Nine Love Songs Part 2 - May - by Sara's Girl
AN - This chapter takes place about 3 weeks after the end of the first chapter. One chapter for each month, a song and a scene that represents Nick and Greg's relationship.
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Lyrics from 'Just Can't Get Enough' by Depeche Mode
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Nick opens his eyes and allows the room to swim into focus. He smiles as he glances at the digital clock on the nightstand and basks in the feeling of victory caused by waking up naturally, at 6.05pm, hours before he has to be at work. Insignificant though it might appear to an outsider, Nick knows that waking early means he is getting his routine back. After everything he's been through recently, a little bit of security is certainly something to hold onto.
Eyes travelling around the room with some satisfaction, he sighs contentedly. It looks good in here now, he thinks. His furniture, his pictures on the walls.
Walls painted mint green.
Over the last few weeks, Nick has come to realize that he cannot even look at these walls without instantly reliving the day he and Greg had painted the room. Their kiss, and every kiss that has followed. Today is no exception, and as Nick rises slowly, stretching and pulling on jeans and a black t-shirt from the back of the chair next to his bed, he is thinking. A small smile tugging at his lips, humming tunelessly as he dresses.
Nick has never met anyone with quite as much enthusiasm for kissing as Greg. Nick hasn't lain there with someone for hours and done nothing more than kiss since he was in high school. And yet with Greg, it doesn't feel weird or boring. Greg seems to delight in spinning out a kiss into a two-hour long, erotically charged and yet fully clothed make-out session. He is skilled at it, too; Greg's kisses make Nick shiver and whimper and ache, not to mention painfully hard within seconds. He likes to start out whisper soft and slow, just a brush of lips, smiling crookedly and sliding light fingertips into Nick's hair.
Greg's kisses grow frantic and hard, then slow and gentle again, unpredictable. Nick can only hang on. He likes to hold on to Greg's hips, fingers firmly pushed into belt loops, or threading through blond hair which feels surprisingly soft and pliable under his fingers and smells of lemons or coconut, depending on what day it is.
Holds him there because he never wants Greg to stop kissing him. But Greg is almost impossible to still, and often he'll climb onto Nick's lap, kneeling over him, pinning Nick down and pressing him back hard into the couch, and the friction will get too much for both of them. Sometimes they just hang onto each other and finish it right there, thrusting and rubbing against each other, fully clothed, until they are both sticky and satisfied. And sometimes, Nick gets to experience the other things that mouth can do.
Greg's mouth is hot, enthusiastic, and when he wraps it around Nick's swollen cock, Nick just loses control. He usually hates being out of control, but when that tongue touches his heated skin, he doesn't have a choice.
And while he finds that giving head is a really effective way of getting Greg to be quiet, he also finds, to his surprise, that he likes listening to Greg. He actively enjoys their conversations. Realizes that, when he's not nervous, Greg slows down a lot; he has an excellent sense of humour, a sharp, dry wit and a mind-blowing amount of knowledge on subjects so varied that Nick wonders how many lives he has lived in his twenty seven years.
More than that, though, Nick finds himself seeking out that voice because he just likes the sound of it. He likes the colours and tones, the way it can shift from a low, rich, teasing stickiness to a harsh, almost breathy, excitable whisper. Greg uses both these tones, and all the ones in between, indiscriminately and carelessly, and Nick can hear him use the same one to say his name as he hands over results in the lab and to say his name as he presses Greg into the kitchen wall as soon as they get home. It almost doesn't matter whether Greg is actually saying 'Nick, we got a match' or 'Fuck, Nick, come here'. The result is the same.
He is standing barefoot in the kitchen, feeling the cool tiles beneath his feet, when the growl in his belly alerts him to the fact that he hasn't eaten in hours. Hunger is able to temporarily shake Greg from his head, and he opens the fridge, wondering if Greg is still asleep. Imagines him sprawled out messily across his bed, sheets tangled and hair everywhere. Ok, so maybe Greg isn't quite out of his head. Nick thinks, perhaps, he rarely is these days, but that is a thought that he doesn't want to deal with right now.
Nick leans on the door of the fridge and surveys the contents with dissatisfaction. Stubborn though he may be, as all Stokeses are, he concedes that in many areas, living with Greg has thrown most of his expectations out of the window. It is this thought that allows him a smile as he wrinkles his nose and leans further into the refrigerator, because if nothing else, the state of Greg's fridge was and is exactly as he expected it to be. There seems to be very little actual food at all, the shelves taken up by a motley collection of condiments, jellies, spreads and anything else that can be eaten straight out of the jar with a spoon. Nick eyes them suspiciously. Suspects that most are past their use-by dates, too, not that it stops Greg from eating them. From what Nick has observed over the last month or so, Greg seems to subsist on takeout, instant ramen noodles and intermittent rounds of pick a jar, any jar.
Maybe I'll teach him to cook, he thinks. Then stops. Pauses in his visual sweep of the fridge, fingers curling more tightly around the soft, cool rubber edges of the door. Where did that thought come from? Nick doesn't know the answer to that, but it seems ever so domesticated and just for a second, something like fear wraps around his heart, speeding its rhythm, before releasing it again. He takes a deep breath and allows the cool air from the fridge to soothe his hot skin. Greg can eat what he likes. He's his own person. And certainly, Nick tells himself, it is not his role to look after Greg, they're just...Nick swallows hard and twists a jar of mint jelly around on the shelf, fiddling with the label. Aunt Kelly's Homestyle Mint Jelly. They are...Nick exhales sharply. He doesn't know what they are. Mostly they don't sleep in the same bed, and they haven't had sex, as such, but they have come pretty damn close.
Anyway. More food-finding, less over-analyzing, he admonishes himself silently.
Nick lets go of the jar and carefully extracts a large silver foil takeout carton from the back of the shelf. Placing it on the counter, he eyes it with some trepidation before slowly removing the lid.
Jesus Christ. He takes an involuntary step back, recoiling from the stench of rotten food. Coughing a little, he soon steps closer again and peers into the carton, curiosity getting the better of him. Who knew that Pad Thai could go that colour? Nick thinks it actually looks a lot like one of Grissom's recent experiments. One of which he also discovered in the fridge, in the break room, not long ago. He is just considering the best place to dispose of the carton and whether Greg has been deliberately trying to cultivate some new form of mould when he feels hands slip under his shirt from behind and fingers rake over his stomach muscles.
The simple touch pulls a shiver through Nick's whole body and he smiles, leaning back against Greg, feeling heat against his back and a delicious hardness against his ass.
"Cool," remarks Greg, eyeing the still-open carton. "It's all...psychedelic. What was it?"
"It may have been Pad Thai, at some stage," Nick replies, feeling one of Greg's hands slip to his shoulder and start kneading and rubbing at the tight-strung muscles. He tries to relax, breath catching a little as the other hand slips from his abdomen to cover his hardening cock through his jeans. He knows he wasn't hard a minute ago, and it's still equally thrilling and surprising that Greg's hands on him can get him so hot so fast.
"Greg," he groans softly, still staring straight ahead at the counter, trying to focus on anything else to stop his legs from giving way from the waves of pleasure radiating outwards from where Greg is now rubbing his hand up and down the length of his cock. So slowly, the perfect amount of pressure, other hand still working at his shoulders, lips grazing his neck.
"You're all tense. What were you thinking about?"
Nick is lost in sensation: Greg's lips, Greg's hands, Greg's hardness pressing against him. Still staring ahead, almost unseeing. Colours. Not thinking about gone-off Thai food. Mint jelly. What this whole thing is all about. Mould. Experiments. What?
"Grissom," he throws out at random. And then immediately regrets it.
Greg's lips withdraw from his neck and drop to his shoulder. He ceases his massaging of Nick's erection but does not pull his hand away. They stay perfectly still for a number of seconds and for some reason, Nick does not breathe.
"Kinky," Greg replies at last. Brushes his thumb lightly against the head of Nick's cock through thin denim, making him gasp.
Oh god. He really, really didn't mean it like that.
Nick pulls away with some difficulty and turns to face Greg, already muttering and backpedalling.
"That's not, Greg, I didn't...I don't..."
Nick falls silent when he sees Greg's expression. The widest, most sparkling grin in his repertoire lighting his face, eyes bright, pupils enlarged. He's shaking his head slowly.
"You're cute when you're scared, Stokes," he murmurs, sliding hands into the pockets of his jeans, the movement allowing Nick to see the full extent of his arousal. Nick feels his mouth go dry and his veins flood with crackling heat as he looks at Greg. He's just standing there, smiling, looking at Nick from under his eyelashes. Daring him, almost. Wearing faded jeans and nothing else. Damn.
Nick still hasn't quite got his head around any of this, what he's doing or how Greg is able to make him feel delirious with desire, but he can't think right now. Not when he's being looked at like that.
"I hate you," he whispers harshly, smiling, kicking the fridge door shut behind him and dragging Greg hard against his body, grabbing his wrists and pulling Greg's hands out of his pockets.
They land, heavily, framing Nick's body against the fridge door. Nick grips his ass hard and pulls Greg full length against him, touching everywhere and kissing him hungrily. Greg doesn't hesitate for a second, just melts into him and kisses him back with equal fervour. Nick opens his mouth, feeling the delicious wet warmth as Greg's tongue strokes his and realizing that Greg has brushed his teeth and he hasn't. Not that Greg seems to care, by the way he's moaning softly and pushing himself against Nick as though he wants to push him through the fridge door.
When the pressure is suddenly released and Greg's mouth is removed from his, Nick's eyes fly open in protest until he registers that Greg is unbuttoning his jeans and sinking to his knees. Nick watches him, breathless, feeling his cock jump painfully before he is even touched, just at the thought of Greg's mouth on him.
"Oh, Greg...fuck. Please."
They are the only words he can manage, and Nick doesn't like to plead, but when Greg is inches away from doing what he's about to, he really does not care.
"You don't have to ask," Greg murmurs, pushing Nick's jeans down around his knees and staring at his hard cock almost reverentially. Nick watches him, watches every movement of his lips, can feel his breath against the stretched, sensitive skin. "But it's fucking hot when you do ask."
Greg's eyes flick upward and his dirty smile makes something contract low in Nick's gut. In this moment he thinks he would give Greg anything, anything he wants.
"I want your mouth on me." His voice is unsteady and he knows it. Greg knows it too.
"Ok," he whispers. Pinning Nick's hip against the fridge with one hand and sliding his cock into the warm, wet mouth with the other firmly wrapped around it. Nick cries out with intense relief and automatically jerks his hips forwards, wanting more of that heat, wanting it now, but Greg holds him firm. Eyes closed now, mouth sliding up and down Nick's length, taking him almost all the way to the root and back, almost swallowing him whole, and Nick will wonder, when he is capable of wondering again, where Greg learned how to do that. It soon becomes too much and Nick is right on the edge, pushing desperate hands into Greg's soft, sleep-flattened hair and allowing loud groans to escape his throat.
"God, I love your mouth," he hisses, still trying to push further into the moist, hot, sliding pressure.
"My mouth likes you too, Nick."
And Greg's mouth has, for some reason, stopped sucking and started talking. He is looking up at Nick, mouth just inches away from where Nick needs it to be, and his eyes are alight with amusement and lust. His hand is still lazily stroking Nick's cock, sliding easily over skin glistening with his own saliva.
All Nick can do is stare down at him helplessly, every nerve ending in his body crying out to have the contact restored. He was so goddamn close. And he knows better than anyone now how much of a tease Greg can be.
"What did you stop for?" he pants, pulling at Greg's hair. Needing it. Needing him. "Don't stop."
Greg stares back at him for a long second before he leans forward once more, wrapping his lips around the head of Nick's cock, letting it slide in and out of the tight circle and twisting his agile tongue into the slit. Never once breaking eye contact. Nick feels the hand grip tighter around him and speed up, and he's just staring down into burning dark eyes and touching that hair and it's hot, slick and perfect.
His orgasm takes him by surprise with its speed and intensity. He cries out, a mixture of fuck and Greg's name, and spills uncontrollably into Greg's mouth. Watches him swallow it all, and there's something about the way he doesn't release Nick until he absolutely has to that Nick thinks is both incredibly hot and something else that doesn't have a name yet, but it feels like electricity in his chest. Both thrilling and unwelcome.
"You're going to pull my hair out," Greg smiles, looking up at him from the floor and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Nick frowns and then realizes he still has his iron grip on Greg's hair. He relaxes his fingers and pulls Greg to his feet, close, shivering as the younger man's wet lips brush the side of his neck. Noticing he is still hard against Nick's bare hip.
"Delicious," whispers Greg. Nick smiles dazedly and strokes the smooth skin of his back. "Now, what are you going to have?" He shifts his head to peer over Nick's shoulder once more at the takeout gone awry. "I wouldn't suggest that."
Feeling some of the blood returning to his brain, Nick gathers a response. Trails a finger down Greg's spine, gratified to feel his shiver.
"I think I'll just have what you had."
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When I'm with you baby, I go out of my head
And I just can't get enough, I just can't get enough
All the things you do to me and everything you said
And I just can't get enough, I just can't get enough