MoiraiThanatoio (moiraithanatoio) wrote,

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FIC: Hand That Feeds 6 / 8 - CSI, Gil/Greg, NC-17

Title: The Hand That Feeds 06 / 08
Author: Lakhesis
Pairing: Gil/Greg
Rating: NC-17
Beta: Sterling Dragonfly
Summary: Greg is unable to trust until he finds the perfect Master.
Warnings: Unsafe sex, BDSM, Kink, Angst
Disclaimer: CSI is the property of CBS Broadcasting, Inc. and Alliance-Atlantis Communications. Nothing was incurred in the creation of this fic other than a little amusement.


Greg Sanders was nervous. He knew there was really no call for his attack of anxiety. All the same, Greg fumbled his keys as he removed them from the ignition. Crouched down searching, he missed the approach to his car door until knuckles rapped against safety glass.


He shot upright, paling as he noticed the woman outside the window. Rather than roll down the separating glass, he stepped out of the car. The hand clenched around his found keys was clammy and damp.

“Catherine.” His tone was wary and not at all pleased to see her. “What are you doing here?”

She was still in her work clothes, arms crossed. “That’s the question I was going to ask.”

Greg looked at the carefully lit front door of the Domain and then at Catherine. The overriding thought in his head was that both supervisors would now know he was a pervert. Grissom, after making his bar problem go away, and now Catherine catching him at Lady Heather’s.

“Ummm… I had an appointment?” His voice rose to a squeaky high on the last word.

Catherine stared at him for a moment longer. An unidentified suspicion danced across her face. Then, shrugging, she took his arm at the elbow. “Calm down, Greg. There’s nothing illegal in that building.”

But he couldn’t quite relax. Not when Catherine was leading him to the door. Greg slipped his keys in his pocket, barely remembering to activate his car alarm, before wiping his sweaty palm on his jeans.

In the foyer, Catherine seemed inclined to wait. Greg just pulled free and hurried up the stairs. He didn’t care if it revealed his over-familiarity with the place. At that moment, he was more concerned about this little factoid making the rounds at work.


By the time Greg had prepared for the evening and was waiting patiently in the room, he’d nearly forgotten that he’d entered the building with a coworker. There was only the rug under his knees, the two straight-backed chairs in front of him, and the vast possibilities of the turned down bed.

When Lady Heather entered, Greg couldn’t prevent his smile. Since he’d first come here, she’d always taken care of him. Now, in a seeming impossible stroke of luck, she’d found him a true Master.

She approached, stopping just before him. Greg bent, touching his forehead to her toes before straightening anew to display himself as he’d been taught.

“Lady Heather.”

She took the chair to the right of his vision. The crossing of her legs was the barest flash of pale thigh. “I am training a partner for the Domain. Do you object if she participates?”

“As you think best, Lady Heather.”

She watched him even as she called out, “Come in, Catherine.”

Greg’s gaze turned to the door and his coworker. Her presence caused a flare of tension as his muscles knotted. Then, remembering Lady Heather’s words, he melted into repose. It was odd to see the strawberry blonde outside of work. Odder still to see her as a dominatrix.

He only smiled slightly as he inclined his head. “Lady Catherine.”

As Catherine seated herself, Lady Heather began to chuckle. “I admit, my dear Mr. Sanders, I expected more of a reaction at displaying yourself to a known associate.”

Greg shifted his gaze. “It was unnecessary.”

When Lady Heather nodded, Catherine frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Explain, Greg,” Heather instructed.

That he was nude, erect, waiting to be contracted to a Master… none of it seemed to disturb Greg at the moment. “If Lady Heather is taking you as a partner in this business, then you are being prepared as a Protector. I have seen that she holds the standards dear. Thus, I am as safe with you as her.”

Catherine nodded her comprehension. She opened the folder she’d brought in with her as Lady Heather gestured.

“Now, Greg and his Master had the most complete of contracts. There is a specified waiting period – one month in which to decide if they’ll sign. Then, should they both wish, the papers become official.”

Catherine was growing red as she flipped through the pages. Lady Heather didn’t notice, she only continued, “It should not surprise that the Domain’s lawyers are capable of drawing two persons tighter than a state sanctioned matrimony.”

Greg was trying not to beam. It would be a nearly unbreakable claim on him. He wanted, he needed, but this would tie the Master to him as well.

“These are already signed,” Catherine said shakily.

Lady Heather inclined her head. “Yes. Greg’s Master is quite certain of his commitment. Show our dear Greg the jeweler’s sketch.”

Catherine was gritting her teeth, but took out the page from the very front. Greg shifted to take it from her. It trembled slightly, but he was unsure if it was due to him or Catherine.

Greg was immediately absorbed by the drawing. Professionally, it was noted as a necklace. Greg knew it was a collar. His collar. One thin and light enough to disappear unnoticed under his work clothes.

“The links…” His voice broke under the weight of the circumstances.

Lady Heather, as always, knew the answer without having to hear the entire question. “They are double helix, by request.”

“Then he does know me.”

Catherine choked but Lady Heather only nodded. “He does. However, I have instructed him to introduce himself properly before you next leave these premises.”

Greg knew it was his hand shaking this time as he handed the page back to Catherine. This was too much trouble for someone who didn’t truly care. He wasn't quite sure how to feel suddenly. Anything like this had always been ripped away before.

It already had been once. What if it was again?

Catherine drew his attention when she snapped the file shut and said heavily, “Heather… are you certain this is a good idea? There is,” she hesitated, “so much that could go wrong.”

“And there is much that could become right,” Lady Heather replied.

Catherine bit her lip as she stood. Finally, she touched Greg gently on the hair and murmured, “Good luck.”

After the door had closed behind her, Lady Heather stood and crossed to one of the bedside tables.

“Now, my dear Mr. Sanders, don’t be alarmed but you are owed a touch of discipline.”

She picked up his black scarf and met his apprehensive look. “You do know better than to become intoxicated in such a place as Cuir Noir.”

His bent head acknowledged the truth in those words. In the next moment, the cloth slid around his head. His arousal twitched as he recognized this would be his last encounter without knowing his partner’s identity.


Anticipation had pushed his heart into a frantic rhythm. Greg could hear little beyond the rush of his own pulse as he waited where he had been left by Lady Heather. He was standing, though he considered dropping to his knees despite her last instruction.

A master would appreciate that view, wouldn’t they? Kneeling, his legs spread slightly to showcase himself. His dampening palms would be resting lightly on his thighs.

The palms suddenly cupping Greg’s cheeks were a shock. He gasped, drawing in the scent and taste of attraction just before lips touched his own. The kiss was both passion and possession.

Greg returned the enthusiasm while yielding to the deep exploration. The realization that he was being slowly turned in a circle didn’t click. He passed it off as dizziness or disorientation. Then his master drew back and Greg followed, his lips still seeking that contact. He nearly stepped forward, but the hand in the middle of his chest forestalled the movement.

Greg waited, patient and eager. Something creaked and then brushed against the carpet. There was a sudden bar of chill across his midsection. Greg huffed out a breath, but the object warmed quickly. Hands now urged him to lean, bending across the obstruction. His own hands went out, seeking balance.

They touched, then slide to rest flat-palmed on the smooth, cool grain of varnished wood. Greg’s face flamed. He’d been turned over the back of one of the chairs. His ass was in the air as he balanced on the balls of his feet to keep the wood from pressing uncomfortably into his stomach.

The fire in Greg’s face grew hotter as he knew he deserved this. He’d dealt with his disappointment in a ridiculously immature fashion. He’d endangered his life, his safety, everything in a fit of acting out.

A hand settled heavily in the small of his back. It served as a reminder rather than any actual restraint on his body. Its twin caressed the skin of his behind with barely there pressure.

Greg didn’t know how many he’d be receiving. He only knew he’d be taking them without a murmur of complaint.

The first stroke stung, but it wasn’t cruelly sharp. Of course, there was no guarantee that the intensity wouldn’t rise with the number of strokes.

He wriggled slightly, wondering at the pause. Surely he deserved more than one? As he remembered that he’d never received punishment without being required to acknowledge it, he stammered over the rote words.

“One. Thank you, sir.”

The others came regularly after that and he did not fail again in his response. After fifteen, Greg was resisting the urge to squirm as that heavy hand continued to fall on his already evenly heated backside. After twenty, he was exhaling hard with each strike even as he gave his reply.

When they finally stopped at twenty-three, Greg’s ass was burning.

He knew it had to be bright red, that it would only fade in shades over the course of hours. There was a lightly, soothing stroke of fingers over his ass that turned into massaging pressure along his back. The fingers paused, seeking out and tracing each of his scars.

Greg winced. The expression went unacknowledged by the chair seat in front of his face. The beeswax rubbed surface didn’t share its thoughts. He would always bear some scars from being blown into his lab’s glass walls. He simply wished they were easily hidden.

The faintest touch of lips against each disfiguring mark caused a flinch. Greg was urged upright, his back flush against his lover. He did finally squirm as his ass met skin and hair that tickled and teased. Long caresses down the front of his torso kept him in contact as they stepped back as a pair.

When his companion sat, Greg had no option but to do so as well. The arms suddenly banding around him insisted on it. He settled with ill grace, arching his sore ass away from weight bearing contact. With his legs spread wide and dangling over the outside of his lover’s, Greg found the pressure falling on his untouched thighs.

He sighed as the constriction eased only to gasp as one hand began to tease at his nipples while the other stroked his unflagging arousal. Greg went boneless, trusting in the grasp on his body. The low voiced chuckle and heavy breath against his ear raised goosebumps.

As an agile tongue curled around his lobe, Greg writhed, whining wordlessly. The hand dancing across his chest stopped to press firmly just above his navel. It was the grounding he needed to hold his sanity against the rapid strokes on his cock. Uttering breathy little cries, Greg shuddered and came into that insistent hand.

His partner grew motionless, still cupping his genitals. Greg chewed his bottom lip for a moment before deciding on a rather forward action.

He settled one hand over the clasp on his abdomen before reaching out for the opposite wrist. Greg’s hand slid down the hair of his lover’s forearm before lifting the hand away from his groin in a tentative motion.

As he lifted it to his mouth, there was no resistance. The capitulation only increased his resolve. Greg’s first darting lick against the palm was echoed in a shaky exhale. He grew more confident, coating his lover’s hand in his own saliva as he lifted all traces of his own seed.

The twitching of the prick trapped against his back was all the confirmation Greg needed that his lover was indeed enjoying himself. But when Greg could no longer taste any evidence of his release, he moaned in disappointed loss. The man beneath him took no action, which Greg interpreted as his permission to continue to act.

He did, first turning his head to press an open-mouthed kiss to the jaw that had been pressed against his own. Then, with the maximum of contact between skin, Greg maneuvered himself off the lap and onto the floor at the foot of the chair.

He sucked in a breath when his ass met the carpet and the pain served as his only necessary reminder. Quickly raising to his knees, Greg used his hands on his partner’s legs to orient himself. Shivering at his own boldness, that he wasn’t stopped was only sparse comfort.

Carefully, he felt the cock and balls of his lover until he was certain of his position. With increasing bravado, Greg bent his head to the weeping prick. He smiled around the girth in his mouth as his tongue learned its taste and definition.

He may never before have given his ass to a lover, but Greg had been frequently praised on his ability to give head. He set to with a vengeance, pushing himself to take his Master's cock faster and deeper until the tip brushed against the entrance to his throat.

The deep groan and tightening of the skin warned him. Greg pulled back, swallowing rapidly as his Master emptied himself into his mouth. He thought nothing of it as he was pulled to his feet. His mouth was devoured once again, shaking hands holding his face still.

Greg followed obediently, curling exhausted against his Master on the soft bed. It didn’t matter if he didn’t know now. They were still at the Domain, and Lady Heather had promised.

He’d consider his Master’s name a present to carry with him as he went to work once he’d awoken.

End Part Six

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  • Weird epiphanies...

    On a glut of H50 fanfic, I came to a realization.... There are not many military people in fandom. Either that, or they're hiding it better than I…

  • I LOVE Ao3

    Yes, deep and abiding love... Love it for the ease of reading. Love it for the ease of taking my reading with me offline. (Otherwise known as load up…

  • Reichenbach

    Twenty years ago, I read The Final Problem for the first time.... Today I am standing at Reichenbach Falls. Posted via LiveJournal app…