Title: The Battle of the Living Room...And Then Some
By: flipflopadd1ct
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: R
Summary: Two pairs of eyes are transfixed, staring at this mundane object that has separated them so.

***

It sits between them on the coffee table.

Two pairs of eyes are transfixed, staring at this mundane object that has separated them so. Nick is hunkered down on the left-most cushion of the couch, Greg perched but ready on the right arm.

The tension in the air is palpable. Both are ready to move at a moment's notice, in order to beat his opponent to the prize.

Three.

Nick's eyes narrow.

Two.

Greg tightens his grip on the blue wing.

One.

Nick and Greg dive for the remote at the same time, knocking it off the table and knocking the table onto its side in the process. Greg scrambles awkwardly over the civilian casualty, and as a result closes a victorious hand around the black remote. He raises the fruit of his labor triumphantly – only to have Nick wrench it out of his hand.

Nick races into the kitchen.

"No, Nick!" Greg protests.

"But it's Bird Week on the Discovery Channel!"

"They'll re-run it!"

They're caught between yet another piece of furniture, Nick standing near the window with both hands braced against the kitchen table.

"It's a special about puffins," Nick says, lips curling southward into a mock-pout. "And what's so special about what you want to watch, huh?"

Greg's thrown for a loop.

Then he retreats inward, a turtle withdrawing into his shell, embarrassed.

And blushing.

Comprehension sudden, Nick breaks into a wide grin.

"It's one of those forensic dramas, isn't it?" No reply. "It is! How can you watch those, man? They're so wrong..."

Greg's brief moment of vulnerability morphs into a more Greg-typical shield of macho bravado.

"I watch it for the characters!" he refutes, lunging around the table at Nick. But Nick saw the move coming and is subsequently in the family room before Greg realizes he's holding thin air.

"I win!" Nick calls.

"Fine. Watch your stupid birds." Greg sinks into the leather arm chair, arms crossed across his chest.

"Hey. My birds are not stupid. They could kick your Bill Grisham's ass."

Nick beams and tunes into the Discovery Channel. A dry voice narrates as a line of ugly-looking birds waddle across the screen. He drops the remote by his side.

Big mistake.

Greg casually, nonchalantly, ever-so-slightly leans forward in his chair.

Nick's already sucked into the Wonderful World of Birds, or something. Greg could be jerking off right next to him – hell, coming on him – and Nick wouldn't notice.

...Greg makes a mental note to try that one sometime.

Greg moves even closer, and fast as lightning he grabs the remote and punches in "43." As soon as the channel changes Nick is back on planet Earth, and he pulls Greg to the floor, desperately trying to wrench the remote from his grasp.

Their wrestling match causes Greg's elbow to slam into the nearest leg of the coffee table ("Ow, Nick!"), but in this case the coffee table seems to have sustained the most damage.

Someone's shoulder sends the coffee table out of the line of fire, and then two different hands are fighting for control over the remote.

The channels change erratically, showing stunted clips of all sorts of stuff: President Bush, some game show, porn, some cartoon, puffins, drops of blood, porn...

"It's mine, Greg!" Nick growls, but then he realizes Greg is no longer trying.

Greg's watching the TV.

"I didn't know they showed porn this early," Greg comments, head cocked to the side.

Nick drops the remote.

"Me either."

"He looks kind of like you, huh, Nicky?" Greg winks.

"I'm hotter."

"You're hotter."

"I didn't even know we got a gay porn channel," Greg says after a few minutes of attentive silence. "Did you?"

"Not 'til right now. Nope."

"This better than birds?"

"This is better than birds."

Nick looks decidedly relaxed, leaning against the couch. And horny, because you'd have to be blind to miss that erection. So Greg dips a hand under the waistband of Nick's sweats, starts to work him for a bit.

It turns out that Greg's an evil bastard who uses sex as a weapon, and Nick should have seen this, uh, coming.

Only a few minutes pass before Nick's eyes flutter closed and his left leg twitches as he comes into Greg's hand and his boxers. Then Greg wipes the mess onto Nick's pants – and calmly grabs the remote and situates himself cross-legged on the couch.

Nick, defeated yet satisfied, doesn't move a muscle. After all, he just got a handjob – and a very nice one, at that. He could care less about what Greg's doing right now.

Greg punches in a "4," then a "3." Then he leans close to Nick, wrapping an arm around Nick's neck and planting a small kiss on his cheek.

"Correction: I win."

***