Title: Tristan
Rating: R or M for adult situations and minor BDSM (minor for now, it may get worse later…)
Disclaimer: I do not own any recognizable characters. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit of any kind is being made.
A/N: I'm only seen a handful of CSI episodes, but I just can't get this idea out of my head, so please forgive me if the characters are a little OOC.
A/N 2: This idea comes loosely from the Anne Rice Sleeping Beauty series.

Gil Grissom had always been preferential to the graveyard shift. It wasn't that he disliked people – quite the contrary, he enjoyed his team's company very much. It was just that the dark made the cases more intriguing. More…dangerous.

One evening, while doing the precursory forensics on a case, Gil had heard the police officer who was present cough, but had paid the man little mind. This was an interesting circumstance in which it seemed the vic had cooperated the entire time. Despite the fact that she had laceration and whip marks over her body, and she had obviously been asphyxiated, there was no apparent sign of a struggle. She had no clothing to speak of and she was positioned oddly on her side, as though she had been deliberately lain in this sleeping position.

Gil turned around to ask the officer a question, and found his face centimeters away from the barrel of a gun. He closed his eyes and sighed before looking up. A man was frowning at him, "Just don't say a word and follow me."

Grissom knew better than to argue with a man whose gun had a silencer on it, so he stood and proceeded to leave the crime scene, the gun pressed lightly into his lower back. He had to step over the fallen officer to get outside, and as they walked towards his own vehicle, his captor came out from behind him. "Take your keys out of your pockets."

As Gil reached for his pocket, he felt the gun being shoved into his stomach. He looked up, eyes wide.

"No funny business." The man said, adjusting the gun to prove his point.

"No." Slowly, he pulled his keys out of his pocket and moved to hand them to the other man. He was shocked when he felt the gun prod him again.

"Everything out of your pockets. The vest comes off, too."

He nodded and subsequently reached down. Off came his vest and with it, his gun. It fell to the ground slowly as he reached around. On his back belt loop hung a pair of handcuffs. Just as he was about to drop them, the other man reached out, "I'll take those."

Gil nodded sadly. His wallet, a magnifying glass, and a spare pair of gloves were all eventually added to the pile before he was finished. He was taking a huge chance by keeping his cell phone on him, but he had deep pockets and it was on silent. Maybe when they got to where-ever they were going he could call someone. He nodded and his captor patted him down, Grissom couldn't help but sigh in relief when the cell phone went undiscovered. The man frowned when he failed to find anything incriminating, but contented himself with grabbing Gil's crotch, causing said man to gasp in surprise.

"C'mon, let's go, you're passenger."

As he climbed into the vehicle reluctantly, all Gil could do was nod slightly and keep a wary eye on his subjugator. He pulled his seat belt around himself and clicked it into place before a blindfold was placed snugly over his eyes, "Can't have you knowing where we are, can we?"

He shook his head tentatively, his hands in his lap. He hoped Catherine would take over, Sara would be okay, and maybe Nick…Nick could find a real nice girl. He choked on the thought Never man enough to say anything, huh, Gil?

"You're not gonna puke, are you?"

Gil shook his head.

"Oh, well, I guess it doesn't really matter, this isn't my car, and we'll be getting out soon, anyways." True to his word, the man stopped the car quite soon after that, though Gil wasn't sure exactly how soon after, as he couldn't look at his watch.

The other man opened his door and got out, then Gil heard his own door being opened. "Take off you God damn seat belt." So he did, thereafter he was roughly pulled out of the vehicle and planted firmly on the ground. "Strip."

His body went stiff. "W…What?"

"You heard me!" He felt the gun on his thigh and blanched, "I don't like giving orders more than once."

Nobody had seen Grissom naked since his boyfriend in college, and this definitely wasn't how he wanted to take the next step. To be honest, he had resigned himself to a life of working all the time, and the all to often occurring quick jerk off in order to continue his day – some men just weren't meant to have partners. Still, he had made up his mind to be complacent, so he reached down, unbuttoning his jeans, they fell to the ground and he stepped cautiously out of them. Next was his button down shirt. He flicked it off of his shoulders and heard the buttons hit the car behind him. He was left in his undershirt and boxers.

"Everything." The captor seemed to have read his mind.

Gil took a deep breath and pulled the thin shirt off, over his head dropping it beside himself. He pushed off his boxers quickly, before he lost his nerve. Wishing he could see this man's face – this man who could see all of him – he felt himself blushing and moving his hands to cover himself, but a hand stopped him.

"You're pretty good looking for an old man."

Old man? "Oh?"

"Besides," said the man, ignoring Gil's question, "Where you're going, you're not allowed to do that. Can you ride a horse?"

"I don't know," Gil choked out, contemplating the near future, in which he would obviously not be concealed.

"You never have?"

"Right."

"Okay, I'm gonna help you get on the horse then, but first…spread your legs, it'll make this hurt less."

"Wha – OW!" Grissom suddenly felt as though he was being impaled on something.

"You'd better keep that in the entire ride."

"I…what is it?"

"Just a didlo."

Grissom blushed again. Yes – he was gay, and extremely sexually inclined, but since forensic school, play things had taken the back burner to seemingly more important things.

"Now, reach out and you'll feel some hair. That's the mane, grab onto it. Good. Now hop and swing your right leg over."

Gil situated himself close to the horse's neck, and felt the other man behind him. The denim of his jeans rubbed against Gil's naked lower back, and he flinched slightly and the unexpected contact. "C'mon, be a man."

The man behind him, Gil had decided to call him Tristan, so…Tristan had a set of a reins in his hands and he brought them around Gil's body, trapping him inside of the thin leather ropes. "Hold on tight." Tristan clucked his tongue and the horse started to canter (though, Gil did not know this, the correct term).

A jolt of pain ran through Grissom where the phallus had been inserted and despite his blindfold, he closed his eyes tightly. "I'm going to fall off!" he yelled desperately into the wind. Though he might not mind falling off, maybe then Tristan would leave him behind with what little dignity he had left. Or maybe he would shoot him – Gil had no clue, and he didn't feel like playing Russian roulette today.

But Tristan wrapped an arm around Gil's waist, "Hold on with your legs, squeeze the horse."

It was an odd sensation, really, the horse's fur under his bare skin. Gil had never given much thought to the sensuality of doing "everyday" activities unrobed. Of course, horse back riding wasn't everyday to him, but perhaps it was to this man.

Eventually, the horse cam to a halt, Gil's head lolling on his chest as he dozed, until Tristan grasped some of his hair in a fist and pulled Gil's head back, causing him to wake abruptly in fright. The blindfold had been removed sometime during their ride, and Gil's eyes were wide with fear. Am I going to die now? "Get off my horse."

He jumped down and his feet his soft grass (thankfully). After playing with the blades between his toes for a few seconds, he turned to look at Tristan more closely. The man was young, a square set jaw, with a five o' clock shadow. Probably clean shaven otherwise. He was wearing jeans and t-shirt, but his shoes looked as though they were made of leather and wood, it seemed where-ever Tristan came from, they didn't use petrol.

"I…Um…"

"What?" Tristan spat out as he led the horse to a small pond, so it could drink water. There was another horse tied to its tail, and the young man set about untying the animal so it, too, could drink. "Spit it out, while you still can."

While Gil was mildly confused by that statement, his current needs outweighed his curiosity. "I need to go the bathroom." A 40 odd year old man should not have to ask if he can take a leak.

"Yeah?" Maybe I don't need permission.

"Where can I…?" Gil go an odd sense from this man, it caused a pink flush to pepper his cheeks.

"Right here," said Tristan, petting the horses and paying Gil very little mind. He seemed disinterested to say the least.

Oh God. Gil wouldn't even urinate in a public washroom when other people were in there, and they couldn't even see him. He blushed a deeper red before nodding. He had to work up the courage to do it now, in front of just this man – who knew what the conditions would be like later?

"Oh. Ok," he said dumbly. What else could he say? 'No, I'd really rather not, thank you.'? For some reason, Grissom felt he didn't have much say in the matter. So, he did his business, though not as quickly as usual and it seemed Tristan noticed his hostage's consternation at all this because he smiled a little, "It's ok, everyone's nervous the first few times." You would be too if someone was judging your every move.

"Now look up," Tristan said, crossing his arms, "This will be your new home for the next two years."

A large house…mansion even…made of stone was about a mile away, at least four stories high. A flag flapped in the wind, and there were some men and women strolling in the courtyard – they must have ridden for hours for people to be outside already. It had to be at least 9:00…which meant four hours at 15 miles per hour (give or take). Gil was at least 60 miles gone. They would never find him…

"What happens after two years?" Grissom blanched at the thought.

"That's for you to find out. Now let's go." Tristan re-attached the horses as Gil stood still and watched contemplatively. Then his neck was grasped in a firm hold and he was led down a grassy knoll to get to the courtyard, and, subsequently, the house.

---------

"If you're gonna kidnap a CSI, you really should have better training than this." Nick scoffed. He tried a little humor, but his colleagues weren't blind – they could see him sweating under his clothes, scared to death of what might have happened to his supervisor.

Warrick put a hand on his friend's shoulder, "It's going to be okay, bud."

Greg and Sara nodded before bending back down to look at the tracks made by Gil's car. Nick was sifting through the pile of things left behind, while Warrick and Catherine combed the previous crime scene for anything that might help. Maybe there was something somewhere that could help. Anything.

Nick stood suddenly, grinning. "His cell phone isn't here. Maybe he's still got it on him." Against his better judgment – what if the captor didn't know Grissom had his cell phone? What if it rang? – the young man took out his own mobile telephone and dialed the number he knew so well. His face fell, however, when it rang once…twice…thrice...four times. Finally, an answering machine picked up.

"Hi, you've reached Gil Grissom. I obviously can't make it to the phone right now, please leave a message with your name and phone number and I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

Nick clicked his phone shut, dropping it on the ground. Feeling more than slightly bereft, he bent down to continue sifting through his superior's belongings. He picked up the wallet and flipped through it until he came to the picture he wanted and had hoped would be there. Gil and him were standing in an one-arm, "manly" hug, both of them showing off the fish they had caught together. It was one of the only times they had ever done something together outside of work. It had given him nights of wanking material.

He looked around himself, making sure everyone was still absorbed in their work before slipping the picture free of its confines, kissing the matte surface and sticking it in his back pocket.

"Nick?!"

Sara was standing by her car, keys in hand. She hadn't just seen that, had she? "We're gonna follow the tracks," she said, opening the car door and pointing to Greg. "Do you want to come?"

"Yeah sure," he tried to seem nonchalant as he dropped the wallet back in the pile and walked towards her. What, you think I'm crazy? "Shot gun."

Greg sighed and climbed into the back of the vehicle. They drove at about 5 miles an hour so they could follow – and avoid covering – the tracks. But an hour and five miles later, spirits weren't high. It was raining, so any tracks further out would be washed away. As Sara pulled the car to a stop, a tense silence filled the car.

Suddenly, Nick turned to her, and Greg, sensing some emotion, slid himself out of the car, unbeknownst to Sara and Nick.

"What do we do if we never find him?" Nick pleaded with Sara, his eyes wide and starting to water.

"I…" Sara's pregnant pause was interrupted by a cry from Greg. He ran up to the car with a shirt clutched in his fist.

"I found his clothes!"