Riddles
A series of naughty scenes
by Emily Brunson
(c)2002
II.
To unravel me
You need a simple key,
No key that was made
By locksmith's hand,
But a key that only I
Will understand.
By the time he got home he was starting to flip out.
Of course he should have flipped out a long time ago, right? All things considered. Wasn't every day he had it out with the boss, and it sure as all hell wasn't every day that Grissom fucked him.
Whoa, there was the term he hadn't really thought about until now. Fucked him. Got his pants off, threw him on a table, and shoved his dick up his ass.
Not that his ass had forgotten anything, doncha know. His ass was screaming about a fast encounter with Gigantor, and now that he thought about it he wasn't walking all that easily, either. Kind of, well, limping, if the flat-out truth were known.
He got a beer out of the fridge and drank it straight down, ignored the slight cold-headache and grabbed another before he walked away. Ought to feel -- something besides what he was feeling. Right? Ought to be ashamed, or feel like he'd been raped or something. Because that was what it had been.
Right?
Only he didn't feel that way. He felt wired, bizarrely energized, and still so fucking pissed he could have chewed up nails and spit out paper clips.
If Grissom had stuck it to him, why'd he feel like such a goddamn winner?
He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. Man, he even LOOKED fucked.
In the shower he found bruises he didn't know were there. On his back, on his arms, oh yeah, on his ass. Bet Grissom has a few, too. Wonder if he had to get a stitch or two in that hand.
He hoped he did.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The bizarre sense of triumph didn't disappear by the next night, either. Flared high, instead, catching Grissom's bandaged hand, the way he wouldn't meet Nick's eyes at all.
If it were anyone else, he'd have said the guy looked SCARED.
He teamed with Catherine that night, working with such easy enthusiasm it earned him a few suspicious glances.
"What?" he barked finally, after yet another walleyed look.
"Nothing. You're a little ray of sunshine tonight."
He grinned. "Aren't I?"
"So?"
"Life is good, Cath."
She rolled her eyes. "Whatever."
Back at the ranch, Paw was looking a little less nervous.
"Nice work," Grissom pronounced, studiously aiming the compliment at Nick and Catherine both.
Nick watched him walk away. "If you had to be a character from Bonanza, which one would you be?"
"That's a serious question?"
"Sure, why not."
"I have no idea."
"Guess I'd be Little Joe."
"Well, Joe, I think Hop Sing's got some DNA results for us."
He shot her an amused look.
It was a busy night, since -- as everyone proceeded to remind him every five minutes or so -- they'd been short-handed last night. Nick took it all amiably, did his stuff, didn't argue. Wasn't his idea.
When everyone but Sara had split, he went looking for Grissom.
He found him alone in one of the labs, staring with familiar focus at a slide sample. After Nick just stood there, waiting, Grissom finally spoke. "If you're all done you can head out," he remarked calmly, adjusting the microscope.
"Hand hurt?"
Grissom paused, still not looking at him. "Not really." He looked back into the microscope. "Ass hurt?"
Nick rocked back on his heels, heart doing a little stutter in his chest. "Not really."
"Go home. Just go home, Nick."
Nick walked stiff-legged over to the table and leaned over, across from Grissom. "Make me," he whispered, and grinned.
This time Grissom finally did look at him. A stony glance that wiped the grin away. "No," he replied evenly. "No more. That's it. We're done."
"Nobody's here. I just saw Sara heading for the door. You think anybody cares?"
"I care. Go."
"Aw. And here I thought you didn't."
No change in the flat look, but Grissom's nostrils flared. Ah, nice sign. "Are you having fun with this? Is this your idea of a good time?"
Nick smiled. "You have no idea what my idea of a good time really is," he whispered.
"You WANT me to fire you?"
Nick walked around the table, taking his time. The back of Grissom's neck looked horribly vulnerable. Enticing. "I was thinking something else," Nick murmured, and laid a kiss on that bare nape.
Grissom whipped around so fast it made Nick flinch. The unwounded hand grabbed Nick's wrist, iron-tight. His dick was suddenly rigid inside his pants.
"Don't play any more games with me, Nick," Grissom said harshly. The lab's murky light gave his face a malevolent cast. "It's not amusing, and it's definitely not professional."
"It's hot," Nick said silkily.
The angry glitter in Grissom's eyes intensified. "Go HOME, damn you," he rasped.
Nick smiled mockingly. "What about being honest about what you really want?" He brought Grissom's hand up to his mouth and licked the soft inside of his wrist.
Grissom hissed.
"I got a few talents I didn't put on my resume," Nick continued, keeping his eyes locked with Grissom's rapt, angry gaze. "Lemme show you."
Grissom's dick was just as hard as his own, trapped inside those nice wool trousers. The lab's tile floor felt icy under his knees.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
It hit him, looking down at what Nick was just about to do, that he could put a stop to it if he wanted. This -- whatever it was, this angry hateful lust that made his mind feel as if it had melted to slag, this bizarre dizzying kink that had leapt up between them, a horny phoenix born from the ashes of rage and sublimated desire.
If he wanted.
He didn't want to. What he wanted to do was reach down and push himself deeper inside Nick's hot wet mouth, make him take it ALL, yeah, choke on it, you little bitch, you wanted it, you GOT it, baby.
And Nick took it, too, deep-throating him without an ounce of hesitation, eyes closed and lashes dusky on his cheeks.
"Shit," Gil heard himself whimper, and the needy sound of his own voice pissed him off all over again. Road to Hell, Gil. Meaning to do right doesn't make any difference when you go ahead and fuck up anyway.
Nick made a low purring moan, vibrating the length of Gil's aching dick, and Gil reached down and held Nick's face with tight fingers, barely able to stand the sight. FUCK him, the cocky little prick, said he'd blow you and by God he's doing it, and so well he's about to make you --
He cursed and shoved hard into Nick's throat. Every pulse of his orgasm felt like it sent another few ounces of his brain coursing into Nick's stomach.
Fuck it, maybe it'd make him smarter.
Even after, Nick kept right on sucking, eyes open now, regarding him with dark avid fascination. His hands kneaded the insides of Gil's trembling thighs.
"Stop," Gil said hoarsely.
Nick let Gil's deflated cock slide obscenely out of his mouth. He had come on his lips, and licked it off, still that hungry, triumphant look in his eyes. "Mmm," he murmured, and smiled. "You know, they say you can tell what a guy had for dinner by the taste of his --"
"Shut up," Gil snapped. "Christ."
"Maybe I shoulda put it on my resume after all." Nick was getting up now, or rather slithering up, hands gripping Gil's thighs and putting altogether too much of his own body in contact with Gil's. "We could have skipped all that crap the past three years."
"Nick, stop it. Please."
Standing now, WAY too far into Gil's personal space, Nick took one of Gil's hands and kissed the fingertips. The sensation sent a jolt of heat down Gil's spine. With a twisted grin that Gil had never seen, Nick repeated, "Make me."
Nick's mouth tasted like come, and the flavor was disgustingly erotic. Nick tightened his grip on Gil's hand, bringing it down to slide it between his own legs. "Make me -- come," he whispered against Gil's mouth.
He grabbed him hard enough to hurt, and Nick made a hoarse sound of pain, so mixed with anger and pleasure Gil felt his hackles rise. "You like that?" Gil asked nastily, squeezing again. "That what you like?"
Nick pushed his hips forward, hands tight on Gil's shoulders. "Shit," he breathed. His head lolled back, and Gil arched up, placing a biting kiss in the soft curve of Nick's throat. Another broken grunt of pain, and he yelped when Gil's fingers tightened yet again.
"You've got all kinds of little secrets, don't you, Nicky?" Gil whispered, relishing the hard heat under his hand, the smooth feel of fabric bunching between his fingers.
Nick's breath came in short gasps, his teeth bared in a tense grimace. "Come on," he grated, hips jerking, pushing against Gil's hand. "Come ON."
Gil stood up finally, keeping his grip but motionless. Leaning forward until his lips were an inch from Nick's, he murmured, "Beg for it."
Nick drew back, a shocked look on his face, and Gil felt a hot stab of angry pleasure at the sight. "Come on," he added mockingly, "you wanna come? Ask me nicely."
"Fuck you," Nick spat weakly. Sweat shone on the curve of his strong jaw.
"That wasn't what I had in mind." Gil shook his head slowly.
Nick flushed, licking his lips. But he didn't back away. Didn't do anything, really.
"You wanted to play the game, Nicky," Gil said evenly, fingers keeping just the right amount of pressure on Nick's trapped, iron-hard dick. "But it's my turn, get it? You play by my rules now. And Grissom says: Beg for it. Beg me to let you come. And maybe I will."
He wanted to crow at the look of mixed rage and shame and raw lust on Nick's all-too-open features. "All right," Nick snapped, swallowing. "Please. All right? Please, just -- aw, fuck, just do it, goddamn it, all right?"
"Better, but not sufficient." Gil did grin now, savoring it. "More. Like you mean it, Nick."
"Bastard," Nick whined. "You goddamn --"
"All right, I'll stop."
"Please, God, just let me come, PLEASE." He made a funny little strangled noise, a throat-caught wheeze of need, and leaned forward, mouth an inch from Gil's ear. "Please, Gil, do it, do it, please just DO --"
As unplanned as it certainly must have been, hearing his given name broke the weird thread of control. He stroked Nick brutally, skating the edge between pleasure and agony, and Nick howled into his shoulder, arching and humping and coming right there, in his pants.
He let him catch his breath, a few seconds of an embrace so close it almost felt GOOD. And then Gil drew back, using his unbitten, come-redolent hand to grasp Nick's face hard.
"Never again," he whispered icily. Oh Christ, the look in Nick's eyes, that sated dizzy gorgeous LOOK. "You got that? Not here, not anywhere. Do you understand?"
Nick's eyelashes fluttered. And then he smiled, a bizarrely dreamy, calculating expression that made the illusion pop like a soap bubble. "Yeah," he breathed. "Not until next time."