Title: Crazy
By: Read 300300
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: R or NC17
Response to: Clothing Challenge
Disclaimer: I don't own them, I swear. No, really, I don't!
Summary: Greg takes Nick shopping.

Remind me to run the next time Greg says "Let's go shopping" or any facsimile thereof. I don't know how he got me here or why I even thought about agreeing to come along with him to his little freak stores, but suffice it to say that going with him was tantamount to declaring insanity.

It wasn't so bad in the beginning of the trip when he was just trying clothes on himself. I mean, I might not like to admit it, but seeing him in some of those tight t-shirts and even tighter jeans that are ripped precisely to show just enough skin… well, I'm never going to tell him that it jump starts my libido. So, yeah, seeing him try on all sorts of stuff here was getting very interesting, and the next thing I knew, he was handing me clothes and sending me to a dressing room.

This is insane, I thought as I closed and locked the dressing room door behind me.

I did what any good boyfriend who wanted to avoid sleeping on the couch did: I tried on the clothing. And then I could barely get the things on, but god forbid I ask him to get me a bigger size because he's been making jokes about how I'm losing that muscled look from not being out on the treadmill enough. Hah! Like he had any right to talk; he doesn't even own a treadmill. So I hopped and I tugged on those black jeans until they finally worked their way up my hips; then I braced myself for actually zipping them up. I sucked in, wondering how in the world I was expected to sit in these, and finally managed to get them closed with a sigh. Oddly enough, I found I could still breathe for the most part, tight as they were.

Then came the shirts he wanted me to wear. Yes, shirts. Who wears more than one shirt at a time? And even worse- who wears fishnet shirts? The saddest part was that I prayed he meant for me the wear the black t-shirt over the fishnet one; I would rather wear multiple ones that just the weird black mesh alone. I pulled them on, trying unsuccessfully not to get my fingers entangled in the holes. Eventually, I got everything in its proper place, wondering how clothes that purported to be my size could actually feel at least two sizes smaller.

Taking a deep breath, I walked out, only to have an armful of one very happy Greg leap at me as soon as I walked out.

"You look so hot," he whispered to me before backing off and saying in a louder tone, "That looks really good on you."

"Really?" I questioned, making a mental note to set him up with my ophthalmologist the next chance I had; working in the lab had obviously turned him blind.

"Yeah, and I'm buying it for you."

"You are?" I knew the precise second when my mouth dropped open. There was no way I was ever going to wear stuff like this anywhere.

"Yes, I am, and you're taking me clubbing tonight to make up for it."

I tried not to examine that statement too closely, knowing that I wouldn't like what I was going to find. His kind of clubs were definitely not my kind of clubs and with what he was wearing, I didn't think that what he had in mind was anything like his usual clubs either. Not if he was going dressed in all black with spiked wristbands on.

I turned to go back into the dressing room, only to have him grab my arm.

"Oh, no, I'm not giving you a chance to get out of those," he said firmly, all but dragging me over to the register. I saw that he had already grabbed doubles of everything I was wearing for the guy to ring up.

The guy at the register handed him a pair of scissors, and I was treated to having Greg insist on hunting down the tags on the clothes I was wearing so that he could cut them off- a search that was basically an excuse for him to feel me up and then stick his hand down the back of my pants to grab the last tag. I can't say that I minded the search, but it nearly gave me some problems I couldn't have hidden in the nearly plastered on pants.

I went to go back and get the clothes I walked in wearing, only to have another salesperson hand them to me with a smile and a wink.

But my going shopping and then clubbing with him does not explain how the hell I wound up here, back pressed against the wall in a darkened corner of the dance floor, trying not to run my hands through his gelled hair as his hot mouth finds my cock. Neither does it explain why I am currently thrusting into his mouth, committing acts that I would have arrested other people for doing in public had I been on duty and back in Dallas.

All I can think as I shoot my load into his waiting throat is that it feels good to go insane every once in a while.