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nickngregAuthor: Exit Music
Title: Reason Aside
Fandom: CSI
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: R.
Warnings: none
Spoilers: none
Summary: AU, I blame this on Belinda Carlisle. Well, Marilyn Manson had a hand in it as well. Starry-eyed silliness, do forgive me.
A/N: I do not own these characters, I merely worship them.
He would have rather chosen an acid bath. Complimentary multiple salt rubs over fresh paper cuts, he would have happily taken over this. Nick stood before the hall mirror, checkered tie and turquoise chinos, a loss for words. He had been tricked, yes, scammed by the neon porcupine in…tights?
“What in THE hell, dude?” A proud vision of knee high opaque stockings, dayglo tee, mini-jean skirt and jacket. Acid wash, incidentally. Hair barbed in all directions, a complete throwback. An enormous grin let lip-gloss shimmer. Greg paraded around the living room, suggestively swaying. He could never forget how enjoyable it was to torture the vanilla set; Nick was a prime target.
“I am not leaving this apartment with you…like that.” The tiny vein above his well manicured brows set alight, pounding in time with his obvious embarrassment over the exposed skin and unusual attire. He stormed into the bedroom, searching for something to cover him up with.
“Come on, you agreed!” Greg shouted at the walls, as they alone held rapt attention. He knew it was going to be a chore convincing his stick in the mud partner to partake in an 80’s night, Nick’s only spontaneity lie in salad dressings and pizza toppings. For once he thought acquiescence was a possibility, vain prayers to revive a free spirit long lost amongst the rubble of adulthood. Spying a familiarity as Nick stomped in circles, he sidled harshly, snatching a hand and guiding it under his skirt. He knew why the hurried avoidance, tented slacks, dead giveaway.
“Oh no, don’t even think about…” lights flickered and dimmed as he felt nylon, cotton and bare thigh all at once. Taking a step back to regain semblance of control, he looked again. Long, slender yet masculine stems, slightly uncovered, with only a touch of fabric between decent and not. Pausing at sparks careening past his eyes; he knew he wasn’t going to win. He never won. Expelling an overpowered sigh, he barked about ‘car keys’ and ‘hurry up’ and ‘get this over with.’ Straightening his objectionable tie, he paced out, arm in arm with his material boy for the evening.
---
“That’s the jaaaam…” Greg overtook the radio, searching out mood music for the event.
“I will not sit here and listen to this stuff, and then have it blasted at me for three hours in some cheesy dance hall!” Nick grasped at straws for his way, a minute’s peace before being barraged with trivial pop that rocketed him back to years gone by. His sudden growl in tone halted Greg’s bounce, a frown formed. Taking a nail polished thumb in his grip, he surrendered.
“Ok, ok. Jam on.” He kissed Nick’s cheek, and played with the dials once more, finding treasure amongst the trash. He couldn’t help staring across at the black and white squares, he knew Nick would never understand how important this little outing was, how much it meant. Watching the streak of city lights go by, he rested a palm on his boyfriend’s leg. Miracle.
---
The ‘door ajar’ signal beeped shrilly, he was frozen. This was not some minor hipster get-together; there were at least fifty cars in the lot. Swallowing a curse, he gathered himself and was led, drug, to the door.
“Heh, I thought there’d be a few more people here tonight. Joke, joke.” He shrugged and sat at the nearest covered table. Sensing discomfort from Nick, he brandished a smile laced with thank yous, and pointed to the bar. A small reward, well deserved. He sauntered over, making sure his hips were followed the entire course. He would pay later, oh yes; merciless teasing leads to fervid sweat and ripped denim. He could feel the electricity as he walked across, that wave of youthful leisure coating the room. He scoped the scene, not a care in the world witnessed. This had been planned for one reason, he wanted Nick to really see, wanted him to feel how on fire the world could be. No crime tape, no blood, no fear. The night pulsed all around and he wanted Nicky to pick up on the cadence.
He observed the madding crowd, couples of every mix and match, flowing along and cavorting. Rude honks of laughter echoing over synthesizers, taffeta crinkle; the lilt of feet on polished floorboards carving a grin from a stony facade. Nick realized he actually didn’t hate being there. No one gave him a second look, as they were just as wildly dressed. Fun, just fun. Greg swam back, multicolored drinks in possession. Trying to hide a cheered expression, he bore holes into newly purchased spats.
“ Uh-huh. I saw that, mister. That was a smile.” Nudging him playfully, he wrapped a pink sneakered foot around Nick’s. Leaning in, he snuck a kiss; lips gave warm reception.
“Yeah, it was a smile.”
“See, it’s not so bad to sink to my level.” He felt an arm being draped over his shoulder, and warm breath against his ear.
“I don’t consider this sinking, babe. More like, losing my mind.” Drawn out vowels enveloped him, magma flowed through his veins. Reaping the benefits of taunting so soon. Feeling the zipper of the skirt dig painfully, he directed his gaze towards the dance floor.
Hinting, a finger poked ribs. Slumping his shoulders, he knew Greg would get him to dance sooner or later. A rose tinted pout drove him to madness, and he weakly agreed. As they left their seats, a recognizable tune blared, and a full smirk displayed itself.
“I’ll be damned.” A song Nick actually liked.
They situated towards the middle, finding their feet with impromptu movements. He noticed how Stoke’s lower half barely budged, laughing at the obvious. Wrapping tight arms around a solid back, he rested his head and whispered lyrics intimately with the beat. Slowly their rate increased, caught up with the song. With a surprise, his partner began a waltz like spin, picking up beams of cheap pastel lighting as they went round. Dreamlike state. He ground into Nick as their turning continued; radiant gyration. As one song bled into the next he motioned to the washroom, knowing he wouldn’t be alone.
---
“Are you crazy? No, don’t answer that.” Nick found himself in a dingy, doorless stall with a fevered crossdresser unbuckling his belt for him.
“Perks of insanity. Don’t worry jeez, I locked the main door.”
“That’ll only give us five minutes, Greg.” Nick felt the words ‘all it takes’ muffled by the onslaught of tongues and wet space. Necking like teenagers, they thrashed and panted, yearning to get closer. Breaking the kiss he flipped him to face the wall, and yanked up his skirt. A pair of checkered bikini briefs barely covering his ass stared back. As Nick fumbled with the condom wrapper, Greg turned his head with toothy smile, shimmying down the underwear.
“Didn’t you ever wear matching stuff with your steadies in highschool?” Greg giggled as moistened fingers found their way deep, coaxing a purr. Nick slipped out, refilling the void abruptly with sharp hardness. His eyes rolled as he noticed the unconscious tempo, they were thrusting in time with the music. He gasped as Nick encircled his dick with a firm grip, and pumped with every push. It became a new dance, the move and swivel, moan and grunt. Compressing heaven into the pounding drive, he ached as Nick hammered faster.
“Love you…love you…” Nick dispersed sweetness as mercury ascended and shot forth. Shuddering inside, he sensed Greg soon following, covering a scream with his hand. They stood immobile as the last of the shakes subsided.
“I think it’s been five minutes,” he quipped as the door handle rattled loudly. Trying to correct his disheveled appearance, he glanced at Nick. A face filled with sparkle blazed back.
“Ready to go home now, Nicky?”
He shook his head as the record changed.
“Nah, let’s dance babe.”
They exited nonchalantly, ignoring the angered expressions of those who had to wait, and stepped back on the floor, floating gently with the pack. Forgetting all, Nick positioned his head on Greg’s shoulder, kissing a spot of collarbone and hugged him tighter. He could stay like this all night.
Title: Reason Aside
Fandom: CSI
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: R.
Warnings: none
Spoilers: none
Summary: AU, I blame this on Belinda Carlisle. Well, Marilyn Manson had a hand in it as well. Starry-eyed silliness, do forgive me.
A/N: I do not own these characters, I merely worship them.
He would have rather chosen an acid bath. Complimentary multiple salt rubs over fresh paper cuts, he would have happily taken over this. Nick stood before the hall mirror, checkered tie and turquoise chinos, a loss for words. He had been tricked, yes, scammed by the neon porcupine in…tights?
“What in THE hell, dude?” A proud vision of knee high opaque stockings, dayglo tee, mini-jean skirt and jacket. Acid wash, incidentally. Hair barbed in all directions, a complete throwback. An enormous grin let lip-gloss shimmer. Greg paraded around the living room, suggestively swaying. He could never forget how enjoyable it was to torture the vanilla set; Nick was a prime target.
“I am not leaving this apartment with you…like that.” The tiny vein above his well manicured brows set alight, pounding in time with his obvious embarrassment over the exposed skin and unusual attire. He stormed into the bedroom, searching for something to cover him up with.
“Come on, you agreed!” Greg shouted at the walls, as they alone held rapt attention. He knew it was going to be a chore convincing his stick in the mud partner to partake in an 80’s night, Nick’s only spontaneity lie in salad dressings and pizza toppings. For once he thought acquiescence was a possibility, vain prayers to revive a free spirit long lost amongst the rubble of adulthood. Spying a familiarity as Nick stomped in circles, he sidled harshly, snatching a hand and guiding it under his skirt. He knew why the hurried avoidance, tented slacks, dead giveaway.
“Oh no, don’t even think about…” lights flickered and dimmed as he felt nylon, cotton and bare thigh all at once. Taking a step back to regain semblance of control, he looked again. Long, slender yet masculine stems, slightly uncovered, with only a touch of fabric between decent and not. Pausing at sparks careening past his eyes; he knew he wasn’t going to win. He never won. Expelling an overpowered sigh, he barked about ‘car keys’ and ‘hurry up’ and ‘get this over with.’ Straightening his objectionable tie, he paced out, arm in arm with his material boy for the evening.
---
“That’s the jaaaam…” Greg overtook the radio, searching out mood music for the event.
“I will not sit here and listen to this stuff, and then have it blasted at me for three hours in some cheesy dance hall!” Nick grasped at straws for his way, a minute’s peace before being barraged with trivial pop that rocketed him back to years gone by. His sudden growl in tone halted Greg’s bounce, a frown formed. Taking a nail polished thumb in his grip, he surrendered.
“Ok, ok. Jam on.” He kissed Nick’s cheek, and played with the dials once more, finding treasure amongst the trash. He couldn’t help staring across at the black and white squares, he knew Nick would never understand how important this little outing was, how much it meant. Watching the streak of city lights go by, he rested a palm on his boyfriend’s leg. Miracle.
---
The ‘door ajar’ signal beeped shrilly, he was frozen. This was not some minor hipster get-together; there were at least fifty cars in the lot. Swallowing a curse, he gathered himself and was led, drug, to the door.
“Heh, I thought there’d be a few more people here tonight. Joke, joke.” He shrugged and sat at the nearest covered table. Sensing discomfort from Nick, he brandished a smile laced with thank yous, and pointed to the bar. A small reward, well deserved. He sauntered over, making sure his hips were followed the entire course. He would pay later, oh yes; merciless teasing leads to fervid sweat and ripped denim. He could feel the electricity as he walked across, that wave of youthful leisure coating the room. He scoped the scene, not a care in the world witnessed. This had been planned for one reason, he wanted Nick to really see, wanted him to feel how on fire the world could be. No crime tape, no blood, no fear. The night pulsed all around and he wanted Nicky to pick up on the cadence.
He observed the madding crowd, couples of every mix and match, flowing along and cavorting. Rude honks of laughter echoing over synthesizers, taffeta crinkle; the lilt of feet on polished floorboards carving a grin from a stony facade. Nick realized he actually didn’t hate being there. No one gave him a second look, as they were just as wildly dressed. Fun, just fun. Greg swam back, multicolored drinks in possession. Trying to hide a cheered expression, he bore holes into newly purchased spats.
“ Uh-huh. I saw that, mister. That was a smile.” Nudging him playfully, he wrapped a pink sneakered foot around Nick’s. Leaning in, he snuck a kiss; lips gave warm reception.
“Yeah, it was a smile.”
“See, it’s not so bad to sink to my level.” He felt an arm being draped over his shoulder, and warm breath against his ear.
“I don’t consider this sinking, babe. More like, losing my mind.” Drawn out vowels enveloped him, magma flowed through his veins. Reaping the benefits of taunting so soon. Feeling the zipper of the skirt dig painfully, he directed his gaze towards the dance floor.
Hinting, a finger poked ribs. Slumping his shoulders, he knew Greg would get him to dance sooner or later. A rose tinted pout drove him to madness, and he weakly agreed. As they left their seats, a recognizable tune blared, and a full smirk displayed itself.
“I’ll be damned.” A song Nick actually liked.
They situated towards the middle, finding their feet with impromptu movements. He noticed how Stoke’s lower half barely budged, laughing at the obvious. Wrapping tight arms around a solid back, he rested his head and whispered lyrics intimately with the beat. Slowly their rate increased, caught up with the song. With a surprise, his partner began a waltz like spin, picking up beams of cheap pastel lighting as they went round. Dreamlike state. He ground into Nick as their turning continued; radiant gyration. As one song bled into the next he motioned to the washroom, knowing he wouldn’t be alone.
---
“Are you crazy? No, don’t answer that.” Nick found himself in a dingy, doorless stall with a fevered crossdresser unbuckling his belt for him.
“Perks of insanity. Don’t worry jeez, I locked the main door.”
“That’ll only give us five minutes, Greg.” Nick felt the words ‘all it takes’ muffled by the onslaught of tongues and wet space. Necking like teenagers, they thrashed and panted, yearning to get closer. Breaking the kiss he flipped him to face the wall, and yanked up his skirt. A pair of checkered bikini briefs barely covering his ass stared back. As Nick fumbled with the condom wrapper, Greg turned his head with toothy smile, shimmying down the underwear.
“Didn’t you ever wear matching stuff with your steadies in highschool?” Greg giggled as moistened fingers found their way deep, coaxing a purr. Nick slipped out, refilling the void abruptly with sharp hardness. His eyes rolled as he noticed the unconscious tempo, they were thrusting in time with the music. He gasped as Nick encircled his dick with a firm grip, and pumped with every push. It became a new dance, the move and swivel, moan and grunt. Compressing heaven into the pounding drive, he ached as Nick hammered faster.
“Love you…love you…” Nick dispersed sweetness as mercury ascended and shot forth. Shuddering inside, he sensed Greg soon following, covering a scream with his hand. They stood immobile as the last of the shakes subsided.
“I think it’s been five minutes,” he quipped as the door handle rattled loudly. Trying to correct his disheveled appearance, he glanced at Nick. A face filled with sparkle blazed back.
“Ready to go home now, Nicky?”
He shook his head as the record changed.
“Nah, let’s dance babe.”
They exited nonchalantly, ignoring the angered expressions of those who had to wait, and stepped back on the floor, floating gently with the pack. Forgetting all, Nick positioned his head on Greg’s shoulder, kissing a spot of collarbone and hugged him tighter. He could stay like this all night.
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no subject
Date: 2005-01-03 12:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-03 01:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-03 01:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-03 02:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-03 05:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-03 10:25 pm (UTC)::runs to dl it::
And thanks sweetie!
no subject
Date: 2005-01-03 07:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-03 10:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-03 08:54 pm (UTC)Your writing style, however, is very unique, and something not very easily done. It's easy to get lost in descriptions and lose sight of what's going on, I think, and you did it very very well.
More than very very well. Excellent. Wish I could. xP
no subject
Date: 2005-01-03 10:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-03 10:31 pm (UTC)Would you mind if I friended you, or would you rather keep your flist down to a min?
no subject
Date: 2005-01-03 10:37 pm (UTC)::gobbles cookies, runs to friend ya back::
no subject
Date: 2005-01-03 10:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-03 11:36 pm (UTC)I thank you so very much, darling!
I'm quite fond of the bathroom scene as well, teehee.
no subject
Date: 2005-01-03 11:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-03 11:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-04 03:32 am (UTC)