The Ribbon - by Sara's Girl
AN - this is an offering in the absence of the final chapter of NLS. Which is coming, I promise. In the meantime, here's some fairly shameless, almost plotless, smut.
The product of entirely random inspiration, I told myself I wanted to write a story about a ribbon, and here's what my twisted little mind came up with. Dirty, dirty, dirty.
Reviews are wholeheartedly adored. This is pretty smutty (even for me) and very mildly kinky. Heh.
Nick likes to tell himself it's because he's a CSI. That's why he's so focused on the little details about people, because he is trained to be. He notices because it's his job to notice. And that would be a great argument, if only for the fact that Nick notices Greg Sanders far more than he notices anyone else. It's not that he minds, as such, that he notices Greg, but it's distracting.
Because on top of all the usual things about Greg, like his clever dark eyes, his infectious laugh and his ridiculous, incapacitating smile...Nick's train of thought comes to an abrupt halt as those images flash through his exhausted mind and he makes a well-intentioned but weak resolution to stop making mental lists about Greg when he's trying to concentrate on something else.
The point being, on top of all those things, Greg likes to change, to shake things up a bit, and that just gives Nick more things to notice about him. Like his hair. Once bleached blond and spiky, now dark and somewhat ruffled. Nick noticed that. If anything, Greg looks more sinful than usual, and the last few times he has entered the DNA lab, Nick has struggled to remember why he went in there in the first place. Then of course, there is the ribbon.
The ribbon is new. Newer than the hair, even. Two days ago, Nick noticed it for the first time, when Greg handed him the sheet of paper containing his DNA results. Lab coat sleeve pulling up as he lifted his left arm, exposing a good few inches of pale forearm, a sliver of brightly-patterned shirt cuff and an indeterminate length of dark red ribbon wrapped and knotted around the slender wrist. Nick's eyes had been drawn, the rich, almost blood red jumping out in stark contrast to Greg's skin. He hadn't allowed himself to look for long, not wanting to alert the lab tech to his interest, but he had looked for long enough to enable the collection of a few pertinent facts.
The slight sheen to the surface of the ribbon, where the harsh strip lighting had reflected off of it, suggesting that it would be soft and slippery to the touch. Less than an inch wide, and wrapped around that wrist what looked like many, many times, ends elegantly knotted and tucked under the rest of the shiny fabric, tightly but skilfully enough to be easily released. That Greg's wrists, not unlike his hands, were somehow both masculine and delicate, put together in way that suggested strength, dexterity and lightness of touch.
After what must have been less than a second, Nick had averted his eyes from Greg's wrist and forcefully directed them to the printout Greg had offered him. Noticing that Greg was speaking to him, but finding it almost impossible to concentrate on the exact words. He hadn't snapped out of it until he was forced to by Greg's hand waving in front of his face, almost making him jump and pushing all of the unbidden images of the DNA tech naked, willing and tied to his own workstation with nothing more substantial than a thin red ribbon out of his head. For now.
As Greg smiled curiously and dropped his left hand back to join his right one on the desk, the mysterious ribbon was once more covered by the stiff, inelegant lab coat sleeve. Nick merely smiled, muttered his thanks and left the room.
He was intrigued then, and he is intrigued now. He wants to ask, but he's not sure he wants to alert Greg to the fact that Nick notices so much about him. Nick walks deliberately in the opposite direction to the DNA lab, and enters the break room. Someone has obviously just made coffee, as the pot on the counter is still steaming. It smells unusually good, and Nick wonders idly as he pours a cup, if Greg made it.
Cursing mildly under his breath, he drops onto the break room couch and sets the cup on the floor at his feet. Surely he can think about something else for a few minutes, something other than Greg Sanders and his goddamn ribbon. Nick sighs. Rests his head along the back of the couch, just for a moment, while the coffee cools to a temperature that won't burn his tongue.
Nick's head jerks up immediately at the unexpected sound of the door clicking shut. Instantly alert, his eyes flick to the door and he is both surprised and unnerved to find the DNA tech standing in front of it. Hands pressed back against the door, head down, taking in deep, shuddering breaths as though trying to compose himself to say something momentous. Nick watches him silently from the couch. Heart racing irrationally. Or maybe not irrationally, he can't think of the last time Greg entered a room and didn't say anything.
A new kind of tension fills the small space, forcing Nick's instinctive 'You ok, Greg?' back down his throat before he can make a sound. Finally, with a long, shaky exhalation, Greg steps into the room and lifts his head to look at Nick. The dark eyes flash a current right through Nick, pinning him to the couch and he can't remember what he wanted to ask. The light in the break room is softer than usual, casting unfamiliar shadows across Greg's pale skin, and he looks both alluring and dangerous. All softly swishing navy lab coat and messy dark hair and the brief flicker of the smile that Nick loves before he's crossing the room and closing the small distance between them.
Nick's eyes are torn from his eyes by the movement at waist level as Greg walks and he watches, barely breathing, as the dark blue sleeve slides back to reveal the knotted ribbon around Greg's wrist. Nick continues to watch as the long, agile fingers work over the knot and slowly free the length of red fabric, unwrapping it until one end is caught between thumb and forefinger and the other trails almost to the floor. Greg raises an eyebrow, so close now that Nick is forced to look up from his position on the couch to maintain their eye contact. The ribbon dangling from Greg's fingers brushes against his denim-covered thigh and sets off a shiver under his skin. Vaguely, Nick remembers that he wanted to ask about it, but it doesn't seem important right now.
He wants to say something, but his mouth is dry and no words escape. It occurs to Nick that Greg has still not uttered a word since he entered the room, but the thought is swept away as Greg drops to his knees in front of the couch with surprising grace and stretches the length of ribbon out, running it slowly through his fingers until he holds an end in each hand. He smiles at Nick again, but the smile lingers this time, curving his lips slowly and taking on an almost predatory quality that makes Nick's cock twitch and his stomach muscles contract. Still Nick cannot move, his back seems stuck to the back of the uncomfortable couch, fingers slippery with nervous sweat splayed across cheap department-issue leather.
They regard each other through the heavy veil of silence for what seems like a very long time, Greg's gaze an intoxicating, dark mixture of lust and contemplation as he seems to mull over his next move. When the move comes, it is so sudden that it rips a startled gasp from Nick. With cat-like alacrity, Greg reaches out and grasps both of Nick's wrists, braceleting them with strong fingers and yanking them out in front of the older man. Nick stares, staggered, as Greg lets out a soft laugh at his surprise and takes advantage of it. Rapidly twisting his hands and wrapping the ribbon around Nick's wrists, over and over, yanking it tight and securing the ends in a skilful knot, ensnaring, trapping, restraining. Nick looks down at his wrists, wreathed in blood red satin, and then back up at Greg. Who is much closer than he was a moment ago.
Catching his breath, Nick gulps and wonders idly, through the sharp stab of desire that incapacitates him, why he did not resist. He knows he is physically stronger than Greg, and he's sure that Greg knows that too. Because for all the idle musing he has partaken in involving the lab tech and the unexplained ribbon, he never imagined Greg to be the aggressor. Nick likes control. He needs it, and he doesn't give it up easily. And yet.
The dark eyes burning into his cut short Nick's clouded musings on submission, as Greg leans closer. His hands drop from Nick's wrists to rest on his thighs and the touch burns. So close now that Nick can feel Greg's breath, warm on his lips, strangely gratified that the younger man's exhalations are as out-of-control as his own. The hands on his thighs slide tortuously closer to his groin and Nick jerks convulsively. Another inch closer. Greg bites his own lower lip briefly. Nick shivers, simultaneously running his tongue over his lips, dry, and reflexively pulling against his ties, hands lying uselessly in his lap. Greg's lips are a whisper from his, and the need to be kissed floods him like never before. He knows he could move his head just a fraction and take Greg's mouth, slide his tongue into the delicious heat and relieve some of this pressure building inside him, but something in Greg's eyes keeps him exactly where he is.
And it's ridiculous, because he could stand up, push Greg away. Or he could stand up, push Greg against the wall and take what he wants, even with his hands tied. Isn't that what he wanted? It makes no sense for a simple glance to be so powerful, but it is. As Greg shifts ever so slightly, Nick can feel the promise of the kiss, warm against his lips and he needs it so much. Tips his head back almost imperceptibly, allowing his eyes to close, shivering as warm fingers slide up and dip under his waistband. Every muscle clenched tight in anticipation, wrists flexed against bindings and needing. Needing Greg's mouth. Now.
Denied it, eyes flying open as Greg hums with what sounds like amusement and pulls back out of Nick's space, leaving him confused and frustrated. Fighting the impromptu submission as he reaches out for his captor with tied hands, grasping a handful of rough lab coat fabric and yanking Greg closer again with a small growl of dissatisfaction. Greg merely raises his eyebrows and glances down before meeting Nick's eyes once more.
"Let go," he whispers.
The simple, soft command seems to echo around the small room. Surprised and inexplicably thrilled to hear Greg's voice at last, Nick releases him. Waits. Greg smiles faintly and slides his thumbs against Nick's belly, grazing the sensitive skin and making Nick impossibly harder, pushing painfully against too-tight denim, needing the relief of friction but not quite getting it. He can hear his own breathing, ragged and graceless, vulnerable. Heart racing into a blur. Fingertips tingling with sharp, sweet fear and anticipation. With the last sliver of coherent thought as he feels Greg's fingers easing down his zipper, Nick wonders how he will explain this to whichever of their co-workers opens the door, because surely someone will. Soon.
But then there is something agonisingly warm, soft and wet wrapped around his cock, and thoughts of any description are shattered into a thousand sparkling pieces as Nick immediately looks down at possibly the most beautiful fucking thing he has ever seen. Those perfect, soft lips, denied to him just moments ago, sliding over his pulsing erection, encircling and moving with obvious enjoyment, devouring him, sending an almost painful jolt of pure pleasure to the base of his spine. Unable to hold in the soft moan as Greg looks up at him through soot-dark eyelashes, eyes wicked as he flicks a skilled tongue over the head and continues to suck with a slow, firm, teasing rhythm, snaking one arm across Nick's hips to hold him down.
Inflamed with need, weakened by the wanton mouth around his cock and incapacitated by the tight, smooth bindings, Nick groans roughly and loops his joined hands around the back of Greg's neck, awkwardly but determinedly twisting fingers into the artfully dishevelled dark hair, urging Greg closer, encouraging, demanding, unable to break eye contact as Greg's gaze flares and he ups the pace. Nick gasps and is rewarded with a scrape of blunt nails across his exposed hipbone and a warning grunt from the mouth around him that reverberates around his cock and into his body, making every nerve ending sting with unexpected delight. Nick bites down on his lower lip hard trying to resist the compulsion to push harder into the sinful, yielding pressure of Greg's mouth, driven by the knowledge that he isn't going to last. It feels too good, and it's Greg, Greg's mouth on him, Greg on his knees in front of him, and yet Greg who tied him up and Greg who has the power here. The power that Nick gave to him willingly and easily, and he's dizzy with it.
So close. Nick whimpers involuntarily, fingers tightening in Greg's hair and sweat-slippery satin pulling at his wrists. Everything tensed, on the edge of release and he knows his eyes are pleading as they stare down into Greg's. Maybe Greg wants him to ask for it, because those eyes are flashing, and Nick has never begged for release in his life but he's beyond caring.
"Greg," he manages, breaking his silence.
Knowing his voice sounds cracked and needy. Not giving a fuck, because he has to come, he has to.
When Greg pulls back suddenly, letting Nick's cock fall out of his mouth and ducking out from under Nick's restrained hands, he feels like crying. Cool air hitting the hot, saliva-slick skin of his cock, making him shudder uncontrollably. Almost sobbing at the loss of contact, Nick shuts his eyes and tries in vain to drag his breathing under control. So fucking close. He's not sure he wants to play Greg's game any more. As he prepares to open his eyes and tell Greg so, in no uncertain terms, his parted lips are stroked and Greg's fingers slide into his mouth, gentle but insistent. Instinctively, Nick accepts them, sucking hungrily at the only part of Greg that is now touching him, swiping an eager tongue over the relief of ridges and knuckles, tastebuds dragging over smooth, blunt nails, the flavour of salt and metal and just Greg's skin.
The soft groan sounds like it is ripped from deep inside Greg and Nick's eyes do fly open now. He smiles around the fingers in his mouth as he registers the momentary loss of control evident on his possessor's face as he sucks harder. White-hot need and apprehension tearing through his body as he realizes through his lust-drunk haze exactly what Greg is planning. And how much he wants it.
Painfully hard and leaking against his stomach, Nick dips his tongue between each finger and stares right back into Greg's eyes. One handed, with some difficulty, Greg grabs Nick's wrists from his lap and pulls impatiently at the knot for a few seconds, then stops. Lowers his eyes, takes several deep, calming breaths. When he looks up again, Nick knows he's back in control, and the fingers that untie the ribbon from his aching wrists are sure. Nick flexes his hands, surprised when Greg reaches out with his free hand and laces their fingers together, gripping hard, satin pressed between their palms, and leaning close, so close that his lab coat brushes briefly across Nick's straining erection and his breath is hot against Nick's ear as he speaks.
Not a whisper this time, it's just Greg's voice, the one he uses all the time in the lab, and for some reason, it is that as well as the implication of the words that makes Nick cock jump and makes him grip Greg's hand harder as the fingers slide wetly out of his mouth. Driven by a raging tide of need, Nick obeys, shifting and twisting on the hard couch until he is kneeling up, back to Greg, freed hands gripping the cool leather and metal of the seat-back hard. Suppressing a moan as the wet, sensitive head of his cock brushes the soft hem of his t-shirt with the movement. Closing his eyes as his jeans and boxers are pulled down to mid thigh, trembling with need as Greg wastes no time in rubbing warm, spit-slippery fingers around the puckered opening and pressing greedily inside.
Nick pushes back, demanding, into the stretch, hissing as Greg's long, clever fingers stroke him open, rubbing over that spot so slowly and gently he wants to cry. The continuous, unpredictable shifts between tenderness and aggression tearing any semblance of control away from him and driving him crazy. Nick doesn't care about anything any more apart from this pure need for Greg. For Greg to fuck him, hard. Make him lose it.
"Greg...please." It's almost a sob, and he doesn't care, because if Greg doesn't stop twisting those fingers inside him right now he's going to come, and much as he wants to, needs to, he wants to do it with Greg's cock inside him so much it hurts.
Almost immediately, Greg is pressed against him, warm denim and rough cotton twill against his bare ass reminding him that Greg is fully clothed. The fingers in him stroke and rotate expertly and Nick whines through gritted teeth.
"Are you close?" Greg whispers, low and sultry, lips brushing Nick's earlobe in an intense shiver.
"Yes..." Nick grinds out.
Crying out softly with relief at the unmistakeable click of Greg's belt buckle and the rough swish of denim and cotton.
"Oh, fucking...god," he spits.
Almost losing it as Greg roughly withdraws his fingers, the harsh outward stroke making Nick catch his breath but not having time to before Greg's rock hard, heated cock is exactly where he needs it to be, nudging at the tingling wet entrance, pushing slowly inside. Nick screws his eyes shut and holds on tight to the back of the couch, feeling every inch, delicious friction against the electrified, tight passage, moaning at the relief of being finally, sensationally fulfilled.
Greg pulls back, almost all of the way out, and Nick waits, holding his breath, shivering with anticipation, for the inward stroke, but Greg pauses. One second. Two. Nick shifts impatiently, pushes back, but is stopped by a firm hand on his hip. Greg's palm is damp and warm, and there's something else. Spine tingling as he recognises the foreign texture, Nick swallow hard, uncomfortably, mouth dry as the desert. Careful hands reach around him, shaking out the length of ribbon and slowly, teasingly wrapping it around Nick's rigid, dripping cock, until the heated flesh is swathed in cool, slippery satin from root to tip. As he tugs gently on the end of the ribbon, Greg rocks an inch or two inside, and back. His soft laugh-slash-moan as Nick clenches around him involuntarily just adding to the delicious torment.
"Fuck," mutters Greg, rubbing his thumb over Nick's cock through the tight layer of satin.
God, yes. Please. Nick bites his tongue hard, drowning in sensory overload. The taste of copper in his mouth, the smell of sex and Greg in his nostrils, the blood rushing in his ears and the tight, smooth satin against his skin. He just needs...just...
When Greg moves he is somehow unprepared for it and there's no way he can keep quiet because it feels so goddamn good. Greg slams into him hard, uncompromising, no longer taunting but just fucking him as deeply and as thoroughly as he can. Gripping Nick's shoulder with one hand and his cock with the other, rubbing circles over the damp, sticky satin at the tip. Nick feels himself starting to unravel with each stroke, each rake over the bundle of nerves deep inside and each slap of Greg's skin against his ass.
He has never been owned like this, never given himself up so completely. Never imagined it would be Greg, never imagined that he would have Greg at all. Not here. Not like this. But it's right, nothing has ever felt so right, and he's whimpering, murmuring brokenly as Greg takes him harder and harder.
"Greg, I – " he starts to warn, feeling the familiar heat and ache grip the base of his spine.
"Come for me," Greg demands, and pulls hard at the end of the ribbon to release it as he pushes deep inside Nick.
Eyes flying open, Nick releases a guttural moan and comes hard. The sudden almost-friction of the slick ribbon coupled with the release of pressure and Greg's strokes inside him pushing him over the edge. Flying, falling through blissful darkness as Greg slides into him over and over again, aftershocks tingling all the way to his scalp and fingertips, smiling softly as Greg cries out his name and spills hot, sticky seed inside him.
Head spinning, Nick slowly opens his eyes and looks down at his hands gripping the back of the break room couch. Reality starting to slide back into focus, his heart stutters in his chest. He has just been systematically and exhaustively fucked by a fully clothed Greg Sanders. And a ribbon. In the break room. In the lab.
Greg's fingers stroking the skin of his back are careful and tender now and Nick shivers as Greg pulls out and away; warm, sticky fluid dribbling between them and down Nick's thighs. He turns and collapses back onto the couch, reaching out and pulling Greg into his lap. The younger man submits easily now and falls, boneless, onto the couch and into Nick's arms. Sticky, sweaty, ruffled, Greg looks up. A soft, sated smile curving his lips and the voracious light in his eyes replaced with one of warmth, content and mild curiosity.
Nick's stomach flips lightly and he returns the smile. Relieved of his submissive role and yet still feeling incapable of full sentences. And there's still something he wants.
"Kiss me," he whispers, holding the eye contact steady.
Greg's smile widens. He reaches up to stroke the back of Nick's neck, and this time the older man laughs to feel the slide of wet satin against his skin as Greg loops the crumpled, soiled ribbon around his neck and tug him closer. Engulfed by the warmth of anticipation and wellbeing, Nick leans closer for the kiss he has wanted for so long.
A harsh metallic scrape startles Nick and his eyes fly open. He frowns, puzzled, because his eyes were already open. He thinks. As he lifts his head, he winces as the not-quite-leather seat of the couch unsticks itself from his cheek. He's on the couch alone. Oh. Fuck. Cold realization sweeping over him, Nick leans up on his elbows and examines himself. He's fully dressed. Zipped up. Painfully hard and slightly damp.
"Oh, god," Nick moans under his breath, forcing himself up into a sitting position and shifting uncomfortably. He drops his head into his hands and rubs his eyes.
It felt so real. Nick sighs. He isn't sure if he's relieved or disappointed.
Nick tenses at the voice. Cold dread wraps around his spine and he doesn't look, even though he knows exactly who the voice belongs to.
"Nick?" the tone is softer this time, eliciting unwelcome but vivid flashbacks from his dream.
Stomach churning, Nick's eyes are intractably drawn over to the table. He can only hope that he didn't make any of those noises out loud, but as his eyes meet Greg's he knows that hope is pointless. The contact is explosive and Nick can't breathe. Scraping his chair across the floor once more as he pushes it away from the table, Greg stands and crosses the short distance to the couch.
Nick watches him with trepidation as he crouches down next to the couch in a bizarrely accurate imitation of his dream counterpart. Shifting with discomfort at the proximity, feeling exposed by his own subconscious, Nick looks away from Greg's searching dark eyes. Unfortunately, they fall straight onto the knotted ribbon, which is of course, still wrapped securely around Greg's left wrist.
Nick's face heats instantly and his unwanted erection pushes insistently at his zipper. Noticing his blush, Greg's eyes follow his and he laughs softly. Slowly he pushes back the heavy, navy blue sleeve and frees the knot with his right hand. Unwinds the length of ribbon from his wrist and runs it speculatively through his fingers. Nick looks up in shock as those careful fingers brush the back of his hand and trail across the inside of his wrist, repeatedly as Greg wraps the silky ribbon around Nick's wrist and knots it, before allowing Nick's hand to drop heavily back onto his thigh.
He grins, and it's a real Greg Sanders smile, the one, in fact, that made Nick start to notice him in the first place. He needs to say something. Anything, really. He doesn't suppose there are any pre-existing rules regarding what to say to a co-worker who has just discovered you having a sex dream at work and seems ok with it. Very ok, in fact.
"Look, Greg, I don't know what you heard, but I'm...ah...sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable."
"A little." Greg shrugs but he doesn't move away. In fact, he leans a little closer. "I'd love to know what I was doing."
What he was...oh fuck. Nick closes his eyes. "You knew it was about you," he whispers.
Greg laughs. "Do you think I'd have sat there listening otherwise? In fact...don't answer that."
Nick opens his eyes and traces fingers over the knot Greg has just tied around his own wrist. Heat and a surreal blend of hope and relief prickles under his skin.
"You were very inventive," Nick says eventually. No point in pretending now. "But I didn't get to kiss you."
He looks up, fully aware that his face is flushed but swallowing his pride and looking straight into Greg's eyes. Eyes that are darkened with desire, just like in his dream. Greg grins, rakes his hand through chaotic dark hair, at once confident and anxious.
"Maybe we can start with that," he says at last, leaning forward and sliding palms along Nick's thighs in a gesture that feels both familiar and brand new.
"Sounds good," Nick murmurs. Slipping his fingers under navy lapels and tugging the younger man closer. Greg, still crouching, leans in and curls one hand around the back of Nick's neck. The kiss is tentative but full of promise, mouths fitting together with spine-tingling ease, Greg's lower lip caught between his and released only to allow the soft brush of tongues and the careful tracing of the contours of the younger man's mouth as deft fingers come up to tangle in his hair.
"As for this," Greg adds when they separate to breathe. He rubs his thumb over the dark red satin covering the inside of Nick's wrist.
"Hmm?" Nick raises his eyebrows and doesn't let go of Greg.
The dark-haired lab tech smiles and the eyes that meet Nick's are full of sinful potential. "I have so many ideas."
"So do I," replies Nick. Still blushing furiously but no longer caring.
"You'd be surprised." I was, Nick thinks, and kisses Greg again.