The Evils of Sticky Paper

[quettaser.livejournal.com]

There's just something about Post-It Notes. Well, not really, but I can pretend. So, due to demands, "An Idle Post-It is the Devil's Plaything" is now the first installment in a series: "Post-It Devilry." Now, I offer you installment two (hehe, rhyming).

Title: The Devil Gets Played
Author: Quettaser
Rating: NC-17 (the smut returns-ish!)
Summary: Nick takes revenge, Post-It style.

I. An Idle Post-It is the Devil's Plaything

            Greg walked into the house, happily whistling a non-existent tune, dropping his keys on the table by the door, right on top of a bright yellow post-it note. Greg, intrigued, picked it up.

            Hello Greg, how was your shift? Mine was…interesting to say the least. So, you like post-it notes, do you? Why don’t you follow the yellow-brick road?

            Greg looked up from the curious post-it to see a trail of yellow post-it notes stuck to the floor, leading to the bedroom. Greg grinned, thinking of the things that would soon be happening in that bedroom, glad that he had had the time to mess with Nick’s head this morning. Sex with Nick when he was “frustrated” was always hot, and rough, and a myriad of other words Greg was enjoying running through his head.

            Greg smiled as he carefully picked up each post-it on the floor, each one with an arrow pointing towards the bedroom, as if he didn’t know where he was going. Greg’s grin grew as he placed his hand on the doorknob, he was going to have himself some ssssseeeeeeexxx! But then, Greg noticed yet another post-it stuck to the door.

            Open the door, Greg.

            Greg obeyed the post-it. What he found inside the bedroom was not what he expected. There wasn’t a naked Nick tackling him to the bed, or even a semi-naked Nick kissing him hard. No, instead, he got post-its. Every inch of exposed wall was covered in those eye-searing yellow post-it notes. Stunned, Greg continued to read the post-it in his hand.

            I really do hope you like post-its. You see, it really wasn’t very nice of you to get me all hot and bothered-

            Greg had to stop reading and suppress a laugh, because only Nick would actually write “hot and bothered.”

            -so I thought I’d make you work for your orgasms today. On the walls are phone numbers. I’ll be on the other end of one of them. You find the right number, you’ll get those kisses and handjobs and whatever else you can handle. Hurry up, you don’t have a lot of time. Waiting to fuck you, love Nick.

            Greg stared at the neon yellow walls around him. There must have been hundreds of post-its, and hundreds of phone numbers to call. Greg unconsciously crumpled the post-it in his hand. He went over to the phone that was by the bed and picked up the nearest post-it and dialed the number.

            Not Nick. He pulled another off the wall. Not Nick. He went through ten numbers before he stumbled upon another note.

I thought you might start near here. It’s a good guess, but you’re pretty far off. The thing is, though, I’m not. When you call, it won’t be long before my lips are on yours and we’re naked on the bed and we can finally get around to all those things we should have been doing yesterday.

            Greg, getting desperate, his body aching for Nick, dashed across the room and grabbed another post-it at random. He didn’t stop to process the need he felt. It went deeper than just desire for sex, for physical contact. He needed Nick, needed his presence, his smile, his smell, his eyes. He knew it, but he didn’t recognize it. The thoughts didn’t sink in; he was too busy dialing wrong numbers. He ran across another note.

Just to let you know, Greg, while, you’re dialing all those wrong numbers, I’m sitting by the phone, thinking about you, naked and hot underneath me, the way your hot little ass feels wrapped around my cock. Mmm…maybe I’m touching myself right now...wouldn’t you like to find out? Hurry.

            Greg couldn’t get the thoughts of a masturbating Nick out of his head. He kept dialing incorrectly, getting more and more frustrated each time he had to start over. Nick, naked, hands running over those tight muscles…damnit, he’d messed up the number again. Greg decided he wasn’t going to be able to get through this unless he cooled down a little, so he walked into the bathroom.

            And there was Nick, leaning against the bathroom wall across from the door, naked, lazily stroking himself with one hand, a phone in the other. “Finally,” said Nick, dropping the phone to the floor and coming over to Greg. Greg just stood there stunned, unable to form words as Nick reached behind him to shut the door. “If you had taken any longer,” said Nick, peeling off Greg’s clothes and backing him up against the door, “I was just going to come out there.”

            Greg, regaining cognitive abilities, pulled Nick tight against him and kissed him hard. Nick moaned into the kiss, pressing Greg harder against the door, thrusting his hips against Greg’s, their cocks rubbing hard against each other. Greg’s moan was loud as his broke the kiss, his head leaning back, hitting the door, pushing his hips back against Nick’s.

            Nick kissed his way down Greg’s neck, picking a few choice spots to nibble and bite, to mark. Both men were too frustrated, too turned on to make it last long. They ground against each other, both desperate just to find release. They found a rhythm together, fast, and hard, lost in pure sensation. They raced towards orgasm, each breathless and without thought, only feeling the heat, the skin, the sweat, the pleasure.

            They could never remember who came first, but it didn’t matter, they were both lost in a place beyond words, beyond reality, lost in bliss and satisfaction. For a while, they remained there, melted against the door, existing somewhere between themselves, somewhere in the middle, where they weren’t two, they were one being, one mind, one heartbeat. Screaming muscles fell on deaf ears, and thoughts were slow in coming.

            They could remember this feeling with silent looks, soft touches, and warm breath.

            They could not remember this feeling with words.

They could remember who spoke first, with deep, shuddering breaths and a stilted cadence.

“Who’s the bastard, now?” asked Greg. Nick just smiled, his mind still unable to form the necessary words, his head resting on Greg’s shoulder, his body slick with sweat, still pressed against Greg. They were separate again, the moment past, not forgotten. “I thought you promised me orgasms. As in plural.” Nick forced his brain to use words.

“And I thought you promised me blowjobs and a frilly apron.”

“You really want an apron?” Nick raised his head to meet Greg’s eyes.

“I love you, shut up and let me fuck you.”

Fin!

Next Installment: Post-It Playbook - Look for mucho smut, cause I (and the boys) aim to please.

Comments

[shacky20.livejournal.com]

Damn You woman, Ok not, how about I bow at your feet, just when I thought you couldn't make it any hotter, you kick it up another notch, and then leave it ready for even hotter smut. Damn, I am so happy you found our little forum, and so cannot wait for the next part, seriously, as I start the post it's next to my computer.