Notes: Much thanks to _mausi for making sure I wasn't crazy. *mwah*
Prompt: I've never worn them and never will. And you should take them off.
Summary: Nick’s hair is damp between his fingers, wet from the shower and he can’t get enough because he knows what it means.
(You hated the way I left my towels on the floor. I never thought you danced enough.)
They aren’t supposed to be like this again; the slide of skin and the slow drag of lips. It isn’t possible, isn’t probable or predicable or any of the other three hundred words Greg can think of but can’t say. His voice is caught, stilled by Nick’s incessant press.
Greg doesn’t find himself minding.
Nick’s hair is damp between his fingers, wet from the shower and he can’t get enough because he knows what it means. This isn’t some product of a long day or an unfulfilled need or desperation, this is Nick, unsullied and smelling like soap and home and it makes Greg kiss him all the harder.
Nick keeps trying to speak, half words slipping out between breaths, to apologize for time and space and a million other things he shouldn’t be feeling guilty over. For all they’ve changed they’re still exactly the same and Greg drags his hands down Nick’s back. He’s missed all of it.
(I thought the world should know. You weren’t sure you knew yourself.)
It’s a familiar path back to the bed, to cool sheets and warm hands, towel and clothes shed without care about each stumble. Nick’s mouth is scorching against Greg’s neck, and his weight is heavy-familiar-good. His legs move of their own accord and glide their way along Nick’s; he’s almost sure they make a song.
A twining melody that coils them together, slips into rhythm with the beating of their hearts and Greg can’t imagine how they stayed apart for so long. How they gave all this up.
Each touch is anticipated and unexpected, a lifetime’s worth of déjà vu. Greg’s body hums with it, shivering in the heat of it all. Their hands drift lower together, like they’re sharing thoughts and the first touch of Nick’s hand on his cock feels reverential. A nip of teeth against his collar bone and Greg’s world tilts.
Slides off its axis and his body feels empty, weightless, like he’s flying. He wants to laugh-sing-something-anything; anything to express what he’s feeling. Nick is almost silky to the touch in a way he’s forgotten and Nick moans in his ear, presses into the touch.
Maybe he doesn’t have to.
(It was three weeks before I could talk to you alone. It was three months before you smiled.)
Greg knows them well enough that this isn’t the time for leisurely and measured sex, teasing fingers and the slow burn of Nick’s cock that no matter how hard he tried he could never replicate by himself. That can be saved for later, lazy afternoons and frantic nights and the swirl of steam in the shower.
Right now all they need is release, some way to free everything that still sits between them and there’s so much Greg wants to do right at this single moment. He pushes Nick until his back is on the bed and Greg is hovering over him, skin electric at every point they touch.
Nick’s stomach jumps beneath Greg’s lips as he works his way down. Greg can’t tell if Nick’s body’s changed, if the angle of his hip muscle has shifted just a little to the left, if that little dip had always been there. They might be new, evidence of the time in between, or they might have always been there and Greg’s memory isn’t perfect after all.
(You nearly died. I nearly saw it happen.)
The flat of Greg’s tongue slides up Nick’s cock, the taste well-known in a way he can’t explain. Nick whimpers in a way that makes Greg’s heart ache with the memory of it and he steals a glance up the bed. Nick has an arm thrown over his face, twisting in pleasure and desperation. It makes Greg want to mouth the inside of his elbow, nuzzle the skin right below his shoulder blade. He won’t move from where he is, this too important, too long without, but Greg can’t keep his hands from moving.
Drifting up and down Nick’s thighs, thumbs pressing into his hips as Greg takes him in his mouth. He wants to feel Nick feel each movement, each tug of lips and swipe of tongue echoed back to him through his hands. Hot heat in his mouth and a weight on his tongue he thought he’d lost, but it’s there, it’s real, swell-swallow-swim in sensation.
Nick’s panting his name, soft and barely a whisper but its there, the sounds slithering down Greg’s spine. It’s like a mantra, a prayer, and if for thanks or forgiveness or more, Greg can’t tell. He only knows it makes him harder, want to grind down into the bed and bring himself off with Nick, because Nick’s missed this too.
There’s a hand seeking out Greg’s shoulder, tugging at his skin with a half swallowed gasp. It’s supposed to be a warning, but it’s never made Greg stop, just reach back with his hand and brush the spot right behind Nick’s balls while he sucks hard at the head. He does it and uses his other hand to hold Nick against the bed as he tenses and comes.
The taste rockets him back to every kiss and touch, lick and suck and fuck and Greg marvels at how stupid they’ve been. How they gave everything up without a fight and Greg waits, breathes with his head on Nick’s hip while Nick slows his pants, hand still tracing patterns on Greg’s shoulder.
This time, he’s not letting go.
(When you came back, I realized I was still in love. You were just trying to face the world.)
Greg moves his way back up Nick’s body, now sweat mixing with soap and fabric softener and the myriad smells that all say home. Nick shifts onto his side, hands moving Greg where he wants him. Close enough for a sloppy kiss, off-center with a click of teeth that means more because it isn’t perfect, but enough room between them for Nick to wrap his hand around Greg’s still hard cock.
It doesn’t take long; Nick still remembers every way to make Greg tremble, a twist in his wrist, a brush of his thumb. And Nick’s talking too, murmuring behind Greg’s ear, tracing the lobe with his tongue and his words. Things Greg never thought he’d hear again and it’s like he’s experiencing everything at once. Every single wish fulfilled in an instant and he’s trembling against Nick, fingers digging into his bicep.
Nick soothes him as he comes back from oblivion and the passage into sleep is the easiest it’s been in a long time.
(You asked us all over to hang out. I almost said no.)
Greg’s body wakes up of its own accord, positive he’s got somewhere to be, even though he doesn’t. Nick is still dead asleep next to him, one arm slung possessively over Greg’s hip.
A low, familiar spot Nick always seems to find.
In faint light of the room, Greg can make out the half moon marks on his arm, red against fair skin. He traces them lightly with his fingers, feels the faint indents and marvels that there aren’t more. That he didn’t mark every inch of Nick’s body. He lets his fingers glide up Nick’s arm, along the strong curve of his shoulder blade.
Nick shifts beneath his touch and wakes up, hums and presses back into Greg’s hand. Greg smiles and rubs in small circles, chuckling at the occasional groan of contentment from Nick. He didn’t expect it to be this easy, that they’d just slide back into this; no questions, no big long talks and he can’t help but wonder if they should.
Because otherwise they might end up repeating history.
Nick must have read it on Greg’s face, the worry-fear-question, because he shakes his head and kisses Greg’s forehead then moves back to his pillow, a slow bright smile blooming on his face. The same smile that made Greg fall in love in the first place.
(Months later and you were in the shower when I came over to unwind. You kissed me like it meant the world.)