nickngreg | Post-It Angst (Reply)

So I was walking back from the grocery store, having picked up my supplies for tonight (lots of sweets and comfort foods) and I passed a bunny. And I could've sworn the bunny was following me, a little bit, saying something like "Write!" I wish I had my camera so I could've taken a picture of the rare plot bunny. But it got me working on the next part of "Post-It Devilry." It's angsty and hopefully, the newest part will be up before the finale tonight. Enjoy!

Title: Idle Devils
Author: Quettaser
Rating: R (angst-o-rama)
Summary: A lazy day at home and a Post-It game leads Nick and Greg to something they weren't ready for.

I. An Idle Post-It is the Devil's Plaything
II. The Devil Gets Played
III. The Post-It Playbook
IV. Playthings of the Devil

Greg sighed.

It was a quiet day and Nick and Greg were lounging on the couch, TV on Animal Planet, neither of them really paying attention. Nick had Greg’s feet in his lap, lazily massaging one. Greg leaned over and grabbed a pad of post-it notes and a pen from the coffee table. He wrote something and then lifted the foot that Nick wasn’t massaging and stuck the post-it on the bottom of his foot. He moved it back to Nick’s lap, where Nick promptly picked it up and read it.

I’m bored. =(

“So?” said Nick, looking at Greg.

“‘So?’ ‘So?’ All I get is a ‘so?’” fussed Greg, a faint smile on his face.

“What would you like instead?”

“A week-long fuck-a-thon in Hawaii. No, make that two weeks and some surfing with my sex.”

“If I could make that happen, I would,” said Nick, smiling. Then Greg had picked up the pad again and was writing quickly. He passed the finished post-it to Nick.

You know, I was reading this article that says that a great way to express what you want is to write it down, because there’s less inhibition and you don’t have to worry about saying something wrong because you can always erase it. Want to play?

“What, have a conversation on post-it notes?”

“Not really a conversation. Just writing down what’s on your mind. Let’s just make it a challenge. Come on, please?” begged Greg, pouting a little. Nick sighed and leaned over, giving Greg a quick kiss.

“Sure.” Greg grinned, hopping up from the couch to go grab another post-it pad and pen. As he got back onto the couch, he tossed them to Nick.

“Okay, I’ll go first,” said Greg. He wrote something on a post-it and gave it to Nick.

I want a puppy. One that’s small and furry and will scamper around with a cute little wet nose.

“A puppy? When will we be home enough, or awake long enough to take care of a puppy?” asked Nick. Greg pouted a little and rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t say we should get a puppy. It’s just something I want. That’s the whole point of this thing. It’s not about being practical, it’s about saying what you want. And besides, I’m the only cute and furry thing allowed around here.”

“Well, that’s true,” said Nick, leaning in for another kiss. And Greg wanted to see what Nick had to write, but then Nick was pulling him close and laying him down on the couch, all without breaking the kiss, and really, who could blame Greg for being distracted?

But then Greg was remembering how important breathing was, and he pulled away. Nick refused to take no for an answer and moved his mouth down along Greg’s jaw to his neck. “You’re just trying to distract me. Nice try, though. Come on, it’s your turn.” Nick sighed and rolled his eyes, writing something on his post-it.

I want to not play this game anymore.

“Well, too bad,” replied Greg. Nick wrote something down, a wicked smirk playing at the edges of his mouth and passed the post-it to Greg, before resuming his assault on the skin of Greg’s neck.

I want to take you into the bedroom, strip you naked and taste every inch of you. Then I want to stroke, suck, and fuck you until you’re begging me to let you come.

Nick felt Greg pause and take in the post-it. He continued to attack all of the sensitive points on Greg’s neck, hoping that he could get this game to stop. But Greg wasn’t having any of it. “You know, that sounds very good,” started Greg, punctuating the word “very” with a grinding of his hips, “but, it’s not going to happen, until we’re finished here.”

Nick let out a low sigh, pulling his mouth away from Greg’s neck and sitting back on the couch on again. “You’re evil, you know that?”

“Well, then it’s too bad you love me so much. Here, it’s my turn again.” Greg wrote quickly and passed the post-it to Nick.

I want us to get a house together. Nothing big, just something that can be wholly ours.

“Really?” asked Nick, looking at Greg. Greg nodded. “I never knew that.”

“That’s why we play this game.”

“You really want a house?” Nick was touched by Greg’s openness. They really didn’t talk about big things, life things, like houses and families and the future. There wasn’t really time for it, and well, to be honest, Nick wasn’t used to talking about those kinds of things to begin with.

“Yeah, that’s why I wrote it down. I mean, I love your place and everything, but it’s not really made for two people. A house would be nice, it’d be…a home. I’d like that.” A home…Nick let the word settle in his head, make a nest, hang up pictures and order magazines. He liked the word. “Okay, your turn, and try to be serious this time.”

Nick gave Greg a withering look, but he was starting to see the advantages of this game. He was learning things about Greg, and it was easier to write down things instead of having to search for the words out loud. So Greg was right, not that he’d ever say it, but he could show it. So he wanted him to be serious…Nick could do that. There were plenty of things he had wanted to say, but never found the words, now the only question was, could he pick a single one, or would they come tumbling out of him in a flood?

I want to come out to my family.

Nick handed Greg the post-it, not ready to look him in the eyes, that stupid blush spreading over his skin. Nick wished he were better at hiding his emotions and thoughts, at controlling that blush. “Nick?” He felt Greg move closer to him on the couch, fingers lightly brushing his arm. And then came the flood…

“I want…I want to be able to take you home. I want to show my family how much you mean to me, how much I love you. I—I want to be able to be with everyone I love for the holidays. I don’t want to have to hide you.”

Well, the world hadn’t ended, there were no crashing noises, no little screaming chicken running by, so far so good. Nick stole a look at Greg, and then wished he hadn’t. Those perfect brown eyes were staring at him, so achingly open, his soul—just—there, and if Greg wasn’t careful, he was going to get hurt. Because that’s how it always ends, Nick walking away, having stabbed someone he cared about in the chest, those damn eyes, so open, staring back at him pleading, “Why?”

“Stop thinking so loud,” said Greg, softly.

“What?”

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop. I can tell it’s nothing good by the way you’re wringing your hands, so just stop.” Greg’s voice was insistent. Nick stilled his hands, tried to keep his brain from running away with all those self-destructive thoughts. “Can you come out to your family?”

“I don’t know. I’m pretty sure no one’s going to shoot me…well, at least not in my immediate family…It’s just—I don’t want to lose them.”

“So don’t,” replied Greg.

“What?”

“Don’t lose them. Maybe your parents are too stupid, but I doubt that all of your siblings are. You can still visit your family, see all of your nephews and nieces. You don’t have to give them up.” Greg just sat and watched Nick. He had never seen him look so sad, not even after a case with a dead kid, not even after their One Big Fight, not even after he finally opened up and told Greg about that one night when he was nine, and if Greg didn’t look away soon, didn’t say something, his heart was going to break, and then he was going to cry and he wouldn’t be able to take care of Nick, and then it could really get bad.

“Greg…” God, his voice was so soft, so broken. Hold it together, Sanders, be strong. “I’m scared.” Fuck! Could he speak without crying? This was bigger than coming out to his family, Greg knew that. He had to let Nick say what he wanted to say. It took a lot to get him to open up, and if Greg pushed too hard, then he may never hear what Nick needs to say.

“Why?” When did his own voice get so small? When did this room get so big?

“I—When I kiss you,” and Jesus, Nick was staring at him now, those eyes filled with unshed tears, and Greg can’t breathe without shaking, “I never want to stop. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and get a house with—with a picket fence and a dog and three kids and maybe a little garden in the back, and I want to have my family visit for Christmas and I want to visit them for a fourth of July barbeque. I want to be able to marry you in a church, to be able to kiss you anywhere I want, and I want to not hide a part of myself from the world. But mostly, I’m scared because I won’t be able to have any of that. One day, I won’t be able to give you what you need, and I’m going to hurt you and I’ll lose you and I won’t be able to find you again.”

Greg could feel the hot tears on his face, could see the single tear running down Nick’s. “Fuck you.” He tore his gaze away from Nick’s, looking up at the ceiling, unsteadily wiping the tears away. “Fuck you for—What in the hell makes you think that you aren’t good enough for me? God damnnit, Nick, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me!” He can’t keep his voice from hitching, can barely hold back the tears. “Do you just not believe me when I tell you how much you mean to me?”

“No, Greg, that’s not what I—” Greg could see the change, the control in his voice, the way he stilled his hands, the almost sigh.

“Don’t fucking do this, Nick. Don’t rationalize this, don’t try to placate me.” Greg couldn’t sit still anymore; he got up, walking around the living room. He could feel Nick staring at him, he could feel those eyes watching his every move. “Tell me how you really feel.”

“You want to know how I really feel?” Greg could feel the anger in his voice, something so rare, he had to turn and look at Nick. He was standing, his face wrought with so many emotions. Greg had never felt so much pain. “One day, I’m going to hurt you, I’m going to tear out your heart and crush it, and I’m going to leave you there, dying. I’m going to walk away and I won’t be able to live through it. It’s going to kill me, because I love you so much.”

“You have plans for leaving?” Greg couldn’t control the bitterness in his voice, he didn’t want to.

“No, Jesus, Greg, no. But I can’t give you what you want. I can’t give you a house and kids and a normal life, Greg. I can’t give it to you, and you deserve it. You deserve better than me.” Greg couldn’t keep standing anymore, those tears streaming down Nick’s face were more than enough to knock him off-balance. He sat on the floor, his back against a chair, and his head in his hands.

“Is that what this is about Nick? A normal life?”

Next Installment - "Post-It Idolatry"
Possibly sometime today, so don't freak out just yet (well, you can if you want).