FIC: To Whom It May Concern (CSI Slash NC17) 13/? - Part A

[niceandfluffy2]

FIC: To Whom It May Concern (13/?)
Rating: NC17
Setting: CSI Vegas
Summary: When a tip off suggests that there may be murderous films being produced and distributed in Vegas, the male members of the CSI team try an undercover stunt to recover more evidence. However, their tenuous foray into the BDSM scene leads to unexpected and occasionally unwelcome discoveries within the group itself.

Please check tags for past chapters

Author's Note: Due to ridiculous size of chapter - it kept growing! - it's had to be chopped into two again. This chapter is un-beta'd, extreme and immense grovelling for any mistakes that have occurred. Equally, extreme and immense grovelling for the length of time between posting... in fact, I guess I'd better just stay on my knees for the foreseeable future! *shuffle*

*


Planning. A strategy, a method of gaining what you desire with the minimum of fuss and the maximum of return. Occasionally there wasn’t time for a plan, or resources limited the options, but that was never a good enough excuse to ignore it. And Brass had been busy, although not quite in the areas that Gil really approved of.

“Observation.” he said briskly, dumping a few folders on top of extra folders and looking at Gil expectantly. Gil’s eyebrow twitched upwards, ignoring the paperwork in order to survey the detective’s expression. This generated a weary sigh.

“And you can stop eyeballing me.” Brass objected. “We’ve got clearance for a surveillance op on your subject, but that was gained by the skin of our teeth. Hell, we don’t know who’s even turning up. Could be some pizza boy he’s paid off to make a little drop.”

Gil leaned back in his chair, his fingers caressing his pen as he pursed his lips.

“We have no-,”

“We have no evidence is what we’ve got, and all the elaborate conspiracy theories in the world is not going to change that.” Brass folded his arms. “I know you’re close to this one, Gil, but without something physical to persuade anyone outside the building that this isn’t some type of vendetta against this guy then we’re going to have to go with what we can get.”

The pen was caressed a little more. “Might I attend?”

“No. Nowhere near. I’m sticking my neck out for this, don’t make me regret it.” Brass eyed him back, then made a little soft noise of satisfaction as Gil dropped the immediate subject. “Anyway, we’ll keep you informed. Trace the vehicle, trace the guy, follow him back to the ‘base’ if there is one, yadda yadda yadda, and hope we get lucky. And I sincerely mean that, Gil. This goes bad, he thinks he’s getting fucked around, and we all might have a serious problem,”

Gil’s eyebrow lifted. “How so?”

“How so?” Brass echoed, and then laughed softly. “You don’t get to be successful in Vegas allowing others to start dictating what you do. I know that. You know that too, if your head’s currently in the correct screwed on position. And people who feel a little stood up have a tendency for revenge. A woman scorned, and so forth. Or a businessman scorned and feeling a little paranoid.”

“If he knows who I am, he knows my position is precarious too.” Gil replied softly. “Plans change. He has given me no chance to say whether it was good for me.”

“Yeah, fine, whatever. Just don’t go off by yourself tonight, okay? And that includes your merry band at that apartment.” Brass looked at him critically. “Everything working out okay there, incidentally? I saw Nicky Stokes today who was walking around in a weird daze, and Sanders was swaggering around like a cowboy who’d lost his horse. Has there been some sort of fight? Close quarters, brings out the caveman in everyone.”

“We’re fine.”

“Yeah, I couldn’t really see Greg as a caveman myself. Too skinny,” Brass thought it over, and then shrugged. “Anyway, tomorrow evening, do not go anywhere near Lady Heather’s for any reason, whether that reason be pizza, report, getting gas just up the road or any other excuse you happen to have up your sleeve. I’m getting the impression I’m going to have to explain our interesting use of resources for a wild goose chase later on, so I don’t want to have to add why you and your boys happened to turn up in the middle of surveillance.”

Gil sighed, but nodded. “Understood. We’ll be inside together for that period, Sara and Catherine are covering the night shift. I doubt whether we want any of us in a position where we can be easily located by an external body,”

“Good. Panic button’s installed in the kitchen if you need anyone,” Brass squinted at him, and then looked around the office with the critical look of one who didn’t quite like the wallpaper choice. “You got any more bleeding parcels or did they quit that?”

Gil opened his hands in a ‘unknown’ gesture. “I haven’t seen anything. Trace confirmed the organ was animal. No other threats or unusual activity has been recorded. It might simply be a coincidence.”

“Explain something to me. How do you absent-mindedly post a kidney to someone? Even coincidentally?” Brass paused, then sighed and held up a hand. “Yeah, don’t bother. We’ve both seen enough freaky stuff to know that’s pretty mild.”

“The current theory is ‘kids’.” Gil replied softly. “There were fingerprints on the letter, but it’s been through the system. There were too many to identify, and none which were obviously attached to the meat itself.”

“When I was a kid, we amused ourselves in other ways,” Brass remarked dryly, then sighed. “Okay. Keep me posted, and I’ll return the favour. And remember, don’t take chances,”

“Do I ever?”

“Yes. Only you wrap it up in a lot of words or a silent, meaningful look, and people start thinking you’ve actually thought things through,” Brass waggled a finger at him. “I know you, Gil, don’t start playing dumb on me.”

Gil cocked his head to one side and simply smiled at him, watching as the man rolled his eyes, muttered under his breath and finally left the office. Not that the smile remained for any real length of time past that point; the Blake case both irritated and attracted him, his attention having dug hooks into the investigation and refused to let go. Brass would do what he could, that was an unspoken acknowledgement, but still, it was hard to allow the case that was so vital to the team slip through their fingers to others who could never appreciate the extent of the complexities that surrounded it.

In that respect, it was almost a relief to focus on Warrick and his current behaviour. To a casual onlooker, it was a normal day. To the careful observer – mostly Catherine, and apparently Jim – there were a few noteworthy issues. Both Nick and Greg were being respectful, which was hardly a shock, but they were back to their affectionately polite manner and it was such a short, short distance between that and imagining them both naked and on their knees as they gave their reports. Granted, that was probably his own mind filling in the blanks there, but it was such a heart warming image that Gil didn’t really care.

But Warrick was proving true to his word. Every so often there were small little marks of disrespect, so tiny that even Sara overlooked them, but powerful enough for Gil to watch him thoughtfully. Lazily and arrogantly drawling out ‘Gil’ instead of the usual ‘Griss’ during a meeting, casually slipping the name in when Catherine was heated about something else and their attention was more on the evidence than each other. Leaving the room without actually being dismissed, and despite the fact that Gil had always maintained that none of them needed such formalities there was a shiver of something unexpected that tickled down his spine as he watched the broad back saunter down the corridor. And then there was the report that was five minutes later than Gil had requested, in front of Archie who was so focused on his video that he barely noticed Warrick’s arrival, but enough that Gil felt the smallest stab of frustrated, arousing irritability.

Yes, Warrick’s actions were expected and indeed providing everything that Gil had wanted to feel; the slightest of challenges to his authority, the need to bring Warrick back under line, to hear him drawl ‘yes sir’ in his rough, half asleep, utterly amused voice.

That Nick and Greg would both notice Warrick’s actions was unexpected; that they would both start reactingto them was simply incredible. Gil had watched in faint bemusement as they worked in a tag team, one casually attempting to engage Gil in something whilst the other either shot an unimpressed look at Warrick, or even, once, gave him a little kick on the ankle.

“Just been told by Nick to ‘behave and don’t make you upset’,” Warrick murmured in Gil’s ear as he passed by. “He seems all bent out of shape,”

“For who?” Gil queried idly, still uncertain of the pair’s motivation. Were they nervous for themselves, the group, Warrick or a number of other reasons known only to them? For Nick, hell, it could be out of pure manners. Warrick grinned at him.

“For you. It’s cute, man, real cute,”

And yes, it was. The concern was touching, and surprisingly beneficial to both Nick and Greg. Before, the pair had a rough plan but with no real idea on how to do it or how to get there; Warrick was providing them with a target, and they had both easily settled into treating him like a particularly erotic case. Their target was playing up to this new role, every so often an amused flash aiming itself at Grissom before Warrick went back to teasing them.

Of course, teasing could go too far. At the end of their shift, Gil paused outside the locker room to hear a lower pitched version of Nick’s soft Texan twang coming from within. He leaned a little closer to the open doorway, frowning as he watched Warrick lounge against the lockers with what was clearly an irate, bare chested Stokes immediately in front of him. Their shirts had been left on the bench, Warrick having failed to even get his clean clothes out of the locker before Nick had apparently pounced.

“Chill, bro,” Warrick drawled softly, his attention firmly fixed on the shorter man in front of him. “I know what I’m doing,”

“Yeah? Well, I ain’t so sure, man. You’ve been pushing it all day.” Nick didn’t quite hiss, but Gil suspected that was probably down to good Texan boys having hissing down as a bad thing to do. Manners were so drilled into Nick that Gil suspected that the man would come back from the afterlife simply to send through ‘thanks for coming’ notes to people attending his funeral. Warrick chuckled, eyes soft and affectionate.

“Y’don’t have to worry,”

“Yes, I do.” Nick took a little step closer, their bodies almost touching and with a look of sheer determination in his eyes. “I don’t want to see you or him hurt.”

That produced a weary sigh. “We’re not hurting anyone. Griss’ cool, he knows what’s up.”

“He’s the boss. How are we gonna do what we’re planning if you’re treating him like that?” Nick poked back. Warrick gave him a look, irritation finally starting to break through.

“Treating him like what? Hey, I respect the guy, and you know that and he knows that too. Stop getting your panties into a knot,” Warrick put his darker hand on Nick’s shoulder and gently but firmly pushed him back. Well, at least that was the plan, anyway. Nick might have been shorter, but he was muscular and surprisingly strong when he put his mind to it; he braced himself and fought back, refusing to budge until Gil could see the exasperation show in Warrick’s eyes.

“You gonna start behaving?” Nick challenged. Warrick gritted his teeth, and Gil could already see the man’s dislike of following direct instructions burn in his eyes. Orders given by Grissom were part of a deal. Orders given by Nick were something else, even if Warrick would have gladly followed them if the man had used his normal, soft, slightly apologetic voice.

“Hey man, if you want to start showing respect, start doing it yourself first,” Warrick replied irritably.

“Least I didn’t walk out of a meeting before he’d finished talking,” Nick bit back.

“Nah, you walked out of sex instead, and I bet I know which one he’s gonna find more irritating, yeah?” Warrick snarled automatically, his mind immediately honing in on a weakness before he could fully process the implications. Gil straightened, watching Nick as his mouth opened and sound failing to emerge, his eyes widening for a moment in shock and hurt before taking a step backwards. A sulky, sullen look entered into Warrick’s eyes, the look he always got whenever he regretted what he had done but pride refusing to let the man say it.

“That’s not the same,” Nick’s voice was as hard as he could make it, but it still wavered slightly at the end. Warrick closed his eyes briefly, and then tiredly looked back at him.

“Look, Nicky-,”

“Don’t. Just don’t.” Nick held up his hand, moving back again and hitting the edge of the bench with his calf. Warrick growled softly as he followed him, the light shining across his bared shoulders as he stared back determinedly.

“Just saying, you pay attention to what you’re doing, and I’ll sort myself out, ‘kay?”

“We’re supposed to be doing this as a group,” Nick spat back.

“And we are, we just don’t need to follow the same damn schedule-,” Warrick’s voice stopped dead, his head moving as he realised there was a shadow at the door. He relaxed again, chuckling roughly. “Man, Griss, you gotta stop lurking.”

The nervous look in Nick’s widened eyes as he stared at the doorway spoke strongly of what was flashing through his mind at the time. His mouth formed a sulky line before he moved back to his locker in a determined manner, apparently keen to pretend that the world at large was uneventful. Gil watched him shrug into a new shirt, and then raised an eyebrow.

“Problem?” he said softly.

“No.” Nick replied. “Sir.”

“Nicky’s getting himself worked up on your behalf,” Warrick commented.

“Mmmm. And that’s because he’s a good boy, whereas you…,” Gil’s eyebrow rose further. Warrick chuckled.

“Yeah, ain’t really got ‘good boy’ done well.” Warrick turned to slip his shirt over his shoulders, the words casually tossed across. “Guess we’ll need to work on that,”

“Oh, we will. Tonight.” Gil looked across at Nick, who was furiously occupied with buttons. He gently brushed his hand over the rise of the younger man’s bicep, causing such a leap that he wasn’t quite sure that he hadn’t given Nick a static shock at the same time. “Thank you.”

Surprised dark eyes turned to him, before Nick gave him a heart-meltingly sweet smile back and relaxed even further. His arm pressed a little closer against Gil’s hand, before Nick had to move to finish his shirt. Warrick rolled his eyes and finished dressing, shutting his locker and picking up his bag.

“Meet you at the car.” he gave a casual nod and then ruffled Nick’s hair as he passed, earning himself a dark look in return. Gil allowed himself a smirk, and waited until Warrick had turned the corner before taking the small steps to close the distance between them. Nick’s attention returned to him swiftly, showing obvious guilt that he had allowed himself to be distracted, although that particular look vanished as soon as Gil gently rested his hand on Nick’s bicep. What said look was replaced with, however, was another question; Nick looked both terrified and excited by the touch, unusual as it was at work, and it was clearly taking all the man’s willpower not to fidget.

“Thank you for your concerns,” Gil said softly. “I appreciate it,”

The guilty look re-emerged in Nick’s eyes, although the younger man fought to shield it with a stiff nod in response and his jaw tightening. Gil studied him a little longer, watching the flickers and emotions play out in the expressive dark eyes, before he decided to give the man a break. However, apparently his ‘boy’ wasn’t as keen to let the matter drop, as a little cough drew him back as Gil turned to leave. Curious, Gil studied Nick a little closer, watching as the younger man glanced cautiously at the door and then back at Gil with an intense, urgent look that Grissom couldn’t quite work out.

Nick licked his lips before speaking, his voice when it came soft and smothered in the honey-rich accent that made everything from cookery recipes to map directions take on a sexual, erotic angle. Wide, urgent eyes turned to him, the usual look that Nick reserved for any situation which didn’t possess an official angle for him to manipulate instead. Oh yes, Nick knew his talents, and applied them implicitly.

“Griss, about last night..,”

Ah. That. Gil gave a little nod, stopping the other man before he had a chance to get into full persuasion. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay.” Nick clearly wanted to snap it, his eyes flashing with emotion although his willpower managed to claw him back. Gil raised an eyebrow. Perhaps it was more than persuasion he was seeing; Nick did have a habit of finding something to beat himself over. Either way, having an emotionally unstable Stokes in the middle of the workplace wasn’t the best situation he had ever come across. Gil’s eyebrow lifted, a statement of both mild surprise and gentle warning.

“Isn’t that for me to decide?” he replied in the softest of murmurs. “We’ll tackle the why at a later date, considering our current location. But the where and when it turned up, we can forget.”

Ordinarily the eyebrow did wonders. His team knew how to read each little flicker, from anger to surprise to irritation, and few dared question it. However, Nick apparently was past that stage of acknowledgement, the volume of his speech the only recognition of the situation as dark eyes bored into him desperately.

“I can’t forget it,” Nick hissed back.

“Well, then. Try harder.” Gil smiled back at him in a small, gentle way that had been intended to give the younger man comfort. Instead it seemed to poke the other man’s agitation even further, Nick giving another little look at the doorway then edging forward as his voice dropped even lower.

“Can I make it up to you instead?” Desperate eyes scanned Gil’s, clearly looking for signs. That suggestion resulted in an automatic return of the eyebrow; forms of repayment weren’t exactly unheard of, but Nick seemed to be placing a much higher form of compensation than Gil was happy to accept.

“Well.. perhaps.” Gil replied finally, knowing that a straight out refusal was only likely to upset the man further. “But not here. And is this the reason why you’ve been hounding Warrick all day?”

“Me and him go way back, man. I know when he’s deliberately pushing things. He always used to wind me up in meetings without letting anyone else know what he was doing, and I’m not letting him do it to you too,” Nick replied, a little defensively. “I’m not ‘hounding’ him.”

Gil’s eyebrow rose further in a pointed manner.

“Okay, I might be hounding him a little,” Nick amended. “But it saves you a job, right?”

Grissom patted him on the arm again. It had been originally intended to be a supportive gesture, one that soothed the other man and suggested that Gil had accepted the somewhat weak excuse, but he hadn’t quite anticipated the little bolt of electricity that shot through his body at the barely there contact between them. A soft, almost dazed look entered Nick’s eyes before the younger man gave him a perfect, soft, little-boy smile back that was so shyly guilty that Gil felt a stab in his heart just at the image.

“I see. But I enjoy the job,” He tried to get a grip on himself, but Gil knew a little too well that his voice wasn’t half as stern as it should have been. It was stern enough, of course; Nick hated getting scolded when it wasn’t in the bedroom, and there was a brief blaze of sullen regret before his eyes widened as Gil’s hand found itself cupping Nick’s jaw gently. This was a surprise that they both shared, if Grissom was honest with himself, a touch that failed to uphold the authoritarian angle he had been attempting. On the other hand, now that it was there he also had no idea how he would let go.

Fortunately they had other people for that type of thing.

“Uh, guys?” Greg leaned into the room, looking from one to the other expectantly. “You remember you’re still at work, yes?”

It was enough to break the spell they had both found themselves caught by. Nick coughed in embarrassment and moved backward, slipping into his shirt and frantically began to button it as though their memories would be erased if he got each fastening into the hole within a set time. Gil watched the flush on Nick’s face for a moment, before straightening and giving a little nod toward Greg in acknowledgment and thanks. Greg relaxed a little further at the lack of drama, his usual happy casualness shining in his eyes like a dog expecting a walk in the very near future as he waited for them to become ready.

“So we got another night of staying in and being good, right?” he chatted casually as they walked back toward the car, Nick following along behind them in a manner that was near military.

“Basically,” Gil allowed. “And no, that doesn’t mean we can call out for pizza,”

“Really? Cause I found this great place that’s doing two for one offers all of tonight, and their sauce is to die for .. well, not literally, got a film I want to watch tonight as well and that’s a bastard to do if you’re dead.” Greg mused. “Well, probably, anyway. Who knows, perhaps there’s a whole heap of dead people really fucked off every time anyone switches off the television, ‘cause they can’t actually touch the remote.”

Warrick was waiting in the car by the time they got there, his eyes narrowed slightly as he watched the little merry band get in.

“You talking again, Greg?” he grunted.

“Well, it seemed the appropriate thing to do,” Greg slid into the back with Nick, automatically allowing the front seat for Grissom. “Talk. Social activities. Communication. And since you lot seem determined to be extremely quiet, someone has to get in the babble requirements.”

“Perhaps we have other things to think about.” Gil voiced softly, giving a side glance to Warrick. Warrick merely smiled to himself and began to pull the car out of the parking space, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

“Oh yeah, good point.” Greg sounded almost bashful. “Um. Well, I’ll let you get on with that.”

“You’re not in trouble, Greg. Or at least, as far as I know. If we get back and there’s been an explosion in the kitchen since I left, then yes, you might find yourself walking stiffly soon. Or at least stiffer,” Gil amended.

“No explosions, sah!” Greg saluted, and then nudged Nick. “Right?”

Nick gave a little murmur of agreement, a small smile confirming that the murmur was a positive one before he turned to look out of the window again. Greg sighed with the heavy tone of one making a dramatic point, then allowed his hand to rest on the firmness of Nick’s thigh, earning himself another little smile of pleasure from Nick. Watching them through a reflective surface, Gil had no doubt that the pair would be rolling around like puppies had their location had a flat surface to do so. They barely restrained themselves from doing so in the lab, after all.

The journey back was mostly a comfortable silence. Gil watched the vehicles drive by idly, allowing himself the pleasure of simply sinking into a slight daze before they were back, far, far too quickly. Even so, he had been able to think a little further on what was coming, to mull over the weaknesses and probable reactions from the two men who hadn’t been informed. So far, both of the younger men were reacting in a manner that Gil had expected; Nick retreated to his room almost immediately after arrival, although Gil knew that was simply to reclaim his paperback that he was half way through, and Greg was swift to start digging through the mountain of pizza adverts that they had managed to accumulate in such a short period of time. So far, so predictable.

Warrick was a different matter. Having thrown his coat carelessly on one of the chairs and kicked off his boots, he simply took a few steps into the centre of the living room and then stood his ground, arms folded, amused green eyes fixed on Gil. The wild west had returned, and this time it had fur lined shackles.

Apparently Warrick was planning to add impatience to his long list of ‘crimes’.

“Greg,” Gil spoke up, his eyes never leaving Warrick’s. “Please come here.”

“Shit, I know it’s around here somewhere,” there was the rustling noise of digging from behind him. “Don’t worry, sir, I’ll have it for you as soon as possible and then you’ll be in a world of pepperoni delight -,”

“Greg.”

His name wasn’t said in any particularly vicious or authoritative way, but Gil’s tone finally managed to break through Greg’s pizza haze. The chatter and rustling died away, followed by long silent pause and then the little pitter patter of bare feet that suggested that the majority of the pause had been taken up by Greg having a sudden and inexplicable urge to remove his boots. Gil had no idea whether that was out of some mark of respect or sheer practicality, but then again Greg’s bare feet likely were the least of his considerations.

The youngster finally appeared next to him, Greg’s head bowed as he slipped gracefully to his knees by Gil’s feet. Apparently the tone of voice he used had been pretty impressive, although Greg rarely needed an excuse when it came to sex.

“There’s a black bag in my room, underneath my bed. I’m the one nearest the window. Get it for me, please,” Gil spoke distantly as he continued to survey Warrick thoughtfully, watching each flicker in the man’s poise.

“Yes, sir.” Greg trotted off with the happy determination of a toddler spying a breakable and priceless artefact. It only took him a few moments before he was back, carrying the bag gingerly as though he expected it to explode. Gil calmly indicated where the bag should be placed, pleased to see that the order was carried out without either speech or hesitation. If Greg had noticed Warrick’s last stand, it was doing nothing but fuel his trembling excitement.

Warrick, of course, hadn’t moved. His posture was still insolent, a pirate defending his treasure, although the corner of his mouth had curled upward in faint amusement. Greg finally glanced at him in the furtive manner of someone who was hoping not to be noticed, although he immediately turned his attention back to the floor as Gil rested his hand on the warmth of Greg’s head.

For a moment they simply stayed like that, each firmly in their role that Gil knew would be played for the next half hour at least.

“You have something to say to me, Warrick?” Gil asked politely and slightly dangerously, feeling the throb of the game slowly sink into him. This was Vegas, after all; everyone had their game of choice, a dangerous pastime that just tugged at them, and Gil’s was simply more physical than others. The thrill of what Warrick had to offer defeated any thrill from a rollercoaster, although the whipping, adrenaline rush of danger was much the same.

Only Warrick didn’t come with a seatbelt.

“To have a tiger by the tail..,” Gil murmured softly, before raising his head and straightening his back. Warrick’s eyes grew watchful but the man didn’t budge; if anything, he levelled his shoulders further, the challenge crackling between them. “You have an issue with my authority?”

Warrick’s eyebrow twitched upwards in a careless manner, his arms folding across his broad chest in a slow, silent response. And now Greg was slowly becoming aware of what was happening, each unspoken statement stimulating Greg’s need to twitch and fidget and everything else that was guaranteed to inadvertently irritate Gil. A hard look managed to stem this particular habit, Greg giving him a sheepish look before he dropped his eyes again, back to his determined ‘good boy’ pose.

Gil waited until Greg was still and obedient before stepping closer to where Warrick stood, allowing himself the time to survey him properly as though it was their first ever meeting. Even now, Warrick still appeared ready to move, to pounce, the lean beauty of his body outlined in his very posture. What would it take to make this man actually cower, Gil wondered as he slowly ran his fingertips over Warrick’s strong bicep. Everyone had their own defensive mechanisms, and Warrick’s tended to be simply to kick and scream and react as violently and as viciously as a cornered tiger. And yet here he was, still openly defiant, but carrying an automatic tension that twitched through Warrick’s body at Gil’s touch. A soft vulnerability that normally Warrick fought hard to disguise.

Beautiful. And for all his fight, utterly his.

“Take off your shirt,” Gil ordered softly, raising his eyes to meet Warrick’s calmly. “Both of you. And Greg, go and fetch Nick.”

He had no idea whether Nick would appreciate being dragged out of his cocooned bedroom and beloved paperback, but Gil knew a little too well that the man would certainly hurt if he felt he had been left out of anything relationship wise. Whatever Nick was going through, he seemed particularly sensitive to feeling underused or dismissed, and Gil was happy enough to give the man all the security he required when it came to that.

Sure enough, Nick’s expression was cautious when he emerged from the bedroom, his eyes narrowing slightly in clear assessment as he looked at Gil then at Warrick. The man had already stripped himself to a pair of well fitting boxer shorts, dark and clinging, although Gil had a suspicion that was not so much for the group’s benefit as it was for general comfort. Nick opened his mouth to speak, and then slowly shut it again with a little nod of understanding as Gil gave him a warning stare. Greg had stripped himself hurriedly of his shirt but had only unfastened the top button of his jeans, the material clinging temptingly to his lean hips as he moved purposefully back and dropped to his knees by Gil once more.

Warrick seemed completely unruffled by his lover’s actions. His cool green eyes calm, he merely waited until Nick had taken almost a bodyguard stance beside Gil before smiling lazily.

“Yeah, I’ve got a few issues,” Warrick drawled, his eyes moving from one man to another before resettling on Gil. “Calling a meeting to discuss them?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Gil spoke mildly, allowing himself time to think and let the others readjust to the situation. He had been considering how to discipline Warrick since the man had voiced his desire, but he had still failed to come to a satisfactory conclusion for several aspects. The where, for example. The where was important, needing to be both comfortable and relatively spacious for all of them to avoid collision or having one person getting squeezed out. It also had to be good enough to give Warrick what he craved. Gil ran his eye over the room’s layout again, before finding his gaze settling on the doorframe between the living room to the corridor that led toward the bedrooms and bathroom.

Gil’s mouth twitched upwards. Oh yes, now that was a distinct possibility. His boy could stand there spread eagled, or at least as much as he could do without causing Warrick a severe muscle strain, giving them access from both sides. It would equally be an easy move from there to one of the bedrooms when Warrick’s legs finally began to give him problems. Because they would, Gil knew that a little too well. No matter how strong or how fit, the tension would slowly begin to tell, and Gil was planning to find Warrick’s personal limits and gently push at them.

His calculations must have been a little too visible in his eyes as Warrick frowned, his expression growing warier. Gil fought the need to smile further, his eyes calm, innocent and perfectly open. Perfect. Confidence had its place, but then so did apprehension and anticipation, and it was those aspects that would be fuelling Warrick’s personal arousal with a persistence that couldn’t be ignored. Not that Warrick was the only one to be apprehensive; Greg’s gaze was refusing to stay on the floor again, looking up at Warrick with a mixture of fascination and uncertainty. Gil smiled inwardly; it certainly wouldn’t be problematic to keep the others on their toes either.

“I don’t take kindly to disrespect.” Gil’s voice was a low purr, stepping forward and cupping Warrick’s chin in his hand as he felt the power settle over his shoulders like a cape. Watchful green eyes narrowed, scanning his own for signs of weakness or bluff; Warrick could sniff out insecurities and vulnerabilities, and to make it good for both of them, hell, for all of them, Gil needed to be firm. As firm as the straining erection that was causing him problems against his pants, for that matter, but that was something he had to ignore if he wanted to give the performance that was needed from him. Gil watched the indecision flash in his soon-to-be lover’s eyes, Warrick clearly torn between the defiance of speaking and the obedience of keeping his tongue still.

Yes, now was the time to begin the preparation, whilst Warrick’s heart was quickening and his poise was slowly, just slowly, beginning to slip.

“Nick, please go to my bed and obtain the silver tension bar near the head,” Gil kept his voice deliberately mild, but the mention of the equipment managed to hit the perfect goal. Warrick’s eyes narrowed even further, straightening slightly as he watched Nick silently turn and head toward the bedroom. Gil smiled to himself. Nick had been the right choice for this task, of course; the bar was normally used for pull ups, and he had no doubt that the gym happy Nick would know what he was looking for. Send Greg and you never knew what you would end up with; sex had many different forms, but Gil had to hope that fluffy bunnies didn’t turn up too often.

“You really gonna go through with it?” Warrick murmured.

“Uh-huh,”

“You’re gonna scare the crap out of them,”

“Hopefully,” Gil smiled slightly, his voice low enough for a murmur. “Fear makes a wonderful aphrodisiac. Although it won’t be fear as such. More.. cautiousness.”

A wolfish grin appeared. “Good.”

Gil allowed himself another warm smile outside of his persona, before his hand rose to tap Warrick gently on the jaw, his voice strengthening and his eyes steady.



Onwards to Part B