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ANewStart

Page history last edited by PBworks 14 years, 1 month ago

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of these guys or their universes; they belong to their respective writers and TV production companys. It's my belief that The Calletto is fictional as I pulled the name out of the air, apologies if one already exists.

A/N: A challenge set by candymike on LJ. My PWP grew a plot… don’t you just hate it when that happens?!


 

A New Start.

 


Chapter 1

 

A fresh start, that’s what he needed. He had to get away from Walt and Sarah; they were driving him insane. There was an apocalypse coming, and he still had no idea what Stillson’s connection to it was. It was all too much, fame, responsibility, he’d not really been himself since those identical twins set him up to humiliate him. So, he was finally giving his ex-fiancée and her husband what they wanted… he was leaving them alone with his son JJ, so they could raise him without complications from his relationship with the boy.

 

The Rev’d Purdy had screwed him over but he’d managed to salvage some of his inheritance before the man was dragged off to prison for various different fraud charges. It had set him up nicely in Vegas.

 

He wasn’t sure why he’d picked there, it was a big city, lots of people, but he could have got that anywhere, LA, New York… But when he’d sat down with his road atlas, something had called out to him. He followed the instinct and found himself across the other side of the states, on the edge of the desert, and pretty much as far as he could get from Maine and still be in the same country, with the exception of Southern California. It wasn’t just the physical distance that made the city so different, it was a whole other world from Cleaves Mills, the small town in Maine that he hailed from. He had hoped he could just blend into the background where no one knew him.

 

That was the plan, however, things hardly ever go the way you want them to. Of course, you can make an effort not to go looking for trouble, but that had never helped him in the past, it always seemed to find him… and it looked like it was sticking true to form. The only difference was, now no one knew him here, they would just think of him as some crazy person.

 

That was how he came to be there when it happened, how he’d ended up in hospital. He sat propped up on the bed, waiting, he’d been told there was a cop wanted to talk to him about what had happened. He knew it was procedure, but he also knew that they would be extra keen to talk to him, the other’s would, no doubt, have informed officers that he’d called out before the explosion.

 

“Mr…Smith?” The cop’s voice was dubious as he pulled back the privacy curtain; almost convinced he’d been given a fake name.

 

“John Smith.” He replied, his hand pressing the pad against the gash on his arm. He nodded to it as if to explain that was why he was unable to shake his hand.

 

“Detective Brass.” The cop said, pulling up a seat.

 

******

 

“Is that the security tape from the explosion?” Gil asked, as he leaned over Nick to peer at the screen.

 

“Yeah, take a look at this.” He rewound the tape.

 

The film was pretty clear for security images and had sound built in. The replayed image showed a man with a walking cane calling out, and he span round covering a young woman with his own body shortly before the explosion tore through the lobby. The camera went off line then.

 

“He knew before it happened.” Nick stated. “You think he’s our suspect?”

 

“I’m not sure, why call out a warning and pull someone out of the way?” Gil pondered. He pulled his glasses off, putting the arm between his lips as he studied the paused image that focused on the man.

 

“Come on, Griss, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the guy who set up the explosions so he could be a hero?” Nick stated.

 

“Perhaps he saw something off camera, he does seem to be looking in the distance.” Gil played devil’s advocate, not because he believed the man’s innocence but because as CSI’s it was their jobs to not assume anything, but to follow all evidence.

 

Nick replayed it again. A man bumped the guy with the cane, and then he seemed to stare off into the distance for a moment before he moved into action. Griss frowned, rewound and hit pause as he was bumped.

 

“Maybe this guy said something to him?” He pointed to the man who was wearing a black bomber jacket and combat pants.

 

“I guess it’s possible.” Nick conceded.

 

“Find out who they are and go talk to them, all the injured were taken to the Desert Palms.” Gil instructed as he straightened up but didn’t take his eyes off the man with the cane that was frozen on screen.

 

******

 

“I don’t know what I can tell you.” Johnny told Brass. He wasn’t lying of course, while there was plenty he *could* tell him, he got the feeling that the detective wouldn’t actually believe a word of it. “It all happened so fast.”

 

“Anything you can tell us will help.” Brass instructed, his tone was not totally acidic but there was still an obvious attitude of distrust.

 

Before Johnny could respond, the curtain was pulled aside again. The dark-haired man that stood there acknowledged the bulldog like cop with a nod.

 

“Nick Stokes, Vegas Crime Lab.” The Texan drawled, automatically holding out his hand.

 

Johnny looked towards his injury, “Sorry.” He offered for his inability to shake his hand. “Johnny Smith.”

 

“So I believe.” The CSI’s tone was difficult to read, he was cool professionalism, but Johnny couldn’t help but wonder why he was here.

 

“I’m going to need your clothes to process them.” Stokes was slipping on a pair of latex gloves.

 

Johnny was still in his pants but they’d given him a gown for his top half, his shirt lay on the chair beside the bed with a bloody rip across the sleeve. He nodded his head towards it to indicate that the CSI was free to take it. He wasn’t entirely sure about giving him his pants; he had no replacement for them. He wondered if he could maybe get a set of scrubs from a nurse, as he could hardly go home in a hospital gown.

 

“I have a few questions for you too.” Nick was saying as he placed the shirt into a brown bag. “I’ll need your pants as well, do you have anyone who can bring you some clothes in?”

 

The blond shook his head, “I live alone, and I’ve only been in town a few weeks.”

 

“I’ll have a word with a nurse.” He stated. “Do you need help?”

 

He shook his head, he didn’t want the CSI to touch him, god only knew what he would see. Johnny slipped off the bed and unbuttoned his jeans, slowly. He slid them down and stepped out of them as they pooled around his feet. Reaching down he winced as it pulled the wound on his arm.

 

Thinking to save him the effort, the dark-haired Texan bent down to retrieve the pants from the floor. Their hands brushed just above the fabric.

 

There was a spinning feeling and when it settled Johnny felt trapped, looking round him he was encased in plexi-glass, he felt panic rising up in him and he was kicking and hammering on it; only he knew it wasn’t him. The hands and body weren’t his, and the voice that came from him as he yelled futilely weren’t his. As quickly as he’d found himself in the vision he was back in the hospital. He shook his head to rid himself of the feeling.

 

“Hey man, you ok?” The CSI was asking.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Johnny rubbed his head, trying to cover his strange behaviour “Guess I just moved too quick.”

 

“You need a hand back onto the bed?” Nick’s voice was concerned, and the psychic appreciated that, but the last thing he needed was to be touched again.

 

He shook his head. “I’ve got it.” And he eased himself back on to the bed.

 

“Right then,” CSI Stokes pulled up a seat after sealing up the clothing in brown paper evidence bags. He took out a note pad and pen. “The security footage was quite interesting. Can you tell me why you called out and pulled that lady out of the way before the explosion?”

 

Johnny closed his eyes, well that was straight to the point. No beating around the bush for this guy. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by the sound of a cell phone going off. He watched Nick cringe as he reached into his pocket.

 

“Gotta take this.” The Texan said, apologetically. He stepped outside the curtained area and flipped it open. “Stokes?”

 

“Nicky… I managed to get hold of some information on Mr.Smith.” Gil said, his tone neutral.

 

“Oh?”

 

“Seems he has a bit of a history, working with the Sheriff’s department up in Maine.”

 

“In what way?”

 

“Claims to be a psychic.” Grissom stated simply. The evidence in front of him seemed quite compelling, but he was the sort of man who believed in withholding judgment until he could examine the evidence.

 

Nick snorted his response to that idea, ever the sceptic.

 

“Did you get anything from him, yet?” Gil enquired.

 

“Not yet.”

 

“Just…bring him in, I want to observe the interview.” The CSI supervisor was closely eyeing footage from before the blast again. Rewind, play… pause… rewind… There was just something about Mr Johnny Smith.

 

“Change of plans.” Nick reappeared round the curtain as he was slipping his cell phone back in his pocket. “My boss wants you to come in to answer our questions, when the doc finishes fixing you up. I’m gonna go see how long that will be.”

 

Johnny didn’t know whether he should be relieved or not. At least if he wasn’t in the hospital when he told them he was psychic they wouldn’t send him straight to the psychiatric ward. He closed his eyes, holding the pad tightly against his arm, he was mentally reviewing what he’d seen when his hand had brushed the CSI’s, he didn’t know if that was a past event or a future one. Did he warn them or not mention it; he simply didn’t have enough information so he should probably engineer another of those brief touches to gain more.

 

Nick returned with a set of scrubs for the blond, and he handed them over. Johnny deliberately caught his hand as he took them. Things span and he was there…but the vision was very different this time. An argument… a lover’s argument. It wasn’t related to what he’d seen earlier… this was something else. This was about selling a car, but was obviously about much bigger issues. He came out of the vision, filing the information away for later.

 

The blond struggled to pull the bottoms on and sat back on the bed.

 

“The doc said he’d be through in a minute. The gash needs stitches.” Nick told both men.

 

Jim Brass was a curious man, he didn’t like being left out of the loop, and it was obvious that something was going on that he didn’t know about. That was only confirmed with Nick’s eagerness to get the witness…or was he a suspect now… to the station.

 

******

 

It wasn’t much later that Johnny found himself sitting in an interrogation room across from the short detective and the dark-haired CSI. His eyes drifted to the two way mirror. He held the silver top of his cane in one hand, the other hand rested in his lap. The gash had been two inches long and deep; the doctor had told him that he’d been very lucky. It would take a while to heal properly.

 

He picked up the plastic cup of water and instantly the room shifted.

 

Johnny arched up from the bed silently begging his lover for more. Silently, because of the gag that kept him so. Sure, he could moan and grunt around it but it was just incoherent noises, which was just as well, because he wasn’t sure he could form coherent words and thoughts if his life depended on it. He tugged at the ties binding his wrists to the headboard as his lover thrust in again, he hit the sweet spot repeatedly and the blond was sure he was going to die of pleasure. It had never been like this before in his life, with anyone. Even the visions were leaving him in peace while they made love.

 

The man leaning over him was sexy, for an older man, his salt and pepper hair, his neatly clipped beard, and the most amazing grey-blue eyes, which seemed to analyse everything, constantly. Johnny wondered how he got so lucky and as he twisted and turned beneath his lover he didn’t really care.

 

Then just as he was losing himself in the moment, the world skewed and settled and he was back in the interrogation room, staring into the two-way mirror, while the cop and CSI Stokes waited for him to answer their question. Johnny pulled his eyes away from the mirror and looked at the other two men. He set the cup back down without taking a drink. He was painfully aroused from the vision, and grateful that he was sat down at a table.

 

The question had, unsurprisingly, been asked again. “I saw it.” He told them, “A man brushed past me, it triggered a vision and I saw the explosion. At first I didn’t know when but as I looked around I realised that things were almost the same as they were in the vision. I saw the woman hit, she wasn’t going to die but she was going to lose the baby she’s carrying.”

 

“You expect us to believe that you’re a psychic.” Nick said, sceptically.

 

“You’re entitled to believe what you like, but you asked how I knew what was going to happen, and I told you. I saw what I saw.” Johnny leaned back, his tone non-confrontational.

 

He was used to people’s disbelief in the face of what he told them… in fact, it had been that which had disillusioned him more than anything. No matter how many times he was proven right, people would always hesitate when he told them anything.

 

******

 

Gil stood on the other side of the glass watching the questioning. Mr Smith was even more intriguing in the flesh; he had mussed blond hair that almost invited being played with, and the most startling blue eyes. It was easy to see an other-worldliness about him; especially when he looked through the mirror right at him. Grissom shuddered. He didn’t *not* believe in psychics but he needed evidence, he was a scientist, he dealt in hard facts. The information that had been faxed to him was compelling, he had quite a track record from Maine, but that remained to be seen for himself.

 

He put in a quick call to find out about the woman whom he had shielded.

 

******

 

“Well you see Mr Smith, either we believe that you’re psychic or we believe that you were in some way involved in the explosion.” Brass’ sarcastic tone cut in.

 

Johnny looked at him, unfazed. “As I said, believe what you like, the evidence… as they say… will speak for itself.”

 

“Give us a reason to believe you?” Nick asked him, trying to understand the cool exterior that the man was portraying.

 

The blond psychic raised an eyebrow, his lips tugged up on one side. “Stop thinking about selling your car, it might not seem like a big deal to you, but it’s a big issue to your lover. The more you push the further away you’ll drive…” He hesitated, not wanting to out the CSI if his colleagues were in the dark about his orientation, “…them.”

 

Nick’s eyebrows shot up, he still had a stalker complex, but how could anyone possibly know about that, and how could he know that Greg was protesting? They hadn’t talked about it to anyone.

 

“It’s not about the car.” Johnny pointed out, “It’s about the decision making process and feeling left out. Like their opinion doesn’t count.” He knew that second vision would come in useful.

 

The detective was still looking completely unconvinced, of course, he knew nothing about Nick and his mystery lover selling their car.

 

“How do you now that?” Nick’s voice shook slightly, even as he tried to fill it with steel.

 

“When your hand touched mine at the hospital, I saw it.” He shrugged and stated simply. “You do realise that while you’re wasting your time on me, there’s a bomber still out there.”

 

“Ok. Say that we believe you.” Nick started but was interrupted by a derisive snort from the detective sat beside him. He shot Brass a look. “Just for hypothetical sake. This guy who brushed against you and gave you the ‘vision’, he would be the bomber?”

 

Johnny shook his head and tried to explain, “Not necessarily. Sometimes it works like that, but it could just be because he was about to be a victim of it.”

 

******

 

In the viewing room, Gil was on the phone, the nurse he was talking to confirmed that the woman that had been pulled out of the way was indeed pregnant, but even she hadn’t known she was until they were checking her out. He flipped his phone shut with a frown on his face; there really was no way for Johnny Smith to know that information. He paged Nick the information.

 

******

The vibration on his belt caused the Texan to check his pager; he read it twice to be sure. “How did you know the woman was pregnant?”

 

“It was in my vision. She’s ok, she’s going to have a healthy baby boy.” Johnny smiled.

 

Nick and Brass looked at each other.

 

On the other side of the glass, Grissom was pretty much convinced. His mind was already rushing ahead to the potential for the psychic to help them find the perpetrator.

 

Chapter 2

 

It had been four days and they still had nothing. They had managed to collect together most of the components of the bomb that was used in the blast, but there had been nothing remarkable about it and they had gained no trace or prints from it. The bomber had been very careful. Gil climbed out of his car and looked at the impressive residence that he had parked in front of. He knew he would take some stick for this but there really was nothing to lose at this point, the trail was cold and for all they knew the bomber could strike again. And he knew that he would feel the heat for that.

 

He walked up to the door and rang the bell. He waited a few minutes before the door was pulled open. The blond smiled at him as if he was an old friend and that was somewhat unnerving for the CSI.

 

“Gil Grissom, Vegas Crime Lab.” He introduced himself, holding out one hand, he held his kit in the other hand.

 

Johnny smirked, “Are you sure you want me to shake that hand?”

 

“I have nothing to hide, Mr Smith.” Gil stated.

 

The psychic nodded, shaking the offered hand. The world skewed then straightened, the vision was erotic, and the man holding his hand was now leaning over him, naked, thrusting into him. Steely blue-grey eyes holding his own captive as he thrust his hips up to meet him. He tried to reach out to touch the man but he was suddenly aware that his hands were bound to the headboard. He was writhing in ecstasy. He hoped to god that he was himself in his vision because, for an older man, Gil Grissom was incredibly sexy.

 

He came out of the vision and coughed to cover the groan he wanted to release. His cock had responded with enthusiasm, it had been too long since he last had sex; it had been such an unmitigated disaster after all.

 

Gil tilted his head to the side, watching the blond man, his blue eyes were captivating, and they seemed to be looking at something beyond him. Then he was back with it and he seemed to remember that they still had hold of each other’s hands at that moment, and let go.

 

“You better come in.” Johnny’s voice was thick with lust as he gestured the CSI into his home and closed the door behind him.

 

Gil looked around the entrance hall, it was classically furnished, and he couldn’t deny that the man had taste as well as being incredibly handsome. He should have sent Nick, he knew he should, or even Greg, but he couldn’t help himself. After watching the psychic in the interrogation room he wanted to meet him, speak with him, get to know him and how he did what he did. He wasn’t a suspect anymore and so technically was no longer off limit, and his visit was very much unofficial, despite the small evidence bag that was in his kit containing an inconsequential fragment from the bomb.

 

“Can I get you something to drink?” Johnny offered as he led the way through to his kitchen. Some how, no matter how big the house or where he lived, he always seemed to end up in the kitchen.

 

“Coffee would be great, thanks. This is a very nice house.” Gil stated, leaving unasked the question of how it was funded. He hadn’t seen anything to indicate that Mr Smith used his abilities for financial gain, but he couldn’t help but wonder.

 

“What can I do for you, Mr Grissom?” Johnny asked bluntly, as he took down mugs and poured two cups from the pot he’d just made.

 

“We’ve not made any headway on the case, and I came to see if you would help us with your unique talent, Mr. Smith.”

 

“Johnny, please.” He looked over at the older man as he leaned his butt against the counter. His gaze took in the short salt and pepper hair, the neatly trimmed beard, and the intelligent eyes framed by spectacles, he already knew from his vision that those clothes covered a once toned physique showing signs of softening with age, and from the feel of what had been thrusting into him, he was well endowed also. He was a distinguished looking man and he could understand all to well how he could end up tied to the bed under him.

 

“You’ve brought something with you for me to look at?” He asked, trying to keep his mind out of his trousers.

 

Gil nodded and bent down to open his kit and retrieve the evidence bag. Johnny watched him, the shift of muscles under the shirt as he stretched, the hands that looked strong yet capable of carrying out delicate tasks.

 

The blond carried the coffee across to the table; he sat down, opposite the CSI. Looking at the evidence bag that now sat in front of him.

 

“May I?” He glanced up, reaching out towards it.

 

Grissom nodded, and pushed it across to him.

 

Johnny opened the bag and tipped the contents onto the table as gently as he could. It was only a small charred fragment and he was nervous about what he would see when he touched it. He’d seen a lot in his time and he was surprised that after all that he still wasn’t so jaded that the nerves still preceded a moment like this.

 

Taking a deep breath he reached out with two fingers and touched the fragment. A rush of noise and vision, his head span and when it settled, he was looking down on a man assembling the bomb. Music was playing in the background, a radio station, he realised as chatter interrupted the music. The man assembling the components had been singing along, he continued to hum even as the presenter spoke. Only paying it slight attention with one ear listening out for a date or some words that may allow them to identify it. Johnny looked around the room, it was dingy; old nicotine stained wallpaper was peeling from the walls. It looked like a single room containing a bed, armchair and small kitchen area. The carpet bore a dated pattern and several innocuous stains. The small laminate table that the man was working on was every bit as old and dated. Johnny felt like he was back in the sixties.

 

The man was wearing latex gloves, he realised as he studied the hands closely, they were working carefully, the man obviously knew what he was doing, he had no instructions to refer to. The bomb maker looked to be in his thirties; he had short black hair cut neatly. His face was non-descript, not handsome and not ugly, and while the room looked like it had seen better days, he was clean and presentable in jeans and t-shirt. He was Mr Average.

 

Johnny gathered as much information as he could; looking at the components on the table he was fairly sure that the man was making more than one bomb. He looked out of the window, and caught a glimpse of a red neon sign on the building opposite, declaring “Girls!” Not very helpful all things considered.

 

A cell phone rang and the man answered it cheerfully, “Carson.” He prompted.

 

The vision twisted and he was back in his own kitchen, Johnny jerked his hand back from the fragment like he’d been burnt.

 

“Did you get anything?” Gil asked, curiously.

 

“Oh yeah. I saw him. He’s an average looking guy in his thirties, dark hair and eyes, lives in a really grotty one roomed apartment; he used the name Carson, I’m fairly sure it’s his name but first or last name, I couldn’t tell. And I’m fairly sure he’s made more than one of these things, but I have no clue what he plans to do with the other.” He sighed, taking a drink of his coffee.

 

Grissom tilted his head, his usual ‘I’m considering the evidence’ pose. “You got all that from a scrap of burnt metal?”

 

Johnny smirked, “Size isn’t everything,” He let the double meaning sit there before carrying on, “it’s the psychic energy that goes into it.” He realised how dippy he sounded saying that and his forehead creased up almost in embarrassment.

 

The older man quirked a smile at the blond’s grimace, wondering what had caused it.

 

“I just realised how incredibly ‘new aged’ that sounded.” Johnny explained.

 

Gil laughed and the blond joined in. If he couldn’t laugh at himself then who could he laugh at? He ran a hand absently through his blond hair, mussing it up even more.

 

“I don’t know how much help all that is to you? I could describe the guy to one of your sketch artists.” He offered.

 

“It gives us a starting point, I was afraid he might have more targets in mind, there doesn’t seem to have been any reason for the last bomb. Did you get any clue as to why?”

 

Johnny shook his head, “He wasn’t angry though, seemed calm and relaxed, singing along to the radio while he made the bombs. There’ve been no demands or threats, right? So that rules out money.”

 

He watched Gil pull off his glasses and chew on the end of the arm, thoughtfully. Piecing together the bits of information they now had.

 

“You think it’s possible he did it for fun?” The blond contemplated as he sipped his coffee.

 

The CSI nodded, “It’s certainly a possibility.” He was taking out his cell phone as he took a gulp of cooling coffee. Hitting a number on speed dial, he waited for it to connect.

 

“Nick, I need you to cross reference a name for me.” Gil spoke into the phone.

 

Johnny watched him, replaying the vision that he’d got from touching Grissom and adding his own fantasy to it. He wondered how they would end up there. He remembered the disaster that he’d had when he tried to have sex last time, his visions going totally crazy; the bedroom had been full of ghosts. He wondered if that would happen this time, he certainly hoped not.

 

He had vagued off into his own little world and didn’t realise that his guest had finished his call until he felt a brush against his hand. The reaction it caused was not what he expected; there was no rushing vision, just a tingle that shot along his arm and down his spine. Johnny blinked and looked into Gil’s analytical gaze.

 

“Sorry, sometimes I wander off.” If he were prone to blushing he would have been crimson, being caught daydreaming was entirely different to being wrapped in a up vision.

 

Grissom’s eyes crinkled as he smiled warmly, “that’s ok.” He’d pulled his hand back as soon as he’d caught the other man’s attention. The brief contact had been strangely arousing. The man was utterly captivating and he found himself not wanting to leave.

 

“Nick’s going to do some research into the name, cross checking against known felons with a tendency towards playing with explosives.”

 

“That’s good, I’m sorry I couldn’t give you more. It’s not a great deal to go off, I know.” Johnny apologised.

 

“I must admit; I’m intrigued by what you can do. I was cynical at first, but you convinced me when you convinced Nick.” Gil smiled. “Of course, I read a lot about the things you’d done in Maine too.”

 

The blond’s blue eyes sank to study the tabletop. It was natural that they would check him out; they wouldn’t be doing their job if they hadn’t, but it was a life he’d hoped to leave behind. It seemed that had been a pipe dream.

 

Gil noticed the shift in Johnny’s demeanour and he reviewed what he’d said that had caused it. He wasn’t nearly as bad with people as he let on.

 

“You thought you’d left all this behind?” He observed, “I’m sorry you got pulled into this…”

 

Johnny held his hand up, “Don’t, its fine… these things follow me wherever I go, I really should be used to it. I’m happy to help, really I am. Just, life in Maine was… stressful.”

 

Griss nodded his understanding, “I’ll do my best to keep your name out of it. And…well, if it’s any consolation, I’m glad I met you. Despite the circumstances.”

 

A smile spread slowly across the blond’s face. “Likewise.”

 

“What did you see?” Gil asked, curiously, he took a mouthful of coffee.

 

“I told you.” Johnny frowned slightly in confusion.

 

“I don’t mean the evidence, I meant when you shook my hand.” A smirk tugged at Grissom’s lips.

 

“I…” How on earth could he tell him *that*? He’d seen some embarrassing things in his time but he’d never been asked to divulge them. “I saw that we’ll be seeing more of each other.” He smiled, he was proud of himself for his evasive, but truthful answer.

 

Gil nodded his acknowledgement, suspecting it was something he didn’t want to ask more about. He was about to say something when his cell phone started to churp.

 

“Sorry.” He apologised and flipped it open. “Grissom. Okay, where? I’m on my way.” He flipped the phone closed, drained his coffee and stood. “Sorry, work beckons.”

 

Johnny saw him to the door, holding it open for him. Gil turned towards him and held out his hand. “I’ll keep you informed.”

 

The psychic shook the offered hand without hesitation this time, immediately triggering a vision.

 

“You’re mine… aren’t you? My boy… my Johnny.” A thrusting Gil Grissom whispered into his ear as he leaned over him, thrusting again.

 

The blond’s head tossed from side to side. He cried out around the gag, arching up and cumming.

 

He came back from the vision and gasped. Inquisitive eyes were smiling at him and he had to bite back a groan. It was almost like the CSI knew what he was doing to him. Johnny wondered for the first time if it was possible for a person to guide what he saw?

 

Chapter 3

 

“You did what?” Nick stared at his supervisor like he’d completely lost his mind.

 

“I went to see Mr Smith.” Gil stated, as calmly as if he’d just said he’d drunk a cup of tea and not admitted taking evidence to a former suspect turned psychic’s house.

 

CSI Stokes gave a soft snort and shook his head, “You always manage to surprise me Griss, just when I think I have you figured out, you throw me a curve ball.”

 

“I like to keep you on your toes, Nicky, can’t have my people getting complacent.” A spark of amusement twinkled in steely grey-blue eyes.

 

There was a moment of silence until curiosity got the better of the dark-haired Texan, “So, what did he say?”

 

Gil chuckled, “He gave me a description and the name Carson, he also told me it was likely there was another bomb made at the same time. Our guy knows what he’s doing too. Mr Smith is going to work with a police artist.”

 

“I didn’t get a hit on Carson, but there are some avenues that Brass is pursuing still.” Nick informed him, flipping through the file he was holding.

 

“Good, we don’t know if it’s his first, last or a nickname.” The older man paused, “We need to find this guy before he strikes again.”

 

******

 

“Can I help you?”

 

The voice came from the side of him and Johnny turned to see who was talking, assuming they were talking to him since he was only one standing in the deserted reception area. He recognised the young man instantly, from the vision when he’d touched Nick Stokes. This was his lover, Greg. He smiled at the man, he was a couple of inches shorter than himself and he had brown hair with bleached tufts, it looked like it had been spiked and then had a gallon of water dumped on top to flatten it down.

 

“Hi, I’m looking for Gil Grissom. Johnny Smith.” He held his hand out to the other guy.

 

Greg looked at the hand then smiled, “Greg Sanders.” He firmly shook the offered hand.

 

Johnny’s world skewed and settled; he had only a moment to take in the scene in front of him. Greg was snapping photographs of a body on the floor. It looked like the man had been stabbed, his eyes swooped around the room and picked up that they were in a casino. There weren’t many people left in the room and police tape had been put up. There was a loud explosion from the left and Greg was blasted backwards.

 

The world span back to normal and Johnny jerked his hand back. “I really need to see Mr Grissom, right now.” He said, with a new sense of urgency in his voice.

 

Greg frowned at the sudden change in attitude, pulling his hand back and shoving it in his pocket. He nodded, “I’ll go and tell him that you’d like to see him, wait here.”

 

Gil looked up at the knock on his office door, an indulgent smile flickered across his face when he saw who was there. Greg shifted from one foot to the other, his shoulders slouched slightly and his hands stuffed in his pockets. He took his glasses off and beckoned the youngest CSI in.

 

“You have a visitor in reception.” He said as he stepped in. “A Mr Smith.” He frowned. “Started acting slightly weird after he shook my hand.

 

Griss’ attention snapped into focus, “How was he before?”

 

“Chilled, relaxed. Then he shook my hand and said he had to see you, like now.”

 

“Greg, go to the break room, get some coffee and stay there until I tell you otherwise.” Gil had slipped his spectacles back on as he spoke and was already around his desk, ushering the other man in the direction he wanted him to go in. “I mean it, you stay put until I tell you otherwise.”

 

A slightly dazed and confused Greg, allowed himself to be steered along the corridor, he was being ordered to drink coffee, far be it for him to refuse.

 

Gil was worried; he knew there was a very good chance that something Johnny had seen had brought about the rapid change in attitude. He saw the blond man pacing back and forth with his walking cane. He paused a moment to take in the guy’s good looks once again before clearing his throat and stepping forward.

 

“Johnny, it’s good to see you again.” The older man said, softly.

 

“Gil. Can we go somewhere to talk?” There was a definite urgency in his tone.

 

Griss nodded and silently led the way back to his office, neither of them speaking until they were safely behind the closed door.

 

“Tell me?” The CSI prompted as he sat down behind his desk, motioning for Johnny to sit down opposite.

 

“Another blast, at a casino. Your CSI Greg was their snapping shots of a murder victim. He was blown backwards; I don’t know how bad it was.”

 

“Damn.” Gil cursed, what was it about destiny, explosions and Greg. “Do you know where it was?”

 

Johnny shook his head, “I didn’t get long.”

 

“Any little detail might help.” He prompted, aware that his tone was a little harsh from his frustration.

 

The psychic replayed the vision in his mind looking for anything. His eyes caught a blue neon sign behind a bar. “A blue neon flamingo…” he started to say.

 

“The Calletto.” Gil proclaimed, gathering himself together. “Do we have a time frame?”

 

“Sorry I’ve no way of knowing if its today or next week.”

 

“Lets go over there and see if we can get some clues.”

 

They swung by the break room and Gil reiterated that Greg was to stay put. The young CSI promised and went back to drinking his coffee. It wasn’t like he was going to protest getting to sit and drink the caffeine filled nectar.

 

******

 

The pair walked into The Calletto side by side, the drive there had been made in an uneasy silence, neither one knowing quite what to say to the other. Walking to the bar that Johnny had seen in his vision he recognised the blonde lady stood behind. He looked at his companion and nodded, this was the spot.

 

“Hi, I’m Gil Grissom. Las Vegas Crime Lab.” The older man introduced himself while showing his ID.

 

“Wow, you guys move quick, I only just hung up the phone.” The blonde said.

 

A creeping, cold feeling ran down Johnny’s spine, he turned to look to the left and saw the body on the floor, just as it had been in his vision.

 

“You just called?” Gil’s enquiring voice cut in.

 

The psychic’s hand came up to touch the CSI’s arm to gain his attention. Following his gaze Griss’ insides clenched. Outwardly, he remained totally calm. His eyes scanned ceiling line and spotted CCTV cameras.

 

“Miss, I need you to do some things for me. Firstly, I want you to start moving everyone out of the building, and secondly, I need you to bring me the security tapes that cover the last couple of hours.” Gil told her, with consummate professionalism.

 

She nodded, her brow furrowing slightly, “Everyone?”

 

“Yes, everyone. As calmly as you can, no need for any alarm.” Stepping away from her, Gil flipped his cell phone open. “How long do we have?” He asked Johnny while locating the number he needed.

 

“How long would it normally take your guys to get here after the call?” Johnny said, uncertainly.

 

“Around 15minutes I should think.” He hit the dial button.

 

While Grissom was talking on the phone in hushed tones, Johnny was looking in the direction that the blast had come from. Assuming that the CSI was informing the bomb squad, he wandered over to the double doors that he recalled the blast coming through. His hand passing millimetres above the surface of the door he eventually pressed two fingers to it.

 

The spinning feeling took a hold of him. He was watching a man stashing something behind a pipe, the man turned and he recognised him from the vision of the bomb maker. While he watched a man came through another door and glanced at him suspiciously. Hurrying past, the new arrival, the victim, pushed through the doors. Carson followed and ‘bumped into him’, there was a flash of silver, a knife blade, and the victim fell to the floor. No one noticed the interaction or Carson fleeing the scene.

 

“What did you see?” Gil’s concerned voice asked as he came back from the vision.

 

“It’s through here.” He whispered, not wanting to be overheard, “Your victim saw him stashing the bomb…”

 

Griss nodded, “Bomb squad’s on the way.” He held up the tape. “Evacuations well underway, despite lots of protests.”

 

A uniformed officer approached the two as the CSI started to snap off photographs of the victim, just in case.

 

“Excuse me, Sir. One of the staff directed me to you when I asked why the building was being evacuated.”

 

Gil flashed his ID and leaned in close to the cop, “There’s a bomb, disposal unit is on their way, but we don’t know how long we have, we need everyone out with minimum fuss.”

 

A shocked look of fear flickered across the uniformed cops face before it disappeared under a mask of professionalism. “What do you need me to do, Sir?”

 

“Make sure everyone leaves the building and that they’re moved as far away as possible, we don’t know how big this thing is. When the disposal unit arrive, send them straight to me.”

 

The cop nodded and left.

 

“You should go too.” Gil told the blond beside him.

 

“If you’re staying, I am.”

 

Griss opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again. He was thoughtful a moment, “Johnny, why were you coming to see me?”

 

The psychic’s eyes dropped to the floor and he shifted the cane in his hand nervously, “I hadn’t heard from you in a couple of weeks, I was coming to ask you to lunch or whatever it is you guys eat in the middle of the night.”

 

Gil’s puzzled look melted away to be replaced with a smile, “When this is over, you can buy me breakfast.”

 

Before Johnny could reply they were interrupted by a cheerful voice.

 

“Hey guys, what are you doing here?”

 

“Greg! I could ask you the same, I told you to stay put.” Griss challenged his subordinate.

 

The young CSI held his hand up in surrender, “Hey, I was all for sitting drinking coffee but the call came in and Sara dragged me out.”

 

Johnny and Gil shot each other a look, before the latter scribbled something on the evidence bag holding the tape. He handed it to Greg, “Take this out to Sara, guard it with your lives. And don’t come back in here…either of you, until I give you the all clear.”

 

“Mr Grissom, we meet again.” Another male voice cut in. “What have you got for me and why aren’t you outside?” The bomb expert asked; they’d met before on other cases.

 

“I was protecting my evidence. Greg…go, Johnny… you too.”

 

The blond opened his mouth to protest, but the look he received told him to think better of it, instead he left with the baffled looking CSI; explaining as they walked for the exit.

 

Chapter 4

 

Gil breathed a sigh of relief as he walked away from the Casino, the bomb was in good hands and he was glad to leave the proper professionals to it’s disarming. He walked to where the tape sectioned off the block, a wide clear zone had been set up, and after stepping over the tape, his knowing eyes scanned the crowd, landing on the blond, his lips quirked in a slight smile.

 

Johnny smiled at him and he couldn’t help but smile back despite the situation. “Everything ok?” He asked the psychic, his eyes casting around while the man replied.

 

“Yeah, been a bit of pushing and shoving, some very unhappy people, nothing you wouldn’t expect though.”

 

Grissom located Sara and then Nick talking with a detective, but he couldn’t locate the young man he most wanted to see. “Where’s Greg?”

 

That pulled the blond’s attention and the taller man joined him in scanning the faces in the crowd. “He was taking photo’s of the crowd, something about how sometimes they hang around to see the damage they do.” He couldn’t see him either. “Maybe he went back to his car? He gave the tape to the girl.” He pointed towards Sara.

 

The Grey haired man nodded and inclined his head, “Come with me.” He instructed, the voice that no man dare to ignore, he didn’t even need to look to know that Mr. Smith would follow him.

 

Sara confirmed that the youngest CSI had indeed returned to their vehicle, but that had been a while ago. She’d frowned feeling as perplexed as them, checking her watch and noting that it had been a while since she’d seen him.

 

“When they clear the scene I want you and Nick to get in there and process that victim, he could have contact trace evidence on him. Also those doors, he pushed through them both ways. I’m going to look for our AWOL Mr. Sanders.” He tried to keep his voice light, like he wasn’t worried, but inside he had an increasing feeling of dread.

 

Johnny followed the CSI as he pushed his way through the crowd, he’d found out from Sara where their vehicle was parked and he made his way there, clearing a path so that the man following him could avoid touching others as they made their way through.

 

They’d cleared the bulk of the crowd and were just about to turn the corner when someone came round the other way. The blond moved out of the way and collided with Gil. He froze, holding onto the man’s arm as his eyes glazed, vision twisting and settling.

 

Distraught, the man was berating himself, looking down at the ground and the disrupted evidence. He’d walked over the area and contaminated the scene, the trace they’d found was dismissed because there was no way of proving it wasn’t from him. He was talking to himself, or someone John couldn’t see.

 

“He’s gone, and there’s not a damn thing we can do to find him. This is ridiculous.” He pulled out his cell phone and dialled it.

 

Vision skewed and he was back in the here and now, his hand gripped Gil’s arm. “Don’t move another step. You need to section this area off.”

 

“What did you see?”

 

“He’s gone; taken, I don’t know where but if you take another step you’ll end up very angry with yourself. This is where he went from, this is your crime scene. There’s something here, something you won’t be able to use for a conviction if you walk over it.”

 

He was unable to ignore the urgency in the other man’s voice. He reached for his cell phone and Johnny placed his hand on it. “Don’t call him. Trust me, I don’t know why exactly, other than, if his phone is on then it’ll ring and alert the guy that he’s got one, if he can call he will.”

 

Gil Grissom studied the other man carefully, very few people could tell him what to do and make him listen, he was usually the sort of man who did things his way, following evidence and gathering clues wherever they led and to hell with red tape and orders from above. He nodded, “I’ll get incoming calls to his phone blocked and get an APB out on his car.”

 

The blond psychic gave a small nod and pulled his hand back. “Thank you.” He told him, then at the slightly confused look he added, “For trusting me.”

 

He received a small smile and a nod of acknowledgement. It was something to be talked about later.

 

******

 

Gil flipped his cell closed, he looked harassed and thoughtful; a call had been put out to be on the look out for the missing CSI’s vehicle, and a call to the lab had ensured the right person was on top of blocking incoming calls to his cell. He’d also called the whole team in on the case; it was top priority. Catherine had wanted to know how he was sure; he’d told her that he just was.

 

“Right, I need to start processing this area.” He stated.

 

Johnny nodded, “I need to go and speak to your CSI Stokes.” He said simply. If the other’s didn’t know about Nick’s relationship with Greg, then it would be best if he didn’t find out about his lover being missing in front of the rest of the team. He received a puzzled look, like Gil was studying a complex piece of evidence, the blond smiled; he was growing fond of that analytical look. “I’ll be back.”

 

“Be careful.” Was the response as he turned to walk away, leaning slightly on his cane, he nodded in reply.

 

******

 

He found Nick Stokes talking to Sara and he hesitated, not wanting to interrupt but knowing he had to do it now. Johnny moved towards them, his eyes taking in the handsome Texan’s strong jaw. Dark eyes flickered to look at him enquiringly.

 

“Mr. Smith, what are you doing here, this is a crime scene.” The CSI told him with a frown.

 

“I know; I came with Dr. Grissom. I need to talk to you Mr. Stokes, it’s important.”

 

“Wait, Gil brought you to a crime scene?” After what his supervisor had told him, about taking the evidence to see the psychic, he really shouldn’t have been surprised, but Nick was; sure, Griss was a bit of a rebel sometimes but he would never normally break with such a firm rule.

 

Johnny shook his head; “It wasn’t a crime scene when we arrived. We were looking into… other things. Please, this really can’t wait.”

 

The dark-haired man nodded at Sara, effectively dismissing her without words. The woman looked at them a moment before leaving them, clutching her kit in one hand and her camera in the other.

 

“Greg’s missing.” He said simply.

 

“What?” Nick’s face fell, eyes wide, “How? Why? …” He shook his head and reached for his cell in his pocket, not ready to believe it.

 

“Don’t.” John rested his hand on the man’s arm, there was a rushing feeling, swirling and he felt breathless.

 

He was banging his fist against something, he stopped, flattening his palm out on the surface, metal, he was inside something dark and metallic. He heard a voice that sounded a mile away.

 

“It’s ok, G. I’m here, we’ll get you out.” There was a click, then a boom.

 

Johnny stumbled as he came back to himself, shook his head to try to clear it. He couldn’t keep the look off his face as his blue eyes met soulful brown ones. He was afraid of what had been implied by what he’d seen.

 

“Gil had them block incoming calls, it would have been too dangerous for Greg otherwise.”

 

His head was still spinning from the explosion in his vision and he rubbed at his neck slightly, under the scrutiny of the CSI.

 

“You know?” Nick asked, simply.

 

“Know what?” The psychic held his ground, knowing that the question could refer to a number of things he knew but wasn’t ready to reveal.

 

His voice became a whisper, “About Greg …and me?”

 

The blond nodded, “I told you about selling the car, I would have given you his name then, but figured you might not appreciate the outing.”

 

Stokes nodded, “Thanks, some of the guys would be cool about it, I know… but others, not so.” He shook his head with a soft smile of amusement plucking at his lips. “Guess I should thank you for rescuing our relationship. We talked about it and…damn, you were right.” His face fell serious again. “How do we find him, can you help?”

 

Johnny looked at him, “We’ll find him.” That was all he was willing to commit to at that point. “Do you have anything of his?”

 

He received a frown for his question, a suspicious look. He wondered if CSI Stokes was always such an open book, or only when his lover was involved.

 

“I might be able to get something from it.” He clarified.

 

He was studied a moment longer, but it wasn’t like when Gil looked at him. He didn’t feel a little thrill in his stomach at the blatant visual examination. Nick just couldn’t pull that look off. As he watched, strong hands went to the strong neck and unhooked a chain that had been hiding under the man’s shirt and stab jacket. He held his hand out for it, but instead of feeling the chain coil into his hand, a ring was slid off it and placed on his palm.

 

“It’s his, I wanted to wear it but it wouldn’t fit on my fingers.”

 

Johnny had nodded, there was no instant vision, he closed his fingers around the ring and stood there. He took a deep breath trying to relax his mind. When it came, it wasn’t what he was expecting, and instead of frowning he found himself grinning. Playful mischief between the two, Greg was a lot of fun, tickle chase… tackling and holding down a man who was physically bigger than him. His vision settled and he opened his eyes.

 

“Not what I was looking for, sorry.” His smile faded. “I’ll have to find something else.”

 

He handed the ring back, patting the man on the shoulder and then turning to head back to Gil. He had to warn him about the new bomb.

 

******

 

“Booby trapped? Are you sure?” Gil asked, looking thoughtful, a sealed evidence bag in his hand.

 

“I’m sure. When that trunk lid opens…” Johnny left it unsaid, “You need to put it out there not to approach the car or attempt to open it.”

 

Grissom was on his cell before he’d even finished speaking, the new instructions being put out there.

 

“What did you find?” He asked, peering at the small plastic bag, there was a cotton bud swab inside.

 

“Some sort of residue, I almost stepped in it, think it came off our perp’s shoe, it was in the boot print anyway. We’ll get it back to the lab and run it.”

 

“Boot print?” Johnny frowned, “Can I take a look?”

 

There was a moment’s hesitation, then a curt nod as Gil silently turned to lead him to where the small triangular marker with the number 5 on indicated the boot print’s position.

 

“Have you finished with it? Can I…?”

 

“It’s been processed.” Was the affirmative response. Grissom was mentally reviewing all he knew about the case, continuously; he’d lost some of his friendly demeanour.

 

Johnny crouched, reaching out with two fingers to touch the print. A Dizzy spin as his perspective changed, he was seeing what had happened, he could feel it, from the suspect’s perspective.

 

He stood smoking a cigarette as he watched the young CSI, taking photographs, an antsy feeling inside, sure that he’d been caught by the camera. The stub was flicked aside and Johnny followed the arc to where it landed, then snapped his eyes back. Greg was walking towards his car and the man was following, long slow strides. He stepped up behind the man as he was bending his head into the car.

 

“Don’t try anything, I have another one of what I left inside…insurance, you could say.”

 

Greg’s hands came up and out to the sides. “What do you want?” His voice quiet, non-threatening, he didn’t try to look around.

 

“First, your gun.” He reached down and took it from the holster, pushing it into the back of his own pants. “Your camera. Hand it to me… slowly.”

 

“He caught him on camera, that’s why he took him. He wanted the camera, but couldn’t leave Greg here after taking it. He has his gun and another bomb.” He told Gil while his eyes looked for the cigarette stub. He located it and pointed, “That was his.”

 

He watched Grissom go to work, snapping a photo of the cigarette before bagging it. “Hopefully it’ll give us DNA and with any luck… an ID. Lets get this stuff back to the lab, come with me.”

 

Johnny didn’t argue, following the CSI to the car they’d arrived in.

 

Chapter 5

 

Gil’s hand brushed Johnny’s thigh as he changed gear. Anyone else and it would have been considered a sexual gesture, undertones of the interest that they seemed to share in each other. But John Smith wasn’t anyone else, he was a psychic, and that casual touch didn’t induce arousal it sent him spinning into a vision; one that disturbed him.

 

“We don’t have time.” He told the other man, slightly dazed. “If we open the trunk it’ll blow, if we wait it will blow on timer.”

 

“What did you see?” It was a question that Gil was getting surprisingly used to asking.

 

“Just that - out of time, watching as the car blew up.” He shook his head. “We have to find it and fast, we don’t have time to do it the scientific way.”

 

“In the glove box.” Grissom told him, eyes not leaving the road as he issued the instruction.

 

Johnny pressed the button and the flap opened. There were a couple of CDs and a load of papers.

 

“The Muse one, it’s Greg’s, he said that my musical tastes were a disaster and that my culture was off base.” An affectionate smile crossed his face. “He told me it was his duty to try to realign my taste and that he’d start light.”

 

The blond’s hand hovered over the CD, his mind momentarily shifting to other matters, just what had been the nature of Gil’s relationship with Greg? The young man was with Nick, but had he always been? Were they just friends that sometimes shared a vehicle and so needed a middle ground in music, or was there more to it? He shook his head, stupid thought, ridiculous. He grabbed the CD case.

 

It had happened before, when it came to Rebecca and her sister, and then in the school where the kid shot the place up, and it happened now, right when he needed it to. He was in the moment: the vision playing around him, but able to follow what was happening in reality, he could guide them there from the scenery.

 

“Turn left.” He instructed, his tone allowing no room for protest.

 

Even though Gil was uncertain of where it had come from, he checked traffic, signalled and made the manoeuvre.

 

For the next ten minutes, Johnny gave the instructions and Gil followed to the letter.

 

“Just round the next bend.”

 

They were in the middle of nowhere, lanes that were narrow dirt tracks, but foliage was thick lining the track. Gil pulled the car to a halt, they didn’t know if the guy was still with the car. His cell phone came out again, not needing to check the information he’d been given, he put the call in to the bomb disposal unit as he watched the blond climb out, still holding the CD case.

 

Johnny walked round the bend still lost in his vision. As he watched Greg was pulled from the front seat and told to get in the trunk, he watched as he climbed in. The man didn’t shut the lid straight away though; he was fiddling with something. The blond crept closer and saw nimble fingers quickly working with wires and electronic components, he didn’t have a clue, but the bomber knew exactly what he was doing.

 

“Now, be a good boy and it’ll all be fine.” The rough voice said, just a hint of an accent, New York? He wasn’t entirely sure.

 

The lid was lowered leaving Greg shut inside. Carson had lied, he’d not told the CSI about the timer he’d activated on the device. He didn’t know how long they had, but he guessed from the way the man disappeared off into the undergrowth that only the trunk was booby-trapped. Johnny reached for the back door handle and pulled it open. Placing the CD down on the seat and bringing himself into the here and now once more.

 

“Greg, it’s John Smith, Gil is here and we have people on the way, we’ll get you out when we’re sure it’s safe, how are you doing?”

 

“Oh god, thank god. I’m ok, he didn’t hurt me, there’s a bomb though, he wired it up to the trunk. How did you find me?”

 

“We know,” He told him as he examined the back seat of the vehicle, wondering if there was a way to fold it down as an alternate way out. “Funny story that, I had a vision.”

 

There was a laugh from the trunk, “You’re psychic? Well I’m pretty damn glad you showed up today then.”

 

“So am I, Greg.” He was pretty surprised that the young man didn’t question him or call him on it. “Y’know I think you were just destined to get yourself into trouble today.”

 

“Yeah?” Curiosity laced the young CSI’s voice, he didn’t know about the timer, that much was obvious.

 

“Mmhmm, first you were going to be caught in the explosion at the Casino, and now this.” He never mentioned what would happen if they didn’t get him out in time. “Do you know how long it’s been since he put you in there?”

 

There was a moment’s pause, “That’s why Griss told me to stay in the break room.” He concluded, “He should have told me, wild horses wouldn’t have made me leave the building. It’s been 40 minutes.”

 

“You’d have believed him?” Time was running out, they had no way of knowing how long was on the clock, but he’d hazard a guess he would give himself time to get a good distance away but not long enough for them to realise he was missing and find him.

 

“Yeah, our family has a bit of history.” He said vaguely. “Why did you ask?”

 

“Most people require proof.”

 

“Not that, why did you ask how long?”

 

“Wondering how far away he’ll have gotten.” Johnny lied, looking up as Gil approached. “Greg, is there anyway to fold this seat down?”

 

“Not sure, it’s not my car.”

 

“Ok,” his hand slipped underneath the seat feeling around, nothing, he moved to run down the first side. He looked up at Grissom and pointed to his watch. They were running out of time.

 

“I have tools, I’ll go and fetch them.” The older CSI said and headed back to his car, this time pulling it round the bend but hopefully far enough away it was still a safe distance in case of a blast.

 

Johnny’s hand hit metal and he caught a flash of the man setting the timer, 45minutes…time was almost up. His heart pumped hard and fast in his chest, fear and adrenaline, he should be running away but he wasn’t leaving the guy in the boot, his hands scrabbled at the seat, grabbing the top edge and pulling at it. He grunted with the effort.

 

“Help me out, Greg, push against the seat back for me.” He instructed.

 

Gil was starting back to the car and he shook his head, pointing for him to stay there. He saw the panic flitter over the other man’s face. The Supervisor knew, and he was torn, between helping and hiding. He dropped everything except the crow bar and sprinted towards the other rear door, pulling it open and jamming the end of tool into the small gap that Johnny and Greg had managed to create.

 

The psychic could almost feel the clock ticking down as they worked at the back seat, sweat ran down his back, he tried to stay calm but it was failing, the trapped CSI had to know what was going on now as he was desperately kicking at the seat. There was a crack, a creak and finally the seat back gave way.

 

The metal bar was tossed aside, Johnny and Gil almost dragged Greg out through the gap while he scrabbled to free himself. Time ran out as they were making a dash for Grissom’s vehicle, the sound of an explosion ripped through the air.

 

Chapter 6

 

Johnny’s eyes fluttered open, his lips were dry and his tongue snaked out in a futile attempt to moisten them.

 

“Nice of you to join us.” A soft voice said from his left and he turned his head to look.

 

“Gil?” His hand came up to rub the sleep from his eyes but it never made its target as another caught it en route. He stared at the hand, at the IV line in the back of it and the tape that was holding it in place. The memory came back to him of what had happened in a mad rush, not like a vision but like the morning after a heavy drinking session when the hangover finally gives way to the details of what you got up to. “Are you ok? Is Greg?”

 

“We’re fine, you took the worst of it. Damn heroics.” He chastised, softly.

 

“Couldn’t run fast enough.” He said lightly, he was tired and his head felt fuzzy. His eyes went to the drip.

 

“Fluids and pain medication. You can’t feel it now but when it wears off you’ll be hurting, no doubt. The doc said there was no permanent damage though.”

 

“You knew how close it was, didn’t you?”

 

Johnny’s fingers curled around the hand holding his, not even noticing that he was still holding it, or that he wasn’t lost in a vision from it. He nodded, “Couldn’t let him die. We put too much effort into stopping it.” He gave a half-hearted smirk.

 

“You nearly got yourself killed, don’t ever do that again.”

 

“You did the same.” His eyelids were heavy but his voice still carried a trace of amusement at the double standard.

 

“That’s irrelevant.” Gil stated.

 

“How?” He was almost feeling indignant, if he could muster the energy to, at the thought that he was being patronised because of his disability.

 

“Because I said so.” The undeniable retort of a man who wasn’t going to be disobeyed; dominant and in charge.

 

There had been realisations while he was out of it, it seemed. He felt himself smiling as his eyelids fell, “Yes, Sir.” He murmured.

 

“And you just remember that.” The soft voice told him as he drifted off, a mixture of seriousness and amusement.

 

******

 

The hospital kept Johnny for a week. His injuries were mostly cuts and abrasions, on top of the head injury that had knocked him out and kept him out for almost a full day, but some of the cuts had been deep enough to need stitches. He’d been visited everyday, Gil, Greg and even Nick had stopped by to see him. There had been flowers and chocolates. And he’d had to break the news to the young CSI about his Muse CD going up in the blast.

 

At some point Grissom had taken his keys and gone to his house to gather some of his things, toiletries, clothes etc. He hadn’t missed a day of visiting him and he was stood there now, waiting for him as he fastened the last button on his shirt and then pulled back the curtain.

 

“All ready?” The older man asked.

 

Johnny smiled at him and looked at his feet, encased as they were in just socks, “I could use a little help in the shoe department.” The blond commented with a chuckle. His arm was still heavily bandaged from the second blast, as well as the flesh that was still recovering from the first.

 

“Sit,” Gil instructed and amusement tugged at the corners of his lips as the other man obeyed without hesitation.

 

“You caught him?” The psychic asked as he watched the shoes being carefully but firmly forced onto his feet, looking at the top of salt and pepper hair that he wanted to run his fingers through; he resisted.

 

“We caught him. Thanks to you.” Grissom confirmed, “The DNA from the cigarette butt gave us an ID. He was cocky enough to go home after all he did that day. He didn’t think he’d left us any evidence, but he didn’t count on you.” He looked up, pride making his blue-grey eyes sparkle as he smiled. He finished tying the shoelace then stood, offering the younger man his hand. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

 

Johnny slid his hand into the CSI’s and the world tilted and turned.

 

He was looking at himself on his knees. Naked except for a thin leather collar around his neck, a little tag dangling tantalizingly from it sat just in the indent of where his collarbones met. He was hard and leaking, his dick a dusky red/purple that hinted at an extended period of arousal with denied release. Hands bound behind his back as he looked up at the man who’s position he was viewing the scene from.

 

“Please, Master?” His voice begged,

 

“Soon, Johnny, soon my boy.” Grissom’s voice told him, tone dark and promising, filled with desire.

 

He came out of the vision with a groan, his cock hard in his pants and Gil looking at him with that knowing smirk on his face.

 

“When we get home you will tell me what you saw.”

 

Johnny gave another groan, this time it was less lust and more because he’d really rather not. He would do it though; he knew he would… how else did they end up where they were in his vision? He nodded, just stopping short of saying ‘yes, Sir’ again since he couldn’t put it down to the medication this time. But the other man was looking at him intensely and the blond suspected he knew a lot more than he was letting on.

 

******

 

They travelled back to Johnny’s house in a silence that felt full of anticipation and expectation. There was something there that was making butterflies flap madly in his stomach, but Gil was looking calm, giving nothing away. The visions had taken their toll on him. Emotionally, he had somehow keyed into the older man from before they’d even met, it had all started with a touch of a plastic cup, one that the other man must have touched before him at some point. During that first interview, he’d felt the weight of eyes on him from outside of the room and when he looked through that two-way mirror and picked up that cup, it was like the connection had forged.

 

He and Dr Gil Grissom were meant to be. He wasn’t sure how long for or on what level, but he knew that it would be deep, that it was going to take him down and make him explore places that he’d only ever wanted to go with one other man before. He’d wanted it but never done it, had read about it but that was no substitute. And now he was working out just how exactly he was going to tell this intense man that he wanted to be dominated by him, all the while having the sneaking suspicion that he already knew. That he’d some how engineered the visions after that first one, maybe they were his fantasy too, a projection: one that he’d shared, inadvertently. The only way to find out was to talk about it.

 

They pulled up at his house and he didn’t feel like he’d resolved a great deal in his internal battle. His companion was already out of the car and collecting his bag from the back seat before holding the passenger door open for him. Johnny eased himself out, using his cane and a hand on Gil’s arm to steady himself. They stood there a moment, eyes connected, taking each other in. His stomach flipped again, this was already happening and he was powerless to do anything except follow. It didn’t matter what, how or when, it just mattered that it was, and that it felt right.

 

“Sit, I’ll make coffee.” Gil told him when they reached the kitchen.

 

It was, of course, the first stop they would make when coming home. He was surprised to find his mail in a neat stack on the counter.

 

“You kept an eye on the house for me?” He asked, surprised in one sense but in another, not. He eased himself down into a seat.

 

The older man gave him a soft smirk, not unkind. “Of course. Least I could do.” There was a slight lift to an eyebrow, enough to make him wonder.

 

He looked through the mail while watching the man making coffee for him, he had a nice butt for a man his age and the way he walked, he was sure had something to do with what he’d felt slamming into him that time.

 

“You’re quiet.” Gil observed as he placed mugs on the table and sat down opposite. “Feeling ok?”

 

Johnny nodded, “Just, trying to work some things out in my head.”

 

That eyebrow quirked questioningly again and he found himself smiling in response, “I was wondering how you did it.”

 

“Did what?” Griss leaned forward, resting folded forearms on the table top, head tilted to the side slightly, but a teasing upwards pull to his lips suggested he knew what was being talked about.

 

The blond shook his head and looked down, feeling a little unsure of himself, he was smiling but he was embarrassed too. “The visions you gave me. It’s like you… directed them.” He looked up, blue eyes giving as intense a look back as he was getting.

 

“Really?” Innocence, or was it fake innocence, coloured the investigator’s voice, his second eyebrow rising to join the first as he raised his mug of coffee and blew lightly at it, before taking a sip. “And just what did I send you?”

 

“Sex.” Johnny replied with a candour that surprised even himself.

 

To his credit, Gil never choked on his coffee or splurted it across the table. His face remained as calm as usual, still with that hint of teasing.

 

“Interesting. And you think I orchestrated them?” Intelligent blue eyes sparkled mischievously as he sipped idly at his coffee.

 

The blond shifted in his seat, feeling like a kid who was digging himself into trouble but unable to see a way out of it. The only difference was, he wasn’t sure he wanted a way out of it. He nodded, “That’s how it felt.”

 

“Or maybe it was you who was directing it?”

 

The psychic opened his mouth and then closed it again; it wasn’t often that someone could leave him not knowing what to say. He took a sip of his own coffee, the hotness of it surprising him and almost scalding his tongue. He put the cup down again; trying to appear nonchalant but suspecting he was failing massively. Gil made him feel submissive, it was just the way it was.

 

“What kind of sex were we having? I assume it was us?” Eyebrow quirked, mild teasing smirk, cup placed on the table, bringing their hands almost to the point of touching.

 

Johnny Smith blushed! He couldn’t remember when the last time was that he’d done that, but it certainly wasn’t something he made a habit of. His cheeks stained red at the thought of voicing what they’d been doing together in those visions. They were so close to his fantasies, right now; it was almost impossible to tell them apart.

 

Gil waited patiently, watching the colours as they moved over his face, amused but not letting it show. He just kept that ‘well?’ look on his face and knew that eventually the answer would be given to him.

 

He gave a little cough, his feet shifting under the table. “Well, to be blunt, it was…kinky.”

 

It cost him to say the words, usually he kept those kinds of visions to himself, sometimes because he didn’t want to admit what he’d seen, or think about it, and sometimes because it made good porn to play over in his head. Usually, it didn’t involve him, but this time it was personal, this time it was admitting what he wanted and that what he wanted wasn’t exactly what some people considered normal.

 

“Look at me.” The tone commanded and he couldn’t disobey as his eyes rose from studying the mug in front of him.

 

The smirk had gone, replaced with a soft smile, eyes full of affection rather than teasing or puzzlement. They captivated him, he felt a hand cover his but he didn’t look down.

 

“You’re a very good looking man, Johnny. And noble.” That smooth voice told him, “You want what you saw in the visions? I would be proud to be with you, for you to belong to me, for you to be my boy.” Gil was a dominant man, and if the visions were a true reflection of where their relationship would go, it wasn’t a big leap for him to work out that he would be the dom in the relationship and the blond… his sub.

 

Blue gaze still firmly locked together, Johnny nodded. He tried to bite back the cheesy line that rose to his throat, but failed, “Since before I even met you.” He expected a laugh, some form of derision, but all he got was a smile and a nod.

 

He watched as the hand holding his brought his hand up towards the other man’s mouth. Facial hair tickled his fingers before lips brushed the knuckles and then turned it over and kissed the palm. He thought he was going to cum just from that small accepting motion.

 

Eyes studied his face and then Gil nodded as if coming to a decision. “Drink your coffee, then we’ll get you up into bed, the doctor said you need to take it easy for a while.”

 

Chapter 7

 

“I think it’s time.” Gil said idly, his arm was draped around Johnny’s shoulder, holding him comfortably to his side on the sofa while they watched TV together.

 

“Time?” The blond asked, more than a little confused, he turned to look up and to the side at his boyfriend. That thought gave him a thrill; Dr Gil Grissom had become his boyfriend over the last 3 weeks.

 

He’d visited every day, sometimes it was a quick stop in on his way either to or from work and sometimes he stayed for hours. He’d stayed over a couple of times, they’d slept in the same bed: both in boxer shorts and T-shirts; they’d yet to go beyond a kiss. They’d actually done lots of that: kissing!

 

It had taken a week but when that first proper kiss: the touch of lips on lips had come it had been electric. Johnny had felt the tingle from his lips to his toes, his nerve endings on fire, as Gil’s mouth had pressed against his and his tongue had flickered against his lips to request entrance. A little dominance in the way it pushed in and explored his mouth, mapping the territory and getting to know it. It had been a long, slow and searching kiss that had almost been the blond’s undoing. Achingly hard, he thought he was going to embarrass himself by creaming his pants, but it had broken off just at the right point, leaving him needy and breathless. Griss had smirked. Since that first kiss there had been many more, some like that first one, others deeper more desperate and a few of the chaste variety. But they’d not gone beyond that because of his injuries still healing.

 

“Time!” Gil stated, as if that explained everything. He press his lips to Johnny’s temple, “Go upstairs and wait for me, I’ll be there in a minute.”

 

The blond shifted, looking at him a moment before smiling and easing himself up from the sofa. He climbed the stairs as quickly as he could manage, thinking that he was going to move to a single storey house because he just couldn’t move up or down stairs quick enough. He reached the bedroom and looked around, a little fidgety, a little uncertain, it was like he was about to lose his virginity all over again, which in a way…he was. He sat on the edge of the bed and waited for his soon to be lover.

 

Gil had sat on the sofa a few minutes longer, he’d turned the TV off and was gathering his thoughts. It was definitely time, if it hadn’t been for Johnny’s injuries the time would have come sooner, but now they were both more than ready. He had to be careful, there was so much he wanted to do, but he felt they needed to go slow. He’d heard how the blond wanted it so much, but also that he’d never done it before, not like they would be, Grissom didn’t really know how to be in a vanilla relationship, after all. It would all be a matter of balance and taking it slow and sure.

 

He eased himself up and made a quick stop at his car before locking up the house and making his way upstairs to the Master Bedroom, it was more than big enough for their needs right now, eventually he’d like to see about adding a play room though. On the way up he took a tube of lube from the bag and stashed it in his pocket, he’d need it soon.

 

When he stepped into the bedroom with his black duffle bag, Johnny was sat looking apprehensive on the edge of the bed; he clearly didn’t know what to do with himself. He put the bag down and smiled at him, before going over and leaning down to place a soft kiss on his lips.

 

“It’ll be ok, just relax and trust me.” His hand stroked a smooth cheek and the blond nodded.

 

Gil smiled, “Take your clothes off, Johnny.”

 

The blond swallowed hard at the instruction, then stood up. He wasn’t sure if he was expected to put on a show, but he wasn’t sure he even knew how to do that, he figured it would come later, when they were more comfortable with each other. Right now, it was just a big enough deal that they would be naked in the same room together. He wasn’t ashamed of his body, he worked out the best he could within his capabilities, it kept him trim enough.

 

Without ceremony, he pulled his blue T-shirt off over his head; grateful for healed wounds that meant he had the mobility so he wasn’t stuck in button ups all the time. His hand went to the fly of his jeans, unbuttoned and slid them down, taking his shorts with them as they went. The bundle collected his socks on the way and he pulled them all off together. Kicking them aside, he stood up straight, blue eyes sparkling as they looked to his partner for approval. He was already half hard just from the anticipation of it all.

 

Eyes slid over him, devouring every inch of him as they scrutinised his form, hot blue and intense, he shivered under that gaze. Gil circled around him and he could feel the icy fire sliding over his skin, even if he couldn’t see him. Fingers caressed across one of the healing wounds on his shoulder; if he’d had his leather jacket, on at the time of the blast, then the cuts wouldn’t have been so bad, but who wore leather in the Nevada heat?

 

He felt the press of lips against the same spot and his cock sprang fully to life. From somewhere inside he gathered the will power not to move, even though every part of him wanted to turn and pull Gil to bed with him while pulling his clothes off. Fiery kisses marking their advance until they tumbled onto the softness and devoured each other’s bodies fully. He resisted, they’d talked about this, his new lover worked best in a relationship where there was the exchange of power, if he wasn’t in control then he didn’t know his place, he tended to flounder and become introverted. He was a natural leader and in charge was where he was born to be. The blond didn’t have a problem with that.

 

A hand wrapped around his erection and gave a slight squeeze, Johnny moaned, his back arching slightly as his breath caught.

 

“I don’t expect you to be perfect, we’ll work through all the rules and expectations later, I’ll train you. Tonight is just for fun, relaxed, as it should be the first time. Follow your instincts there’s no wrong or right.” Gil told him.

 

The words, or possibly the hand on his genitals, made him swallow hard, he already belonged to the man, it was just a matter of formality. He wasn’t sure when these feelings had started, he considered that it was probably to do with always having to deal with such crap with his gift: he just wanted to have someone who could make him forget it for a while, who could take control and he could just let go and be himself again. There were times when he wasn’t sure who he was anymore, but in submitting he felt he could find that…especially submitting to a man like Gil Grissom.

 

Gil let go of the hard cock and slid a hand up his stomach, lips moving over the shoulder to nibble and nuzzle at John’s neck from behind. “You know, what you did… you’re a hero to me. Not many guys get to fuck their heroes.” A smile tugged at his lips.

 

The blond shivered as the words were spoken against his flesh, “I’m not a hero.” He murmured.

 

“Are you telling me I’m wrong?”

 

He heard the expectant eyebrow rise, he was getting used to all his boyfriend’s little quirky mannerisms now.

 

“No.” He gasped when his nipple being pinched interrupted his response.

 

“Good.” Gil’s voice was amused as he walked around in front of him. He licked at the smooth jaw, then nipped lightly with his teeth, hands sliding over the blond’s chest, seeking out his nipples again and teasing them.

 

Johnny moaned, no one had ever played with his nipples before, and certainly not like that, he had no idea they could feel so good, the pleasurable sensations registering in his groin. “Oh god, that feels good.”

 

Gil’s mouth moved along his jaw and then claimed his lips. One hand abandoned a nipple to clutch the blond hair at the back of his head firmly, anchoring him in place while he plundered and dominated his mouth with a searing passion.

 

John’s eyes closed as he rubbed his tongue against the invaders, playing against it. His hips started to rock, his cock looking for friction but not quite finding it. The fingers still on his other nipple pinched and he gasped into the kiss. He felt the press of the clothed body against him and was slowly directed backwards until the bed bumped the back of his legs. The kiss broke off and two firm hands pushed insistently at his chest until he fell back onto the mattress, crawling backwards up onto it properly and looking up at the older man with need. He licked his lips and wriggled, wanting his lover to strip off and take him.

 

His dextrous fingers unbuttoned his shirt as efficiently as Gil did everything. He pulled it down his arms and tossed it aside, not really caring where it fell. The belt buckle was next, not just being unfastened but the strip of leather made a whooshing noise as it was pulled out through the loops. The belt was dropped on top of his bag, he wouldn’t use it tonight, but another time he was sure he would. Fingers flipped the button on his slacks and then unzipped, pushing them down along with his boxer briefs. He retrieved the lube, before they were tossed carelessly aside to join the shirt and he stood there naked, looking at the blond on his bed.

 

Johnny had watched the clothes coming off, remembering what he’d seen in his vision, it was every bit as good in the flesh. The slight softness around the belly, the smattering of hair on his chest, he could tell the man had kept himself in shape, not muscled but fit, healthy. He smiled, his eyes drawn to the piece hanging between his thighs and his eyes widened, it had felt big in the vision but that didn’t prepare him for seeing it, he wondered how he’d ever take it. His eyes fixed on it, and he was glad Gil had thought to bring lube.

 

Hands started at his ankles and slowly slid up his legs. Bypassing his crotch they slid up his sides, too firm to be ticklish. He wriggled under the touch, his cock rock hard and leaking. His eyes locked with Gil’s as the man leaned in to kiss him. Their lips met and his eyes fluttered closed, feeling the bed dip as the other man crawled up on it to join him. Slowly, lips moved against his and a demanding tongue snaked through to press against his lips in a command for entry, they bloomed open in invitation and his mouth was plundered and possessed, skilfully.

 

He moaned; the sounds captured by the mouth that was expertly exploring his. Johnny’s whole body squirmed on the bed, hands coming up, needing to touch the man that was leaning over him, hips rocking up to try and find something to rub against. His lover gave it to him, lowering himself so their groins connected and hard flesh rubbed against hard flesh as they both gently rocked their hips in time to each other. He was on fire, at this rate he’d cum from this alone. As if sensing that thought the other man’s hips backed up and hot mouth moved away to make its way down his throat.

 

Gil licked down the blond’s collarbone, nipping lightly at it with his teeth, then kissing and licking his way down his chest. He sucked and licked at a nipple, grazing it with his teeth, causing John to buck his hips and groan in need. He felt hands grip at his shoulders, not trying to direct him, just holding on when they realised what was coming. Sure enough, the CSI followed the trail, winding his tongue down over blond barely-there hairs and circling his belly button. He flickered his tongue into it, teasing it as if it was more then just a shallow indent.

 

The effect was more than would have been expected for sure, the blond psychic gripped tighter, his neck arching as he moaned. Desperate for that tongue to be elsewhere but knowing that when it did, he’d probably fly apart. He’d never felt like this, not in all his years, he’d had sex before the accident, with Sarah and then after, with Dana; who despite being a woman of the world hadn’t made him feel like this, all the vision craziness had got in the way. A hot mouth closed over his cock and he cried out, arching his back, this was like nothing he’d ever experienced before.

 

He licked his way up that erection and swirled his tongue over the head of it, Gil noted the veins and ridges, tracking then with his tongue and tracing over the circumcision scar. His boy wasn’t as big as him, but he was big enough, around 6 and half inches, it was just right in his mind. He covered the head with his lips and slowly took it all the way in, sucking lightly on it while fingers stroked the blond’s thighs. He sucked and rubbed his tongue against the hard flesh in his mouth, feeling it twitch and pulse in response. Johnny was all moans and whimpers and he knew, from those sounds and the feel of him, that he had to be getting close.

 

His hand wrapped around balls that were rapidly pulling up, he rolled them in their sack and increased his suction, bobbing up and down on the shaft determinedly. He picked the lube up from where he’d dropped it on the bed and flipped the cap, squirting some on his fingers while he sucked on the other man’s cock. He had a feeling that his new lover was a virgin so he needed to distract and prepare him; he brought a slicked finger to his hole and circled it gently, lightly. Gil Grissom was a patient man, but he was having a hard time resisting the urge to just lube up and slam himself home.

 

Johnny gasped, his body tensing slightly as he felt a slick digit touching his hole, he’d played with himself in the past but no one else had ever been there. He took deep breaths, trying to get himself to relax, the mouth on his cock helping some in that department. He wanted this, he really did, wanted to feel Gil inside him. He moaned encouragingly.

 

“Please, god, I want it, I do…please, Gil.”

 

The salt and pepper head looked up, blue eyes studied him as he licked his lips, he nodded. “And you’ll get it.” A small tug at his mouth that could have been an almost smirk. His other hand circled the base of John’s cock and pressed his thumb against the cum tube to back him off from the brink a bit.

 

“Just… please…” His words trailed into a moan as the finger breached his sphincter and slid all the way in to the knuckle. “Oh, Christ, yes!”

 

Gil’s smile grew at the look of pleasure on the blond’s face, eyes closed, lashes fanned out, no sign of a frown, just a pure look of lust and need. Perfect! He crooked his finger and searched for that walnut sized lump. It was obvious when he found it.

 

Johnny arched and shuddered but, by some miracle, didn’t cum. He felt incredible, like every nerve in his body was on fire. He just wanted more. He could feel the finger moving inside him, circling to relax his hole and open him up, he was almost panting in order to get enough air into his lungs. He cried out as he felt a second finger added, it burned a little but it felt so good; it wasn’t anymore than he’d used on himself.

 

He slowly fucked his fingers in and out, scissoring and rotating them, he could feel the way the sphincter tried to grip at them and then relax, like the blond was fighting his own body. Both fingers brushed that small lump inside and he received the same fantastic display as before, arching back and writhing body. The hands that had been clutching his shoulders, had relinquished their grip and he was now holding on to the headboard as if his life depended on it. Gil was enjoying pulling these reactions from the other man, signs of passion, desire and need, it was good to see how much his attentions were wanted.

 

He added a third finger to the hole, and the other man tensed, he guessed from his reaction, that this was taking him to a new limit. He moved them in and out, feeling the muscle flutter and try to accommodate them, his analytical eyes took in every response, making sure that Johnny was ok and still enjoying it. He gave his cock a quick lick, gathering a trail of precum on his tongue with a moan of his own at the taste.

 

With one hand continuing to relax and open his boy up ready for him, his other hand squirted the lube on his own hard cock; Gil shuddered at the coolness of it and then spread it over his flesh tossing the tube out of their way. His dick was ready and Johnny’s hole was ready, he pulled his fingers out. Grabbing a pillow from the top of the bed he quickly shoved it under the other man’s lower back and pushed his knees up. He leaned over him, one hand bracing at the side of the blond head. Gil lowered his lips to kiss him hard, while his other hand lined his cock-head up with Johnny’s entrance. He pushed against the ring of muscle. When he felt it give way to his insistent pressure, his boy cried out, he held still and let him adjust, watching the blond head toss from side to side, incoherently.

 

It felt incredible, that initial breach, it hurt but it was also damned good, he wanted it all, wanted more, but it was frustrating as hell that Gil had just pushed inside and stopped. He knew he was giving him chance to adjust, but he didn’t want it… he just wanted to be fucked inside out.

 

“Please, fuck me… please, want you all the way in.” He garbled out.

 

Gil was surprised to hear the plea and the obvious need it contained; he didn’t expect to hear it so soon. Who was he to deny the blond, he’d need to be a bit careful though or it would be a while before they got to do it again. He slowly but steadily eased his way inside, filling the man as he wanted.

 

When he was pressed all the way in, all 8 and half inches, he paused, leaning over his lover, supporting himself on his hands. “You feel incredible.” He told him, lowering his mouth to lick at his neck and ear. “Are you mine, Johnny? My boy?”

 

The blond nodded enthusiastically, “Yes, yours… please…”

 

Gil smiled at him, a flash of white teeth between pink lips, then he pulled his hips back almost all the way before easing his way back in. It was long slow strokes at first, drawing him in, making him want …need more… both of them, not just the one on the receiving end. Gradually, the pace built, the effort of thrusting faster and harder making a light sheen of sweat cover his skin and his breathing to become harsher, more ragged.

 

It felt every bit as good… no…better than it had in the vision. He had a fleeting memory of what he’d seen, those words triggering his recall. The visions were leaving him alone, it was incredible and he loved it. He could let himself go, relax and Gil had him, would take care of him and make him fly.

 

Their bodies came together with increasing passion, the older man pounding into the younger man, the slap of flesh against flesh; moans and cries of pleasure and need, occasionally stealing kisses. Johnny felt himself rapidly racing towards that release, that point of no return, his hips rocked up to meet every slam of that hardness into him. He cried out, body snapping taut, back arching up off the bed and lights exploded behind his eyes as he gripped the bars on the bed-head tightly. Thick hot ropey cum splattered over his torso as his hole clutched and tightened around the invader in his ass.

 

Feeling the sheath grip tightly around his cock was too much for Gil and when his boy came, he followed him over, bucking forward and filling him full of his cum, mouth open in a silent cry as he unleashed his desire. He collapsed, panting, on Johnny, both of them trying to catch their breath. He looked at his lover’s face and saw tears running down his cheeks, he would have been worried but he was also smiling… and then laughing, a sound of pure joy.

 

“Amazing… never realised it could be so damn amazing.” He managed to get out between breaths and his happy laughter. “And not a single vision…do you know what that means?”

 

Gil nodded, wrapping his arms round him and flipping them so that Johnny was resting on top of him. “It means you’ve found your home!”

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