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|Monday, March 7th, 2011|
Is there anyone out there interested in slashing old western tv shows and movies? Bonanza, Big Valley, Alias Smith & Jones, High Chaparral, Lancer, Mag7, Silverado, 3:10 To Yuma, etc.
I own a Yahoo grou that focuses on slashing westerns and we're looking for new members. Especially writers. If you have any interest, please contact me. Current Mood: hopeful
|Monday, February 1st, 2010|
|My New Favorite Fandom and Slash Pairing
It's been a loooonnnngggg time since I've posted anything here. My CSI muse abandoned me over a year ago and there's no sign of her ever coming back. I've pretty much accepted that fact.
But to be honest, I'm okay with it because I have found a new obsession...Sherlock Holmes. Robert Downey Jr and Jude Law are purrrrfect as Holmes and Watson. I adore them and have been spending all my free time searching out and reading any Holmes/Watson fics I can find.
If you haven't seen the movie yet, I highly recommend it.
Wendy :-) Current Mood: bouncy
|Thursday, January 8th, 2009|
Since my CSI muse has run away from home, I basically use this venue for whining about crap that bugs me and not much else.
And that's not going to change with this post.
Anyway, I thought I'd do up some sort of primer for all the most common grammatical mistakes I see in fanfic. If anyone out there can think of any others feel free to mention them.Taut vs. Taunt
Taut = tight
Taunt = to tease, to insult, to mock
I hate reading about characters tied up with ropes that are taunt. *eye roll* Breath vs. Breathe
breath rhymes with Seth
- After climbing all those stairs, I can't seem to catch my breath.
- The doctor asked him to take a deep breath.
breathe rhymes with breeze
There, They're and Their
- Veronica always found it hard to breathe when she was in small, enclosed spaces.
- The cowboy loved the wide open spaces of Montana. Unlike the crowded cities back east, out here there was room to breathe.
There indicates a location: Put the book on the table over there.
Their is the possessive version of They: Their cat's name is Mittens.
They're is short for They Are: Bob and Stacey called to let me know they're going to be late. Your vs. You're
You're = You Are: You're here earlier than I expected.
Your = indicates ownership: Your jacket, your family, your new car. etc. Two, To and Too
Two: more than one, less than three: He ate two hot dogs
Too: also, in addition, furthermore: I would like to go to the party too
To: can be used in a variety of ways.
Shudder vs. Shutter
- For expressing motion or direction toward a point, person, place, or thing: They came to the house.
- For expressing aim, purpose, or intention: He rode to the rescue.
- For expressing contact or contiguity: Apply varnish to the surface
- For expressing a resulting state or condition: He tore it to pieces. She was blown to bits.
Shudder = to shake, shiver or tremble
Shutter = something used to cover your windowsLose vs. Loose
Loose = rhymes with goose - the opposite of tight
Lose = rhymes with booze
Could Of vs. Could've
- To misplace something through carelessness or theft. Make sure you don't lose that valuable necklace.
- To suffer the deprivation of: To lose one's job; to lose one's life.
- To fail to keep, preserve, or maintain: To lose one's balance; to lose one's figure. To lose the game.
Could've is short for Could Have.
There is no such phrase as "Could Of". It is incorrect grammar and should never, ever be used.
Well, there it is. That's my list.
Cheers..... Current Mood: annoyed
|Friday, November 7th, 2008|
|Season 9 of CSI
I'm seeing a great many postings on the various CSI fanboards that are making Grissom's burnout/depression all about his break up with Sara. It's all Sara, all the time.
Sara, Sara, Sara.
And since I'm not a fan of the GSR (or of Sara), this irks me to no end.
Can we please not forget that his good friend and protoge (you remember Warrick, right?) died in his arms? He was completely drenched in the blood of someone he thought of as a surrogate son.
Don'cha think that might have at least *little* something to do with his depression, too? Hmm? Current Mood: annoyed
|Monday, August 25th, 2008|
|Why the heck is Sara so damn popular??
So, I'm cruising through ff.net and 9 out of 10 stories seem to be either Sara or GSR centric. And if you go to any of the CSI fan sites with message boards, there's all these fangirls gushing and squeeing about Sara. Even if the fan doesn't always like the GSR, they seem to adore Sara.
What I want to try and understand is... why?
For me to watch a show regularly, it's important that there be a guy on it that I find attractive. There needs to be someone for me to latch onto. It's always been that way for me, even as a kid. I will actually cruise through the Fall Preview issue of TV Guide and look at the promo pics for all the new shows. If the show doesn't have at least one guy on it that I think is cute, I ain't watching.
Shallow? Perhaps. But hey, it works for me.
Granted, the character also has to have some redeemable qualities for me to stay tuned in. If they're total jerk, I'm less likely to stay interested no matter how pretty they are. They can be evil (a la Alex Krychek of X-Files fame) because evil can be dead sexy. But being an a$$hole is another thing entirely.
But I have never, ever watched a show because I admired a female character or the actress who played her. I've been known to follow certain male actors from show to show but a woman??? Never.
I always figured it was the same with most other female viewers out there but I guess that's not the case. There seem to be tons of women out there who idolize Sara. Why? Do they want to be like her? Do they have some sort of a crush on her? What's the deal?
Because, I gotta tell ya, what I saw of Sara in those first few episodes waaayyyy back in Season 1 did not impress me at all. She was rude, cocky and spent a lot of time riding around on her high horse and jumping to conclusions.
"If anyone touches this before I get a chance to dust for prints, I'll break their fingers" Excuse me?? These people are professionals. To come in as a new memeber of the team and then insinuate that they don't know how to do their jobs or follow procedure is insulting.
Comments about being hand picked to be on the team and being Grissom's star pupil. Honey, get OVER yourself.
And then there's the I-15 Murders episode where she behaves horribly to Warrick without knowing all the facts.
And we're supposed to like this character?
Over the years there have been certain episodes that I've honestly enjoyed her in (usually when she's working with Nick) but that first impression has stuck with me. It definitely left a very bad taste in my mouth and I've never been able to get past it.
So can someone please tell me what her appeal is supposed to be because I just don't get it.
|Tuesday, June 3rd, 2008|
Well I'll be damned. My CSI muse came skulking back from where ever she'd disappeared to for the last 18 months, looking like ten miles of bad road....but she brought us this little tidbit so I'm willing to forgive her.
Not mine, no money being made.
This isn't betaed so any and all mistakes are mine.
Pairing: Nick/Warrick (sorta) Poor Warrick gets all hot and bothered but Nick is just kinda clueless.
CSIs tended to work long hours so those few precious minutes when they could take a breather were worth their weight in gold, something to be appreciated and savored, and the break room was a haven in their otherwise franticly paced jobs. Warrick treasured his infrequent breaks as much as the next CSI but there were still a few things that would drive him from the break room, or, in some cases, the lab entirely.
One was Eckley on the warpath. Another was Grissom on the warpath. Or perhaps Sara on the warpath. Heck, even Sara just mildly displeased was a thing to be avoided.
The last and most distressing thing was…well…a certain item….
A certain fruit…
Alright, a banana….in the hands of one Nicholas Benjamin Stokes.
It wasn’t so much the banana itself as it was the Texan’s rather…intense liking for them. The man didn’t simply eat that particular brand of produce. No, he indulged in them, savored them, devoured them with an enthusiasm that was, as far as Warrick was concerned, just shy of obscene.
Long, slender fingers would cradle the object with a covetous touch far too soft for even the most delicate piece of evidence, blunt fingernails lifting, coaxing the peel away to lay bare the pale fruit lying beneath.
His eager mouth would seal itself neatly around the fruit’s flesh, bowing, yielding to its girth before he sank his teeth cleanly through, finally retreating with the very first portion of his treat held trapped between his still parted lips, only to return several long, painful seconds later, working with an aching slowness along the length of the fruit. With a subtle lift of his chin he would move back again, chewing thoughtfully and regarding the object in his hand through eyes half-lidded with pleasure.
And the noises
. Oh, for the love of all that was holy, the noises. Nick didn’t blatantly mewl
, but he gave every impression of wanting to. He would tip his head back, displaying the graceful slope of his neck, taut muscles rippling as he swallowed. But the only sound that ever escaped was a sigh, or a low hum of appreciation.
Perhaps it was too much of an effort to turn that small sound into an all out moan.
Oddly enough, Nick seemed to hate the bruises that he occasionally found on the bananas, the dark spots marring his otherwise flawless yellow prize. His expressive chocolate eyes, focused so acutely on the task at hand, would narrow upon the imperfection, as though the banana had somehow deliberately disappointed him. But true to his character, he would continue with no less fervor than that of any other bite. And the low tone that would emanate from deep within Nick’s chest made Warrick break out into a sweat, his jeans suddenly feeling a tad snug.
The green-eyed CSI found himself constantly thanking God, Buddha, Mother Nature or whoever that bananas were far less….juicy…. than most other fruits because if there had been slurping sounds involved as well? …Dear God.
Just a few minutes ago Warrick had been forced into a hasty evacuation of the break room, startling Nick, whose hand was halfway to a piece of the condemning produce, sitting oh so innocently, in the fruit bowl on the table. The black man had scrambled frantically for the door, not even looking back when one of the file folders he’d been working on fell to the floor, papers slithering in every direction.
Nick, carrying the folder Warrick had dropped in his haste to escape, found his friend in the bathroom, splashing water onto his overheated features.
“Dude, what is wrong
with you?” the Texan asked, eyes filled with concern. “You feeling okay?”
Warrick kept his eyes averted and concentrated of locating the paper towels to wipe his face. “Yeah, it’s all good. Just something you- I mean I ate.”
“Upset stomach, huh?”
“I guess so,” Warrick replied, latching on to Nick’s assumption in an effort to avoid revealing the real reason for his discomfort.
“Poor guy. Must’ve been the chili dog you bought from that pushcart down on Fremont Street.” He paused before continuing brightly. “Hey, you know what’s good to eat when you have an upset stomach?”
“No, Nicky, what?” the taller CSI asked as he turned to reach for the file his friend held out to him.
- end - Current Mood: surprised
|Friday, May 16th, 2008|
Well crap. There goes my favorite CSI slash pairing. *sniffle* Current Mood: sad
|Thursday, May 1st, 2008|
|Yet another rant about the downside of fanfic.....
It felt so good to get that rant about Mary Sues off my chest, I decided to blather on about another issue that really burns my bacon: writer blackmail.
Don't know what I mean?
Have you ever seen a story where the writer blatantly states that they will not post the next chapter unless they get at least 5 comments on the current one? If that's the way you feel, Writer X, then you should just stop right now. IMHO, a writer should write because they feel they have something to contribute - They have a really cool idea for a plot or a fresh spin on a certain character, etc. I don't know about anyone else but I write for myself. I come up with these plot bunnies and I absolutely need to get them out. If someone else comes along and says they like it too, that's just icing on the cake.
I've posted multiple chapter stories where I've gotten very little feedback and I was totally okay with that. I did not pitch a wall-eyed fit. I did not throw a tanty. I also did not hold the readers hostage in a pathetic effort to stroke my own ego. I just kept right on posting every few days until the story was complete.
Yes, it would be great if every one of my stories was well received and got gobs of positive feedback....but it's fine that they don't. I happen to love each and every one of my fics and, in the long run, that's all that's realy important. Current Mood: frustrated
|Friday, April 25th, 2008|
|God, save me from Mary Sues!!
Well my CSI muse may have bitten the dust (may she rest in peace) but I do still love to read fanfic. The only problem I have is with Mary Sues. I have, at last count, roughly 25 different fandoms that I read fic in and it seems that none of them are immune to The Mary Sue virus.
Every summary for a story seems to begin with "there's a new girl in the lab" or "A mysterious new girl joins the crew" or "who is that new girl that has captured so-and-so's attention?"
Ya know what? I don't care who she is....and I will never read any further. If I see a summary like that, I cruise right on by.
I read the fanfic in a particular fandom because I like the characters. THEY are who I want to read about. I want to see more interaction between them, expanding upon their relationships to each other and dealing with whatever the main premise of the show is.
I do NOT want to read a story about Mary Sue and her mysterious past or how she is the long lost daughter of Main Character X or that Main Character Y has fallen in love with her or whatever.
IMHO, Mary Sues are self-serving and egotistical in a "look at me, look at me" kind of way that just makes my skin crawl.
Okay, rant over...I feel better for having gotten that off my chest. *steps off soapbox* Current Mood: annoyed
|Sunday, December 16th, 2007|
|Nope, still not feelin' it....
Man, my CSI muse is seriously MIA. I'm still not feeling inspired and with the writer's strike who knows if we'll even get a full season. *sigh*
|Thursday, September 6th, 2007|
|Just checking in....
I haven't written any CSI fic in quite a while and I guess I just felt the need to post something...anything.
This past season did not inspire me at all and I must confess that I've got a couple of other fandoms that I've become enamoured with.
But hopefully, things in Season 8 will be better and I'll manage to get my CSI muse back from wherever she ran off to. From the spoilers I'm seeing, Nicky has a more prominent role this year and a nice juicy storyline.
Of course, TPTB said that last season about Warrick's gambling problem resurfacing and all it got was a five second scene in one episode. Whoopee freakin doo....
I'll just keep my fingers crossed. Current Mood: apathetic
|Monday, March 5th, 2007|
|New Fic: Unrequited
Well, it certainly has been a while since I posted anything. I've been dealing with a block and getting anything written has been extremely difficult. Plus, this season hasn't been very inspiring for me. Not much Nick-centric stuff going on.
This isn't betaed. Any mistakes you find are all mine.
They don't belong to me. No money being made. Rating: PG
No spoilers to speak of. Just a brief reference to Gum Drops. Story takes place any time after Way To Go.
Every night, when Grissom handed out the assignments, it was the same thing.
Monday: “Greg, you and Warrick have suspicious circs over at the Bellagio. Catherine, I want you and Nick to handle the liquor store robbery on Springvale Ave. Sara, you’re with me.”
Tuesday: “Catherine, there’s a 419 at UNLV. Take Greg with you. Vega is already there, he can give you more details. Nick, you and Warrick can work the B&E out in Henderson. Sara, you’re with me.”
Wednesday: “Nick, there was a sexual assault over at the Saturn Arms. Catherine is already on her way to the hospital to speak with the vic and to collect the SART kit. I need you to go to the scene and see what you can find. Warrick, take Sanders and meet Brass out in Laughlin. He’s got an abandoned car with body in the trunk. Sara, you’re with me.”
Thursday: “Warrick is in court and Greg called in sick so it’s a good thing it’s fairly quiet tonight. Catherine and Nick, body in a dumpster down on Stackpole Street. That’s gang territory so watch yourselves. Vartan is there waiting for you. Sara, you’re with me.”
Friday: “Catherine, you’ve got what looks like a murder/suicide out at Lake Mead. Take both Warrick and Nick with you. Sophia will meet you there. Greg is still sick. Sara, you’re with me.”
Every single night.
“Sara you’re with me.”
Nick was getting sick of this hated phrase. It had reached the point where he was hearing it in his sleep.
“Sara, you’re with me”.
And the thing of it was that Sara really *was* with Grissom. In every possible way. The Texan couldn’t say for sure how he knew but he was positive that the two were seeing each other. It was just a feeling, a certainty, deep in his bones. Just like when he knew that Cassie McBride was still alive. It just was.
And he hated it. Hated the idea of Sara and Grissom together and all that it entailed. Eating meals together. Going for walks together. Going shopping together. Watching TV together. Reading the Sunday paper together after a night spent making love.
The image of Gil Grissom in the throws of passions bloomed in Nick’s mind and made his gut clench. It hurt to have feelings for someone and have them not feel the same way.
And Nick knew that Gil didn’t care about him….at least not that way. Back when Nick had first come to Vegas, they had bumped into each other at a local gay nightclub and Nick had tentatively put it out there that he would be interested in a closer relationship. Unfortunately, Grissom hadn’t felt the same way.
“Sorry, Nick, but I just don’t feel that way about you.”
Nick just couldn’t understand why it wasn’t him. Why couldn’t he be the one that Grissom loved?
Driving back to the lab from the Lake Mead crime scene, Warrick flicked a concerned glance over at the handsome man in the passenger seat of the Tahoe. Nick had been brooding and withdrawn for most of the night and Warrick had a good idea why.
“Dude, you need to let it go.”
Nick turned from his inspection of the passing desert and looked at his friend.
“I can’t. I’ve tried.”
Warrick shook his head in frustration at his friend’s refusal to see reason. “He’s never going to love you like you want him to, Nicky. If you can’t let it go it’s gonna eat you up ‘til there’s nothing left. Its gonna destroy you.”
“Don’t you think I know that, Rick?” Nick sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It already is. Being around him every day and knowing that I’ll never be his, that he’ll never be mine…it’s torture. I’ve even thought about leaving, getting another job someplace else. But I can’t do it. The idea of not seeing him every day is even more painful. I can’t leave but it’s killing me to stay. Unrequited love sucks.”
“I know, Babe. I know.”
And the sad thing was that Warrick did know. He knew what it was like to yearn for someone and have them view you as nothing more than a close friend. And because of that, his deep and abiding love for the man sitting next to him was a thing that would remain forever unexpressed. There was simply no point. Nick affections lay elsewhere and that wasn't going to change.
Unrequited love really did suck. Current Mood: contemplative
|Friday, January 12th, 2007|
|Deep thoughts for those who take life way too seriously
1. Save the whales. Collect the whole set.
2. A day without sunshine is like.... Night.
3. On the other hand, you have different fingers.
4. Remember, half the people you know are below average.
5. He who laughs last thinks slowest.
6. Depression is merely anger without enthusiasm.
7. Support bacteria. They're the only culture some people have.
8. A clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory.
9. How many of you believe in psycho kinesis?... Raise my hand.
10. OK...so what's the speed of dark?
11. When everything is coming your way, you're in the wrong lane.
12. Everyone has a photographic memory. Some just don't have film.
13. How much deeper would the ocean be without sponges.
14. What happens if you get scared half to death twice?
15. I couldn't repair your brakes, so I made your horn louder.
16. Why do psychics have to ask you for your name?
17. Inside every older person is a younger person wondering what happened.
18. Just remember--if the world didn't suck, we would all fall off.
19. Light travels faster than sound. That is why some people appear bright until you hear them speak.
20. Life isn't like a box of chocolates.... it's more like a jar of jalapeno's. What you do today, might burn your butt tomorrow
|Sunday, September 10th, 2006|
|Monday, August 21st, 2006|
CSI:Crime Scene Investigation
Pairing: Nick/Sam Braun....you heard me, Sam Braun
Spoilers: Grave Danger, King Baby
Summary: Sam is looking to be reimbursed in a most unusual way
Warnings: this story contains non-con situations, coercion and blackmail
Other notes: beta-ed by Crysthala. Any mistakes you see are mine and mine alone.
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me. No money being made.
The elevator spit Nick out into an elegant foyer with only one door. This was the penthouse level of the Desert View Towers and the condo he had come to visit took up the whole five thousand square feet of the top floor. Under normal circumstances, the crime scene analyst might have been impressed, but not tonight.
"Okay, Nick," he muttered to himself. "You can do this."
Taking a deep breath, he knocked softly on the heavy, elaborately carved, mahogany door in front of him.
After a few moments it opened to reveal the smiling face of Sam Braun.
"Nick! Glad you could make it," Catherine's father enthused as he ushered his guest inside and closed the door. "I was worried that you might’ve changed your mind."
The Texan turned to face his host, the look on his face a strange combination of resolve and loathing.
"Look Mr. Braun," he ground out. "Can we skip the pleasantries? This isn't a social call and I just want to get it over with."
Braun just laughed and steered the younger man into a large, tastefully decorated living room with a spectacular view of the Strip, all the casinos he owned laid out like neon jewels at his feet.
"Please call me Sam." The casino owner insisted with a mock pout. "Considering what we’re about to do, Mr. Braun sounds so formal. Would you like a drink?”
Nick shook his head, his expression mulish. “Nothing for me, Mr. Braun. As I said, this isn’t a social call.”
Sam sighed and looked his guest in the eye, his expression suddenly serious. “I know this isn’t how you’d prefer to spend your night off, Nick, but please try and make the best of it. You might even enjoy it."
"I seriously doubt that," Nick retorted as he moved to a spot by the large windows, arms wrapped protectively over his stomach and his back to the room. Vegas' evening skyline glittered and sparkled like an electric fairyland but the CSI was oblivious to the sight. "I'm just doing this for Grissom."
"Ah yes, Grissom." Braun sighed theatrically as he sat down on the black leather sofa and crossed his lean legs. "It certainly would be a shame if anything were to happen that compromised his integrity or that of his precious lab and its employees. I hope he appreciates all that you do to keep them safe.”
At that, Nick turned to his host, a pleading look on his face. "I can't believe you would threaten them all this way. Your own daughter works there. We don't have to do this."
Sam Braun's smile was cold and predatory. "Actually, Nick, we do. Catherine may be my daughter but you cost me one million dollars and I want payback. I didn’t get where I am today by being soft-hearted. I didn’t give Catherine that money out of the goodness of my heart. I knew that it would ultimately give me the foothold I’ve been looking for. If there’s one thing that this town has taught me it’s that winning is everything. Power and control are everything. If you see something you want, you take it and you don't let anything or anyone get in your way."
He got up from the sofa and crossed the floor to where Nick stood, his back to the spectacular view, watching him warily. The CSI flinched when Braun drew close but managed to keep from pulling away as his face was cupped gently in the older man's hands.
"And what I want is you, Nicholas," Sam breathed, looking deep into the Texan's troubled brown eyes, thumbs rubbing gently at the younger man's sideburns.
"Surely I deserve to be reimbursed for my monetary loss. Surely, the integrity of the lab and the safety of its employees are worth spending the night with me."
"They’re worth anything," Nick whispered raggedly. "But this is wrong. Besides, how do I know you have the resources to actually pull anything off. They could just be empty threats."
“I have people everywhere, Nick,” Sam gloated. “Even your precious lab is not sacrosanct. Do you remember Bruce Eiger?”
The CSI nodded.
“He had folders full of blackmail material on a number of people, myself included. You logged those folders in as evidence. If you were to go back and look for my folder now, you wouldn’t find it. I had it removed and destroyed.”
“You bastard.” Nick whispered.
Sam didn't bother to answer. Instead he leaned in and kissed Nick on the lips. The younger man stood stiff and unresponsive as Braun's tongue probed gently, seeking entrance to his mouth.
When he wasn't successful, Sam pulled back with a disappointed sigh.
"Don't be difficult, Nicholas. I don't expect outright enthusiasm on your part, although it would be nice. But what I do expect is for you to actively participate. I can assure you that you won't like the consequences if you don't. Perhaps now you would take that drink to help settle your nerves?"
Miserably, Nick nodded. Under the circumstances, the criminalist would prefer to remain clear headed but he knew that there was no other way he would be able to get through this night. He felt dirty and they hadn't even done anything yet.
With a gentle caress of his guest's cheek, Sam moved to the wet bar and poured a liberal dose of single malt scotch into a glass and added a few cubes of ice. He then cast a quick glance at Nick and, when he saw that the young man had once again turned to look out the window, dropped a small tablet into the drink and gave it a stir. By the time he had crossed the room and handed the beverage to the CSI, the pill had dissolved completely.
"Here," he said. "This should help you relax."
Nick took the glass from his host and after only a moment of hesitation, swallowed it down in one gulp. The whiskey burned as it went down and took away the chill he felt deep in his soul. He knew the warmth was artificial and that it wouldn't last. After tonight, he doubted that he would ever feel truly warm again.
"Let's get this over with," Stokes said dully "which way to the bedroom?"
The feral smile on Braun's face made the younger man’s shudder.
"Come with me."
Wrapping one arm possessively around Nick's shoulders, Sam guided the Texan down a corridor to a large spacious bedroom decorated in a sleek, masculine, art deco style reminiscent of the glamorous black and white films of the 1930's. Nick stopped short in the doorway at the sight of the king sized bed- done all in black satin- that dominated the opposite wall.
Nick just stared at the satiny monstrosity like it was a giant tarantula.
"Yeah, nice," he said numbly.
The scotch was finally making itself known in Nick's bloodstream and he was beginning to feel detached and mellow. He licked his lips and blinked slowly. Maybe, just maybe, he could get through this. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Although it had been a while, it wasn't as if he were a stranger to sex with men.
Sam once again began prodding him forward and soon they were standing at the foot of the big bed.
"How about we try that kiss again?" he asked huskily and leaned in to capture Nick's lips with his own.
This time there was no resistance as Nick opened his mouth and let Braun in.
The kiss was good. Hell, it was great and Nick lost himself in it. Of their own free will, his arms moved up to twine around Sam's neck and he felt the other man's arms snake around his waist, slipping under the hem of his shirt to caress his hot skin. Tongues and lips moved languidly against each other, tasting, relishing, exploring.
The Texan hadn’t been with another man in quite a long time, not since Dallas. His relationship with another cop back in Texas had resulted in back-up being “late” at a crucial time and had cost his partner his life and him a lengthy stay in the hospital. In addition, friends that he’d thought for sure would accept him had turned their backs on him. The pain of being cast aside that way had left him completely devastated. For that reason, he had kept his bisexuality a secret from his friends here in Vegas. If they didn’t know, they couldn’t reject him and they would also be safe from any potential collateral damage. The very thought that his sexuality might put Warrick or Catherine or, heaven forbid, Gil in danger made Nick's blood run cold. He didn't want to risk losing his surrogate family or the man he secretly longed for so he kept his sexual orientation and his feelings for his boss to himself.
Nick realized, in a bemused and detached way, that he was hard and his erection was digging into Braun's thigh. His skin felt overly sensitized and every caress was magnified. He was pretty sure that he shouldn't be this turned on. This was supposed to be an odious task required of him in order to protect Gil and the lab. He felt a mild pang of guilt but it soon vanished.
"There was something else in that drink," he gasped as he threw back his head to allow the older man access to his throat. "Wasn't there?"
"Mmm-hmm," Sam murmured as he nibbled along Nick's jaw and down the slender neck presented to him so submissively. "Just a little something to help you feel more relaxed and to heighten your sexual urges. No lasting effects."
Nick tried to feel outraged at the very idea of being slipped a mickey but he couldn't seem to summon the energy. It was just easier to go with the flow and enjoy the wonderful sensations. Besides, they were going to have sex no matter what so why not have it feel good? It seemed like less of a chore this way.
In the back of his addled brain, the CSI knew what he was doing was still wrong and that he would regret it in the morning. But for now, it was enough. He would worry about tomorrow when tomorrow came.
By now Sam had Nick's shirt unbuttoned and was running his fingers over the silky skin on the younger man's chest. They tumbled back onto the satin coverlet in a tangle of arms and legs, mouths still locked. Shirts, shoes, pants and under garments were quickly peeled off leaving the two men naked and pressed fervently together.
Nick was lost in a haze of warmth and sensation as they moved together in a perfect rhythm. Sam ran his tongue along Nick's throat and across the collarbone. He had one hand on the younger man's nipple, rubbing the tiny nub, and the other gently stroked Nick's erection. The CSI thrust his hips blindly into the firm hand surrounding his swollen cock.
Nick returned the favor by planting warm, wet kisses across the planes of the chest before him. If he kept his eyes closed, maybe, just maybe he could convince himself that it was actually Gil he was with. That what he was doing was an act of mutual love between him and his chosen mate rather than this seedy and clandestine rutting between blackmailer and blackmailee. He latched onto a coral colored nipple and suckled desperately as his hands wandered up and down the back and ass of his bedmate.
Sam reached around and began to probe Nick's anus with gentle fingers. He slowly rubbed the rosebud opening and pushed his index finger in and out in time with Nick's thrusting.
"I'm going to fuck you," he whispered softly into a shell-like ear and Nick responded with a groan.
Sam rolled the aroused yet pliant younger man onto his stomach and reached for the lube on the nightstand. He then watched, bemused, from between Nick's lean legs, as the CSI mindlessly began humping into the satin coverlet, obviously enjoying the friction on his erection.
He couldn't stop himself from reaching out to caress Nick's smooth buttocks, which were displayed so temptingly before him. He couldn't believe that he finally had this beautiful man here in his bed. His plan was going better than he could have ever imagined. Sam couldn't help the triumphant grin that broke over his face as the younger man moaned at the contact and lifted his butt up to better feel the hands running over him.
"You want this bad, don't you, Nicky?" Braun gloated as he popped open the tube if lubricant.
The only response he got was yet another moan as he rubbed some of the lube along the cleft of Nick's ass. Dipping his fingers into the tight hole with first one finger, then two and finally three, Sam own erection throbbed in anticipation of being buried balls deep inside the delectable bottom in front of him while Nick writhed mindlessly beneath him.
Braun reached deeper and found Nick's prostate. When he stroked it, Nick's reaction was instantaneous. He thrust up madly onto the invading fingers with a soft cry.
Placing his hands on the slender hips and gripping firmly, Sam pushed his way inside. The tight channel was hot and clung to his cock like a glove. He began to slowly thrust his hips, using long, leisurely strokes. The sensations were divine and Nick writhed and moaned under him just as he had fantasized.
"God! You're so tight, Nicky," Sam gasped. "You feel so damned good."
He began slamming into the smaller man with a single-minded intensity. He reached under the younger man, found Nick's cock and began to milk him.
"Come for me, Baby," He whispered into Nick’s ear.
"Yes, yes, yes...Gil!!" Nick cried out as he shuddered, stiffened and then came.
The muscles contracting around his cock made Braun come too, shooting his load deep inside the smaller man. He thrust three more times into the tight ass and then collapsed next to Nick, breathing harshly. The kid had been everything he had imagined, everything he had dreamed of and more.
Sam watched as the CSI fell into a doze thanks to the drugs and alcohol in his system. He chuckled when he thought about the name that Nick had cried out as he came. The poor kid had it bad. That kind of love and devotion was a weakness. A weakness that Sam intended to exploit for as long as he could. Running his hands through Nick's sweat soaked hair, down his back and across his ass, he couldn't help but smile.
"You’re mine now, Nicky," the casino mogul gloated. "All mine."
Nick woke several hours later to find himself alone in the big bed. The effects of the drug seemed to have worn off and he felt relatively okay. Well, as okay as someone who had just traded sexual favors for the safety of the ones he loved. All the Texan wanted now was to go home, take a long hot shower and forget this ever happened. He rolled and stretched, wincing at the soreness in his ass.
The question, coming as it did from a corner of the room, made the brown-eyed man jump. He turned his head and looked into one of the shadowy corners of the large bedroom. Sam Braun sat; long legs crossed and drink in hand, in a large black leather club chair. It was obvious that he had been sitting there, watching Nick sleep, for some time. The criminalist was seriously creeped out by that.
"A little," he replied cautiously. "It's been awhile."
Sam nodded thoughtfully and sipped at his drink. "It'll be easier next time."
Nick froze, a horrific dread blossoming in the pit of his stomach.
"N-next t-time?" he stammered.
"Yes, next time. I'm thinking we do this once a month. Any more than that and your co-workers might get suspicious, any less and I'll go through withdrawl. You're very addicting, Nicholas."
Nick shook his head vehemently. "There isn't going to be a next time, Braun. This was a one shot deal. Once I walk out that door, this whole night will be just a ghastly memory."
Sam just smiled slightly and took another sip of his scotch. "Is that what you think, Nicholas? That this was a one shot deal? You were good- don’t get me wrong- but that certainly wasn’t a million dollar fuck. Not even close. We have quite a ways to go yet before your debt is paid in full."
Nick had climbed out of the bed and was frantically pulling on his clothes. He couldn't stay here a minute longer. He had to get away from this place and put the night’s events behind him.
Sam continued to stare at him calmly from his seat in the corner.
Now fully dressed, Nick sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his shoes. That done, he headed for the door of the bedroom without a backward glance at his host. He had his hand on the doorknob when Sam called out.
"Tonight's little tryst was recorded, Nick."
The CSI froze, blood draining from his face and stomach suddenly down by his toes.
Turning slowly, he looked at the corner where Braun sat.
The casino owner’s face was smug as he reached over to brush aside the fronds of a large potted plant that was placed next to his chair. Nick gasped to see a video camera mounted on a tripod sitting there.
"Just a little insurance policy," Sam told him.
"Insurance for what?" Nick asked, numbly.
"Your continued participation and good behavior," Braun replied.
The CSI strode angrily across the room and wrenched the camera from its perch. He opened it up, hoping to find a disc or memory card but it was empty. The only thing he found was a cord that went from the camera to a cable outlet in the wall.
"It’s not in there," Sam said as he gently took the camera from Nick's numb hands. "I have it on a remote feed. The recording is stored ...elsewhere. Originally it was just going to be for my own viewing pleasure but then I got to thinking. It would be a shame to see copies of it show up in the wrong place...like the sheriff’s office, the lab or, heaven forbid, the desk of a State Supreme Court Judge. Your family is from Texas, right?"
“My parents know about me, Sam, and they don’t give a damn about my sexuality.”
“But what about their colleagues? A rather narrow-minded, right wing bunch aren’t they?” Sam replied. “They may not be as understanding. How long do you think your father would be allowed to remain on the bench if it were found out that one of his sons liked to take it up the ass? Plus, I’ve heard rumors that your sister Rachel has decided to run for State Senate. How do you think her constituents would feel?”
"You're on that recording, too, Sam," Nick spat out desperately.
The older man just laughed. "Technology is a wonderful thing, Nick. It won't be difficult to have my identity obscured. I have experienced people on my payroll that can take care of that easily enough. Not even the tech at CSI- I believe his name is Archie- would be able to identify me. Even if someone recognized this location there’s no way to trace this penthouse back to me or any of my casinos. The name on the deed is a fictitious person with all the proper paperwork. It would stand up to even the most rigorous scrutiny. The only person they would be able to identify is you."
The CSI felt despair well up inside of him, thick and choking. He was trapped.
Sam moved in closer, bodies almost touching, and whispered into the younger man’s man's ear.
"So, my beautiful Nicholas, what's it going to be?"
One month later......
The elevator spit Nick out into an elegant foyer with only one door. This was the penthouse level of the Desert View Towers and the condo he had come to visit took up the whole five thousand square feet of the top floor. Under normal circumstances, the crime scene analyst might have been impressed, but not today.
"Okay, Nick," he muttered to himself. "You can do this."
Taking a deep breath, he knocked softly on the heavy, elaborately carved, mahogany door in front of him.
After a few moments it opened to reveal the smiling face of Sam Braun.
"Nick! Glad you could make it!!"
|Tuesday, August 1st, 2006|
|Post 4x4 mini ficlet
It's not often that we see tripple digit heat here in New England. The steamy summer temperatures have made my brain and body sluggish. As a result, it's been quite a while since I've written anything. I just haven't felt motivated. That being the case, I whipped this up in an effort to get the creative juices flowing again. I gave myself a time limit of 15 minutes and this is the result. It's not beta-ed so please forgive any spelling/grammatical boo-boos.
Show: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Pairing...actually it's a threesome: Nick/Warrick/Gil
Spoilers: 4x4 (duh!)
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money being made
Gil Grissom quietly let himself into the house he shared with his two lovers. Their shift had ended several hours ago and Gil was fairly certain they would be sleeping by now. So he was somewhat surprised to see Warrick sitting on the sofa and Nick lying with his head in the black man’s lap. The TV was on but the sound was muted.
Warrick saw Gil in the doorway and quickly put his finger to his lips in the universal “sssh” gesture. It was then that Gil noticed that Nick appeared to be sleeping and that there were tear tracks on his cheeks.
Concerned, Grissom tiptoed quietly over to the sofa and crouched down in front of the two men, placing one hand on Warrick’s knee.
“Hey.” Warrick whispered in greeting.
“Hi,” Gil whispered back, concern evident. “What happened? Is Nicky okay?”
Warrick sigh heavily and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand.
“He had a tough shift. Dead kid. It was the result of too much alcohol and not enough common sense. Such an awful waste of a young life. You know how those things get to him.”
Warrick then recounted Nicky’s earlier anguished words: “I don’t know how much longer I can do this, ‘Rick. There are days when I feel way too much. The pain and the sorrow just swallow me up to the point where I can hardly breathe. And there are other days where I don’t feel anything at all. It’s like I’m dead inside and that scares the hell outta me.”
“Damn.” Gil sighed. “I got a feeling there was something off when I talked to him on his way out of the lab. But I was caught up in my case and then Judy handed me a big stack of messages. I was kind of…”
“Distracted,” Warrick finished.
“Yeah,” Grissom acknowledged, feeling guilty. “I guess still need to work on that, huh?”
Warrick smiled affectionately at the older man. “You’re getting better about it but yeah, there’s still some work left to be done.”
“It sounds like Nicky could use a bit of a vacation,” Gil said hesitantly. “Maybe…maybe the three of us could go away somewhere.”
Warrick looked doubtful. “A vacation would be a nice start but I think this may require more. Nicky’s close to burning out. We might want bring up the idea of therapy.”
“Let’s start with the vacation and go from there,” Gil countered. “Two weeks of baking on a beach may be just what he needs. If not, we’ll all go the therapy route.”
“All?” Warrick’s eyebrows climbed toward his hairline.
“Yes,” the older man replied, firmly. “We’re in this relationship together. We would all benefit from talking out what we see every day.”
“Picture that,” Warrick chuckled. “Gil Grissom actually volunteering to go to therapy. Will wonders never cease?”
Grissom reached out and tenderly stroked a hand through Nick’s soft, sable hair. The sleeping man snuffled softly but didn’t wake.
“Whatever it takes, Warrick. Whatever it takes.”
-end- Current Mood: groggy
|Thursday, June 8th, 2006|
|By The Pricking Of My Thumbs...
Summary: Gil has a disturbing dream
Spoilers: none to speak of
General notes: takes place any time before Season 5 simply because I hated the buzz cut, the 'stache and the shaggy hair.
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me. No Money being made.
Thanks to Crysthala for the quick beta. You Rock!
By the Pricking of My Thumbs.......
Most of the time, when Gil dreamed, the sensations were somewhat indistinct. Sound tended to be muffled, vision blurred. He knew what was happening in the dreams and who was in them but it was like moving through a beautiful fog. He figured it was his mind's way of compensating for the barrage of input he put up with while he was awake. Being a CSI required that he constantly notice every little thing and it tended to wear on a person after a while.
This dream, however, was different. As he moved through the ancient Egyptian temple, he could read the hieroglyphics on the wall clearly in the smoky torch light. He could smell the incense and the lotus blossoms. He could hear the chanting of the temple priests and the frantic cries of a person dearer to him than his own life.
It was Nick…he was somewhere in this temple and he was in danger.
Grissom moved quickly but cautiously through the halls of the temple, the sounds of chanting getting louder, the smell of incense growing stronger. He could hear his lover calling for him. "Gil, help me!!" His partner's pleas were muffled but the terror in the voice was all too clear to the entomologist.
Grissom came around a corner and saw a tableau that nearly stopped his heart. The chamber was large and illuminated with oil lamps. The ceiling was lost in the darkness above. A group of priests, each one bald and draped in white linen robes, surrounded a stone slab carved all over with the likenesses of Osiris and Anubis. Naked upon that slab lay Nick Stokes, the keeper of his heart. Several of the priests were holding the young man down while others rubbed oils into his skin. The chanting never stopped. One of the priests, older than the others and dressed a little more impressively, began wrapping Nick's feet together with long strips of pure white linen. His grip was sure and firm and he quickly wrapped the strips all the way to the young man's knees. Throughout the process, the CSI continued to struggle and chanted a mantra of his own.
"No, no, no.....Gil, help me.......no, no, no.......Gil, help me, please!!"
Grissom tried to move forward but there were suddenly two very large men on either side of him, holding tight to his arms. They had Anubis masks on so he couldn't make out any faces. Their grip was like iron and he could not go the aid of his mate. As the entomologist struggled, the wrapping continued. Nick was now encased up to his waist. The priests folded the young man's arms close to his body, across his chest, and continued with the mummification process. The chanting never stopped and the priests remained focused on their task. Nick tossed his head and thrashed as best he could in the tightly wrapped shroud.
"No, no no.....Gil, where are you?.....help me!!!"
"Nicky, I'm here.....hold on, Sweetheart, I'm coming!!"
Grissom attempted to wrench his arms free but his captors might as well have been made from stone. The mummification was now complete. Nick was wrapped tightly from head to toe in the crisp white linen. Gil could still hear his lover's muffled cries and see the minute tremors that indicated the younger man's futile struggles. The priests gently lifted the tightly wrapped form and carried it to the elaborately decorated sarcophagus sitting against the far wall of the chamber. It was made of stone, lined with cedar and covered with hammered gold and semi-precious stones. Nick was laid gently into the beautiful coffin which was then closed. The sound of the heavy stone lid being dropped into place was the sound of doom.
Gil Grissom awoke with a strangled cry. His heart pounded in his chest and he was covered with sweat. He reached for and found the lean, warm body of his lover snuggled peacefully under the comforter next to him. Gil gathered the younger man gently to his chest and held him tight. He breathed in the sweet scent of his mate and ran his hands over the soft skin. Nick was alive, unhurt and completely oblivious to his partner's distress. Gil slowly calmed once he had established that his lover was safe.
"Shit, Nicky." Gil whispered softly "What the hell was that?"
"Shhh.....it's okay. Go back to sleep." Gil stroked the silky brown hair and planted a light kiss on Nick's forehead.
"Too late, I'm awake now. Did you have a bad dream?" The younger man asked softly as he put his arms around the solid body of his older lover. His fingers began to trace a delicate pattern over Gil's back.
"Yeah, something like that."
"Do you want to talk about it?" The skillful hands had moved lower and now caressed Gil's ass.
"Not right now." he whispered and leaned in to kiss Nick's soft lips.
The lush mouth opened eagerly and the older man dove right in. They moved against each other in perfect rhythm. Gil ran his tongue down Nick's throat and along the collar bone. He had one hand on the younger man's nipple, rubbing the rosy nub, and the other gently stroked Nick's erection. Nick returned the favor by planting tiny kisses all across Gil's chest, all the while thrusting his hips. Gil reached around and began to probe his lover's anus. He slowly rubbed the rosebud opening and pushed his index finger in and out in time with Nick's thrusting.
"I want to be inside you.... I need to be inside you." He whispered softly into a delicate ear. Nick responded with a groan. "Yes."
Gil reached for the lube on the night stand and Nick rolled onto his stomach. The young man ground his pelvis into the mattress and reveled in the friction.
"Hurry, Gil, I need you."
Gil moved between the lean legs of his partner and rubbed the lube along Nick's cleft. He dipped his fingers into the hole, first one, then two and finally three. He found Nick's prostate and stroked it. The brown eyed man thrust his ass up fiercely and moaned. "God, Gil, now!"
Placing his hands on the slender hips and gripping firmly, Gil pushed his way home. The tight channel was hot and clung to his cock like a glove. He began to slowly thrust. The sensations were divine. Nick writhed and moaned under him in an effort to achieve orgasm. "Love you, Gil. You feel so good."
"Love you, too, Nicky. Love you always."
Gil obliged and began slamming into his younger lover with an intense growl. He reached under the other man, found Nick's cock and began to pump.
"Come for me, Nick." He whispered into the soft, dark hair.
"Yes, yes, yes......." Nick shuddered, stiffened and then came with a cry. "Gil!!"
At the sound of his name on his lover's lips, Gil also came. He thrust three more times into the tight ass and then collapsed, breathing harshly.
After q quick clean up, the two exhausted men moved sluggishly onto their sides and spooned up under the covers. Nick sighed contentedly. "That was nice."
"Mmmph" was the sleepy response.
"I love you."
"Mmmph.....love you, too."
All was quiet for awhile as the two lovers drifted in the afterglow. Then Gil remembered the dream that had started all this.
"Nicky, what do you know about Egyptian culture and mythology?"
The younger man chuckled softly. "That question’s kind of outta left field, isn’t it? Not much more than the basics. Most of my focus was on math and science courses in college, Gil, you know that. History was never really my thing. Why?"
"Right. Does this have anything to do with your dream?" Gil flinched. Damn, his partner was perceptive.
"You know I’m not a superstitious man, preferring to believe the evidence, but yes. I get the distinct feeling that there's something nasty coming our way and its going to have something to do with Egypt."
"By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes."
"Whatever it is we'll handle it together. I trust your intuition, Gil. In the meantime, maybe we should study up on Egyptology like good little Boy Scouts."
"Nicky, I was never a boy scout."
"No, but I was. Hey, I just remembered something. There’s an exhibit of Egyptian artifacts over at the Luxor. It’s only going to be there for another week. Maybe we should check it out."
Gil had no intention of taking Nick anywhere near that exhibit. The vision of his lover being mummified and entombed had scared him more than he cared to admit - even to himself. He would do whatever he had to make sure that what he saw in his dream did not come to pass. He squeezed the younger man tightly and they drifted off to sleep. Just before he went under, Gil could’ve sworn that he heard, off in the distance, the sound of chanting…... Current Mood: bouncy
|Friday, May 19th, 2006|
A slashy CSI Story
Title: Cedar Waxwing
Rating: um, let's say NC-17 just to be safe
Spoilers: none to speak of.
Disclaimer: Done for fun, not for profit. Alas, they don't belong to me.
Betaed by the lovely Crysthala. Any mistakes you see are all my fault.
Gil Grissom turned his rental car down the dusty, mile long drive that led to the Stokes Ranch with a heartfelt sigh of relief. He had been looking forward to this getaway for weeks and now he was finally here. There was a time when the solitary and reserved entomologist would have balked at the very idea of spending his vacation time in the company of his lover’s large, loving and boisterous family but those days were long gone.
The Stokes clan had welcomed him with open arms and he now relished being considered part of the family. Gil had even gone so far as to trade recipes with Nick’s sister, Michelle, and had assisted one of Nick’s many nieces and nephews with their science project: an ant farm, of course.
This trip would be slightly different for Gil however. It was the middle of the week and the only other people who would be around were the housekeeper and a few assorted ranch hands. Nick’s parents had a modest condo in Austin where they stayed during the week. As a State Supreme Court judge and high profile public defender, their busy schedules pretty much required it.
The couple usually only made it out to the ranch for weekends, holidays and extended vacations. Nick’s siblings and their families all had their own lives and houses but the ranch would always be home base. They all visited as often as their schedules would allow.
But today was Tuesday and everyone was busy with their jobs, school and life in general. Nick had flown out on Saturday morning, after his shift, and Gil had planned to do the same. Unfortunately, the Reynolds trial had pretty much nixed that idea. His testimony had been moved up and there was no way he could get out of it.
Nick had offered to delay his departure as well but Gil had insisted the younger man go.
“Its fine,” he had told his young lover. “It shouldn’t take more than a day or two and then I’ll join you. It’ll give you a chance to spend time with your family and then we’ll have some quiet time during the week for just us. Give everyone my regards and tell them I’ll see them next time.”
Nick had reluctantly agreed.
And now Gil was here, the Stokes Ranch finally appearing in the distance as he crested a small rise. The sprawling, hacienda style house, set in a small copse of trees, with its white stucco walls and red tile roof, was a welcome sight after his two hour drive from Austin.
Gil pulled his car to a stop in front of the main entrance and climbed slowly out of the vehicle. He twisted this way and that to loosen up some of the kinks associated with long distance driving and then popped the trunk to grab his luggage. Bags in hand, he opened the delicate, wrought iron gate and entered the tiled courtyard. Gil paused to admire the fountain at its center and the birds bathing in it. They were about the size of a cardinal or blue jay and were tawny brown in color. They had black patches around the eyes and splashes of bright yellow on the tips of their tail feathers. The most unusual thing about them was the little tufts of feathers sticking up from the tops of their heads. Grissom found them reminiscent of Greg Sanders’ latest hairstyle. The entomologist, being more familiar with bugs than birds, didn’t recognize the species. He’d have to remember to ask Nick what they were. Just watching the cute little birds singing and splashing happily in the fountain lightened his mood and made the fatigue of the trip melt away.
Just then, the large rustic oak door to the hacienda opened and a short, plump woman in her middle 50’s stepped out into the bright afternoon sunlight, her face breaking into a wide smile upon seeing Grissom.
“Señor Gil,” she exclaimed, beckoning him inside. “What a surprise! Nicky said not to expect you until tomorrow.”
“Hello, Lupe,” Grissom replied with a smile as he entered the cool house. “My testimony finished up sooner than I thought it would. I was able to catch an earlier flight.”
Lupe shut the heavy door, blocking out the afternoon heat. “That’s wonderful. Nicky will be very pleased. He is enjoying himself but I know he is missing you. I will take your bag to his room if you want to go and say hello.”
“Thanks, Lupe. Where is he?” Gil asked.
“He’s out back with Javier and the boys.”
Javier, a jovial man in his 50’s, was the Ranch Foreman and Lupe’s husband. They had worked on the ranch for many years and had helped to raise the Stokes children. They were considered part of the family.
“We have some new horses and Nicky was helping to put them through their paces. If you bring him back up here to the house, I’ll have some sweet tea and sandwiches waiting for you both on the back terrace.”
Gil’s stomach rumbled loudly and they both laughed. “That sounds great, Lupe. Thank you. I’ll go find Nicky.”
Grissom went through the house and out the back door. He crossed the back terrace with its large barbecue pit, patio furniture, swimming pool and shady vine covered pergola and headed down the path that led to the working area of the ranch. In the distance, behind a screen of cottonwood trees, he could make out the bunk house, the barn and the corral.
He didn’t have to go far because coming up the path, whistling a lively tune, was Nick. A Nick the likes of which Gil had never seen before.
The dusty, sweaty Texan was dressed in cowboy boots, faded blue jeans, buttery soft leather chaps the color of caramel and a white cotton button down work shirt. The top two buttons of the shirt were open, exposing Nick’s throat and the sleeves were rolled up, showing off his tanned forearms. In his right hand he clutched a pair of tan leather work gloves and there was a straw cowboy hat on his head. To top it all off, he had at least two days worth of stubble on his chin.
Grissom was stunned to a standstill. He had never seen anything so sexy in his whole life. Nick Stokes, dressed like an extra for a Marlboro Man commercial, was pinging every cowboy fantasy that Gil never realized he had. He felt somewhat dizzy as all the blood flowed south out of his brain and he became instantly hard.
Nick noticed he was no longer alone on the path and stopped short at the sight of the other man. Hi eyes widened with surprise and he broke out in a grin of pure delight at seeing Gil before him. His teeth showed brightly in his tanned face.
“Well, hey there,” he exclaimed as he moved forward to embrace Gil, his accent thicker now that he was home. “You sure are a sight for sore eyes. I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.”
Wrapped in Nick’s arms, Gil’s stupor only got worse. The Texan smelled amazing. Slightly sweaty after a morning spent working outdoors, Nick’s usual spicy, masculine scent was amplified and mixed with an overlay of fresh, sweet hay. It was completely intoxicating.
Brain synapses still not firing properly, Gil could only continue to stand there numbly. He tried explaining to Nick about his testimony finishing early and catching a different flight but he couldn’t seem to form the words. All that came out of his mouth was “Nuh”.
He couldn’t even seem to get his arms up from his sides to return his lover’s hug.
Of course, Nick realized something was wrong and pulled back to look closely at the older man. He kept his hands on Gil’s shoulders and looked searchingly into bright blue eyes.
“What is it, Peanut?” he queried, suddenly serious. “What’s wrong?”
Gil tried once again to say something- anything- but found himself at a complete loss for words. Licking his lips, he swallowed twice and managed to get out one raspy word.
“You’re hot?” Nick grew more concerned. “Do you have heatstroke? It is pretty warm out here today. Let’s –“
“Nuh-uh,” Still tongue-tied, Gil shook his head and tried again. “You. Hot.”
“Me?” Nick asked, confusion in his dark eyes. “I’m fine. Yeah, I’ve been working in the sun all day but I have my hat and made sure to stay hydrated. Are you sure-mmph!“
Since words didn’t seem to be working, Gil decided to use actions to show Nick how incredibly hot he looked. He grabbed the younger man by the shoulders and pulled the two of them together for a passionate kiss.
Nick was surprised by the sudden assault on his mouth but recovered quickly and returned Gil’s kiss enthusiastically.
Gil’s hands roved over the other man’s back and shoulders before moving to fumble at the buttons of Nick’s shirt. He realized he was making small needy sounds in the back of his throat but couldn’t bring himself to care. The only thing that mattered was to get Nick naked as soon as possible.
Nick grabbed gentle hold of the hands that were undressing him and reluctantly broke the kiss. Exhibitionism had never been Nick’s thing when it came to intimate moments. He didn’t mind holding hands in public and even a little kissing was all right with him. But this was just a tad much.
“Whoa there, partner.” He said with a breathy chuckle. “I’ve missed you, too, but how about we slow this down just a bit. We don’t want to give Lupe a free show.”
But Gil would not be deterred. He reached for the hem of Nick’s shirt and began pulling it from the waistband of his jeans. He simultaneously leaned in to nuzzle Nick’s throat, murmuring softly against the warm, fragrant skin.
“You look amazing. So sexy. Missed you. Need you now.”
Nick was caught between lust, laughter and embarrassment. To have his extremely reserved and articulate lover reduced to sentence fragments was highly amusing. It was also a bit of boost for his ego. He knew that Gil loved him. If you knew how to read the older man, it was actually pretty obvious. But to most people the entomologist simply came off as cold. Gil wasn’t usually this demonstrative and it gave Nick a thrill to think that *he* had turned the scientist on to the point of losing it like this. That being said, he was feeling a little self conscious about being groped by his boyfriend where anyone could come along and see them.
The Texan was about to tell Gil to hold up when the older man ran his tongue along the pulse point on the side of his neck and all cognitive thought was lost. Throwing his head back to allow his lover better access, Nick “mmm-ed” and “oh, yeah-ed” distractedly.
But he was brought back to reality quite suddenly when he felt a breeze skim across his nipples and Gil’s hands on the bare skin of his waist. The older man had managed to undo all the buttons and pull the shirttails out, giving him easy access to Nick’s upper body.
“Gil, quit it!” Nick yelped. He batted the other man’s hands away as he took a couple steps back. “We are *not* gonna do this right here in the back yard. Someone might see.”
Lupe was just putting the finishing touches on the platter of sandwiches when the back door burst open.
Gil Grissom, a determined look on his face, was dragging Nick by the wrist while the younger man used his free hand to modestly hold his unbuttoned shirt closed. Gil moved with purpose and haste towards the door leading to the bedroom wing of the house while Nick struggled, laughingly, to keep up.
“Hey, Lupe,” Nick called back over his shoulder as he was tugged along. “It doesn’t look like we’ll be needing those sandwiches right now. Just put them in the fridge and we’ll eat them later, okay?”
Before the housekeeper could even answer, the two men were gone.
After a few moments, there was a muffled thump and then a door slammed shut.
Lupe lasted a whole five seconds before she burst out laughing.
Several hours later…..
Gil lay in the big bed with Nick curled up against him. He was somewhat embarrassed at his earlier behavior. The scientist prided himself on being a civilized and analytical person and had no clue where that primal side of him had come from.
He had pretty much gone caveman on Nicky and, even now, the specifics of what they had done were a little fuzzy in his brain. The only thing he knew for certain was that he’d liked it….a lot.
Beside him, Nick stirred and stretched languidly before pinning him with his warm brown gaze.
“I feel like I owe you an apology.”
Nick blinked. “What for?”
“For earlier,” Gil explained, blushing. “When I saw you in that…*outfit*… it was like it tripped some sort of switch inside me. You just looked so incredible that I guess I went a little….”
“Precisely.” Gil still looked somewhat anxious. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?
“Of course not. I may not be doing any more horseback riding on this trip but other than that, I’m right as rain.” Nick replied, planting a quick kiss on Gil’s shoulder. “I kinda liked playing Jane to your Tarzan. You should give in to your inner caveman more often. It was pretty hot.”
Gil just hmmphed noncommittally. He was a man who needed to be in control of his emotions and, as good as it had felt at the time, the idea of being *that* out of control again, made him somewhat uneasy. Preferring not to think any more about it, he changed the subject.
“I saw these cute little birds out by the fountain when I arrived.”
“Yeah?” Nick asked, not at all fooled but allowing Gil to move away from a topic that was obviously making him uncomfortable.
“Yes, they make me think of Greg. They had these cute little fuzzy feathers sticking up-”
“Cedar Waxwings” Nick cut in with a smile. “They make me think of Greg, too. Not just the fuzzy head but the attitude.”
“Remind to take a picture of one before we leave.”
“Oh definitely,” The Texan exclaimed. “Greg will get a kick out it.”
It was at this point that the conversation was interrupted by the simultaneous grumbling of two stomachs.
“I think it’s time to see what Lupe did with those sandwiches.” Gil chuckled.
Nick rolled out of bed and began searching for his pants. “Sounds like a plan. I’m going to need to keep my strength up in case you go all caveman again.”
“Dress like that again, Nicky, and I can pretty much guarantee it.”
If you’re curious what a Cedar Waxwing looks like, just follow either link:http://i17.photobucket.com/albums/b98/wlk68/cedarwaxwing.jpghttp://i17.photobucket.com/albums/b98/wlk68/cedarwaxwing2.jpg
|Tuesday, May 2nd, 2006|
|Cold November Rain
Title: Cold November Rain
Summary: Warrick has a bad day...
Notes: This is a story I originally wrote in another fandom but I found myself imagining it with these two guys. So, I pulled out the old file, dusted it off, reworked it a little and....voila!!
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me. If they did, Nick, Greg and Warrick would all walk around shirtless....all the time.
Betaed by the very generous Crysthala. Any mistakes you see are mine and mine alone.
CSI Level 3 Warrick Brown was having, quite possibly, the worst day ever. It had all started when he’d overslept and missed a briefing with the DA in regards to his testimony on a rape case. The DA had called Ecklie to complain and, since shit traveled downhill, Ecklie had been all over Grissom about it like white on rice. Gil Grissom, in his typically inscrutable way, had let it be known that he hadn’t been pleased either.
Then, Hodges had smugly snagged the last of the premium Blue Hawaiian right out from under his nose. The swill that he’d been forced to drink in its place had given him indigestion all night long and no amount of Tums or Rolaids had been able to help.
After that, Archie told him that all the surveillance tapes from the robbery at the Gas-N-Go had been compromised. There was no way they would be able to identify the perps using the tapes. He could only hope that things would get better after lunch. They didn’t. As a matter of fact, he didn’t even get to have lunch. The leftover meatball sub he had in the fridge was rendered inedible thanks to one of Grissom’s “experiments”. Everything in the fridge was now tainted and had to be thrown out. He couldn’t even go grab something from the deli down the street because he’d forgotten his wallet at home.
Warrick was pretty much hating life by the time Sara came along and asked for his help processing an abandoned vehicle that had been used in a drive-by shooting. While crawling around in the back of the car, Warrick had gotten snagged on a jagged piece of metal and ripped his favorite pair of jeans. Now everyone could see the boxers he was wearing. Black silk with little neon green frogs. They had been a gift from Nick. Warrick knew without a doubt that when he came into work tomorrow night, his desk would be covered with frogs of every size and description. Greg kept looking at him from over the edge of his paperwork and giggling. Apparently, the patented Warrick Brown Bad Ass Glare lost a little something when your underwear was showing.
Warrick finally decided to call it quits after a man he and Brass had brought in for questioning threw up on his shoes. It began to rain as he left the lab and headed for what he hoped would be a quiet morning at home with his lover. Nick had spent his shift working with Catherine out in Henderson on a series of burglaries and Warrick hadn’t seen or heard from him all day. They were supposed to meet up at Nick’s condo for a quiet breakfast after their respective shifts were over.
The cranky CSI was half-way there when he came across the woman with the flat tire. Mrs. Wang was 8 months pregnant and Warrick Brown simply couldn’t leave her there in the pouring rain. His Grandma had raised him better than that. He tried to call the auto club but his cell phone was dead. With a heavy sigh, he rolled up his sleeves and pulled the jack out of the trunk of her car. It looked like breakfast would have to wait.
Forty-five minutes later, a very tired, cranky and soggy CSI trudged up the walkway to Nick’s condo. Using his key, he opened the door and stepped inside. Warrick had always liked Nick’s place. It was comfortable and homey with big overstuffed leather furniture and warm colors on the walls. Nick had painted the place after the incident with Nigel Crane saying that he needed the change. He’d gotten rid of the cool blues and greens, going for a richer, earthier color palette. It was tasteful and yet still masculine. There was nothing frilly or frou-frou about it. But that wasn’t for lack of trying by one of Nick’s many sisters. Michelle Stokes-Miller, with nothing but the best of intentions, had tried to put out a few gingham throw pillows and some clown figurines on her last visit. Warrick shuddered in remembrance of the creepy, glassy-eyed stares on the clowns’ faces. The items had found a new home on the shelf of the guest bedroom closet as soon as she had left for the airport. They would make an appearance the next time Michelle was in town and not a moment before.
The living room was unoccupied but Warrick could hear his lover puttering in the kitchen. The dining table was set and one of Warrick’s favorite jazz CDs was playing softly.
Poking his head into the kitchen, Warrick caught the first glimpse of his lover all day. Freshly showered, Nick was wearing nothing but a pair of dark blue sweat pants that rested low on his narrow hips. His feet were bare and he was shirtless. He must have also taken out his contact lenses because he was wearing his glasses. Warrick wasn’t sure what it was about those glasses but they were a huge turn on for him. They made Nick look brainy and sexy and just….well….pretty damn hot.
“Hey, Baby.” He said softly.
Nick looked up from the mixing bowl he was stirring and started to grin but was brought up short by Warrick’s appearance.
“Good Lord,” Nick exclaimed, brown eyes wide. “What the heck happened to you? You look like ten miles of bad road.”
Warrick just shook his head and shrugged out of his damp denim shirt. “I’ve had the day from hell, Babe. Let’s just leave it at that. All I want now is a hot meal, some dry clothes and a little quality time with my man.”
Nick grabbed a green plastic garbage bag from under the sink and handed it to his lover.
“Here,” he said. “Take off your clothes and put them in this while I get a hot shower running. I’ll throw everything into the wash while you’re in there.”
With a quick kiss and a grope, Nick slipped by his lover and headed down the hall towards the bathroom.
Warrick began pulling off soggy clothes and stuffing them in the bag. He could hear the water running and smell the relaxing scent of sandalwood oil emanating from down the hall. The CSI left the soggy bundle by the kitchen door and padded naked to the bathroom. Nick was humming softly as he laid out fresh towels and a clean pair of sweats for the other man.
“Is it ready?” Warrick whined from the doorway. The Texan looked up and smiled sympathetically.
“Yes, it’s ready you big baby. Climb on in and I’ll go finish up breakfast. It should be just about done by the time you’re finished.”
Warrick stepped into the soothing spray with a heartfelt sigh. Nick always took such good care of him. He was a very lucky man. The heated water took off the chill and eased the ache in his muscles. Bracing his hands on the tiled wall and hanging his head, Warrick let the cares of the day wash away. He wasn’t exactly sure how long he stood there, drifting, but he knew it had been awhile when he heard the bathroom door open.
“I’m leaving a cup of coffee here for you, Rick. Decaf.”
“That water must be getting cold by now. Food’s just about ready so finish up and get your butt out here.”
“Be right there,” Warrick responded, shutting off the water and reaching for a towel.
When he emerged from the bathroom the smell of fresh biscuits made his mouth water.
“What’re we having besides biscuits,” Warrick asked as he settled himself into a chair at the dining table.
“Chicken fried steak and eggs,” Nick replied, putting a loaded platter in front of his partner. “My Momma’s recipe.”
“Oh, man,” Warrick moaned. “I love your mother’s recipe.”
“Well, dig in then. I made plenty.”
The starving CSI grabbed his fork and knife and dove in. The breaded steak was crispy on the outside and juicy on the inside. It was smothered in creamy gravy that he gleefully sopped up with the light and fluffy biscuits Nick had also made. The softly scrambled eggs were the perfect accompaniment. Warrick had inhaled three servings before he looked up to find his lover watching him from across the table.
“Hungry?” the Texan asked with one eyebrow raised.
Warrick leaned back and rubbed his very full stomach. “Babe, you have no idea. I didn’t have time for breakfast and I missed lunch. This really hit the spot. You’re so good to me.”
“I’m glad you liked it.” Nick responded with a bashful smile.
An hour later, after another cup of coffee, the dishes were done and the two men were lounging on the sofa.
The rain pattering on the windows was hypnotic. Between that, the candles Nick had lit and the light jazz that drifted softly through the apartment, the atmosphere was downright cozy. Nick sat with his feet on the coffee table while Warrick lay with his head in the other man’s lap. Nick absent-mindedly stroked Warrick’s hair while reading a book about birds of prey. The green-eyed man lay there contentedly and did absolutely nothing. After the day he’d had, it felt wonderful. No pressures, no demands, he could simply be. Such a feeling of peace and well-being washed over him that he couldn’t help but sigh deeply.
The hand moving through his hair stopped.
“What was that for?” Nick asked with a smile in his voice.
Warrick sat up and faced his lover. “Nothing. I was just thinking about how lucky I am. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, Nick, but I’ll be damned if I’m ever gonna give you up.”
He leaned in and kissed the brown eyed man. Nick “Mmmed” contentedly and returned the kiss. He wrapped his arms around Warrick’s broad shoulders to keep him close. Initially, the kiss was gentle, reverent. But soon it deepened and intensified, showing all the passion the two men felt for each other.
When they drew apart to take a deep breath, Nick smiled and grabbed Warrick’s hand. He tugged the taller man to his feet and began dragging him towards the bedroom.
“Come on, Babe, let me take you to bed and show you just how lucky you really are…….”
The two men scrambled down the hall and soon the condo was filled with the moans and soft cries of love.
Later, the only sound was the steady drumming of the rain on the windows as the lovers slept contentedly wrapped in each others arms.
|Wednesday, April 19th, 2006|
|Evil is as evil does....
You Are 36% Evil
A bit of evil lurks in your heart, but you hide it well.
In some ways, you are the most dangerous kind of evil.