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02 December 2007 @ 09:31 pm
Theatrical Muse: Week 207: Question 207  
Name: Dr. Sid Hammerback

Fandom: CSI: New York

Word Count: 672


Control.


Sometimes he needed control. Needed control not to do certain things, to certain people, to bend them over and lift off their layers of clothing and love them dearly, tenderly, until they came to a breaking point, a passionate culmination. Then he would take care of them, just as gently, always the comforting presence when needed. Some people would never stand the slip of control, the relationship was professional, it was, set in its ways, and should not, could not, be changed. He didn’t mind that, not really, and when he could, with other people he could do particular things to, he simply waited until he needed control around them no more, and then took it from there.


It was her turn to tie him down, to truss him up in bonds like a holiday turkey, and she pushed him onto the bed, roughly lashing him in place, but methodically so, so there was no chance for escape.

Sid walked past Stella around the table, brushing past her briefly, accidentally, and nodding his head in apology. She gave an accepting nod back and they continued. He showed her the black PVC material cat suit, matching the points of entry into the clothing by a sharp, serrated blade, to the corresponding injuries on the victim’s body. The ME handled the costume with a certain familiarity, and when he elaborated on how much one would cost, the CSI smiled at him, raising an eyebrow in questioning that she might not really want answered.

Her lingerie was an intricate weaving of black lace and spider web pattern fabric. She whipped him and when he got almost to breaking point, she would remind him of her control over him, and how he must have control over himself, by grinding the sharp heel of her boot into his chest.

Some days later the ME and the CSI found themselves down in the morgue together again, working on a different body this time. An old woman now, lay on the table before them, her face bloodied and bashed. A fruit vendor and general store owner, she had been attacked while packing up shop during the night, and her husband lay critical in the hospital. Although Sid himself, doubted if the old man would make it once he heard the fate of his partner, he didn’t let him affect the way he worked, because he always paid so much attention to everything he did. He tenderly handled the victim, examining and then, in turn, showing her bruises, cuts, and fractures, one by one, simply, and gently to the woman who stood next to him. Instead of a story of prices and preferences this time, he explained how he had worked for a woman like her, once, to earn some school holiday money sweeping out a shop and running deliveries through the streets to their destinations. Then Sid took another turn, and explained how people like that were so protective of their business, how sad it was that someone so good and honest as how this woman appeared to be, had had her life ended so tragically.

When she let him lose control, it came like a flood, and he rocked into her in silence, because she had forbade him to make a sound during their session. When, at least, Marianne untied him and stepped off from straddling his chest, she smiled warmly as she took off the short haired, black wig she had donned for the event. Shrugging, she looked thoughtful and then pointed to her breasts and her stomach.

“Cream and berries next time?” she queried, waiting eagerly for his response as she got ready to take a shower and put a clothes wash in.

Sid shrugged, and extended an invisible hand of control over his wife, his lover, his partner, his friend.

“We’ll see.” he said, still lying on the bed. He always knew, work or home or play, when control was needed, when it was required and in what amount for what duration.

He always did.
 
 
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