niceandfluffy2: (gilnick)
[personal profile] niceandfluffy2

“Strip everything,” Gil ordered, allowing the familiar power to settle back within him, turning the order from something unusual to something near natural. And that was one of the aspects of it, he realised as he watched Warrick’s hands reluctantly begin to unfasten buttons, the ability to make a performance as natural as breathing. Making the fantasy a reality that they could all believe in, just for a moment.

Warrick’s hands were moving apparently of their own accord, a scowl flickering over his features before he replaced it with a casual, ‘I meant to do that’ expression as his jeans hit the floor with the solid thud of a pocket full of change. Gil glanced to one side as Nick slowly approached them, the bar held in one hand and a look of extreme suspicion in his dark eyes as the man clearly struggled to work out what was going on.

“Nick,” Gil turned his attention fully to him, which made the man in question suddenly skid to a halt. “Put it across the door space, no more than a few inches higher than Warrick’s head. Make sure it’s solid, please.”

Nick’s eyes flickered to Warrick again, before he gave a nod and vanished once more to his task. Greg fidgeted, which was genuinely quite impressive while on his knees.

“What can I do?”

“Remain where you are and be quiet. I have plenty for you to do in a minute, Greg,” Gil replied with gentle reproach. “Be patient.”

“Yessir,” Bright eyes shone in nervous excitement, Greg fighting to remain still. Gil sighed softly, and then glanced at him thoughtfully. You could fight against a man’s nature, but sometimes you were destined to lose. Greg’s incessant bounciness might well be a force of nature that could defeat even Gil Grissom’s hardest stare.

“Very well. Go to the black bag and select one of the crops,” he said, with a little inward shrug. “Your choice.”

Greg’s delight in finding a task suddenly crashed into his hesitation over the assignment itself, his eyes turning from Gil to Warrick in slight shock. Gil kept the smile to himself as he watched Greg’s indecision battle his excitement; it was one thing to be part of it, quite another to actually make the decision on what would strike his friend. But then again, this was a task that was adequately suited to Greg, whose voracious appetite for literature on a whole range of sexual subjects was well known. Gil still remembered the time when the porn hadn’t quite been filed in the right area, and Grissom had struggled to fish the offending piece of erotic literature out of the DNA report before Ecklie turned around.

“Yessir,” Greg’s head bobbed nervously, before the youngster slinked toward the bag. The corner of Warrick’s mouth twitched upward in amusement, although the coolness hadn’t quite left his eyes. It was a gamble, they both knew that, a gamble that relied on Greg’s actual knowledge rather than some of the myths that the porn business had offered to the general public. Gil was confident in any and all tools in his possession – he wouldn’t be safe otherwise – but there were some that seemed milder than others which he had been saving for a rainy day.

“It’s done,” Nick’s rich Texan drawl sounded from the doorframe. “Sir.”

The sir was added on as a last minute addition, a fact that Gil filed away for later review. Where Greg offered his salute to authority almost automatically, despite his cheeky nature that rarely altered regardless of who he was speaking to, Nick was a completely different man. For him, the label of ‘sir’ seemed to be purely decorative, his attentiveness and obedience showing through his mannerisms and movement instead. It was interesting, very interesting, and definitely something Gil needed to think about at a later date.

Gil lifted his head and returned his focus on Warrick curiously, waiting to see how the man would react. Would he simply go to the doorframe, wrap his hands – long fingered, wide, sensual, musician’s hands - around the cool bar to brace himself, or would he require bonds that would fasten around his wrists, guiding him into submission? Warrick’s head rose, a defiant stare looking back at him, then toward the bar as the man clearly went through the options in his own head.

“And why should I do what you say?” Warrick’s voice rumbled softly, a murmur between the two. Gil shrugged slightly, amused.

“Novelty?” he suggested, then smiled at him, a slow, winning smile that seemed to straighten Warrick’s shoulders and send that cautious look back into the other man’s eyes. Caution and excitement, of course, those burning, conflicting needs to both submit and fight, and god, Gil recognised it all. Without the danger, there would be no achievement in climbing the highest peak of the mountain; it would merely be an interesting view. Some, like Greg, seemed happy enough to take the path of least resistance, and Grissom could understand that viewpoint too; the time taken for fighting could easily be taken up by the sex itself, the anticipation turning into pleasure. And then there was the undecided Nick, so desperate to obey and yet something holding him back from surrendering, like an invisible barrier bouncing him back despite the man’s own wish to behave.

But for now, Gil was faced with Warrick and his irrevocable need to fight.

“You think you can get me over there?” Warrick purred softly, although the challenge was the banter of foreplay and Gil almost laughed aloud had he not been ready for it.

“Me? No. But I have some very eager assistants,” his eyebrow flickered upwards. “Sooner or later, Warrick, you’ll be over there.”

And he bet that Warrick would be there out of his own steam than needing his colleague’s touch. Gil moved closer, allowing his hands to return to the smooth, hot skin of Warrick’s chest and slowly sliding downwards, testing the firmness of Warrick’s stomach and over the plains of his body. Beautiful. The man had been crafted well, beauty and power with the sleek feline touch that turned Warrick from good looking to striking. Gil leaned closer, his cheek so close to Warrick’s tense neck and his breath in the man’s ear, intimately near as his hands continued to stroke across muscles that strained to remain still.

“Your hands above your head, clutching hold of that bar that Nicholas has taken such great care to ensure is perfectly stable?” Gil murmured softly. “Your breathing hard and fast, deep in your chest as you struggle to stay calm. My hands on your skin, smoothing over the warmth of your body, feeling the trembles work their way through your being until you-,”

“Okay,” Warrick gritted out. “Enough.”

Gil allowed himself a small, personal smile as his hand strayed lower to where Warrick’s painfully hard erection bobbed against his stomach, the tip smeared already with a pooled drop of pre-come that Gil smeared further over the sensitive head. Warrick hissed as though branded with a hot iron, his hips jerking backwards before he forced himself to stay still, and his hands clenching into fists as he struggled to keep his balance.

“I’m sorry, what?” Gil asked politely. There was a soft growl that seemed to vibrate through Warrick’s very being, the man trying to pull away and yet failing to do so. And yet no further words turned up. Gil wasn’t surprised. The right type of surrender didn’t need words. It never did.

When the man finally gave in, it was with the usual grace that Gil had come to expect from him. Warrick didn’t push past him, but neither did he wait for life to come to him, stepping backward to gain space before giving Gil a steady glare and heading toward the doorway. Gil allowed himself a moment or two of delicious anticipation before turning to follow, his eyes immediately drawn to the sculptural form of Warrick’s spine leading to two rounded, firm buttocks that flexed enticingly each time he moved.

Nick stepped back from the doorway as Warrick came closer, his eyes still watchful as he did so. Gil waited until Warrick had come to a stop before speaking again, raising his voice louder to confirm to the other two men that they were supposed to listen and respond to his orders if they were aimed at them.

“Warrick, grip the bar with your hands, one each end. Spread your legs.” Gil instructed, and felt his heartbeat set up residence in his groin as the strong man paused, then followed the order with a reluctance that made it that much more erotically charged. “Greg, have you found something yet?”

“Almost, sir,” came the response from the rear.

“Almost isn’t good enough.”

“Sorry.” There was another little movement, the rustle and clunk of someone digging through items, and then Greg approached him with the careful pace of someone who was trying not to draw attention to themselves. Gil held out his hand and felt something solid land in it, the leather smooth and cool to the touch in his overheated palm. He glanced down, then at Greg thoughtfully. A slim paddle with studs inset, a handy little thing that tended to give a satisfying swish and a stinging blow without too much fear of damage. Not a bad choice. Not exactly a crop either. Greg looked back at him with the bright innocence that seemed to come to him naturally, regardless of the topic of conversation. His eyebrow flickered upwards, clearly searching for approval. Gil nodded slowly, testing it in his hand and feeling the familiarity creep back. Greg beamed, his body all but shivering with excitement as he waited.

Gil’s eyes turned to the other member of the group, who was still waiting silently for his own orders with an indecisive expression and the inability to actually meet Gil’s gaze head on. He was faintly reminded of a well trained dog trying not to look at a plate of chocolate chip cookies that had been left within muzzle reach, the pleading, ‘I’m being a good boy’ look without the demand.

“Nick. Check he’s as spread-eagled as much as he can be,” Gil requested, pleased to see that Nick was instantaneous in his response. He was also happy to go above and beyond what Gil had expected, Nick’s light hands running up Warrick’s arms to check he was firmly positioned before kneeling down to perform the same, feather light touch to Warrick’s leg’s. Gentle fingers ran over sensitive inner thigh skin, which was apparently a bit of a detour to the feet, and created a shudder of sensation to ripple upwards. Gil had no idea whether Nick had intentionally caused Warrick to react like that, but it was certainly something he could watch all day.

“He’s fine,” Nick reported as he eased himself up. “Sir.”

This time the sir was delayed simply from his eyes being drawn to the paddle that Gil was still handling. Nick had the type of look that held both dread and fascination, and Gil allowed him a few moments to gather himself before dragging the younger man’s attention back to him. Typically, Nick was swift to recover; he gave another little brisk nod before stepping back again instinctively, clearly not expecting to be needed.

And that, of course, was going to be a mistake on Nick’s part. Gil smiled at him and strolled closer, feeling a burst of pride as Nick’s breath drew inwards as fingers caressed over his skin and downwards. Responsive, so wonderfully so, just as all his boys were.

“I’ll need you soon,” Gil murmured. “Be ready.”

Eyes widened in surprise before Nick tensed his jaw as he gave a little nod. His eyes flickered over to Warrick before returning as cautiously as Nick allowed himself to be, and Gil could already see and understand the calculation behind the younger man’s eyes. This wasn’t a situation which Nick was familiar with, and there were so many possibilities that it was a matter of trust by Nick that he was agreeing to something he could do rather than something too intensive. Accepting the character he had decided upon, or at least the side of Nick’s personality that he wanted to embrace, even fleetingly.

Of course, Nick wasn’t the only one who had to get into role. Gil licked his lips and turned back to Warrick’s prone form, his hungry eyes feasting on the vulnerable man who stood before him. Gil hadn’t specified which way he wanted Warrick to face, either way being perfectly acceptable, although he was unsurprised that the other man had chosen to face away from him. Gil’s gaze ran down from the broad, powerful shoulders, across the lean form and lingered with pleasure on the tense, firm rise of the other man’s ass. Smooth, hard, blemish free and begging to be marked in so many ways that Gil had to contain himself from wanting them all. They had plenty of time to explore what limits Warrick could take. For now, he simply needed to find a level that gave Warrick the discipline he wanted without taking the younger pair’s nerves and tearing holes into it.

Saying that, a little anxiety was a wonderful thing too. The silence held the perfect backdrop for the sensations he was looking for. Gil prowled closer, smiling as Warrick’s hands instinctively tightened on the bar as he felt rather than heard him move. He allowed the silence to weave around them as he simply stopped and studied him; the way that Warrick’s hands clenched on the bar. The seductive way that his muscles moved, even when he was trying so hard to be still. The softest sounds of a quickening breath and the lightest of sheens across a tense body. And Warrick’s scent, clean but so obviously male that tickled Gil’s senses in a way he hadn’t quite anticipated.

Gil closed his eyes, breathing in the sensations, before slowly opening his eyes again determinedly. He allowed himself to think back on the day, each of the little infractions that Warrick had dared perform with the knowledge he was annoying Gil, and feeling the familiar prickle of irritation slowly form within him. It caressed his desire, plumping it up without forcing himself into anger, and the steady heartbeat of lust that was a little too present in his groin stepped up a pace.

Oh yes, Warrick’s ass needed to be marked. It begged for it. And it seemed impolite to ignore that.

“You don’t get to be rude,” Gil spoke finally, his voice breaking through the silence so suddenly that he saw Warrick’s shoulders tense and Greg almost jump in shock. “There are rules. There are guidelines. But above all there is respect, and sometimes I wonder whether you truly mean everything you say.”

“I-,” Warrick started, then stopped suddenly as the paddle landed on his rear with a solid slap that echoed into the room. Not hard, not yet, but then it wasn’t supposed to be.

“I didn’t give you permission to talk,” Gil reminded him softly. The softest growl accompanied that, Warrick’s hands clenching even tighter to the extent that his knuckles paled the skin. Gil smiled without humour, and added a little more weight to the strike; growling was still out, regardless of whether it was Nick or Warrick doing it, and Gil suspected he was likely to have to create a punishment for all of them simply to deal with that particular response.

He ran the smooth side of the paddle down Warrick’s back and along his inner thigh, watching the little tremble in interest. For all his fighting, Warrick was so wonderfully responsive, his body offering what his mind couldn’t bring itself to do, and Gil felt himself throb again at that thought. His back straightened, his eyes gleaming with a power that intensified the throb further as he pressed the metal studs against Warrick’s skin pointedly.

And yet apparently Warrick wanted even more, the knowledge of Gil’s tools merely increasing the other man’s need.

“Respect’s earned,” Warrick’s voice was strained, a touch of breathlessness flickering around the words already. Gil was momentarily incredulous at the sheer audacity, before allowing his eyes to narrow. A physical reaction was playing into Warrick’s hands, but there was pushing it and then there were suicidal tendencies, one that went well past the realm of a reminder. The next paddle blow landed sharply, the heavy slap of the paddle echoing in the room as Warrick’s soft grunt was forced through gritted teeth from the impact.

For a little while there was nothing but the solid sound of a paddle at work, Warrick’s head dipping lower as he struggled against making another noise. His bond-less hands didn’t move away from the bar, despite the man’s ability to escape whenever he felt like, and his knuckles whitened as he fought down the need to move, to squirm away, to actually make a noise. It was this aspect that Gil especially enjoyed; two people on the same team, working towards an end goal from radically different positions. He studied the strong, lean back in front of him, the gentle curve that joined waist to buttock, sweeping and so damned beautiful; the way that Warrick’s skin shivered at the impact, the faintest sheen of sweat on his skin that shone in the light. The shadows that caressed over the man’s form gave impact, and Gil had a moment’s regret that he couldn’t control the light levels even further, dimming it to smooth over Warrick’s form.

Or then perhaps he could. He hadn’t quite studied the lighting in the apartment, but he had two able assistants to perform such a task for him.

“Nick,” he spoke up after the last blow, giving Warrick a chance to recover as the panting man dipped his head. “Re-adjust the lighting.”

There was a distinct lack of answer. Gil frowned, then looked to one side where Nick was standing with an expression he wasn’t entirely sure he liked. It wasn’t horror or fear, far from it, but there was a nervous fascination that suggested that Nick’s feet were firmly rooted to the floor and any words that Gil spoke were mere background noise. And that, of course, was entirely unacceptable.

“Nick,” Gil’s voice sharpened. Dark eyes finally turned to him with the startled expression of someone who had just snapped out of a daze, before Nick bowed his head sheepishly. “Lights.”

Nick nodded, began to move, and then looked back uncertainly. “Brighter or darker?”

Gil simply looked at him. Nick flinched.

“Uh. Sir.” he added hastily. Gil studied him a little further, and then nodded. It was, after all, a fair question. If he had chosen the humiliation route he would almost certainly want brighter lights, illustrating to Warrick that he couldn’t hide away, that every single mark of the punishment was intended to be shown.

“Darker. Give me some shadows.” He waited until Nick had padded over to the wall switches, and then smiled as the experimentation on which lights needed to be dimmed or switched off entirely turned their apartment into a quick disco pad. Warrick’s head lifted, clearly watching the show, and Gil couldn’t resist another quick slap to drag the man’s attention back to him. It was no fun if they were expecting it; the anticipation simply enhanced everything, from senses to mental position. But Warrick was still pushing; his posture gaining strength and his hands curling and uncurling, caught by indecision.

Gil didn’t give him a chance. He had no real way to judge how strong Warrick required his punishment sessions, no history to be able to form a reasonable assessment, but everything he saw was of a man readjusting to a known situation and slowly regaining his confidence. Each little nudge, each little rebellion was Warrick’s own way to test Gil’s commitment. He was as much on show as his misbehaving boy was, but of course Warrick also had a different audience to consider and that audience was one that Gil couldn’t afford to be complacent with. Both Nick and Greg needed that knowledge of who held the whip, and Warrick’s need to be naughty could not undermine or confuse the seriousness of their social position.

The much harder blow on the sensitive rise of Warrick’s lower buttocks made the other man flinch forward, having been used to the slightly higher and gentler blows that had peppered the softness of Warrick’s ass. Gil didn’t allow him to readjust. Blow after blow rained down until Warrick’s soft grunts were audible, and yet Gil noted that the man’s position seemed more and more comfortable as he settled into the punishment. Gil smiled to himself privately and a little proudly over his boy’s abilities, adding a few more before stepping forward and running his hands over Warrick’s trembling, damp skin. A strange thought flashed through Gil’s mind, of one day bringing all three back to Heather’s for a reason that was entirely unofficial and no longer an act, but he pushed that to one side as he focused. He could not put the cart before the horse, after all. The balls of his fingers slid downwards, caressing the hot, bruised skin, before running further downwards to smooth over the sensitive, lightly furred skin of Warrick’s inner thigh. He could feel the quick breaths vibrate through Warrick’s body and felt himself harden even further, Gil’s imagination lingering on the thought of sampling the still proud man with a hungry need.

“That all you got?” Warrick grunted, as Gil stood close enough to break through their personal comfort levels, pressing a gentle kiss to Warrick’s shoulder and feeling the gentle flinch away.

“No.” Gil murmured, his fingers continuing their gentle torture. Warrick’s posture seemed to stiffen even further, the soft noises he was making confirming that the man’s jaw was rigid and Gil suspected that a murderous glare was being aimed forward as Warrick struggled to remain still. Gil’s smile widened slightly. Power, strength, bruising, possibly even breaks in the skin, all of these Warrick knew; his shields were formed through training and apparent past experience, allowing the man to ease into the discipline. Add the gentle touch and Gil could feel himself paddling in the waters of Warrick’s vulnerabilities, bypassing his shields for areas that neither of them had a map for and the resulting nervous tension that was illustrated in Warrick’s shoulders was intoxicating.

“I know you can go harder.” Warrick’s voice was gruff, a hidden plea hidden in the voice that Warrick always used whenever he was involved in a verbal fight he knew he would lose. Too many times Gil had heard that particular voice when Warrick was a youngster to the unit and had ended up in fights with Jim over methods. Brass had always made it clear that he personally preferred the easy going and generally obedient Nicky, not least down to the violent clashes that had occurred as Warrick refused to follow instructions. Apparently the experience of those battles were being used for a more inventive purpose.

“I can,” Gil confirmed, taking his time, his fingers still searching for sensitive spots.

“Then fucking well-,” Warrick cut off with a sharp cry, one of his first, as Gil swiftly put his full strength into a strike with the paddle. Panting, sagging after the pain of the sting had began to dissipate through his skin, Warrick growled softly as Gil returned to stand so very close to him.

“Don’t use that language to me, ever,” he allowed the strength to enter his voice, genuine disapproval laced firmly within in, and Gil could feel the tense shudder that travelled through Warrick’s body at that.

“’kay,” Warrick murmured back, which was probably as close to an apology as Gil was likely to get. Well, in normal circumstances, anyway. At this time, in this place, it just wasn’t good enough. Greg was cheeky enough not to need any examples of disobedience, and Nick was wavering between rebellion and his desire to behave.

“You’d need to do better than that,”

There was a soft huff of a laugh, but Warrick kept his mouth shut and his body tense, clearly expecting the physical punishment to follow. Gil smiled, and then stepped backwards, looking toward Greg who was looking at him eagerly. The youngest member stood up immediately at the tilted nod, his erection already hard and eager. All it took was the slightest indication with his eyes to get Greg beside him, the energy in him so strong that the boy almost vibrated where he stood.

“What would you like me to do, sir?” Greg whispered, his eyes sparkling and his voice low enough that it was obvious he knew he was supposed to keep quiet but was breaking that particular rule humbly enough that he hoped Gil would forget. Gil smiled slightly and caught Greg’s jaw in his hand, guiding the young man into a soft, gentle kiss. Greg froze, startled for a second before responding beautifully, just as Gil knew he would. For all Greg’s loudness and his energy and his enthusiasm, his kiss was tender, confident but willing to allow Gil to control it. He gave a little soft noise of pleasure in the back of his throat, almost a puppy whimper, and Greg’s soft brown eyes shone with unshielded delight.

Which was more than Nick’s were doing. Gil had gently broke the embrace with a fond smile, stroking down the softness of Greg’s cheek before turning to the last member of their group, only to be met by a harder, sulky, almost angry glare that made him blink in surprise. It didn’t last long, of course. As soon as Nick realised he had been spotted, his head was down again and a particularly meek expression had returned, meek enough that Gil completely distrusted it. Nick was more of an actor than he gave him credit for, and much more defiant than he was expecting. Jealousy? Perhaps. Unusual though, Nick always struck him as one of the few people who actually shared as a child, but then Nick did come from a large family; Gil had a sneaking suspicion that sharing was a forced situation rather than a particular choice.

Gil studied him for a little longer, increasing the anticipation as Nick tried his hardest to act like a man who had simply been waiting for instructions. He could almost see the tremble through the other man’s form, his eyes near closed and his legs slightly spread apart as though he was on some type of guard duty. Gil made a soft noise in his throat, and then looked back to the waiting form of Warrick. A hand gently pushed Greg forward.

“Make him comfortable.” Gil murmured. “Touch, tickle, feel free to experiment. Just don’t allow him to come, or move away from his position.”

“Yes, sir!” Greg almost tripped over himself in his hurry to obey. Gil watched for a moment in amusement as Warrick stiffened against the sudden touch on his body, his hands curling tighter as he struggled to obey, then moved to pass Greg one of his own vibrating toys. Greg glanced at the item for a moment in surprise, then took it and tested it against his own palm. The grin managed to get a little wider, as Gil knew it would do; the toy had been bought for intensity, and Warrick was likely to find his perfectly still, perfectly quiet plan a little harder to complete.

Poor Warrick. Life was always sneakier than people gave it credit for.

Gil watched Greg run the smooth line of the toy along Warrick’s tense, sensitive inner thigh, resulting in a little ‘hgh!’ of noise and Warrick’s head lifting in startled surprise, then smiled as the toy clearly dipped between the man’s legs to send sparks of sensation shooting through his nerves. Warrick’s hands curled tighter against the bar, hard enough that it looked like he was intending to snap it.

“You call this a punishment?” Warrick snarled back, but Gil knew it was the frantic snarl of one who had been caught on the hop. He had no real doubt that Warrick could take a vicious beating until bones snapped and body bled, and still be smiling cynically at the end of it, but that wasn’t satisfying either and would probably only serve to make the group nervous.

But Warrick was right, in his way. Punishments had more sting and less groans of pleasure, although Greg was finding his own evil delight in having his lover ‘tied up’ and under his mercy, illustrated neatly as the wand pressed against Warrick’s balls and along his perineum to cause an immediate tension that shot up the length of the taller man’s body as though Warrick had just been electrocuted. The wand flashed again and Warrick snarled outright, his head tipping back as the muscles in his back clenched. His buttocks were so hard and tight that they seemed almost rock hard, Warrick struggling against the gentle torture that Greg was applying with the desperation that had been so noticeable in its absence before.

“What’s the matter, Warrick? Can’t cope?” Gil purred softly as he strolled toward Nick. He rested his hand lightly on Nick’s shoulder, feeling the other man flinch in surprise against the warmth of his hand then began to settle as Gil’s hand smoothed further over firm, warm skin. The younger man sensibly kept his head down, although his gentle indrawn breath had been noted, as had his little full body shiver that was causing Nick problems when it came to standing. Gil’s fingertips traced over the delicate, pale skin, working their way to the nape of Nick’s neck where they began to gently caress and massage the area with small, firm little strokes. The effect was instantaneous on the younger man; Nick all but sank against him, his breathing stilled for a few seconds before the necessity for oxygen forced him to gulp for a little more air. His eyes had fluttered closed, hands curled into fists as Nick sank into almost a daze with each gentle stroke and caress performed by Gil’s fingers. One look downwards confirmed that the touch was doing more to Nick’s body than simply producing the hypnotic effect; the hardest, proudest erection bobbed against the flat muscle of Nick’s body as its owner struggled to remain on his feet.

In the meantime, the war of sensation was still violently raging.

“I can cope just fine,” Warrick spat back his answer to Gil’s question, his words meeting a verbal brick wall as Greg ‘zapped’ him further.

“Sir, if you get him on a chair and tie him down, I can get the soles of his feet…,” Greg suggested from the floor, a suggestion greeted by the sudden jerk of Warrick’s body at the sheer thought.

Don’t you fucking dare!” the words were said with the speed and intensity of one who had reacted instinctively, but that definitely wasn’t the point. Gil’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing in genuine annoyance. His hand slid swiftly from Nick’s neck, down his spine and to his bottom to give him a quick slap on the rear to wake him up from whatever dream he was in, before Gil stalked forward. Greg fell away to the side without instruction, his eyes wide and his posture nervous as he registered the exact irritation that was flowing through Grissom’s body.

“Let go of that bar and turn around,” Gil didn’t even recognise his own voice when it came out, and it was clear from Warrick’s cool eyes when he followed the instruction that he was uncertain himself. They were mere inches apart, the height difference paling into insignificance as Gil studied him with such intensity that Warrick nearly genuinely flinched.

“Let’s make this perfectly clear. You do not talk like that. You do not abuse your fellow boys. And you do not disrespect me. Do you understand?” his voice was sharp enough to etch glass, Gil staring unblinking at Warrick until it was clear that the other man was itching to step back if his pride would let him. The words kept coming, automatic, instinctual and burning their way through him. “And if you insist on behaving like a child, then I will treat you as a child.”

That decision had apparently flowed from Gil while bypassing much of his conscious mind, but he didn’t concern himself too much over that. Warrick might well have been reacting rather than purposefully being rude, and Gil knew somewhere in the back of his mind that Warrick’s instinctual response whenever he had been caught out and was feeling guilty was the little defiant eyebrow raise by a man who was unused to apologies, but that didn’t necessarily make it right. Certainly he doubted Warrick even knew what hit him as he was seized and yanked into the right position, surprise turning Warrick startlingly malleable as he found himself in a position that Gil knew damned well hadn’t been in the younger man’s plan.

A bare handed slap on already warmed buttocks held less pain than the paddle, restricted by the impact to the wielder’s hand, but what it lost in physical impact it made up for symbolically. Being across someone’s lap at the time was even better, or worse, depending on exactly where you were at the time. Gil had never actively considered properly spanking Warrick, not in the true sense, but everything seemed to work automatically as he used one of the dining chairs that had been conveniently close for the black bag and had to adjust the width of his legs to cope with Warrick’s not inconsiderable weight over his lap.

Warrick fought, of course, fought in a way that he never did when it came to his previous beating. Beatings were something else, almost a display of strength, a demonstration to the room what Warrick could take. This wasn’t anything near; it was a matter of discipline, nothing more, nothing less, and Warrick fought it like a cat fighting a bath. It took an arm across his back to keep him where Gil wanted him, the strikes on Warrick’s bare ass hard, exact, stinging – for Gil and for Warrick, but he was prepared to take that issue – and humiliating. He could feel Warrick’s cock pressed against his thighs, rock hard and needy despite its owner’s protests, and somewhere in the back of his mind he could feel the weight from the gaze of the two other members watching them.

Six slaps. Six relatively hard slaps, that caused a stinging pain to travel up Gil’s hand and into his arm, each one met with the same incredulous squirm and near yelp from Warrick. Yelp. The man was actually becoming vocal, no longer the growl from before, and that would have been well worth the time to consider if he didn’t have a lap full of panicked, aroused, frustrated CSI at the time. Finally Gil gave one last tap to the bottom, and then lifted the hand that had kept Warrick – just – where he was supposed to be.

Panting, slick from sweat and trembling, it took Warrick a few moments to realise he was free. Gil felt him move, not immediately getting up, and he could already imagine what was going through the man’s mind. This wasn’t anything that Warrick would have been used to, except possibly from whatever punishment his beloved grandmother had given him when he was young, and that was going to make the next few minutes an interesting situation regardless of where they were standing.

“Get up and on your knees,” Gil instructed, his voice low. There was another little pause, before Warrick slowly put the palms of his hands against the chair to brace himself and all but slid backward, a useful ‘dismount’ that naturally ended him up on his knees rather than deliberately having to do so.

Their eyes met finally. Gil hadn’t been sure what he would see; perhaps this had been a step too far, too early. Perhaps anger, perhaps frustration. Perhaps upset. Instead he was greeted with steady green eyes that narrowed suspiciously at him, a man struggling to work out what the hell had just happened. For a moment they merely waited like that, Gil on the chair, Warrick so very close in the kneeling position he hated, studying each other.

“If you think that was it,” Gil said softly. “you’re very wrong. You either accept my authority and accept my punishment, or you get out.”

Warrick’s features were immobile as though he had been carved from rock, although his eyes, ah, his eyes, they still burned with the passion that Warrick brought to everything he put his interest in. Gil raised his hand and gently stroked down Warrick’s chest, feeling the warm, slick skin under his touch and noting the quicker breaths that rippled through the other man’s body. Warrick remained stationary, his eyes narrowing slightly before they slowly closed, surrendering to Gil’s touch.

A smile touched Gil’s mouth, proud and pleased. It was as though a leopard had wandered up and began to rub its face on his leg, Warrick offering himself in his slow reduction of defiance.

“That’s better,” Gil murmured softly, then slowly and stiffly stood up. This punishment session might well get Warrick bruised and unable to sit down properly the next day, but by the way Gil’s groin currently felt, he was well on his way to a castration due to restrictive tight trousers himself. His balls felt heavy, tight against his body, beautiful and yet painful in its own right, and yet he couldn’t allow himself to show any personal discomfort. He was in command here, from each look to what he allowed them to feel, and as Gil stood and looked expressionlessly towards the other two in the room there was nothing he would rather be.

“Greg,” he said softly, and yet the jump that Greg gave suggested that Gil had snapped at him. Uncertain eyes turned to him, accompanied by the little half smile that Greg always gave when he wasn’t entirely sure whether he was about to be praised, ignored or shouted at. “Find the lubrication. Make sure he’s properly prepared. More rather than less, please,”

Greg was moving almost before Grissom finished speaking, his eagerness and need to obey overriding the need to remain still. Gil smiled to himself and then looked at Nicky, who whose normally expressive dark eyes were suddenly unreadable and his shoulders squared as though he was expecting to be told off. Perhaps the man was thinking of his own indiscretions, Gil mused as he thought back to their locker room discussion, although Gil was certainly not going to pull the man up on a natural and healthy dose of doubt on one of his first ventures into this type of scene. That wasn’t, however, how Nick seemed to see it. For good or bad, Nick was clearly keen to put himself at the same level as Greg and Warrick, and that was likely to mean that the man was going to clash heavily with either correction or the embarrassment of Gil treating him differently.

Which one Gil preferred… well, he would have to think on that. For now, he had his hands full, he decided as he looked back to where Warrick had silently pushed himself forward without needing the instructions, more hands and knees than knees alone. It was a vulnerable position, Warrick’s legs spread and his ass lifted to allow Greg access as the muscles in his arms strained to keep him in the right position. But a position that could well be improved.

“Warrick, forehead to your arms,” Gil instructed, and there was a flash of fire that turned to him before Warrick sighed softly and obeyed; he folded his arms and lowered his head to rest on them, his chest all but pressed on the floor and his ass so perfectly raised and presented that it took all Gil’s determination not to want to enter him there and then. He moved slightly to be able to watch; the position had neatly allowed them to view right to Warrick’s very core, his spread legs neatly parting his buttocks to let them witness the tight, dusky pucker that led to his very most inner areas without any further manhandling on bruised flesh. Greg had smeared his fingers with enough lube that it was in danger of actually falling off due to height, smearing a large dollop to the centre of Warrick’s body in a brisk way that made Warrick’s head press a little harder on his arms as he adjusted to the sudden moist coolness that encountered hot body.

Greg’s finger wasn’t shy to introduce itself. After a cursory circle to smear the gel further, the digit slowly found its goal and cautiously began to press inside. Warrick’s shoulders tensed further but he didn’t make a noise, not even when Greg’s finger had reached the knuckle in a very snug caress before slowly beginning to withdraw again. Over and over the finger slid back and forth, picking up speed and altering the angle every so often as Warrick slowly relaxed into the sensation. A moment later and Greg had almost literally dumped another large dollop of lube with his free hand over Warrick’s ass, waiting for a moment before his finger began to smear it into the places that really needed it. Another finger joined the first, fucking him at first and then slowly beginning to twist and corkscrew inside him, stretching Warrick with a steady ease that suggested that little, innocent Greg was a damned fast learner in the time that the pair had been screwing.

Gil’s gaze moved on to Nick curiously, and was greeted by the same dazed, incredulous but clearly keen gaze. It was like watching a small child faced for the first time with a toy store, not quite believing what he was seeing but knowing if it was an illusion it was a damned fine one. Nick seemed oblivious of his own audience, his tongue running over his bottom lip before he swallowed through a dry throat, his body tense and eager and his erection harder than ever. Finally he was aware of Gil’s gaze, Nick’s eyes snapping to him guiltily before the man flushed in the charming, innocent way that Nick had and tried to go back to his official duty pose. It failed, badly.

It took no time at all to cross the space between them, and now Gil could hear the soft little pants for breath that Nick gave, see the slightest of trembles that ran across his body, and smell the faintest musky scent of an excited male. Nick raised his chin determinedly, his eyes fixed ahead as Gil slowly stepped behind him, running his hand across surprisingly slim but muscular shoulders and down one of the powerful arms as he leant closer to Nick’s ear.

“Is that what you want, Nicky?” he murmured softly, Gil’s eyes turning to watch Greg’s fingers slowly and easily slid into the darker flesh of Warrick’s body. “Such an intimate touch, isn’t it? Gentle, forgiving, the moisture of the lubrication merely adding to the sensation. And then that first invasion, and you’ll tighten instinctively against it, even if your body screams for its touch and power, because your body knows its vulnerability. But you want to feel that intrusion, don’t you, Nicky? Being claimed in a way that no one else would know just to look at you, those secret areas..,”

He could feel Nick’s breath quicken, the tremble increase, and yet Nick didn’t move or look around, his eyes still fixed on Warrick in front of them. Gil allowed his fingers to slowly trail down smooth, pale skin, revelling in the little shudder and gasp that Nick gave. Gil leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to his boy’s shoulder, tasting the salt and Nick’s particular flavour as the younger man shuddered against him again.

“Please,” The whisper was quiet enough that for a moment Gil thought he had imagined it. He raised his head curiously, studying Nick who had still not turned away from Warrick and Greg in front of him. Gil brushed his fingers along the back of the other man’s neck gently, then pressed a kiss to the same area.

“Please yes, or please no?” he murmured back, although there was no question from the way that Nick was standing that there was any negative in his response. Nick lifted his head again determinedly, his eyes still fixed straight ahead as though he would die if he looked around.

“Yes.” The word was a mere gasp. Gil smiled, and pressed his mouth to Nick’s neck again, allowing his hand to follow down the line of Nick’s back and down onto the round, perfect rise of the man’s bottom. Grissom nuzzled Nick’s ear, his tongue gently licking at the lobe and feeling the man shudder in response before turning his head to watch the pair in front of them again.

“Aren’t they beautiful, Nick?” he whispered. “The way that Greg’s fingers simply slid into him, past those defiant muscles that just battle to keep him out. Can you imagine what it’ll be like to take him? I can. Tight, hot, rigid after the first thrust but so willing to bend to me, to accept me deep within him until he’s gasping with need and sensation. Perhaps I’ll get Greg to suck him when I’m deep within that heat, allow Greg’s mouth to slide over the hardened length while I slowly increase the intensity.”

Nick didn’t quite whimper, but he didn’t quite stay quiet either. Nor did he stay still. Gil could feel him slowly press back against him, the warmth and power of Nick’s gym toned body nudging against an already uncomfortable erection, and Gil gently raked his nails down Nick’s buttock to remind him that he could only move when Gil allowed him to.

“Please,” Nick whispered again. “I want to do something. I want to help. Don’t keep me out,”

“Keep you out?” Gil replied softly, his nails raking over sensitive skin again and feeling him shiver excitedly against him. “Is that what you’re feeling now, Nicky? That I’m not paying you enough attention?”

The soft whimper was an answer of sorts, Nick instinctively nudging against Gil again before he forced himself still. Gil chuckled softly, nuzzling his ear again.

“You have to be careful on what you desire, my boy. You might just find it’s more than you’re able to handle,”

“I can handle it,” Nick’s voice was rougher, although it was still only a few steps away from a whine.

“Mmm,” Gil replied, non-committally, and gained a growl in response. Nick shivered and then turned, taking Gil by surprise. Intense dark eyes were inches away from his own light ones, the determination solid in Nick’s eyes as he stared back at him with a clenched jaw. Incredulous, he felt Nick’s hand as it rested on Gil’s hip, fingers playing with the waistband as Nick stared defiantly back. Gil opened his mouth to comment that this certainly wasn’t a good example of obedience when he found himself captured in a hot, passionate and desperate kiss, Nick gently pushing him backwards as his mouth clashed with his own. For several moments, Gil couldn’t do anything but accept it, his fingers curling in Nick’s skin as he sank deeper into the kiss, their groins rubbing together as they jostled for dominance over the embrace.

The slap to Nick’s ass stopped it dead, Gil’s hand stinging once again as it deployed itself hard to the firm skin. The younger man pulled slightly away, defiance and slight guilt staring back at him in equal measures as Nick licked his lips.

“If you want a spanking, you can go into your room and wait for one,” Gil said steadily, refusing to break the gaze, his voice re-seizing the authority that had been taken aback by such brazenness. It was the disapproving look rather than the physical threat that really got Nick, of course, the one that turned the strong willed man into a little boy once again. Nick licked his lips again, and then looked down at the floor sheepishly.


“Are you?”

There was a little flicker in Nick’s eyes to suggest that the man probably wasn’t, but he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut. Gil sighed inwardly to himself. He had absolutely no doubt that his boys would behave themselves impeccably if they had external company. Now, when they were alone together, they were like siblings testing how far they could go with their parents, vying for position. He studied Nick a little longer, then smiled and stepped closer. His hand rested gently on Nick’s groin, feeling the younger man freeze automatically as his mind registered exactly what was happening; his breathing quickened, Nick struggling to remain silent and still as Gil’s hand slowly, idly, began to squeeze.

“Well?” Gil spoke again softly. There was the softest of gasps before Nick nodded shakily.


Gil mused that over, his hand still squeezing until he could feel Nick’s full body tremble, before finally releasing him. He leaned closer, feeling the heat from the nervous, painfully excited man and his mouth so near to Nick’s ear that each word resulted in warm air onto the other man’s skin.

“I’ll be back for you,” Gil promised. “And when I do, I’m going to fuck you so hard that you won’t be able to walk in a straight line for a good three and a half days.”

He allowed his hand to trace down Nick’s back, hearing the little ‘ngh’ noise of longing and feeling the electric spark ripple through him as Nick struggled to remain upright. His fingers brushed over the firm skin of the younger man’s rear, before giving him the gentlest of taps and turned to walk back to his main target for that day.

Greg was doing well. He had three fingers firmly inserted inside Warrick’s body and a calculating look on his face, the same one that Gil faintly recognised from the lab after a particularly unusual result had been churned from the printer. He had also been overly generous with the lube; Warrick’s flanks shone in the dimmed light, a trail of liquid trickling down his thighs from where Greg had clearly missed or become over enthusiastic on what he was stroking. Gil heard the softest gasp from Warrick as Greg twisted his fingers inside him while he applied the little vibrator between his lover’s legs at the same time and had to smile. Sneaky. Very sneaky.

It was also a beautiful sight indeed. Gil slipped out of his clothes, slowly unbuttoning the top of his shirt but leaving it on as he unfastened his belt and pants, toeing off his boots and pushing off the fabric. His underwear he primly stepped out of, resting the clothing on the table as he straightened and looked back at them. The shirt remained on his back, a little symbol of authority in its own right.

“Enough,” Gil said softly, and the word that had been intended to come across gently came across predatory instead, the lurking tiger in the reeds that moved forward on silken paws. Greg looked up, his eyes widening in brief surprise before he smiled and proudly eased his fingers from Warrick’s body. Gil watched as the tight muscles slowly released the invader in a delightfully obscene way, and fought the rising need that was beginning to ruin the majority of his thought processes. This was it, then, the first of many. Gil looked at Greg’s pleased expression, happiness shining at him from pride of a job well done, and gently placed his hand on the untamed hair in the gentlest of ruffles.

“Good boy,” he said softly, and felt Greg almost sag in contentment. Gil smiled at him fondly, before turning his attention back to the desperately needy man still on the floor. Warrick, it seemed, hadn’t been as successful at ignoring Greg’s ministrations as he had been for Gil’s punishment. A sheen of sweat covered his body, noticeable enough to make his body gleam, and the faintest of trembles worked its way through the man’s breathless body. His muscles were tense, clenched and waiting, strong enough to escape and yet surrendered for whatever Gil had decided.

There was no possible way he could refuse the offer that Warrick gave him, even if he wanted to. For all his knowledge, for all his logic, Gil was still human, and everyone had their limitations.

It seemed he wasn’t the only one. Lost in a sea of sensation, Warrick merely tensed and groaned softly as Gil crouched behind him and slowly rolled one finger in one of the little pools of lubrication that Greg had left all over him. His finger slicked, Gil slowly began to ease it into the hot, willing body, and found Warrick as loose and as keen as he had expected. Eased muscles allowed Gil’s digit to enter with barely an objection, the shudder that travelled down Warrick’s spine one of pleasure rather than tension. Slick, hot and ready.

Gil’s finger withdrew, his fingertips brushing against the darker bruises on Warrick’s skin before he pushed himself up yet again.

“Stand up,” it wasn’t an order, not technically, but there was no question he wouldn’t be obeyed. Warrick slowly pushed himself up, his muscles working so damned erotically that it was all Gil could do to simply stand there and drool, if drooling was a master approved thing to do. No, he had to be dignified and strong and all the other things that were so remarkably hard to achieve when his body felt the complete opposite of composed. Thankfully at this point words weren’t needed; dazed green eyes flickered to him and all Gil had to do was indicate the chair nearby with an eyebrow raise and the pursing of his lips. Warrick’s mouth twitched upwards in a smile before the man swaggered the short step to the chair and bent over with the smooth, gliding movement of an athlete, resting his hands on the seat and gripping the edge. Gil walked closer, running his nails over Warrick’s skin and then his hand darting between his legs, feeling how hard he was and feeling the heat that tore through him with each little touch.

No one owned Warrick, not really, but then there were always instances where you could take out a loan.

The first thrust.. no, Gil didn’t know quite how to describe the first thrust. Tight, of course, even with Greg’s ministrations and Warrick’s desire. Compelling, as heat surrounded him; a strange mix of softness and power as his boy gripped him instinctively. Dangerous, as his fingers tightened on Warrick’s hips to steady them both, his cock driving in smoothly and steadily and as deep as he could manage. Delicious, bursts of pure pleasure sparking through his nerves and his muscles to add to the building throbbing core at the very centre of him. And far too many other words to even calculate, let alone voice.

Gil widened his own legs, his hands tightening a little harder as he eased his painfully hard length into the dark body and stared down at the bare, gleaming back in front of him. Warrick’s spine curved enticingly, his head dipping for a moment as the younger man panted through the shock of penetration, his muscles proud as he strained to remain still. Gil could see himself slide further into the willing form of his lover, the way that he slowly breached the tight, stubborn muscle, and couldn’t resist a smile as he sank deeper. Perfect. So damned perfect.

The soft growl was all he needed to encourage him onward. Warrick wouldn’t risk speaking, not now, and Gil was conscious that the real punishment hadn’t been the pain but the embarrassment of the spanking in front of their colleagues. The only thing he could do now to reclaim a little dignity was to perform perfectly, and it would be impolite to decline such a request.

Gil’s hands tightened further as he began to move, slowly at first but faster and with growing power as Warrick’s muscles slowly began to yield to him. Each movement caused a shudder to travel through the younger man’s body in a way that suggested that penetration hadn’t been a significant part of Warrick’s day to day life for some time. Of course that limited show of weakness didn’t remain for long; little by little, it slowly changed from a shudder of response to a shudder of demand as the warrior in Warrick began to fight back, trying to regain a little of the control he had given up.

His nails dug tighter into dark skin as Gil worked, his eyes narrowed as though in thought and his soul focus on the way his body moved inside Warrick’s. Faultless. Smooth. After a little while he felt Warrick move against him, meeting each powerful thrust and demanding much more as they both sought their shared goal. Gil could hear and feel the grunts that were forced from Warrick’s throat each time he buried himself to the hilt within him, angry and yet innocent at the same time, and the need inside Gil built even further until it was all he could do not to snarl out himself. One hand found itself suddenly slapping Warrick on the hip, hard, fast and unexpected, and by the way Warrick’s head suddenly shot up and his body clenched, certainly noticeable.

Not that he cared. The blow wasn’t hard enough to leave a mark, not really, and Warrick immediately nudged back harder in invitation. Gil smirked to himself and stepped up the pace, ignoring the pain in his muscles from the position in order to drive harder into the beautifully willing boy in front of him. Warrick let out another groan, low, throaty and defenceless as Gil buried himself deeper, his hands curling on the chair and his legs widening just a touch to give him more stability. He could hear the soft noises from one of the others behind him, Greg perhaps, but Gil didn’t want to look around, didn’t want to do anything but focus on the intensity that was occurring directly in front of him. The others could wait, for the moment. Their time would come.

When the end came, it was surprisingly neat. Warrick’s ‘hgn-hgn-hgn’ breathing had risen with each thrust but then so had his thrusts backwards, forcing Gil deeper into him with such determination that Gil had been forced to slow down on more than one occasion to give the man a chance to recover. If Warrick had his way, he would be bruised and bloody by the end of the evening, and that just wasn’t something that Gil was ever going to be comfortable doing. Every man had his limits, and it took control to decide on his own and stick to them.

Or at least attempt to stick to them. Once he had realised his own thrusts were counter intuitive, Warrick had switched to a new form of passive aggression, this time clenching his internal muscles so tightly that Gil felt he was about to pass out from the sheer sensation that suddenly strangled his cock and refused to let go. Another hand slap to the hip resolved that immediate issue, the slap harder and faster and holding a hell of a lot more intention this time round, and Gil had a moment’s growled consideration whether six strikes of the palm had been enough. Apparently the one strangling hold was enough to make Warrick’s point, though; the dark head dipped once more and the clenching released slightly to hand Gil back little more freedom for his movements.

Of course this spelt the path to his destruction; each thrust grew with power and need, a bead of sweat slowly working its way down Gil’s brow as his focus grew narrower. His breathing had gone well past control, now simply a series of animalistic pants for air as he thrust deeper and harder, feeling Warrick tremble with each new force. Every little movement, every shiver and every breath added to the pleasure building inside him, over and over again until Gil was biting down on his own lip not to make a sound, not one goddamn sound until Warrick finally pulled the plug on Gil’s determination in a timed internal squeeze that held more than a little revenge.

There was little he could do to avoid it; balanced on the edge, he was given one last moment of clarity to take in the beauty of the man spread out in front of him, his dark, bruised ass raised and Gil’s heavy length so tightly buried within him that Grissom was almost wearing him, before even that was snatched away. His eyes fluttered closed and his breathing hitched as his body shuddered through the climax that tore through his form, the cry he so wanted to scream only sounding in his own head.

And even then, just as his body melted to goo and his brain went on strike, Gil knew it wasn’t over with Warrick. Oh no. Not by a long shot. Revenge might be best served cold, but it also went well with many little courses.

Life was good.


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