nickngreg | Goddamn Internet

So, I was definitely finished this last night, but my internet refused to cooperate until now. Thank god the cable company's coming soon. I'm about to rip my hair out. But here's Chapter 3, it's smut-tastic. Enjoy!

Title: Macramé Queens
Author: Quettaser
Rating: NC-17 (I bring the smut)
Part: 3/?
Summary: Phone sex, wardrobe malfunctions, and list-updating

Chapter 1
Chapter 2

Nick’s phone rang. He’d been torn between anticipation and dread, but it seemed as if Greg was psychic, because he called as soon as Nick had gone on break. Nick walked quickly into the men’s bathroom at the back of the lab, having decided at the beginning of shift that that would be the safest place to field Greg’s call.

And, God, he must be losing his mind, hiding himself in a bathroom at work to have phone sex. No, not even have phone sex, listen to phone sex. And it had to be that, just listening, because this was work, and there were certain standards of decency and propriety. Maybe before he would have asked himself what the point was if he wasn’t going to get off and he was risking his job at the same time. Now, though, he didn’t really care. He’d take as much as could from Greg any way he could get it. And maybe if he were in more control of his thoughts he might have been a little unnerved by that, but all he could think about was hearing Greg’s raspy voice whispering filthy things in his ear.

“Hello?” he answered.

“Yes, hello, this is Gregory Sanders calling for Nicholas Stokes regarding my fucking hot phone sex appointment.”

“Greg,” laughed Nick.

“Where are you that you can say my name without dying of fear?” asked Greg.

“I’m in the men’s bathroom at the back of the lab.”

“Ah. Good choice. No one really uses it. You planning on participating?” Nick could hear the grin in his voice.

“You know I can’t,” said Nick, softening his voice. He didn’t know how sound proof the walls were.

“That’s too bad,” Greg replied. Nick could hear clothing rustling on the other end of the phone. “Because the thought of you, desperate in a dark corner, fist wrapped tight around that gorgeous fucking cock of yours gets me so hot.”

“Greg,” exhaled Nick, even softer than before, the familiar stirrings of arousal coursing through his body. He leaned back against the cool tile, not trusting himself to stay standing for very long.

“What, baby? Are you getting hard? Does it turn you on, knowing that I’m lying here, naked in our bed, bringing myself off, thinking about you?”

“You know it does,” whispered Nick. He could see Greg in his head now, hands pressing and pulling on heated skin, his mouth slightly open, breath shallowing. He hadn’t touched himself yet; Nick could hear it in his voice. It was still too low, too steady.

“Good, because when I come into work tonight I want to see it. I want to see your hard cock pressed tight in your jeans, wanna see what I do to you.”

He could hear the light hitch in Greg’s voice, maybe he was gripping the base of his cock, just hard enough to relieve the pressure or maybe he was massaging his balls, slowing rolling them in his hand while the other flicked at a stiff nipple. But he wanted, needed to know, needed to be sure, and Greg was still talking, saying things Nick wouldn’t have thought would get to him.

“Wanna grab you tight, lead you by the balls, parade you around like a little slut. Want everyone to see I’m the one who gets you hard, I’m the one who makes you come.”

And, fuck, it was getting hot in the bathroom. Nick ran his free hand across his neck, trying to cool himself down, but the feel of heated skin beneath his fingers only made him want to touch more, to slide slowly down his chest, press against muscle, push lower, match Greg’s movements with his own.

Greg was causing him to lose control, his body begging to be satisfied, despite his best efforts to keep himself an uninterested observer. His hips shifted a little, causing his jeans to brush deliciously and painfully across his crotch, forcing a soft moan from his lips. He was being foolish, thinking that anything about Greg was uninteresting.

“God, Greg,” breathed Nick, surrendering to his own urges, letting his hand sneak under his shirt and run along the sensitive skin at the top of his jeans, stomach shivering under his own touch. “Need you, need to fuck you, need to hear you scream.” And, Jesus, what that his own voice? Low, gravelly and cracked, desperate. He’d never listened to himself before, no wonder Greg got off on it. He let his hand dip inside his jeans, not caring how cramped and tight it was, he needed relief.

Greg laughed low in his throat, breathy and hot. Nick could almost feel it on his skin. “I knew you’d want to play.” His voice was a little higher now, just a hint of whine, he was definitely stroking himself.

“I’m doing anything but play, babe. You’re stroking yourself now, aren’t you? Nice and slow, just the way you like it.” He heard Greg exhale shakily into the phone. His head swam with the thoughts of Greg, laid out for him, slowly pleasuring himself. “So beautiful…god, you’re so beautiful like that. Love to watch you, watch you touch yourself.” Nick had forgone trying to get his hand into his pants, settling for the moment to cup himself through the restrictive fabric. “Tell me, Greg. Tell me what you do to yourself, tell me what you think about when you come.”

Fuck propriety. Fuck decency. Nick went to lock the outer door to the bathroom, because Greg was telling him how he mirrored Nick’s motions when he was alone, the way he’d slowly pump his shaft with one hand, and envelop the head in the other, twisting, curling, pretending it was him, Nick’s mouth, searing and wet bringing him to orgasm. And if he didn’t take care of this problem now, his body would do it for him and he didn’t have a clean pair of pants.

He locked himself in one of the stalls and sat down, finally freeing his strained cock from his jeans. He sighed with relief as he wrapped his hand around it, smearing the pre-cum around the head, arching up into his hand. “Put your fingers in your mouth, Greg. Make ‘em nice and wet. I want you to fuck yourself for me.”

He heard Greg moan around his fingers and thought it was the most delectable sound he’d ever heard in his life. He squeezed himself harder, moved a little faster, knowing neither of them would be able to last much longer. “Oh, fuck, Nick,” moaned Greg. And there were the little keening noises he made in the back of his throat whenever Nick was in him, fucking him hard. He could only imagine what Greg was doing to himself now, he’d lost the ability to form thoughts, only a steady stream of words, something like ohfuckyessogoodNickyfuckmehardshitmakemefeelsogoodmakemecome.

Nick’s eyes were closed, seeing only Greg beneath his eyelids. Greg, blistering and sweating beneath him, rolling hips, desperate hands, scorching mouth. He shut his eyes harder, and if he concentrated hard enough he could feel Greg, feel the slickness of his skin, feel the heat of his ass around his cock, feel his mouth burning those words into his neck.

Greg let out a long fractured moan and Nick could feel his hips bucking up into his own. At that Nick let out a groan of his own, he felt it start deep in his spine and move up his body, ending in a low guttural sound he didn’t think he was capable of making, the image of Greg beneath him lost to a blinding whiteness. He felt Greg spasm against him, felt his warm seed splash against his abdomen…no, not Greg’s, his own.

His eyes slowly opened, the dim light of the bathroom still bright enough to hurt. He could hear Greg panting into the phone, just the way he did when he was Nick’s arms when he was coming down from his orgasm, and then, shit, a pounding on the bathroom door. “Nick,” whispered Greg, his voice groggy, “what’s that sound?”

His eyes snapped open, finally comprehending what he had just done, and what was in danger of happening. “Fuck, I gotta go.” He snapped the phone shut and quickly cleaned himself up as best he could with toilet paper. The pounding was a little louder now and he could hear Warrick’s voice on the other side. He was talking to someone.

He saw himself in the mirror as he left the stall, face flushed, skin shiny with sweat, and, double shit, semen stains on his shirt.

He grabbed for a paper towel as Warrick knocked on the door again. He wiped it off quickly, but the wet spots were still evident. He contemplated splashing water on himself to make it look accidental, but this was taking too long and Warrick was going to have enough questions as is.

Warrick was knocking again, and Nick went to the door and unlocked it, bracing himself, and carefully positioning one arm to hide the suspicious stains on his shirt. And there was Warrick, hand raised in mid-knock, giving Nick a questioning look.

Nick shrugged and hoped to God it looked like he was blushing and not like he had just had some mind-blowing phone sex. “Sorry, man, must have locked the door by accident,” he said, pushing past Warrick, trying hard not to look too apprehensive or too calm. Jesus, he sucked at lying.

“Right,” replied Warrick, skeptically, giving Nick a strange look before walking into the bathroom, the door swinging shut behind him. He let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and walked briskly towards the locker room, praying he wouldn’t run into anyone he needed to talk to.

He saw Greg out of the corner of his eye walking towards the locker room. Nick had tried to corner him at the beginning of Greg’s shift, but there were too many people hanging around the locker room, and Nick would prefer it if he didn’t have an audience for the things he needed to tell Greg.

But, finally, Greg had gone on break and was heading towards the locker room, presumably to grab a snack, but Nick didn’t really care. And he should feel more guilty, because he’s working overtime and he should be putting more effort into the case but he just can’t focus, not with the sound of Greg’s voice running through his head, and no way to touch him.

Nick ducked out of the trace lab and followed Greg, grabbing his arm before he got to his locker, pulling him into the very back of the room, giving them the most time to separate in case they got caught doing something Nick wasn’t able to keep himself from doing.

Like kissing him. Hard. Which was what he was doing now, not even a hello, just his tongue, down Greg’s throat, up against the lockers, letting himself moan into Greg’s open mouth.

“Hi to you too,” breathed Greg, finally freeing his mouth from Nick’s.

Nick brought his hands up to cup Greg’s face, staring into his deep brown eyes. “I’m thinking I shouldn’t be allowed to tease you before I go to work. I think that should be rule number sixty-seven on our Things We Aren’t Allowed To Do For Fear Of Fucking In The Lab List.”

“Okay,” said Greg, smiling. He took a minute, studying Nick, watching his face, his eyes. “It really got to you, didn’t it?”

Nick nodded, a slow grin growing on his face, the skin around his eyes crinkling. “I’m actually kind of looking forward to the next time one of us has to go to a convention.” He placed a few quick kisses on Greg’s neck, tasting soap and chemicals and Greg, sighing into his skin. He’d never realized how much he needed to feel Greg, needed his presence.

“Are you wearing a different shirt?”