Notes: God, they are so complicated, what are feelings? Idk.
No major manga spoilers. Probably a mistake or five.
Hands sings in italics.
Shit. The fight was too short lived.
A metallic taint rusted the air, it eroded the conscience and had your hair standing on alert, maybe it was Worick's affinity for the kill, his attentiveness in always needing to know who's blood he was spilling – Twilight or Normal; that Worick could pin point that scent above the grime of poverty in the streets outside.
Human tang with a subtle note of Twilight itched his nostrils, bodies, slashed and broken was the accompanying sight; something only the most rabid of dogs could pull off, his dog, though that's not what he'd call him exactly.
Seven Normals, an over zealous C/2, and two measly D/0s that had quaked at the sight of the A/0 on Nic's free, always free, leash.
This job had been too easy, more so than what Worick was told it would be, the warehouse was clear, if there were more; they would have been sniffed out and exterminated already.
Which meant that Worick was left with a problem, a problem more troublesome than the one he'd just disposed of, and if he'd known it would end up like this; he wouldn't have taken the damn job.
Because Nicolas.
Nic with one too many Uppers in his system and not a fight left to occupy that carnage addled brain.
Nic in Worick's now torn shirt that he'd wanted to wear today but had decided Nic in his clothing was so much better, Nic with life stained hands, a splatter enhancing his face, and his eyes set to kill. Restraint had his fists trembling and his whole body quivering with a barely muted instinct to slaughter.
Threat, massacre, menace; the splintering of control stood in the shoddy warehouse next to him. A scent sharper than the blade at his waist, an alarm of impending peril, Nic reeked of brutal intent.
He could feel it weighing heavy in the tin walled warehouse with its mold in shadowed corners and uneven footing; spreading its tendrils in each direction to look for something to play with.
Fuck, and it was for more reasons than one that he was thinking that. Fuck, this was bad, fuck, Nic was terrifying, and fuck, Nic was beautiful. He didn't know which reason was the worst of the lot, either, maybe it was the fact that they all went so well together that made it as bad as it was.
And then Nic looked to Worick with fading humanity as the one too many pills he'd popped smudged his already fucked up rationality, and Worick knew what he really had to worry about. "Downers?" the signing was sloppy, half assed and shaken, desperate, Worick realized, because Nic asking for Downers would be like him singing for absolution. Nic couldn't fucking sing, and in Nic's eyes; absolution was for the weak, and Downers made you weak, so no, Nic would never want either of those things. But Worick learnt long ago that wants and needs were two entirely different things in this world, especially when it came to him and Nicolas Brown.
Oh, the lines between his wants and needs for Nic had been blurred long ago into this fucked up mess of barely balanced equilibrium, something he had to turn his blinded eye, blinded by Nicolas himself, to, or it would end up haunting him in the waking hours just as it haunted his sleep.
Nic had provided the problem and solution all in one go back then, and he still did to this very day. It was only right that Worick wanted to do the same, but he'd be damned if he let Nic take those fucking Downers which Worick had in his pocket. Worick loathed sitting back and being unable to do anything but watch Nic come down on those filthy tablets, he could take watching him and his self destruct personality in a fight, watch him take a hit, get knocked down and thrown around, because he gave as good as he got, and Nic would always get back up again. Downers were a different story though, Nic always stayed down for too long after using them to negate an overdose, he didn't eat, didn't drink, and didn't do Nic things like sit in the windowsill and read, or curl up on the couch once the evening sun shone through the glass to heat the upstairs rooms.
So he pretended to check his pocket to fish out those drugs he wished they didn't need; he found balls of lint, two halves of a once whole cigarette, and the small bottle which rattled obnoxiously as if to mock him, and for once he was grateful Nic was too deaf to hear something.
With a feigned regretful sigh, he showed his empty hands to Nic, "I left them on the coffee table."
And before Nic could become more unsettled, flex his hands to test his sensations and find it possibly lacking, before he could panic as Celebrer kept urging his brain to move, to kill and decimate, only to find nothing to take it out on and thus be left on an excruciating edge; Worick stalked forward with severity on his face and leant down to press his forehead against the creased one in front of him.
"You can kill me, Nicolas." and he meant it. He'd do whatever it took to make Nic realize that he wasn't just a Tag. If it could save that damn Twilight from his own mind then he'd let Nic kill him, it's not like Worick wanted to die, it was just that he trusted Nic more than that.
It took a few moments before black eyes blew out in comprehension; after all it wasn't like this was the first time, before Nic let his control go and a blood stained hand buried itself in the nape of Worick's hair to take over.
Chapped lips smashed against his, there was no finesse with Nic, just raw hunger and an endearing desperation that gave Worick a high of his own, because in this fucked up thing they had; Nic needed him just as much as Worick needed - and had come to want - the other, who would have thought it'd ever end up this way.
These situations were always like this; of course an A/0 ranked Tag would overwhelm him as they scuffled back onto rough surfaced wooden transport crates, like always Nic pushed him down to straddle his hips with a weight much more satisfying than any dainty women could ever pin him with, and like always it always felt like Worick was the one who was losing himself as Nic stole his breath with toothy kisses and hands that clawed at his belt with dwindling dexterity.
The Tag was never one for foreplay, Worick was pinned by the hips and eyes of oblivion as Nic stripped himself and made Worick watch, Nic never intended it to be seductive or alluring, but the way his hips rolled as he pulled his jeans down, the way his chest flexed with the motion of pulling his arms from his shirt still did many things to Worick's blood, enough for Worick to snap back into action and realize why he was doing this, why he would always do this, because Worick would be damned if he'd not give Nic the fight he so badly needed.
It was back to basics, no calculating touches or faked motions, all his gigolo skills were forgotten and fucking useless when it came to the two of them, because like Worick could unravel a client into a mindless mess of pleasure with his expertise that he'd learnt over the years; Nic could do the same to him just by fucking being Nic.
So instead it was all open mouthed kisses sloppy with raw instinct, grabbing hands driven by primal need, and dirty dry rutting that put shame to his name because the first time he'd done this with Nic he'd come so fast that he was never going live it down. And of course Nic would egg him on, growl in his ear with that predatory smirk and sharp bites on his neck that said hurry, hurry, fucking hurry up.
Because right now Nic wanted pain, and Worick's self indulgent prep of Nic's too tight ass with only two spit covered fingers just wasn't enough for the Tag, and a human could only keep a Twilight from what they wanted for so long until the one with real power won over.
But still he forced Nic to stay his hips as he curled his fingers, reveled in the stuttered groan that bubbled up from the lips at his ear, and gloried in the way Nic snapped as his impatience mounted.
Nic wanted the sting, he wanted sensation and feeling and everything that came with being mortal, and as he sunk down onto Worick, bottomed himself out in one mind blowing drop of his hips that had Worick's gut coiling with heat; he got it all and then some.
Crescent moons engraved themselves into Worick's chest as fingers dug into his skin, Nic hissed at the stretch with his sweat lined chest, lolled back head and closed eyes pointed at the roof, here was this A/0 ranked fucking Twilight on top of him, his partner and friend, and oh, Worick would make him feel pain, but he'd never truly hurt him even though he used to want to, he could give him feeling and humanity, only he could give all those things to Nic.
He dished it out as much as Nic could take, yanked his head back with a vicious grip in silken black hair to bare his throat and gnaw at the soft skin of his pulse, he felt he vibrations of Nic's growls against his lips as pain turned to pleasure, which is what he wanted Nic to want instead, he relished at the muscular power in his grasp with his bruising hold on Nic's hips as the Twilight ground down over and over again.
Nic was always so sinfully tight and warm inside, so vigorous and domineering, and it took every ounce of Worick's endurance as their bodies moved, Nic met his thrusts with urgency and hunger, angled his hips so that Worick could slam against his prostate every time and wind them both tighter than the bonds that held them together. Sharp nails raked up Worick's back as Nic pressed them closer for friction and intimacy, and it didn't matter that Nic was deaf and had trouble with speech, because he groaned and demanded more, harder, faster, deeper, and it sounded perfect to Worick because breathless was still fucking breathless.
So it turned into this push and pull of control, a fight different to the one Nic wanted but a fight nonetheless, of Nic wanting to give it all to Worick, forget himself in Celebrer and succumb to his buried deep notion of inequality, and Worick pushing it away because he realized long ago that control wasn't what he needed from Nicolas anymore, he wanted to lose it with Nic in something completely separate from the concept of humans and Twilights, because no matter what they were; their feelings were still the same.
And as he felt Nic tremble, heard Nic's breath catch and felt the power of anger and murderous intent change to something different, as Nic sunk his hips down one last time, sucked Worick in and clenched his entire body around him to sigh his name in perfect syllables; Worick knew they both had what they needed.
The world fell away as they unraveled, both boneless and as helpless as each other as they came with stammered movements and shaky breaths, Nic milked him with slow rolls of his hips just as Worick's hand tugged the last of the Tag's pleasure to spill onto his stomach in spurts of white.
They stayed like that for a while, with Nic's face buried in the crook of Worick's neck as he tried to come down from something completely different to being on Uppers, with Worick fishing out a cigarette from his nearby pants, watching the smoke drift up and away to the ceiling and thinking that this time was fucking close, but this right now was how it should be, the Nic in his lap was normal and calm, not drug crazed and insane, he'd brought Nic back from the brink and he'd do it time and again just so they could have this moment of clarity between them.
Time passed and the spilt blood discolored on the concrete, Chad and his team would be here for the clean up soon, and people had learnt the hard way not to interrupt before Worick made contact to give them the all clear. They'd have to get back to work soon, damn it.
As if sensing his thoughts, Nicolas sat back on Worick's thighs, twisted in a way that made his honed muscles roll under his skin and picked Worick's discarded shirt up from the crate next to them.
Out came the bottle of Downers from the front pocket with an exasperate look to go with them. "Coffee table, my ass."
"Oho, Nic-chan, I can do your ass on the coffee table next if you want." Worick laughed then as he threw his arms around Nic, who screwed up his nose in distaste and wiggled to get off, making fun of Nic was the next best thing to comforting him.
"Gross, stop clinging." Came the flailing hand signs.
"You're so cold, Nic." He mocked further even as he helped Nic up to clean himself and dress, and as they were done, walking out the warehouse to inform Chad the job was done, Worick caught the signs from the corner of his eye.
"Thank you, you didn't need to do that. I would have taken the pills."
It seemed Nic still didn't quite get it, either that or he didn't want to, "Idiot. If you'd flaked out I would have had to carry your heavy ass home, this way you can still walk."
Nic stopped and turned, his tongue out expression frozen as Worick cupped either side of his face and looked him in the eye with all the seriousness someone like him could muster. "I wanted to do it, that's what real partners are for, and you are my partner, Nic. You got that?"
"Got it." Nic eventually said, and from the way Nic shut his eyes as he said it, the peace and contentment that crossed his face, Worick knew he did.