Title: Tainted Love (1/12)
Author: Emono
Fandom: CSI: Las Vegas
Rating: NC-16
Pairing: Warrick/Greg (Grerrick)
Summary: Greg's in trouble, and Warrick has to come to term with some things.
Beta: gil_follower
Warnings: Abuse, H/C, naughty thoughts, slight Warrick-OOC
Disclaimer: CSI is guarded by the Card Soldiers from Alice in Wonderland, even if they ARE easy to beat in Kingdom Hearts
Word Count: 2987

Author's Note:
I realized that this pairing doesn't get enough love. I've been toying with it for awhile, and I really just needed to flex my literature 'Warrick' muscle a bit…I like writing him in fics. He's a very defining character, what with his addictions and that fact that he's built like a tree. Commodore isn't mine, he's actually a hockey player on the Columbus Blue Jackets. Also, I know this song doesn't quite fit, but maybe it'll make sense by the end of the story.

*Sometimes I feel I've got to
Run away I've got to
Get away
From the pain that you drive into the heart of me*

Warrick was sure he was never meant to hear it, but he did and that was all that mattered. He was delivering some lifted prints to Mandy, mentally going over a list of groceries he had to pick up before going home. He smiled faintly as he passed the DNA lab, the music coming from the lab was softer than normal but no less heavy. Marilynn Manson, if he wasn't mistaken.

"Why the hell isn't it ready?!"

The shout was coming from inside the lab, it made the CSI stop and back up to peer through the door. There was Brass's new personal lap dog, 'Commodore' they called him. His hair was heavy ginger, cut roughly to match the scruff on his cheeks. He wore his business suit, face contorted in rage. Green eyes smoldered, his bleached white teeth nearly fangs as he bared them at the trembling lab tech.

Greg was all but climbing up the wall to get away from the man, all wide/watery eyes and scared. He looked quite vulnerable; pale, nearly shaking in his lab coat, hands gloved up. A poor scientist, being reamed on his work. Or lack there of, it seemed.

"Detective Commodore, sir" Greg was trying to seem respectful, but he was obviously upset and vaguely annoyed "I'm trying, but I'm backlogged right now-"

"I don't care!" Commodore barked, advancing slightly and causing the lab tech to flinch "This is on rush, Sanders."

"No offense, sir" Greg's color returned, a spark of defiance in his eyes "But you haven't been around long if you haven't realized that everything here is on rush."

Commodore flushed with faux-righteous fury, "My evidence is top priority, Sanders, it gets run first."

"No" Greg stood up straighter, hands balled into fists at his side "I don't care who you think you are, but Brass knows how the deal. My CSI's come first and foremost, Detective Commodore."

Warrick felt a swell of pride at those words, Greg was officially part of the team. Loyal to the lab, to the real CSI's, the cops came second. It was true, Brass knew how evidence was run, who's went first and who's rush mattered. Actually, to think about it, Brass possibly sent Commodore on this mission on purpose. Unforeseen consequences…

But Commodore didn't take this well, and he stepped closer to the slighter man. Warrick wasn't going to just stand by and watch the boy get all but assaulted for loyalty, so he slipped into the lab and clasped a hand on the red head's shoulder.

"That's enough" Warrick stated lowly "You made your point, man."

Commodore glanced at the dark hand on his shoulder, "Brown, I suggest you back off."

"Then I suggest you back off my lab tech" Warrick didn't give a second thought to his words, Greg needed someone to take charge right now.

Commodore turned on him with a nasty look, "Your lab tech?"

"Yeah" Warrick's smirk was his patented 'I could knock out your lights right now' accompanied with a flex of his arms "You got something to say?"

Commodore's eyes flickered to the man's strong arms, mentally recalling his own lanky form, "…no."

"Good" Warrick wrapped insistent fingers around the man's upper arm, leading him out of the lab "All evidence will be processed in due time, Detective Commodore. Greg will call you when he has your evidence, bye."

Warrick shut the lab door behind the man, scowling before turning back to the lab tech. Greg regained his composure, half-glaring at the taller man and cocking his hips in faux-angry pose.

"You shouldn't have done that" Greg looked like himself again, but his voice was uncharacteristically soft "I can take care of myself, I was handling it.""You were scared" Warrick pointed out, watching as the brunette ducked his head and kept his eyes locked on the floor. The taller man came closer, reaching out and seizing the boy's chin in the curl of his fingers. Liquid chocolate eyes met his, shame in them from appearing so weak. "But I understand, Greggo…you've got nerves around strangers. Especially strangers who are too big for their gun holsters. You were nervous with Grissom for awhile, if I remember right. But you've got to learn to stand up for yourself a bit more against bullies, Greggo….not just retreat into yourself, ok?"

Greg flashed him a beautiful smile, "I'll try."

"I know you will" Warrick took step back, taking in that sight and wishing briefly he could put that smile on the young man's face more often "You got my results for me?"

Greg snatched a paper out of his 'done' box, brandishing it with a slight flush, "I did it first."

Warrick accepted it, looking it over briefly to confirm his theory, "Thanks, G.""No big deal, it's what I do" Greg sounded like himself, giving that patented 'I know I'm good' grin.

Warrick turned to leave, and the air shifted again.

"Warrick?" Greg sounded timid again. The older man turned, wondering briefly how Sanders could go from happy-go-luck to serious in under a minute like that.

"What is it, G?"

"Thanks for that, for defending me" still soft spoken, like he was afraid to admit he had needed held "I don't get that a lot, and I appreciate it."

"You just tell me if anyone screw with you like that again" Warrick grinned at the thought of pounding someone's face into the pavement for Sanders "I'll scare 'em straight, Greggo, no sweat."

Greg took that to heart, nodding eagerly.

»*»

Two Days Later

The sun had set on Las Vegas, but that only gave the city an excuse to light up. There, in a darker part of the city, is where the story continues. In an apartment too big for one person, a lone occupant, and a piano that looked like it had seen better days.

Warrick Brown sat on the narrow bench, a half-finished beer staining the polished surface on the piano before him. His fingers glided over the keys, a quick song resonating from the chords to vibrate the very air in the apartment. Sometimes it would slow, catch a river flow, smooth out. But eventually it would pick up again, at the whim of it's master.

Plus, it was his night off.

Warrick didn't play nearly as often as he liked, or for the reasons that he liked. He usually only sat and played at length when he needed time to think. Tonight's topic was love, relationships, and why the hell he got himself into situations that he knew for a fact were dangerous?

The fresh pang of divorce was gone after three months, and he was getting back his bachelor vibe. Thirty-four and kicking, baby. But now, after being burned by his woman, he was looking for something different. Too bad for everyone else, he was looking in one specific direction at one unique person. Lately, his heart was skipping around a certain lab tech and his dick only stiffened at the thought of wide chocolate eyes and dirty blonde spikes twisted in his fingers…pink lips wrapped around his-

"No!" Warrick growled lowly, hitting a sour note as he glared at his stirring cock "Didn't I tell you to quit that? Greg's a kid…ok, so he's only about six years young than me…but still. He listens to Manson, he looks like he's jailbait, he surfs, and he's a spazz. Do we really need that?"

Images popped into his mind uninvited. Smooth, pale skin beneath his fingertips, beneath his lips and tongue, lean thighs parting for him like water…

His hard-on strained insistently against the fabric of his sweatpants and boxers…it knew what it wanted.

"Apparently so" Warrick gave a humorless laugh, fingers picking up the "Things are going to be difficult soon, guh…"

A knock startled him, the music died away and he was left in a state of emptiness people often find themselves in when their thoughts abandon them too suddenly. It wasn't until the second knock that he realized someone was at his door. Brow creased, Warrick stood from the narrow bench and made his way to the door. He paused in front of the entrance, noting the soft sounds on the other side.

It sounded like…fingertips…

Warrick opened the door, gaping at the sight presented to him.

It was Greg (if this shocked you, raise your hand to be smacked), but not like he had ever seen the boy before. He was wrapped up in a large denim jacket, hugging it to himself protectively. His hair wasn't gelled to the max, but laid softly and more naturally against his temples and forehead. But it was mussed, like it had been run through with unsteady fingers. One hand was stuffed deep into the pocket of his jacket, the other raised with his palm flat from where it had rested on the door (just the ends of his fingers were exposed, the denim cuff kissing his knuckles.) But his face…Warrick immediately winced, something akin to lead dropping in his stomach.

Those normally warm sable eyes were bloodshot, tears staining paths down his flushed cheeks. His lips were swollen, a slight split in the corner of his mouth, they were flushed as well. Bright like a beacon on a beach was a bruise, nearly purple along the left line of his jaw.

"Hey" Warrick was the first to speak, stunned by how vulnerable the young man looked.

"Hey" Greg sighed, attempting to smile "I…I didn't wake you, did I?"

Warrick shook his head slowly, trying to process the situation.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come" Greg took the man's silence the wrong way, stuffing his other hand into his coat "I shouldn't just assume-"

"Get in here, Greggo" Warrick cut him off affectionately, stepping aside to give the other room "It's a mess, but you're welcome to it."

Greg melted in relief, his small smile genuine as he eased past the man. Warrick shut the door, taking notice of how the brunette took a hand out of his coat long enough to tug his collar farther up along his neck.

"Greg, don't take this the wrong way, but you look like hell" Warrick pointed out "Did something happen?"

"Just a little thing" Greg lied, licking his lips absently "I was wondering…if I could hang out here for a little bit, give him some time to cool off."

Something possessive stirred in the older man's belly, "Who did you fight with?"

Greg shifted uncomfortably, unsure if he should reveal this info. But Warrick was his friend, right? He wasn't going to think any less of him, would he?

"My boyfriend."

"What?" Warrick snapped, anger boiling over "He hit you? Greg, you can't stand for this! Are you going to leave him? Did you at least hit him back?"

Greg only responded with a sullen shake of his head. Warrick strode over, closing the distance between them. He placed a broad hand on the boy's cheek, locking their eyes and searching those dark depths.

"Greg…" Warrick implored, begging it not to be true "This isn't the first time, is it? He's hit you before?"

"I just…keep making him so angry" Greg's voice cracked with emotion, fresh tears spilling "Everything I say is wrong, and nothing I do is good enough…"

//He hits me because I'm not you.//

Warrick's hand trailed down the brunette's cheek, to his neck. Greg flinched at the contact, and then the CSI just knew it was worse than what he could see.

"It's more than just hitting" Warrick cursed how saddened he sounded "Let me see them."

"You'll look at me differently" Greg accused, but there was no conviction in his eyes "You'll take one look at me and think I'm…you'll think I'm a harlot or worse."

"Never" Warrick's voice did hold strength, but the brush of his knuckles along the line of the lab tech's neck was gentle "Let me see what that bastard did to you."

Greg knew he shouldn't, that his supposed lover would be pissed if he ever showed anyone his marks. But Warrick only wanted to help, he could see it in those bottomless eyes. He bit the bullet, fisting his hands in his lapel and bracing himself for the look he was going to get. Now or never, do it fast…like a band-aid. With a sharp inhale, he stripped the jacket off his shoulders and let it pool at his feet. Shoes, socks. His threadbare Black Sabbath shirt came next, revealing all his marks.

Warrick shuddered at the sight, a mixture of rage and sympathy jolting all of his nerves. Poor Greg, poor boy…all those marks. Running a critical eye over his thin form (too thin, did this boy ever eat?) he took a mental list of each injury. There, on the back of his neck, a near bloody bite. His ribs looked a bit bruised, discolored on his right side. A solid hand-shaped bruise was fading on his upper arm, someone had grabbed him and shook him hard. Discoloration circled each wrist, thin and raw, from handcuffs. More vicious teeth marks along his torso, fingerprint shaped bruises peeking out of the waistband of his jeans.

The jeans were removed, fingerprint bruises became a hand impression on his left hip. Warrick circled the younger man, eyeing the bruise from the back.

"I'm sorry Greg" Warrick whispered, though he didn't know why he was apologizing. He reached out, laying his palm gently along the bruise and letting his hand settle over it. Greg shivered at the touch, eyes fluttering shut. The darker man's hand was bigger than the one who left the imprint, it gave him a heady rush of power.

"You're not going back to him" Warrick stated, letting his chest brush the lab tech's shoulder blade.

Greg ducked his head, relishing what little contact he could get, "I can't leave him-"

"Tonight you are, I can't stand the thought of you back there" Warrick turned the brunette around, smiling warmly at him "Take my bed tonight…at least I know you're safe here."Greg blushed at the thought, "Warrick, I couldn't take your bed."

"You can and will" Warrick took his hand, gently leading him back into his bedroom. He pushed up the covers, then managed to squirm a mildly protesting lab tech under them and laid him down. "Sh-sh, Greg. Just rest tonight, you need it. I'll wake you up in time for work, don't worry. He won't hurt you here."

Warrick traced his fingertips over the boy's forehead, then turned to leave. A strong hand gripped his wrist, stopping him dead in his tracks.

"Wait" Greg's voice was quick, desperate "Can you…can you stay with me?"

When Warrick hesitated too long, the brunette released his grip and let tears fill his eyes.

"I'm asking too much" his voice was barely audible now, then he murmured something about nightmares.

"Of course I'll stay with you, G" Warrick pulled back the covers, settling himself next to the boy "My bed's way more comfortable than the couch."

Greg scooted away from him, face twisted in thought. He didn't yet know his place…if Warrick was in the same bed, then would he want him on the other side or-?

"Come 'ere" Warrick drawled, wrapping a strong arm around the thin waist and dragging the other close to him "I can't stop the nightmares from way over there, can I?"

Greg flushed darkly, " 'Spose not."

"Here" Warrick turned him on his other side, spooning behind him and keeping his arm around his torso (he was very mindful of his injuries) "Just concentrate on the feeling, you'll be fine."

Greg nodded drowsily, wiggling back until they touched from thigh to shoulders, "Thank you, 'Rick."

Greg soon slipped off to sleep, dreams no longer filled with violence…but of warm skin and soft sheets.

"You don't even know what you do to me, Greg" Warrick whispered, nuzzling brunette spikes "If you asked for this whole damn apartment, I'd give it to you. You've got me so whipped, and…I think I'm falling in love with you. Sucks, right? Oh G…you smell so good…"

Warrick melted into the other, all anxieties fading away. Greg was in his bed, in his arms, content and sleeping. Nothing like his hot dreams or even his fluffy fantasies, but it satisfied him. Maybe he had a few good courting moves left in him, maybe he could snatch up this eclectic beauty for his own?

Warrick kissed the shell of his ear, "God help the man that hurt you, Greg…cause if I ever meet him, I swear I won't be able to hold myself back with the thought that he hurt you in my head. No one's going to hurt you. As soon as I find out who he is…I'll kill him."

With that pleasant thought, he drifted off to sleep.

TBC