(no subject)
A Million
Summary: Nick decides to torture Greg via ice-skating. For spilled_notes
Rating: R
Pairing: N/G
Spoilers/Warnings: I don't think they're are any spoilers (certainly not for S10, at least), and no warnings.
Notes: I reread my writing four or five times before posting it, do the whole read backwards bsns, read aloud, blah blah blah, but if there's a messup, lemme know. c:
“Don’t be such a wuss,”
“I am not a wuss!” Greg says indignantly, trying to keep eye contact with Nick and failing. The ice rink mocks him. His knees shiver a little. “Come on, Nick, can’t we-“
“Nope,” Nick says with a smile. “You promised me this; I’m not letting you off that easy.”
Greg groans and leans against the railing, internally hating the thousands of kids who are ice skating at ten AM on a Sunday morning. “You really owe me.”
“Of course I do,” Nick says, obviously thinking otherwise.
“I’m talking, like, really owe me.”
“Right.”
“All right, fine. You wanna make a deal?”
Nick looks up from where he’s sitting on a bench tying the laces on his skates. “What’s your offer?”
Looking out across the ice, Greg says, “If I suffer through three hours of your insane idea of ice skating…”
Nick stands up and hobbles out to the rink with a sigh. “Greg, come on, you’re wasting time, here. I gotta be home for that real estate woman to call.”
“Million blowjobs.”
For a moment, Nick just stares, eyebrows raised. Finally, the corners of his mouth start to twitch upwards. “You’re kidding, right?”
Greg shakes his head. “A million. I’ll be counting.” Nick rolls his eyes. “Come on, I’m serious. A million times. Make me come with your mouth a million times and I’ll forget this family recreation trip from hell ever happened.”
“You know there are at least fifty kids here under eighteen who have parents who would kill you for even thinking that around their kids?” Nick asks, shaking his head when Greg looks around them.
“Nobody’s even around us! They probably realized what creeps we are for being at a skating rink at ten AM.” He glares at Nick for a moment.
Nick sighs. “All right. Stop complaining and you have a deal.”
Greg throws his hands in the air. “Score!”
“Stop complaining and,” Nick says with a wink, “And come out and skate with me and you have yourself a deal.”
Pouting, Greg flops onto the bench, sighing. He stares at the skates in front of him, then looks up at Nick with wide eyes. Nick shakes his head. “Nu-uh; it’s a rite of passage, man. You gotta learn how to put on your own skates,” he says, then takes off around the rink. Greg lets out a moan of frustration.
When he ties his skates, he ties them too loose and the loser girl behind the counter had been too busy ogling the muscles in Nick’s arms to listen to him when he said what size he needed, and as a result, they’re the wrong size. She’s since been replaced with a really big beefy guy that looks like he could crunch Greg as easily as a toothpick and he really doesn’t want to go back up.
“What’s taking you so long?” Nick asks as he skates up beside him, leaning over the railing. Greg mocks him in his best child-like voice. “Stop being such a baby. Ready? Got ‘em good n’ tight?”
“Uh…?” Greg looks down at Nick’s skates, then at his own, trying to figure out just how much of a difference there is between the laces. He honestly can’t see one. “Sure. Let’s go, cowboy.”
Thankfully, Nick helps him up from his spot on the bench and onto the ice rink. “I swear, if you let go of me…”
Nick smiles. “I’m not gonna let go of you,”
“Good.”
They’re hardly on the ice for a minute, but Greg gets cocky and decides he can make it without Nick’s aid, and takes off on his own. Maybe ‘falls on his ass’ would be a better phrase though. His ankle bends at a strange angle, but upon Nick’s inspection, isn’t broken. “Just a sprain, I think. Come on, I’ll get you some ice,” Nick says, lifting Greg up bridal-style, instructing him to wrap his arms around his neck. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work well because Nick can’t move easily and Greg still can’t skate.
“Whooee, you boys look like you need some help!” a woman calls, skating up towards them. Greg scowls. He’d try kicking at Nick if he knew it would help the situation, but there’s no way trying to shove sharp metal into Nick’s side could possibly help at this moment.
“Yeah, actually, I just need to get him to a bench…”
The woman points out farther away, towards the restaurant attached to the ice-rink garage. “There’re booths in there; that might be more comfortable.” Okay, maybe Greg was quick to judge.
“Great, thanks. Hey, can you, uh… help me out? Kinda hard to skate when I can’t see where I’m going,” Nick says. Greg’s scowl deepens. Maybe it’s Nick he should be angry at.
She giggles, and presses her hand to Nick’s back, guiding him across the ice. “Sure thing, cowboy,”
Oh, Greg sure as hell isn’t calling him that anymore. Nick bumps against Greg’s ankle as they’re going off the ice, and Greg whimpers. “Sorry,” Nick says. Greg is very disturbed by the lack of the accompanying pet name that often goes along with Nick’s apologies and his scowl feels like it’s trying to set into his face permanently
Nick pauses to take off Greg’s skates, then his own, and quickly shoves his feet back into his boots before he brings Greg to the restaurant and sets Greg down at one of the tables. The woman follows, clearly having not gotten the hint that Nick was finished talking with her.
“I’ll be right back with some ice,” Nick tells him, holding one of Greg’s hands in between both of his. “Order some hot chocolate or something, yeah? Whatever you want, just make yourself comfortable.
With the concern creasing Nick’s forehead, Greg can almost forget about the woman standing beside them and the fact that she still hasn’t left, despite Nick’s obvious ‘more than friends’ concern he’s showing. “’Kay,”
She walks with Nick all the way back to the front desk, and isn’t subtle about her wishes to sleep with Nick. Greg must look pretty angry, because the waitress that shows up to ask if Greg wants anything notices it easily.
“Whoa, baby! What’s got your panties in a bunch?” she asks, but Greg ignores her. Anything that doesn’t have a penis right now - actually, no, anything that has anything - is very not good for him right now. “Let’s see… I’ve never seen someone so angry about a bruised or busted ankle, so it can’t be that…”
“I have a sprained ankle and a boyfriend who is oblivious to flirting and a woman trying to get into his pants. You can see where I’m coming from now, right?”
The waitress shakes her head. “Oh, hon, don’t freak out about that. I saw that big guy holding your hand and the way he carried you over here. He wouldn’t’ve done that if he didn’t love you.”
Greg shakes his head. “That’s not what I mean, though. What I’m angry about is all of the woman that throw themselves at him. Hell, I’m pretty sure we could be fucking in front of them and they’d still try to think he was straight.”
She takes a seat opposite him. “Listen. A million women could throw themselves at your guy, and I don’t think he’d want any of them. He’s with you.”
Shrugging, Greg spins a sugar packet on the table. “Sure.” He glances up to watch Nick stop at the front desk. The woman’s rubbing against Nick’s back with her right hand. “Ugh!” Turning away, he slams his hand down on the table in hopes of feeling a little of the frustration melt away, but he’s left with more frustration and more pain. The others in the restaurant stare at him as he cradles his arm against his chest. “Today sucks.”
The waitress pats Greg’s hand, then stands back up. “Look, I’ll bring you some hot chocolate. Don’t be so worried about this! He looks very happy with you.” With that, she pulls out a tablet and walks off. Greg wants to look back up at Nick and the Man-Stealer, but forces himself not to. Instead, he sits in pain and wonders how he could possibly get back at Nick for this.
“Two million blowjobs,” Greg amends to the deal when he finally wanders back, without the Man-Stealer, to where Greg’s sitting, still nursing both his ankle and his right hand. Nick pauses before he sits down. He gives Greg a look as he sinks into the booth, then takes Greg’s foot in his lap and lifts up the leg of his jeans. Greg whines.
“Sorry, baby,” Nick says softly, leaning forward to press a kiss to Greg’s ankle. “Why a million more?”
Greg watches intently as Nick presses the ice pack against his leg. “I saw you flirting.” If flirting was a large enough word for what he was doing.
Nick tries to hide the smile that creeps up his face but can’t completely. Greg hates everything about this day. “I wasn’t flirting. She was flirting.”
“Potato, potahto,” Greg says grumpily, “You were flirting.”
Looking up from Greg’s ankle, Nick frowns. “I wasn’t flirting, all right? As soon as we left you in the restaurant, she asked if I could help her kids tie their laces, which I knew she didn’t have kids because she would’ve been with ‘em if she did. She told me about her brother who sprained his ankle while playing hockey and complained about how bad ice skates were these days. I was polite; I wasn’t flirting. I didn’t offer any information about anything she didn’t already know. I didn’t even tell her my name.”
Well, fine then. Greg can’t help the smile that forces its way onto his lips. Traitor. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Nick leans forward, pulling Greg by the collar, and kisses him. “Besides, she told the guy at the front desk that you were my younger brother and had a mental disability and we needed ice to calm your concern.”
Greg decides to stop giving the girl the benefit of the doubt - which okay fine he hadn’t really been doing anyway. “You’re kidding.”
Nick shakes his head, then says, “You gonna take that extra million away now?”
“I might.”
“There’s an ‘if’ coming, isn’t there?”
“I’ll take it away if you promise to start as soon as possible.”
With a chuckle, Nick nods and kisses him again. “Whatever you say.”
--
“You promised,” Greg says as soon as they’re back in the comforting confines of Nick’s apartment. Greg hobbles inside, refusing to be carried or even helped again. Nick kept Greg in the restaurant icing his leg for at least forty five minutes, and he was already sick of all the help. “You made a deal, you can’t just back out of a deal. We shook on it and everything.”
Nick sighs, rubs at his forehead as he kicks off his shoes and tosses his keys in a bowl on the counter. “We did not shake on it.”
“…Okay, so maybe I was hoping you’d forget that.” Nick smiles, walks forward, and wraps his arms around Greg’s waist, pressing their bodies together. Nick can feel Greg’s erection growing against his thigh. “Mm?” He licks at the small space just below Greg’s ear. “Mm…”
“You’re sure this isn’t going to be like the last time we timed out sex?”
Greg shakes his head. “Why-why would it be, it’s not like you’re gonna get off.”
Nick carefully pushes Greg to the couch and straddles his legs. He looks like he’s going to complain, but thinks better of it. “You know, I really don’t approve of doing this without getting something in return.”
Clicking his tongue, Greg pulls Nick closer by his collar. “Here I thought you were being altruistic.”
Nick shushes him with a wet kiss to his lips that Greg immediately moans through. Nick’s deft fingers unbutton and unzip his jeans as he works Greg’s mouth open with his tongue. Greg tries to pull up to let Nick tug the jeans off completely, but Nick presses him down into the cushions again without a word.
He manhandles Greg for a moment, so fast that Greg can hardly tell it happens, and both Greg’s boxers and jeans are gone when he’s finished. Nick quickly removes his own clothing, anticipating the feeling of skin against skin like he never has before.
Next goes Greg’s shirt, then the shoe and sock from the ankle he didn’t sprain. Soon, he’s lying naked on the couch, breath fast and shallow. Nick tries not to stare too long before he kneels on the floor, trying to ignore the way his knees crack in protest, and pushes Greg’s legs apart at the knees. He can feel Greg’s heartbeat through the prominent vein in his left leg and loves the way it speeds up the longer Nick waits to touch him.
Greg whines from deep in his throat, and Nick decides he's tortured him long enough. The next noise Greg makes is a low-pitched moan when Nick’s tongue touches the tip of his cock, lightly but enough to make Greg’s skin jump. Empty phrases fall from Greg’s mouth that Nick can’t make out, and Greg’s fingers get lost in Nick’s hair as he draws as much of Greg’s length as he can into his mouth. The head hits the back of Nick’s throat, and he forces the gag reflex down and keeps going, hollowing his cheeks and applying the lightest pressure he can manage.
The couch groans with the effort of moving when Greg bucks his hips against Nick’s mouth, and the mumbling ceases for just a moment as Nick pushes his hand up to Greg’s mouth and forces two of his fingers in. Greg gets the hint almost immediately, licking and sucking on Nick’s fingers, coating them with his saliva. When Nick’s satisfied with the wetness dripping from his fingers, he pulls back and adjusts Greg again so his ass is hanging off the edge of the couch a little. He presses his fingers against the tight pucker of Greg’s ass and smiles as Greg huffs air through his nose. “Ni-“
Pressing against Greg’s hole with his index finger, Nick licks up and down Greg’s dick and presses inside with his finger as Greg groans with pleasure and tugs on Nick’s hair, bucking up into his mouth and trying to press back down on his finger at the same time. More words spill from his lips that Nick can’t make out. Greg whines in the back of his throat again and pulls Nick’s head away from his crotch. “Okay,” he says, his voice raspy with arousal. “I know I said you were supposed to blow me, but do you think that we could just forget that and you could--“ Nick curls the finger in Greg’s ass, and Greg interrupts his sentence with a moan. “-Do that, but with, y’know, something a bit bigger?”
Nick pulls his finger out and presses two back in, a little hurt. “A bit bigger? I think my ego should be crushed a little.”
“Oh, a lot bigger then, you whiner,”
“Now I’m whining? You must’ve forgotten your whining about having to endure a good five minutes of ice skating and whining about me not flirting with some woman that thought you were mentally handicapped.”
“Please, let’s leave whining, women, and mental disabilities out of our sex life,” Greg suggests breathlessly, eyes closed. “You can flirt all you want, though.”
“With women?”
“With me,” Greg says possessively. Nick chuckles and twists his fingers within Greg’s body, wriggling them to mirror Greg’s squirming. “Oh, Nicky, just-yeahmm,”
Nick smiles, presses a kiss to the top of Greg’s hip and scissors his fingers back and forth, stretching. Greg hums and Nick is reminded of how much Greg loves the pain/pleasure of Nick fingering him, firm and measured, deep and insistent. Nick removes his fingers and replaces them with his ring finger included. The way Greg moans, how his muscles clench, ground Nick, remind him that the third finger is always the worst, always brings the most burning along with it, regardless of how wide Nick stretches him. Above him, Greg has an arm thrown across his face and another wrapped around his cock, stroking up and down lazily, like he wants to hang off the edge of orgasm but wants to stay on for Nick’s sake. Nick thrusts his fingers once, twice, three times, then removes them. Greg doesn’t whine, just mumbles Nick’s name in a low, sultry voice that Nick wishes he could hear more often.
He licks at Greg’s chest as he searches through the couch for the box of condoms he knows Greg has stowed away for days like this, and bites on a nipple as his fingers wrap around the box. Greg cries out softly, and Nick feels his hand still his movements. “Do you want to move to the-“
“No, here,” Greg says. Nick can feel Greg’s heart pounding through his chest. Around his nipple are teeth impressions. Nick feels oddly fond of his work.
He maneuvers a condom from the box, rips it open with the aid of his teeth, and slips it on. Greg quivers on the couch, desperate and waiting, lips parted. Nick lifts himself up, positioning Greg farther back, and presses the tip of his erection at Greg’s asshole. Greg nudges at him with his with his foot, and wraps his legs around Nick’s waist, drawing him in. A low moan escapes Greg’s throat as Nick slides in, but instead of trying to stop the intrusion like he often does, he pulls him deeper.
Neither of them last long. Greg manages to hold back through a couple of thrusts, but loses it with a cry of Nick’s name, globs of cum roping out between them. Nick follows moments later, lifting Greg up by his neck to meet in a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss as he rides out his own orgasm.
Resting against his lover for only a fraction of a section, Nick pulls out and tosses the condom in the wastebasket by the couch that sits there when the bedroom’s too far. Greg’s legs fall from Nick’s waist and he wipes at his forehead. Nick doesn’t bother trying to clean up the mess currently trying to glue them together. “Feeling better?”
“Understatement,” Greg breathes out, his eyes still closed. “God…”
Nick flips them so Greg settles on top. He rests his head on Nick’s chest. “Worth a million blowjobs?”
“Mm…” Greg thinks it over. “Maybe a fourth."