nickngreg | Post-It Devilry Spinoff (Reply)

So, here's the first chapter of the spinoff/sequel to "Post-It Devilry." It's called "Macramé Queens." It'll be a long piece, don't know how long yet. But, enjoy!

Title: Macramé Queens
Author: Quettaser
Rating: NC-17 for this chap.
Chapter: 1/?
Summary: Puppies, a duchess, and denim burn.

“Oh! What about a chi-poo?”

“A chi-poo? What kind of dog is that?”

“It’s a mixed breed. Specifically Chihuahua and Poodle.”

“Chihuahua and Poodle?” echoed Nick, looking at the little puppy before turning to Greg. “I don’t want one of those little furry rats that Paris Hilton has. I want a real dog, Greg.” Greg rolled his eyes.

“It’s a perfectly real dog, and he’s just so adorable,” said Greg, tapping on the glass and making little kissy faces at the puppy. “But fine, you want a real dog, you’ll get a real dog. Not that we have the space for one,” he muttered under his breath.

“Look, we start with the dog, and then move on to the house. We do this a step at a time. Besides, we have a decent sized backyard and we live near a dog park. Now, show me a real dog.” Nick lightly nudged Greg in the direction of the larger dogs. But Greg was distracted by more small, furry things.

“Well, wait what about this one? A Japanese Spaniel?”

“Isn’t that the same breed of dog that Charlotte had on Sex and the City?” Greg tore his eyes away from the animal and looked at Nick in shock.

“I’m going to pretend that you did not just say that. For god’s sake man, you’re from Texas, have some pride. Next you’re going to tell me how good Smith is for Samantha.”

“Well, he is-”

Greg leaned in close, whispering to Nick, eyes darting around the pet store and wondering if his manly Texan had been transformed overnight into a gabbing macramé queen. “Do I have to monitor everything you watch on TV now, Nick? I mean, you still like sports and red meat and beer, right?”

“Yes, and I still like country, and Clint Eastwood and blowjobs and your ass, so if we could drop this and look at the cute puppies, that would be great.” Greg just smiled at Nick for a minute before turning back to the wall of puppies. They moved down the wall, slowly, stopping to argue over every breed of dog, until they found one they liked.

“Oh, here’s one. A Canaan dog. It’s says here they get to be about two feet high, the breed’s from the Middle East so it’s great for hot climates, such as Las Vegas, easily trained, active, a light shedder and good with children and strangers. Does she meet your standards of dog-dom?”

Nick looked at the little black and white puppy, happily wagging her tail and just being flat-out adorable in front of him. Before Nick could answer, an eager employee approached the couple. “Hi, there. Can I help you with anything? If you’re interested in a puppy or a kitten, you can play with them in one of our stalls,” she said, gesturing to small alcoves in the opposite wall that had half-doors in front of them.

Nick smiled at Greg before turning to the girl. “Yes, can we this puppy?”

“Sure,” she replied, before leaving to go get the puppy in question.

Greg was smiling widely. “You know that as soon as I touch that puppy, we’re going to have to buy it, right?”

“Yeah,” Nick sighed, his own smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. The employee returned, puppy in her arms, and led Nick and Greg to one of the little stalls. She placed the puppy on the floor and closed the door, leaving her outside and Nick and Greg inside.

“I’ll go get the dog’s papers.” The puppy jumped back and forth between Greg and Nick, enjoying the freedom and the brand new smells. Greg immediately sat on the ground, eager to play with the little animal.

“She is adorable,” admitted Nick, kneeling down and reaching out to pet the puppy. The puppy turned, happily jumping up to lick Nick’s face. Oh yeah, they had to get this puppy. Nick looked back to Greg and the smile on his face cemented that fact in Nick’s head. At that moment, the girl returned, holding a folder.

“So, this is a Canaan puppy. A very healthy breed of dog, there’s very little change of degenerative hip disease and they do very well in desert—”

“Yeah, save the sales pitch,” said Greg, standing up, puppy in his arms, “we’re getting the puppy.” The girl looked surprised, but pleased as she shut the folder.

“Okay then. Well, she won’t be ready to go for another week, so today, we’ll just fill out the appropriate paperwork and that way you can pick her up next Tuesday. Which one of you is adopting?” she asked. Nick and Greg exchanged looks quickly.

“Acutally,” started Nick, “we’re not—Um, we already have some paperwork filled out.”

“Oh, okay. Then, I’ll just go put her back and we’ll finish it up. You guys roommates? We get a lot of that,” she said, taking the puppy and turning around. Nick sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose and Greg rolled his eyes.

“I’m thinking we should name her Duchess something,” said Greg as he walked into the house, Nick not far behind.

“Duchess?” echoed Nick. Greg had his brows furrowed in thought. Nick hung up his jacket by the door and went over to the refrigerator to grab a glass of water. Greg leaned back against the couch, still mulling over possible names.

“I got it! Duchess Chelsea Rawnie Peppermill III.” Nick finished his water, a smile on his lips.

“You know, I can see right through you. You’re trying to get me to freak out because the name’s too girly. Well, Greg, if you want her to be Duchess Chelsea Ramma-Sonna Salt shaker whatever, then go ahead, I’m going to go take a quick nap before I go to work.” Nick put his glass in the sink and turned towards the bedroom. He smiled to himself, he could practically hear the words being processed in Greg’s head.

“Well, you know, Nick,” said Greg, scuttling after him across the hardwood floor into the bedroom, “we don’t have to name her that. She could be Spot, or Lady, Sammy, Paws, Peaches…” As Greg was rattling off dog names, Nick was taking off his shoes and socks, laying out clothes for work. “…Buddy, Cujo, Rover, Chester, Fifi, Frisky, Furball, Bits, Rosie, Gigi, Kibbles. You know I could go on, we don’t need to name her Duchess anything.” Nick just replied by smirking and taking off his shirt and putting it in the laundry basket. “Or,” continued Greg, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth as he leaned back against the wall, “you could keep taking off your clothes. That’d be just fine with me.”

“You said you wanted to name her Duchess. You can name her Duchess. I’m going to take a nap. You woke me up a little too early today,” said Nick, taking off his pants and getting into bed.

“I didn’t hear you complaining,” countered Greg, remembering the lazy handjobs from that morning. “And I wasn’t being entirely serious when I said that about Duchess,” confessed Greg, crawling up the bed until he was lying next to Nick. Nick turned to face him. “Okay, I wasn’t being serious at all, but you shouldn’t punish the puppy for my mistakes.”

“So you’re admitting to lying?” asked Nick, propping his head up on the pillow, still smirking.

“I—yes,” said Greg, dropping his head. “But I can make it up to you,” he said, trailing his hand along Nick’s arm.

“Really?”

“Mmhmm,” said Greg, pushing Nick onto his back, pulling down the covers and straddling his hips. He leaned down, sucking on the skin just behind Nick’s jaw, a spot that always got to him. And there it was, the little ripple in his hips, his hands on Greg’s thighs, kneading them lightly.

“Greg,” said Nick, a little breathless, “I have to go to work in less than three hours.” Greg moved his mouth lower, kissing across his neck, ending in the hollow of Nick’s shoulder.

“So, we’ll just get really sweaty in here and then finish up in the shower. You won’t be late to work,” said Greg, sitting up to take off his shirt.

“You say that now.” Nick pulled him back down for a slow kiss.

“It’s not like you’re fighting me off,” said Greg, grinding his hips down into Nick’s.

“Well, you don’t play fair—Ow. Shit, Greg, next time take off your jeans before you come to bed. I don’t need denim burns.”

“Sorry,” smiled Greg, sheepishly as he hopped off Nick and quickly rid himself of his pants and boxers. “They’re still pretty new and kind of rough. I promise to kiss it better.”

“You’d better,” said Nick, pulling Greg back into the bed, savoring the feeling of having Greg pressed up against him again, mouths meeting in a mass of lips and teeth and tongue. He could never get tired of this feeling, of the way Greg’s skin felt beneath his hands, the way he pushed back into Nick’s touch, falling into the idyllic rhythm they always found together.

Greg moved his mouth down Nick’s chest, lifting his hips up with one hand and pulling Nick’s boxers down with the other. He dipped his tongue into Nick’s belly button, eliciting a needy whimper. He moved lower, tracing his tongue along Nick’s sex lines, exhaling slowly and intentionally over his heated skin. And there was Nick’s hand on his shoulder, squeezing, trying to keep himself from bucking his hips.

Greg smiled, his tongue darting out to lick the side of Nick’s cock. Nick’s hand tightened on his shoulder, a whisper escaping his mouth, “Shit.” Greg moved lower still, lavishing Nick’s thighs with kisses. He loved the way Nick unconsciously opened his legs wider and arched his back, trying to get Greg to go where he wants without actually moving him.

But Greg was in the mood to tease, licking hard and slow around the base of Nick’s cock. “Fuck, Greg.”

“What’s that, Nick?” asked Greg against Nick’s skin. “I couldn’t hear you.” And Nick would have been able to reply, but Greg was licking a hot stripe underneath his balls and all he can muster is a fractured moan. Greg sucked one of them into his mouth, pressing his hands harder on Nick’s hips, keeping them under control.

“Jesus, Greg, please,” gasped Nick, both hands now tangled in Greg’s hair.

“‘Please,’ what?” teased Greg, pulling away for a moment to exhale hotly across Nick’s tip. “How can I know what you want if you don’t tell me?” He darted out his tongue again, getting just a little taste of salty pre-cum. Nick’s hands had moved from his hair, down to his shoulders, wandering across his chest, grabbing at skin, trying to get Greg closer.

“Fuck,” breathed Nick, shaking with need. “Want—mouth—now.”

“Where, Nicky? Where do you want my mouth?” asked Greg, bringing a finger to his lips, sucking on it slowly, delighting in the watering of Nick’s mouth, the narrowing of his eyes, and the incessant thrust of his hips. “I can make you feel so good, Nicky.” He added a second finger. “Just tell me where.” Nick moaned loudly.

“Cock—need you—suck—mouth—on me—Jesus, fuck now!” Greg smiled devilishly, letting his wet fingers leave his mouth and press against Nick’s opening.

“Oh,” he said, pushing his fingers inside, ignoring Nick’s pleas and putting more weight on his other hand, pinning Nick to the bed. “You want my mouth on your cock.” He twisted his fingers inside Nick, adoring the way his cock jumped. Greg leaned down, licking the sweat from Nick’s stomach. He waited, staring at Nick until he caught his eye. “All you had to do was ask,” he said, curling his fingers, searching out Nick’s prostate.

Nick let out a sigh of relief as Greg finally wrapped his lips around the head of his cock. Nick couldn’t remember if Greg’s mouth had ever felt so good. And thank god that Greg had stopped teasing, because Nick wasn’t going to last much longer. Fingers were moving faster in him and Greg’s head was bobbing faster on his cock, tongue doing things that are making him delirious as he feels his release pooling in at the base of his spine. “Greg,” he moaned as those fingers brush his prostate and Greg swallows around him, feeling only the heat of Greg’s mouth and the stretch of his ass as he comes.

Greg swallowed, relishing the sounds, the feel, the taste of Nick as he finally releases. He let Nick’s softening cock leave his mouth and his fingers leave his ass as he moved up Nick’s body, leaving a trail of light kisses, ready to move into the shower for his turn. But by the time he reached Nick’s head, Nick was breathing deeply and evenly, lost in sleep.

He sighed and rolled off Nick, pondering what he was going to do about his urgent erection. “Fine, sleep,” said Greg to the unconscious Nick, “see if I ever wake you up with a handjob again.”