fic - greg sanders's personal credo
Jul. 12th, 2008 11:34 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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nickngregTitle: greg sanders's personal credo
Rating: PG-13 for sex 'n swears.
Warnings: Um... sex 'n swears?
Summary: Greg is human, after all.
Spoilers: None.
A/N: A very, very short fic that was written in about twenty minutes. Yes, I am aware that's not an excuse.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to its respectful owner; I am making no profit off of this whatsoever.
i.
Greg Sanders lives by a code of facts, logic and reason. He is a scientist, after all, but sometimes, sheer animal instinct overrules even the most common sense he has.
He is human, after all.
It starts on a Tuesday, Greg’s least favorite day of the week. He supposes he should hate Mondays, but on Monday, he gets his favorite surfing magazine, so he can’t hate it. Instead, he hates Tuesday, because A.) His mail is shit on Tuesdays and B.) It’s not Wednesday. So he settles for hating Tuesdays.
It starts right after his shift ends on Tuesday when he goes to the locker room and he hears someone singing in the shower. He can’t make out the song, but he knows it’s Nick singing. He knows Nick’s voice.
The very notion that he knows Nick’s voice doesn’t strike him as weird.
He starts taking off his shoes when he hears the shower turn off but he doesn’t hear Nick come out until Nick’s voice surprises him.
Nick says, “Hey, G,” and smiles beautifully.
Greg says, “Nngh,” and tries not to stare at Nick’s chest. It’s hard, of course, because Nick’s chest is right there and it’s very broad and tan and sculpted. Plus, there are still water droplets clinging to the skin, glistening in the light.
He is human, after all.
“What’s up?” Nick asks.
“The sky,” Greg answers, because he’s too focused on how white the (sinfully small) towel around Nick’s hips is. If he could just tug on the towel… No, because common sense tells him, Greg, there is a time and place, and this is neither. So he opts for staring and picturing maybe dripping melting chocolate on that bare skin, then licking it off.
He can feel his logic and libido fighting somewhere near his liver as he stares hungrily at Nick. Sara told him once, Greg, when you’re hungry, you look kind of like a violent squirrel, and, God, Greg hopes that she was just kidding, because that’s not attractive at all.
His libido wins the boxing match and Greg stands up and pulls Nick into a kiss, burying his fingers in Nick’s wet, dark hair and he feels Nick’s hands moving.
Fact: Whatever is going on, it’s going to end very badly.
Logic tells him this. Common sense tells him this. Reason tells him this.
He is a scientist, after all.
But another credo that Greg Sanders lives by is never doing anything half-assed. So, he figures if he’s going to fuck up, he won’t do it badly. He’ll fuck up spectacularly.
Luckily, he feels Nick’s hands going to his fly and then Nick breaks away and smiles that wonderful, sexy half-smile, half-smirk and says, “So, my place or yours?”
Greg says, “What about your truck?” because he can’t say, “Which is closer?”, not when Nick is wearing just that smirk and a fucking towel.
Nick says, “Good answer. Give me five.”
Greg says, “I’ll give you two minutes and thirty seconds. Starting now.”
He’s pretty sure if Nick keeps smirking/smiling like that, he’ll just tear the damn towel off and fuck him in the showers.
He is human, after all.
*
end
Rating: PG-13 for sex 'n swears.
Warnings: Um... sex 'n swears?
Summary: Greg is human, after all.
Spoilers: None.
A/N: A very, very short fic that was written in about twenty minutes. Yes, I am aware that's not an excuse.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to its respectful owner; I am making no profit off of this whatsoever.
i.
Greg Sanders lives by a code of facts, logic and reason. He is a scientist, after all, but sometimes, sheer animal instinct overrules even the most common sense he has.
He is human, after all.
It starts on a Tuesday, Greg’s least favorite day of the week. He supposes he should hate Mondays, but on Monday, he gets his favorite surfing magazine, so he can’t hate it. Instead, he hates Tuesday, because A.) His mail is shit on Tuesdays and B.) It’s not Wednesday. So he settles for hating Tuesdays.
It starts right after his shift ends on Tuesday when he goes to the locker room and he hears someone singing in the shower. He can’t make out the song, but he knows it’s Nick singing. He knows Nick’s voice.
The very notion that he knows Nick’s voice doesn’t strike him as weird.
He starts taking off his shoes when he hears the shower turn off but he doesn’t hear Nick come out until Nick’s voice surprises him.
Nick says, “Hey, G,” and smiles beautifully.
Greg says, “Nngh,” and tries not to stare at Nick’s chest. It’s hard, of course, because Nick’s chest is right there and it’s very broad and tan and sculpted. Plus, there are still water droplets clinging to the skin, glistening in the light.
He is human, after all.
“What’s up?” Nick asks.
“The sky,” Greg answers, because he’s too focused on how white the (sinfully small) towel around Nick’s hips is. If he could just tug on the towel… No, because common sense tells him, Greg, there is a time and place, and this is neither. So he opts for staring and picturing maybe dripping melting chocolate on that bare skin, then licking it off.
He can feel his logic and libido fighting somewhere near his liver as he stares hungrily at Nick. Sara told him once, Greg, when you’re hungry, you look kind of like a violent squirrel, and, God, Greg hopes that she was just kidding, because that’s not attractive at all.
His libido wins the boxing match and Greg stands up and pulls Nick into a kiss, burying his fingers in Nick’s wet, dark hair and he feels Nick’s hands moving.
Fact: Whatever is going on, it’s going to end very badly.
Logic tells him this. Common sense tells him this. Reason tells him this.
He is a scientist, after all.
But another credo that Greg Sanders lives by is never doing anything half-assed. So, he figures if he’s going to fuck up, he won’t do it badly. He’ll fuck up spectacularly.
Luckily, he feels Nick’s hands going to his fly and then Nick breaks away and smiles that wonderful, sexy half-smile, half-smirk and says, “So, my place or yours?”
Greg says, “What about your truck?” because he can’t say, “Which is closer?”, not when Nick is wearing just that smirk and a fucking towel.
Nick says, “Good answer. Give me five.”
Greg says, “I’ll give you two minutes and thirty seconds. Starting now.”
He’s pretty sure if Nick keeps smirking/smiling like that, he’ll just tear the damn towel off and fuck him in the showers.
He is human, after all.
*
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Date: 2008-07-13 07:37 am (UTC)This was great :)
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Date: 2008-07-14 04:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-13 09:25 am (UTC)This line had me...loved it!
Great fic btw
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Date: 2008-07-14 04:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-13 10:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-14 04:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-13 11:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-14 04:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-13 01:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-14 04:49 pm (UTC)We're all mad, hereYes, we are. And, thanks. Also, your icon is just freaking CUTE.no subject
Date: 2008-07-13 04:17 pm (UTC)*drool*
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Date: 2008-07-14 04:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-13 09:35 pm (UTC)This was sexy.
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Date: 2008-07-14 04:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-17 11:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-18 01:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-22 04:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-22 04:53 pm (UTC)