. "I understand, Greg." He thought about asking the man about blowjobs since he knew Greg swung like a major league baseball player but that would only delay his DNA results.
"Are you okay?" Greg asked. "Was it a rough scene?"
"No place with a dead body in it is smooth, Greg," Warrick replied, then regretted his abruptness. The younger man didn't deserve it. "Sorry. It's just I was... thinking about something, a new thing for me, and I got spooked tonight." He sighed. "I'll get past it," Warrick assured his friend. "Thanks for asking about me. I appreciate it."
Greg looked a little confused. He glanced past Warrick toward the door. Nicky was standing there, leaning against the jam, with his hands thrust deeply into his pockets. The three men said nothing, which might have been a first.
Grissom took that moment to stop by. "How is it going, Greg?" he asked.
"Brown and Stokes have just stopped by to add to my many burdens," Sanders reported. "Now serving sample number 44465."
"Then we'd better let you get on with it," Grissom prompted. He tried the eyebrow thing again with the expected results. They all left Greg to Billie and his many samples.
They had photos to process and label. They had a scene to recreate digitally. They had work to do. So why couldn't Warrick stop looking at Nick when the other man's head was down?
"I meant what I said," Nick informed him without looking up.
"Which time?" Warrick asked, putting off the confrontation a little longer.
"Every time," Nick replied. He looked up and their eyes locked. "I'd appreciate it if you don't bolt at the end of shift." He gave Brown the grin. The 'you want to make me happy' grin.
Warrick had planned to run like Jesse Owens and Flo-Jo rolled into one. There was no way Nick could have caught him. "Okay," he agreed as he buckled helplessly before the grin.
"Good." Nick went back to the crime scene photos. "I think if we find only one man's skin under his nails that he scratched the last one."
"Are we going to ask those men to show us their asses?" Warrick inquired, dreading the answer.
"And groins and hips," Nick corrected, demonstrating the I'm taking it down my throat motions. Warrick's jaw actually fell into the basement. "I'll tell Brass." Nick walked out.
Warrick dropped his head into his hands. Men choking on cocks, ass and groin shots, and Nick promising he'd be happy with a hand job. Brown needed to wake up now.
. . . .
"I've never had a man as young and pretty as you ask me to drop my pants," the older man declared as he gripped the top of his trousers. They were Milan Espree, $600 a pair. "I'm flattered." He was old enough to be Warrick's father and he was all but licking his lips at Brown.
"Underwear, too," Warrick insisted as he raised his camera.
"I'm not wearing any," the man explained. He stepped out of his pants and presented himself half-masted to Warrick. "Should I stroke it too, pretty man?"
"No need," Brown promised. He focused in on the man's hips and snapped two photos from the front, one from each side, and two rear shots.
. . . .
"Why are all of these men hard?" Sara asked as she clumped around the evidence table.
"They're gay and Warrick and I are fine," Nick answered. "That's a quote if you're wondering."
Sara shrugged. "Well, you can't fault their taste," she insisted.
"Not at all," Nick agreed. "Warrick was their favorite, though."
"They just gave me empty sex promises, Nick," Warrick countered, falling into their easy teasing mode. "You're the one they wanted to buy things for."
"Like what?" Sara asked, grinning.
"A gentlemen never tells," Warrick answered. "Let's just say that Nick would have to rent garage space."
"I'm impressed, Nick," Sara said. "I'm lucky to get dinner."
"Are you guys pimping Nick again?" Greg asked, sounding exasperated. "I've matched the DNA of the skin under the nails to one of your cheek swabs and the semen sample from your victim's lungs."
Robbins had already informed them that Olivetti had aspirated.
"It's Benton," Sanders informed them.
Warrick pulled the photo toward him. The man was big, but not as big as Brown and he'd choked the man to death with his cock. Or more precisely, his cum. Jesus.
. . . .
"He told me he wanted me to really give it to him," Benton explained to Brass. "He told me to ram it in."
Jim tried to look sympathetic. It came off as bored. "Didn't you notice that he wasn't breathing?"
"I had my eyes closed," Benton answered.
Warrick would have wanted to see what was happening, but maybe that was just him.
"Couldn't you hear him struggling?" Stokes inquired. "Didn't you feel his nails gouging out the flesh of your butt?"
"It didn't hurt until later and I couldn't hear anything but me screaming," the suspect reported. He slumped in his chair. "Can we keep this quiet?"
"Mister Olivetti is dead, Sir," Brass reminded their suspect.
The man looked up with tears in his eyes. "My wife is going to kill me."
"That is a possibility," the captain agreed.
Benton began to sob.
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Warrick had a countdown going. In two minutes and four seconds he could leave with a clear conscience. He hadn't run; Nick had been late for whatever talk or smackdown he was planning. Brown could go home and start getting over his Nick fantasy. He could go back to the club and find a woman to fuck Nick out of his mind with. It was a plan.
One minute, twenty seconds and he was gone. It was cold, he was hungry, Nick was late, and Brown had at least six other excuses when Stokes turned the puppy dog eyes on him later and asked Warrick why he'd bolted. No, Nick would say "Why didn't you wait, Rick?" in just the way that made people melt.
Warrick could never pull that vocal pout thing off. Being cool had its price.
Forty seconds and counting. Brown pulled his keys out and waited to deploy them.
"Sorry," Nick muttered as he walked out with only ten seconds to spare. "Sometimes Greg is too interesting for his own good."
"I thought you'd blown me off," Warrick explained as he debated on whether or not to return his keys to his pocket.
Nick gave him a wicked grin that had Warrick contemplating his Jesse Owens/Flo-Jo routine. "I like the way you said that. I really do." He grabbed Brown's elbow. "Climb in my car."
"I was going to pick up a few things and head home," Warrick temporized. "I have a list." One which headlined unneeded baking soda.
Brown could get away but with Nick's firm grip on his arm, it might require much more force than a friend should ever use. Warrick had a little more than five inches and forty pounds on his friend and he was particularly aware of that as they went across the parking lot.
"Sorry, Warrick, you and I have got to talk," Stokes said firmly as he opened his car and held the door for his friend.
Warrick got in just as Greg strolled by with his cell phone plastered to the side of his face.
"Is this the voice of a man who has got playtime on his mind?" Sanders asked the person on the other end. "I know you're stirred up. You're always stirred up. Normally I appreciate that, Baby, but my ass is dragging. I am dealing with ten times the normal pull of gravity and it is centered on my ass." He paused. "You got what in the mail?" He gasped. "You're shitting me. Holy Jesus. Has the Jell-O set yet?" He growled. "Okay, Baby, call your girlfriend, tell her I'm coming right over, and don't start the party without me." Greg hopped into his convertible without opening the car door via a one-handed vault and sped away slinging gravel with his tires.
"I told you he was too interesting," Nick said as he closed the car door. He went around to the driver's side.
Warrick stared after Greg's Mustang and tried to guess what had come in the mail and why Jell-O was needed. Maybe he wasn't as sophisticated as he'd thought. "Jell-O?" he finally asked.
Stokes shook his head. "I'll never be able to eat it again."
"Did he tell you?" Warrick asked, his mind coming up with and discarding several scenarios for the use of Jell-O in an intimate situation.
"I'm sworn to secrecy," Nick answered. "But I will tell you this, you and I are too heavy to try it."
"You and Greg weigh the same, he's just a little taller than you," Warrick pointed out.
"Okay, you and I are too sensible to try it," Nick corrected.
Warrick had to let that one go. He looked out the window and saw that he was getting further and further away from a meal and his own bed. "Where are we going, Nick?"
"My place," Stokes responded. "I need the home court advantage for this conversation."
"Is there a teeny tiny chance you'll drop this?" Warrick asked hopefully.
"No way at all," Nick assured him. "We've been friends since the first day I walked through the door at CSI. You've been there for me no matter how bad I've screwed up and I'd like to think I've been there for you."
Warrick rubbed his forehead. "When we're not bickering like an old married couple."
Nick pulled into the curbside pickup spot for a family-style restaurant. A young and perky waitress rushed out to the truck with two large bags.
"Hi, Nick," she said, almost giggling. "Here's your order."
"Thank you, Megan." Nick handed her some money. "Keep the change."
"Thanks, Nick." The young woman sprinted away.
"Megan always waits on me," Nick explained. He placed the food in the floor of the backseat. "Now I don't have to cook."
"And I won't have to have my stomach pumped," Warrick countered.
"It would make a lousy first date," Nick mused.
Warrick's mind skidded to a halt. "A date?"
Nick took a breath and let it out slowly. "Warrick, you've been eating me up with your eyes. You've decided to put this new space between us that has never existed before. You sniffed me." Stokes pulled back onto the road. "Where I come from it's put up or shut up when you start sniffing people."
"Are we engaged or something?" Warrick asked. "It was only a sniff."
"It was a prolonged sniffing and you were holding onto the back of my coveralls while you were doing it," Stokes informed Brown. "I kept expecting you to pin me to a wall, peel down my clothes, and lick my skin."
Warrick froze or most of him did. His cock went sproing, his mind locked, and his head filled with images of him licking Nick like he was vanilla ice cream on a hot, hot day. "Jesus," he moaned.
"Exactly," Nick agreed. "That's why you're going to my place. We're going to eat breakfast and talk." Stokes reached over and buried his fingers in Warrick's hair. "I'm not letting you out of this."
Brown's hair was very thick and women seemed to immediately sense he did not like it played with. Tangles are nothing to laugh at when you've got a lot of hair. Nick was out of the loop on that front. He didn't just stick his fingers in there, the man was rooting around until he had actual scalp within his grasp. He massaged Warrick's head until there was a strong possibility that Brown might have found himself relaxing.
"I've dropped hints the size of boulders in front of you, Rick. Why do I suddenly have your attention?" Nick asked his question just as his strong hand was making Warrick all gooey on the inside. "Come on, Rick. Let me know what I was doing right."
On a good day, Warrick could give the Buddha lessons on keeping your mouth closed. Nick's hand moved down to Brown's neck and the massage continued until they were in front of Stokes's place.
"You'll tell me," Nick said firmly as he got out of the truck.
Warrick could have sat in the truck until his legs went numb, but his stomach got the word about food from his nose and made the rest of the body follow it. And if Nick happened to massage Brown's neck a bit more, it was all good.
Nick's place was very tidy, nicely decorated, and had the really heavy curtains you would expect someone who worked at night to own. Stokes tapped his answering machine.
"Nick, it's Brad. Thanks for getting me home safe, man. Damn, how much did I have to drink? Woo-hoo, did you see that blonde? I've got two pictures of her in my lap and no phone number. Shit! How much did I drink?" the man demanded. "Call me."
Stokes paused the machine and made a call. An answering machine picked up. "Brad, it's Nick. Just returning your call. No problem on pouring you into your bed. Bad news on the blonde front. She belonged to the brunette who was in my lap. You didn't want her anyway, man. She barely spoke English." Nick hung up, laughing. "Tourists," Stokes explained. "They just wanted some pictures taken with the locals." Nick put their food on plates and set them on the table.
Warrick found the bathroom, washed his hands, washed his face, and asked his reflection what the hell he thought he was doing.
"The food is going to be cold if you don't stop primping," Nick warned. "Trust me, you're pretty enough."
Pretty? Was Nick on crack?
Warrick pulled himself together and went back into the kitchen. Nick watched him so intently as he approached that Brown was waiting for the other man to hop to his feet and hold Warrick's chair for him. It didn't happen. Brown sat down.
"Eat up," Nick encouraged.
Warrick smiled when he saw so many of his favorite foods sitting before him. "This is very nice, Nicky. Especially with payday over a week away."
"You're worth it, Rick," Stokes insisted. He leaned closer, his dark eyes intent.
"So this is how you woo the ladies," Warrick noted. "A nice meal and your total attention."
"You don't need pointers from me, Rick." Nick slowly put his hand out and caressed Warrick's chin, letting his fingers outline Brown's lips. "You just need to tell me what happened. Is it a fluke, a concussion, or are you just in a mood to experiment?"
Warrick moved his head out of range of Nick's hand. He decided to eat, which gave him an excuse not to talk.
"I remember the first time I found myself looking at another man," Nick announced to the top of Warrick's head.
Brown was not going to look up. He couldn't make himself look into those eyes again. They would end his resolve and break him. "What happened?"
"A frat brother was crying in his beer and then on my shoulder. He swore he'd never be played by another man and then gave me a blowjob that nearly caught my hair on fire." Nick sighed. "I've worn it short ever since."
"Did he come back for another taste?" Warrick asked, still not looking in the other man's eyes.
"Again and again," Nick reported. "We went to this cabin, supposedly to fish, and never saw more water than the shower. I fucked him almost constantly. That's something you can do when you're nineteen."
Warrick laughed softly and dared to look into those dark brown eyes. "I wasn't getting anything at nineteen but taller."
Nick looked shocked. "Why not?"
"I was battling a bad case of ugly," Warrick reported. "We came to a draw when I turned twenty."
"You kicked its ass, Warrick," Nick assured him. "You're a gorgeous man."
Warrick decided to take the compliment. "Thanks."
"Are you ready to tell me what happened?" Nick asked. He touched Warrick's hand, gently rubbed it, and held on. "You can trust me, Rick. I told on myself, now it's your turn."
"I was at the club. The Whip." Warrick looked down at their hands and then lifted his gaze back up to Nicky's dark eyes. "The lights went out and they lit up this guy dancing in a cage. He looked just like you but he was masked."
Warrick placed his other hand on top of Nick's. "I couldn't take my eyes off of you. You couldn't dance but, damn, you could move. I wanted to touch you. I wanted to kiss you. Then the lights came back on and it wasn't you and I wasn't even sure it was me anymore."
Brown pulled Nick's hand closer and placed it over his heart. "Nick, I'm not like that, I didn't think you were like that, and it's haunted me ever since. I keep looking at you, I dream about you, and I don't know what I'm doing."
Nick pulled his hand back and refused to release Warrick's. "You're not going to choke me, Rick. When I get you into my bed, we'll go slow until we're both comfortable with what's happening."
Warrick must have missed something. Things like the 'I want you' followed by the 'Great, I want you to want me' part. "Aren't you jumping a little ahead?" he asked.
"Rick, we're two men. You don't want me to play coy and I'm not going to let you backslide at this moment," Nick stated. "We're guys and after all these years, we're both just going to lay it on the line. I've wanted you since the first day I saw you. You did not ping the Gaydar at all and I respected that. Now you're interested in me and I'm not interested in running you through some hoops to get me naked."
"Have you been taking lessons in directness from Catherine?" Warrick asked.
Nick cocked his head to the right and gave him a really big grin. "Come to my bedroom right now and I'll let you peel my clothes down and lick me anywhere you want."
Warrick's fork fell from his lax fingers. Nick pulled him to his feet and led him into the bedroom where the covers were already thrown back, candles waited to be lit, and condoms and lube sat smugly. Stokes pushed him back onto the bed.
"Rick, this is going to be so good," Nick promised. He unzipped his coverall. "Do you want to do this?"
Warrick reached up and pulled the garment away from the smaller man's broad, lightly freckled shoulders and revealed Nick's chest. He tweaked both nipples before revealing the rest of Stokes's body. "You're very well built."
"So is a Ford truck," Nick replied as he stood before Warrick in nothing but his briefs. He pulled Warrick's hands to him and placed them on his waistband. "Pull them off."
There was a slight bit of moisture at the waistband. Nick had been sweating or maybe he hadn't dried thoroughly after his shower. Warrick liked the feel of the other man's moist skin as it was revealed. The briefs hit the floor and Nick's cock almost hit Warrick in the mouth.
Warrick looked up, not sure what was expected of him or what he even dared try now that everything was out in the open. Or at least Nick was all out in the open. Nick kissed him and slowly pushed Warrick back onto the bed.
Nick covered Warrick completely as he stroked the larger man's sides. The kissing never stopped, it just grew more intense and desperate with each passing moment. "Yeah," Stokes groaned. "Yes."
Warrick helped the smaller man undress him. Not that Nick needed any help, Brown just couldn't stand the wait. He had to feel his own naked skin against Nick's almost hot to the touch body. "Let me," he said as he stroked the smooth muscled flesh of the other man. "You're handsome."
"I would have kicked you out of the bed if you'd called me cute," Nick warned.
"Can I..." Warrick didn't know how to ask. He felt he had to ask because he really didn't have carte blanche with the other man's body.
"I'm going to make this easy for you, Rick," Nick informed him, his voice calmer than it had a right to be. "You can do anything you want but bite something off."
Warrick tried two rather ragged breaths before he could move. He touched Nick's pecs, which were much larger than his and very firm. He kissed the nipples.
"You're doing fine, Rick," Nick promised, still sounding very calm. It was as if Warrick were on a ledge and Nick had been called to talk him back inside.
Warrick kissed Nick firmly, drawing it out until he felt they needed to do something new or lose their minds. Nick grabbed his wrists and held them up.
"Rick, I need you to listen to me now. You're about to experience something a little different. I need you to hold onto the headboard and not let go. If I know your hands are off that headboard, I will stop. I have no choice, Rick, you're a lot bigger than I'm used to taking and you're larger and stronger than I am." Stokes kissed Warrick's wrists and firmly placed his hands against the headboard. "Keep them there," he insisted.
Warrick's eyes rolled up into his head as Nick's mouth surrounded his cock. "Oh gawd," he moaned.
Nick was so, so good. He knew that a feathery touch would capture your attention as quickly as a strong grip and that sometimes a strong grip was all you needed. Brown crushed the headboard as he watched Nick's dark head move up and down on him. Jesus. Nick Stokes was sucking his cock.
The man played him, punked him out on the bed, and had him begging like a back alley bitch. Warrick was undone when Nick released his spent cock. He lay there whipped as Nick licked his lips.
"It's your turn now," Nick explained calmly.
"I don't think I'm physically able," Warrick admitted, thoroughly surprised his speech wasn't slurred.
"That's okay, Rick, you only have to be here for me," Nick assured him, his voice dropping soft and low like jazz played after midnight. "I've always wanted to lay naked with you and stare into those gorgeous eyes." Stokes moved up until he was almost nose-to-nose with Brown.
He lied. Nick didn't just want to look at Warrick, he wanted to kiss him and feel the larger man's hands on him. He made that plain enough to Brown as he moved against him.
Warrick gripped Nick's ass and squeezed it with one hand and took over stroking the smaller man's cock with the other. Nick had the kissing part thoroughly covered. Brown liked the feel of the other man's solid flesh under his hands and he really enjoyed the sensation of not holding back. He could maul Nick's ass and the other man loved it. Warrick Brown had always been an ass man.
Nick tugged Warrick's lower lip with his teeth and hissed as his cum shot into Brown's hand. "Woo," he said after releasing Warrick. "I could sleep now," he announced. Stokes popped open a tub of baby wipes and cleaned them both up. He took Warrick's hand and kissed each finger. "That's for the handjob."
"Jesus, Nick, no wonder the women lose their minds over you," Warrick complained. He felt his hand should have been hot after that sweetness from Nick.
"It's pot and kettle time, Rick," Nick said as he moved to Warrick's side. "Get some sleep."
Stokes must have been totally relaxed as he was asleep almost before he finished his sentence. Brown watched the ceiling for movement, counted showgirls instead of sheep, and finally achieved restfulness by taking Nick in his arms and cuddling the smaller man.
"I'm a little lost here, Nick. Do you mind if I hang on?" Warrick asked softly. Stokes didn't object.
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