I try not to go there. To the place where he dies. But I can't stop myself.

Dispo Day. Done hundreds of them in my career. So has Hollis, the officer we're burying today. Tim's only done a few. So when he asked for the assignment to get the experience, I saw no reason to say no. Besides, I was going to be there. I can protect him better if I am there.

What really gets to me is the realization that what I thought was only my need to protect one of my CSIs, is actually much more complex.

I, Horatio Caine, am in love with my subordinate, Timothy Speedle. How can this be?

How could I have felt this for him all this time and not known it? And what am I going to do about it?

That question makes my eyes water with the pain of knowing I can never have him... Never know his touch... His kiss...

As I stare at him standing across the casket from me, I feel myself falling backwards into memory. Memory I don't want to revisit. Last Monday. A day that started out like any other and ended up with the first inkling that my feelings for Tim were more than I thought.



The first sign that all was not as it should be was the funeral procession. No cop wears Kevlar to escort a funeral. I tried to warn everybody, but it all happened so fast... The station wagon slamming into the hearse... The gunmen shooting... Us shooting back...

Once the smoke had cleared I turned, taking in the death and destruction in one glance, and saw Tim on the ground... My heart stopped in my chest as I stared at him lying on his back trying to catch his breath. There was blood on his shirt.

"Oh, God," I prayed, "not Speed. Please. Not him." I rushed over to him, sucking air into my own lungs as if by sheer force of will alone I could make him sit up and breathe normally.

"Speed! Speed! Hold on, buddy, let me see it." I said as I knelt next to where he was lying on the ground.

"My chest ..." he gasped.

"All right, hold on!" I told him as I unbuttoned his shirt with trembling fingers to check for a wound . My own chest ached as I stared into his pain filled eyes.

"My chest... my chest." He said weakly as I opened his shirt and found that the Kevlar had held up. If I had not already been kneeling, I would have fallen to the ground in relief. The realization that my world would have come to a crashing halt had he died was a hard one for me to swallow. But one I had to put aside right then. I had other more pressing things demanding my attention. Like reassuring him that he was alright and finding the gunmen.

"Wait, wait, wait, the Kevlar caught it. The Kevlar caught it, man. Now, just breathe. Breathe easy. Keep breathing if you can. Okay..." I released a sigh of relief before shouting, "Rescue! Get me rescue right now!" I could feel his pain. I've been shot in the vest before and it hurts like a bitch.



I am dragged back to the present by a hand on my arm. I look up and into Tim's eyes. He's thinking the same thing I am. I can see it there in the silent terror in his brown eyes. How it could have been him. Would have been him, if not for the vest. He is haunted by what he experienced: the gun pointed at him... The click of the trigger as it was pulled... The pain of the bullet hitting him in the vest.

"We still need to talk," he says.

I know what he wants to talk about. I had hoped that by giving him the gun cleaning kit we could avoid this discussion, but I guess not. I don't want to hear his excuses for being careless with his weapon.

"You sure?" I ask. I really don't want to be his confessor. Especially when I have things that I need to confess, as well. I'm his boss, not his priest.

"Yeah. I need you to know why," he stops. Seems to gather himself and pushes on. "I don't like guns, H. Never have, never will."

"That's all well and good, Timothy, but your gun is your lifeline. You can't ignore it. It has to be cleaned at least once a week." I can't seem to keep the anger out of my voice. How can he have so little regard for his life and the lives of those around him?

"I know." He clears his throat. "But I don't really know how. Could you show me?"

Damn. Now why'd he have to go and ask that? And in that voice, with that look on his face. The voice and look that he gives any and all ladies that cross his path. Is he flirting with me? He's standing well within my personal space. Just like I do to intimidate suspects. Only I'm not intimidated. And I doubt that's his intention, from the look in his eyes. As we stare at each other, I have to fight the spike of lust that shoots through me at the look in his gaze.

"Ask Calleigh," I say a little more sharply than I intend to. "She's the expert."

"I don't want Calleigh to show me. I want you... to, H." Again with the kicked puppy look. Damn. I'm not sure I can resist him for much longer. But I must. I'm his boss. Anything else is simply wrong to want. Why do I suddenly find him so tempting?

"Fine. My office tomorrow before shift." I snap as I walk away. Can't he see that I want to bend him over the nearest flat surface and fuck him senseless?

"Thanks, H," he calls out.

I just wave over my shoulder without turning around. This is going to kill me, having to hide my attraction to him in such close quarters.

When I enter my office about an hour earlier than usual, it's to find Tim already there. He's standing in my favorite spot in front of the windows that overlook the lab. I've been known to stand there and stare down at him for hours while he works.

"Speed?" I say softly so as not to startle him.

"Why do you stand here and watch me work? Don't you trust me to do my job?" he turns from the window to face me. "Is that why you didn't want to teach me how to clean my gun?"

It takes all my willpower to not walk over to him and take him in my arms. He has such an aura of pure and utter defeat about him that all I want to do is hold and protect him. Let him know that I'll never let him down. That he is not alone any more. That he is loved. Because I now realize that I've loved him from the day we met. I want to show him that and more.

"I don't watch you work, Speed. I just stand there to think through cases sometimes." I lie. Can't have him know that he hit the nail on the head with that one. I do trust in his ability to do his job. But I also love to watch him work. The way he concentrates on the evidence. The way every move has a purpose. He's so very graceful as he moves about the lab analyzing the evidence.

There's something about him that I can't seem to ignore. Of course I'm not sure if I even want to anymore, having just realized that from that first day all I could think about is what he'd look like naked…how he'd feel wrapped around my dick, his legs around my waist...the noises he'd make as I pounded his beautiful ass into the mattress.

"H?" The tone of his voice suggests he's called my name several times.

"Sorry." I reply, dragging my thoughts back from the lustful track they are on. I turn to find his gun and cleaning kit on the table along the opposite wall from the windows. "Maybe we should get started? You do have a large caseload." I say, trying to put that professional distance between us again.

He sighs as he takes the seat opposite me. "I still don't like this, H."

"I don't care. I will not be the one to call your mother and tell her that you were killed in the line of duty because of a dirty gun. Now, strip." I order, mentally kicking myself for that slip of the tongue.

"H?" he chokes.

"Your gun, Speed. Strip... your gun," I say.

We spend the next several minutes in silence. I reach over and place my hands on his to show him the proper way to take his gun apart when he has trouble following my movements. When his gun is lying dismantled before him, I pick up the firing chamber. I need to see just how dirty it is. Even though I'm dreading it. Dreading seeing how much I failed in my duty to make sure he knows how to do this part of his job.

"I think Calleigh cleaned it before giving it back to me," he tells me. He ducks his head. I've noticed he does that when he's feeling embarrassed.

"Then you should have brought your back up piece." I snap. Do I really need to tell him these things?

"I...uh..." he takes a deep breath and releases it before continuing. "I don't know where it is."

"What? How can you lose your back up gun?" I can't keep the frown off my face or the disappointment out of my voice.

"I put it away after I got it, but when I went to get it this morning..." he cringes.

"You have to report it as missing."

"I'm not stupid, H. I reported it first thing when I arrived." His tone is a little sharper than I've ever heard it. I barely control the shiver that trips down my spine at the rough growl.

"Good. Well, it won't hurt anything to clean this one again." I reply, forcing back my fear as I pick up my own gun and start to clean it. He follows suit after a moment's hesitation, imitating my every move. He is focused the way he is in the lab, intent on the result, and even more, on the process. I feel the weight of his attention on me, his careful mimicry of my actions. It is both exhilarating and terrifying to know I have captured his complete awareness. How many times have I casually fantasized about him with his attention limited only to me?

Once both guns are cleaned and reassembled, he sits in his chair. Staring at me.

"Is there something you need?" I ask.

"About calling my mom..." he clears his throat.

"Alexx beat me to it." I interrupt. I deeply regret not being the one to call his parents. It's my job to call the families. He's my CSI; I should afford him the same courtesy I've extended to all the others under my care. But I was beside him at the scene, watching the paramedics check him out. I doubt anything could have dislodged me from his side at that point. "She'd heard that you'd been shot, and called your parents to tell them you were alive so that they wouldn't worry if they saw it on the news."

"Oh." His face falls, his voice thick with disappointment. "She didn't say who'd called. Just that someone did, and that I should thank them for her. She worries too much, ya know?"

"Well, she is your mother. It's her right to worry about you." It's also my job to worry about him. I just wish I could let him know how much I worry and why.

"She didn't worry this much before...Ya know, when I was a kid?" He tilts his head to the side, his brow lowered in a frown.

"Maybe because you were where she could keep an eye on you and you weren't in law enforcement." I suggest ironically as I place my hand on his forearm. I can feel the raised lines on his skin and I look down to see faint parallel scars running from his wrist up to disappear under the sleeve of his shirt. "Speed..." I start to say, horror lancing through me at what they might mean.

"I...uh...really have to...um...go now, H. Thanks for helping." He jerks his arm away before standing up so fast he almost knocks his chair over and bolting from the room at a near run.

What is he afraid of? What is he running from? Me? Dear god, I pray that's not why he fled. Did I betray myself? And if so, how will he react to the knowledge that I want him? Because nothing I've ever seen from him hints at the idea that he might possibly feel the same way. He's never, as far as I know, even looked at other men as potential lovers.

I run my thumb over the palm of my hand, the one I'd placed on his forearm, the sense-memory of the scars there forcing me to wonder if Tim's mother is right to worry about him more, now. Right to fear both the silences from her son, and that unexpected phone call from someone she's never met, someone who tells her that her son has been shot. And what, I wonder, would I do in her place, now? Now that I know how much more than a coworker Tim has become to me. I sit there for a very long time, thinking about all the things I don't know about Timothy Speedle. Things I need to know, if I have any chance of understanding him, and drawing him into my personal life.

Over the next several months I start trying to get closer to him. I begin with the things that will go unnoticed by everyone but him. I stand just that little bit closer…make sure we work the same cases, whenever possible...

About three months in, I've gotten tired of the cat and mouse games we play at work. So I decide to have a barbeque.

I invite everyone from the lab. And everyone shows up.

"Horatio?" Alexx corners me in the kitchen. "Care to explain?"

"I'm sure I have no idea what you are talking about, Alexx." I bluff, keeping my back to her so she can't see the blush creeping up my face.

"You know damn well what I'm talking about. You've never had everyone from the lab over, just the team. So why now?"

"Consider it a 'getting to know you' type of thing," I reply. "We work together side by side, but how well do any of us really know each other? Especially the other shifts?"

"So this is just your idea of a little workplace bonding, huh?" she asks, hands settling on her hips as I glance over my shoulder at her. I go back to washing my salad greens so I don't have to face the skepticism in her eyes. The woman's intuition is way too accurate for her own good. And mine.

"Exactly," I answer.

"I see. So you're telling me that you feel the need to socialize with the entire lab all of a sudden?" she probes. "Then why are you in here, instead of out there-" she waves her hand toward the window where the crowd milling on the back patio and down to the ocean can be seen "-with your guests?"

"Because the salad won't assemble itself," I snap, a little too sharply.

"You could have asked us all to bring something, you know," she grins, and I relax for the first time since she trapped me in here. "Let me finish this. You go out and play host."

I step aside as she muscles her way into my space, taking the knife out of my hands and making short work of slicing the cucumbers I'd just peeled.

"Go. Go 'bond' with your lab crew," she teases.

The thing is, she knows me well enough by now to know that large crowds, even if they're co-workers, aren't necessarily the way I'd choose to spend my time. There's no doubt in my mind that I've set off her alarms, and equally no doubt she's likely to be keeping an eye on me. Even if most of her protective instincts are reserved for Tim, there's still enough left over for her to suddenly take up a sisterly role with me. I curse myself for telegraphing my interest in someone from the lab to her. "Are you sure?" I ask, determined to stay out from under her vigilant eye for the day. And she's unknowingly given me just the opening I need. "The rest of the salads are in the fridge. They just need to be finished off. Caesar needs dressing, croutons and parmesan shavings, and the coleslaw needs to be stirred. Oh, and the steaks and burgers need to come to room temp."

She scowls at me, and I suspect she's onto me. But if she thinks I need her supervising my efforts to get Tim's attention, then she is sorely mistaken. "Go," she shoos me out of my own kitchen. "Just go."

I smile at her, raising an eyebrow, get another dismissive hand-wave from her, and make my escape.

Outside, amidst all the crowds, I track down Tim, who's busy comparing stories with one of the night shift lab techs. From the little I overhear, it sounds like a game of 'whose gross story is the worst' one-upmanship. "Speed," I interrupt.

He looks my way, and there's a flash of… something in his eyes. It makes my insides shiver just a little. "Do you know anything about grilling?" I ask casually.

"Some," he shrugs, eyes narrowing curiously.

"Care to help me man the barbeque?" I invite, holding my breath. "Alexx is handling the salads inside."

He shrugs, nods, and says his farewells to his pretty little companion, following me out to the edge of the patio where my outdoor kitchen is. I've lived here for 10 years, and I can count on one hand the number of times I've used it. But I made sure the propane tank was full and everything in working order before I invited my entire lab staff over. The idea of blowing up the entire Miami Dade forensics team doesn't appeal to me.

But the chance to get Tim alone, more or less, in my space, elbow to elbow, more than makes up for the investment in labor and food to pull this off. In a setting as public as this, he should feel relatively safe with me, and yet, here on the fringes of the crowd, we can still... talk.

Or in my case, perhaps flirt.

We start the grill in silence. It's just a little awkward. Neither one of us knows what to say to the other. If we were at a scene or in the lab…

He clears his throat. "So...um...H...uh...about..." he stammers to a halt. Staring at someone behind me.

I turn to look. "Adena," I say with a smile for the new trace expert from the swing shift.

I glance back at Tim and notice that he's giving her the once over. Can't say as I blame him. Adena is young and pretty. She has her black hair pulled back in a ponytail which makes her look all of sixteen when I know that she's at least 25.

"Lieutenant Caine. Tim," she says in her lovely West Texas accent, nodding at us each in turn.

"It's Horatio," I remind her, making her blush.

"I know you said we didn't need to bring anything," she states. "But my momma always told me that it's rude to show up to a party empty handed."

"So, what'd'ya bring?" Tim asks, peering at her over my shoulder. He's standing so close I can feel the heat of his body. I clench my fists to keep from leaning into him.

"Well, since I didn't know what y'all considered barbeque, back home in Lubbock, barbeque means ribs, brisket, things like that, I brought potato salad," she replies with a shrug.

"Yum. Potato salad is one of my favorites," Tim is practically drooling on my shoulder.

"Just take it on into the kitchen there," I tell her, pointing at the open back door. "We're not going to be eating for a while yet. Just make yourself at home."

"Thanks, sir...I mean Horatio," she blushes again.

"Damn, H. I never thought you'd go for someone so young," Tim teases once Adena is out of ear shot.

"What?" I just barely keep my voice level.

"Oh, come on. I could feel the sexual tension. So Adena's the reason for this little get together, huh?" he taps one graceful finger against his lips. "Wonder what Alexx will think of this?"

"Don't you even dare," I warn with a glare. I can't believe he'd even think of telling Alexx.

He just grins at me. I really hate that grin. It almost always means he's up to no good.

"How much you wanna bet?"

"Speed..." I warn.

"Hm?" he hums at me.

"Please. Alexx is enough of a mother hen without her knowing that I've got my eye on someone."

"Maybe this will get her off my back, for a change," he replies looking thoughtful.

Does this mean he's got someone he's attracted to? I have to fight the rising jealousy. Who could possibly have captured Tim's notice? Adena seems to be his type. But he didn't act like she might be the one, just now. So who?

This is going to be a long day as I try to discover who has Tim's attention and how to get it transferred over to me.

It's been nine long months since the barbeque at my house where I discovered that Tim has feelings for someone from the lab.

Nine months of trying to figure out who, with no luck whatsoever.

Then a month ago, as we were driving to a scene, I decided to up the ante.

I popped a CD in the player and flipped through the tracks to the song I wanted. Watching Tim out of the corner of my eye the whole time.

As the first words were heard, he jerked as if someone had slapped him. Then he sat and listened to the song, his body as stiff as a poker.

I had first heard the song when I took Ray Jr. out one Saturday afternoon a few weeks before. As soon as I heard the refrain I knew that this song could say better than I could exactly how I felt about Tim.

As I enter the shower room, I hear music. I thought everyone had gone home. Guess not. The closer I get to the showers the easier it is to make out just who it is that's singing: Kelly Clarkson and...Tim?

Yes, it is Tim. Singing along with that song I played last month when I had him locked in my Hummer. Now who could he be thinking about? I still haven't been able to figure out just who he has, as my grandmother would say, set his cap for.

And then I hear it.

"H..." he moans during a break in the lyrics.

I can't help the chuckle that escapes me with that slip of his tongue. He's as obsessed with me as I am with him. I feel like it's been forever since I noticed my obsession.

When I turn the corner into the shower area, I stop and stare. Tim is standing under the shower head at the end of the row, his back to the door. He has one hand braced against the wall. I can't see the other, but based on the movement of the muscles in his shoulder and ass...I can figure out what he's doing. His head is thrown back as he sings, off key and at the top of his lungs, along with Kelly.

Suddenly he stiffens and then glances over his shoulder at me, water and shampoo dripping out of his hair and down his back and face in rivulets like come. I didn't realize I had made my presence known. He looks debauched, skin flushed with the heat of the water and the heat of his... activities.

"So, how... um...how long ya been standing there, H?" he asks with a hint of embarrassment.

"Long enough," I say. What else should my reply be? That I've been standing here for what feels like forever watching him pleasuring himself? Wishing it was me? "So, do you need help with that?" I can't believe I just said what I did, then I think about the number of times since he took that bullet in the vest that I've done what he's doing now. Thinking about him... Imagining it's his hands on my flesh... My hands on his...

"What?" he squeaks.

I blink, clearing the distraction from my mind. Opportunities like this don't knock often. And I'm not above using this one to my advantage.

"Would you like me to help you do something about that?" I ask again, telling myself to be patient. That this can end the way I want, and am hoping, it to.

"Um... wha...what did you... um... Whatdidyouhaveinmind?" he says it like it's all one word. Breathless.

I wish I could be sure it isn't with embarrassment. But since I'm his boss, his habit is to take a lot of his cues from me. And right there, I give up the doubts and the worries about the propriety of my feelings about Tim. Ones that have burdened me since I first realized what I feel for this man.

"Well, I thought I'd start by getting undressed and joining you. Then, well, we'd take it from there." I place my hands on my hips and cock my head to the side. "Or better yet, why don't you come out and we'll go to my place? Hm?" We stand there, looking at each other for a long minute. "Are you com...going to..." I can't seem to find a way to ask what I want to know without the double entendres. And he just grins at me over his shoulder.

"Am I going to...what?" he asks as he turns around to face me. "Come?" His grin gets wider as he leans back against the wall of the shower, crossing his arms over his muscular chest.

"Yeah." I breathe softly, my gaze locked on his beautiful dick, sleek and gleaming with the water that's pouring down on him.

"Not any time soon," he replies. "So, back to your place so you can help me with this and I can help you with that?" he asks pointing to the obvious bulge in my pants.

"You'd better hurry or I'll start without you!" I call out as I turn on my heel and stride out the doors. Inside, I'm shouting with joy. As easy as that, Tim and I have ended up on the same page.

The drive to my place has never seemed so long. I don't live all that far away, but it feels like I live on the other side of the state. Every red light, every slow driver, making it take longer to get home where I can finally allow myself to let go and have what I want the most: Timothy Speedle in my bed, naked.

He pulls up in my driveway as I'm unlocking my front door. I look at him with one eyebrow raised, wondering how many traffic laws he broke on the way here. He just grins at me. I can't stop the chuckle that pulls out of me as I motion for him to precede me into the house.

As soon as I close the door, I slam him up against it and proceed to discover how he tastes. I can't believe how wonderful it is. Kissing him. Being kissed in return. He moans into my mouth, his tongue dueling with mine. The boy sure knows how to kiss.

"Bedroom, now," I growl when we come up for air.

"Mmmm," is his oh so intelligent reply.

We strip each other as we make our way down the hall to the bedroom. I'm ready to see more of the body I've been fantasizing about for five years now, but kissing him is so sweet. So intensely satisfying, I can't manage to pull away far enough from him for the view to sink in.

Once we're both naked and standing next to the bed, I finally pull back to get a better look. I take my time.

He is a sight to behold. A well-muscled chest covered in a thick pelt of dark hair... both narrowing down to a trim waist, the hair thinning to an arrow's point, ending in the rough pubes... long, muscular legs...and his dick...I barely stop myself from licking my lips... His cock curves slightly to the left and is pointing at me...he's cut, unlike me, and is thicker and longer...and as I watch, he grows even more aroused...

I can see his anxiety in the way he's standing there, expecting me to reject him.

How can he think I could walk away from the gift that is Timothy Speedle, naked, in my bedroom? But I still take my time, admiring the body before me, not caring that we share a gender, if it means we'll share the sort of pleasure together that he was seeking in the locker rooms at work, alone.

"I want to fuck you. Will you let me?" I ask, mentally wincing at the tremor in my voice.

"I've never...with a man before." he replies softly.

"It's alright. We don't have to do anything you don't want to do." I tell him as I reach out to gently stroke his cheek, trying to reassure him with my touch.

"No, you don't understand. I want to, I've just never done that before. Hell, I've never even kissed a man before today," he says hesitantly.

I can't keep the grin off my face. He's willing to give me his virginity. What a precious gift. "I've never had a virgin before. And knowing that I'm your first kiss as well, wow."

He doesn't say anything for a minute. Then he pulls my head down and captures my lips with his for another hot kiss.

"Mmm. Yummy. I love the way you taste," I murmur as we break for air once again. "Can't get enough. Might just have to keep you tied to my bed all weekend."

He grins at that.

I dive back in for another steamy kiss, pushing him back onto the bed when we need to breathe. I lie down on top of him, moaning as I feel the heat of his skin against mine. As I map his body with my hands, he hesitantly runs his down my back.

"So, can I fuck you?" I just have to ask again. I'll keep on asking until I get the answer I want.

"Oh, god yes, please." Finally he gives me permission.

"On your hands and knees, baby. It'll hurt less that way," I whisper in his ear before licking the outer shell.

He barely controls a full body shiver at the sensation and rolls over like I asked. As soon as he has his ass in the air, I can't help but stroke my hands up the outside of his thighs, up over his hips and on to his cheeks, which I gently knead as I place tiny little kisses all over.

Suddenly he starts to giggle. Timothy Speedle actually giggles, like a little girl.

"Ticklish?" I ask, my lips moving over the warm flesh of his back.

"No. Just the thought of someone like you kissing my ass. It's kind of funny, ya know?"

"Hm. Yeah it is," I reply with a humorless chuckle. I don't see it as funny, but whatever. "Now I've got to stretch you so it won't hurt so much. Okay?"

"Yeah sure. Just get on with it, will ya?" he pleads as he tries to hold still. Tim is hardly ever still, I've noticed.

I put some lube on my fingers and start to run them down his beautiful ass. He flinches when I rub against the entrance to his body. "Sorry," I murmur.

"S'okay," he gasps as I press a little bit harder.

He can't stop the hiss of pain as I slip the first one in. "Breathe," I encourage. "Just remember to breathe."

Once he starts to relax, I pull my finger out to add more lube and a second finger. His choked cry as I re-penetrate him causes me to stop. I feel like a cad, not waiting until he was totally ready.

"Sorry. Sorry. I thought you were ready." I just hold there for a few minutes gently stroking his back and trying to encourage him. Eventually he relaxes again and that's when I move my fingers. Twisting them just a little. "See, told you it would be good," I say with a chuckle at his gasp, this time of pleasure.

"More. Please. I need more," he starts to beg.

"Okay, just hold on, baby," I tell him as I curl my fingers searching for his sweet spot. His gasp and the jerk of his hips tell me when I've found it. "Uh-uh. Not yet, baby. I want to be inside of you when you come," I give his cock a squeeze to keep him from coming too soon. "That was your prostate. Felt good, huh?"

"Oh yeah. Please do that again."

"Not yet." I whisper as I kiss my way up his back, stopping to nibble his shoulder blades.

"Just remember to breathe," I remind him as I remove my fingers and start to enter him. I can't believe how incredible he feels. Better than my wildest dreams. So tight. So hot. I take my time, stopping every few inches to reassure him, remind him to breathe and allow him a chance to get used to me. "That's it, baby, I'm all the way in," I breathe against the sweaty skin of his neck

I place my hands on either side of his and start to thrust. Long and slow at first. He seems to be having difficulty adjusting to being the one penetrated, but soon he starts to rock back to meet me. The sound of our flesh slapping together is loud in the quiet of the room. When he reaches underneath himself I slap his hand away. I've wanted to do this for too long to allow him to do anything but enjoy my body moving in his. His dick feels so very different and yet familiar at the same time. It's been too long since I've had another body in my bed.

As I stroke him in time with my thrusts, I can feel his orgasm rushing towards us. I speed up my thrusts and strokes until he cries my name and spills his seed all over my hand, the contractions of his internal muscles pulling my own orgasm from me with a strangled cry.

I collapse on top of him and we lie there waiting for the world to stop spinning and to come back into focus.

"I have a confession to make," I state as I roll over pulling him with me, tucking him into my side.

"Yeah?" he prompts when I don't continue.

"Yeah. I've been wanting to do this for quite some time, now," I finally admit.

"Really?" He seems surprised.

"Yeah. You know that song that I played the other day?"

"The one I was singing tonight?"

"Yeah. I heard it at a club and thought of you," I lie. How do I tell him that I went out and bought that CD after listening to it over and over with Ray Jr.?

"Yeah," he agrees. "It made me think of saying something like what alcoholics say at AA meetings."

"What do you mean?" I ask, even though I already know the answer.

"Hi, my name's Tim and I'm addicted to Horatio Caine," he says before he kisses me.

I chuckle at that, half amused, and half hating the idea that he'd equate what's happening between us to drugs. "Okay. How about this? 'Hi, my name's Horatio and I'm addicted to Timothy Speedle,'" I reply ironically before rolling him over and loving him again.