Title- 5 a.m

Author - black_dahlia63

Rating - R? NC 17? You be the judge.

Warnings ... uh...dirty words and self-abuse ought to cover it.

Disclaimer ... No, I don't own em, it's more fun to borrow them and torment them every so often.

Nick's old room has been his again for two days now, and it has become harder to sleep each night. It shouldn't be difficult, because this room was his from the day he was brought home from the hospital as an infant; it has gone through more changes of furniture and wallpaper than he cares to remember, it even has an ensuite now, for God's sake, but it's familiar, and he ought to be able to settle.

But he knows why he can't.

It's just past five in the morning, and it's already light outside; in under an hour he's going to be meeting his father at the stables to go out riding, so it's not worth trying to go back to sleep now even if he could. Sighing gently, he reaches for the book he picked at random in the shop at the airport the morning he flew out for Thanksgiving; he opens it to the turned-down page and continues to read, but the words sink into his mind without really registering, because what he's really thinking about is the person who -

and that's when his cell rings from its resting place on the nightstand, and he grabs it and flips it open before it can shrill a second time. "Yeah?"

"Hey."

"You know what time it is?" he asks, well aware that however early it might be in Dallas it's even earlier back in Vegas, but he's smiling as he speaks. "Why aren't you asleep?"

"Couldn't get comfortable," is the reply, and Greg's voice is soft and slow and scratchy; it sounds the way it always does when they're settling into bed after a shift, or talking in the middle of the night after they've been making love ... and as he thinks of this, Nick feels a quiver of heat in his belly. "Can't sleep without you here."

"I'm sorry, G," Nick says quietly, lying back on the slightly sagging mattress. "You know..."

"Yeah, I do," Greg says. "Did I wake you up?"

"No," Nick tells him. "Couldn't get comfortable," he adds, echoing his lover's words, and there is a soft laugh on the other end of the line. "I'm going riding with Cisco at six, anyway, so there isn't much point trying to get back to sleep now ... what?" he asks, his ears picking up another chuckle. "What's so funny?"

"Thinking about you lying there wearing those damn pyjamas you packed," is the answer, and Nick is unable to prevent a smile touching his lips. "That's why you can't sleep, you're wearing too many clothes," Greg continues. "If you were here and you were naked, you wouldn't have a problem."

"G..."

"Tell me you haven't been thinking about it," and while Greg's voice is still soft and slow there's another note underlying it now. "You know how difficult it's been not being able to touch you for two nights?" There is silence then, followed by a deep sigh, and Nick's heard this sigh before ... when he's woken Greg with kisses, by stroking him with the very tips of his fingers so that he's almost not touching him at all, but Greg still twists beneath him on the bed and breath escapes his lips in a low, shuddery rush like the one that just echoed over the phone. "Nicky?"

"Don't," Nick manages to say. "Not now."

"You have been thinking about it, haven't you?" Greg says, the handful of words making Nick shut his eyes. "Thinking about being back here? Thinking about being in being in bed with me?" and then the voice in Nick's ear becomes slightly hoarse. "Are you hard, Nicky?"

"Jesus..."

"Answer the question," is the response, and now it's Nick's turn to let out a sigh, because he is - not all the way, not yet, but he's getting there, and hearing Greg talk like this when they're so far apart is only making things worse. "Are you?"

"Yes," Nick says, feeling his face heating up, and he hears a short inrush of breath on the other end of the line. "Damn it, G, go to sleep, will you."

"Kick the covers off."

"What?"

"You heard me," Greg says, his voice as low and breathy as Nick's. "Kick them off."

"They're off already," Nick mutters, almost rebelliously. "It's too damn hot with them on, and we're stopping this now."

"Stopping what?"

"Whatever you're trying to get me to do here."
"Nicky..." and he's heard this tone before too, mostly when they've been in bed, but not always ... and he knows where this is going now. It's the persuasive, wheedling tone, the one that's always accompanied by the look in his lover's eyes that says let's do this, it'll be fun.

Let me tie your hands to the headboard with my belt, Nicky, it'll be fun.

Let me pull the truck off into this parking lot and blow you in the front seat, Nicky, it'll be fun...

"What are you thinking about?" Greg murmurs. "Shall I tell you what I'm thinking about, Nicky? I'm thinking about how I'd shred those pyjamas off you, I'd yank at that top so hard you'd lose every fucking button - you got any idea how badly I want to see you naked right now?"

"G, please," Nick says, almost under his breath as he tries to retain the last of his self-control. "I'm not doing this..."

"It's not like I haven't seen you do it before," is the answer. "You know how hot I get watching you touch yourself, don't you?" There's another one of those deep, shaky breaths then, and the sound goes straight to Nick's cock; without looking, he can feel himself getting harder, his erection tenting the front of his grey cotton pyjama bottoms, and he has to bite his lower lip to avoid making a sound. All of a sudden he feels the way he did when he was in his early teens, when he would lie in this very room stroking himself, his whole body alive with how good it felt except for a little slice of fear saying what if mom or Cisco comes in and catches me; even though more than twenty years have passed, he's still thinking that now, and damn if it isn't making him even harder.

"Put your hand under your pyjama top," Greg says softly. "Right up on your chest, Nicky, do it," and whatever Nick is thinking doesn't seem to matter now, because his free hand is moving with a will of its own, gliding over skin that's warm and slightly damp with sweat until his fingertips rest over the place where his heart is pounding rapidly.

"Your nipples are hard, aren't they?" The voice on the other end of the line is low and husky and rough now - the same voice that whispers filthy words in Nick's ear when he's tangled in his lover's arms, giddy with the sensation of being brought to the brink over and over before being pulled back again. "Touch one of them." Almost without realising he's doing it, Nick lets the pad of one finger skim across the taut flesh of his left nipple; although the contact only lasts for a second or two at most, even though he's biting his lip hard enough to draw blood now, the sensation still elicits a low moan - and he knows that Greg heard it, because another ragged indrawn breath echoes across the distance between them. "Feels good, doesn't it, Nicky?"

"Yes," he manages to say, and then he lets out a shaky breath of his own as the voice inside his head that's saying why am I letting him do this to me when my parents are just down the hall is slowly eclipsed - because it does feel good, he couldn't have imagined how much, and the nagging heartache of missing Greg is slowly being transformed into physical pain.

"Do it again," is the whispered command. "Slowly," and Nick obeys, dragging his finger in a circle around his nipple; he lets his fingernail scrape over the taut knot of flesh, and he closes his eyes as his heels dig into the mattress. "What are you thinking now, Nicky? How it feels when I lick them? Bite them? You like it when I do that, don't you?" and a soft whine escapes Nick's lips, because that's exactly what he's seeing and feeling in his mind - hands braceleting his wrists and pinning them at his sides as stripes are licked upwards from his navel, then teeth denting the skin around each of his nipples in turn until the line between pleasure and pain is crossed.

"You know what I'm gonna do when you get back to Vegas tomorrow?" that rough, dirty voice whispers as Nick's palm slides down his chest, nails raking the skin, until his fingers come to rest against the waistband of his pyjama bottoms - and without even touching it he can feel his cock screaming for attention, pulsing with sensation almost like a second heartbeat. "You're not even gonna get out of the airport, Nicky, I'm gonna drag you into a restroom or a broom closet and I'm gonna fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk after I'm done unless I help you." A sigh echoes in Nick's ear, and even over the phone he can hear the bed creaking; his mind fills with an image of Greg sprawled in the centre of their bed, naked and aroused, his free hand moving almost roughly over his cock, and Nick is unable to hold back another moan. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, Nicky? Like me to push you up against a wall and hold your hands over your head so you just have to take it?"

"Yes," Nick gasps, almost breathless now, and he runs his palm down lower, over the waistband of his pyjama bottoms; there is a dark spot of wetness spreading against the grey fabric, and when he presses the heel of his hand against it he feels heat shooting the length of his spine as he lifts his hips up towards the touch. "G..."

"Let me make you feel good, I know you want me to," Greg says, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Take those fucking pyjamas off, Nicky, please," and the blatant need in his lover's voice pushes Nick past caring whether anyone will hear what he's doing, because in this moment he wants to be back in Vegas so badly it hurts. He raises himself off the bed just enough to shove his pyjama bottoms down past his hips, the movement made awkward by the fact that he's still got the phone cradled against his ear, and as soon as his cock is freed from the confines of clothing it springs flat against his belly; he lies back, his heart hammering, unable to remember ever having been this hard in his life, and then that low whispering cuts through the roaring in his ears.

"You've missed it, haven't you?" Greg purrs, but there is a dark, needy edge to the words. Nick's hand moves to encircle his cock, slowly stroking up from base to tip, and when he brushes his fingers across the head he is enveloped in a rush of sensation that would make his legs give way if he were standing; he can feel slick wetness on his fingertips, and as he works it into the sensitive flesh where every nerve ending in his body seems to end now he is vaguely aware that he is moaning softly. "You wish I was there with you, don't you? God, Nicky, you're beautiful when you're hard, you know that? You taste so good, I could lick you and suck you until I drain you dry, because you - you make those noises when I've got you in my mouth..." and there is a strangled gasp that sends another wave of heat rolling through Nick's body. He continues to stroke himself, his hips rising and falling as his cock thrusts up into his curved fingers, his entire body flooded with sensation as Greg continues to whisper into his ear in that low, husky voice.

"C'mon, Nicky, talk to me - tell me what you want..."

"Want you here," Nick gasps, because even though he is so dangerously close to the edge now he can still feel the ache because his lover isn't here. "Want you...touching me..."

"Tomorrow, Nicky," is the breathless answer. "Gonna be in you as soon...as that door shuts...you want me in you, don't you, Nicky, huh? Want me in your ass?"

"Yeah," Nick answers in a whine that steals the last of his breath. In that instant he can feel Greg inside him, pressed into him and biting the side of his neck, and the memory is enough to push him past the point of no return; he arches off the bed a final time, his lover's name screaming in his ears, and as his hardness breaks to send warm wetness spilling over his fingers he collapses against the bed in a near-faint.

He opens his eyes, sucking in a huge breath, and he reaches for the phone that dropped from his fingers moments before; holding it to his ear, he hears nothing at the other end of the line, and he's just beginning to think that Greg must have hung up or passed out when there's an exhausted chuckle.

"You all right, Nicky?"

"Jesus, G."

"Feel better now, don't you?"

"I can't move, man," Nick says. "I -" and he lets a smile touch his lips. "I don't believe we just did that."

"Haven't you got to go riding with your dad?" is the answer; although the words are followed by another laugh, Greg's voice is soft and sleepy again, drained of its urgency, and Nick can picture his lover's half-closed eyes. "I'll see you tomorrow, Nicky."

"I ought to be back at the apartment by eight tomorrow night," Nick tells him, finally able to move, and he kicks his pyjama bottoms the rest of the way off. "We'll go have dinner, and..."

"I'm meeting you at the airport, remember?" Greg says, and the words send an aftershock rippling through Nick's body. "Didn't think I was kidding, did you?" There is another chuckle, and the line goes dead before Nick can answer; shaking his head and taking another deep breath, he gets out of bed and walks towards the shower.

Because he'd like to think Greg was kidding, but he's known him for too long now.