MoiraiThanatoio (moiraithanatoio) wrote,

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

Title: The Hand That Feeds 08 / 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.


Grissom had been gone for two weeks. It was little surprise when Ecklie accompanied Catherine into the breakroom. He wasted little time in getting straight to the point.

“Due to our sudden staffing shortage, day shift members will be supplementing as needed. Inform CSI Willows, as night shift supervisor, if you need assistance.”

Sara spoke up, interrupting, “What about Grissom?”

Conrad’s face twisted into a pleased grimace. “Gil Grissom retired, effective two weeks ago.”

“Hey, where’s Greggo?” Nick asked suddenly. He’d thought it odd that a shift meeting would be begun without a member, especially a change in supervision.

Ecklie pressed his lips together in disapproval. “Greg Sanders tendered his resignation with excess sick leave in lieu of notice.”

It was Warrick that asked the question on everyone’s mind. “What’s going on?”

As unusual as it was for the unit to lose any single person, it was rare to the point of insanity to lose two without warning or violence. Ecklie opened his mouth to reply, then closed it without speaking.

Turning to the newly official supervisor, he directed, “Catherine, you handle this.”

Her dry, “Sure, Conrad,” followed him from the room.

She faced what was left of the night shift and smiled. “Basically, folks, Gil and Greg got married. Anyone who wants to forward a congratulations can see me for the address.”

Sara blinked before asking, “What are the odds of that happening at the same time?”

Warrick rolled his eyes at her willful stupidity. He and Nick took their assignment slips from Catherine and strolled out of the room. As the last males on the team, they definitely felt this was better handled among the women.

“I don’t understand. Who’d Grissom marry?”

Catherine shot a glance skyward for patience and inspiration. “Greg,” she stated flatly, seeing no need to pander to Sara’s perpetual Grissom worship.

“But… they’re both guys.”

Catherine made a noise of disgust deep in her throat. “It’s called a Domestic Partnership Agreement. You’ve got a 419 at the Rampage, get to work.”


Here was that return of nervous nausea Greg had feared every step of his actions so far. It was back, threatening to force him to vomit on the stoop. Wouldn’t that be a brilliant first impression on the woman who’d just opened the door?

She was tiny – short and small-boned. Her pure white hair was curled into a bun on the top of her head. The escaping strands betrayed what must have been riotous curls in her youth. But it was her eyes – Gil’s eyes – that saw right through you and just dared you to even think the word ‘frail.’

Greg cleared his throat. For his own benefit, he reminded himself. She was deaf. Forming the words clearly with his lips, he asked, “Is Gil home?”

She was still staring at him and Greg squirmed. Then, she signed as she answered in a voice that was off slightly, “No. You are?”

Greg ignored the fact that his voice broke, telling himself that if she couldn’t hear it then he wasn’t making an ass out of himself to his mother-in-law. He offered the documents that proved his connection as he squeaked out his answer.

“His husband.”


He’d been here a week and he was exhausted. Moving home was the perfect place for a new start. Gil didn’t call out as he locked his mother’s door behind him. The house of his youth was a house of mostly silence.

A week and he was already being asked to consult by the locals. He followed the faint noise of china through the house, surprised to hear his mother’s voice. She must have been expecting a helper for her afternoon at the church. It wasn’t as if they were accountable to each other beyond general consideration.

“He was adorable.”

The male voice carried and Gil froze. Then, angered beyond reason, he stormed into the kitchen. The slap of the saloon style doors off the wall dividing the kitchen from the rest of the house and his sudden appearance brought his mother and Greg to a halt over the photo album.

The coffee mugs and crumb sprinkled plates clearly showed she hadn’t been about to toss the younger man out on his ear. Gil shot a warning glance at the mischievously twinkling look on his mother’s face and switched his gaze to Greg.

He was tense, but seated comfortably by the elderly woman. Gil couldn’t help but appreciate the black jeans clinging to the long legs and flattering charcoal polo shirt. The sight of engraved gold glittering at Greg’s throat did nothing to ameliorate his anger.

Gil was almost shaking in fury as he demanded, “What are you doing here?!”

Greg opened his mouth to reply but was beaten to the punch by the woman at his side. Her fingers flashed and her ire was clear as she chastised her son.

“Gilbert Orwell Grissom, that is no way to speak to your spouse! Sit down and be polite. If your father had spoken to me that way, I’d have turned him over my knee!”

Greg ducked his head to hide his grin as Gil seated himself reluctantly. He really liked Grissom’s mom. She’d looked over the papers with an eagle eye, listened to his story, and then told him to call her ‘Mom.’

Gil’s voice was thick with threat, his hand stiff over the word, as he inquired, “Spouse?”

Greg flushed as he fished the papers out from under the photo album and handed them over without a word. As Gil slipped his glasses from his pocket and slid them on, his mother stood and took her dishes to the sink.

“The Father’s expecting me. You boys behave.”

Greg was wide-eyed as she crossed nonchalantly to the swinging doors that divided the kitchen from living room. Tsking over the small dent in the paint, her fingers moved in a quick message to her son.

Gil nodded, sighing as he turned back to Greg. Greg was patently not ready. “What’d she say?” he asked, in hopes of delaying this confrontation.

Gil took his glasses off slowly and didn’t meet Greg’s eyes as he answered, “To make as much noise as we liked since it won’t disturb her.”

Greg’s blush was sweetly shy and made Gil long for everything he’d left behind. He gestured to the signed and notarized pages in front of him.

“I asked Heather to tear these up.”

Greg swallowed heavily. Lady Heather hadn’t mentioned that to him. “She didn’t,” he replied hoarsely.

“I’m not going back to Vegas.”

“I know.”

“Your job is there.”

“No, it isn’t… I quit.”

“Why?” Gil asked, frowning.

Greg’s ‘this is all going to work out’ determination was rapidly crumbling. “Because my place is at your side.”

“Greg, these aren’t real.”

“Yes, they are. Legally, the papers are valid. I filed a copy with the Clark County Clerk of Courts.”

Gil’s eyes widened. “Greg…”

Greg interrupted, reaching up to touch the gold at his throat. “Please. You know I’ll do anything you ask. Just don’t ask me to leave.”

Gil appeared undecided as his mind battled itself over Greg’s presence and what it could mean. He stared down at the tabletop, not meeting those pleading eyes.

“Your mother told me about Peter. I know everything between us has been miscommunicated. Please believe that I would never knowingly hurt you.”

Sadness was writ upon Gil’s face. “I can’t deny that I want you.”

“Then, don’t…”

“How can you expect a relationship to work if I make you ill?”

Greg closed his eyes in the manner of the long-suffering. “Nervous ulcer. Complete misunderstanding. Can we forget that I utterly humiliated myself at quite possibly one of the best moments of my life?”

Gil had rather missed how easily Greg perplexed him. Silence hung, finally broken by the older man’s voice.

“What would you do?”

“Anything you want.”

Gil’s gaze made his appreciation of such flippancy clear. Greg smiled, feeling the change in the air.

“I have an interview in a few days. Being a Grissom-trained CSI is apparently a big advantage.”

When Gil didn’t speak, Greg urged, “Give us a chance.”

Gil knew it was hurtful even as he asked, “Why should I?”

Greg had exhausted himself and had only one item left in his repertoire. “Because I love you, Master.”

Gil closed his eyes and Greg waited anxiously. “Come here.”

The barely audible words had Greg out of his chair like a shot and crouching next to Gil. The hands touching his face were reverent, worshipful. They were both all too aware of how fleeting this contact could be.

Gil stood, bringing Greg upright with him. He smiled at the younger man, buoyed by the answering grin. Greg followed him, only questioning when they reached the stairs, “Uh… Gil?”

Grissom turned, placing a gentle kiss at the corner of Greg’s jaw. “I love you, but I’m not going to have you in my mother’s kitchen.”

Greg quavered, his eyes beginning to tear up. The ones that fell were gently brushed away as Gil led him to the second floor and down the hall.

“I know it's small, but I wasn’t expecting company. I suppose house-hunting has become a higher priority.”

Greg bit his lip. He was trying desperately to contain such ‘it’s perfect because of you’ sappiness and trite repetitions. He did ask, “House hunting?”

Gil hummed as he ran an index finger under Greg’s shirt and across the warmed metal of his collar. “You are mine to keep as I will, are you not?”

Greg nodded, gasping for air as his lover’s fingers sought out the fastenings of his clothes. It was a heady drug to have something you wanted so dearly, with someone he trusted so completely.

“Then I deem a house to be required.”

Greg whined, fearing he was going to come in his pants from the feel of Gil’s mouth on his neck and hand at his zipper. He pressed forward, whimpering as the tongue traced down his jugular and edged aside his shirt for the hint of metallic.

“Don’t you agree, Pet?” Gil asked with a definite evil twinkle in his eye.

Greg blinked, trying to regain his sensibilities. He groaned reaching for his lover and drawing him back into contact. Gil chuckled as Greg brushed faint bussing kisses over his lips, cheeks, forehead, and chin.

Taking the hands that had drawn him back, Gil forced Greg backwards and down until he was sprawled at the end of his bed. His feet dangled over the side, sneakers thumping against the carpet as he wriggled. Grissom had learned one overwhelming intimate fact about Greg – he was utterly incapable of holding still.

It was the work of a minute to strip Greg, especially with his cooperation. He looked good – right – against Gil’s comforter. He was staring back with desperation and need. As Greg reached up to touch his only remaining decoration, the collar at his throat, Gil misinterpreted the action.

“Leave it!”

Greg paused, growing wide-eyed at the barked demand. “I wasn’t…”

“It never comes off. Ever.”

Greg’s bit his bottom lip, but not even that held back the smile that crept onto his face. “Yes, Master.”

Gil growled, tearing at his own clothing. It was an impediment to his worshiping the delectable body spread before him. It had to go.

Greg whimpered, shivering as Gil crawled over him and urged him further up the bed. When his head was pillowed at the top and Gil was laying partially on him, Greg interrupted his lover’s oral exploration.


The hum from near his nipple told him that Gil heard, but wasn’t interested in stopping.

“Would you take me?”

“What does this feel like to you?” Gil asked, moving his attentions to the tightened flesh’s twin. He bathed it with his tongue, bringing it to an equal peak and causing Greg to buck slightly.

“I… I want…”

Gil lifted his head, a serious mien dominating his face for a moment as he met Greg’s hesitating glance. “Don’t ever be afraid to ask for what you want.” His lips quirked as he added, “I may not give it to you… but you should certainly ask.”

Greg closed his eyes and took a chance. “I want you to fuck me.”

His hands clenching tight, Gil almost immediately loosened them. Greg would bruise only where he chose. He wouldn’t make it a habit of marking the young man by accident.

“You’re mine now, Pet. I want to remind us both of that fact… and I’m not feeling gentle.”

“I don’t care,” came the whispered reply.

“Greg… You’ve never done that before.”

“I don’t care!” Greg’s shout took them both by surprise. He’d opened his eyes, his determination and courage warring with his nerves and his desire for this. “I want to give this to you.”

Gil nodded, taking the offer with the sense of gravity it deserved. He lifted, placing his hands at Greg’s hips to urge him over. “Hands and knees, Pet.”

Sitting back on his own heels, kneeling on the bed he’d used as a teenager, Gil watched his lover spread himself before him. Greg’s pale back was a line of marred trembling skin. His ass, firm and ripe like a peach ready for plucking. Where the younger man was bony and spare in places, his behind was nicely formed.

One hand reached out of its own accord to caress that slope and Greg sighed. Newly impatient, Gil took a globe in each hand and bent his head to place a sucking kiss at the top of the crease. Greg was new to this, new to them. Kindness now, not that Gil was capable of cruelty, would make all the difference in their future.

Hands shaking, Gil fumbled the side drawer open. He hadn’t expected a guest. However, he was a sexually active man. The lubricant hadn’t been intended for a partner, but it would serve.

Greg gasped as the cool liquid slithered into the crack of his ass. He whimpered into the pillow stuffed under his face as Gil’s hand slathered it further into the depression. The whimpers turned to cries as a finger slid deep without further consideration.

Gil shifted closer, leaning over Greg as his hand continued to work to loosen and stretch the virgin hole. “I’m going to take you, Pet. Just like you asked me.”

Greg was not precisely capable of words, but his sounds definitely made the point as Gil added a second finger too quickly. The pillowcase grew damp as Greg chewed on it rather than yell out.

“Do you still think you don’t care?” Gil asked. He twisted his hand, seeking. Greg’s interrupted scream told him he’d found the prostate he’d been looking for.

“Don’t hold back, Pet. I want to hear you scream.”

Greg was sobbing for breath and nearly crying into the pillow. He pressed his face harder, trying to control his reactions. There was part of him that wanted to demand that Gil stop. There was another part that wanted to demand Gil just fuck him already and make it hurt.

But Greg said nothing. It had taken him nearly losing this to realize that he didn’t care how Gil took him. However he did, it would be right. Because it was Gil.

Gil smirked as the third finger returned Greg’s vocabulary to him. Of course, it was incredibly limited.

“Now… Please, please, please, please, please.”

He was still pleading into the pillow as Gil took hold of his cock and lined it up with the quivering hole. The hand at Greg’s hip restricted him from pulling away as the head pressed tight. It slid inside with a nearly audible pop, the mushroom shaped cap stretching the outer ring past its loosened preparedness.

Greg screamed again, the sound mostly muffled by the pillow. Gil bent over his back, his fingers digging into the hip as his other hand crept around to the softening cock.

“You don’t care, remember?”

He slid forward, pulling back until Greg’s body strained to hold him within. Gil pushed forward, sinking halfway in a powerful stroke that had Greg whimpering anew.

“You just want me to fuck you.”

Working in slight increments, Gil eased himself back and forward until he’d sunk balls deep in Greg’s ass. As the pressure of a cock in his ass forced itself over his prostate and the hand in front reminded him quite how nice sex could be, Greg’s gasps for air turned to cries for his completion.

Gil set his teeth to the back of the neck in front of him, marveling at his own need to mark and possess this man. He bit down, tasting the faintest copper tang, as he began to fuck Greg in earnest. He pushed himself into the body that yielded to him, glorying as Greg whimpered.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.”

The chant of Greg’s penitence was nearly all Gil could take. He leaned back, seeking better leverage, and saw how easily Greg’s skin took his mark when he shifted his hands. He pulled the younger man up and back, crossing his arms over the sweat slick chest.

A set of five faint marks remained on one hip, even as Greg pushed down to meet Gil’s renewed thrusts. They panted in unison, Greg riding his lover’s lap with determined intensity.

Finally, Gil’s arms tightened until Greg couldn’t even twitch within the embrace. He pumped up a last time, spasming into the welcoming depths of Greg’s body. Greg whined as his Master panted his completion into his shoulder blade, needing to find his own.

Gil’s arm shifted, hand curling tight around the needy purpling cock. “Whose are you?”

“Yours… Only yours,” Greg cried out as the hand began to move. It was a pair of short, hard strokes that had him coming, his seed arcing away to spill on the covers dampened and mussed from his writhing.

“Good boy,” Gil praised as he coaxed the last of Greg’s release from his softening cock. “My very good boy.”

End Part Eight

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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…