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Title: The Dices are Cast
Author:
Fandom: CSI: Miami
Category:
Pairing: Ryan/OMC
Rating: M
Warnings: adult content in (hopefully) later chapters. Warnings may go up.
Disclaimer: Anything related to CSI Miami isn’t mine.
Summary: It started with a dead body…
I haven’t written much in a long time…and this is working first draft. It may change and contains errors etc. I guess I just put it here to encourage myself.
Chapter 1:Roll the dices.
With no doors and only a partially constructed building around it, the stairway had turned into a chimney, sucking in dust and swirling it upstairs. Sand grinded between Ryan’s teeth, and he curled his lips in disgust. He wanted a shower, right now, to get rid of that stuff that clung to his skin and clothes and had found its way into his pants.
“Aren’t corpses usually cemented in the basement?” Dennis breathed hard and coughed. “Curse the dust. Which floor?”
“Fifth. Two more to go.” His side hurt. He cursed himself for being out of shape. Ryan mopped the sweat off his forehead but only succeeded in leaving a smudged streak that he could feel sticking to the skin. Then the wind pushed and pulled at Ryan, urging him to move forward to the crime scene, and he picked up his pace.
They ducked beneath the crime scene tape that was fitted in the gap where a door was planned but not yet installed. Ryan stepped forward onto what would later become the floor of several penthouse apartments. Unexpected a gust slammed into his body and caught him off guard. He braced his feet, glad for his wide stance - a relic from his times as a patrol officer. He had already seen it from below; there were nearly no outer walls, just some here and there, where another room or apartment was planned.
It felt like standing on a mountain ledge and seven stories above ground, any breeze turned into a force to be reckoned with. With a thunderstorm undecided if it wanted to unload over Miami, the breeze had turned into a strong wind. It ebbed only to rush back with force. Like a lover’s hands, it tugged at his clothes and shifted through his hair. Good that he wore it cropped short, which was easier to clean and less likely to be grabbed, even if only by a gust.
Dennis laughter was muted, yet had a shrill quality about it. “The crime scene is a loft, spacious and well-ventilated. If I had been the dead guy, I would have chosen one on the other side of the building – those already have the outer walls in place.”
Trust Dennis Wells to say the wrong thing at the wrong time. Ryan’s and everyone else’s immediate reaction was to look to H.
“I doubt that he died of his own choosing.” H’s voice was as soft as usual but his sunglasses were now in his hand and Ryan was glad that it was not him who had to face the piercing blue, which could very well have been.
Wells swallowed and muttered an excuse, eyes averted.
“Professionalism, Dennis. No matter how you feel when working on a crime scene, professionalism is what’s relevant. Just stick close to the stairway.”
Denis put his kit down and turned but Ryan had seen the relief on his face. Was Dennis afraid of the height?
Ryan started to move but stopped dead track when the patrol officer next to H stepped slightly forward. Michael, his lover stood next to his boss. He swallowed. Heat traveled up his neck and cheeks and hopefully they would think it was because of the climb upstairs. Somehow the scene had an unreal quality to it, as if two photographies had accidentally blended into one. Both Ryan and Michael worked hard to separate work and private life; after all they couldn’t just discuss their latest cases without disclosing confidential information, even if by accident.
He could not help comparing them to each other – both of them were Lieutenants, both radiated command presence but there was a huge difference. H always looked composed, no matter what the weather was like. Perhaps because of his shades that allowed him to see so much sharper in strong sunlight while making sure no one could peer inside if he did not want it. It was more, stance and experience, a bit like command presence drilled into patrol cops, yet different in the way he appeared, with an aura of calm confidence without challenging the world. Admirable.
Michael had another aura around him; he would be the typical poster book patrol cop if it weren’t for the dust on his designer shoes.
Both Michael and H both cast a glance into his direction. Nothing in Michael’s behavior showed that he and Ryan knew each other in any way. He should be glad that their relationship stayed secret but somehow Ryan felt...disregarded.
“Damned. “Dennis grunted. “That’s Lieutenant DeSorro,” he whispered. “He’s climbing the promotion ladder faster than you can look.”
Ryan you looked at him and chuckled before he strode over to the corpse of a 50-year old man. Frank Tripp looked up from where he knelt and stood, like a solid statue amidst any chaos with his hands in hands in his hips and a scowl that seemed reserved for Ryan. “The case is sensitive.”
Ryan nodded but he was too busy ignoring Michael while zooming in on the waxen face of the victim, a face that just days ago had been broadcasted on every local channel. Jerry Flenters. He sighed. Jenny of Channel Six had interviewed Jerry Flenters, the local beneficial, who had donated a quarter million to Charity and institutions, amongst it the MDPD. It had been hinted at that he might run for mayor. The media would have a field day once they found out about his murder.
The camera scanned over the corpse as he took picture after picture. He documented not only the position of the body but also the strangle marks around his throat, the three stab wounds and the cords around the bloodied ankles and wrists. The poor guy did not stand a chance, much less so with his hands tied behind the back.
When Frank cleared his throat, Ryan looked up.
“So where is Eric?” Frank’s eyes never met Ryan’s but he licked his lips repeatedly.
He frowned. Why was Frank behaving so strange? Then realization hit him like a blow to the stomach and heat flushed Ryan’s cheeks. The tension that Ryan had felt simmering in Frank for months was finally out in the open. “Called in sick.” He clenched his jaw and balled his fists, wishing that he could slam them into Frank, into anything.
“Frank?” H’s voice was stern. ”Can I talk to you for a minute?” He led Frank inside the stairway and Ryan exhaled through gritted teeth.
He uncurled his fists and willed the angry shake from his body. The acrid knot in his stomach remained, heavy like a stone, dragging him down. He felt Michael’s gaze on him but he did not look up. Instead Ryan raised the camera and hid behind it, blocking Tripp and everything from view that was unrelated to the task at hand.
He walked around Flenter’s corpse, well aware that the building edge was now less than three feet away from him. The wind tugged at him and the macabre thought crossed his mind that if he would fall, then any sensitive material that he had ever overheard and that could not be trusted to him would disappear. It was childish, he knew that, but he just could not stop this line of reasoning. How many of them would actually miss him?
Then Michael’s strong presence was next to him and as long as he was there, why should he care about his colleagues?
“If you ever need a transfer, let me know.” The words were meant for Ryan’s ear alone, but the wind carried words farther than you would think and H had already tilted his head.
“Thanks- could you give me some space?” His answer was harsher than he intended and sounded wrong to his ears, as if he was taking it out on him instead on Frank. Before he could say anything, though, Michael had disappeared. Ryan sighed in exasperation.
He zoomed in on the blood, occupying his mind with the way it had been spilled. Judging from the pattern, he must have been stabbed from behind, right here. But there was more blood on the concrete, at a different angle. It might have been from the broken nose but Ryan suspected that he had tried to crawl away from his attackers and that attempt to escape had stopped here.
Carefully, he followed the trail for several feet to a wall enclosing an area that was designed to become the spacious bathroom. The pipes were already partially installed and the wind wailed around them. Flenters could have been tied up in here and Ryan gestured to Dennis to have a close look.
Out of both curiosity and still simmering anger, he went on, mindful of where he stepped. He peered around some half-finished walls and took a picture here and there, just to be safe. A Wooden barricade that was not exactly conforming to regulations blocked the way to the elevator shaft. A rather large wall parted nearly the entire seventh floor. Someone had drawn obscene pictures onto it and for good measure, he took a shot of them as well.
Ryan stole a look around the corner and stepped forward.
Feet shuffled, and with a yell Ryan spun around, his hand reaching for his gun. His hand was slapped away just as he recognized Michael and was pulled into a close embrace. Michael’s lips pressed against his, hungry and warm and he moaned into Michael’s mouth, met the tongue sliding in with his own. He was startled when his back collided with the rough wall, for he had not realized that Michael had steered him back. Michael broke the kiss. “Do you have a death wish?”
“Are you nuts?” He replied in a harsh whisper, “I could have shot you!”
“Hardly. Your reflexes are way to slow.”
“Wolfe?!” H shouted, fortunately from a distance.
“Yes!” Ryan pulled sideways as much as Michael would let him. “Yes, I’m fine. Mr. DeSorro just wanted to take a look around!” he needed to convince H that there was no need to investigate on him.
“Wouldn’t that be thrilling, you and me, here, fucking each other senseless,” His hand was now pressed against Ryan’s throbbing cock, “while your boss is just around a corner?”
“That’s macabre..” Ryan whispered back...but if it weren’t for the crime scene, he would be shamefully aroused.
Michael’s stubble rubbed like sandpaper against Ryan’s ears. All playfulness had left his eyes. “But you were sloppy. You never know who might turn up at a crime scene – old friends, old foes.” Michael’s hand pressed harder on Ryan’s shaft, almost to the brink of pain. “Even when patrol has secured the area, they might have missed someone, something. And sometimes, cops are the problem and trust me, they’re so much harder to convict.” He let go and spun away as quickly as he had first grabbed him
“Ryan?” Footsteps echoed along the concrete.
Ryan quickly took a few steps, composing himself. “Just checking the periphery.”
H looked around the corner. “We need some more pictures.”
Michael and Ryan followed him back to the corpse. Flenters had been turned over. Ryan lifted the camera. Just what was that? He zoomed in. Dices, two of them, had lain under Flenter’s body, rusty from the blood. He shot the last pictures before the corpse was lifted into a body bag.
“Someone gambled too high.”
To be continued
Author:
Fandom: CSI: Miami
Category:
Pairing: Ryan/OMC
Rating: M
Warnings: adult content in (hopefully) later chapters. Warnings may go up.
Disclaimer: Anything related to CSI Miami isn’t mine.
Summary: It started with a dead body…
I haven’t written much in a long time…and this is working first draft. It may change and contains errors etc. I guess I just put it here to encourage myself.
Chapter 1:Roll the dices.
With no doors and only a partially constructed building around it, the stairway had turned into a chimney, sucking in dust and swirling it upstairs. Sand grinded between Ryan’s teeth, and he curled his lips in disgust. He wanted a shower, right now, to get rid of that stuff that clung to his skin and clothes and had found its way into his pants.
“Aren’t corpses usually cemented in the basement?” Dennis breathed hard and coughed. “Curse the dust. Which floor?”
“Fifth. Two more to go.” His side hurt. He cursed himself for being out of shape. Ryan mopped the sweat off his forehead but only succeeded in leaving a smudged streak that he could feel sticking to the skin. Then the wind pushed and pulled at Ryan, urging him to move forward to the crime scene, and he picked up his pace.
They ducked beneath the crime scene tape that was fitted in the gap where a door was planned but not yet installed. Ryan stepped forward onto what would later become the floor of several penthouse apartments. Unexpected a gust slammed into his body and caught him off guard. He braced his feet, glad for his wide stance - a relic from his times as a patrol officer. He had already seen it from below; there were nearly no outer walls, just some here and there, where another room or apartment was planned.
It felt like standing on a mountain ledge and seven stories above ground, any breeze turned into a force to be reckoned with. With a thunderstorm undecided if it wanted to unload over Miami, the breeze had turned into a strong wind. It ebbed only to rush back with force. Like a lover’s hands, it tugged at his clothes and shifted through his hair. Good that he wore it cropped short, which was easier to clean and less likely to be grabbed, even if only by a gust.
Dennis laughter was muted, yet had a shrill quality about it. “The crime scene is a loft, spacious and well-ventilated. If I had been the dead guy, I would have chosen one on the other side of the building – those already have the outer walls in place.”
Trust Dennis Wells to say the wrong thing at the wrong time. Ryan’s and everyone else’s immediate reaction was to look to H.
“I doubt that he died of his own choosing.” H’s voice was as soft as usual but his sunglasses were now in his hand and Ryan was glad that it was not him who had to face the piercing blue, which could very well have been.
Wells swallowed and muttered an excuse, eyes averted.
“Professionalism, Dennis. No matter how you feel when working on a crime scene, professionalism is what’s relevant. Just stick close to the stairway.”
Denis put his kit down and turned but Ryan had seen the relief on his face. Was Dennis afraid of the height?
Ryan started to move but stopped dead track when the patrol officer next to H stepped slightly forward. Michael, his lover stood next to his boss. He swallowed. Heat traveled up his neck and cheeks and hopefully they would think it was because of the climb upstairs. Somehow the scene had an unreal quality to it, as if two photographies had accidentally blended into one. Both Ryan and Michael worked hard to separate work and private life; after all they couldn’t just discuss their latest cases without disclosing confidential information, even if by accident.
He could not help comparing them to each other – both of them were Lieutenants, both radiated command presence but there was a huge difference. H always looked composed, no matter what the weather was like. Perhaps because of his shades that allowed him to see so much sharper in strong sunlight while making sure no one could peer inside if he did not want it. It was more, stance and experience, a bit like command presence drilled into patrol cops, yet different in the way he appeared, with an aura of calm confidence without challenging the world. Admirable.
Michael had another aura around him; he would be the typical poster book patrol cop if it weren’t for the dust on his designer shoes.
Both Michael and H both cast a glance into his direction. Nothing in Michael’s behavior showed that he and Ryan knew each other in any way. He should be glad that their relationship stayed secret but somehow Ryan felt...disregarded.
“Damned. “Dennis grunted. “That’s Lieutenant DeSorro,” he whispered. “He’s climbing the promotion ladder faster than you can look.”
Ryan you looked at him and chuckled before he strode over to the corpse of a 50-year old man. Frank Tripp looked up from where he knelt and stood, like a solid statue amidst any chaos with his hands in hands in his hips and a scowl that seemed reserved for Ryan. “The case is sensitive.”
Ryan nodded but he was too busy ignoring Michael while zooming in on the waxen face of the victim, a face that just days ago had been broadcasted on every local channel. Jerry Flenters. He sighed. Jenny of Channel Six had interviewed Jerry Flenters, the local beneficial, who had donated a quarter million to Charity and institutions, amongst it the MDPD. It had been hinted at that he might run for mayor. The media would have a field day once they found out about his murder.
The camera scanned over the corpse as he took picture after picture. He documented not only the position of the body but also the strangle marks around his throat, the three stab wounds and the cords around the bloodied ankles and wrists. The poor guy did not stand a chance, much less so with his hands tied behind the back.
When Frank cleared his throat, Ryan looked up.
“So where is Eric?” Frank’s eyes never met Ryan’s but he licked his lips repeatedly.
He frowned. Why was Frank behaving so strange? Then realization hit him like a blow to the stomach and heat flushed Ryan’s cheeks. The tension that Ryan had felt simmering in Frank for months was finally out in the open. “Called in sick.” He clenched his jaw and balled his fists, wishing that he could slam them into Frank, into anything.
“Frank?” H’s voice was stern. ”Can I talk to you for a minute?” He led Frank inside the stairway and Ryan exhaled through gritted teeth.
He uncurled his fists and willed the angry shake from his body. The acrid knot in his stomach remained, heavy like a stone, dragging him down. He felt Michael’s gaze on him but he did not look up. Instead Ryan raised the camera and hid behind it, blocking Tripp and everything from view that was unrelated to the task at hand.
He walked around Flenter’s corpse, well aware that the building edge was now less than three feet away from him. The wind tugged at him and the macabre thought crossed his mind that if he would fall, then any sensitive material that he had ever overheard and that could not be trusted to him would disappear. It was childish, he knew that, but he just could not stop this line of reasoning. How many of them would actually miss him?
Then Michael’s strong presence was next to him and as long as he was there, why should he care about his colleagues?
“If you ever need a transfer, let me know.” The words were meant for Ryan’s ear alone, but the wind carried words farther than you would think and H had already tilted his head.
“Thanks- could you give me some space?” His answer was harsher than he intended and sounded wrong to his ears, as if he was taking it out on him instead on Frank. Before he could say anything, though, Michael had disappeared. Ryan sighed in exasperation.
He zoomed in on the blood, occupying his mind with the way it had been spilled. Judging from the pattern, he must have been stabbed from behind, right here. But there was more blood on the concrete, at a different angle. It might have been from the broken nose but Ryan suspected that he had tried to crawl away from his attackers and that attempt to escape had stopped here.
Carefully, he followed the trail for several feet to a wall enclosing an area that was designed to become the spacious bathroom. The pipes were already partially installed and the wind wailed around them. Flenters could have been tied up in here and Ryan gestured to Dennis to have a close look.
Out of both curiosity and still simmering anger, he went on, mindful of where he stepped. He peered around some half-finished walls and took a picture here and there, just to be safe. A Wooden barricade that was not exactly conforming to regulations blocked the way to the elevator shaft. A rather large wall parted nearly the entire seventh floor. Someone had drawn obscene pictures onto it and for good measure, he took a shot of them as well.
Ryan stole a look around the corner and stepped forward.
Feet shuffled, and with a yell Ryan spun around, his hand reaching for his gun. His hand was slapped away just as he recognized Michael and was pulled into a close embrace. Michael’s lips pressed against his, hungry and warm and he moaned into Michael’s mouth, met the tongue sliding in with his own. He was startled when his back collided with the rough wall, for he had not realized that Michael had steered him back. Michael broke the kiss. “Do you have a death wish?”
“Are you nuts?” He replied in a harsh whisper, “I could have shot you!”
“Hardly. Your reflexes are way to slow.”
“Wolfe?!” H shouted, fortunately from a distance.
“Yes!” Ryan pulled sideways as much as Michael would let him. “Yes, I’m fine. Mr. DeSorro just wanted to take a look around!” he needed to convince H that there was no need to investigate on him.
“Wouldn’t that be thrilling, you and me, here, fucking each other senseless,” His hand was now pressed against Ryan’s throbbing cock, “while your boss is just around a corner?”
“That’s macabre..” Ryan whispered back...but if it weren’t for the crime scene, he would be shamefully aroused.
Michael’s stubble rubbed like sandpaper against Ryan’s ears. All playfulness had left his eyes. “But you were sloppy. You never know who might turn up at a crime scene – old friends, old foes.” Michael’s hand pressed harder on Ryan’s shaft, almost to the brink of pain. “Even when patrol has secured the area, they might have missed someone, something. And sometimes, cops are the problem and trust me, they’re so much harder to convict.” He let go and spun away as quickly as he had first grabbed him
“Ryan?” Footsteps echoed along the concrete.
Ryan quickly took a few steps, composing himself. “Just checking the periphery.”
H looked around the corner. “We need some more pictures.”
Michael and Ryan followed him back to the corpse. Flenters had been turned over. Ryan lifted the camera. Just what was that? He zoomed in. Dices, two of them, had lain under Flenter’s body, rusty from the blood. He shot the last pictures before the corpse was lifted into a body bag.
“Someone gambled too high.”
To be continued
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