(no subject)
*sigh* tell me why I'm not surprised Singapore lost to Malaysia by 40 points? I was really hoping we could win, though. We're just. We should be so good at netball!
citrus; behave; dork; copper; pie
Nick’s hands were trembling as he left Walmart, where he worked as a full time cashier. He’d just heard. No, he was saying, calmly, inside, even though he felt like screaming, like falling to the ground and just *sobbing*. No, this is not happening. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m *fucking* fine. It was once. Fucking once. I’m fine.
Nick checked himself into the hospital for a check up that day, anyway. The doctor told him that they’d have the outcome in two weeks, and that they’d call to let him know when to collect his results. When Nick left the hospital, his hands were still shaking, and he jammed them into his jean pockets, hurrying down the street. Half the time his mind was on AJ. The other half was on Joey, and what was going to happen when everything was found out.
Joey had him on the floor, fingers digging painfully into Nick’s shoulders, five minutes after it had all come tumbling out. “Look what happens when you don’t fucking behave, Carter,” he growled. Nick was writhing in pain, fighting back the tears, back arched up off the floor, a sear of blinding heat traveling up his back.
Joey hit Nick across his face, hard, and the copperish tang of blood flavored Nick’s mouth as his head snapped to a side. “Now you get the fuck out of my house,” the brunette’s voice was low, threatening, “And stay that way.”
Nick didn’t say anything about the house being rightfully his - left to him by his parents - only got up quietly, slowly, when Joey left the room. He swallowed carefully, ignoring the bile that rose at the back of his throat when he tasted his own blood, before moving slowly towards the cupboard, and packing his clothes, a hint of a tired smile finding its way to his lips.
Sleeping on park benches wasn’t half as bad as people made it out to be. Nick liked the freedom, liked knowing he could come and go whenever it felt right, liked knowing he’d never have to hide in his own space, and hope that no one would call him on it, hope that he wouldn’t have to wear shades in the night to hide the newly formed bruises. He liked that he was the one in control.
He went to work, as usual, and two weeks slipped past all too soon, and not soon enough. Nick jumped every time he heard the phone ring, before realizing he didn’t have a cell, and he ended up running to the hospital, almost losing his shoes in his haste, thankful, when he got there, that the test results were already out.
He was ushered into a waiting room, and stayed there, sitting in a hard, plastic red seat, knee bouncing endlessly with nervous energy, for over two hours, before he heard his name, and was shoved into the doctor’s room. His heart was pounding and he refused politely when he was asked to take a seat, his jaw set, standing rigid and terse, hoping and praying for something he wasn’t even sure of.
JC blinked, then blinked again. Then he reached out to take the proffered piece of pie, uncertainly, smiling a wary thank-you at the six-feet-one mass of blonde hair bouncing in the middle of the road. JC put a calming hand on Nick’s shoulder as he bit into the pie, politely - the man was attracting attention.
“You dork,” JC smiled, affectionately - he hoped - when Nick came to a stop, unwritten questions in his eyes. “What?”
Nick just grinned, “Are you free now?”
The hotel was nice. It was Nick’s treat, since he’d insisted, and JC was almost in awe at the extent to which Nick was ready to go. “Nick, are you sure-”
“*Come* on.” Nick tugged on JC’s hand, gently. “I need. I. Oh, god. JC.”
JC licked his lips, and didn’t say anymore, till they were in the hotel room and the door was closed and they were alone. It was dark, and the curtains were drawn, for some bizarre reason, and JC couldn’t see anything but the blue of Nick’s eyes. “What?” he whispered, catching the faintest curve of Nick’s lips in the shadowy room.
“I’m clean.” Nick sounded dizzy, and he was grinning, his smile luminous and real and infectious. JC found himself smiling back. “I took the test, JC, and I’m fucking *clean*.”
JC finally grasped what he was saying, and only smiled wider, as Nick lifted him up and swung him around, giddy with relief. They sank to the floor together, laughing, when Nick accidentally hit JC’s head against the doorway. “Oh my god, JC, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
JC had just laughed, his mirth taking him by surprise, even though his eyes were welling up with involuntary tears of pain. He brushed them away, and nodded. “I’m fine,” it’s all a game, he reminded himself, just a game and please don’t get too involved, thank you for playing. Just smile like everything’s okay, and this will all be over soon, and you can go home and maybe Howie will have soup, and this will stop leaving bitter tastes in your mouth.
“Oh, JC.” And Nick was clutching JC’s skin tight shirt close, gathering the older man in his arms, and suddenly the material on JC’s shoulder was damp, and his arms were awkwardly angled around Nick’s neck. “JC.”
JC was stroking Nick’s back, unsure of himself, of them both, of what they were at all. And then Nick pulled back, and wiped his eyes, and choked a laugh that sounded fake to both of them. Then he drew JC into a kiss, and JC’s lips tasted citrusy, a mingle of biting pain and oh, god, so good. And Nick couldn’t decide if he wanted to stay tangled in JC forever, or if he wanted to up and run, before this blew up in his face and destroyed everything he’d ever believed in.
“I wanted to see you again,” he whispered, when they pulled away, his eyes still wet.
“I know.” And that was all JC said, till he’d helped Nick up, and laid him gently on the bed, “Now tell me what else you want.”
citrus; behave; dork; copper; pie
Nick’s hands were trembling as he left Walmart, where he worked as a full time cashier. He’d just heard. No, he was saying, calmly, inside, even though he felt like screaming, like falling to the ground and just *sobbing*. No, this is not happening. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m *fucking* fine. It was once. Fucking once. I’m fine.
Nick checked himself into the hospital for a check up that day, anyway. The doctor told him that they’d have the outcome in two weeks, and that they’d call to let him know when to collect his results. When Nick left the hospital, his hands were still shaking, and he jammed them into his jean pockets, hurrying down the street. Half the time his mind was on AJ. The other half was on Joey, and what was going to happen when everything was found out.
Joey had him on the floor, fingers digging painfully into Nick’s shoulders, five minutes after it had all come tumbling out. “Look what happens when you don’t fucking behave, Carter,” he growled. Nick was writhing in pain, fighting back the tears, back arched up off the floor, a sear of blinding heat traveling up his back.
Joey hit Nick across his face, hard, and the copperish tang of blood flavored Nick’s mouth as his head snapped to a side. “Now you get the fuck out of my house,” the brunette’s voice was low, threatening, “And stay that way.”
Nick didn’t say anything about the house being rightfully his - left to him by his parents - only got up quietly, slowly, when Joey left the room. He swallowed carefully, ignoring the bile that rose at the back of his throat when he tasted his own blood, before moving slowly towards the cupboard, and packing his clothes, a hint of a tired smile finding its way to his lips.
Sleeping on park benches wasn’t half as bad as people made it out to be. Nick liked the freedom, liked knowing he could come and go whenever it felt right, liked knowing he’d never have to hide in his own space, and hope that no one would call him on it, hope that he wouldn’t have to wear shades in the night to hide the newly formed bruises. He liked that he was the one in control.
He went to work, as usual, and two weeks slipped past all too soon, and not soon enough. Nick jumped every time he heard the phone ring, before realizing he didn’t have a cell, and he ended up running to the hospital, almost losing his shoes in his haste, thankful, when he got there, that the test results were already out.
He was ushered into a waiting room, and stayed there, sitting in a hard, plastic red seat, knee bouncing endlessly with nervous energy, for over two hours, before he heard his name, and was shoved into the doctor’s room. His heart was pounding and he refused politely when he was asked to take a seat, his jaw set, standing rigid and terse, hoping and praying for something he wasn’t even sure of.
JC blinked, then blinked again. Then he reached out to take the proffered piece of pie, uncertainly, smiling a wary thank-you at the six-feet-one mass of blonde hair bouncing in the middle of the road. JC put a calming hand on Nick’s shoulder as he bit into the pie, politely - the man was attracting attention.
“You dork,” JC smiled, affectionately - he hoped - when Nick came to a stop, unwritten questions in his eyes. “What?”
Nick just grinned, “Are you free now?”
The hotel was nice. It was Nick’s treat, since he’d insisted, and JC was almost in awe at the extent to which Nick was ready to go. “Nick, are you sure-”
“*Come* on.” Nick tugged on JC’s hand, gently. “I need. I. Oh, god. JC.”
JC licked his lips, and didn’t say anymore, till they were in the hotel room and the door was closed and they were alone. It was dark, and the curtains were drawn, for some bizarre reason, and JC couldn’t see anything but the blue of Nick’s eyes. “What?” he whispered, catching the faintest curve of Nick’s lips in the shadowy room.
“I’m clean.” Nick sounded dizzy, and he was grinning, his smile luminous and real and infectious. JC found himself smiling back. “I took the test, JC, and I’m fucking *clean*.”
JC finally grasped what he was saying, and only smiled wider, as Nick lifted him up and swung him around, giddy with relief. They sank to the floor together, laughing, when Nick accidentally hit JC’s head against the doorway. “Oh my god, JC, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
JC had just laughed, his mirth taking him by surprise, even though his eyes were welling up with involuntary tears of pain. He brushed them away, and nodded. “I’m fine,” it’s all a game, he reminded himself, just a game and please don’t get too involved, thank you for playing. Just smile like everything’s okay, and this will all be over soon, and you can go home and maybe Howie will have soup, and this will stop leaving bitter tastes in your mouth.
“Oh, JC.” And Nick was clutching JC’s skin tight shirt close, gathering the older man in his arms, and suddenly the material on JC’s shoulder was damp, and his arms were awkwardly angled around Nick’s neck. “JC.”
JC was stroking Nick’s back, unsure of himself, of them both, of what they were at all. And then Nick pulled back, and wiped his eyes, and choked a laugh that sounded fake to both of them. Then he drew JC into a kiss, and JC’s lips tasted citrusy, a mingle of biting pain and oh, god, so good. And Nick couldn’t decide if he wanted to stay tangled in JC forever, or if he wanted to up and run, before this blew up in his face and destroyed everything he’d ever believed in.
“I wanted to see you again,” he whispered, when they pulled away, his eyes still wet.
“I know.” And that was all JC said, till he’d helped Nick up, and laid him gently on the bed, “Now tell me what else you want.”