Title: Silent, Secret, Sacred Sounds
Author: Esynnaj
Email: Vebesahshalarc@sbcglobal.com
Permission to Archive: WWOMB, CSL Slash, all others please ask first
Disclaimers: Not mine, no way, no how
Pairing: Warrick/Grissom
Rating: FRAO
Summary: Gil, like Frank Sinatra, does it his way.

SILENT, SECRET, SACRED SOUNDS

This day, during these morning hours just before dawn, he will be mine to do with as I wish.

These times aren't often. He prefers mutual engagement when we make love. He wants acknowledgement from me that I'm into whatever we're doing as much as he is. He needs audible verification of my passion, a visible reaction that denotes I am "with" him. More often than not, I make every possible attempt to deliver that to him and am frequently helpless not to do as he desires. He's a sexual artiste, a gifted and creative technician in the boudoir with the tender touch of a musician that has been patient enough to learn how to skillfully draw reluctant sounds of love from a wayward instrument, the instrument being me. He has never believed passivity has a place in a relationship. I disagree. He is still a young man, very much in shape, an active and athletic lover and I love that about him. No session of intercourse with him is like any other and each is enthralling. He has spoiled me. He gives all of himself to me whenever we're together. Of course I want this from him but it isn't always desirable that I receive it. Now is such an occasion. I am not a young man. This ending of the night, all I want is his stillness, his silence and his submission.

Why do I want this? That is difficult to explain. There are two possible, interconnected reasons. I grew up in a home where vocalization was not a primary tool we used because my mother's deafness had made it unnecessary. Sign language had always been our favored form of interaction solely because of the ease with which she and so many of her also deaf friends had used it. Throughout my childhood and into adolescence, speech was a secondary means of communication. Already an emotionally detached child, I became a ghostly, withdrawn teenager additionally isolated myself from social contact, a self-imposed situation that has continued until adulthood.

Then as I began to suffer from the same genetic disease leading to deafness as my mother had, I discovered I was not totally displeased by my increasing isolation from the greater society brought on by my lost of hearing. Indeed it was a relief in not having the noise of all those unwanted voices coming at me so constantly. There was a peace in that quiet and cessation of auditory input. If it had not been for the fact that I very much love and need my job as a forensic scientist, I never would have gone in for the surgery that relieved my condition. To keep that career, there is the requirement that I interact professionally interact with co-workers, supervisors and others, often in repetitive and tedious social setting But I have missed that hushed peacefulness and now seek to rediscover it whenever and wherever it might come available to me, which is always with the one most important to me.

Warrick had just come off seventeen days of straight shifts, three of them doubles, and I should have let him sleep. It had been a difficult night with four homicides, one of them an abused child which always tears the crew up and another being the beating death of a young prostitute by her pimp. The girl had been a slight acquaintance of Warrick's and her brutal demise had left him in a simmering funk that only, after we had gotten home, our making easy love together, showering together and settling down to sleep together, had seemed to relieve. So I should have left him alone to get his rest. But I could not. When I awakened in the darkened bedroom and it was all so calm and serene, so much like it had been when my hearing was fading in and out, the opportunity to take advantage of the situation had been too irresistible.

When I opened my eyes, it was to find myself curled up next to him with my head on his shoulder, his arm beneath me flung out then bent so his fingers were tangled in my hair. Thoroughly exhausted, he was sprawled on his back and lightly snoring, his lean length taking up three quarters of the bed, deep into his much needed slumber. For awhile, I left him there and spent a brief period lying beside him and caressing him just to feel the rippling of his muscles under my hand, running them into the short curves of six-packed abdominals, sliding my legs up and down and between his longer ones. It was not until I began to gently massage his nipples, finally pinching them until they hardened into sharp little points then began to nibble on the lob of his ear that he started to stir, frowning a bit and mumbling in his sleep.

But I wanted the silence to continue. So I rose onto my knees and placed one hand over his mouth while letting the other slip down to his groin and meander about his genitals, not touching them just yet, only moving around them in a semi-circular pattern. I felt his breathing roughen, felt the cooler air of him breathing out against my hand and pressed harder against his lips to keep him quiet as I realized he was regaining consciousness. The bedroom was too far dark for me to see his eyes opening, but I could tell by his body movements that he had awakened and I hoped he could understand what I wanted.

He did. We had done this before. As I said, it was not his preference, but he would do it for me. After the tension of a momentary confusion, dazed and not liking that my hand was over his mouth, he relaxed and laid still, said nothing, thereby giving me permission to do what I pleased. Having received this, I released his mouth and I pushed the covers off him to commence with my explorations, starting with the top of his head and proceeding to the soles of his feet. Lying partially on him, I bury my fingers in the thick, wiry dark, brown curls atop his head and begin a firm massaging of his scalp at the same time I'm pushing my lips onto his to demand that he allow me entrance. With a soft sigh, he opens up to me and I insert my tongue into his mouth, curling it around his before withdrawing it to run it along the outer edging of his teeth and slipping it further to lick at the inside of his cheeks. This is, for awhile, a leisurely and playful investigation of his oral cavity, one in which I let him join to meet me halfway. But then I dig deeper to plunge as far as I can, sucking at him as if I wanted to pull all of him inside all of me, which I would if I could, pulling the air from him into myself as he tries to breathe, pressing the whole length of myself against him as I try to make us one. He wants to move but I need him totally complacent and compliant, so place his arms back at his sides or above his head each time he attempts to put them around me.

I slip my hands about his head just under his chin and hold him there as I take my time kissing those lips, loving their fullness and softness, loving that all I'm beginning to hear from him are a succession of quiet sighs and quick, passionate breaths while the excitement rises in him as I have my way with him. I move my mouth to the sides of his face, to his ears, inside them and behind them, turning his head to wherever I want it to be so I can get at the area I wish most to access. I adore the feel of them, his ears, how pliant and moveable they are, how I can put the whole of them in my mouth, loving how he shivers when I insert my tongue into them and how that series of shivers are matched by a series of muffled moans he can't prevent when I gently bite the lobs then kiss away the feel of my teeth. I then slide further down to gnaw at his throat, thrilled by the trembling that is increasing in him. I have an urge to mark him and obey it, causing enough pain that he flinches. I realize that I've bitten him harder than I meant to, but am too enamored at the notion of seeing my mark on him in the light of day to regret my action. I kiss it, to make it better, and move on with other things I know will soon make him forget that one small thing.

I shift to lie wholly on him, sliding downward, running my hands over the broad shoulders and muscular forearms as I use them for leverage to position myself. The man had been genetically gifted with a physique many would kill for and had spent many hours working out in the gym to make improvements upon it. To think that all this is all mine, that he actually belongs to and with me, is a wonder I can never get over. Taking each side in turn, I close my eyes to suckle at his breast, tugging as much of the surrounding chest muscle into my mouth as I can while pinpointing one nipple then the other with a flickering tongue. His breathing pattern quickens and he's making a desperate attempt to maintain the silence and stillness I require, muffling his own unpreventable sounds with the back of his hand, quivering like a leaf as he tries hard to remain without motion. I smile and do nothing to ease his torment, knowing it's one he can withstand.

I sit up on him to let my hands ghost lingeringly over and along the sides of his torso, loving its lithe hardness. I'm into using my tactile senses now. I want to enjoy what a close study of his various textures will bring me. I finger his ribs, which tickles him and almost makes him laugh but he struggles against it and succeeds in strangling it back. I lean down to dip my tongue into his navel to worry it and this causes him to rise up, just a bit, making the sweetest, most helpless sound before he is able to relax once more. Then I slid further down until I'm sitting on his legs.

I make no effort to touch anything about his groin area. I'm not ready for that as yet. Instead, I skirt all of that and begin my rambling journeying of kisses and caresses over his hips, moving inward to concentrate on both inner thighs as I spread his legs wide apart. I lift them to tuck my head down and kiss the back of his knees, finding and liking the looseness of the soft flesh that matches his inner elbow which I had previously explored then lay them back down to run my open mouth very, very slowly up and down along the hard ridge on the top of his lower legs. This was after I had thoroughly kissed and nipped at his calves and before I moved down to pick up both his feet, holding a heel in each hand, and slide my lips over his soles until I felt his toes curling and heard him panting in short, harsh breaths.

That was when I moved back up to quickly, well before he had any expectation of it, to take his cock in hand to suck it all the way down until my nose was tight against his body. And yes indeed, a very hard body it was, I thought as I rode up and down on that hardened pole of flesh. But it had areas of softness, each of which I had just located during an extended episode of foreplay. The underarms, behind the knees, inside the elbows, the ears that had felt like flowering buds in my mouth, his balls that were still loose and heavy as I manipulated them, those nipples when they had been not yet erect, this cock when my face had brushed against it and it had not yet been fully erect as it was now. Because of that, I had to ease up and allow myself to breath, masturbate him as I continued to nibble, lick and chew on the head of him while pushing and pulling his foreskin back and forth. It simply is not possible for a human being to deep throat Warrick Brown for too long a time. The man is definitely hung. Just as the DNA received from his parents had given him such a beautiful body, it had bequeathed to him more than his fair share when it came to sexual endowments.

But I want to experience the smell and taste of him awhile longer. I sniff at him as I tease him with my hands and mouth, catching the scent of his cleanness and that muskiness that was growing beneath the cleanliness as he began to sweat. His juices were flowing and I licked at them, sucked them in, swallowed them and wanted more of them. They were nectars of the gods, my nectars and no one else's. I push his knees up, spreading them until I can get at his perineum to lick it before moving further down and forcing my tongue beyond the sphincter muscle of his anus. That quickens and pulls sounds of near suffocation from him as he attempts to keep quiet for me. I smile and let it go. The funky mixture of his odors and his moisture was beginning to drive me toward the same place where he was at, that place of no return. Neither one of us was going to last much longer.

He was growing more and more restless now, becoming less and less able to contain himself. I could sense he was right on an ecstatic edge of climax and I wanted to be with him when he went there. He reaches for my head, wanting me to take him down again, but I shake his hands off and with a frustrated noise, he lies back again. By that submission, he acknowledges that he will allow me the control he finally is fully aware must be what I have to have, is what I sought so lays back in shimmering silence. However, I have no intentions of forcing him to suffer much longer. Sitting up and shifting hands so I never cease working on him, I lift one of his legs then the other onto my shoulders. He snags the lube from the nightstand and hands it to me, aware of what was coming next and not wanting anything to impede the progression to the finish line. I screw off the top of the tube with my teeth then squirt a goodly amount up and down right between his buttocks. My own level of excitement is now becoming more than I can handle and my groans are beginning to match his. My entire body feels as if all of it is heating up, swelling up, tightening up like a balloon that has been inflated to the point of being about to burst. I am now as inflamed as he is.

After all the time and care I had expended to reach this instant, suddenly I want to mount and simply slam into him as deep as I can, ride down so far inside him, that I come out his mouth, for heaven's sake. I sink my finger into him then two and swiftly three, but do so hurriedly, which I usually do not do. I'm not taking nearly enough time to prepare him but I just can… not… wait any longer.

I lift his legs and thrust hard, penetrating him with a single stroke. Warrick cries out, his hands slamming loudly against the headboard as he grabs the under edge of it in his enthusiasm. But now, that is perfect. I have got to hear him, have to know I'm pleasing, not hurting him, that what I'm doing is what he wants as I completely forget about what he wants to go after what I've also got to have.

I hold onto his legs and find a rhythm, pumping deep and pumping hard without reservation right from the start, and Warrick is right there with me. I can hear his short, breathy laughter rising up now and can almost see the grin that I'm sure is on his face. He's caught my rhythm, joined it and is taking the trip to heavenly oblivion with me. Warrick is always avidly into his lovemaking, brings a lusty joy and laughter to it. Despite myself, I find I can't maintain the treasured silence I had been seeking. I turn my head to the ceiling and groan aloud as I ream his depths, my ears now not turning from but abruptly and outright seeking the sounds of our love. They are wet and wild, those sounds, flesh slapping against flesh, the oozing viscosity of my thickness slipping gloriously in and out of his anal canal, my moans and groans, whimpers and whines, huffs and puffs now intermingling with his.

I'm gripping his legs, had completely failed to remember to work his cock as I worked mine inside him. So Warrick was doing it for himself. I could feel the movements of his hands as he masturbated and I suddenly wanted to watch him do that. So I fumbled for the bedside lamp, got to see his eyes, dazzled by the brightness, adjust to it as he never missed a stroke and I resumed my stride. He blinked against the soft glare and grinned up at me and I had to smile back. But the loving humor couldn't last, we were both so close to what all of this was being done to achieve.

With his eyes losing their focus and gripping his own cock, squeezing it with both his hands, Warrick's body arched up, shooting jism skyward, long and hard, so it landed all over him and on me. The muscles of his ass clenched tight around my cock and that, of course, pushed me over into the same territory where he was going. Flinging my head back, keening loud and long, filling him with my fluids, we were together again, both of us singing our passion and pleasure to the ceiling as one.

It was several moments before I could move, before I could ease out of him and gently lower his legs. Then I went into the bathroom, got a hand towel and wet it down with warm water. I came back, cleaned him up so he could rest more comfortably and lay down next to him. He moved in close to me so he could rest his head on my shoulder and I do believe he might have had something to say about what we had just done if it hadn't been for the fact he went to sleep before he could. Smiling down on him, I pulled the covers up over him and watched him sleep awhile.

My poor, tuckered out baby. Old man that I am, I had still worn him out. You have no idea how proud that makes me feel.