Title: Bare at Breakfast
By: flipflopadd1ct
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Greg decides that he and Nick are going to celebrate National Nude Day.

***

"I wish we lived in New Zealand."

Since I live with Greg, that's the kind of off-the-wall remark I hear on a daily basis. If not more.

Of course, I had to ask what he meant.

"Why?"

"Because they have a National Nude Day," he said matter-of-factly, as if I should have known. I was waiting for him to add something like "Duh, Nick."

We were lying in bed, Greg absorbed in the newspaper. Only Greg can make a comment like that and then immediately return to reading the Style section.

I didn't respond right away. No, I was waiting for what Greg would say next, although I could almost certainly guess where he was going.

"We should celebrate it," he continued.

Yup. Saw that one coming.

"Is it today?" I replied.

"Nope."

"Then why celebrate it?"

"Because we can? Because we have the day off? Because we're hot? I could probably think of some more reasons." He swung his legs off the bed and stood, stretching his arms towards the ceiling. "But I'm going to go shower. Naked, of course."

With that, he shucked his boxers and trotted into the bathroom.

I followed him, losing my boxer-briefs in the process, and pulled open the sliding door as soon as Greg had turned on the water. I reached out and drew his body against mine, back-to-front, and leaned down to nip a spot on the back of—

"Nuh-uh," Greg warned, suddenly stepping out of my embrace. "It's National Nude Day, not National Sex Day...besides, we have plenty of time for that later."

He grinned mockingly and grabbed his favorite loofah.

"Wash my back?"

In case you don't know, the bastard's quite a tease.

~

The rest of our shower passed uneventfully. Well, I guess "events" technically happened, but no sex. It was our own "National Nude Day" and Greg was purposefully avoiding the only part I like about being naked! Obviously, he was doing it on purpose. He enjoys doing that kind of thing.

Greg and I dried off in the bathroom, hung the towels, and then Greg promptly headed into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Still nude.

"Did you ever go streaking in college?" I called from the bedroom.

"Supposedly. I don't remember any of it!" came the laughing reply.

"Well, I did it once or twice. And I was sober, believe it or not."

"You dirty frat boy, you."

I chuckled in response and began to tidy up our messy room.

I have to admit, staying naked felt good. Pretty damn good. It really is liberating, you know? I finally understood what the appeal of being a nudist was.

After I was done puttering around the bedroom, done making the bed and tossing clothes into the laundry basket and things like that, I found Greg standing in front of the stove and whistling.

"Be careful with that grease," I joked. "I don't think you'd want any of that on your cock."

"It hurts. Trust me," Greg replied, turning to face me as he flipped a pancake.

I winced. "I don't even want to know..."

Greg winked—maybe he was joking; I couldn't tell—and put more bacon into a pan. I poured myself a mug of rich coffee. Then I sat down at the table, wooden chair cool against my bare ass, and watched Greg cook.

In retrospect, I probably wasn't thinking with the right head that day. Although, on second thought, maybe I was.

For whatever reason—I'm guessing it's because we were celebrating the holiday—I felt more, well, horny than usual. Everything Greg did seemed seductive. And it didn't help that nothing hid his appealing abs, delicious cock, and enticing balls from my hungry gaze.

Fucker.

My distraction was interrupted when a plate of steaming hot food was placed in front of me. My lust assumed the form of literal hunger because I suddenly felt starved, and I subsequently wolfed down everything on my plate.

Greg ate more slowly than I did. And I'm pretty sure he did so deliberately. After what felt like hours—even though it was certainly only five, maybe ten minutes—Greg finished his food and cleared the table.

Then he leaned down and kissed me. He tasted of maple syrup.

"Oh, Nicky. You're hard," he said afterwards, pretending to be confused as to why that might be.

What can I say about what happened next? It was about time we christened the new kitchen table.

***