New Story: You Don't Know

[jettblack0110.livejournal.com]

So maybe you wondered why I needed to know what Nick's ring looked like...even if you didn't, here's why:

Title:  You Don't Know
Rating: R 
Warning: some NonCon
Summary: Angst, people, angst

                You don’t know what you do to me.

                You don’t know that your look makes goosebumps rise on my arms.

                That your voice makes my throat run dry.

                That your scent makes me feel at home.

                That your warmth reaches to the ends of my toes.

                You don’t know that I lie when I agree just sex.

                You don’t know that I wish it were more.

                That I wish we could read the paper Sunday mornings in bed.

                That I wish we could buy a house and get a dog.

                That I wish we could shop for gold bands promising forever.

                You don’t know that you take a piece of my heart when you take me.

                You don’t know that you’re using me.

                That I hate it.

                That I love it.

 

                It’s typical.  The guy I fall head-over-heels in love with is the one that just wants a no-strings-attached friend with benefits.  We danced around each other at work all those years, but really truly became friends when I became a CSI.  Then we danced around each other in the office and on the field.  And what a dance it was.  I’ll never really know if you were just humoring me in my attempts to flirt, or if you were really flirting back.  I’ll go with the latter, for now, because you’re ringing my doorbell.  I know it’s you because you gave me that look in the locker room.  The one that says you’ll be coming over and getting what you need.  We began this little arrangement a little after the wedding case with the murderous bridesmaids.  We were on your couch getting drunk, when you leaned over me to get the remote.  I don’t remember how our lips came together, but before I knew it, you were straddling me and neither of us had clothes on.  We rubbed together and got off quickly, releasing built-up tension of that stupid case.  You didn’t know that I had released the tension of a five year crush.  I’ll admit I was astounded when you brought up the idea of casual sex, but nothing could make me say no.  And I still can’t say no when I let you in the door and then you’re pressing me up against it.

                I can’t say no as your hands push my shirt over my shoulders and down my arms before tearing your own off.  Words become obsolete as our chests press together and you slide your hands along my back and ass.  Thinking becomes pointless when you open our pants and push them down.  I guess we won’t even make it to the bedroom this time.  At least we have enough sense to fall on the couch before you start rubbing against me.  We’re moaning and gripping each other’s skin viciously.  I tell myself it’s fate when we come at the same time, warm on my chest.  You don’t even say goodbye before you’re out the door and on your way home.  And I just lay here, drawing a finger through the mess on my chest, wishing I could have this all the time.

 

                You don’t know that I let you use me.

                That I count the seconds until you come back to me.

    You don’t know that I love you.
--- - -  -  -

               I bite my hand in frustration after uttering those forbidden words.  The ones we said would not be attached to this arrangement.  The ones that mean that this means so much more than a release.  You stop moving and pull back suddenly, leaving me gasping at the emptiness, but not before I feel your warmth splash against my thigh.  You are staring at me like I have said the dirtiest curse word, disbelief masked by anger.  Your brows are drawn so tight it looks like they are connected, and your mouth is slightly open as you pant silently.  

                I can only stare back, my mouth open, too, as I suck in lungfuls of nervous breaths.  I should not be held responsible for what I say when we are burning together.  But who am I kidding?  I meant what I said, because I know I am yours.  You use me as you will, and I know I love it.  As much as I ache when you are with me, the pain grows when we are apart.  I already said I cannot live without you, as much as it hurts to open my eyes to an empty bed.  You are always so silent when you leave.  But your silence then is louder than a cannon compared to the silence now as you continue to stare at me.  I drop my gaze under your intense stare, and I feel the blush creep into my cheeks and the hot tears prick my eyes.  I know what this means.  I knew the consequences of those words when we had our first night.  But tonight, tonight, you made me feel so good.  There was the intense fire of our previous meetings, but this time there was a rare tenderness in your touch that sent me over the edge.  The words came tumbling out of mouth from the smoldering pit of my being.  It started as physical attraction.  Then came psychological need.  But now it is an all-consuming inferno.  It is not just my body or my mind that feels it.  My entire self, my world, my life: they are yours and yours only.  

                But not anymore, it seems, because I broke the first rule.  The cardinal rule of the arrangement.  And now you are rummaging in the dark for your discarded clothing, and I sit on the edge of the mattress with my back to you, willing away the tears that are threatening to spill over.  I hear you pad over to the door, but then you stop.  I want to say something, to shrug it off like it was an accident.  But we both know it is not true.  You heave a sigh and walk out, leaving me panting in the cold dark of the room.  I hear the front door slam.

                And then the barrier breaks, and the tears leave hot trails down my face.  It is not sobbing; I left that stage years ago.  It is liquid frustration bubbling over the surface.  My breath is hitching painfully as the tears soak little circles in the carpet.  You brought me to this.  You had to be fucking perfect.  Everything I fucking want, everything I need.  But my cheeks burn with shame all the same because I could not keep my mouth shut.  I said those words because they embody you in my life.  And they still do.  And I will say them again. 

 

I love you.  God, I love you.

--- - -  -  -

               He rolls off of me, pulling out roughly, and I hear a sticky slap as rubber hits the wastebasket; he is asleep before he hits the mattress.  I lay on my stomach, heaving as I try to suck in enough oxygen to not pass out.  His back is to me, and he steals the comforter to his side of the bed.  I turn to my side, shivering, not wanting to wake him up, because then I would have to face what I did.  It has been months since the words flew out of my mouth.  Months since you looked me in the eye.  Months since you touched me.  And tonight, tonight it was just too much.

                I went to a bar.  Not thinking about you, I had upwards of twelve shots; you would have been proud of how well I held my liquor.  But I was looser.  He sidled up next to me, talked to me, touched me.  A casual brush of hands, his hand on my elbow, his hand on my knee.  I do not know what he looks like, because I can only see you.  The way you used to talk to me; we would laugh, you even told me about the glass box.  I felt you, not him, touch my hand, my elbow.  It was your hand on my knee, not his.  He read me well, apparently, because next I knew, I was on my stomach and he was pounding into me.  

                And now I am here.  I draw my knees to my chest and bite my lip as a hot tear slides over my nose to drop onto the sheets.  I let a stranger do what I had reserved for you, only you.  A slight snore cuts through the silence of the room.  And the dam breaks.  Tears are staining the sheet beneath my temple as I hug myself closer.  The sobs make my lungs ache as I try not to make a sound.  I am no longer yours.  I gave myself away like a common whore, and that is what I am.  I am a whore because I promised myself to you.  I did not keep that promise.  You left because of those damned words, and you took my heart with you.  But I would come back to you, like a dog to its master.  I do not deserve you now.  My face is feverishly hot and I want to get up, get away from this stranger next to me.  But if I wake him, I will have to look at him.  I will have to see he is not you.  He is not you.  He did not possess the tenderness or the passion.  I was a way for him to get off.  For myself to get off.  There was none of the emotion like when you and I burn.  No, tonight was a nameless, faceless fuck.  For him.  

                My breathing has returned to normal, if a little strained and shallow.  I turn my head to glimpse the stranger.  He sleeps deeply.  I ease myself to a sitting position, keeping my back to him, and I reach for the tissue on the bedside table.  My hand falls on something hard and square, invisible in the darkness of the room.  But I know what it is, and before I can register what is happening, my fingers are dialing your number on the phone.  My heart is in my throat as each ring resounds loudly in my ear.  I stop breathing completely when you answer, your voice husky with sleep.  I swallow a couple of times as you speak again, but nothing will come out.  Finally realizing what I am doing, I snap the phone shut.  It clatters to the floor as I grip my hair in frustration.  I am such an idiot, so god damn stupid.  You do not want me anymore that is why you left in the first place.  You would not want to talk things through.  We cannot go back to the way things used to be, even before we made our arrangement.  It is all my fault, and that is what kills me the most.  I drove you away, and now I need you more than ever.  I feel an angry groan bubble in my throat and escape through my mouth.  Of course, you will know it was me that called, thanks to the wonderful technology of our age.  I wonder if you even care.

                I fall back against the pillow, staring unseeingly at the luminous red numbers on the alarm clock.  I used to have an alarm clock with green numbers, but I bought a new one when you had a nightmare about that damn box with the green glow sticks.  I am hopeless now, because I cannot even look at inanimate objects without thinking about you.  My couch and bed where we fucked countless times; the table where we shared hasty meals between shifts; even my car, where your presence in the passenger seat on long rides was a constant calming comfort after a tough shift.  If only I had kept my fucking mouth shut.  Now I am laying in bed with someone I wish was you.   Nearly a half an hour has passed, but it feels like it has been days as I fight off an overwhelming urge to dash my head on the wall for being such an idiot.  I run aching fingers through my hair; I have to go to work soon.  I have to be near you soon.

                The bed is moving and groans drift along in the dark bedroom as the stranger stirs.  He throws a hand over my hip, grabbing roughly.  His fingers are cold against my skin, not like yours that were always warm with your constantly burning fire.  I shiver and pull away, finally finding the strength to leave the room.  I drag myself to the coffee maker and punch the button moodily.  Turning to stare at my apartment, I growl low in my throat as I see the trail of clothing leading to the bedroom.  I do not even remember the trip home from the bar.  I pad over and put my discarded boxers back on, followed by a t-shirt.  It does not help with the shivering.  I gather the stranger’s clothes in a pile, and numbly walk to the wall by my front door to hang my now extremely wrinkled blazer.  I cannot believe I wore that tonight.  It was a blazer I bought for you, that day after you commented on how good I looked in my suit for court.  I only ever wanted to please you.  Guess I failed on that one.  Damn my mouth.  As I set the jacket on the hook, arms wrap themselves tightly around my waist and lips latch on to the side of my neck.

                I pull away, prying the arms away from my body.  Instead of the warm softness that was always your embrace, the stranger is all bone and hard sinew, more like pincers.  I turn to face him, to tell him to leave, when he plants a hand on my chest, driving me into the wall the same time his tongue drives into my mouth.  I feel the doorknob digging into my back, and suddenly I am angry.  I am angry that I let this stranger in my house, that I let him take me.  But mostly I am angry he is not you.  Gathering my strength, I shove him away from me, hard.  He clips a hip on the corner of the kitchen table, and gives me a glare.  I could not have seen it coming if I tried: his fist connects sharply with my jaw and I stagger to my knees.  

                I relish the ache.  Finally the pain on the outside matches the inside.  I deserve this.

                But he does not stop there.  A foot connects with my ribs and suddenly I am on my back and he is straddling me, making quick work of removing my boxers.  I know what is going to happen.  And I just lie still, because it would not make any difference.  You already do not want me, now it is just a matter of sealing the deal.  I feel a hot tear slide down my temple and into my hair as his hand grips my chin roughly and his tongue enters my mouth again.  He is grinding against me forcefully, his knees pinning my arms to my sides.  Not that I would fight back now.  I might as well be the slut I have become.

                He stops moving and pries open my legs.  Suddenly I am afraid, I do not want this after all.  I struggle and he hits me again, I swear I can feel the bruise rising on my cheekbone.  There is a sharp pain and I think I have yelled aloud.  My mind is a haze as panic and pain fight for dominance.  I even imagine hearing the door open, I am that far gone.  But then from the side of my vision, I see a booted foot come out of nowhere and connect with the stranger’s side.  Another sharp pain as he falls to his side.  I hear the muffled thump of flesh connecting with flesh, and then the door slams.  My eyes are closed tight against the pain, but I hear harsh breathing that is not coming from me.  I am pretty sure I imagined it all.  He probably just got too overexcited and lost his balance.  Any minute now he will pick right back up where he left off.

                I jerk slightly as a hand falls on my shoulder.  But I know whose hand it is.  It is warm and soft, but a hand that can bring me to the heights of bliss.  I open my eyes, and yours are staring right back into mine.  I know I am dreaming now, because you are not here.  It is just my mind playing tricks on my again, like when I saw you at the bar instead of the stranger, when it was you fucking me, not him.  But instead of the stranger taking me again, the hand slides under my neck, another under my knees, and I leave the ground.  I feel sheets under my abused skin and the comforter cover my shoulders.  And it hits me.  It is your warm hand.  You slide it along my neck up to cup my chin.  I think you are looking at my split lip and swelling bruise, but my vision is slightly blurred with tears.  I feel your thumb stroke my cheek before your hand pulls away.  I want to thank you, but as I sit up, you are already gone.

                You came back only to leave again.

--- - -  -  -

                A crack of sunlight filters through my heavy curtains and pierces its way into my head.  But the subtle pain of my pupils constricting is nothing to the pounding headache that worsens with each heartbeat.  The air conditioning has left my bed cold, but not matching the winter in my heart.  I think I remember last night, but the alcohol definitely did its job.  The pain in my body is focused in my head; the hangover headache makes me want to throw up, and my cheek and lip sting every time I blink and breathe.  I will not even think about the pain other than my head, because a fresh wave of nausea threatens to breach my defenses and make me wretch over the side of the mattress.  With immense effort, I flop my arm over onto the bedside table, feeling for the familiar plastic form of my phone.

                Grissom says I even sound too sick to get out of bed, let alone come to work.  At least one thing is going right.  I roll over and throw the pillow over my head, trying to block out the pain and the memories from the night before.  Yeah, right.  As if I could forget you.  For a few seconds, there, I thought you actually cared, thought you had come back to me.  But then you were gone, as quickly as you had appeared.  In fact, I am beginning to think you were just an alcohol-induced figment of my imagination because you did not even talk.  Although there is no denying the warmth of your hand on my face.  It was there, for a little bit at least.  Just like you.

                I pop a couple of painkillers left over from my beating a few months ago, and finally my body goes numb and my eyelids droop.  But I do not get any rest, because you are in my dreams.  You remind me of summer afternoons playing outside.  Those little gnats that always fly right in front of your eyes and will not leave you alone.  You are always right in front of my eyes.  You will not leave me alone.  Some days I wish I could just get a can of Raid and end it all.  Some days I want to catch you and hold you in my hand close to my heart.  I always caught fireflies in a jar; they glowed bright enough to read my comics and textbooks.  But I would wake up the next day, and their lights had gone out.  For good.  You were my firefly.  I want to believe our light is not out for good, but the way you left me, twice now, I cannot be too sure.  So I labor through sleep.  And I labor through life.

 

--- - -  -  -

 

                More months have passed since the night that I stopped living.  I do pretty well as an empty shell of a person; it is not all that difficult.  Everyone has noticed the change; a few have even tried to talk about it.  But I am a good liar, so they believe me when I say it is a rough patch, that I will get over it.  I am almost to the point where I can keep my composure around you, too.  Almost.

                When we work together, or even when I see you in the hallway, my being is torn asunder.  Every time.  Every time I want to cry and yell; every time I want to beg you to come back to me.  Today was hard.  We worked a case together, we joked a little.  And then you referred to something you had told me about while we were together.  It brought back all the feelings of those days, and I had to walk away before I threw myself at you.  I am currently cowering in the locker room, hoping you do not need an extra shirt or something, because you will find me with wet cheeks and vulnerability.

                Sure enough, you canter into the locker room, laughing at something someone said before you came in.  You turn to look at me and stop short.  I am startled out of my sitting position, and I drag my forearm across my face, smearing the tears on my suit coat.  They are only salt, water, and enzymes, but I know you know they mean so much more.  I cannot decipher the look you have, so I walk past as fast as I can, thanking god I have my keys in my pocket.  A short car ride will get me home and I can hurt all I want, no interruptions.  You make a move as if to stop me, but I dodge your outstretched hand and slam through the door.  I would like to think I hear you sigh, but it could just be the drafts of air circulating through the vents.  Who cares; right now I only focus on getting to my bed and cocooning myself in the dark comfort of the blankets.

 

--- - -  -  -

 

                I wake up some time later, the pre-dawn grey leaking into my bedroom.  Shivers race down my spine as the chill of the morning leaks into my shell of comfort.  I think about making coffee, but I really just want to stay in bed.  Maybe the Discovery Channel will show a documentary about birds.  The times you stayed, we would watch bird shows, and I would delight in the fascination you showed.  It was the same fascination you showed when we blazed.  I reach for the remote control, but I am stopped by the doorbell.

                I stay silent, wanting whoever it is to go away.  I do not want to deal with people today.  If one more person asks if I am okay, I may just tell them the truth.  No one wants that.  This person is persistent, though, as the doorbell sounds again.  I clench my jaw and throw off the covers.  My jaw drops as I throw open the door.

                It is you.  At my door.  

                It looks like you have been outside for a while; your nose and cheeks are pink with cold and little beads of moisture cling to your hair.

                You are looking me straight in the eye, and the intensity of your stare is intimidating.  I want to look away, but I cannot.  

                You bring an icy hand to stroke my cheek, and I instinctively lean into your touch.

                Your other hand presses what feels like an ice cube into my palm.  

                I wrench my eyes from yours, and I look down on my hand.  A silver ring lies flat, a six-petaled flower in the center surrounded by a woven vine.  I look from my hand to your right hand.  To the pale band of skin on your right ring finger, where this ring used to go.

                I close my hand around the ring as you step in and close the door.

So there you have it.  I initially wrote this as a four chapter series...but condensed it all together for this post.  It's a little depressing, I think, but at least it has a semi-good ending.  I can't bring myself to keep them apart, they're too perfect for each other.
Thanks for reading!!

Comments

[fuqmeharry.livejournal.com]

I LOVED THIS!
I'm really thinking you need a sequel.
:)

[peezyluv.livejournal.com]

Nick is really slow... several months to decide !! it's greg, it should have been instantaneous (is it a word?).
But finally he came back to his right mind ^^
a sequel would be good, or maybe nick point of view, explaining why it took so long ;-)

[seether-79.livejournal.com]

Really great story. I'm thinking a sequel would rock. Beautifully written :)

[jettblack0110.livejournal.com]

Ooh I really like the idea of a companion piece in Nick's POV. I may get that one started.
Thanks so much for your comments, they really made my day!

[wojo62.livejournal.com]

OMG that was so heartbreaking and sad, and well written. You brought tears to my eyes but you made me smile again with that happy ending.

[jettblack0110.livejournal.com]

I'm glad you liked it. Like I said, I can't stand to see them apart, so happy ending was a must.

[donnab810.livejournal.com]

Beautiful, absoloutly (sp!) beautiful...

lovely words that you used to express how much Greg was hurting, how distant Nick treated him.

friends with benefits- o please. Greg deserves a man 100% commmited to him.

Breathtaking, please please do another one.