"So, no one reported a disturbance until the movie was over?"

Probably didn't even think anything was wrong until after the house lights came up. The carpet was red, lush except for the spots where popcorn and old pieces of candy had been ground in beyond recovery, and the darker spots of blood that marred the floor near the wall. And two spatter marks on the wall. No victim, no suspects, only a crime scene.

Gil Grissom loved his job.

"Well..." The usher looked a little sheepish, but he shrugged in the ill-fitting vest and tie so that it all shifted over too-small shoulders. The scraggly mustache and giant glasses were distracting. "There was a lot of shrieking for part of the movie, anyway. I mean, it's sort of a cartoon, so..."

"So that's enough of a distraction that no one wanted to get out of their seats to report what had to be an obvious altercation? Never mind. Just keep this place empty, and I should be out in a couple of hours." He wasn't going to let the distracting man loom behind him, and he certainly wasn't going to let the guy start bitching when he cut a carpet sample.

"Um, the manager didn't want me to leave you alone in here, 'cause he said last time we had any kinda crime admitted, you guys totally trashed the place..." The look Gil shot him was enough to make him swallow hard. "Uh, right. I'll just, um, head up to the projection room." And some sort of perceived safety, right.

"You do that. And be silent for me, like a Chaplin film." He had plenty of time to decide whether or not he was taking the wallpaper with him. The scene itself was important, but also important was to explore the theater and see what the patrons would've seen.

To the right of the scene, the downward sloping left-hand aisle. To the left, a short twisted stairwell that led... up. Interesting. There weren't a lot of theaters left with open balconies, and from the angle of spatter and the location of the stairs, it would seem a logical place to look for further clues. Huh.

A frayed velvet rope dangled, brass-colored plastic still attached to it as if it had a place on the wall. Gil took a look at it, but there wasn't any obvious spot from which it was missing, so it had probably been laying on the floor like that for a while.

Neglect, not violence, had led to the rope's state. It was quiet, and darker up there. Some of the light bulbs overhead were burnt out, Gil noted before he paused to photograph the rope anyway. One could never be too sure. Maybe the victim had been entangled in it at some point. Without a victim, he couldn't make assumptions to discount parts of the scene yet. Everything was important. Who knew what might lurk in the darkness above?

A faint skitter gave him at least one indication. He wouldn't be surprised if he found mice, at least, which wasn't a pleasant thought. Gil had seen what a mouse or a rat could do to someone who wasn't exactly awake and kicking, and that was never pretty.

He mounted the steps, slow and careful, thinking only as a second thought to turn his flashlight on. That faint skitter noise, a... shift? Cloth on cloth, so he wasn't alone up there. The victim, perhaps? Hadn't the officer who was eating popcorn in the lobby cleared the damned place?

With care, he made his steps softer, slowly drawing his gun just in case. 'Clear' didn't always mean clear, and Gil wasn't about to go up into the dark completely unprepared. Doing otherwise wasn't just ill-advised, it was stupid, and no one had ever accused him of stupidity.

Another faint disturbance of some sort reached his ears.

"I have a gun," he spoke aloud, keeping it soft. Movie theater voice, without even thinking about it. "So please save me a scare and show yourself." Victim, please let it be the victim, he didn't actually want to have to fire it.

No response. Nothing at all, in fact, and if he had thought about it before he spoke, maybe he would have realized that declaring himself to be holding a gun wasn't the most soothing thing that anybody who'd been hurt might want to hear.

Amendment, then. "I'm with the police. Please... I won't hurt you if you don't hurt me." He took another step forwards, scanning the flashlight as progressively as he could without leaving a hole for someone to attack him.

"Anybody could say they were with the police."

It was a cracking voice, the kind that belonged to boys on the edge of puberty, and Gil couldn't quite tell where it was coming from. Underneath the seats, maybe? Over near the edge?

"This is true. Do you want to maybe come out of the dark and see my badge? Are you hurt?" Was this his victim?

"If I come out of the dark and you don't have a badge, I will be." It was definitely coming from beneath the seats to the left of where Gil stood. "Hold it up. With your flashlight on it."

"It's a clearance badge -- I'm a scene processor. There was a crime committed here tonight." Still, he un-tucked the lanyard from his shirt, and held it out with his flashlight aimed at it while trying to not drop his gun.

"She's gone. She left a while ago." The disembodied voice sounded along with the shuf-shuf of clothing, and Gil could see a boy standing up in the vague half-light of the balcony. Since it probably wasn't supposed to be in use, no one had bothered to change out any of the bulbs. "There were th-th-three of them. I thought, maybe... maybe they'd come back. Maybe you were them."

"No. It's all right -- I'm with the police. Why don't you come out?" Gil eyed the boy, keeping his ID outside of his shirt as he took a step backwards.

"You're between me and the exit. And if you're faking me out, I want a fair chance at running."

He had to get a kid who was smart, didn't he? So he took a step backwards down the stairs. "Do I look like any of the suspects?"

"How do I know? It's dark up here, and you're a lot bigger than me. And you're still blocking the stairs, so I'm not too sure I want to go any closer." He could almost make out some things now... vaguely asymmetric haircut, although Gil couldn't say for sure. Shorts. T-shirt of some sort. Just a kid.

Gil turned the flashlight on himself, so the boy could see his face. God help him if it was a mistake... "I'm blocking the stairs because I don't want you to run through the scene and maybe kick some of my equipment. It's pretty expensive."

"Oh. Hey. You're an old guy." At thirty-two, it was probably the first time Gil had ever been called an OLD guy. "Those other guys, they were younger. Older than me, but not as old as you." That seemed to have been the right move, because the boy was coming closer now, and Gil could see him better. Hypercolor t-shirt, Umbro shorts, Converse All-Stars with crazy colored bunched socks.

"Thanks. It's the gray hair, right?" Gil took four more steps backwards, and lowered the flashlight as he moved into the light of the theater. "I told you, I'm with the police force. Are you sure you're not hurt?"

"I scraped my knee, climbing under the chairs. They..." The boy stepped up, moving into the light. He was scrawny, all knees and elbows, and that asymmetric haircut didn't quite make the cut, so to speak. He looked like he spent a lot of time in the sun, and there were a few moles on his chin and his cheeks.

Gil shied away from thinking of them as identifying marks.

"They were, there... There were three of them, and they were hurting her. So, I couldn't do anything, and then I was scared that they weren't really gone..."

"They're gone," Gil insisted softly, shifting to holster his gun at his hip where it belonged. He was a good shot. He could blow someone's chest wide open, but he didn't ever want to make another scene on top of a scene.

It would've been a mild logistical nightmare.

"Where do you live?"

"San Gabriel. California. My mom and dad are gonna be worried. I promised that I wouldn't be gone long. Just to see the movie. What time is it?" The boy moved to Gil's right, sidling away from him a little. It was probably good for him to be a little nervous, considering what he'd probably seen.

Caution had a great protecting ability. "It's nine thirty pm. You're staying at a hotel? Can you remember which one?"

"Um. I'm thirteen, not three. I even know how to use the bus system." Yeah, he was thirteen, all right, and looking at Gil as if he was old and stupid. It was going to be a long day. "Are you gonna catch those guys?"

Gil leaned on one leg more than the other for a moment before he started forwards. He needed to talk to Officer Whitnel anyway. "We'll need a statement from you, actually -- it could go a long way to helping."

"Can I call my mom? She worries. She'll call Poppa and give him what-for 'cause he taught me about busses and about going places by myself." The kid hadn't even introduced himself, and he was already telling Gil about his grandfather.

"Of course you can call your mom. There's a pay phone out in the lobby. By the way, I'm Gil Grissom -- what's your name?"

"Greg Sanders. I've got quarters, or I did have, except they're back upstairs. That's where... you know." Gil could see him swallow and visibly shudder. Violent crimes were never pretty. For a boy on the edge of puberty, it was probably more traumatic than usual.

"I know." He could see it in the kid's eyes, the scared line of his body, and the way he'd demanded to be sure Gil wasn't one of them. He was honestly scared, and while dealing with witnesses wasn't Gil's specialty, he was at least going to herd the kid around for a moment more. He just had to coax him to leave the theater, walking slow and hoping at the kid would follow him. "Don't worry about it. We'll make sure you're okay."

Greg bristled faintly, mouth compressing. Gil could see a certain amount of sheer stubborn attitude in that, in the way that the boy's brows drew together. "I'm okay. That girl, though..." He shuddered, took in a deep breath. "I mean, you know. That's... We're on vacation. I figured, maybe... I don't know. It's something you expect to see in LA. Not in Las Vegas..."

"Happens every day of the week." It took work to bite back the remark that Greg was just lucky that nothing had happened to him personally. "Once you've called your parents, we're going to need a statement. How did the girl leave...?" he asked as they wove down the red-carpeted hallway that would lead to the larger one, which would lead to the lobby.

"Can I just have to say it once?" The boy was obviously nervous, tongue darting out to moisten dry lips. Gil could see his hand twitching faintly as if he wanted to reach out and touch something. Something living.

Something safe.

Gil put a hand on the boy's shoulder, hoping that would suffice. "Sure. You can even decide who you want to talk to. Maybe you'd feel better waiting for your mom or dad to show up?" It was eerie that people were coming and going in the hallway outside of the blocked off theater, and he had to pull away to duck under the crime-scene tape, holding it up for Greg.

The boy stayed close to him, almost as if he was some magical talisman of protection. It was pretty funny, considering the fact that Greg had been scared of him not ten minutes previous. "No. I mean, I told you. Thirteen, not three. Just..." Greg swallowed, the sound audible even where they moved. "Just I don't want them to worry."

"It's policy to suggest it if the witness is a minor. So, if you were seventeen, I'd still be asking you if you wanted a parent there when you testified." Gil gave the kid a smile, and put his hand on Greg's shoulder again as he turned to lead the way back to the lobby. Hopefully, Officer Whitnel was still there, and hadn't just deserted Gil at the scene.

"Yeah. I guess." That touch seemed to calm him down, make it all right. "I'm sorry, but I don't want to go back up and find my quarters. Do you...?"

"I have change, don't worry. We were already warned that the house phone here actually doesn't work. Can you imagine that? What a shitty theater." He'd get the kid fed, too -- the movie had ended two hours ago. Greg had to be terrified of what he'd seen, to hide up there that long.

"I can imagine most anything," Greg declared. His eyes were shifting nervously, as if he might catch sight of the guilty parties and take flight. "If it's all the same, real stuff sucks bad enough."

"It does," Gil agreed as they stepped out into the lobby and the relatively bright light of the place. No sign of the Officer. Nice, but Gil had expected that. Dump the geek at the scene unprotected, even though people tended to return to the scene of a crime. "Hey, the phone's over there. Looks like I'll need to use it, too. My patrolman seems to have gone AWOL."

"Oh." Great. Now the kid was even more nervous, eyes darting from side to side. "Um. Tell you what. You call first. 'cause, I mean, you've got a gun and everything, but. One of you, three of them, not good odds." And Greg obviously was going to take off like a shot if he saw anything.

He squeezed Greg's shoulder as they came to a stop at the phone. "Hey. That's not what I meant, Greg. I was going to have him take you to the department -- but now it looks like you'll have to stick around and watch me scene process, because I can't head back until I've finished taking photos and samples. Okay?"

Gil dug into the back pocket of his pants, and came back with a few quarters. "So call your parents."

"Do you know the number for the Bellagio?" Greg asked him, wide-eyed. "We're in room 846, and I can get there from here with buses and stuff..."

Right. Gil knew why he didn't have any kids; he really wasn't the kind of guy who dealt well with them. He was only thirteen, and he was scared, but he kept insisting he was like a grownup. Gil didn't know whether he wanted to throttle the kid or hug him. Maybe both at once was an option. "I thought you were scared."

"I am scared! Or, well, I was scared. And, frankly, I don't know what that's got to do with me not knowing the number for calling my mom..." The way Greg peered up at him was, frankly, disapproving. "Which would work a lot towards, you know, making me not scared. Unless you're secretly a Terminator or something under there, in which case, I'm going to stay that way."

"If I was a robot in disguise, don't you think I would've picked a much cooler way to represent myself?" He lifted the phone up, and dropped a quarter in. The Bellagio was a central location, and Gil was good at remembering phone numbers for the biggest places that he had to call the most often. It took a few rings for it to be picked up. "Room 846, please."

Greg eyed him up and down and then nodded slowly. "Robots are tricky. Especially assassin robots. So, you might decide the best way to go would be as an old crime guy."

Gil was never, ever breeding. But if he did, he hoped he had a kid with that much imagination.

"But it wouldn't be the most efficient use of my supposedly assassin robot skills, would it? I think I'd... try to join the secret service, or..."

~"Hello?"~

"Mrs. Sanders?"

~"Yes?"~ Gil could hear her voice shaking. ~"Is this the police? Have you found Greg!?"~

"Aw, man..." Obviously Greg could hear her, too. "Mom!" he called. "I'm okay!"

"Actually, we have. He's fine, but a little shook up. He's a witness to a crime, and I'd like to take him down to the department to get his statement."

~"A crime?"~

"You're gonna get it now. Pull the phone away from your ear," Greg warned him.

The earsplitting, fretful wail came a second too early. Ouch. ~"My BABY!"~

"I'm OKAY!"

"Mrs. Sanders..." No, he had to hold it away, and then he half-offered to down to the boy. It was amusing to see those shoulders droop as Greg took the phone.

"Mom, I'm okay. I'm..."

~"I KNEW we shouldn't let you go out in Vegas alone! I... Don't you dare take the..!"~

Things got quieter for a moment, someone else speaking into the phone as Greg put it back to his ear.

"Hi, Dad. No. The movie... I didn't really see it 'cause there was... Well, no. Yes. Um. Yeah. This guy's name is Gil Grissom and he's with the police. Yeah. Um. No. Okay. Okay. Yes, Dad."

"Greg, could I speak with your father for a moment?" Gil asked, leaning down.

"I'm gonna give the phone to this guy, Dad. Yeah. Mister Grissom. Okay." Greg took a deep breath and sighed, handing the phone to Gil.

"Mr. Sanders? Hi, I'm Gil Grissom, LVPD Criminalistics Bureau. Do you mind if I keep your son with me for a few minutes while I finish processing the scene?" The answer was quietly spoken and pleased him, more or less, so he nodded. "I promise I'll keep a close eye on him, sir. If you'd like to meet us... Yes, I can wait for you to get a pen. You'll need directions -- most taxi drivers try to forget where we are. Yes, I promise I won't let him run off and try to use a bus."

Greg groaned loudly. It was obvious that the bus conversation was one that was held often in their house, probably in conjunction with the phrase 'you're not all grown-up just yet, mister'. Gil had heard it fairly often about twenty years prior himself, and that made his mouth quirk.

"All right. Yes, in about half an hour or so." The directions were easy to rattle off, and then he said a goodbye before hanging up. "So, can you hold on long enough for me to call back to the department?"

The boy seemed to seriously consider it. "Sure. If you'll show me what it is that you do when we're done."

"I can handle that bargain." One more quarter and he dialed over to the department. Rage was best saved for them, and for the officer who hadn't properly cleared the scene and then had left when he was last seen scarfing popcorn.

"Cool. I heard people use science to find out stuff."

~"Las Vegas Sheriff's Office."~

Gil forced a smile to his face while he talked. "Yes, this is field officer Gil Grissom, still at the AMC 9 on 37th. I've been abandoned by Officer Whitnel at a scene that was improperly cleared. Now, this is the third time he's done it to me in a month, so I'm just going to assume that he's doing it to the rest of the CSIs. I'd like you to pen in a meeting between me and his captain, say, sometime in the next couple of days?"

~"Um..."~

"And get someone out here who's actually competent. I've got a thirteen year old witness."

~"I'll send you through to dispatch."~

"Thank you." Gil leaned against the edge of the pay phone's 'booth', and rolled his eyes. "This is why we carry guns."

"Yeah, well, if you're not a cybernetic freaky robot from the future, you're pretty crazy, mister." The way the kid looked at him was filled with curiosity.

Funny. "Why?" Dispatch had him on hold. Jesus. No sense in calling the department if he was ever hurt on a scene. 911 would get to him faster.

"'cause there's no way I'd stand around waiting for the guys who did that," Greg nodded his head, hair swinging forward strangely, "to come back. Gun or not."

"Believe me, I'm not crazy. I'm pissed off. He was supposed to clear the scene. That means he should've found you. You could've been not-you, but someone involved in the crime who could've killed me."

~"Dispatch."~

"Hello, this is Field Officer Gil Grissom, at the AMC 9 on 37th. Officer Whitnel, who was assigned to me, has left without warning. I'm still processing the scene, and found a thirteen year old witness. I need you to send someone out here who's going to do their god damned job. All right?"

~"I'll have someone out there immediately, if not sooner. Is there anything else I can do for you, Field Officer Grissom?"~

"Wow," Greg whispered. "You said pissed off."

"No, that's everything. Thanks." He hung up, and turned to Greg. "Yes I did. And some other bad words that you shouldn't tell anyone I said. C'mon. I need to finish processing."

"But..." The boy took a deep breath. "Okay. Are you gonna show me something cool?"

"Well, that depends. I can't let you touch anything. I need to cut the carpeting out, and then I might take the wallpaper with me. I'm not sure yet."

"They just let you do that?" Greg eyed him as they headed back towards the theater. "So, it's like vandalism for fun and profit. Sort of. And then what do you do with it?"

"Study the samples on the carpet and wallpaper. If we can find the victim, and the perps, we can use what I catalogue to press charges. This... is crime solving in action."

That didn't seem to be a satisfactory answer. "So how do you know what you've got is going to prove anything?" Greg's mouth pursed. "Somebody ought to prove something. They... she..."

"You get a sense after a while." Gil lifted the crime-scene tape and let Greg duck under it. "It's what we're trained to see."

"So they just magically let you say you think something is so and then the judge accepts it? I don't think so." Greg set his shoulders as he watched Gil slip under the tape, too. "The only real proof is science or math. Not opinions. So."

He grinned at Greg was he led the way back into the theater itself. "That's how we prove it. Do you like science?"

"Correction. I love science. Got my first chemistry kit when I was seven, blew off my eyebrows." Greg grinned back at him. "I'm totally in love with it. My friend John says that nobody who surfs like me should be able to do chemistry in his head."

"Chemistry, huh?" He hadn't pegged the kid for a geek -- he looked like he was trying too hard to be cool for that. Gil knelt in front of the scene, and pointed at the spray. "Murder and assault have chemistries all of their own. This is physics, actually."

Gil flicked his flashlight on, highlighting the spatter that went up the wall. "This spray of blood tells me that she was sitting, back to the wall, when someone punched her on her left side."

"It broke her nose," Greg said softly. "And there was this really nasty crunch sound. She was crying a lot. That was when I dropped down and tried to hide. They weren't quite so close to the stairs, then, and I..." He swallowed. "I didn't know they were gonna go up there. I don't know what I thought..."

"Greg? It's okay. You don't have to talk about it yet." He looked over and tried to get a smile out of the kid while he lifted his camera. "I was just trying to tell you that what I tell a judge is as much science as any string of chemical reactions."

Greg took a deep breath and reached up to rub his nose with the back of his hand. "That's pretty cool. I mean. Science giving you all the answers. Is this what you wanted to do? I mean, when you were a kid? Stuff like this?"

"I had a chemistry set when I was six, and almost blew up my bedroom. What do you think?" Gil winked, and then turned his attention to the scene. A few quick snaps with his camera and the ruler, then he'd be able to move on to the next step. The box cutter, the carpet, and the wall paper.

Greg settled down carefully a few feet away from Gil, putting a bony elbow on one of the armrests of the chairs. "I think this must be a pretty cool job?"

"It is. It's like..." Gil paused to snap pictures in quick succession. "I get paid to spend my day solving puzzles, and the side effect of solving these puzzles is that bad people go to jail. Justice is served through a day's play."

"I hope you catch these ones." Greg was very serious. "She was pretty hurt. I can describe her for you... later," he promised, because Gil had already told him twice that he didn't have to go over it more than once. "What they did, it's not right. Not for anybody."

"No. It's not right. Those crimes shouldn't occur. Period." He backed up, changed the angle, then started to snap shots of the wall.

"Do you think they'll ever stop?"

It was a weird, philosophical sort of question, at least coming from a thirteen year old boy. Had Gil wondered that kind of thing at thirteen? Maybe. But maybe not. He'd always been concerned with the more worldly concerns. What killed the seagull in his back yard? Why had it died in his back yard, and not say, in the water, or closer to the shore?

"Not as long as there are human beings."

"Because human beings aren't, um, naturally good. Innately. Right?" Flash. Flash. Flash. "Yeah. I get that. I just... I guess I wish that wasn't true. If we're not good by nature, how is it that so many people try so hard?"

"Because it's worth it to be good," Gil suggested as he lowered the camera. "Isn't it?"

Brown eyes looked at him, deeply serious. "I've always kind of thought you'd have to really concentrate to be bad. You know? Being good, that's easy. You know, good grades, chess club, surfing, that kind of stuff. Easy." Greg took in a deep breath. "Maybe it's just that some people are naturally bad and some people are good the same way? I don't know. I kind of hoped you might. You know. 'cause of what you do."

"If only I knew." Gil reached into his open kit for the box cutter. "Religious peoples and philosophers have discussed the topic for thousands and thousands of years. Some people think that man is good and falls for temptation created by other men. Some believe that men are bad and aspire to goodness, some blame circumstances..."

"What do you think?" Intense, serious sort of question. "I mean, there's religion and philosophy, and then... there's this."

"I believe... in people. For every unmitigatedly evil person in the world, there's someone who could be a living, breathing saint." He leaned in, carefully cutting the carpet.

"That's pretty cool of you," Greg decided. "I think I like that."

The boy was starting to sound muzzy, but that was all right. He'd probably been riding an adrenaline rush of fear for hours. "Yeah? Why?"

"Makes sense. You make sense. Maybe you're not a creepy future robot. Hey, do you think maybe..." The faint trail of thought was something Gil could almost hear. "Could I maybe do this one day? That would be pretty neat."

"Go to school. Get good grades. You seem like the type who could cut it." Four long swipes of the blade, and he sat back to bag and label it.

"Yeah?" Gil could see the boy lay his cheek against his arm, drooping slowly. "That would be neat."

"It's good work." He trailed off, and then leaned in to cut the wallpaper. Short soft answers would encourage Greg to nap while he finished the scene. He was going to get pictures of that rope, too.

It wouldn't take too much longer.

---

"So, what made you think that this was what you wanted to do? Instead of working in a research lab, say?"

It wasn't a difficult question to answer. Greg Sanders hadn't been in Las Vegas since he was thirteen, but he had never really forgotten anything about it, from the girl who had died of blood loss by the time they had located her to the trial his dad had flown him back to Vegas to testify in. "I was a witness to a crime once. Eleven years ago. And there was this crime scene guy there, and he just... he made it sound like the coolest job that anybody could ever have."

"The people that stick around and don't chicken out because the pay isn't good enough or the hours and the workload is too hard sure seem to think so. We've had a guy who's been here almost fifteen years, and a couple others who're close to it. But they're the exception to the rule. Are you following me? Are you gunna stick around, or will we be wasting our time to teach you how this place runs?"

His boss to be -- Greg hoped -- was leaning forwards, gesturing with one closed fist.

"I'm kind of hoping to stick around." Hearing that most folks were gone was a bit of a disappointment. Greg had kind of wanted to see that Gil guy again, to maybe thank him for showing him what it was that he wanted to do with his life. Still. Just because he wasn't was no reason to back out of the interview. "This is what I've wanted to do for a long time now."

Jim Brass looked at him like he was a singing dancing fish. "You know that you're going to be working as a lab tech and not a field officer. If I decide to hire you." It was his word that was the final say, after all.

"Everybody's gotta start somewhere. Plus, even straight out of college, I'm one of the best chemists you're ever going to see." It wasn't bragging. Much. Okay, a little, but give him a year. If the guy would just give him that, he would be. He'd be pulling this stuff in his sleep, and already none of the noise or the distractions bothered him.

"Yeah?" He nodded, getting to his feet. "Prove it to me, Greg Sanders. You're on the team. Six month review and all that, but don't fuck up and you're fine." He shoved his hand out to Greg.

"Congratulations."

The sound of that voice was a shock, sliding right down into his bones and slithering up to his brain. When he turned around, it was almost like being kicked in the gut.

"Gil Grissom." Eleven years older, sure, but then again so was he. Which was a good thing. "This is a pleasant surprise, Mr. Sanders."

"Hey, you two -- oh, Gotcha. Gil! Stop getting me hires before they hit puberty!" Brass hit him on the back with his folder as he moved past them. "Go on -- show the new tech his office."

If the new tech could stand up out of his chair without totally embarrassing himself, of course, because the only thing sexier than a man with knowledge was a man with knowledge who had set Greg's feet upon the right path. "I'm glad you're still here," he grinned, nearly jittering. God, he was so nervous. He hoped Gil never noticed.

"I told you. I love my job." He smiled as he offered Greg his hand. "I'm surprised to see you here after so long."

"Yeah, well, what can I say." Taking that hand and shaking it took more courage than he thought he would ever have. "You kinda infected me with your interest."

"Great. I'll show you your office. You already know you'll mostly be working DNA... Welcome to the Vegas nightshift." Welcome, and his heart was already thrumming away with absolute nerves.

He was going to have to prove himself. He was going to have to keep his hands off of Gil Grissom, and that was going to be hard. Really hard. He could do it, though. And he would.

This was going to be the best job ever.

There was something deeply cultivated about all of it, the silver wheat pattern spread delicately over the teapot, the argent ring tracing the lid at its edges and around its china knob. Grissom could appreciate that, just the way he could appreciate the faint slide of spoon, the clack of tongs, the way that the heated liquid spilled effortlessly into his cup, everything done just the way that he liked it. He even went so far as to add a little cream; it softened the tea better than even the long steep time, smoothed the bitter leafy bite that it left on the tongue. That, too, was civilized, the act of taming one's drinks with sweetener and smoother. He tamed the drink of his host, too, letting the silence settle comfortably.

"Thank you," Lady Heather told him demurely, lifting her own cup and saucer and looking at him over its rim. "You know, I'm not surprised to see you here. I told you before. I can tell what it is that you need."

"I find it fascinating that you seem so sure of that." He couldn't help but smile at her when he said that, because he knew what she was going to say. He knew how things would play out. But sometimes, the interest was in the actual playing out rather than the suspense. "Please, go on."

"You're not entirely unlike others who come to my house, Mister Grissom. You're looking for something, something most specific. Well." There was a demure glance at her teacup that sent a faint shiver of worry down his spine. "You're always looking for something. The problem now, of course, is that you've found it and you don't know what to do with it."

"The problem would have less to do with the finding, and more the... inability to fit the solution into the puzzle." He lifted the glass towards his lips, breathing in the too-hot, wet smell of the tea. The faint wisp of jasmine and a lingering spice rose to his nose even as he took a sip, coating his throat pleasantly.

"Mm." The faint sound of agreement was accompanied by a coy shift of lashes that dropped and then rose again. "Puzzles are made to be solved, Mister Grissom. I feel certain that you're more than capable of shifting the solution into place."

"A square peg doesn't fit into a round hole." He shifted his eyes, watching hers. She had beautiful eyes, but... one could observe and appreciate beauty without wanting it for oneself and attempting to trap it. There was no question that she was wild and free.

"Then perhaps the solution is to carefully chip away at the hole until the peg fits it properly." The faint clink of china on china was barely audible, but it was a sweet sound to Grissom's ears. "I feel sure that the particular solution under discussion would be more than amenable to a faint change in shape given proper opportunity."

"I wonder how you know that." A beat of pause was all he needed, a moment to drink the soothing tea while he waited for her to spar back at him.

"I know a great many things, Mister Grissom," Lady Heather replied, "the least of which is that if you've found the solution you've been seeking, there are only so many places it might have been located." She gave a demure smile and settled her teacup on the table between them. "I have very few doubts as to the 'where', less as to the 'why'. But I do wonder what, precisely, you intend to do about it."

"I intend..." A take charge statement, action words aimed at inaction. "To do very little."

"Why?" It was a straightforward question, one asked despite the fact that she knew the answer. Grissom was fully aware that she appreciated it, held it clasped close.

Why. There were so many answers to that question. Fear of rejection, the difficulty of dealing with people, the messiness of work relationships, the possibility that he couldn't control himself. "Because he can do better."

"In your approximation. Perhaps. Would you like more tea?" she asked, carefully filling her own cup again and then filling his at his nod. "I suspect that, if asked, the young man -- he is young, isn't he? Ah. Yes. I can see it in your eyes -- would tell you that he doesn't want to do better. He'd rather have the best."

His eyebrows went up in tandem, and fell slowly while he lifted the cup to his lips. It was more acrid now, without a refilling of cream and sugar, but he was almost in need of the sharpness. "I'm not a man to consider my peers' reactions, but I am one to keep them in mind for him."

Lady Heather smiled at him. "Ah, but you and I both know where the true power lies. Perhaps it would be best if the decision did, as well."

"Perhaps," he agreed.

It seemed reasonable, and after the night he'd just had, anything that seemed reasonable was probably worth questioning.

"Mmm," she murmured. "Cream?"

And he accepted.

---

The urge to do a Greg-style rendition of Tom Cruise's little dance from Risky Business was overwhelming. Maybe it was the Bob Seger tune that had been on the radio on his way in to work. Maybe it was the fact that he really wanted to see if Grissom would watch him dancing around, shirt tails flying.

Fantasies were a great thing. It was just said that they weren't real things.

He knew that if he did any such thing, Grissom would look at him, probably over the edge of his really hot glasses, and then just walk off, shaking his head.

Which wasn't exactly the reaction he had in his fantasy.

In his fantasy, things got hot and bothered and really, incredibly naked. With lots of hot, naked, bothered things that involved dicks and getting screwed nine ways to Sunday and not being able to get his eyes uncrossed when they were done. Greg had already seen the reaction dancing in showgirl headdresses got him, though, so he wasn't about to start shaking his booty in his shirt and a pair of underpants. No way.

Still. A man was allowed to fantasize. He'd peeked at Grissom's crotch enough times to know that the man was hung and spent enough time with Grissom using his brain that... yeah. It was hot when a guy thought like Grissom did, acted like he did, and didn't give a damn about what people thought the way he did.

The fact that it wasn't ever going to happen was unbearable. It made Greg frown, made him mope. He'd only found one solution for that so far, and it wasn't one that made him proud by any short means of the imagination. Hell. Not even by a long means. It was humiliating, and probably a stupid mistake, and he hated it, but...

It wasn't like he had a whole lot of choice. On the plus side, it had kept him from springing uncontrollable erections, and had helped with his shaking hands. A little. It was a bad thing, sure, but it helped him when no one thought he could be helped. It wasn't like Mistress Heather would tell, even if the second case there had worried him. What if Gil found out? He'd never speak to Greg again, for one thing. Probably fire him for another. Those two things together would be enough that Greg really wasn't sure what he'd do about that.

He just...

He needed it. More after nights like the one just passed, so he'd called when he'd crawled out of bed around six that evening, and made the appointment for eight-thirty in the morning, because if Grissom was like that again tonight...

Well. He'd just genuinely need it.

Damn, and the day hadn't even started. Greg leaned to crank up his music a little more. Maybe if he just rocked out and worked, he'd be okay. Or maybe Grissom would walk in the room where he was going through somebody's wastebasket and look at him over the edge of his glasses and, Jesus fucking Christ, that was so wrong. That was just so... So wrong. How was he supposed to wait until morning for his appointment now?

"Greg, are you tagging every piece?" That voice, that, that look. It made Greg squirm faintly, shifting his body weight between the ball of his right foot to the ball of his left foot. It was the best he could do by way of hiding the erection steadily filling at the junction of his thighs.

"Um. Yeah, according to protocol," Greg managed to answer, avoiding stating anything more specific. How could he even think when that glance was making him fall all to pieces?

"Good. Do you mind if I observe for a moment?" He was probably going to do that thing where he went all 'zen' with the evidence and came to some Velma-like conclusion about what had happened.

Greg was going to come in his pants. Inevitably, inescapably, and embarrassingly. He wasn't going to make it to morning. Oh, God. "Huh. No. It's okay. Um. There's not a lot in here. Well, the condoms, and I already logged those in and sent them over to Mia, but..."

"How many did you find in the trash, Greg? Did you note that down?" Grissom leaned over his shoulder, close behind him so he could, presumably, look at the evidence from the proper viewpoint. There was no way that Greg could move left, because then he'd walk right into Grissom's left side, left arm, his whole slightly angled body. And he wasn't sure if it was safe to try to scuttle right.

Oh. Holy Jesus. It just wasn't right, none of it. He wanted to close his eyes, melt back, press his ass against Grissom, grind himself into a hard on as painful as his own, and he just didn't dare. "Uh. Yeah. There were, three, but, ah, there were four wrappers, so I'm thinking that, um, there's bound to be another one in here, or maybe it... just took a walk. It's got to be somewhere in the apartment..."

"Don't overlook the possibility that it could have been taken as a souvenir, but we'll look for a fourth condom. Are the wrappers all the same brand? Have you identified a brand yet?" No, he still wasn't moving away from Greg. Fuck.

"Um. Sagami. They're Type E, ribbed, studded, lubricated, kind of a light green," and he was babbling. Greg couldn't manage to stop, though, and his hands were starting to shake just a little.

Dammit.

"Consensual, or at least it started that way." Grissom seemed to be nodding to himself, because Greg could see faint periphery movement. And heat that got closer when Grissom placed a hand on the table.

Oh. God. Oh, God. Oh, God. "Maybe all the way through," Greg suggested, and his voice was trembling at least as much as his fingers. Jesus, if Grissom got any closer... "Um, because there were some other things, some, ah, stuff, stories, Archie's got, about auto-erotic asphyxiation and..."

"An air deprivation scene gone too far. We've seen cases like that before, Greg. You remember the Mona Taylor case." Grissom leaned, his side pressing faintly against Greg as he looked over his shoulder. "Do you see the way the plastic tore? That implies that teeth were used."

Teeth. Grissom's teeth. Biting his neck, nipping at the nape, and Greg closed his eyes at that burst of fantasy, brushed against the evidence table just faintly, one latex-sheathed hand hesitantly held before him as if to lift the next piece of evidence. "Not the best technique, but probably a favorite for somebody in a hurry."

"Such fervor can rip a condom. Maybe the missing one was ripped."

"So... where do you think it would be, then?" Yeah. That sounded more or less steady. Not like he was on the verge of creaming his shorts.

At work.

Oh, God, he had to get hold of himself.

"Tossed into a corner. Dropped behind a piece of furniture. Perhaps caught between the headboard and the top-sheet on the mattress in the hurry to get a second one open." That didn't sound like a scenario, it sounded like Grissom was giving suggestions. "This is all theory, though."

"Mm." Theory, and if he just kept talking, just a little bit more.

Oh.

Oh, please keep talking. That was the voice he had heard in fantasies for years, for so long Greg couldn't separate the thought of Grissom from the thought of sex anymore, and it was so good. So good.

"Always remember to keep theory and reality separated, and keep in mind at the same time that at any moment they could overlap. Using theories as a reference point to your investigations, rather than trying to fit the answers into your theories, will always serve you better in the long run."

Greg gave a faint strangled noise, breath catching momentarily in the back of his throat as he came helplessly in his shorts, trying to keep from showing any signs that he had done just that. It felt... so good. So perfect, so right, and if Grissom caught him, he was going to be eternally relegated to the lab, or outright fired, or...

Latex-covered fingers settled atop his own. "Occasionally, mentioning a theory can make a suspect confess."

"B-because they get nervous." Nervous. The way he did, and even if Greg was completely humiliated, at least the faint fog of inexplicable orgasm was calming him down some, making his fingers cease their quavering. "I can understand that."

Grissom didn't say anything else for a moment, just breathed, eyes scanning over the scene. Greg wanted to imagine that he could hear Grissom's heart beating in the fingertips that laid atop his hand. "Yes, Greg. I believe that you can. You should finish cataloguing this, then go change your pants."

He was going to die of complete and utter humiliation, and then he was going to get fired, and...

It was all just bad.

Greg screwed his eyes together tightly. "Right. Yes, sir."

"I'd like to talk to you after the shift is over."

Grissom's hand took forever to move, and even when it did Grissom didn't pull away from Greg.

"Um. About that..." Oh, God. Maybe if he could just put off getting fired for a little while. Just... just a little while. "Uh. I have an appointment..."

"Greg." Just a statement, just a firm solid statement, and his knees wanted to turn to jellyfish limbs. "You don't need to show up for it."

Oh.

God.

Grissom knew.

Grissom knew, and Greg was going to be fired, and he was never going to work again, and he was totally panicking over all of this to no end. "Look, it, it wasn't... well, okay, it is, but I just..."

"It isn't something to discuss in the lab, Greg." Now Grissom's voice was gentling, and he pulled away from Greg slowly, patting his arm. "You're doing fine with this, so I'll let you finish it by yourself."

Sofia was walking in, with a folder, and the whole moment, the tension, fell apart between Greg and Grissom.

Everything was falling apart.

"Hello, Greg. You, ah, look like you lost your best friend," she said, casting a look between the two of them that made Greg's hands start shaking again. "Plus, you've spilled something everywhere."

"Oh, ah. Yeah," Greg answered, numb. "I, there was a thing, in the break room, with a glass, and a..."

Oh, God.

"Its unfortunate collision with Greg's crotch. Sofia, do you have the trace report back on that black substance?" Grissom was smooth, covering for him when he knew what had happened. Good for him, too, since Greg didn't know what the hell had happened. Greg was pretty sure that he wasn't ever going to understand. Especially once he was fired.

"Yes. It turns out that it's sketching powder, the stuff artists use when they're doing portraits. It was spread all over the floor at the end of the bed and some of it got on the sheets, so..."

"I'll see you at eight, Greg," Grissom said, nodding to him.

Greg was going to have to call and rearrange his appointment, or maybe see if he could at least get a shoulder to cry on. There was no way he could face anything like this. Just... no way.

"Yes, sir," he answered miserably, and turned back to the wastebasket.

---

"You have to know that I find this surprisingly hard to swallow."

The faint clink of china was welcome, genteel despite the content of the conversation itself. "Yes, well." Lady Heather smiled, and reached for one of the ham and cucumber sandwiches so delicately sliced upon the nearby platter. "You don't have to swallow it, Mister Grissom. I wouldn't lie to you about this particular matter."

"I don't believe that you would, since you have nothing to gain. And apparently a paying customer to lose." That was what has hard for him to swallow, the... notion that she'd mentioned. He kept picturing it and finding himself aroused and saddened at the same time, torn between wanting to be there for greed's sake, and wanting to be there to protect and stop it.

"Mm. Yes, well. Consider it beneficence," she offered, taking the small thing in one bite and licking the remnants of herbed cheese off of a finger. "Or, more particularly, consider that I provide a service. In this particular instance, the utility is no more than a stopgap method for keeping up appearances. In time, it won't be enough. Your solution will cease to make appointments, will cease to wait for your notice, and eventually, something inside will crumble and die."

Something inside of Gil twinged at that thought, winced and shook. He wondered sometimes if he'd let that happen to Sara, if something had crumbled and died within her, too, and if neither one of them had noticed until it was too late. And Greg...

"That leaves me with a conundrum."

"No more or less so than when you came to see me?" She was placing several of the small sandwiches on a plate for him now, and that was thoughtful.

"The conundrum is more focused than it was before I came here," he assured her dryly, and reached carefully to take one. "As a supervisor, I owe him to see that he gets the help and care he needs. As his supervisor, I know the source of that should not be me. And as myself, I need to."

"Should and should not have no place in this particular puzzle, Mister Grissom," Lady Heather advised. "Rules and regulations have their place, but in matters of the heart, sometimes they should fall by the wayside." She lifted her own small plate and placed another sandwich upon it.

"Sometimes. You know that you're going to have an appointment cancelation in the morning, don't you?" And yet she seemed comfortable with it. Almost pleased. He couldn't sink into inaction and let Greg break apart. If the only thing that would make him take action was helping someone... so be it.

"Mmm." That didn't seem to bother her, didn't stop her from raising her cup to her lips once again. "I feel sure that I can... make the necessary rearrangements in scheduling with little trouble. After all." The sparkle in those dark eyes was a bit disarming. "I'm sure Greg Sanders can't possibly be the only person in Las Vegas interested in being taken over the knees of an older gentleman with a firm hand and a certain gleam behind wire frame lenses."

He almost had to bite his tongue to keep from giving her Sara's name, but a bittersweet smile lingered at the edges of his eyes. "I'm sure there are others out there with similar tastes." But not Greg.

Not Greg.

There was no reason, after all, to watch the light fade from those eyes the way he had from hers.

---

It was eight o'clock. In half an hour, he was supposed to be on Lady Heather's doorstep politely stepping inside to be... well, berated. Taken to task. Enjoyably so, in fact.

Instead, he was standing outside of Grissom's office, hands balled into fists, waiting to lose his job.

He wasn't sure why it would be a job losing offense. After all, Sara had nearly drunk herself insensate, and Warrick had left another agent to get killed in the field because of his gambling problem, while Catherine had tested her own DNA against a murder weapon. All he'd done was come in his pants. Sara had never been chastised for her screamingly obvious crush on Grissom.

Of course, Sara was a woman. A pretty woman, and straight guys were pretty funny about being hit on by men. Not that Greg had been hitting on him, exactly. He just couldn't keep control of himself when Grissom was so close, the smell of him practically on Greg. Combined with his touch, even through latex... it was just...

Greg took a deep breath and closed his eyes tightly, gathering himself together. Okay. He wasn't a coward. He could... he could face this.

Face the end of a pretty neat career. Face... face the end of his lifelong dreams of CSI-dom. He'd probably end up a lab tech again, which would be okay. The field people anywhere else couldn't be half as fascinating.

He could cope. And knock on the scary door. No, no way. He couldn't knock on the scary door. Oh, shit. He wasn't able to do it.

"Greg. You know, to get in? You have to knock."

Greg nearly ruined another pair of pants when he tried to pee all over himself. "Jesus!"

"You're jumpy this morning." She eyed him with that big-eyed wary look she could get sometimes, and reached past him to knock on the door. "How are you?"

"Uh." He wasn't going to ask what Catherine was doing in at eight in the morning. It was better not to know, he figured, since she wasn't due in until four. "Well, the last time I went in there, he wasn't all that happy with me. It's, uh. Sort of disconcerting."

"Maybe you're getting a pat on the back." Or a kick on the ass, but she wouldn't say it.

"Come in!"

"The Master calls," Greg joked feebly, taking a deep breath and reaching for the door handle.

Catherine shook her head at him. "Tell him we wrapped up that overlapping case. I'm heading home."

"Right," he agreed, and stepped into the office.

It was quiet in there, sort of dark. The blinds were drawn, cutting out the morning sunlight, and making the faint skitter of bugs from various terrariums and jars a little nerve wracking.

He was going to have to ask Lady Heather about that next time.

"Greg, please, sit down. How was the rest of your shift?" Your last shift, Grissom didn't say, but Greg could guess he was thinking it.

"Fine," Greg answered him nervously, settling himself on the edge of the chair across from Grissom. There wasn't any point in getting too comfortable, was there? Not when Grissom was just going to be firing him and then tossing him out on his ear.

Grissom let the answer stand for a moment, and then he looked at Greg over the edge of those wire frame glasses. "I know about your appointments."

His breath was gone even if he had already known. Stolen, ripped out of him with those words, and Greg wasn't really sure he'd get it back. "Oh. God." There wasn't any way to even begin apologizing, was there? Embarrassment was bad enough, but that feeling in the pit of his belly as if he'd so severely disappointed Grissom that he wanted to just die was worse. "Um. I'd say I can explain, but really, I think the explanation's pretty... pretty obvious. I'll... I'll clean out my locker." Because that was what Grissom would expect. What anyone would expect, maybe.

"Why do that? Greg, I'm not going to fire you..."

No, wait. Maybe he was hallucinating. Grissom was leaning forwards faintly, eyes concerned as he kept looking at Greg.

"You're... not going to fire me." O. Kay. Okay. That was just... Something really weird was going on here. "So you're going to... send me back to the lab?" Well. Okay. That would be okay. "Uh..."

Grissom's eyes drifted to the door of his office, and then settled on Greg's face again, intense as they focused on Greg's own eyes. "No. Greg, it isn't my habit to talk my CSIs into orgasm. I knew what was going on when you were sorting through the garbage."

"So..." Okay. Right. Evidence. Empirical. Grissom knew. Grissom had purposely instigated the matter earlier in the evening. And Grissom wasn't firing him.

There was no way anything that good was happening to him. Greg firmly buttoned down the urge to ask if Grissom was going to take care of the need his appointment of the morning had already established as being, well, pressing.

"So you're almost a CSI." Grissom was almost smiling at him, head cocked faintly. "You tell me."

"So, the evidence suggests that you're not firing me, you're not going to, um." Um what? Take him home? Make Greg his own? "Report me, either? And maybe..." Maybe.

"Talk it out, Greg, and follow the evidence to the logical conclusion," Grissom encouraged.

Okay. Grissom knew, he wasn't firing him, he wasn't going to yell at him, he had talked him into coming in his pants, so there was only one logical thing left. What was that quote his tenth grade English teacher had shown them when they were supposed to be reading Doyle? 'When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.'

Therefore...

"So, are you taking me home with you?"

"I would... like to. I think we could serve each other's needs, ah, rather mutually." How diplomatic. How unromantic. How still very Grissom of Grissom.

Whoa. The shaky relief of Greg's breath said a lot about how he felt. "Oh. Wow. Um. Wow." He felt like an idiot, like WOW was the only thing he could possibly express in any way, shape, or form. "So."

Right.

"Your place?" Greg was sure that there would be that faint skittering sound at Grissom's house, the same way it was in his office.

"Would you like to follow me in your car? You seem... a little strained, Greg, and perhaps we should talk about it. I leave that up to you, but the office isn't conducive to this topic."

"Well..." Well, he was just having a complete nervous breakdown. Yeah. Because this wasn't supposed to happen. "That would be fine. I... wasn't expecting..." Any of this. None of it. But oh, God. How he wanted it!

"Neither was I." Grissom started to stand up, a cue for Greg to do the same.

"So." So. Back to words of one syllable. "I'll, ah. See you there? Then? Or, you could give me directions, I could stop and pick up some coffee, or..." Except it wasn't like a date, was it? Or maybe it was. And maybe he'd get what he got at Lady Heather's, and maybe he'd get more, and dammit, walking out of Grissom's office with a hardon wasn't going to be funny.

"Just drive behind me. I'll be careful not to lose you." Grissom stepped out from behind his desk, and then it was just him and Greg and the faint skittering noise of living creatures at the work of life. And a hand on his arm. "If you're sure."

"I'm sure." Dry-mouthed, yes, horny, yes, nervous as hell, oh, Jesus, yes, but.

He was sure. He'd been sure almost all his life.

And it was going to be so good.

---

He hadn't expected coffee and talking to quickly segue into coffee-flavored kissing and tongue-talking. On the other hand, he hadn't thought he'd ever get kisses from Grissom, and that was a hell of a lot more than he got at Lady Heather's. The Dominion was all about the scenario and nothing about the sex (well... okay, a little about the sex, except weird and not exactly), so there had been nothing like this. There had been those looks over glasses, there had been his pants around his ankles, there had been a guy who vaguely resembled Grissom with a really strong hand, but....

It wasn't as good as Grissom walking him backwards down a short-hallway, and into what he guessed was the man's study-cum-library. There were books in neat shelves on every wall, and something in a glass cage off to one side making tiny noises. It was pretty much Greg's idea of heaven.

"Take off your pants."

Oh, yeah. Heaven didn't get any better than this, not when he could fumble at his waist, tug so that the dark slacks he'd been wearing came loose. A shimmy, and they were on the floor, and he was already half-naked.

Maybe those Risky Business fantasies weren't so silly, after all.

And Grissom -- did he think of a guy who'd just ordered him to undress by his last name? -- Gil was standing there, stepped faintly apart from Greg like he'd done in the lab. Watching him and probably staring at Greg's underwear clad ass, thinking who knew what. Well. Gil wasn't that hard to read, because Greg could peer slyly from the corner of his eyes and see the outline of an erection in the other man's pants.

All roads leading to Rome and all of that. Gil let out a quiet, faint sigh of air, and then reached a hand forwards to brush his knuckles over the fabric. It felt good, shivered all the way up Greg's spine and into his brain so that a sound blurted out from somewhere deep in his chest that sounded almost like he had already come in his shorts.

Again.

"Anything you want," he promised a little incoherently, sucking his lower lip in for a moment to moisten it. "Anything."

"You mean that." It wasn't a question, but it seemed to be some observation that Gil needed to voice aloud. Maybe for Greg's sake. The knuckles brushed again, then a slow shift of motion brought finger-pads scuffing over the elastic of his briefs, tracing the edge where cloth dug into skin.

God. Yes, he meant it, and he was going to say so just as soon as he found his voice again. If Gil kept doing that, touching him just like that, he might never be able to speak again. "Yes."

"Why?" Why? What kind of question was that? Because fingertips were slowly slipping under the edge of the elastic, the backs of Gil's fingers, the faint lines of his nails, rubbing Greg's skin. That was why!

"Because that's what I've wanted since the day I walked into the lab." Walked in, had blood drawn, gotten chocolate grasshoppers and that wonderfully stern look that warned him not to get up until he was sure he wouldn't pass out. He had wanted Gil before that, had wanted him for as long as he could remember, but it wasn't time to tell him that now. Better to stick with their recent history than to go back that far.

Greg had always had a thing for guys with that kind of expressive brilliance. They made him hot, made him breathless, and Gil had planted the seeds for that particular kink long before, long enough that by the time Greg was crazy in love and understood what it was, it was way too late to stop it.

"Not the answer I expected." He seemed pleased with that, expression still restrained as he leaned in to kiss Greg again. It wasn't fair that Gil seemed able to turn his 'full, hot on passionate' switch to 'off' like a light switch. Not when Greg was still there, squirming faintly and wanting something more. Anything more.

Everything more.

That was Greg's nature, though, and he was pretty sure that it was written all over his face, too. What he wanted. What he needed.

All of it.

Gil's fingers shifted, the back of his hand brushing Greg's skin before fingertips slipped under the waistband and pulled at his underwear. "And yet, despite that I didn't anticipate it, the answer doesn't disappoint me. Do you know why?"

Faintly dazed, Greg shook his head, mouth open as his breath caught in his throat. "No," he declared. He didn't know why, exactly, but he was glad for it.

"Because you've vied for my attention and embarrassed us both more times than I can count. Now I know why. I..." Fingers dusted over the curve of his ass, making the fine hairs tingle. "Viscerally understand what you're feeling. Maybe even why."

"Why?" Why. Greg wasn't even really sure about why. Just... Grissom made him nervous. Made him hard. Made him want. That was a fairly good why, and maybe he hadn't ever considered anything more because he hadn't ever thought any of this, this thing, had a chance beyond his visits to Lady Heather.

Grissom leaned into Greg, slowly, still working his hand down the back of Greg's underwear. "Bastard in love, there's no turning back/ Punish your lover, and then just turn your back/ Punish your future, to spite your past."

Startled laughter broke from Greg's throat, his head falling back slightly with it. Who ever would have thought Gil Grissom would quote Black Flag at him? "Oh, God, yes. Please. Please, do." And that was something he wanted, yearned for, needed more of. He couldn't deny that in any way, shape or form.

Gil leaned down to kiss his neck. "I always knew there was something in that god-awful music you listen to." One finger slipped along the crack of his ass, slow and easy, and then he pulled the underwear down firmly.

"Yeah," Greg squeaked. There was something about it, all right. Something about that declaration, about Grissom saying it, stripping his ass that way. "You can have my everything," he quoted back, offering his mouth. He was already offering everything else. The significance of his willingness, though... Offering that was something he needed to do again.

Mostly so he could hear Gil accept what he was offering again.

"I'll take it. You." The edge of Greg's waistband caught and settled just beneath the curve of his ass.

"Please." Please, and he offered his mouth again, pressing coffee-flavored kisses between them, his arms reaching up to wrap around Gil's neck. It was what he wanted, more than anything, wanted those hands on him, wanted to lift his knees and wrap them around Gil's hips, and drag himself up, clutch at nothing but smart, intimidating man.

"What you want and more." He let Greg cling, clutch, hold, and then put his hands behind Greg's ass and just lifted, levering body against body until he could walk in heavy steps with Greg towards the big chair near the bookshelves.

Skitter. Skitter. The closer they got, the more it sounded, and Greg was a shivering mess. He wanted... he wanted... "Please." It was the only thing in his mind, in his mouth. Grissom knew what he needed, would give it to him, Greg honestly believed. He just had to ask. Gil sat down, a little raggedly because he probably wasn't used to sitting down with people in his arms.

Ask and you shall receive. Ask... and it will be yours. Wasn't that something from 1001 Arabian nights? The stories about the Djinn in the bottle, and wishes being granted to him. Gil could probably explain it to him perfectly, later.

Once he got rid of that hardon.

"I want you." It wasn't a confession. Gil knew that, it was more than obvious. Greg shifted, bringing a hand to roam down the mild softness of Gil's belly, seeking and finding the throb of Gil's erection. It was a heady sort of exhilaration, one that made Greg's breath catch, his entire body shiver.

Greg had always had a thing for older guys. Surfing was great, but some of the best surfers were soft at the edges, experienced more than they were toned and hard bodied. Greg was making a really experienced guy stifle a groan, smiling smugly to himself. "I want you, too, but that shouldn't come as a surprise... since I have you half naked on my lap. Now, I wonder what I should do with a half naked you on my lap?"

Whatever Gil wanted sounded pretty good. Of course, Greg had missed his morning appointment, and the way the edges of his mouth quirked probably gave a fair sign of what he was thinking. "Well... I was going to get pulled over a lap this morning and...." Smacked. His lips trembled faintly at the thought. "Because it makes me so nervous and so hot when you catch me doing stupid things..." Maybe explaining it would keep him from having to say it.

"Which you do often. One would think that you were... baiting me." Gil shifted his hands up to Greg's side, holding him faintly away. "Over my lap, Greg. We have years of punishment to make up for."

Oh, and that made him limp, made his entire body sway so that he thought for a moment he was going to fall over. Instead, he managed to shift himself, crawling into place over Gil's thighs and rocking his hips against one in a barely-there sort of rhythm.

Who needed Risky Business fantasies? He had a way better reality. He had Gil's hand settling over his ass cheeks, stroking and teasing over his skin. "No one in the office would believe this. You have a perfect ass, Greg. I bet it turns pink before red."

That was a dirty, dirty thought. The rest of the office knowing. Well. The man at Lady Heather's house knew what color his rear end turned, but Greg was pretty sure nobody else did. He wriggled faintly. "Try it and see?" he offered.

"I like that about you, Greg. Once you start digging, you don't stop until you're done, even if halfway through you realize it's your own grave. That's determination." Fingers lifted from his skin, and fell back down quickly, a heavy open-palmed smack.

Determination, sure. Greg wouldn't call it quite that, but he whined faintly all the same. Oh. That felt... good. Actually, good was hardly a start for how it felt. Compared to his usual appointment... well. The start this morning was far better than any finish had yet been. "Please..."

"And you beg, too. I hadn't expected that you'd beg to be corrected for your outbursts." Fingers lifted from his ass, and then fell, his hand smacking down hard twice in a row. "I want you to count, Greg."

That was way sexier than anything that the guy at Lady Heather's ever did. Obviously, Greg had died and gone to heaven. "Three?" he squeaked. Maybe Grissom wanted him to start there. His dick sure wanted him to do that, so he squirmed uncomfortably against Gil's thigh, tongue caught for a minute between teeth and lips. Wow.

"I can see that your degree was well earned." Another hard smack came down sharply on his right ass cheek, then the left, hits coming in sharp staccato beat now. "This is what I wanted to do to you when you contaminated that crime scene."

A gasp broke Greg's lips, his entire body writhing for a moment. Just the thought of it made this even better. "Oh. GOD. Five!" Five, and he was going to be lucky and have six in a minute, never mind how he was burning up from the inside out.

"I think you can take more than that." Of course Gil would say that, he was slamming his hand down on Greg's ass, another strike, and another. "Remember that when someone has been spanked, the skin compresses pale for a moment before it turns varying shades of red. Your ass is starting to glow with it."

He could take more than that, all right, but if Grissom kept talking like that, Greg was gonna come all over him, and that would be a hell of a mess, wouldn't it? "Oh! Eight!" Eight, and he was shuddering, because it hurt, yeah, and Gil's hand was firm, wow, but the talking, and the faint skittering... oh.

Oh. Oh, god, he was being smacked again, and it was the hottest thing ever. "Keep counting, Greg. Keeping track of events is important. You'll want to remember this, and what comes after, very clearly."

Nine, ten, eleven, and his eyes were crossing frantically with desire, hips rocking hard against that thigh, and then, wham. Losing count wasn't so bad. Losing count was great. Coming twice in one long evening? Also great. "Uuunnh!"

He was coming against Grissom's leg, coming maybe on the upholstery, and his bare ass was still being warmed by Gil's hand. "I don't hear counting, Greg..."

"Los' count," Greg managed to slur, wriggling himself against Gil and whimpering. "Ohhh, fuuuuck."

Poly-cotton blend Dockers had no right feeling that good against his softening dick. "I should start over," Gil murmured, hand pressing heavily on top of the red splotches he'd left.

"Okay," Greg agreed with a delighted sigh. It was a miracle he wasn't laughing already, laughing at himself and enjoying this way too much. "Wow."

"You really liked that." Gil's fingers shifted, tracing down the crack of Greg's ass again, ghosting.

"Ohhh, yeah." Yeah. He had liked that a lot, actually, and his legs shifted to give Grissom access to anything he wanted. Everything he wanted. "I used to dream about that." Greg was just sorry that he had finished like that, so fast. It didn't usually happen like that, but things were different with Gil. New. He'd been spanked a lot, to take the edge off, but... this was different. This was reality, and no money was passing hands for it. The only thing passing was the limpness of his dick. God, he almost wasn't young enough for that anymore, to start stirring again, but a fingernail was tickling the wrinkled pucker that was hidden between smacked swollen cheeks.

This was going to hurt.

Not whatever came next, but if he came again it was going to be evil and he was going to like it. He'd like it because it was Grissom, and he'd wanted Gil Grissom for what seemed like his entire life. "Oh, God, please," Greg blurted, whimpering.

"I'm not sure how adamant the Judeo-Christian God is about answering the aroused prayers of a gay man about to be fucked by his supervisor." Was Gil... laughing?

Whatever he was doing, it was damn sexy, and Greg liked it. Laughing-Grissom was one of the best fantasies ever, and it made him lift his ass back to that touch despite the fact that he wanted to laugh, too. It was his nature. "Yeah, well, can't..." He paused to gasp. "Hurt to ask."

"You're right, it can't. You could pray that I go slow and gentle with you, too..." Dry and to the first knuckle, Gil slipped his pointer finger in and bent that joint.

"But?" The sound squeaked, broke in the middle. That felt incredible, and Greg shifted with it, laying his cheek against the side of the chair arm and slitting his eyes open so that he could look back, watch the older man. "Unnnh..."

Gil tilted his head down, looking down at Greg with that boiling intensity Greg had wanted. "Did I say 'but'?"

Shivers danced across Greg's skin, breath stolen away by that look. "No," he whimpered, brows knitting as he shifted himself lazily between Gil's hand and his thigh.

"Stop that." Gil shifted his other hand, pulling at Greg firmly. "I know you're horny, but I'm not going to be an object that merely satisfies your penis. Nice as it is."

"Right," Greg agreed, nodding. Yeah. He didn't want any of it to be just that, but God, how could any guy in his right mind resist humping Grissom? Nobody could. He was sure of it. "Sorry."

Slowly, that finger pulled out of Greg, and Greg was pretty glad that Gil used it to grasp his hip while he went about getting Greg sitting upright on his lap and looking at him. Because smelling ass-smell would've been weird, even if it was his own ass, fresh spanked. "Don't apologize."

"Do you not like it when I apologize?" Greg asked him, leaning in to capture Gil's mouth again. Yeah. It still tasted faintly of coffee, and for a minute, the most he could think of was sucking on that lower lip.

Gil groaned quietly, hands smoothing along Greg's back. "No, I don't mind it; just don't apologize for tripping my quirks."

"I think your quirks are hot," Greg murmured, bringing his hands up to cup Gil's face. He couldn't help wriggling in his lap just a little, though. "Want me to get up and dance for you? I do a mean Risky Business."

Lap wriggling face to face seemed okay with Gil, since his hands were straying down to Greg's ass again, encouraging the movement. "Since you're already in shirttails, I can guess that you might. Could you perhaps procure a condom and lube?"

"If you could perhaps tell me where it is, yeah." It made Greg want to laugh, but then, maybe Gil had secretly liked the little dance with the showgirl headdress.

Maybe he'd get one later and try it out naked.

"It..." Gil started to say where, and then seemed to realize the same thing Greg guessed -- that it was hidden away and that telling Greg where would probably take a map and a compass. "Stay here."

'Stay here' meant 'get off of my lap for a minute', and that was pretty low on Greg's agenda. Still, Gil hadn't invited him to go with him, or to crawl into bed with him or anything, so Greg slid to the side and perched on the arm of the chair. "Staying."

"Good. Greg, you're gorgeous. That stain isn't ever coming off of that seat." For some reason, Greg suspected Gil meant it in a literal way, that it might be impossible to lift properly. Not that a stain ever really came out when you were a CSI.

Gil made maybe two, three steps before he turned around like a light bulb had gone off in his head. Maybe standing up had let some of the blood in his dick get to his brain. "No, never mind. Come with me, Greg."

The expression on Greg's face was almost certainly pure unadulterated joy. He wouldn't have doubted that he was glowing, and he didn't ask any stupid questions like, 'Are you sure?'. Instead, he scrambled out of the chair and slid across the hardwood floor in his stocking feet to where Gil stood. "Coming."

"I'm a poor host," Gil apologized as he put a hand on Greg's back, guiding him down the hallway. "Once I accidentally served Catherine a cup of coffee that..."

The faint, warm pressure of fingers and palm distracted Greg. He could admit that, because he didn't hear a damn thing about that cup of coffee, or maybe Gil had just decided not to tell him about whatever escapee from his racing roaches had made its way into the cup. Greg was kind of grateful for that.

Gil was quiet as he pushed open the door, herding Greg into his tidy, astonishingly nice bedroom. Greg hadn't expected that, but he hadn't really actually expected ever to get involved with Gil, so hell, what was one more nice surprise?

As long as the racing roaches weren't sharing a bed with Gil. As long as it was just dead insects pinned and preserved in boxes on the walls. Skitter skitter was okay, so long as it was inside the terrariums. It was a really good thing that Greg wasn't afraid of bugs.

"So," he said, turning towards Gil with a grin. His hands rose, reaching for the buttons on his shirt as he leaned back against the door frame. "Why don't you have your wicked way with me?"

A step forwards, and fingers drifted to his neck, stroking while Gil smiled slowly. "In time. Don't tell me that you're already ready again?"

"Hm." Not quite, at least, but he would be. It wouldn't take that long, and a little hurt would be so worth this. Whatever this turned out to be, exactly. Whatever Gil wanted. "Soon."

"Soon I can work with." Gil leaned in, one hand on Greg's neck, one on Greg's hip, holding him still to kiss him. Gil kissed as if he was dying for affection, kissed like he hadn't kissed in years and might not do it again, which was good in a way. He was really taking his time with the roof of Greg's mouth, his tongue, his lower lip, and it was probably the best kiss Greg could ever remember getting.

His left arm came up, clutching at Gil's shoulders and pulling him closer. It felt good, and it gave his right hand leisure to keep tugging the buttons on his shirt loose from the holes. That would leave him just in socks, but a few studied shifts got those off, too, mid-kiss. "Hmmmm..." Oh, yes. This was better than any fantasy.

The stroking at his neck morphed to fingers in his hair. It didn't matter too much that Gil was going to get hair product all over his hand doing that. It smelled pretty cool, and that stroking, the touch, felt good for Greg. He just needed to figure out what to do with his own hands. Something like getting his supervisor naked.

That was the best idea he'd had all day. All week. Hell, maybe even all year, and so Greg untucked his own last button and moved to work on Gil's. This, he decided, was going to be so good. Older men were hot, had more knowledge, knew more about how to make things hurt good, and knew how to make it last.

Knowledge was the most erotic thing in the world.

He'd always known it, but the lesson was hammered in firmly his sophomore year of college when he'd struggled through a particularly challenging chem class because the professor was just so fantastic and awesome and distracting. One minute he'd been trying to impress the guy, the next he'd zone out during a test -- all over the sort of guy who'd dig into his pocket for a piece of chalk, find an old Skittle, declare it in class with surprise, pop it, and then go back to scribbling chemical reactions on the board.

There was something about geniuses. They were either weird or they were assholes, and Greg was glad that Gil was weird. Weird was workable, particularly since there was a knee sliding between his thighs, and Gil was half-walking them both backwards towards the bed. Weird was fun, and it meant that new information would be constantly streaming in from somewhere to be stored for later use.

"Oh, yeah," Greg moaned, feeling the backs of his thighs hit the edge of the mattress. He squirmed, pushing himself firmly onto it with Gil's help, shoving at the older man's shirt. Off, off, off.

Gil stretched, got his arms out of the sleeves, and dropped it to the floor. Only pants remained, and maybe not even shoes and socks because Gil was kissing him again, moving a little, and Greg heard two thuds. Goodbye, shoes. "God, you're beautiful."

"I bet you say that to all the boys," Greg quoted, grinning at him as he squirmed back onto his elbows. Meatloaf was pretty classic enough for Gil to know it, right? "On a hot summer night... I'd offer my throat to you."

"I'll have roses next time," Gil half-promised, half laughed as he followed Greg onto the mattress, kissing him again. It was funny, talking in lyric bits -- funny enough to really delight Gil, and Greg loved that, the same way that he loved feeling Gil's dick press against him with only a couple of layers of cloth between them.

"Uhn," he groaned, hands roaming down Gil's back. Maybe if he pushed at the pants, they'd mysteriously go away, and they'd both be all naked, all the time.

Gil started at the push, and shifted back for a moment to quickly undo them. "Let me just get into this drawer..."

Oh, God, yeah, Greg could do that. He let go, let Gil pull away, but it gave him a few minutes to squirm himself up towards the top of the bed and the pillows. It was made, but Gil could tell him if he wanted to pull the covers down or fuck on top of them. It didn't matter to Greg, so long as they did.

He should have expected Gil Grissom to make his bed. And for Gil to have a cute ass, a funny way of standing while he quickly rifled through the drawer to get condoms and lube.

The sound of a ringing cell phone cut through the room. No way. No. No, was there some way Greg could maybe get over to where Gil's pants on the floor and step on them? Crush his phone?

"Oh, God, nooo," Greg moaned even as Gil reached for his pants, fumbling through the pockets for the phone and answering it.

"Grissom."

Greg was going to die if it was work and Gil had to go in. He was just... going to die of blue balls. If it was possible after two mind-blowing orgasms.

"A late breakfast? Catherine, I'm going to have to decline this time." There was a faintly peeved look settling between his eyebrows, while he turned back to Greg and put a finger to his lips.

Ah, the universal gesture of silence. Greg got that, and grinned in acknowledgment. Mmm, that was going to be so nice. Maybe he could make Gil a late breakfast when they woke up, because he so wasn't going anywhere unless he had to.

"No, I'm not avoiding socializing, I--" He stopped, and Greg could faintly hear Catherine's voice while Gil moved towards the bed, and handed him the condoms and lube. Trojans. "No, I'm not reviewing that case. No."

Well, he could occupy himself while Gil was on the phone, right? A little lube smeared on his fingers, and he could just reach back like that, and oh. Oh. Oh, yeah, just like that, one hand up to stifle the noises that he couldn't seem to help making when he did it just like that.

"I.... Nnngh." Gil was staring at him, free hand hovering like he wanted to help Greg with that. "What? No, I'm not having a heart attack. Yes. I'm sure. I'm bu... Catherine. I have company. Yes."

Greg really wished he could see the look on her face just then. It was always so good to surprise Catherine. Not as good as slipping in a second finger, twisting both of them together with his knees propped open wide and one hand hovering over his dick, but... good.

Definitely a Kodak sort of moment.

"I will. I have to go now. Give Jim my regards and apologies. I will." He hung up in record speed, then turned his phone off and tossed it onto the floor.

"She told me to tell 'whoever' that she was sorry, but god -- you tease." It was a good thing his knees were spread, because Gil was over him, eating at Greg's lips again, and Greg's hands were tugged away from his body.

"Fuck me," Greg moaned, begging against that kiss. "Fuck me, fuck me, oh, God, I want it so bad, I've wanted it so bad..." So long, ever since forever, it felt like, all his life, maybe, fucking incredibly long.

"Yes..." Gil hissed that, reaching for one of the condoms. "Put this on me."

Greg could feel his fingers shaking, so he was grateful when Gil opened the condom -- not with his teeth, and that thought almost made him laugh -- and handed it to him. This he could almost do in his sleep, he'd thought of it so much. He reached down, fumbled between them for a moment, fingertips holding the reservoir while he worked it over the fat head of Gil's dick.

Better than daydreams, because even if he'd taken the odd peek at Gil when he'd had to shower at the lab because of a particularly gruesome case, there was peeking and then there was looking and fondling. Gil's eyes watched Greg's face, not his hands, not his dick, but his face. His thick dick twitched under Greg's fingers.

"I want it," Greg told him quietly, seriously, stroking the latex sheath down to meet the curls at the base of Gil's cock. "You have no idea how bad I want this."

"As much as I want this, at a guess." Gil leaned into Greg, taking the open lube and squirting a little over the tip of his condom sheathed dick. "Do you want it this way? Face to face? I don't want to hurt you accidentally..."

No, Greg was pretty sure that if Gil wanted to hurt him, he'd do it all on purpose. Starting with spanking.

"This is good," Greg decided, dragging one knee higher up. "Just... you know. Grab 'em." His knees. Push them up, and Gil got the idea almost immediately.

Gil was quirky, but he definitely understood sex. Greg felt himself being moved, pushed up so he could rest back on the pillows. Then he was knees to his ears, and Gil leaning down to kiss him, and a slick latex covered cock nudging against his up-tilted asshole. He wanted to push up, wanted to impale himself, but all he could do was groan underneath that mouth and wait... wait.

When it came, it made his breath catch. Greg had done it before, but the fact that it was Gil Grissom made things different. The knowledge was enough to make him yell and tighten just a little once he felt the head slip in, and oh, fucking GOD, the man was holding still. "Fuck me..."

"I will. And you'll..." His hips pressed hard against Greg's ass, into Greg balls deep. "God, you're going to feel me all through your next shift." He was, because Greg wasn't sure he'd ever be able to get Gil's dick out of his ass, or his knees away from his ears. Gil was in deep, deeper than anyone had been in a long while, pressing him down and then pulling his hips back slowly. "Mm."

"Oh, my God." That didn't even start to cover it, actually, but it was better than the mindless groaning that waited somewhere in the pit of Greg's belly. "Oh, my God, please, fuck, please, fuck, please..."

He hadn't been that incoherent when he'd finally gotten his chem professor to go down on him. But then... this was Gil Grissom, and if there was one thing Greg was sure of, it was the fact that Grissom was completely capable of turning Greg's world on its ear.

Repeatedly.

"Yes... wasn't going... to let you get away." Gil almost perfectly punctuated his words with thrusts, leaning just that little bit further to kiss Greg. "Is this how you want it?"

"Please!" Please, yes, yes, and yes again, entire body folded over and fucked with a certain lack of mercy that made him want to come again, now, right now. The heavy brush inside of him was perfect, and Greg knew he was damn near incoherent. "Oh, God, fuck, yeah, yeah!" Yeah, more. More was good. More was perfect. Just there. Right there.

It didn't matter that he was cracked in half, because there was a thick dick stroking just over his prostate. Greg hardly noticed that Gil shifted, watched his face until he knew exactly what stroke made Greg's eyes roll back in his head. Greg was too busy getting fucked to notice, and boy, he was getting it good. Involuntary sounds escaped from his throat with every formidable shift of Gil's body. His cock was leaking against his belly, and his balls were killing him, but Greg didn't ever want it to stop. Not ever.

"Ah! Fuck! Oh, fuck!"

"Yes, yes... Touch yourself, do it..." He gave a twist of his hips when he pushed back down into Greg again, moving faster. Greg's cock was getting just enough friction, rubbed every time that the bed gave a faint squeak.

That was kinky, hot, the sound of Grissom telling him to jerk off. With a ragged groan, Greg reached between their bodies and caught hold of his dick, giving it a stroke that made him yell. So close. So fucking close, and if Gil shoved in him just one more time, he was gonna.

"Nnh. Yes, fuck, Greg..." He had to admit, maybe later, that Gil had been more vocal since Sofia had joined their team. And it was a good thing, because even vague dirty talk was good to listen to when he got that last thrust, feeling Gil's hips snap forwards, driving deep into him, then a few stuttered, groaning jerked thrusts, Gil's face pressed against his shoulder.

Best. Sex. EVER.

Ever.

And he was never coming unfolded. Never ever, but it didn't matter, 'cause Grissom was draped on top of him, and his ass hurt, but it was good. Sooo good. Wow. Greg really loved endorphins. Endorphins were his friend. They were the best thing in the whoooole world.

Gil -- not Grissom, but Gil, and that was going to take a lot of work to remember -- shifted, moving back and away from Greg slowly. Except that Greg didn't want him to move.

"Nooooo." Yeah, he sounded like a whiny six year old whose favorite toy was being taken away, but so what? "Don't go away yet..."

"I don't want to..." Gil's eyes closed for a moment, and Greg winced as he felt the almost-pop of Gil pulling out. "Mess your back up."

Well, there wasn't a lot to be done for that, Greg figured. The thought of himself cripping along all night in a semi-bent position all of his next shift made him snicker, though. "Mmmmm, that felt so good." So good, and he hadn't wanted Gil to pull out. Actually, if he thought he could manage to come just one more time, he'd be trying to coax the older man into fucking him again.

If Gil could get it up again. Hey, and if Greg could manage three, why not four? Greg heard something hit the trash can, then Gil pulled the sheets back, out from underneath Greg. "It'll feel good, again. Hold still while I get this off you."

"Okay." Greg didn't have a clue right up until Gil started wiping at his belly. Yeah, he was still loving endorphins.

"I don't want to wake up stuck to you with protein glue. But the next time I need a sample for an experiment..." The tissue hit the trash can, missed barely, and Gil couldn't be bothered to get it. He moved into bed with Greg instead, and that opened up a world of possibilities, didn't it?

Yeah. A whole lot of them. Wonderful, exquisite, incredible ones, and Greg's eyes were just so damned heavy, and...

---

Grissom had been right.

Not that Greg had expected him to be wrong; not after a round two before they'd gotten dressed and had headed in to work separately but together. Different cars, but Greg had just coasted along behind Grissom's SUV the whole way to the department, and had acted all fake surprised when they'd bumped into each other in the parking lot.

Gil had just smiled, that secret smile that would probably have the rest of the team muttering all night.

Catherine had spent the entire four hour difference between night shift's arrival and swing shift's departure giving Gil a hairy eyeball that had no equal. It had been all Greg could do to keep from grinning ear to ear every time he saw her.

Of course, the faint crick in his back had probably helped with that, he thought, eyeing the evidence spread out on the table in front of him.

Still, wow. He could imagine what she was thinking. Grissom had had a date and not only had he not messed it up spectacularly, but he'd gotten laid? She was probably wondering if someone had slipped LSD in her Diet Coke.

At least she'd never suspect Greg. Who would? She was probably thinking Sara, but thankfully Catherine hadn't been able to corner and talk to Sara that night since Sara had gone out on a robbery and holdup.

And Greg had this table, and the cd player all to himself. Yeah. Life was so good. Latex gloves, check, NIN, check, oldie but a goodie, hip swing, la, la yelp.

Shit.

Gil was so damned QUIET!

"So, tell me what you've recovered from these books."

Yep. Everything was back to normal, at least on the surface. Greg liked it that way, he thought. Especially since there would be more of the mornings-after. He could live with a lot of that, and so he smiled, and started to explain his findings.

Life in the lab was weird, sure, but Greg was ready and happy to compartmentalize his personal and working lives. Particularly if he got the triple pleasure of Gil Grissom in bed, watching his coworkers subtly try to figure out what was going on, and knowing that at least someone in the lab didn't underestimate him.

Wait, no, four. His hands were perfectly steady as he held up the page that had a hand-shaped void in blood-spatter. That was a nice bonus.

It was going to be a really great day.

"What is that?"

"Nothing!"

"If it's nothing, why did you close the laptop?"

"Eurm..."

"Let me see. You don't even hide porn from me..."

"Well... uh, this isn't exactly porn. Exactly. I mean, it looks like it's porn, but..."

"So just open your laptop, Greg. Your denial is making me suspicious."

Squirming. Shuffling. Click.

"It's a game."

Pause. "And those are little people?" Pause. "They're having sex."

"They're us. Having sex. Well, okay, they're not us-us, but it was hard to find SIMS that looked like us. They're pretty happy SIMS. I made a house with Nick and Warrick, but they kept yelling about who had to take out the trash, and making moves on my mom when she came to visit from next door..."

"I wondered what you did on this thing. Scoot over a little. So the game is built to do this...?"

"Well, I had to download the rugs. And the beds. There's this one, see? In this one, you can tie me up, I can tie you down... But their favorite is the rug. Apparently, I like blow jobs."

"I could have told you that. How long have they been at that?"

"They were clean when they started. See this hygiene bar? So. It's been a while."

"Nonstop blow jobs tend to do that." Quiet, and then Gil started to laugh. "So, how long have you been sitting here watching yourself get a virtual blow-job?"

"Maybe five minutes? I was thinking..." Pause. "That maybe when they were done and ready to take a nap, I'd look around and find you in time for one."

"A nap?"

"A blow job."

"You'll need to put the laptop down... And then we'll see about it."

"Can we finish watching first? It's kinda hot."

There were fine lines between mentor and student, leader and led. Lines that existed for a reason but sometimes blurred and warped. Gil had always enjoyed learning from people who had been his students.

It was part of life, because one person couldn't hold all of the pieces of any given puzzle, and at the moment, Gil wasn't inclined to try. Not really. There were things that he wanted, that he needed, that he didn't often get. And there were people who were capable of giving those things to him.

More specifically, there was a person capable of giving those things to him.

"Shift your arms back behind you. Yeah. Like that's good."

"Okay." It was easy to move, to do what he was told because deep down, he knew it was just a game. Just a moment in time without any bad repercussions on his life, and with a lot of pleasure.

Deviance was fascinating to study, and like any mentally alluring topic, it was easy to slip over the edge of Observance Point and into the middle of Trying It Out. Trying It Out, as things happened, wasn't so bad. Actually, he would describe it as a great deal of fun, if anybody asked.

Maybe not so much the process with all of the knots, though.

There was a faint pull at his shoulders when slim, steady hands worked the ropes into place, silky things that felt as if they had been braided for greater strength. It wasn't enough to make it burn, or to make him seriously uncomfortable. He certainly noticed it, though.

"Now. Forward."

Gil noticed that he wasn't going anywhere with those ropes tied so well. When he leaned forwards he had no way to balance himself. Not with his arms bound comfortably behind him, palms out and knuckles pressed to the small of his back.

It was always unexpectedly hot that his partner was that considerate. Tied up with no escape, but at least nothing was going to go out of joint on him.

There was a slight bounce when he hit the mattress, but not much more. Not much more, and then there were ropes coming from behind him up over his shoulders and around his neck. That was new, but not threatening. They were quickly anchored in a firm knot, one just below his collar bone, and then spread apart to slide beneath his arms.

"I'm going to pull these around you to meet your wrists now."

He exhaled carefully, and tried to not squirm. "Yes..." Yes. He wanted circumstances to be beyond his control, even though they were still in his control. If he said no, it would stop. But tight thighs were pressing on either side of his ass, his partner up close and so personal as he added elaborateness to the knots.

"You're pretty like this."

Pretty. It was a bizarre word for someone his age, his shape, a turn of phrase that was faintly eccentric for someone so young. What on earth made him think of it?

Greg's lips were moist and warm when he leaned down to whisper in Gil's ear. "I love to see you like this."

It took a moment to formulate words past simple noise, to come up with the sense to express more than encouragement. He just wanted to breathe, to feel the steady, soft gusts of air against his skin. "W... Why?"

"You're always so in control," Greg explained against his skin, mouthing the back of Gil's neck. "Except when you aren't. Doesn't happen often, but when it does..." The rock of his hips pressed his prick against the back of Gil's thigh. "I find it highly erotic."

There was something about being tied up that made every motion profound, every sensation intense. He could feel the faint smear of pre-come from the head of Greg's dick, and he moaned when he pressed his cheek against the mattress. "Just here..." Just for you, but the words didn't come.

Greg knew them anyway, just like he knew that Gil's feet got cold, so he always left on his socks. It was faintly silly, and made Gil want to laugh at himself, at both of them, but... Well. It was nice, too. "Hm. Yeah. I know. I like that. I like a lot of things." Like the faint layer of fat over one tricep, like nuzzling against the place where torso and arm became shoulder.

That had to be some level of deviation in and of itself. He wasn't an exceptionally fit man. He wasn't a stunner, and he wasn't young. There had to be something desperately wrong with Greg, except Gil had already decided that he was selfishly never going to try to fix the other man.

Greg seemed pretty pleased with the arrangement.

"Mmnh." Gil closed his eyes faintly, because his field of vision was the weave of the sheets, the edge of the mattress, and the tilted line of the bedside stand where their cell phones laid. Greg had taken the batteries out of both of them. No interruptions allowed.

No phone calls. No pages. And they weren't getting out of bed to answer the door. That was part of the reason for the ropes, after all. If someone knocked, Gil would feel guilty and want to get up to answer. Greg wasn't going to let him.

"Now. I wonder what you could be wanting..." Ah. Greg's mouth dragged across the strong line of his shoulders, coming to settle low against his neck, mostly his spine. Gil could feel the slippery head of Greg's cock nudging against his balls, slick erratic pressure that was just so, just right. It gave him restless shivers, too eager to go right for the main course, such as it was. When he was on top, he could wait forever to do it, but when he was tied up, his self-control shot itself to hell.

Gil groaned, biting the inside of his cheek to ground himself a little, and tried to shift against the ropes.

"You know, I'm kind of hungry," Greg said to him. "Do you think you might like chili later on tonight? The kind with those New Orleans style beans, I think..."

Teasing little bastard. Gil would get him later. Unfortunately, later wasn't now.

"Greeegg..." He had a little hip motion still, and shifted back against Greg's teasing dick before he hunched forwards, rubbing himself on the mattress.

"Oh. Not interested in supper, huh?" Greg could even laugh in bed, and normally, that was a very sexy thing. When he came, he'd get breathless, and he'd laugh, and Gil had never seen anything quite like that before. It just wasn't so funny when Gil wanted to get fucked. "I suppose I could see my way to giving you what you want... if you ask nicely."

It didn't take more than a second for him to respond to that. "Please..." Opening his eyes fully didn't help him see Greg, so he tried to test his range of motion and twist. "Please fuck me. I want..."

"Hm. Yeah. I know what you want." Ah, God, Greg was getting off of him, and Gil was going to kill him when he came back. "I know exactly what you need." Gil could hear the faint shhhht of the Rubbermaid box being pulled out from under the bed. "I'll give it to you," Greg promised.

"Please..." Perhaps, just perhaps, a faint note of whine slipped into his voice. But where before he'd had hands and reassuring legs on him, a cock almost in position, now there was just air. Air and Greg digging around in what Gil knew was the kinkiest box of sex toys that existed. The other CSIs had given Nicky some freaked out looks when he had recognized the font for the Erotica Boutique, but those looks weren't even half of what they'd give if they could see what Greg liked to play with on a regular basis.

Usually with Gil watching... but there was watching and then there was being.

Three weeks ago, Greg had taken a large vibrating butt plug out of that box. He'd carefully inserted it, stroked Gil's cock a few times, turned it on, and then had wandered out into his kitchen to get a carton of ice-cream and a spoon. It had taken twenty minutes of agonizing pleasure -- and half a carton of ice cream on Greg's side of the equation -- before Gil had broken down and started to beg Greg to turn it off.

He'd returned the favor just last week, which had been fun, and kinky, and had resulted in Greg standing up to eat breakfast. Gil had the best of all possible worlds held in the palm of his hands.

Well.

Except for the part where he didn't know what Greg was up to in that box.

"No... no, not this... not this... hmmm..."

Dammit.

He couldn't exactly squirm sideways to peer, not without gaining himself some repercussive 'wrath' in their game. Half of Greg's enjoyment came from making Gil wait and wonder, left to his mercies.

God alone knew what Greg was going to get off of the floor carrying, and what it was going to feel like. The only thing Gil was absolutely sure of was that he was going to love every last minute of it.

"Ahhh. There we go. That's it. Don't you think so?" The way that Greg waved it didn't let him see much. It was purple, and half of everything they owned was purple due to some twisted, bizarre love of the color that Greg had. Something about comic books that Gil wasn't coherent enough to contemplate at the moment. "Slick it up, put it in you... Mmmm..."

"Uhhm." Gil closed his eyes, more than willing to submit to it. "Please, anything..." Which he probably shouldn't have said. Maybe he was facing another session of 'see how long it takes to make Gil beg and really mean it'.

"I love this thing, myself," Greg told him conversationally. Gil could feel the bed dip under his weight as he sprawled out nearby. "Hm, God, and I know how you like to see it when I fuck myself with it. Your dick is incredible, really. I love playing with it, even if it's just a silicon imitation. That was the greatest idea you ever had, by the way."

Fingers.

Fingers were sneaking, sliding, slippery. Two at once, deep in Gil's hole, hard and hot.

He bit his tongue in lieu of a pillow, twisting his face against the mattress to muffle himself. Being spread that quick was always a sensation unto itself, a sharp punch of pleasure because he was relaxed and eager for it. There was such a thin line between something hurting and something feeling so good he could hardly stand it and wanted more.

"Nnn, Greg... Please." Please. Was he going to fuck Gil with... what, that silicone cast dick, and not his own? He wanted Greg in him or on him or something. Some sharp sensation. Living flesh, real skin, always felt so much better than latex and silicone.

"Pretty," Greg reminded him, and maybe Greg really thought so. Greg was crazy. Gil knew it. "Pretty when you're horny and on your knees, and all tied up..." Yeah, Greg was obviously enjoying himself just as much, and then....

Fuck.

Fuck. Not Greg's dick. Bigger, thicker, heavier, his own, the one they'd cast from his cock, the one that Greg had slept with and kissed goodnight for a solid week and a half before he would let Gil put it under the bed.

He had to groan, had to exhale raggedly because he wasn't used to that. Greg was used to it, but he wasn't, and fuck if that wasn't a strange thing for his mind to try to process. Greg was going to fuck him with his own dick, probably just as fast as Greg's hand could move when he was masturbating.

When silicone imitations of his own balls settled against his actual balls, Gil twisted, a faint whine leaving his throat. "Please..." Please, he couldn't just leave the thick thing in place in him. Couldn't just leave him alone there. Couldn't just...

"Pull your legs in tighter. Yeah. Yeah, like that." Ahhh. And there it was, Greg's cock, slick a little, too, and plunging between Gil's thighs. Fuuuuck. Fuck. Every motion shifted the dildo, and Gil's eyes were rolling back in his head from the sudden pleasure of it.

Ever motion bumped the head of Greg's cock against his balls, against his cast balls, against the dildo stuck firmly into him. It was decadent, and if Greg hadn't tied him in so well, Gil was half-sure his twisting and writhing against the mattress would have gotten him loose.

And behind him, Greg was filling the room with his voice, almost-coherent compared to Gil's noises, pants, begging sounds. It was like being fucked twice over, a constant tickle of sensation right against his perineum, against his balls, enough to make his brain stop ticking altogether and give him nothing but sensation. Nothing but Greg and sweat and rope and dick, his dick, shoved tight up his own ass when it usually belonged up Greg's.

"Un... uh... un..." Coherence was overrated. Sensation, the empirical evidence of the moment, was everything. He was coasting on it, the knowledge that his subconscious was paying attention to was half as hot as the reality of the smack of skin on skin, the burn of friction, the ache of his cock. It was teasing, because there was no withdrawal with the dildo stuck in him. Just the tap of Greg's lean hips smacking it into him a little, rhythmically. It was the worst kind of tease, and Gil wanted more. Moaned for more, moving his hands to try to touch Greg's stomach.

"No. No touching," Greg panted, shifting upwards and moving away. His dick was gone, the pressure was gone, and there wasn't any skin anymore. There was Greg, settling himself at the head of the bed with his dick in his hand. "You want to see me?" he asked. Gil could tell how bad he wanted it. "You want to see me do it? I know how much you like to watch it..."

His position slipped, and he flattened to the bed again as hopes of satisfaction skipped away from him again. He wanted to touch, he wanted skin, to feel, to... Anything. He still had a carbon copy of his own cock stuck up his ass, and Greg's dick was swollen, shiny and red. "Please..."

"God." Greg's voice was shaking, and his dick was so close. Gil could almost smell the arousal wafting off of him even as he reached out to close one hand over it firmly and stroke, offbeat presses of his hand, the other one slipping to press behind his balls. "Oh. God. Oh, fuck. Oh, God!"

He clenched his hands into fists for a moment, needing to keep himself from trying to get closer. He could definitely smell sex and sweat from Greg, and he wanted that. Wanted that hot, sweaty come smell, wanted the orgasm that it implied. Watching Greg stroke was amazing, even when he was half-coherent. The muscles just above the base of his cock shook, the muscles just inside Greg's thighs turned whip-tight.

"G-gonna..." Come, Greg didn't say, his entire body arching tight. It brought him in reach of Gil's mouth, but those fingers were clutching tight at the base, trying to stave it off. "Fuuuuuck!"

"Greeegg..." It came out as more of a rumble, and he really did try to move to get some sort of contact, even if it was just getting his shoulder against Greg's knee. Something.

That look was unreal, complete sex in a way that Gil didn't want anybody to see again but himself. "Tell me what you want?"

For his hands to unlock from being fists. For some motion, some sensation, he wanted, wanted Greg. "You." Shaky, sure, but he was firm in the word. He wanted Greg, wanted to touch him, wanted whatever he could get when he couldn't really move.

Slow, spreading grins were part of sex now. Gil figured he might die if he ever stopped getting them. "I'm yours. Just... don't count on me holding out." Yeah, well, they were both close. Just the thought of Greg shoving in and fucking him was phenomenal.

Gil wanted to hear that laugh, the breathless way Greg got. Wanted anything he could get. It was a relief when the mattress shifted, Greg finally moving to do something again. Something that ended up with a twist and a shift and Gil's hands pressed flat between his ass and the mattress.

"Got an idea," Greg said, climbing up over Gil. The cinnamon lube was out, smeared over Greg's fingers, and then Greg reached back to rub it into himself, sliding his fingers deep. "Fuuuuuck..."

It felt like stretching when he was turned that way, the dick up his ass jostled just enough to make his hard cock shiver. Watching Greg quickly glob himself full of lube didn't help. That was just what Greg did, though -- used a little too much, a little too happy to have it messy like that. Gil hadn't ever asked why. The why was pretty obvious: Greg liked it that way. Greg was going to fuck himself down on Gil, so he was right. Neither of them were going to last long.

Two fingers were enough, Gil guessed, because Greg's hand pulled away, found and slicked Gil's cock, and then, Jesus, Holy Mary, hot, tight, Greg had the most incredible ass, and his hand was sneaking back, finding the dildo, and shifting it so that Gil bucked up wildly into him.

"FUCK!"

Fucking amazing. Gil could use his heels for a little leverage, humping up against Greg, but that was it and that was all he needed to do, really. Greg was on top of him, so sexy as he seemed to loll where he sat on top of Gil's dick. His ass cheeks were hot on top of Gil's hips, the top of his thighs, but just a candle-flame compared to the blaze of being inside of his lover.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." Litany in time with the stroke of his own cock so deep in his ass that Gil couldn't think, and Greg riding him as if there wouldn't ever be another chance to have him. The words didn't hide the sheer desperate need, the way that Greg was already tightening around him even as he shifted up again and plunged back down.

Part of Gil's mind almost drifted off, separate from the sensations, watching the play of the corner lamp's light on Greg's legs every time muscles strained up and down again. But that didn't last long, and it joined the rest of him in the feeling of tight squeeze around his dick, erratic shoving of his own cock up his ass. The loud, moaning curses kept coming, and Greg's hands were shaking. He could tell. It gave the faintest weird (interesting?) shift to the way Gil was being fucked. So good. It was so good.

"Oh, God, oh, God, oh. Oh. OH! FUCK!" Greg's ass was grinding into his crotch, head thrown back, entire body gone tight and still as he went off, coming all over Gil's chest and belly. He exploded, and clamped down at the same time. Greg was tight, so tight, milking shuddering squeezing around Gil's dick. Just a couple more rough bucks up, then back down against his own cock's twin, and he was there with Greg. Panting, sweating, straining and then hitting the wall of pleasure.

All while tied up.

Life was incredibly fucking good. It was a shame that he couldn't appreciate how much for several minutes because his brain had completely lost all higher functions.

"I love your dick," Greg moaned against his chest sometime later, when Gil's thoughts were back more or less intact. Well. Sort of. There were hands fumbling at knots, but the younger man hadn't moved off of him quite yet. Gil was going soft, sure, but... he was still in there, and God, it felt unimaginable. If the rest of the office knew Greg was like that, Gil would be fighting them off on a regular basis.

It would've been hard to fight them off just then, because he couldn't feel his right arm. "Greg, that... killed brain cells," Gil finally decided. Soft but still inside of Greg was an amazing sensation, a little too much stimulation. The cinnamon lube burned some, and he hadn't noticed that before.

"Mhmmmm." That earned him a kiss, and a further loosening of ropes. "I have to move to let you out. Don't wanna." Hm... more kissing was good. He could withstand another minute or two of circulation loss. Or maybe not.

"That was good." He half-moaned that against Greg's mouth, leaning up to try to keep those kisses.

"C'mon. I have to get you out of this." One more kiss, and then Greg moved, shifted up and off of Gil with a groan that echoed to the ends of Gil's fingertips somehow. "Jesuuuus."

With Greg, Gil learned important lessons like a soft dick not being a useless one. At least he could still get a groan like that out of Greg, even after. "Fuck." Fuck, because the dick in his ass wasn't going to be soft coming out.

"Hm." Greg shifted to the side, turning him gently, fingers plucking at the knots in the ropes. "Your hands have gotta be falling asleep. Geeze. I'm sorry, just..." Just they both needed fucking, and sometimes a guy had to do what he had to do to get it.

"It's fine. I'm fine, and..." Gil trailed off into a quiet laugh. "Your ass is fine, too. Can you get... me out of me?"

Gil hated that he couldn't see that grin. "Sure." Knots were abandoned, and Greg's fingers probed between his cheeks, shifting, rocking, almost pulling and then settling it back in. "Sure you want me to?"

Fuck. Fuck, that was too much, enough to make him wince because his dick was trying to stir to life a little. "Yes, please..." Please take it out, or nudge him onto his stomach and start all over again. Either or, but not half-untied and teasing when he still couldn't get his hands loose.

"Yeah. Well, there's cruel and unusual and then there's fucking you when you're down. I think we can wait a while, huh?" The gentle slide was still almost too much, and it was a relief when it was out.

Gil was going to get his revenge. Absolutely. It was going to be nice vengeance, too. They played tit for tat in their own way, and neither one of them had a reason to complain. He'd learned a lot from Greg about the subtler things in relationships. About how good it felt in the aftermath of sex, and what it felt like to have no circulation at all in his hands.

"I think... my fingers are going to fall off, Greg."

"Right," Greg said, and there was a lot more hurrying behind him. Gil could feel Greg's hands at his wrists, plucking the ropes loose, and then his arms shifted, fell more or less to his side, and Gil couldn't help groaning because it felt so good. "Here. Let me rub your forearms..."

No one at work would've believed it. Except maybe Catherine. Maybe. The people who did know probably preferred not to think at all what they did in bed.

Gil liked to think about it quite a bit. He stretched, and shifted to roll onto his back, bringing his arms forwards at last so he could touch Greg. "They're fine. You're very conscientious when you do that."

"Well, I want you to be around for me to tie up a whole lot longer. You're sexy in ropes and your socks," Greg told him, squirming down until they were both comfortable.

Side by side, on top of each other a little. Gil got his arms around Greg, volunteering for the position of human mattress if only because he could straighten any kinks out of his back if he laid flat. "You're crazy."

"Yeah, well, you like it. You like it, and it makes you horny." Greg was very certain about that, no small amount smug. "Hey, lemme get the covers. And, um, if you're in the wet spot from where I rolled you over, we can move some...."

Gil shifted to the left, while Greg pulled away to drag the covers up from the end of the bed. "I like your crazy," Gil decided, sounding smug in return as he grabbed a pillow.

"Mhm," Greg agreed, curling up against him and adjusting the sheets and blankets around them. "Hey, so. Tomorrow. You gonna take me out and buy me that thing I saw, now that you're my sugar daddy?" The running joke about the loss of money Greg had suffered by becoming a CSI instead of staying in the lab was still pretty amusing to Gil.

"Maybe..." Not that he could remember what thing it was. Gil closed his eyes, arms loosely around Greg as they settled in. The comedown from sex like that was fantastic, and left him mellow and almost at peace. If Greg decided to say it was a car, Gil would at least give it contemplation. After all, he didn't have much trouble spending money on things that made life nicer or more comfortable.

Like an expensive stereo system. Or the washing machine that didn't make 'kthunk' noises. Or a Greg.

To say that it had been one hell of a bad week would be the understatement of the year. Maybe even the decade. The last time Greg remembered having a week that sucked as bad as this one was at least two years distant and involved a dead man who had spewed up blood all over the place while Nicky had to run for help because all Greg could do was stare.

There had been good sex last Sunday.

That had been the last good thing about the whole mess.

Now it was Saturday, and Gil was looking at him with a tense, worried expression. He wasn't sure how Gil handled it, honestly. He hated finding kids, hated knowing that someone could just... snuff out a life that had only started a couple of years before. It made him ache. What was the point in it, anyway? Killing a three year old? It wasn't like the baby could have identified anybody. And leaving the bodies of the adults for the rest of the kids to find when they came home from school...

It was cruel and unusual and it made him dig the heel of his palms into his eyes like maybe he could get the images out of them.

Gil was tolerant of silence, comfortable with it. Dinner or whatever meal it was had passed in relative quiet, except for Greg asking for a little more pepper. All in all, Gil liked to wait until the other person was ready to talk before he started offering advice.

It didn't really surprise him when Gil leaned forwards and took a hold of him by the wrists. "Greg."

A heavy sigh came out, and then he was in close to Gil, and that was good. So good, because it was a comfort, and it made him smile. Nothing made him smile like Gil did, even though Greg had been nervous as hell around him for the longest time. That whole part where his boss made him horny was kind of hard to get around at first. "Yeah?"

The leather sofa they were on was spacious and comfortable, and it made it easy for him to lean into Gil that way. "You need to stop thinking, Greg. I know what you're doing."

"It's not like I can help it. I mean, it's just sort of there. My brain won't stop kicking in," Greg protested. He dreamed about that baby.

Gil's thumbs started to rub gently at the inside of his wrists. "Your brain is going to stop kicking in, Greg. You can't let a case haunt you like this."

"Yeah, well. You know. Kids." Kids hurt everybody, but he hadn't been able to stop obsessing over those cases since he had found the one in the Rubbermaid storage bin. Maybe he wouldn't ever be able to stop obsessing. "Why don't you help me stop thinking?" It was as good a suggestion as any.

"I was just going to suggest that, Greg." Gil leaned in, brushing a kiss against his mouth before he stood up and took a step backwards. The clutch he still had on Greg's hands ended up serving like pretty handy reins, letting him pull Greg up and forward. Greg followed him obediently enough, glad to give in and maybe stop thinking for a while.

Besides.

Gil still 'owed' him for last time, which was a pretty nice thought. He liked being owed. Not that either of them really owed anyone anything, except Gil had bummed a dollar in change off of him at the start of shift for water from the vending machine. Like that mattered.

"I'm going to make sure that you at least pay attention to other things for a little while, Greg. All the worrying and thinking in the world can't bring them back to life."

"Yeah, but..." Greg let his voice trail off. "You're right. I know you're right." And he wasn't going to think about it anymore, so this was the best way to stop thinking. He gave Gil a little sideways grin. "So, sugar daddy. Did you buy me something to help convince me I don't have to ask Nick for it?" Yeah. Or Warrick. That was the best joke ever, because Warrick had it so bad for Catherine that it wasn't funny, and Nick only seemed to be into pretty prostitutes.

"I might've." Gil backed into the bedroom, turning around once they were in there so he gently swung Greg onto the mattress. "I know I have something that should interest you."

Greg couldn't help grinning. Gil just made him want to do it. "Yeah, well, you've always got that," he announced, kicking off his shoes so that they made solid thuds on the hardwood floor. A quick shimmy of a leg brought one foot up to rest against Gil's crotch. "I mean, you know. I'm kind of fond of it. Actually."

"I hadn't guessed," Gil smiled faintly as he leaned into Greg's foot, and then he slipped to the side. "Am I going to have to pin you down to get you undressed?"

"Hm. I don't know. Are you?" Greg grinned and reached down to unbutton his own pants, squirming to get them off of his hips. "I mean, you know, I'm more than glad to help and all..."

"Because you want it, don't you? You don't even know what you're getting..." Gil leaned in to press a kiss just in front of Greg's ear, starting to unbutton the garish shirt of the day. "But you want it."

"Yeah, well. I'm a slut," Greg admitted candidly, helping to squirm himself out of his clothes. "At least where you're concerned. I mean, all anybody's gotta say is 'Sex with Grissom!' and I'm so there."

It made Gil laugh as he pulled back a little to take his own clothes off. "Thankfully no one in the office says that. Except you."

"Well, you know. If I can't hear it from somebody else, I've just gotta say it for myself." Greg's socks were still on. Gil had a sock kink, or maybe he just liked warm feet. Either way, they generally left their socks on. Greg hadn't actually ever thought to ask before, and suddenly he really curiously wanted to know. It was weird not to know, but now it was going to drive him nuts.

"So what kind of sex with Grissom do you want most?"

"Sock sex," Greg teased. "You always leave 'em on anyway. Which is kind of hot. And kind of weird. You've got a sock fetish, don't you?" Yeah. He had to laugh and not think about the kid that had been stuffed between mattress, pillows and headboard in an attempt to hide him. That was... it would be okay. "What kind of sex with Greggo interests you, Mister Sock Fetish Man?"

Gil gave him that momentarily bewildered look that screamed in its perfect silence that Greg was so off base it was funny. Then Gil shimmied out of his pants, leaving his socks predictably on before he pinned Greg down to the bed. "I get cold feet. And sex? I've got ideas. A little tit for tat for last week, hmn? Want to test out the new head and footboards?"

Ohhh, yeah. That sounded good. Very promising, in fact. The bed hadn't been big enough for the stuff they got up to, so they'd gone out shopping and found carbonized steel instead, king size. Greg was in love with their bed. "That sounds like the best thing I've heard all week." A playful tug almost got him loose, but he wasn't serious about it.

"Even better than when Warrick let you in on that bet?" Gil pulled back once he had one of Greg's wrists pinned to the bed by his own hand, reaching for the ropes under the bed. Those ropes were well used, covered in epithelials.

"We~ell..." He pretended to think about it. "It was nice to be included, but... inclusion's got nothing on this." On him or Gil or anything that went on between them, no matter what it was. On watching Gil come back over the top of him with nylon robes in his hands, and a gleam in his eyes that said he was just itching to use them on Greg. The Greggo hand's connected to the... bedpost.

"Nothing on it, huh? Good. I'll just have to keep making this a level of enjoyment loftier than gambling with your coworkers."

Greg's mouth was a little dry already, the anticipation heady just from the myriad possibilities. "Yeah, well. At this rate, I expect that my distraction will last a really long time. Like, forever. And I've never been much by way of a gambler, so..." So, please fuck me stupid, he wanted to say.

"Pick a number, one to ten."

The fuck?

The temptation to say twenty-seven was unreal. On the other hand, then Gil might decide not to give him any of whatever he'd numbered, so... Greg made a choice. "Six." It sounded like sex, and right now, that was seriously on his mind.

"Good choice." Gil leaned in to kiss him, and simultaneously started to wrap three loops around Greg's left wrist. "I think you'll like it."

"I hope I'll like it," Greg murmured agreeably, squirming beneath Gil. Hm. Wrists tied up, legs still left open, what could a number six be? "In fact, considering it's you, I'm sure I'll like it. Are you going to tell me about the other numbers later?"

"I was thinking about putting them into a hat and having you draw them for hands on demonstration." Gil was teasing him, or maybe not. It was hard to tell through that smile that Greg caught before he leaned up to secure the rope to the headboard before bringing it down to tie Greg's other wrist. He waited, mouth curving faintly while he watched Gil's eyes behind the lenses of his glasses. There was just something utterly sexy about a man in glasses, the same way that a man so intelligent made Greg hard almost automatically. Hm.

"I can't wait." Well, he would wait, but he got the feeling that Gil would want to try out all of those numbers, whatever they were, as much as he did.

"You're going to wait, smartass." The second length of rope was going... behind one knee? And around, multiple gentle loops that he wouldn't be able to get out of, but wouldn't cut into his skin when he pulled and moved.

Gil was going to tie him up with his knees up.

If real life gave a guy sound effects, there would have been an audible 'SPROING!' echoing through their bedroom. Greg grunted, the ache of blood rushing to his groin that fast making him shudder. "Well, you know, I'm thinking maybe being a smartass is a bad idea right at the moment. Maybe I should even stop." Or he could just sort of provoke Gil a little more and see how that worked out for him.

"Maybe it's too late for that." Gil pressed Greg's leg up against his chest, but not all the way. "Are you comfortable this way? Can you breathe easily?"

"Aside from the fact that the dirty thoughts you keep giving me try to steal my breath away, yeah. I can breathe fine." He shivered faintly. Hm. Too late?

Good. Because next Gil was pushing Greg's other leg up, and tying them both up to the headboard. It left his ass tipped up, and his body with room to move side to side or maybe up, but no traction to do it with. He was vulnerable, open for Gil, and Gil was looking down at him like a predator when he leaned down to kiss Greg's left thigh.

Greg let out a breath through pursed lips, then drew in another more deeply and closed his eyes. Seeing was good, but right at the moment, it was better to wait and see what Gil would do next. Er, not see. Wait and not see, because with his eyes closed he couldn't and didn't want to see Gil's tongue tracing a light line down the back of his thigh to his ass. Just feeling it made him want to squirm anxiously.

"Oh, God, yeah..." There wasn't anything else he could really say about that, because he was already trembling in anticipation. Hm, yeah, Gil was very good at absolutely everything he ever tried to do, or at least Greg thought so, and he was incredibly accomplished with his tongue. If they gave doctorates in analingus, Gil would probably have three of them.

The teasing bastard completely bypassed every important part he had.

Well, that was one way to get his mind off of things.

He was going to tease Greg until he couldn't think of anything, and probably then and only then would he give Greg what he'd clearly pinned him up for. If Gil didn't put face to cheek, such as it was, then it was kind of like preparing a butterfly for display but never actually putting it up. Not following through with something just wasn't how Gil worked.

Teasing him first, unfortunately, was. Gil's hands slid, rubbed at Greg's sides, treating his hips and the backs of his legs like erogenous zones.

"Ohhh, God, I hate it when you tease me..." Greg always said that, and he never meant it. Being teased felt so good to him, too good. Gil's faint touches made him hypersensitive by the time Gil actually got around to the sex bits, and so that was nice, too. He sighed and turned his head to the side, slitting his eyes open. "So good."

Gil slid one hand caressingly back over the curve of his ass, and lightly dragged his thumb over Greg's vulnerable asshole. "You still like this best," Gil reminded him, kissing just beneath the ropes. "Don't you? I wouldn't have ever guessed in the office that you liked your ass so much."

A breathless laugh escaped Greg's throat. "Wasn't lying. I do really like having a penis. Having a penis is great. Having a penis is incredible. Sticking it in hot wet places is one of the best things ever. On the other hand, being here with you really makes me seriously appreciate my ass, too. I'd say they're..." He squeaked as Gil's hand shifted faintly, moving away. "About equal!"

"Your penis... may or may not end up somewhere hot and wet today." Gil was leaning up between his stretched, pinioned legs now, leaning right over Greg's eager erection. Greg really wished he had control of those muscles, because if he could make it bounce enough, maybe he could get a kiss on the tip without waiting for it.

That thought was almost enough to make him laugh, even though he had to struggle to move a little. "Tease," he moaned, opening his eyes to look up at Gil. God, the man was worth every moment of frustration, every worry that Greg would somehow disappoint him. He was worth it all, and Greg didn't ever want to forget that. It was worth it just to see him grinning like that, hovering over Greg's cock with his head framed perfectly between Greg's legs. Damn, if only he had a camera, and free hands to use it.

"You love it." Then he did, blessedly, lean down to kiss just against the almost bulging vein.

The low, moaning whimper that Greg gave couldn't be helped. Couldn't be stopped. "Love it," he agreed on a quiet, serious murmur. "God. Love it. Love this. Love you." Greg loved everything right at the moment. Gil could've put a dead salmon on his chest, and he would've loved it, too.

Greg's words always seemed to really encourage Gil, no matter who was tied up or under whom, or even if they were both standing up in the shower or making out in the Tahoe. Gil reacted either to the sound or the encouragement itself, and while Greg hadn't worked it out, he knew the basic causal relationship.

Honest words equaled getting what he wanted. Lips on his dick lingered, slid up along his length, and then closed over the tip.

"Ohhh, yeah." Yeah. His entire body went tense and then relaxed, the ropes holding him for Gil's desires, whatever they might be. It felt amazing, held tight and safe and close, with Gil's mouth on him. It felt like home, like everything was the way it was supposed to be, for always. "Please," he begged, shimmying faintly so that his body rocked. "Please, Gil, Jesus, please..." Please, he wanted his cock sucked so bad that he was rocking around like one of Gil's bugs flipped onto its back.

Gil seemed willing to oblige, reaching around for a moment to bend Greg's dick back towards him. "You can last a while. I know you jerked off in the shower at work. I watched."

Damn it.

Greg hadn't thought he'd been caught at it, but it wasn't like he could help it. It made him feel better, for one thing, but for another... Gil was so hot when he was explaining something, helping Greg to see things that weren't immediately visible. It was maddening.

"Did you like what you saw?"

"Yeah, and that's why I have to see you hard again now." Just a little pull, like a stretch, that made the suction Gil started to give his dickhead feel really good. Better than normal.

Greg gave a heavy sigh and closed his eyes again, still rocking faintly in the ropes, as if it would get him something more. "So good. God, it's so good when you do that, Gil, I want..." Greg wanted more, desperately, but he didn't think Gil was going to give it to him. Not yet. Not yet, because Gil liked to draw things out. He should have guessed that a guy who'd spend twelve hours combing through a house's carpeting would have a lot of patience as long as he was the one in control.

Left to his own devices, he could probably suck Greg like that for hours.

"Please." It didn't take long for Greg to get down to pleading, for all the good that it did. "Oh, God, please, at least use a finger while you do it, come on, please, Gil? Please?" Or suck more. Or... or SOMETHING.

No one should be able to smirk with their eyes, peering down along the line of Greg's body, with a cock in their mouth. But Gil did it, then lowered his eyes for a moment, and took Greg in to the base.

He couldn't get out the desperate curse that he wanted to loose, couldn't do anything but try to breathe. Gil had caught him on the cusp of sighing and taking in another gasp, and for a moment, there wasn't enough air in the world. He inevitably found it, though, and with it, words. "FUCK!"

A few sucks like that, and then Gill pulled back with a soft slurp that went right from his spine to the dick that was already getting sucked. Gil stopped then, let Greg's erection fall out of his mouth. "You're gorgeous when you scream."

A faint keen spilled loose. "Jesus fucking..." He wanted to demand that Gil put his mouth back on his dick and suck until he finished what he had started, but Greg knew better than to think that was going to happen. "Y-you're very good at making me scream."

"I try. You're not as easy as you like to pretend to be, Greg. You flirted with most of the department, but you never went anywhere with it." He kissed the middle of one upturned ass-cheek.

"Yeah, well." Not blushing. No. Not blushing.

Shit.

"Flirting's one thing. Wanting to go home, that's something else again." And God, how he had wanted to go home with Grissom, and now Gil was home. He didn't have an apartment anymore, just his old mailbox, and they shared a house and a bed and... "Uuunh..." Uuunh, a lot of really good sex. Their equivalent of a quiet night at home was this -- dinner, the AM news, and really hot sex. It was better than the party life had been in college, because Greg knew just where he was going to wake up in the morning, and there was no nasty hangover, and no one minded that he sometimes farted in bed. Worst Gil ever did was knee him.

And he got another uhhhn out of Greg by laying a trail of kisses over to his hole, and stopped just touching it.

"Come on!" Pleading wasn't getting him anywhere, squirming wasn't helping, and he was hard, dammit! "Come on, Gil, Jesus, you tease, I'm so going to get you for this..."

"I kind of hope you will." That was obnoxiously candid, breathed right against his his skin. "In fact, I know you will."

But at least he stopped short of dragging it out forever, and finally came through with the promise of his mouth, tongue diving right in and making Greg groan. His legs tried to pull together, and then to fall apart, but they couldn't do that. The best he could do was make a short strangled sound and drop his head back, the sensation of Gil's tongue traveling straight up every nerve and into his brain. His second head really got a bolt of that sensation. Maybe Greg needed to make a certificate to put on the wall of Gil's personal office. Nothing too fancy, just an honorary degree in making a person twitch and fidget with pleasure because he had a great tongue.

It always got better when Gil groaned against him, trying to get in deeper. Whoever taught him the trick about vibrations had to have been a saint. And Greg wasn't going to kill them out of jealousy that Gil had done it to somebody else before him. Nope. No killing there.

Gil would catch him.

It was an absurd thought process, one that made his breath release in what was almost a laugh, right up until Gil worked a finger in with his tongue. "Oh, FUCK!"

The bastard had the nerve to laugh against him, while he shifted so he could dig his finger in against Greg's prostate, pulling back a little while he was still tonguing him. Greg knew what Gil was trying to do, because he'd done it before. He was trying to make Greg orgasm without touching his cock, without Greg touching his cock, and he was doing a damn fine job of it, too. Greg was already close, unable to stop writhing and pulling. The ropes were tightening a little, not enough to hurt, but enough to make him sob and at least try to stop moving. He had no patience, wanted to push himself closer to Gil for more, but he had to stay where he was and take what he was given.

"Please. Please. Please, Gil, please, Gil, please, I wanna cum, please let me cum..." Please. Please.

Gil made a sound against Greg's ass, and twitched his finger to rub against the textural difference that he'd hunted down. He didn't really massage Greg's prostate so much as he finger-fucked it as good as he was already doing to Greg's ass. Greg could feel his thighs trembling, the rest of him shaking in reaction. He was so close that all he could do was whine, eyes nearly rolling in the back of his head, and he wanted. He wanted so bad, wanted so much, was so close. If he could beg anymore, he would, but he couldn't seem to make his mouth work well enough to get out anything more than those faint, breathless whimpers.

His lover just kept working at him. He didn't vary the pace, didn't stop and start -- he just did it steadily, the one slicked finger roving inside his ass and molesting over his prostate, while Gil's tongue twisted and twitched just inside the ring of muscle. So close, then...

Then...

Greg knew he was making some kind of god-awful noise, and he really hoped that all of the neighbors had gone to work. Otherwise, they might think somebody was in the house killing one of them. Maybe he was dead, it felt so good, entire body jerking tight when he came. Rigid, and he couldn't even move anywhere. His knees pressed back on the loops of rope, arms pulling tight on his wrists when he spurted all over his chest and stomach.

Finally, Gil stopped, pulling tongue and finger out of Greg and working his jaw for a moment.

"Oh, Jesus. Oh, sweet Jesus." It was the closest he ever came to prayer, but Gil always dragged that out of him. He couldn't help it, couldn't stop it, didn't want to. "Oh, my God."

"You look like sex epitomized when you're like this." Gil bent to kiss the side of one calf, smiling. God, Greg was going to have beard burn on his ass.

He let out a delirious moan. "I feel like sex epitomized when I'm like this. Like all there is in the world is you and me and this." Sex, and ropes, and Gil's cock and his own, and wonderful places to put them in, and even more wonderful experiments in which to delve. "Mmmm..."

"They're not too tight?" He settled a hand on Greg's left knee, shifting onto his own knees, with his dick pointing at Greg like a weapon. It was one of the best things Greg had seen all week.

"They're perfect," he declared with a vague smile, and they were. Nothing hurt too much yet, and he was about to get fucked. What could be better than that? Maybe getting fucked on the kitchen counter. Except the last time they'd tried that, he'd flailed a lot and that much peanut butter was hell to get off of the floor. Hell.

"I'll have to ask Lady Heather where to get good loop restraints. You're too squirmy for rope." Gil moved again, both hands on Greg's legs now, shifting him a fraction so he could press right against Greg's hole without any twisting.

"Bet she can tell you where we can get 'em custom-made. And probably how to reinforce the cEEI!" Ceiling. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, Gil had the hottest fat dick in the world and Greg was so lucky. So lucky. "Oh my GOD!"

It was like a god-damned inferno, a tiki torch party being hosted right in his ass. The lube probably didn't help to ease off that sensation -- even the peppermint made a tingle, but Gil was paying him back for cinnamon on Sunday with cinnamon again this time. He didn't ease in, either, just pushed in steadily, easily. After all, Gil knew better than anyone, had made a point to figure out, just how fast was too fast and just how slow wasn't fast enough to Greg.

He was getting hard again already, and it hurt, burned like hell, burned like his ass, but the best he could do was whine and writhe. Greg was desperate again, and he seemed to have completely misplaced words and breath and thought somewhere in the middle of it all. He loved that, when it all got swept away and what was left was the meat of the moment. Greg didn't even really hear the springs squeak, because his concentration was on the feeling of Gil working first into and then back out of his ass, steady easy thrusts.

"Love it when you fuck me." Ah. There were words again, and he was managing a wiggle, could push himself a little, and, uuuunh, God. Oh, God, he wanted to die just like this, tied up with Gil fucking him stupid. "Oh, God, fuck, fuck, yeah, oh, this is the best thing ever, I, yeah. Oh, FUCK! Yes!" Right there, the faintest change of angles, and his eyes were crossing. He couldn't lift his head up even to watch anymore. He could just lay there and take it, take those solid, steady, throbbing thrusts against his ass when he was already tied up and pinned down beneath Gil. It was great, and even though Gil could last forever if he wanted to, Greg was pretty sure he wasn't gonna make it this time, or maybe it was just him hoping. He was so hard now, again, hurting with every shift, and Greg knew that it was going to hurt like hell when he went off again. It didn't mean he was gonna stop or anything, but he knew it, and he wanted it in a weird, dazed kind of way. Gil was jarring him steadily into the mattress, and he was pretty sure his knees were going to hit the headboard pretty soon.

He probably needed a rope around his waist, maybe tied to the other end of the bed, to keep him from shimmying all over the bed even when he was tied up. Gil had a point about him being squirmy, but it felt so good to be fucked like that that he went limp underneath Gil's steadily speeding thrusts. Almost there, Gil was almost there, but could Greg come a second time with hardly any recovery time?

"Shit, shit, shit, shit..." So hard, so fucking hard, and Gil had to come soon, he had to, and if maybe he'd just reach around and stroke Greg's dick, just a little, he'd cum again. He wanted to, he didn't want to, he wanted Gil to have what Gil wanted. Gil was already having what Gil wanted. Gil liked to have Greg, Gil liked to leave beard-burn on his ass, and Gil liked to fuck Greg until the only sounds Greg could make were moans and pants and cusses.

But he did get the hand he wanted wrapped around his dick, fast firm strokes like Gil could read his mind, and then all that he could do was grunt and take it, take it, take it, and he was so close again, and then it fucking hurt, balls drawing up too tight, but he was coming, wild and hard and clamping down, and everything was too hot and too much and maybe he was going to die just. like. this.

Slowly, slowly, the world started to come back into focus.

And it wasn't quite the way it had been when he'd fallen out of it.

"When'd you undo the ropes?" Because he'd missed that, completely. And that was one of the best parts!

"When you wouldn't wake up," Gil told him seriously. He'd missed the part where Gil took his damn time pulling out, too, which was his other favorite part.

"Oh. Yeah. That." Still, it made him pout just a little. Okay.

A lot.

"That was... really incredibly good. We should do it again. But not anytime soon, 'cause I think my dick would fall off," Greg noted. He still felt sort of swimmy, head off in some neverland that was a pretty good place.

"I think it would, too." He was coherent enough to realize that Gil was pulling sheets up over them. It was probably early still, but they could always use the extra sleep.

"Hey," Greg said groggily. "You know I love you, right?" Stupid, girly confession, kind of, except for the part where he did, and he was grateful to Gil for... well, everything, really.

The arm around his waist tightened as Gil shifted to spoon up behind him. "And I'm grateful for it every day."

"Yeah." Yeah, because everything was okay. Everything was good. And with Gil, Greg could stop thinking if he had to, and it was still all right. "Hey?" he asked faintly. "'m gonna fall asleep on you." Fair warning this time, at least.

"I'll still be here when you wake up, Greg." Quietly concerned still, but he wasn't sure why. Maybe Gil was worried about him and that case. Maybe he was worried because it had been such a bad week. Maybe a lot of things, but Greg couldn't keep his eyes open to ask.

Tomorrow would be soon enough to find out. For now, there was Gil, and covers, and he was warm and strangely dry, and that would be enough.

"So."

Slow, vaguely circular whorls were traced over his belly with one finger, ulnar loops and arches that tickled against his skin. It was a heavy sort of word, the weight behind it ponderous with meaning that only Gil could give to any question. Greg momentarily wondered if it made witnesses as nervous as it sometimes made him.

"Tell me about the night you lost your virginity."

"Ohhh." Well. "You wanna hear about that? I mean, it was so long ago and so far away..."

Gil kissed just beneath his collarbone, slightly to the left, and let it linger. He tended to let everything linger, taking his time with Greg. "I'd find it interesting."

"Huh. You know, I never thought that would be the kind of thing to make you horny." Greg grinned, taking in a deep breath. "Want me to be your virgin tomorrow, maybe?"

He could feel Gil's slow smile before he lifted his head to look at Greg. "I've been accused of a sock fetish, but wanting to hear about your first time is odd?" Gil was grinning when he said it, shifting to maybe sit up in bed and drag Greg with him. Greg couldn't ever be sure. The unpredictability of Gil Grissom was one of his many charms.

"Hey. Sock fetishes are pretty cool," Greg told him, helping Gil shift him until his back was up against Gil's chest comfortably. "Besides. It's kind of weird."

So many positions in the world. When he was fucked like that, back against Gil's front, almost sitting, it was agonizingly slow, aching through him. But they could just sit like that, too. Then Gil's arms wrapped loosely around him, and he took care that Greg was comfortable. "I'll tell you about mine sometime. We can compare oddities."

"Okay." Gil would keep at it until he told, anyway, and besides. It might be kind of fun to confess, after so many years. "Fine. I'll spill my beans, even though it's kind of complicated. See, there was this professor who used to eat spare Skittles out of his jacket pocket..."

---

Greg didn't have anything personal against Venga Boys. Well, not much. It wasn't his idea of club music, anyway, but hell. Maybe Vegas was different from New York, or maybe he was just in one of the less cool places. If he got the job he was interviewing for, there would be time to find the kinds of places he preferred so that he didn't feel like he was slinking in somewhere only eighteen year olds occupied. Not that twenty-four was that far distant from eighteen, but still.

Still.

Things hadn't worked out in New York quite like he had wanted, and twenty-four... well, it was long enough with the waiting. He didn't want to be a thirty year old virgin. Hell, he didn't wanna be a twenty-five year old virgin, either, and that was creeping closer day by day, wasn't it? Sneaking up on him like the grim reaper. Twenty five was supposed to be a fantastic age, not an age that waved a sickle at his head. And that sickle didn't have 'DEATH' carved on it, no. No, it read 'LOSER', and he could imagine it cracking him right across the head on his twenty-fifth birthday if he was still a virgin then.

Greg at least had had some idea of how to dress to get himself fucked. If his jeans got any tighter, somebody would have needed to paint them on as pure liquid. The t-shirt with 'sexual deviant' scrawled across the chest was probably one hell of a hint at what he had on his mind, too.

To hell with 'give me liberty or give me death'. It was more like 'get me laid'.

He'd gotten more than a few looks, helpful touches to his ass and chest as he strolled the place, but no one really caught his eyes. They were all barely legal and either way too fucking bulked out, or they were just plain creepy. Greg had been avoiding 'plain creepy' like the devil for eleven years, and he was seriously going to keep right on avoiding it for the rest of his life. He wanted to get laid, not devoured, and he didn't really like the young ones much. Well, or even guys his age. Of course, one blow-job from his chem prof in New York probably didn't make a type, except for the part where Greg already kind of knew he had a type. He'd had one since he was thirteen, which was freaky and kinky and really wrong, but that hadn't stopped him yet.

He liked... smart. He liked smart guys who seemed to know what they wanted. Maybe it had been simple idolization on his part, but it had gotten him that far in life. He'd gotten through school, he was applying for a fantastically cool job...

All because of one traumatic summer day in Vegas. A life-changing experience, cementing his interests, his hopes and goals, and apparently his sexual tastes.

Well.

There were worse things than getting horny over hot, smart older guys, right?

The music shifted, changing to some eighties tune his mom had loved, and that made him laugh and decide to dance. There were other people dancing alone, after all, so it wasn't like he'd be the only one, and besides. It didn't look like the kind of place where people would get weird on him about it. He wasn't the only loser dancing by himself. And maybe he'd catch someone's eyes, or see someone that just hit all his buttons while he wiggled across the dance floor. And maybe pigs would learn how to use rocket propelled backpacks to travel.

Weirder things had happened.

It was a damned good thing that Greg knew how to laugh at himself, and an even better thing that he had learned to dance at some point. That, he knew, made a guy look pretty cool. How many guys could dance, after all? Not a lot, but Greg's roommate had been this pretty Korean guy from DC, and he'd taught Greg how at least not to look like a complete idiot on a dance floor. That was better than most white guys. He could shake his ass, groove his hips, keep his hands from flapping around like chicken wings...

"Hello." Fingers on his hips from behind, latching onto his ass, were a surprise. The hardon that followed caught his breath.

"Hi." It was hard to hear over the music as it changed to something crazy and throbbing, and maybe this wasn't such a bad club after all. "Wanna dance?" he asked loudly, laughing a little. Wanna dance, wanna drink, wanna fuck?

"Yes. But just one." God, he could barely hear the guy over the rumbling noise of music, and hands on his hips were making him move forwards towards the far wall.

Just one would be okay, Greg figured. It might lead to just two, or just three, or drinks, and then hot sex, and maybe if he didn't look back just yet, he wouldn't be disappointed that whoever it was probably wasn't his type. "Good!"

"Do you think you're up for my kind of dance?" Because he wasn't really dancing with Greg so much as driving him to the wall. That was kinda strange, because it was dark over that way, a tiny space of privacy in the throbbing lights and manic motions. A little spot meant just for...

Greg's breath caught, entire body shuddering, and he started to turn his head. Started to, but fingers moved away from his hip and up to his jaw, ridiculously, stupidly gentle touch keeping him from looking. "Maybe. If it's the kind of dance I think."

"It is." Not that the guy could read his mind, but hey. It was Vegas, it was a kind of crappy club, and that wall looked like the best fucking spot ever. It was probably covered in semen and hand prints. Half the city had probably been screwed against that wall, and the thought of getting it there made Greg hard to the point of agony.

"Oh." He knew the guy couldn't have heard it. "God." God, that was one really hot thought. That was the kind of story a guy could live on the rest of his life. Admittedly, strawberries and champagne were a little more what he'd dreamed about at fifteen, but when a guy was twenty-four and still a virgin, it wasn't like he got to be picky. He'd done picky, and all it had gotten him was to age twenty-four with his ass cherry still in place. Which was kind of the wrongest thought ever. It wasn't like boys had ass cherries, unless they were Bel Ami boys, but those were just movies, and this, a hand at his hip and fingers stroking his neck, was reality.

Anonymous sex? Was not going to be a problem.

"Got a condom?" He tried not to yell it too loud, just in case somebody decided to arrest them. Greg hoped to hell the guy had lube, too, because otherwise this wasn't going to be pleasant.

One of his shoulders bumped into the wall, and the man bent to kiss the back of his neck. "Yes. Don't turn around. I have everything covered." Like his backside.

"Okay." Okay, because what else was he going to say? That mouth at his nape, caressing close to the line of his t-shirt, made it easy for him to take a deep breath and put his hands against the wall. Okay, because he wanted this, even if it wasn't what he'd planned half his life. Okay, because whoever that guy was, he was setting off some serious hormonal charges somewhere in the vicinity of Greg's belly in a huge way. That wasn't the kind of thing somebody ignored unless they were stupid.

Greg Sanders was a lot of things, but he wasn't that particular brand of stupid. Goofy stupid, yeah, sure, but passing on that was way past his personal median level of sheer idiocy. The hand on his neck slipped down his chest, and the guy's hands met at Greg's belly before pulling his shirt up to slide fingers over his abs.

When a remix of 'Closer' cued up, Greg half-expected a spotlight to settle on them. It was tacky, it was cliché, it was... really incredibly hot, actually.

"Oh, Jesus," Greg managed to get out, a full-fledged shudder as the man's fingers worked at the button and zipper of his jeans. It was going to be hell, peeling him out of those things enough to get everything to work, but oh, God. He was going to be having fantasies about this for years.

Pants shoved down just far enough to clear his ass. Peeled down, yes, that was the better word for it. His pants had to be peeled off, rolled down over his hips while kisses kept pressing to the back of his neck. Maximum concealment.

So what if there was minimum access?

God, he could already tell it was going to be fast and hard, and that probably meant he'd be walking damn funny at his interview tomorrow, but maybe not. Maybe not, because there was slickness sliding down his crack, tickling and tingling, and he wasn't able to talk. God. He hadn't been out of words for years.

Lube dripped down the line of his ass from the top of his crack, and then it was followed by a fast smear of fingers urging it down and then into him. "Fuck, so hot. You like this..."

Liked this, yes, even if he was having a hard time not yelling and wincing. Those fingers were moving a little fast, but Greg was a smart boy. He could press back, try and open up for it, and that helped a lot. "Ohhh, God..." Favorite phrase, apparently.

"Shhh. I'll go slower." Slower was still a shade too fast, a finger pressing deep into his body and curving around. It was different when it wasn't your own finger up there, when you didn't know what was coming next. A slight crook of that digit and Greg couldn't do anything more than melt against the wall. If the guy kept that up, he'd come right there, pressed face to it, and that would be a terrible shame. He couldn't stop whimpering, and he couldn't stop pushing back for more like it was all he wanted, and really, it was. Maybe he wasn't going to lose his virginity after all. Maybe the guy was just going to finger-fuck him senseless, and then leave. Greg probably could've coped with it, as long as every twitch felt as good as the -- oh, that last one, no, this last one.

"Jesus God, do that again!" His voice was muffled against the wall and his own forearm, but Greg didn't have the energy needed to pull back so that he could be more articulate, better heard. It didn't matter, really, because it did come again, even better than the last time, and all he could do was keen. Keen and be really glad that the wall and his arm muffled his voice, because that touch came two more times before teeth bit gently at the base of his neck.

"Tight." Did he imagine that the words vibrated against his skin more than he actually heard them? Maybe.

Maybe not.

It didn't matter, not really, not when it felt so hot, shoved deep and caressing over that one spot, making him gasp. "Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, my God..." He knew he sounded incoherent, maybe even stupid, but nobody had ever touched him like that except himself, and he didn't force himself past the point of comfort and enjoyment. Of course, the guy pinning him in place had no way of knowing that Greg usually stopped before it felt that good.

"This is going to have to be fast."

God, that was every hot fantasy he had ever had rolled into one. "Okay," Greg choked out, shoulders slightly tense, thighs shifting as far apart as he could get them. "Oh, Jesus, please, just..." Just fuck him. Just fuck him now.

Slippery fingers were pulling out of his ass, and then he was pressed harder against the wall, fingers pulling his ass cheeks apart. "Breathe in. Breathe out... Breathe in."

Breathe in, and somewhere in the middle of it, there came sharp pressure and then, God, then the guy was in, and nothing had ever hurt like that before. Not ever. Breathing in didn't help because it was all magically expelled before it got deep enough to do any good, full-fledged tension sliding up his spine. "Jesus," he squeaked, pressing his face into his elbow. "Jesus. Jesus."

That definitely wasn't a wine-and-roses, take home to your mother kind of guy behind him. Fingers flexed at his hips, clutching and releasing with his own breaths. Greg could feel every tooth of the man's zipper brushing against his ass cheeks. He was in, deep as he could go with their awkward position, and wow that was almost too deep for Greg. Way too deep to get that soon.

Hell, that was way too deep to go the fourth or fifth time, he figured, mewling faintly and trying to shift away. "Oh. Oh. Oh, shit." Oh, shit, it hurt, and he was such a total pussy, shaking and tense that way. Greg knew he'd asked for it. Knew he'd wanted it. Knew he was gonna take it if he could just get his breath back and stop being a complete baby.

Just breathe. No crying, his ass would stop feeling like it was on fire soon enough. All the books and shit and porn said it did. Right? Right! He could just -- oh, fuck, the guy was pulling out, then pushing in, sliding his arms around Greg while he started to fuck him short and fast.

The faintest urge to giggle welled up along with hot tears, and Greg swallowed hard. His own erection had faded a lot, and he wasn't sure it was coming back entirely, but it wasn't so bad. Not so bad, now that the burning was getting at least kind of regular, and he gasped hard, took in a deep breath. Okay. Okay. Not so bad. If he said it often enough, it would be true. Damn. Maybe he shouldn't have worried about still being a virgin at twenty-five. Maybe he should've really aimed for keeping it, say, forever. Losing an ass-cherry apparently hurt, ached, and the weirdness of it was all he could really think about until the guy grabbed onto his cock with one sure hand.

At least if the guy was going to rabbit fuck him to the wall, he was going to get a reach around. That was something.

That was something, and maybe his dick wasn't completely dead after all. Maybe that heavy sting wasn't so bad when somebody was caressing over his cock, making the whine spilling out of his throat turn into something more like pleasure and less like pain.

"Yeah." Whimpered, probably gone unheard, but it didn't matter. Didn't matter, because that wasn't so bad. That was maybe okay.

"Fucking gorgeous..." Soft noises, incoherent words against the back of his throat. There were kisses again, hips snapping sharply against his own, fingers pulling at his cock, twisting down the length and back again like a pro. Fast.

Of course, they didn't want to get caught. Greg didn't want to get caught -- first night in Vegas in a jail cell? No. Way. Not with his interview tomorrow.

"Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh. God." Short, sharp gasps, and maybe it was okay. Maybe it was good, and maybe.

Maybe.

Oh, fuck. Maybe he was gonna come, out of nowhere, face wet with sweat and tears, body jerking wildly beneath the steady onslaught of quick, shallow thrusts.

"Fuck!"

A couple more -- or at that speed, maybe it was a couple dozen more, and then the guy shivered, going tense and still, fingers clutching tight around Greg's dick.

"That was fantastic..."

"Yeah." Yeah, right. Blow jobs were hellaciously better, Greg decided, a little dazed. "Thanks." Or, you know. Not. Or maybe.

He'd have to think about it for a good long time. Once his head cleared. Just then, the feeling of being pulled out of made him twinge all over. Then something wiped up excess lube, while lips presses against the back of his neck again.

"Hold still, and I'll put you away."

"Thanks." Hardly heard, really, more of a vibration in his own throat. He was going back to his hotel, taking a long, hot bath, and then going straight to bed and sleeping ten hours. And then maybe he'd take another shower before he had to go to his interview. "'ppreciate that."

Hands were a funny thing. They could be arousing, seductive, or apologetic, and the guy behind him had apologetic hands now, rolling Greg's pants back up over his ass, tucking his soft dick back into his briefs.

"Thanks," Greg said again, cheek pressed to the wall, eyes closed. He wasn't trying to look anymore. Better if it all stayed quiet and anonymous. Better if he never knew, exactly. Then he wouldn't have to look at the guy one day and actually think about it.

Just. In. Case.

A few seconds after he buckled Greg's belt, there was a soft kiss to the side of his jaw. And then, nothing.

Air and kinda lame music, and his cheek against the wall.

Greg decided that he'd had much better nights. And he was going to leave it at that.

---

"Like I said." He shrugged, one hand trailing down Gil's chest. "Nothing to get excited or write home about. Not that even I would write home about my sex life."

"Your mother doesn't need to know about your sex life." Gil had gone quiet during the story, which was sort of odd for him. Usually he smiled and nodded to Greg a lot, asked questions. Not this time -- serious contemplation.

"I'm sorry that your first time was so... mediocre."

Greg laughed, a funny, hard sort of sound. "Yeah, well. There are other things that more than make up for it, you know. Mostly sex with you. Actually. And my mother definitely doesn't need to know about our sex life. She'd probably mention it to Poppa Olaf. Vrrrt." He made a little sound and wriggled his finger upright, then grinned at Gil. "You don't have to be so serious, you know."

"I think that was me, Greg."

Whoa. Whoa times forty.

"I'm sorry. WHAT?" What just didn't really express the proper confusion. 'Holy FUCK, have you lost your mind?' might have come close, but there was just something about saying that when Gil looked so somber and miserable. Like kicking blind puppies into drainage ditches or something.

Gil looked sideways at him, and sat up a little, pulling back from Greg's idle drifting hands. "I said I think that was me, Greg. It's a very long story why, and I've only done that once, but. Night before you joined the department."

"Huh." What could a guy say to that? Greg couldn't think of anything to say. It wasn't like he'd expected to run into that guy ever again, never mind ending up doing miraculously perverted things in bed with him on a regular basis. "So... why just the once?" Sure. Great question to ask. The reverberating 'Idiot' in Greg's head was highly definitive.

"One last spurt of Catholic guilt got to me?" Last spurt, yeah, because Gil sure didn't have any now. Gil leaned a little, hand on Greg's shoulder. "And I felt bad about fantasizing about you when you were actually working for me."

"Except for the part where, you know. I wasn't working for you yet." It was easy enough to reach up, cup Gil's cheek. "I mean..." Not even working for the lab. Actually.

"Don't ever tell Jim, but I've thought of that as my lab longer than I've been a supervisor." Years longer, and Gil was smiling a little uneasily at Greg. "You're going to get back at me for that, aren't you?"

"Maybe." Yeah, maybe, but then again... maybe he could just ask for something he wanted, instead. "Or maybe I'll come up with something else." Like doing it right. Even if it took pretending. Or maybe something like getting a straight answer. Greg got the feeling he'd be digging for straight answers when they both had remote control peckers like his Poppa's. Gil Grissom was a master at not saying things when he wanted to. Sometimes, it took thinking out. Think, think, Greg could think. He'd met Gil just the --

Huh. Just the once before the day of his interview. And Gil had remembered him, and then found a grown-up looking him that was actually him?

That was something to bring up later, he figured, when he really wanted to prove to Gil that he wasn't stupid. Gil never forgot that he wasn't, but it didn't hurt to prove it now and then.

"Hey, you wanna turn out the light and pretend to be virgins again?" Dirty, dirty boy.

"Yeah. I think there must be a universal rule that actual first times don't live up to a person's hopes." Gil shifted into Greg to reach past him and turn off the lamp.

"So. Make this a good one," Greg murmured, and leaned up to kiss him stupid.

---

Gil was almost sure that the concept of a continuous ongoing warfare was the basis of most long-lasting relationships. Take, for example, the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Although that was a much larger-scale tit for tat game, Gil considered the rules were much the same -- each strike resulted in a reactionary strike.

Greg had told him about his loss of virginity (never mind that Gil had been there at the time) and now it was his turn. Gil just wished that Greg hadn't requested it in a note left on his office desk.

"Tell me about the El Camino?" Catherine asked him, her mouth parted and shiny in a way that made most men want to fall to their knees and beg. Luckily for Gil, he had Greg's mouth at home.

Well. Technically, he had Greg's mouth on a murder case, but either way, he had it.

"You... own? Owned? An El Camino?"

He hated that he'd only had time to scan it and then realize that Catherine was standing in his office. Just a note saying, 'You're gunna have to tell me about your El Camino ride', in Greg's spiky, almost artful handwriting. At least, it seemed artful to Gil.

He also hated that he was stuck driving Catherine out to the desert. Kidnapped casino heiress, found dead. Mixed shift cases had never been so tense as they were when there were two supervisors.

"I never owned one."

"Uh-huh." He'd heard that sound before. It was pure suspicion, condensed into a throat noise. "So... what, exactly, have you been telling our newest CSI level one about El Caminos? Gil?" She was smirking at him, but it wasn't the unpleasant sort of peeved smirk he'd gotten a time or two. No, that was the 'I know something and I want you to know that I know just so you know' expression.

Far too complicated for his taste. "It's... nothing, really. I just mentioned it in passing and he's... Greg." Curious, probing, playful.

"Well. That certainly explains it all." Ah, but she was still smirking at him. Dammit. "Come on. Let's get out of here. Faster we get our work done, the faster you can come back and talk about cars like the little boys you both are not so secretly deep in your hearts."

"Catherine, I don't..." Talk about cars, but shit, he should've kept his mouth shut. She was already turning away, moving past one of the shelving units. "I'll drive."

"You do that," she winked, and headed out of his office.

It was going to be a long night.

---

"So!" Greg was practically wriggling, and they were hardly in the door. Nobody should have that much energy after rolling around in a poorly dug shallow grave to gather evidence. "What do you want for breakfast? You can tell me about it while I cook!"

"How about scrambled eggs, with a side of 'never leave notes like that on my desk again'." Gil held the door open for Greg, and closed it once he was in. Greg himself was a sharp contrast to how his townhouse had used to look. Now, chunks of Greg-things here and there were intruding on the clutter that had been just his before Greg had moved in.

"Catherine has never asked me the same question so many times in one night as she did tonight."

"I was very careful," Greg protested, heading towards the kitchen. "Super careful. Spectacularly careful. I didn't even mention some guy popping your ass cherry." That was a phrase Gil wished he'd never heard, but it made Greg laugh. Kind of like boy porn. "I mean, you know. It's not like Catherine could know know... I hardly do!"

"Catherine is a very astute woman, Greg. She was giving me that look all night. I think she thinks I want to have sex with you in the back of one." Gil put his kit down against the wall, beside his stereo.

The Pink Floyd poster was haunting him, taunting him.

"Well, you know. I am pretty hot. It could only improve an El Camino, of any age," Greg agreed as he came to a stop at the refrigerator to pull out eggs. He had that grin, the one that always let Gil know he was feeling naughty. Who knew what would happen if Gil actually told him about it?

"I'll have to test that theory some time. So. You really want to hear about it?" He was asking Greg, but looking at that poster. The real one he'd bought at the concert was long since gone, irreparably ripped while moving.

"Would I be planning to scramble cheese eggs for you if I wasn't?" Greg hated cooking, even if he was pretty good at breakfast and anything that could be microwaved. Bachelor food.

Gil was lucky that his mother had made him learn to cook. It wasn't hard, and eventually he'd teach Greg how to do more than toss things in a pan and scramble it, even if that skill made Greg extremely useful for any recipe that called for pre-cooked ground beef.

Dammit, he was distracting himself. "I don't know, would you?"

"Mmm." False contemplation was a fascinating look on the younger man, the way his eyebrows shifted. "Probably. But I wouldn't add French toast into the bargain." Teasing was another thing that made it all worthwhile. Greg paused between pulling out a bowl for cracking eggs and searching for a whisk. "You know, if it's that bad, you really don't have to say anything. I mean, it just seemed like..."

"I know. I just want to put in the caveat that I was sixteen, stupid, and very lucky that I didn't contract an STD." Gil moved away from the poster, and towards Greg. Then he snagged a barstool so he could sit across from Greg on the other side of the island, and watch him work.

"So, why don't you start while I scramble. And make said French toast. With... powdered sugar. And then I'll take you to bed and suck you unconscious. After all, a tale as old as I am deserves something in return, right?" Greg paused, leaned over the counter a little. "You know I'm still gonna be totally nuts about you even after you tell me all this. Right?"

Gil gave him the most reassuring smile he could muster, and smirked a little in with it. "Yes, Greg. I know you will be. I'm just trying to remember it all. It was in '72." He got comfortable on the stool, and leaned forwards, elbows on the counter and eyes on Greg's relaxed, working hands.

"Wow. Seventy-two. The land of polyester and leisure suits." Greg only snickered a little, shifting to dig cheese out of the refrigerator, too. "At least tell me you weren't wearing one of those."

"Screen-printed T-shirt and, uh, orange bell bottoms." He was never going to get away with teasing Greg about his shirts. Ever again.

It was a small sacrifice.

---

There was no way he was going to let go of his ticket. At first, he'd been struck by the impossible fear that the wind was going to rush up and take it from his hand like Charlie Brown chasing after a kite. So Gil clutched it against his chest, tight, as he shuffled through the line to get into the Hollywood Bowl.

God, he was really going to see a Pink Floyd concert. In person. From a good seat! His mom was the best mom ever. She was the epitome of motherhood. The only way any of it could be better was if it was a Pink Floyd concert and a necropsy.

Ah. Dreams.

"...mellow out, buddy. C'mon. Just a bad trip..."

Conversation ebbed and flowed, and Gil still clung to his ticket, observing the rest of the people in line with him. There were girls in hot pants and tiny skirts, guys in shirts that were much crazier than his own, bellbottoms and a few sets of weird-colored polyester slacks. Pretty standard for concert wear, he guessed. Gil hadn't ever been to a big concert before, just some smaller ones, and his mom had gone with him to those. They had mostly been classical, and mostly Beethoven, because she could feel the vibrations.

Sub-aural noises, Gil reminded himself, shifting his weight on his legs a little anxiously. Almost there. Almost there. He was dressed all right for the concert -- his t-shirt was pretty cool, a gift from one of his mom's gay friends. And he really loved his velvet orange bell bottoms, even if his mom had groaned when he'd bought them. She'd muttered something about her eyes bleeding and that she needed to keep them working.

It made Gil wonder a little why she'd suggested he wear them to the concert.

Of course, his mom's suggestions were a little off-kilter, on occasion. There were a few things that he got honest, and a quirky sense of humor was high on that list. She had washed them specially, handed them to him, and signed at him to get dressed now or she wouldn't let him have her Falcon for the night and would call her friend Geri to take him instead. Needless to say, that had set him to hopping, so much so that he had fallen over while putting them on. His left hip still kind of ached.

That was what he got for clipping the trunk at the end of his bed, though. It had been worth it not to be driven there by Geri, hadn't it?

Oh, it had. And now there was just one person in front of him, and he was tempted to kiss the first person he saw across the threshold. Pink Floyd! Live! And he was there!

"Hey. You look like you're about one toke over the line. That excited, man?"

It took Gil a minute to register that somebody was talking to him. It was more so to turn around and see a guy with shaggy dark blond hair and some serious sideburns grinning at him. Mouths weren't supposed to make that little V sort of shape, were they?

"Uh, yeah." Gil wasn't even going to bother feigning being cool. He wasn't. He was him, even if the guy behind him seemed seriously cool. "My first big rock concert, and--"

"Ticket?"

"Oh, yeah..." He held it out, fingers still tight around the stub part. He was going to frame that. He'd have it bronzed if it would retain all of the lettering.

"Hey. I remember how that feels," the other guy laughed. "My name's Gunnar, by the way." He handed his own ticket over and let them rip it, taking the stub and slipping it into a back pocket so tight that Gil was pretty sure it had to be illegal. "You here all by your lonesome?"

Gil stumbled a little as he stepped into the arena. Bowl? Venue? Arena. It had that wild entertainment thrumming feel that the Roman games must have possessed. There were so many people, all there to see Pink Floyd, but he had a great seat. "Yeah. I'm Gil. Have you been to many concerts?"

There came that grin again, wild and wicked and sharp. "One or two," he said in a way that implied he'd been to a lot more. "The last one was Zeppelin at the Forum. Inglewood, you know. Man. Wild guitar, you know?"

"Ohh." Gil's tone held a restrained 'wow' under it, and he looked just a little up at the other guy. Gunnar -- that was Scandinavian, but he didn't seem like the kind of guy to be pillaging a village. His far back ancestors had probably been farmers, Gil decided.

"Did Jimmy Page use the Theremin?"

"It was the coolest concert I've ever been to." It wasn't exactly an answer, but Gil decided not to extrapolate too much. Maybe Gunnar didn't know what a Theremin was. "And that's saying a lot. Hey, you want some company? So you don't get crushed in there or anything. You know." The grin was infectious.

It was easy to smile back at Gunnar. Hey, someone to talk to before the show started. He could learn things, or at least people watch the guy. "Sure. Hey, maybe this one will be cooler than that one. Who knows? I bet people'll be listening to this still in... in the next century!"

"Anything's possible."

This, Gil thought, was going to be the best concert ever.

---

Three hours later, Gil was floating on air. He hadn't smoked anything -- that wasn't really his idea of a good time -- but escaping the smoke at the concert hall wasn't exactly possible. There was no way he was sober enough to drive home by himself, and Gil was smart enough to realize it.

Gunnar, now, Gil wasn't so sure about. His own personal plan was to crash in the back of his mom's red Falcon until fresh air cleared his head, or something like that. He was drifty and floating and so excited that he wanted to jump up and down all at once.

That was the sort of state that people were in when they drove headlong into trees.

"You really shouldn't drive..."

"It's groovy, man," Gunnar drawled. He looked a little wide-eyed, kind of spaced out, and that grin had settled from something sharp into something a lot more pleasant and, well, sort of happy. "I hear that. Gotta El Camino, you know. With some blankets and stuff in the back. Open air. Good for you. Wanna come with?"

Huh. Two were better than one, right? At night, in a car. Yeah, that sounded good, and he could look up at the sky and just drift. "Yeah. Sleeping outside is groovy. It's a good night for it." No rain in sight, and the coolness of the air was a relief for his drifting head.

Gunnar giggled. Giggled. Clearly, getting high was something Gil never really wanted to happen. He didn't want to be that silly. "Yeah. Groovy," he agreed, leading the way through the crowded parking lots and out towards the edges. It was the opposite direction from Gil's own car, but that was okay. It would take time for everybody to clear out, anyway, and he'd been that way already to leave the poster he'd bought before the show had started.

Maybe by that time, and a little dozing later, his head would be good enough to get home. He'd promised his mom that if he wasn't fit to drive, he'd stay where he was until he felt okay. After a concert that fab, he wasn't going to disappoint his mom.

"Do this a lot?"

"Go to concerts? Or meet guys in line?" That sounded a little weird, but okay. Whatever. "All the time, man. It's the greatest thing ever. I love California! Fuck, yeah!"

"Right on." Gil grinned as he trailed along beside Gunnar. The El Camino he saw in the distance was definitely a fantastic looking car. That burnt orange paint-job, all shined up, was amazing. He almost wanted one just looking at it. "I live in Marina del Rey. I can't imagine wanting to be anywhere else."

"Marina del Rey... I've been camping out more towards the missions. You know? Nice places, over there. Over here. It's nice weather, warm, the ocean. Really boss. Concerts all the time. Nothing like Minnesota." That was something Gunnar hadn't mentioned before. "My family's there, but I kind of wanted to stretch my legs, you know?"

"I could tell," Gil grinned, looking sideways at Gunnar. "That you're not from around here. You're pale, and there's... an 'eh' to your words. California is a good place to stretch your legs. Always a lot to do, solid places to go."

He had to pause and eye Gunnar's El Camino for a moment, appreciating the cleanliness of it. That was a funky ride.

"Yeah, well. My parents are Norwegian. I'm kinda lucky not to sound like something out of a Bugs Bunny cartoon." There was a faintly bitter undertone to those words that made Gil's brows knit. "C'mon, man. Climb in the back. The blankets are already down. Figured I'd need down time before driving back."

"You don't sound like a cartoon. I think you sound pretty nifty." More than Gil, but. But, he was still drifting in happy and he was going to remember the concert forever. Hopping into the back of the El Camino was an easy task compared to anything trying to take a chunk out of Gil's mood.

"Yeah, well. California. Things are different. You know?" Gunnar crawled up into the back with him, flopping down on one side to look at Gil with a heavy-lidded kind of smirk. "So, trying things out, it's a prerequisite. Right?"

Gil leaned against the side, and stretched his legs out as much as he could without kicking Gunnar. "Yeah -- this has been a really... choice night."

"Wanna make it a little more psychedelic?" Gunnar wasn't going to offer him drugs, was he?

No.

No. There weren't any drugs.

But...

"How?" He just had to ask it, looking over at the other guy. He was grinning slyly again, and that look was really fascinating. Gil wanted to study how someone could move their mouth that way.

"Close your eyes."

Gil was a geek. He knew it, all the way down to his toes, and things like 'close your eyes' never really ended well. Put out your tongue was going to be the next suggestion. And then he'd find out he was eating a bug.

Little did Gunnar know, Gil liked that. "Okay." He closed his eyes slowly, transitioning to hazy evening dark to the faint spark lined insides of his eyelids. He could almost pretend that they were remnants of the light show and fireworks from the concert, and then...

Then.

He was studying the movements of Gunnar's mouth a lot closer than he had really thought he'd get to study it. And he was liking it, which was even more bizarre. Gil had never thought he'd like kissing guys.

He liked kissing girls. Girls were soft and leaned into him sweetly and usually, usually just wanted help with their homework. Gil didn't think about that too long, didn't let it move past his subconscious.

Gunnar, Gil decided as he tipped his head back a little, lips parting, didn't have homework for him to do.

"You hear that?" Gunnar's voice was a little rough, tongue sliding inside. It was strange and startling and felt wonderfully pleasant, like the hand rubbing up his thigh. "It's solid if you do, man. Just two guys here. No worrying over whether the rabbit's gonna die."

"Yeah..." Not that Gil had gotten past more than kissing with girls, but he wasn't going to say it. There were blankets laid out in the bed, and it didn't matter much that the guy Gunnar had parked next to was getting into his car. Maybe everybody did this after concerts, and he just didn't know about it?

He'd never had a tongue do that against the roof of his mouth before. It tickled, and it drew his attention away from the fumbling at his fly a little. Not a lot, because Gil wasn't the kind of boy to miss that, but... a little.

A little was all it took, and he moved one hand to grasp Gunnar's arm, the other knotting in the blankets when he leaned on it to keep steady. Another guy was pawing at his crotch and he was... way more than just okay with it. In fact, he was kind of liking it.

Actually, Gil registered with no small amount of surprise, he was really kind of wanting more of it.

"Come on, baby. Why don't you get these things off, huh? I'll do things so good to you, you'll be screaming gravy."

There wasn't any reason to say 'no' was there? And Gunnar was right. No one was going to get pregnant if he took his pants off. Did guys care if other guys seemed easy? Wasn't there some sort of social order he was supposed to remember?

Gil lifted his hips, holding himself still with his back against the side of the bed, and moved his supporting hand to the waistband of his pants to help get them off. "O... okay, yeah."

"Ohh, yeah." That much acquiescence seemed to be all Gunnar needed, because somehow Gil's pants were off and gone, and his head was swimming and there was lots of really horny older guy all over him, pressing sloppy kisses against his jawline and his throat, pushing back at the faint curls at the nape of Gil's neck. "Man. Oh, yeah."

It felt weirdly good, and for the moment, Gil decided to go with it. Gunnar moved him, urged him to lay, and he did. His pants were somewhere in the truckbed of the El Camino, and his ticket stub, and the air on his legs woke him up a little. It aroused his senses, and made him glad he'd worn underwear. He could only imagine not having worn them. He'd be shining his peter to the entire world, and that could only be a bad thing.

"C'mere, buddy. Un." Yeah, denim rubbing against his skin was faintly pleasant, and Gil still felt weird. Too weird to be doing this, maybe, he couldn't say for sure.

"Hey... you're big." Out of proportion, because Gil was looking up at Gunnar and he was smiling down at Gil. There was a bulge pressing against his thigh, his hip, and though he hadn't meant big that way? It worked.

"Yeah, well. My dad says it's to make up for the accent. My mom, of course, shoots him that LOOK that says, not in front of the baby." Gunnar leered and gave one of those steady rocks against him again. "You gonna let me take these off, too? Nobody's gonna see."

"Uhn..." He was kind of fond of his underwear. On the other hand, Gunnar was on top of him so he wouldn't be out in the air, right? Right. Gil wasn't sure what Gunnar had planned, but he was going to be okay with it. He closed his eyes for a moment, nodding as he concentrated on getting one hand off of the side of Gunnar's shirt so he could shimmy them down a little.

He probably shouldn't have worn the pink ones, but they didn't stain his pants or vice versa.

Gunnar didn't say anything. Maybe he couldn't see the pink in the dark or something. Instead, his hands skimmed just everywhere, whole body lifting up off of Gil. "Hang on a minute," he pronounced, and shifted to the side so that Gil's underpants came off and landed in the pile with his pants.

Now Gil felt self-conscious. Or maybe it wasn't self-conscious so much as self-aware, aware of how his ass felt against the blanket, how his legs felt against denim.

"What're you going to do?"

"Fuck you stupid. If it's all the same to you." And then Gunnar was kissing him again, and his hand was on Gil's prick, and that was nearly enough to convince him that anything and everything was a-okay with him.

He was going to go all the way.

Wow. Gil couldn't do much more than lift his hips against those dry, warm fingers, hands clinging to Gunnar's shoulders from behind. "Jesus."

"Baby, that's what you're gonna think later," Gunnar reassured him, mouth sliding down to the hollow of Gil's throat. It made him shiver, tremble, his lips pursing. Nobody had ever touched him there before, just himself, and it felt. Oh, it felt so good.

It felt like he could lay there and enjoy it forever. It wasn't as if offers like that came by every day, and Gil loved to learn, feel, experience new things. A concert like that, and now...

"Yeah..."

Yeah, fingers plucking at his nipples through his t-shirt inclined him to agree with anything that was suggested, and that mouth just kept seeking out bare skin, all heat and wet and good things. One hand slid up underneath his shirt, and then there was even more of him visible to the light-filled sky above them.

"Damn, baby... unh."

"Unh?" Gil made it a question, looking up at the top of Gunnar's head when he sucked in a shaky breath. He was hardly even touching Gunnar.

"You're seriously hung. How old did you say you were again? 'cause I can't say I believe it." Ah, there was that sharp, devilish grin again, and then.

Wow. Oh. WOW.

Gil had heard about it. Had heard that people did that, put their mouths down there, but he hadn't thought it would ever happen to him. Not him. Other people, but... "Oh, God!" But there were lips pressing against the head of his dick, and then a tongue salving over the head. The faint textured feeling, the hot wet of it, made Gil shiver.

He wanted to yell. He wanted to cry, he wanted to thank God, but he was pretty sure that this was the kind of thing you had to go to confession for. Regularly. Once somebody had done this, a guy had to confess all the time, because it was going to be stuck in Gil's head for the rest of his natural life.

"Mmmm, baby. You taste good."

He wouldn't ever be able to stop thinking about that, about what that felt like. It was way better than masturbation, even if Gunnar stopped to talk. "Never done that. You feel... groovy." Gil felt kind of silly, nearly naked in the back of an El Camino with breath gusting over his groin.

"Hey, reach up. Yeah, over that way. There's a jar. Give it to me, kay?" That was all for talking, but there was more by way of licking, and Gil was good with that. Totally and completely.

A jar? He was supposed to reach for a jar when there was a tongue tracing woozy patterns on his penis? Gil had to close his eyes to the sky for a second before he turned his head to try to look for the mysterious 'jar'. His fingers fumbled past all of the blankets, seeking out cool glass and finally, finally finding it. He shoved it towards Gunnar, whimpering when he pulled away from that heady licking.

"Dynamite."

"What..." Breathe. Breathe. His dick couldn't breathe for him, even if it bobbed like it was trying to, wet and twitching. "Is it?"

"Vaseline. You know. Slick." Slippery, and he could hear the lid popping off. A few seconds later, there was cold, slick petroleum jelly smearing in behind his balls, and further back, and. Oh.

He understood how sex worked. He wasn't stupid, just... unlucky. Uncaring, maybe. Gunnar was planning to stick it in. In him, go all the way in him.

"Will it feel..." Uhn. No, that was a stupid question because there was a slick finger pressing against his hole. It tickled in a way, ached, and there came a breathtaking moment when he felt it spasm and the finger went in totally the wrong way.

That was in. Nothing had ever really gone in before. Just out.

"You'll like it. Honest. It's real hot, and you'll feel so good when I..." Probing. That felt kind of weird. "...do this."

The word was punctuation to a movement that made Gil gasp out, fingers twitching in the blanket. It felt like someone had set off fireworks in his balls. Nothing had ever felt that good.

Gil wondered how many Hail Mary's it counted for if he liked it too much.

"Like that. Oh, man. I wanna come with, you know? That's nice, right? Seriously groovy. I know you're gonna want more..."

Even if it was in and not out of him? Maybe. "Does it all feel like, like that?" And did it matter much, when he was spread-legged with a finger up his ass, naked in the back of an El Camino?

"Like that except more," Gunnar promised in a throaty sound, kissing Gil's hip, and then there was more, another finger, and Gil couldn't help the grunt that escaped his throat. 'More' was good, maybe. Kind of. It was... everything felt stretched and kind of weird and maybe good?

Gil could go with it. Yeah. He could, because it felt good, better than anything he'd ever done to himself. "Good..." The next twitch brought a smile to his face, around the open gasp of his lips.

Why not? And just like that Gil, decided to go with it all and stop thinking. He was learning so much, about what felt good to him, about what didn't feel quite so good, and he couldn't keep himself from mewling when another finger slipped inside.

"You're so tight, man. 'm gonna fuck you so good," Gunnar groaned, and Gil could hear the faint, slippery slap of his hand greasing up his shaft. Fwap, fwap. Gil looked up at the sky, and then Gunnar's funny wild sideburns. He didn't say anything else, tense and still coasting on the music in his head. 'Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun' and Roger Waters' riffs mixed with the feel of skin on skin and Gunnar climbing over him in a strange, almost drunken sort of way.

Fingers shifted out, and then there was something else there, and a hand shifted to his thigh. "Put your legs around me," Gunnar whispered.

It was easier than he thought it'd be, stomach tightening when he lifted his hips so he could get his legs around Gunnar's. He was going to get fucked. Take it up the ass. And it was probably... probably going to feel so very good.

"Just like that," Gunnar encouraged, and there was one hand between them, and pressure that wasn't anything like those fingers had been, stretching, and the older boy grunted as he slid inside. "Uuunnnh. Fucking tight..."

"Fuck!" The word squeaked on his lips, strangling in his throat a little. Too big, too big. "That, that's not going to f-fit..."

"Gonna fit," Gunnar assured him, kissing his jaw. "It's gonna. Not much bigger than the fingers. Promise. Swear it. And you're slick. Push out. Like you were gonna, you know. Go."

Go on his dick, except he wasn't. Pushing out made it feel better for him, except more fit in and that didn't make things feel better, it. It made Gil squeeze his legs tight, trying to comprehend the feeling.

"Damn, man. You haven't done this before, huh?" The older boy was panting, and making incremental thrusts, tiny shifts of hip and thigh, and.

Oh.

Hey. There was that spot again, and that made things very weird. Somewhere between ow and oh.

If it went more towards oh, close enough to oh, he might loosen up. Might stop squeezing his legs like he was going to die. "Uh, uhn..." Another shift, and another, tiny motions on top of each other that made the faint can't-drive haze of Gil's mind seep to the fore.

"Let me in just a little more..." Just a little more, and ohhh, yeah. There was that oh place. There it was, and Gunnar was doing that steady little rocking thing, and Gil was pretty sure that he yodeled. He had never known he could do that. He could now, he could as long as Gunnar kept moving, pressing into him and finally leaning down a little to do it. Maybe he'd even get kissed again.

"You squeeze so good, baby." Ah, there was a kiss, and then he pulled back, Gil felt it, and pushed back in against that one spot, and Gil was going to explode. He was going to come, right then and there, he just knew it. Except he didn't. He wanted to, but he didn't. But the next time, and then the next time, and the--

Everything went tight and it was like when he hit that peak in jerking off. His balls tingled, and his ass clamped down, except there was a dick there and that was different than ever before. It made things ache, made him tremble, made his eyes shut firm even while his brain was shutting down, and he could hear-feel-taste-know that Gunnar was still moving, short fast strokes, and then stopping with a sound because it was over, and Gil was even more wet down there.

The world was in funny slow motion as Gunnar slumped down on top of him. Beneath the blankets, he could feel the hardness of the metal El Camino bed. He could feel how Gunnar was still in him. Gil was sticky, and the night air was a little too cold, maybe, but it felt good for the moment. For the moment. 'Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun' had moved into 'Echoes', and all of it, all of it just seemed like too much.

"Wow," Gunnar huffed, shifting out of him and making Gil whimper. "Not bad for a first timer."

"Thanks?" He almost smiled despite the sting of that feeling. His head wasn't anywhere near to clear yet.

Maybe he could stay a couple more hours.

"10-4," Gunnar told him. "I should be getting back to San Gabriel."

"... huh?" Or not. But they, they'd just... Gone all the way. And Gunnar was getting up on his knees, looking down at Gil. He was half-aware that his new t-shirt was pushed up to his armpits, pants and underwear somewhere off to the side.

Gunnar only had to zip himself back in.

"Maybe I'll see you again sometime. 'nother concert, you know? You've been great company. And this was nice, too. You're a cool kinda guy."

Gil just stared. And then he caught the joke, if it was a joke. It was probably someone's idea of a joke, at least. He started to sit up, pushing his t-shirt back down. His ass hurt, he was slick and wet and cold, and there was semen on his stomach.

"Oh."

"Hey. Um." Gunnar at least had the balls to look a little sheepish. "You said you were from Marina del Rey, right? I mean. I could call you. Or something."

It was really hard to have any dignity in putting his underwear on when he was dirty. He had to put it on without having to get out of the bed of the car just yet.

"'s... okay. I... I get it, Gunnar."

"Um." Um seemed to be the guy's favorite word. That sort of sucked. Okay. Not just sort of. "I figured you were here for the same reason I was. I mean--"

"Wasn't." Gil denied it quickly, because he hadn't been. Maybe it hadn't been the start of anything meaningful, but he would've liked just to lay there and rest for a while. Not... have a guy pull out of his ass and then throw him out on it.

He was going to have to sleep in the back of the Falcon. And he was going to have to do it dirty. But at least, at least he still had the ticket stub

It was said that the seventh Duchess of Bedford originated the idea of afternoon tea sometime in the early 1800's. Having tea around four or five in the afternoon warded off hunger pangs between lunch and the late dinners that were traditional at the time. Gil could barely imagine how the aristocracy could grow hungry between late lunches and the eight o'clock hour when dinner was served as a variety of heavy courses over a period of five hours.

"You've done a lovely job," Lady Heather complimented him, fingers placed gently upon the knob of the teapot as she poured. "And I see that you seem to be quite adept at making things fit, more so than you thought."

"I had made some incorrect assumptions." It was easy for Gil to smile at her, because he honestly had. He and Greg weren't so very different after all, not after time spent together discovering that they were much more compatible than a round hole and a square peg.

Greg was comfortable lounging on the pillow beside Gil's chair. Naked. The nakedness was the important part, because Gil had none-too-recently put together the fact that among Greg's many kinks was exhibitionism. And why not? He was beautiful to look at.

"It's nice to see you so pleasantly settled." The faintest crook of a finger brought a girl to the table with a tray full of small sandwiches. The strategic drape of tiny metal chain barely hid anything at all, and Gil could tell that a certain amount of interest was perked in Greg’s eyes.

Opportunistic.

"Sandwich? There are also cookies. I thought refreshments before riding might be prudent."

Feeding Greg cookies from his hand. Gil had to nod before he could actually answer the question. "Thank you." One sandwich, and a handful of cookies. Gil wasted no time at all in offering one down to Greg, the motion idle. "I feel a need to thank you, too, for telling me about what Greg was doing."

"There's good business, Doctor Grissom, and then there's good business." She snapped her fingers and the girl knelt down on the bare floor beside her chair. "Telling you brought a certain satisfaction to you, of course, and admittedly a change in revenue sources, but..." A slow, satisfied smile spread across darkly glossed lips. "You're here again, I see."

"For the tea and pleasant company." Gil's lips twitched as he picked up his sandwich, half-watching Greg. Greg was listening, probably hearing every nuance of their words. At least, Gil hoped he was. For all Gil knew, Greg could've been humming Black Flag tunes inside his head. "And to indulge Greg."

"That also doesn't surprise me. Underneath everything, you're quite inclined to the indulgence of the pleasure of others." She lifted her cup, eyes lingering over Greg's face as he ate the cookie Gil had given him. "It's a perverse sort of pleasure in and of itself, after all."

Gil's fingers lingered against Greg's hair, idly touching the lightly gelled tufts. "Perverse?" He smiled at her, lifting the teacup towards his mouth but clearly waiting for an answer. "I'm afraid you're going to have to explain that to me."

"Most people think of their pleasure first and foremost. You've come for tea, true, but also for the pleasure of your boy." The way that Greg preened under Gil's touch and the way she called him Gil's boy certainly proclaimed that truth. "In a way, that's a perversity. It's contrary to human nature."

"But it pleases me to see others pleased. Is it contrary to human nature to indulge in things that I enjoy?" Catherine called it enabling, and maybe he did; but relating to people was extraordinarily hard for him to do, so he did what he could.

"Hm." The way Lady Heather smiled at him obviously made Greg jealous. The feel of one arm winding its way around his leg, second cookie still clutched in one hand, was faintly possessive. "No. But it's unusual that the enjoyment of others is a prime enhancer of your own pleasure. Don't you think?"

"I don't find it unusual because I act on that daily. It's no more strange a deviation than... Greg wanting to go riding." Gil's free hand lingered in Greg's hair, petting. Eventually, Greg would eat his cookie, but for now, with his wild hair and leaning posture, he looked a little like a squirrel running around with a nut in its paws.

"True." Lady Heather smiled and reached down to touch Greg’s head, as well. Gil was honestly afraid for a moment that Greg might bite her. No matter how grateful Greg was for the fact that she had told Grissom everything, there remained a deep and insecure sense of jealousy that had yet to be wiped away. "Either way, certainly an interesting proposition. Your enjoyment of his enjoyment leads to my... enjoyment."

Gil didn't know why Greg was jealous. Well, he knew, but it made no logical sense to Gil. What had or hadn't happened between he and Lady Heather had no effect on what was happening with them, the past existing separate from the current. "And here I was, trying to work out what was in it for you."

"Like any woman of good taste, I like to watch lovely men suffer. Besides." She smiled and dropped her hand to the girl by her side. "You are paying me for the pleasure of the facilities. And that's a pleasure in and of itself, isn't it?"

"It is. I'm sure that you're very fulfilled by what you do. Catherine keeps threatening to do what you do for a living..." Gil told her as he leaned down a little. It was easy to get his hand between Greg's legs and then he gave Greg's dick a firm stroke, molding it upright. "You should eat that, hmn?"

The sigh that slid from Greg was an expression of pure pleasure, his head tilting back, the hand on Gil's thigh trembling.

"Well, I certainly think he should eat something. Your colleague would do quite well in this line of work. If I thought she might agree to take me up on my offer, I would make it more seriously."

"I'm willing to believe that it's just an idle threat that amuses her on really bad days. If she wanted to, she would've already done it." Gil's fingers lingered against the head of Greg's dick, then stroked up over his stomach, following the curve of muscles. It was amusing that Greg had his stomach sucked in tight, and he could feel the faint shake of muscle. Not that there was much to suck in, and it made Gil want to laugh.

At least Greg was unself-conscious enough to be sitting naked at his feet. He wasn't just lacking in modesty, but putting himself on exhibit for Gil, for Lady Heather, for anyone who happened to walk in. The bare skin at the base of his cock was amazingly soft. Gil was going to have to learn to wax that for himself, he thought, stroking again and making Greg give a sound that wasn't quite human.

"She's always welcome here, however."

"I'll pass that on. How has university life been treating your daughter?" Gil fingered that newly bared skin, letting his nails tease there before he pulled his hand back to curl over Greg's ribs. He gave the cookie that Greg was barely holding onto a meaningful look, knowing that Greg saw him give that look. Greg would do better with one kind of 'crash' if he had plenty of energy in his system.

The immediate obedience that came by way of cookie nibbling was intensely gratifying.

"Her decision to take up political science in addition to psychology as a double major certainly implies that I raised her well," Lady Heather smiled, sipping from her cup as she watched the two of them with carefully appraising eyes.

"Law school?" Gil asked, smiling to himself as he looked up from Greg. He let one hand linger, kneading gently at Greg's shoulders. God, Greg was good for him, to him -- the thought made him want to laugh, since Greg was sitting at his feet, hugging onto Gil's thigh and doing nothing less innocuous than eating.

"And eventually politics. She seems to believe that her mother's occupation won't bother constituents if she moves to the appropriate state. I told her she would have to come home for that to be true." She peered down at Gil's feet. "Would you like another cookie?"

The fact that Greg had remained silent for this long was, in Gil's opinion, no small miracle. The further phenomenon of the younger man only reaching out his hand instead of answering was fascinating. Greg was quiet because... That was how he thought he should be. He'd been to Lady Heather's before, a customer while Gil's previous visits had merely been friendly visits. He knew how to act as a submissive, and watching Greg fall into that space was fascinating.

It was hard to believe that Greg, quietly snacking at his feet, had pounded into him the night before when Gil had confirmed that yes, they had time off and were going to be able to keep that appointment at Lady Heather's.

"She could always try New England."

"Really. There's liberal, and then there's 'my mother is the madam at a very specialized house in Las Vegas', don't you think?" The way those dark brows rose was full of amusement

She was smiling, perfectly lipsticked lips curling gently; Gil felt a twinge for having hurt her, once upon a time. But it wouldn't have worked. Greg... Greg worked. "Then California. If they can elect Schwarzenegger, I'm sure that someone who inherited your beauty and brains wouldn't have any trouble."

He could feel Greg thrumming by his thigh, the urge to say something overwhelming even from where he sat, but he quieted as the clink of china continued faintly for a moment between them.

"True," Lady Heather agreed after a moment. "Entirely possible. I think she might like California. Now." The soft tap of cup to saucer held a sense of finality. "I believe you wanted to visit our stables today?"

"Yes. Greg would like... a ride." A fine line between implication and outright saying; after all, Lady Heather's was a fetish business, not a sex business. Never mind the fact that no money was going to be exchanged for that particular purpose. No. Greg was delighted that they were paying for an entirely different service today.

"I'm sure he would." She was so demure. Gil found it fascinating that a woman could be so many things at one time. "Why don't we take a short walk, then? If you'd like some company, that is."

"I wouldn't mind the company at all," Gil assured her as he started to rise. He had to be careful to shift his muscles first, signaling to Greg that he was going to stand up. It all went so smoothly, Greg getting the motions and rolling with them. "I think that this is going to be a sight to be seen."

"Then let's go see it."

---

Horse hair tickled.

To be more specific, it wasn't a tickle as much a maddening itch, really, the steady shift of the creature beneath him making his thighs shiver with sensation. When they had talked about riding and stables, Greg had just thought wonderful, deeply perverted thoughts. They had involved lots of leather, and being bent over a railing, and welts that would turn to bruises that didn't fade for days. He wanted Gil's mark on him, and he wanted to feel it all through work and then go home for more.

He hadn't thought that riding would actually be involved, although he had to admit that Lady Heather looked damn fine in her habit, and the sight of Grissom in riding pants holding a crop hadn't done anything to make Greg's cock wilt.

There wasn't anything that Gil couldn't do. He could ride horses, and he had to know that the feeling of leather on Greg's bare ass would be fantastic. It was such a contrast to the horsehair that was scratching as a counterpoint to muscles and riding pants.

Gil with a crop.

The ride was over now, and he was back at the little stable. Gil had helped Greg dismount, even though he hadn't needed that much help, and was stretching, shaking out his arms. "Greg, why don't you take hold of that post over there?"

Oh, this was the good part. Or maybe the bad part, but either way, Greg was ready for it. That mild-mannered suggestion got more of a rise out of him than any order might have, so he walked barefooted across hay and dirt to do as Gil told him.

The post itself was smooth; it was obvious that his hands weren't the first to touch it, or clutch at it, and Greg could guess that they wouldn't be the last. The loops of rough hemp that his fingers ran into were something else again, and God. He was so hard. He did just as he was told, though, no more and no less, and he waited. Waiting, after all, was part of the joy, and part of the torture, and... well, it was just part of everything. Everything was the only word that really described it, or fit Gil, either. He was just everything.

Soft and firm all at once. Gil's orders were always gentle suggestions, and when Greg was in that kind of mood, soft commands were all that it took. It had worked on him in that nightclub years ago -- Gil had a secret in to Greg's weak spot. That was okay, since he was everything. And he was standing off to the side a little, where he had to know Greg could see him, picking a... whip.

He closed his eyes, already trembling. God. He had expected him to use the crop, and now he was going to use something else, and Greg wasn't ready. Maybe that was the point, and that said a lot about the way that Gil thought, and the way that he knew Greg.

Surprises were really big on Greg's list of Things He Really Liked. A Lot.

"An interesting choice," Lady Heather said lightly. Greg could hear the girl removing riding tack, getting ready to put the horses away again.

There was a whip, short and mostly thick, with a fabric continuance. They were too far away for Greg to be sure what the extra woven part was made out of. "Isn't it? I think it'll mark nicely."

Gil held it in his hand, his grip on it loose and easy before he mock cracked it at thin air.

Greg got the sudden feeling that he was either really brave for remaining in place or really stupid. Maybe he was both, and he couldn't help darting out his tongue, moistening lips gone suddenly dry. They hadn't even talked about how many or how hard. Never mind the fact that his dick loved the sound of it, the rest of him was shaking from his bare feet up. He ferreted his fingers around the post a little further, closing them tightly around the rope on the other side.

"Yes. I suspect that will be quite to your liking, watching your boy squirm and knowing why..."

"Do you want that, Greg? Do you want to spend tomorrow on edge, feeling this with your every move?" Gil moved out of his peripheral vision, circling around behind Greg.

Yes.

Yes. He wanted that, he wanted every step to make him think that Grissom owned him, owned his ass, and that he was so returning the favor at the first opportunity.

Direct question asked. Proper answer required. "Yes, sir."

"Are you sure?" Gil stepped up close behind him, maybe leaned forwards to lay the weight of the whip against Greg's back. "This is what I'm going to use. Do you feel that?"

God, yes, he felt it, and it made his mouth go dry, but that was all right. It was all right because all of that moisture was going to his balls. Greg could feel the tip of his cock leaking even as he gave an unsteady nod. "Y-yes. Gil." Yes, yes, yes. The simple weight of it, the touch, let Greg know everything he needed to know, and he knew Gil would never do irreparable damage. That was probably ninety percent of the reason Lady Heather was also present. Greg guessed that they had probably practiced this before now, even though he couldn't guess at when. He figured his skin would be glad for it, though.

For all that he and Gil only played at being dominant and submissive, for all that they switched from week to week and day to day, Gil was always very careful with Greg. Researched things to death sometimes when he thought Greg wasn't looking just to be sure a certain position wouldn't pop something out of joint or anything. He knew Greg was kinkier than he was, but clearly had no problem accommodating.

The weight of the whip said it all, and the weight of the whip leaving said that Gil believed his agreement. "Hold onto the ropes, Greg. Breathe a little."

Breathe. That was pretty easy to say from the other end of a whip, Greg thought, shutting his eyes and sliding his arms further around the post. None of this was the way it had been in his imagination, but it was better in a lot of ways. His cock was rubbing against silky wood, and he managed to get his wrists wrapped tightly in the rope so that he wouldn't reach back. Greg took a deep breath and let it out, took another, did the same. Took another.

Waited. The anticipation was just starting to get to him when a sharp downwards stroke hit his back. "One."

One, and his breath hung in his throat. Greg could feel the welt rising, one that roamed over his right shoulder blade and across to the lower left of his ribs. It made his cock shiver and his mouth twitch. "Uuuuh."

There was a pause, and he could hear Gil step in towards him before the next snap landed. Halfway through the sharp blaze of pain, he could hear Gil say, "Two." Two crossed the first one and drew sharp tears, Greg's sinuses stinging. He knew his hearing wasn't quite right, because that voice had seemed so soft, and his own noises seemed muffled as well. His face was pressed to the post, and his hands clenched hard at the ropes.

Oh. God. He was going to be feeling Gil for days.

"You'll feel this for days," Gil murmured, probably lifting his arm again. The way it echoed in Greg's head, mirroring his own thought, was scary. "Three." Said before it even hit, diagonal from his left shoulder blade to his right ribs. Gil was going to make him a symmetrical work of art.

Three made him groan, press himself into the post as if he could get away. He couldn't; he knew he couldn't, but oh, God, how he wanted to. The wood was cool against his front, and his back was on fire, three solid lines of it that radiated out into less uncomfortable warmth at the edges, and he was near to crying. He was so far down, adrift in a wash of hormones and adrenaline, breath jagged against the column and.

"Four."

Just beneath three, almost a perfect mirror of stroke number two. He could hear Gil breathing, standing back and looking at him. Probably wanting to touch him, too, because Greg knew that Gil was tactile. Gil probably wanted to feel them just then, put his fingers on the welts as they rose up, but he didn't.

"Five." Snapped with a crack across both ass cheeks.

That sound couldn't be him, raw and broken, but it had to be. It had to be, because his face was wet, cock flagging slightly, fists tightening on the ropes to keep himself upright. He was going to have trouble, not going to be able to reach all of his chemicals, not going to be able to sit in the lab, and he didn't care.

Greg didn't care.

"Please." Pitiful sound, whimpering, the flood of endorphins making his knees weak, making everything feel so good, hurt so good. "Please."

"Six." Snapped across his left ass-cheek, and the tip curled around the edge of Greg's hip, leaving a fainter line over the jut. If that had hit his dick, he would've died. As it was, he gave out a keening wail that ached in his throat, trying to press himself in closer to the post. Everything hurt, and he couldn't quite catch his breath. Greg remembered wanting this, wanting it so badly. He just couldn't quite remember why at the moment.

It was made worse by knowing, for sure, that there was one hit left, at least. Gil had made everything symmetrical, so he was at least going to get a--

"Seven." Greg howled when his right ass-cheek was marred the same as his left had been, the wraparound snap a little more than it had been the other time. Gil didn't seem to notice, or at least he didn't say anything. He stepped back, and before Greg had processed 'seven' through his mind, Gil went on.

"Eight."

Eight put him on his knees, the way it stroked up and carefully, delicately caressed just between his cheeks. It only stung the skin immediately available, not sliding deeper, but Greg had never known anything could be so sensitive or hurt so much. He didn't feel it when the rope scraped his wrists on the way down, or when his cheek brushed the post too hard.

"You should give him another for dropping before you allowed him." Even that remark from Lady Heather was the faintest hum through adrenaline-racked brains.

Oh, god that hurt. It stung, and the sting echoed through his body when Gil's fingers brushed there, a gentle hand coming around to press against his stomach. "I think we've reached his limit. Greg? Are you still here with me?"

"Muh?" Muzzy sound, but he wasn't able to give anything better. The best he could do was shift slowly, aching all over, the air thicker than water as he pressed his cheek against Gil's forearm.

"Easy." Gil was gentle with him, careful to not touch any welts but the ones he'd left on Greg's ass as he jostled him away from the post and into his arms. The whip was still tucked under his arm, and it brushed against Greg's bare arms. "I have you."

Gil had him. That was the sweetest thing in the world, that Gil had him, and Greg knew that meant everything was safe. Everything was perfect. If he needed to, he could close his eyes and not come back up again for a while, just be perfectly content as he was. Gil's hands were on him, supporting him, keeping him upright, and that was so good. So good.

Shifting slowly, Greg lifted his head and offered his mouth. There were rituals, probably, but they didn't matter here. Not with Gil. Everything with Gil was different and perfect and a ritual in and of itself.

Lady Heather's Dominion was about denial and waiting and fulfillment at the end of all of that. But why say no to something so good when it was right there? Greg didn't need any training, and things were good between them. No one needed 'fixing' or 'adjustments'. He just needed Gil to kiss him, and Gil did.

Lips against lips, but not too gentle. Greg could feel Gil's erection against the top of his thigh when he leaned in.

"Gentlemen." Firmly spoken, and they both listened. Gil was good at that, and Greg was at least in the right head-space for it. "I've arranged for you to be driven home."

That woman seriously knew her business.

"That's very considerate of you..." Abandoning Gil's Tahoe to Lady Heather's parking lot for a few hours wouldn't be the end of the world, as long as they got home, and he could get fucked hard. Just thinking about what it would feel like to have Gil's hips smacking against his ass made Greg start to stir to hardness again.

Greg wondered if Gil would be able to wait for them to get home. Oh, God, he hoped not. He hoped Gil would take him, bend him, fuck him wild while they were driving through Vegas. He ached all over, hurt, welted, marked, and he wanted to be fucked to go with it. He wanted to feel Gil's cock slamming into him without waiting, zipper scraping across the welts, Gil's hand stifling his screams.

Maybe that was why they were getting dropped off. So that the driver could drive while they... yeah. God, that'd be great.

"Come on, Greg. We're going now..." Gil's hands were under his armpits, gently pulling him up. "Thank you, Lady Heather. This was... an amazing learning experience."

Learning experience?

Wow. Grissom WAS God. Grissom was God, and Greg was drunk on his feet, tottering next to Gil with those hands keeping him from falling. All he wanted was to be fucked now, screwed into the ground and then held and kissed and made perfect.

Gil's mark was on him. Gil's mark made him perfect.

Greg couldn't remember ever feeling so incredibly good.

From there it was all motions -- walking back through the back door, into the Dominion where Gil draped a blanket over him so he wasn't stark naked when they went out into the parking lot, Gil picking up the duffle bag of Greg's clothes to take with them. Lady Heather saying good-bye and thanking them for the session.

If Greg's brain would just kick in, he'd thank her. It didn't seem to want to, though, everything still having that drifting underwater sensation about it that felt too good to abandon, even after he set foot on the hot cement of the parking lot.

That was a quick walk, and it made him glad that Gil had had him eat before they'd started. That little bit of sugar was bouncing around his system as he was escorted to a limo. The driver opened the door, and then Gil herded him in.

They had to have conspired for that. Greg didn't care if they had worked on it for a week. He didn't care that Gil was on him before the door was shut. He really didn't care that Gil hadn't put the window up between them and the driver's seat. His back pressed to the seat, and he gave a cry that was almost a yelp, wincing, mouth trembling. Blowing his nose would be pretty good, he thought, but that didn't matter so much.

Gil was kissing him, and pushing the blanket off of him at the same time. It was like he couldn't get enough of Greg, and for once he was bowling over little things like Greg probably needing to blow his nose or that Greg's back was on fire. He was ignoring all of that, because Greg really needed to be fucked more than any of those things needed to be taken care of.

"Gorgeous, you're so gorgeous, Greg."

"Yours," Greg managed to promise between kisses, head arching back on the seat. He was Gil's, he was marked as Gil's, he belonged to Gil, oh, fucking God, it was perfect. "Want to show everybody. Want to show the world." He wanted to show them all how fucking perfect it was to be Gil Grissom's, and when Gil's thumb slammed into him, he could only mewl.

"Just me," Gil insisted, bending his thumb so Greg knew it was there. "I want you... on your hands and knees, Greg. Stretch out on this for me."

Hands and knees, Greg could do. He shifted, hissing in agony as his hot skin brushed the leather seats, but that could be suffered through properly later. For now, he managed to twist himself onto his belly, groaning as the welts stretched tight. One hand was on the floor, one knee, and the others were still in the seat, spreading him wide.

Draped for Gil, wide open for him. He knew that was what Gil really wanted, to see that Greg was marked like that but still wanted him. Even though it was going to make him ache and whine.

Gil followed him, kept behind him. Moving made Gil's thumb slip out, but Greg knew he'd get that or something more substantial very soon. Like Gil's hands on his ass, barely touching any of the lines. "Perfect."

Perfect.

Yes.

That was the word, exactly. Being marked by Gil made him perfect, made him flawless. He was utterly and without a doubt Gil's, and nothing that had passed between Greg losing his virginity and finally falling madly in love with Gil all over again mattered.

It would never matter.

"Oh, God..."

"Shhh." Gil didn't even need to say it, soft-voiced and with motions that fit the words better than the words themselves. His fingers rubbed, massaged, barely skipping over those lines like he was teasing Greg. "Tell me what you want."

"Want you." As if Greg could ever want anything else. He wanted Gil's hips pressed to his ass, wanted the feel of it to make him howl because it hurt against that tortured skin, because it felt so good. "Want you to fuck me. Please. Please. Please."

Gil leaned forwards, pressing himself against Greg's ass and back, reaching for something. Greg really hoped that Lady Heather had had the limo stocked with lube, because anything else would have been far too intense just then. "Your wish is my pleasure to see to."

As you wish.

Oh, God, Gil was the most incredible romantic, doing this for him when Greg knew he really wasn't crazy about it, but Greg had wanted it so much. So much, and when a finger slid into him, slick and hot and wet, he mewled against the seat and pushed his hips back erratically. "Oh, my God. Oh. Oh. Fuck, Jesus, oh, God."

Everything had been prepared just perfectly. Gil would've had warm milk and who knew what else ready in the limo if he'd thought that all Greg wanted to do on the ride home was sleep. And even though he wasn't insanely into it like Greg was, Gil didn't waste any time sliding a second finger into him. "You take this so well. I don't think anything could stop you from wanting this."

"Not from you." Never stop him wanting everything Gil had to give, everything Greg could take, and when a third finger pushed in a little too soon, brushing against the terrible welt at the crack of his ass, all he could do was sob and push back, desperate for it.

He could half-hear Gil groan behind him, and he squeezed more lube onto his fingers as he kept thrusting them back and forth in Greg. The hand on Greg's hip left, and that told him Gil was probably doing something, slicking himself up at last. "You make such amazing sounds. Sensual howls."

Another one made its way out of Greg, and his knees parted further. His dick was pressed against the seat, painting glistening wet little tracks of pre-cum against the leather, and his ass was presented, on display and waiting. "Please!"

Fingers pulled back, and Gil cracked his knuckles before he spread Greg's ass cheeks wide with both hands. "Tell me how that feels."

Empty. Empty and stretching, the skin so tender, welted up just at the outsides of his cheeks. Greg had never guessed Gil would be so good with a whip, or that he would practice until he could do that perfectly. "Good," he whined, shuddering. "Forsaken. Need..." Needed Gil, needed his cock, needed fucking, needed everything.

"Soon." Gil had practiced for him, sometime, maybe on that day off that didn't overlap with Greg's. He didn't have to practice fucking, though, he knew how to do that just how Greg liked it.

Gil knew how to line his dick up against Greg's hole, the fat head pressing against him and slowly breaching him as Gil leaned in.

Heaven.

Perfection had nothing on this.

Greg liked it fast, and liked it hard, but the contrast of Gil sliding into him centimeter by centimeter to the stripes across his shoulders and his ass held a slow, steady fascination, one that didn't break the dizzy head-space in which Greg was swimming. He could feel his hands curling into the seats, his head dropping, his hips shifting back to offer more to Gil.

More. Deeper. Offered everything. Gil could have it all from Greg, and he took it, moving into Greg with slow motions until the zipper of his pants scraped against Greg's welt-covered ass. Then his hands traveled up Greg's back, settling on his shoulders. "Does that feel good?"

Words were long gone, a thing of the past. Greg gave a loud moan of assent, and he thought that he nodded his head. He was almost certain that he did, and even if he hadn't, he lifted his ass back, breath hiccoughing at the rough brush of metal. So good.

It was like getting fucked for the first time all over again, except he wasn't going to get rabbit fucked to a wall and Gil was all the way in -- so deep in that he'd had to spread Greg open to get that far. The teeth of his zipper brushed burning, raised skin.

"Sweet." Gil's hands pulled up on Greg's shoulders, holding him steady when he pulled his hips back, pulling out of Greg before a long thrust back in.

Sweet hardly covered it, but Greg couldn't say so. His tongue was caught up in silence, bound somewhere between deep, shaking breaths and tears, the curl of his fingers, the unequivocal offering of every last space in him. Nobody had ever been so deep, or held him so close, or so blatantly laid claim to him.

Gil's.

Nobody else's. Never. Not ever.

The real thing was so much better than any fake thing, better than the games at Lady Heather's. Gil's ideas of games were better. A smooth stroke back until the head of his dick threatened to pop out of Greg, and then a rush back into Greg, his pace a steady jackhammer against Greg's abused ass, and all Greg could do was take it. Take it, and take it, and take it, and he was making sounds the entire time, sobs and mewls, pleading with Gil for more, for everything, for his hands and his mouth, and the touch of Gil's tongue sliding across the welts on his shoulders pushed him so close. So close.

Curled over top of Greg, Gil sucked at the topmost stripe that went from left to right and snapped his hips sharply in and out. Almost there, so close, and when one of Gil's thrusts hit his prostate, he yelped and came, spewing over the seat and tensing so hard that Gil couldn't quite pull out again. Greg could hear him, feel him, and it was flawless, impeccable. He'd never come like that, and later, he would tell Gil that he didn't think any orgasm could ever measure up to that one. Later, Gil would laugh and promise him that they'd surpass it.

That was later, though, and at that particular moment in time, it was all Greg could do to keep himself from flying apart there in the back of the limo.

He slouched, kept on the seat by Gil's firm hands on his shoulders holding him up like a bridle on a horse. Gil gave a few last rough thrusts that made Greg's dick twitch, that he was only half-aware of before there was fabric and skin and Gil's beard pressing against his back while he lazily kissed another marred strip of skin.

Greg felt the limo come to a stop, or imagined that he did. Even that didn't stir him from the haze, mouth parted on slow, even breaths, eyes open and watching the carpet on the floor. He vaguely wondered if they had ever put up the glass between themselves and the chauffeur, and decided that it didn't matter.

Gil slowly pulled out of him, careful despite the fact that he'd gone soft. He sat Greg up, and then the blanket was wrapped around Greg's shoulders. "Move your legs for me, and I'll get your boxers on -- it's just so we can head inside."

Obedience was the easiest thing in the world, faint shifts of his feet, and wow. He had his shorts on. That was nice, and he smiled at Gil, wanting to say that it was. He couldn't quite get it out somehow, though. Better to stay quiet and enjoy this. 'This' was an odd mellow, drifting feeling, the thick haze that was wrapped around him while Gil unlocked the front door and let them into their quiet home. Greg would have to break the silence, if, when he wanted to -- Gil seemed content to herd Greg in, pulling his boxers off as soon as the door was closed.

"Easy..."

Easy, pressed to Gil and kissing him, lewd, sweet kisses that didn't make Greg's cock harden. No. It just made him feel mellow and adored, beloved. His arms slid around Gil's neck, face burrowing in just beneath the soft scratch of his beard. The smell there was sweat and shaving cream, faintly sweet and just a touch acidic. Easy. He could do easy.

He heard a sound that seemed like a smile leave Gil's throat, a soft 'mm' noise before arms looped loosely around his waist. It turned into a drifty walk-dance to their bedroom. No hurry, no rush -- they'd already had their rush in the limo, in the stable. Now it was just the two of them, and Gil coaxing Greg to lay on his stomach.

"You're so beautiful like this, Greg. Today was wonderful."

"Feels perfect." Two words. It was the best he could manage, sweet lingering words on his tongue. He really should have a bath. He was sweaty, and covered in cum and the faint salty remains of tears and snot.

Yes. He should have a bath, but oh. Gil was there, and washing his face, and that made it all right to close his eyes and lay his head down. Yes. That made it just fine.

Later, he could take a bath and Gil would clean the sheets. For now Gil was smoothing something over his back that made the welts ache and then feel cool, dabbing here and there with the washcloth. Gil let him ease out of existence for a few more minutes, ease into a daze, and Greg knew that when he came back up, everything would still be perfect.

He had Gil's mark on him, on his skin. He could feel the space Gil had fucked in him, the one that belonged only to him, for always.

Everything would still be perfect.

Eight in the morning was a nice time to step out of work. There were things Gil truly enjoyed about night shift, and one of those things happened to be getting off on time. When he left the office at eight in the morning, whether it was with Greg or on his own, there was just something nice about the world. Even in midsummer, he knew that it was the single perfect temperature of the day, and that the sun was its most gorgeous butter yellow.

Everything felt alive, stepping out of the cool lighting of the lab, the antiseptic smells and chemicals, the faint hanging smell of death here and there. Death and the chemicals with which to process it.

He had a nice day out ahead of him, and the start of his three days off -- only one of which was an on-call day. It was a shame that Greg had to work late, since they had managed to arrange three days off at the same time. Still, it gave Gil time to get home and plot against him, or at least plan to rub him down with oil. The marks from their visit to Lady Heather were still visible, and they made him feel a little guilty. Not a lot, but...

"Very carefully," a gruff, whispered voice said, "lift your hands up and put them where I can see them. Not too high."

Gil obeyed, car keys in hand. Who in their right mind would rob him in broad daylight in the back parking lot of the criminalistics lab? There was only one explanation, a faint, crazy half-hope.

"Get the keys," came a hiss, and that was unexpected. Two of them? Maybe the explanation he wanted wasn't the truth of the matter. "And put on the blindfold."

Calm. Just stay calm, and everything would be okay. That was how it always worked for Gil. Stay calm and fight back when it seemed best possible.

"You won't get away with this."

"Sure we will," that gruff voice replied. Was there just a touch of an accent? Maybe. "And you can bet we'll..." Gil heard the faint slap of hand on flesh. A shoulder? "...uh, we'll complete everything. Meet our goal." The blindfold was going on now.

Gil kept his eyes open despite the black piece of cloth that was covering his face. "What is your goal?"

"This," the hissing whisper said, and then he felt a hand come over his mouth and nose.

Shit. Gil tried not to breathe in, but he had to take a breath eventually. He had to struggle, too, but the two people seemed decently coordinated and hands grabbed his wrists before he could do more than swipe uselessly around.

Then he had to breathe, and the choking sensation of chloroform washed over him, and...

---

Restraints involving blindfolds were something that Gil could handle.

Restraints involving blindfolds and foam earplugs were enough to send him into a dead level panic, especially when he didn't remember what had happened between breathing in and waking up.

Breathe in, and then he was breathing out into darkness. No sound, no light, and very little arm leeway. Tight, thick restraints were around his wrists and ankles, the kind that he couldn't chafe himself free of. Calm, he had to stay calm -- except that he wasn't gagged, and he could still talk. If he could think of things to say.

"Hello?" The sound of his voice echoed in his own head, tentative and making him feel stupid, insecure. Afraid. "Hello?" Trying it again didn't sound any stronger to him.

Time to give up, then, because he couldn't really gauge it well. That had been his worst fear for so long, that he'd have to guess how loud his own voice was because he wouldn't be able to tell. Now there was simply no one listening to him.

And plugs in his ears.

And he was scared out of his mind.

He felt it, first, since he couldn't hear anything; neither approach nor shifting motions, no voices. Lips, pressed against his shoulder, and nimble, almost familiar fingers tracing down the center of his chest to stroke palm down to his navel. The mouth moved, and Gil could feel the sound, but he couldn't hear it.

Couldn't hear anything but his own breath, his own little noises.

He didn't even hear them so much as he felt them, thrumming in his chest. Then there were lips over the vibration, kissing so softly that Gil shook, trying to work out what was going on in a world confined to merely one intense sense.

One wildly fierce sense. Gil wasn't sure anything had ever felt so exquisite and terrible all at once, leaving him shaking from the reaction to it. At first, he had assumed his kidnapper was Greg. Then, he had assumed that it wasn't. Now...

Now, he wasn't sure who was responsible for the state he was in, and there was something so exhilarative, provocative about it. There was something horrible and terrifying about it, too.

Terrifying that even slight attempts at moving got him nowhere -- someone who knew what he was doing had Gil, because there wasn't more than a half-inch of leeway for him to move. No hearing, no movement, just someone kissing at his chest, slow and frightening.

Worse -- maybe even the worst -- was that he was enjoying the feeling, body responding involuntarily. The touch was almost familiar, almost something he could recognize, but Gil couldn't be certain. Not sure enough. Not like this, and that was deeply alarming. Normally, he didn't rely on just one sense. He usually listened and saw a great deal, and now with those pieces of the puzzle gone there was just touch and... smell. If he could calm down a little and concentrate, that might be useful. Might.

Was that.... coconut? Maybe. It smelled something like Greg's hair concoction, but the hand didn't make him feel as though it was Greg, and there was some kind of additional spice or musk that Gil couldn't quite catch.

"Whoever you are..."

He managed to halt the progression of his own words, but he couldn't stop the other man's touch. He couldn't stop the slow, steady passage of that hand as it slid down his belly, and that was bad enough, but there was a sudden bizarre addition of sound to his world. What the...!?

"Rápido, amor mio," a husky voice murmured into his ear. "Estas ataduras me encienden hasta un calor febril, pero me temo que la señora querrá sus enaguas de vuelta con prontitud..."

This was definitely not Greg!

Gil jerked his head a little, and when the voice didn't move, he made a blind guess that there were headphones or something in his ears, blocking his sound. Someone was being careful about what he heard and felt, someone who was perhaps unaware that he didn't speak that tongue.

Whoever it was probably didn't care, because there were fingers stroking over his stomach, down past his belly button. Embarrassment and Gil didn't go hand in hand, but finding himself rock hard and held hostage was worthy of embarrassment.

Nothing was supposed to be like this.

Hand wasn't supposed to be followed by tongue, and not knowing whose tongue it was shouldn't turn him on like that. It should terrify him, scare him to death. It could be anyone, who would do anything; it could be someone with a grudge, or a disease, or...

How was he going to tell Greg?

"Siéntome enfermo de placer," came the murmuring again.

It was probably someone with a grudge. Why would someone take him hostage without a reason? Maybe there was a new serial killer in town whose MO was middle-aged white guys with bowlegs who worked with the police, which seemed unlikely, but stranger things had happened. There was always something stranger in Vegas, and--

Gil choked when fingers traced along the base of his cock, pressing through his short hairs. There was a finger... no. No. A thumb, pressed a little too conveniently in one of the spots Greg liked to fondle the most, and Gil couldn't stop his hips from snapping up. He could feel the hiss escaping his mouth before he could stop it.

He strained his shoulders for a moment, pulling at his restraints because he had to. He had to fight, had to put up a struggle. Had to. Or else there'd be that question 'why didn't he fight back' whenever they probably found his body. If that was what it was. If...

Gil was having trouble fighting back because it felt so damned good. That thumb, and one creeping finger, and the sound of words flooding through him, against him, almost to the point where he not only couldn't hear, but couldn't understand, couldn't think.

"No debes esconder tus tesoros de mi mirada- mi ojos han de ser sujetos a tal deleite, junto con el tacto de mi piel."

It wasn't about sex; it was about power, it was.... Gil closed his eyes behind the blindfold, and swallowed down the tight shudder that wanted to work its way free, that slipped out a little in a groan.

It felt like sex when that finger touched up over the inside of his right leg, curving over muscle while the thumb teased him just behind his balls. Being tied spread-eagled the way he was meant that he was open and easy access for whatever the man had in store for him, whatever he wanted.

What he wanted was pretty obvious.

Slickness. Wet from a tube or some unknown vial or.... who knew what. It slid down between his cheeks, pushed by that thumb, and Gil's entire body hitched when that cool touch crossed his hole.

"No...." No, he didn't want that, didn't, couldn't get away from it. Couldn't see it happening and couldn't hear the rattle when he gave another desperate jerk against solid restraints. He could just feel the vibration in his tense arms, his unsteady knees. "No, don't do this!"

Don't do this, don't do this, but there was a finger sliding in, touching him in ways that made his eyes roll back in his head. He couldn't help it, couldn't stop it, couldn't make any difference in what was happening at all.

A tiny voice in the back of his head piped up. What was so wrong about enjoying it when he didn't have any choice?

There was nothing wrong except for the fact that his senses were being carefully controlled against his will, and that he was probably going to die. He couldn't get free, and if he started to scream and yell or roar for help, he'd probably get his throat cut or he'd just get gagged.

If all he could do was feel, and it felt good, why... why stop it? Gil shivered, and let his sense of touch focus on that finger, that thumb, the way that another waited just outside, ready to slide in at any time. Ready to....

There it went, and the best Gil could do was mewl, another husky phrase spilling into his ears that he couldn't distinguish, didn't have the capacity to try and figure it out. It felt... it felt so good. It was so wrong, but....

But. A third slid in, almost before he had adjusted to the second, and Gil couldn't stop the sharp snap of his hips. Too much. Too good.

Maybe, maybe a quiet moan of 'yes' left his throat, but it would've just as easily been a 'no'. He was stretched, too fast, too far from careful, a little more than he needed to be with Greg. Enough to make him keep moving his hips with the little bit of leeway he had on the restraints.

When the fingers slid out, he knew what was coming next.

It didn't make things any easier for him to bear. It didn't scare him any less than it had before, only... Only if it was half as good as everything else had been, then this would be, too. He could feel the man's body shifting over him, lithe, slim, like Greg, but...

"Que sucede? Que sucede, te has saciado ya de mi campeón de cabeza escarlata? Lejos este de mi tal creencia, y permiteme volver a enfrascarlo en maravillosa batalla sobre el rojo centro en la tierna hendidura de tu cuerpo!"

He didn't usually choke on the in-stroke, fast and unexpected. He could feel the shift, could feel it in his ankles and his wrists and his back and his ass, but he couldn't hear the mattress squeak, couldn't hear his own voice except in his chest.

"Oh God, fuck, God..."

Burning. The stretch was almost too quick, verging on the edge of too painful to bear. Hands stroked down his sides, gentle, easy motions, and no movement followed. Gil could feel the flex of cock inside himself, though, and that was somehow more erotic, more significant of control, than quick, hard fucking would be.

His voice had dried up. All it took was that motion, faint, that so significant display of control. He wasn't shaking -- Gil didn't shake, didn't lose his own control like that no matter what the circumstance was, not even that. He was always in control even when he wasn't, and there was always a way out of an agreement, except...

Except there was no agreement, and he couldn't move, and there was a dick up his ass and it wasn't Greg's, and saying 'no' didn't mean a damn thing to whoever was there.

Didn't mean that he couldn't say it anyway, he supposed. At the same time, that made him too weak to do anything to enforce it, and....

"Unh!"

Movement was incredible, was so good, that flex accompanied by a shift of hip and thigh, and a thrust back in that made Gil want to bring his legs up, force another one, only he couldn't move. There was only that one thrust before it stopped, leaving him wanting more and trying to move his hips up. There was compliance and then there was collaboration, and Gil skittered over the line that separated them. There was no way to stop. It felt... too good. Too much, and he wanted too much.

Gil was shaking all over, and he couldn't stop himself. He couldn't stop the steady hitch of his hips, or the sounds coming from deep in his chest. He couldn't stop the sudden sharp pang of his sinuses. He couldn't stop wanting more.

He couldn't stop wishing it was Greg.

How would he explain it, if he ever got a chance to? There was no rationalization in his head that he could find that could explain it, except that maybe he wasn't really in a good state to try to think. There was the start of a slow pull back, the promise of another too-controlled thrust into him that felt good while he could only hitch and twist and strain towards and away from it at the same time.

Too much. It was too much, and when that murmuring broke loose in his ears again, Gil wanted to yell, to scream, to make it stop, because that only made it hotter.

"Siéntome inflamado por sobre el poder que tiene en mi la modestia..." So husky and dark in his ears, like bitter chocolate. "Ah! Hiéreme ahora, o te morderé!"

If he'd been in more control of his senses, he would've tried to work out the point, he would've started to weigh the significance of every action, but he couldn't, wasn't in enough control. He could smell coconut and musk and now sweat, sex-smells, semen and heavy breaths. He could feel hands at his sides, running over his ribs before another thrust that shook his willpower.

Too much. It was so early, but just being so out of control, utterly held in someone else's sway, made it hard to keep control of himself. He couldn't... he couldn't...

But he could, and was, biting back a noise when he came with the next slow, controlled in thrust. It felt like it'd been wrung out of him, and there was no way of telling how long he'd been there other than his own deprived, skewed sense of time. Gil shuddered around his captor, muscles straining when his up-drawn balls decided that he'd had enough anticipation and his cock drooled a few thick strands of semen onto his stomach.

The guy hadn't even touched him. Not a stroke, nothing, only a vague fondle in that general area before the slowest, most thorough fucking of his life. Even then, Gil couldn't pull himself together enough to do more than whimper and give a vague tug at the bonds keeping him still.

That seemed to be some sort of signal. Whether it was Gil spewing all over himself, or the weak struggle he gave, it set off something, he could tell. Control apparently went out the window, because the thrusts became fast and ragged, and he could almost hear panting over whatever was in his ears, and then...

"Me derrito! Me muero!"

And then he was wet, and the man was still, one hand pressed to the side of Gil's face.

It was a little hard to breathe, hard to think, and Gil was still shaking. It wasn't just his ass that was wet, his stomach, but his face, too. Part of Gil wondered what was next, and the other part of him didn't have to ask.

He knew the fingers that were pressed to the side of his face. 'Tat', he decided, was quite nice. Greg was obviously getting sneaky in his planning. Gil would have to come up with one hell of a 'tit' next go round.

A momentary fumbling pulled whatever was in his ear loose, and Gil could feel Greg's hand reaching for the blindfold, could hear Velcro making a scratchy noise of release.

"Hey."

Gil took in a shaky breath, not trusting his voice just yet. Background noise rushed into his ears, and even though he was still tightly restrained, it didn't seem so restraining now that he could see Greg's face through tear-wet lashes.

"Beautiful," Greg murmured to him, his free hand coming up to touch the other side of Gil's face, as well. "God, you're so perfect like this. I wanted..." To scare him to death? No. No. Gil could remember a half-asleep conversation, faint murmurs of adolescent fantasy that had probably sparked this particular treat.

Everyone had fantasies like that, even people like Gil, who knew just how wrong a fantasy like that could go, how badly it could end. No one was ever kidnapped and forced to enjoy things before being patted on the head and turned back out to freedom. No, they ended up as a case, a body on the slab, except... Not this time, because it was Greg.

Just Greg. Gil sucked in another breath, turning his cheek into Greg's fingers slightly because he couldn't move his arms. "So glad that it's you, you scared me, I..."

"Oh, shit. I'm sorry." Sorry, and Greg was moving, untying him, obviously worried about him now that he'd confessed to being afraid. "I thought you'd remember that we had talked about it, that you'd know it had to be me. I mean, it just... I figured..."

Gil gave a shaky laugh that was too close to a sob for his tastes. Now that he knew it was Greg, relief flooded through him. Of course Greg hadn't expected it to be a secret from Gil, he'd expected Gil to guess, and.... And he hadn't. He hadn't, but God, it had been good. Maybe he liked not knowing the same way Greg liked to be marked.

"Nick helped me," Greg confessed against his throat, nuzzling. "He said if we got arrested, he was totally gonna tell everybody in my cell block that I molest teenage boys for fun."

"He'd be lying," Gil sighed. Now that his wrists were free -- but not his legs quite yet -- he could wrap his arms around Greg's body, clutch him close to help reassure himself. "Very ingenious of you."

"I thought you'd think so." Greg seemed content to allow Gil that reassurance, arms wrapping tight to give him more, if it was possible. "Want me to get your legs? Want me to show you how I got the iPod to work with the foam things to keep the sound out? Want me to..."

"Later." He exhaled shakily, still holding onto Greg. He wanted to enjoy the release of pure fear, the end to it, the relief of knowing that he was with Greg, which was where he was supposed to be. Being kidnapped was... terrifying and extraordinarily erotic. Realizing that his kidnapper was his lover, and that the entire thing was in response to a half-murmured fantasy related one night when Gil hardly recalled being awake was a relief.

It felt good to have Greg lying on top of him, grounding him away from the shaky unreality of fantasy. "What... was it that you had me listening to?"

Gil could swear that he felt Greg's blush. "Um. Ah. You remember I lived in New York?"

"Yes?"

Greg shrugged. "I had a roommate who was from Chile." Gil loved that bright gin. "So, one night I was watching TV and there was this rerun of True Lies on and... well, I thought that trick with the tape recorder while his wife was coming to see him was pretty hot, so. I called up Mateo and asked him to do me a favor. He, um, emailed me this link about Victorian sex cries, and I picked my favorite, so he recorded them for me to use."

It made it easy for Gil to close his eyes. So, if he had understood Spanish, he would have guessed it was something of Greg's doing. "Do we have this hotel room all night?"

"Yep." Greg nuzzled in close to him. "Want me to untie your legs now?"

"In a minute. I just..." He wanted his pulse to fall a little before he moved much. "You're amazing, Greg. And in trouble."

"Big trouble?" No one should sound that pleased to be in hot water. Ever. Gil was going to have to do something about that.

Maybe. If only he didn't like it so much. Gil couldn't really punish Greg, because he'd like it. He'd just have to come up with some 'tit' down the line in retaliation that would stun Greg as well as Gil had been stunned. "You probably owe Nick a thank you..."

"I probably just owe Nick, period. He's been talking about some new game..." It was obvious that Greg was getting sleepy, so Gil wasn't surprised when he moved, shifted to the bottom of the bed to release Gil's legs. "I think I'll ask Warrick what it is and get it for him."

"Good." That was an idea that Gil could approve of it. He shifted his legs once he was freed, comfortable with seeping into sleep with Greg. "I really wasn't expecting this. You... are the best kind of crazy, Greg."

"I'm your kind of crazy, anyway," Greg murmured, settling comfortably against him. "Think you might keep me?"

"Even if you did scare me that badly," Gil half-exhaled, half-laughed. It was easy to wrap his arms tight around Greg. Easy to close his eyes and let exhaustion seep into his bones.

There was plenty of time to come up with a plot for revenge later.

---

Quickly, my love! These bonds excite me to a fever's pitch but I fear me that the Lady will soon be wanting her petticoats back!
¡Rápido, amor mio! ¡Estas ataduras me encienden hasta un calor febril, pero me temo que la señora querrá sus enaguas de vuelta con prontitud!

I am quite sick with delight!
¡Siéntome enfermo de placer!

You must not think to hide your treasures from my gaze - my sight must be feasted, as well as my touch!
¡No debes esconder tus tesoros de mi mirada- mi ojos han de ser sujetos a tal deleite, junto con el tacto de mi piel!

What now, have you enough of my red-headed champion? I say nay, let me lay him on again in such wondrous battle with your own red-center'd cleft of flesh!
¿Que sucede, te has saciado ya de mi campeón de cabeza escarlata? ¡Lejos este de mi tal creencia, y permiteme volver a enfrascarlo en maravillosa batalla sobre el rojo centro en la tierna hendidura de tu cuerpo!

I am inflamed beyond the power of modesty!
¡Siéntome inflamado por sobre el poder que tiene en mi la modestia!

Ah! hurt me now, or I'll bite you!
¡Ah! ¡Hiéreme ahora, o te morderé!

I melt! I die!
¡Me derrito! ¡Me muero!

If it was 9 P.M. in Dallas, then it was 8 in Vegas. Gil was sure of that, even if his sleep deprived mind kept putting Vegas at Eastern Time. He just wasn't cut out for trying to readjust so quickly to being awake and functioning during the day and sleeping at night. The first night of the conference, he'd gone out with colleagues to a bar, and hadn't had any problem staying awake and alert long past closing time.

The bartender had seemed faintly horrified by the stories of bodily decay and crime scenes both horrific and funny. Their idea of a funny crime-scene probably didn't work for him, either, because every time Gil had started to laugh a little, every time any of them started to laugh, he'd surreptitiously stared at them from the other end of the bar.

Gil wasn't quite up to that again because he was tired. He'd gone a night, and a day, and half of a night awake in a row, slipped in five hours of sleep to cap off the first night of the conference, presented his paper on Muscid flies, led a panel, watched a few presentations, and now.... Now he was tired and sore from sitting still for so long, and Gil's mind wandered back to the lab and home.

Back to Greg.

The fact that the conference was spread over four days had made it impossible for Greg to come with him; everybody was short-staffed already, the lab getting by on a bare-bones skeleton crew with him at a conference, Nicky on vacation, and two members of the day shift in the hospital due to a perp trying to ram into them with her car. Still, Greg didn't have to be in to work for another couple of hours, and Gil could call home if he wanted.

For once, he was going to call Greg and then probably go to sleep. Pass out just as Greg was starting his workday. Gil closed his eyes, and stretched out slowly on the unforgiving hotel mattress while he started to dial the number. If he got an answering machine, then Greg had gotten called in and he'd missed him.

Brrrring.

Brrrring.

Brrrr....

~"Hello?"~

That was the best thing Gil had heard since he got into Dallas, and his mouth curved up involuntarily.

"Greg. It's Gil...." Gil didn't have to say that -- Greg knew his voice, but if Greg had worked a double and was just coming out of sleep, he might just benefit from the extra help in identifying Gil.

~"Hey...."~ Yeah, that was a sleepy Greg voice. He was going to be lucky if he made it in by ten. ~"Miss you. Oh. Damn. What time is it?"~ There was a faint pause, Greg obviously looking at the clock. ~"Oh, I've got plenty of time. Good. 'm glad you called."~

"Do you need a personal alarm clock call every night that I'm here?" Gil let his eyes slide shut -- it made it easier to imagine that he wasn't so very far removed from Greg. His voice was an intimate whisper in Gil's ear, albeit distorted faintly by phone lines.

~"Might be nice,"~ Greg chuckled, the husky sound making Gil shift just a little. ~"I mean, I can think of worse things than waking up to your voice, you know. A lot worse. Actually, I think this ranks way up on my favorite ways to wake up, right after screwed stupid underneath you."~

Gil sighed into the mouthpiece of the phone. "You have to suggest that when you're so far away, don't you? You have no idea how used to having you there I've become."

~"Are you kidding?"~ Greg yawned in his ear, a sound that Gil was grateful he didn't miss. ~"I had to work a double shift to be able to sleep without you. I spent all last night tossing and turning. Sara threatened to kick my ass if I showed up before midnight tonight. Even Ecklie was giving me the dirty eyeball when I didn't go home."~

"Tell them that...." Gil only wasted a moment to think up a suitable answer. "Tell them that you've learned my Zen technique for dealing with sleep deprivation. Drinking your coffee black."

~"With lots of sugar,"~ Greg laughed, and it made Gil smile, too. ~"There's only one real problem, here, though."~

That Gil was still two days away from heading home, or that there were roughly one thousand and two hundred miles between them? "What is it?"

~"I'm horny and you're not here,"~ Greg sighed. ~"I mean, I've got this...."~ Gil could hear their box sliding out from underneath their bed, Greg fumbling around in it. ~"But you know, even having your dick here in latex? Just isn't the same."~

"I don't even have that here with me. I have.... A very stiff mattress, and that's it." He shifted, dug the heel of his foot against the mattress, and then toed his shoes off. They landed heavily on the floor. "So, what're you going to do without me?"

~"That's not the right question,"~ Greg told him, and Gil could hear the amusement in his voice. ~"The right question is.... What do you want to tell me to do?"~

"Tell you to do?" Eyes still closed, Gil loosened his necktie. Tell Greg to do? Oh. Oh, and his brain caught onto the idea with surprising speed. There was very little that Greg could throw at Gil now without him catching on. "Are you naked?"

~"Mmmmhm. Totally, in the middle of our bed. I kicked off the covers when you called, and.... unh. Oh, God. I'm so hard. You have no idea...."~

He breathed out slowly, and shifted his hand down to squeeze himself through his pants. "I can sympathize. Greg.... Drag your fingers over your stomach."

The images in his head were so good. Maybe they should try this later, with Gil sitting at the end of the bed watching. The sound of Greg groaning in his ear was exquisite. ~"God, that feels so good. Not like your hand, but..... My fingers, sliding around my navel, down just to my hip and then back again, up towards my....fuck....ribs...."~

Vivid images, and with his eyes closed.... Gil shifted, left, and fumbled to turn off the bedside lamp so he didn't have that distracting him. "How does it feel? Sensual, Greg, or just teasing? The prelude to something better than stroking?"

~"Prelude...."~ Greg sighed. ~"Like soon I'll have my hands on my cock for you, or fingers sliding in like I like it best when you do it...."~

"Not just yet." Gil was still getting his shirt unbuttoned, and then he was fumbling with his belt. "Circle your nipples with that hand."

Greg whined, the sound not quite a protest, and Gil could imagine him shifting impatiently on the bed, hips pushing up just a little. ~"No fair,"~ he declared, but Gil could imagine him doing it all the same, fingers sliding up, around, tiny nipples puckering at the touch. ~"Uuunh, God, that's....."~

"Hot," Gil supplied for him as he ran his own hand over his chest a little roughly, like he had to catch up with Greg. Touch. Even if it was both of them masturbating over the phone. "Pinch the right one."

The strangled groan that came through the phone let him know when Greg did it, how it affected him. Gil was going to do just that when he got home, pinch that nipple, nip at the other one with his teeth. ~"Ooow, fuck, I.... that's so good, Gil. Oh, fuck, yeah."~

Greg's nipples were small, and mostly flat, and Gil knew how sensitive they were. When he got home.... "Rub your hand down your stomach again, Greg. Slowly."

Slowly, the way Gil liked to do it, palm flat, fingers trailing like his tarantula's delicate legs touching in tiny taps of sensation. Greg was panting just a little, an unsteady sound. ~"Come on, Gil, come on, let me. Let me....."~

"You don't have to do it the way I tell you," Gil told him, voice falling soft and ragged. "But I'd appreciate it if you did, Greg. Not.... yet. You can't touch yourself there yet."

~"I do,"~ Greg murmured, and Gil could almost hear Greg's shift in thought processes. ~"I do have to do it the way you tell me. Oh, god, yeah..... Unnn."~

"Good. Very good, Greg...." Gil shifted, kicking his pants and underwear off at the same time. "Now run your fingers down to the base of your cock." Beautiful thought, Greg's hand wrapping there against bare skin, and that was another kink that Gil had found deeply enjoyable. Being able to see all of Greg, to run his fingers over the freshly hairless space, was delectable. It tasted delicious.

~"I.... I.... Yeah,"~ Greg panted, and Gil felt a fierce wave flash through him at the sound. ~"Oh fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, I want...."~

"Squeeze yourself. You can't come yet." Gil didn't keep himself that tightly reigned in, concentrating on Greg's voice, the images he painted behind closed eyes, while he loosely stroked himself off. He could see the way that Greg's fingers would shake a little, almost knotting up before he did what Gil told him, knuckles brushing over shaved skin.

~"I wanna come,"~ Greg protested, but his voice was shaky, and Gil knew he was going it just like Gil wanted him to do it. ~"This is so hot. I love your voice. I love you telling me what to do...."~

"And you miss that I'm not there to watch it. But you have such an expressive voice.... Slide your fingers down, Greg. To your balls. Roll them slowly."

Slowly was the hard part, and Gil knew it. He could hear Greg whining, whimpering, on the verge of pleading. It made giving the orders that much more enjoyable, particularly since he knew that Greg would do what he told him. ~"I want.... I want...."~

"You want me there, don't you? You.... want to see me lubing up, getting ready to push your legs back and fuck you. That's what you want, don't you?" He squeezed the base of his own cock, holding himself back.

~"Jesus. Jesus. Yeah. I want your cock, I want you fucking me, I want you so deep I can't walk at work without my legs bowed. Oh, fuck, fuck, I need, to, I've got to, I'm gonna....."~

Gil closed his eyes tightly, and went back to stroking himself. He could see Greg on their bed, legs splayed wide, over-highlighted hair crushed down against the mattress while he arched into his own touch. "Slow down, Greg. Squeeze the base of your cock again, and don't touch your balls."

The sob of Greg's breath in his ear was sweet, and the whimper when he obeyed was even sweeter. ~"Oh-oh-oh-kay. Okay. Okay. Oh god. I'm....."~ Hot, gorgeous in Gil's mind's-eye view, splayed open and wanton, ready to be fucked into the mattress. ~"Please....."~

He wished he was there. He wished he could lean in and lick the sweat that had to be gathering on Greg's chest, grab Greg's balls himself, and fondle him to orgasm. It was such a hot thought, and Gil started to stroke himself harder, faster, balls tense as his fingers on the phone. "Now stroke yourself. Make yourself come."

~"Huh.... Huhhhh...."~ Permission was the ultimate aphrodisiac for Greg, and the sound filtered over the phone, fast motions of hand that sounded in a steady slap-slap-slap sort of noise that was unmistakable. Coherent sounds, sentences, were long-since faded, and Gil knew that Greg wouldn't be making any others anytime soon. He was sobbing, and just that sound made Gil grunt, made his own palm stroke just a little quicker.

Hearing was usually the most important sense for Gil, and hearing Greg, hearing Greg speed desperately towards orgasm was almost as good as seeing, as feeling and helping, as tasting and smelling.

It was enough that when Greg made a strangled moan that could've been a curse, Gil didn't take long to follow after him, spurting all over his hand and his belly, shaking fingers stroking until he became too sensitive to bear it any longer. The phone was still in his fingers when he could think, and he could hear Greg on the other end, murmuring softly, epithets and love-yous, and he almost wanted to laugh.

~"I expect one serious fucking when you get home."~

"I expect you to be ready for one. And no 'bugs make you hot' jokes," Gil murmured. He was going to have to get up and clean himself off, but he could fall into bed and doze easily after that.

Maybe he could just grab a tissue and then kick the sheets down and give up for the night.

~"You make me hot,"~ Greg assured him with a yawn. ~"I have to go to work. I'd rather stay here in bed and wait for you to get home."~

"That won't be for two more days." Gil shifted, reaching for the green, unopened box of facial tissue that he remembered was on the stand that the lamp was on. "Have a good shift and be safe."

~"I'll be good,"~ Greg promised him, giving a little laugh. ~"Or maybe I won't, but if I can't be good, I won't get caught. Not until you get home, anyway."~

"Okay." Gil snagged the box, and popped it open while he cradled the phone between his shoulder and his ear, trying not to touch anything with his sticky hand. "Greg? Did we just have phone sex?"

Greg's laughter sounded in his ear.

"You know," Greg said for the forty-fifth time since they'd left Vegas, "it's okay to be nervous. My mom and dad aren't gonna eat you alive. Honest to God. Now, my cousin Wilhelm, on the other hand...."

"Just might?" Gil had to stretch his legs after being cramped up in one place for even that short flight. "Just... promise me that you actually warned them, Greg. Promise me."

"I swear to you. I called them yesterday. They're inviting Poppa and Isoäiti to dinner, and Isoäiti is even making dessert. They swore not to tell Great-Auntie Vilja until it was too late for her to make her funny sour cream potatoes thing. I know how you feel about sour cream on perfectly good potatoes."

"I meant, about me." He nudged Greg gently, even as they walked out of the terminal, heading to meet Greg's parents. After all, they'd never met Gil, and he had a sneaking, sinking suspicion that Greg might have omitted some key facts -- that Gil was his boss, possibly, or that Gil was older than him, or....

Hopefully everything was out in the clear, because that just wasn't an argument to be having in an airport. And three days of strained hospitality might even be worse.

"Yes. I told them that I was bringing you. Very specifically, I said, 'Mom, I'm bringing my boyfriend. Please change the sheets and try not to leave anything embarrassing in my room'," Greg informed him clearly. "Although come to think of it, she kind of laughed at me. A lot."

That was good to hear. If Greg's parents were a lot like Greg, he could easily handle a two and a half days of getting to know them. He owed Greg that much, going with him to visit his parents. "I didn't know you could be embarrassed any more."

"Yeah. Well. You haven't seen my room at the house. I'm guessing she hasn't, you know, taken anything out of it since I left." Greg made a grand, dramatic gesture. "I have press clippings devoted to Las Vegas crime squads. And this one really blurry picture of you right in the center."

Gil tugged at his carryon luggage to get it over a bump in the airport's tiling, metal shielding over wires. "I'm flattered, and slightly worried."

"What? It doesn't make you hot that I've been crushing on you since forever?" Greg bumped him gently with his shoulder and grinned. "Mom said that if she couldn't get here to pick us up, she'd see if maybe Poppa could. Dad's got some kind of project going at work, and she wasn't sure she could get out of the office."

"Are your parents aware that your longtime crush is your boyfriend?" Gil pressed a little. "I told you, I'm flattered -- I remember thinking you'd probably associate cops with what happened for the rest of your life, and.... It was surprising that you turned out how you did."

Greg grinned at him, and it made Gil smile back. "I told my mom that I was bringing you home. You know, you-you, Gil Grissom you, total hot man you." He rolled his eyes. "I didn't want her to have a heart-attack when she realized that she was only five or six years older than you. Besides. She's pretty much accustomed to me and the whole older men thing by now. I never liked people my age much. You spoiled me for it."

He barely covered a small laugh, and slid his arm over Greg's shoulders comfortably. "It had nothing to do with being an only child or spending all of your time with intelligent adults, of course not."

"Nope. I blame you," Greg answered him cheerfully. "Completely. Totally. All your fault. I, uh...." Seeing Greg flush was somewhat surprising. Gil was pretty sure they were past that kind of thing. Greg's eyes darted around for a moment before he murmured, "If you want, I'll tell you some of the really dirty fantasies I used to have."

He squeezed Greg's shoulder gently. "You can tell me later tonight, when we're in your old bedroom and not in the middle of an airport. Where did your mother say she was going to meet us?"

"By baggage claim. I told her we'd just have carryon stuff, but she said it'd be easier if we just went ahead and headed to wherever the other folks were gonna pick up their bags." It was cute to see Greg looking a little shy about telling him something dirty. Gil couldn't wait to hear it, if just because he couldn't figure out on his own what might be so dirty that Greg was afraid to tell him. Greg told him everything, and there hadn't been a single dirty thing yet that Gil hadn't heard and immediately started to work out how to make it possible for Greg.

Greg was imaginative in sex, and Gil was creative in making it work.

"That's a logical choice. Any last warnings?" Gil asked as they headed for the escalator. He'd have to let go of Greg for a moment when they got there, and it was probably for the best.

"If cousin Wilhelm shows up? Don't ask him about the sheep. Just consider it your cousin-in-law."

There was no hope for Gil in surpressing that eyebrow twitch. Obviously bizarre sexual practices also ran in Greg's family. Maybe he should be at least a little worried. Then again, he'd probably learn something new and entertaining. As long as it didn't include the sheep.

"Oh, hey! Look! Dad came!" Greg pointed excitedly as they reached the bottom, and Gil's gaze was inevitably drawn towards the baggage carousel.

He could guess that the couple -- both of whom had brown-blond hair -- who were standing and looking lost, turning and scanning every so often, were Greg's parents. They looked very respectable, and blended in well, unlike Greg's neon-blue shirt.

"That's them?"

"That's them," Greg answered with a wide grin, waving his hand wildly to catch their attention. A woman with a tiny dog with a rhinestone collar nearly tripped over Greg in his enthusiasm to hurry forward, and Greg paused to apologize for a moment since his parents had caught sight of them and were coming closer.

Gil was just starting to size them up, taking in what their clothes told him about them, just trying to get a feel for how things were going to go, when it hit him that things were going to go very badly.

He recognized Greg's father, and his stomach started to sink even as he walked along with Greg towards them. God, no, not Gunnar. Coincidences like this weren't meant to happen. Not ever. Maybe he should have realized that Greg was the CAUSE of coincidence in his life, because he had never had this trouble before Greg came into it, at least not as a grown-up, and now....

"Mom!" Greg was grinning ear-to-ear and throwing his arms around his mother's shoulders as if he hadn't seen her in years instead of having driven down for a short visit before Christmas just six months ago.

All Gil could do was hang back and try not to stare outright at Gunnar. Part of him wanted to hope that it was just a trick of the light, but his instinct told him that that was the man, the man that the boy had grown into and it.... left him suddenly feeling very uncomfortable.

It was hard to smile.

"Greg!"

How had he missed it? Greg's dad had been the one to bring him for the trial, but Gil hadn't seen him then, had he? No. No, and his mother had been the one to come down to the station, yelling about buses and Greg's poppa while Greg squirmed in the too-big Forensics jacket Gil had made him put on when he had realized Greg was cold.

He realized that Greg was speaking to him and startled.

"Gil, I'd like you to meet my mom and dad, Audun and Gunnar Sanders."

"It's so wonderful to meet you again, Gil. I can call you Gil, can't I?" Audun asked, giving a grin that Greg had obviously inherited from her.

"Of course." He offered her his hand, reaching to make a polite shake. Yes, he remembered her clearly from the station -- older now, her hair with silver in it, lightening and muting the blond-brown. It was styled nicer, too, but the eighties had been cruel to everyone. "It's nice to meet you again, Audun."

And Gunnar. What was he supposed to say?

"Gil?" Greg asked, head tilting in that funny way that let Gil know he was about to ask some kind of question that Gil probably wasn't going to answer. Gunnar obviously recognized that look, too, because he gave it to Greg at the same time.

Oh, God, this was going to be so traumatizing.

Gil tossed up a tight smile, and offered his hand to Gunnar. Who wasn't talking as much as Gil wasn't talking. "And, uh, it's good to meet you again, Gunnar." The look on that face was covered so quickly that Gil wasn't quite sure that he'd actually seen it for a moment, but he knew. They both knew.

"You've met my dad?" Greg's brows pulled together.

Gunnar smiled and reached out to ruffle Greg's hair. It apparently didn't matter that he was thirty, he was still Gunnar's kid. "Hey. You don't think your old man knows people that you don't know about?"

"I didn't think my dad knew my boyfriend," Greg admitted.

"We've met in passing, back when I used to live out here." There, that widened the time span out a little, so Greg wouldn't immediately jump to the worst but right conclusion. Gil wasn't just covering for Gunnar, he was going to cover for both of them.

"Oh. Huh." The way that Greg looked at him let him know that it wasn't something Greg was just going to let go at that. Gil could admit that was his own fault; Greg was curious by nature, and being a CSI just made it all the more likely that he'd figure it out and be very unhappy with one or both of them by the time they left. "Well. At least that's, um, one less introduction to be made? But.... I thought you were coming on your own, Mom?"

"Well, your father hadn't seen you in a while, sweetheart. Besides. He was supposed to see your auntie this afternoon, and I know how you hate her potato thing. If she had known, she'd have brought it right over. You know he can't lie to her worth a darn."

Shit, then he probably couldn't lie worth a damn to his wife, either. Gil tried to shove down the odd thread of discomfort, at least for the moment. "Is it really that bad?"

"Her wiener dog won't eat it," Greg informed him, nose scrunching up faintly. "It's even worse than the time Wilhelm tried to make Brunswick stew with fish and was so drunk that he scaled the fish in the kitchen."

"I guess you're one of the family now, since I'm sure Greg's shared all of the family horror stories with you," Gunnar went on nonchalantly before he swooped in to hug Greg. "Mm, I've missed you, kid."

Greg was laughing against his Dad's shoulder, wriggling a little. "Yeah, that doesn't jive with all of those 'I made you, I can make another one just like you' comments when I was a kid," he teased, hugging Gunnar back tightly. "I missed you guys, too. Wow."

Gunnar pulled back, smiling. "Come on. If we're lucky, the car'll still feel air conditioned."

Gil liked the way that Audun smacked Gunnar's arm. "We've been here for over half an hour. You're delusional." Gil could agree to that, too.

"Hey, so, what time are Poppa and Isoäiti coming…?" Greg asked as they headed for the doors.

It was going to be a very long three days.

---

Gil was fairly sure that short of attending a Viking convention, or a trip through Wisconsin, he'd never see so many just this side of drunk Scandinavians in one room ever again. Greg included, and drunk Greg was something Gil was amused to see. It was entirely possible that Greg was the single friendliest drunk Gil had ever met, up to and including Nick Stokes. He wasn't sure that he had ever seen Greg kiss so many people with such great exuberance before and he was moderately certain he would'nt see it for a second time without getting Greg drunk again.

He'd have to save that for very special occasions, and Gil was just glad that it was only Greg's family that was there, even if he was sure he'd spent most of dinner being subtly interrogated. It was funny how an interrogation made Gil feel more prone to clamming up than talking, and he'd been a little quiet while the rest of Greg's family talked about Greg's more embarrassing stories.

He was never, ever going to let Greg live down that thing with the sock monkey.

"Giiiiill." Greg leaned over and gave a heavy sigh, nearly falling into his lap. "I want pie."

Non-sequitors for a thousand, Alex.

It was let Greg flop into his lap and embarrass them both, or... Gil slid an arm over Greg's shoulders, still nursing his whiskey. It was actually pretty bad quality, and that was probably the only reason why Gil was still sober. "Greg, why do you want pie?"

"Because pie sounds good?" Greg seemed uncertain, and that made his Isoäiti laugh and say something in Norwegian that everyone else seemed to get. Mostly. Gunnar didn't laugh quite as hard as the rest of them, but then he hadn't all night long, really. "I could really go for some pie. Peanut butter silk or cherry. I like cherry," he said earnestly. His eyes were drooping faintly, and that was cute, too. Much cuter than the sock monkey thing. Greg with his family was even more of a kid than Greg when he'd been in the DNA lab full time. Combined with the sight of Gunnar, it made Gil feel a little old.

A lot old. He... was a dirty old man. He'd lost his virginity to Greg's father decades ago at a concert for a band that didn't really exist anymore. At a concert that he knew he could mention and it would be noted down as ancient history, as much as his orange corduroy pants were. He'd first met Greg when Greg was just a kid, when he was just starting at the crime lab. Odds were that at least one of Greg's relatives had a problem with that.

"It's late, Greg. If you got pie, I think you'd fall asleep in it."

Greg's shoulder pushed against him and that sleepy smile turned his way. To hell with what any of them thought. "You wouldn't let me," he noted, yawning. Conversation flowed around them for the moment, whatever Isoäiti Hojem had said obviously spurring further discussion. "I shouldn't be tired now. I should be awake now."

"You're drunk and you've been up for..." Gil finished off that drink, and half-looked for a place to set it. He could probably get away with putting it on top of Greg's head, but it wasn't his shot glass to do that to. "Twenty two hours."

"But I don't wanna go to sleep. I..." What he wanted was cut off by a wide yawn. He undoubtedly wanted to stay up, see his parents, his grandparents, and Gil couldn't blame him.

Just two more days. He could hang on that long even if he had a tiny ticking clock counting it down in the back of his mind. "C'mon, Greg," Gil murmured quietly. "I'll take you up to your room." Their room? The guest room? Whatever it was.

"Oh, sweetheart. You're going to bed already?" Audun asked in disappointment as they began to shift, Gil pulling Greg up out of the couch.

Greg hummed. "Long flight. Too much good food. Waaaay too much aquavit..." He turned an eye on Poppa Olaf. "...and I'll name no names as to who's responsible, Poppa."

"That is most well-done of you, Gregor," his poppa laughed.

"Wasn't me," Gunnar denied, sinking into the couch just a little more.

Gil got his arm behind Greg's back, and let Greg cling an arm around his middle. "No, the spiced vodka was entirely Poppa Olaf's fault. Audun, thank you for the wonderful dinner..."

"You're welcome, Gil. Don't let him trip on the way up the stairs, and don't worry." She gave that mischievous grin, the one that was so familiar to him. "The walls are thick and you're at the other end of the hall from us."

"That's good. He snores," Gil deadpanned as he passed them both with Greg and tow, and gave a half-wave to Greg's grandparents.

A chorus of good nights followed them up the stairs, Greg's arm still tight around Gil's middle. "Hey, Gil?" he asked softly when they got up to the top. "Will you take me to have pie tomorrow?" As if he hadn't eaten almost half of Isoäiti Olga's kirsebaerkremkake by himself, almost as though there wouldn't ever be another cherry cream cake in the world made just for him.

"Of course. If you know a good place..." Anything, because it would get them away from the house for a few minutes. He stood at the top of the stairs for a moment, before he remembered what room was Greg's room, and started for it. Greg's mouth was loose, and he smelled like more than half-decent vodka. "We'll go."

"Peanut butter," Greg murmured, as if making him promise. They reached the door to their room, and Gil patted for the light switch, flipping it on to the unbelievable chaos that had been Greg's walls when he was younger. Thank God Greg's shirts had accustomed him somewhat. At least maybe he wouldn't go blind. They were only there for a couple more days, after all. "Gil?" he asked, a little drowsy. "Fuck me."

It was a little startling, and half of Gil wanted to leap at the mere suggestion, and the other half wanted to pet and coddle his drunk lover. There had to be a medium point between the two, and Gil turned his head slightly to kiss at Greg's temple. "You're drunk, Greg. That's dubious consent."

Greg gave a laugh and pushed the door shut behind them as Gil led him further into the room. "You've got standing consent," he noted. "And I've always really really wanted to do it in here, all quiet, like I might get caught..." A flirtatious look darted up from beneath Greg's lashes.

"You never did?" Gil gentled Greg back a little, fingers dropping to the front of Greg's button down shirt. He couldn't see it any other way than straining towards silence, because Gil wasn't sure he could do it knowing Gunnar was just downstairs.

"Nuh-uh," Greg assured him. "Never brought anybody else home, and you know how old I was before I started trying sex. Lots of fantasies in this room." He still sounded sleepy and a little drunk. "Jerking off in the dark," Greg whispered, "putting my fingers in my mouth so I could slide them in me and feel and wanting it so bad..."

Most of the moments throughout the night had made his chest twinge, but this, that, Greg talking like that, soft sexy whisper, put Gil right back in their bedroom, and made his dick twinge. He finished unbuttoning Greg's shirt, half-sure that he was what was keeping Greg standing.

"Then I guess I should get the light so we don't get caught."

"There's a lava lamp somewhere," Greg offered in a murmur. "If you want to see."

Gil wanted to see, wanted to watch Greg spread out over the bed, touching himself the way he might have fifteen years ago, wanted to come over him and slide in, make all of those fantasies come true in a way that he wouldn't forget. Greg with his fingers in his ass was the most decadent sight Gil could think of, short of perfectly tying Greg up and taking his time with fucking him.

He shifted, kissed Greg briefly, and then murmured, "Sit down on the bed -- I'll turn on the lamp."

It was taking a chance -- a good chance, actually -- that sitting down, lying back, would make Greg close his eyes and that would be the end of it for the evening. Still, that would be all right, because they could try it tomorrow night if Greg didn't stay awake tonight.

Gil realized he'd underestimated Greg's desires by the time he found the lamp near the door and hit the light switch. Turning around offered him a full view of all Greg's charms, and how had he missed the sound of those clothes coming off? Maybe he'd drank a little too much, too.

If they were both a little drunk, with Greg shifting towards more than a little drunk, it was somehow a better idea. He should have at least heard Greg dropping his shoes on the floor, or jeans and belt and pocket change and wallet hitting the floor.

There certainly was something about seeing Greg waiting for him naked in the light of a lava lamp. "You want it that bad, don't you?"

The look Greg shot him was unbelieving. "Are you kidding? My first wet DREAM was probably about this," he admitted, grinning and sprawling out further on the mattress. "Okay. So maybe not exactly this, but... Maybe this and pie?" Greg teased.

"We'll take care of pie tomorrow." Gil started to unbutton his own shirt, walking slowly over to the edge of Greg's bed.

"Ohhh, yeah," Greg sighed lustfully, reaching down and giving his cock a quick fondle, stroking it hard before reluctantly pulling his hand away. "Unh..."

"Keep doing that," Gil murmured as he dropped his shirt to the floor and toed off his shoes. He couldn't get undressed fast enough, never could get undressed fast enough when Greg was already naked and in bed.

It wasn't a hard order to obey, Gil could tell, because Greg went back to stroking, head arching back against the pillows. The sounds he made were soft, barely whispers, but his legs were shifting, and his other hand crept down to cup his balls.

"Gorgeous. Every time is better than the time before, Greg. You look..." Gil started to unzip his pants with one hand, leaning forwards with the other hand to stroke Greg's knee. He should get lube before he let it go much further. "Did you pack the lube?"

It was a good question, but Gil had to admit that the look on Greg's face was probably the best thing that he'd ever seen. "....You mean that you didn't?" Greg asked him, jaw dropping faintly.

He kept his hand on Greg's knee, falling a little quiet. "I just thought that you would...?"

"Oh my God." Greg groaned and pulled his hand up to his face. "We left the lube." That seemed disastrous and terribly funny, really, mostly because the look on Greg's face was so completely horrified. "We left the lube and..." That pause was like a light bulb going off, and suddenly Greg was scrambling up off of the bed and fumbling for his jeans.

"Greg, what're you doing?" Gil leaned against the edge of the bed, and then sat down while Greg scrambled. They were such idiots.

"I'll be right back," Greg promised, wriggling into his clothes. Wallet and keys dropped to the floor in a funny rattle, but Greg managed to get himself in them and even managed to zip his jeans up. "There's gotta be something in the bathroom."

"I'll stay here." And wait and be undressed by the time that Greg got back. It was good to see that even woozy, Greg could still bolt to look for lube. It was just as well, because Gil didn't want to rummage the bathroom cabinet of Greg's parents.

The grin that got him was cute. "Good. I'd hate to come back and find you wandering around naked in the wrong room or anything. Give me three minutes." He was gone, slipping out quietly and shutting the door behind him.

Three minutes. That was a long time, but Gil finished shimmying out of his pants and laid back on the mattress for a moment. The room shifted slightly. Apparently he had drank a little too much. And he'd forgotten the lube. Well, one of them had, anyway, and that was a shame. Next time, maybe they should just consider lube to be something to pack the way that toothpaste was.

...had they packed the toothpaste?

He was drowsy by the time the door opened again, Greg shutting it quietly behind him and heading for the bed, practically tripping over his shoes. He took it in stride, dropping a plastic jar on the bed next to Gil before squirming out of his jeans and crawling into the bed.

"I found Vaseline," he murmured, amused.

"Genius." It wasn't like either of them were using condoms that it could compromise, and Greg wasn't at risk of getting knocked up. Gil's mind wandered a little, as he leaned over Greg to kiss him while one hand grabbed the jar of vaseline. "I wonder what people use it for other than this."

Greg stifled a laugh and slid his legs along next to Gil's, the faint catch of hair an interesting feeling. "Mom always used to slather her hands in it when they were really dry," he offered. "But other than that... I haven't got a clue."

"Hmmm. Emergency lube, apparently, along with hand moisturizer. When we get back to work, I'll have to make it a survey." Gil shifted down a little, and pressed a kiss against Greg's chest, falling into familiar teasing now.

The way Greg laughed beneath his mouth made Gil hum. "Okay. Sounds good. I'm going to try to be quiet now," he promised, squirming just a little to get comfortable, lifting his arms up above his head. "God. I used to think about doing this, and having to be quiet. Used to jerk off in these little whispers of sound..."

"Straining to be silent," Gil whispered back, lips teasing just beside a nipple. The motion of Greg's arms stretching up made Gil want to follow it with a hand, made him want to pin Greg's hands to the mattress except he needed to open the Vaseline, and that took his free hand.

"Oh, God. Being quiet is so hard..." Greg whimpered, and Gil could imagine. Greg liked to talk, to moan, to yell out loud when he came, and he knew that he was going to need both hands very shortly because he was going to have to cover Greg's mouth with one. Not that they needed to hide, but the urge to at least respect the Sanders family by not getting caught was fairly high on Gil's to-do list.

That didn't stop him from biting gently at Greg's nipple, just enough pressure to make Greg whine. He was definitely going to have to cover Greg's mouth soon because there was no way he was going to make it all the way through without crying out. That was just Greg's nature, and part of what Gil loved about him. He could hear the faint creak of the headboard, Greg's hands tucked beneath it and pulling tight even as Gil worked his way over to the other nipple, and it made him smile.

"Oh my God, I love you."

"I hadn't guessed." Teasing, yes, because he could, because Greg was clutching at the headboard to keep himself under control. Gil shifted, kneeling over Greg's hips so he could press a hand over Greg's mouth while he bit gently against the small nub of the other nipple. Greg didn't need much preparation, but he was still going to linger even though he had the Vaseline already open.

The arch of Greg's back was accompanied by a sharp gasp beneath Gil's fingers, and he bit a little more firmly, drawing a whine. God, Greg was beautiful, was worth all of this, was worth those things he definitely wasn't thinking about at all. In the least. End of story.

His hands came up, shifted, and his fingers wrapped around Gil's hand, holding it tightly as if to say please and thank you and all of the other things Greg liked to blurt out in the middle of sex. Except for this time, and an idea struck Gil since Greg was liking the biting more than usual. He pulled back, hand still over Greg's mouth, and moved from crouching over him, pushing Greg with his free hand to get him onto his hands and knees.

If Greg could bite a pillow, keeping quiet would be so much easier.

He moved the way Gil wanted him to, letting Gil guide him face down, his hands loosening their grasp to take up the pillow instead, and when his face was buried in it, Gil pushed his legs open wide and rubbed one greasy thumb over the hole there quickly. God, Greg's ass was wagging, practically begging him for it. Begging to be fucked hard and fast, no games, no real foreplay. Or maybe that was another game in and of itself.

Gil slipped the thumb in, even as he knelt behind Greg, fast, sloppy preparation while Gil knelt behind him, palming one cheek with his free hand. "Now?" Greg nodded, his face not moving out of the pillow because he had to muffle the sounds, and he kept wiggling, inviting Gil into him. Gil's thumb slid out, and he lined up with Greg's opening to push.

Usually there was teasing and waiting. Half of the game was making Greg wait for it, making Greg crazy with waiting. He tilted his head back a little, taking in the sight of Greg's skin in the glow of the lava lamp. One slow push forwards, no waiting for Greg to say he was doing okay, just in, fingers clutched tight on Greg's hips, holding him still. He had to hold him, because Greg bucked, shoving back hard. Gil could hear the sounds Greg gave him, muffled, desperate cries into the pillow as he constricted around Gil, shuddering beneath him. Gil's fingers tightened again; they'd leave bruises, but not bad ones. They'd be bruises both of them could live with, especially as desperate as Gil knew he was feeling in that moment, both of them.

He pulled back just as slowly as he had pushed in, changed the angle, and then slammed in again. Greg groaned down into the pillow, voice a muffled whine as Gil pulled his hips back again. Greg wanted it that way, he could tell from the pitch of Greg's voice, the way he was wiggling beneath Gil's hands. Hard, fast, driving, enough to make him feel well fucked for hours, through the next day. And he was so tight, squeezing around Gil with convulsing muscle twitches that Gil didn't give enough time to savor.

Greg's voice was constant, a low, stifled sound of appreciation. It was all Gil could do to keep him still, to keep pulling him back hard to meet his own driving hips. Greg's arms were wrapped around the pillow, hard grunts interrupting the steady moaning, and Gil smiled. He knew exactly what he was doing to him, exactly how he liked it, knew that Greg's ignored cock was probably dying for just one touch, just one skim of Gil's hand, and then he'd spill everywhere.

He'd make Greg wait, wait until the snaps of Gil's hips were almost beyond Gil's control. Greg's muffled moans were hot, making him twice as hard if it was possible. Every shift of his dick in Greg's ass got a noise from Greg, made Gil want to move more, made the moment stretch out before he slipped one hand off of its death grip on Greg's hip to wrap around his dick.

Gil could feel the reaction, the snap of Greg's hips and the way he tightened down, yelling into the pillow so loudly that he hoped no one heard. He didn't come, but Gil could tell that it was close, right on top of him, and then he'd probably wake the house if Gil wasn't careful.

He moved his hand roughly, fast, stroking Greg off even though he didn't need it while Gil thrust deep once, twi-- and hit that point where the tightness in his balls was too much to take anymore, sending a wash of pure glory straight into his brain.

That was the thing about fucking Greg, Gil thought later, the sound of Greg's whimpering lingering in his ears, in the air. His brain shut down, every thought, every worry, and there was just... Greg. There was Gil, and there was Greg, and they were, and nothing else was important.

Greg was still shaking, still whining, but he was so close to sleeping, and when Gil shifted to lie next to him, Greg tucked his face against Gil's arm. Sweaty and hot, but the press of face against his arm was sweet, and Gil could handle Greg's sweaty body against his own. It was comfortable, and easy to close his eyes. "Mm."

Yeah. Mm.

---

Greg was draped across Gil and three-fourths of the bed when Gil finally managed to open his eyes. His head was throbbing, Greg was drooling on his shoulder, and he desperately needed acetaminophen, a ton of water, and caffeine, in no particular order. Greg mumbled something that sounded like ‘dead frogs wrapping monkeys in wire’ as Gil slid out from under him, but aside from that he made no particular objections.

Good.

He'd sleep hard for at least another hour, and Gil knew there was time to get water, something for his head, and coffee without Greg even noticing, at least until he brought the coffee up to Greg. Sometimes he thought that the scent of coffee would wake Greg from a state of dead-for-a-week, the way that he seemed to live off of it.

It didn’t take long to ferret out pajama bottoms and a t-shirt and to slide them on, and Gil figured he could probably chance bare feet down to the kitchen. It was six in the morning on a Saturday, so the chances of anyone else being up were slim and none. That meant no one was going to see him sleepy and scruffy and tired. Gil rubbed his hand over his face as he started down the stairs, trying to wake himself up. When they got back to work, their schedules were going to be skewed for weeks, and Gil hated that. He was usually wide awake at 6 a.m., but headed to bed within another six hours. In this particular case, they’d both been asleep since nine the previous evening, and that was going to make everything weird by the time they made it back to Vegas.

Reaching down, Gil scratched at his hip and looked around for the door to the kitchen. There was a light on, and that made him frown, but he supposed it might be Greg’s mother up for coffee already. He was just afraid that he didn’t have that kind of luck.

Two steps later, and Gil knew that his luck wasn't half that good. Audun would have been fine, pleasant. But no, no, it was Gunnar, and Gil hung back for a moment in the doorway. "Morning...?"

"Morning," Gunnar greeted, and the sound of it, sleepy, fretful, was a little too much like Greg for Gil's comfort. "Sleep all right?"

"Fine, thanks." Right after he'd put his dick up Greg's ass, hard and fast and good, ending with the two of them laying close and comfortable. Had his dick up Gunnar's son's ass.

Oh, God, it was just all so wrong in so many ways.

"Did you tell him?"

So Gunnar did remember him. Gil was a little surprised because he was pretty sure Gunnar had been drunk or high, and it had just been the one night. They'd never seen one another again, not even when Greg had come back to Vegas to testify in that case in '88, so it wasn't like he ought to remember.

Right? Right. There was no reason, and Gil contemplated dodging the question in favor of coffee, but he could see that it was dripping but not finished. "Yes and no."

"What kind of answer is that?" Gunnar didn't have the right to ask him sharp questions in that tone of voice. It had been more than thirty years, and it had just been the once. It wasn't like he had actually given a damn back then, so...

Gil wished that he could just go with that, but he knew full well why the man would give a damn now. He had a wife, a very nice wife, and a family, and Gil was sleeping with his son, which struck Gil again as unsettling.

"I'd discussed the... event with him in the past," Gil suggested slowly, glancing over at Gunnar once he gave up on the coffee pot for the moment. "But not who it was."

The sigh of relief was impossible to miss. "Funny," Gunnar said after a moment, lifting his cup to his lips. He drank, then put it down again. "How things turn out, I mean."

"I suppose. I certainly didn't expect..." For him, him the guy that Gil had first had sex with, to be him, Greg's father. "For you to be. Well."

"I didn't expect you to show up like this, considering the last time I saw you was in a court room my son was testifying in, either, all things considered." Gunnar didn't sound happy about it. "Audun doesn't mind."

"Wait, you told her...?" That would probably change her tone towards him, even if the part where Gil had first met Greg when he was only a kid hadn't bothered them.

"Are you insane? Of course I didn't tell her!" Greg's father looked at him as if he had lost his mind. "She doesn't know. About..." About a lot of things, Gil would guess, especially Gunnar's habit of fucking boys at concerts in the early seventies. "I don't want them to know, either."

Gil rubbed at the back of his neck, then reached for the coffee pot. He might as well make it two cups, and take one back up to roust Greg. "Then what doesn't she mind?"

"That you're having sex with our son. That he was thirteen when you met him." It obviously made Gunnar a little twitchy, and never mind that Gil had only been sixteen when Gunnar had fucked him. And barely that.

"It wasn't as if I had designs on him. He was someone I met in a very poorly cleared crime-scene, a witness. I didn't expect that he'd show up in my lab over a decade later, or that he'd decide to switch from lab technician to CSI." Gil treated most distressed witnesses with the same care, particularly kids, and it made him want to bristle.

"Mmm." That disgruntled sound just made Gil even more irritated. "It's just..." Just a lot of things, Gil figured, but it wasn't as if he could do anything about it. It wasn't as if he was going to leave Greg just because it made his father uncomfortable. Gunnar had been an ass at the time, after all.

Gunnar was still probably an ass, only he'd been on very good behavior. Gil studied the two coffee mugs, one with artistic overlapping rabbits, and the other with equally artistic overlapping cats, and started to pour. "It's just not going to change the way things are."

"Just don't tell him."

Simple enough. Gil hadn't planned on it in any case, because there were some things Greg never needed to know. Gil wished that he didn't know them, either.

"If he asks, I'll be as honest as possible with him. He's a good crime scenes investigator. We ask questions." Gil turned a little, looking around. "Where's the sugar?"

"Above the coffee pot. Second cabinet to the right. Don't tell him." The horror on Gunnar's face was mixed with anger. "I don't want my son knowing anything of the sort. Ever. And, really, that kind of knowledge has to be more dangerous to you than it is to me, hasn't it?"

Second cabinet on the.... Gil reached for it while he thought about what he was going to say. "It could be. But I don't lie to your son."

"He doesn't need to know the truth about everything."

The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs in a sleepy shuffle announced itself in time for both of them to stop talking, to turn towards the door. Gil was surprised to see Greg wander in, rubbing at his face. He needed to shave, and Gil couldn't help smiling at the sight. "Un."

Right. Pre-coffee grunts.

Gunnar smiled at that, and the way he was automatically different for his son made Gil feel strange. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing, or something that irritated him. "Still don't come to life before somebody gets caffeine in your system, huh?"

Greg grunted, and Gil smiled as he dumped a little sugar into the first cup and offered it to Greg. "Here, this should help."

"Ungh."

Gunnar laughed and shook his head, back to being Greg's dad and not the asshole who'd fucked Gil in the back of an El Camino after a 1972 Pink Floyd concert. "One day, you'll run out of coffee, and then where will you be?"

Three swallows later, Greg opened an eye. "Never. Run out of coffee."

"It's true. Greg runs high-test coffee through the coffee machine at work," Gil agreed, adding a little to his own to drink.

"That's my boy," Gunnar said with a great deal of affection, even Gil not enough to wipe the smile off of his face at that thought.

"Mmph," Greg agreed, buried in his coffee cup again. "Mmmphmm."

Gil leaned against the counter, and hoped that Greg had cleaned himself up a little, or if he hadn't, he didn't get close enough for Gunnar to smell anything. "This is good coffee," he noted a little blandly. "What is it?"

"Jamaican Blue Mountain," Gunnar explained as Greg moved to slide into the chair next to him. From the faint widening of his eyes, Gil was pretty sure that Greg had just scrambled into shorts and a t-shirt and wandered downstairs.

Hell.

"It's. Uh..."

"Goood," Greg hummed, clutching his cup.

Gil stayed where he was, leaning against the counter, and kept drinking the coffee. He didn't look at Gunnar; as long as he didn't look at Gunnar he wouldn't look guilty that Greg smelled like sex and sweat.

"Uh. So. What do the two of you have in mind for today?" Gunnar asked, delicately avoiding the fact that his son smelled like a brothel, and Gil would certainly know. He'd been to a crime scene or two in the occasional cat house.

Greg yawned. "Was thinking of heading to Disneyland. I mentioned it to Mom. Poppa and Isoäiti said they wanted to go, too. Gil's got a thing for rollercoasters."

Disney and sex. Disney and sex. Rollercoasters and sex was a much less worrisome connection for Gil, but Greg had to mention Disney then, and... Gil nodded despite his own internal problems. "Is Space Mountain active?"

"Started two months ago." Greg seemed entirely smug about that. "I planned ahead and everything. You should be impressed with me. Besides, I know how much you liked the one in Florida." His grin got even wider. "I even called your mom."

Gil's head jerked up a little. "You sneaky... when?"

"When you were sleeping day before last. You know, I told you I was going out to breakfast with Nick? He had that date he had to be up early for." Greg seemed altogether too pleased with himself. "She'll be here around eight-thirty. I gave her directions."

Gil took a long sip of the coffee, and his eyebrows went up a little. Greg... really was smarter than most people gave him credit for, and he never ceased to amaze Gil. It'd be nice to see his mother again, and it would have been silly to be in the area and not see her. "I think I need to take more than one aspirin, then. It's going to be a busy day for my hands."

"Hey, come on upstairs. There's Tylenol in the bathroom, and a water cup," Greg cajoled. "We could sleep another couple hours. You should, too, Dad."

"I have to go in to work for a while this afternoon, tiger, since I snuck off yesterday to pick you guys up at the airport." It was a shitty excuse, Gil thought, but it was also something of a relief. The way Greg's face fell didn't make him feel good about it, though.

"You can't wiggle out of it...?"

He probably could, but Gil knew why he wouldn't, and resisted the urge to glare heavily at Gunnar, the urge to guilt him into it. "That's a shame."

Greg missed the look of death Gunnar cast at Gil, or at least Gil hoped he did. "I know, but at least that way, there'll be dinner when everybody gets home. What do you think, sport?" He reached out and ruffled Greg's hair. "I'll make sure you get your favorites, huh?"

"Yeah," Greg said, giving him a little smile. "Even the lamb?"

Gil swirled the cup around a little to stir in the sugar, and glanced over at Greg. It was probably the rack of lamb recipe that Greg loved, with the pecan chipotle that there usually wasn't time to make when they got back from shift.

Gunnar was certainly going to lengths to make it up to Greg.

"Even the lamb," Gunnar promised, laughing when Greg ducked out from under his next hair ruffling. "Go back to bed. I'll call you around a quarter to eight so you can get a shower before your... before Gil's mom shows up."

Greg rolled his eyes and stood, sucking down the rest of his coffee like it wasn't hot, like it was going out of style. "C'mon," he told Gil, putting his cup in the sink. "Just for a while."

"Our sense of time is going to be more skewed than usual," Gil noted. He still finished most of his coffee, and left half a cup sitting on the counter before he followed after Greg.

"Anything that doesn't kill you makes you stronger," Greg quoted almost seriously, grabbing his elbow. "See you in a coupla hours, Dad. You're not gonna climb back in with Mom?"

"Not this morning, tiger. She'd be grumpy since she'll be with you at Disney all day. Don't forget to stop and get some sunscreen or she'll be even grumpier tonight, and so will you. Working at night, you don't get nearly as much sun as you used to. Remember it."

"I'll make sure he remembers." Gil pulled away a little, so he could linger in the doorway, the bottom of the stairs, and not interfere with father and son much longer. He could hear Greg murmur as he took the first step.

"You sure you can't manage to come, Dad? I know how you and Poppa like to try to destroy the teacups..."

"Sorry. Can't make it this time. Next time, I promise."

"Yeah." Gil knew that voice, brave and not-quite-believing. He wondered how many times Greg had probably heard that. "It's okay. I also know rollercoasters make you puke."

Ah, there it was, more of a grin in the sound. That was all right, then. Gil started up the steps, half-waiting for Greg and half not-waiting for him. He could probably just crawl back into bed, ready to doze, and give Greg what little bit of privacy he could afford him.

By the time he reached the top of the steps, he could hear Greg coming up them, right on his heels. "Hey," Greg said softly, hurrying. "Hang on."

"Mm?" Gil stopped, turning with one hand on the railing.

"Just didn't want you getting ahead of me," Greg said, catching up to him. "Wanna take a shower before we lie back down? It wouldn't take long."

Gil nodded, stepping up into the hallway. "Sounds like a way to save a little time. I haven't even looked at a clock. It's six or so...?"

"Quarter after," Greg replied. "But if your mom shows up early, I don't really want her sniffing me like Dad just did."

The edges of Gil's mouth twitched up, just the tiniest bit smug over a layer of internal horror. "I was going to bring you coffee in bed for just that reason."

"Yeah, well, I wasn't awake enough to realize I probably smelled like a whorehouse," Greg admitted, tugging his arm to lead Gil towards the bathroom. "C'mon. Five minutes," he cajoled. Gil knew if they were both naked in the shower, it would take a lot longer than that. He still let Greg tug at him, anyway.

It wasn't as if either of them needed the extra sleep.

---

The fact that Greg wore a pair of Mickey Mouse ears with his name embroidered on them wasn't disturbing. Not in the least. What was disturbing, Gil supposed, was the fact that every other member of the Sanders family save Gunnar had a pair of their own, too, and that they had arrived by nine that morning with their ears in place, ready to go.

What was disturbing was that they were all still wearing them at eight that evening, sunburned noses, dragging feet and all.

Gil's hands were already sore, and they hadn't even settled in for dinner as cooked by Gunnar yet. He'd already been scolded twice by his mother for being rusty, and it was an honest complaint for her to have when he had to search for a word, pausing where he'd previously been fluid.

Still, the day had been surprisingly smooth, filled with laughter and roller coasters and one bizarre giant Mickey-head sucker that Greg had licked off and on all day.

"I'm starving," Greg moaned from beside him on the floor.

"Gregor. You ate three hamburgers at lunch, and the better part of your mother's potato-thing!" Poppa Olaf snickered. "You should not yet be hungry. You should not be hungry until tomorrow!"

Audun smiled. "He's always hungry when he smells lamb."

"He's the only CSI that will eat his lunch out of the office refrigerator when I've left an experiment in it overnight. Nothing can stop Greg's appetite." Or Greg's need for coffee, but after he had coffee for breakfast, Gil had watched Greg subsist off of caffeinated sodas.

Greg waved a hand above himself. "Hey, hey! No talking about the Greggo!"

"Are they making fun of you?" Gunnar asked, stepping into the archway between the living room and the kitchen. "Want me to beat 'em up for you? I'm pretty sure I can manage it, even in my old age."

Gunnar probably would have loved to take a round out of Gil. Gil reached a hand to pat Greg's shoulder. "We're only conspiring against you."

"I knew it. I knew it was an anti-Greg conspiracy," Greg moaned, hands on his belly. "Dad, are you almost done?"

"Ten more minutes," Gunnar promised, and Audun laughed at that when Greg made a sad sound. "No, seriously! Just ten more. I swear."

Gil leaned back in the chair, trying to make his back ache just a little less as he watched his mother read lips and interact fairly smoothly now that everyone was sitting still. He only had to sign what Gunnar yelled from out of the kitchen. "He's just as impatient when he's hungry as Gilbert."

The hoot of laughter that Greg gave from the floor made Gil roll his eyes. "I'm in love with your mom, Gil. I might marry her, even, just for commentary like that."

Poppa Olaf snorted. "Your name is not Oedipus, Gregor."

"That's not quite the right analogy, Poppa."

Audun stood up quickly then. "You just reminded me," she told Gil's mother, "that I wanted to get out the old photo albums. I've been waiting years as a mother to embarrass Greg in front of a significant other some day."

"Oh, my God, no," Greg moaned, sitting up, or at least trying to. Unfortunately, he had expended enough energy in the day already that he only flopped back onto the floor on his back, making Gil smile. "No, not the naked ones in the wading pool!" She was already disappearing up the stairs, though, and there was no stopping her -- not that Gil wanted to. He signed what Greg whined, and his mother gave a soft laugh.

"I have worse pictures of Gilbert than that. The next door neighbor had a huge Great Dane, and Gil thought he was Lady Godiva when he was three..."

Gil groaned, and brought a hand up to his face.

"I am SO going to your house when I can move again," Greg promised him. "I'm having that picture blown up and put in the living room."

"Greg," Poppa pointed out to him, "if you do this to Gilbert, you will soon find the naked car picture beside it."

Greg just grinned, though. "Worth it."

"If you do that, no one's going to be allowed to come by and visit ever again," Gil warned Greg through his fingers, before he reached down to swat at one of Greg's flailing arms.

"Hey. It'd be worth it just for the joy of seeing that picture and getting a grin every time." Greg laughed and squirmed his way to sitting. "Mom's gonna show you the naked car picture anyway. And the egg hunting picture, and all of the naked bath pictures, and the one where it looks like Poppa is smacking me but he was dusting off my butt and..."

"Mothers save those pictures," Gil's mother pronounced carefully, smiling almost serenely, "for just this reason."

If Greg thought his parents had bad pictures of him, Gil didn't want to think of what pictures his mother would happily share with Greg. There'd been that time that he'd singed himself, and probably that time where he lost his swim-trunks in the ocean and didn't care because he'd found a dead jellyfish.

Audun clattered back down the stairs, two messy cluttered photo albums under her arm. "Here we go! Every last embarrassing moment of Greg's life is contained in here, or upstairs in a box that I've been saving just for this. Gil, I know you remember that terrible haircut he had when he was thirteen. He had it cut that way again when he was sixteen. He wanted to be just like Edward Furlong. It was the cutest crush..."

Greg groaned and flopped himself back down on the floor. "Kill me now!"

"Was that the...?" Gil gestured with his hand, the severe and uneven lines. He still remembered that, quite vividly. It wasn't like he could say anything. Gil was pretty sure that he'd been in his skinny-tie suits stage, which had only been under-classed by his orange corduroy bell-bottoms stage.

"That was the one," Poppa Olaf laughed. "It hung down like those curtains your mother made when she was twenty, Greg!"

"Dad!" Audun mock-smacked her father as she sat down. "Those curtains were plaid, too, don't forget to tell them that, or that I made them to piss off my roommate."

"No making fun of Greg's hair," Greg whined. "Greg loves his hair. Greg..."

"Greg is speaking of himself in the third person," Gunnar noted. "Would anyone like something to drink?" A chorus of voices spoke up, announcing their preferences as Gil asked his mother before she added her own order. "Right. I'll get to that."

"Food?" Greg moaned hopefully. "Save me from the picture albums, Dad!"

"Ohhh, no. Your mother's waited much too long for me to even try it."

"He's a smart man and he learned that compliance is best performed quickly." Audun winked and then she opened the book as she sat down in the space between her father and Vivian. "Now, where to start, where to start..."

"I heard there was a naked car picture?" Gil suggested, brows rising.

"Oh, there are naked pictures galore! Greg hated wearing clothes. Right up until third grade, it was all I could do to keep diapers and underpants on him, and I swear he wore his underwear on his head more often than his rear end...."

Greg whimpered. "I'm going to die of starvation and humiliation. It's too cruel!"

"You're going to die of impatience, maybe." Gil shifted, and stood, carefully stepping over Greg. "You can have the chair. I bet these pictures will be worth hovering."

"That would mean I'd have to get up, and right now, that's pretty low on my list of things to do, lacking a soda or some food," Greg admitted, but he turned on his side to watch them flip through the picture albums. It was obvious that he didn't mind Gil looking at them, because it made him smile. Greg had too much of a sense of humor to ever put his foot down and be irked by something as harmless as old family photos.

"He had such cute fat cheeks," Vivian said, pointing to the first picture on the page that Audun had flipped to.

"Oh, I know! He was the happiest baby, always woke up smiling with these huge toothless grins. It was the cutest thing!" Audun laughed, stroking her fingers across the plastic covering the picture. "I would give him caramel apples, and he'd peel off the caramel and leave the apple."

"All of my secrets revealed," Greg sighed. "Next thing, you'll be showing them that crocheted hat and those high heels that Grammy Sanders used to wear that I always wanted to clunk around in."

Gil's mouth twitched into what he knew looked like a smug smirk. All of the unease and uncertainty, and even finding out who Greg's father was, were suddenly made worth it to see embarrassing pictures of Greg.

"Here -- this is Gunnar's old El Camino, and Greg in the back. It's adorable."

The naked car picture. There was no way for Gil to enjoy it, though, because he felt a chill creep down his skin and glanced into the doorway to find Gunnar there, a tray full of drinks in his hand, and a look on his face that begged -- ordered? -- Gil not to say anything.

"One day, I'm going to your house, Gil, so your mom can do this to you," Greg threatened lightly. He hadn't made the connection, maybe. Maybe.

Gil could only hope, while he forced himself to keep smiling. That picture wasn't ever going on his wall, even if Greg put the Day that Gil Tried to Ride the Great Dane on the wall. "We'll do that the next time we have a long weekend. How about it, Mom?"

"I'll hold you to it, Gilbert. Why don't you help Gunnar pass out the drinks?"

If he could have cracked his teeth pretending to smile, he probably would have, but Greg was already scrambling up from the floor. "I've got it. I know Gil's got to be worn out." He grinned, leaning over and kissing him lightly. "I mean, anybody who rides Space Mountain six times and takes on Poppa Olaf and the teacups..."

"Is made of sterner stuff than you?" Poppa Olaf teased. "No one warned me that your Gilbert holds records for rollercoaster riding. I had hoped I'd get to watch another grown man throw up on the teacups. Your cousin, Gregor, gets sick at the sight of them."

There was that comfortable banter again, and Gil just smiled humbly and listened. Audun was cooing over another picture of Greg, but still talking about 'that old El Camino', and every so often he needed to sign for his mother until Greg put a soda in his hand. That was accompanied by a brush of lips against his temple, a soft murmur of sound in his ear.

"You doing okay?"

"...oh, but here we go. This was the year he discovered Slip-N-Slide, and then we could get him to wear some kind of underwear...."

Greg shrugged. "I was afraid I'd rub something wrong and have to pee sitting down for the rest of my life."

"That would've been a shame." Gil looped an arm around Greg's waist, now that he seemed like he wanted to sit down and peer over the shoulder of Gil's mother at the photographs as much as Gil was. Everyone had their drinks, and they seemed happy enough, and Greg hadn't said anything about the El Camino.

Yet.

Gil wasn't stupid enough to have missed that faint twitch, a tiny perk of realization that had automatically clicked in Greg's head in that way things sometimes did. Greg wouldn't blurt it or say anything yet, but it was coming with the inevitability that rain would fall on a crime-scene on a long night, even in Vegas.

"Oh! Prom pictures, too. Don't let me forget to show those..."

"Dinner is served," Gunnar called from the dining room, and that saved everyone from Greg's prom pictures and the poor imitation of Annie Lennox hair... for a while, anyway.

---

Greg eyed him from the end of the bed, and that made Gil feel like a tiny mouse about to be jumped by a German Shepherd and shook until his neck snapped. It was not a pleasant feeling. He wondered whether it would be better to confess, or to let Greg work it out of his system. Sometimes knocking the wind out of someone's sails could be as dangerous as freely offering a confession.

"Greg...?"

"Mmmm?" It was a tired questioning sort of sound, just what he'd expect from Greg after a day spent on roller coasters and water rides with their sleep schedules upside down and backwards.

"You look confused. You should just come to bed," Gil offered a little warily. He'd wanted to say 'You look like you're going to gnaw my head off.'

A grin snuck across Greg's mouth, and Gil knew what he was planning before he did it. He really hoped the bed would hold up, all things considered.

With a whoop, Greg launched himself into the bed, straddling Gil and automatically employing the cruelest technique of them all: tickling. Greg knew every spot, every place that his fingers could hit to make Gil laugh and shake and struggle to tickle Greg back. "You!"

Something, devil, tease, both at once, a devilish tease that sent Gil into convulsive laughter because Greg's fingers were right on that perfect spot on his ribs, digging in just enough to make it impossible not to laugh and squirm and want to get away but never ever leave.

That was Greg all over, the Greg that Gil loved every day, laughed with, the Greg that ate peanut butter straight out of the jar and then denied it.

"I love you."

Yeah. That was Gil's Greg, all right, no matter what. When Greg collapsed on top of Gil -- not that he trusted the tickling was over, because there *was* a hand sneaking slyly up to his armpit -- Gil slid his hands around Greg's back, and held tight. "I love you, too, Greg. But you know that."

"Yeah." Greg smiled against his cheek and nuzzled at an ear. "I'm pretty sure I know that. Lucky guy, me."

"If it ever starts to slip your mind, remind me and I'll do my best to rectify it." That wasn't the reaction he'd been steeling himself for, but Gil could relax now. Even when Greg did bring it up, and it was inevitable, he'd do it quietly. He wasn't going to yell or throw anything, just make Gil laugh, offer him what he had, which was so much. Greg was so much.

"I don't worry about you stopping," Greg told him seriously. "Well. Much."

Gil traced a thumb over the bumps of Greg's spine. "Don't worry at all. You're the most amazing thing in my life. Even better than my insects," he teased softly.

"Hey, wow! I rate above the orange-kneed tarantula?" Greg asked, laughing softly. His hand was still wiggling up into Gil's armpit, and tickling would come.

Greg definitely knew about the El Camino. This was some kind of tickle torture interrogation, and he squirmed a little as Greg's fingers danced past a ticklish spot. "Mmhm. I'm don't really like orange as a color."

God, Gil loved it when Greg grinned at him like that. "It's okay. Maybe next time we'll get you one with different colored knees." Bony knees shifted, poking at him for a moment, and then Greg kissed him, all sweetness, nothing like the desperation of the night before. "I still haven't gotten my pie."

"We'll do that before we leave tomorrow," Gil promised, and meant it. He was sure that they'd end up taking Greg's whole family with them, but... But. It had been a nice day, better because Gunnar hadn't been there. And Greg had insisted that they get hats, so they had souvenir proof that Greg had actually gotten Gil into Disney.

Gil would never understand why simple things like that still seemed to stun people in the lab.

"You still taste like your grandmother's cake."

"It's great cake. Poppa said she's baking another one first thing in the morning so that we'll have one to take with us." Greg bussed his lips across Gil's one more time and then flopped over to settle on his own side of the bed. "We should probably try and stay up but..." He yawned. "I'm beat."

"We can just abuse coffee our first night back at the lab," Gil excused. He moved to pull the sheets up, then, but still turned towards Greg. "Night."

"Mmmm. Hey, Gil?" He knew. He knew what the next question was. "Exactly how much coffee can I abuse?"

---

Coming home after a whirlwind vacation was like coming home from a whirlwind conference. Gil set his carryon down just inside the door, waiting for Greg to come in -- and maybe for him to take off the hat that he'd stolen right off of Gil's head -- so he could lock up. He wondered just where those days had gone.

That was the thing about days off, Gil had noticed. Even when they did nothing, everything went by in a whirl, and it was time to go back to work again. God forbid one of them be on call.

"So," Greg said, tugging off Gil's Goofy cap. His hair was smushed flat, and it made Gil want to reach out and make it stand up again. "Home sweet home."

"Home sweet home," Gil agreed. "We're back in one piece." He reached out and gave in, ruffling Greg's hair back up to normal before he stop the hat back. "Meeting your family wasn't nearly as traumatic as I'd expected it to be."

"Even Dad?" It was a loaded question, but it was one that was filled with concern on Greg's part, as if he just had to be certain. "I mean, you know. All things considered."

Gil tried to not overtly fiddle with the baseball cap's brim. "I'm almost certain that he was more uncomfortable with me than I was with him." That was both honest and vague, at the same time.

"Mmm." Greg nodded slowly. "I can see that. I'm sorry, you know. I mean, if I had figured it out before Mom pulled out the pictures, I would have come up with something different..."

"I didn't know until we arrived at the airport, Greg." Gil put his hands on Greg's shoulders, pulling at him to get him to walk away from standing forlornly near the door. "It worked out."

"It doesn't freak you out? I mean... you know..." Greg made a little face. "You had sex with my dad and he was a total jerk about it."

There was something about Greg saying it aloud that gave the event a whole new mental texture. "Yes, but it was a long time ago. People change themselves."

"I'm still kind of sorry. I mean, not that it was my fault because that was, what? Two, three years before I was even born? But still." Greg seriously considered the matter. "Hey, I have a great idea. We'll go rent one of those old cars, take it to a drive-in or out in the desert, and I'll make it up to you."

Make it up to him. Greg... was a pervert at heart. Gil let his hands drop, fingers hooking into the waistband of Greg's jeans. "We'll do that some time. I know we'll do that, because you forget very little. Don't be sorry. Like I said, the weekend was harder on him than it was on me. I think he kept waiting for me to out him."

"I won't ever tell him that you didn't have to." Greg gave him a little smile, the one that made Gil want to kiss him even more than all of the others. "It's easier, I think. For all of us."

"I'm sure he'll appreciate that." A middle ground. After all, he hadn't needed to tell Greg, Greg had put two and two together on his own. So Gil wouldn't exactly have to lie if, when he next saw Gunnar, he was pressed about what he had or hadn't told Greg.

It was the perfect solution for everyone. "Since we're home, and we should be getting back into our normal schedule, Greg, why don't we go to bed early?"

"And sleep?" Greg was grinning at him now. Gil was pretty sure that sleep wasn't on his mind. Sleep was usually the furthest thing from Greg's mind, and Gil didn't mind at all.

None of this is right. None of it, and Gil realizes that. He realizes that something is wrong, backwards, sliced apart from reality. Reality is the fact that Greg is already across town on a breaking and entering case, even though Gil would have preferred to have him there by his side. Reality is the fact that Sara finished with her case early and Sara is with him.

Reality is completely apart from this -- blank open eyes, accusatory and pleading all at once, begging for help that doesn't arrive in time. Gil knows that this isn't what happened. That doesn't mean he can stop dreaming about it, unfired clay pot handle just sharp enough to do the deed, arterial spurt, restraints that are nothing like what they do together and everything about horror, something out of a fifties monster movie, the sort that had secretly terrified him when he had been a tiny boy. The images pull together, and it stops being Robbie Garson fighting those restraints and starts being Greg, who is across town and safe, and Gil knows that.

He knows.

But that doesn't stop him from screaming.

---

Greg's groggy voice broke into his dream, accompanied by a sleepy hand that shook him mostly awake. Mostly. "Hey. You're yelling. 's justa dream."

Just a dream. Just a dream, but it was going to take a few minutes to calm down, a few minutes to get his heartbeat down while he clutched fingers tightly against Greg's side. "Sorry," he breathed.

"Mrph." Mrph was a pretty good answer considering Greg's usual sleep-talk, and then his arm slid around Gil's chest, pulling him close. "s'okay. Bad dream?" Greg asked him, nuzzling against his throat. Greg was warm, alive. All right. Thank God.

"Bad dream," he confirmed. Every breath that Greg exhaled against him was a wonderful thing to note. Greg was alive, safe, not bleeding to death. No arterial spurt, but he still lifted his fingers to run over Greg's throat, gently touching over unmarked skin.

"Wanna tell me about it?" Greg asked him, letting him touch the way that he wanted. He sounded drowsy, felt safe. "I'm a pretty good listener when I'm not jabbering."

"The case we finished up at the institution," Gil murmured. He didn't bother to open his eyes because the room was artificially dark, and Greg's face was still tucked against his throat.

"Mmm." Greg's murmur felt good, warm, comforting. "Scary?" he asked, nuzzling just a little. "It's one thing to know somebody with mental problems. It's something else to be dealing with criminals who have mental problems that drive them to committing crimes, I guess."

"Some of these people, their circumstances, I think they would have been criminal no matter their mental state. And others...." It was sad when a perpetrator was a victim in his or her own right. Gil sighed, and let his fingers drift up to Greg's hair. "I dreamt it was you being stabbed."

"'m okay," Greg whispered, kissing Gil's throat, tongue tracing his pulse. There was a hand against his arm, and it felt good, reassuring. "Nobody got hurt. It's all right."

Except for their perpetrator. Everyone else.... "You're safe, and that's what makes it all right." Gil shifted a little, just a little closer to Greg. "Go back to sleep. I'm all right." If he let Greg keep doing that, kissing his neck, then he'd never get back to sleep for different reasons than a lingering nightmare.

"Sure?" Greg asked him, kissing him again, sliding his mouth to rest just below Gil's ear. "I could wear you out. You'll sleep like a baby, I promise." One hand slid down his side, tickling at ribs in a way that only made Gil smile.

That was why having someone was worth all the fear and worry in the world, the subconscious twitches like that nightmare. That was why having Greg was worth it, because he did odd innocuous things like that, threatening to cripple Gil with tickling. "Wear me out? But what if the wearing out takes more time than the sleeping like a baby? I've been told by a certain someone that I'm hard to wear out."

"Then I'll be worn out and you can laugh at me later," Greg murmured, shifting so that he could nuzzle his way along Gil's bearded jaw. "You know. Talk about how I can't keep up with you, mister 'I have all the energy of a twenty-year-old'," he teased, and then kissed him. It wasn't anything like their usual kisses; not hungry or pleading or anything in particular so much as it was sweet, and lazy, tender in its brush of lip on lip.

Sleepy. Sleepy, because Greg was still shaking off sleep. He never woke up easily, teetering on an edge that he could fall over and back to sleep again. Gil shifted to lie on his back, and pulled Greg with him. He had all of that energy for a few more years, and he was definitely going to put it to use.

"Love you," Greg promised, hands stroking, careful not to hit any of the ticklish spots, brushing over Gil's arms, his chest. It was easy, light, and that was nice. No matter what anyone said, lovemaking was rare even for people who were in love. Often, it was fucking, more often, just sex, but like this.... Like this was something special, Greg sleepy and warm over him, spending his time showing Gil that he was there, close, that Greg adored him.

It wasn't as if that was particularly in question. Greg hinted at it, showed it all day long, in between the ups and downs and the give and take of the average workday. But that, Greg over top of him, sharing slow kisses, fingers only a little teasing and only a little pointed towards arousal, that was something to lie back and enjoy, in a manner. Gil couldn't just lie there; he had to touch Greg back, the pace as slow and the touches over Greg's skin as easy as fingers on his own.

"Like that," Greg murmured, sliding against him until Gil could feel Greg's burgeoning cock pressed against his belly. "Mmmm. Yeah. That's nice. You could keep doing that, too."

"You wouldn't stop me unless the house was on fire." Gil liked the feel of that, the hardness rubbing faintly against his skin, leaving faint weeping threads of pre-cum on his stomach. He tipped his head back a little, sucking, biting gently at Greg's lower lip before he kissed his whole mouth again. "You feel so alive."

"I am," Greg whispered against his cheek. They were in the perfect position, now, rocking slow and easy, Greg's cock against his belly, Gil's caught between them, pressed just against Greg's thigh. "I'm not going anywhere without you. Not even death without you. Promise."

"That's morbid," Gil sighed, turning his head to brush his lips against Greg's jaw. Just like that, just slow like the way time had ground to a halt when Gil had thought he was going to see one of his CSIs die before his eyes. "But you're probably right." Sleepy words that Greg wouldn't remember in the morning, but Gil lifted his hips and dug a foot against the mattress, pressing for more friction against Greg's thigh.

"'m a morbid kinda guy," Greg told him, rocking slow and heavy, giving good pressure, just the way Gil wanted it then. He didn't have to think about Greg bound up somewhere like that, dying somewhere like that. He wasn't going to die there except in tiny deaths, the safe kind.

"Of the Shakespearian kind?" The urge to flip Greg over on the mattress was overwhelming, but Gil didn't give in to it. It was easier to see where it was going, to let Greg push down against him with his thigh and rub against his stomach.

"Uh-huh," Greg agreed even though it was obvious that he had no idea what Gil was talking about. He was sleepy, and he was horny in a weird reassuring sort of way that made Gil reach up, fingers stroking through his hair slowly. "God. Feels..." His breath shuddered out. "So good. So good. Not going anywhere. Nowhere scary. Promise."

No one was going to hold a sharp unfired edge to Greg's throat and try to make his blood spurt out, and no one was going to make sharp moves at Greg, except that it was part of their job and bad things happened. Greg had been blown up on the job, and it was only a matter of time until something hit one of them again.

Any of them. But worrying only stole away time, and it didn't protect anything, Gil reminded himself while he pressed down hair that stuck up in wild angles, petted through it while he leaned up to kiss beside Greg's mouth. "Good. I like having you here, with me..."

"Yes..." Yes, whispers against his skin, and Greg's hands were against his shoulders, arms wrapped up around his chest, tucked beneath Gil's biceps as they rocked slowly, so slowly, cock to cock. "Staying with you," Greg murmured, brushing his nose against Gil's and then kissing him again. They were light, tender kisses, not lustful, and that was something wonderful, too.

There was a sleepy edge, and Greg's breath tasted strange in Gil's mouth, and Gil didn't care because Greg was wrapped around him, as much his as if he had Greg pinned to the mattress. A shift of hip made Gil's cock slip to the side a little, but then he moved his leg, hooked Greg's thigh, and that made a world of difference. The only thing slipping was his control, and maybe a thin line of sweat from Greg's temple.

"Love..." Shuddering little whisper, that, Greg's face nuzzling into Gil's throat. "Love you. Love you. Safe. We're safe. 's all right," Greg promised, groaning as the pace sped up just the faintest bit. It was just enough to make Greg's balls slap against Gil's, just enough to make the rub of dick against dick turn from a shiver to a shudder, skin and hair and sweat and pre-cum.

It felt so good, like the burst of energy at the start of a race, sweetly exhilarating, and it made Gil clutch tighter at Greg, holding on even when he wanted more. "Wasn't you."

"Nuh," Greg agreed, whimpering. "Nuh. Wasn't. Wasnnnn... Nnn. Nnn, Gil..." His hold on Gil's shoulders was slippery, and his fingers slipped, but the pace didn't slow, and their bodies slid together in perfect time. "God!"

God, because the head of Greg's dick slipped against the underside of Gil's, bumped up against him, and caught between their bodies like that was almost as good as being in Greg, all the coordination that Gil could manage. Greg went jerky stiff, still moving, groaning, and Gil wasn't sure, but he was almost there. Almost there, and then over, and there was nothing wrong. There was nothing wrong, just so right, and Greg was safe, and he wasn't dead, and it had all been a very bad dream that was washed away with his arms and his mouth and the sudden sticky spill between their bellies.

It wasn't at once, but as tired as he felt, it might as well have been, because the time difference lagged and dragged until Gil could just hear Greg breathing hard, damp lips pressed against his shoulder. Greg was really okay.

"Tired," Greg murmured finally, that edge of sleep starting to override everything else in his voice. "Y'okay?"

"Yeah." He was okay because Greg was alive, and Greg always knew how to knock back the darkness that the city left on them after a shift. Always knew how to take the edge off, and Gil owed him so much for that.

Gil petted fingers through Greg's hair, and let him shift off to the side a little. He could take care of his stomach in the evening, when they both woke up.

"Everything's okay."

Greg Sanders hated three things.

Greg Sanders hated wolf whistles.

Greg Sanders hated grabbing pinching fingers.

Most of all, though, Greg Sanders seriously hated platform shoes in women's size thirteen. Whenever Brass had given him that look, he should have said he had a hot date. He should have declared that he had an appointment at his hairdresser. He should have made Gil take him to see Lady Heather so he would have a legitimate excuse for not agreeing to fill in for the deathly ill detective who, apparently, had called in at the last minute and been too sick to take on his part in the sting operation they were doing in tranny town.

If one more person leered at him, Greg was going to have to hit somebody just to reassert his manhood.

It wasn't his fault that everyone had decided that he had the legs and the right build, just still on the lean side, to pass himself off in tranny town as a walking piece of bait.

Gil had been pissed off, too, and somewhere between Gil turning up his 'I'm a bitch, don't mess with me' level, and Brass getting louder and louder logically, well... Greg had just given up. He only wished that the ill detective -- who was probably at home drinking beer -- hadn't picked the outfit that he had. For one thing, pink had never ever been Greg's color; but he'd been required to shave what little hair he had so that nothing would be visible while he was wearing the sheer baby-pink blouse, and he had discovered that underwires were a bitch. Of course, stuffing the bra with grapefruit probably hadn't been the best idea ever, either, but what the hell. He didn't have any falsies to shove in there, and at least the grapefruit fitted.

Sort of.

And the skirt. Well. The less said about that fucking thing the better, because when it was combined with the white thong crawling up his ass, he was damn near flashing the whole office, whistles following him down the hall.

Who knew that they made sheer pink pleather skirts that laced up the side? It barely covered the curve of his ass, to the point that Greg had been expecting a patrol car not in the know to come past and try to pick him up. But it hadn't happened, and he would have been more pissed off if it hadn't been a successful night.

A hand smacked down on his ass, Nick's laughter sounding before he could even get past the break room. "Damn, Greg!"

Damn, Greg, nothing, because the feel of pleather and that hand was damn near a blistering combination. "You say one word and I'll haunt you to your death," Greg hissed, shaking one fist. It only made Nick snicker, especially when Sara walked past him.

"Damn, Greg!"

God. He just wanted to make it to Gil's office without everybody on swing and night shifts seeing his ass. Was that too much to ask? Apparently, because Nick stayed stuck to him even when he started to try to walk again. "I'm not saying anything. I'm just wondering, uh, how'd your night go? Hot?"

"Yeah. It was hot. It was hot, and it was fucking MUGGY, which is stupid, because this is a desert, and I've got knots on my ass from every third trick pinching the hell out of me," he snapped, "and if I ever get hold of that undercover guy..." Yeah. He would so regret it because those platforms were going where the sun didn't shine.

Sara was still peeking at him, smirking to herself as she trailed along for a moment. Just to gloat, because it was the best gloating she'd had a chance to do at him for a while. "Greg? You know that when all that hair grows back, it'll drive you crazy with itching."

"There's not much of it," he protested. Just a light trail down his chest and down his belly, not much at all, and he knew his bottom lip was protruding and he looked stupid. He looked like a crybaby, all lipstick and smeared eyeliner and Jesus, were they going to follow him all the way to Gil's office?

Apparently.

"Your legs? Everything else?" She winked at him, and turned away, probably to snicker with Hodges or Mia.

Nick kept tagging along, peering at him. "You know, only a chick would think of that."

"I hate her," Greg moaned, pausing outside of Gil's door. It was shut, which was a little nerve-wracking in that 'to disturb him or not to disturb him' kind of way. Besides that, Gil had been a little grumpy already this week because he'd had some kind of weird sinus allergy going on that had only just cleared up. Greg wasn't looking forward to knocking on the door and, at the same time, he desperately wanted to escape. After all, Gil's office could serve as a way-point between the locker-room and changing into clothes that didn't make him look like a cheap piece of ass. The worst thing Gil could do to him was stare.

Or be in a meeting, but Greg didn't think of that until after the door was open under his fingers.

"Well, well." Oh. God. Ecklie. There was a devil in Hell, and Greg was pretty sure he'd landed there. "Good of you to, ah, volunteer, Sanders." He smirked at Gil with that look that Greg knew usually meant he wasn't getting laid for a week if Gil sulked enough about it. "Why don't you head home, too? I was just telling Grissom here that he's all out of overtime hours for the month and probably doesn't even need to be here tonight. I'm sure that night shift will manage to make it through."

Great. So Ecklie was sending Gil home, and that meant that his lover was going to be pissed off and that he'd volunteer to take Greg home.

Greg knew from experience that being trapped in a car with Gil when he was angry was a bad thing, an uncomfortable thing, a miserable thing. Maybe he could drop Gil off at an amusement park or something, and just volunteer to stay in the car if he didn't think that a cop would pick him up for hooking. Loitering? Was hooking even a verb in that sense of the word?

"I'm leaving right now, Ecklie." Leaving, and wow. Greg wasn't sure he'd ever seen a look quite like that one before, and he'd seen a lot of them. "Get your things, Greg. I'll drive you home, because if you drive around like that, somebody's bound to pick you up and charge you with something."

Like trying to run a sexy limo service? Out of a crappy beat up Jetta.

"Visual assault?" Ecklie joked, smiling too much as he got to his feet. Gil was still sitting down, still putting things into his briefcase. Ecklie patted Greg on the shoulder on his way out the door. "I'm kidding. You did good, Sanders."

"Thanks." Thanks even though he was still strutting his ass around in pink pleather with Gil giving him a look. Or maybe it wasn't a look, maybe it was a good thing. He could hope.

The briefcase was closed with a sharp snap, and Gil stood up. "Did you get lucky?"

"Does having my ass pinched black and blue count?" Greg grumbled, and was startled when Ecklie choked on a chuckle.

Gil wasn't really laughing, but he did walk towards the door, and that herded Ecklie out into the hallway and off towards his own office while Gil closed in on Greg. The music from Jaws cued up in Greg's head. "Pinched?"

"Pinched," Greg mumbled, feeling more than a little uncertain. Gil was sniffing at him and it made him nervous. That didn't seem like something Gil would ordinarily do

"You smell like cheap cologne." Gil leaned back, like he realized he was too close to doing something inappropriate at work, and then put a hand on Greg's chest, and eased him out of the doorway. "Go on, get your things from the locker room. I'm going with you."

Going with him to the lockers? "Can I change before I go?" he hazarded, feeling a little silly to be asking permission. Then again, Greg kind of liked asking Gil for permission to do things. It made him hot, and all of a sudden he was more worried about his dick showing than his ass.

"No. I'd rather just get you home." Once they were out into the hallway, Gil's fingers closed tight over Greg's shoulder. He was going to be walked in his platform shoes and tight pleather 'skirt' to the locker-room. Showing his dick was definitely going to be a problem and a likelihood, and there was Nick eyeballing them both with that knowing look that really made Greg want to smack him.

Gil probably knew Nick had smacked his ass, too, but Greg wasn't about to offer him that information. Instead, he let Gil head him towards the lockers, he got his stuff, and he marched ahead of Gil out into the parking lot. Gil's eyes were on him the whole time, and it was a lot less pressing a concern that Sara or Nick were eyeing him so much as trying to guess how Gil was looking at him. Sure, Gil had protested to the idea of Greg-as-tranny-killer bait, but there was protesting, and then there was being angry.

He was probably going to get smacked when they got home.

The beep from Gil's Yukon unlocking was almost a heavenly sound, because he didn't have to wait for Gil to catch up with him to hide in the passenger seat. At least that way, nobody was going to see any of his parts dangling out, and that was a relief, right? Right.

Right up until Gil slid into the SUV, anyway, and locked the doors behind him. He sat there for a moment before slipping the keys into the ignition and turning on the truck, making Greg give a little sound of relief.

It was silent while Gil backed up, and Gil didn't let the radio ease Greg's tension. He reached a hand out to mute it the moment that it came on. "Brass called to tell me that the suspect went right at you, Greg. What were you thinking, putting yourself up as bait like that? You're a criminalist, not a cop!"

"They asked!" Yeah, well, the FBI had asked Sara, too, and Gil hadn't been happy about that, either. "And I was the only one who fit into the damn outfit. Besides, Brass swore to me..."

"Swore to you what? That they'd be close enough that the man couldn't knife you or shoot you in the head if he suspected something was up?" They turned into traffic, and Gil didn't look at him, didn't take his eyes off the road, but his hands were almost melded into the steering wheel, fingers blanched from gripping at it.

"I'm sorry." Sorry didn't seem like enough, and it was funny that Greg was nervous. Gil didn't ordinarily get so pissed off, and if he did then he usually went into the study and pinned small helpless dead bugs to boards.

That would be a pretty harsh punishment, if he smacked Greg's ass, and then went into the study to work off some steam that way, instead of the sex way.

"You could have gotten killed, Greg!"

"But I didn't." It had been kind of close, but surely nobody had been stupid enough to tell that to Gil, right? Except Ecklie had been in his office and that wasn't a good sign. "I didn't, and I'm never volunteering for anything like this again."

"You're not," Gil agreed tightly. "I'm not going to let you volunteer for anything else like this. Ever. Again."

"Yes, sir." It was the best answer he could give, the only right answer when it got down to it, and Greg wasn't stupid enough to say anything else. "I swear I won't." After all, seeing Gil so irritable and worried and shut down was kind of like that time he got all of his test tubes broken, which really kind of freaked Greg out a little.

There was no way he was going to disagree with Gil just then. Particularly not when Gil was driving like he thought Vegas was a race-car road course. "Good." It wasn't a really happy good. "Tell me what happened. Step by step."

Step by step.

"Mostly? Nothing. I mean, some guys approached me, and most of them were okay. A couple of them pinched me black and blue..." Or five, but who was counting? "And then the one we were looking for pulled by. I mean, I was dead on target for the guys he's been after, and he usually doesn't try anything dangerous right off, just..." Things had been different. Maybe he had escalated when they weren't looking, but he'd come after Greg with a knife, and now they had him, and plenty of DNA samples. "So, he came after me, but the cops were there, and they took care of him."

It made Gil quiet, but not shocked quiet. So Ecklie had given him a heads up, or Brass had, or someone had. Half of the lab had seemed to know he was coming in so they could peek at him and laugh at the skirt.

"Mmm."

Mmm. Was mmm a good thing or a bad thing? Self-consciously, Greg pulled at the damn pleather. He was sitting on the hemline and it was leaving a crease in his ass right across his cheeks.

Never wearing pleather again. Ever. Especially not pink pleather.

No skirt should be short enough to leave a crease right there, so he pulled at it again. "That's it..." Gil said that mostly under his breath, but in a dead quiet car, it was like a rock being thrown at Greg's head, seconds before Gil pulled into an empty parking lot.

Gil was going to kill him and leave his body there.

Greg swallowed hard and looked across the way. Unpredictable Gil was unexpectedly hot, and there wasn't a lot of hiding what he thought about that. "That's it?" he squeaked out.

"You keep playing with yourself, and I'm not going to have you doing that and smelling like other men at the same time. Get in the back." Gil turned the engine off, and was already unbuckling his seat belt while he talked.

"But I'm..." One look was enough to freeze that statement, and Greg didn't even bother opening the door. He managed to get one of those damn platforms underneath him so that he could crawl back between the seats, and he hoped like hell that nobody was looking because if they were, they'd been mooned.

Gil stared back at him for another moment, and then pulled open the driver-side lock, and popped open his door. So Gil was getting into the back with him? That didn't seem so bad or horrific, and it wasn't like Gil was going to strangle him or anything.

Maybe.

After all, he wasn't wearing a tie and they didn't have any rope anywhere in the truck. At the same time, Gil was damn sure pulling off his belt, and that could be quite handily used to squeeze all of the breath out of him.

"Gil..."

"Be quiet." The driver side door closed, and for a second, Greg was left alone, before the back seat driver's side door opened, and Gil got in, pulling it closed behind him. "Hitch that 'skirt' up."

Hitch it UP? Hell, the thing hardly covered his ass as it was! "No...." No wasn't direct defiance so much as it was pleading. "No, please, I won't do it again..." Never ever volunteering for anything like that again, but it made him even hotter to beg. Dammit.

"Greg." Gil's voice was flat, hard, and he knelt on the back seat and leaned in to do it himself. "Hitch it up. And turn over. Or not. I'm going to beat red whatever you show me."

Holy shit. Gil was seriously pissed off, and Greg was honestly a little scared not to obey. His hands were shaking, and it took a couple of tries, but he got it up around his hips and shifted so that he was leaning over the back seat, hands on the floor of the cargo area. "Gil... Gil, I wouldn't... I don't... I was..."

"Shut up. I told you that I didn't want you going out there, and he tried to kill you. You didn't listen to me then, and you could have died." Gil folded his belt in half, and when Greg turned around, he could see that Gil was at least holding on to the buckle in his palm.

"But..." But wasn't a really good interjection, and he kind of liked Gil hot and jealous. "Okay." Okay because what else was he going to say?

"Count." Gil ran his hand over the doubled over belt, moved in close behind Greg. There wasn't much arm room for hits, and Gil would probably work it off fast. Greg could hope.

"Counting," Greg agreed, and then the first hit struck and he yelled instead of counting. Damn! How had Gil managed to get his arm back far enough for it to hurt like that? Greg didn't know, but he squirmed and looked back, a little shocked. A lot shocked, even.

"Count." It would have been easier if they'd been home, or even if Greg had had a little time to fall into the space a little. But Gil was being unpredictable, raising the folded over belt again, and when it came down, Greg had to swallow back the full-fledged yell that he wanted to give.

"Wu-one." One, or actually two, but he didn't dare count that first one, or ask how many Gil planned on giving. Not at the moment. He wasn't that stupid. Gil probably didn't know how many he was going to give. He'd usually give just enough, just enough for Greg to feel like a loose-limbed shaking mess when Gil was done, but not too many. Somehow, he always knew that line, so Greg could still count when two and then three landed.

When four landed, it was sizzling, and it landed right across the itchy crease the pleather had worn on his ass, crossing over one of the previous welts. All he could do was yelp, eyes tearing up suddenly, reluctantly, as he squirmed violently in an attempt to move away.

"Count."

And, Jesus, he couldn't, he couldn't get his mouth to work, and Gil sounded even unhappier than he had to start.

"Count or we'll start over at one."

"F-f-ffff. Ffffffo-o-oh-ohr."

There was a pause that he thought meant that Gil was giving up, quitting, too pissed off to go on. But then five came down across his ass, angled to smack the upper curve of his ass.

CHRIST. How was he getting that kind of elbow clearance? "Fiiiive!" Greg wailed, reaching up to rub hard at his face. He was sweaty and teary, and that was so stupid. He'd gotten worse and not cried, but for some reason this was hot and bothersome in a weird kind of heart-aching way, and he was never ever ever giving that damn pleather skirt back because maybe... maybe that was part of what pissed Gil off, he thought.

Gil had always told him that he'd liked Greg the way he was. Greg-like Greg, hair and rangy limbs and the way his dick jutted out like a clothes line when he was hard. So maybe the skirt was what pissed him off, gave that little edge to his hits. Six was just as hard as five, and he was out of breath again, and it was just so wrong that his cock was hard and throbbing and painting a semen-picture on Gil's seat. "Not so hard!" he pleaded, squirming desperately.

Gil hit him one more time, a little less hard, and then he dropped his belt to the floor. "You can start counting over when we get home."

Jesus. Jesus, thank God, Gil was done, and his ass was fried. Maybe between getting back on the highway and getting home, he could drop into the right headspace, but....

Wait.

That was a thumb.

That was a spit-slicked thumb sliding into his asshole, and maybe he could move into subspace damn hard and fast given that kind of incentive.

He didn't need much else, because Gil was pressing against his back, pushing the thong out way a little more. "Sometimes, Greg, god dammit...."

"'m sorry. I'm sorry!" And he was, more or less, really sorry. Mostly sorry, anyway, although he wasn't entirely sure what he was sorry about anymore. Gil was there against him, and there were other fingers sneaking inside, and it burned a little because he wasn't ready. It wasn't like he came pre-lubed or anything.

Later, Gil would apologize, and make sure he was all right and even put some numbing stuff on him so it didn't ache. Later, but right at the moment there was just spit and Gil's insisting fingers. "You can't do that to me."

"I won't. I won't!" Wouldn't what, he wasn't entirely sure. Cheat on him? Die on him? Whichever, it didn't matter, and Gil was spitting again, loudly, and it slid down between his cheeks in a sleek trail. "Gil!"

"Shhh." Two fingers followed after the spit, pushed it in and worked it in, made Greg squirm, humping against the back seat while Gil knelt just behind him. Somewhere, Greg had missed Gil unzipping his pants, had missed his cock coming out, and then Gil was behind him, sliding his legs over and around Greg's, and his hands were pulling Greg's cheeks apart. Greg felt the head bump a little above his hole, felt Gil adjust, and then push, and he couldn't help sobbing, crying out, because he wasn't used to taking Gil without lube. Just spit wasn't enough. Gil was big, and squirming to get away only seated him deeper.

Gil's groan sounded so deeply satisfied, and Greg wondered if it was all ultimately revenge for the time that Greg had used a pepper as a 'toy' on him. He flexed his hands on Greg's hips, and pushed in a little more. Not all the way, but half of it before he started to rock, humping Greg's stinging ass slowly. It hurt, and he couldn't help sobbing, couldn't help the sounds that burbled up or the fitful attempts to shimmy away. It didn't do anything except lodge Gil a little deeper, and make Greg yell.

The worst part, best part, was that he was still hard and drooling against the leather. Gil was going to have to get the car detailed, or the smell would never leave. Greg was pretty sure that when he finally came, when his ass stopped burning so badly, he'd shoot a hole right through the upholstery. If he could just get the stinging to stop....

Greg's eyes clenched shut tightly, fists balling up against the cargo floor, and he pushed his hips back, grinding his teeth together as he took Gil in to the root, and then a tap came on the window, heavy and metallic, remarkably like a Maglight.

"Oh, fuck." Gil went startlingly still, and then pulled out of Greg fast, fingers fumbling from Greg's hips to put his thong back in place for him, pulling his skirt down over his smacked ass.

The humiliation, Greg was pretty sure, wouldn't be ending anytime soon. Maybe not ever, because Gil shifted, opened the back door, and he knew that a wash of pheromones hit the officer in the face. Greg couldn't even tell who it was as he tried to shift, pull his skirt back into place.

"Yanno, if you're gonna have sex with a transvestite, you really oughta get the tranny home first. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred buck-- Jesus, Gil!?" Brass, and he was laughing. Laughing just wasn't fair when Greg wasn't sure he'd be able to sit down on the way home, and his dick was still throbbing.

"I..." Gil was turning redder than that pepper, and as he got out of the back seat, he still kind of tried to shield Greg. "This isn't what it looked like, Jim."

"I flashed the lights. Four times."

Yeah, it was definitely what it looked like, and what it smelled like, and Brass was eyeballing Greg as if he'd never seen him before. The welt that had drawn up red and purple high on the backs of his thighs caught his attention before Greg managed to squirm himself around and sit down. His breath hissed out almost frantically.

"Yeah. Sure it's not." That wasn't a happy sound, nothing like the amusement of before.

Gil cleared his throat, and looked down at the ground, still trying to block Jim from looking in, except that open doors meant that the inside lights came on and stayed on. Wet-eyed Greg with runny mascara probably wasn't something to look at under lights. Greg knew. "Look, uh..."

"Yeah?"

"It's okay," Greg offered a little hoarsely. He sniffed, a disgusting sound involving a ridiculous amount of snot. "Honest. I mean, uh." He coughed. "I kind of like this sort of thing. I mean, not with the skirts, usually. That's your fault."

The red flush was creeping around to the back of Gil's neck. "Jim, uh..." Greg couldn't remember the last time Gil had been reduced to one word answers, two if Greg counted the nervous noises he was making. "We... Is there any chance you won't drag us back to the department?"

Brass didn't seem like he liked the notion, but he gave a short nod later. "Yeah. Yeah. So long as you swear to me you're not gonna hit him or something. And you come to talk to me. Soon. Tomorrow."

Great.

"Tomorrow, Jim. I can really explain this..." But Jim didn't probably want to hear it, and oh, God, that was going to be a fun conversation that Greg didn't want to be within ten miles of. Luckily enough, nobody was demanding he show up for that talk, and Brass didn't look at him funny when he shifted to sit on one hip. Never mind that his cock was still hard. Do not notice that man behind the pleather curtain.

"Tomorrow. We're... I'll take Greg straight home now." Greg couldn't see Gil's face, but he sounded sheepish and embarrassed. Nothing embarrassed Gil Grissom, except for being caught by his best friend and accused of picking up a tranny. Oh, wait, it's that usual guy you bang. Except, you know. I never knew you liked it like that.

Greg was pretty damn embarrassed, too, come to think of it. Mostly because it wasn't any of Brass's business if Gil beat his ass, and if Greg liked it.

"Straight home," Jim agreed, still frowning. "And put something on his ass, would you? It'd be nice if he could sit down for the interviews tomorrow."

"I'll do that." Greg would be fine for the interviews, the debriefings the next day, because he was good at covering up for stuff that he and Gil did at home. After all, it had all started with spankings, and usually stayed there. "Thanks, Jim."

"We're talking about this tomorrow."

Greg had never been so grateful not to be Gil, or so grateful to have the car door shut so that he could squirm himself down to lie on his side in the back seat. The worst part was that he was still hard, and neither of them had at least even finished. After a minute, Gil opened the door again, and slid into the driver's seat, turning over the engine and buckling his seat belt.

"Greg?"

"Mhm?" With any luck, they wouldn't get pulled over on the way home, either, because he wasn't sitting up. Not right at the moment, anyway. He just wished it had felt a little better, although it certainly hadn't been bad, exactly. Hot but.... weird. Dammit.

He probably should have expected Gil to get jealous at something. Greg flirted with everything, and that was okay, that made Gil smirk and laugh, but apparently Greg dressing up like a hooker and almost getting knifed had been too much. "I'm sorry."

"S'okay." And it was okay, mostly. It would have been better if... Well, if a lot of things. "I should have known my pink pleather-clad ass would be too much for you." It was a halfhearted tease, but it was still pretty good.

"I... wasn't really in control." Jim's unmarked car was still on the parking lot when they pulled off of it, and he was probably going to ghost after them for a while. "I shouldn't have done that then."

"Yeah, well." It was probably true, but Greg could forgive him for that. "Are you gonna suck me off when we get home?" he teased, suddenly giving a little burble of laughter. Hm. Maybe he was in worse shape than he thought. "I'm not sure I'm up to finishing off the way we were."

"Me either." Gil had the same nervous laughter in his voice, but he didn't voice it fully. "God. We were lucky it was Jim, or you'd probably have to bail me out."

"Once Nicky came to bail me out, sure." And God, that thought shouldn't be so funny. It shouldn't. "I'm totally never giving this skirt back to them." He was going to have daydreams about that skirt, and maybe about the platforms, too. Dammit.

"He won't ask for it back, unless he wants to get ribbed for the rest of his life." It made Greg glad to be a CSI and not a cop. At least the CSIs didn't care who did what and how; in bed, anyway. Plus, Gil was sounding a little less angry now that he'd seen his career flash before his eyes. That was probably a really great thing for Greg's ass.

Maybe if they used the numbing lube, they could carry on from where they were, actually. Greg was at least considering it pretty hard, one hand slipping down to tug at the thong. He could see Gil's eyes glancing at him in the rear view mirror.

"I can't help it," he explained. "You make me like this."

"Horny?" Gil smiled a little, tiny bit, and his eyes dropped back to the road. "I can blame you for doing that to me. I meant it when I apologized, though. I... just lost it, Greg. I'm sorry."

"'m sorry, too." Sorry he had agreed when he knew Gil didn't want him to do it, sorry he had sashayed his ass just a little more than he had to when Gil was watching, really sorry that Brass had caught them. "But we got a really nice skirt out of it."

"You're not joking, are you?" Gil looked at him in the mirror again. "Greg, it's... tiny. You hang out of it."

"C'mon. You know it makes you hot." Yeah, and so long as Greg didn't wear it out of the house... "Maybe I can find a longer black one. Match the shoes."

"The laces up the side are a thoughtful idea. It looks like it's made for ripping off." Gil cleared his throat a little. Yeah, Greg could imagine Gil ripping a skirt off of him.

They were a lot closer to the house. Greg squirmed, slid a hand up under the barely-there skirt, and Gil was watching him again. He really should have kept his eyes on the road, but Greg knew he was distracting Gil. It still didn't make him stop.

"Greg... I'm not going to pull over again."

"Not even if I pull it up for you again?" Greg asked. It wasn't really like he would; frankly, his ass hurt, and there was no way he was letting Gil near him with a belt when he was having a fit of jealousy ever again. Offering didn't hurt, though, and the way he wriggled... well.

Gil shifted his hands on the steering wheel. He was driving the exact speed limit, probably so no one else picked them up. "No."

"My ass is going to remember this tomorrow," Greg told him conversationally. "Not like the rest of me could forget it, either, but your cock is so fat, and feeling it pushing in like that... uuuunh." Unh, and his fingers slid into his thong. Maybe it was just his imagination that Gil took that curve a little faster than he should.

He slowed up right away, but.... But it had seemed like it wasn't just in his head. "You wanted it. I'm sorry I did it without the lube..."

"I'm sorry we didn't have the lube." More specifically, his ass was sorry, but that didn't stop him from stroking his cock and rocking faintly, groaning. "God, you're so fucking hot when you're jealous."

"I wasn't..." Gil trailed off before he lied, and his fingers drummed in the steering wheel when he coasted up to the bumper of another car at a red light. "I was a little jealous."

"You were so jealous that you had to pull over and mark my ass." Mark it hard and good; those welts felt like they were still rising, Gil had laid them on so hard. "I love it when you put signs on me, when I know you've been there..." And he was stroking his cock, thanking God for tinted windows.

They were so going to jail if anyone else pulled them over. "I couldn't help it. You even smelled like them." Which was pretty animalistic of Gil, and that was just hot, dick-weeping hot.

"Not any more." No, now he smelled like sex and sweat and nervousness and Gil, covering up anything from before more or less. He probably needed a bath to get the rest of it off, admittedly, and a sudden flashing dirty thought did cross his mind about that, but he could wait.

"Good." It was a sound of relief, and Gil gunned it a little when the light turned green. Yeah, two more blocks and they'd turn home, and nobody would see it. Nobody would see him sliding his fingers back, whimpering when the tip of one brushed across the desperately sore flesh there.

Hurt. It hurt, but God, it felt like Gil's name tattooed into his flesh in a bizarre sort of way. Greg had admitted on more than one occasion how much he loved it when Gil marked him, but he was never sure if Gil really understood. "Unnnnh."

"Does that feel good?"

Gil didn't bother looking back at him, not when he was getting into the turning lane, flicking his signal on. It was a little darker out where they lived, a little away from the neon.

Feel-good, hurt, there was a line somewhere in there, and Greg couldn't exactly make out which side of it he was on. "Yeah," he finally mewled, slipping that finger just inside, just a little. Just enough to rub, enough to drag his fingernail over aching skin, enough to give the sensation a little sting that made him want to melt back over the seat.

"I have no idea how we're going to make it into the house."

"Our neighbors..." They were going to be calling the cops or worse, and wouldn't that be entertaining? No, mister police officers, we're just good law-abiding crime scene investigators. Really. Uh, yeah, ignore all of those kinky sex toys there on the table. "....will thi-ink we..." If he kept it up, he'd finish right there, and that wouldn't be fair, would it? Not really, so Greg pulled his hands away with a groan. "You'll have to bring me a coat."

The SUV coasted to a stop in the driveway, and Gil turned the engine off. "Isn't it with your stuff?"

"It's not long enough to hide my ass," Greg admitted, squirming to tug the skirt down. Maybe if he could just get it low enough on his hips....

Hell. Then his dick would pop out. He knew he should have tucked.

"Tie it around your waist, and we'll walk in like there's nothing for anyone to look at," Gil decided, twisting around to look at him. He still looked a little red-faced, the burn lingering around his ears. "It's midnight. I doubt they're even up to see, Greg."

"If I get razzed for wearing a pink skirt at the next barbecue, I'm blaming you," Greg decided, fumbling for his jacket. He would blame him, and laugh like hell about the whole thing, so long as nobody saw his ass or anything else pertinent.

"Just tell the truth that it was undercover work." Gil leaned back for a moment, stilling Greg's fingers to grab the jacket himself. He unfolded it out of the ball that Greg had wadded it into, and then he laid it over Greg's lap. "I'll get the front door open."

"Okay." Okay, because if Gil went first, maybe Greg could get in a good grope before he got sent to his room. That made him snicker, too, and maybe he was finally in the right headspace, at least if he was feeling bratty.

Gil walked in front of the security light, and it made it easy for Greg to watch him look casually around before he started to unlock the storm door and then the front door before he leaned into the house to disarm the security system. Greg wished he'd never triggered that damn light to come on when they walked up, because he was convinced that the whole neighborhood was watching and that they were very aware of the fact that he was wearing platform Mary Janes.

"Go inside!" he hissed, trying to hurry Gil forward a little faster. It didn't help a lot, but Gil finally got the right alarm code turned on and they slid inside almost as one.

That was not Greg's hand on Gil's ass. Nope. That was Gil's Imagination.

Gil had admitted occasionally to having a very vivid imagination. To daydreaming and mentally playing through a case, and to fantasizing. But he didn't have to fantasize Greg's hand squeezing his ass. And Greg didn't have to imagine the quiet groan Gil gave when he leaned into him and started to turn around to face him. "We have the whole evening off, Greg..."

"Are you going to finish what you started?" Greg asked him, letting the jacket drop to the floor. They could always get it tomorrow, just like they could reset the alarm later if that hadn't been part of Gil's fumbling. His cock was poking out of the top of the skirt and it was still short enough to show everything underneath if he wriggled in just the right way.

Gil seemed hesitant when he put his hands on Greg's hips, remorseful but not remorseful enough never to do it again. That was great, because Greg couldn't handle the idea of Gil never doing it again. "Maybe. Or something like it?"

"I'd like that a lot." He would, and when he slithered against Gil and slid his arms up, wrapping them around Gil's neck, he tugged Gil down, tugged him close, and kissed him with every ounce of remaining wanton behavior at the pit of his belly.

The best way to shove away the nervousness, the shock at what Greg could make him do sometimes, was to overwhelm him in a different way, a different shock. A sweeter shock, like kisses that bowled Gil over and made him groan into Greg's mouth, until his hands started to tug at that skirt.

"Let me suck you off."

Yeah, that sounded perfect, Gil sucking his cock with the skirt still tangled around his thighs. "God, yes," Greg whimpered, the sound catching in his throat. "Yes. Fuck. Yes."

It was the thong that ended up tangled around his thighs, while Gil shoved the shirt up around Greg's stomach. He slid to his knees, hands worshipfully light on Greg's hips once he'd done what he liked with the clothes.

"Do you like it?" Greg murmured, reaching out to slide his fingers into short salt-and-pepper curls. "Do you like me like this? Hard and hot and sore and wanting you so bad?"

Gil leaned in, and his lips skimmed over Greg's hipbone, leaving a damp slide over his skin. "You know that I do. You're gorgeous this way."

"Yours. All yours." Carefully, he reached down and brought Gil's hands back so that his fingers brushed the welts there, dragging a gasp from Greg's chest. Just like that, kisses and fingers brushing over the aching flesh. It made him whimper and rock his hips

He was going to get beard burn on his dick if he kept rocking forward like that, and then there wouldn't be anything that didn't hurt. Gil kissed to the inside of his thigh, and squeezed Greg's ass tight in his fingers before he turned his head slightly to press lips against Greg's dick. Just the faint caress made him whimper, made him spread his legs open to support himself better.

Greg was a little surprised when he managed to lean back against the wall, supporting himself there. Gil's fingers were hard, and they were sneaking in to touch at the core of him even as he slid Greg's cock into his mouth. Pain and pleasure all together were Greg's favorite things, and he mewled when Gil's fingers pinched, just a little. "Fuck fuck YES!"

That was what he liked, that was what he savored. The way it burned so good, the new pinch on his ass, the feeling of one solid finger trying to sneak into him lubed just by sweat and spit. Gil groaned around Greg's dick, and pulled his head back before he took him in all the way again, and Greg sobbed. His breath couldn't catch up with how fucking good it felt, how much he wanted to fuck himself back on that finger. "Love you." It was whined, half-silent. "Fuck fucking love you love you please fuck me suck me, Jesus..."

Gil held his hips still, knuckles caught between Greg's ass and the wall, but started to fuck him with that finger, in and out in and out, fast and paced to making him come. Gil wasn't going to make Greg suffer to come, wasn't going to string it out any longer than he'd already waited, sucking hard, hitting a stride. Then he was all to pieces, his cock deep down Gil's throat and he was coming coming coming and yelling fit to make somebody call the cops. It was too much, too good, as if there could be anything even remotely like too good.

It was enough that he slouched back against the wall, and almost twitched when his dick twitched from Gil's last few soft, cleaning sucks. He leaned back, finger still up Greg's ass, and then looked up at Greg, and smiled. "You're gorgeous, Greg. And you need a shower."

"Do I smell like you now?" Greg asked him with a tired smile. Gil was still hard, but... there was always the shower to take care of that.

Another kiss was smoothed over his hip, Gil kissing over to the side as a while he pulled his finger out. "I'm all over you, Greg."

All over him, and he was limp and just a little weak and definitely sweaty. "Yeah," Greg agreed, reaching down and stroking his fingers over Gil's head, through his hair. "You are. That's the way I like it best." Hot and sweaty, marked by Gil, and safe at home.

That was the best way of all.

The house was darker than it ought to be, even if it was a little early for Gil to come home. It had been a slow night, and all of the cases had been wrapped up early. His overtime hours were quickly running out for the month, so he had left everything in Sophia's capable hands and come home.... to a dark house, as it was, which was unusual. If Greg had the night off, he was almost always up when Gil came home, cleaning or reading or just waiting.

Greg didn't call it waiting, but Gil always quietly thought of it that way. Their social circle was small, and Greg on a night off was always waiting for something as far as Gil knew. Another member of the team who had a night off and wanted to go out for drinks or a show or something, or for Gil to call and say he was working a double and that he'd be back when he could. Coming home early was rare, and coming home to darkness...

Well, it was a little worrisome. Possibly even a lot worrisome, because Greg hadn't mentioned going out, and he was always home by the time Gil got in, anyway.

Carefully, Gil sat his things down on the bench by the door and moved towards the bedroom on quiet feet. There was always the odd possibility that Greg was catching up on sleep, or had just felt lazy and was lounging in bed with Gil's laptop or one of his toys. That kind of lounging was the kind that Gil hated to miss, so he kept walking quietly, carefully.
Maybe he could catch Greg masturbating.

The door didn't make any noise, the handle turning quietly beneath his fingers, and when it swung open, Gil was surprised to find the room lit with low flickering candles and small oil lamps. He was even more surprised to find that sheets had been hung around the room in an obvious attempt to make everything look more like something out of a tent than a bedroom, and he could hear water running in their bathroom.

With the hanging sheets, the oil lamps, and the candles, having a tub full of water at the ready was probably a good idea, in case Greg needed to liberally douse himself before trying to run out to the street to wait for the fire department to put out their bedroom when it caught fire. But once Gil was sure that they were all carefully placed -- and why wouldn't Greg be careful, after his brush with fire? -- he stepped a little further into the room, taking it in.

Incense was burning somewhere, or it had been, because the scent was faint and just a little smoky, musky somehow, and when Gil turned, he could see into the bathroom. It, too, was lit with nothing more than candles and oil lamps, but there was something different there -- namely, Greg. Greg was kneeling on a pillow by the bath, hands palm up on his thighs and wearing nothing more than a pair of what looked remarkably like harem-style pants.

Interesting.

For a few long moments, he looked at Greg, studying the way the light played off of bare skin and shiny hair. Greg waiting kneeling for him was a new game, but Gil was... game to games. New little twists and delights, simple or complicated. This seemed simple, straightforward, but Gil didn't want to ruin it. Greg worked hard to enjoy his theater of sex, and Gil knew he could blunder through it sometimes.

Playing in bed was so much easier to get right, to get perfect, than moments like this when Gil just wanted to ask why instead of standing there feeling full of authority while he watched Greg. It was a pleasant feeling, one that built in the pit of his belly until he could at least fake knowing what to do, even if he wasn't completely certain that he did. Some inner knowledge pushed at him, and told him what to do, so he kicked off his shoes in front of their closet and walked into the room to stand in front of Greg and the rapidly filling tub.

"You were busy while I was gone. Have you spent all evening getting ready for me?" Sometimes it was as easy as that, as easy as relaxing and letting his gut feeling lead. Greg was kneeling -- that meant servitude, meant that Greg wanted to feel good by the proxy of making Gil feel good.

Gil reached down, thumb pressed lightly to Greg's jaw, and his head came up, but his eyes didn't. There was something shatteringly beautiful about that, something that made Gil's hand tremble just a little, and when Greg did look up, he wanted to ravish him then and there. The answer was in his eyes.

Yes. Yes, and yes again, yes to whatever Gil wanted, and after their most recent calamity.... Getting caught by Jim had made both of them a little more circumspect, and it had certainly had a lot of interesting repercussions insofar as Jim and Nick had started going out drinking together after work.

They'd probably driven both of their friends to alcoholism. Again, on Jim's part, and that was a thought that Gil had to push back from his mind as he stroked an idle finger over faint stubble beneath Greg's chin, forefinger sliding beside Greg's windpipe. "Beautiful. This is all for me, then? Undress me."

Those eyes darted down again, but Greg came up on his knees a little more and his hands lifted to Gil's belt. He could see that the water was coming close to filling the tub to the right degree, but he could spare another moment, could let Greg do this. His belt came undone, and then the button at his waistband and the zipper, as well. Fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt from the bottom upwards, and Gil realized that he would have to stop, have to turn off the water.

"Greg, the tub." Firm, not panicked, because if it overflowed, it wouldn't be the first time that they'd mopped the floor up after some fun. It probably wouldn't be the last, either, and there was a certain amount of interest in watching Greg as he turned around and reached for the faucet, turning the handles so that the water stopped running. It helped a great deal that those pants curved around his ass and his thighs in ways that made Gil want to take a handful and squeeze. And he was in charge, wasn't he? He didn't have to be perfectly cold and composed, he wanted to reach out and squeeze. Gil's left hand snuck out, and didn't take a handful so much as he cupped it, sliding his thumb down along the cleft. "These fit well."

He could feel Greg twitch beneath his touch even as he went just a little still, remaining halfway bent across the edge of the wide tub. Maybe he hadn't planned for Gil to touch him that way just then, or maybe he was enjoying it. Either way, Gil knew this was about taking what he wanted, and making Greg give it to him, so he didn't stop touching.

He traced fingers over the slick, shiny fabric, and then pulled the waistband down enough to show a little crack. That was nice, the upper swell of Greg's ass peeking over the harem-pants. "There. Turn back around and finish undressing me."

Easy enough, and he could see the high flush chasing its way down into Greg's cheeks when he shifted and settled close to Gil to undress him again. He liked that, and he didn't stop himself from reaching out to touch it, caress his fingertips over the heat that gathered just a little in Greg's face. It didn't matter whether it was from lust or from unexpected and silly shyness. Gil still liked it, and enjoyed touching Greg while Greg pulled off his pants and reached upwards to tug away the button-down shirt from Gil's shoulders.

Gil helped a little, shifting to step out of the pants for Greg, shrugging his shoulders back when Greg pulled his shirt off. He was left in his boxers, and lifted his eyebrows at Greg a little. "Go on."

Tentatively, Greg's hands rose, and it made Gil want to smile, just a little. Obviously that was part of the game -- a certain sense of reluctance, a gentle prod in the direction Greg wanted things to go. Fingers found the elastic band and tugged, catching on the beginnings of Gil's erection before they slid down his thighs, leaving him in his socks. He lifted one foot for Greg to remove the first one, and then the other. The bathroom tile was comfortably cool beneath his toes, and he was glad he'd already abandoned his shoes. "I wonder if I should let you join me in the bath."

It was his decision; but he could tell from the way that Greg shifted slightly on the pillow that he probably wasn't supposed to let Greg into the bath. No, Greg wanted to bathe him, he was fairly certain, and to do it from the dry edge of the tub. Interesting. No coddling, then.

He was getting better at this, not that he'd ever been bad at it; but he was better at reading Greg, and that was something to be appreciated. Reading was important, because Greg was in control in the end. There were 'no's that meant yes and 'yes's that meant no, and it was a subtler level of communication that Gil had gotten used to. It had maybe even helped at work. There wasn't any question that it helped him at home. Gil stepped past Greg, and got into the tub himself. "No, I don't think I will."

The water was hot and silky, some sort of oil spread over it in a thin slick sheen. It was highly pleasant, and very relaxing, so much so that Gil automatically sighed and laid his head back against the edge. The bath itself was so much pleasure that he could easily forgo a great many others, and he needed to remember that at a later date, when they weren't playing one of Greg's games.

"Mmm. Is there soap involved in this bath, Greg?" Gil's voice had gentled a little, and he couldn't quite help it. The bath did feel good, the water lapping at the edge of the tub, spilling a little when he moved an arm. That was all right; they'd clean it up eventually, worry about it later. When Greg leaned over, belly getting wet as he dipped the soft cloth in the water and added bath gel to it, Gil knew that it didn't matter anyway. Not really.

Hands stroked up his chest, the soapy cloth followed by one bare hand full of spilling water, and Gil closed his eyes to enjoy the feel of it. His head leaned back while Greg caressed his skin, while Greg washed over him, rubbing small soapy circles over his chest and then across his shoulders. All Gil had to do was encourage him, sigh and let out noises that told Greg he was doing it right, murmurs of, "Just like that." Just like that, just right, even when Greg's hands wandered beneath the water and stroked over his cock. It wasn't strong enough, almost as if Greg didn't want to do it at all, and Gil knew better. He knew better, and it made him smile, because that was enough to tell him everything else that he needed to know.

Greg didn't want anything sweet or slow or gentle, no matter what the setting itself implied upon immediate sight. What seemed to be and what truly was, those were different things, all shown by the evidence of one single body's reaction.

Faint shows of faked reluctance, a hint of no-cum-yes that made Gil's cock twitch and harden a little under the water, spurred on by the faint stroke of Greg's hands over him. "Harder."

That order still didn't get him what he wanted, even though the pressure increased just enough so that Gil didn't honestly think he was justified in coming out of the tub -- yet. Yet was the key, but he could still frown sharply, and he did.

"Do you touch yourself that lightly, Greg? I've seen you when you touch yourself. Do it right." Gil moved his hand, fingers loosely grasping onto Greg's wrist.

Do it right, and the implications of doing it wrong were in his voice. Greg's fingers tightened then, tugging the way that he wanted, but those eyes weren't looking at him again. Gil could see the fine tremors shaking in Greg's arms, didn't doubt that he was hard and rubbing against the edge of the tub.

Gil exhaled in a sigh, and leaned his head back again. He didn't lift hip to the motion, didn't take more than Greg was giving. "Good." Good, and just right for now. He didn't want it over too soon, wanted to give Greg what he obviously wanted -- to be controlled, to be taken over and used roughly, to be forced into being something other than in control.

Gil could do that, even if it wouldn't be in the most stereotypical of ways. He could play the scene out one way, fucking Greg unexpectedly, hard, but it was better to pull at that faint resistance, make it more of a reluctant seduction, coercion. Playing at coercion was fine for Gil, particularly with the way that Greg's touch tapered off now that Gil had closed his eyes. He slitted them open, looking at his reluctant harem boy. The glint from beneath his lashes was enough to make Greg's touch firm again, the strokes coming just the way he wanted. If he came in the bath, it might make him too sleepy, though, warm and sated, and that wouldn't quite do. Not when Greg had gone to so much effort, not when his mouth was parted in uneven breaths, eyes still lowered and not looking at Gil at all.

"That's enough." He didn't move a hand to stop Greg, but a firm voice was just as good as a hand clutching around Greg's wrist. "I think I'm... clean there now."

Clean, and if Greg kept it up, it really would be a shame. The words were enough, though, because Greg's hands moved away, caressing over his thighs beneath the water and working down to his feet when Gil lifted them so that he could soap those, as well. He was bent on being diligent, Gil could tell, and it made him want to smile. Instead, he reached out and slid his hand through locks that had grown a little too long, falling limp and ungelled against Greg's face.

Gil wasn't sure if Greg needed a haircut or not. On one hand, he missed the familiar hair that stood at mad angles. On the other hand, Greg was gorgeous and his no matter what, and likely to change his hairstyle again in a few weeks with no prompting. For the moment, Gil would enjoy the texture under his fingers, the way he could brush it back while Greg cleaned him with more than a hint of devotion. The way Greg's fingers caressed over his skin made him hum, want to lie there in the warm water forever, but that would undoubtedly destroy whatever plan Greg had, and he didn't want to do that.

"I want to get out now."

The words triggered movement, unhurried but desperate to please, the presentation of towels from somewhere near Greg's pillow.

He planted a hand on the edge of the tub, shifted a foot flat against the slick bottom, and levered himself out of the water. Greg was ready with towels, and Gil smiled slyly to himself as he stepped past Greg, dripping and ready to be dried off. "Dry me."

Head to toe, even the places where age had left him softer than it might have, he supposed. Greg's hands caressed everywhere, infinitely careful with the towels, exchanging damp for dry in the middle of everything. When he was done, he left the towels on the floor and dropped his hands palm up onto his thighs again, not looking directly up at Gil.

Greg went to such trouble for Gil. For himself, but for Gil, too. He tried not to smile, but Greg could probably see it in his eyes as he offered a hand to Greg. "Stand up. I want to take you to bed."

No movement.

Reluctance had a certain appeal, Gil thought, and it certainly was enjoyable to pretend that Greg might be averse to doing what he said. The way he was shifting and a quick glance at his crotch assured Gil that everything was on track, however.

"Stand UP," Gil repeated, voice harder, the tone he used when someone interrupted him in an interrogation. That got results, the shift of Greg's body until he was reluctantly at full height before Gil, face tilted downwards. He reached out, tilted that chin with his fingers.

"I wonder why devotion and obstinacy have to come in the same beautiful package. Look me in the eyes and say that you don't want to go to bed with me." Greg's eyes were still down, and the urge to tip Greg's head back until downcast became looking at him was hard to resist. Thought became movement, and Greg's lips were parted, his breath coming a little harder.

"I..." His voice was a whisper. "I don't want..."

He couldn't tell that lie, despite the obvious effort to say it with a straight face.

"You don't want me to fuck you? You don't want to feel me inside of you? You don't want to feel fingers tracing your fine muscles?" A motion of his free hand, and he slipped it to slide his thumb over the edge of Greg's waist. He could feel Greg trembling, shaking, and knew it was a good thing no matter how it seemed. The seeming of things was, on occasion, as important as the setting. Part of being Gil, and being Gil-with-Greg, was knowing the difference between real and not-real. It was knowing that Greg hadn't said the words to stop him, and wouldn't until he needed to. It was being confident that he'd know the difference when the time came.

"I..."

Obviously Greg didn't want to speak more than he had to. Interesting.

"You can't say no," he whispered, still holding Greg's chin up. "You're coming to my bed tonight, Greg. Like it or not."

"I don't want..."

Wanting wasn't an option, and Gil slid his hand to Greg's wrist and pulled it hard, bringing Greg against him. "I don't care." With Greg's chin still held tight in his fingers, Gil pressed in to kiss him. Not a soft kiss, not the 'pick up coffee on the way home' kiss that Greg usually got, or even the 'you drove me insane at work' kiss. This was lips pressed together, rough, and then his tongue forcing past Greg's lips and into his mouth. It was rough and full of bite, a kiss comparable to a snarl, and Greg pulled at him in weak protest, arm tugging fitfully at Gil's clasp on his wrist. It didn't matter, and Gil knew it didn't matter, because this was what Greg wanted.

"Mmm!" Protest, but not the kind that meant anything. No and Stop were words that happened in their bedroom, and they were the same as Yes and More. Explosion, on the other hand, was an entirely different word between them, and Gil kissed him all the harder at the sound of that fitful protestation.

Then he turned, twisting them both towards the bed and the dim lights that lit the room. He liked the sound of that protest, the whine that sounded aroused. "Get on the bed."

A shove assisted him in the matter, pushing Greg onto it with a muffled sound that went straight to his crotch. The sheets were rumpled, pulled back as if Greg had just crawled out of them, and the thought of it made Gil shiver. The sight of the bedside table did nothing to stop the desire growing thick in his belly, either. Oil rested in a small crystal finger bowl, its purpose obvious. There were other things, too -- one of the smaller whips, and a plug that made Gil's mouth tilt upwards.

"You prepared for every eventuality for me, didn't you? And yet you're so unwilling to enjoy them. Disrobe for me," Gil commanded, putting a knee on the edge of the bed. "And then lay on your stomach."

"Y-ou told me to." Greg wasn't about to admit to wanting anything even as he reached shaking hands to tug at the ties keeping those ridiculous pants on his hips. "Like you wanted," he whimpered, managing to squirm them off, kick them to the bottom of the bed. He was sprawled out then; just the way Gil wanted him.

"Like I wanted, yes. Like you want," Gil insisted, leaning back to slip a finger into the bowl of oil. "Or you will want once I'm done with you. Are you blushing?"

"No." Which meant exactly nothing, of course. Gil brought his fingers to his lips and tasted -- almond oil and peppermint, slick and hot, but tempered slightly from the usual sharp sting it would have created if Greg hadn't mixed it.

"Of course not. You're not hot and flustered at all." Another dip of fingers into the bowl, and Gil leaned forwards to drizzle a pattern just along Greg's asscrack. It made him whine, made his back arch up, and Gil could see his erection rubbing against the sheets.

"I don't want..."

And he'd deny it all night long, as long as Gil asked him.

"It isn't about what you want right now. It's about what I want." And what Gil wanted was to fuck him hard after he'd drawn it out, after Greg seemed on the cusp. He'd start with some fingerplay, stretch him out, play with the plug and the oil, and then... "And I want to fuck you so hard, Greg, so hard that you'll feel it for weeks."

"Nooo..." Greg was squirming, though, an open invitation to fucking him however Gil wanted. "Nooo. Sir. Please." Please, but he was already rocking, trying to get Gil's fingers between his cheeks, in him.

Gil loved his life. Slipped his finger down the line of Greg's cleft for just a moment before he leaned back to get another dip's worth of oil on his hand. "Did I hear 'please, more'?"

What he heard was the pant of Greg's breath, and he felt the shimmy of his hips. If the oil was still faintly warm on the tips of Gil's fingers, it was probably a lot worse there against the tender flesh between Greg's cheeks. "Please. Pleeaaase, nooo."

"Close enough." Gil leaned down to kiss the nape of Greg's neck, letting his lips linger against smooth skin while he slipped the tip of a finger into him. The shuddering cry that it gained him made him groan. Greg felt so tight, almost too tight, and he wanted to stop there, just slide his cock in and listen to him yell, watch him cry. He wanted to be so deep that he could feel Greg's heart beating.

"Hurts. Hurts. Sir... Master! Please! I'm not accustomed..."

"You're going to be, and I'm going to be the one to make you accustomed to it." Fill him up, different than he had the first time, fuck a space in him that Greg would always remember. Gil knew how much Greg wished everything between the first time when neither of them had known, and the first time when they had, could be put out of his mind. He knew Greg wished no cock but Gil's had ever been in him, taken him, hurt him or pleased him. Gil didn't mind, but it was nice to pretend sometimes. It was nice to remember the first time, and to do it the way that it should have been, slow and dragged out and in a bed.

Gil slid that finger in deeper, curling his knuckle into Greg's ass as he leaned over him. "Spread your arms out. I don't want you touching yourself yet." That was his privilege, all his right. He was the one who got to touch Greg, got to make him spill all over their bed, the only one.

With a low sob, Greg spread his arms out slowly, shifting them above his head, fingers curling viciously into the pillows. "P...pl.....aaahhhh!"

"You like that, don't you? The oil and my finger, the way both of them feel, separate but two distinctly different things..." Gil uncurled that finger, left it straight and pushed it all the way into Greg, hearing and feeling the groan that echoed out of him. It was incredible, awe-inspiring. The fact that he was the one that forced that noise out of Greg made him groan, made him harden further, as if that was even possible.

"Please," Greg whimpered again, but his ass was grinding back for more, and Gil could tell that he was desperately hard. He wanted to explode, and Gil wanted to make him explode, make him cum all over the sheets.

He would do it, too, in time, in his own damned time. Greg wanted to be forced, and Gil liked to drag things out, and there had to be a happy median somewhere between the two. "Do you want me to rush through this? I know you're a virgin, but surely even a virgin can't be so naive as to think that I'll just fit in your tight ass, unprepared."

All it took to prove his point was a fast pull back of that finger before he punched a second one in along with the first in the next in-thrust. The raw sound that Greg gave, the tension that rose in his shoulders, made Gil smile. How could he stop it when that was what he wanted to hear? What he wanted to make Greg do, give him those noises, plead with him, beg to be fucked? After one moment of tense stillness, Greg was writhing under his fingertips again, face flushed, sobs of breath hiccoughing out of his throat, and God. God, he hadn't even known that he wanted it just like this until it was spread out under him. Sometimes, it was just like that.

Just so, a moment where the feeling clicked and felt natural, slipped from careful playing along to real enjoyment. Greg mewled under his touch -- his beautiful partner, his lover, all around man, playful, curious, intellectual, mewling under his touch, breathing close to tears, hips rocking against the bedding.

Gil leaned in, and pressed his free hand against the small of Greg's back, still thrusting with two fingers. "That's enough of that."

Enough of moving, nearly stealing Gil's right to give him pleasure, and then Gil hooked his fingers just right, touched him just right. He could see Greg come close to shattering underneath his touch, watch the wild confined struggle for control that he gave, and then gave into, fingers curling desperately into the sheets, the pillows. "PLEASE!"

"Not yet." Gil curled his fingers, reaching for and trying to rub at Greg's prostate. Maybe he could drive him mad that way, and maybe he could make him come just like that, just by pushing him over the edge. Rubbing him over the edge, because he bore down enough with his other hand that Greg wasn't going to get pressure against any soft pillows or smooth sheets.

No, not yet, and the things on the night stand probably weren't going to see any use, not when he wanted to make Greg crazy, make him wanton and writhing beneath his hands and then his cock. "Ohmygod." It was a rush of muffled words against the pillow. "Guuuuhn."

Just hands and cock, just what he had on him. Naturally, and it was so good to know that he could do it with just his voice and his hands instead of toys and restraints. Gil could feel Greg's ass clench and twitch wildly around his fingers while he kept massaging, pressing.

"This is how I like you best." Sprawled out and open and wanton. There was no question that Greg belonged to him, but something about this made Gil's pulse race, made him feel as if he could rule the world if he just tried. Ruling Greg was a heady (and difficult) enough attempt, but the feeling was incredible.

"Don't... don't... please...." So pretty when he begged, and his hands were coming in close, not spread out the way that Gil wanted him. One of them came to press against Gil's thigh, and the other balled up beside his head.

Tense and fighting it just enough, just enough to stave it off when Gil knew he could make Greg come like that. "I told you to stretch out. Do you want me to have to stop?"

Ahhh, that was it. The moment of truth. Greg's arms moved back out slowly and he pressed his face into the pillows in a move that should have implied embarrassment and misery but didn't. How could it when he could see Greg's lips parted, the way his eyes gleamed behind his lashes when he peaked out from under them? "Nooo..." Double answer. Incredibly good.

"Good, good. Just enjoy this so I can enjoy myself with your body. You want to please me." No question, no goading, he made it firm when he gave another rhythmic pressing against that spot, twitch twitch twitching his two fingers. It earned him a wail, one that was only partially muffled by the pillows, and a struggle to rock up and back down that was prevented by his hand on Greg's back. His ass tightened around Gil's fingers, and Greg gasped for breath, panting at the edge already.

"Huuuh...!"

He'd never made Greg come like that, never made him come without much friction to his cock, just fingers in his ass, just pressure and words, but the sight was a beautiful one that made Gil want to drag it out even more, made him want to give Greg time to recover and start right up as soon as he was. Maybe even before he'd recovered, sliding in while Greg was still sensitive and shuddering, making him hard with just his cock up that sweet ass, the one that belonged to nobody but Gil Grissom.

"Too much," Greg was moaning, and he meant it. "Too much, too much, too muuuuuuhhh!"

Goal accomplished.

Gil pulled his fingers out of Greg's ass with luxurious slowness, still twisting them before he left Greg empty. The oil that he'd swiped his fingers through was starting to separate, a difference in heaviness. Gil couldn't guess whether it was the almond or the peppermint on top, and he'd already worked a healthy amount of it into Greg, so trying to spare himself the peppermint now seemed absurd.

He swiped his fingers through it again, and started to stroke his own cock quickly so he could get back into Greg again before he was ready. There was a sharp sting to it, undeniable, one that made his breath catch in his throat, but it could have been worse. It could have been cinnamon, and the oil combined with the stretch of Gil's fingers had probably been worse for Greg. That was a heady thought. If anyone had ever asked Gil if he'd get off because the person he was fucking felt pain, he never would have believed it. Now, though, he not only believed, he reveled in it. He loved it when Greg cried out under him, when he wept, when he begged Gil to stop and didn't mean it.

"Nuuuh," Greg whimpered as Gil moved, kneeling between his open knees.

"Up. Lift your ass, and get on your knees properly," Gil ordered in a rumble. He wanted to grasp onto Greg's hips and fuck him, not pound him flat into the mattress.

It took more coordination than Greg had, and no small amount of help from Gil. His knees finally planted, though, arms still spread wide, the side of his face pressed sleepily against the pillows. The length of his spine drew Gil's fingers, made them dance helplessly over the faint indentions, caress over the lines of muscle that made their way around Greg's ribs before he brought his hand back to grasp at Greg's thighs.

Right there, right like that, he had Greg spread open before him, sated and sleepy, ready to relax while Gil leaned in, lining the head of his dick right against Greg's winking hole. It slipped, sliding up along Greg's asscrack, and Gil had to move a hand from one muscled thigh to steady himself before the slow push in.

Tight.

Jesus, whatever Greg had done, it was interesting. He was tighter than usual, and Gil could hear him sobbing, breath catching as he wriggled beneath him. That slow push kept going forward, though, despite Greg's protests, despite the fact that Gil's eyes were almost rolling back in his head from the pleasure of it.

"Please," Greg whimpered. "Please. Ow. Oh. Ow."

"Please stop, or please more?" He barely stopped himself from sinking in further, but he managed it, stopped entirely while he asked that unnecessary question.

He could hear the sniffles, sharp sounds that weren't unexpected, especially not when Greg turned a damp glance his way. Yes. Yes, just right, like this. "Please...." he whispered, turning his face away. "More."

A gleam of pleasure beneath the shame, and Gil started to move his hips again, sliding forwards faster than before. That was permission granted, and he was going to use Greg's ass the way he wanted to, the way Gil knew they'd both like it. Deep and steady, hammering when he wanted to, slow when he didn't. Varying the speed and depth just made Greg want it more, and when Gil held him still, it made him come all the harder.

One hand slid away from where he held on, slipping between Greg's thighs. His cock was still soft, but getting hard again. A slow, tender fondle went a long way towards making Greg ready again even as Gil pulled out and pushed back in good and hard. That thrust drew a strangled yell from Greg's throat, and made him shudder. Blissful overload, probably.

He could feel it in the fierce twitch of Greg's cock, the throb that brought it one step closer to stiff again while Gil kept fondling it gently in sharp contrast to the building snap of his hips. Gil should have let Greg stroke him to completion in the bath; he would have been able to hold out longer, would have been able to enjoy the strain of Greg's back longer. Now, he was going to be hard put to hold on until Greg came again, and that would be a shame. Everything was so carefully planned, from the bath to the heat of the oil and the incredible feel of Greg's ass holding onto him tightly. It would be a shame to waste it.

They wouldn't, though. They wouldn't have to, because Greg's ass was moving now, pushing back to meet each thrust, and he was full in Gil's palm. The harsh breaths weren't sobs anymore, or if they were, they were a different kind. They were sounds that Gil knew, loved, that he heard often, and soon they'd be accompanied by a low-voiced keen that wouldn't stop until he fucked Greg to yelling and then silence.

"So sweet to own you...." Gil squeezed the hip that he was holding onto, and tensed his own muscles to meet the next ass thrust that Greg made, smacking hips against the curve of his ass. It was true. It was sweet to own him, delicious to fuck him. And there was no way to resist the urge to lean down and press his mouth against the arch of Greg's spine.

"Fuck!" Greg gasped, shuddering. "F..f... oh.. sh..."

Gil had stolen the expletives right out of Greg's mouth with that motion.

He sucked over one vertebral bump, and flexed his hips again for more thrusting that would make Greg's spine shiver and shift beneath his kisses. Greg didn't fail him, shuddering violently, and Gil could feel his cock jump in his palm, a reaction that he had expected, wanted.

"P..." The sound exploded on Greg's lips, a trembled puff of consonant that didn't make it into anything whole because he was coming again, and he didn't have enough breath to yell.

It choked in him, caught in his chest and slid out of his lips in a low, slow whine that made Gil's dick jump a little in his last few thrusts. That was all he'd been holding out for, for Greg to spill in his palm before he let himself go with a few fast sharp thrusts that ended it, sending him spewing deep in Greg and letting both of them sink down into the mattress in a tangle of limbs.

Greg lifted his head after several minutes had passed. "Need to blow out the lamps 'n' candles," he slurred sleepily. They did need to get up and do that. The water on the bathroom floor could wait. Folding the sheets that Greg had put up could wait. Gil was curious enough about what he'd used to get them to stay up that waiting for sleep and more light would be worth it, anyway.

"Isn't that the harem boy's job?" It was a weak, sleepy tease, but Gil was already shifting up, pulling away and out of Greg. That hurt, friction on his raw dick, and he had to wonder again when Greg had gotten so tight. It hadn't been that long since they'd last had sex.

"Harem boy's ass hurts," Greg moaned, snuggling into the covers. "Oh my God. That's the last time I use that shrinking cream stuff." One hand reached back to tenderly rub at his cheeks, as if that would help.

"You shrank your anus?" Gil's mind tried to leap to what sort of substances could do that. The mattress creaked when he shifted off of it, stretching lazily before he got around to blowing out their fire hazard. "Something with alum in it?"

"Uh-huh." What else could do that, after all? "I made Sophia call me when you left the office so I'd time the rubbing in parts right." Greg leered a little, still sleepy. "I hate you missed that."

"But I arrived in time for the best parts. That... was special, Greg." He leaned in to kiss him for a moment, gentle brush of mouth against slack lips. "Thank you."

"Mmmm." Mmm was the best word for it, Gil was pretty sure. "My turn next," Greg teased him, eyes closing.

"I'd make a strange harem boy." Gil leaned in to blow out the last candle, and then looked back over his shoulder at Greg. He didn't have an answer to give. His breathing was already steady, and it was obvious that he'd be in a deep sleep given five seconds of quiet. It was a sleep well earned, after a day off of busy preparations for the game. Gil wouldn't sleep, but he could lie beside Greg and doze, watching him until he did feel sleepy. And when Greg's hand fumbled his way, providing a too-warm touch against his elbow, Gil didn't shift. He only kept watching, right up until his eyes reluctantly closed as well.

There were a great many things Sara Sidle had expected -- no, hoped -- never to see in her life. Alien invasion, for one. She'd faced an alien in the desert, and he'd been a strange old man with a wedding chapel and a hearing aid. Another thing she expected never to see was Gil Grissom in a tattoo parlor, and so far she had been lucky.

She hadn't exactly been lucky for the other things that she hoped never to see. After all, seeing Greg Sanders stretched out on a bench wearing a kilt, a towel draped across his crotch while the artist worked on something remarkably close to where his cock ought to be wasn't something on her list of memorable possibilities.

There was Greg Sanders, getting a tattoo. A hip tattoo, of course. She had a dirty mind to think it'd be anything else, but the kilt was unexpected, and that it was Greg. For all that he had spiky hair and funky taste in clothes, it seemed strange that Greg was getting a tattoo.

"Ma'am?"

"Huh?" Oh. Oh! Yes. She was there to get a flower on her shoulder blade, one to match the one on her ankle. It should worry her that the sight of half-naked Greg could distract her, really. After all, he had flirted with her for years, and she had ignored it all. "Sorry. I've got a ten a.m.?"

The man grinned a little, and his eyes followed her gaze. "Admiring the nine thirty, huh?" Then his eyes dropped for a moment, and he looked her up in the book. "Sara Sidle?"

"That's me," she said, eyes darting to the side again. Huh. She should have looked a little more closely that time they had the emergency shower. Who knew Greg had legs like that? She had seen the pecs, true, but... Well. Damn. "I need this copied onto my right shoulder blade."

"No modifications? Just like that?" The man eyed it, and then eyed her, like he thought it was a good match. "Is this your first one?"

"Just like that," she agreed. It had been her first and only, but she liked it. It was all bare bones, nothing fancy or swirly about it, and that was the way things should be, she figured.

Just like her.

And when the artist led Sara to the chair in the area that was set aside for her, she tried not to watch or peer at Greg lying down, having his hips tattooed.

She'd have to ask him about it at work later. Maybe if she asked nicely, he'd show it to her, and that thought made her lips quirk as she settled on her belly before tugging her shelf tank off of her shoulder.

Yeah, she'd ask him about it then. It'd be interesting to see what he had.

---

She remembered from the last time that she'd felt a little dizzy, a little drifty, afterwards, but she also remembered that it had hurt more the first time. There were a thousand logical reasons that Sara could come up with for that, but she was trying not to concentrate on the funny itching heat on her shoulder blade while she looked around and tried to regain her bearings.

"Hey, where's your bathroom?"

The front desk clerk had changed out while she had been under the needle. "'s down that hall an' on the right. Just remember to use baccitracin on that, got it? That'll help preserve the color, keep it from scabbing over too bad. No scratching or anything, okay?"

"Got it." She gave him a slight smile, and headed for the hallway. She could stop, pee, wash her face off, and then drive home. It would be just a little respite to get her head together, more so the endorphins on her system didn't have her driving off into a ditch or another car.

Endorphins were damn fine things. It was just tough facing Vegas traffic when she was technically high as a kite on her body chemistry.

She passed a couple of people going down the hall, and they gave her looks. Whatever those looks were, she wasn't entirely sure, but it didn't matter so much. Maybe they just wondered what she was doing there, or maybe they were chauvinists or something. Nobody could say for sure, herself included.

Maybe she was only imagining it, except that she probably wasn't. She was a good CSI for a reason, and she was good at picking up on people. So there was something funny going on, but Sara didn't know what. People were just strange.

Once she found the bathroom door, she pushed it open so she could duck in.

Oh, that's what those looks were about. Well, the sound was certainly interesting. Somebody was getting it good on the other side of the stalls, and Sara Sidle was as curious a girl as they came. Quietly, she slipped in, and let the door shut silently behind her.

She could see, immediately, a wall length mirror and her own face, of course, but a few quiet steps forwards and she could actually see the people who were making the noise. It was obvious that whoever was on the other side of the stalls was enjoying themselves, and while she didn't know what she'd find, she was curious to use the mirror to peek just a little further.

Just a little.

"Oh, Jesus. Jesus." That was... That was Greg. She had never considered the sounds he might make in the middle of... Well. But she damn sure knew now. Raw, open sounds were accompanied by the slick noises of sex, good sex from the sound of it.

She could see his upper body, could see his t-shirt straining because his hands were clutching down over something between his gasps and groans. Wearing a kilt would make for easy access, even if he was wearing underwear.

Greg got around, and for all that she'd teased him about him losing his virginity, he was apparently making up for it since then.

"Feels so fucking good," Greg stuttered, his breath catching. "Oh. Oh, Jesus, please, I want you to.... UNH!" That definitely sounded good, and she couldn't help leaning a little closer, trying to see who was holding that kilt up out of the way. "Fin.... yeah, put your fingers.... oh, holy FUCK!"

It was illegal, of course. Sex in public places, and as a CSI, she was probably obligated to call the cops on them or do something. But it was Greg, Greg her fellow CSI, and he was having sex in a tattoo parlor bathroom.

Sara didn't have to stretch her imagination to guess where he wanted someone to put those fingers.

"Fuck me. Fuck me. Oh, Jesus fucking... Right there. Oh, holy shit, baby, I love it when. Whe... when...." His voice faded out into a squeak, and Sara saw the hitching motion of his hips, the way that they stuttered into motion, his entire body tensing with the feel of things. "Holy FUCK!"

That must be a hell of a blowjob.

Sara shifted, trying not to look away, trying not to lose her concentration. She was expecting a longhaired, shapely woman to stand up, not a pause and then a jerky motion while a grey haired man stood up slowly.

Her heart dropped into her stomach, or maybe it was her feet. Grissom. It was Grissom, and his hands were stroking up under that kilt, lifting it so that he could see exactly what work had been done there.

"See," Greg said, voice a little slurred, "now I'm gonna have trouble walking outta here."

"I knew you had weak knees. I could try to carry you, but..." Gil was standing, face to face with Greg, peering at whatever he'd had tattooed to his hip, before he smoothed down the kilt, and leaned in to kiss Greg.

Kiss Greg like the world was ending.

"Got your mark on me," Greg murmured when it was over. "Got it with me all the time now, and I'll be able to feel it everywhere I go, like fire."

Like fire. Like the way her eyes felt, the wash of acid in her stomach as she slipped into the middle stall.

The sound of the stall door closing made them both go quiet, still as one of Grissom's roaches hiding in the light. Oh, god, Grissom. Grissom had been giving Greg a blowjob, had been kissing him, and Greg had his 'mark' on him, tattooed on, and Sara was going to throw up. It wasn't that, it wasn't even Greg, it was that Grissom, and Greg, and it was hard to articulate, but she'd swung past endorphins and curious horniness and towards hot, watering mouth and having to throw up now.

"You like knowing that?" she heard Greg ask. "Yeah. I can see that look on your face."

She wasn't going to throw up. She wasn't going to, not until they were gone. She'd get used to it, get over it. After all, at least now she knew. Now she knew why it hadn't been her, why it was Greg and not her.

It was Greg because he was active, it was Greg because he wore skirts and did stupid things, it was Greg for reasons that she couldn't fathom, but probably had a lot to do with Grissom down on his knees sucking on Greg's dick.

It was Greg because Sara didn't have a penis. That explained a lot.

She could hear Gil's voice, that soft murmur that she had imagined when he was talking quietly at crime scenes, the one that she had always wished could be directed at her the way that it was given to Greg in that moment.

"It's even better knowing it'll never come off."

Something. Hell, maybe Greg had Gil's name tattooed on him, which was stupid because of course Greg would eventually dump him, dump Grissom, it was just a matter of time. And even if he did, Sara knew she wasn't anywhere next in line. Hell, it was probably Jim or Nicky, and wasn't that fucked up?

"Take me home," Greg murmured. "Take me home and take me to bed. Make me remember the first time, and the time after that. Promise me it'll be like that every time after."

"Every time, Greg." Sara could hear the pause, the noises that came with soft kisses, and tried not to imagine that Grissom was smoothing out Greg's clothes, preparing him for the walk back outside. Now it made sense why everyone was staring at her. There were people having sex in the bathroom.

There was Grissom and Greg having sex in the bathroom.

"I promise, Greg. Here. Do you think you can walk?"

"If it'll save me the indignity of being carried out." And, God, they were laughing, and her heart was breaking. It was... it was all just so wrong. There weren't enough words for how wrong it was. "Hey. You know, it's kind of stupid, but... I got you something. To go with, I mean."

She almost expected some quip or remark, but Gil asked quite seriously, "To go with?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, all things considered. Don't you think you ought to get a prize for letting me have what I need? I know it's pretty strange..." Sara could almost see the way Greg ducked his head, the way he'd look up at Gil as if he was shy about it. Ha. As if he could be shy about anything! They were having sex in a public bathroom, for God's sake!

She wanted to see what it was. She wanted to lean a little and see if they were anywhere near her stall so she could look through the crack to see what it was.

"Greg, it's... it's not strange. I understand it."

"Yeah, well. You still get a prize anyway. I mean, it's not like you can take it to work, but..." There was an audible fumbling, a faint kchunk. "But I mean it. And that's kind of the important part."

She couldn't guess what it was, other than a metal noise. Gil was quiet for a moment, and then there was a footstep, backwards or forwards. "Greg. I... don't know what to say. Thank you. I'm going to thank you, but I think we've been here long enough. Let's go home."

"C'mon. Hey, you gonna let me wear the kilt to work sometime? Since, you know, the pink pleather makes my ass fall out..."

"I couldn't withstand Brass giving me looks if you did that. Anyway, you have to look professional, Greg. You can wear a kilt if you're going to work on a day off to pick up something." He didn't sound angry, just amused, and they were finally, finally heading for the door.

"Cool. Hey, you think Nicky and Jim are actually gonna get anywhere with that drinking thing?" Greg asked as they walked by. She heard the door open, heard them walk out, and heard the faint schick of it closing again.

Sara swayed, almost sitting down on the toilet just so she could support herself on something. God. Everything had crumbled just like that, and it was going to take so long to get used to it.

So long.

Once upon a time, four days of double shifts had meant stopping at a fast food place on the way home and trying to get a little food in his stomach before unconsciousness claimed him. Now it meant that he skipped the fast food and moved right to taking a shower because his muscles were talking louder than his stomach. They demanded hot water, sleep, and everything after that was negotiable. He could sleep for a good five, six hours, and then cope with the thought of anything more adventurous, like grabbing crackers and crawling back into bed for another five hours.

He hated digging. He hated mud and freak rain showers that ruined scenes and turned their half-dug out site to mud, and the way the cold still clung to him five hours later. The way the clouds in the sky hadn't ever given way to sunlight and heat the way he was used to.

In fact, he hated damn near everything, and that was a sign. It was a bad sign, actually, one that said he would have skipped the shower altogether five years ago to crawl in bed and cover his head. If he did that now, he'd have trouble crawling out again, and Greg would probably realize exactly how old he was.

No, that wasn't true, and he knew it. Unfortunately, pessimism was the rule of the day, and Gil sighed, closing his eyes and burying his head under the showerhead.

Hot water was such a wonderful thing. It let him not-think about the horrible, baffling things that other human beings could do to each other out of anger or fun or misplaced sentiment. Once was almost... almost fathomable. But four bodies in four days, and the rain and the cold and one goddamned smug murderer....

At least they had him in custody, Gil decided as he pressed a hand against the wall to steady himself while he searched around with his other hand for the shower gel Greg used. Greg had some stuff that smelled like chocolate chip cookies (and if Gil thought about it, most of Greg's showering products contained either lemon or some fast fading smell that was warm and reminded Gil of baked goods).

The shower door slid open, and Gil almost turned around then, almost said something, but there was warm, slim body pressed up against him a moment later, still dry when their skin pressed together, but not for long. "Hello there, mister new cell inmate."

Well. Interesting.

Maybe showering had been the right idea after all, but Gil still didn't let go of the shower gel bottle that he'd snagged from the little elevated shelf. It always took him a moment to try to mentally shift for whatever Greg's game was, but this one sounded interesting and low effort. He didn't even need to turn around. "Hey. Isn't this a one man shower?"

"I don't think so." Greg's knee slid between Gil's, knocking him just a little off balance. "I think this is my shower. And since you're in it, I think that makes you mine."

It made Gil glad that he still had his hand out to brace himself. "Yours, huh? Shower might be yours, but not me."

He felt it when Greg's hands caught him, pressed hard against his hips, just underneath the pudge that was there. Thumbs curved over him, caressing, teasing. "I think you're mine," Greg said again, voice a low growl. "There's a guy two cells over eyeing your ass hard, and if you've got a brain in your head, you'll make the right choice."

"Not seeing much choice here. Haven't even seen your face yet. So how about we work this out like men..." Gil moved his hand back towards the shelf, and the shower gel was put up.

"How about I offer to do it sweet with the soap I've got here, and you can get a good look afterwards?" It wasn't often that Greg got this way. "I'll even offer you my cookie at dinner later."

"A cookie, huh? You fuck my ass and I get a cookie?" Gil placed his palm against the wall, and he could feel Greg leaning against him, his dick pressing right up between Gil's ass cheeks.

"I could offer a reach-around." Yeah, Greg wasn't too serious about the game, but he definitely wanted to fuck Gil's ass. The way he slipped, slid, pressed just inside and rocked his hips told Gil that much. It was reactionary, maybe, but it was also damn good. "One way or the other, you're getting it. Take the cookie."

Gil closed his eyes, and tipped his face up into the warm shower spray for a minute before he spread his legs a little. "Better be a hell of a cookie."

"Don't worry." Greg's voice was warm, hot in his ear, and there was a hand fumbling for the shower gel. Gil wondered if he'd even get any fingers, or if it would just be a straight fuck, and he took a deep breath. "It'll be the best goddamned cookie they've got."

"Good," Gil murmured, a sound that settled low in his chest as he got comfortable with the idea of what Greg was doing. He was close and warm and they were both wet. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Greg. Hadn't been at the scene -- Greg was still working two scenes back, lab trace. "Might need it to make up for your dick."

And oh, yes, there was the gel, sliding up between them, sliding onto Greg's dick, and there wasn't going to be a chance in hell of fingers. The head was already probing, slicking him just a little, and then Greg was pushing. Pushing, and the burn was phenomenal, but he'd asked for it, practically demanded it with words like that.

He knew how to turn Greg on, how to push at his buttons, and he'd jammed at them. Pushed back a little because Greg's dick was right there, pushing against his hole, slipping and sliding while the water lathered Greg's hand up. The pressure was firm, solid, and then Greg was in and Gil couldn't help the noise that came up from somewhere in his chest because it wasn't comfortable. Too much too soon, and the lack of stretching fingers was telling. At the same time, he wanted it and that eased the way some. Wanting to be fucked always did.

"Bitch," Greg breathed heavily over the pounding of the shower. "Fucking bitch. My bitch." His, Greg's, and the possession of that statement, the sound of it, was enough to make Gil give another of those sounds again.

Greg's fingers dug in against his hips, grasping tight, too tight, maybe, but it just goaded Gil to stretch his legs a little more, to push back against Greg, fingers clutching at the wall. He could feel Greg moving in and out, and the faster he moved, the less faintly aware Gil was of Greg's balls smacking his ass.

"Fuck..." Fuck, he was going to sleep like the dead when they were done.

"Mine." That word again, vicious, low growl, and then Gil felt teeth on his shoulder, Greg biting him hard, marking him, and that was just as hot as getting fucked, in its own way. Pure possession, like the tattoo just above Greg's cock, entwined Gs and DNA strands, and maybe Gil could understand it even more than before. Bites scattered over his shoulder, one of Greg's hands reaching around to press against Gil's where it rested, and those slim hips were slamming now, hard, almost vicious.

It was fucking. Gil preferred slow and lazy, dragged out, and Greg preferred fast, but either could be lovemaking. This was just fucking, good hard fucking that made him weak in the knees. Gil wasn't sure when he'd ended up pressed up against the shower wall, but his cock was coming fully to life, between the biting and Greg's snapping hips, and when the hand on his hip snuck around and stroked....

Fuck, that was good, so good, and he had missed this. There hadn't been time, not time for breakfast or dinner or kisses or sex, and they'd been so tired. He was so tired now, but that hand was stroking him, and Greg was in deep, fucking him so good that all he could do was pant, shudder with the steady, heavy pounding that crossed his prostate just enough to make electricity quake through him with every pass.

It was just short of amazing, which was a miracle given how tired they both should've been. Greg didn't stop moving, just kept pounding him, stroking him off, and there was hot water pouring down his back and probably over Greg's hair. Better than muck and mire, even if it was just as dirty.

If anyone ever asked Gil, he would have to admit that he loved it when Greg did that. Jim would've been surprised after what he'd seen of them in the back of Gil's SUV. No waiting, just a dull ache that faded into sparks of pleasure, the feeling of being stretched and full that somehow went right to his dick. It wasn't going to last long, not long at all. Greg's fingers stroked him, held him close and tight, and between the water and the suds and the way they were moving, Gil could feel it sneaking up on him. So close, balls drawing up tight, and Greg was moaning against the back of his neck, that soft sound that he gave so often before he came.

He hitched his hips back against Greg and then into his hand and when Greg gave one more good stroke, almost out and then in again, Gil was glad that he was leaning right up against the wall. Everything went tight, desperate and shivering with Greg's dick deep in his ass and almost as tight as his balls felt before his dick twitched, spilling semen on Greg's fingers.

"Oh, fuck yes..." It felt better with Greg still moving in him, like every thrust made him come a little more, and he was loose now. All loose limbs and relaxation and his head was somewhere else altogether, because fuck, fuck, fuck. Tight explosion somewhere in there, all pleasure, and the way Greg hitched, shuddered behind him, was just as good.

The water was still warm, when they started to shift again, move, and Greg was kissing his shoulder, gentle where he'd been rough before. "I almost broke the skin." Didn't matter. Not really. What mattered was cleaning up, finishing off, and crawling into bed to sleep for the next two days straight.

"Felt good," Gil noted with a little amusement, reaching a hand back to squeeze Greg's hip. They were still close, and Greg was still inside him. He couldn't crawl off to bed yet because Gil didn't particularly want to think about the long-term effects of body gel that amounted to shampoo up his ass.

At least it wasn't a kind that stung.

"Mhm." Greg kissed the side of his neck and pulled out, slow and easy, but Gil still gave a little hiss. There was something about separating that was good and yet not something he ever wanted to do.

It possibly had to do with sensation desensitization, or... Gil wasn't sure. He was just used to it and Greg pulling out meant that sex was over. He turned his head a little, sleepily reaching to turn the water over a little more towards hot, when an itching feeling hit his nose.

At least Greg had pulled out, because Gil wasn't sure he'd ever actually sneezed before while being fucked. That could prove interesting, considering the body's automatic reaction to a sneeze.

"I really hope you're not coming down with something...."

Yeah. Him and Greg both.

The lab had to be falling apart.

At least, that had been a core part of Gil's reasoning. The lab had to be falling apart because he'd missed two days of work, missed his weekend, missed his on call day, and was going to miss another day or so of work because he hadn't yet shaken the flu that was haunting him. He didn't like being sick, and he'd never been a good patient. Gil Grissom wasn't meant for or accustomed to people caring for him.

One person in particular caring for him, he meant more specifically. It was novel, and while Gil appreciated it, he was tired. He was tired of being sick and tired, and he'd run out of things to read between dozing off and throwing up over the past few days.

He was tired of feeling sweaty and just a little sticky and still incapable of actually getting up and taking a full-fledged bath on his own. Gil would kill to have Greg offer that harem-style bath to him again. In fact, what he wanted was a long, lukewarm bath involving a great deal of scrubbing until he felt squeaky. He'd like to do it himself so that Greg could change the sheets, and then he was sure that he'd feel a hundred percent better and maybe he'd even manage to go in to work for a little while.

Just a few hours. Just... hell, just an hour to catch up and get some work to take home to read. But it wasn't likely to happen, and Gil was left lying there, tired and frustrated. He wished he could just go to sleep instead of lying there simultaneously exhausted and pissed off that he was exhausted in the first place.

"Hey."

If it weren't for the fact that the sight of Greg alone was enough to make him feel petulant, Gil would smile. It wasn't Greg's fault that Gil was sick and that he was the worst patient under the sun.

"I... have a treat for you."

"Is it a magical get better pill?" Gil lifted his head a little. He could ask for help taking a bath. If he could do that, then maybe he could get in to work, and maybe he'd feel better, and maybe he could drag himself out of it.

"Nnnno." Greg was grinning at him, a brown paper bag swinging by its handles from two fingers. "What I have is a surprise." That grin made Gil feel more than a little suspicious, frankly. There was something about it that said he was up to something.

Brown paper was for things that people wanted to have discretely disguised, like a bottle of Colt 40 or a selection of dirty toys, and with Greg, it was the latter and not the former. "A surprise?" Maybe there were soapsuds in there. Gil shifted, stretched out one leg beneath the sheets, and gathered up a little energy to sit up more. "You have my attention."

"Easy there, big boy. I know what you're thinking," Greg said to him. "You're thinking if you play your cards right, I'll let you out of bed and let you go to work, and you? Are way wrong." He started pulling a diversity of objects out of the bag -- one red thermos, one blue thermos, one cardboard box, about four inches long. There were a variety of other objects, but those were the ones that made Gil curious.

A blue thermos, a red thermos, and one cardboard box. Gil recognized the thermoses as the ones they kept under the kitchen sink, so Greg had put something in them. All right, that was a start. Greg had planned ahead of time, but that wasn't surprising, and it wasn't as if Gil had been up and about to catch him doing anything. "I'd just like to get out of bed, Greg...."

"I know. You feel bad, and what you'd really like is a bath, but I saw you wobble your way to the toilet this morning, and I'm thinking that's a no-go. I figured I could probably see my way clear to offering you a bed bath before changing sheets, though. Among other things, if you might be so interested."

Sneaky little bastard.

"If this is the only way, Greg." After all, before Greg he would've dragged himself to the bathroom and managed to half drown. Greg wouldn't let him do that anymore, and that was sort of nice. Sort of. "I'm interested."

"It's the best way," Greg said. "Besides. I know you're feeling better, so I thought maybe..." Ha. Maybe. Gil knew it, could see it in his eyes, and while he was certainly feeling better...

Okay, maybe he did feel that much better. Especially if it included a sponge bath and food.

"So you thought that maybe you could stop masturbating in the shower?" Gil shifted his pillows, and leaned back against them as he watched Greg.

"What can I say? It's called healthy self-interest," Greg informed him. There were other things in that bag -- one metal bowl and one glass, carefully cradled together, and a washcloth between them. Greg settled those down first, and then pulled out a third thermos. Did they even have a purple one? Gil couldn't remember. "Here. I'll help you out of those pajamas first, okay?"

He leaned back while Greg moved forwards, starting to unbutton his pajama top for him. "This sounds like healthy self-interest, too." He managed a smile, a smirk, through the well of pissed off feelings that were bearing down on him. Greg tried so hard, and the least he could do was play along and enjoy it.

"Consider it an interest in your self," Greg told him, working Gil out of his pajama top and then going to work on the bottoms. "If you don't stop being all uppity, I'll have to tie you up and find a way to keep you quiet."

"If that's a promise, maybe I'll keep being uppity," Gil drawled, shifting so the shirt fell to the floor. Greg had pushed down the blankets and now he was taking his sweet time with the one tie to loose pants, a tie that seemed to be as complicated as unwiring a bomb from Greg's apparent lack of speed towards it.

"Well, you know what happens to you uppity sorts." Oh, now that was an interesting look, all strict, mouth a little compressed. It wasn't the kind of thing he got from Greg often, but then... Well, maybe he had been a pretty bad patient. He'd tried to go to work a couple of times when he shouldn't have, and he'd bitched about it a lot.

He didn't do sick with any level of grace or calmness. He wasn't supposed to get ill, and he wasn't used to it. "We're kept in bed when we're sick?"

Greg looked up at him as he got the pajama bottoms off. "Something like that. I think you should get back in the bed now."

That was interesting. Greg didn't usually get so bossy, or so stern-faced.

Gil could go with that. He could look at Greg and take that order, that heavy 'suggestion' from Greg. "Naked. That's a lot of promise, Greg."

"Promise?" Greg's brows rose. "I guess you could call it that." He could call it that, and he could see Greg rummaging around in the lower drawer of the nightstand. That wasn't where they usually kept anything too particular, so it made Gil curious. When the leather loop restraints they'd had custom made because Greg was too squirmy came out, he could feel his heart rate pick up in a way that wasn't exactly bad.

It wasn't the statement itself so much as those leather loops that made Greg's words full of promise. Full of things that made Gil's dick twitch a little while he laid back, watching Greg in silence.

"You've been miserable sick, Gil, and I know what you're secretly thinking. You're thinking that if you talk fast enough, I'll let you have a bath, help you in the truck, drive you in.... just for a couple of hours," Greg said, attaching the restraints to the steel headboard carefully. "And those couple of hours will turn into ten or twelve, and then you'll be home for another week. The answer is no, by the way. Obviously."

"This is one way to keep me from going in to work?" Gil suggested glibly, not making any sudden moves while Greg leaned down over him. "Tie me up for a while?"

"Hm." Greg wasn't agreeing or disagreeing, but Gil definitely felt a slow stretch when Greg shifted him, pushed his thigh up and slipped the restraint on. It was careful, and just tight enough, before he moved to do the same with the other. "Tie you up and take care of you, since you don't take care of yourself the way that you should."

His hands were still free, but there was something about having his knees spread like that, forced up and apart, that made him not want to move to start. Greg could tie his hands up, but he knew Gil could stay in that position for a while. Long enough for whatever he had planned. "I see."

"Do you?" The way that Greg looked at him from between Gil's own knees would be a lot more interesting in a couple of days, but it was damn sure interesting at the moment, too. "I don't really think you do, exactly, so I thought I'd give you a chance to understand what it is that you're missing when you try and do stuff like you would if I wasn't here to say no." Ah, and there were the wrist restraints. How had he missed those?

Probably distraction from the way that Greg had pulled his knees up. Greg pulled his wrists off to either side of the bed, and there was no way he could worm free now. "I've been missing things?"

"Oh, definitely. See, before me, you had sick plus miserable plus dragging your sorry ass in to work to spread the disease. So, you know, after Greg -- does that make it AG?? -- you have a whole different set of possibilities. Probabilities, even." Greg settled back and looked at him for a moment before nodding with satisfaction and getting back out of the bed.

Greg probably remembered, no, definitely remembered Gil dragging himself to work, sick and unhappy, but there. Gil laid his head back, and closed his eyes, wondering just what was in those thermoses. "Mmm, that sounds full of promise."

He could hear the metal bowl clang a little, the glass one settle separately, and then he heard one lid pop loose, the top screwing off. "Good. I'm glad you think so," Greg said, and the sound of liquid made Gil glance to the side. The glass bowl was there; half full and steaming, and Greg had a pink bath sponge that he laid in the center of it. "You know that if you change your mind, you can say so. Right?"

"I've been sick, Greg, but I haven't forgotten the safe word." Greg could be as threatening and looming as he wanted. Gil knew that one word would end it, except he didn't want it to end because he was curious, and now he was at least half hard.

Greg rolled his eyes as he opened the blue thermos and screwed off the lid. "Gil. Last night? You asked me to feed Dino and let out the cat." Water spilled into the metal bowl, followed by the clunk-chunk of ice. Just the sound made Gil shudder.

"Did I?" Gil blinked for a moment, because maybe, just maybe, he had asked Greg that. "Huh. I still know the safe word, even though I've apparently been delirious."

Dino?

"I think you watched too much Flintstones when you were a kid," Greg informed him solemnly, plunking a blue sponge into the metal bowl. The purple thermos went further back on their nightstand and then the paper bag came up again. Was that thing infinite in there? Somehow? Greg kept lifting things out of it, kept taking out thermoses and bowls and things. Gil craned his head a little, trying to peer to see what Greg was going to pull out next.

It was.... Oh, no, it wasn't. No way.

And that was not a butt plug with a bunny tail attached.

"Greg...?" Maybe his voice came out a little like a whine, but Greg had those things in his hand, and while the ice water and the hot water held a lot of promise....

"You can say the word whenever you want," Greg reminded him, setting the enema box and the bunny plug on the table, too. It made Gil squirm uncomfortably even when Greg reached for the last small box, the one he had already laid beside the thermoses.

Gil closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them long enough to see what Greg was taking out of the box. A thermometer. Not so bad; he was probably hardly running a fever anymore.

"Why don't we start here?" Greg asked him with a twitch of his mouth that crossed somewhere between pure evil and amusement. "I've already read the directions and everything. Are you ready?"

"Yeah." Yeah, and maybe he nodded a little before he let his head rest back against the pillows. His back was going to hurt once Greg was done with him, but hopefully everything else would feel good.

He parted his lips just a little, expecting Greg to slip the thermometer between them. It startled him to feel a lubed finger stroke between his cheeks, sliding just inside. "You can close your mouth, you know. That's not what this is for."

Oh. Gil closed his mouth slowly, trying not to squirm at the feeling of Greg slicking the way, a little unnecessarily, to 'take his temperature'. It felt good, and even though he'd spent the past few days sick, his body had missed sex.

The shift of Greg's hand between his legs made Gil take a deep breath and release it slowly. The removal of that finger followed by the much smaller placement of the digital thermometer made his breath catch. Little beeps sounded, making Gil shiver; or maybe it was the fact that he was naked and exposed in bed that made him shiver. The slow slide out of the thermometer made Gil sigh, trying to relax, and he flexed his leg muscles just to remind himself that they were there.

"Hm. Still a little high," Greg declared, looking at it and frowning. "Not over a hundred, and that's good. All right."

Just all right?"

No. No, because Greg put the thermometer down and reached for the pink sponge in the glass bowl.

"Does that get me a bath?" Gil asked, faintly breathless because he might get washed instead of just teased. There was going to be teasing in there, but that was a given.

"Might just," Greg declared, holding the sponge over the bowl for a minute before moving it over Gil's chest. Hot water droplets spattered over him for several seconds before Greg squeezed just a little, moving his hand down to Gil's navel. They'd be lucky if the bed wasn't drenched when it was over, but Greg had a hair dryer, and they had a spare bedroom. He brought the sponge down and stroked it over Gil's skin. It was more warm than hot, but Gil could guess that it might be a lot closer to hot if it came directly out of the bowl.

It was hard not to groan, and since Gil wasn't in control, he did groan, stretching a little and trying to press up against the contact. "Please."

"Please?" Greg let a little smile creep over his face slowly. "Please. I like the sound of that," he decided, stroking the sponge up and over Gil's shoulder, moving it slowly. It felt incredibly good, all things considered. It might not be a bath, but it would definitely do.

Gil pulled at the restraints a little, and then sighed, trying not to feel the way his cock was aching. "Mmhm?" Was he going to have to beg for it, or was Greg just going to keep going at his own speed?

"Yeah. I definitely like the sound of that." The sponge dropped in the bowl again, and Greg picked up the blue sponge instead. "You're really pretty good, especially for a guy who's all tied up."

Red was to the glass bowl that had hot water, and blue was to the metal bowl that Gil could hear ice clinking in, and the feeling of luxuriating in the hot water and wet sheets faded a little with anticipation of the cold water.

The next water spattered cold a little lower down his belly, and Gil couldn't help the catch of his breath when Greg dropped the full sponge right above his cock. "Hm. I think you like the cold better," he suggested. "What do you think?"

"It..." Cold. It was cold, cold enough to make his dick try to retract into his body, cold enough for Gil to pull at the restraints, gasping at the feeling of icy water right there, dribbling down the line of his ass and soaking into the sheets.

Greg laughed. God, Gil was going to get back at him when he felt better, get back for the way that hand stroked chill water past his cock and traced the sponge over his ass cheeks, sliding between them. "It's a little cool, isn't it?"

"It's cold, it's ice!" He tried to lean up, and while the restraints didn't hold him back, if he managed to roll any, Gil knew he'd damn well end up stuck. So squirming and enjoying it were his only options, except the water was cold, and there was an icy sponge rubbing over his asshole.

"You're really lucky that I haven't just picked up one of the cubes yet," Greg chided him, slowly moving the sponge further up, stroking his inner thigh. "I could do that, you know. If you would rather."

Gil squeezed his eyes closed, and pretended that he hadn't just imagined how it would feel if Greg slid an ice-cube into his ass. "Greg..."

"Mhm?" The sponge lifted, and Gil could hear it plop back amongst the ice and water before Greg wrung it out. "You wanted something?" His hand came back, and this time it was the hot sponge, following the same path.

Gil sighed at the feeling of almost-hot water sliding over his cock, down the crack of his ass, everywhere good and comfortable. It was easy to start to relax, his brain's subconscious complaining easing up for the first time in days.

"I like seeing you like this," Greg murmured, washing over his inner thighs. It wasn't even the sort of bed bath that hit the high spots, but it would certainly do, Gil figured, especially if they were going to be doing kinky sweaty sorts of things later.

"I noticed," Gil managed to answer, a little hazily and not quite so 'uppity' as Greg had accused him of earlier. The warm water was nice, and if the bed was going to be wet anyway, warm water was a good way to do it. At that point, it was all a pretty great way to do it, Gil figured, sighing.

"Mmm. Well, you know, you've been pretty sick. I just wanted you to feel better," Greg offered solicitously. "Of course, that involves a lot." A lot, declared while Greg continued washing him, stroking him in a way that made him sleepy, made him feel better, made him shudder.

There was something else coming, of course. It was just the wind up, and Gil let his drifting mind remember the butt plug and the Fleet enema. That was coming, and anything else that Greg had planned was coming, and whatever was in the purple thermos was coming.

If he wasn't so absolutely limp, he'd be a lot more worried about it. In fact, he'd be downright paranoid about it, but for the moment everything felt too good for worry.

"You're looking kind of tired. Maybe I should stop...." Greg suggested, making Gil's eyes fly open.

Greg was still stroking, and while his face hadn't matched the words, the words... the words were enough to make Gil go still even though there was a warm sponge rubbing right over his balls.

"Oh, so... you don't want me to stop?" Greg chuckled, rubbing a little. The center of the sponge was hotter, and the way Greg pressed it made Gil shift his hips uncomfortably.

He groaned a little, and bit the tip of his tongue, trying not to do more than squirm. No, he didn't want Greg to stop, but. But.

"Gil? Do you want me to stop?" The sponge lifted, leaving him alone and bereft in a way that made Gil shudder.

"No?" Gil pulled a little at the restraints around his wrists. "Don't stop. Just..." Just stop fucking around he wanted to say, and it was enough to make Gil want to laugh. He wasn't sure if he dared, though.

"Just go faster?" Greg suggested with a laugh of his own, the stroking beginning again. "Just go farther?"

Faster wasn't Gil's problem the way it could be Greg's sometimes. "Farther," he finally managed to say.

"Ready for more, huh?" Oh, God, Greg was nearly purring. That couldn't possibly be a good thing, could it? "I can arrange for more."

"Please." He wanted there to be a reason why he was restrained like that, he wanted for it to do more than keep him from squirming too much.

"All right."

The sponge went away, and when Greg picked up the Fleet box, it sent a chill shudder down Gil's spine. Farther, yes, he just hadn't expected farther to be so much farther so soon.

The plastic rattled, Greg ripping open the sterilized nozzle and removing the orange tip before laying it on the bed. Gil was pretty sure that they came pre-lubricated, but he didn't look. He didn't want to know. He closed his eyes, and tried to go back to relaxing. He'd wanted more, farther, but what he wanted was for Greg to overwhelm him, just for a little while. Almost there, he'd been almost there, and then Greg had started to pull back because Gil wasn't in coherent conversing shape.

Maybe.

Or maybe he had something in mind that Gil just wasn't in any shape to follow.

He could hear Greg putting everything together, and he swallowed, taking a deep breath and then letting it out before doing it again. "I need you to relax," Greg told him. "This is gonna be easy and painless and.... Okay, kind of kinky, but if you ask nice, I'll tell you another one of those hot fantasies I used to have about you in the dark fifteen years ago."

"Yeah?" Greg knew he liked to hear about those hot fantasies, liked to imagine where he fit into them. The idea that Greg had been fantasizing about him for so long was almost hotter than the fantasies themselves. "Please?"

Gil couldn't help the squirm that he gave, even when his knees spread open. Greg's fingers were prying at him, pulling him open, and then the nozzle slid in, making Gil's breath hitch, catch. "Hey, it's okay. You know, I had the worst case of flu once, and I'm pretty sure that I was hallucinating at the time..." Greg murmured, squeezing the bottle just a little. "Anyway, there's this point where everything is sensitive all over, you know? So that the brush of the sheets makes you shudder?"

Or made him cranky, which was apparently what it had done to Gil. He mumbled a yeah, and squirmed again, feeling the tip brush inside of him more sharply than he had the thermometer because he hadn't moved while Greg had done that.

"It's okay," Greg said. "It's okay. Just be still. Promise." His thumb was stroking the crease of Gil's thigh, a faint tremor in it. "So anyway. Everything's sensitive, and I just kept thinking how it would make me feel better if there was somebody there, you know. Touching me. Helping me bathe. Washing my face..." Greg grinned and squeezed the bottle again, slow, steady pressure. "It's almost all in, you know. Doesn't take much."

Doesn't take much, even if it was the feeling of cold liquid that burbled and made him feel full when he couldn't move to do anything about it. Gil exhaled a little loudly, nodding faintly. "Doesn't take much..."

"No. Didn't take much to make me seriously hard, though. I remember that. It was Thanksgiving, you know, and I had been so sick that Mom wanted to take me to the hospital, actually. But I kept... I was thinking about you and actually.... thinking about something like this. You doing this to me, and making me like it. Stroking my hair out of my face. The asymmetric thing was gone by then, even though," he teased, "T2 was just out."

Gil managed a fuzzy smile, concentrating on Greg's voice for a moment, before Greg pulled the tip out, and Gil knew what would follow after it to keep everything in. "Would've been in style."

"Hey. I've always been at least two years ahead of style," Greg told him gently, and before he knew it, there was a nudge. He was full, and Greg was making him even more so, making him give a strangled sound that he didn't even know was possible from his own throat.

Well, he knew. He knew that Greg was good at wringing things out of him, but every time it was like something new, something he'd never experienced before. Gil cracked open his eyes, trying to peer up at Greg to see what he was doing, to guess how long that feeling was going to be there.

"So. I'm guessing you're probably feeling a little hungry right about now," Greg offered, reaching for the purple thermos. "You want me to let you loose? Your hands, anyway. So you can eat a little?"

Gil nodded before he even thought through the logistics of his legs being pulled up and apart the way they were. But he was hungry.

It was good to feel Greg's fingers on his wrists, the way that he let Gil loose with one hand while he held onto the thermos. "Chicken noodle soup," Greg told him. "I'd lie and say that I made it from scratch, but it was easier to have it delivered."

That was probably for the best. Once Gil's hands were undone, he used them to push himself up sitting a little, and discovered that the butt-plug with tail attached was fairly uncomfortable to rest on that way. "I'm sure it's good."

"It's great," Greg promised, pouring a little into the lid. "I thought about sweet and sour, but it just didn't have the right zing to it, all things considered." He shifted, slid a hand behind Gil's back. "You need any help?"

Help shifting into a less uncomfortable position sounded great. There was, after all, a bunny plug in his ass and he already felt full enough without adding to it. Still, he was hungry, and so far nothing had been unpleasant in the least, even the discomfort in his lower half.

He still wasn't sure where Greg was going with it, but it seemed all right. Mostly, so he kept his eyes on Greg's hands while he unscrewed the thermos at last, pouring out a healthy dose of soup and handing it over carefully. "You gonna be okay to hold that? I mean, I could try and sit next to you, help you out a little..."

"Please?" Since Greg was there, and Greg was 'caring' for him in his own strange tie-Gil-to-the-bed way. The thermos lid was mostly steady in his hands, as long as he tried not to think about what he was sitting on, tried not to think about the fullness.

The way Greg shifted on the bed made Gil moan despite everything. It shifted him, made him whimper, made his hand twitch just a little. Greg reached out and took the lid for a moment, putting it down. "Here. Get comfortable. Well, as comfortable as you can."

"I think I am." As comfortable as he could be when his leg movement was limited, his ass was full of monobasic sodium phosphate monohydrate and dibasic sodium phosphate heptahydrate held in tightly with a butt plug, and Greg was handing him his soup again.

"Good to know," Greg declared, kissing Gil's cheek.

Gil leaned into Greg a little, as much as he could, side pressed against the chains that the leather loops were attached to, and lifted the mug top to his mouth, taking a tentative sip. For delivery, it was very good -- warm and thick, soup to chew.

He heard Greg shift, heard the squeeze of one of the sponges, and shivered. When he felt the touch of it, it was hard to keep from sighing in pleasure. The hot water had cooled off enough to be deeply pleasant, his fingers stroking over Gil's arm and down his chest. Most of the water from the previous splashes had faded, rolled off of his skin, but Greg wiped away what was left, humming quietly to himself.

That was nice. That was hypnotic and warm, lulling Gil into a mellow state between sips of soup, almost enough to make him forget that he had a bunny tail stuck in his ass. Greg would explain it later or he'd put the pieces together later himself. The sponge dragged a little, getting him everywhere, the insides of his elbows, his neck, his collarbones. It just felt incredibly good, so perfect, and he hated the fact that he had to stop and yawn in the middle of the soup.

"Think you've had enough?" Greg asked him finally, solicitously. "We can get up, head to the bathroom if you think so."

Gil took one last sip of the soup, so the lid was empty, and nodded. "I think I'm done." Done drinking soup and done sitting there. His stomach gurgled.

"Okay." Greg took the lid of the thermos, screwing it shut and leaving the lid for cleaning later. "I'm going to undo your legs now and help you to the bathroom, okay?"

He only had to give a consenting nod of his head even though Greg was already reaching to unhook chains that held the leather loops in place, held Gil's legs in place. His voice sounded quiet when Gil finally said, "Okay."

"It'll be all right," Greg promised, reaching a hand out to cup Gil's cheek. "I promise. It's okay." Humiliating, maybe, or it would be, but it would still be okay. It was a little silly that bodily functions could be something awkward when they lived together, but it was still embarrassing, and maybe it was because he had a tail. A rabbit's tail on the end of the plug, and there was the tone of it, and the fact that he was sick and tired and sick and feeling shaky in a different way than sick-shaky. More of a horny-shaky-mortified-hard, and that made him shiver. "Come on. I'll help you to the edge of the bed."

Greg's hands reached out, shifted him, moved him almost tenderly. His stomach was gurgling louder, and Gil could feel the heat rising in his face, sliding up his throat.

He just wanted to move by then, so once they were to the edge of the bed, Gil made an extra effort to stand. Extra effort, and he wasn't ready to go back to work, was he? No, not when he leaned on Greg just for that. Maybe that was part of what this was all about, learning that sometimes he couldn't just drag himself back in no matter how much he wanted to.

"You know, I'm really glad I bought that," Greg told him with a little leer. "I like you with a bunny tail. It looks good on you. I'm sad I didn't think of it earlier."

Later he'd ask why Greg had thought of it at all. Later, when Greg wasn't leering and he didn't have to get to the bathroom immediately, when he didn't have to be glad that the tail was in place. "Greg..."

"C'mon," Greg said simply, one arm around his waist as he helped Gil to the bathroom. "You've got to be feeling a little desperate. It'll be okay," he promised again, and the way his fingers stroked across Gil's skin helped him believe that it was true.

After all, for all that Greg was goofy and loved his games, he loved Gil, too, and he wouldn't do anything that didn't make Gil at least half hard, that didn't make his squirm, torn between enjoying it and discomfort. "Okay."

By the time he got to the toilet, it was definitely time, and the embarrassment level had risen so high that he didn't know if he could bear it. "Lean forward just a little," Greg told him, settling Gil close to the toilet, close enough so that it wouldn't be difficult to make it in time.

Just follow Greg's commands, and work with him rather than fighting it. Half the fun for Greg was in the fighting it, but Gil didn't usually. He liked to concede his trust over, and Greg did know what he was doing.

It was still embarrassing.

Greg made soft, soothing sounds, one hand on Gil's shoulder, the other jostling the plug. By the time it was out, Gil couldn't help whimpering, his knees weak, his entire body shaking, and he knew it was going to be a miracle if he managed to hold onto it.

"Here. Come on, hold onto me... There..."

A shift, and he was on the toilet and realizing just why bodily functions could still be embarrassing. Taking a dump was usually not an Event, and he didn't get hard, and Greg wasn't there with hands on him. Usually. Ever before. It gave him an urge to laugh, just a little, and when Greg's hand settled on his cock, he nearly did. Well, it was laugh or cry, because there was no way to stop what he was doing, just as there was no way to stop enjoying Greg's touch.

Greg leaned into him, or he leaned into Greg, draped against him, leaning over Greg's hand and his dick and feeling it while he tried not to feel it. Tried not to over think. There was just that strange feeling and Greg's hand on his dick, stroking up and stroking down again, familiar, good, humiliating.

"It's all right," Greg murmured, kissing him, brushing his thumb against Gil's jaw. "It's all right. It's okay. I promise. You'll feel a lot better, baby." Baby. "It's all right, I promise."

He exhaled, shaky still, maybe worse, because his laugh bordered closer to tears again, nervous sounds either way, noises that were primal when he didn't want to give up control and it was already too late. Gil already had. He already had, and he never regretted it, but he was also shaking, and Greg was shushing him, quietly soothing him, touches gentle and easy.

"It's almost over. It's almost done."

Almost finished, and Gil wasn't sure whether Greg meant that or whether Greg meant him, because either way, no matter what, Greg was right. Greg was damned right, and Gil was shivering even while he finished, fingers petting shakily over the fabric of Greg's shirt.

"Shhh, shhhhh. Shhhh." Yes, and he was there, spilling all over Greg's fingers, and Greg was gentle, made him shudder, made him cry after all. "I know. I know." Even if he didn't. Greg had fantasies about this? Fifteen years ago? It seemed impossible and strange and weirdly erotic in a way that made Gil cling to him. Made Gil limp, left him sitting there for the moment, trying to catch his breath again, trying to catch himself again, even though he knew he was bad at that. It was easier just to breathe, just to feel the last strokes of fingers over sensitive skin, to feel Greg sigh in a pleased way.

"You want to clean up by yourself?" Greg offered, stroking his hands over Gil sweetly. "I'll start the shower, help you clean up. The sponge? That was just for my fun. I know you'll feel better if you get clean, even if it only lasts a quick five minutes."

"Please." After that long, a shower, a real shower would feel good, but after that, what Greg had just done, it didn't seem such a necessity that he couldn't live without. The urge had dropped a little, or had gotten hazed over.

Greg smiled at him, kissed him one more time, and left him alone. It wasn't much by way of alone -- six feet of alone, but it was enough to do what was necessary. He did while Greg started the shower and set out towels, stripping out of his jeans and t-shirt before coming to offer Gil his hand when the toilet flushed. "C'mon."

He needed that hand to get up, knees wobbly from what had just happened and a little from anticipation of a hot shower at long last, even if he felt shaky. Gil was at least already naked, so the heat from the shower's steam made him feel warm. The good kind of warm, not fever-warm.

Greg helped him in, got him wet. "Wash your hair and I'll wash the rest of you," he ordered, and Gil was grateful for that. If Greg did the rest of the washing, all Gil had to do was stand there. Shampoo was placed in the cup of his palm, and he tilted his head back, getting it wet. While Greg's hands cleaned him from his shoulders down to his feet, he managed to get his hair clean.

It took more effort than it should have, but there was every chance that the sluggish motion of his fingers through suds was linked directly to Greg's fingers lingering over his hips, stroking his side, creeping down his back with shower gel in hand.

"There," Greg said over the sound of the water. "There we go." His fingers slid between Gil's cheeks and washed him carefully before Greg knelt and moved down to his feet. The suds slid along, washing down the drain.

Greg hadn't shampooed, but his hair still clung wetly to his scalp, and Gil watched that, watched the wild hair turn curly from wet, reached down to run fingers through it. That was a gesture done as much to feel Greg as it was to keep himself steady on his feet while he started to fall under the spell of warming water pounding against his back.

"One last rinse," Greg promised him, standing up slowly to do just that. He kissed Gil then, careful in his touch, in the way that he pressed against him, gentle. It was strange to realize that Greg was still hard, and that he obviously wasn't going to do anything about it.

If he was going to fuck Gil, he would have turned him around already, moved his pliable person to lean against the wall and fucked him, and Gil would have gone along with it, would have liked it. Greg... not doing that, not tending to himself, was a strange thing for Gil to turn over in his mind as he leaned into Greg, kissing him back in the same gentle way. There was water in his eyes, and the faint sting of suds, but everything else felt good.

"I think I've got you rinsed. C'mon. Let's get out of here, you've got to be pretty worn out," Greg murmured, reaching for the handle and turning it off before he pulled open the shower door. The towels were stacked on the small table next to the door, and he grabbed one from the top, ruffling Gil's hair a little with it before he threw it down on the floor and helped Gil step out.

"I am, but..." But, and Gil felt silly for asking it, but by then he was wondering if he'd done something wrong. Wondering if he'd done something wrong even though Greg helped him step out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his shoulders once he was standing on the bath mat. "You're still hard."

"You kind of do that to me," Greg told him with a smile. That was the only answer he got, because Greg was drying him off, nuzzling at damp flesh as he went. "I want you to dry your hair, okay? There's no need for you to get back in bed with it wet, as sick as you've been. C'mon, sit on the toilet. I'll get out the dryer."

The lid was back down, so sitting on it that time wasn't uncomfortable. Gil closed his eyes for a moment, and then stepped backwards to sit down while Greg bent to rummage the drier out from under the sink. Greg knew where it resided because Greg was the only one of them who ever used it. Usually. Gil tended to ask for it when he was doing something that needed to dry faster.

Greg plugged it in and handed it over, then dried himself quickly while Gil watched him. "Dry your hair," he said again, wrapping the towel around his hips. It didn't hide his erection. It still poked against the material. "I'll be right back."

Maybe Greg was going to go take care of that. Maybe it didn't matter if he did or he didn't. There was always another erection, and Greg wasn't going to stop hopelessly loving him if he didn't take care of that one.

It took Gil a second to turn the blow drier on, but once he did, it was more mellow comfortable heat, and he ruffled a hand through his hair to speed it up. He could feel the curls loosening, drying themselves straight, and it was deeply pleasant. It seemed to take forever to dry, especially at the back of his neck, and by the time it did, he was so tired his eyes were drooping.

Greg was right. He certainly wouldn't have been able to stand a ten-hour shift at work if all of this had worn him out to the point of falling asleep where he sat.

He barely managed to unplug it, twisting the cord around the handle before he got to his feet and haphazardly tossed it under the sink back where it belonged. Roughly. Gil was saving energy for the walk back to the slightly damp bedroom.

When he stood up, his knees almost went out from under him before he realized it, and Gil had to reach for the counter to hold himself straight.

"Hey, hey, hey! You should have waited!" he heard Greg say, moving to help hold him up. The towel was history, and Gil could see it lying between the door and where they stood. "C'mon. I changed the sheets and everything."

"Are you going to sleep, too?" Greg's hands were warm on his skin, a palm pressing firmly against his back, guiding him towards crisp, detergent scented sheets.

"I... am gonna get you in bed, put things away, and then I will definitely go to sleep, too." Greg grinned at him. "I'm highly tempted to take your temp again just for the look on your face."

"Sadist." It was a faint tease, because Greg was helping him kneel on the bed and then shift to lie on his back, stretched out and comfortable even if he was trying to fumble with the sheets while Greg helped him. "I guess I can stay home for a couple more days, until this..." He had to trail off to muffle a yawn, with a hand that held a fistful of soft cotton sheet. "Goes away."

"That's exactly what I thought," Greg murmured, brushing a kiss across his lips. "Close your eyes. Get some sleep. I promise I'll be back when I've got everything clean and put away."

"Okay." He pulled at the sheets, and shifted, closing his eyes after a moment of watching Greg gather up thermoses and that thermometer. It was strange, and things hadn't gone the way he'd expected it to go, no, not at all.

Even stranger was the fact that he couldn't consider that to be a bad thing, and he was too tired to wonder why that was.

"Love you," Greg murmured, and Gil felt a kiss brush across his forehead. He was too tired to say anything in return, his eyelids reluctant to lift, his mouth impossible to open. That was all right, though. He could tell Greg later, and he'd mean it all the more.

Only Greg would put 'getting Gil to rest' ahead of his own needs and still amuse himself. And when he got better, he'd have the implications of that kind of sick care on his mind for a very long time.

Everything smelled funny.

This was A Very Bad Sign.

Greg knew bad signs. He was a master of knowledge when it came to those, having long since come to the conclusion that leaving the lab was a great thing because funny smells and Very Bad Signs were things that he didn't want to run into on a regular basis. Sure, he'd traded funny smells for completely fucking horrible smells, but that was okay. Completely fucking horrible smells weren't the sorts of things that blew up in a guy's face. Usually.

This was definitely something else, but everything smelled funny. Looking around the crime-scene, a house in the stages of renovation, Greg couldn't see a source. It didn't seem like dead-body smell. No, it was a different kind of funny, not gas or anything he recognized.

"Hey, Sara?" he asked hesitantly, breathing in deeply to see if he could catch it. "Do you... do you smell that?" He breathed in again. "It doesn't smell like anything I recognize..." Whatever it was, it was going straight into his brain. That couldn't be a good thing.

She lifted her head, glancing over at him from the other side of the room. "You smell something? What's over by you...?"

"I've got a couple of jars..." He leaned down and whiffed again. "Nothing really obvious here. Maybe..." Greg knelt and peered underneath the end table next to the bed. "Ooo. Jackpot." There was a wide-mouthed jar of who the hell knew what in a glass container, and a big ziplock bag beside it. The bag was open, but that didn't stop Greg from leaning down, and reaching with one gloved hand for the jar. "I don't know what this is, but it smells really wrong down here. Like in a kite-high kind of way. You know, not meth lab, but..." But. The ziplock bag was attached to it, and when he shifted, he hit his head on the bottom of the table. The bag dropped, and he fell forward, fumbling the bag and the jar.

"Be careful, Greg!" Sara said sharply, but careful was a little late. He was face flat with the liquid spilling just a little, and the bag burst open, flying up into his face.

"Ugh!”

Then he was coughing and smacking at his face, and there was Sara at his arm, wiping him down and trying to drag him back at the same time. "Jesus, c'mon, we have to get out of here..."

"I..." Yeah, there was no way to say anything specific about it because he was hacking too hard to manage it. It was up his nose, in his mouth, down his lungs and in his eyes, and those were streaming as she tugged at him.

Up and towards the propped open door, stumbling over evidence, probably, but fuck, he probably had evidence on his face of who knew what. She got him outside and then let him go. Probably heading for her car for water or to make a call, he hoped.

"H-h... Sra?" He wanted to wipe off his face, try and get some of that stuff off of him or out of him so that he could breathe. That would help, he figured. Maybe if he just pulled off his shirt...

There was another puff of cloudy dust, and he sneezed sharply in a way that left him dazed. Sara was back, and hey, her boobs bounced a little when she ran that fast, and that was kind of cool. He was pretty sure he didn't say it out loud, so she shouldn't have dumped that water on his head.

Even if that helped. Sort of.

It just made him feel kind of gummy, and he swallowed some of it. Still, he kept coughing, reaching up to rub at his face with his shirt. "O. Oh sh…" He coughed. "Oh shit. That stings," Greg protested, clearing his throat. All the way down into his lungs, it kind of burned, and he felt seriously light-headed, making him shake his head. "Unh..."

"Cough it up! Jesus, hold on. I'm going to call 911." They couldn't ever work a dangerous scene when it was fresh and there were cops and paramedics crawling all the fuck over the place, could they?

"'m o..." Okay, except he wasn't. Not so much. He coughed again and managed to stand up, shaking his head again. Okay, maybe not so much with the standing up because, whoa. Everything was spinning in a kind of good way that Greg fully understood was really incredibly wrong.

"No, you're not okay." She was reaching for her cell; flipping it open and dialing while she tried to reach for him one-handed to push him back down to sit. Sitting, sitting, Greg could do, even though the concrete was rough and scraped his back.

"Actually?" Greg told her, leaning forward slowly. "I think? I'm high." It had been a long time, and it had just been the once, but he kind of remembered this feeling. There had been a party, and he hadn't smoked anything himself, but the residue had been pretty damn fabulous. "Holy cow."

She cleared her throat, and then there was Sara talking solemnly into the cell phone.

Greg couldn't remember the last time he'd said holy cow, but if she asked about it, he was damn well going to claim flashback. Bad trip? Something in the dust, something in the air, and he started to laugh a little. Giggle, actually, which made him feel like a complete and total dork, but so what? High Gregs got to giggle. They got to feel like dorks and not care, and he laid back on the sidewalk again, breaking into outright laughter.

"Sorry," he managed to giggle. "Sorry. Oh, wow, this is soooo wrong." Wrong like harem costumes and that Ravenclaw tie he had bought a couple of weeks ago. Yeah.

Wrong like the bunny butt-plug, too, except that was wrong in a kind of hot way, like most of their toys were, so maybe not so wrong. But wrong like that costume, and wrong like the little Parmesan cheese shaker Gil kept in the fridge that was full of dead dried fire ants.

"Okay, Greg? Stay there, I'm going to get more water."

"Doneed water," Greg disagreed, sulking. One extreme to the other. Yep. He was so high. "Need Grissom. Call Gil?" he asked, rolling his head to the side. "I wanna go hooome." Home would be really truly excellent right about now. Gil would be even better.

She probably didn't hear him, because she was coming back with another sealed bottle of water. "Yes, I'll stay on the line until they arrive."

"Wanna go home," he protested, sniffing. His nose was tingly and numb and weird, and he waved his hand around at her. "I wanna go hoooome. Don stay onna liiiiiine." Whining wasn't nearly as much fun as giggling, but right at the moment, he wasn't thinking silly wrong pervy things about Gil anymore, he was protesting about somebody coming to poke and prod at him. They were sharply different ends of his 'to do list', and Greg had to think of a way to get free of the evil paramedic people when they showed up.

"Greg, you can't. We don't even know what you were exposed to...."

"My nose is all numb and tingly," Greg offered to her ingenuously. "Call Grissom?" he asked, looking up at her with pleading eyes. "Please? Please please pleaaaase? I don wanna stay here. Hank'll come and he'll poke things at me. Or somebody else like him. Or something."

Sara sat down beside him on the steps, and started to use her shirtsleeve to wipe at his face again. "No."

"Why?" Why? Because he really did want Gil, and there were sirens coming, and he had stuff all over him, in his hair and on his face and his shirt was a mess. Greg sniffled, reaching out to tug at her shirt. Boobs. Yeah, boobs. Greg liked boobs. Catherine had better boobs, fabulous boobs, true, but Sara had nice boobs, too, and those were not his sneaky fingers. No, no, definitely not his fingers.

A hand slapped at his, smacked hard. "Greg! What're you doing?" Those were his hurting sneaky fingers, because she'd smacked him. All he'd been doing was admiring her boobies, but then she was muttering, "Dammit, do you have to try to sleep with everyone?"

"But they're so nice. Sooo nice." His lower lip wobbled and he looked up at her, brows knitting. "Sara? Call Grissom," he demanded again. Hm. If Sara wouldn't let him feel her boobies, maybe Gil would let Greg suck his cock. "I don wanna go anywhere with them." Them, the paramedic guys crawling out of their truck, and oh! Hey! Wow! There was Grissom!

Gil must have been listening a police scanner or he had a tap into the 911 lines or something, because he was getting out of the Denali, waddling towards Greg. Waddling, heh, and it usually wasn't so funny, but bow-legged and pigeon toed was almost hilarious. Back to giggling again. Giggling was good. Giggling was so much better than feeling pitiful, and Sara wasn't going to smack him again if Gil was there. "Ha, ha," he declared happily, rolling his head to the side. "Hiiiii." Hi, hi, hi, hi there, Gil. Gil who was looking pretty worried, actually, but Greg couldn't help smiling at him all the same. "I wanted you to come. Don let 'em poke me."

"Sara, what happened?" There was room on the steps for Gil to kneel down beside him, and the paramedic on the other side, since Sara was standing and walking around, circling.

"There's a bag of powder in the other room, and he tripped and got it on himself. I've flushed him with water, but..."

"Sara's got boobies," Greg announce with great seriousness. "I like boobies. Boobies are really great things."

Luck would have it that the paramedic would be Hank. He coughed and shook his head. "Um. Yeah. Uh..."

"Catherine's got great boobies, too. Catherine is scarier than Sara, though. I would never ever grope Catherine's boobies," he promised Gil seriously. Hm. Waddling. Waddling was sexy, and Gil was sexy, and did he say that out loud?

Gil was looking at him like he'd grown a third head. Wait, was that third eye and a second head? Then Gil cleared his throat, and gave Hank a look, while Sara was shooting daggers with her eyes at Hank. Greg was glad that Gil hadn't ever been a bastard the way Hank must have been to break up with Sara.

"Greg?" Sara questioned slowly. "Now would be a really great time for you to shut up before I have to kill you and hide the body."

"But I didn't even say anything!" Greg protested. "I didn't. Honest."

"Well, uh, all of his vitals are okay," Hank said, clearing his throat. "We ought to do some blood tests, see what it is..."

"The bag's inside. I'm going to just go and collect it for evidence. That and the jar that spilled. I don't think that got in his face like the powder did."

"Is it hot out here or what?" Greg murmured, blinking up at them. He reached up and rubbed at his forehead, then sighed. "Could I have something to drink?" he asked Gil hopefully. "Sara had a bottle, but she poured it all over my head instead. I'm really kind of thirsty."

"Did you swallow any of it, Greg?" Gil asked, crouching down in front of him carefully. Hank moved back and to the side, and it was kind of funny how they all crowded in on him.

"It went all up my nose and it was burny," Greg declared, reaching to rub it in memory. Yeah. It had been burny, but now everything just felt weird and happy and thirsty and he really definitely wanted to suck Gil's cock. If everybody would back off, he'd totally whip it out like an all day sucker.

"Oh my GOD, I wish he'd stop saying these things out loud," Sara moaned, one hand on her face.

Gil was staring openly at him, mouth a little open, and then he shot Sara a look. "Has he just been... saying things like this since it happened?"

"He GROPED my breasts!" Sara asserted loudly. "And he's been talking about Catherine's breasts and sexy waddles and...."

Hank interrupted. "He groped your ti... breasts!?"

"They're nice," Greg asserted. "I like boobs. They're great to look at and really good to feel and...." Ouch! That hurt his sneaky fingers. Why was it that his fingers kept doing those devious things?

"Greg." Gil's hands settled on his shoulders, and maybe he was imagining that Gil shook him a little. "Greg, look at me and concentrate."

Concentrate. Okay. Concentrate on what? Greg looked at him Very Seriously. Okay, maybe it only felt like it was Very Seriously, because he kind of had the giggles again. "'m looking," he promised.

Sara grumbled, "Stop looking at his crotch."

Gil sighed, and when Greg lifted his eyes, he could see him shaking his head. "Hank? Does this look like cocaine to you?"

"Can we go home now?" Greg asked, tugging at the bottom of Gil's jacket. He also got in a teensy grope, just a little one. Teensy little bit, but...

Now Hank was smacking his fingers, too.

"At a guess? He's thirsty, horny, you've got a powdery substance that doesn't look like cocaine and a bunch of gelatin capsules. I'm guessing... maybe somebody was planning on cutting some E?"

"E is for Ernie and Bert playing Hide the Rubber Ducky," Greg informed them, once again Very Serious. "Can we?"

"No." Gil was sharp, a little firm. "Sara? There's water in my trunk. Could you get some of it for him?"

"I don like no. No is a very bad word, and it means..." What? It meant what? Greg frowned. It meant there would be no hiding of the rubber ducky, and that made him pout. "Sara smacks me because her boobies make me happy and Hank smacks me because I want to touch what's mine, and you tell me no. I don think I like this ride anymore."

"Greg, you're... high," Gil explained in a sound that stretched towards patience. "I think... Hank? Will he need to go to the hospital?"

"Well..." Hank was hedging. Greg sensed it. "Not unless he starts showing signs. I think he probably didn't even get a full dose if he only sprayed it on himself, I mean, he didn't swallow, and if they had a jar and the powder, then maybe they hadn't cut it yet..."

Hank knew way too much about E. Greg told him so, and got the weirdest look, and one from Sara, too, even though she was coming back with the water. "All right. Sara... Scene's yours. Call Nicky in for it or whomever you want. I need to take Greg home and keep an eye on him."

Take Greg home. That sounded really good, Greg thought, and it made him smile. Wow. Take Greg home, and he even said it in front of Sara and everything.

"Please. Take him away before I'm forced to hurt him," Sara mumbled, pressing one hand to her forehead.

"Why would Sara hurt me?" Greg asked as Gil pulled him up from the steps. "I like Sara. Did I tell you she has nice boobies?"

"She might hurt you because you keep saying that. I can't remember you ever having this much interest in boobs," Gil told him, walking him away from Sara and Hank. Then there was a water bottle shoved into his hands.

"I like boobies," Greg told him very seriously. "They're soft. And fluffy." Water. Greg guzzled happily at the open bottle, trusting Gil to push him along in the proper direction.

"I see." That sounded a little more amused, and Gil was walking him not towards Greg's car but his own. "So you've jumped the fence on me, huh?"

"Mmmm. No," Greg decided very seriously. "Why can' we take my car? I like my car. Pretty pretty shiny. But if you drive? I can blow you." He sighed. "Sooo many decisions. I can blow you." His face lit up. "I like blowing you. That's better than soft fluffy boobies."

Gil gave a laugh, and why was Gil laughing at him? And pulling him along. "Greg, you can't. I need to concentrate when I drive."

"I could blow you just a little." Greg hoped that came across as earnestly as he felt it to be. "Just a teensy bit. And I'm not even wearing a skirt this time!" he smiled.

They wouldn't get caught at all. Gil gave him a wild look from the corner of his eyes, and pulled at Greg again, stopping beside his Yukon long enough to open the passenger side door. "Greg, just get in."

"Okay." Okay, because getting in meant getting laid, or maybe getting to blow Gil, which was also okay. Lots of things were okay, except for the way Gil was eyeballing him like he was doing something really strange. He climbed in and automatically reached to fiddle with the CDs in the space between the seats.

Maybe he imagined that he heard Gil sigh when he closed the door behind Greg. Probably imagined it, and Gil always had the coolest weirdest collection of music in his car. Maybe Greg could go home and dig through their CD towers when they got home. That'd be fun, and--

"Greg, why are you staring at the underside of that cd?"

"It's shiny," Greg decided, shifting it. It gleamed purple-green-silver at him and made him feel like his eyes were going all swirly in his head. It didn't help much that Gil started the car and put it in drive. That just made everything even more shiny in a spinny kind of way. "Whoooo."

"When we go home, you're going to sleep, Greg. Ecstasy can overheat your body -- keep drinking that water."

"Don wanna go to sleeeep," Greg whined, holding his cd with a sudden clutch. "I don wanna. I wanna blow you." And ride him. Yeah. He wanted to crawl in bed and lube up that great big fat dick and have the best time he'd managed since he got too big for the ponies outside of the grocery store, and he said as much, too.

Gil's answering silence wasn't such a happy thing.

"The ponies at the grocery store? Do I want to know, Greg?"

Sometimes, Greg really wondered if Gil had ever ever been a kid. "You know. The ponies. At the grocery store. And you put in a quarter and…" He rocked in his seat and then grinned, sliding his sneaky hand slowly across the no-man's land that lay between their seats. "I could just blow you a little. A teensy little."

"Greg, there's no such thing as a little--" Gil didn't say 'blow job' so much as he squeaked it just as he was revving the engine up, because Greg got his fingers right on his crotch.

"Just a little one," Greg said with a smile, tugging gently at Gil's zipper. "I'll just suck on you a little bit, and then you can still drive. It'll just be a little bit," he promised, slipping his hand inside Gil's pants and stroking. "Just a little," he coaxed.

He knew it was going to work, too, because Gil wasn't looking at him. Gil was swallowing and shifting his hands on the wheel, and then pulling out onto the road. "Greg, that's... very dangerous."

"You're a very good driver," Greg reassured him most solemnly, sliding Gil's cock out of his underwear and giving a lusty little sigh. Penis. Greg really loved penis, he loved it the way that teenage girls faked love for BloPops, the way Nicky loved the Cowboys, the way Hodges liked to torture people, the way.... Yeah. It was bad to get distracted when a guy had cock in his hand and almost in his mouth.

Gil was stoically silent, but his not-saying no was almost screaming 'yes' at Greg, so he finally lowered his head and closed his eyes and started to really go at it. He'd lied when he'd said it would be just a little. There wasn't really any such thing as just a little when it came to blowjobs, and having Gil's dick in his mouth made him groan, made him hungry, made him reach down to rub at his own cock through his pants.

He shifted, moved, and got a little further over the separation between them. Greg was careful not to hit anything on the console -- well, mostly careful -- but he had to have it, and the deeper in his throat he got it, the happier he was about it.

Everything echoed. It felt like the best sex of his life because everything warped and he wasn't sure if he was still moving or not and it was fucked up and neat, and Gil's groans sounded so rich in his ears, so full of sound and enjoyment, and it felt better to hear Gil than it did to rub at himself through his own dark khakis, fingers shaking. Tasting Gil was so good, some kind of perfect example of everything that he had wanted for so long, for always. "Mmmmm." Slurping, slurping, happy, yes, just like that.

Was the car even moving?

Greg decided that it didn't matter, not really, and it probably was and he just couldn't tell.

He lifted his head, slurping before he ducked back down again, swallowing around Gil's thick dick. He loved it. He loved it when they didn't have sex, but when he was that horny, he really loved Gil's dick. Loved the weight of it and the feel of his balls in his hand and the -- just everything, and it was so good that Greg could barely stand it, squirming. He wanted to suck it, sure, but he also wanted to have his own fun. Maybe if he sucked too much, that would be a bad thing, except he really wanted to, and if the car wasn't going, then maybe he could stop and climb between Gil and the wheel and just kind of get enough spit to slide down on it and get everything he wanted all at once.

Would Gil go for it? It didn't matter, he could coax it out of Gil, and he was skinny enough to get between Gil and the wheel like that. That and the Yukon was huge, the Yukon was a boat of a car, and comfortable, and.

"Greg..." That was a warping, echoing groan, and Gil's fingers from one hand was stroking through his hair.

"Fuck meee." Pleading whimper, wow, that sounded really nice, and if somebody asked Greg like that, he'd give it over without a thought. "Let me ride. I want..." Wanted Gil's cock, and he rubbed his cheek against Gil slowly, letting a trail of slick spit and precum trace over his face as he looked up. "Fuck me, baby, I want..."

"Let's..." Fingers roved through his hair, stroking. "Let's get into the back seat for that. You'll hit the horn up here." That was all the confirmation he needed to know that they weren't moving, and that he could scramble into the back without any problem. Gil was getting out, and that confused Greg for just a minute, but then he was crawling in, and Greg could be all over him, hands already back in his pants as if Gil hadn't even fastened them, and maybe he hadn't. It didn't matter, not when Greg wanted it so bad, his own cock a constant wild throb in the space between his legs, and his ass... Oh, God, his ass was so empty when he could be riding Gil right now.

"Shhh. Shhh, Greg. Shhh. Calm down. Just breathe, and...." And Gil was petting him, fingers in his hair and on his back, stroking and rubbing because it felt so good. Gil felt so good, even as he coaxed Greg to kneel over him just right.

How on earth was he going to get his pants off?

He asked, and got the giggles because Gil looked so completely flabbergasted. Flabbergasted was a rather nifty word, and he liked it, but he liked the way that Gil tenderly manhandled him to try and get his pants off, too. Giggling was good. Giggling was good, but... "I need it," he moaned, arching towards Gil. "Oh, fuck, I need you to..."

"Hold still, that's not helping..." The hip thrust thing? It might not have been helping but it felt amazing, his hips grinding right against Gil's body even while Gil tried to squirm his pants past his thighs.

"Don wanna hold still." Yeah, he sounded six, but he did manage to remain immobile long enough for Gil to get his bottom half naked and then he was on him again, rocking and pushing and pleading. His hands were still sneaky and naughty, and they were doing things that surprised him when he realized what they were doing. Reaching down between his legs, Gil's legs, stroking him up hard and proud and solid, reaching up between his own legs to pry at his hole. Hole was kinda a funny word just then. Hole, heh heh.

Really funny, yes, right up until a finger slid in him and he couldn't stop himself from gasping and thrusting for it, trying to take it all in, wanting more, wanting everything, and never mind that he wasn't sure if they had lube or not. He'd live, they'd both live. "Holy fuck."

"Shhh, slow down. Slow down. We're not going anywhere..." Gil was fumbling for something in his kit, work things. What kind of neat work things would work just then? Fingerprint powder would end up leaving his ass pink, he was pretty sure. Then he'd be a dirty boy.

Dirty boy. That gave him the giggles, too, made him lean in and press his face against Gil's throat even though he really wanted to moan. That finger was probing, stroking, finding the best place ever, and then he was groaning, after all, giving little grunts of pleasure in Gil's ear.

If drugs made him feel this good, it was a miracle that people weren't high all the time.

It was incentive for it, he was pretty damn sure, wiggling his ass on that finger, and the funny slickness that followed it. Vaseline. Gil always kept that stuff in there, and he used it randomly on cases. He used everything randomly on cases, didn't he, even Greg. Never made sense, except that, that feeling of two fingers made sense, good sense. Happy sense, the kind that made him give sounds that didn't even seem as though they came out of his mouth.

"Fuck me fuck me fuck me..." A chant, in his head, in words, he didn't know which, but those sneaky hands were back at work again, on Gil's cock one more time, stroking it, petting it. So fat, Greg loved it, loved the way it felt, loved it when Gil slammed in and made him scream. He really hoped Gil would do that to him soon, and when he felt another finger slide in, his eyes crossed. "FUCK!"

Gil was gunna do it. Yeah, he'd do it, he'd do it. It felt too good for him not to do it soon, working fingers in and out of Greg and it wouldn't even hurt afterwards.

"Shhh. I'm going to do it, Greg. Just hold still for me..."

"Can't." Can't, couldn't, no way. He just couldn't, because it felt too good, grinding his ass back against Gil's hand, and he wished he had more hands. He wished he had enough hands to stroke his cock and Gil's cock at the same time, and hey! Wow! He did!

Two hands, two cocks, until more hands showed up and ruined the party, and hey, his ass was empty. "Greg, put your face down against my shoulder."

He could do that. He could so do that, burying his nose against the side of Gil's neck and whimpering when he felt Gil pull his hands up and away. "Want..." Wanted a lot of things, actually. Most of them having to do with his dick and Gil's. Yeah.

Yeah, it felt best when he could feel the heavy flared dickhead pressing right up against his hole again. Hole, and it was hard not to laugh until Gil's hands lay on his hips and pushed him down carefully. Then all he could do was groan, try to push himself down faster, take more, have it all so far up that he could taste it on the back of his tongue.

"Love it." Was that his voice, sounding so hoarse and funny? Probably. Maybe. "Love your cock. Love it when you fuck me with your fat cock. Oh my God, fuck me. Fuck me. Please. Please, Gil, please, Gil, I need you to..." To do it, hard and vicious, long strokes that would make him shudder. He wanted to ride, but he wanted to be on his back, too, slamming his entire body up for deeper penetration, wanted his fist wrapped around his dick so that he could jerk while Gil made him scream.

He wasn't sure what he wanted to do, but he guessed he was going to end up riding. He could ride, he could bounce up and down on his knees and on Gil's dick, nice thick dick, way better than boobies that went squish because no booby could ever do that to his ass and if it could, it was a scary booby.

"Greg, just..." Just something, and then Gil was kissing him, and he could completely get into that. Kissing was fantastic, true, but Gil's dick won. Greg shifted, pushing his knees deep into the seat and sprawling his thighs a little wider. He wanted to get it deeper, there was no denying that, and when he did, it was fucking fantastic. Incredible, and all he could do was groan against Gil's mouth, fingers sliding up to clench tight in peppery curls, entire body straining desperately for more.

All he wanted was a little more of everything. A little more speed, a little more motion, a little more. All he wanted was that extra motion he could get if he was on his back and they were at home, and that kind of made him wonder why they weren't at home, but Gil's SUV smelled nice, and when he jerked his hips up like that, wow.

Wow. Just right, just perfect, and he couldn't stop whining, couldn't stop squirming. He wanted that, wanted it in there again just like that, and when Greg shifted, leaned back, got his shoulders against the seat in front of them, he could get the angle he really wanted after all. "FUCK!" Fuck, fuck, fuck, and there was that sneaky hand of his again. He finally remembered he had it, and it was strong, pulling, tugging... "FUCK!"

Gil leaned in, kissed his collarbone, his neck, but none of it was as important as his hand and the dick up his ass. Maybe naked would've been better, but he was there, except that there stretched out and warped while Gil's groans slid deep and fuzzy into his ears. It was a good, weird sort of sound, and then he couldn't really think about anything except all of the places inside him that thrummed at one point, and it was over. It was over, but it seemed like it went on forever and ever, and his brains were all smashed together into one crazy lump of nothing in particular at all.

---

He was finally asleep.

Gil wasn't sure why he thought of it as 'finally', because sleep had hit Greg like a rock hurled at his head. When he woke up, he'd probably still be feeling some lingering effects of the drug, but Gil could, if he wanted, literally tie him to the bed so he wouldn't wear himself out while under the drug's effects. Or so they wouldn't be caught in the act if Nick or Jim stopped by to visit and see how Greg was doing.

It was pure luck they hadn't caught them pulled behind that restaurant not two blocks from the crime scene. Greg would have crawled over the console between them if he hadn't managed to park the truck, though, so it wasn't as if Gil had a whole lot of choice there. Driving wasn't a problem, but driving with Greg's mouth on his penis wasn't exactly something Gil thought he could manage. Normal-Greg made him feel as if his brains were being sucked out on a regular day, never mind High-Horny-Greg. High-Horny-Greg couldn't differentiate between 'now' and 'five minutes from now', apparently.

It was going to make it easier to get Greg into the house without him pulling his pants down on the front step, and Gil took a little comfort in that as he checked Greg in the rear view mirror. He'd put Greg's pants back on, and propped him up in the passenger side, seat-belted in. His head was leaning too far to the right, bumping up against the window, and his neck probably wasn't going to appreciate that a lot later. He'd live, though, and that was the important part. So what if he smelled like sex and Gil had probably let him ride himself damn near raw in an attempt to at least get past the sex-crazed part of things?

He was asleep now, and Gil could drive home with the only distraction being his sore dick and the knowledge that Greg was asleep in the back seat. If he hurt, he could only imagine how much Greg hurt. He'd tucked himself away sticky and slick, and that didn't help. It just made him feel guilty that he'd gone along with it; that he'd let Greg have so much control when he was obviously completely out of control. He'd have to apologize tomorrow morning, maybe offer some of the numbing cream that would undoubtedly go a long way towards making things feel better.

Greg would probably just laugh and kiss him, but it didn't help the feelings of guilt at the moment.

Greg said that he had permanent consent, but the only time that Gil hadn't been quite capable of full consent, Greg hadn't done anything like that. He had sucked him off and tucked him back into bed, and that bothered Gil a little. He needed to talk about it with Greg, needed to make sure he hadn't crossed any lines and if he had, he needed to rectify it.

He needed to know that it was all right, standing consent or otherwise. Greg certainly hadn't been in any shape to yell out a safe word or to deny him anything, and that just made Gil feel all the worse.

With a sigh, he flicked on the radio, letting Mozart's Lacrimosa from Requiem in D filter through the SUV. Well. He had plenty of time to feel guilty, and plenty of time to worry about what Greg would say when he woke up.

For now, he'd just worry about getting them home and into bed, where Greg belonged, and he'd keep a watch on him to be sure that he would be all right.

It was the best he could do.

---

"You reached for the secret too soon, you cried for the moon. Shine on you crazy diamond. Threatened by shadows at night, and exposed in the light. Shine on you crazy diamond. Well you wore out your welcome with random precision, rode on the steel breeze. Come on you raver, you seer of visions, come on you painter, you piper, you prisoner, and shine!" -- "Shine On You Crazy Diamond", Pink Floyd

---

Tortilla chips from the place down from the office? Check. Avocado salsa? Check. The weird cheese dip Greg liked? Present and accounted for, including the various fruits he liked best with it -- bananas, kiwi, and apple wedges. Grilled Peppers and apples in their respective bowl? He had those. Beef and spinach pita things Catherine had taught him to make? Tucked into the bottom of the thermal picnic 'basket' that he almost had ready, carefully placed with the bottles of water and the two wine bottles so that they wouldn't shift.

Gil loaded the rest in with equal care, finally folding in the two glasses cautiously wrapped in napkins. Just so.

Now all he had to do was somehow get Greg to agree to going out without hinting to him what the plan was, or that Gil even had a plan. Gil wasn't supposed to have plans --- Greg was usually the one who came up with things out of the blue. Gil was willing to admit he was the less creative one in the relationship. When he thought of things to do to Greg, they were usually pretty straightforward. They didn't involve dressing up as a burglar, or a harem boy, or coaxing Gil into playing prison in the shower. Still. He had his own way about things, and this was one of them. The question was... how would he get Greg out there without him being suspicious?

Nick, he realized after a while, was the answer.

All it would take would be a page, really, to say there was a crime scene and Greg would be working it with Gil, and they could sneak out there and he could confess when they arrived. That would work. Gil hoped that would work.

All it took was a complicated conjecture of events, and Gil only felt a little bad about the fact that he was essentially taking Greg off call, but Greg was still getting his day off, and the lab wasn't near to tapped out. Nowhere close. They'd go in if they had to, but right at the moment, there was no such thing as had to, exactly. Not when Gil was bound and determined to take care of matters.

First things first, though.

He needed to finish packing up the SUV.

Then he had to call Nick about that page. One step at a time, and everything would fall into place...

---

It was midnight. The stars were out and the desert was damn cold, and he wasn't sure what had made him consider this to be a good idea. How was Greg going to find him without patrol car lights or the usual methods they had available to them for helping find desert crime scenes at night?

Greg was probably used to every light in Vegas going, but Gil just had his high beams and his engine running, and he was going to turn them off once Greg got there.

Maybe. It was starting to seem like a bad idea. Too cold, too dark, too everything.

Ah. Lights. There they were, Greg's Jetta, probably, coming in his general direction through the desert. It wasn't far, but Gil was still shivering. Maybe in the mean time, he ought to try and scrounge up something that would burn. A fire wouldn't exactly be out of place, not considering the temperature. He doubted they'd be getting naked after all.

Anyway, they could get naked at home. Any time they wanted, any time Greg wanted, and it wasn't as if they had to have sex naked. This was about apologizing and getting his head on as straight as it ever got, and running a general relationship check. Like checking the oil level in his car.

It didn't matter that Greg thought permission given was permission given; Gil still felt deeply guilty about taking advantage of him when he was high as a kite and could barely remember it the day after. Well. Aside from the fact that Greg was squirming at the breakfast table and grinning like he'd gotten the best gift since he'd lost his virginity.

Maybe that was what he thought about it, but Gil needed to be sure. He needed to regain his footing, because maybe, and he was willing to admit it, he wasn't as naturally comfortable with what Greg liked to do as he hoped he was. The fact that he questioned himself at all was probably a bad thing, but every once in a while, he needed to touch bases on the topic and make sure.

Just to be sure. After all, for all he knew it was normal relationship anxiety.

The Jetta idled to a stop beside his SUV, and Greg turned it off, stepping out with his mouth parted, expression showing the full extent of his confusion. "Where's the body?" he asked, looking at Gil as if something was deeply truly wrong.

"There isn't a body." Gil had his hands tucked into his pockets, and started to walk towards Greg.

"Is there... going to be a body?" Greg gave him a halfway startled grin, his head tilting to the side with curiosity. "'cause... I was led to believe there was a body out here. Looks to me like you're living. Just in case you were wondering."

"I had Nicky page you. There's no body, and I think if there was one, it would put a damper on our plans." Gil took one hand out of his coat pockets, and gestured for Greg to come closer. "I was just going to start a fire."

Greg paused, took a deep breath and sighed. "You know. Every now and then? I remember exactly why it is that I love you. Not that I ever forget, really, just sometimes you do stuff that makes me..." He gave that half-sided smile and shifted forward, a hand reaching up and touching the back of Gil's neck.

There were a lot of things they never had to say, a lot of things that Gil never had to wonder about the consent of. Fingers moving just so, just that slow and soft, that faint smile that Greg gave when there wasn't anything funny but he was happy, were all invitations for a kiss, for Gil to just lean in and take it, so he did. It was all sweetness, tender and good the way that it was sometimes, the way it had been when Gil had been so uncertain of everything after that trip to the criminal asylum. There was no question that it made him want Greg worse, even if it was too damned cold.

"I think this might be the single most romantic thing you've ever done."

"Sneaking you out of work? Or the picnic that's going to stay in the SUV until I get the fire going?" Gil murmured quietly. Somehow one of his hands was cupping the side of Greg's face, fingertips brushing the edge of his soft, shaggy overgrown hair.

"Oh. Hey! Fire! You know, I picked up some of those fire logs for the house a couple days ago. They're still in the car..." Greg offered. He turned his face, tongue darting out for a moment before he smiled. "I'll get them, okay?"

"Okay. I'll get the kindling." He hadn't been expecting that, but if Greg was going to get the fire logs, it could only help make things go even better. Gil started to look for rocks to put together a makeshift ring, and small dry bits of plant matter.

"You know..." He heard Greg call, the sounds of rummaging come from the car, "I never really thought you'd skip out on work, though. Well. Okay, obviously they didn't call you in, and we were pretty much wrapping up, but..." The sound of that laugh made Gil smile. "Still. I find it very daring of you. Not that I'd expect anything else."

"It wasn't exactly a lie. You might possibly be inspecting a body. And there's the body of stars just above us..." He turned off his SUV now that he didn't need to be found, and grabbed a flashlight just in case. There was a sleeping bag and his usual kit with survival equipment, so if they wanted to stay the night, they definitely could.

Cold or not, it was one hell of a nice night.

"Inspecting a body, huh?" That seemed as if Greg liked the thought. "And I know how much you like the stars. Well. I think you like pretty much everything that's ever been unexplained because you hope that you'll be able to figure it out."

"I think the stars have been well explained. I just enjoy their magnificence." Fiery balls of gas and compressed matter that expelled their energy as visible rays of light, providing distant warmth to a group of people who took it for granted. The stars were fascinating, and almost distracted Gil from collecting his twigs together until Greg stepped up close behind him.

"Need some help?" he offered. "Or you wanna tell me what you've got on your mind?"

"Why does there have to be something on my mind?" The mere fact that he turned a little defensive proved that, yes, there was, and Gil knew that it told Greg as much, even as he dropped two large handfuls of dry refuse into the circle of rocks.

"Because you only come up with extravagant treats like this when there's something on your mind," Greg teased him, kneeling down to start ripping open the first package of the fire logs. "Treats as opposed to naughty nifty tricks, which I enjoy just as much."

"Mm." Gil backtracked a little to pick up his lighter, and then crouched down beside Greg. "I... just was wondering if I'd done anything wrong lately."

Greg's dark eyes canted in his direction, visible even in the strange lighting. "Wrong."

The urge to just nod and say 'right' to Greg was one Gil had to pause to repress. "That's what I asked, yes."

"What could you possibly think you've done wrong?" Greg asked him, stopping and looking up. "I mean, I can't remember anything that you might have done, or for that matter, I can't imagine anything you might do even if I couldn't rememb... This is about that thing with the E, isn't it?"

Gil bent in a little more, and put lighter flame to kindling, because Greg had put those two fire log starters down with the kindling. "That's what its about."

"Sometimes you're such an idiot." Words like that ought to hurt. They ought to sting right down to the bone, but the way Greg said them held such affection that there was no way Gil could feel bad about it. "Even if you had tied me up, fucked my ass raw and invited in half the neighbors to watch? I'd still be crazy about you. Pissed off, maybe, because, hey. Neighbors. But Gil, you're not like that. You know, you fucked me. I was crazy-horny and out of my mind. I'd have been a lot more pissed off if you hit me in the head to hold me off."

"I know." Gil put the 'safety' back on the lighter, and set it aside, before he twisted a little to look at Greg with more focus in his attention. "I just worry sometimes. I'm not always perfectly in control, and I... feel like I should be."

"Come here." The sound of it was so full of amusement, and adoration, and a hundred other things that Gil loved to hear. "You've got my permission. For anything. For everything. So long as nobody's bleeding when it's all said and done, you know, I'm pretty much going to be okay with it so long as it's between me and you."

He probably shouldn't have been so relieved. Gil was, though, and reached to slide an arm over Greg's coat-padded shoulders. "Okay. I just... sometimes have to wonder. You know I wouldn't hurt you."

The way Greg's mouth curved was sweet. "Yeah. I know. Not like that, anyway. You love me." It was said with the kind of certainty that Gil was glad he'd instilled in Greg, so completely sure and well-grounded in that fact that it made Gil smile, too. "And believe me. I love you, too. So." He coughed, a little embarrassed. "Gonna show me what you've got?"

"From the picnic basket?" Gil took a moment to get up from his crouch, but he stood and smiled sideways at Greg while he headed to open the trunk of his Denali. "Sure."

It didn't take long to get things together -- the basket, the sleeping bag, a couple of extra bags. They were pretty lightweight compared to the thermal bag full of food, and Gil didn't really want to make two trips. Not when Greg was already leaning back and looking up at the stars overhead.

"It's gorgeous out. I'm only sad that we don't have an El Camino." The grin Greg shot him said everything that needed to be said about that.

It made it easy for Gil to laugh. "And pot. And Pink Floyd." Gil set the bags down between them, and started to unpack the first of the two extraneous bags. "Hold on. Something that we can sit on..."

"Well, I'd bet we can manage Pink Floyd or Zeppelin if we open a car door, but I'm fresh out of anything resembling cannabis in any of its forms," Greg admitted, shifting to help. Gil had extra blankets in that bag, and laying one of them down first seemed the thing to do.

It was fleece, and it might insulate them from a little of the leeching cold of cooling desert soil. Worse came to worst, they could camp out in the Denali, but Gil thought that they'd done enough there.

Maybe he should've brought a tent, except that would've done away with the point, which was the sky. "Well, damn."

Greg laughed, just the way he was meant to do. They didn't exactly need any more drug experimentation in their lives after the last one. "Here. Can I do anything?"

"You can sit still and enjoy the sky while I set everything up? Try and get comfortable." He set aside another blanket, and had the sleeping bag set to the side, too, just in case, before he unzipped the thermal bag that held their food and everything he knew Greg would enjoy.

"Ooo, spoiling me." Still, Greg sat down near the fire, legs crossed, and leaned back on his arms to look up. In the cold night air, everything was crystal clear, and it was obvious that he enjoyed watching it. "Everything's so different here. At night, I mean. You know, people probably think the sky looks the same most everywhere. It doesn't, though. It's clearer some places, and especially out here. Even with Vegas so close."

"We're out far enough that the city's glow hardly gets us. It could be better further out, but..." But Gil liked that spot, that spot where he knew they'd be undisturbed for hours and hours. He set a plate in front of Greg, and quickly unwrapped the wine glasses.

"Wow." That sounded impressed, and it should. Gil had worked hard making those things just the way Greg liked them. "This must have taken forever. Jesus, Gil..."

"I wanted to surprise you," Gil told him. He left the grilled peppers and apples in the thermal container, along with the pitas, but he took out one of the wine bottles. Not exactly chilled, but it would probably cool off fine in the air.

"Consider me surprised. Geeze." Greg shook his head and leaned forward, watching him. "And people say romance is dead. Maybe that's the body we're studying tonight."

"Romance? No, I think there's still some life in it." Gil shifted to sit close beside Greg, pouring the wine once he was seated. Greg looked like he was waiting to tear into the paper bag of possibly still warm chips. "Even if our first few dates were fairly unorthodox."

Sex, right into it.

"Well, I don't think anyone would ever accuse you of being anything less than unorthodox," Greg decided. "And thank God for it." Thank God, indeed. Thank God for a lot of things, for Greg, for Lady Heather noticing, for her telling him, for the decisions that he had made. Everything had turned out for the best in a way that he hadn't imagined they possibly could.

There was no reason for him to ever think that it would become normal, let alone that Greg would live with him and that everything would just... work. Possibly for the first time in Gil's life. "Thank Greg, I think." He offered Greg one of the wineglasses.

"You're welcome." Greg reached for the glass, fingers brushing over Gil's for a moment. "Because I didn't mean it badly. How could I? The thing is, unorthodox isn't bad. Not when it's you, because that just means you match me. And that's a good thing, I think."

"Most days I'm still quietly surprised that you're still here." Gil took a sip of his own wine, and slid an arm over Greg's shoulders. "If I ever take you for granted, I want you to tell me so I can correct that."

"You seriously worry too much. You know that?" Greg shifted the plate to the ground and moved closer. "I'm not going anywhere. And I'm not afraid to tell you when I want something, either. I've been waiting for this since I was a kid and didn't even know it. And now that I do, you think I'm going to let you get away on a technicality? Not a chance."

Not a chance. Gil smiled, and reached out to steal a chip once Greg had already slid one into the avocado dip. "If it helps, I don't want to get away."

"Good. Tortilla-thief." Sure, but he was Greg's tortilla thief, and somehow that made him feel better, more settled. Things were on track after all. Knowing Greg didn't hold what happened against him and knowing were two different things. Certainty was deeply reassuring. "Share."

"I'm sharing," Gil murmured to him, leaning his head against Greg's for a moment. "I can share as well as anyone."

"You don't share me," Greg reminded him, and then leaned forward and kissed him again. They both tasted like avocado and corn tortilla chips and wine, and Gil was pretty sure that Greg didn't mind any more than he did. "Hmmmmm. Oh. Yeah. Hm."

"Maybe I'm not as good at sharing as I like to think, then. I like having you and just you, all for me..." Gil pressed another kiss to Greg's mouth, and smiled, teasing his tongue against Greg's bottom lip. Saliva slickness turned cool fast in the air, but it was still sweet and pleasant and just what Gil had hoped for when he had put everything together.

"Hm. Well. That's okay. I suck at sharing, especially when it comes to you, so we're in the same boat," Greg murmured, nose brushing against Gil's cheek. "So. Um. How hungry are you? Exactly? And is the food going to be hurt if we wait or...?"

"The food can wait," Gil confirmed for him, waiting for whatever Greg's suggestion was going to be. He'd probably, no, definitely like it, at least he knew that.

"Good. 'Cause since I have you out here..." That sneaky look glanced up from under lashes always made Gil's heart beat just a little faster. "I don't know if I can wait or not." One hand touched his shoulder, pushed him back slowly on the blanket.

"What is it that you're not sure you can wait for?" It was hard to keep curiosity out of his voice, and Gil was glad that he'd set his wineglass down, because he didn't want to pause in letting Greg push him down to the blanket.

"You."

He wasn't sure where Greg's glass had gotten off to, either, but it was gone, and Greg was coming over him to press his hips down against Gil's, that bright grin crossing his face in the way Gil loved best to see.

"And while you're definitely worth waiting for, I don't see why I should if I don't have to."

"You don't have to wait," Gil grinned back, looking up at Greg with the stars a backdrop to his grin. "So, you want me?"

"Every minute of the day. Well, okay. Not so much when I'm up to my elbows in decomp, and I'm going to get you for that one day, but..." He leaned down, kissed Gil slowly, thoroughly. "Hm. I don't think it's going to be today."

"You probably need more time to come up with it." The lengthy, lazy pressure of mouth to mouth was nice, soothing, and it was enough to make Gil forget that it was cold outside. "I brought a sleeping bag..."

"Good. I was kind of wondering how I was going to get to all of you with it being cold as hell out here, fire aside, but I think that answers the question pretty well. The double one?" Of course the double one, but Greg's lips were tracing down his throat, nipping just a little, and it made Gil's brain want to stop turning except that Greg had to stop when he hit the collar of Gil's coat. There wasn't anything sexy about ripstop nylon with interesting synthetic linings.

"The double."

"Mmmm. So plenty of room to roll around. You wanna get it out or chance things just like this?" Chilly fingers crept between the layers of Gil's clothing, rubbing across his lower belly and making him shudder.

"Whatever way you'd like it better." It was a magnanimous offer on Gil's behalf, because he and Greg did like to compete in little power plays. Just agreeing was almost... too easy. It was almost like giving in and rearranging the way things worked, and when Greg peeked up at him with a little smile in his eyes, it was interesting to see the reaction, the easy way that Greg was going to make decisions.

"I think let's get it out. Otherwise, we're both going to be in danger of losing a few favorite parts, and I'd just as soon not chance that."

"So we're not going to be exploring the sexual edges of hypothermia tonight?" Gil teased, feeling a little breathless with Greg over top of him, with such intent in his voice.

"Hmmm, well, if you want, I could always apply a little liquid heat to raise your core temperature...." Greg teased him, rocking down again. There wasn't any doubt about what he wanted or how he wanted it. Gil found that enjoyable.

He always found that enjoyable. Greg was insistent about what he wanted, fucking or to be fucked, and how, and what specifically strange and amusing way. He demanded it, and Gil wanted to go along, except he had to get out from under Greg in some gentle way to get the sleeping bag out.

"Mm. So. That wriggle is really nice, but it's a secret sign, isn't it?" Greg grinned and then leaned down, kissing one cold cheek before scrambling up off of Gil. "Come on. Let's grab the sleeping bag and get everything close enough so that we don't have to crawl out later."

"Very heat-conservationist of you," Gil smiled, getting to his feet. He could grab the sleeping bag, and Greg could gather everything closer. "The lube and... anything else we might need is in the other bag."

The sound of laughter didn't seem very loud in the dark desert night. "And I'm betting that you thought of everything. Let me get the food, too." They'd probably be hungry afterwards, and Gil planned on eating off of one another's fingers and finishing off the wine. They should probably slip the cork back in before they crawled into the bag or else they might come to and find insects enjoying it more than they had. Gil unrolled the sleeping bag, laying it on top of the fleece blanket, and paused for a moment to put the cork back in.

"Here," Greg offered, laying another blanket on top of the sleeping bag. He had the lube laid out near the head of it, and the food was scattered in a neat section within reach but not so close that they'd knock it over. "Do we need anything else?"

"Our clothes off, in some configuration?" Gil suggested, wondering just how they were going to do that.

Oh. Gil had seen that grin before, and when he thought about it, he was pretty sure there had been showgirl costumes involved. When those lanky hips began to wriggle in impossible ways while Greg reached up to unzip his jacket, it was hard not to laugh.

"Is that an invitation to help?" Gil reached forwards, ready to help or hinder or have his fingers batted away because Greg was having too much fun with himself.

"Come and get it, big boy." Yeah, Greg was having a lot of fun, but it was okay for Gil to have fun, too, reaching forward and undoing the button of Greg's jeans, even if he did wonder what Greg was doing not-wearing underwear to work.

Gil hoped his facial expression said as much as he pressed fingers against Greg's warm stomach, their tips creeping down. "Now this is interesting..."

"Mmmhmmmm." Very interesting, actually. "I was in a hurry after they called this afternoon." No small wonder, really. They'd still been in bed when swing had called, Greg's head buried under a pillow.

"And how did that feel while you were there?" Gil prodded, sliding his hand around to clutch at Greg's ass. "Denim rubbing against you every time you moved." And now the cold night air, sliding in with Gil's hands.

"Not nearly as good as this," Greg admitted, reaching down to unzip Gil's jacket. "Not even close." His fingers were sliding down buttons, from Gil's collarbone to his navel.

"Good. I'd be in trouble if I had to compete with your jeans." Gil tilted his head down a little, pressed a kiss against Greg's mouth, light and faintly damp. "Toe off your shoes and why don't we warm up together in the sleeping bag?"

"I think I can handle that." Greg grinned, stepped back a little. His shoes were kicked off the edge of the blanket and his jeans followed shortly thereafter, making a funny fire lit pool of darkness there. "Jesus, it's cold!" Everything else came off in more of a hurry then, a rush of Greg-movement that Gil enjoyed watching even if he had to unzip his jacket quickly and undress himself.

He could move that fast when he needed to, and need dictated that he get in the sleeping bag with Greg right away. "Unzip it a little..."

"A little?" Greg was already getting it undone and slithering inside. Gil forgot sometimes that he got cold damn fast. The advantage of skinny-Greg in bed was the bending and moving. The disadvantage out of it was obviously cold nights turning him blue and shivering. "Hurry in?"

Gil moved as fast as he could, since he was cold and naked, too, and he wrapped his arms around Greg as soon as he was in, the cool metal of the medic alert watchband at his wrist brushing against Greg's back. "Here, I can warm you up. I don't know how we'll get out of here..."

Greg laughed and squirmed himself close. His toes were freezing against Gil's ankle, even though he still had his socks on. "Fast," he suggested. "Warm me up and I'll..." A hand stroked down with implications. "Warm you up."

"I like the sound of that." And the feel of the fire giving off its uneven heat not far from them. Gil bent his head in a little, nuzzling lazy kisses against Greg's neck while he rubbed his hands over Greg's lean shoulders. The texture of scar tissue under his fingertips was long-familiar now. Maybe he only paid it any attention because of the fire and its closeness, the reminder of how none of this might ever have come to pass.

"Love you." Easy words for Greg to give, murmured against his skin, his mouth, the edges of his beard and the spot where his pulse thrummed at his throat. "God. So lucky..."

"Funny. I was just thinking the same thing. Luck..." Gil shifted pressing closer against Greg, sliding a leg to wrap around Greg's, keeping him that close. "Has been good to us. Or chance."

"Or maybe things are just meant to be. Written in the stars." It didn't seem quite so corny with them lying together underneath them, and when Greg shifted on top of him, Gil didn't resist. He just shifted back and looked up as Greg's warm mouth sucked lightly at the hollow of his throat.

He could see the light catching on the edges of Greg's hair, dancing on highlights of bright blond. When he tipped his head back further, let Greg bite at his collar bone, he could see the stars. Something about the night made it easier for Gil to feel alive, even if it was cold. It made him feel connected, and present in a strangely tangible way that made him appreciate the way that Greg sucked a path down his chest even more than usual, especially when he slipped beneath the top of the sleeping bag and found his way to a nipple. The hum Greg gave wasn't just pleasant to his ears; it sent a shiver of enjoyment through his skin, as well, his breath catching faintly.

"Greg..." There wasn't much leeway for Gil, not with Greg ducked in. All of the slack in the sleeping bag was Greg's, so Gil just had to lay there and... definitely enjoy it, fingers tracing loose circles over Greg's shoulders while he moved one leg to rub against Greg's, knee bumping thigh.

"You taste pretty good." That was muffled, but Gil felt it against his chest, just the way he felt Greg's wandering hands and the way that they stroked down his sides and over his belly, stroking just beneath his navel to caress the crisp curly hair there. If Greg hadn't already implied that he wanted to fuck Gil, then Gil would've already started begging for him to do it.

He groaned, and let his fingers wander up to the nape of Greg's neck. "Your mouth is amazing." It was always amazing, but Gil assumed the pyramids were just as awe-inspiring the ninetieth time as the first. It was a legitimate assumption, really, and when Greg squirmed down slowly to the bottom of the bag, letting his mouth and fingers move with him, Gil took a deep, calming breath.

There was a tongue lathing across his navel, fingers cupping his balls, and the feel of it was strangely relaxing, not keying him up the way that sex usually did. Greg was slow and deliberate and infinitely tender, and when that tongue touched the head of his cock, Gil let out a slow, shuddering breath.

"Please don't stop." Even if Greg was a hunched up lump at the end of the sleeping bag, and Gil couldn't move. Maybe they needed to get a triple instead of a double for their acrobatics. He wasn't sure and he couldn't think when Greg closed his lips over Gil's dick and sucked.

The feeling of it was all wet and warm, soft with the faintest touch of potential bite that made Gil love it. The way Greg sucked his cock was just the way he liked it, and he was rocking his hips up before he knew it, eyes slitted closed so that the stars above were no longer visible. There were sparks behind his eyes, though, and that almost made up for it, a different kind of all natural star.

Greg was playing with him, sucking and then stopping, speeding up and then slowing down, and all Gil could do was clutch at Greg's shoulders and groan and hitch his hips up and over and around for more contact. Greg gave it to him, too, one hand sliding down to hold the base, tugging behind his lips, and it was slick with saliva, tugging so sweetly. Gil shuddered, breath catching for a moment as Greg gave a low moan around the head, and then his tongue swept against the hole and he was going down again, deeper, eye-crossing good.

Gil cracked his eyes open, and everything was in focus, right there, except it wasn't, and the stars looked like they were overlapping because he couldn't focus. He could just move his hips and groan to himself before he got as bad as needing to beg Greg. He would, if he had to. He'd beg and plead and love every warm, filthy minute of it, love the soft sweet suction and heat, such a contrast to the temperatures outside of the bag.

There was a shift, Greg's arms moving, and then his fingers closed warmly around Gil's balls again, thumb shifting behind them to press and tease while he kept sucking, kept one hand tugging up behind his mouth, and it felt so good, too good. All he could manage was a moan, a shift, his eyes rolling back for just a moment.

He wished he could zip it closed over his head and then all of him would be warm, because he wasn't seeing much of the stars, not with Greg teasing at him, breaking the rhythm every so often just to throw Gil for a loop. "Please, Greg. Fuck, I can't take any more..."

Couldn't stand it, couldn't bear Greg stopping, or the way that his thumb was sliding back and pressing just so in a way that made him want to yell and come. Worse, Greg's mouth came off of him, and there was rustling, and then Greg's weight settled on him, heavy and hot, and there was a warm face next to his own, hair splayed wildly against the backdrop of stars, fire light.

Gil couldn't help wrapping his arms around Greg, tight because he wanted Greg's warmth, heat and otherwise, and that was the fastest way to get it. "Hello." He turned his head a little, and Greg was that close, close enough their faces brushed and it was easy to kiss him. Greg's mouth was soft and damp, and his tongue snuck inside to tease at Gil's in a way so familiar that it sent a faint pang to Gil's belly.

"Hi," Greg murmured when their lips parted. He reached over, out, snagging the lube before he slid to the side just a little, rocking his hips slowly against Gil's thigh. "You know, if it's okay with you, I think I'll just keep on warming you up."

"I can go along with that plan," Gil murmured, tilting his head back a little so he could look at Greg's face a little better in the firelight. Everything was a little less urgent even if Greg was dry-humping his leg. "I wish I could get a picture of you like this."

The way that smile spread across Greg's mouth made him lean up, catch it, kiss him again. Greg's fingers were busy, working, and Gil was pretty sure that the lube was going to end up all over the sleeping bag, but so long as they were warm, it was all right. It didn't matter.

After all, he could put it in the washing machine.

It was worth it for the feeling of Greg's fingers sliding over the crease of his thigh, and then back between his legs, two slicked fingers headed for the obvious spot. And Gil was going to help him, spreading his legs. "Need any help?"

"That's pretty good help," Greg assured him, voice husky against Gil's ear as his thumb rubbed against Gil's thigh in a slow, circular motion, his fingers slipping slowly into the crease of his ass. "I love it when you help me like that."

"Anything else I can do?" Gil's voice fell a little more towards gruff, but he managed to keep his fingers moving against Greg's back. There wasn't much room to move, and he wasn't sure how they were going to do it. There was no question that they would, because he wasn't going to let Greg get away with just teasing him, with just pressing fingers against and trace the edge of his hole.

"I think you're fine just like this." Greg's lips shifted, moved, caressed the edge of his ear, and then his teeth nipped gently at the lobe. It was the barest caress of enamel, followed by a tender, apologetic suck, and that was the moment that the first finger breached him, slow and easy.

Gil swallowed down his groan, and closed his eyes for a moment. "Yeah, I think I am, too. Do that again, Greg..." The bite, the movement of finger slowly creeping into him, making way for Greg's dick. Eventually.

Eventually.

That was the terrible wonderful thing about it, really, the way that Greg just nibbled, suction following those nips as that finger slipped deeper, probing and touching lightly. "That?" he teased, giving a faint huff of laughter just behind another of those nips. "You want me to do that again?" Probing, yes, slick, slippery, a steady, plying touch that caressed in easy strokes, in and out in a way that made Gil shudder and gasp.

"Just like that." Gil loved the feeling of Greg's mouth just there, playing with his earlobe, and he gave another shudder at the sensation of breath against his ear while Greg's finger steadily teased back into him.

"Mmmhmmmm." Oh. Oh, another finger, slipping, sliding, and there, just there. Gil couldn't stop his hips from jerking, his knees from spreading further. "Oh, yeah, God, I love it when you do this, when you give it up."

Give it up, and Gil laughed a little, squeezing Greg's back a little. "Hey, only for you." He'd meant to say more, but he lost the train of thought when Greg moved his fingers again, brushing in and up so that Gil gasped, head tilting back, and there were stars behind his eyelids again now, too.

"Just like that," Greg groaned, sliding over him again, between his legs. They were tangled funny in the sleeping bag, but that didn't matter so much. They could work that out later, figure out how Greg had managed to get them tangled despite the fact that there was only so much sleeping bag to snarl around their legs. There were other more important things at the moment, like the withdrawal of those fingers and the easy slip of Greg's cock sliding behind his balls and into the crack of Gil's ass.

It probably would've been easier if he had been on his stomach. This was good, though, face to face, even if he had to bring his legs up and his back was going to kill him in the morning for it. The feel of the head of Greg's cock bumping against his ass was distracting, wonderful, and he wanted more than just the bumping. He wanted fullness, wanted to feel Greg's stomach pressed to his cock, wanted to feel the way that Greg sucked at his throat, tongue lathing the hollow for a moment. Greg shifted, and pressed for a moment in just the right place, and then lost it. Gil groaned, and Greg laughed, and then he was back again, pushing gently inside.

"Don't fall out again," Gil half-demanded, still groaning as he tried to tilt his hips up better for Greg, so Greg could fuck him right, so he could do more than press against him, start to push him open.

"Didn't fall out," Greg protested, shimmying his hips to get in deeper. The movement was interesting, different, made Gil gulp in cold air. "Unnn. I just. Didn't aim quite right. God, you're so hot inside." He buried his face against Gil's neck. "So hot. So right. Oh, God, love you. So long..."

Greg had loved him for so long that it was inconceivable. Greg had loved him since he was a child, since he was a teenager, and while Gil couldn't work out why, because the why never made sense to him, he knew that Greg meant it.

And Greg, well, Greg had been a face in his dreams from time to time, a quiet socially unacceptable fantasy who'd moved to work there. Greg was a miracle, and Greg shifted his hips just right, bringing fully into awareness for Gil that Greg was fucking him all right. And that he was going to fuck him good, with long slow strokes, his hands sliding up to curl around Gil's biceps.

It didn't matter to Greg that he wasn't all hard lines and angles and planes like Nick or Warrick, because Greg loved him. Greg loved him, and that was really what he needed to be sure of, that Greg still loved him and that everything was all right, and suddenly that slow, steady thrust and withdrawal made him feel so stupid. So stupid, because what had happened before wasn't going to jeopardize the way Greg felt or the way that he felt. How could it, when there was so much involved?

Greg's face was buried against his throat, quiet gasps and pants, and Gil groaned again when Greg thrust just right, turned his head to press his face against Greg's hair, hands holding tight to Greg's sides. It felt good, slow and lazy and languid, heating them both up with the steady constant motion, muscles expelling excess energy conversion as heat. He couldn't quite reach for a good scientific thought about the feeling of Greg's dick making friction in his ass, and that was surprisingly okay. Maybe even not so surprisingly, because this was always good; it always made his brain melt in funny ways, and then one of those hands slid down between them, wrapped around Gil's cock, and the sound he gave probably could have been mistaken for injury because it felt so good that it hurt.

"Fuuuuh," Greg managed to moan, still moving slow and steady, but Gil could feel the tremble, the effort that it cost.

Gil could feel it in the way that Greg's back muscles shook, in the way that his thrusts started to turn jerky. His hand was tight on Gil's dick, though, and Gil gave another groan, pressing his cheek against Greg's hair again. "Fuck, Greg. That feels so hot, so good..."

"Love you." Muffled, yes, but wonderful to hear, and when Greg shifted, pressing his knees more firmly, Gil did, too. His feet planted, and Greg came up on an elbow, looking down. His face was flushed in the firelight, lips parted, eyes gleaming. Gil couldn't remember ever being that in love, and then he couldn't think at all because everything shifted, sped up, Greg going in deeper and harder.

Greg-speed, except that Greg still joked him about the time he'd rabbit fucked him in the club, and Gil's only excuse was that fear of imminent arrest had gotten him off very fast. He tipped his head back, exposing his face to the cold, but he could see the stars and Greg's expression while he moved that fast, while they moved that fast, and it was worth it. Worth the speed and the amazing feeling of it, worth being out in the middle of the desert in the dark of the night. And when Greg shifted, when he pulled up and tugged just so, Gil couldn't help closing his eyes tightly because it was close, impossibly close, and the stars above couldn't come close to the blooming light that shivered beneath his eyelids.

Almost there. Gil sometimes wondered if that cusp wasn't the best part, that drawn out long moment of sensation that was just before the burst, just before Greg's fingers worked their magic and stroked it out of him, leaving him limp and sticky and somewhere else entirely for a while, somewhere that was wrapped up in that quick, jolting immensity of orgasm.

Greg was still above him when he opened his eyes again, nuzzling at his throat and giving the unconscious little noises that he sometimes gave when everything had gone just the way he liked it. It made Gil smirk, his fingers coming up to tangle in those gold-tipped strands.

"How is it that you know just what I need, Greg?" Gil asked softly, letting his head loll on the edge of the sleeping bag they were sharing.

Greg hummed, squirming until they were both a little more comfortable, even if they were going to be glued together with Gil's semen. "I love you. I pay attention. Plus, you'll note that you did not give me explicit permission to do this now, but you have before, and it was implied."

Sneaky. Gil started to open his mouth, and then closed it. Greg was right. He hadn't explicitly said anything, but he'd wanted it and Greg wanted it, so... So Greg was teaching him an abject lesson. "Are you sure I didn't give you permission?"

"Well, it isn't like you said, 'Greg, I'd really like it if...' But it was implied," Greg noted, leaning up and putting his chin in his hand. "Just like it was implied that you could fuck me without my expressly giving you permission. I trust you to take care of me. That's part of what we do for one another, don't you think?"

"I think it is," Gil agreed quietly. If he thought about it, there were a lot of times where he hadn't given Greg express permission, but Greg knew his boundaries. "I, I don't know what I was thinking."

"You were thinking that you love me, and I'm adorably cute, and you're carrying around buckets of good old-fashioned Catholic guilt that has to be put to use somewhere." That grin was so bright that it almost beat out the stars overhead, and then Greg slipped to the side, nestling himself firmly against Gil but keeping one arm wrapped across the lower part of his ribs.

That was warm, and with Greg lying beside him, the sleeping bag felt like it had room again. At least room for them to laze together until they got too cold and decided to go home. "I'll have to work on that last part, then. You can reap the benefits of my guilt, you know. There's still food."

"Oh, hey! Yeah! You're feeding me, too. Cool. I think I like this guilt thing." Greg laughed. "Think I can convince you to do something else for me?"

"What's that?"

"Well, there's this little fantasy...."

Conventions weren't something that they usually attended en masse. It was hard for more than one person at a time to be out of the lab. Somehow, things had worked out this time, though, and Greg was on a plane with Gil, Catherine and Hodges. Their seats weren't all together, but it was a red eye flight, so it wasn't like there were all that many people on it, at least by comparison.

In fact, there were so few people that most of them had claimed aisles all to themselves. Catherine was sprawled out along an entire row, one leg dangling off the side in a way that would be seriously interesting if it wasn't for the fact that Greg was having what he simply referred to privately as A Moment.

He just needed to work out a way to tell Gil about it. Gil was sitting up against the window, a book open, but Greg knew that for the hoax it was. Gil wasn't reading, he was peering out at the outside and probably trying to see things that weren't there, like bats and birds and Santa Claus.

Okay, not Santa Clause. After all, Christmas was almost a month away, so it wasn't like they'd be running into Santa just yet.

"Psst."

Yeah, he'd get Gil's attention, just like that. Lean over and nudge his ankle if he needed to.

Gil didn't react to the pssst, just kept peering sleepily out the window. He was probably thinking about his presentation, and the keynote address, and maybe how to push Hodges out of the plane because the whole time that they'd been waiting to board, Hodges had been going on and on. That was just about when Gil had started to use the book like a shield, if Greg thought about it. Greg had been fairly tempted, as well, but his book had been stashed in his messenger bag along with the notes for his own discussion board. Besides, he was kind of okay with Hodges. David wasn't the kind of guy who made things easy for himself or anybody else, but it was something about the way he saw himself, Greg thought. He got that. He understood. Kind of.

Right now, he didn't want to think about understanding Dave's twitchy behavior. What he wanted was to fulfill his moment. His notion, and he had to do more to get Gil's attention.

Maybe he could throw a peanut at him.

That was probably more subtle than kicking his ankle. After all, the act of rustling around in his little bag of peanuts didn't seem to get Gil's attention, so it was time to move on to harder tactics. Lodging a peanut in Gil's hair definitely got Gil's attention, and a bewildered look that danced towards irked when he jerked to look at Greg.

Right. Pissing off Gil would equal no chance of getting laid. Maybe he should have just kicked him.

With a gesture of his head, Greg indicated the bathroom five or six feet down the way. Nobody was paying any attention to them. It wasn't as if they'd notice if they just slipped in there together.

Gil cocked an eyebrow at him, and closed his book, carefully, quietly. Okay, so the eyebrow didn't go down, but it definitely looked like Gil was trying to follow his train of thought. Greg didn't think it could possibly be that hard. There was a limited opportunity for entertainment on the plane, so his idea for entertaining themselves had to be pretty obvious, all things considered.

After all.

He'd never done it on a plane before.

Gil should have expected for Greg to at least want to try it. Empty plane, long flight -- it was made for hushed, hurried sex in the bathroom. Well, or horror story killings and planes passing through time-space issues, but hell. Greg was going to go with the airplane sex as his preferred choice.

Gil nodded.

YES!!! Yes, yes, yes! No optional vibrator necessary to leave jiggling on the seat when Catherine woke up later and wondered where all of the passengers had gone. His life was so good. So very good, because Gil was agreeing, and Greg had a little packet of squishy lube in his pocket. He'd picked it up at their favorite porn store the other day, a little fifteen cent pack of squishy happiness that he'd been toting around with hope glimmering around in the back of his skull.

Carefully, Greg settled the peanut packet in the seat beside him and got up, moving quietly towards the back of the plane and the tiny bathroom.

Gil didn't follow hot on his tail, but Greg figured that before he counted to one hundred, Gil would be there. He'd have to wait that long to get naked, or partially naked, or just get his pants down.

All things considered, he might want to do a little wriggling. It was going to be a tight squeeze, and Greg didn't mean his ass. His still bruised ass. Just a little, since Gil had been busy playing Principal Griss-cum-Daddy Gil only a few days ago.

Gil was the best lover he'd ever had. Creative and willing to think on his toes, with his dick and Greg's dick in mind, and there wasn't much he'd say no to. Nothing that Greg had asked yet, anyway, apparently not even airplane sex. They were going to have to be careful and quiet, and that was half of the fun.

Gil pulled the door open, and walked in like it was empty, like Greg wasn't already taking up a lot of space in there.

"Hi," he whispered, shimmying at his pants. The lube was in the pocket, so he reached in to pull it out. "Ever done this before?" And if he had, boy, Greg wanted to know all of the details. With whom, when, where, why he hadn't magically known Greg wanted to be his first ride in an airplane. All of that good stuff.

"No. Well, in an airport restroom, once, but that's not the same." Not the same, but that was a story he wanted to hear everything about. Later, maybe, when they were in their hotel room, because Gil was funny when he reminisced. Gil's hands slid to rest on Greg's hips.

Just that easy touch made Greg's mouth go a little dry. "Yeah," he murmured, rocking forward a little. He felt his pants slip a little. "You'll have to tell me about that when we land."

"You'll laugh when you hear it." Gil's voice slid down a little, and he leaned in. Greg liked that lean, liked the proprietary way that Gil hovered before he kissed him when Greg caught him in just the right mood. That, that was what just the right mood looked and sounded like, and felt like, before Gil popped the button on Greg's jeans to do more than slide them down a little.

"Oh, yeah." Laughter was for later, and it would be good, Greg didn't doubt. For the time being, though, Gil's fingers were pushing, shifting, and he turned Greg to face the tiny sink. "Oh, yeah, I'll laugh all you want," he agreed. The thought of what they were doing was enough to make Greg shiver, rub back towards Gil.

A glance over his shoulder told him how intent Gil was on shimmying Greg's jeans and underwear down enough for him to fuck him, and it also showed that Gil had 'locked' the door behind them. That was good, because Greg didn't think he could reach back that way while he was pressed up against the sink with Gil's fingers fondling over his ass.

He held up the little packet of lube between two fingers, offered it over his shoulder. "Here," he noted, and that was all it took to catch Gil's attention, to hand it over. There were sounds in there, all quiet whispers and huffs of breath.

God, Greg hoped nobody needed to pee in the next ten minutes. He wanted to get fucked, get fucked good, and Gil was sliding fingers down his ass crack, dry for the moment, pressing one against his hole. He was opening the lube packet with his teeth, and Greg was hoping that he'd just slick it on and slide it in. He could take it, sometimes better than others, but as bad as he wanted it right now? Yeah, he'd take it and love every minute, be begging for more by the time Gil was ready to let him come.

"You want it?" Gil's voice was barely a whisper, the words mouthed more than actually said. Yeah, shit, yeah, he wanted it, and the lube was disappearing out of sight, which hopefully meant that it was going up his ass in short order.

"I want fucking so bad I can taste it." Taste the thought of it, the imagined bitter salt of Gil's cock on the back of his tongue somewhere. He could taste it, and he could feel slickness smoothed over his hole, cold and making him hiss. "Holy fucking..."

"Too fast?" That was a soft, husky tease, and a thumb slipped into him, pushed lube into him. Gil's other hand was missing, but since he was shifting and fidgeting, Greg could assume he was unzipping his pants. That meant fucking was soon, tasting it or not.

No such thing as too fast, not when it came to Gil's dick. At least not right now. "Just right," Greg reassured him, wriggling, letting that thumb in. Gil's thumbs were hot, and Greg had a deep fondness for that particular digit. He always managed to....

YES. Oh, yes, right there, and it was all Greg could do not to yell. "Fuck!" he hissed, shuddering. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, oh God..."

"Soon." Soon, because Gil was probably slicking himself up now, pants hanging loose and open, underwear shoved down. Greg didn't know why Gil didn't just go commando. It would have made dirty bathroom sex easier. Gil leaned against him, and nuzzled against his neck, kissed the nape where his funky hair went soft and covered over scars.

Soon wasn't going to be soon enough if Gil did much more of that. There were spots that he didn't feel it, and spots where the nerves seemed that much more sensitive. That was one of the really good places, and Greg couldn't help the low-throated whine he gave.

Maybe somebody would think he was having a really good dump.

The thumb disappeared then, and he was left feeling empty, but it was great. It was great because Gil was nuzzling his neck, and there was a slick brush against his ass.

It probably would have been great if he'd thought to bring a condom. He'd be leaking Gil-cum when he sat back down, and that would be uncomfortable. On the other hand, it was worth it, worth this moment with Gil sliding between his cheeks and pressing forward.

Greg could feel the shift, the motion, the seriousness of it as Gil nudged him, opening him up and coming in with a steady, gliding motion. He wanted to yell, everything stretching a little too fast, but he bit down on it, on his hand, and held it back.

God, that was going to be a challenge. He wanted to move, flail, but his dick was almost pinned up against the edge of the sink, and Gil was right there in his ass, stretching him wide. At least he was holding still so Greg could get used to it before he started to pound away.

Oh, God, Greg hoped he pounded away. If his ass had to be leaking, he wanted to be fucked so hard that sitting down reminded him of it for the next three days. When Gil pulled back, he knew he was gonna get it. He could tell. As much as Gil said he liked slow sex, he could really get into a good hard fucking. It definitely wasn't lovemaking at a mile up, no way, it was fucking, because he could almost feel the head of Gil's dick about to pop out before he pushed back in, fingers clutching at Greg's hips.

The feel of it, that shove, was such a rush. The adrenaline, the incredible hard stretch of adapting to Gil's cock, the location... It all combined to make Greg want to yell, his voice caught in his throat, released only in quiet, desperate grunts. One hand reached down, wanting to stroke his cock, but he wasn't surprised when Gil caught it.

So.

Sex in the air, and just Gil fucking him to the edge, then.

He liked that little game, all control, like he had no choice. Like, like Gil had caught him there in the bathroom and he didn't have a choice in when he came. And he couldn't, except he knew that he would, that Gil would let him, even if all Gil was doing was rocking his hips back and forth, hard, shoving into Greg.

"Yeah." Soft sound. Greg was amazed that he could get it out like that. "Oh fucking God, yes." Yes, just like that, and Gil changed the angle, almost making Greg jump with the heavy spike of pleasure it brought on. Jesus. Jesus. He wasn't going to yell, no, because there were people out there, Catherine out there, Hodges out there, and holy, holy Christ, he could just imagine what Dave would have to say.

He didn't really care because it was that good, it was so good, Gil's dick sliding in and out and back in again, hard and fast, and building. Gil was either going to fuck the life out of him or he'd come, one or the other, and Greg hoped it was the first, because he was already starting to get close, the head of his dick drooling against the edge of the sink.

Maybe someone would mistake it for liquid soap.

Maybe...

Maybe Gil would shift again, and his hand would come around to stroke, and yeah. Yeah. Oh fuck fuck fuck, and Greg was whispering it under his breath and then he was there, right there, on top of it, and nothing was better than Gil, hand and cock and... Everything. Everything. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Every thought of that, every fuck that Greg hissed matched the tempo, Gil's thrusts jarring his body, barely able to pay attention to the faint kisses Gil was giving him, desperately distracted attention. Fuck fuck, fuck, he was going to be leaking Gil for the rest of the plane trip because Gil was coming, muffling his groan by biting his bottom lip.

Oh, yes. Yes, yes. He was gonna remember this for the next three days after all, because Gil was pulling out, and even with all the lube and semen trickling out of him, he was damn sore. "Oh, yeah." It didn't even sound like him, voice shaky and wobbly.

Gil reached for the toilet paper, and rubbed it over his ass, wiped at him so he couldn't make too much of a mess. Yeah, that was a sloppy cleanup, and it made him want to giggle. That was hard to stop, really, kind of like the sticky wet spill on Gil's hand and the sink.

"Lemme get my..." Jeans back up, yeah, and moving around in that tiny space together wasn't the easiest thing in the world. "Who goes out first?" Greg asked softly.

"I will." Last in, first out, and plus Gil was sitting by the window. If he didn't have to get pass Greg to get to his seat, they might draw less attention. Maybe. Gil leaned forwards, and rinsed his hand off, while zipping up his trousers.

"Kiss before you go?" Greg asked, shifting so that he was between Gil and the outer wall. He leaned forward a little for it.

Gil hardly looked guilty that they hadn't kissed yet, and Greg was going to tease him about that later. But he obliged, happily, leaning in and sliding an arm around Greg's waist to kiss him. They were going to have to be on good behavior during the conference, so they needed to catch their fun where they could.

Sex on airplanes definitely qualified as fun in Greg's book.

A knock on the door made both of them go perfectly, unbelievably still. "Gil? Are you okay in there? I can't find Greg."

Oh. Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

Gil leaned back slightly, staring into space for a moment. "I'm fine! I'm sure Greg's fine, too." Hey, and there were two bathrooms, maybe he could claim he'd been in the other one?

"Really." Yeah, oh, shit. Oh shit. She knew.

She knew, Greg could tell by the sound of her voice, and he was already giving desperately mouthed apologies to Gil, who just seemed amused.

"Really," Gil offered back, tone deadpanned as he twisted a little, and placed a hand on the door handle. "Can you back up so I can actually leave the bathroom, Catherine?"

"Sure." Sure, of course she could, because no matter what, she was going to see Greg when they stepped out.

Gil shifted the handle, and Greg made an ineffectual wipe at the semen on the sink, tossing the napkin. The whole place smelled like sex, and so did they, and Catherine was either going to yell the plane down or laugh her ass off. The latter seemed the most likely.

Greg wondered if Hodges was still awake.

He hoped he wouldn't be, because it was going to be weird enough with just Catherine, but damn, damn that was going to be bad if Hodges was out there, too, and Gil was opening the door slowly like they were in a Hitchcock movie. Greg expected a cloud of birds at any moment.

All he got was Catherine and Hodges, hovering like birds, and grinning from ear to ear. Well, smirking, in David's case, that smug so-pleased expression that always made Greg twitch.

"I so knew," David announced.

Yeah, right. Like Hodges could've guessed. Gil twitched an eyebrow at them both, and instead of making any excuses at all, headed back towards his seat.

"So how long?" Catherine was going to ask questions and Gil was going to just walk away.

"Um."

"Right. I'll go harass him," she decided, and strolled after Gil.

"So."

Great. David was never, ever going to let this go.

So. So, and like he had an answer for anything? He and Gil had swapped houses for forever and they'd been living together for a while now, same address, except Gil never invited people over and people were probably still going up to try to visit him at his old condo that he didn't own anymore.

"You're sleeping with the boss. I should have known that was why you left the lab."

"Hodges?" Greg glared. "I'm going to kill you. In your sleep. It will hurt. A lot." Yeah, right, and as soon as they got back to the lab, everybody and their brother would know, and Gil was going to be so incredibly pissed off. Oh, god. Having sex on a plane had been a stupid, stupid idea, because Gil was going to kill him, and he'd never have sex again, and if they were lucky they wouldn't both get fired, and oh, god.

"Uh-huh. Truth hurts, huh?"

"I was in the field before this ever started." Maybe he could smother Hodges in his sleep. Maybe the CSIs in Chicago weren't as good as they were in Vegas or New York or....

Or maybe they were. Well. Maybe if he buried the body....

No, but they were on an airplane. "Uh-huh." David lifted his eyebrows and he was smiling at Greg, all smug with gossipy glee. "Honestly, I hope the promotions are worth it, because, uh... You know?"

"Know what?" He could bury the body later. Dump it in Lake Michigan, maybe.

Greg wondered where he could find some good cinder blocks.

"Well, I wouldn't sleep with him and do field work." Hodges smirked again. "I always thought sleeping with the boss meant that you got more money and not less."

"I hate you," Greg sighed. "Hate you hate you hate you." Or he could always leave him out in the desert when they got back and before they went back to the lab.

"No you don't. You love me." Hodges took a breath, and then wrinkled his nose. "Then again, you smell like you love cock, too."

"Thanks. I appreciate that." It was all he could do not to ask how long it would be before he called Ecklie. On speed dial. Greg dealt okay with Hodges. He did. Just....

Just, damn, now he was nervous and shaken and weirded out and that wasn't fun at all. Hodges smirked a little, and started to wander back down the aisle. "You know, I should have guessed about that bracelet Grissom's been wearing? It's not a wedding band, but..."

But that would have been too obvious, nothing like the medic alert bracelet with a little inscription inside. "So. Must be pretty exciting to have this kind of gossip to share back at the office." Ecklie would probably fire both of them, and Sara would hunt him down and have him scalped. Never mind that she'd kept six feet between them at all times since that thing with the drug scene.

"No?" No, because he was probably, hopefully worried about body bags and oh, god, Catherine had cornered Gil, sat down in the middle seat and pinned Gil between her and the window for talking at.

Maybe Greg could hide in the bathroom again.

"Why not?" Greg wasn't sure. He wasn't. He got along okay with Hodges, but it wasn't like they were best friends of anything. It made him curious.

"Because I guess it's an unspoken secret?" Hodges smirked. "I want to see how long it takes everyone else to work it out now that I know."

Greg shifted. "Okay. So maybe I don't hate you." Yeah, Hodges was a weird kind of guy. Weird, but not necessarily bad. Mostly. Maybe. "Can I go sit down now?"

“Sure. Looks like you might have to handle Catherine to do it." David waved a little, and pulled back, ducking into his own claimed row to probably go back to daydreaming about... whatever. Outing the boss, maybe.

Planning the full David Hodges experience, maybe.

Greg was never going to get that guy. He shook his head and moved along behind him, pausing to look at Catherine and Gil.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me." She wasn't even paying attention to him, just Gil.

"I don't see what there is to tell you, Catherine. I..." Oh, he'd just stuck his foot in his mouth and Greg knew it. "I never knew how to bring it up."

"Uh-huh." There was that sense of yeah, right there that made Greg grin.

"It was kind of just... just us," he offered her. "I mean, all things considered. I guess maybe they know in the personnel office...."

"The personnel office?" Catherine turned to give him a sharp look.

Gil had turned a little to better face Catherine. "We, uh. Moved in together." There was a beat of pause, and Gil added, "About a year ago."

The way she breathed in deep would be terribly interesting if Greg liked boobs instead of Gil. "A year." Long enough that she probably figured Gil should have told her and he hadn't. Oh, boy.

"I probably should have mentioned this before now," Gil decided, still looking at Catherine's face. "I just thought that everyone had noticed."

"Well," Greg said thoughtfully. "Almost everyone."

Greg could see him hesitating for a moment before Gil added, "I'm sorry," in an uncertain sounding voice.

"You should be." Catherine shook her head, reaching up to brush bangs out of her eyes. "And Gil? If anybody had noticed, don't you think it would have been all over the lab by now? Not that it won't be anyway."

"Nick knows. And Jim... found out." And Sara knew, Greg could guess, from Gil's secondhand retelling of the drug incident. That really deserved capital letters -- The Drug Incident, in which he had fondled Sara Boobs and pretty basically outed both of them in front of her and the paramedics. She'd never said anything about it, though, not a word to either of them.

Greg cleared his throat. "We just figured... you know." He shrugged.

That she'd know, that Catherine of all people would guess. Since she was staring at him, and she was sitting right between them, no, no, she really hadn't guessed it after all. Apparently hadn't even had a hint of an idea. "So. Did you have a nice nap?"

"Up until Hodges shook me and made note of the fact that both of you were gone," Catherine answered wryly, and just the thought of it made him flush.

"Uh. How long did you listen?" Curiosity killed the cat, or maybe the Greg. Who could say?

"Long enough?" Gil guessed. Long enough to guess what they'd been doing; probably long enough to hear some of it. "I'm sorry, Catherine."

"You should be. So, to punish you, you're gonna have to go out with me when we land and tell me all about it."

"Uh..." Gil glanced past Catherine, and over to Greg, trying to silently communicate something. Either he wanted a bailout, or for Greg to agree. Two completely different choices, one of which ended up with Catherine being pissed off at Greg.

"My roommate from college is working in Chicago. We've got reservations for dinner with him and his wife." Yeah, right. Greg's roommate from college would be more likely to dance on his back with his ice skates.

Catherine gave him the look. "Greg. I have a thirteen year old. You can't lie to me. You can take David out for a drink, and I'll make sure Gil gets back upstairs in plenty of time."

Gil sighed, and he was reaching to pull his book out of the pocket of the seat in front of him, because books were good shields. While Greg didn't want to take David out for a drink, maybe he could get Hodges drunk and get some cool blackmail material in case it ever came to that.

Hopefully Hodges wasn't the kind of guy who got drunk and flashed people, because Greg wasn't really sure he ever wanted that full a David Hodges experience.

"Catherine, there... isn't much to tell you."

"There's enough." Catherine reached out and patted his thigh as the intercom crackled overhead.

~Please place your seats in the upright position and store your tray tables,~ the stewardess announced.

"Right. Uh. Catherine?" Greg cleared his throat. "You're in my seat."

"Oh!" She startled a little, and got up, squeezing way too close past Greg for him not to peek at her chest when she went by. "You're not getting away with this without an explanation, Grissom."

"Sorry," Greg apologized, settling into his chair once Catherine moved back up to her seat. He tugged his seat belt around his waist. "Um. About everything." The suggestion. Getting caught. Not lying better.

Gil exhaled, and leaned his head back against his seat. "Don't be. I thought it was a great idea."

"You gonna feel bad about it?" Greg asked, tilting his head towards him. He wasn't sure. He hoped that Gil wasn't going to guilt over it, because he liked it when things worked between them and when he came up with a stupid idea and Gil immediately said yes. That was a nice privilege to rely on.

Gil's silence was a little too long for Greg's comfort.

"No."

"You sure?" A kiss would go a long way to making both of them feel better, Greg thought, but he wasn't sure Gil wanted him to do that. "'cause, I mean, it's not too late for me to figure out a way to hide all the bodies." Yeah. Right.

"Greg? We're going to a forensics convention. And while I think they'd love to have hands on demonstrations to work with... no. It's okay." Gil was even putting his seat belt back on.

"Just thought I'd offer." So, Catherine would take him out for interrogation, Greg would go out with Hodges for blackmail material and....

Maybe it'd all work out.

It might be a little uncomfortable, but Greg was honestly willing to do more than take Hodges out for drinks for sex like that. In an airplane, the best, possibly most coveted illicit sex in the world. Gil was peering out the window already, down at the city coming up at them, but he reached a hand over to clasp over Greg's, without looking.

Maybe they didn't need that kiss after all.

Greg was excited. Greg was beyond excited, actually. He was practically dancing in the halls. There was just something about a grown man unafraid to wear a headband with reindeer antlers and jingly bells that made Gil want to dive for a Tylenol bottle, never mind that he loved Greg to distraction.

It was probably just the notion of everyone visiting. That was the same thing that made Gil twitchy and generally uncomfortable with life at this moment in particular. It had taken time to get used to the notion of living with someone. It had taken time to get used to the notion of sharing a space with someone, and the only godsend was that he and Greg had the same cluttery habits. Occasionally they had an argument, one or the other of them cleaned things up, and then the clutter rebuilt itself. Gil had a sneaking suspicion that it crawled out from under the sofa when they weren't looking.

He didn't know why he needed to clean things up just so Greg's family could invade their home. It wasn't as thought Greg's apartment had ever been particularly clean, or even kept up in the least. They had seen Greg's mess. At the same time, he knew that this was Greg's first real house, and Greg planned to be with Gil until the day they both died. That did make everything a little special, and Gil could understand it.

It still didn't make him any less cranky.

"Hey, we should get a couple of those inflatable bed things, you know? I mean, I know the sofa in the study lets out, but it's pretty uncomfortable. Don't you think?"

Damn. All of that wide-eyed cuteness was unbearable. He couldn't stay grumpy, at least for the moment. "We could," Gil waffled. It wasn't as if they had a lot of free room in their home -- the study, sure, but the study was also sort of a playroom, and it had the big chair that Gil sat in when Greg sprawled out over his lap to be spanked. He was going to have to be extra careful about his cleaning in there, and he was going to put everything under lock and key. Everything.

Especially Greg's Christmas present, because if either of their parents found that, Gil was pretty sure they'd both die from the embarrassment.

"Well, it would be expensive, sure, but it would be easier to set them up in there and in the living room." They had all volunteered to get hotel rooms but Greg had cheerfully assured them that it wasn't necessary. "Oh! And your mom called. She's coming, too."

Gil wished he'd been home to intercept that phone call and insist that no, hotel rooms were necessary. They were necessary to his sanity, and necessary to keeping Gil from attempting to work through the holidays. He might end up doing it anyway -- a lot of people died over the holidays. A lot of spousal murders, a lot of in-laws who died with a stake of holly through their hearts.

He didn't have to wonder why.

"Hey..." Oh, no. No, no. It wasn't that look. He couldn't face it. Honestly. "Are you really okay with this? I mean, if you're not, we can call them, cancel everything. I mean... I'm sure they'd understand."

They might understand, but Greg would go from reindeer antlers to moping. And it would be trading misery for misery, and that was something Gil tried not to broker in. "No, I'm fine with it. It's just a... little overwhelming. I'm used to Christmas being quiet." And Greg wasn't. Greg was all about getting a real tree because it smelled better and putting lights on the porch and singing crazy renditions of familiar songs.

Gil wasn't going to forget 'I Saw Daddy Kissing Santa Clause' anytime soon, or the way that Greg had danced around in just that thong and a Santa hat while he sang it, either.

The slow, sweet smile his response gained him was worth it, though. "It'll be okay. Cross my heart."

"As long as you don't tell me that they're staying for New Year's. Because I'm working New Year's," Gil pointed out reasonably, trying to pretend that he wasn't halfway through what felt like a marathon cleaning session that was never going to be finished. On his day off, of all things.

They should have called a maid service. If it wasn't for all of the toys, Gil would have seriously considered it. Well, not just the toys. He had to take his bugs into consideration, too, and he didn't want just anybody pawing through his papers....

"Hey, look. Pictures. Oh, your mom DID send the Lady Godiva one! You've been hiding things, Gil!"

Right. Maybe he could take more tylenol, take a little more edge off of his headache. He could handle days of nonstop energy and, and who was he kidding?

Gil was looking forward to the arrival of New Years. Then at least he'd be sure any dead bodies he was handling weren't his doing. He just wished his mother hadn't sent that photo of him on the dog...

---

It was chaos.

The whole thing, Gil thought, was impossible. Greg's parents and grandparents had arrived more or less simultaneously, bearing more luggage than anyone could possibly need and dozens of presents on top of that.

There was also a dog.

If it had been a dachshund or a chihuahua, even something as relatively small as a wheaten terrier, Gil wouldn't have the urge to go hide in the bedroom. No, it was instead an elderly and slightly incontinent Black Russian Terrier. That thing had probably outweighed Greg for most of his life, Gil figured, and the first thing the dog had done was to walk up and creakily stand on its back paws to lick Greg in the face.

Greg had liked it.

Of course Greg had liked it. Apparently the dog was sixteen years old, part of the family, but Gil kept expecting it to flop over. He liked big dogs better than the little ones, on a person to person basis, but it wasn't much of a dog person to start with. He liked the big shaggy dogs if they were healthy and didn't leak on the floor. So he supposed that once upon a time he would have liked the old dog a lot, and then when his health declined, anything was acceptable.

He kept reminding himself of that, and tried to keep from wanting to hide.

Anyway, it wasn't the dog that bothered him so much. Or Greg's grandparents, or even Audun and Gunnar, even if he and Gunnar had barely exchanged a word.

It was Greg's uncle. Not a blood uncle, no, but his aunt's husband, and Gil was starting to think of the man as the odd one out in the Sanders family. The kind of subsection of humanity that he wanted to put under glass and observe.

They hadn't been expecting his aunt and uncle, and when they had said they'd get a hotel room, Greg had let them. That should have been the first sign, Gil figured, and he should have hidden himself away then and there. He hadn't.

He hadn't, and now he was forced to listen to it.

All of it.

"I'm telling you. All of these hurricanes, they're a sign from God," Greg's uncle Jerry declared. "Why do you think they hit Orlando and New Orleans? Dens of sin," he concluded, nodding solemnly. First it had been talk about the fading magnetic field of the Earth, then a serious discussion on the removal of something called a Giving Tree from a school for religious connotations, and now they had moved on to the hurricanes of the previous season.

Even his wife seemed a little twitchy.

Not that Gil could blame her, but the very fact that he was starting to bother her nerves when she was married to him said... a lot. Gil could imagine that she possibly volunteered to work overtime just to stay away from him a little longer. Possibly, he hadn't always been the way he was now, but Gil couldn't really ask Greg's uncle if he'd always had wild swings into paranoia. Not unless he kept talking about Dens of Sin. Maybe he wasn't aware that Gil and Greg weren't just roommates of convenience. It wasn't as if rent in Vegas was that bad, after all.

"That's, uh, certainly one way to view it." Gil caught Greg's aunt's eyes, and he started to stand up. "Would you like another cup of coffee?"

"Oh, yes. Thank you," Uncle Jerry said. "Now, about this place..."

"We'll take you to all the best sin dens, Uncle Jerry," Greg laughed. "Or at least to the buffets at the sin dens. They've got steak for just a couple of bucks. The joys of Vegas," Greg nodded, standing up to head for the cake taker his isoäiti had brought. "The hotel you're staying at is maybe even one of the original sin dens."

"It's an interesting town," Gil said agreeably. Any opportunity to get away, even if it was just to the open kitchen area, was worth it. "We have amusement parks, gambling, theater, opera, shows, museums, magic shows, street entertainers..." Drug dealers, hookers, strip clubs, club clubs, petty politicians, run of the mill city things, and no end to the fact that every week there was something he'd never seen before.

It was one of the reasons he loved the place so much.

"Anyway, you've really gotta leave those internet conspiracy message boards alone, Uncle Jerry. They can't be good for you." Greg offered him a slice of cake, and Gil seriously considered trying to slip out of the kitchen and into the garage to hide. "Before Aunt Nina kills you for making her read behind you."

There was a wuff of noise, a dry sound that heralded the return of Guacamole to the kitchen. Gil guessed that passed for begging for cake, but he wasn't a bright dog or he would have known to go after the people who actually had cake and weren't making coffee.

"Gregory? Thank you. I've been trying to say that all day. These boys don't want to hear about that stuff, Jerry."

Jerry gave a snort, a vague huff of air that made Gil smile. "Well, everybody ought to know about it. That's all I'm saying."

"It's interesting. Honest, it is, Uncle Jerry. Just... it's Christmas." Greg reached down and ruffled Guacamole's ears, and the dog laid his head against Greg's thigh, rubbing and pushing at him. "You know, I'd rather hear about you guys and introduce everyone to Gil's mom when she gets here."

"She's driving," Gil reminded Greg. "Which means there's a good chance that she's found something amusing on the way in." He was still fiddling around with the coffee, but Greg was always quick when it came to cake, whether or not there was an old dog loving on his leg.

"Yeah, probably. Isoäiti is like that, too, ja, Poppa?" Greg was leaning down, getting his face licked by the dog, and Gil wasn't sure that he could be persuaded to kiss him after the dog did.

The visit with their grandbugs had, apparently, ended. Poppa and Isoäiti were joined by Greg's parents, all four of them coming back into the kitchen. "Greg's always loved to stop by those historical road signs, just like my mother," Audun declared quite happily. "It's fun."

"With my mother, it's art shops. Pottery. Jewelry if it looks handcrafted." Always scouting people for her gallery, new faces and new talent to carry. Gil added milk and sugar to most of the mugs, and started to pour.

"Thank you, sweetheart," Audun said, kissing his cheek as she took her cup. Gil figured he was lucky that Gunnar didn't come across the table and strangle him for it. "I love your mother's gallery. So many fabulous things. Greg, would you boys know somewhere like that we could visit together while we're here?" Boys, as if Gil wasn't her age at all. Huh.

"There are a few places downtown that would be good for that." Places that Gil went to when he looked for his mother's birthday and Christmas gifts. When he remembered. Gil paused for a moment, and then handed Gunnar his coffee.

"Thank you, Gil." It was more formal than he would have liked considering the company, but that was good in its own way.

Greg shifted a little uneasily, but Gil was the only one to notice, he thought. "Hey, can I get anybody anything? I mean, we've got plenty of stuff to snack on...."

"Someone bought enough snack food that it could serve as dinner for the next week," Gil added. They were standing close enough to almost touch, and Gil caught sight of Greg's grandmother adding a little extra sugar to her coffee. She tossed him a smirk, a smug old lady smirk. It was nice, really, to see that. He was fairly certain Greg got that look from her, in fact.

"Hey, it's the holidays," Greg excused lightly, bumping his hip gently against Gil's and reaching for his own cup of coffee. "Snacking is the way to go. Right up until you're so fully your belly is all distended and you have to go crawl in bed and moan in misery."

"The only time you've ever done that, Greg, was Nicky's birthday party." Gil wished he hadn't seen Greg's uncle perk up a little at a new name to chew at.

"Yeah, well, he had that dip with the salsa and the cream cheese and the olives." Of course, Greg had hoarded the majority of the bowl for himself and ended up groaning on Nicky's floor while Jim and Catherine laughed at him. "I got the stuff to make that, by the way. Nicky will be coming over Christmas Eve, and a couple of other people from work."

Poppa laughed. "Excellent, Gregor. We always like to meet with your friends. So many interesting people."

So many people who knew about his erectile dysfunction, Gil didn't say.

And the solution to it, though Gil had a feeling that if anyone were so tactless as to mention it, Poppa Olaf would laugh and offer to show it to them if they were curious. He was fairly sure that most of them wouldn't know what to do with Greg's uncle anymore than Gil knew what to do.

"Who all is coming?" Greg's aunt pressed a little, smiling and cutting off her husband just when he started to open his mouth.

"Nick, Catherine, David.. Hodges," he said to Gil, and then grinned as if they shared a joke, which they probably did, all things considered. "Jim. A couple of the other guys. Nothing too big."

Except that it was big because it was at their house, Gil's house, and Gil was inviting people to join him and Greg on Christmas Eve, because... Because Greg had possibly made him soft in the head, Gil decided as he sipped his coffee. "Just half of my department, at least briefly." Catherine was still iffy, and Gil suspected she'd bring Lindsey. With any luck, she'd get along fine with Guacamole.

"Um, tell you what, you guys, Gil and I are gonna go work out how to make those inflatable bed things work for you so that everybody can get comfortable, maybe have a nap later. I know it was a really long drive..." It was also a great excuse for both of them to lock themselves into the study with Gil's bugs for a few minutes.

Yes.

"And we're still coping with walking daylight hours. We'll be back," Gil said cordially enough. He left his coffee on the island of his kitchen, his and Greg's kitchen, and led the way towards the study. Not that he was desperate, but Greg's father was staring. The temptation to run away was stronger than the desire to prove his manhood and stay.

"You probably need a nap more than we do," Audun laughed, reaching for Greg and hugging him, kissing his cheek. "We understand, sweetie. Your father and I will go with your uncle Jerry and aunt Nina to their hotel. I'm sure they'll need help finding it."

Maybe if Gil was lucky, they'd get lost on the way back. Gil smiled, watching Gunnar eyeball the kitchen, living room and then Gil, before he eyed his in-laws. "Poppa, are you going to...?"

"No, no," Poppa answered, waving his hand. "Isoäiti and I will remain here, and spend time with Guacamole. It was a long drive." A very long drive, and they weren't young. A nap was probably just as necessary for them as it would be for Gil and Greg.

They really were going to end up putting together the aerobed before they did anything. Gunnar nodded. "Okay. We'll be back in a couple of hours, then, and hopefully your mother will get here, Gil."

Gil could almost hear the name 'Grissom' on the tip of Gunnar's tongue, used in a distasteful way. As long as they weren't flinging names around, Gil supposed they'd be all right.

He could survive.

So long as none of them looked in the closet.

---

"Guacamole!" For some reason, Greg excited the Black Russian Terrier more than should have been possible in a dog that age. It was unfortunate that he lost control of himself when Greg did it, but there it was. "Yeah, good boy, sweet boy, gimme sugar." 'Sugar' that amounted to having his entire face bathed by Guacamole's tongue. "Hey, Gil? Are you almost done?"

Greg had been the proud owner of dozens of strands of colored lights, all packed up in a ball in a box. Gil had been untangling them for the last half hour, and he was fairly sure he had invented curse words.

"No. This should be physically impossible, Greg. I understand how electricity works. This is not a series strand of lights. When one light goes out they should all keep working, except they aren't -- your lights are defying logic." And because of that, Gil was torn between throwing them at Greg and spending the next week trying to get them to work.

Greg just grinned at him, though, and plopped down next to him, Guacamole snuffling and flopping beside him to lie his head in Greg's lap. "Well, we could toss them out, run down to the Dollar General. There's bound to be cheap lights for sale down there." And a fair possibility that Greg's mom and aunt Nina were there with his isoäiti, buying wrapping paper and looking through baby clothes for Nina and Jerry's eighteen month old grandson.

"But we have four strands here," Gil reasoned, gesturing to the light strand that he was swapping bulbs within. "These are going on the tree, aren't they?" Four 100 light strands, so unless the tree was... massive then it was going to be near to tipping from the weight of tiny bright red and green and blue lights.

"Sure, if you can get them to work," Greg agreed. He reached out and took an end, twisting a light slightly. It came on, blinked, and died. "Huh."

Gil craned his head at Greg. "Wait, do that again."

Carefully, Greg repeated that motion, and all of the lights flashed on that time, some sort of weird wiring magic only known to Christmas lights. "Huh," he said again. "Crazy."

"Isn't it? Here, replace it with a red one." Gil leaned in towards Greg to pass him the bulb, shoulder to shoulder against him. Under normal circumstances, he would have kissed Greg. Under normal circumstances, Greg hadn't spent most of the morning being slobbered on by a large dog who was looking at Gil as if to say 'no way, he's mine'.

Greg took the bulb and replaced it, the entire strand blinking to life when he popped it in as if it was a serial set instead of being singles. Gil hated Christmas lights. On the other hand, decorating the tree got him time alone with Greg while everyone else did their own thing, and that was a pretty good thing.

"I can't wait until you see what I got you for Christmas," Greg declared, incredibly smug.

"I have a gift that I want to give to you... after our families go home." Gil's gift was going to 'win' if it was a contest -- he'd put a lot of thought into trying to think of something that Greg would get a kick out of and then actually physically enjoy.

Just the thought of it made him smile, and the way Greg's breath caught made Gil look up at him.

"Wow. That must be one hell of a gift," Greg said softly. "You look like it's maybe even better than me wearing that pink pleather skirt at the front door when you come home late."

"Well. I can't put weigh them against each other, because the last time you did that was after a horrible case." Gil set the strand of lights aside. Well, just one more left. It wasn't that bad, even if he'd come up with new cuss words. "Even after all of these years, I still wonder why people do it."

It was no surprise when Greg reached out, cupping his face with one hand. "Hey. I don't think any of us will ever understand it. But you know, that's why we're the good guys." The guys with multicolored light strands and battenburg lace angels and an old dog snoring on Greg's knee.

The good guys who were perked up beyond all reason when Greg acted silly and put that skirt on. Gil turned his head a little, and hell, the lights could wait. "I know. But maybe the gift isn't as good as coming home to you. That's a pretty hard thing to challenge."

"Mmmm. It's nice to know I win given a choice between me and presents," Greg murmured, and leaned close, stealing a kiss while Guacamole was busy slobbering sleepily on his knee.

Thankfully, Gil couldn't taste dog-slobber. He shifted his body closer against Greg's, and suddenly the next twenty minutes that he faced of fixing that last strand of lights seemed all right. Christmas meant all sorts of activity to Greg, but if Gil was honest, for him it meant just that. The funny quiet moments, and company. Sometimes. Greg was good company. He made Gil happy, made him smile, and so what if they had a house full of company who took up way too much time and space? They'd live. He'd live, he thought, and his hand pressed against Greg's knee for a moment.

It was a shock when the flash went off, startling both of them away from one another.

"Mom! Nobody's supposed to be back for another half hour!" Greg declared, glaring at the guilty picture-taking culprit.

Audun laughed. "Well, Vivian and I were done, sweeting, and Mom wanted to come back and have a short nap since your aunt Nina wants to take her to a magic show tonight."

"Which one?" Even as Gil asked it, he was half-waiting for Audun to tell him that it was one of the raunchier ones. Greg's isoäiti struck him that way, and so did Nina. So did Audun, for that matter.

It was no wonder that his own mother got along so well with Greg's clan of family. Gil twisted around a little so he could see her when she answered, fiddling with the lights.

"Oh, I'm not sure. Tony something?" Audun suggested. "Apparently it's nigh on sacrilegious. In any case, I'm sure it'll be fun. I think your father seemed interested in going, Greg, if you wouldn't mind all of us abandoning you here with Gil and Guacamole."

"Tony Arcane? He put on a good show the last time I saw him," Gil mused, turning back around. "You guys enjoy yourself. Greg and I might defeat the tree by the time you get back."

"Miracle of miracles. Hey, you guys brought the ornaments from home that I asked for, right?" Greg crawled up onto his knees and made his way to one of the boxes against the wall. His isoäiti gave him a smart remark that made Audun laugh at them both.

"Of course we did, sweetheart. You're lucky that there's not a special one in there of you and Gil in your mouse ears."

Vivian laughed, watching them all very carefully. "But I have another one for you."

When he heard his mother, Gil had to turn around again, and he decided that he might as well stand up, stretch and get some coffee before he finished the lights. If they were lucky, Guacamole would eat them and that would be... a trip to an emergency vet.

Gil struck that idea before it even finished, and smiled at his mother. "Did you?"

"Oh, yes. I did. It's right here..." In her purse, apparently, because she dug through it for a moment before pulling out a box. "For Greg to open, I think, because there are other presents for you, my boy."

That seemed to brighten Greg even further, as if Christmas lights and kisses hadn't been enough. "Ooo, prizes!"

~What have you done?~ Gil signed, exaggeratedly and smiling so she knew he was being light about it. Greg was grinning and snuck over towards Gil's mother.

"Greg loves surprises," Audun smiled. She was in on it.

"Gregor is secretly six," Isoäiti declared in her thick accent, surprising Gil a little. "Or perhaps not so secretly."

Greg laughed and kissed her before taking the wrapped box from Greg's mom. "Oh, I'm totally open about being not so secretly six," he agreed. "Thanks, Mrs. Viv."

"Open it," she encouraged, sneaking a glance towards her son.

"I feel like the paranoid man in a conspiracy movie." Gil peered over to watch Greg fiddle with the wrapping around the box. It was probably an ornament. Probably cheesy. No. Make that definitely cheesy. He could see the back of it, the brass scrollwork light and delicate, curved around a piece of glass and...

"This is the BEST PRESENT I EVER GOT!!" Greg yelled, nearly scaring Guacamole to death. That was going to leave a puddle, to say nothing of a stain, and Gil couldn't believe that his mother would do that to him. No. Not really.

Wait. Yes, he could.

"You had that commissioned somewhere?" Gil asked in disbelief, passing a hand over his eyes so he didn't have to look at it immediately. Just for a moment, because it was hard to not look at it. Car accidents were very similar in that way to a Christmas ornament of a naked kid trying to ride a dog like a pony.

The enthusiastic way Greg kissed him just wasn't meant for being on the receiving end of a present like that.

"C'mon, Gil. It's the cutest picture in existence. I promise to put it somewhere nobody will see it tomorrow night, and if they do, I'll even swear it's me."

"And they'll believe him," Audun said agreeably. "Mom, why don't you sit down for a while or have a nap before the show tonight?"

She made a hum of agreement, and waved to them before she headed to toddle off to the bed that was set up in the study. Gil was already making plans to bury it deep in the tree.

Possibly in the water bucket. Even if Greg was kissing him like that.

Maybe especially with Greg kissing him like that.

---

"So... I know you're glad they all decided to go the see the Arcane show." Guacamole was in his crate in the kitchen, and Greg was curled up on the couch with Gil. "I just didn't realize that lightness of spirit would translate into watching opera on cable."

"No? I thought you knew that." Somehow, they'd managed to decorate most of the tree. They'd each taken a side, and split each box of decorations in half, so nothing looked too unbalanced. Gil was rather proud of it, in terms of artistic endeavors. It was on already, the only other light on in the house than the TV.

The glow was nice. Warming, almost as much as Greg pressed against his side. "Do you have a better idea?"

"Well... We could always have hot monkey sex." Greg seemed pretty hopeful about that, and Gil was inclined to feel hopeful about it, too. "I like hot monkey sex, and nobody should be back for at least three hours. That's enough time for all the hot monkey sex we can have and a shower."

"Sex, huh?" Gil asked it as if the thought had never crossed his mind, or if the concept of celibacy until the relatives left hadn't ever crossed his mind. He turned his head a little, and kissed Greg's temple. "Do you want to open your Christmas gift early?"

The way Greg's mouth parted made it impossible not to shift down and kiss there, too. "Could I? Really?" That kind of excitement was meant for Christmas morning and being awakened at the crack of dawn, not for Greg squirming sweetly by his side.

"It's not as if I can put it under the tree, Greg. It's in the study right now, just for... lack of somewhere else to hide it." Gil didn't move yet. He liked the feel of Greg against his side, liked the ambiance of the room, the moment.

"You're hiding it in the study??" Gil couldn't tell if Greg was impressed or shocked or maybe both. "My grandparents are sleeping in the study. Oh my God. And it has something to do with sex? I'm so proud of you."

"You -- no, no, it's in the study's closet, with books and -- your grandparents wouldn't have looked in there, would they?" He'd wrapped it, too, so even if they'd seen it they wouldn't have seen it. "Why are you proud of me?"

Greg laughed and kissed him, an enthusiastic endeavor which resulted in the two of them practically being propped up by the arm of the sofa. "You left a sex toy in the room with my pervy grandparents. And they probably haven't figured out what it is if they haven't said anything about it. It's just... I dunno. Amusing."

"Would you rather that I'd hidden it in the coat closet?" There wasn't room in the bedroom closet, between clothes and shoes and Greg's copies of Science Weekly that he had organized in cardboard boxes. Even if the look on Gunnar's face would have been worth it, and the feeling of Greg on top of him like that, body to body, made Gil smile and wrap his arms around Greg. "We have three hours. Do you want to open it?"

"And use it?" No matter what it was, Greg's eyes lit up like that, and Gil had to kiss him. Had to, just the way he had to sneak his hand down the back of Greg's pants and clutch at an ass cheek. "Can I really?" He bit his lip. "Oh, but it's way before Christmas. Maybe it would be better to wait...."

"But now I know you'll wait until I'm asleep so you can sneak into the study to peel back the wrapping paper to look. I know you. You peek." Gil leaned to kiss that lip, tongue sliding briefly over Greg's teeth. "You have a blindfold for a reason."

"I'm a peeker," Greg whispered, tongue lapping out to meet Gil's for a moment as he made a lazy squirm, pressing down until he couldn't help but give a low groan. "Oh, God, I'm a bad, naughty peeker..."

"You are," Gil laughed quietly. "So do you want to see what it is now? That way you won't be tempted." Except he might be tempted to play with it before his relatives left, and Gil didn't want to think about that anymore than he'd wanted to think about fucking Greg in his bedroom while his parents were downstairs chatting.

"I wanna see it now." Now meant Greg crawling off of him, though, and Gil nearly expired from the loss of contact. "C'mon. Let me open it. Can we put it back in the study closet, or...?"

"And if we have time, I can even rewrap it." In case Greg's grandparents were curious as well as perverted.

Greg was going to love the newest addition to their toy-chest. Gil had put a lot of thought into it, trying to decide what Greg would like, and what Gil would like to see, and after a little web-surfing, he'd found the perfect toy. Quiet, unobtrusive, something that could be easily tucked away in their closet after Gil did a little rearranging. He hoped Greg would like it as much as Gil thought he would.

"C'mon." Greg was tugging at his hand, grinning brightly. "C'mon, I'm dying to see whatever it is!"

It was easy to follow after Greg, and Gil was just glad that Guacamole was dozing in his crate. He didn't even make a woof when they passed him.

Gil slid his free hand down to Greg's waist, gently guiding him into the study to stand before the closet. He could hear Greg take in a deep breath as he reached out to open the door. He glanced back at Gil and gave him a smirk that made Gil want to kiss it off of those lips. Instead, he raised his eyebrow and waited as Greg knelt down to peek under the coats there.

"That's a big box," Greg declared, eyeing it. "So what's in it...?"

"Open it," was all Gil was going to answer. How did he explain it, anyway? That it was a sex toy, sure. Sex furniture? Ride along sex furniture, possibly, but it just made Gil smile as he slid his hand down Greg's back and pushed him forwards gently.

"Should we drag it back to our bedroom?" Greg was already prying at the edges, carefully lifting tape from wrapping paper. Obviously the notion of rewrapping it to keep others from peeking inside wasn't just Gil's. Of course, Greg had known his parents and grandparents a lot longer, and that natural curiosity had to come from somewhere.

"Yes. If you want to use it, that is. Do you think you've been good enough this year to get to use it?" Gil winked at Greg.

"I don't know, Santa Gil. I'm pretty sure I've been naughty a lot, but that's correctable. Right?" Absolutely, and Gil's mouth watered just a little at the thought. Greg was being almost too careful with the paper, taking his time as much to tease Gil as anything else.

Gil at least knew what was in it. "Oh, it's always correctable," Gil teased quietly, watching Greg deftly pull up tape without ripping paper.

"You like correcting me?" It was a question more than a statement, but that was easy, easy to assure Greg that he did. Greg kept him thinking, kept him young, made him want to do things that no one else had for a long time. Christmas was a good time to remember that, as good as any.

Gil leaned close behind him, like he was supervising Greg's unwrapping, and put his lips near Greg's ear. "Yes."

The paper ripped, and Greg looked up at him with such a sweet, falsely guilty expression that Gil almost couldn't bear the wait. "Oops." Oops not so much, because then he tore it again, laughing by the time he got down to the cardboard box.

The cardboard box itself was plain, but pretty easy to open. Greg didn't know how hard it had been to get the box shipped to the house and for Gil to intercept it without Greg knowing. "Go on."

It was easy, that encouragement, because Gil wanted to see the look on his face, the way Greg might open his mouth in awe. When he did open the box, Gil wished he had thought to bring the camera.

"Oh. My. God."

There was the Rider Fuck Machine in all of its glory, assembled and ready to use. Gil had even put the dildo in place, knowing that once Greg saw it, he'd want to at least get an idea of what it was for. Well, now he knew.

"Merry Christmas."

"I can't decide whether you're crazy or... or if Santa never got me a present like this," Greg said, coughing a little to keep from laughing. "Okay. Okay. Let's... We've gotta try this thing out." We meaning Greg, because it was his present, after all.

"In the bedroom." Just because there was more room, mostly, and more of a sense of privacy. "I'd be jealous if Santa brought this for you."

The way Greg looked at it and sighed certainly implied that he was glad Gil had bought it for him. "This is just... Jesus, Gil." Jesus, and Gil had sort of thought the same thing, but then he had considered all of the possibilities, and how it might be nice to watch Greg on it, just watch him.

"You have a gift that you can show your parents, too," Gil murmured, leaning forwards to kiss Greg gently. "I love you. And maybe your kink is catching. It's lighter than it looks -- c'mon."

Those words were inspirational, apparently, because Greg reached forward and picked it up to bring it with them. The biggest trouble was the awkward shape, the way he had to carry it, but Gil didn't think he was about to let go of it. "I'm right behind you."

That made Gil the man who held doors for Greg so he didn't smash his fingers against them. He walked ahead of Greg, and held their bedroom door open. "You're eager to try it, aren't you?"

"Are you kidding?" Greg glanced at the thing, his eyes caressing over it. "You even put my favorite one there." The one made from Gil's cock, and it was settled there in the perfect position, just waiting for Greg to enjoy it. Just waiting for Greg to strip naked and ride it, just waiting for Gil to watch Greg fuck himself with that toy, and what better way to fuck and suck at the same time?

It really was a gift that kept on giving, because Gil knew he was going to enjoy it at least as much as Greg would. "I wasn't sure it was your favorite," Gil teased as he watched Greg sit it in the middle of the bedroom floor, tilting his head to the side to peer at it with a certain amount of pride and pleasure.

"Tease." That pretty, false pout made it impossible not to kiss him, Gil's arms sweeping around his waist, pulling him close in a way that he hoped would do romance novel characters proud. Greg seemed to think so, because his arms slid up around Gil's neck, his right hand coming up so that his fingers could tangle in short-cut curls. Gil could feel him against his thigh, the hardness pressing tight against Gil's leg.

"You like it." Gil could say it with confidence and be sure when he said it, because he and Greg had been together for a while now, long past their casual dating and sex, and he knew he'd always have Greg. That let a man be confident and sure, and everything else that kept them on an even keel. "I could show you teasing, Greg. I think I should unwrap you since you unwrapped your gift..."

"I think I agree," Greg whispered against his ear, licking the upper curve and then nibbling so lightly on the lobe Gil could barely feel it. "Unwrap me," he murmured. "Please."

He loved that touch. That faint nibble made him shiver a little, delicate damp touch that slid right down his stomach to settle in his dick. "My pleasure." Gil's hands were already in the right place, and Greg's love of pullovers and t-shirts made undressing him easy. Easy as pulling fabric up.

Greg had to let go of him to get naked. He seemed reluctant, but at the same time, he wanted to strip, so he let go, and Gil stripped his upper half in one quick tug. That let Greg come back to him, nibbling at his throat now, rocking himself steadily against the thigh Gil had slid between his own. "Fuuuck, it's so... I want..."

"To be fucked," Gil finished for him. He slid his fingers down to Greg's jeans, slid his thumbs under the waistband so he could tease at Greg's skin and see if he was even wearing underwear.

"Full of you in every hole I've got." That was a hot image, hotter words, Greg rocking hard and then moaning when Gil pressed against one of his hips, stroking across it with purpose. "Sucking you, riding you, touching you...."

Making Greg his in a way that wasn't normally physically possible, but that was why he'd made the dildo in the first place. Seeing Greg ride it would be new and beautiful, and his dick was going to unzip his pants by itself if he didn't get Greg naked soon. But that was why Gil was in control, and not his penis. He could tease Greg past that soft moaning temptation, sliding fingers over bare skin, barred from touching where Greg's jeans clung a little too well.

"Please." Pretty sound, one he liked to hear, and Greg's hands were sliding to the buttons on his shirt. The first slid loose, the second giving him a little trouble. His fingers were shaking, Gil could feel it. They did that sometimes, when he was nervous or when he was particularly desperate.

Score one for Santa Gil.

"Soon." Soon, and Gil slid his fingers around to the front of Greg's jeans so he could slowly pop the button. He might as well take his time since Greg was shaking.

Soon made Greg moan, made his back arch just little so that he was pressing against Gil more. Gil felt one of his buttons pop loose, heard the little sound when it hit the floor. He was afraid that all of his buttons were going to go the same way, and he realized that he didn't care. So long as it all came off, it wasn't going to matter. "Please soon," Greg mumbled, hands sliding up to grip his head, his kiss desperate and hard.

Unzipping Greg's pants was easy after that, during that kiss, even though Greg's tongue slid against his lips and Gil had to keep his head through that. He finished off the buttons of his own shirt, and started to shrug out of it when he slid his hands back around Greg. Naked was something they both needed to be soon.

Very soon.

The dance as Greg shimmied his pants down his legs and off of his feet certainly had its high points. One day, he was going to have to set up video just so he could see it as well as feel it, and figure out how Greg always managed to get his socks off at the same time. Gil could never manage that, which often resulted in sock sex, a fact that amused Greg to no end.... afterwards. Right at the moment, socks were the last thing on Greg's mind. He was tugging at Gil's undershirt, shifting himself so that he could drag it over Gil's head and then be chest to chest, naked Greg against half-clothed Gil.

He liked that, liked the way Greg moaned when he rubbed against Gil's pants, liked the feeling of Greg's narrow chest against his own, the desperate rubbing as Greg humped his thigh even while Gil walked him backwards towards the toy. "Almost. I need to get the lube..."

"The peppermint," Greg encouraged, leaning to steal another kiss. "Or the pineapple. Either one. I like both. Then later we could..." The extent to which Greg was turned on was obviously enough for a couple of rounds.

This was definitely Gil's lucky night.

Christmas was the season of mint and warm vanillas, so Gil took one last kiss, sucked on Greg's bottom lip, and back stepped to grab the peppermint lube from the drawer they kept it in. His arm was only gone for a moment, and then he was stepping back towards Greg, shifting Greg towards his Christmas present, and the image in his head was nearly as good as seeing Greg take that first shifting stride backwards, leg settling on one side of his prize.

"Fuck me good."

"I will." He was going to keep Greg standing just a little longer, just long enough to lube him and the toy up, long enough to fumble open the lube and spread it on his fingers, drizzle some over the toy.

"I don't doubt it." Greg was kissing him again, wild and crazy, and it made it difficult for Gil to get the lube open, just for a moment. His fingers became clumsy, too, just a little, and then it was there and open, thank God, slicked over two fingers. The heel of his hand slid down, his other moving to pull Greg's cheeks apart.

"Shhh. Slow down," Gil whispered, turning his head a little so he could press Greg closer to his body, control him better. Fingers prying at Greg's ass cheeks always got his attention, and when he pulled one, squished it flat against muscle, he could finally slide those two fingers right where he wanted them.

In.

The sound Greg gave was just as good as the clench, and seeing his eyes roll back like that, flutter closed... That was even better. Guttural little sounds of pleasure came out, Greg's mouth loose and open, his fingers clutching hard against Gil's upper arms. "Fuck!"

"Soon. Do you like that?" Just the slow press in of two fingers at once, curling them in and then sliding them out again, holding Greg as close as he could while still keeping one hand free.

"Love that." Loved that, Gil could tell, Greg shuddering against him. The heat coming off of his skin could almost be felt, the frantic puff of his breath against Gil's cheek smelling faintly of the peppermint chocolates he'd been eating while they watched tv. "Jesus. Jesus. Push them, push me, push the... UNH!"

Push the little red button, or the equivalent of it in Greg's ass. Gil pushed it, rubbed over it, and he didn't need to hold Greg's ass cheeks open so he kept his arm clenched tight around Greg, just above the small of his back. "I'm pushing fast enough."

"Shit. Shit. Oh shit. Oh fuck. Oh shit." He was shaking, trembling all over, and Gil knew from the feel of it that he was pushing Greg closer, much closer. "Holy fu... oh my guuuh!" Having him wild was good, so good, and Gil pulled his fingers away just enough to make Greg sob, give a whine.

Just fingertips at the edge, barely in, before he slid them back into Greg just long enough to tease, long enough to get another sound out of him. "Are you ready?"

He watched Greg's tongue slip out, dash across his upper lip. "I want you in my mouth. I wanna get off with just your dick in me, and your hands on my head, nothing else."

That was a beautiful mental image, and so very close to real. It was almost there, he just had to slide his finger out and get Greg on the toy. Gil turned his head to kiss Greg, hard, firm kiss, and then he backed him up again. "Sit on it."

Sit on it, easy as that, and Gil backed away enough to see. Greg's feet were planted firmly, his hand sliding down to the handle, and then he shifted, moved, and managed to slide it between his cheeks. There was a moment when Gil wondered if he'd need assistance or if he'd manage it, and then Greg gave a sound that shuddered right down Gil's spine because he was there, and it was in.

Latex didn't give the same way flesh did. No matter how soft it was, it didn't start out warm, but it stretched Greg beautifully and Gil could see the way that Greg moved to get a better position, fingers almost white knuckled on that handle. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

"Oh, fuck." Even Greg's voice shook, his entire body tense, pleasure juddering up him in a way Gil loved to watch. One day, he was definitely going to come home and try this just to see exactly what Greg was feeling in that moment. "Oh. Holy. FUCK."

But that was later. For now, watching Greg was amazing, and Gil couldn't help but stroke himself through his pants as he watched Greg's arms twitch and jerk, muscles going tense for a moment while he tried to get used to how it moved.

The handle did most of the work; Greg pushed on it and gave a sound that went straight to Gil's balls. "Oh my God." That seemed a fairly good summary, and when his eyes opened, they were so dark Gil couldn't make out the iris at all. "C'mere. I want your cock." His hands were coming off of it, thighs pushing him forward again so that he moaned.

Gil flipped his belt open, and unbuttoned and unzipped his slacks as he walked towards Greg, closed his viewing space down so all he'd be able to see was Greg's back flexing and beautiful brown eyes looking up at him while his dick stretched Greg's lips.

"Closer." Greg's voice was shaking, almost as much as his hands. He was reaching for Gil, though, pulling him closer, fingers stroking into the open fly to find the opening in Gil's boxers. "Come closer. Please." That word shifted up half an octave, the motion of Greg's thighs steadily bringing the machine into motion.

Closer brought Gil almost straddling the machine himself, but he could settle his hands on Greg's head, messing up his hair worse than usual sliding his fingers through hair that stayed upright long after his touch had passed. It was so easy to clutch at Greg's head, guiding him so soon he wouldn't use his fingers anymore, just Greg's mouth on his dick, hot and soft and so wet.

The dart of tongue was the first thing he felt, but it was quickly followed by lips closing over the tip, and then he was in. There was nothing better than being in, because Greg was a hell of a cock sucker. Tight suction, tongue flickering, lathing the bottom side, teasing at the nerve where shaft met head. Every so often, he'd shift a little harder and then his rhythm would falter, but God. Oh, God.

Gil was really going to need to drag out the video camera, just so he could see more of Greg, just like this. Greg knew how to suck his brains right down into his penis, how to make his world narrow to just that, just wet tongue and beautiful suction and the faint application of teeth because Greg knew that just a little made Gil's balls twitch, hurt in a good way.

"Hnnnn." Just the sound was all pleasure, and he could look down, see the deep red chasing down into Greg's cheeks from his ears, crossing over his nose, a desperate heated flush. His thighs were shifting, moving him faster, and his hands were tugging at Gil's hips to keep him going. There was desperation there, so soon, surprisingly soon.

That was okay. If Greg finished first, he was going to be up to a second round, and he clearly liked the feel of his new toy. Gil rocked his hips forwards, giving it to Greg, giving him no choice but to take his dick in deeper. "Beautiful. Fuck, you're beautiful like this..."

Beautiful, taking it in, all of it, sucking Gil into his throat, swallowing around him as his hands crept back, teasing between Gil's cheeks, reaching to lightly touch his balls. So close, Gil could tell, close and beautiful didn't seem like a good enough word when Greg was on the edge. He wasn't sure he'd ever find a word that fit.

"OH HOLY GOD!"

It was like a bad chain reaction, and Gil didn't know what to do to stop it because Greg gagged and his teeth hit Gil's dick with more than a brush when they both startled, a hard scrape, and Gil caught himself half twisting to catch sight of Gunnar standing in their doorway.

Worse, Greg shifted just right and then yelled, and he was coming, and there wasn't anything to do to stop that, really, just like he couldn't take back the sharp pain of Greg's teeth.

"Oh, Jesus, oh, my God."

Gil didn't think Gunnar had any right to be pleading with God in that particular moment.

For one moment too long, Gil wasn't sure what to say, or do, and then he snapped, "Stop staring and get out of here!" Because where the hell had Gunnar come from and he was half naked and Greg was entirely naked, and Gunnar simply didn't need to stand there.

The next declaration of startled, "God!" was matched by a slamming door, and Greg shaking as he hid his face against Gil's hip. He was still on that crazy precipice, but when he looked up, his face was pale, and his eyes were wide with shock. "Gil...." Even his voice shook, and Gil didn't know what to do about that.

"Shhh." Gil shifted, knelt down so his dick was out of the equation even though it hurt, and slid a hand over Greg's back. "It's okay. Let's take a minute to clean up."

"Oh my God." Greg was shaking, and the strange echo of Gunnar's exclamations made Gil uncomfortable. "Oh my God, my dad, my dad, he, oh, I, what, but, I thought, they were going...." Going to a show, and what the hell was Gunnar doing back, anyway?

"I know. Could have been worse?" Could have been Greg's uncle, and Gil shifted a little, hugged Greg gently. He knew when that was right, when Greg needed it, but he didn't make it last long because he pulled back, trying to get Greg to his feet. "I'll sneak you into the shower and see what's going on."

"Gil?" Greg looked at him, brows knit, hands shaking as Gil managed to pull him up. He gave a hiss as he rose, coming off of the molded copy of Gil's cock. "Oh. Ow. Um. There's some things I never..." Never wanted to have happen, never wanted to be caught doing, something. "I mean, there are some things... Oh my God, I'm never going to be able to look at him again. Ever."

Gil couldn't help but let his hand drift, rubbing halfway apologetically at one of Greg's ass cheeks. He hadn't even gotten a chance to warm it with his hand -- that probably would have been part of round two, which because Greg's family was home, definitely wasn't going to happen. Gil's erection was already flagging, as much to do with the circumstances as with the teeth. "Later I'll tell you about the time my mother caught me in the bathroom with a candle."

"A candle?" Just the sound of that seemed to be enough to make Greg smile, even if he didn't seem to want to. "You're kidding me to make me feel better, aren't you?"

"No, but is it working?" Gil asked hopefully, giving him a faint smile back. They had robes in their bedroom and he could grab one for Greg and bring him fresh clothes. By the time Greg was done showering, he'd have put himself back together again.

"Maybe." Maybe, but Greg didn't want to go out and see his dad, that much was certain. Gil wondered who else had heard the ruckus, and what everyone was probably saying about it. "Some."

"Okay." Gil kissed him gently, just a caress against Greg's mouth, and then he pulled back to grab Greg's bathrobe. "I'll grab you clean clothes in a second."

"Hey, Gil?" Greg paused, tilting his head to the side before moving away. "I'm really sorry. I should have had everybody get a hotel room or... Something."

That would've been nice, but. It was easier to wrap Greg in his bathrobe than agree, easier to guide Greg's shaking limbs into movement. "It's okay. Things like this are supposed to happen, or so I've been told."

"I'm never going to be able to go out there," Greg told him, and the pallor was being chased away by humiliation. That was a good thing. More or less.

"The bathroom is just right there," Gil reminded as he moved to open the door. And probably empty unless Gunnar was in there trying to scrub his eyes out, from the living room side door.

"I know, but I'd hate to have to crawl out the window to go to work," Greg said mournfully. "It would really suck. Like. A lot."

The bathroom was empty, thank God, so neither of them had to face Gunnar. Yet, anyway. Greg took that for the gift it was and headed for the shower, turning it on and waiting for it to heat up.

"Are you coming?" he asked Gil, looking hopeful and nervous all at once.

"No, I'm going to go talk with him first," Gil half-suggested. Or maybe he did need to shower. He wasn't too sure since everything smelled like sex, and... Oh. Greg had come on his pants. "Yeah." Might as well, because it was a necessity, really. He needed to put things away in the other room, do some cleanup, but maybe Gunnar would keep everybody out of there long enough to...

No, he'd clean up first. That was a better idea.

It was as easy as stripping naked the rest of the way, then, leaving clothes on the floor while Greg checked the water. "I'll lock the doors..." Just in case. He wasn't used to thinking 'just in case'. 'Just in case' made him nervous, and it made him uncomfortable in his own skin, as if he wasn't uncomfortable enough.

"Okay," Greg agreed, slipping into the shower and tugging the door almost closed so water wouldn't spill out onto the bathroom tiles.

Gil made sure the doors were locked, and then he stepped into the shower with Greg, and halfway into steaming hot water. It wasn't quite how he'd wanted the Christmas present unveiling to go, but if he'd thought ahead a little better, he would have realized that he wouldn't be able to dishwasher clean the toys like usual anyway with Greg's relatives there.

That was a fairly amusing thought, and he couldn't help the way his mouth curved, even when Greg looked at him suspiciously. "What?" he asked, reaching up to touch Gil's mouth. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry..."

"Don't be. I just realized I can't clean the dildos in the dishwasher today." Gil slid his arms around Greg's body, over familiar skin even when wet, and he pulled Greg a little closer, herded them both under the water.

That was better, both of them tightly together, the water spilling everywhere. Gil understood the humiliation because he was pretty much dying of it, too. The only thing worse than getting caught by the guy who took his virginity was getting caught with the guy's son, ergo, being caught by his lover's father. There wasn't a whole lot of upside to it.

At least he hadn't been telling Greg to 'take it, bitch'. Gil had to push down another quiet chuckle -- laughter was a bodily reaction, a coping mechanism. And he needed the help, and Greg probably needed it more, so Gil reached up for Greg's favorite body wash to start cleaning him.

"Jesus, after all this time." Greg sounded like he was on the verge of laughter, as well. "I mean, all through high school and making out on the back porch and... I mean, not that... Well, you know how that went, but... I've never been caught before. And I'm, we're, I'm grown. I live with you." Greg held out his hand for body wash. "I shouldn't be feeling guilty about having sex with you."

"Since we do it fairly often," Gil agreed blandly, filling Greg's palm with a generous blob of it with his free hand. Then he set it back, so he could put his attention on soaping up Greg's stomach.

"And like doing it fairly often. Just..." Just he was quite possibly more embarrassed than he had been in his entire life. Gil understood that. "Oh God. I'm so sorry."

Gil pressed his palm flat against Greg's belly, and leaned his head against Greg's. "What are you apologizing for?"

"I don't know." The way Greg grinned up at him was all he could ask for, a little apologetic, a little amused at himself, a lot embarrassed. "I have no idea. But Dad should probably be the one apologizing. Even if he didn't know... you know."

"It was an accident." The embarrassment was sweet, and the shower was calming Greg down, intimate contact in a tiny space where no one could see them at all. There was a little water in his eyes, but Gil didn't need to see clearly. He knew every inch of Greg and he could guess his facial expressions from the tone of his voice.

"Yeah." Yeah, and Greg was washing him, too, so that they wouldn't smell like sex when all was said and done. After all, they'd have to leave the bathroom and their bedroom eventually. Christmas morning was inevitable.

Gil was planning on leaving the bedroom as soon as he was dressed again. There wasn't any reason not to take care of it at soon as he could, not to get it out of the way. Otherwise, it would just sit there and fester and they'd both be hiding in their bedroom in the morning. That wasn't any way for things to go, and he knew it.

He shifted Greg back under the water a little more, rinsing him off and wetting his hair before he reached for the shampoo. Greg reached up and rubbed water out of his eyes, hand pushing up his forehead. "Well. There's nothing else for it. If I don't go out there tonight, I won't go out there at all."

"You're going to go out there tonight," Gil confirmed as he squeezed a little shampoo onto Greg's scalp. "Do you want me to talk to him first?"

"Yeah." Yeah, because Greg obviously didn't want to talk to him. "I'm not sure I even want to say anything." It was Gil's turn to shift beneath the water and get a face full, but Greg brushed it out of his eyes, as well. This wasn't anything like their usual baths, but it wouldn't be, all things considered.

The sexual spark was probably knocked out of the air until Greg's relatives went home. Gil tilted his head this way and that, and let Greg help, but he still managed to answer, "You don't have to."

"I at least have to go out there if I ever want to be able to look my dad in the eye again." That was probably true. Gil remembered the conversation he'd had about the candle with his mother, and definitely didn't want to relive that moment, either.

It was in the past, though, and he was adult enough that she'd never mentioned it again, just that maybe he shouldn't do it again, which he hadn't. After all, every time he'd tried it again he kept thinking of his mother walking in on him. Hopefully Greg's trauma wouldn't last that long. Please God, it wouldn't last that long. After all. It wasn't just Gil's masturbatory life that was at risk. Gil would suggest getting right back on the horse, but all things considered, that might be a pretty bad way of putting things.

He'd handle it later. Later, when there was no one in his house intruding enough to walk in on them. For the moment, Greg was sliding his hands through Gil's hair, rinsing shampoo out that Gil hadn't noticed going in. It was amazing how fast they could shower when no one got sucked or fucked.

"Done." They were done, soap suds going down the drain, and Greg was turning off the water, pushing water out of his face with one hand and Gil's with the other. "C'mon. Let's get dry and drag on some pajamas. See who came in with Dad." That grimace made Gil want to kiss him, so he did, soft, easy kisses on his lips, one, two, three. Just gentle brushes that made Greg smile, because everything wasn't all kink and hard sex between them. Gil loved that smile, the lightness that Greg dragged around through bad days, the creativity.

"Okay."

Okay, simple and easy as that, and Greg pulled away from him reluctantly to look for towels. They should have pulled them out before, but they'd been more than a little distracted, and neither of them had thought about it. Greg was back with the towels by the time that Gil stepped out, both of them dripping on the tile floor.

"Thanks." It was a mess, Gil decided, more than water on the floor. A dropped towel could take care of that. "If you want to clean up in there, and I'll handle Gunnar..."

That glance of pure gratefulness made him kiss Greg again. "Okay. I'll do that and clean everything up, try to find a way to get this into the closet. Slide on some pjs and come out."

"Okay. Take your time." Greg was probably going to be doing the slowest cleaning up of his lifetime. Gil waited for Greg to get into the bedroom before he unlocked the pass through door, and he locked the door that went from bathroom to bedroom behind him. It wasn't something he ever had to do usually, but now he wasn't going to scrimp with carefulness.

Never mind that it was shutting the barn door once the horse had gotten loose; he still felt the need. They both did, he expected, and he'd go ahead and indulge because there was no reason to let the horse out again.

"I guess there's no point in wrapping it up again," Greg said, standing naked and looking at his Christmas present. Gil was a little surprised when he laughed.

"No, I guess not. We can keep it in here until after the holidays." Gunnar would probably mention it to everyone and no one would go near their room, so there was no point in more actively trying to hide it. The wrapping was still laying around in the spare room, but Gil would fix that later, too. For now, he pulled pajamas out of the top drawer, and offered them to Greg.

"Thanks." Greg kissed him one more time, and the comfort he got from that was obvious. "I'll take care of everything here," he promised. "I shouldn't just throw you to the wolves."

"I'm pretty okay with the wolves." Gil dragged out his 'pajamas', sweatpants and, because there was company, a decent t-shirt that was bug related and not old rock band memorabilia. "He doesn't know that you know."

"Yeah, well, all things considered, that's probably a good thing. I'll be out once I get..." Greg shook his head. "It won't take long."

Gil hoped it took at least a half an hour, and finished pulling his dragonfly spattered t-shirt down over his head. Greg had found the 'smushed dragonfly' shirt for him a few months ago, and Greg had laughed so hard he'd almost peed himself until Gil had started to point out that they weren't quite physiologically correct even if they were smushed. But it was still nice. "Take your time," Gil urged again, even as he opened the door and slipped out into the hallway.

After all.

Dealing with Gunnar would definitely take time.

Gil was a little surprised not to find the rest of the family gathered in the living room or the kitchen. There was just Gunnar and the bottle of tequila Greg kept for Nicky, settled in the kitchen with quite a lot of it in the bottom of a glass.

"I see you found the tequila." The man had an instinctive sense for finding booze, Gil decided, since he couldn't usually remember where Greg stashed the tequila. He preferred whiskey or beer or wine. Tequila was a passing out man's drink.

Then again, Gil supposed that if he had a son and he'd just seen what Gunnar had seen, he might prefer passing out, too.

"I found it. Thank God I found it."

"We weren't expecting anyone to be back yet." That was pretty obvious, and he didn't have to say it, but it might help. Gil pulled out the chair across from Gunnar, and sat down.

"The magician wasn't exactly my idea of a good time." That was funny. Gil had expected it might have been. "I didn't think..." That they'd be having serious, vaguely kinky sex in their bedroom. Gil figured again that they were just lucky they hadn't actually made it to round two.

His dick in Greg's ass probably would have been too much for all three of them to be caught at. It was different than when Jim had caught him and Greg, mostly because there'd been the threat of arrest. There hadn't been time to be humiliated.

"That Greg and I did anything?" Gil asked, cocking an eyebrow slightly.

Gunnar waved a hand and grasped his glass, bringing it up to take a healthy slug of tequila. "There are some things that a man doesn't ever need to know ab-bout his son. And his son never needs to know about him, either. An' that's just how it is."

"I agree." Gil reached forwards to take the tequila bottle away from Gunnar. "This is a stupid question, but I feel obliged to ask it -- is this going to be a problem?"

"You're some kinda serious pervert, aren't you? An' you're livin' with my boy." There was something about drunk men. They always started to slur and omit letters from the ends of their words. "Jesus, this is all my fault somewhere."

"Actually, Greg's the one who prefers it. I happen to be open-minded. I'm... a little unsure about why someone needs to be at fault for anything since we're both consenting, happy adults." Catherine would have been proud of him for even keeping talking, but as much as Gil wanted to let Gunnar just drink himself into a stupor, the rest of Greg's family probably wouldn't appreciate it.

"He's my boy." Gunnar stressed that. "My boy. You're old enough he could be yours. Not like he is." He sighed and took another swallow of tequila, then looked for the bottle. "Where'd it go?"

"I think you've had enough," Gil told him, slipping his voice towards gentle as much as he could manage. "I'm aware of the age difference. It doesn't matter to Greg."

"Well it oughta matter t'one o' you. Hand over that bottle." Gunnar had a certain set to his jaw that Gil recognized, and his stomach fell just a little. "'s all just wrong. Why my son?" he mourned. "Didn't ever think...."

"Bullshit," Gil snapped quietly. "You're going on 'why your son' like a hypocrite. We both know what you did when you were younger than him."

"'s different," Gunnar informed him, frowning. "'s very different. You were... my age." Or not, not quite. There was a good six year gap, Gil knew. "'s jus' different."

"If that happened now a days you would have probably been charged with pedophilia, Gunnar." Well, sodomy, something against a minor, and Gil wasn't going to bother rattling off the exact charges. Gunnar was on his way to drunk, and it hadn't been long enough for all of it to hit his bloodstream. "So, it is different. Greg and I know what we're doing, and we've been together for a while now. It hasn't changed who he is."

"How long did you wait, yoooou pervert?" Gunnar asked, and the question itself made Gil's teeth clench. "You had your eye on 'im from the time 'e was a kid."

"No. Dad. He didn't. He didn't, and you're drunk, and if you're going to be an asshole, then I'll call you a cab and get you a room on the strip."

"He found Nicky's tequila," Gil announced, holding the bottle up so Greg could take it. "I didn't have my eye on him when he was a kid. I had my eye on a crime scene, and one frightened witness and not a sexually charged thought in my head."

And never mind Greg at twenty-four, or the fact that he'd wondered how Greg would turn out on occasion. That wasn't at all the same, wasn't anything like Gunnar suggested.

"Gregor..." Gunnar sighed. Even that word was distorted by liquor. "You dunno. You jus' dunno, an' you shouldn' ever..."

Greg moved to take the tequila bottle, reaching to tuck it up over the stove again. He was wearing one of his short t-shirts, the ones that rode up, and enjoying that slice of skin would be really out of place at the moment. Gil couldn't help it, though. It was enjoyable. "Yeah, well, you shouldn't ever have seen that, either, and I can't imagine that you didn't have some idea since the door was closed."

"Curiosity got the better of you?" Gil half-asked, glancing over at Greg. He was taking it all better than he'd expected. "I think you just need to go to bed early, Gunnar."

"Jus'... wan'ed t'be sure." Yeah, the tequila was kicking in pretty hard. The temptation to take it away from him altogether was pretty strong since there was still a good half inch in the glass. Gil wasn't sure how violent a drunk Gunnar was, though, and there was no reason to take a chance on it. "Wan'ed t'be sure 'e trea' shoo righ'. An' heeeee's a pervert."

Gil leaned forwards, and carefully pulled the glass from Gunnar's hand. It was going to have to go down the sink, and that was a shame that only Nicky would mourn. "Mmmhmm, but I still treat Greg right," Gil went on blandly. "C'mon. We'll get the air bed out and you can sleep this off."

"Dun wanna."

"Dad." Greg was standing there with his arms crossed over his chest, brows knit. "You have to. And before you go, I'll tell you this. If Gil's a pervert, I'm a worse one. And you're not even on the list. At least when we do what we do, we do it because we love each other, and we enjoy it. And you.... Did you think I wouldn't figure it out? I mean, I already knew about Gil and the El Camino, I just never put it together until you started glaring and grinding your teeth at him and being a jerk."

"I never said anything," Gil confirmed as he started to stand up, waiting for Gunnar to either take a swing at him or follow.

"You tol' 'im!" Never mind that they had both just said otherwise.

"No. Dad. You told me. You told me with the way you looked and how weird you've been, and not at all like yourself. And if that's you from then, and if you're gonna keep it up, I'll call that cab now."

If Gil had known how the evening was going to turn out, they'd have gone to the damn Arcane show. It would have been easier, and quieter, and Gil started to walk away from the table anyway so he could hand Greg the glass Gunnar had been using. "I don't think Audun would like that to happen."

The guilt and frustration on Greg's face warred with embarrassment and a dampness around the eyes that made Gil reach out, rub his thumb beneath the right one.

"Dad, just... let us pull out the bed. You get some sleep. You can yell or tell Mom we're perverts in the morning. Whatever."

Audun wasn't bothered by it. Gil could tell that from his times talking with her, from the way she acted, from her body posture, just like Greg's grandparents didn't get bothered by it. "Can you stand up?"

"I c'n do it m'self." Yeah, and that brought a hell of a fumble, and Gunnar nearly hitting the floor.

Greg sighed. "If you'll set the bed to blow up, I'll manhandle him into the living room."

Given what had just happened, Gunnar wouldn't want Greg manhandling him, so Gil stepped back for a change and walked fast to the living room to clear space and get the bed out and plugged in so it could turn into a proper bed. Sometimes, Gil was glad he knew when to stay quiet.

Sometimes, he wished Greg did. It would have been better to go on pretending that he didn't know. If they were lucky, Gunnar wouldn't remember it in the morning.

"Jus' wanna look out for you," Gunnar slurred as Greg prodded him into the living room. "You're m'boy."

"I know, Dad." Greg knew. Of course he did, and he probably wasn't upset about it. "I know. I just wish you'd trust my judgment, at least in this. I'm a lot more right than you are right now."

Because Greg was the pervert, or at least that was how things had started out. Gil was sure it was the both of them on a nearly even keel now, but... But it didn't matter just then because he was trying to set up the air mattress bed so Gunnar could pass out drunk and hopefully not aspirate in his own vomit.

Well. They'd stay awake until everyone got home, and then Audun could worry about whether he was going to vomit on her or not. That would be the best solution, he supposed, setting the air pump to start and letting it go.

"Here, Dad. You lay down on the couch. You can watch opera. You'll be asleep in no time."

"Jus' wan'ed t'keep you shafe."

"He's safe," Gil insisted quietly. Maybe Gunnar had come home a little drunk. Maybe that had started it all, and maybe he was trying to give the man the benefit of the doubt.

Probably he was trying to give the man the benefit of the doubt.

"Always safe here, Dad. You shouldn't ever worry about that. I'm safe, and I'm happy, and tomorrow, you're not gonna remember most of this." Greg sighed, and dragged one of the throws off the back of the couch. "C'mon. I'll put this over you while we get the stuff to make the bed, okay?"

Gunnar probably didn't want to. Gunnar probably wanted to go finish off the last of the tequila, but he and Greg could stay awake and watch Gunnar to make sure he didn't hurt himself or try to get more booze.

Gil settled on his knees, and peered at the bed while it started to inflate.

"'ma fall shleep. Dun tell yer ma." Gunnar was slurring worse, and that was almost incomprehensible.

"I won't tell Mom. Just close your eyes, Dad. We can talk about all of this tomorrow," Greg sighed, and Gil looked up at him, watched as he tucked the throw around him carefully.

Greg loved his father very much, and even if Gil already knew that, it was something else to see it, half-watching while the bed inflated. Hopefully conversation would be calmer in the morning and everything would settle down.

"He's out," Greg announced. One hand reached up and rubbed at his face. "Should we manhandle him onto the mattress or leave him here? Either way, it's gonna be hard to explain to Mom."

"We'll put him on the mattress once we've made it up. Your mother might appreciate it," Gil shrugged. "We'll just... have to tell her what happened."

The way Greg drew in breath said more than words, a deep pull through his nose, followed by a slow, steady sigh through his mouth. "Great. Perfect. And you're right. Unfortunately." He looked up at Gil, gave him a shaky smile. "This really sucks. I mean. Yeah, earlier, that didn't suck, but..."

"I know. What I meant was that we just say he walked in on us. Not.... what we were doing when he walked in on us." Gil didn't want anyone else to know, because there was enjoying one's taste in kink and there was having one's family know about it. His mother would probably have started giggling if she'd walked in.

That couldn't be any better than Gunnar yelling about God, in its own way, although it almost certainly would have had more amusement value.

"I think it's finished," Greg said. "Let me get the sheets ready while you cap it off."

"Sure. Should we just move over to the computer room tonight, until they get back, or put a movie in?" He didn't want the evening to be spoiled for Greg. Not completely.

"Once we get him in the bed, we can put a movie in. I, ah, picked up a copy of Serenity for us when I was out. I was gonna wrap it, but..." Greg shrugged. "We could just watch it instead. Might make for a better evening. Well, not that it wasn't pretty fabulous to start, just..."

"At least I hadn't pulled you over my knee?" It was only half hypothetical, because Gil could envision Gunnar trying to stop him from smacking Greg's ass, and that would have gotten messy. "Sure. I'm up to bad sci-fi right now."

"Yet. I think yet highly applies." Ah, but Greg was giving him a rueful smile even as he dropped the sheets on the air mattress, tugging one of the corners into place while Gil began to work on his side. "And it's pretty good sci-fi, actually. I keep telling you if you'd just sit down and watch the first episode of Firefly, you'll be hooked...."

"We could start there." Since GIl was fairly sure that Greg hadn't just picked up the movie, and they had at least another hour to kill in a non-sexual way.

Mostly.

Greg shook out the top sheet and smiled at him. "That sounds perfect," he said, and maybe he wasn't so traumatized they wouldn't end up making out. Especially, Gil thought, if they used the television in the armoire in their bedroom.

---

Morning brought bright, sunny weather, rays that spilled in through windows in Gil and Greg's bedroom and splashed over the bed. Since they were awake during the day for the duration of family visits, Greg had tugged the black out blinds up and left them there. It made a certain amount of sense, Gil supposed, reluctant to open his eyes just yet. Why should he? It was bright, true, but Greg was warm against his side, his back pressed close, and he was giving faint snuffling snores that made Gil want to kiss him awake and do things that would make him yell loud enough to scare the neighbors.

It was unfortunate that they'd have to get up and face their families instead.

It wasn't his mother that concerned him, it was Greg's parents. Greg's aunt and uncle, if they'd left their hotel room and arrived there yet. Not Greg's grandparents, which always struck Gil as amusing because one would naturally assume that an older generation would be less accepting.

Knowing there were three people who wouldn't get involved in any ruckus still wasn't enough to make Gil want to get out of bed.

"Hey." It was a sleepy sound, a good one, and it wasn't inductive to driving him up and into real clothes. Any other morning, that rough just-awakened sound would have him tugging Greg closer, fumbling for the lube. This morning, there were two layers of pajamas between them, though, and the disheartening realization that they'd have to get out of bed soon.

Gil didn't want to. He really didn't want to, and Greg was usually the one he had to drag out of bed. The next time Greg's family came, if they ever came again, he and Greg were putting them in hotel rooms. "Morning."

"Hm." Hm, because it felt good, so good, Gil was sure, and then Greg snuggled back against him and sighed, closing his eyes again. "Don' wanna get up," he informed Gil sleepily, turning to nestle against him comfortably. "Wanna stay right here. Like this."

"I'm not going to argue." Gil didn't want to move at all, not when Greg felt so familiar, so tempting even through two too many layers of fabric. He shifted his arms, and held onto Greg just for a little while.

It was easy to drowse in and out of sleep that way; easy to be close and still, and loved. Mornings usually went too fast for the opportunity to come that often, so Gil enjoyed it instead. They were draped together, and Greg's leg slid over his in a way that was more akin to comfort than sex, which was a good thing.

"Love you," Greg murmured eventually, leaning up and kissing his jaw. "But. I think we have to get up."

"I know." Gil shifted, planted an elbow against the mattress, and started to give up on his comforting laze. He didn't hear any noise, but it didn't mean anything.

Well. It might mean that all the preparations were in place for having him lynched and buried in the back yard. Maybe they were going to persuade his mom to go out with Greg so that neither of them ever knew what had happened to him, at least not until his team showed up.

"C'mon." Greg nudged him, but he didn't make any move to crawl out on the other side.

"You're not helping," Gil sighed. He could be a man about it -- one of them was going to have to be, and Gil wasn't going to avoid a confrontation forever if that was what it was going to come to. He shifted, and finally threw back the sheets.

Greg gave a pitiful moan, but it made him let go, and he shifted back to his side of the bed. "I'd suggest just going out there like this, like every morning, but..." But. Clothes were a weapon in and of themselves, even if they were defensive. Gil understood that. "Oh, well."

"You also have to get off of the mattress if you want to get dressed," Gil pointed out as he swung his own legs off of the mattress and stood up. Somewhere in there, his neck cracked, and his knee creaked just a little. Some days, it was disturbing to crawl out of bed.

Right up until he heard Greg's vertebrae pop. Ah, well. Maybe he wasn't getting too old. "Getting up," Greg told him, even though he was still stretching. "I swear. I'm getting up."

"You take your time, I'm going to shave." And pee and get dressed and move quickly, move at his own pace instead of waiting for Greg and making a consolidated front because if there was any anger rolling around, he wanted to face it first.

Greg rolled over on the bed so that he could watch Gil go into the bathroom, the door open between them. "I like it that you shave now," he said loudly enough for Gil to hear as he reached for his electric razor. "The cleft in your chin makes me happy."

The cleft in his chin made Greg happy and for Gil, it had started to be as much of a pain to trim the beard as it had been to shave. Even if Greg sometimes mused that he missed beard rash on his ass. Gil just took it as a hint that rimming was on Greg's mind, and he didn't usually hear anything about it after he satisfied that urge. "Good to know."

"Of course, I like the dimples on your ass, too." Greg was moving, then, out of the bed and out of sight, probably so that Gil wouldn't come after him for that statement. It usually brought on a variety of results, and they wouldn't be comfortable with most of them at the moment. "Hey. Navy blue or khaki?"

"Khaki?" It was either pants or t-shirts, but either one sounded like a good answer, and Gil didn't have to look or try to peek in the mirror to see what Greg was up to while he shaved under his chin.

Khaki appeared to be a good answer, because Greg came wandering into the bathroom a few minutes later with a stack in his hands -- jeans, a khaki colored shirt and a white t-shirt, fairly conservative clothing for off days. "Thanks." He paused, and kissed the cheek Gil wasn't shaving, then moved to pee.

Uncertainty certainly made Greg affectionate. Gil finished up with his other cheek, and handed Greg the razor as an offering once he came back. Then, he reached for the toothpaste. Greg took it and stripped off his t-shirt before reaching for the bristle-softening pre-shave that he kept by the sink. Greg had more products scattered on half of the county than Gil had owned in the last six months. It was interesting to watch him, though, and the pre-shave smelled good while it was on and then faded quickly. Most of the scents in their bathroom did the same, and the few that didn't, they didn't wear to work.

They groomed in peaceful morning quiet, but Gil could imagine that Greg's stomach was tumbling the way that his was, nerves making him just a little jittery.

He didn't like it. He didn't like it, and he still managed to finish up faster than Greg did, because Greg had to play with his hair and his hair gel, and get dressed and all Gil had to do was pull clothes on.

"Wait on me," Greg encouraged him, giving him that worried look he hated to see.

"Okay." They didn't usually have to work as a group when something like this happened. He'd pull his clothes out and then he'd wait for Greg, and Greg was probably going to extra-hurry with his hair and pulling clothes on.

It didn't take long. Greg washed his face and used something else to which Gil had never paid a lot of attention. He skipped fixing his hair altogether, and was halfway into his jeans by the time Gil finished dressing.

"Okay."

Gil had already slipped his feet into his shoes, and started to walk towards the door, pulling it open in one smooth motion so that they could face their doom. "Hey, what should we do for breakfast?"

Greg hurried to catch up, dancing on one foot while he slid on a sock. "We could always run away from home. Go someplace with Belgian waffles, no arsenic..."

"Who would put arsenic on your waffles, sweetie?" Audun asked, poking her head into the living room from the kitchen. "Come on. I wasn't sure when you'd be up, but I've got the waffle iron out. It won't take it long to get hot."

"Really?" Somehow Gil couldn't picture Audun putting one of their hands in it, but the pretty ones were usually deceptive. There was Audun, but as he kept heading forward, there were Greg's grandparents, and Greg's aunt, and his mother.

Huh.

"We sent your father out to the mall. Bath & Body Works," Audun announced. She seemed pleased with herself. "I forgot a few things. Very specific things."

"Oh," Greg said. He seemed to understand exactly what she wasn't saying. "So. Um."

"He took Jerry with him?" Unless Jerry was waiting out there somewhere with a shotgun, because he'd certainly been railing against sin the other night.

"Well, it's always easier to find a place when there are two people fighting over how to get there." That made Poppa Olaf laugh, and Nina shook her head.

"It's what Gunnar gets for being drunk when she got home," she sniffed. "I love him, but going to the mall with Jerry is akin to the sixth circle of hell. Gunnar has to take him to Sam's, too."

"I'm not even sure where there is one in Vegas." And they lived there, had for years. But shopping wasn't Gil's forte, so maybe two strangers could find it quicker. But he doubted it.

His mother was smiling at him, and watching lips at her own pace. "They'll be gone for hours. Which is good for all of us, isn't it?"

The blush that crept down from Greg's ears was obvious. "Um. I take it Dad..." Had told everyone there exactly what he'd caught them doing the night before. Gil hoped he hadn't, but it wouldn't surprise him if they all knew every single detail.

"Had quite a lot to drink while we were gone," Audun cut in, and smiled a little. Gil understood that expression on his own mother's face as a general 'not now' because there were probably people who did just think that. Probably Greg's aunt.

"Do you need help with breakfast? Does anyone want coffee?"

"Coffee would be so good," Greg sighed, and headed for the lazy susan in the corner and the percolator just above it. "Sorry. He, ah... He found the tequila we keep for Nicky. Sometimes he comes over and makes margaritas so..." Margaritas and fajitas, if they were lucky. "He'll come over tonight." Greg grinned. "I know how you love him, Ma."

"He's a good boy," she said, and moved to kiss Greg on the cheek. "So are you, sweetie. It's okay."

Hopefully it was going to be okay. As soon as Gil could find something constructive and helpful for him to do, since it was his home, even if relatives had taken it over. His mother was smirking at him, and that just made him want to smile a little. She knew what had happened.

Well.

At least it wasn't as bad as the episode with the candle. Considering the naked ornament she'd brought Greg, he supposed he should be delighted that she didn't have a camera that time.

"Okay," Greg said, and drew a deep, steady breath. "Does anybody else have any last minute shopping to do? Or do you guys need anything, or...?"

"Your isoäiti and I were hoping that Nina would take us to fetch a few last minute things," Poppa declared. "Very shortly, I think, or I fear that the crowds will be too much."

"Are you going to be all right trying to navigate shopping in Vegas?" Gil had his heart half-set on breakfast, but he didn't want them getting lost.

"I have a GPS system," Nina told him. "And if we get too terribly lost, I promise we'll call. Dad, Mom, why don't you both get your things together and we'll head out now?"

Poppa was already rising. "An excellent notion, Nina. Just a moment."

Which left them with their mothers, both of whom seemed to know what was going on. Gil turned towards Audun and his mother, and lifted his eyebrows a little. "Coffee for four, then?"

"Yes, please," Vivian declared, watching him closely. She brought her hands up a bit so that he could see them clearly. ~Well, Gilbert, it has been an entertaining evening and morning, I assure you. The yelling was fierce, or so I am told. Luckily, the aunt and uncle were not present.~

~What happened? We went to sleep early.~ With the tv playing static at them, but when Gil turned that off around four a.m., all had been quiet. And then he couldn't ask anymore because he was getting mugs down since Greg had set the coffee to perking.

~Your father-in-law,~ and what a term that was, ~had quite a lot to say about the things he saw, it seems. Most of which I have heard from Audun. Dear sweetheart. You have your hands full with your young man.~ It was obvious that she was greatly amused by the matter.

Gil managed a weak smile when he set the coffee cups down on the counter. ~You could say it that way. Was that this morning, or last evening?~

~This morning, dear.~ "It's all right, you know." All right, maybe, but Gil was still jittery.

"What's all right?" Nina asked, coming back into the room. "Do you need anything? Should we stay?"

"Oh," Greg said, giving Gil a wild-eyed expression. "Um. We're out of dish soap. Could you maybe pick some up for us?"

"Or else Christmas dinner is going to be worthy of a science experiment," Gil added, as if him saying something about it would add that extra urgency. "Any kind."

"Let me go find my wallet...."

Nina laughed. "Sweetheart. I'll get your dish soap. Don't worry." She paused and patted his cheek. "Don't worry. It'll all turn out all right, whatever it is."

As soon as she left with Greg's grandparents, they could talk instead of signing and really figure out what was going to happen next. Gil didn't expect there to be a world war over it, at least not unless Gunnar was out there conspiring with Jerry. It certainly gave Gil pause, while he looked for the sugar. And Catherine wondered why he'd clung so fiercely to being single.

"We'll see you later," Nina told them as Poppa and Isoäiti came out of the study, garbed in jackets and scarves, tugging on gloves. Isoäiti was holding on to a giant purse that made Gil grateful that he didn't have to carry one. "I'm sure we'll probably end up staying out for lunch."

"Vacations are the only time your Isoäiti allows me to have patty melts," Poppa confided to all of them.

"If you need to know where to find one, call and Greg probably can give you directions," Gil advised over his shoulder as he got the mugs ready for whenever the coffee finished boiling. There was sugar and milk in the right ones, the way he'd worked out Greg's mother took hers, and the way he knew his mother took hers. Black, a little sweet.

"Of course. C'mon, let's get going." Nina headed for the garage, Greg's grandparents behind her, and that left them alone with their mothers.

"Mom..." Greg began awkwardly. "God, I'm so sorry."

"Sorry for what, sweetheart? Sorry that your father got drunk? Sorry that he's been such an ass to Gil? And believe me, Vivian and I have had talks about that. We figured it all out quite some time ago."

It was a little amusing that Gil didn't consider Gunnar particularly asinine. Just uncomfortable, just... just what he'd actually expected in some sort of father-in-law that didn't include actual physical shows of violence. "Oh."

Now he just had to wonder how they'd put it all together.

"Your mothers are not stupid," Vivian asserted. "Gil developed an overnight antipathy towards El Caminos. Also, I heard him discussing the matter with a friend of mine quite a few years ago. I understood the moment I saw the picture, once combined with the obvious discomfort between them."

"It's why you don't have a matching naked ornament," Audun explained to Gil apologetically.

"Oh." Greg was almost as articulate as Gil in that moment, and it made Gil feel a little better, even if they knew.

"It's a... strange series of coincidences," Gil shrugged, as if that made everything perfectly reasonable and okay. One which he could assume Audun wasn't bothered by, which was important because she was Greg's mother.

"Sweetie." It was so strange to be addressed that way by a woman his own age. Really, it was. "Don't make excuses for Gunnar's behavior. He refuses to talk about it, and that's his right, but he shouldn't make you or Greg uncomfortable."

Greg's face was on fire. "Um. I think we made him uncomfortable. Last night, anyway. We should have locked the door."

Vivian sniffed. "Yes, and he should have knocked, so everyone is equally guilty."

"We didn't actually think that anyone was going to be home for a couple of hours. It didn't take too long to set up the last decorations, so..." Gil was reaching for the coffee carafe so he could dole it out to everyone.

"So we thought we'd... have a sort of early Christmas," Greg mumbled, still flushed and desperately embarrassed. "I mean, it just. And boy, if I had realized anybody was coming home early..."

Audun shook her head. "He said he had a headache and, really, you know how your father feels about the sort of kinky shows we were watching last night...."

"Yeah," Greg choked out. "Um. About that...."

Kinky shows. If Gunnar had something against screwy magic acts than Gil never would have suggested it; as it was, he barely managed not to spill the coffee while Greg choked on the topic. Best just to rush through it, then, run roughshod and make it fast. Like ripping off a... no, not quite like ripping off a Band-Aid. More like shooting oneself in the foot with a nail gun rather than using a hammer to do it.

"He caught us in the middle of our own kinky show."

"That's my boy," Vivian said fondly, reaching out to pat his hand. "I'm not surprised."

Audun eyed Greg, one brow raised. "Well. No wonder he was in such a snit this morning."

"You should have seen him last night." Greg's hand covered his face, the mortification shining in his voice.

"He'd polished off half of a bottle of tequila in the time it took to run a shower," Gil said as he offered his mother, and then Audun the coffee. "And he didn't hold it well."

Greg's mother gave a great sigh. "I'll talk to him again. I wouldn't count on him being very cheerful, even if it is Christmas."

Watching Greg droop made Gil grit his teeth. He couldn't help it; it was his nature, he supposed, to be protective of Greg. Especially now, even if he had only been passively protective before they began what lay between them.

Now was more open, more intense. "If you're... comfortable with the decisions Greg has made, why is Gunnar having a problem?" Other than that it was Gil -- and if that was the answer, plain and simple, then he could handle it. It would make it easier, somehow, knowing that it really was just a personal problem.

"Sweetie...." Audun sighed. "I'm not really sure. Maybe he's afraid that his past is going to come back to haunt him permanently."

"Maybe he's afraid you won't love him if you know," Greg suggested.

Gil glanced over to his mother, and she just lifted her eyebrows at him. "I'd rather not be his haunting past, but as it is, I wish I didn't bother him. I'm sure he's a nice enough man, normally." Or else Greg wouldn't be happy to see him and Audun probably wouldn't still be married to him.

"I know." Vivian patted his hand again, and sighed. "I know, boys. When he comes home, why don't the two of you go out for a bit? It's easier for a woman to vent her spleen when her children won't be able to hear."

Hear, and that always made Gil smile a little, because his mother could control her voice and be quite sharp and loud even if she couldn't hear herself. But Gil still wondered if most family holidays that Greg was used to involved everyone off doing things in small groups. "I'm sure Greg and I can find something to do."

Something that didn't involve Greg's present, and Gil could see that same expression crossing Greg's face. "Um, yeah. I have a couple of last minute presents to buy anyway."

"We'll make ourselves scarce for a while." After breakfast, after Gunnar and Greg's uncle came back.

Now all Gil had to do was figure out how to change the subject.

"So. How 'bout them Yankees?" Greg asked brightly. Never mind that the baseball season had been over long enough to make him look just a little spastic.

Audun just laughed, though, and kissed his forehead. "That's my sweet boy."

Gil smiled a little, and peered over towards the fridge. "So, breakfast?" And that seemed good enough to diffuse it.

"Breakfast," Greg agreed, and they set to work.

---

Gil wasn't exactly sure how things had ended up this way, but he had the feeling that there were at least two Sanders at work behind it, if not the entire damn family plus his mother.

She was sneaky like that.

Greg was doing something with his grandparents, but somehow a single string of light bulbs on the tree was out, so of course someone had to go and get it and could he and Gunnar run out? And before Gil had been able to get a word in edgewise, they'd been unceremoniously escorted out the door.

The only consolation was that he was driving and not Gunnar.

Audun should have been a con-woman. Now he knew which parent had given Greg his skills of grinning persuasion.

Both of them, actually, considering how he had met Gunnar.

The older man cleared his throat slightly, still looking straight ahead through the windshield. "Um. So." So. "Gil. I want to apologize for last night. Among... among other things.

Among other things. Gil pondered how best to proceed through the conversation, let alone through the traffic. It had been decided that he and Gunnar could get more eggnog while they were out, too, which had made the trip a little more complicated. Or, would make it more complicated. "Yes?"

"Yeah." Yes, but Gunnar wasn't looking at him. Maybe it was shame or maybe Audun had put him up to it. Gil didn't know. "Look. You know, I've never been proud of a lot of things. What I did to you. A couple of other people. And, uh. I'm letting that get in the way of my son." Gunnar took a deep breath. "So. I'm sorry for lots of reasons. And I'm sorry about last night."

"I'm sorry about last night, too. We didn't think anyone would be back for a few hours..." And part of Gil wanted to bristle and point out that it was their house, his and Greg's, split payment, pooled money, house. But he wasn't going to do it. He was the better man.

"I know." Simple as that. "I knew, and I opened the door anyway. I don't know. Maybe I just... Maybe I wanted to know you treated him right. And I shouldn't have done it. And..." Gil could hear the swallow, the clearing of the throat. "And if you could forgive me, I'd appreciate it."

"I've been willing to forgive you since I... Since the airport." Because he was Greg's father, and Gil wasn't one to hold grudges. "I don't want to cause strain between you and Greg."

"There are some things your kids should never know. Ever. And it's way too late for that but it's not too late to be a grown-up about it." Gunnar sounded just enough like Greg that Gil almost felt bad for him. Almost. "Anyway. Just..."

Just, and Gil wondered what the just was. He was probably digging for words, looking for a topic, and Gil didn't have any to offer the man. "If it's any condolence, I do treat Greg well. He's... become central to my life, and I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize his happiness."

"Okay." Easy as that, it seemed. Okay, and then it was, and what made him marvel at Greg drove him crazy in Gunnar. "All right. I can tell he's happy. Just... I never expected the kind of thing that seems to make him happy. I mean, not you," Gunnar hurried to say, "just.... That."

If Gil thought about it, it was kink that had brought them together in the first place, Greg's ass and his hand and strange, eager first time sex that Catherine had interrupted. "That was actually what started it. Greg was engaging in activities that concerned a mutual friend. One thing led to another, led to... the house and us."

"And there are obviously some things a guy's dad doesn't need to know." Ah, but Gunnar's mouth was quirking, and that was something of a relief. "Tell you what. Um. We won't ever discuss this again, and you'll never tell me anything about your sex life, and we'll be good. Okay?"

Gil managed a smile, even if he was taking a right turn into a damn Kmart parking lot. "Okay." Because life would be so much better if Gunnar would just trust him to... not to actually ever hurt Greg. Not to hurt Greg because he wouldn't.

Ever.

"So. Let's go get that eggnog."

---

"I can't believe you sent him out with Gil." Greg had been moping since Audun mentioned it. "We'll be lucky if they both come back with all of their limbs intact. Oh my God."

"You worry too much. They'll be fine. I'm sure they'll discuss it like men and come back and everything will be fine." Audun could say that only because she was sitting across from Greg with a toothpick and little bowls of icing for decorating their gingerbread and sugar cookie men and women. Isoäiti had her own cookies in the oven, but Greg had always liked the decorated sort almost as much as the traditional kind.

"Ha. Dad will make him pull over and they'll find a dark alley and before I know it, they'll be calling me from the office to say, 'Oh, we're SO SORRY, GREG'!" he declared melodramatically, flopping face first into the table. It was a good thing he was done with all of his cookies.

"Does Gil have a temper that no one knows about?" Audun asked patiently. No, Gil probably wouldn't get into a fight, but his father had been such a bastard lately that Greg wasn't sure.

"At least swear to me that you made Dad promise not to hurt him." Greg was honestly worried about it. He loved his dad, but... Well, he really liked having Gil all in one piece. That all in one piece part was important.

While he couldn't imagine anything bad happening, he also couldn't imagine his father getting that piss drunk in one shot and yet he had. And he still didn't know what he'd said to his brother-in-law, so Greg just had to... keep wondering. It was no wonder Gil was wary of big family things, and so far the holiday hadn't... really been great. Too many ups and downs and someone was always running off to do something. "I talked to your father already. I promise, they'll be fine."

Easy for her to be calm. Or maybe not so much so.

Greg leaned his elbow on the table and put his head in it. "Does he want to talk to me?" he asked finally, tracing one of the cookies with a fingertip.

"When he gets back." Still so placid. So easy. Greg wondered what they had said between them.

"Right."

Okay. And if he was lucky, everybody would show up after the shouting for their cookies and eggnog.

---

There was something great about the idea of Gil hosting people from work at their house. He'd come back with eggnog and that string of lights for the tree, dragged Greg back to their bedroom and kissed him silly for a few moments. Just because, he'd said, and then declared that he needed to rescue the pretzels from Poppa Olaf.

Gil running around in circles because he had no idea how to be a party host, even for something that small, was so much better than getting a call from downtown that involved bail money.

Thank God.

If Greg had been a praying man, he'd have gotten down on his knees then and there. He wasn't much for that, though, so instead he'd just enjoyed all of his kisses, came out of the bedroom laughing and happy, gotten peed on by Guacamole, and finally been cornered by his dad.

It had been a busy hour or so, and now it was a nervous one.

The back yard was cold, but Greg had fairy lights strung around the patio railings. Gil had promised to help him figure out a way to string them around a couple of the small trees they had, too, just so they could spend the warmer evenings and early mornings out there sometimes. For the time being, though, there was just the faint twinkle of those lights, the golden glimmer coming through the patio doors and the windows, and his dad.

"Son? Do you mind if I talk to you?" Do you mind, coming from his father, was a lot like if Bobby forgot how to fire a gun. Or if Greg forgot what all of the equipment in the DNA lab was -- it was just damn unlikely to happen.

"Nah. I don't mind. You know I don't." Gunnar was Greg's dad, even if everything had been pretty uncomfortable for the last twenty hours or so.

"Thanks." Gunnar checked that the back door was closed, and then stepped closer to Greg, towards the edge of the flat cement patio. "I, uh, wanted to apologize. For the other night, and for when you came to California."

Boy.

His mom really had done some fast talking.

Greg turned around, leaned a hip against the railing. "It's okay, Dad." It was, it really was, even if it wasn't. "I mean, I wasn't surprised. I knew. You guys both had this look on your faces at the airport that day and..." He shrugged. "It all clicked when Mom started showing off pictures. You know, the naked ones?" Yeah. That was a memory forever tainted, definitely.

His father had shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Yeah, his dad was still a hippy in a lot of ways. He'd be wearing jeans when he could until the day he died. He'd be an old hunched over man older than Poppa Olaf, shuffling around in jeans with his walker.

"When did he tell you about it?"

"Long time ago." Greg gave him a lopsided smile. "We'd mostly been going back and forth for a while. Not long after I gave up my place to stay at his and we got a bed of our own, I, ah. Asked him. About the first time. He told me about it." He shifted a little, took in a deep breath. "It's kind of a full circle, really. In a way. He was mine. I mean, first. Not only, at the time, which is weird and complicated and probably nothing you want to hear about, right?"

"Right." But it was pretty obvious that Gunnar was trying to work it out in his head, but Greg didn't want to explain about rabbit fucking and illegal dance club sex if Gunnar and Gil had come to some kind of truce.

"Anyway. Point being, it's just... It's the kind of thing you wonder about, you know? And talk about if you're... If you're gonna be together, I guess. You know." Greg waved a hand. "House buying and Domestic Partner Agreements and that kind of thing." Not that they'd done that yet, but they had both of their names on the house, and that was a start. "Dad? He really does love me. Takes care of me. Doesn't mind when, uh, I wanna do something out of the ordinary. It's not... I mean, he didn't make me... What you saw...."

Shit.

"I don't want to know if it is or it isn't the norm for you. I think I... I think I know more about my son's sex life than any man ever wants to know. I, I'm sorry about the way I acted and what I said. It just shocked me. I wanted to make sure he treated you all right, and..." Gunnar shook his head. Maybe between one of them, they'd get a complete sentence out. "Curiosity killed the cat, you know?"

"Yeah." Yeah, he knew, and he couldn't help grinning, shifting closer to his dad, and it was easy, then. Easy to hug him, to let Gunnar hug back, and to just be like they were supposed to be. "He does. He loves me, and it's okay. It really is, Dad. And you know, I still love you. We do stupid shit when we're young. Honest. I mean, the you that was into Pink Floyd and pot in '72 wasn't the you that changed my diapers or let me go on the teacups at Disney until I puked." Yeah, he'd been sixteen that year. Not six. "It doesn't make you any less my dad."

"Good. It's... it's stupid, but I worried about that," Gunnar laughed, and he sounded just a little shaky as he hugged Greg back. "God knows what you see in him, but as long as he treats you right, and he seems like a good man... He ever does anything, you'd tell me, right?" Yeah, he would, but it wouldn't ever happen because Gil got all twisted up in knots with some massive guilt complex when he tripped up a little. And they didn't even argue about money, much. Probably because they worked too many hours between them to have time to argue over it.

"I promise. First time he so much as yells, I'll be on the phone." Well, not really, but it would make his dad feel better.

There were sounds of people shifting, the doorbell ringing, and Greg could see Gil heading for the door. "I think we've got company. You wanna go in, meet some of the guys from work? You know how Mom likes Nick," he teased. "She might just convince him to run off with her."

Gunnar patted his shoulder, and he was almost smiling when he turned to pull open the patio door. "So, just how good looking is this Nick guy...?"

"Really hot," Greg assured him as they stepped inside. Everything looked like Christmas, smelled like it, kringle and sugar cookies, hot chocolate and espresso, pine and cinnamon.

Lights and Gil, mouth tilted in that funny smile, just a little uncertain what to do with all of those people in their house, his family and Guacamole, and David edging away from the dog with suspicious eyes.

Greg couldn't remember the last time he had been this happy.

The waiting was the worst part.

Sitting there in the chair and knowing his name was next to be called, knowing that Nicky was already in there... Well. That was the miserable thing, Greg figured. He was okay with the actual punishment parts, with knowing that he was in trouble. He'd been in trouble before, after all. His dad had been getting kind of upset with him about it, too, and he'd said a lot of things that Greg really didn't figure he meant. After all, his dad was usually the quiet kind, more likely to send him to his room than to get mad with him and do anything about it. Of course, now he had got Nicky in trouble, too, and that wasn't a good thing.

He hadn't meant to. It had just happened. They had been ditching class pretty regularly, and Greg had been feeling kind of horny and frisky, and what was a blow job between friends?

Aside from the getting caught part.

He really hadn't counted on that, to be honest, especially not since today was a report card day anyway. It was going to be bad enough, taking home what that probably looked like, never mind this.

The sound of the paddle stopped, and Greg shifted uncomfortably in his seat. That had gone on a pretty long time, and Nicky wasn't kinky like he was. He wasn't used to that kind of thing. It made Greg feel like shit for getting him into so much trouble, but when the principal came out with the paddle in his hand and looked at Greg, feeling guilty as hell was abandoned for being that scared instead.

There was just something about authority figures that made him feel rebellious and nervous all at once. It wasn't like he could help it, really, and there was the principal, right in front of Greg. He was wearing gray slacks and a sweater vest that matched the uniform variety Greg wore, his tie just the same, eyes peeking over the edge of his glasses in a way that made Greg very aware that he was in way deeper than he had ever wanted to be.

The obvious fact that the man was hard from paddling Nicky didn't help, either.

"Gregory Grissom."

Well. At least it wasn't his full name. If it had been his full name, Greg would be even more jittery. Probably puking on those nice shiny black shoes agitated, and that couldn't be good. No way. "Yes, sir?" That was not his voice, so thin and tremulous. It wasn't. Okay, it was, but he had a right to sound like that!

"You know what you're here for, don't you? Tell me so I know you understand what you've done wrong." He phrased that just so, like wringing another confession out of Greg was just as good as it had been the first time. It probably was. Damned pervert.

"Skipping gym class."

"And?"

And. Why was there always an and? One day, Greg was going to learn better, honest to God, he was going to learn a way to stop himself with just one sin or another. He wasn't going to compound them.

"And picking the lock on the janitor's closet to commit inappropriate acts with Nicky."

"And committing said inappropriate acts with Nicky. Now, I sent you home earlier this week with a note recommending that you receive another five smacks. I'm going to send you home with one today that recommends that you get ten. And I'm going to paddle you here first." Greg wasn't sure he wanted to stretch out like that or drop his drawers for the principal. Frankly, he was a hundred percent certain that he didn't want to do anything like that. Still, if Nicky had got it, there was no way Greg could beg out. Nicky was a lot better than Greg even on a bad day, never mind a good one, so there wasn't the least bit of chance.

"Sir, I'm really sorry..." Really really sorry, because ten seemed like a lot with that paddle in his hand. Nicky had yelped and cried somewhere around six, and it had stopped. Maybe if he did, the same would go for him.

Nicky was cuter than he was, though, and had big wide eyes that Greg wasn't sure he could imitate. "If you were sorry, you'd stop doing such things, wouldn't you? And I wouldn't have to paddle you anymore!"

"Well," Greg admitted. "I'm really sorry when you beat me." Why wasn't there some kind of brake pedal between his brain and his mouth again?

"You insubordinate little..." The principal made a grab for Greg's arm, face turning a little red. "Over my lap right now, pants down!" Why over his lap? Greg always kind of wondered about that, but he let himself be dragged up, mouth turning down as he released the catch on the gray school uniform pants and slid them down.

If he had realized he was going to get caught, he definitely would have worn school regulation underpants instead of the tiny thin ones he was wearing now. Still, when the principal tugged him again, he settled, and he only glanced back nervously once.

Once was enough.

"Where do you buy these? These aren't part of your uniform," The principal scowled at him, one hand resting over top of them. He was probably contemplating what side of the paddle he preferred to use on Greg.

Greg sincerely hoped that neither side had been equipped with sandpaper. That was probably illegal, but it didn't stop him from worrying about it.

"I wasn't figuring on pulling my pants down today, okay?" Jesus. He really had to learn not to smart off when his ass was presented as on offering, and he closed his eyes tightly. Dammit.

One finger snuck between the edge of his thong and his ass, and then he could fee the fabric snap right down along his crack after the principal pulled it up. "Clearly. I want you to keep count."

Always with the counting, too. It was a damned good thing the old man couldn't see his eyes roll, and it was an incredibly close thing for him not to yell when the first swat came down.

Maybe there was sandpaper there after all, because Greg's ass was on fire pretty quick with that thing, and he felt heat flood up into his face, a sudden tingle in his sinuses. "Ow!"

"Is that 'one'?" he pressed, waiting a moment before he smacked Greg again.

That was so one, and Greg was even going to manage to say two. Maybe. "T-two..." He wondered if Nick had been made to count, or if it had been the same paddle. It burned, all across both cheeks, and squirming was probably a damn bad idea, all things considered. Stupid old man, he was getting off on it. Greg could feel the hard-on pressed against his hip, but there was no way he was going to say anything about it.

His dad was probably going to blame him for it anyway. If he told him -- and oh God, how was he going to explain that letter?

Three almost slipped his mind. Well, the number, anyway. The smack certainly didn't because it fell on the bottom side where his thighs met his ass, and that noise should not be made in the conference room next to the principal's office, ever. As in.... ever. His breath was hitching already, and Greg really wondered how Nicky had managed not to yell. "Thu-huh-ree." Jesus. Jesus, that just wasn't fair. No way. He had to be swinging his arm practically all the way around to get that leverage.

Winding up like a baseball batter to pull that off. It stung, burned, and there was no way that his dad would hit him that hard. "You're already turning red. I can see your father doesn't discipline you as often as you need."

Greg sniffed. "Dad doesn't believe in hiiii!" His voice trailed off in what was almost a shriek when the paddle struck him again. Damn, damn, damn. He wasn't going to cry, he wasn't going to...

Okay. He was a total pussy and he was definitely a little more teary than he wanted to be. Ever. "F-f..." Four was harder to get out than Greg really hoped it would be.

And there were six more. Six more. Maybe he could forge his father's signature again and not get more at home, because what he'd gotten at school was more than enough. He stammered through four, and five was doomed to be shaky and scared, flattening the thin skin over his muscles.

"Fooour," he finally managed to moan out, and that was when five came down in a way that made his eyes roll back in his head just a little before they flooded even further and tears began to drip on the floor. Greg didn't remember the spanks being nearly so hard earlier in the week. "I'm sorry!" he lied, squirming. He was getting hard, and that made him as much of a pervert as the principal was. "I'm so sorry!"

"You'll be more sorry if you do it again!" Six wasn't quite as hard as five had been, but it didn't matter when his ass already burned that badly, when everything was warm and stinging in a way that said sitting down wasn't going to be an option any time soon.

Greg panted, shifting so that his hands were planted on the floor, trying to get his hips away from the thigh where he rested. It wasn't fair to be so hard when it hurt so badly, it really wasn't, and it wasn't fair for him to have a hard time saying six. It wasn't fair that he had to, either, when it was all he could do to keep his breath. "S, s, .sscks. Siiix."

"Good. Four more, and we're done and you won't make Nicky suck you off in the closet again, will you? You know how strict his father is compared to yours." Light conversation while Greg was suffering, and trying not to notice that the other man was hard as a rock. And just like that, without warning, was another hit, this one to his left cheek. Greg yelped and arched up hard, unable to stop the motion or the sound before he dropped back down into the principal's lap and wept for a moment, bitter. He couldn't stop squirming, either, and that made it really hard to get out any kind of number.

The older man was waiting, and Greg knew it. He did, he just couldn't make himself say the word. All his mouth wanted to do was stay close and quiet so that all of those sobs didn't come out loud and harsh in the air.

"Say it. Say it or I'll add an extra one."

"Sssuu..." Oh shit. "Suuu. Su-u-heaven." Oh, God, that was a hard word, and a harsh sob sounded as soon as he let it out. Dammit. Dammit, dammit. He definitely wasn't asking Nicky to suck him off at school again. Ever.

"Good. Very good." He got a reprieve, except Greg just thought he was going to start crying when fingers stroked idly over his burning skin, finger-pads savoring his skin. His breath hitched, a gasp shivering loose when the principal squeezed, a gentle sort of motion all things considered. Greg whined and closed his eyes, going just a little limp.

"C-a-an we s-stop?" he pleaded, hoping against hope that maybe he would sound pitiful enough and then it would be over and done with. Seven was a good number, a great number, a pretty damn evil number because his whole ass was throbbing.

"No. You've been a very bad boy, Gregory Grissom, and I don't think you understand yet." He understood. He understood that everything hurt and he couldn't suck off Nicky in the janitor's closet but he could have his principal pet his butt after he was caught. He picked up the paddle again, and just laid it against Greg's ass.

"Please!" Please wasn't a word he wanted to use, but the feel of that smooth, polished wood made him squeak it out, made him go stiff and look back over his shoulder.

There was no way he wasn't getting the last three. He knew it when he saw that face. Determined and delighted at the same time. The principal liked it better, liked to hit Greg more than he liked to hit Nicky. It made Greg want to squirm again, except he was hard and he hurt, and then strike eight landed smack on the middle of his ass, firmly on both cheeks, and he squealed like a girl.

"Ow, ow, ow!" He was becoming more and more convinced that the damn paddle was magical, and that the sandpaper only appeared when it landed on his ass. "Ooooww!!"

Maybe there were tiny grains in the smoothness, and he scraped it a little on the down stroke. "What number was that?"

God, Greg hated crying. It made his insides go all runny, and his head ache. It wasn't even remotely nice or funny. "Ay-ay-eeeight!" Eight, and that meant two more unless he didn't manage to get one of the numbers out.

Just two more numbers. Two more numbers, and he could go home, and the worst his father would do was smack his behind a little and send him to bed. He had to be strong and manage it. Except there was nine, and then ten before he could count nine, and he couldn't help the fitful sobbing that escaped him in a wash, his entire body twisting and squirming wildly so that he almost fell off of the principal's lap.

"You didn't stop!" he squeaked out, a frantic, skipping sort of sound. It HURT, a lot, so many spanks so close together that he couldn't help crying and protesting.

"It's supposed to hurt. You're not supposed to enjoy it," the principal intoned, and then he snuck a hand beneath Greg, squeezing him through the pouch that his thong made around his hard dick.

Oh, God, that was so wrong. Greg was scared to say that he was going to tell his dad, though, and it just felt so good. He hadn't actually managed to get off when Nicky was sucking him because they got caught, and it was hard to cry and squirm like that.

But then he let go, and laid his hand on Greg's shoulder. "Get up." That was crueler, teasing him and then stopping like that.

It was hard to get up, hard to shift when his ass hurt and his cock was hard. Greg reached up and rubbed his cheeks dry, although it didn't help much one way or the other. The tears kept shivering loose anyway. "Please don't call my dad," he managed to beg, mouth turned down prettily. "Please?"

"He's already on his way, actually. I called him before I started to punish Nicky, so he should be here... any minute now." And he was standing there hard with a tanned hide and no pants on. His father was going to kill him.

Dead.

"Oh. God." God, because he hadn't told his dad about Monday, and he had faked his dad's signature, and he was in so. Much. Trouble. So much trouble, and the horror of that was intense. "But you didn't call him last time!"

"No, but last time you weren't sucking off other students in the janitor's closet." There was a pause, and the principal was eyeing him. "Were you?"

Greg sniffed again, reached up and rubbed his cheek. "No." No sir to that, because he was really kind of pissed off. Calling his dad was just wrong. Really deeply wrong. "I was just smoking..."

"And your father has already punished you for it, so I don't see that your day can get much worse. Pull your pants back up and try to look proper." The principal sat back in his chair and crossed his legs at the knee like he was trying to hide his hard on.

Like he was going to enjoy Greg putting himself back together.

Oh, God, he was in so much trouble. Just thinking about it made him want to cry in a pretty serious way, because his dad was going to find out, and then he was never ever going to trust Greg again.

"Okay." That sounded deeply pitiful, and he hated it. Hated it. Worst of all was that his father was going to catch him in a lie, and he couldn't stop his heart from hammering in his chest, a sick feeling rising in his stomach while his face started to turn red. Probably as red as his ass cheeks when he bent over to pull his pants back on.

The sound the principal gave was really pretty disgusting, or it would be if Greg wasn't hard. He was old, dammit, not like Nicky, and this whole thing seriously shouldn't be turning him on.

"Are you staying until my dad gets here?"

"Uh... no, I don't think that's necessary. My secretary will report to me if you leave the premises." Once Greg had his belt buckled up again, the principal stood up, erection tenting his pants a little. He was probably going to go jerk off. "I'll speak with your father outside."

Yeah, there was no way he was getting out of this one. There was also no way Greg was sitting down, not even if he was told to, because all he really wanted to do was rub his ass.

He wondered how long he had to do that.

"Okay." What else was he supposed to say, anyway? No, wait here with me, I'd like two authority figures making me paranoid and guilty today? Geeze.

One at a time was more than enough for Greg. He looked towards the door, and the principal walked out, his gait a little funny. He'd probably be in the faculty bathroom as soon as he'd talked to Greg's father, and then Greg's father would know, and he might actually be angry for once. Greg wasn't sure. Twice in one week was a lot, even for Greg, and if he found out about the forged signature...

Greg would be lucky if he just got ten more smacks, he figured. He'd be lucky if his dad didn't call Nicky's dad and add whatever smacks Nicky got, too. Just the thought made him grimace.

This was going to be so bad. This was going to be so so very bad and his ass was never going to forget it. "Gregory Sanders Grissom." He heard that more than he heard the door open, and that was kind of sad. Hoo, boy. So much trouble. So. Much.

"Hi, Dad," he said a little sheepishly, looking up into serious blue eyes. His dad had obviously come straight from work because he still had the name tag on from the office, and Greg could just imagine that phone call.

It very possibly started with the words 'Your son is a slut' and went from there, but Greg couldn't be sure. His father was frowning madly at him, and took the time to close the door behind him. "Why don't you tell me about this note I didn't see on Monday?"

Ohh, great. That was just where Greg didn't want to start. "Um..." Um. After all, he didn't really have an answer for that. What was he going to say? There just wasn't any kind of good lie for that one. "I, um. I was..." Yeah. Dammit.

"Go on. I have the time. We have the time," he said, stepping towards Greg. "Sit down."

"Do I have to?" He sounded like he was six, but it was a damn good question. His ass was still burning. Couldn't his dad have been just five minutes slow, long enough for him to rub it better a little?

"Yes." That was too sharp, too loud, enough to make Greg sit on the floor if he had to.

Taking a deep breath and rubbing his eyes again, Greg pulled out one of the boardroom chairs and slowly sank down. When his ass started to settle, he grimaced and managed to hold back a whimper. Ow, ow, ow that hurt.

"Hurts, doesn't it? The principal seems to think you haven't learned your lesson, and Greg? I think that he's right. You forged my signature. How many other times have you done it? How often have you lied to me lately?"

"I haven't!" Greg swore, and it was mostly true. "I mean, you were just so upset the last time I got caught smoking and I was afraid you'd be really mad and I knew that report cards were coming out, too, and...." And and and. "And I was supposed to catch a movie with Nicky Friday. I was afraid you wouldn't let me go."

That was the most horrible miserable confession Greg had ever given.

"Given what you and Nicky get up to on school grounds, do I really want you going out anywhere with him? Smoking, failing classes, sex at school.... Greg, I don't know what to do with you short of sending you to a military academy!" Oh, god, his father was pissed. "You're smarter than that!"

"I'm bored! Class is stupid and everybody's so slow! I can do this stuff in my sleep," Greg protested, shifting uncomfortably. "Nicky's a good guy, I mean, it's my fault. I got him in trouble..." He bit his lip. Damn. He should have totally lied and said that it was anybody's fault but his own. Anybody's. "I didn't think we'd get caught, it was just... I was bored," he confessed sheepishly. "Dad, I'm really sorry."

"Sorry has stopped cutting it, Gregory. If you're bored in class, tell me. We can change your classes, skip you up a grade, but not if you stop doing your homework and start to commit crimes at school!" His dad stopped in front of his chair, two feet away from him.

Greg squirmed, the guilt flooding into his stomach. "I am sorry," he said in a little voice. "Honest. I am. I know it's not good enough, and I know I should have told you on Monday. I just... I was scared."

"You don't need to be scared, Greg. I'm not going to kick you out or punish you without reason. At this point, I might start taping Nicorette to the inside of your cheeks, because I'd like you to live to forty without lung cancer. But lying is a lot more unacceptable than smoking to me." His dad was still looking down at him when usually he crouched down on a level with him, and that was a bad sign. He wasn't anywhere near done yet.

"I'm sorry?" Greg said again. There wasn't really a whole lot more to say. His dad knew everything now, and they hadn't even gotten to the report card part yet.

So much for going anywhere with Nicky this weekend. Well, or ever, really, because Nicky's dad would probably ground him until he was seventy-eight, and even then, he wouldn't be allowed to go anywhere with Greg.

"It makes me feel bad to lie to you. Just..." Greg shrugged helplessly.

"You were committing damage control. I understand the concept, Gregory. That's what tends to get people in the most trouble. If you're honest from the start, you end up in less trouble. And now you're in.... a lot of trouble."

His dad was taking off his belt.

"Dad?" Again, definitely not his voice. What the hell! His dad had never hit him, not with his belt, anyway, and just the thought was... Oh, weird, so weird, and scary. "Dad?" Squeaking just wasn't the way Gregs should sound.

"And you're going to remember that lying to me and hiding things and sneaking around gets you in so much more trouble than being honest," his father went on. "Pull your pants down."

"Dad, no...." It was a pitiful protest, tears welling up thickly. "C'mon, you don't mean that, I know you don't, you haven't ever... I mean, not like that, and I, I, I'm really SORRY and I swear..."

"Five strokes. Not for the smoking and not for fooling around with other boys, but for the part where you lied to me. Just so you know what this is for. Now pull down your pants, I don't want to have to do this any more than you want it." At least his father was wrapping his fingers over the buckle, winding the leather over his hand once and covering the buckle.

"Please. Please, no, Dad, take me home to do it, I'm really sorry, and I know I got Nicky in trouble, but..." But. It was bad enough that he was still seriously stinging and wishing he had on better underwear. It was worse that he was afraid somebody else might hear. Again.

"Please, Daddy."

"But, you lied to me, and you lied to your teacher. You forged my signature. I've given you a lot of trust, Gregory, and you've used it all up!" He was stalling before he took his pants off, and he didn't really expect his father to take a swing at him with the leather end of the belt before he'd actually gotten them down

"Ow!" It popped out before Greg could stop it, his hand shifting to cup his thigh. "Ow, Dad, please. Please. You can even spank me more, just please not here," he begged, eyes tearing up despite everything. "Please. Please, don't make me here."

"Here," he insisted. "Now. Take them off."

God. Obviously stalling wasn't doing any good, and it wasn't going to get him anywhere. Greg took a deep, shuddering breath and reached for the clasp on his pants again, hands shaking.

He wondered if his dad had seen his report card yet.

If he had, it was almost okay. At least it couldn't get worse. But if he hadn't... If he hadn't then Greg was probably in deep shit, and he didn't know whether to stall about that or just pretend it wasn't even there to be brought up because he was supposed to be bending over to expose his ass. Again.

"I'm really sorry," he said again, voice quiet and pitiful as he dropped the gray uniform pants and squirmed momentarily, licking his lips. "Really a whole lot sorry, Dad. 'm..."

"Turn around, and brace your hands on the arms of the chair." At least it wasn't 'bend over my lap', but he knew that his father could wind up a little to hit him if he was standing. And Greg still couldn't believe that his father would.

"Yes, sir." His knees were shaking just as badly as his voice was, and when he turned around, he heard his dad's voice catch. He wasn't even supposed to own underwear like that, much less be wearing it at school. "I'm so so sorry..."

Mostly that he got caught, and mostly that his father knew what he'd done, because the first hit landed right over skin that was already red and sore and aching. There was no warning, and no demand that he count.

Greg had never really thought that he'd miss that, but there it was. The stroke ran diagonally across his ass, burning a path from the upper right hand side to the lower left part of his cheek and making him sob. "Nuh!"

One. That first little pop to his thigh probably didn't count. If Greg was beating someone, he wouldn't count that pop. "I want you to remember, Greg, not to lie to me. Not getting caught is not..." There was a pause, and Greg could only tense up just before the strike landed opposite of the first.

Tensing didn't help any. If anything, it made it hurt worse, Greg thought, mouth opening on a strangled yelp as his hands tensed hard on the chair arms, his entire body arching back. That wasn't going to help him either, he knew it, but he couldn't help it. Shit. His ass was on fire, and crying wasn't just a future option anymore. It was bad enough that the principal had gotten tears out of him, but this was his dad, and his dad never hit him, ever, and now he was. He was, and it was all Greg's fault for lying.

That made it about a million times worse.

It was his fault for lying to his dad, and his dad didn't even sound angry about Nick or everything else. Just the lying and that was entirely his fault, scared or not. Another hit crossed over both cheeks, smacking loudly against his skin, and he couldn't remember if his father had wanted to give him five or ten. Either way, he couldn't help trying to stand up, or being surprised when his dad's hands found him and pushed him firmly down again, absurdly gentle.

"Pleaaaaase." If Greg had heard that from anybody else, he'd probably be laughing out in the hall. Well, laughing or he'd have a hardon. Despite everything, he had one of those anyway, and the touch sent shudders down his spine that were probably really deeply wrong in so many ways that he couldn't even count them.

"We're almost done. Stay still, and maybe you'll remember this, Greg." He lifted the belt again, moved it, and Greg could hear the clinking of the buckle in the hand that his father was holding it with. The pause was so short, though, before the strike hit, right across both cheeks again, and Greg yelped, head dropping down despite himself. So sore. Oh, God, he was never ever lying again, not ever, because it was so much, too much, and lying was Very Very Bad. Lying was bad, and he'd gotten himself in trouble, and he could only imagine what Nicky's life was like at the moment. If Greg's dad was hitting him that hard... Well.

One more. Just one more, and it would be over, and done, and he was going to remember this for a long time because sitting down was obviously going to be optional for a while.

He didn't need to sit down. Maybe his dad didn't know the hard spanking that he'd gotten just before hand, maybe he didn't know how much it was hurting Greg. Except that he was so pissed off at Greg that he probably knew already and that was probably the only reason that Greg wasn't getting more hits added to his punishment.

When the last lick fell, there was no way to stop the wail that split his lips. It landed so specifically that Greg felt like it hit each of the previous four welts in at least one spot, and his knees went viciously weak. They almost fell out from under him, and his arms were shaking so hard that they weren't much help, either. The worst part, strangely enough, was the fact that his dad was mad with him, and that made everything fucked up.

Greg stood there, shaking and unsteady, near to falling over, while he heard a few quiet clinks from the belt. His father was probably putting it back on like it hadn't been just used to warm over his ass. "Hold on. We're going home now, Greg."

Okay. Okay. Going home sounded pretty good except for the part where, oh, anybody who saw him would know. They'd know he'd been crying, and he'd have to actually sit down to get there, and Greg wasn't really sure he could handle that. He had to, though, so he hiccoughed and nodded and reached up to rub at his wet, red eyes and his tickling nose.

"Pull up your pants." His father's hand reached to his upper arm, steadying him while he helped Greg stand up straight again.

"Really sorry," Greg whispered, reaching out lethargically for comfort. "Really really sorry."

"I know. I needed to make sure." There was comfort that he could reach for, in his father's arm once he was upright and had his pants halfway pulled up again. "It's okay. We have a lot to deal with, but we will."

And they would, because that was just how things were with them, and Greg gave up the game and lifted his face pleadingly because more than anything, he wanted kissing. He didn't care that they were still standing in the dining room-cum-pretend boardroom, all he wanted was kissing and rubbing and for Gil to make him whimper. Well. More than he already had.

He wasn't sure how Gil did it, but he leaned back against the edge of the 'boardroom table', pulling Greg with him, and started to kiss him. He'd guessed that Greg was done with the game, and he gave it up just as easily as Greg had. Gil was good like that, and he slid a hand down from patrician-like holding his arm to cupping his way too heated ass cheek.

"Oooowww..." God, did that hurt, but it was damn good, too. Just the notion of getting caught kissing Nicky in the janitor's closet made him give a little wet chuckle. Ha. Funny, funny thought, and he moaned when Gil kneaded deeply. "Oh, fuck. I'm gonna have such a hard time sitting down." He was whining, but he was entitled, and it made him happy to know that he'd be wincing at work the next night. It didn't matter how warped he probably was.

A guy had to find some way to keep his sense of humor, and if being fucked up was what got his dick up worked, then who'd question him? Gil laughed against the edge of his mouth. "Should I try to carry you to bed, since you've been such a bad boy?"

"You should totally try to carry me to bed," Greg agreed, squirming. It felt incredibly good to have his ass rubbed after all of that, and it would feel even better to have it pounded. Well, okay, maybe better wasn't exactly the right way to put it. "Except then I'd feel like a complete wuss. So why don't you just kind of head me in that direction while I..." Yeah, slid his hand down and managed to squirm it into those pants. Gil had obviously enjoyed his squirming as much as Greg had enjoyed his beating.

He was pretty sure that Gil had gotten hard just while he'd been warming Greg's ass with his palm. "I'm not sure I can walk with you doing that," Gil murmured, but he started to, walking Greg carefully backwards.

"Yeah, well." Greg groaned as they bumped together a bit. "My knees are shaking, so we could probably stop at the couch." Scotchguard was their friend. So their friend. Oh, God, his ass hurt.

"But what about your back?" Gil's fingers teased at his ass cheek, and his other hand was doing the valiant thing, resting at his waist so if he tripped, they'd fall together. Or something like that.

"Ohhh, I see." Gil wanted to fuck him and roll over and go to sleep, and actually, that sounded like a pretty good idea. "It's not that much further to the bed." Just a little way, and Gil could even bend him over the edge and do him there. Greg wouldn't mind, so long as there was lube.

Greg was sure there was going to be lube. Gil was always careful about that when Greg hadn't pissed him off, always careful even in their games to add lube unless that kind of thing was the game. "I'll help you make the effort."

"That's really helpful of you, Daddy," Greg declared, glancing up with a liquid sort of glance that probably made Gil want to smack him again before he grinned and leaned up to kiss him. They were still backing slowly towards the bedroom, and that was a damn good thing.

"The next time you say that you want to play something, I'm tying you to the bed." Gil growled that, and knocked the bedroom door open with his knee as he kept backing Greg into it.

"Promises, promises." Greg's hands were pretty busy, and it was obvious that he was going to be laid in a pretty serious way. Gil's cock was nearly flexing under his fingers. He'd been kind of reluctant to play principal and then Daddy Gil, but he'd been damn good at it, right up to setting the computer to play back spanking sounds to fake someone else getting beaten. Gil didn't really understand just how meant for one another they were. Gil was uneasy with it sometimes, mostly the role-play, because he had a quietly sadistic streak, the part that liked to do strip forensics and experiments, the part of him that liked to see how long until Greg's begging to come was real enough and honest enough for him to give it to Greg.

He was willing to try anything for Greg, though, and there was no question that he'd enjoyed it. He was hard as rebar, and he groaned when Greg's fingers played over him. "That's a promise I'll keep."

"Never doubted it." Never, never, and Greg's pants were being slid down his legs, so maybe they should stop, and he could undress Gil, tugging at the khakis, pushing at the buttons of Gil's shirt, and kissing him desperately the whole time. There was something about what they had done that made him so hot, so hard, so desperate, and even momentarily wanting Gil to kiss him, pet him, love him, couldn't stop him from wanting to get fucked afterwards.

It didn't stop Gil from wanting to fuck him, either.

The kissing and petting would come after, and even if Gil just wanted to go to sleep, he curled close in sleep and it was just as good as getting petted. Gil's fingers pulled at the strings of his thong, the last thing Greg was wearing, and pushed it down. "If you wore these to work, I don't know how I'd concentrate."

"Maybe I will." Yeah, and bend over just right with the low-rise jeans on, let his shirt tug up, drive Gil crazy all night, crazy the way Greg was right then. Greg wondered if there'd be a bruise or two to see. "God, I love it when you do this for me." Loved it because he was so hot, because the way that he looked over the edge of his glasses made Greg harden with a vengeance in the best way possible.

"Beat your ass?" Gil leaned in to kiss the back of his neck, and squeezed one ass cheek seconds after he palmed it. "I like that part a lot. It does turn a beautiful color, and the noises you make..."

Noises like Greg was making at that very moment, because that squeeze made him whimper, made his ass clench and his entire body go just a little limp. It made him feel fucking spectacular, really, limp and open and possessed and that was important to Greg. "God, fucking..." Fuck, fuck, fuck, he wished Gil would do it. Do him. Right then, right there.

"I need to find the lube before we get that far." Gil stepped back, and moved to the drawer of all places, and Greg was starting to think about gluing the lube to his chest or something so it was easy access. Or maybe under his penis

At the very least, next time he'd have the foresight required to lay it on the bed in easy reach and sight.

Greg gave a helpless groan, sulking just a little as he curled himself over the end of their bed, giving a faint hiss as the metal touched to the warmth of his belly. It was cold, but the steel warmed up under him, and he could stretch out over the mattress.

Yeah, that was nice. That was nice, and he could be lazy and present his ass to Gil all at once, just keep standing on his toes and let Gil do him. "Mm, that's a beautiful sight." He didn't even have to turn his head to look at Gil, because he was coming back towards Greg, hopefully with lube, and standing behind him. It made Greg grin because Gil had seen more of his ass in the last hour than he had any other body part, but it didn't stop Greg from wiggling it anyway.

"It's more than a sight, if you want," he offered, glancing back with a smirk. "In fact, it's all yours." Every last bit, and Greg was really hoping there would be lubed fingers involved pretty damn quick.

"Does that mean I can stop by for a visit?" A finger touched him, dry, stroking right against his hole, teasing. "Would you like it if I spread your ass and spanked right here some day?"

Greg's eyes crossed, honest to God crossed, and the sound that came out was involuntary, but God. Oh, God, that was a fabulous, wonderful, beautiful idea, and the most he could do was push back and nod, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head just from thinking about it. "Oh Fuck YES."

"Not today. I don't want to wear you out." Or probably make him too sore for work. Gil was always careful about that and they usually only got up to their worst fun when there was a long break or a three day weekend for Greg if not for Gil, too.

That didn't stop Gil from flicking his finger right there, though, and it didn't stop Greg from gasping and then giving a mewl that came out loudly. Greg could feel Gil's thumb stroking over him afterwards, and he closed his eyes, squirming to the touch. God, Gil was fucking evil, so bad. So bad, and Greg couldn't stop pushing back, wriggling, his cock brushing against the footboard in little cold strokes.

"I don't care if you wear me out so long as you fuck me!"

"I'm getting there." Gil's voice still had that slight authoritarian tone to it that Greg liked, and he at last got a little of the promise of fucking when he felt lube smeared across his asshole, and Gil's thumb slid through it, teasing him again.

Bastard, bastard, bastard, Greg wanted to say, but he liked it. He enjoyed it when Gil beat him, and when he teased him, and when he made Greg do what he wanted. Sometimes, Greg wondered why he preferred things that way, but mostly he just enjoyed it the way he was enjoying it now. "Guuuuhhhnnnn." He squirmed, pushing for more, and he was almost afraid that he wasn't going to get it.

He did, just for a second, the pressure of a thumb sliding into him and then out again before Gil followed through with one slick finger. Yeah, that was good and messy, and he could feel Gil leaning up against him, the head of his dick bumping up against his balls while he took his time finger fucking Greg, making him moan for it, making him struggle back for it.

"God, fuck me, fuck me, please. Please, please, Gil, please..." He wanted Gil's cock against his hot, bruised ass, and now seemed like a really great time. If he didn't get it soon, he'd revert to calling Gil 'Dad' and see how that worked out. Either Gil would smack him or he'd fuck him, and either way was pretty damn good for Greg. Smacked, fucked, as long as there was more going on than one finger, and then part of a second one slowly reaming his ass out. One day he was going to sit Gil down and ask him where the hell he'd learned to be such a goddamned tease, except that was going to be later, because the fingers pulled out.

"Nooo..." No, mostly because Gil was such a tease. Greg was afraid that he might back off altogether, tease him some more, but then there was one hand on the small of his back, and Gil's cock rubbed against the spot where thigh and ass met.

Greg knew what came next. Gil was predictable like that, and the hand on the small of Greg's back was always a sign that Gil was going to be guiding the airplane into the hanger any minute now. Like clockwork.

"I thought this was what you wanted," Gil teased, pressing the head of his dick right against Greg, but he was taking his time with it.

"Yes! Yes, yes!" Greg squeaked, glancing back over his shoulder, willing to plead if he had to. Utterly humiliating himself would be just fine so long as Gil fucked him. "Please. Please?" he whined, and the way Gil smiled... Oh, God, the way Gil smiled, and then pushed, slow and easy, teasing. Teasing, the bastard, slipping the head almost in so that Greg could feel it, feel the way he spread to take it, and then slipping just back out again, once, twice, three times, and Greg seriously considered crying.

Then he slid in, and stayed there, and even if he wasn't moving, Gil was definitely all the way in, and staying there. "There. Is that what you wanted?"

God, yes, that was what he wanted, Gil in him so far that all he could do was pant, his ass contracting around that thick cock, making him moan with dizzy pleasure. "Fuuuuck. Yeeees." Yes, yes, yes, just exactly what he wanted, and Greg went limp, relying on the bed to support him, relying on Gil not to let him shift too far out of place.

It was good like that, and he could be as lazy as he wanted, because Gil's hands shifted to his hips, and it was going to be a good, slow ride. Gil pulled out, and then slid back in, taking his time, but not pulling out to tease Greg to death. Instead, there were just leisurely, indolent shifts, fingers holding him tight, and Greg could go limp and enjoy it the way he wanted to. His fingers clenched in the bedspread when Gil moved him, shifted him a little further up on the footboard and stroked in just right, perfectly. His cock was just brushing the place that made Greg's eyes cross, and he was pressing against the heated welts on Greg's skin. In combination, it was enough that Greg wouldn't even need him to touch his cock. They could just keep on like that, the tip occasionally coming in contact with the steel of the bed, leaving little sticky trails, and it would be enough.

It was a different brushing than fingertips, cold and interesting as far as sensations went, and it was a first time to try that. Maybe Greg would try it again, later. Being stretched out on the bed was nice, and Gil's fingers shifted, twitched, clutched, and he started to pick up the pace. Greg couldn't be still and limp anymore, not really, not when it felt so fucking good. He had to move, had to be able to push back, and every push in brought a rough sound from deep in his chest, all pleasure.

"Please, please, Jesus, fucking, oh, fuck, oh, guuuuhhhn..."

Guuhh, that was good, great, Tony the Tiger growling out the word great, because Gil was finally, finally, pounding into him, and his toes were curling against the rug to try to get traction so he could push back better to meet Gil.

"Fuck me fuck me fuck me fuck me..." It was the best he could do, coming up on his elbows for balance and managing to bring one foot up to rest against the footboard. It opened Greg up further and gave him the chance to shove back, push for all of Gil's cock, take it in and let Gil have it all. Just a few more strokes, just a few more and Greg would go crazy with it, knew he couldn't take much more.

He was just about ready to ride Gil's dick horizontally, and that was good, so good, just a little more and he was going to sprawl right out over the mattress again and not move until he had to get up to go to work. When Gil's hand slipped down, around his hip, and touched, it was all over. Greg was pretty sure his head had exploded and run down his spine, out through the end of his cock, and all he could do was howl into the mattress, entire body clenching tight with it.

Greg wasn't sure what had happened when his head cleared a little. There were some choppy moments, Gil's fingers stroking down his sides and there was a charlie horse shooting up his leg, and his ass was sticky.

"Ow, ow, ow, fuck, ow..." Yeah, he was a baby, but damn, that hurt! He managed to get both feet properly on the ground to stand on them, even if he was bent over, and squirmed a little. "Ow. Cramp. Ow..."

"Cramp?" Gil sounded a little bleary, but it must have been the magic word because he had Gil crouching on the ground to run his hands over both legs until it became obvious which one needed the rubbing. Maybe he shouldn't have drawn his leg up like that to get the extra leverage. "This leg?"

"Yeaaah." Yeah, definitely a whiny baby, but Gil's thumbs were working into the knot, and that was almost as good as getting his ass beaten and the orgasm of a lifetime. "Oh, God, that's... yeah. Ok. Yeah. Right there. That's... That's better." Much better. Ow.

"Tell me when you can move it again," Gil murmured. Well, he could move, but the real question was, did he want to move when he could get his leg firmly kneaded?

God, he was so spoiled. Completely and totally. It was great.

Still, it wasn't fair to just stand there and enjoy it, all things considered. "Yeah. I think so." And now that his leg felt better, he was pretty drowsy again, sticky, sweaty, sleepy.

He could sleep like that, and when he woke up, they could shower and Gil could run a load of laundry. As simple as that, because it was easier for him to crawl up onto the mattress than it was to stand up properly or wait and shower first.

"Good."

Good, and Gil didn't laugh much when he managed to scramble himself over the end of the bed and up to his side. Not much. He just pulled down the covers and tucked Greg in, walked to the bedroom door and shut it, turned off the lights and slid in behind him. One arm wrapped around him, tugged him close, and Greg could close his eyes then because everything was perfect.

Just...

Perfect.

It was time.

He'd worked hard at it all day, told Gil he'd meet him at WLVU's Performing Arts Center at seven, in time for the start of 'La Boheme'. It wasn't Greg's kind of thing, nor was this particular surprise usually his kind of thing, but Gil still eyed that pink pleather skirt with a gleam in his eye. It might be jealousy or it might be one hell of a great kink; either way, Greg was going to pander to it and pretty much anything else Gil wanted this evening. After all, there had been that episode with the paddle two weeks ago, and that had been damn fine.

One good turn deserved another.

Naturally, he'd needed assistance. Greg wasn't the kind of man who could pull off something like he had in mind without help, not like Archie maybe could. No. He'd needed professional help to get everything just right, and he had known just where to turn.

Catherine Willows.

Not Lady Heather because he was talking Gil to the opera and not to a nightclub. He wanted to look like a run of the mill hot woman, not a seductress or anything else that he knew Lady Heather would help him become. Catherine had taken him out shopping.

Catherine had taken him a lot of places, actually. The first stop had involved hot wax in places he never, ever wanted to think about again. Especially his eyebrows and his ass. There had been some interesting questions about the laser hair removal he'd had done before he got his tattoo, too. Gil hadn't asked him about that yet, and Greg wondered when he might, but right now, there were other things to think about.

Like how the hell he was supposed to breathe in that thing Catherine was holding up with determination in her eyes.

"It's a corset, Greg. It's what's going to keep you from looking like a man in a dress. Well, as much as you are, anyway. A lot of men find them sexy."

Yeah, well. Okay. Maybe breathing was overrated. Like leg hair, but then, he'd gotten rid of that once before and lived to tell the tale. If he was lucky, it would hurt better later. He grinned at her and lifted his arms. "Okay. Make me pretty."

"Take a deep breath and I'm going to pretend that you're not standing here in just a gaff and pantyhose." Catherine was smiling, though, unholy glee in her eyes as she slid the corset around him and started to loosely tie it up the back, prelude to the choking death tying up, he guessed.

He'd never really considered the possibility that she'd be just as sadistic as Lady Heather, in her own way. Maybe he should have thought of that, especially when he felt her take the strings tightly in her hands and pull.

Breathing? Not so overrated. On the other hand....

Looking in the mirror proved interesting in a variety of ways. There had been hair removal, sure, and his eyebrows were going to look really weird like that for a while, but there had been other things, too. His nails were pretty and pink with acrylics, and the ladies at the salon had enjoyed a hell of a good time making up his face. He looked... Well, really, maybe like he could pass. With a little more work. With a dress and a wig and if he reapplied his lipstick before he drove out to meet Gil. Standing there in a corset with his hair all wild like normal didn't help the look he was going for. But the corset did. And he had nice legs, at least.

"You're not gonna be a showgirl first thing, but..." Catherine grunted, and when she pulled the strings just a little tighter, Greg's eyes cross. "I think you'll be a looker."

"Thanks." Thanks, and that sounded breathy, high-pitched, and maybe the corset wasn't such a bad thing.

It changed the way he had to breathe, the way he had to talk. "So, since I've been so helpful and haven't asked too many questions... why are you doing this again, Greg?"

"Remember the pink pleather?" Like anybody could forget. Hodges still asked him for makeup tips on occasion. One night, Greg was going to give him a few, just to see what happened.

Just to rise to the snarky occasion. Except Hodges would probably best him by intently listening. It was a lose lose situation. "Oh yeah. That's right up there with the showgirl headdress. So, go on." She gave the corset another jerk, tightening it one more time, looking at him in the mirror. It looked like he didn't even have a penis.

Greg would really miss his penis if he didn't have it. That wasn't a thought to consider too closely.

"He liked it." Understatement. "Well, he didn't like other people liking it, but he liked it. He still looks at it on occasion. Besides. It is Valentine's, right? So... nothing wrong with doing something special. Believe me. Not something I'm going to do on a regular basis."

"Sure, you say that now. Next thing you know, you change your name to..." Catherine paused, and shot him a teasing grin. "Greganne. Or Gaby. I think that'd disappoint Gil if you wanted to do that."

The urge to twitch was overwhelming. "Trust me. I like my penis too much to do this on a regular basis." That was probably way too much information, but Cath deserved it for that kind of statement. "So." He licked his lips. "Are you ready to tie this thing?"

"I'm ready. One last breath...." She waited for him to exhale, and then she gave it one more good jerk, before starting to tie it off at the bottom. "The cinches should keep it from coming undone."

Greg squeaked, unable to help himself. "Yep." Now if he could just keep from falling over, he'd be good. Great, in fact, because he couldn't imagine adding heels when he was already wobbly. "Okay. Let's..." Get on with it.

Catherine wandered around to his front, inspecting him before she went back to the chair where everything was laid out and waiting. There were falsies and a bra made for falsies, waiting for him. Waiting to add to the look.

He just really hoped that he could pull it off.

---

He was nervous. Actually, nervous didn't even start it. Greg was wobbling on his heels, waiting in the lobby of the Performing Arts Center, no sign of Gil anywhere. He hadn't really thought Gil would be late, or maybe he'd gotten wrapped up in something and forgotten. If it was an interesting enough case, it was a possibility. It was also a possibility that he'd kill Gil if he were any more late. Gil sometimes had problems with time, but he was always good with Greg and appointments and meeting. It figured that after all of the trouble Greg had gone through, Gil would accidentally stand him up.

Then of all times. When he was looking pretty and sexy in a pink dress, hair down around his shoulders, being eyeballed by the usher at the doors.

He wasn't entirely sure whether that eyeballing was a good thing or a bad thing, but when the usher started to walk towards him, Greg seriously considered hightailing it right home, then and there. He turned, shifted a little unsteadily on his heels, and ran right into the man he was looking for. "Oof!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't see you st--" Gil went quiet, stunned silence, and instead of just helping to steady Greg at his arms, his hands shifted a little. "Hi."

Hi, and Greg couldn't practice the demure smile Catherine had made him give for a solid ten minutes in front of the mirror. He grinned, suddenly so pleased with himself and with Gil that he could burst with it. "Hi." Breathy, sweet sound. At least he could manage that, even if he couldn't keep the grin off of his face.

"You... Look beautiful." Gil sounded a little lost still, a little startled, off balance, but he slid his arms around Greg's waist gently, and his mouth tipped up towards a dopey smile. "I like the dress."

Greg let his lashes drop, one of the many things Catherine had made him practice, letting his mouth curve back into the little smile that he was supposed to give. "I hoped you would," he murmured, lifting his face to look across at Gil, tongue flickering out to moisten his lips. They tasted like plastic to him, but Catherine had promised that it wouldn't come off. "Happy Valentine's Day." Opera, and Greg in pink.

Gil looked pleasantly surprised, and also like he'd forgotten Valentine's Day even existed before Greg had mentioned it. "Happy Valentine's Day. I expected the opera, but this..." And of course he expected it when Greg had told him to meet him there and Gil kept abreast of what was going on when he was asked to show up somewhere. Plus, the tip off that Gil needed to wear a tux had to have been the biggest give away.

"Do you like it?" Greg knew he did, but hearing it would definitely be a plus. It had taken weeks worth of planning and a whole day's worth of being tortured by Catherine and a bunch of women with tweezers. He knew Gil did, he just wanted to hear it.

"I love it." Not that Greg could explain that, either, but he'd known Gil would, and it wasn't in any way that left him feeling inferior or wishing that Gil wanted a woman instead of a man. It was more awe at the transformation for Gil, that one person could be the same person and look so strikingly different at the same time.

"Good." Good, because that meant he could take Gil's hand, tilt his face just a little, ask for a kiss in public that he ordinarily wouldn't. He got it, the faintest brush against his mouth, and Gil's hand on his padded hip. "We should go have a seat. It's one of the boxes." They were small, tiny, really, but very private.

He liked the privacy angle. Didn't know if he'd be putting any of it to use, but he definitely liked the idea of being all alone with Gil in a tiny opera box. Gil was just smiling at him when he pulled back. "All right." And he could take Gil's arm when Gil offered it, which wasn't really normal, either. If they'd done that normally they would have gotten looks. It was kind of sad, but Greg was used to it. It was the way things were, the way that they lived, and that was okay.

It helped to have someone's arm to hold onto, solved the faint wobble. There hadn't been enough time to practice walking in heels. Platforms were a lot easier to walk in, so he hadn't had problems before. Now, it was different, and Gil helped him, guided him easily towards the stairs that led up to the tiny handful of boxes above the stage.

Greg was never ever going to tell him how much that had cost, even if it was just for the evening. It was worth it for the look on Gil's face, the way he touched Greg's arm, the faint smile as they passed the usher holding open the door.

Gil's 'thank you' to the man was almost a whisper, and his eyes kept drifting over to Greg. Gil didn't care much about money, anyway. As long as they had groceries and could pay the bills, Gil tended to just sock it away except when they spent on each other. It was worth it when they did because hey, that cycle of work, sleep, work work work, sleep, eat, work work work was kind of grueling.

"I love it when you surprise me."

Greg slipped him that demure smile again, sashaying just ahead of him so that Gil could watch him move, watch him walk. That was something he hadn't needed to practice, that faint wiggle of hip and thigh, and Catherine had laughed about it. "I love surprising you," he answered, taking the first step up those stairs. He wasn't surprised when he felt Gil's hand on the small of his back, steadying him.

Just in case, of course, but also because Gil loved to feel him up when he didn't think anyone was looking. It had started out that way for them, Gil standing just behind Greg, shadowing over him against his back and Greg had so thought he was fired.

A lot of time had passed, and he understood how Gil worked now. Mostly. Possession and guilt, and he was scared of crossing certain lines that he usually crossed anyway. It just worked that way, and it worked well, worked perfectly for them because that was the way they were.

"I think you'll enjoy yourself," Greg said, that husky sweet way of talking that was honestly from an inability to breathe. "I know how you like opera." Greg really didn't, but he loved Gil, so that was all right.

He just hoped he didn't get all hot and bothered while they were in the box, because he was pretty sure that he wouldn't pant, he'd hyperventilate and pass out, or pop something in the damn corset. But he looked good, and he idly wondered about women who did things to themselves to look 'good' or better.

And then Gil gently palmed his ass once they were off of the stairs and walking towards their box.

Oh, yeah. Gil definitely liked his present, and Greg was planning on giving him another one on his knees later, because he had mastered that kind of not-breathing a long time ago. That touch prompted just a little extra swing of hip, and Greg felt damn accomplished when he didn't trip and bust his ass as he stepped onto the landing. The only bright side was that if he had fallen and busted his ass, Gil would have, well, if not caught him, softened the landing. "I didn't even check to see what's being played tonight. I lost track of time and..." Ran late, Greg could guess.

"La Boheme." It wasn't Carmen, but it was enough to make Gil's face light up when Greg saw it, and he couldn't help giving a short sigh of pleasure at the expression there. God, he was crazy in love. There was no denying it.

He damn sure wouldn't let anybody wax some of the places they'd waxed today if he didn't. A man's ass was a sacred place, after all, gay or not. And getting it waxed had both been more and less interesting than he'd hoped. It had hurt in a funny way, and he was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to get hard during a wax job.

"Wonderful." Gil slid his hand to rest on the small of Greg's back again, and leaned to kiss him before they slipped in their box.

Mmm. He could get used to this -- to the way Gil touched him, the fact that no one looked at them funny because of it. On the other hand, he liked his penis, and his swagger, and oh, God, he loved his tennis shoes. "They'll be starting soon." Yeah, it was easy to do that flirtatious eye thing. He needed to come up with a way to thank Catherine, probably something involving incredibly good chocolate and never, ever again showing her half as much of him as she'd seen today.

"Then we should sit down," Gil smiled. He escorted Greg to a chair, and held it for him so Greg could finally get off of his high heels. The chairs were pretty spaced apart, but Gil moved his own chair right up against Greg's so they were almost sitting in each other's lap.

The box was really just curtains separating them from the other seats, nothing to get excited about. It afforded them a little privacy, though, and Greg planned to take full advantage of it. The thought of his lips, painted and slick, wrapped around Gil's cock made him a little faint. Well, that or the corset. Either one.

Carefully, Greg shifted, crossing his legs at the knees. It pressed things a little uncomfortably, but it also let his calf caress against Gil's knee.

Gil smiled at him, and he slid the nearest hand to rest lightly on Greg's thigh. Yeah, when they did that in public they got eyeballed. If anyone saw them just then, Greg guessed they would have just called Gil a cradle robber. Like that was anything new in Vegas. Every third man had a wife or a girlfriend half his age.

There were people below, drifting in and settling down as the house lights lowered slowly, the stage lights coming up, brightening even though the curtain wasn't yet drawn. Greg leaned over, licked his lips and Gil's ear, tongue tracing the lobe before he whispered, "I'm going to drop down on my knees and suck you when it starts."

He didn't really expect Gil to say anything. He just gave a tight smile, and his fingers on Greg's thighs squeezed gently. Greg could tell Gil was into that, into the slender chance they'd get caught. The morning he had tugged up Greg's kilt and blown him in the tattoo parlor, never once flinching as doors opened and closed, had shown Greg that Gil had a certain sense of adventure as far as exhibitionism was concerned. Not that it surprised him, really; after all, the way they had met and the things they had done made that a moderately low-key kink.

Carefully, Greg settled back in his chair, sloping his shoulders forward slightly so that he was more comfortable, and waited.

The price of admission was probably worth that, worth blowing Gil in the balcony. For the moment, Greg could glance around and see if anyone else could see them. It was a little hard to concentrate as the music started to swell, signaling some kind of starting, because Gil was fondling where his dick should have been. It was the strangest press of fingers, a caress across his pubic bone that made his breath catch almost the way it would if there was actually something to touch. Sweet, gentle, the kind of thing that Gil might do if he was a woman, which he wasn't. It was... different, and his lips trembled just a little with excitement.

It was a whole different twist to sex.

There was a gentle rub, and Greg could imagine that he'd get wet if Grissom did that. As it was, his dick was leaking against the fabric of his gaff, and that was kind of aching in a sucky way. Then Gil's hand stopped, and he leaned closer, sliding his arm possessively over Greg's shoulders.

Something about that motion made it so easy to lean his head over, the long blonde locks of the wig Catherine had decided suited him best sliding against Gil's shoulder, spreading out over his jacket. Greg reached up, fingers touching Gil's, slipping in between them for the moment to hold him close.

There were all sorts of funny moments that reenforced to Greg that he loved Gil. Random faintly romantic moments and funny ones and just sometimes when they came home from work dead tired. But the best gift for him seemed to be when Gil just smiled at him, squeezed his fingers lightly. Greg probably could've been doing that dressed in a tux and Gil wouldn't have cared. Could've done the whole thing in a tux, except...

Except then it wouldn't have been such a sweet surprise that left him hard and feeling sly and sneaky. It wouldn't have given Gil the opportunity to enjoy him this way instead of feeling angry and jealous. It wouldn't have given him the right to feel like a man with a pretty young woman, which certainly had its appeal, Greg figured. Looking at the other men in the audience, he could see that it was almost de rigeur.

He felt pretty. It was weird, and at the same time something almost pleasant, easy. He felt like sex, and he wondered if women did all of the things he had done today and then felt like this when they were done. If that was the case, maybe he could see the point in having his ass waxed after all.

He felt pretty, and sore, sure, but hot, because he knew that Gil would notice it when they got home after that. It would start with a blowjob at the Opera, but he knew he was going to get his ass fucked before the night was over. His waxed ass.

Greg really hoped that Gil couldn't see the loony grin stretching his mouth at the thought. The soprano was singing, and Greg's Italian was terrible, but he was fairly certain that she was talking about offering her virgin heart to someone, and that seemed like an ideal time to him.

He was careful -- careful of his dress, careful of his hose as he slid down to the carpeted floor and reached his hands up to caress across Gil's belly.

Gil's eyes dropped, and he shifted his fingers to stroke carefully over the hair of Greg's wig. It was an interesting view, looking up along Gil's body and kneeling at his feet. It was a good kind of interesting, and he could tell that the touch over Gil's stomach tickled him because he squirmed a little restlessly. It could be a need for Greg to slide down, he supposed; slip down and suck, mouth gentle and sweet and painted. Greg would get there in his own time, though, mostly because his fingers worked differently now, just enough to make things difficult.

Carefully, he slipped the catch of the pants loose and lowered the zipper. He could hear the singing still, but it didn't matter so much. Concentrating enough to catch the occasional Italian word was right out when he had Gil's cock so close to being in his mouth.

He wanted that. It was worth it to know that on either side of the curtains there were people and he looked like a pretty woman, and he was kneeling at Gil's feet, with Gil's erection pressing against the thin fabric of his boxers now that his slacks were unzipped. Greg could really get away with teasing Gil just then, and Gil would have to stay quiet, just take it, and take everything that Greg wanted to give him.

He slipped his hand inside carefully, his thumb caressing slowly over the length there. He could feel the faint twitch, the pulse, and he swallowed, lips parting. Greg sighed, sending a wash of hot breath over the opening. The scent of Gil was strong, and he leaned down, rubbing his nose against him and breathing it in.

He hoped it didn't smudge his makeup too badly.

He'd have to check in the bathroom on the way out, because he was going to leave lipstick all over Gil's dick, and it had been a while since that had last happened. And it wasn't ever going to happen again, unless Greg put it there.

Gil sighed, deep breath, slow exhalation, and he was clearly trying not to muss Greg's wig. Greg didn't care if he did or not. In fact, it would be even more of a turn-on to walk out with swollen lips, mussed hair, heavy, hungry eyes. With a smile, he shifted his hands, taking Gil's wrists with them and moving them carefully to put his palms where Greg wanted them. He could go back to touching again, then, stroking through the soft material, easing Gil's cock out with care brought on by fingernails.

He sort of liked nails. They were interesting and they touched skin before his fingertips did, making Gil give a soft hiss before he slouched down a little, spreading his legs and petting at Greg's head. "Beautiful..." It could have been the music, but Greg knew that whisper was for him, all for him. Not a second of his day had been wasted, and he sighed at the thought, leaning down and tentatively licking across the expanse of revealed skin. It tasted good, soft and clean, and so he gave a few more laps, almost kittenish, teasing. Teasing was easier in pink, wearing heels and possibly ruining his hose on the floor. It was easier with Gil's hands on his head, shaking fingers caressing over an ear and the clip-on earring there.

Like it fascinated him, the shift from Greg to Greg in earrings, to Greg with long hair -- or, he could have been immersing himself deeper into the fantasy. Thicker into the game, doing everything he could to feel the Greg-girl. Greg wondered, but he didn't have to wonder much because his own dick was hard and he couldn't get it out to do anything. The ache was pleasant for now, and he hoped it would stay that way.

Carefully, he licked his lips and hoped that Catherine's promise that only the shimmeiring pink topcoat would come off was for real. Even if it wasn't, well. He had a purse, so if he was lucky, he'd get a chance to reapply it.

Thinking about lipstick when he could be sucking cock made him want to laugh. Instead, he leaned forward and slipped the head into his mouth, closing his lips tightly around it. "Hmmm." Soft, soft sound, one that would surely be missed amidst the clamor on the stage.

Opera was damn loud, between the singing and the trilling and the symphony, even when it wasn't the best show in town. Gil's eyes slipped down, kept watching Greg's face, looking down at him when Greg's eyes peered up. He was barely doing a thing, barely sucking on Gil, but Gil's lips were already slack, his expression mesmerized. There was something about slick lips wrapped around a cock, something very pretty, fascinating. Greg liked to look at it, so he didn't see why Gil should be any different.

Determined, he bent to his task, shifting slowly to take Gil in more deeply. The taste was hot, salty, faintly musky, and he couldn't stop the low, whining breath that escaped him. He closed his eyes, and concentrated on what he was doing, hands lying lightly on top of Gil's thighs, nails scratching at them.

Couldn't do any damage through the half-heavy fabric of his slacks, but it was pressure and contact, and Gil was squirming minutely, trying not to move much more than his lower body, his hands. He finally took a deep breath, and tilted his head up, but Greg knew he was getting there, knew that what he was doing was getting Gil off. He slid his hand up, cupped Gil's balls through his trousers and gently manipulated them before he went back to lapping carefully at his cock, taking his mouth off altogether.

Teasing was the best thing in the world.

Gil gasped, because he had cold skin now, cooling dampness and just Greg's tongue lapping at him when it was so obvious that he was close, close but just not able to even with Greg rolling his balls. His fingers tensed, knotted up against Greg's wig.

The sheer satisfaction of that reaction made Greg smile and give an extra-long lick before wrapping his mouth around Gil again and devoting himself to making sure that Gil enjoyed every last second of what he was doing.

And he enjoyed making Gil not get it too fast. He was going to be as hard as a rock until they got home, until the opera was over, but when they got home, he was probably going to get the fucking of his life. Maybe, maybe while still in that dress.

Gil tilted his head back, and sighed, so quiet, so restrained. That was part of the enjoyment, really, the restraint that Gil had, the way that he held control of himself with such deep, incredible constraint that it made Greg dizzy with lust, wild with it in a way that most people probably couldn't imagine. He couldn't help responding to it, opening the back of his throat and swallowing around Gil, shuddering beneath his fingertips.

He wanted it right then, right there, right down his throat, Gil making barely a sound as he started to hitch his hips forwards gently, fingers kneading, knotting against the wig, hard enough to make Greg glad it was pinned in. He could already feel Gil's balls tightening up, shifting ever so slightly beneath his touch. He encouraged that, trying hard to catch his breath and keep sucking, just like that.

"Mmm." Just a little sound, but he couldn't help himself, especially when Gil started to come, shooting down his throat. He loved it when Gil did that, loved it, his hands stroking up to Gil's hips, thumbs rubbing gently.

Worn underwear cotton and zipper edges and the quiet clink of an open belt. Gil tipped his head up and then down again, restrained thrashing, a few quiet grunts, and then it was over.

Slowly, Greg pulled up, lapping Gil clean before tenderly tucking him back into his boxers, licking his lips. There were few signs of lipstick on Gil, and that was good. It meant that he wouldn't be walking out with it on the tuxedo pants, at least, and that was something.

Greg could reapply to fix his problem, and no one would be any wiser for it, as long as he hadn't pulled the knees out of his hose. Gil's fingers started to move again, sliding down to caress Greg's cheeks gently, tracing the smooth line of his jaw. It felt wonderful, and just a little wicked because Greg's head rested against his thigh, his eyes only partially open. He didn't want to get up, but he had to, and to make sure that he had set himself right.

Carefully, Greg shifted, using Gil's legs to keep himself from tottering on his heels as he moved into a crouching position, ready to lever himself quietly, easily, into his chair. It was something of a surprise when Gil reached out and tugged him a little closer, inciting a bit of a stumble that left him in Gil's lap.

Gil kept that arm around his waist, kept Greg close and pulled back against him. "We can get away with this," he whispered in Greg's ear.

Get away with it, him in Gil's lap, he supposed, and Greg decided not to worry about how ruffled he probably was, or the lipstick he needed to reapply. It was better, easier, to rest his cheek against Gil's, curve his arm around his shoulders, and settle in comfortably.

Body to body, tuxedo against dress, and it made Greg smile and it made him a little sad. Gil was just as likely to do that with him even if he were in a bright green shirt and jeans, so maybe Greg was the reluctant one. Maybe he had social structure issues.

It didn't really matter, as long as Gil loved him. As long as he could enjoy opera that way, and enjoy the best Valentine's Day treat he'd had yet.