Title: Who Was That Masked Man?
By: VicXntric
Pairing: Warrick/Nick PWP
Summary: It's a question Warrick didn't even know he wanted answered.
Rating: NC-17

This was not where Warrick expected to be for Mardi Gras.

He hadn't even intended to celebrate Mardi Gras.

But he never would have gone to the trouble of showing up if he hadn't wanted to, free pass or not.

The free pass came when he ran into Damien Sardona at a restaurant managed by another mutual friend. He hadn't seen Damien for several years, even though they had been fairly good buddies--and occasional fuck buddies--in college. Warrick graduated with a degree in science and Damien with one in business, so their paths rarely crossed after that. Damien had opened a new club that summer and Warrick had planned to go to the opening, but was prevented by a double homicide. Since then, Torq had become one of the hottest gay clubs in Vegas.

After grabbing a cup of coffee together, Damien had handed Warrick the free pass--the pass being an actual torq--and told him to drop by if he didn't have any other plans. Which really meant "if that's the way you're swinging right now."

Warrick hadn't swung any way for the last several months, not since breaking it off with his last girlfriend shortly after the Phelps' tragedy. It was a tragedy that he'd only managed to exacerbate with his actions, making him something of a pariah among many of his colleagues. Except Nick, who, whatever he thought about Warrick's screw-up, had been stalwart in his support through the IAB investigation.

The only downside to Nick's unswerving friendship was that it reminded Warrick of all those feelings he had for his best friend--feelings that he was usually pretty good at keeping under wraps.

No, Mardi Gras at Torq's was probably just what he needed--something completely different to take his mind off Nick. Not that hooking up with a guy--or two--was anything too out of the ordinary for him, but the whole costume deal was. The last time he'd dressed up in a costume was for Hallowe'en. When he was twelve.

Since he'd decided he was going to go, Warrick was determined to do it right. Fortunately, if there was one thing Las Vegas had plenty of, it was costume shops and since it wasn't Hallowe'en, Warrick pretty much had his pick of them.

He hadn't been too sure about the pharaoh costume, but had gamely tried it on when the clerk suggested it. Although he had no problem going shirtless, the white skirt--or kilt or whatever you wanted to call it--and subsequent bare legs did give him a moment's pause. However, the reactions of the clerks--one male and one female--had convinced him.

As it turned out, the knee-length kilt made his costume rather mundane compared to most of the other partygoers at Torq's, as the majority of costumes consisted of elaborately feathered masks and very little else. Warrick still received plenty of heated looks, though, and also cast several of his own as well. Almost immediately, he was drawn to the sea of skin on the dance floor. Not bothering with a drink or anything else, he let the pulsing beat propel him into motion. It didn't take long for him to be welcomed onto the tightly-packed floor, and a half-hour of gyrating amidst sleek, muscular bodies convinced him that this was definitely what he'd needed.

After another fifteen minutes, he finally left the dance floor to get a drink, catch his breath and spend a little more time enjoying the view. Heat was making his scalp sweat and itch under his headdress and mask, but that was a small price to pay and he wasn't about to remove them. Maybe if he hooked up with someone...then again, maybe not.

A couple more drinks, another half-hour on the dance floor, and Warrick finally had his field narrowed down somewhat. He leaned against one of the poser tables near the edge of the dance floor, sipped on his fourth Captain Comfort and tried to make a decision about whom to approach. There were about a half-dozen guys he would be happy to hook up with and meet in one of the back rooms, but no one he was willing to invite up to one of the smaller private rooms on the second floor.

Warrick had checked the website the day after meeting up with Damien and found out the gold torq also allowed him a free hour in one of the VIP rooms upstairs. The rooms were for those wanting more privacy than the back room afforded, but Warrick wasn't exactly looking for an intimate encounter, and doubted he'd be using his it.

He finally decided on a gorgeous, golden-skinned Tarzan he'd danced with a couple of times and who had been giving him the eye ever since, but before he could make his way over to the man's table, a figure near the bar caught his eye. Dressed nearly from head to toe, the man stood out like a sore thumb among the patrons, most of whom--like Warrick--were at the very least shirtless.

Warrick decided to get a better look, initially out of pure amusement, but as he moved closer, his amusement quickly changed to interest. Obviously going for "Zorro," the man was in black from his knee-high leather boots to his caballero hat. The shirt that set him apart from everyone else was long-sleeved, loose-fitting and barely unbuttoned past his chest, but the pants...Warrick didn't know what they were made of but they hugged the muscular thighs and showcased one hell of a fine ass.

Intrigued, Warrick abandoned thoughts of Tarzan or anyone else, and he quickly carved out a place close to Zorro at the bar and ordered another drink. Zorro glanced his way, but instead of holding eye-contact, ducked his head slightly. That movement, along with the hint of a smile, reminded Warrick of Nick Stokes and from that point on, no one else in the club existed for him. He didn't care that most of it was probably due to the buzz he had going and his own deluded fantasies--hell, wasn't that what costume balls were all about?

They didn't exchange a single word, only looks, and without breaking eye contact, Warrick tilted his head toward the dance floor. Zorro nodded and quickly finished his drink.

On the dance floor, he seemed a bit self-conscious, so Warrick moved closer and put his hands on the slim hips to encourage more movement. Zorro followed his lead and as they danced, Warrick began to think that maybe he'd found exactly what he needed to take his mind off Nick, at least for the night. Then Zorro flashed him a smile that made his heart stutter.

Maybe not.

Whether there was an actual resemblance between Zorro and Nick, whether the light and shadow were playing tricks on his eyes, or whether he was now seeing Nick everywhere, Warrick knew it was going to take a whole lost more than a single dance to take his mind off Nick Stokes.

He decided not to waste his time trying to accomplish the impossible.

If Zorro reminded him so much of Nick, then maybe this was his chance to finally get a taste of something he'd never have otherwise. With a little imagination, this could turn into a very good night.

The next song had a somewhat slower beat--not exactly a slow-dance song, but close enough--and Warrick took advantage of it, sliding an arm around the trim waist. It wasn't tight body contact, more to test for a reaction than anything else, but after a moment, strong arms came up to wrap around Warrick's neck as Zorro pressed fully against him.

By the end of that song, they were both so entranced by the rhythm they'd created for themselves that even when the music sped up again, they didn't. By the time the third song ended, they were grinding more than they were dancing, Warrick's hands were on that firm ass almost constantly, and Zorro had explored most of Warrick's pecs with his lips and tongue. They were so close that Warrick had physical proof of his partner's interest and knew the reverse also applied.

Although he wouldn't have minded another dance or two, there were other things that he wanted more, so Warrick disentangled himself and took a step back. He looked up to the balcony that overlooked the dance floor and led to the private rooms, not turning back until he was certain Zorro had followed his gaze.

Zorro opened his mouth to reply, and almost before he even realized he was doing it, Warrick pressed his fingers to the man's lips, stifling any words. Instinct told him that the last thing he wanted was to hear a voice not accented with a Texas drawl--that would only spoil the illusion he was so carefully crafting for himself. With his free hand, Warrick indicated the torq around his neck, hoping Zorro knew what it signified.

The shadows cast by his hat brim along with the mask meant that Warrick couldn't see Zorro's expression very well, but he felt the lips soften against his fingers. After another second, there were several soft nibbles on the pads of his fingers.

Warrick decided to take that as a yes.

Wrapping his arm around Zorro's waist again, he steered the shorter man toward the stairs. After only the briefest hesitation, Zorro preceded him up. Two very big bouncers were waiting on the landing, but when Warrick indicated his torq, they were allowed to pass. One of the bouncers checked a clipboard, then disappeared briefly.

"Room 3," he said when he returned, handing Warrick a large vinyl bag with beaded handles.

Despite his eagerness to get to the room, Warrick felt a frisson of curiosity about the bag's contents. Everyone in the club had received smaller bags with contents that ranged from the mundane--lavalieres in Mardi Gras colors and glow jewelry, to the expected--flavored condoms and a variety pack of lubes, to the original--penis-shaped lollipops and gummy cockrings. There was no telling what Damien and his people had arranged to put in the VIP bags.

Might even be a few fun things to use.

He could see what looked like a bottle of lube, but a mass of feathers obscured the rest of the contents and he wasn't going to waste any of their hour looking.

The room's interior was a pleasant surprise. It wasn't anything fancy, furnished with a bed, a sofa and a table, but looked clean and comfortable even though it would have undoubtedly been used several times by this point in the night. Incense--sandalwood, Warrick guessed--effectively masked any scent of stale sex.

Zorro was also surveying the room, toying with his sash and shirt collar as he looked around.

Warrick watched him for a moment to be certain that--yep, the guy was definitely fidgeting. Somehow that made Warrick feel better--he couldn't have said why, though. He used those few minutes while Zorro settled any nerves to take another look in the party bag, specifically at the bottle. As he'd expected, it was a high end lube. That was something they'd be needing--he hoped--so Warrick set the bag on the floor within easier reach of the bed and straightened just in time to see Zorro toss his hat toward the table with a flourish.

Zorro grinned when it landed neatly, then adjusted his black silk cowl as if to assure himself it was snugly in place.

Interesting. It looked as though Zorro wasn't planning on taking his mask off. That suited Warrick just fine. He stood still as Zorro approached and used the lappets on either side of Warrick's headdress to tug him down for a kiss.

Warrick knew he wasn't likely to get a better go ahead signal than that, and immediately went to work on the buttons of the black shirt. There was no way for Zorro to return that favor so as he sucked Warrick's tongue into his mouth, his fingers explored as much bared skin as they could reach.

Trailing his lips down to the hollow of Zorro's throat, Warrick sucked and bit at the tender skin. Part of him had still hoped that once he really got into it with this guy, he wouldn't keep thinking about Nick so much, but as he pressed his face against the smooth skin of Zorro's neck a scent filled his nostrils that seemed oddly out-of-place in the incense-laden room.

It wasn't any scent that Warrick could name, but one that reminded him of the hot desert wind. It was a scent that his mind always associated with a dark-eyed Texan.

That was when Warrick stopped trying. Stopped trying to pretend his attempt think about anyone other than Nick had been successful. Stopped trying to deny this particular obsession didn't exist. Stopped trying to maintain that cool persona that made people he would never long someone he couldn't have. Stopped trying to pretend he was interested in anything about the man he was about to have sex with except his resemblance to Nick Stokes.

He could feel guilty about all those things tomorrow.

Besides, it seemed as though Zorro was perfectly capable for getting his own pleasure out of the situation, just as Warrick was.

So instead, Warrick thought about Nick.

It was Nick whose clothing he stripped off as quickly as he could without actually tearing them.

It was Nick whose skin he devoured as though he were a starving man.

It was Nick whose hands and lips made the silent pact they'd established nearly impossible to maintain.

It was Nick who made him so crazy with need that he dumped the entire contents of the VIP bag on the floor in a frantic attempt to find the lube.

It was Nick who deftly rolled the condom over Warrick's straining erection and then willingly fell back onto the bed in response to a gentle shove.

It was Nick whose muscular legs he wrapped around his waist and it was Nick's beautifully tight body that permitted him entrance after the barest resistance.

In fact, Warrick did such a good job of convincing himself that when Zorro let out a long, breathless groan of release, it sounded painfully like he'd always imagined Nick would sound.

Afterwards, Warrick roused himself enough to get rid of the condom before climbing further onto the bed and sprawling out. Normally he managed to stay awake for at least a little while, and he attributed his extra exhaustion to the fact that he'd had a few more drinks that his norm and to the mind games he'd been playing on himself all evening. There had to be some time left in his hour, so Warrick closed his eyes, planning to just drift until his time was up.

Fortunately, Zorro got the hint immediately. Warrick listened to him walking back and forth in the room. To the far end of the room, probably to grab something to clean up with, then back a few steps--likely that's where his pants had fallen, one boot, his shirt, then the other boot--Warrick drowsily catalogued the sounds.

There were a series of smaller sounds Warrick couldn't identify, so reluctantly he opened his eyes. Zorro was setting the VIP bag on the bed, items sticking out of it haphazardly. Kind of a nice thing to do, picking up everything. Noticing Warrick's eyes were open, Zorro reached into the bag and pulled out a...pen? Warrick squinted slightly. Oh. A temporary tattoo marker.

Zorro uncapped the pen as if unsheathing a rapier, then bent over Warrick. Just over the armband that hid Warrick's real tattoo, he made three light slashes with the marker. Warrick couldn't help smirking. Cute. Nice touch.

Then, after planting one last soft kiss on the corner of Warrick's mouth, Zorro was gone.

Warrick waited a while longer, then got up and got dressed. He left the VIP bag behind--he wasn't particularly interested in any memories from the night except those he'd fabricated for himself.

He only stayed long enough to have another drink. He wasn't interested in hooking up with anyone else, and running into Zorro again at this point was definitely awkward. The shine was definitely gone from the evening--taking most of Warrick's good mood with it. He'd done exactly what he set out to do tonight, but he felt horribly unsatisfied.

He took a cab home and took a shower before falling into bed. He hadn't tried to scrub off the "Z" left by Zorro on his bicep, because when he looked at it from a certain angle, it could just as easily appear to be an "N."

He didn't want to think about how pathetic that made him.

Nick parked his Ranger and took a quick look around to make sure none of his co-workers were in the lot before checking the collar of his olive sweater in the rearview mirror. Fortunately, the weather was still cool enough that a turtleneck wasn't too out-of-place. He just hoped he didn't pull a case that forced him to change clothes, because there was no other shirt that would cover the marks on his neck. He sure as hell didn't want anyone seeing them--word would spread through the lab like wildfire.

It wasn't that he regretted them--he didn't. Nor did he regret the slight soreness in his ass. Both were reminders of a very enjoyable encounter. Not anything special, of course. It had been great--hell, fantastic--but it hadn't been special. How could it be when he didn't even know the guy's name?

But meaningful had not been what Nick was looking for when he decided to go out. Mostly it had just been about going out, because it had been too damn long since he'd been out. Not since that whole thing with Nigel Crane about ten months before.

Torq's was not the sort of club he normally went to--he preferred lower-key bars. It wasn't that he tried to keep his preference a secret--exactly--it just wasn't his style. When he'd read about the Mardi Gras party online, he had no intention of attending, thinking it would be the absolute worst thing for him and his lingering paranoia. The more he thought about it, however, the more the idea began to appeal.

Masks. No one would know who he was. Even if he hooked up with someone, they wouldn't know. If he didn't tell anyone his name, they would have no way of ever finding him again. No way to track his movements. No way to know his address. Or access his attic.

He kept changing his mind, almost up to the last minute, and wound up going in a costume that came as close as possible to regular clothing. Once he got there and saw some of the other costumes, he resigned himself to the fact that no one would likely be interested in a guy dressed from head to toe and settled for people-watching instead. It was good to be out again. Even better to be anonymous.

When a tall, dark Pharaoh actually showed some interest in him, Nick could hardly believe his luck. Although the addition of a half-mask to the royal headdress meant that Nick couldn't see much of the guy's face, what he could see--and he could see a fair amount--bore a striking resemblance to Nick's fantasy guy.

And if Nick's fantasy guy just happened to bear a striking resemblance to Warrick Brown, that was no one else's business.

Throughout their encounter, the Pharaoh had seemed conflicted. That, and the man's intensity had reminded Nick even more of Warrick. So much so that when it was all over, Nick had been tempted to stay, but he knew the guy didn't want that. Hell, the guy hadn't even wanted them to speak.

That had only made things more intense.

So afterwards, Nick had cleaned himself and got dressed. He did delay his exit long enough to pick up the contents of the VIP bag that were scattered on the floor near the bed. It was more habit that anything else, but the contents did amuse him. A bunny tail butt plug, edible body paint, a fan made of marabou feathers and...a temporary tattoo pen.

Nick looked at the Pharaoh as he sprawled on the bed, naked except for the headdress and mask, and just couldn't resist. Uncapping the pen, he made a quick "Z," Zorro-style. He chose a spot on the bicep as close to where Warrick's tattoo would be as he could, although a gold armband prevented him from marking the exact spot.

He couldn't resist one last kiss, either, and was rewarded by the full lips twitching into a smirk.

Really, he couldn't have asked for a better time if he'd scripted it.

Well, maybe there was one thing he would have changed.

Nick shook himself and took one last glance in the rear view mirror. He wasn't going to get anywhere always thinking about something he would never have. He was better off counting himself lucky that Warrick considered him one of his best friends.

Without one last tug at his collar, Nick got out of his truck and headed in to work.

* * *

Warrick stretched his arms over his head, trying to work out some of the kinks in his back. He'd spent the majority of his shift hunched over a sandtrap on the Eagle Crest Golf Course sifting through the sand for evidence. The rest of his shift was spent doing the same to pails of sand taken back to the lab. His back was now paying the price for it.

He was searching his locker for a clean shirt when he heard someone walk into the locker room. He glanced over his shoulder to see who it was.

Nick.

Even though it was the last thing he felt like doing, Warrick forced himself to smile in greeting. It wasn't easy, not when much of the talk in the lab all shift had centered around the crazy hot night Nick had supposedly had.

Warrick had overheard Greg and Jacqui talking about it, although overheard probably wasn't the right term. It was difficult not to overhear when he was sitting at the breakroom table with them while they were cackling like fools about it.

Apparently Catherine--who had been on Nick's case lately about getting out more--suspected something while she and Nick were working a scene, so she and Jacqui ambushed him about it in the print lab. According to Jacqui, Nick admitted that yes, he'd hooked up with someone, but that was all they'd been able to get out of him. But, she added, he grinned like crazy when they teased him about it being some really hot fling.

Warrick knew as well as anyone else that Nick was not the sort to let that kind of rumor spread if it wasn't the truth. At the very least, Catherine and Jacqui would have got a "no, no, nothing like that" from him unless it actually had been a wild time. So although he didn't really want to, Warrick knew some teasing from him was called for. "I hear you had yourself a pretty good time last night."

Nick let out an embarrassed sounding laugh. "Yeah, I guess everyone heard by now. Kinda weird, considering I barely said anything about it."

"So where'd you go?" Warrick asked, some masochistic part of him wanting details.

"Oh...y'know...a club," Nick shrugged, opening his locker. "What about you? You mentioned going out."

Warrick merely grunted in reply.

"I guess that means you didn't get any."

Well, he couldn't just let that go. "Of course I did. When do I not, Stokes?"

"Doesn't look like it was that great."

Warrick laughed in spite of himself.

"What happened? Boyfriend walk in on you? Husband walk in on you?"

Warrick listened to the taunting with half an ear. He finally found a clean shirt, so he pulled his dirty one off and tossed it in the locker. He was just putting the clean one on when he realized Nick had suddenly fallen silent--mid-sentence, now that he thought about it. Looking over, he saw that Nick was staring at the "Z" still visible on his arm. Quickly, he pulled his shirt on. Hiding the evidence, his mind whispered.

"Was...that a new tattoo?" Nick asked carefully.

"Nah...not a real one."

"Where..." Nick cleared his throat. "Where did you go last night?"

"Why?" Warrick asked, closing his locker. He didn't want to talk about this anymore. Right now he just wanted to get the hell out of there.

"It was Mardi Gras."

Warrick froze.

"'Course, they don't make as big a deal about it here as in other places, but there are still some parties. Did you go to one?"

Slowly, Warrick turned to face the Texan. Nick's eyes were impossibly wide, and there was an expression in them Warrick couldn't identify.

"I did," Nick said.

"You went to a Mardi Gras party," Warrick said, surprised to find that he still had a voice.

"Yeah. Costume party."

No. No. No way. Things like that just did not happen. Nick wasn't even--"What did you dress up as?"

"Zorro."

Warrick's heart started beating double time. "I went to one, too."

"Yeah?" Nick asked as though this was an everyday conversation. "What did you go dressed as?"

"A pharaoh." Warrick replied and saw Nick swallow hard.

"Hey, guys," Sara said cheerfully. "You gonna join us at the diner for breakfast?"

"I've got other plans," Warrick said, never taking his eyes from Nick's.

"Same here," Nick said, staring intently at Warrick. "Some other time."

"Oh-kay..." Sara seemed to sense something going on. "See you later."

Nick moved several steps closer. "Do you still have the VIP party bag?"

"Left it at the club," Warrick said, glad he could speak in spite of the fact his mouth had suddenly gone dry.

"Too bad," Nick smiled. "I thought we could try some of the other things in there."

How had he not recognized that smile last night? Warrick returned it with one of his own. "We can improvise."

End