Once Greg Sanders
Jun. 24th, 2005 08:59 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
littlebuttercup.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
nickngregTitle: Once Greg Sanders ...
Rating: NC17 to be safe, for liberal use of the f-bomb and smut that isn't very graphic.
Summary: He just knew it.
Sloganizer prompt. I think you'll know the saying when you see it, but I'll tell you at the end, anyway. Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sheryden for the idea and simplexmortal for a quick beta. Remaining mistakes are mine. The style is a bit ... odd. That's your warning.
He knew it. He fucking knew it, knew it, he knew it. He shouldn’t have come here, but no, he never fucking listens to himself and now he’s standing, frozen, at the bar while Greg dances not five feet away from him.
He can still fix this. Pay his tab, slide out of the barstool, walk slowly towards the door. Yes. Pull out your wallet, Nick, that’s the first step. Extract money, slide the wallet back into - turn, no, he didn’t see you - lose yourself in the crowds of people, that’s it, you’re almost off the dance fl-
Oh, fuck.
He managed a forced smile when Greg’s hand closed around his arm. “Hey, Greggo.”
Greg, the bastard, was still dancing. He’s ruining Nick’s entire life and he’s dancing. “Hey!” he shouted over the music. “Didn’t know this was your scene!”
No, it’s really not. He’s on a case, a friend called and asked for a ride, too drunk - that certainly won’t work, as there’s no one else he really knows here - but Greg’s smiling happily at him, and fuck, now he’s going to answer and he really doesn’t want to. “Life is full of surprises,” he said, and immediately cringed internally. Nice one, Stokes.
“Do you even know the song that’s playing?”
Wait, the song? What does the song have to do with -
“Because I always thought of you as more of a country-western guy.”
Stop. Rewind.
Ohhhhhhh.
Greg meant the music wasn’t his scene. Did it even surprise him that Nick was in a gay bar?
“Not really.”
Shit. He must have asked that out loud, judging from the fact Greg’s eyebrow was raised and he was looking at him like he was crazy. His brain was telling his feet to walk away, but apparently, his mouth had other plans. “Why not?”
Double fuck.
Greg was laughing. First the dancing, now laughing, and now, oh God, he’s putting his arm around Nick’s shoulders and Greg’s lips are against his ear …
He won’t last the night at this rate.
“Nick, you scream closeted gay man,” Greg said.
“I do?”
Shut up, shut up. Leave, go home, just stop talking.
“You do,” he confirmed. “You weren’t leaving, were you?”
Lie. Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie. “Actually, I was.” Why he has no control over himself is a mystery.
“Why?”
Sigh inwardly. Fleeting look towards the door, see if there’s any way he can get out of this. There isn’t. His next brilliant plan is to distract Greg. “Hey, want to dance?”
Holy fuck, no. But Greg looks like Christmas has come early, and it’s not like he doesn’t want to dance with Greg, he just doesn’t really want to dance with a guy he’s fantasized about for three years, but he lets Greg drag him back onto the dance floor anyway.
Thirty minutes later, they’re hot, sweaty, and grinding against each other. It started out innocent enough, sure, dancing a foot apart, but then Greg was knocked into him and before Nick knew what he was doing his arms were encircling Greg.
“Nick.”
He groaned when he felt Greg’s hot breath against his ear. “Yeah?” Wait, why was he breathing like that? Must be the heat from the dance floor. Yeah. That’s it. Nothing to do with the fact that Greg’s still grinding up against him and he keeps wondering what Greg would feel like underneath him …
“Let’s get out of here.”
Better words were never spoken. He grabbed Greg’s hand and led them outside, welcoming the fresh air. “Did you bring your car?”
“No.”
He didn’t either, but it doesn’t matter, there are cabs outside and they can take one of those. They stumble into the back seat and Nick manages to give the driver his address before Greg’s hands are on him and he leans forward and kisses him for the first time.
The drive to the house is a blur, and it seems to take him forever to open his door. God damned keys, just work, work already, it’s your fucking job, open-
Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows he shouldn’t be doing this. Greg is a co-worker, they’re friends, sort of, he’ll see him again, and he just couldn’t handle it if this were a one night stand.
But, oh Jesus, Greg is touching him and breathing in his ear, oh fuck, yes, please.
Apparently he said that out loud as well, because Greg is looking particularly smug and asking him where the bedroom is.
He grabbed his hand and led him there rather than tell him, and they fell onto the bed still struggling to take their clothes off. He can’t help but smile when Greg gives a frustrated growl and yanks his own shirt over his head, and soon they’re naked and crawling all over each other.
And, please, yes, Greg is kissing his chest and he’s going lower and lower and - fuck, yes. He starts a mental litany of the periodic table when Greg’s lips close around his cock, please not yet, not yet, but he doesn’t get past Chlorine because the words streaming out of his mouth at a steady pace disrupts the list, and it’s not long before he’s begging Greg to fuck him.
Wait, are those words really coming from his mouth? They must be, because it’s his hands reaching blindly for the nightstand drawer. Not that he hasn’t been fucked before, but he’s never begged for it.
But Jesus, Greg feels so good inside him, this is better than anything he’s ever felt, and when Greg’s hand wraps around his cock and starts stroking him, he gets a little louder.
Oh fuck, yes, Greg, Jesus. Yes, yes, fuck, oh God, fuck.
He thinks he comes when Greg does, but it doesn’t matter, because Greg’s weight is comforting against his back and they just lay there for a few minutes before Greg rolls off of him.
“Greg?”
Greg answers sleepily, scooting closer and Nick grins a little when he wraps his arm around him and pulls them flush together.
“I don’t want this to be a one night thing.”
Why are these words coming from his mouth? Is he so completely out of control that he can’t simply shut his mouth and enjoy the afterglow?
Apparently.
“Won’t be,” Greg muttered.
“How do you know?”
Apparently he is also Mr. Insecurity.
“For you, Nicky? Anything. Once Greg Sanders, always Greg Sanders.”
Huh. He turned his head ad began to ask Greg what the hell he meant by that, but Greg was already sleeping against his shoulder. So he smiled, pressed a kiss to his temple and pulled the blanket closer to them.
He knew he went to that club for a reason.
*
*
*
The sloganizer saying was "Once Greg Sanders, always Greg Sanders."
Go easy on me, I'm a smut-writing virgin.
Rating: NC17 to be safe, for liberal use of the f-bomb and smut that isn't very graphic.
Summary: He just knew it.
Sloganizer prompt. I think you'll know the saying when you see it, but I'll tell you at the end, anyway. Thanks to
sheryden for the idea and simplexmortal for a quick beta. Remaining mistakes are mine. The style is a bit ... odd. That's your warning.He knew it. He fucking knew it, knew it, he knew it. He shouldn’t have come here, but no, he never fucking listens to himself and now he’s standing, frozen, at the bar while Greg dances not five feet away from him.
He can still fix this. Pay his tab, slide out of the barstool, walk slowly towards the door. Yes. Pull out your wallet, Nick, that’s the first step. Extract money, slide the wallet back into - turn, no, he didn’t see you - lose yourself in the crowds of people, that’s it, you’re almost off the dance fl-
Oh, fuck.
He managed a forced smile when Greg’s hand closed around his arm. “Hey, Greggo.”
Greg, the bastard, was still dancing. He’s ruining Nick’s entire life and he’s dancing. “Hey!” he shouted over the music. “Didn’t know this was your scene!”
No, it’s really not. He’s on a case, a friend called and asked for a ride, too drunk - that certainly won’t work, as there’s no one else he really knows here - but Greg’s smiling happily at him, and fuck, now he’s going to answer and he really doesn’t want to. “Life is full of surprises,” he said, and immediately cringed internally. Nice one, Stokes.
“Do you even know the song that’s playing?”
Wait, the song? What does the song have to do with -
“Because I always thought of you as more of a country-western guy.”
Stop. Rewind.
Ohhhhhhh.
Greg meant the music wasn’t his scene. Did it even surprise him that Nick was in a gay bar?
“Not really.”
Shit. He must have asked that out loud, judging from the fact Greg’s eyebrow was raised and he was looking at him like he was crazy. His brain was telling his feet to walk away, but apparently, his mouth had other plans. “Why not?”
Double fuck.
Greg was laughing. First the dancing, now laughing, and now, oh God, he’s putting his arm around Nick’s shoulders and Greg’s lips are against his ear …
He won’t last the night at this rate.
“Nick, you scream closeted gay man,” Greg said.
“I do?”
Shut up, shut up. Leave, go home, just stop talking.
“You do,” he confirmed. “You weren’t leaving, were you?”
Lie. Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie. “Actually, I was.” Why he has no control over himself is a mystery.
“Why?”
Sigh inwardly. Fleeting look towards the door, see if there’s any way he can get out of this. There isn’t. His next brilliant plan is to distract Greg. “Hey, want to dance?”
Holy fuck, no. But Greg looks like Christmas has come early, and it’s not like he doesn’t want to dance with Greg, he just doesn’t really want to dance with a guy he’s fantasized about for three years, but he lets Greg drag him back onto the dance floor anyway.
Thirty minutes later, they’re hot, sweaty, and grinding against each other. It started out innocent enough, sure, dancing a foot apart, but then Greg was knocked into him and before Nick knew what he was doing his arms were encircling Greg.
“Nick.”
He groaned when he felt Greg’s hot breath against his ear. “Yeah?” Wait, why was he breathing like that? Must be the heat from the dance floor. Yeah. That’s it. Nothing to do with the fact that Greg’s still grinding up against him and he keeps wondering what Greg would feel like underneath him …
“Let’s get out of here.”
Better words were never spoken. He grabbed Greg’s hand and led them outside, welcoming the fresh air. “Did you bring your car?”
“No.”
He didn’t either, but it doesn’t matter, there are cabs outside and they can take one of those. They stumble into the back seat and Nick manages to give the driver his address before Greg’s hands are on him and he leans forward and kisses him for the first time.
The drive to the house is a blur, and it seems to take him forever to open his door. God damned keys, just work, work already, it’s your fucking job, open-
Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows he shouldn’t be doing this. Greg is a co-worker, they’re friends, sort of, he’ll see him again, and he just couldn’t handle it if this were a one night stand.
But, oh Jesus, Greg is touching him and breathing in his ear, oh fuck, yes, please.
Apparently he said that out loud as well, because Greg is looking particularly smug and asking him where the bedroom is.
He grabbed his hand and led him there rather than tell him, and they fell onto the bed still struggling to take their clothes off. He can’t help but smile when Greg gives a frustrated growl and yanks his own shirt over his head, and soon they’re naked and crawling all over each other.
And, please, yes, Greg is kissing his chest and he’s going lower and lower and - fuck, yes. He starts a mental litany of the periodic table when Greg’s lips close around his cock, please not yet, not yet, but he doesn’t get past Chlorine because the words streaming out of his mouth at a steady pace disrupts the list, and it’s not long before he’s begging Greg to fuck him.
Wait, are those words really coming from his mouth? They must be, because it’s his hands reaching blindly for the nightstand drawer. Not that he hasn’t been fucked before, but he’s never begged for it.
But Jesus, Greg feels so good inside him, this is better than anything he’s ever felt, and when Greg’s hand wraps around his cock and starts stroking him, he gets a little louder.
Oh fuck, yes, Greg, Jesus. Yes, yes, fuck, oh God, fuck.
He thinks he comes when Greg does, but it doesn’t matter, because Greg’s weight is comforting against his back and they just lay there for a few minutes before Greg rolls off of him.
“Greg?”
Greg answers sleepily, scooting closer and Nick grins a little when he wraps his arm around him and pulls them flush together.
“I don’t want this to be a one night thing.”
Why are these words coming from his mouth? Is he so completely out of control that he can’t simply shut his mouth and enjoy the afterglow?
Apparently.
“Won’t be,” Greg muttered.
“How do you know?”
Apparently he is also Mr. Insecurity.
“For you, Nicky? Anything. Once Greg Sanders, always Greg Sanders.”
Huh. He turned his head ad began to ask Greg what the hell he meant by that, but Greg was already sleeping against his shoulder. So he smiled, pressed a kiss to his temple and pulled the blanket closer to them.
He knew he went to that club for a reason.
*
*
*
The sloganizer saying was "Once Greg Sanders, always Greg Sanders."
Go easy on me, I'm a smut-writing virgin.
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