Fandom:
CSI
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: G/S
Summary: For the Geekfiction
Summer Sizzler Ficathon
Disclaimer: The characters and situations in this story belong
to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do
not have permission to borrow them. No infringement is intended in any
way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine,
no you can't have any.
Spoilers: general sixth season
*********
He
wasn’t usually like this.
I
mean, one of the things that attracted me to Gil from the very
beginning was his inherent gentleness. It was part of him, his
personality--not something learned, but something innate. I’d
grown up watching my father turn my mother into a punching bag, but I
knew almost instantly that Gil would never raise a hand to someone he
loved.
So
feeling the cloth tighten over my eyes, cutting off the
light...feeling his breath hit the back of my neck...knowing that I
had deliberately put myself into his oh-so-capable hands...well, I
wasn’t afraid.
But I could say I was nervous. Certainly
something was curling in the pit of my stomach, making my pulse
faster and putting all my nerves on alert.
Those
big warm hands curved over my shoulders, thumbs stroking down.
“You
okay?” he asked softly in my ear.
And
I swallowed, and nodded.
Normally
we’re pretty egalitarian when it comes to sex. Once we got
past
the first awkward moments--it may be like riding a bicycle, but
without practice you can get a little rusty--we realized that we had
pretty similar tastes, and Gil’s as willing to let me take
the
lead
as he is to do it himself. I have to say, I appreciate that; I know
I can be aggressive, and some guys find that a turn-off, but not him.
But
every so often, he gets into a mood where he wants to be in total
control. Nothing really kinky, just wanting me to go along with him
without asking questions. I don’t mind at all; it’s
not my
usual
style to be passive, but do I ever reap the benefits.
You
see, Gil’s a man of amazing concentration. It’s one
of his
strengths as a forensic scientist--he can, and has, focused on a case
for two or three days straight. I do the same thing, so I know how
much that can cost him emotionally; sometimes trying to forget about
a case feels like trying to scrub off a decomp, or something equally
sticky and nasty.
Sometimes,
the best way to forget is to concentrate, just as hard, on something
else. It took me a little while to make the connection. To pull
himself away from the case, he focuses on me.
And
I have to admit, I love it when he does.
“All
right.” I felt Gil’s hands drop to the hem of my
shirt. He
bunched it up, helping me pull it off so it didn’t disturb
the
blindfold. Hearing it fall to the floor made me that much more aware
of my surroundings, magnifying sound.
One
finger slowly traced the line of my spine from my neck to my
tailbone, and I shivered. Gil chuckled behind me, and then his arms
went around me to undo the button on my jeans. It takes a certain
amount of skill to strip a woman from behind without knocking her
over, but he didn’t have any problems; within a minute or two
I
was
free of clothing entirely.
It
felt a little unfair, but I didn’t argue. Besides, I figured
his
pants would be coming off eventually anyway.
Gil
took my hand in his, lacing our fingers together, and started guiding
me out of the kitchen and into the living room; I could feel the tile
change to carpet under my bare feet. It was a slightly alarming
sensation, to be led by Gil--I trusted him, sure, but that
didn’t
really reassure my sense of balance. But he moved slowly, giving me
time to place my feet, and I hung onto him and tried not to think
about walking into something.
Then
I heard the scrape of the sliding door opening.
Fresh
warm air poured in past us, smelling of desert wind and the green
grass and weeds of the lawn. We’d had rain last week and the
stuff
had busted out all over.
I
didn’t resist when Gil led me outside. It wouldn’t
be the
first
time we’d made love outdoors, though previously it had been
dark;
but our new place had a high fence and no one nearby to peek over it.
It was fascinating how much more input I was noticing from my senses
given that I couldn’t see; scents were richer, and the rough
feel
of sun-hot wood under my feet was acute.
Rather
than helping me down the two steps to the ground, Gil let go of my
hand and put his on my waist. The sudden swoop as he lifted me made
me gasp, and I grabbed his arms, but a second later I was standing on
the lawn and he was taking my hand again.
“Come
on,” he said, tugging me gently along, and I tried to
visualize
the
back yard, finding it surprisingly difficult to place myself in it as
the grass tickled my soles. High weathered board fence, some rather
tangled flower beds along it, a large cottonwood tree against the
back--
The
sun’s heat on my skin lessened, and I deduced that we had
passed
into the tree’s shade. Gil halted, and I heard the slide of
fabric
and the faint pop his knee sometimes made when he crouched.
Then
he straightened again, and put one arm behind my back and the other
under my knees. I bit my lip as he lifted me--I didn’t think
he’d
drop me, but I didn’t want him to pull a muscle, either--but
a
moment later he was laying me down on my back.
He’d
put down something, maybe a sheet; the prickle of the grass against
my skin was muted. Gil took my wrists gently and raised them over my
head, so that they were pressed to the cloth, palms up and fingers
just touching. “Don’t move,” he
instructed me
quietly, and
laid a kiss in the hollow of my throat. I could feel goosebumps
coming up, and he chuckled again.
I
knew it would be hard, lying still when I couldn’t see, but
that
was part of the thrill. His hands drifted down my body, touching
lightly, teasing a little; when he reached my hips he slid his
fingers in between my thighs and parted them a little. I could
picture myself--not quite sprawled on the sheet, but open
and...vulnerable. It made me shiver a little, but not with fear.
He
sighed, and his exhale brushed across my skin. “You are
forever
breathtaking,” he said, his voice still low, and at that
moment I
believed him.
I
heard him settle into the grass beside me, and for a little while he
was silent and still, leaving me to anticipate. I wanted to relax in
the warm air, to yawn maybe and roll over, but he’d told me
not
to
move, and instead I felt myself growing tauter with each passing
minute. It was hard to believe how turned on I was getting even
though Gil wasn’t even touching me.
He
was watching me, though. I knew
that; I could feel his gaze
on my skin even though I couldn’t see it. It was as
weightless as
sunlight, and as hot; Gil never could keep from looking at me, even
in the worst times. Sometimes I thought he felt like he’d
never
get his fill of watching me, touching me, being close to me. As
though he thought I’d just take it all away from him someday.
We
were still working on the “get it through your head,
I’m not
leaving” part.
Finally,
just when I felt like my skin was about to start twitching from
nerves, I heard Gil move. The rustle of cloth, the faint
scratchiness of grass blades, a slight snapping noise that I
didn’t
recognize.
“Don’t
move,” he said again, and then I felt a smaller breeze across
my
thighs, and the slightest tease and prickle as something danced along
my skin. I jerked a little, startled, and the sensation came
again--something brushing past, hardly more substantial than air.
It
tickled and slid and was gone, and I squinted behind the blindfold,
trying to figure out what he was doing. Another rustle, and it
happened once more, across my abdomen this time. Like tiny little
feet. My shoulders tensed. “That had better not be spiders,
Gil.”
He
laughed. “No, it’s not. Nothing with feet.
Relax.”
One warm
finger touched my lips, a signal for silence, and I acquiesced,
relaxing a little now that I knew he wasn’t using me as an
insect
racecourse. I mean, I didn’t mind having the terrariums in
the
house, but there are limits--
Another
breeze, another tickle. He was blowing
something over me, I
figured; not bubbles, they weren’t wet, but something light.
Feathers maybe?
It
was an incredible sensation. Barely there, and yet it was
surprisingly erotic, making my skin itch for another touch. I kept
myself from wriggling, but it took effort. This time the wave
of...whatever...washed over my breasts and throat, and I felt my
breath rate increasing.
Three
times more he dusted me with this mystery substance, to the point
where I really was twitching. It was turning him on; I could smell
him from where I lay, and in a moment of mischief I shifted a little,
arching my spine a bit and parting my legs just a fraction more.
Gil
made a low sound. “Hold still,” he warned, and I
shivered
at
that dark voice. After years of uncertainty, it was great to know I
was tempting him, and I grinned, knowing I could tease him just as he
was teasing me.
I
heard him shifting again, and then something was stroking lightly
over my toes. It felt almost like a brush of some kind, but the
shape was wrong; it was as soft as a puff of smoke and I frowned a
little at this new puzzle.
But
as Gil worked it up my legs, I kind of lost track of the puzzle part.
It was a maddening sensation, and he knew just how to use it, how to
taunt me with the faintest touches until all my concentration was
taken up by keeping still.
That
was the trouble with having a CSI for a lover. Gil’s
attention to
detail was without flaw, and he noticed and remembered practically
every reaction I’d ever had in bed with him. He knew where
all my
sensitive spots were, how I liked to be touched and when--information
he used to very good effect generally. The flip side, of course, was
that he could tease without mercy as well.
He
trailed the softness over every part of me that he could reach, it
seemed; detouring to the crease of my knee, twirling it over my hip,
brushing gently down the insides of my thighs, tickling up along my
ribs. He spent a lot of time on my nipples, the evil man, to the
point where I was biting my lips against the arousing ache.
By
the time he was stroking up my throat, my pulse was speeding and I
was just this side of panting. Every muscle in my body was tense
with the effort of not moving.
“How
are you feeling, sweetheart?” Gil asked, and I could hear the
laughter in his voice.
“Bastard,”
I said through clenched teeth, holding still. The breeze was cooling
the sweat he’d brought out on my skin, and at this point it
was
just one more stimulant. I wanted to rip off the blindfold and
tackle Gil so very badly, but I wasn’t going to break his
rule.
Not
yet, anyway. If he didn’t do something soon...
He
did. Two fingers slid in between my legs, parting the slick flesh,
deft and gentle. I sucked in air at the touch, feeling my leg
muscles quiver at the sweet, sharp pleasure flooding my nerves.
“Not
quite,” he said, still amused. “I have it on good
authority
that
my parents were married a full eleven months before I was
born.”
I
wanted to say something snappy, but I couldn’t concentrate on
anything besides the way he was touching me. Gil has incredible
hands, and all those years of handling fragile evidence…all
that
came out of my mouth was a growl as he slowly eased his fingers
inside me.
He
twisted them slightly, and I barely kept my hips from jerking up.
“Don’t move,” he repeated, rubbing
lightly with his
thumb. I
whimpered, squeezing my eyes shut behind the blindfold, feeling my
muscles clutching at those slow-moving fingers.
“Don’t
move…”
It
was too much, I was going insane; my pulse was pounding in my ears,
and I could feel myself starting to shake. He kept stroking me,
teasing me, whispering to make me hold still, but there was no way I
could, I--
His
free hand dropped onto my wrists, holding them down, and then his
mouth was on my nipple, wet and hot and hard. I must have made some
kind of sound, but I don’t remember it; everything dropped
away
but
the incredible pleasure burning through me. I was pinned and
twisting in his grip, arching so hard I’m surprised my spine
didn’t
snap, blind and deaf and flying.
It
took a while for my head to stop spinning. Gil had taken off the
blindfold and held me cuddled in his arms as he sat against the
cottonwood trunk, and for a while I just relaxed, enjoying the feel
of his solidity. Honestly, the sex is usually great and sometimes
amazing, but in the end I think it’s his hugs I need the
most.
But
finally I sighed and stretched a little, and he tilted his head to
look down at me. “All right?”
“Mmm,”
I agreed. Every knot in my muscles seemed to have been unstrung, and
I felt languorous and sated. “I’d tell you to wipe
that
smug
grin off your face, but I have to admit, it’s
justified.”
One
corner of his mouth climbed higher. “My pleasure.”
His
posture was relaxed, but I knew he’d been turned on by his
little
experiment--I could feel the evidence pressing against my hip. I
slid one hand down and smirked as he sucked in a breath.
“Guess
it’s my turn, then. What do you have in mind?”
He
pursed his lips, and for a moment I thought he’d turn me
down;
every so often he does. But apparently today wasn’t one of
those
times. “Dealer’s choice,” he offered.
So
that was how he ended up wearing the blindfold, his jeans around his
knees and his hands in my hair as I played with him. It was
definitely a good thing that we don’t have any close
neighbors,
because I’m sure we were a sight--Gil with his head tipped
back
against the tree, making odd gasping noises, and a stark naked woman
with her face in his lap. I really do enjoy giving Gil head;
it’s
fun, and he’s always so appreciative.
Eventually
I let him come, and for a while we dozed, curled up together on the
sheet; fortunately, the heat from the shifting sun woke me before I
burned, and we helped each other inside to continue our nap in cooler
surroundings. I don’t think Gil really woke up; he sighed as
I
pulled the sheet up over us both, and I grinned and stroked the
softness of his beard. He smiled without opening his eyes.
“What
was that
stuff,
anyway?” I
asked, yawning.
He
pulled me closer and mumbled something about lions. I considered
poking him and making him explain, but I was too safe and too drowsy.
We
slept.
End.
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