Poor Henry Andrews
In the Clark County Criminalist Lab, Toxicology was greatly prized, and for some reason, they kept losing Toxicologists. Henry had come from finishing his master's while working in a hospital lab in Chicago, not too far from where he'd grown up. His family, Italian and Scottish and far too close and noisy, were always ever so proud and loving and smothering. After he'd graduated, he made the decision to cast his net wide, the constant proximity to home finally too much for him. A few places answered, but the most interesting and challenging was Las Vegas. They needed toxicologists. So he packed up and moved. After all, family could still be proud from thousands of miles away.
To day shift he went, unused to any other hours. It was curious work – the usual tests, but always something interesting to help put it to, evidence from cases and trials, stories upon stories. Then Peter, the night shift tox tech, decided to move to New Jersey, and the girl they hired to fill the position, Sonja, could only work days. So Henry, who had been working at Clark County for nearly a year at that point, flipped over to the odd schedule that made up nights. He'd run into some of the night techs and CSI before, when they were doing overtime or vice versa. But he had never had the chance to get to know any of them, until his schedule shift. The day shift workers were wholly unremarkable, save one or two. But not the nightshift.
The first smile he was greeted with the evening he started was broad and bright and a mile wide. With a shock of spiked sandy hair and brown eyes that could knock anyone dead, Henry could already feel his ears heating up looking into them as the other technician took his hand, over-exuberantly shaking it.
"Hiya, Henry! It's nice to meet you. I'm Greg Sanders! I run DNA. Although hopefully not for much longer," He added, leaning in and winking as if sharing a secret. Henry knew the grin on his face was dumb and unresponsive because his central nervous system wasn't responding, and he could feel the blood rushing through his ears as they lit up bright red.
"Er," Henry stuttered slightly, trying to regain motor function, his smile widening in an attempt not to look or sound idiotic. "Hi! It's … It's nice to meet you, Greg."
Henry didn't know it was possible to develop a crush in a single instant. He was used to having the occasional crush on someone of the same-sex persuasion – his nuclear basics professor, his best friend's roommate, the boy he shared his gym locker with in tenth grade. He'd never, ever followed through with any of them, for many of the same reasons he hadn't had many girlfriends or dates. Henry thought himself not very good at opening up or even flirting with others. If with the ladies his attempts often ended with disastrous results, men he didn't even want to try.
So when Greg Sanders became his friend, Henry slowly got used to the butterflies, taught his knees to behave themselves, and generally tried to become immune to the way he felt when Greg leaned too close, or brushed his hand when he took files from him. He was not, however, in control of, or even aware of how bright red his ears seemed to turn any time Sanders showed up in his lab.
Greg's prediction was correct, mainly because it wasn't a prediction but a plan that he'd been a part of. The lab hired Mia Dickerson after a few others couldn't handle it. She fit the DNA lab well, and Greg was off into the field.
Henry was part relieved and part saddened. He still saw Greg, but not as often, and he was usually in what Jacqui was starting to refer to as Serious Sanders CSI mode when they did see him. It meant that Greg wasn't around as much and there was less danger of … well, nothing really, since Henry would never actually put a toe out of line. But it made the butterflies a lot less active in his stomach.
When Henry did have a chance to talk to or see Greg, he jumped at it, happy to deliver files or evidence, chat about a case. In some ways, Henry really looked up to Greg – he had made the jump to CSI, which was tricky, but really interesting. In his then two years on the job, the criminalist posting was starting to look very interesting. Or perhaps it was just another excuse to get some face time with Greg. Try to ask him for pointers, what to think about working on, things like that. Even try to small talk him, what did he do that weekend, where did he get his hair cut, and so forth.
He didn't want to annoy, and he didn't think he was being obvious, but he was starting to get strange looks from people. Jacqui was always smirking at him knowingly but not saying anything. David had stopped addressing him curtly as 'Andrews' and now called him 'Sycophant' with relish, looking as if each syllable were delicious. Mia just looked at him oddly, which hurt because he'd thought about asking her out a few times and decided against it, knowing she didn't 'do' out. Archie and Bobby just smiled and treated him normally, and he appreciated that. Still, in the end, he would rather everyone think he was brown-nosing than harboring a huge crush on the youngest CSI.
It was midnight in the lab, and strangely quiet. People were testing things or napping on their desks, and most of the CSIs were in the field on one case or another. Henry himself was looking down through the lenses of the LCMS, watching as liquid met liquid and battled it out to break down to its components.
"Anything interesting?" The familiar voice almost made Henry's toes curl, but instead he straightened and turned, giving Greg the ever-friendly smile he gave everyone.
"Will it be lead poison? Will it be some other hard metal? Only time and the LCMS will tell! Hi, Greg. How's it going?"
"Not bad," Greg said quietly, giving him a soft smile. He quirked his head slightly, blond hair falling a little to one side, an odd look in his eyes. One of his eyebrows lifted curiously, making Henry wonder if there was something on his face when the ex-tech spoke again, "You know, I've always noticed, Henry, that when I talk to you, your ears tend to turn red."
"What?" The tox tech was totally unprepared for that, and he could suddenly feel his heart in his throat. He was quite sure that his face had a guilty, shocked look on it, and he tried very hard instead to calm to neutral, when in reality, he just looked very confused.
"Your ears," Greg repeated, his voice low and amused as he took a step closer. Henry would have backed away, but the LCMS was right behind him, and he was absolutely trapped. "Red. Sometimes just pink, actually, but sometimes they'll go red. And right now?"
"Yes?" His voice was hoarse as Greg stepped closer again, hardly inches away. The other man was grinning like the cat that ate the canary.
"Red, Henry. Bright red," Greg nodded slowly, playfully confirming. Henry knew it, too. He could feel the traitorous things hot as fire, could hear the blood rushing in them. It was almost making him dizzy – that, or Greg's proximity.
"Oh," Was all Henry could think to say, and for some reason, it made Greg's smile widen.
"Can I see you in the locker room in, say, five minutes?" Greg said, stepping back, his bright grin fading to something a little more … God, naughty was the only thing Henry could think, although his mind was definitely already somewhere else.
"S… Sure," Henry stuttered, ashamed for losing control, for not being able to speak when Greg seemed to be fully able to flirt without breaking a sweat.
"Okay!" Greg replied brightly, as if nothing had happened, and then walked away, out into the halls, as if nothing had happened.
Henry couldn't make the noise in his ears stop. Was Greg actually outright flirting with him? Or was that just teasing, and he was so muddled with his crush he couldn't tell? He had to make it stop! And yet, why did Greg ask him to meet in the locker room? The thought made him nervous beyond belief, because if he went expecting anything other than Greg wanting to give him back his casserole dish from some barbecue at his house or something and that was all he got, he knew that he'd be a broken Henry forever.
So it was with great trepidation that Henry finally got up the courage to take his break and make his way to the locker room. He pushed the door open and heard it close behind him, glancing around for anyone else. The blood in his ears was making it difficult to tell otherwise. Making his way to the second row, he found his locker and opened it, taking off and hanging up his lab coat, looking through the items on his top shelf and riffling through pockets if only to seem like he was doing something. Then he ran fingers over his face, wondering what the hell he was actually doing there. He was beginning to feel rather depressed, and a bit of an idiot that he was surprised that had found the room empty when he felt fingers on his neck, and then lips at his ear.
"Still bright red, Henry."
He could swear he felt his heart stop for a moment. Automatically he closed the door of his locker, his hands pressing flat against the doors as Greg pressed his nose into the spot below Henry's glowing ear. He could feel something escape his throat, whether it was a sigh or a moan he couldn't tell, because all he seemed to hear was white noise and Greg's soft breath. Hands slid down his back and around, and he could feel Greg press against him, embracing him. Something Henry hardly dreamed possible, although he had dreamed it before.
A strangled mutter of Greg's name and the beginnings of something else passed his lips, but the slightly older man shushed him, nipping softly at the curve of his neck. "Henry, Henry Andrews. You're such a shy boy … "
His knees were becoming weak, and he was finding himself leaning into Greg for support, something that was being more than willingly given. He could feel hands wandering, exploring the feel of his slim chest through his shirt, and then finding the edges and wandering underneath. The feel of Greg's long fingers on his skin had him gasping again, even as Greg was nibbling at his chin line.
"Every day," He murmured slowly as Henry half-squirmed against him, the sound of his voice making Henry shudder. "Every day I see you, and you blush and you smile. You never say anything, you hardly flirt back, Henry. But your ears … " His breath was hot on one of the said aural appendages, "I started to notice, I'm the only one you blush for, Henry."
"Not really," Henry mumbled, feeling compelled to be honest when his crush's hands were all over him. "I blush a lot."
"Not for any one person, Hen," Greg whispered softly into his ear. "Once in a while, for others here and there, but always? Only for me. You … are just so sweet." That made his brain melt. Henry was short-circuiting, or perhaps overheating, his ears being proof of that.
"What're you going to do with me, then?" He breathed.
The answer was wordless, as some of the best are. Everything stopped for a moment, making Henry catch his breath as hands and lips drew away. Then he felt a tug at his hips and was turned and pushed a bit hard into the locker. Hands and lips were reinstated, but in more interesting, surprising places. Greg kissed him, softly at first, then when Henry encouraged him, quite a bit more greedily.
Henry grabbed at Greg's shoulders, a whimper forming in his throat when he felt the first push at his pants, the press of a hand slip past the waistband of his boxers. Induced by those long fingers wrapping around his hardening cock, his first moan was stifled by the hard interlock of lips. Of course, the unfortunate side effect of pants was that they were rather constrictive. Greg's hand stroked him in little, feathery jerks, hardly moving, and Henry thought it was about to drive him mad. Then the hand pulled away, and he broke the kiss in protest, almost growling. Greg bit his bottom lip and chuckled low, even as Henry felt his zipper being pulled down. Oh …
One hand at Henry's shoulder, pinning him to the lockers, Greg's devilish other hand was pushing down the tox tech's pants and boxers, if only to give him enough access. The CSI pressed his form against Henry's side, free hand running up into short black curls, his nose to the other's cheek as he grinned a lusty version of the grin that had made Henry his toy from day one. As his hand took hold again of Henry's cock, just holding it in his warm palm, he whispered softly, "Sweet, innocent Henry Andrews. Being so very naughty in the locker room … But you'll always be my innocent Henry, Henry."
"St … Stop teasing," Henry breathed, his eyes closing. The rush of blood from his ears to his groin was making him dizzy. Surely there wasn't enough blood in his body for both places to fill with blood and leave the rest of him running. He'd taken advanced levels of biology. He knew it couldn't be possible. Of course, ears shouldn't usually usurp as much blood as Henry's did, but he couldn't help it!
"What do you want me to do," Purred Sanders, absolutely reveling in Henry's conscientious discomfort.
"Greg, please," Henry squirmed, panting, unable to say the words. They were absolutely, positively dirty, the words in his mind that were just dying to fall past his lips. Instead, he rolled his head to look up at the ceiling, letting out a tiny groan. Unable to help it, he tried to thrust against Greg's hand.
Gregory Sanders wasn't having any of that! He leaned his hips against Henry's, pinning him further to the locker, restricting any attempts Henry could make at moving. "Now, now. C'mon, Henry. I know you're sweet, but you can't be all that innocent. Say it. Tell me what you want."
Greg licked and kissed at Henry's neck and Henry thought of a thousand things to say, not one of them he would have considered proper for conversation. But they weren't at a tea party, were they? Henry's long-time crush was giving him a hand job in the locker room, and it was dirty and sexy, and there were times you had to get over being nervous and just say it. Besides, how could he deny that someone was attracted to him when they had him pinned up against a locker with their hands down his pants?
"God," He breathed, the word almost sticking in his throat for lack of moisture in his mouth. "F … fuck. Fuck me … with your hand. Please? Please, Greg." The pleading note in his voice seemed to satisfy Greg's slightly sadistic demand. The hand began to stroke him softly, and Henry let out a strangled groan in return, turning his head to face Greg who was grinning slyly.
"Now that's a good Henry," Greg whispered, brushing lips with him. His face was now flushed, lips red and pouting, and Henry was not far gone enough that he couldn't enjoy the utter desire on Greg's face. That he had put there. All for him. The thought made Henry moan softly, a sound that Greg answered by drawing him into another heated kiss.
Greg's hand pumped and slid expertly, something that Henry was really only used to doing for himself, and the feel of those long fingers smoothing along his length in ways he had not imagined yet was pushing him already towards that point. Lips parted, Greg kissing his ear, his jaw, his neck, his collarbone. He knew he was muttering, unintelligible, naughty words and Greg's name all tumbled together. A whispered cacophony he couldn't hear because of the blood running through his ears, drowning out everything but the sensation of Greg. YesssdamnohhfuckohgodGregplease …
Then the lips sucking at his ear again, even as he fought to hold out, to make the sensations last a few moments longer, whispered, "Come, Henry. Come for me."
Henry would always, always do what Greg wanted him to.
His head was slowly clearing as he trembled off the last of his orgasm, tilted back against the cool locker doors. He could feel Greg, his body still pressed against him, and he looked down to see a hand now to those reddened lips. That Greg was licking something off those long fingers made the blood rush a little in Henry's ears again. A low, happy rumble emanated from Greg's throat, and the look of pride on his face was almost smug. Brown eyes caught blue green, and a now-clean hand brushed Henry's cheek, brought his chin around to the point where Greg could give him a few breathless kisses. Henry could detect a tang to the taste in Greg's mouth and the thought of where it came from made him shiver.
Greg draped his arms around Henry's shoulders comfortably, softly kissing the edge of his mouth before leaning his forehead against the side of Henry's head, grinning broadly. "You know, Henry, I didn't actually think you were gonna show up."
Feeling his breath slowing, his heart not beating so fast, speech returned to him. Henry finally found that he, himself, had the ability to grin rather naughtily. "I guess you shouldn't underestimate me, Greg. Or your power to persuade me."
"Mm," The CSI murmured, leaning in to nip the now-rosy ears. "I never will again."