Title: Heat
Author: black_dahlia63
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: not mine – I have the fun, CBS has the responsibility of owning them.
Summary: This was written to fulfil two prompts on 30_lemons - #26, The Sauna, or, “It’s Getting Hot In Here, So Take Off All Your Clothes” and #22, Bottoms Up, or, “Surprise! Guess Who’s On Top Tonight!”

Geneva, Florida.

“You want something to eat?”

“Can’t,” Nick says as he swipes a hand across his forehead. “It’s too damn hot for food,” and he turns a flushed face in the direction of the occupant of the other chair on the deck. “Whose idea was it to come to a place with no air conditioning in the middle of July?”

“Yours,” Greg tells him with a smile. “You borrowed this place from your cousin, you said it’d be good for us to get away,” he continues, chuckling quietly. “You grew up in Texas, can’t you take a little heat?”

“Not without AC, I can’t,” is the answer, and Nick straightens up in his chair to peel his shirt over his head before mopping his face with it. “Feels like I’m melting, man, we should have gone to a motel like you wanted to.”

“I’ll cook those two steaks in the fridge,” Greg says. “You gotta eat, otherwise -” and there’s a sly grin on his lips as he leans across the space separating their chairs, trailing his fingers along Nick’s forearm and watching goose bumps break out in the wake of his touch. “I’ll wear you out, and I don’t want to do that, do I?” He walks his fingertips to the crook of Nick’s elbow, tickling the soft skin of his inner arm, and he shifts closer when he sees his lover’s eyelids flicker downwards - Nick’s so receptive to even the slightest touch, he always has been, and Greg never gets tired of eliciting these responses. “You let me make dinner, and then we’ll go in there again,” he tells Nick, glancing at the above ground pool a few yards away. He thinks back to how Nick looked when they were in the pool earlier that afternoon, naked and hard, water plastering his hair against his skull, and the memory renders him hollow with anticipation – and he knows that his lover is thinking the same thing, because when Nick looks at him his eyes have darkened in a way that speaks of mutual desire.

“My mom always said you shouldn’t swim for an hour after eating,” Nick says softly, and he shifts forward in his chair to place a hand against Greg’s face; their mouths collide, and the gentle interplay of lips and tongues combined with the sticky late-afternoon heat leaves Greg slightly giddy when the kiss finally breaks.

“Didn’t say anything about swimming,” he whispers against Nick’s half-open mouth, and he pushes himself up out of the chair. “You coming in to help me?”

“Let me go and lie down for ten minutes,” Nick says, getting to his feet in turn. “Light the barbecue, I just need to get out of the sun for a little while.” There is another kiss then, a momentary brushing of lips, and the two of them walk towards the house; the screen door is pushed open and they step inside before going in different directions.

The stairs of the wooden house creak gently as Nick climbs to the upper floor, the sounds of Greg moving about in the kitchen becoming further away; he walks along the narrow landing to the room they have made theirs, and he collapses onto the brass-railed bed. He lies on his back, hands clasped behind his head, and he looks up at the ceiling; there is a fan turning ceaselessly there, merely circulating the air rather than actually cooling it, and its movement gradually hypnotises him. I’m not going to sleep, I’m just gonna lie here for ten minutes, he tells himself, but his eyelids will not co-operate; they become heavier and heavier, despite his efforts to keep his eyes open, and he can do nothing but succumb to the urge to sleep.

*************************

“You told me ten minutes,” Greg calls out as he reaches the top of the stairs with an almost-finished glass of iced tea in one hand, and he’s smiling as he walks along the landing. “I’m not cooking by myself, man, you know I always...” and his voice tails off as he reaches the bedroom doorway; the smile softens while he stands watching Nick sleep, and then he pads silently into the room.

He sets his glass on the nightstand and climbs onto the bed, lying on his side and propping himself on one elbow. Nick is on his back, breathing deeply and evenly, one arm at his side and the other resting beneath his head; his legs are slightly parted, and as he lies watching him Greg unconsciously bites his lower lip. This was just what we needed, he tells himself, thinking of the hectic weeks of work preceding this vacation, when he and Nick would sink into bed after their shifts with no desire for anything except sleep; they have been in Florida for three days now, in this ramshackle wooden building miles from anywhere, and their entire world has been this bed and the pool and the deck they have sprawled out on while they found each other again.

Sitting up, Greg dips his fingers into the glass on the nightstand and retrieves one of the ice cubes from his drink. He lies on his side again, his hand curving around the ice cube, and he lets freezing water drip through his closed fingers onto the hollow of Nick’s throat; there is an audible inrush of breath, and Nick’s eyes blink open. “Fell asleep,” he mumbles, his voice soft and distant in the aftermath of slumber. “What -?” and the remainder of his question is swallowed up in a deep sigh as the ice cube is dragged slowly along the side of his neck; he closes his eyes again when it reaches the spot behind his ear where Greg always kisses him to wake him up, and without realising he’s doing it he turns his head towards the touch.

“Good?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, his eyes still closed, and the ice cube is drawn along his jaw line. When it reaches his lips he sucks it into his mouth, nipping lightly at the tips of his lover’s fingers as he does so, and he hears a low growl just before Greg’s mouth moves to cover his; the ice is passed mouth-to-mouth in a series of gentle, exploratory kisses until it has melted, and when Nick opens his eyes and tries to push himself up on one elbow he is pinned to the bed by his shoulders. There is a whispered command of, “Don’t move,” and he watches Greg rise to his knees to peel off his T shirt and let it fall on the floor beside the bed; he has long since lost count of the number of times he has seen his lover undress, but the sight still produces the same reaction it did the first night it happened, and he can feel himself stiffening within the confines of his jeans.

Greg remains kneeling, working his belt buckle loose, his eyes raking slowly up and down Nick’s prone form; he pops the button open on the waistband of his faded Levis, thumb and forefinger moving to the zip, and when his ears pick up a hitch of breath from the man lying on the bed he allows a smile to spread slowly across his face. “Not yet,” he says softly, unfastening his zip a notch or two and then letting his hand drop to his side again – and does he hear a muted growl of frustration from Nick then, or does he imagine it? “We haven’t got to be anywhere...we don’t have a shift to get to...” and he reaches across to the nightstand. “And we can stay in here and do this as long as we want,” he says, leaning down again and placing his free hand beneath Nick’s head to lift it from the pillows just far enough to tilt the glass to his lips – and the movement of Nick’s mouth and throat as he drinks, coupled with the already blatant need in his eyes, sends a ripple of heat through Greg that comes to rest in his groin.

When the glass contains nothing but ice, Greg tips its contents onto the bed before setting it back on the nightstand. “Now, where were we?” he murmurs, sliding down over Nick again, and he runs his tongue slowly along the skin just below Nick’s lower lip; there is a gentle sigh, Nick tilts his head a fraction, and their mouths meet in a kiss that seems to last an impossibly long time before it breaks in order for them to breathe.

Nick stretches lazily, almost cat-like, unconsciously parting his legs and allowing Greg’s body to shift down against his; one of his hands moves to the back of Greg’s neck, his fingers twisting in tangled hair, and he presses his head back into the pillows when he feels the scrape of three days’ worth of stubble against the side of his neck. Greg’s tongue traces a familiar path, probing the hollow behind his ear, and Nick’s free hand clutches at a handful of the rumpled sheet beneath him; a path is traced down his neck by Greg’s lips and tongue, the torturous slowness making him grit his teeth – and then a gasp escapes his lips as an ice cube is placed on his stomach just above the waistband of his jeans. He feels it dragged lazily back and forth across his torso, and as it comes to rest against his left nipple the right one is pulled up into Greg’s mouth – the warm wetness a sharp contrast with the chill of the ice, bringing a low moan as his hand tightens convulsively in Greg’s hair.

Got you now, Greg tells himself as he lifts his head, flicking his tongue across his lover’s nipple and eliciting another moan before he slides up a fraction to align their bodies – and the feel of Nick beneath him, the way every muscle in his body is tense and the way his eyes are already darkening and becoming distant, is almost enough to make Greg end it now, but there’s something in his mind saying not yet. He outlines Nick’s mouth with the dwindling remains of the ice cube, feeling both of Nick’s hands move to latch in his hair, and he stares down into a face where the cheeks are flushed and the eyes are half-closed; lowering his mouth into a deep, lingering kiss, he moves his empty hand to the unfastened buckle of his belt – and as the soft snick snick snick of worn leather clearing belt loops echoes over the sound of the ceiling fan, he knows he’s only got seconds to get this right.

“No,” Nick gasps, tearing his head back as his wrists are grasped and he realises what’s about to happen; but he’s not quite fast enough, the heat and Greg’s nearness have slowed his reflexes, and all he can do is twist helplessly on the bed as his hands are bound together with Greg’s belt and then secured to the brass rail behind his head.

“You’re dead, G.”

“C’mon, Nicky,” Greg teases softly, his lips inches from Nick’s as he speaks, and the now-empty hand that was holding the ice cube moves to cup one side of Nick’s face. “You don’t get to be in charge all the time,” and he caresses his lover’s face with cold fingers, his ears picking up the hitches of breath from the lips inches away from his own. He leans down, just long enough to trap Nick’s lower lip between his teeth and nip it gently, and then he rises to his knees again; reaching forward, he unfastens Nick’s jeans, his smile widening when Nick lifts himself up off the bed with a mute plea in his eyes. “You want these off, Nicky?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, what?” Greg asks, knowing he’s pushing it here, and in response there is a softly-murmured, “Please,” that carries overtones of when I get loose you’ll pay for this - but he has the answer he wanted, and so he tugs Nick’s jeans down as slowly as he can before discarding them in a heap on the floor.

"What about these?" he asks, still kneeling, as he lets his eyes focus on the only piece of clothing still worn by the man lying beneath him. Nick's erection has pulled the waistband of his boxer shorts away from his stomach, and there is a dark spot of wetness on the pale grey material; Greg leans down to brush his thumb over this spot and Nick writhes beneath him, biting down on his lower lip in an effort to remain silent. "You want me to take these off too?"

"You'd better watch your back...when you let me up," Nick manages to say, straining against the belt that binds his wrists - but it's too tight for him to escape, damn it, and how long has Greg been planning this, anyway? "The second you - fuck," and a groan erupts from his lips as knowing fingers slip inside his boxers and wrap themselves around his cock; a thumb passes over the tip, spreading the steadily-weeping moisture over flesh that leaps at the slightest touch - and as he closes his eyes the movement stops abruptly, wringing another strangled cry from him.

"You want these off? Answer me, or I'll stop," and Greg's voice sounds as though it is coming from a long way off. "I'll leave you like this, you want me to do that? Look at me, Nicky," and somehow Nick forces his eyes open. "That's better," he hears his lover croon. "Do I take these off?" and he can still feel those fingers curled around his cock, but he knows instinctively that if he moves now...

"Yes...please." The words are forced through gritted teeth in a voice that doesn't sound like his, and as his boxers are pulled down his thighs he is thinking oh, you bastard, G, just let me up and you'll be sorry you did this, because he has never given up control like this before; but his body is giving the lie to these words, because now it is free from the confines of his underwear his cock has sprung up to lie flat against his belly, and Christ he can't remember the last time he was this painfully hard. He stares up at Greg, trying to muster defiance, but he knows he hasn't managed it - because a hand moves to stroke his face again, and as he sucks on the thumb pressed against his mouth he hears a soft chuckle.

"You want this, don't you?" Greg says, his lips curving into a smile that would be almost tender were it not for the desire that has placed a heated expression in his eyes. "Want me to make you feel good, don't you, Nicky?" and there is a faint "mm" around the thumb in Nick's mouth as his eyelids flicker downwards. Greg can't remember how long he's wanted to do this, to turn the tables and have Nick at his mercy - but as he looks down at him now, restrained and helpless and wanting, he knows that however long it's been, it was worth the wait.

Greg slides his thumb slowly from Nick's mouth, ignoring the whine that ensues, and he reaches towards the spot on the bed where he placed the ice cubes; the heat has dissolved most of them now, but he palms one of the remaining ones and presses it against the hollow of Nick's throat before moving it slowly downwards. He rolls it over Nick's left nipple, then the right one, knowing how exquisitely sensitive to touch this part of his lover's body is, and at the same time he rakes the nails of his free hand down Nick's side hard enough to leave four thin red scratches; there is a high-pitched moan from Nick as he digs his heels into the mattress and arches up, and Greg sees a single drop of ice water roll down Nick's torso before it comes to rest in his navel. Tracing the melting ice cube over the scratch marks, he slides down the bed just enough to bring his head level with Nick's stomach; then he darts his tongue into the well of his lover's navel, hearing Nick's breath catch, and then he nips gently at the taut flesh just to the left of Nick's belly button. He deepens the pressure of his teeth then, just a shade, but it's enough to produce another moan, and Greg hears the rail creak at the head of the bed as Nick tugs at the belt securing his wrists; lifting his head, he rubs the ice over the bite mark, and as he does this he can see Nick's head turning from side to side against the pillow as his lips move silently.

Greg slips the remains of the ice cube into his mouth, pushing it against the inside of his right cheek with his tongue, and he tilts his head a fraction to bring his lips into contact with Nick's cock. He snakes his tongue out to trace the rigid length, and when he reaches the head he lets his lips engulf it; in the same instant he lets the ice touch the heated flesh in his mouth, and it is as though every muscle in Nick's body goes tense at once.

"Ahh...fuck," Nick gasps, his back arching like a bow, and then he is beyond recognisable speech; he presses his head back, keeping his eyes closed, and then there is nothing except the ice and the warmth of his lover's lips and tongue around his cock. He feels one of Greg's hands move to curve around his balls, cradling them gently but firmly; the other one moves to rest on his hip and push him back down against the bed, fingernails pressing hard enough into his skin to hurt, adding another sensation to the ones already flooding his body. He gasps for breath, almost as though he is drowning, and he clenches his fists so tightly within the belt that his nails dig into his palms; any vestige of conscious thought in his mind is eclipsed by the heat racing through him in waves as Greg’s mouth rises and falls on him, and the increasingly out-of-control mewling that echoes in the room seems to be coming from someone else, because he can’t remember ever sounding like this before – but he’s never given up control like this before, he’s never allowed anyone to restrain him and subject him to their will...he thrusts his hips up towards Greg’s mouth as his lover’s head lifts up, ignoring the fingernails digging into his skin as the pulses of heat begin to race out of control - because he’ll beg, plead, do anything not to have this stop, and from somewhere he finds the strength to speak. “Please,” he manages to say. “Please, G, I’m gonna...”

“No, you’re not,” is the softly murmured reply, Greg’s voice silk overlaying steel now, and he presses two fingers against the skin just behind Nick’s balls – presses hard enough to make Nick’s eyes fly open again, to make his breath catch in his throat as the two of them stare at each other. “You’re not gonna come, Nicky, you don’t want to do that yet, do you?” he purrs, and once again he watches Nick’s head whip from side to side against the pillows. “Do you?” he persists, maintaining the pressure until there is a stuttered, “N – no,”, and then he straightens up. “This is what you want, isn’t it?” he says, keeping his eyes on Nick as he unzips his jeans the rest of the way and frees his cock, even his own touch making him grit his teeth – and the look on his lover’s face then, the blatant need coupled with the whine that rises from the back of Nick’s throat, is a memory Greg will hold for the rest of his life.

“Ssh, Nicky,” he whispers, that near-feral smile creeping onto his lips again. “Ssh,” and he reaches for the bottle of lube partly hidden in the tangled sheets at the foot of the bed; he pours a small pool of liquid from the bottle into his open palm before closing his fingers around his cock again, stroking himself and maintaining eye contact with Nick all the while. “You want this, don’t you?” he says again, and the faint whimper that he can barely hear is all the answer he needs. He drops down between Nick’s parted legs, feeling them hook over his shoulders as he leans in close enough to swipe his tongue across Nick’s lips; he clasps Nick’s bound hands between one of his own, maneuvering himself with the other, and as he breaches taut muscle to slip into warmth and tightness there is a guttural moan from Nick that jolts straight up his spine.

“Oh...God,” Nick gasps as Greg slides forward until he is completely buried inside him, and for what seems like a long time neither one of them moves; he stares up at Greg, both of them breathing hard, and the one coherent thought in his mind is that if he knew how this was going to feel he wouldn’t have tried to fight it. Then a sharp nip is delivered to his lower lip and everything begins again, the friction building as the two of them move in counterpoint; helpless whimpers and moans are wrenched from him, he is trying to hold back because he doesn’t want this to finish ever - then Greg draws back again, nearly all the way out, slamming back in hard even before Nick can take another breath...and this is what ends it, tearing his climax from him as the roaring in his head deafens him and the light behind his eyes blinds him.

***************

Too drained to move, he sprawls in the centre of the bed and blinks dazedly as fingers rub gently at the marks left on his wrists where they were bound by the belt; he finally lets out a long, shuddering breath, and in the next instant a gentle kiss is planted on his lips.

“Nick?”

“What?”

“Am I really gonna have to watch my back?”

“You’ll see,” he replies, but he’s smiling as he reaches for Greg’s hand to pull him closer; there is another long silence then as they lie in a tangle of limbs and sweat, and then Nick thinks of what was happening before all this. “Are we going to go out and cook that steak?”

“Too hot for food,” Greg says, copying his lover’s words, and there is a split second where they look at each other without speaking – then they both burst out laughing, the sound floating out into the late-afternoon heat, and the fact that there is no air conditioning is no longer important.