Riddles

by Emily Brunson

(c)2003

 V.

Each morning I appear
To lie at your feet,
All day I will follow
No matter how fast you run,
Yet I nearly perish
In the midday sun.

"You know, maybe you oughta try a leash."

Gil closed his eyes briefly, and then turned. "Hello, Conrad," he said with as much weary cordiality as he could find. "Leash for what?"

Ecklie’s smile made him feel even more tired. Sly, obscurely delighted, it was an expression he knew all too well. "For whom, you mean," Ecklie corrected with a smirk. "Mike McAda told me all about it."

"It’s late, and I’m not in the mood for riddles," Gil said sharply. "If you have something to say, say it; if not, go away."

"You mean you –" Ecklie’s mouth opened in an "o" of mock-surprise. "Well, I guess it could have been worse. Maybe."

"What –"

"But letting a member of your own team beat the crap out of a suspect?" Ecklie shook his head slowly and sighed. "Either not everyone’s ready to go out without a chaperone, or you’ve got a discipline problem there, Gil."

Too shocked to completely register the gibe, Gil blinked at him. "Beat up a suspect? Who beat up a suspect?"

"At least it wasn’t a prostitute this time. Although you know, might have been better that way. She’d be less likely to press charges." Ecklie’s eyes sparkled malevolently. "This one just might."

In the handful of seconds it took Gil to make the leap from beating to prostitute to Nick, Jim Brass had appeared at the end of the hall. Gil swallowed easy, useless anger and made himself shrug. "If there’s a problem, I’ll handle it, Conrad. In the meantime I’m sure you have some kind of work to do. Don’t you?"

Ecklie just kept smiling, even when he walked away.

Gil didn’t wait for Brass to find him; he headed straight for him, heart speeding up with the expectation of trouble. "What happened?" he snapped.

"And good morning to you, too," Brass said. "Guess you heard about our little fracas earlier."

"I heard Nick beat up a suspect. You saw it?"

Brass made a face. "’Beat up’ is such a strong way of putting it. Guy won’t even have any bruises. Nicky just got a little – zealous, that’s all. And not without provocation."

"Why don’t you start at the top?" Gil asked thinly. "And then I’ll go find Nick."

In Gil’s office, Brass was looking more uncomfortable. "Don’t be too hard on the guy, Gil," he said, grabbing a chair. "If me and four other cops were standing right there watching, you think we’d have let things go too far?"

Gil regarded him from across his desk. "And just how far did they go?"

"Far enough to get us a confession, and trust me, that’s the part people will remember."

"A forced confession is useless, Jim, Jesus, what in the hell are –"

"It’ll stick. McAda’ll make sure it does."

"Christ." Gil rolled his eyes. "I might have known. Where’s Nick?"

"Should be on his way in now. Look, he didn’t do anything you or I wouldn’t have done."

"I wouldn’t hit a suspect," Gil retorted coldly. "If he did, he crossed the line."

Brass’s expression was hard to read. "It’ll all work out, Gil," he said in a calm voice. "Nowhere near as big as it sounds."

By the time Nick actually did show up, Gil had heard the story from two other witnesses, including another, non-McAda cop. The details varied, but the gist of it was the same he’d gotten from Brass and his snide excuse for a colleague, Ecklie. He didn’t go looking. Nick would find him.

"Hey." Nick leaned against the door jamb, slanted grin as blithe as morning sunshine. "Wanna grab some breakfast?"

Gil regarded him stoically. "Come inside, Nick."

The grin faded a little, but Nick nodded and came in, slinging himself into the same chair Brass had used not so long ago. "Everything okay?"

"I heard about what happened."

"You did?" Nick nodded and shrugged. "Turned out better than I thought, you know? I mean, the guy blew over like a house of cards once we showed him the evidence." The grin came back, stronger. "Might have known you wouldn’t be there to see it," Nick added, flopping back in the chair. "Figures."

Gil tried to work some spit into his Sahara-dry mouth. "Turned out better?" he asked, too startled to watch his tone. "You think that was good?"

"Well, yeah." Nick eyed him with a spark of uncertainty. "Guy confessed. Slicker than snot."

"After you manhandled him into it."

That wiped Nick’s smile away completely; he sat up straighter in his chair. "Cut me some slack, man," he said, frowning. "I figured you’d be happy. Badda-bing, badda-boom, case solved, you know? I mean, I didn’t HURT the guy."

"You held the man’s face a half-inch from a stove burner, Nick," Gil shot back harshly. "You could have seriously injured him! And for what? To prove you were right? Since when do you think stunts like that are department policy? Bully suspects into confessing? Where’d you learn that?"

Nick’s cheeks had lost color, making his eyes look even darker than usual. "It was a lot more than a half-inch," he said, jaw muscles ticking. "And a lot more than he gave his girlfriend the night he put her in the goddamn ER! I gave him a taste of his own medicine, and he blurted the whole thing out! So where’s the crime there? Wiped that smug smile right off his face, I promise you that." He shook his head, staring at Gil. "Man, I thought you’d be supportive, you know? I got results!"

"Yes, and at what cost? You gunning to be another Mike McAda? Huh? No matter what, the end justifies the means? Is that it?"

Nick sagged a little, still shaking his head. "Man, WHAT is the big deal?" he asked in a stricken voice. "I didn’t even HURT the guy, for Christ’s sake, and you’re acting like I’m goddamn Dirty Harry!"

It felt nauseatingly familiar to be angry. Different verse of the same old tired goddamn song. Gil stood up fast and the room swam a little around him before stabilizing. "If you have to ask that question," he enunciated clearly, "you aren’t the man I hired four years ago."

"Whoa, whoa. Wrong answer." Nick was smiling again, only this looked familiar, too, and not in a good way. He stood up, easy lithe motion that made Gil feel clumsy. "I AM that guy. I mean, YOU should know."

"What’s -- Because –"

Nick’s grin got wider, and meaner. "Because you’re fucking me every chance you get? This your new idea of foreplay? Fuck me over at work so you can fuck me up the ass later? That your kink?"

Flummoxed, Gil stared at him. "You think because we’re -- That I – what? I’ll let you just do whatever you WANT? No questions asked?"

"I think you’d at least appreciate a happy ending! Everything turned out fine!"

"I’m your boss, Nick," Gil said frigidly, gripping the edge of the desk so tightly his fingernails sang out with pain. "I’ll be the judge of what’s fine. And this is anything but. What you did goes against everything we stand for. You think I won’t hold you to the same standards as the rest of the team? You’re wrong. Dead wrong."

"Aw, man, I don’t fucking believe this." Nick paced a couple of steps away and back, stiff-legged, bouncing with tension. "Wait, you know what? Yeah. Yeah, I think I am different. In fact I KNOW I am. And that’s not just when you got me on my goddamn back, all right? I’m not just a goddamn employee!"

"When you’re here, you ARE an employee. Nothing more and nothing less."

He saw the way it hit Nick, the flinch. He didn’t care.

"Well, then," Nick said after a moment. His voice was about a perfect fifth higher than usual, but his smile was lethal. "I guess this is where we come to it, huh?"

"You push me every single day," Gil grated. "And I let you get away with it. But so help me God I’m not going to let you make your own rules to suit the occasion. You know better! You KNOW what you did was wrong. And I’m not going to sit by and ignore it!"

"Oh, fuck you," Nick said clearly.

He was briefly sorry the desk separated them; the urge to hit Nick was so strong he felt it resonating in the very marrow of his bones. The irony of that impulse didn’t escape him, either, and added to the boiling anger. "I’m your superior officer here," Gil said, forcing a cold smile of his own. "I could fire you for this. Do you realize that?"

Nick crossed his arms, not so fast that Gil didn’t see his hands trembling. "Ooh, but then." He grinned without any humor at all. "No more nookie for you, Dr. Grissom."

With a muttered curse Gil reached out his arm and shoved the clutter off his desk, sending a rain of files and papers and assorted crap flying. The noise made Nick flinch, and Gil felt distantly gleeful. "Get this through your head, Nick," Gil hissed, leaning forward on the now-bare desk. "What happens here and what happens out there are two entirely separate things."

Nick walked up until his hips were pressed against the opposite side of the desk, his face terribly close to Gil’s. "No," he whispered, still smiling. "They’re not. Or am I the only one who remembers you raping me on that table over there?"

The word hit Gil like a sharp slap. "Revisionist history," he said hoarsely, recoiling. "You know that as well as I do."

"Maybe we should see how the chief interprets the evidence. Older, closeted supervisor, gets younger employee alone in his office, makes a pass –" Nick raised his eyebrow and cocked his head to one side. "You know, I think he just might not like that too well. What do you think?"

"God damn it, Nick –"

"You want to treat me like a tool on the job? Fine." The first and only flicker of hurt Gil saw came and went on Nick’s white features. "Whatever gets you through the day. But don’t you DARE stand there and act like you can keep this shit separate! Any more than I do! You want to threaten my job? I’ll threaten yours. We can both play that game, but you better be DAMN sure what you’re doing, Gil, because I’m GOOD at games, remember?" The light glinted on his bared teeth.

During Nick’s speech Gil had gone cold, and now he fought down a shiver, clenching his teeth at the soul-sucking ice in the pit of his stomach. "This is no game," he said distantly. "Make no mistake about that. You’re subject to the same censure as anyone else. Including me," he added, and swallowed. "There’ll be an official reprimand on your record."

"And who reprimands you?" Nick spat, coughing out a harsh caw of a laugh. "But I guess they’d have to find out first, wouldn’t they?"

"Jesus, Nick. What in the hell did you expect me to do? Congratulate you? If you were Warrick, do you think I wouldn’t be saying the exact same thing?"

Nick’s mouth twisted in a bitter smile. "I don’t know, are you fucking him, too?"

Gil drew back. "This conversation is over. You walk away, right now, and this doesn’t have to get any worse than it already is. Is that understood?"

"Mike was right. I should have known."

"Mike McAda?" Gil straightened, staring at him. "Since when do you listen to what McAda says?"

"We hang out sometimes," Nick replied coolly, dark eyes flat with mixed anger and pain. "What, you don’t like that? Not like you have any say in the matter."

"So that’s how you’ve suddenly decided that threatening a suspect is kosher. I knew it wasn’t your idea." Gil snorted. "Had McAda’s fingerprints all over it."

"You jealous?"

"Jealous? Right now I don’t even know who you are, Nick."

"Sure you do. You know me pretty goddamn well."

"Go home," Gil said hoarsely. "And if this happens again, there’ll be more than a reprimand."

"You son of a bitch," Nick whispered. "None of it means shit to you, does it? Not any of it."

"What it means to me, I’m not prepared to discuss here," Gil shot back. "This is business, Nick! We don’t function in a vacuum! If you can’t check your personal issues at the door, then maybe this isn’t the job for you."

Nick nodded slowly. "Maybe not." His voice was choked. "But you’re fucking stuck with me, man. I ain’t going anywhere."

Gil met his terrible gaze for a moment, and almost gasped when Nick ripped his eyes away and stumbled to the door. Even after Nick was gone, Gil stood there, frozen, unable to move. Finally he sagged into his chair. The floor of his office was covered in papers, and his coffee cup lay in several pieces a few feet away.

After a long pause he levered himself out of the chair and started cleaning up.

Nothing helped. Before, he’d cooled off pretty fast. This time? How many times did this make, now? Times when Nick had made him so mad he couldn’t think, couldn’t contemplate the ramifications of what he was doing. Times when Nick tore through that polished veneer of self-sufficiency and forced Gil to react.

Too many. One time was too many, and they were way past that first time. At home Gil paced around, tired and not at all sleepy, wishing for sleep and knowing the thought for a lie.

By the time evening came around, he was fraying. The urge to call Nick, or go over, was disgustingly strong. Why call? To keep fighting? Batter his head against that stubborn, reactionary mindset until only one was left standing? Or do something else just as counterproductive and set himself up for a rerun of what had happened too many times already?

When he realized he had an erection thinking about it, he changed clothes and left for the lab.

But work wasn’t easier. Not when Nick’s square-jawed, calculating visage greeted him all too often. It was a bad night: busy, tense, too many dead bodies and not enough people to sort it all out, figure out who was who and what was what. He partnered Nick with Sara, met Nick’s hot stare with what he prayed was equanimity, and immersed himself in work.

Time crawled on its belly, slowed by his exhaustion, but eventually there was nothing more he could do than wait. Wait for reports, wait for test results, wait for – something. He filled out a form on Nick and then wadded it up viciously. Maybe Nick was right. Maybe it didn’t really matter how they got results, as long as results were gotten.

The idea didn’t make him feel any better.

Not too long before the end of his shift, he finally stalked over to DNA. Inside Greg was hunched over a microscope, humming tunelessly, looking so at home and busy Gil felt impotently angry.

"Greg."

"Yeah," Greg mumbled. "Just a sec."

"Now, Greg."

That got him a wide-eyed look. "Oh, hey, Grissom. Sorry, I was –"

"You promised me my analysis two hours ago," Gil interrupted, crossing his arms. "Backed up or not, I can’t do a thing until you cough it up. So would you mind expediting –"

Greg held up a hand, waving, and Gil broke off. "Your test results?" Greg looked astonished. "Listen, I had those done ages ago. Didn’t Nick tell you?"

The cold feeling coalesced in his belly, immediate and biting. "Nick?" Gil asked smoothly. "What would Nick know about it?"

"No, I mean, he was here a while back –" Greg glanced at the clock. "Jeez, like three hours ago. I had the stuff, he said he’d drop it by you. You telling me he didn’t?"

"You gave them to Nick."

Greg’s expression turned frankly worried. "Look, if he didn’t –"

"And what would Nick want with my DNA results? Did he tell you he was working the same case? What would lead you to think that Nick would have ANY interest in this case?"

"He was headed your way, I thought he’d do what he said he did. I can print you another copy, I mean, that’s no prob –"

"In future," Gil pronounced, feeling oddly lightheaded, "my test results come only to me. Not to Nick, not to a middleman. You got that, Greg?"

"S-sure. Yeah, of course I got it. But –"

Gil was already walking away.

Looking around didn’t turn anything up. He found Sara doing fiber analysis – something he expected Nick to be doing – but she didn’t know where Nick was. Catherine was still out. And Nick was nowhere.

He startled Warrick in the locker room, hitting the door so hard it bounced off the wall and left a chip in the paint. Warrick stood stock-still, holding his shirt half-over his head. "What’d I do?" he asked in a calm voice.

"Where’s Nick?" Gil demanded harshly.

"Yo, man, chill. He’s already gone. Headed out like, half an hour ago." Warrick pulled his shirt on and kept right on staring at him. "What’s going on?"

Gil’s cell phone rang, and he fished it out of his pocket with cold fingers. "Never mind," he replied, and turned.

In the hallway he answered the call. Brass sounded eager. "Just thought you’d like to know we made the arrest. Caught the guy trying to make a run for it."

Gil stood very still. "You got the DNA results?"

"Yeah, Nicky dropped ‘em by, said he was saving you the trip. Good work, Gil. As always."

"I see," Gil said tonelessly. "Did Nick happen to mention where he was headed?"

"Nah. It’s late, probably went home. Why?"

Gil hung up without answering.

The sun was just edging up to the horizon when he peeled out. The drive to Nick’s condo normally took about half an hour; today he was going to cut that in half. It occurred to him halfway there that he probably should wait it out. Let the anger cool off, not get him into as much trouble as it had on previous occasions. It also occurred to him that he wasn’t going to rest until he’d had a chance to say what he wanted to say, and damn the consequences.

He passed a couple of people while he was walking up to Nick’s condo. Normal people, going to regular 9-5 office jobs. Nothing about his life was normal. He swallowed thick rage and banged on Nick’s door.

Nick opened the door fast, and it only took a millisecond to see the truth in his face. Writ large in the dancing light of his eyes, the half-smile quirking the corners of his mouth. "Took you long enough," Nick said, and grinned.

Gil put his hand in the center of Nick’s chest and pushed, hard. Nick fumbled backward and Gil followed, kicking the door shut behind him.

"I was just saving you the trouble, you know." Nick had come up against the back of the couch, and now put one hand out to touch the upholstery. The smile was gone; the weird hectic look in his eyes wasn’t. "Some people would thank me."

"Is this the kind of game you want to play, Nick?" Gil asked harshly, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "Guerilla tactics? Sneaking behind my back, counting on my good graces? My graces aren’t so good these days."

Nick leaned one hip on the couch and crossed his arms. "Hey, I just thought you were into games," he replied coolly. "But I guess it isn’t as much fun when somebody else makes up the rules, now, is it?"

Gil found a smile on his face. It felt good. "Sure, we can play games. Or maybe for once we could try something new. How about the truth?"

"Where’s the fun in that?" Nick snapped.

"I think it could be lots of fun. How about I start? I have no idea what you’re trying to make me do here." Gil swallowed. "Because you’re pushing, you always push, but I can’t figure out where. You want me to let you just run wild in the lab? Make up your own rules, always knowing Grissom’s gonna support you no matter what?"

Nick shrugged, but some of the sparkle had left his eyes; he looked sullen now. "That’s bullshit."

"Is it? I mean, that’s pretty much what you told me last night. And then today, I mean, you did that to save me the trouble?" Gil coughed a harsh laugh. "THAT, Nick, is bullshit. We both know it. We’re back to square one, aren’t we? Back to where we first started. You did it to fuck with me."

"I didn’t."

"Of course you did! Jesus, at least admit it! You did it to piss me off. And it worked," Gil added in a conversational tone, nodding. "Oh, it worked, all right."

To his surprise Nick dropped his gaze, cheeks flushed. "What, you want me to say I’m sorry?"

"God DAMN it, Nick, I want you to TELL ME what you WANT!" When he stepped forward, Nick edged back, a halting step-ball-change that pressed him flat against the couch. "You want me to be angry? Fine. What else do you want?"

Nick drew a breath, but let it out a second later without saying anything, eyes black and thunderous.

Without planning it at all Gil slapped him, hard.

The blow rocked Nick back, and for a second he clawed at the couch for balance. When he looked up his expression was a paradigm of absolute shock. "You – fucker," he breathed, eyes wide.

This time when he slapped him, he knew Nick could have stopped it. Good reflexes, good muscles, he could have reached out and grabbed Gil’s wrist before his hand connected again with Nick’s cheek. But he didn’t, instead taking the blow and coming back with a terrible grin on his face.

"Write me up for undue force, and beat me up later?" Nick wiped his lip with the back of his hand. His fingers were trembling. "Now that’s rich, Gil. Oh, that’s fucking priceless."

Gil drew a careful breath. His heart hammered in his chest. "Is this what you want?" he repeated, stepping forward until his body was only a few inches from Nick’s taut form. "Because I can’t tell. It seems like violence is the only thing that works on you."

Nick’s grin slipped, leaving him looking scared, and tense with raw anger. "How would you KNOW?" he whispered jerkily. "How would you ever fucking know?"

"Since you won’t tell me? Process of elimination. Want me to do that some more? Huh?" He reached out and smacked Nick’s reddening cheek, not hard enough for a slap. Once, twice, again, until Nick growled and his fingers closed around Gil’s wrist. "What, is that not it?" Gil grinned. "You tell me, Nicky. Tell me."

Instead of talking Nick pushed, hard, and Gil staggered back before he caught his balance.

"The evidence never lies," Nick hissed mockingly. "Isn’t that what you always say?"

"Yeah." Gil nodded. "It always tells the truth. Want to know what the evidence says about you?"

He had a second’s warning in the flicker of Nick’s eyes. And then Nick made an inarticulate noise and launched himself at him.

The first thing he thought about was the price he would be paying the next few days for this. Too damn old to duke it out with anyone, much less someone he’d made so angry he could no longer think clearly.

The second thing to occur to him came right on the heels of the first, because for all Nick’s toned muscles he wasn’t a very good fighter. Or wrestler, more specifically, since by that point they were rolling on the floor. A few hits connected; Gil oofed when Nick’s flailing fist caught him a glancing blow on the chin.

Nick had the strength, more than Gil did, but he wasn’t very good because he wasn’t thinking. And Gil still was. Somehow, in the middle of fighting off the spitting catamount that Nick had become, Gil was in the moment, gauging Nick’s weak spots, using his fury against him.

"Damn it, Nick, stop," Gil wheezed, staring up at Nick and easily dodging one bunched-up fist. He reached up to grab Nick’s arm and kicked at his leg at the same time, and Nick flipped neatly, spraying curses and landing hard on his back. Gil rolled and leaned over him, using his weight to pin Nick down. "Don’t make me do this."

Nick’s face contorted and he wrenched himself to the left, almost unseating Gil before his momentum ran out. This time Gil pinned him on his belly, right arm twisted behind his back. When Nick struggled Gil pulled, and the sound of Nick’s hoarse grunt of pain sent shivers of horror and glee down his spine.

"What is it you want?" Gil asked, gulping air. "Tell me. Tell me and I’ll let you up."

"FUCK you," Nick gasped. "Let me GO."

"No fucking way. Is this it?" Gil leaned forward and pressed a fast, hard kiss against the sweaty nape of Nick’s neck, retreating a split-second before Nick threw his head back. "Sex and violence, Nick? Is that all you want? I don’t think it is. And I think you’re scared out of your mind to admit it."

"You got – no fucking – clue," Nick whispered, face against the carpet.

"Oh, I do. I have evidence." Gil arched his hips against Nick’s ass, and smiled distantly when Nick wriggled. Then he reached down with his free hand and began unfastening his belt. "You don’t want to like this, but you do," Gil continued conversationally, rolling his hips a little and sliding the belt free. "And the only way your mind will wrap around it is to make it like this. Isn’t it?"

Nick had gone still beneath him, but bucked frantically when he felt the leather loop around his imprisoned wrist. "Don’t," he said, shaking his head fast. "Do- don’t."

With one wrist already bound, it was a lot easier to capture the other one. Nick howled with mixed pain and outrage while Gil tightened the belt, pulling Nick’s wrists together and cinching them stoutly. Then Gil leaned forward again, placing his lips against the curve of Nick’s ear. "It’s best when you can pretend you don’t have a choice," Gil whispered. "Isn’t it? It wasn’t rape, Nicky. Not then, and not now. Admit that. Just tell me the truth."

"NO!" Nick screamed, writhing and kicking uselessly.

"I’ll force it out of you if you make me." Gil slid his knee between Nick’s taut thighs and used his weight to keep Nick from kicking him. "Do you believe me? I can. Believe me, I can."

Nick’s struggles slowed, whether from defeat or exhaustion, Gil wasn’t sure. His arms trembled visibly, and Gil could almost hear the creak of stressed muscles. "Let me go," Nick whispered. "Please. Oh, please, fucking let me GO."

A thin icy pain blossomed in Gil’s chest, and he had to swallow. "Not yet, Nicky. Not yet."

Nick stiffened when Gil touched his waist. Bucking again, silent and deathly intent, face mashed into the carpet while Gil inexorably lifted him by the hips. But it wasn’t really hard to do. Hold him around the waist, sit on his feet to keep him from kicking the shit out of him, and use the free hand to undo his jeans.

"Relax," Gil whispered, stroking his hand up the thin skin over Nick’s spine. "Stop fighting, Nick. Just stop."

"Get off me," Nick wailed. "You fucker, get OFF me."

"Sshhh." Gil slid his hand under the waistband of Nick’s jeans and pushed them down, past the tight globes of his ass, uncovering crisp blue cotton boxers.

Nick yelped and tried to throw himself sideways, and Gil smacked him hard on the ass. His fingers stung as he rubbed the place he’d hit. "No," he said in his most reasonable voice.

"You can’t DO this!" Nick arched his back and then cried out when Gil’s hand smacked down again. "God DAMN it!"

Gil yanked the boxers down and ran his hand over Nick’s bare, reddened buttock. "Yes, I can. And you know that."

By the time he’d worked Nick’s pants and shorts off, Nick had run through just about every epithet Gil had ever heard, shouted and screeched and pleaded in his increasingly hoarse voice. The back of his shirt was dark with sweat, and his struggles were weakening with what Gil believed was honest exhaustion.

"Say it," Gil murmured, throat tight. "Oh, Nicky, just say it."

Nick coughed a scratchy half-sob and said nothing at all.

When he took the condom out of his pocket he flashed on that first exalting, horrifying time in Gil’s office. Nick’s flushed face, that sullen challenge, and underneath, the flicker of something Gil had hardly dared believe might be there. All the curses and the anger, passive aggression crap, masking the small bit of Nick hidden inside. Protected, savagely at times, and for what? Fear? What else?

He hadn’t even been all that conscious of his erection before, but now, gazing down at Nick’s tense body, that expanse of bare spanked bottom and flushed skin, Gil had to choke down a groan. Nick went absolutely still at the crackle of the condom’s plastic wrapper. And then berserk, when Gil spread Nick’s thighs. And Gil had to think, fighting to keep Nick on his belly, that this wasn’t anger any more. Nick was worn out. No, this was pure fear.

"Stop it," Gil told him thickly. "Stop it, Nick, stop doing this. Stop doing it to both of us. Stop being afraid."

"I’m not afraid," Nick said in a choked voice. "I’m not fucking afraid of you!"

"You’re lying. You’re scared shitless." Gil felt a smile trembling at the corners of his mouth. "But I want you to see that you don’t have to be."

Nick made a terrible sound when Gil’s cock touched his asshole. A low, awful cry that made Gil’s hackles try to stand up. Gil eased himself down and laid his cheek on Nick’s back, arms shaking with a combination of stress and gut-deep arousal. "Is it so bad," he murmured, "that you have to make it this hard? Is it so wrong? Just tell me."

"I don’t know," Nick said, and sobbed once before going limp beneath him. "I don’t know anymore."

"Was it rape? Do you honestly believe that?"

Nick’s shoulders bunched with the effort of trying not to cry. "What do you think?" came his thick reply.

Gil kissed the back of his neck, and smiled when Nick didn’t fight this time. "I think I want you to tell me this time. Don’t turn the question around. Tell me. Did you want it?"

"Yeah," Nick whispered, sounding defeated. "I wanted it, all right?"

He saw Nick tense again when Gil pressed inside him, but the sound Nick made wasn’t negation. It was soft, and hoarse, and aroused, however reluctantly. "Relax," Gil whispered, easing forward. "I’m going to untie your hands. Because we don’t need that. We don’t need any of it, any of this crap we’ve been doing. Do we?"

Nick said nothing, but when Gil loosened the belt all Nick did was let his arms lie limp at his sides, sighing a little.

"Tell me," Gil said more urgently. "Tell me it’s crap, Nick. Tell me it’s all a cover for what you really want." He drew a deep breath and held himself still with a titanic effort. "Do you want this?" he added, angling his hips and inching deeper inside Nick’s body.

Nick made another soft sound and moved underneath him, not to escape, sliding his legs wider. "Yes," he whispered. "Yes, okay?"

"And the rest? Did you want that?"

"I don’t -- I don’t know. No. Not really."

Gil slid home inside him and felt Nick’s flesh twitching around him, relaxing, opening up. The sensation was exquisitely erotic. "No more, Nicky," Gil told him in a tight voice. "I don’t want that either. But I want this. I want YOU. Do you want me?"

"Yes," Nick said breathlessly. His back bowed as he lifted his hips a little, pushing against Gil. "Fuck yes."

"Then you’ve GOT me, damn it."

Nick’s soft laugh sounded flustered, and then it broke into a moan when Gil slid back and then forward again, shoving as deep as he could get.

When he looked back on it later, that morning in Nick’s condominium, he was never able to call to mind exactly what he’d done after that string of reluctant admissions. He remembered the gist of it: the clutch of Nick’s ass around Gil’s dick, the way Nick’s voice rose and fell and wavered as he came closer and closer to the edge. The taste of Nick’s skin, salty and slick. But the details were lost in the blur of motion, his own impending orgasm, the startling gut-deep joy of sex without games. It began with a riddle, but somewhere he’d lost sight of which riddle Nick was really struggling to answer. Which question Gil was really posing. And now, close to losing his last threads of control, Gil had the answer.

And even better, maybe Nick did, as well.

The noise shocked him. Who’d changed the station on the radio? This wasn’t right, this jangling sound that made every muscle in his body tense when he wasn’t even completely awake yet, damn it, what in the hell

"Sorry," came a muffled voice close by. The noise cut off.

Gil opened his eyes and stared at Nick’s face.

"I sleep kinda hard," Nick added, and yawned. "So I turn the alarm up loud."

"Really loud," Gil managed.

"Uh huh." Nick sagged back down, turned on his side. His face had a pillow crease zagging up one cheek.

"Nick?"

Nick’s eyes were already closed again. "Nuh."

"What time is it?"

"Guh. Fi’."

Gazing at Nick’s relaxed face Gil felt a tiny smile quirking the corners of his mouth. He sat up a little, leaning on one elbow, and reached out to touch his thumb to Nick’s dented cheek. "We need to get up," he said softly. "Come on."

"Jus’ a sec."

"Want me to pull rank on you?"

Nick’s eyes flicked open, filled with groggy surprise, and Gil grinned. "Just kidding."

"Jerk." But Nick was smiling a little, too. "You’re still here."

Gil nodded. "I am."

"Figured you’d – leave. You know. After."

Gil considered, and shook his head slowly. "Not anymore. Unless you want me to."

"No." Nick gazed at him, his expression terribly open. "I don’t want you to."

"Good. How do you feel?"

Nick grinned, a sparkle in his eyes. "Pretty damn good, considering I got kinda beat up this morning. You?"

"Fine," Gil said. His smile felt easy and perfectly natural. "Better than fine."

Nick’s expression sobered, but the light in his dark gaze didn’t fade. "Tough love, huh?"

"Whatever works. And it worked. Didn’t it?"

"Yeah." Nick looked away. "Jesus, it seems so stupid now. I don’t get it, I mean, you were right, I guess. I just – I don’t know what I was thinking. Guess I wasn’t, most of the time."

"Does it matter?" Gil replied softly, and caught Nick’s eye again. He smiled. "Worked out all right. Even if it took quite a bit to get here."

"I guess. I mean, yeah. Yeah, it did."

"You do have coffee, right?"

Nick snorted and reached up to rub his eyes. Faint red marks braceleted his wrists, and Gil felt a tiny flicker of regret flare before he squashed it. "Coming right up."

Gil sat at the bar while Nick shuffled around the kitchen making coffee. Not much talking, but Gil felt fine with that. Content to watch Nick, sloppy in an ancient Oilers tee shirt and baggy jeans, and thinking about – not much at all, actually. Just there.

The coffee was good, and very strong. Eventually Nick produced English muffins and wolfed down two while Gil made one last longer. Pushing the last big bite in his mouth, Nick grabbed a napkin and wiped his lips. "Starving," he remarked indistinctly.

"I noticed. You want to stop for something more substantial on the way to the lab?"

Nick nodded enthusiastically. "That’d be great. Rosa’s?"

"Where else?"

"Cool."

When the breakfast thing were put away Gil glanced at him. "Flip you for the shower?"

Nick gave him a slow grin. "I don’t think that’s necessary, do you?" he said. The tone of his voice sent a prickle arcing up Gil’s spine.

In the bathroom they undressed quickly, and then Nick grabbed Gil’s wrist and pulled him into the shower. The hot water felt delicious on his skin. Almost as good as the coffee-flavored kiss Nick gave him a moment later.

"We’re going to be late," Gil muttered against Nick’s mouth, feeling his hands sliding around Nick’s waist, exploring the sleek wet skin of his back.

"Yep." Nick tilted his head and pressed his lips beneath Gil’s jaw. His hands slid up Gil’s arms to touch his shoulders. "I don’t care," he added. "Do you?"

"Not a bit."

This time he was sure every moment would be etched into his memory for the rest of his life. Every detail, the taste of Nick’s mouth and the feel of his ass cupped in Gil’s hands, slick with soap. The inarticulate groan Gil heard himself make when Nick turned around and braced himself on the tiled wall, back glistening wetly and water racing down the groove of his spine. And Nick’s answering throaty cry when Gil slid into him, no anger now, no petulance, no pretense, just honest pleasure, eager and sure.

The lateness of the hour didn’t matter. He took his time, long enough that the water was running tepid before he arched his back and spent himself inside Nick’s body. And felt Nick’s tension, the involuntary soft curse as he went completely still and then jerked spasmodically, ass gripping Gil tight and sending a shock wave of ecstasy through his groin.

Breathing hard, he levered himself regretfully away, letting the coolish water between them, rinsing away sweat and other things. Nick released a deep shuddery sigh and turned slowly, revealing a red face and a wonderfully sated look.

"Water’s getting cold," Nick observed shakily, lips turned up in a smile.

"Better hurry up."

"We could call in."

Gil grinned and shook his head. "Nope. No way."

Nick slithered against him and slid his hand between Gil’s legs. "You sure?" he asked smokily, an inch from Gil’s mouth. "Because it feels like you could go another –"

"Later," Gil interrupted, laughing a little. He let himself enjoy Nick’s touch for a second and then pulled away.

"Damn. I’m gonna hold you to that."

"I’m counting on it," Gil replied lightly.

He borrowed one of Nick’s shirts and wondered if anyone would recognize it. And realized with a flicker of startled pleasure that he didn’t much care if they did. Nick had exorcised whatever issue he’d been carrying around. If he could do that, Gil could damn well handle a suspicious shirt or two.

Buttoning the shirt, he glanced over at Nick, busy shoving his feet into socks. "There’s a lot we should talk about," Gil said evenly. "Someday."

Nick looked up. "Yeah," he replied after a silent moment. "Probably is. Someday."

"There’s time, though."

The sweet warmth in Nick’s eyes made Gil feel like a cat, luxuriating in sunlight. "Guess there is, isn’t there?"

"Yeah," Gil agreed. "All we want."

END

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