Grimm Tales by alyse [ - ]
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Category: CI5: The New Professionals > Slash
Characters: Chris Keel
Rating: NC-17
Genres: None
Warnings: None

Summary: Beware the big, bad wolf...

Notes: The song 'Took the words right out of my mouth (Hot Summer Night)', as sung by Meatloaf, is copyright Carlin Music Corp and Sony Music Entertainment Inc. I don't make any money from this. I have nothing but my own warped imagination and therefore I'm not worth suing. :)

Thanks to Lou for the beta.


Once upon a time there was a dear little girl who was loved by everyone who looked at her, but most of all by her grandmother, and there was nothing that she would not have given to the child. Once she gave her a little cap of red velvet, which suited her so well that she would never wear anything else. So she was always called Little Red Riding Hood.


The only sound breaking the silence was the rhythmic slapping of his feet against the wet pavement, small sprays of water sent up in his wake from the puddles he splashed through. It was almost hypnotic, step after step after step, helping him regulate his breathing as he entered into that zoned out state where pain was transmuted into a strange kind of pleasure, courtesy of endorphins. He'd long since ceased to pay attention to the grey drizzle around him, so typical of London weather, not when his hooded sweatshirt provided him with a barrier against the damp and chill air. At this time of the evening there was very little traffic around, meaning he didn't have to interrupt his flow to cross the empty streets, keeping up the same steady pace as he had over the last three miles.

He was almost home, even after taking the long route, the one he only took when he had the time and the energy, neither of which his job left him much of. There was part of him that didn't want to stop, wanted to keep running forever because when he ran all of the day to day problems he faced, the petty bureaucracies that occasionally made his working life hell, the fact that the good guys didn't always win and that bad things happened to good people all melted away leaving nothing but the rain and the sound of his feet on the pavement.

It was growing dark, the heavy twilight fading and the air turning even chillier. The streetlights began to wink on as he passed them, cutting through the gathering gloom with warm yellow light, caught and reflected by the puddles he passed through.

The home stretch, and even as he put on a spurt of speed, running up the final flight of steps leading to his apartment building, a dark shape detached itself from the gloom surrounding the entrance and stepped forward. The streetlights glinted off rich, dark hair, catching dark red highlights.


He slowed his pace to an easy jog, letting his muscles cool down gradually as he approached his partner. "Hey," he greeted Sam, coming to a stop and carefully stretching out his leg muscles. "Work?"

"Bored," his partner replied succinctly, flashing him a grin, his eyes silver in the twilight. "Thought I'd come and bother you for a bit."

His voice was light and amused, and Chris didn't answer, just nodding briefly and fishing his key out, still coasting on that post-exercise high. He didn't bother waiting for Sam to precede him, running lightly up the stairs into his flat and assuming that Sam would follow. He and his partner were too easy with one another to worry about standing on ceremony.

He didn't switch the lights on, finding the gloom strangely comforting. It wasn't completely dark yet, and the gathering shadows merely served to make his flat seem cosier somehow, at least to him. But then he was the person who found living next to a cemetery strangely peaceful. He'd switch the lights on when it grew too dark to see what he was doing, and not before. Again, he didn't consult Sam about his decision because again he didn't need to.

"Beer, TV, stereo," he shot out staccato as he began to work out the kinks in his calves and thighs, as meticulous about his warming down exercises as he was about warming up, the need for both being drummed into his consciousness over the years by high school coaches for football to drill sergeants in the SEALs. "Help yourself."

Sam sketched him a brief salute, a small smile still gracing his face, and moved towards the fridge, retrieving two bottles of Bud and opening both. He placed Chris' on the table, to be waiting for him once he'd finished, and stalked towards Chris' CD collection. He spared a quick glance at Chris, his expression speaking of some inner amusement he wasn't sharing, and began to flick through the CDs until he found the one he wanted. Again, that quick amused look in Chris' direction that intrigued the American despite his reluctance to play one of his partner's games, and then the music began to spill out into the room.

On a hot summer night, would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?

He quirked an eyebrow at Sam, who was now leaning against the wall smirking back at him. At his look Sam's smirk merely deepened, and his partner took a deep swig from his beer, the amber liquid seeming to slide down his throat with ease.

He gave in. "Are you going to share?" he asked evenly.

Sam gave him a one-shouldered shrug, the bottle hovering close to his lips, his eyes glittering in amusement. "Seemed apt," was all he would say.

He waited, but his partner didn't elaborate. He sighed. "It's not summer, it's not hot and it's raining."

"It is night though."

Sam was obviously in one of those moods. He shook his head with amused exasperation, and went back to his slow and careful stretching, feeling the burn in muscles pushed just far enough. Sam continued to watch him, making him feel a little self-conscious as he finished his final stretch.

The room was warm, much warmer than outside and he pulled off his sweatshirt, flinging it onto the sofa without much thought. Sam's eyes tracked it, the Englishman still wearing that smile.

"What?" Chris asked irritably, anticipating a crack from his partner about the state of his housekeeping skills.

Sam, however, disappointed him. "Didn't think you owned anything that wasn't black, white or brown. We'll get you out of monochrome yet."

He glanced at his red sweatshirt, faded by years of washing but still brighter than his usual clothing. "If I wear brown," he said sullenly, "I can hardly be classed as 'monochrome'."

His bad humour didn't faze his partner; Sam's smile merely deepening. "Sepia then."

He gave up and rolled his eyes, his ill-temper fading in the face of Sam's obvious good mood and the still lingering post-exercise euphoria. "Fine," he sighed. "Whatever." That earned another smirk from Sam, the Englishman's eyes settling once again back on Chris' abandoned sweatshirt before drifting to the stereo where Meatloaf was on repeat, and then back to Chris' face.

The connection was finally made. Sometimes his partner was too clever for his own good. Chris sighed and then settled for teasing his partner good-naturedly, "I didn't think fairy tales were your cup of tea."

Sam shrugged. "Depends on what they're about."

Chris raised his eyebrow sceptically. "Little girls lost in dark forests?"

"Not exactly," said Sam mysteriously.

Chris blinked, then decided that he really didn't want to know. "I'm taking a shower. Behave yourself." There was a slight admonition in his tone, although he would have been hard pressed to explain why, but Sam didn't take offence, chuckling lightly and then going back to watching him closely, that small, secretive smile still playing around the corners of his mouth.

"Don't I always?"

It was tempting, so tempting that a smart remark hovered on the tip of his tongue. Some quality in the look in Sam's eyes, however, stopped the words in his mouth, and left him feeling vaguely uncomfortable and out of his depth. Fairy tales were obviously getting to him. With a last, searching look at his partner, he headed into the small bathroom.

As he stood under the heated water, letting it flow over him and wash away the sweat from his run, soothing weary muscles, he couldn't help but let his mind drift back to his partner, pondering on the mysteries of the man. At times he felt as though he knew Sam as well as he did himself, knew what made him tick, what triggers lay deep in Sam's psyche, what he would say and how he would react to something. At other times the Englishman was a complete enigma, getting a look in his eyes that Chris just couldn't fathom.

Like now.

With an internal shrug he consigned Sam to the back of his mind, concentrating on the here and now.

His eyes drifted closed as he turned his face into the spray, letting all thought leech from his mind as the heat leeched the remaining tension from his body. His mind drifted where it would, a random stream of images from the day, from days before passing through it with no apparent connection between them. Driving the car too fast on streets too narrow, savouring the adrenaline rush. The face of some informer they'd visited, someone Sam knew from his life before CI5, Backup and Richards sharing some private joke in the office, his partner leaning against the wall of his apartment, watching him with eyes turned silver in the dim light...

... all the better to see you with...

He stopped that train of thought abruptly, his eyes flying open as he stared sightlessly at the white tiled wall in front of him, unsure as to where the image, the words, had come from. He shivered slightly, in spite of the warm water still coursing over his skin, the idea of Sam as sexual predator disconcerting him. Particularly when combined with the idea of himself as prey.

Perhaps he wasn't quite as taken aback by the image as he thought. He dropped his gaze down his body to his groin. He was half-hard, his soapy hand wrapped loosely around his slowly filling flesh, caressing himself automatically.

He let out a shuddering sigh, releasing his grip and moving his hands up to push his hair raggedly back from his forehead, slicking the water off it before turning the shower off and stepping out.

He dried himself off carefully, his hands moving slowly over his flesh but avoiding his now subsiding erection. He avoided thinking of Sam too, avoided thinking of him so thoroughly that the mere absence of thought about the man screamed at him as loudly as any carnal images could. And then he wrapped a towel around his waist, leaving his running garb scattered across the bathroom floor while he went into his bedroom to dress in black and white and brown.

When he returned to the living room, soft light was spilling from the small table lamp next to the sofa, softening the lines of the furniture and providing a small oasis of radiance within the gathering darkness. Sam had moved from the stereo - which had stopped blaring out Meatloaf and was now playing something from his classical collection, something soft and peaceful - and standing by the window, staring out over the neighbouring cemetery. He was holding a beer bottle loosely in one hand, tapping it gently against his leg as his eyes roamed over the vista outside. Chris found himself wondering what Sam saw out there, what images, objects had caught his partner's attention.

Sam heard him come in and turned to give him a small smile. For some reason it made him more uneasy and, suddenly flustered, he turned away to retrieve his own bottle from the table. When he turned back Sam was watching him quizzically but thankfully didn't say anything as Chris walked towards the window to join him, trying to move casually while his heart went pitter-patter in his chest.

He leant against the glass, staring out over the cemetery and watching Sam out of the corner of his eye. His partner was now drinking from his beer bottle, raising it delicately to his lips and Chris found his eyes drawn to Sam's fingers, so strong and sure and yet graceful as they were wrapped around the slim neck of the bottle...

... all the better to touch you with...

He shivered again, and Sam paused in the act of swallowing to give him a concerned look, which Chris found he had to ignore while he desperately battled to regain his equilibrium. He was conscious of Sam's closeness to him, only a few feet separating them, and yet at the same time Sam had never seemed so distant, so unknown a quantity. The easy camaraderie that they'd shared since the early days of their partnership seemed a dream now, shattered by a single image of Sam, formed by his own traitorous mind.

He resolutely concentrated on the view, such as it was, trying to ignore Sam who was now watching him openly, the expression on his face unreadable and his eyes still sparkling like silver. He was concentrating so hard on avoiding looking at his partner that he was barely aware of Sam moving closer until Sam's breath in his ear made him jump.


He turned to stare into Sam's eyes, green and veiled up close, his breath catching in his throat and feeling for all the world like a rabbit being stalked. "Uh huh," he said intelligently.

Sam smiled again, that same mysterious and strangely smug smile that now had Chris' heart beating faster.


"Feed me."

Chris blinked, his tongue darting out to wet suddenly dry lips while Sam continued to watch him, those eyes sucking any will from Chris and his expression speaking again of some secret inner amusement. Sam didn't move away, didn't give him back that comfort zone that part of him longed for while the rest of him didn't ever want back.

He swallowed hard, finally finding his voice. "Pizza," he offered, wincing internally when the word came out appeasing instead of the nonchalance he'd been aiming for.

Sam tilted his head to one side, his own tongue coming out to slide along his lips, his eyes boring into Chris while he appeared to consider Chris' question. Chris' own eyes followed that pink tongue, mesmerised, his heart back to beating wildly.

"If you're not offering anything else..." There was a hint of an invitation in Sam's tone, a suggestion that Chris should offer more, and all he could do was stare into Sam's eyes, knowing his own were wide and stunned, vulnerable. Begging. "Pizza will do."

He blinked and swallowed again, his eyelids suddenly feeling heavy. This must be what it was like, to be small and vulnerable, knowing that something dark and dangerous was stalking you, helpless to resist, helpless to do more than wait to be caught, your heart beating frantically in your chest with fear.

With passion.

"What do you want?" he breathed, aware that Sam was leaning closer, glimpsing through half closed eyes his partner's face, alight with intelligence, with consideration. With anticipation.

"What are you offering?"

... would you offer your throat...

Sam's voice was low, barely more than a rumble, so close now that Chris almost felt it rather than heard it. The harmonics in the soft growl spoke to him, had him tilting his own head to the sound in a reflection of Sam's move earlier, baring his neck, this move speaking of submission rather than analysis.

"Whatever you want."

Sam's breath ghosted over his sensitive skin, raising the hairs on the back of his neck and sending another shiver through him. He could smell Sam, the scent mingled in with his own, dark and sweet and musky. Arousing and terrifying at the same time.

He closed his eyes so that he wouldn't have to see Sam's, but pictured them clearly in his mind anyway, clear and aware and analytical. Weighing him up. Wondering where to strike.

A warm mouth brushed against his tender neck and he shuddered, a gasp driven from him at the sensation, fire and ice at the same time.

"I bet," whispered Sam in his ear, his warm breath caressing the delicate shell of his earlobe and tickling the tendrils of hair around it, "you say that to all the boys..."

He didn't, hadn't, never wanted to before, not even when he'd stolen looks sideways in the shower at high school and in the Navy and pretended that he hadn't, fighting it, pretending that the possibility of more than looks, more than longing, didn't exist. He tried to tell Sam that, put his feelings, his uncertainty into words but it was too late because Sam's mouth was moving over his skin again and all words, all thoughts were driven from his mind as he drowned in sensation. His breath whooshed out of his body in a long drawn out gasp, his hands clutching at Sam's shoulders as that talented mouth moved over his neck, marking him, owning him, devouring him. Somewhere, within that rush of air, he thought he said 'yes', the word so low that it was lost.

Sam heard it anyway, his mouth becoming more demanding and his hands moving around to grasp Chris' ass, pulling their bodies hard together.

... all the better to hear you with...

He gasped again, this time the sound transmuted into a long drawn out moan as Sam's hands kneaded his buttocks, grinding their groins together. He was so hard now, so turned on from the fact that Sam was touching him, overwhelming him like this that he couldn't talk, couldn't think, could only vocalise his pleasure in soft pants and whimpers. He couldn't touch Sam back, too lost in his own desire to be able to focus sufficiently on moving, merely clinging on for dear life.

Sam's mouth left his neck, moving up over his jaw line, nibbling and sucking, before settling firmly onto his mouth, cutting off the sounds he was still capable of making, Sam's tongue sliding past his half open lips to plunder the depths, sucking his tongue into Sam's mouth to feast on.

He was burning, aflame, adrift on a sea of pleasure, unable to protest when Sam backed him up against the sofa. His knees buckled and he sat down abruptly, Sam leaning over him and blocking out the light as the Englishman followed him down, pushing him back into the sofa's welcoming softness. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, watching the shadows cast by the small lamp dancing on it, holding the darkness at bay with difficulty. It lurked, beyond the small pool of light that surrounded them like a womb, waiting to trap the unwary. Waiting...

... dark forests...

... for him to give in and he did, raising his head again, baring his throat to the wolf's sharp teeth, feeling the nip as Sam bit lightly into his skin, his partner's tongue soothing the small hurt away.

Sam's mouth moved downwards, down to the neck of his sweater, the Englishman's hands moving underneath it to caress his waist even as Sam's lips traced along the neckline. And then Sam's hands were moving upwards, capturing fabric as they went, pushing it up and over his head to be replaced on his skin by Sam's mouth. His partner - lover - moved downwards, his mouth never breaking contact with Chris' torso, his hands and his sweet breath caressing Chris' skin, setting him on fire, flaming, burning, consumed. He slid his hand through Sam's dark, soft hair...

... pelt...

... caressing Sam's head even as Sam's nimble fingers were working at his belt buckle, sliding underneath the fabric to ease it down. Chris raised his hips to help, his hooded eyes watching as Sam slid his trousers and underwear down to mid-thigh, baring him to Sam's gaze.

Sam paused, his eyes fixed on Chris' erection rather than Chris' face now, and he licked his lips, his eyes alight with anticipation. It was such a wanton move that the mere sight of it made Chris' aching cock twitch, triggering a hungry smile from his partner. And then Sam was lowering his head, running his tongue along the entire length of Chris' penis, from root to tip, driving another whimper from the American.

Sam paused at the head of Chris' erection to look up and smile wolfishly at him, and then lowered his head to lap at the leaking tip, his silver-green eyes holding Chris' gaze, before his agile tongue slid into the slit.

Chris moaned again, unable to keep silent, not when Sam was driving him out of his mind, destroying his few remaining defences. The sound only seemed to inspire his partner to new heights, Sam sliding his mouth over the corona and then moving his hands to Chris' hips while he held the top half of Chris' cock in his mouth. A quick glance in Chris' direction again, and then his head slid downwards, engulfing Chris in his mouth, his throat tightening around the head of Chris' cock as his lips buried themselves in the curling hair at the root in one smooth, effortless move.

Chris howled, only Sam's hands pressing on his hips holding him steady as he writhed and bucked into the tight heat of Sam's mouth. All thought fled as Sam's tongue twirled around his length, pressing into the sensitive bundle of nerves beneath the flaring glans, sending shards of sheer pleasure shooting through the American. He was whimpering, crying out as Sam's mouth and throat continued to work on him, driving him to heights he hadn't known were possible to achieve through oral sex alone.

Sam raised his head, his uncovered teeth lightly sliding along the length of Chris' cock as it slid out of his mouth, the sensation, and the air of danger that accompanied it, driving another gasping whimper out of the American.

... what sharp teeth you have...

Sam paused at the head again, not letting it slip from the heated inferno of his mouth, his glittering silver-green eyes meeting Chris', the look in them feral and hungry and possessive. And then he repeated the move he'd used earlier, engulfing Chris in one long swoop downwards, forcing another howl from his lover as Chris finally gave up the battle, spilling his seed into Sam's ravenous mouth in pulsing spurts, letting Sam taste him, consume him, devour him whole.

... all the better to eat you with...

He slumped back onto the sofa, wrung out and exhausted even as Sam's mouth continued to move on him, soothing this time, gentling him down from his post orgasmic high and leaving him blissful and sated in its wake. And then with a last swipe of his tongue around the tip Sam released him, moving back up his body to rest his hands on either side of Chris' head and stare down into Chris' face, that same small smile playing around the corners of his mouth as he took in Chris' dazed expression. He said nothing though, the silver in his eyes softening slightly, turning them greener and warmer, encompassing Chris in his gaze rather than consuming him.

Chris finally found his voice, hoarse and cracked from his cries though it was.

"You know what I think she said next time she met the wolf?"

He was unable to phrase the question more coherently than that and Sam's gaze turned slightly quizzical although his partner didn't ask for clarification. Instead, Sam's smile deepened slightly as he continued to watch the American. Chris raised one leaden hand to card it through his now-lover's hair, sinking his fingers into the silky strands and feeling Sam turn his head into the caress, the Englishman seeming to bask in it, letting Chris pet him with shaky fingers. Chris tilted his head back, guiding Sam's face down to his bared throat.

"I think," he sighed, feeling Sam's breath against his skin once more, "she said 'eat me again'."


Once upon a time there was a dear little boy who was loved by almost everyone who knew him, but most of all by his partner. And one day he ventured into the deep, dark forest and met the wolf he'd spent his whole life avoiding, because the wolf wanted to eat him up whole and lick his bones clean.

And when the wolf had eaten him, and licked his lips and smiled as only a wolf can, it was his turn to eat the wolf. Fair was fair after all.


The End