nickngreg | Go Jackals ch 6

Creidt for the banner goes to the amazing OnlyTrueLove!

Title: Go Jackals, Ch. 6
Ratings: PG-13 for bad language
Spoilers: None really, AU
Summary: A Nick/Greg AU set in college. Vaguely inspired by the song "Hey Mickey" and my un healthy love for writing Nick/Greg roleplaying and/or AU
Previous Chapters: Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five

A/N: A bit of a longer chapter to make up for the hiatus. My apologies if the last 2 scenes seem out of place. I wanted to put them there to set up the next chapter. Thanks for reading!

“So what’s this place called again?” asked Greg from the passenger seat of Nick’s truck.

“Frigid Granite Creamery. They have them all over the place. I’m surprised you’ve never been to one. They have them in California,” Nick said, eyes on the road, looking for the entrance to the parking lot.

“We have a place called Cold Stone Creamery; the premise sounds basically the same. Wait, how’d you know I’m from California?” asked Greg, stunned.

“I – um-,” Nick could feel himself starting to blush, “I read it in the article in the school paper last semester about the Chem Club’s win at the state championship in Carson City.”

“You actually read the school newspaper? Wow, I thought people just used it to smoke. Not that I actually touch the stuff, of course!” Greg blurted.

“Oh! Me neither! I just read the paper that day to see if the article about the football team had been published.”

“Yeah, of course,” said Greg. Busted! he thought, hopefully.

“Hey! We’re here!” Nick exclaimed, perhaps a bit too eager to break the tension.

“So, this place is like Cold Stone, right?” asked Greg.

~~

Brad sat in his dorm room, his mind racing. Twenty years of homophobic programming were being called into question. There was the “hate the sin, not the sinner” thing, but that still involved hate. Brad didn’t like hating something unless there was good reason. And the more he thought about it, the less of a reason he found to hate Nick for being gay. He realized he needed to call someone.

Picking up the phone, he dialed the long series of numbers needed to call his parents at their vacation home in Connecticut. After only a few rings, a middle-aged man with a proper British accent answered the phone on the other end, “Worthington residence.”

“Hey, Nigel. It’s Brad. Is my mother around?” asked Brad.

“I believe she is sunbathing by the pool. Would you like me to fetch her, sir?” asked Nigel.

“If you don’t mind, Nigel. Thanks.”

“Certainly, sir,” replied Nigel pressing the Hold button on the phone and beginning the long journey through the Worthington Mansion and out to the pool area. Before leaving he picked up the nearby phone and placed it on a conveniently placed silver platter. He carried the phone outside and spotted his employer’s wife reclining on a chaise lounge, an overly large sunhat covering her eyes.

“I beg your pardon, Madam. Master Bradford is on the phone,” said Nigel, offering the phone.

“Oh? Is he now? Why thank you Nigel darling!” exclaimed Catherine Wilcox-Worthington , sitting upright and taking a large sip of her margarita before picking up the phone, “Bradford darling sweetheart! How’s school going?”

“Um fine, Mom. I got a hundred on my last Econ test,” said Brad.

“Congratulations, darling. Your father’s going to be so proud!”

“I hope so. Look, Mom, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, darling,” Catherine sat up anxiously, the vinyl straps of the chaise lounge squeaking at the sudden movement, “It’s not about a girl is it?”

“No, mom, it’s not about a girl. It’s about-“

“Good, because that last girl you went out with only wanted you for your money.”

“Mom, Sandy was a great girl!” exclaimed Brad.

In Connecticut, Catherine glared at the phone receiver.

“OK, maybe she was a bit of a gold-digger, but this isn’t about a girl. It’s about my roommate.”

“Oh. His name’s Nickolas, right? That nice boy from Texas?” asked Catherine.

“Yeah, that’s him. Um, I think he’s gay,” said Brad quietly.

“Oh,” said Catherine, momentarily speechless, “He hasn’t done anything to you, has he?”

“No, not at all. My school’s doing a gay pride week and Nick got into a fight-“

“Is he ok?”

“He’s fine. A little banged up, but fine. From what I overheard, he was defending someone else. It was what he said after that I need to talk about.”

“Oh.”

“He came out of the closet. It made me think about all the sermons Father Davids gave, all the times Dad would complain about the clubs in Miami. I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“Bradford, sweetheart, despite what your father may feel, there’s nothing wrong with being gay.”

“There isn’t?”

“Darling, love is love. We find it where we’re supposed to find it. A few of our household staff are gay. Though don’t tell your father.”

“Really?”

“Really. Now, darling, what exactly is your problem with gay people?” asked Catherine, knowing full well her son’s reply.

“Um, I’m not sure. I guess when I think about it, whatever I feel about gay people is what I’ve been told to believe.” replied Brad, leaning back in his chair.

“I thought so. Now tell me, what’s Nickolas like?” asked Catherine, taking a sip from her margarita and leaning back in her chair, unknowingly assuming a pose similar to her son’s.

“He’s a good guy. Kind of quiet, but he always seems to think of other people first. Last week, I locked myself out of our room. I tracked down the closest phone I could find, called him and he dropped what he was doing, ran back to the dorm and let me in with his key.”

“Wow. Darling, he sounds like a sweetheart.”

“Well, I’m not gonna call him a sweetheart, but, yeah, he’s a nice guy.”

“A nice guy who’s gay.”

“Yeah.”

“A nice guy who’s gay and shares a room with you.”

“Yeah.”

“Would Nickolas ever make a pass at you?”

“I doubt it. He seems too reserved sometimes, you know?”

“Mm-hmm. Darling, so far I haven’t heard you day anything bad about him. It seems that the only thing wrong with this boy is that he’s gay. And his family’s probably Republican,” scoffed Catherine, “Honey, I can’t tell you how to feel. You need to find that out for yourself.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Of course, darling. Any time. Oh, I almost forgot to tell you! Kelly Bonnaco was asking about you.” Said Catherine, smirking.

“Kelly Bonnaco?” exclaimed Brad, sitting upright, “Lifeguard Kelly Bonnaco?”

“Yup.”

“Hmm…”

~~

An hour after they had arrived, Nick and Greg were still in deep conversation, their ice cream having mostly melted.

“You’re one of five kids?” Greg exclaimed, perhaps a little too loudly, “Sorry. Five kids? Wow, I’m so jealous. I’m an only child.”

“Don’t be. I’m the youngest, so everything I got were hand-me-downs. By the time my older brother Brian’s ceremonial Playboy had found its way to me, it was already over ten years old,” said Nick, trying to force a still solid piece of ice cream onto his spoon.

“’Ceremonial Playboy’? Ew. I can’t imagine sharing my porn. That stuff needs to be treasured and placed in Mylar like vintage comics,” said Greg, giving up on his spoon and grabbing a straw to drink his ice cream.

“You think way too hard about porn, G,” said Nick, a bemused smile on his face.

“Heh. You said hard,” said Greg, laughing.

Nick feigned shock and tossed a balled up napkin at Greg. He dodged it and balled up his straw wrapper to toss at Nick. Nick caught it and grinned, “Dude, how old are you?” he asked, taking a sip of his soda.

“Thirteen,” Greg proclaimed proudly, “and that’s not just the size of my dick.”

Nick’s eyes bulged, his mouth still full of soda. Swallowing, he coughed a little, “Dude! You almost made me do a spit take!”

Greg smiled, victorious, “Hey, some guys like a spitter, some like a swallower.”

Nick blushed and replied in a quiet voice, “I can’t believe you can talk about –that- stuff so easily. If my parents or any of my sisters heard me say that…”

“Well, I don’t talk like that around my family, Nicky. But I realized long ago that you have to be comfortable in your own skin or no one will take you seriously,” said Greg, kindly.

“Yeah, I guess. I just can’t see myself at that point, you know?”

“Well, I’d hope not!” exclaimed Greg.

“What?” replied Nick, stunned.

“You just came out of the closet a few hours ago. Everyone goes at their own pace. Some people just take longer than others.”

“What was your coming out like? I know you told me about your parents and grandparents, but when did you first know you were – that- way?” asked Nick.

“I guess around the same time all of my friends were realizing they liked girls. I just realized I liked boys too. My mom’s the head chef at one of the big hotels in San Francisco. I’d visit her at work all the time as a kid and explore the hotel. Well, when we went one day, it was the day of the gay pride parade and the hotel was booked full.”

“Wow, so you got the full treatment early on?”

“Kinda. Being thirteen and seeing a leather daddy bend over a transvestite dressed as Cher and mime anal sex does things to a guy.”

Nick smiled.

“I don’t know. That was hot and all, but what got to me were the gay recreations of fairy tales they did,” Greg smiled at the memory, “Sleeping Beauty was always one of my favorites. So, seeing the buff, handsome prince trotting along on his white horse next to the sleeping young male model who had pricked his finger on the spindle at the parade stirred something in me. I guess I just like the idea of a guy to save me from mediocrity,” Greg looked down at the napkin Nick had thrown and pushed it around the table a bit with his finger, “You know, I want to change the world for the better. Maybe in my own way, I could help those kids who grew up like me. Always feeling out of place. That’s why I’m thinking of making Criminal Justice my minor,” said Greg, “Whoa! I just turned into a Lifetime Original Movie didn’t I? I just feel like I can trust you, Nick.”

Nick blushed a deep crimson, “Well, I’m not sure I –“ Nick stammered. He nervously cleared his throat, “Actually, um, my major’s Criminal Justice. Maybe I could help tutor you if you need it.”

“I’d like that a lot,” said Greg, heart pounding as he placed his hand on top of Nick’s.

Sweat started to bead on Nick’s forehead, Pull away! He’s touching your hand! a voice in Nick’s head screamed. No, answered another voice, defiantly, for the first time, holding someone’s hand feels… right. Nick smiled back at Greg.

~~

Back on campus, Nick’s roommate, Brad leant back in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair. He sighed as he looked at his watch. It had been well over an hour and Nick hadn’t been back to the room. He hoped Nick was alright. Though, if Brad had to be honest with himself, he wasn’t looking forward to the talk he knew he’d have to have with Nick.

~~

Across the quad, Greg’s roommate, Don Flack Jr. picked up a picture on his desk and sighed. It was a picture of him and his best friend, Danny Messer, shirtless on the beach at Coney Island. Danny was proudly pointing out a fresh tattoo on his arm as Don stood in the background with a confused expression on his face. Don remembered the day fondly.

Danny and Don walked along the boardwalk each holding a snack from a nearby vendor. Danny had a pretzel in his hand and Don was already on his third hot dog of the afternoon.

“Jeez, Flack! They way you put those things away, it’s a miracle ya aren’t any fatter!” joked Danny, barely restraining a smirk.

“Fatter?” Don exclaimed, “You’re the one with the dad whose beer gut sticks all tha way out ta Montauk!” Don leant back and pushed out his stomach. He lowered his voice to sound like Danny’s father, “Hey Danny! Pick up your dollies and come inside for dinner!” said Don waddling around the boardwalk for dramatic effect.

“Hey! Those weren’t dolls! Those were highly collectible action figures!” exclaimed Danny, smacking Don’s stomach in offense and running off down the boardwalk.

Don, momentarily winded, pulled his stomach back in, “Hey!”

“Oh, did you stop pushing your gut out Flack? I couldn’t tell!” called Danny from farther down the boardwalk. He stopped in front of a tattoo parlor.

Don finally caught up to him, “What’re ya lookin’ at?”

“Flack, I’m getting a tattoo,” said Danny, pointing to a picture on the wall.

“That? Danno, that looks like a black blob of vines!” Don exclaimed.

“Shut up. It’s tribal.” replied Danny, heading inside.

“Yeah, the Tribe of the Blind Pygmies.”

Don leant back in his chair and ran his fingers through his thick black hair, “You have it bad, Donny. You’re in love with your straight best friend.”