Title: Give Or Take
Rating: R
Archived: fakingfallacy at LJ, nickngreg at LJ, here; if you wish to archive, feel free to do it. Just let me know you've done it.
Warnings: Cross-dressing and some angst.
Disclaimer: I don't own these boys. This never happened, even if Eric Szmanda- and therefore Greg by association- looks fucking amazing in a skirt.
The first thing that Nick notices is the way Greg's eyes look, surrounded by a smeared black liner. It's bold and brings out that wicked gleam he's always had, only now that gleam shimmers from the glitter and eye-shadow. Greg looks obscene and Nick's ashamed to admit to even himself that it suits him. A tight (presumably girls') top with some Manson logo emblazed across the front perfectly matches the shades decorating his eyes and hugs his thin torso in all the right spots. And if it were only that.
Nick would never admit aloud that Greg's ass looks perfect in a pleated miniskirt, but he can't stop himself from admiring the view. It should be a crime to look that hot, but thoughts along those lines aren't eliciting the best reaction. Nick's imagination is running away with the thought of Greg bent over the bed of his truck with his hands cuffed behind his back and his legs parted wide. He can perfectly picture Greg's glossy lips parted in surprise like in a cheesy porno and he forces himself to clear his head before all of his blood rushes to his dick.
Greg isn't blind; he notices the way Nick's eyes are glued to his assets and the way he grinds forward into his dance partner certainly isn't for this nameless stranger's benefit. He came out here tonight in hopes of forgetting the argument that blew up only hours earlier and all the Tequila and sweaty grinding in the club wasn't going to help matters. But the fact that Nick, Nicholas Stokes, the most charmingly innocent partner Greg's ever allowed himself to have, showed up in this particular night club certainly would.
"You'd have to kill me first," were his words, exactly, when Greg suggested a night out here. That sort of reaction was what reminded Greg just why he knew this so-called 'relationship' with Nick would never work out. Greg could be fairly clean-cut at work; it was what he was paid to do and acting unprofessionally would quickly land him out of a job. But Greg wasn't going to give up his idea of fun for anyone, even a hunky Texan man with the sweetest smile and hottest dick Greg had ever laid his lips on.
Greg is a sexual creature and his outings to clubs like these are his escape from the mediocrity of everyday life. If Nick couldn't get that, then Nick couldn't get him. But Nick will have to do better than merely showing up and gawking. Greg dressed to impress tonight, knowing he would go out and get a few men worked up just to appease his sadistic attitude for the evening and leave them high and dry to faithfully return home to his lover.
And yet, it seems as if Greg won't be getting his chance because Nick is shoving blondie out of the way and wrapping an arm around Greg's waist to pull him against his own firm frame. His own hand reaches back, fingers stroking across the back of Nick's neck which predictably draws a small shudder from him. Greg's neck arches back to allow him to stare. His expression is too aloof for Nick's tastes, too cold and too unimpressed. Sometimes Greg could act like such a queen- not that Nick would ever use that wording in any verbal form in his entire lifetime.
"I thought you said I'd have to kill you first," Greg intoned, lips pressed against his ear and his breath caressing Nick's skin on this over-heated dance floor. Nick's eyes are drawn to Greg's salacious attire, staring at the point where creamy skin became covered by a skirt too short to have been considered decent on any female, let alone on the man before him. Slowly, he forces his gaze upward, dragging his eyes over the separation of skirt and top-which was indecently riding up Greg's body.
"You already have." Nick speaks calmly and quietly, refusing to allow himself to look into Greg's eyes, knowing if he dares, he will be drawn in and unable to say his part. Firmly gripping his hip, Nick turns Greg around to face him, pulling him flush against his body. Nick's hands slide back and south from their spots, palms and fingers sliding up under that provocative strip of cloth that one might call a skirt to grope at his ass.
"Jesus, Greg, you look..." Nick just laughs softly, shaking his head. He doesn't know what to say. Amazing? Incredible? Delectable? Dirty? Greg looks like he needs to be bent over and thoroughly fucked, but Nick isn't one to come out and say that outside of the bedroom. Nick chances a glance at Greg's face, drinking in the smug expression. Greg knows exactly what Nick is thinking and that self-satisfied look on his face seems almost permanently fixed there.
"That was the point," he says coolly, grinding forward before twisting in Nick's arms to try and pull away. But Nick is quicker and his body is immediately thrust back up against his chest. Cocking his head to the side, Greg shoots him an almost curious expression, surprised at this sudden change in behavior. Not that this isn't pleasant; Greg likes to be manhandled once in a while and it's an interesting twist to not only see Nick in a gay dance club filled with tweaked-out cumsluts, but to suddenly be acting so assertive towards him. It was always Greg who initiated things, who led the way through the more sexual aspects of their time together.
"I hate it when you do this," Nick murmurs suddenly, lips attaching themselves to Greg's neck. The rest of the club patrons on the floor are momentarily forgotten as the two fully drink in each other. Greg's hands reach up, cupping his face as his fingers stroke down the sides of Nick's face before dragging southward until he is able to shove a hand down the front of Nick's rather flattering and very form-fitting jeans.
"Do what?" he asks coyly, pressing himself up against his lover's body, fingers stroking over the bulge in Nick's boxer-briefs. "This?" he asks as he reaches up inside of those, fingers wrapping around his growing cock on the dance-floor. Nick gasps immediately, grinding into the wonderful feeling of Greg's expert hand on him.
"No," he eventually gets out, trying not to let it show just what a turn-on this is and failing miserably. Nick leans in, lips crushing to Greg's for a quick, bruising kiss, before trying to slide a hand through his lover's gel-hardened hair.
"I hate it when you get pissed and run off like this; whatever happened to the Greg that would wheedle me until I caved?" he rasps throatily into Greg's ear, tugging that delightful hand out of the confines of his pants. Greg perks up a bit at that, staring at Nick through painted eyes with an unreadable expression on his face.
Greg has a thousand things he wants to say to Nick right now, but he knows he won't. Nick doesn't want to hear about how Greg is tired of trying to convince Nick to act like he loves him, tired of trying to get Nick to do something fun. Nick doesn't want to hear that Greg doesn't want to spend his life with a man that will never be a hundred percent happy with a guy who likes blasting Marilyn Manson at two in the morning and uses more hair-product than half his ex-girlfriends combined on a daily basis. Nick doesn't want to hear that Greg is only with Nick, still, because it's easier to pretend to be happy than to come clean and deal with a messy break-up.
For now, Greg can live with the slamming doors and escaping to dance-clubs to try to burn off some steam here and there just so he doesn't go insane from being in love. But he's not sure how much longer he'll last. How much longer this will last. So Greg merely smiles an exuberant, lopsided grin and nips his lover's bottom lip.
"Mmm, you know I like a good chase," he says playfully, arching an eyebrow. "Come on; I'll even let you chase me all the way back to your truck and maybe you'll even get lucky." Nick looks appreciative at the prospect, wondering what it would be like to fuck a man wearing a skirt. Thankfully, with the looks Greg is giving him now, he's sure he won't have to wonder for long.
Five minutes, give or take?