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[just1tearforme.livejournal.com]

Nerd Gone Wild
Chapter 7: Basket Case with a Shopping Cart
R, 2368 words 100% disclaimed.
Most Previous Chapter Chapter 6: Return to Yourself

Chapter 7: Basket Case with a Shopping Cart
 

Bang. Bang. Bang. He jumped, spilling some of the powder on the counter. “Greg?” Fuck! His hands shook as he tried to sweep the powder into a small line. His heart was pounding in his throat and he at least managed to get enough together to inhale. His breath came rapidly in great heaving gasps as he snorted the heroin. His door was being pounded on now, the doorknob rattling with each hit.  He swept the remaining powder off the counter, tucking the half full packet in the back of the drawer beneath the sink. Turning off the light and praying that there were no traces of his weakness lingering on his skin, he wandered down the hall. The narcotics hadn’t kicked in yet, even though he mixed several painkillers with beer and now his faery dust. It frightened him that they had yet to take the pain away. But the pounding on his door was insistent; he knew that Nick wouldn’t hesitate to break his door in if he didn’t answer soon. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled and opened the door.

“Nick?” he asked, peering at him through half lidded eyes, praying their bloodshot appearance wouldn’t be noticed. “That you Nicky?” He stuck out a hand, searching like a blind man, his eyes fluttering closed when he made contact. “Warm.” He mumbled. Nick took it to mean him, but he felt really warm temperature-wise all of the sudden. He swayed as a flash of heat rolled over his body; Nick reached out and caught him before he fell. As quickly as it came, the hot feeling left him. But he knew that he couldn’t just stand up and claim to feel fine, so he let his head rest on his shoulder and mumbled some nonsense about llamas and let himself be lead to the couch. Nick was asking him how much he had taken, his heart seized for a moment certain that some little thing had given it all away. Mentally he catalogued everything, but could not find anything that gave him away outright, so he settled back into pretending. “One. But di’int work. So took ‘nother.”

He could feel Nick’s gaze leave him, and let out a soft sigh of relief. He could hear him head into the kitchen, obviously he had seen the empty beer and went to see how many more he had consumed. A feeling of worry crept over him, what if Nick thought he had had too many beers and painkillers? Would he take him to the hospital? If he did that, then doctors would determine in no time that he had illegal substances in his system and that would be the end of it. Drug rehab and psychiatric treatment for the next thirty days. His heart thudded wildly in his chest. He managed to murmur about feeling pain and overexerting himself at work as Nick wandered back into the living room.  His footsteps paused, so Greg let the charade play on, telling imaginary penguins that he wasn’t tasty. Nick pulled him up from the couch, telling him he would put him to bed.

The familiar rush began to hit him, and he struggled to keep his eyes open. Things began to haze over in a wash of sparkles. The shirt Nick wore felt soft like down to him, so he rubbed his cheek against it, reveling in the softness. Opening his eyes slightly he looked up at him, saw him bathed in a shower of sparkles and seeming to glow. “Pretty…” he murmured, and smiled. The glow seemed to emanate from beneath his skin, and the sparkles hovered around him like faery dust. He managed to glance behind them, seeing a trail of glittery dust in their wake. He marveled how it landed on them but he never seemed to feel it. He shook his hand watching with bemused interest as the sparkles didn’t seem to fall off. Since he couldn’t feel them, he wondered if he could taste them instead. One glance at Nick’s neck and he could see a great amount covered him. Tentatively he stuck his tongue out, letting the tip of it graze his flesh. A sweet cloying taste registered in his brain, he wanted to try more. Pressing his tongue flat, he licked a swath from the curve of his shoulder to just below his jaw.

He tasted like warm honey, and sweet maple sugar. He tasted so inviting and welcoming, Greg needed more. He licked a path next to one he had just made, but let his tongue follow along his jaw line tracing it with bliss. He felt a forceful exhalation of hot air blow across his face, but continued on. Delicately he mapped the column of his throat, pausing in the hollow of his throat letting soft puffs of breath cascade over him. He felt a shiver as he nuzzled there, and then lapped the dip in his flesh like ice cream. He let his tongue wander, dipping it below the collar of his shirt as he trailed back up the curve of neck to shoulder. His eyes fluttered closed as he swiped a path up the side of his throat and took Nick’s earlobe into his mouth, sucking it ever so slightly. He let it go, resting cheek to cheek, his mouth millimeters from his ear, letting his exhalations echo in their close space. He heard a soft keen as he pulled away, nuzzling his jaw until he reached his mouth. Deftly, he pressed his lips to his, sealing them together. For moments he didn’t move, letting them breathe through one another, sharing precious oxygen. But his curiosity got the better of him; he had to know if Nick tasted the same all over. Tentatively, he let his tongue venture forth, rubbing it over the seam of their lips. He parted his lips further. Needing more, Greg advanced further, running the very tip of his tongue across his teeth feeling the smooth enamel. He was surprised when he came in contact with his tongue, pulling his back unsure. His uncertainty quickly faded, tasting Nick, brushing across the roof his mouth, sucking his tongue.

He felt incredibly warm again, the heat radiating from him and Nick. He shifted, wrapping his arms around him, untucking his shirt and sliding his hands beneath the hem. Somehow, Nick tasted of spiced mead and he moaned low in his throat. His fingers idly traced patterns in the small of his back, occasionally dipping below the waist of his pants. He was so hot now; it felt like the fire of a thousand suns, burning him from the inside out. Reluctantly, he pulled his hands away from his soft velvety skin, and withdrew his tongue from that moist cavern of heaven. Shakily, he grasped the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head and letting it fall to the floor. He reached out, splaying his hand on Nick’s stomach, feeling the muscles move beneath his touch. He let himself slide his hands under the hem of his shirt, brushing fingertips along his abdomen, feeling the flesh quiver at his touch. Ever so gently he caressed the skin at the waistband of his jeans, feeling and hearing the sharp intake of breath.

“What are we doing?” Nick asked, voice low and husky, sounding like he was fighting for some scrap of control. Greg peered up at him, eyes darkened and face flushed. He looked heavenly, still surrounded in that glow. “We can’t do this,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re high out of your mind, and I’m just out of my mind.” Grudgingly, he took a step back.

Greg wanted to scream at him, tell him to keep going, but all that tumbled from his lips was a soft moan at the loss of contact. His heart pounded in his chest, his breathing erratic. He could see Nick was having the same problem, as he leaned back against the wall, head tilted upwards, and eyes closed. He crossed the few feet to him, sliding one hand up his chest, the other down across the fly of his jeans. Softly, he rubbed the bulging material, listening as a moan bubbled out of him low and throaty. His hand grasped his wrist, stilling his movements. “We can’t.” he murmured, opening his eyes and looking straight at him. “You won’t even remember this later.” He looked like something akin to regret flashed in his eyes.

Very gently he was lead to his bed. Nick turned the covers back on one side, pushing him down to the mattress and then tucking him in. “Don’t go,” he whispered plaintively, one hand clutching the covers and the other reaching out for him. He sighed heavily, but grasped the outstretched fingers in his own. He lay down on top of the blankets next to him, whispering that he would stay until he was sleeping. As he closed his eyes, breathing in Nick’s scent he swore he heard laughter.

His head was pounding when he finally awoke. He groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. He dared to peek at the alarm clock; he had an hour before his shift. Fuck, he swore under his breath, sitting up quickly and throwing off the covers. The pounding in his head worsened and he could hear his blood rushing in his skull. Bleary-eyed, he gritted his teeth and stumbled to the bathroom intent on a shower. When he turned on the light a note taped to the mirror greeted him. ‘Bet you feel like shit. That’s why alcohol and painkillers don’t mix. Have some juice and two ibuprofen, you’ll feel better. – N’ He closed his eyes, sighed, and ran the shower.

Admittedly, he did feel better after the juice, ibuprofen, and hot shower. Not one hundred percent, but at least enough to function at his job. He grabbed his keys and another bottle of juice and ran out the door. He was running short on time, couldn’t stop to pick up more coffee on his way to work. He’d just have to suffer through the crap that whoever brewed before him. As he started his car he glanced in the rearview mirror, dead faery was sitting there, legs crossed turned away from him. Another girl who looked like a pigtailed pink haired doll was sitting facing her; they were playing a game, one of those hand games played by little girls. ‘Miss Susie had a tugboat.” Greg rested his forehead against the steering wheel. He didn’t need this, not now. ‘The tugboat had a bell.’ He concentrated on his breathing. ‘Miss Susie went to heaven.’ He raised his head, looking in the rearview mirror. ‘The tugboat went to HELL!’ They turned to look at him and he screamed. Half her skull was smashed in.

He felt waves of nausea claw up his throat, and struggled to keep his stomach down. He didn’t need this now, he had to go back to work or Grissom would think he couldn’t hack it. Frantically he searched the glove box for a little faery dust, enough to give a fix so he could make them go away. But he could find nothing, he remembered he had taken it out in case he would ever be stopped, he wouldn’t get in trouble. If he ran up to his apartment he would be very late, though if he left now he would only be late by a few minutes. A few minutes and Grissom wouldn’t comment, but any more than that and he be called into his office for certain. Hands shaking, he started his car and pulled out, daring not to glance in the mirrors the entire trip.

He was slightly more collected by the time he arrived at the lab, but not by much; just enough to be considered passable for someone with his experiences. He knew they that followed him, he could hear laughter behind him, cackling maniacal laughter. He let loose a sharp harsh laugh of his own, when he twistedly wondered while waiting on some results if there were any pieces of her skull littering his backseat that he could see. Thankfully no one was around when that happened. A stack of photos left on the counter caught his eye, and he began looking through them. The first photo told him exactly what he was looking at, the warehouse. There were multiple shots from various angles of each piece of shattered furniture and battered body. So many people, too many people lay on the ground. Some obviously dead, others appearing as though just resting. He came across the dead faery girl, large shards of glass sticking out at odd angles from her body; it was probably from a falling table. The next set of pictures was of the pink haired doll. He could make out bits of feathers lying on her body. The next hour flew by as he stared at each face, some he had seen before, and others he was learning for the first time. The last set was of him, he could tell from the characteristics of each body part. “I could have died,” he murmured. He was always aware of his own mortality but seeing it on the page, irrefutable evidence of how close he came to death frightened him. A few more inches and it could have been him lying on the steel slab in Doc’s office.

Jaw clenched he took off out of the lab and down the hall not stopping until he crashed through the bathroom door. He had the presence of mind to lock the door behind him before he broke down in tears. He slid down the wall, sinking to the floor; wrapping his arms around his knees he sobbed.

The first thing he did when he got home was inhale another line of heroin, and then have a beer. Even though he was consuming the same quantity as he had been for the past three days, he went to bed with the dead girls staring at him from the foot of his bed. And he dreamed of falling.