November 30, 2280 12:30 PM
It's these moments, these right here, that make all the failures worth it. The failures where he's too late, or the leads run out and there's nothing else to go on, or something goes horribly, inescapably wrong and Nick has to walk away from a case with the echo of gunshots in his ears and regret in his heart… the successes help forgive all that.
Luke's hitched up on Nick's left hip, small hands twined into his collar and epaulet and foot kicking impatiently off his thigh. They'd waved 'bye to John a few streets ago, letting him peel off to head home to slam doors and loudly proclaim his return to his brother while the two of them continue up the stone steps of the stands to their own destination. Nick raises his hand to the door they're waiting in front of then turns to look at Luke, a cautious eyebrow raised.
"You ready?"
Luke nods his head rapidly, eyes sparkling and hair flopping around like crazy. He's almost squirmed himself loose of the blanket he's been cloaked in this whole time and his sneaker's come untied again somehow (one of those little kid superpowers), but he looks fine and happy and about ready to explode. "Yes," he says with complete surety.
"Why don't you do it? I don't think I can knock hard enough for your dad to hear." Nick says, leaning him in closer to the door. "Go on, give it a real good thump."
He does, banging his fist on the painted wood and giving a loud cry of 'Daddyyyy!' for good measure. There's only a few seconds of waiting before the door swings inward and Don's crowding into the doorway, worry-weary face breaking into shock and then a radiant grin as Luke shrieks and reaches for him. The kid's laughing and screaming as his dad crushes him close and swings him around in a tight circle and showers kisses all over his face.
When Don gets himself together enough to remember that there's someone else standing there, he immediately sticks a hand out. All the past day's terror and uncertainty and anger evaporate in his grasp. All of Don's joy and relief is right there plain as anything when he pulls Nick in closer for a laughing almost-hug alongside the two of them.
Yeah, he'd say this makes it all worth it.
December 4, 2280 11:00 AM
"So, is not my business, but I have to ask," Vadim says, hand still wrapped around an ancient newspaper. He's been occasionally swatting the bar top (and his brother, when he strays within range) with it to the beat of the music coming in over the radio instead of reading it. "You know how curiosity is. Deadliest thing of all." The tone of his voice sounds close to apologetic.
There's a tense game of darts going on in the nearby corner of the room; a guy in a violently red baseball cap is up on the gentleman with what looks like a dozen crows worth of feathers and bones adorning his collar. Nick drags his eyes off them to look back at Vadim. "Sure I do, built a whole career around it," he says, turning back to face the bar with a smile. He sets his empty glass down and wonders if getting loaded this early in the day is a good idea or something he should save for an emergency.
"Ha! True enough. Another one?"
To hell with it. "Yeah, may as well."
Vadim drops his voice to what might pass as quiet for him, leaning over the bar top and grinning widely at Nick before he drops a fresh glass in front of him. "Just wondering how things worked out with your eh, drinking partner in the end last week. Saw him chase you out."
"Oh."
Cripes, he'd nearly forgotten about that; like it happened ages ago.
"There was a little bit of a misunderstanding but we settled it amicably," Nick says. "Got everything put right. Still friends."
It's enough of the truth. All a chatterbox bartender's gonna get out of him at any rate.
"Ahh." Without the promise of either a lecherous or violent story, Vadim visibly deflates, slouching down and getting back to his almost on-beat tapping. He shrugs. "Well, that is good. Little shit needs a few normal friends."
Nick almost laughs at the sudden ebb of interest and takes a sip of his drink. "He also mentioned that regrettably, he might be forced to break your arm if you keep trying to ruin his pursuits."
Vadim cackles and makes a brief show of flexing the muscle he has. Probably enough to give John a run for his money, all from hauling kegs and wrestling with kettles and vats. Probably. "Tiny man can try. Any time.
"What a troublemaker, that one," he continues after lowering his arms. "He tries to keep it subtle— does a good enough job I guess—but it is my bar and I remember how bad I was at keeping my business to myself at that age."
Nick politely (and with great difficulty) keeps his mouth shut on that. The way Vadim shouts anything that comes to mind at the clientele or his long-suffering brother, no matter his proximity in the bar says that that's one character flaw he never got resolved.
"Besides, people love to talk. Me included, of course. Ha! Who is jumping into bed with who? Always a hot topic no matter where you go."
Facts of life, Nick thinks. As long as there's humans or, hell, any sentient beings around it's inescapable.
Yefim comes back from the far side of the room, pushing past Vadim and jostling him with an armload of ashtrays and dirty dishes and glasses. He nods at Nick as he passes by, Nick raising a finger to his temple in salutation. "If he's bothering you," Yefim says, tilting his head toward Vadim, "don't feel too bad about telling him where to shove his stories. He's not going to shut up unless you tell him. And even then… eh. Fifty-fifty."
Nick covers a grin as Vadim waves him off, not even turning around. "Ech. Little McDonough doesn't come here for the drinks, is all I'm saying. But you found that out first-hand, eh? Eh?" Nick rolls his eyes and Vadim's off laughing again, loud enough to draw the distracted eye of Baseball Cap still trying to line up a shot. Yefim sighs and heads around the backbar, throwing a tired look at his chuckling brother and then a shorter one at Nick that says You see what I have to deal with?
Then Vadim smacks himself with his newspaper. "But wait, wait, hold on. The other day a certain somebody came in for a few rounds and told me and Yefim all about how our very own Diamond City detective went out and rescued his little kartoshka! That was you, wasn't it! Why waste time on this boring shit, tell us all about it!"
December 23, 2280 6:30 PM
And work continues to come in. Inconsistently, but that's alright. It gives Nick time to socialize (probably spending more time than's necessarily healthy sitting on a bar stool), pick through some puzzle and word search booklets while buried under a few layers of blankets, tinker around with his microfilm reader, pester Roberts into giving him partial access to the city's records, and do some solo exploration of the area surrounding Diamond City. The boys in security do an admirable job of keeping the perimeter free of danger, but one tragically short case brings Nick around to the bower of something that might need a small army to take down. Extra-large super mutants living in ponds? he thinks after making a hasty (but tactical) retreat back down the street. What doesn't Boston have?
The next three hours are spent hashing out a way to tactfully break the bad news to the missing fella's poor lady friend.
But then it swings around to the very tail end of the year and there haven't been any requests in at least a week. Too dreary and frigid out there for anyone to be in a crime-committing mood, Nick speculates. Everyone's at the mercy of mother nature, wicked and decent alike.
He's upstairs cleaning out a chest of drawers, thighs covered in thread fragments and fuzzballs, and heavily weighing out the benefits of closing up early again when he hears the muffled sound of the front door opening and closing. Eyes tipping up and exhaling a surprised chuff of smoke, Nick calls down, "Right with you."
When he comes down the stairs and looks back out into the office proper, he both is and isn't surprised to see John there, looking over the stacks of papers and case files Nick had left out. Well, "left out". More came home and let them fall where they may once he was finished with them. A week or five ago.
John looks up at Nick, face shifting into an almost-smile before getting back to it, picking delicately through the papers and adding sheets to a stack in his other hand. Well, he can't make much more of a jumble of them than they already are, whatever he's doing, Nick thinks, watching him as he steps down to the floor. He's minus the pencil skirt and horn-rim glasses, but John's got the no-nonsense look and sexy hip tilt of the precinct secretaries down pat.
"Why's this place such a sty?" he says in lieu of an actual greeting. "You seem like you'd be more organized than this."
"You think so?"
Nick maneuvers around him and crosses back over to his desk while John mmhm's at him.
"And I bet you live a life of order and tidiness," Nick mutters.
"Never said that."
Yeah, Nick thinks. Not worth it. He tries to surreptitiously shove some of the clutter off the blotter and ruins it by dumping a stapler on the floor. 'Neat' is not something he'd ever try to call himself and years of being around his fellow slobs in the force hadn't helped those leanings improve. Clean, sure. Neat, nah. Waste of time and happiness. Who's he trying to impress, anyway?
He props an ankle over a knee and tips back in his chair until it squeaks; smushes the stub of his cigarette out into a cracked glass bowl resting on a mismatched stack of encyclopedias. "How ya been, kid? Haven't seen you in a while."
More than a while, come to think of it. The closest they'd come was Nick catching a glimpse of blond and black leather from across the market when he went for lunch at the noodle stand two or so weeks ago. Heard his high-pitched laugh and the murmur of an unfamiliar voice responding from somewhere nearby another time when he'd been out and on his way to a meeting. Nothing more than that since he'd brought Luke home.
John gives him another sidelong glance. "Mm. Missed me, huh?"
Nick tips his hand back and forth in a comme ci comme ça motion and John snorts at him.
"Yeah, y'did," he says, turning away again. "Well, I'm doin' alright. The folks came home from Kendall so we've all been having some nice, boring family bonding time together. I love 'em but I need a break. Only so many games of Blast Radius or Atomic Snap you can play before the sound of the dice popper starts haunting your dreams."
That's right, he mentioned them back before we left for Goodneighbor, Nick thinks, picking at his shirt cuffs and imagining a car-sized die galloping after a screaming dream-John. Last run of fieldwork before the ground gets too solid to shift.
"Been doing some of that, hunted some mirelurks with my dad, then all the same old." John sets down his collection of papers, apparently decided that that one's finished and starts on a new one. "And… well, I guess I'm still working on making friends with those two recluses that run the radio. Fuckin' hard when they only come out of their box to eat or take a piss."
"Two?"
DCR's perfect stuff for when Nick wants to turn off and wallgaze for a while or catch up on the news around town, but he's never seen the actual face, or actually, faces, behind the speakers. And now he knows why. Good luck to them both if John's decided he's gonna lay siege to their broadcast trailer.
"Travis Miles's the tech guy and then you know Kent. The talent. Voice guy and star of the whole deal," John says. "Kent's easier to talk to, as you'd guess, but I think they're both coming around. I actually got a full sentence out of Travis the last time. Watch, I'll have my own morning segment by next week."
"You can sit still long enough for a morning segment?"
John levels a withering look at him. "Already a critic and I ain't even got an interview yet. No faith."
"Yeah, that's the way showbiz is, I hear," Nick says serenely, still leaned back and watching John do whatever he's doing. Thin fingers flick down pages, back curved in a relaxed slump, eyebrows dip every so often as he struggles to read something. There's an unusual, meditative quality to the way he does it, slow and graceful and loose. Another stack gets shifted and tossed down next to the first.
"You know, people usually get paid to do that," Nick ventures after a time.
"What, shuffle papers around?"
"It's called 'filing'. Yeah." Nick grins. "You lookin' for a job? Think there might be a free slot or two around here."
John looks mildly perturbed at that, but his sorting doesn't stop. "Moi? An office job? Gimme a break."
Nick raises his eyebrows and hands in surrender; wonders how genuine that touch of ire in his voice is and what it's about if it's real.
Minutes pass with the sound of John's rustling and the soft sputter of the kerosene heater he's got going in the corner. If the captain burst in the door right now to shout about that goddamn enclave post down the block giving him the evil eye on the way there it'd be just like home. Well, work, specifically. But work was always a second home to him. The clack of typewriters; smell of carbon paper, coffee, and the fried pastries the shop next door made on Tuesdays; Dawes trying (and failing) to get the drop on him at his desk, then pretending like he was just heading for the can when he got caught. And always thinking he'd gotten away with it. Oh, boy.
"You're staring, m'dear."
Nick blinks and refocuses on John, bemused to discover that his allegation is indeed correct. The corner of the kid's mouth curves up as he knocks his current sheaf against the tabletop to straighten it. Whoops.
Nick smiles right back and sets his chin in his hand, propping his elbow against his armrest and gives John an exaggerated head to toe sweep to really make a show of it. Try to disguise whatever embarrassment just manifested. "Well," he says. "You're not too awful to look at."
John lowers his arms and turns to face Nick with an eyebrow cocked and chin tilted up, displaying his throat (no necklace of bruises there this time, thank you) and the edge of his jaw in a thought-provoking pose. "Yeah? I bet I'd look even better close up," he says, calmly staring Nick down. He runs the tip of his tongue out over his lip. "Wanna see if I'm right?"
"I, uh. Hm."
Tempting.
And impossible to turn that back around on John; he should've known better, really.
Ignoring the way his heart starts going a little faster and the defensiveness that naturally pops up, Nick silently considers the offer. It's not too tough to come to a conclusion; he gets there with surprisingly little self-convincing: he wants this. Wants those sinful hands and mouth on him; wants to be near him. He'd come to terms with the fact that Nick Valentine might not be quite as straight as he'd once thought. Okay. That's fine. Something he can adjust to.
The difference in age, hell, the difference in the amount of life they've each lived, really, that's still a little more of a sticking point. Gives him this creeping, slimy feeling in the back of his mind every time he thinks about the kid in an indecent way. Though in that same track, he knows John's not inexperienced in this; that was not something Vadim had needed to spell out for him, not at all. And that's all John really wants from him, isn't it? Does that make it alright?
But regardless of all else, the last thing he wants to do again is freeze up in that twitchy, rabbity fear of being caught out. Turn him down if you want to, but don't do it for a cruddy reason, he thinks. And not in a cruddy way. Don't hurt him. Acting like that… he knows it's rough on John's feelings. Which is not something he wants to poke holes in; not if he can help it. Kid deserves better than that.
"Yeah. Y'know what?" he says, glancing down at his watch. "I was pretty much done for the day. You mind locking up for me?"
"Wouldn't mind at all." John throws a wolfish smile over his shoulder as he steps away.
It's odd to him still, for sure, that someone so young and desirable and probably able to pick up any damn person he wants to would show this kind of interest in him. And he's flattered like always, weirdly humbled as he watches the easy saunter of bootheels on their way to box them in together. Maybe someday he'll ask John what the deal is, but for now? Nick will take what he's given… and he's pretty damn sure he'll like it.
The thought flits away when John comes stalking back to push himself between Nick's partly spread legs, nudging them apart with his own knees. John looks down at him for a moment, searching his face with his chapped lower lip caught in his teeth. Sort of like he's trying to figure out which part of Nick he's gonna take a big bite out of first.
But John says something startlingly thoughtful instead of the newest piece of compelling filth Nick was expecting. "What do you want, Nicky? What do you want me to do?"
He doesn't know. Doesn't know how far or in which direction he wants this to go today, but this is a good enough (if standard) first step. "Take this off?" Nick asks, shifting more upright and pulling at the hem of John's shirt. "Gotta say there hasn't really been an equitable trade of skin so far."
John's already standing still, but Nick sees him stutter to a further halt, and he has a moment to wonder what he said wrong. But then John's hands come up and start drawing the grey-blue shirt over his head.
Of course he's showy about it, like he's done it times without count and has it down to a perfect art at this point. But that just means Nick can enjoy the reveal. The thin line of darker gold hair leading up to his shallow navel is exposed, the jut of his hips, the lean sweep of his chest, and then the shirt's peeled the rest of the way off with a quick undulation and tossed over the desk beside them.
And he sees a look on John's face like he's about to deliver a hilarious punchline from a joke he's never told before.
"I'm offering myself up here," he says, contemplative and running his fingertips over his cheeks and neck, "for any dirty little imaginings you might have, and you tell me to take my shirt off? Man, where the fuck did you come from?"
Nick purses his lips and strongly considers giving the kid a headbutt to the solar plexus. Just enough to knock the breath out of him. Y'know, between friends. Instead, he curls a hand over John's hip and traces down the light trail of hair on his stomach with the fingers of the other.
"Maybe I like to start off slow, okay? Ever think of that?" Nick says. He pulls John in closer and kisses the smooth skin of his stomach, bites it and the muscles jump under his lips. "Maybe I need some romancing before jumping right in, you utter brat."
John lets out a quiet guffaw at that, flinching away from the teeth pricking into his ribs but then melts under the slow kisses and licks that follow. Moans a quiet affirmation when Nick's attentions roam closer to his waistband and lets his hands settle lightly on his head.
Nick makes a thorough exploration of the furnace-hot surface of the kid's torso. No curves there to speak of, not what he's used to, but interesting nonetheless. He's thin and small, wiry even, but there's enough muscle to keep him from being outright bony, all compact and smoothly flexing as he bends and shifts. John's fingers rub into the short hair behind Nick's ear as he breathlessly laughs and sways into the questing hands, trying to tug Nick closer.
"Why are you so damn impatient?" Nick says as he lets his palms slide around to the kid's backside. And that's an unexpectedly nice handful; more to grab there than he'd assumed. "And aggressive. You're gonna scare me off."
"I am not," John replies, sounding deeply (and insincerely) offended. "Not at all. Promise; sweetest guy you'll ever meet." He runs his nails down the side of Nick's face, over the edge of his jaw. So soft, but he's grinning that slightly insane grin and Nick shivers against him. "If you wanna keep petting me or like, read bedtime stories and hold my hand all night, we can. I've done weirder."
Nick blows a long breath out over his lip. He could still headbutt him… he's right there.
"But I got a better idea if you wanna hear it," John says, switching from provoking to provocative with a low purr. He nudges a toe against the locking mechanism on Nick's chair, then brings a knee up and slides smoothly into his lap. Nick's hands shift up automatically to clutch onto his waist. "Something simple."
This close he can see how John's throat and ears have gone a charming shade of pink and he has a really detailed view of the thick, sinuous lines of ink trailing over his shoulder and around his bicep. Can smell the December air in his clothes and the nicotine and new heat on his skin. Feel the warm, vital weight of him pressing down on the tops of Nick's thighs.
"Okay then, shoot," he says. It's tough to break his gaze away from John's face and how intently he's staring right back at him.
"How about I take the rest of my clothes off, sit like this," John demonstrates by dragging himself up tight and hard against Nick's hips and stomach, "and jerk us both off nice and slow." His mouth twists into a half-smile as Nick makes a low noise. "That romantic enough? Give you a sec to think about it, yeah?" Their foreheads touch and Nick's lips part, feeling like he needs a lot more oxygen than he's currently taking in.
But John doesn't let him get it; he puts his hands on the sides of Nick's neck and kisses him, long and deep and laced with tiny flicks of tongue and a slow roll of his hips that showcases exactly how this is all gonna fit together if Nick turns out to be agreeable.
So he thinks about it. Gives it a fair bit of consideration as he groans around John's tongue insistent in his mouth. Weighs out the pros and cons with John's palms warm and sliding over the heavy drum beat of his pulse. Decides it might not be the worst plan he's ever heard as he runs his own hands up the firm arc of John's back to curl around the nape of his neck. When John pulls away to raise a questioning eyebrow at him, Nick's an overheated mess and barely manages a nod and a breathless 'Yeah, yes' that sounds half terrified and half horribly eager.
John unfolds himself from Nick's lap and finishes his striptease with a slow fire in his eyes. Boots come off first. Steps on the heel of one and yanks his foot out. Does the same with the other and kicks them away. Then his fingers tease down his stomach, sliding over the shallow vee of his hips before popping the button on his frayed jeans and pulling the zip down. Thumbs hook into the sides and he eyes Nick as he wiggles his hips and shimmies his pants down his legs. He rubs his hands up both thighs when he straightens back up. Slowly drags up over his balls and gives his cock a single, languid stroke, letting it bounce in the air; everything on open, easy display. It leaves Nick momentarily speechless, half awe-struck; staring at him in his imperfect entirety.
And this is definitely the closest Nick's been to one of these that wasn't his own. Strange thought.
"Any concerns? Comments?" John asks. He tips his chin up and looks down his cheek at Nick, apprehensive but hiding it well. "Too weird? Gross? Not if I was the last dude on earth?"
No, none of that at all. He's been hooked since the shirt came off and then just unapologetically hard since John knelt over him, and this… Seeing him like this— glowing and hot and needy under the bright office lights— is doing nothing whatsoever to dissuade that. Nick shakes his head.
"No. Little out of my norm for obvious reasons, but damn. You're pretty all over."
The smile that that draws out is sweet in how sudden and unguarded it is. "Aw, thanks, Nicky." And then, expression completely unchanging, he says, "Now get your fuckin' dick out."
Nick has to snort at how blunt the request is, but he dutifully does as he's asked and then reaches out to draw John in close when he tumbles back into his lap, all knees and elbows. The chair isn't really big enough to hold the two of them, but it works somehow; they find a way to cram in till they fit. John's up close as he can get while still unbuttoning Nick's shirt and digging a finger into the knot of his tie to work it side to side and strip it off him. He's hasty and eager and pressing his lips hard against Nick's mouth as he does it, kissing him like he's not gonna get another chance at it.
"Easy, kid," Nick says when he manages to break away, panting out a laugh and turning his head away to lean his face against John's bare arm. "I'm not— ha, not going anywhere, slow it down."
John growls at him, pushes him back and runs his hands up Nick's chest, spreading his shirt apart and tucking it back behind his shoulders. "Then touch me, okay? Anywhere… just..."
Before John can follow that up with grabbing Nick by the wrists his own damn self, Nick does what he asks and sets a surprisingly steady hand on John's bare, winter-pale thigh. Slides it up, up, up… then halts at the join of leg to body and raises a questioning eyebrow at him. The pause is honestly more for him than it is for John. As his palm and thumb rub over the trembling muscles, he gets one last swoop of that feeling… (stop it, you don't know what you're doing, act like a damn adult, would you) ...but no, that isn't really true. He knows exactly what he's doing.
John looks up with a strangled noise and almost agony in his gaze. Only a second passes before he bites his lip and whispers, "Jesus, what are you waiting for? Keep going."
"Well," Nick says. "Just making sure you really want it."
Recollection dawns in John's eyes and he murmurs a low 'Oh no' before Nick's lips twitch up and he continues the motion to bring them where they'd been headed.
It's weird; there's no two ways about it. But with the way John shudders out a long, humming breath and digs his fingers into Nick's arms… it's nice too. Encouraging. Nick slowly slides his hand up the hot, silky flesh and gently rolls his thumb over the head, enrapt by the way John moans at his touch and grabs him tighter.
Then he takes them both in hand, discreetly wiping some saliva onto his fingers and pulling John down and against him. It's shockingly good, the way they slip against each other. And then the complete newness and how much shit he'd be in if they were seen like this… Nick can't really believe it but that's kind of doin' it for him too. Fear as an aphrodisiac. How novel.
John's hands are on his shoulders, keeping balance with his fingers and brushing his thumbs up against the sides of Nick's neck. He's a burning hot weight over Nick's legs, panting and rocking into him with his head tipped down. Watching.
"This what you were after?" Nick asks, curious after a few devastatingly enjoyable minutes have passed.
"Yeah."
The shake and strain in John's voice is far too damned appealing. The angle's wrong for Nick to see his face anymore, but from the sounds he can somehow hear what he looks like right now. Imagines it's not too far off from himself. Damp curls of hair falling over his forehead, eyes almost closed, cheeks flushed, lips parted as he groans through... this. This thing they're doing.
Shit, might as well say it. Moaning and jerking off together in his office chair.
Where he's going to have to work tomorrow.
Nick takes his own slow breath in, holds it, and lets it out with a silent promise to himself that he is not going to be the one to go first. No matter what the manic grip on his shoulders or that gravelly rumble coming from John's throat is doing to him.
"Yeah, it is. Fuck, your hands are huge," John breathes. "Look how thick your fucking fingers are. I want those in me so bad."
And that's nearly enough for Nick to renege on his promise right there. Kid's gonna kill him one of these times. Just wind him up too hard and too fast, and pop. That's the end.
Nick slowly raises his free hand and wets his middle finger, fully aware of John tracking the motion through the fall of his bangs. The same hand snakes around John's waist and he feels his way down the cleft of John's ass. Slides over his hole and the muscle twitches and John's thighs flex in surprise.
"Wow, you pervert," John gasps, even as he arches his back and spreads his legs wider.
Nick presses down harder, teasing around it with the pad of his finger and almost… almost pushing in but not quite. Wanting to make him squirm, to hear him like this when he's barely able to speak. "Shut the hell up."
"Just do it, man, fuck. I'm probably gonna go off as soon as you do."
Nick abandons the dual grip he has on them and focuses solely on John, wrapping his hand firmly around him and giving him one long, steady stroke as he slides into him. The curses John lets out are enough to turn the air blue as he throws his head back and shoves down against Nick in response. And he's so impossibly hot here, the clench of him so tight. Christ.
"Fuck yes. My fucking god, right there" John says, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he sinks down onto him, lips parting when he finds where he wants to be. And now he's panting for real and he looks so close to the end, chest heaving and sweat trickling down his neck. Beautiful.
"Makes you think, don't it?" His eyes bore into Nick's as he sways his hips forward and back and Nick can't look away. He knows what John's about to insinuate before he opens his mouth again, and yeah. Yeah, it does make him think. "Think about what it'd be like. Stretching my ass around something else? It'd be so… so fucking good."
And then John's eyes slip closed, rolling into the back of his head and he makes a long, breathy noise Nick's not going to be able to forget for a while. John's dick pulses in his hand and the tight heat of his ass squeezes down around him as Nick's chest and hand are coated with hot splashes of come. John's voice doesn't appear to be working at the moment, but Nick can faintly hear him gasp the words 'Oh my god, Nick' as he shakes through it.
Nick slowly eases out, clasping his hand around John's backside to keep him from sliding to the floor in a sweaty pile as Nick drags the last of it out of him with gentler strokes. He watches the comedown with interest; John's eyebrows tilting up in the middle and then the way his lips purse as he swallows hard. Flexes his hands jerkily where they're anchored into the shoulders of Nick's shirt.
Nick is so, so unbelievably turned on.
John lets his eyes fall open on the ceiling, throat still arched back and grins at nothing. Sucks a deep breath in through his nose and lets it out in a big, open-mouthed rush. Says, "Fuck. You have no idea how much I needed that." Then his head tips back down to level and he kisses Nick, loose and sloppy as he runs his hand down Nick's drenched chest and then curls it over his cock. Mouths over his cheek and ear and whispers, "You still good with this? Want me to make you come?"
"You'd goddamn better," Nick mutters into his hair.
John smiles and kisses the side of Nick's head, bends down and nips the skin right under his ear as he strokes him. "Yeah, don't worry. How do you want it? Harder than this?"
Anything, for god's sake. "Just... faster."
"Alright." He speeds up a touch, pressing his lips over Nick's chest and neck, still playful and pliant from release.
Nick can't help the way he grabs at the kid; his hair, his shoulder, clutches him closer until John's laughing and shoving at him so he can keep moving. And the sound of his fist slicking wet over him is just… pornographic.
John doesn't seem to care though, of course not. He kisses Nick's collarbone, lazily drags his teeth over it before propping his forehead there so he can watch. Observe just what he's doing to Nick.
And what he's doing is mind-numbing. Nick has his hands latched around John's waist and he knows he's squeezing way too hard but he can't make himself let up. He's so damn close.
"John, I'm—"
"Yeah," he says. "I know, do it, c'mon. You are so fucking hot, look at you."
Nick grabs John even harder as he comes, digging his fingertips deep into his back and thumbs into his hip bones. Relief rushes burning hot through him as he cries out and buries his head in John's shoulder. The sliding grasp of John's hand lessens and fall away as Nick shudders deep and tries to take a few normal breaths in.
Nick looks up, meaning to say something awkward and unimportant, and gets stuck instead, watching his own come drip down the ridges of John's stomach and onto his softened cock in somewhat scandalized interest. Disgusting, but…
John drags two fingers through it and spreads the stuff over the pads with his thumb, correctly tracking what Nick's eyes are focused on. "Oh, look what you did," he says, sounding incredibly put-upon, "I'm a mess." Then he slides his fingers into his mouth and damned if Nick doesn't twitch at that, not ten seconds out of it. But he really can't take any more right now.
"Mercy, please," Nick says. John grins and rakes his teeth over his thumb. "Think I got some towels upstairs."
John wastes no time in scooting closer to cram their chests together in a clammy, sticky embrace, arms wrapped around his neck.
"Auugh! John!"
"Nice. Let's go," he says, completely even, like of course Nick's going to pick him up and carry him there. Why wouldn't he?
"You. Wh— Christ's sakes. Fine." Why even argue. Nick shakes his head and hooks his arms under John's thighs; prepares himself for a journey up that rickety staircase with an entire other human hanging off him. Can't even let me relax for a minute. "There's something wrong with you, you little monster."
It's odd to have anyone else up here; no one besides Nick has been in the living part of the building since he'd moved in. Odder by half that it's John's semi-unsettling presence to be the first.
When he dumps John onto his bed, Nick glances down for a second before he goes off to get himself cleaned up. Only a second, the kid looking so damn soft and satisfied, and Nick has this lightning-quick, sour thought of could this ever be someth... There like a scrap of shadow on his mind, and then it vanishes with a no, don't as John raises an eyebrow and gently prods his thigh with an outstretched foot. Nick retreats.
"So, listen," John says. He's stretched out with his hand shoved under Nick's pillow, dry again but he'd only bothered to swipe up his pants from downstairs. Nick's gotten mostly presentable and found a good perch on the edge of the bed next to him. It's warmer up here on the second floor, almost stuffy, and he wonders why he's still buttoning up his shirt. "I originally came by to ask you something. A request, I guess."
"Okay, let's hear it."
John's been staring up at the low ceiling, but now he turns over onto his side to fix Nick with a look, chin propped up on his hand. "There's gonna be a party at the Rexford in a few days. Marowski throws them every other month but the big ones are always at the end of the year. And I wanna go."
"...And you need the name of my tailor. Is that it?"
"Ha. No. I want you to go with me."
To a big, drug-fueled Goodneighbor shindig. The place where everyone's armed and on a hair trigger and no one's heard the word 'temperance' outside one of those phony psychic card decks. Good god. True, Nick doesn't know the first thing about what this is specifically going to entail, but his imagination is already working on overtime to paint him an extremely gaudy and absolutely deafening picture.
"Sure you wouldn't rather ask someone who actually likes parties?"
"Nah, no way."
Nick frowns as John giggles and then quietly croons out the words 'only yooou' in a pretty passable Tony Williams imitation. "It's our destiny, Nicky," he says, smiling again when Nick huffs at his singing. "We've gotta go and rep Diamond City so we don't look like losers in front of the other settlements."
"Not sure I'd be much help with that."
"C'mooonnn. Live a little."
Nick lets himself be dragged down by the arm until he's more or less lying down beside John with his back propped up on the headboard and his eyes shooting a dirty look at the wall; seems like he's not gonna get out of this one easily. John's free hand goes right to fiddling with the row of Nick's shirt buttons.
"Lotta pretty girls there," he offers after a moment.
"Mmph."
"Tons of cheap drinks and cheaper hangover cures the next day."
"Nnrgh."
"Some pretty good live music."
"..."
John laughs. "Yeah? That's what gets you? And how 'bout this: they play stuff that's not on the radio."
That one, yeah, that's honestly pretty tempting. But Nick's already dragged this out this far; he's still not ready to accept defeat. Not gracefully anyway. "Weren't we just there?" he tries.
"Nooo, that was forever ago. And this time is for fun. Sorry, is there a limit on how often you can go somewhere?" He abandons the buttons and catches hold of Nick's hand instead, methodically pinching between the knuckles and dragging his thumb across the palm.
Nick sighs. "When is it again?"
"Four days from now. The twenty seventh; starts at sunset, ends when no one's left standing. Was that a yes?"
Nick rolls his neck and looks down at John's frizz of hair next to him. "Is that what all this was, kid? Get me pliable so I'll do what you want?"
John laughs and shakes his head. "Heh, I swear I didn't plan this. Total accident." Then there's breath and the brush of lips on the backs of his fingers. Nick sees John touch the tip of his tongue to the side of his index and fights back a shiver. "Does that work though?"
"Definitely not," Nick grits out.
"Uh huh," John says, sounding completely convinced. "But yeah? Yes? Want to? We can see who gets blackout drunk sooner or who can run faster after we break some windows."
Nick wonders how many of these John's been to, what kind of insane shenanigans he's been involved in or been the cause of. Will Nick be dragged down into the depths with him? Will he find a way to keep both their heads above water? Or will nothing at all happen and it'll just be a nice night with some new tunes to listen to?
"Fine," he says after a minute of hard thought. "Yeah. If no new crises pop up, I'll go."
"There you go." John pats Nick's thigh. "It'll be fun, promise. And if it's not, you can go hide in your room and I guess I'll just have to drink enough for both of us," he says, sounding like it's the most dreadful sacrifice he's ever heard of making. After a soft bite to Nick's finger, his hand slides down to pick at the cloth covering Nick's bent knee and there's an audible hesitation before he talks again. "There is one tiny little catch."
Here it comes. "What?"
"It's fuckin' formal wear only."
Oh. "Is that a catch?"
"I think so."
There's probably something suitable (ha ha) in Nick's closet he could throw on for this. He can cope with tighter fits and a shorter, less comfortable jacket for a night. But for John, yeah, maybe it is. Nick tries to imagine the kid with his hair tamed down, earrings taken out, hands grime-free, and the usual, worn clothes traded in for something sleek with a nice cut and can't quite come up with a solid image.
"This'll be interesting," Nick murmurs.
"A little," he says, missing Nick's train of thought. "They keep it in hand. Doesn't get too much crazier than any other place where you get a lot of people and chems and alcohol together in one big building."
"That's… yeah. Not especially encouraging."
"Lot more naked people maybe."
"Ah, even better."
"And fist fights."
"Look, I already said yes, are you trying to put me off this?"
"Just don't want you to be surprised when one of the girls rubs her tits on you and starts bullying you into buying her a round of shots. It's gonna happen." John catches Nick's hand again, but instead of doing anything lewd, twists his wrist around to check his watch. "And look at that, I should probably head out; I'll be missed. It's one of those rare months where someone actually gets pissed when I don't come home. Weird," he says with a laugh.
John rolls up and starts clambering over him, pressing down on his chest as he goes so Nick can't stand up first. Nick waits till John has one foot on the floor then snags him by the arm, pulling him down to one knee before he can escape.
"Thank you for the invite," he says.
John's eyes crinkle up in a bemused smile. "Yeah, you seem so thrilled about it."
Nick pulls him in closer, laying a soft kiss against his still-smiling mouth. "Okay, thank you for thinking of me then."
"Well, you seem like you need some excitement in your life, handsome." John puts a warm hand on Nick's shoulder and returns the kiss, growling when Nick nips him with his teeth and shooting a dark look from under his eyelashes. "Don't you get me started, Nicky. Not unless you wanna go again."
Nick shakes his head in resignation.
John grins. "Thought so. Meet me at the apartment ladder at around noon? Four days."
"I'll be there."
Nick trails down the stairs after John and watches him right-side-out his shirt and cram it back on with a few quick movements. Tosses his jacket over that then raises an eyebrow as he pats his pocket. Stepping back into his boots, he plonks a handful of whatever was in the pocket down into an unused ashtray; something metal, too heavy to be bottle caps or coins.
"Back-up plan in case I had to resort to bribery," John explains, glancing up with a wink toward Nick. "Thought they might be useful if you run into any more synths out there. See ya." And then he zips up his coat and the door snicks closed behind him.
Nick pushes the lock in after him and goes to see what he's being bribed with. It's one of his own .45 cartridges along with five flat, starburst-shaped metal discs. He smiles as he picks one up and frames it between his thumb and finger. Moon clips for quicker reloads. Thoughtful little punk.
