Title: Love Game
By: rispacooper
Fandom: CSI: Vegas
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: porn, bondage kink, slight d/s (or sub-lite, as dlasta calls it), language
Set Season Six-ish, with spoilers for S.5's "Grave Danger".
Summary: This is a sequel to Submission Games and No Game Today. Sort of an ending, with Greg...and some pink ribbon...helping Nick deal with some issues. Couple fic, if not precisely established.
Written for the help_haiti community, for beelikej (I love you, seriously and in a non creepy way) who generously donated to Doctors Without Borders to help the recovery efforts in Haiti. She asked for a sequel (with sub!Nick and maybe collars) and left almost everything else up to me. Well she wanted Nick in the cop uniform but I couldn't think of a way to do that, so this is the next best thing.

Special thanks to dlasta for editing and hand holding and to [info]sinjah for helping me get my groove back. And to *everyone* who has donated money and time to this cause.

There were plenty of chores that Nick had scheduled for his day off. Lots to get done, from defrosting the freezer to cleaning the gutters. So much to get done that he shouldn't have had a spare moment all day, not that he'd minded when he'd carefully written out a list last week of what he planned to get done this week.

He'd always liked his things to be in order. So, so what if in the past year that had gone from liking things in their place to needing things in their proper place for him to feel comfortable? The therapist he'd been ordered to go to had said it was normal, that after a bad experience some people just needed to make sure the little things were seen to to ease a bigger anxiety and that it would pass.

But his gutters were now ready for another rainy season in Vegas and there was still a distracted, unsettled feeling that had him skipping the kitchen as he came back in the house, making him move instead of resting for a bit. He passed Greg, who was on the couch watching TV, and went to the bathroom to wash up.

It was normal to spend his day off taking care of things. It was just that...when he'd made the list he hadn't known Greg would have the day off too. But one unexpected shift change later, and Greg was home with him, not cleaning, because, in his words, “there's nothing that needs to get done today and anyway, the house is spotless.” He hadn't been sarcastic, not exactly, but Nick knew better than to trust that mild expression. Greg was anything but mild.

Nick made a face at himself in the mirror as he dried his hands then turned and headed back to the living room. Greg had never been very concerned with housecleaning. Oh, his DVDs were arranged alphabetically and his shoes organized by color, but beyond that he'd never had much interest in cleaning. Without Nick, the master bedroom would be as messy as the guest room that had used to be Greg's bedroom and was now mostly full of junk that needed to be put in storage.

It was honestly amazing that Greg's lab had always been so neat.

Despite hours of labor, Nick wasn't tired, had in fact a restless energy that meant he still had work he needed to do, but when he tried to walk past the couch he found himself staring at Greg, who was absorbed in some science documentary. Hinting that Greg could help him wouldn't do any good, though if he asked nicely Greg would probably get up off his butt. He'd grumble, but he'd do it.

Nick thought about it, studying the back of Greg's neck, and then smiled and shook his head. Greg's grumbling generally lacked bite, and usually, with just a little coaxing, would disappear completely within minutes. Nick wasn't sure he'd even seen Greg that angry for that long, if he didn't count the frown that had lingered on his face for the weeks after...Walter Gordon.

He was in no mood to see even a temporary frown on Greg's face, so he stopped, tried to focus on what it was Greg was watching, and then realized the time.

“Hey, isn't it supposed to be recording the game right now?” he protested, louder than he meant to, but Greg must have known Nick was behind him. He didn't flinch, just turned to roll his eyes.

“It's a DVR, Nick. It can do two things at once. Your game is safe,” Greg explained, unnecessarily, because he had already told Nick that several times since he'd convinced Nick to get the thing. Nick was pretty sure Greg had picked up that tone from either Hodges or Archie. Nerds.

“Ah. Right.” Nick shook his head and Greg took it for an apology and grinned. It was an apology, though Nick would have liked the chance to actually voice it. But Greg did that—he always did that—and then leaned back to smile upside down at him.

“Done protecting the house from leaves?” he wondered softly, all invitation. Sunlight on Greg was something Nick didn't see enough. A day—and a night—off meant Greg looked tired, like he ought to be sleeping, but he apparently wasn't about to miss the daylight either.

It was coming through the windows, making the parts of Greg's hair that he'd left blond seem lighter. He hadn't spiked it up or done anything crazy to it in a long time, but the flat waves were still soft, and dark brown suited Greg too.

Maybe Nick could take a small break from cleaning. Sit on the couch for a while, possibly have a late lunch with Greg before getting back to the list. Greg could mock it all he wanted, but if Nick had let the leaves go they would have become a bigger problem later.

“Is this about...the Human Genome Project?” he asked as came around and sat against the arm, next to Greg who, being Greg, was in the center of the couch with his feet on the coffee table. Greg watched Nick sit, then turned back to the screen.

“Nothing that I haven't read already, but I wanted to see how they handled it.” Greg shrugged and Nick focused on the images playing out on the screen. He understood maybe every fourth word, but it felt good to rest, like he'd been running around too long, and he could feel Greg's body heat from where he was, so he didn't move.

He thought Greg was completely focused on the program, but Greg turned to him again a second later, gave him a curious look.

“What?” Nick demanded immediately and Greg shot him another look before facing the TV. His mouth curved up. Even in profile, it was a wide smile.

“You're really going to stay here?” Greg pulled his feet down to the floor but didn't turn again. Nick somehow doubted he was paying attention to his documentary anymore. He scowled anyway and opened his mouth, though the question he wanted to ask, “Why wouldn't I?” got stuck in his throat.

He looked away instead, at the room without dust, the sparkling, bright glass on the windows. So the house was...as clean as it could possibly be, there was an empty pit in his stomach anyway, like he had something he had to do. Anxiety, his therapist had told him, is usually a fear of one thing manifested as a fear of something else.

But Nick had nothing to be afraid of anymore. He didn't want fear, and had worked hard to get rid of it. None of that stopped him from saying something he knew sounded stupid.

“Clean gutters keeps things from flooding. Or the roof from springing leaks.”

Greg sighed, then shot him another sideways look.

“I know. I don't mind if you want to clean, Nick,” he said calmly, still not turning, and Nick's scowl got deeper at that mild tone coming back. There was no evidence that Greg was mad about anything, but Nick had the feeling he was. It mixed with, added to, the cold, hollow sensation in his gut. He tugged at his t-shirt, then sat up.

His hands smoothed out the cushion under him and he tried to focus on the narrator's voice. It was a man. He had a British accent. That was as far as his attention went, and then it was back on Greg.

He had to touch, and put his arm up, running his fingertips carefully over Greg's hair. Greg shivered, but he didn't look over until Nick stroked his hair again and let his fingers fall to Greg's neck.

“You're going to take a break now?” Greg put a lot of disbelief into a little sentence. Nick felt himself getting defensive.

“Yeah. That a crime?”

“Well I don't know. There's only twenty-eight hours left in your time off. There's probably grout that could use your attention.” Greg responded too seriously. “Condiments in the fridge could be expiring while you sit here with me.”

“Ha ha. Not funny, G.” Nick knew he was flushing. His projects were getting slightly anal retentive, but Greg had to know Nick would rather be sitting here with him. It wasn't often they had time off together.

He thought about protesting that he was making sure their house was taken care of for the both of them, but he didn't think Greg would believe it. He had a feeling that Greg knew exactly when—why—he'd started getting obsessive, not that Greg had said anything.

He loved that about Greg sometimes, most times, how Greg knew what he wanted before he did. How they didn't need to say things out loud. Not once had Greg pressured him to talk, not even when Nick's family been here for a month and Greg had silently moved himself back into the guest room while Nick had still been in the hospital, or when Nick had stopped going to therapy and gone back to work.

But now Nick was on edge because Greg wasn't talking. He was looking at Nick with those eyes. Nick's mother had called them Bedroom Eyes as a joke, letting Greg flirt with her the way he flirted with everyone. Nick just thought they were full of questions. One question. But Greg wasn't asking it, and Nick hadn't brought it up yet.

Those eyes seemed dark now despite the sunlight and Nick felt his stomach twist. The muscles under his hand were tense, the skin warm and smooth. It gave him the fleeting idea that Greg was worried about something.

“Nah,” he said finally, his thumb moving along the curve of Greg's spine, over old scars. He loved that Greg let Nick pet him. He had missed that, waking up in a hospital, coming home to an empty bed. He might have missed simply touching Greg more than he missed not being afraid, more than he missed the way he used to have fun on his days off. “The condiments can wait.”

“Really?” Greg turned to face him, sliding one leg underneath himself. Nick's hand fell away. “You want to sit here with me?” Greg exhaled, the sound easier than it had been before. A second later he moved forward with a sudden burst of motion and crawled into Nick's lap, barely pausing for Nick to get his legs up onto the couch before he was sprawled on top of Nick and licking Nick's mouth open. Greg was heavy. Nick didn't complain, although at the change of light, the weight closing over him, he went stiff.

Greg moved again before Nick could, reading his mind or feeling the way Nick's heart was racing. He got his knees to either side of Nick's hips, one wedged against the back of the couch, and half-straightened without taking his mouth away.

His hands were warm, slow as they slid under Nick's t-shirt. He rubbed circles over Nick's chest with his palms, the same circles he rubbed into Nick's back on bad nights, but Nick pulled away, to breathe. He...just had to breathe for a moment.

“Sorry.” Damn it. He hated feeling like this, especially in front of Greg. He didn't think Greg cared, but he was supposed to be better by now.

He stared up at Greg's flushed face and willed himself to relax so Greg wouldn't notice more than he already had. There was a startled flicker of recognition in Greg's eyes anyway, and then Nick quickly raised a hand to Greg's cheek to draw Greg down. He nipped at Greg's full, pink lower lip before pressing their mouths together. A word hummed against his lips and then Greg opened for him. Nick pushed up, groaned, buried his fingers in Greg's hair and Greg made another sound, an eager, happy little grunt and scooted his body in.

When he kissed Greg like this, rough, it was almost like fucking him. Greg was loud, would be even louder when Nick was inside of him, and he loved how alive Greg was like that, easy and responsive. He was getting hard at just the idea of fucking Greg, here on the couch, in their room, anywhere. There wouldn't be any anxiety then, just Greg, doing whatever Nick wanted.

He could say anything, command anything, and Greg would do it. He could make Greg wait to come, until he was writhing and pleading, and then he could let Greg have his orgasm, make him so happy and sated he wouldn't move for hours, and then he could do it again if he wanted. Every vibration, every breath, was his. It still amazed him that Greg wanted him, how much he offered, even when Nick didn't ask. God, he would give Greg anything when he was like that.

Greg's hands shoved Nick's shirt out of the way, up to his armpits, then he rocked forward. He was breathing hard, at odds with his soft, parted lips, the desperate way he wet his mouth and ducked his head to follow Nick when Nick took another second to suck in air.

Greg slid his tongue into Nick's mouth, taking over and then pulling back, trying to say his name.

“Nick,” he whined, bumping Nick against the arm of the couch, taking one hand from Nick's chest to cup his dick through his jeans. Nick lurched up into the heat of his palm. “Nicky,” Greg said again, voice husky, and Nick's dick jumped for him. “...want you to feel good.”

“I will,” Nick promised him, almost moaning when Greg's hand left his cock. It landed behind him on the couch and then Greg was almost on top of him, and rolling his hips so Nick could feel how turned on he was, feel it right against his crotch, his ass.

Nick frowned for a moment at the nudge against him, the urge to open his legs, and tried to to fall back when blunt fingernails scraped a nipple, scratched his stomach, and heat shot right to his spine. He thrust up, moved his hips to match what Greg was doing and shaking when that made Greg purr.

“Fuck, Nick.” That was another bolt of need right to his balls, made them feel tight, heavy. Hot. Nick moved his hips again, getting one hand to Greg's back without being very aware of what he was doing. Greg was heavy, this position was new for him, but it felt right. “Let me make you feel good,” Greg whispered against his mouth, suddenly speaking, asking for something, and Nick's eyes opened as the words sank in. “Like I used to,” Greg finished, staring down at him with a line between his deep brown eyes.

Nick shut his and instantly shivered at the dark. He opened them again and coughed to ease his dry, constricted throat.

It was something Greg hadn't wanted that often in their months together before Nick had been buried. Buried alive—he made himself think it like he'd been told to do. He had been buried alive. If he thought it enough it wouldn't be something to be afraid of, that was what they'd told him. If he voiced it then his anxiety would lesson, then the panicky, seizing feeling in his chest would go away.

But he'd thought it and the nervousness was still there, or it was merging with that sickness down in his belly, where there was also heat. Desire, need for Greg and the idea of what Greg wanted.

Greg on top of him, fucking him. He tried to think that too, but that had always been something rare, even in the beginning. He'd wanted Greg to be happy, so he'd said yes, and been surprised at how gentle Greg was with him when he usually wanted forceful from Nick, how his body had tightened around Greg's cock, inside of him, and then loosened with every kiss to the back of his neck, his shoulders. How good it had been to lay there and feel everything. Nerve-wracking too, to know that Greg had been learning things about him with every touch of his hands and mouth, that when Greg had slid into him, Greg had been staring at him.

He'd probably seen everything about Nick then, even if Nick's face had been in the pillows. He'd probably glimpsed it all the second Nick had turned onto his stomach. Greg wasn't dumb, he'd have seen the way Nick had curled his hands into the bedding and tried not to shudder at the wave of need and the spiking, overwhelming feeling of being torn apart. Not like pain, but like being split open, for the world to see.

Nick had liked it, he could admit that, but not as much as he'd liked having Greg in the same position, Greg in any position but over him, crushing him.

No, Greg hadn't ever crushed him, it had been more like an awareness of Greg surrounding him, in him, and a feeling that Greg had him in those moments. Weak. Exposed. Owned. He'd never understood how Greg could want that all the time, why Greg said it made Greg feel safer to have Nick in charge of him. Safe enough to let go. Sure, Nick would never hurt him and knew that, but it was... His memory was of feeling vulnerable before Greg had made him feel so good he'd gasped out and come.

Nick wondered if his hands were shaking and tightened his hold on his clothes.

Greg wanted to fuck him. He thought about, had to think about it, couldn't stop thinking about it. Like he was trapped again and there was nothing to do but think.

He'd been naked, they'd both been, but that first time, when Greg had started to fuck him, his breath had stuttered out and he hadn't been able to move. Hadn't wanted to. Greg could have done anything to him then and Nick would have let him.

He couldn't... Nick reached out, grabbed Greg's shirt and then froze. They hadn't done that since then. Greg hadn't asked, had just let Nick wake up from his nightmares and flip him onto his back, hadn't said a thing when Nick came home from too long shifts in strange towns and fastened the collar around his neck to have Greg do whatever he wanted.

Nick tore his hands away from Greg and put them both to his stomach, tried to look away from the longing in Greg's face and how quickly Greg could hide it.

“Greg...” He knew there was air, he just couldn't seem to find it.

They both jerked at the ring of the house phone, loud, too close, and Nick realized that it was stuck in the cushions under him. He was still looking at Greg when he put it to his ear. His voice was hoarse.

“Stokes,” he started and noticed Greg's mouth tightened a fraction. But his mother's voice took his attention off Greg's mouth and he lifted his head in reflex. “Hey, Mom!” His volume was way up and his heart wasn't slowing down any. His mother was on the phone and Greg was straddling his lap. He was hard, and so was Greg and his mother was excusing herself for the call, wondering if he was busy. Shit. “No, no, I remember. You said you'd call on my next day off.”

He shifted, trying to ease the ache in his lower back, the burn where Greg's jeans chafed against his, and Greg pulled back so abruptly that Nick felt cold and had to yank down his shirt. Greg watched him for a second, then faced the TV. His lips looked red, were parted as he breathed out.

“No, I'm good. I'm fine,” Nick told his mother. That was what she always asked first now. How he was. If he felt okay. She was worried, he knew that, understandably, but it didn't calm him any. It had been months. Other then a hard on taking its time to go down and tension keeping his voice high, he was perfectly fine. People could stop asking.

Greg was the one who seemed not okay, the one sitting stiffly at the other end of the couch, staring at the TV until Nick said his name. Then he twitched and glanced over.

“Greg's fine. He has the day off too.” His family had liked Greg. His dad might have thought Greg was a little strange, but Greg had toned down his hair since then, and his dad hadn't really gotten much of a chance to know him. Nick had been recovering and Greg had been needed to cover his shifts. For the first month, they'd only really seen Greg when he'd come home to change, to check on Nick with anxious, quick stares and no words, though after a while his mom had insisted on feeding Greg, making his lunches.

He'd been too skinny, she'd said. A poor boy obviously stressed out with work. He needed a woman to look after him, though a charming guy like Greg should have no problem meeting somebody. Now Greg got the same questions Nick got.

“No, he doesn't have a date.” Nick looked up but not in time to catch Greg's eye. “Not that I know of.” Nick hadn't asked if Greg had plans for tonight. He didn't think so, but the possibility was there. Because Greg was charming. And hot. And smart. Anyone would want to go out with him, so much that Nick couldn't believe that Greg had stayed with him all through this. He'd even thought, when he'd been popping anti-anxiety meds and losing sleep, that their relationship was over. It had been too new when everything had happened. Greg shouldn't have stayed.

But there he was, on the end of the couch, listening to Nick talk to his mother about his love life. Listening to Nick lie to his mother, and not saying anything. Shit and shit; Nick was too used to his internal swearing to be bothered by it anymore.

Nick almost wished Greg would say something. The lies ate at him, one small bite at a time. Not even being near death had he dared to tell the truth, not wanting to disappoint his mother, not wanting to out Greg in front of the team. He'd wondered later if that had hurt Greg, but he hadn't had a chance in that first month to mention it, hadn't even wanted to think about that tape after that.

“No I'm not going out tonight either. No, Mom, I just...I don't want to date right now.” It was a lame answer. Nick dropped his head only to raise it again when Greg pushed himself to his feet. He hovered for a moment, then swept his hands through his hair and moved. Nick watched him disappear into the kitchen then reappear, opening the fridge door.

He took a bottle of something plastic and threw it into the sink before shutting the refrigerator again.

“I know it's been months. That life is short.” Christ did he know that. His mother continued to talk. Nick kept on watching Greg, the way he emptied out the bottle into the sink and ran the disposal, not checking to see if the noise was okay, or waiting until Nick was off the phone. “You want to come out again?” Nick repeated as the disposal turned off and Greg's shoulders went back. “When? I...I'm kinda busy right now,” he tried, clearing his throat, and Greg walked out, stopping above the couch

“You know I might clean out the closet in my room.” Greg met Nick's eyes and spoke over the murmur of Nick's mother's voice. Nick flinched at the tone, the way Greg lifted his chin then tried to shrug. “Do something with my time off. That closet is getting crowded and I might need the space soon.”

His eyes glinted and then he disappeared down the hall. Nick swallowed.

His room. That wasn't supposed to be Greg's room anymore, damn it. Nick had never asked Greg to move back in there the first time. He might have, if he'd been conscious, or home, but Greg hadn't given him the chance. Probably hadn't wanted to add to Nick's problems, probably had seen the tension in Nick's eyes when their gaze had met in the hospital. So what if Nick had been relieved to learn that his family hadn't learned about his relationship with Greg that way? He'd never asked Greg to do it, and Greg shouldn't be assuming he wanted it now.

“Mom, can you call back? I have...I have to go take care of something.” Nick ran a hand over his chest, not that it slowed his heart rate, and then tried to smile so his mother could hear it in his voice. “No. Yeah. I love you too. Bye.”

He left the phone on the couch as he got up, then followed the sounds of rustling clothes and heavy boxes being tossed around without a lot of concern until he was standing in the doorway to Greg's—to the spare bedroom. Then his panic came roaring back.

There were noises coming from inside the wide closet. One side of the wooden, folding doors had been pushed back, Greg must be behind the other side.

On the floor at his feet, all around the bed and the bureau, were boxes and plastic bins, as though Greg had torn the closet apart in less than two minutes. If there was any attempt at organization, Nick couldn't see it. There were plastic bags filled with...he had no idea what they were filled with...next to bins of Greg's old comic books and one cardboard box that had Nick's yearbooks and photo albums in it. On top of that was a stack of loose clothing, glittering. He saw feathers, leather, figured it was either Halloween costumes or Greg's club clothes.

Greg didn't really go out like that anymore. Didn't do things like that that Nick knew about. Hell, Nick didn't even know if Greg wanted to. It was something else he hadn't wanted to remind Greg of. He'd thought that if Greg did think about the fun they weren't having, he'd leave.

Greg didn't even wear that kind of stuff anymore. Just the collar. The same collar. Nick had almost bought him a new one a few times, something different that was just theirs, but it had seemed like one more thing he was taking from Greg, assuming that he'd want something like that.

A lot of Greg's things were still laying around everywhere else. Six pairs of undoubtedly expensive sunglasses were hanging from the mirror above the bureau at the opposite end of the room. Books were on every surface, textbooks Greg hadn't gotten rid of. Bracelets and cuffs on the nightstand.

It looked like Greg could stay in this room again. It looked almost like he'd never left it.

There was a tux and Nick's old police uniform hanging from the rod in the closet, both wrapped in plastic. Greg shoved them back as he came out. He had a canvas bag with a pink lawn flamingo sticking out of it in one hand, but let it fall when he saw Nick. Then he picked it up and carried it over to the rest of the pile he was making.

“Have a good talk?”

“What are you doing?” Nick avoided Greg's question and answered in a tone he'd been starting to use at work, one he used in the bedroom with Greg. It usually got people's attention and made them fall in line. But they weren't at work and Greg wasn't wearing his collar. His eyebrows went up before he drew them together in a stubborn frown.

“I'm cleaning this out in case I need to use it again. Seems obvious to me.”Greg managed to sound pissed off and tired at the same time. It might have been the way he spat the words but then rolled his shoulders the way he did after double shifts. He slowly leaned his head to one side as his frown lifted. “Unless...” Nick could actually see him working things out, put up a hand. “Unless you're thinking I should pack all this up. In boxes.” Greg was strained, but tried a little smile that he didn't mean. “Is that what you're thinking?”

“No!” Nick had to move from the doorway, crossing the small room until he was in front of, close to, Greg. He reached out but pulled his hands down before he could grab Greg and make him stay. He had a feeling his expression must have been something, because Greg's mouth fell open and his eyes were reflecting back terror.

There was air, Nick told himself. He could breathe, he had to breathe, so he could tell Greg not to move. Not to move out. Please don't move out. Don't leave him flat on his back in the dark. Not again.

He'd never asked Greg about that either, how it had felt to be on the other side of that moment.

“No,” he said again over the rush in his ears. It was all there was to hear next to his breathing, and a voice echoing off plexiglass walls, a voice so raw that it had only fed his panic. “No, don't do that. Please.”

He hadn't realized he was begging at the time, hadn't know what in the hell he'd been saying, but he heard every word now. “I'd never ask you to do that, Greg.”

He hadn't, though he remembered coming home on his parents' arms and wondering how they'd react to this side of him. He also remembered finding his bedroom stripped of everything Greg and how his shaking had only eased when his mother had said something about his “thoughtful roommate” and he'd known Greg had still been around.

They'd been so new when it had happened. Nick had been new. He hadn't even considered telling his parents yet and there they'd been, living in his house. His home with Greg.

Neither one of his parents had apparently bothered to wonder why Nick owned his home and yet still needed a roommate, or just hadn't wanted to ask. His mother had said she was grateful that Nick would at least have a friend around to help him recover.

A friend. Nick felt his skin go from cold to burning. After dropping his parents off at McCarran he'd come home and into this room, had fallen asleep on top of Greg's bedspread. He'd woken up to Greg home from work and passed out at his back with one arm thrown over him. Greg's breathing had been slow and warm on the back of his neck, even. It hadn't felt suffocating the way it should have, and Nick had shut his eyes and let it send him back to sleep.

He hadn't asked anything then either, the way he wasn't asking now, and dropped his head, feeling sick. Greg always knew what he needed before he did, like he had things mapped out that Nick had never thought of. Hell, Greg had probably looked at Nick's DNA, seen everything there was to see. Had seen him curled up in the dirt, crying like a baby, and he was still here.

“Shit, Greg, I'm sorry. I've been...pretty selfish, haven't I?” He studied the plain white socks covering Greg's feet then looked up when Greg shook his head.

“No.” Greg breathed out and pushed forward to scowl at Nick close up. “You needed it before. You did.”

Knowing that was true didn't keep him from snapping.

“Damn it, don't do that—I didn't want you to be in here.” He knew that much at least, even if he hadn't been up to a scene with his parents. He narrowed his eyes, but Greg didn't seem swayed. Shit. Nick ran his hands over his short hair.

“You didn't say anything. But I didn't blame you.” Greg was quiet. “After all, you were...”

Shell-shocked and medicated, not sleeping because he hadn't liked the dark. But he wasn't anymore, was he? Could Greg still say he didn't blame Nick now? Nick was the reason they weren't out, though he'd almost told Warrick a thousand times, had nearly snapped at Sara a few days ago to stop picking on his boyfriend.

Greg was his boyfriend. But when they went to movies, to eat, they could just as easily have been friends. Neither of them were really into PDAs. Or at least Nick wasn't. Had he ever asked Greg? Tried anything? Maybe he'd just gotten used to carefully not touching Greg at work like he'd used to, and trying not to share such obvious looks with him. Work was...work. Police work. Nick was Greg's supervisor. They had to be discreet. But then outside of work...he'd never thought about trying.

“You should,” he realized, his nerves stretched. He had pills for that, pills taking up space in their medicine cabinet. “You should blame me. We can't be out, not like that, not at work.” He took too much from Greg as it was, he couldn't take his career too. “But...” He didn't know how it all even worked. He just knew Greg wasn't happy and that wasn't what Nick had promised him a year ago.

Whatever you want, G. That's what he'd promised. It hadn't just been sex. It was on his tongue and still Greg wouldn't let him say it.

“This isn't about work. This is home.” Anger made Greg flush, but his eyes were steady on Nick, hopeful for a long moment. “Or I thought it was.”

Nick shook his head before Greg could shrug again.

“It is.” He'd never had anything like this. It wasn't even being gay; this thing between them worked.

“Then, Nick, that means friends knowing.” Greg crossed his arms. He had goosebumps. Nick could almost feel his palms on Greg's bare forearms, smoothing them away. “And family. And going out together.” Greg shifted. “...I didn't think that was asking too much.”

Going out. Being out. Nick didn't like strangers knowing anything about him. It had always felt invasive, and now... He didn't want strangers in his private life ever again.

“I don't mean a Pride parade, Nick.” Greg suddenly rolled his eyes. “I meant...sometimes...holding hands. Referring to you as my boyfriend. Eating off your plate. Starting small, you know?” Greg rattled on for a moment, nervously babbling and then shutting up.

All reasonable requests. Nick clamped down his rising anxiety, clenched his jaw. He was supposed to have conquered his fear by now. Loving Greg wasn't supposed to be a weakness, but thinking of it left him exposed just the same. Other people might guess, but Greg knew him.

Greg touched him, a hand on his shoulder, a lifeline, and Nick exhaled. If Greg ever admitted to knowing Nick on an intracellular level it wouldn't have been surprising. But he felt stupid and scared. He could do it, and it still felt like not enough.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Greg repeated, which was good, because Nick didn't think he could say it again. “Really?” Greg's doubt was understandable, but insulting. Nick frowned and Greg dropped his head to peer at Nick from head to toe. “Really.”

Nick blinked at the wicked look that crossed Greg's face at that. He knew that look. In the lab it had meant a game. At home it meant a game, and trouble.

“Greg...” He tried to head it off but Greg put up a hand.

“Wait here. He tossed out the order and slipped past Nick and out the door. Nick turned without moving, not sure why when he felt shaky beneath his skin at the sounds Greg made through the wall, messing around in the kitchen. But Greg was coming back, wasn't leaving him; Nick could hear his shuffle on the carpet in the hall and then he was sailing back through the door with a pair of scissors in one hand and an evil grin on his face.

He moved around Nick to rifle through the bag with the flamingo in it. “Yesss.” He stood up and brandished a spool of shiny pink satin ribbon.

When he arched one eyebrow, Nick wet his lips.

“Sara was organizing a breast cancer thing a while back and asked me to buy ribbon, which she never used. I have the whole roll.”

“For what, Greggo?” His voice wasn't steady. Greg unraveled a piece of ribbon and snipped one end. He dropped the spool and the scissors onto the bed then slid back into Nick's space.

“To show you how I...” Greg cleared his throat and hopped in place, all energy now. He still had the length of ribbon. “Give me your hand, Nick,” he ordered softly. Greg would never hurt him, Nick knew that, but he hesitated before bringing his hand up. Then he started as Greg looped pink satin around his wrist and knotted it so that the ends fell loosely when Greg let go.

It wasn't in a bow at least. Nick studied the double knot in confusion, then glanced up. Greg was clearly pleased with himself, but bouncing with a build up of nerves.

“You can wear it out...We can get dinner.”

"That's a small step?” Nick almost demanded, stopped at the tickle on his inner wrist. It wasn't a bow. But he feel it, see it.

So could Greg. Nick's lips still felt dry. So could everyone else, but this was for Greg. For Greg.

“I can...” He pushed the fear down as much as he could. “I can do that, G,” he agreed, then coughed. The ribbon was pink.

“Really?” Greg's doubt came in loud and clear and Nick couldn't exactly defend himself. Greg must have learned that knowing look from Grissom. He leaned in to whisper into Nick's ear. “What if it was more?”

“More?” Nick jumped when Greg did, though Greg only stepped to the side, to the bed, to unspool a very generous amount of ribbon. “What?”

“Trust me, Nick.” Greg didn't come in front of him this time, but stayed at his side. Nick could see him if he turned his head, but instead stared forward at their reflection.

The first careful touch of Greg's fingers made him shiver, and Greg looked at him in the mirror for a moment. Then he wrapped one arm around Nick for just as brief a space in time, drawing one end of the ribbon with him. His fingertips were lightly calloused and yet seemed softer than the satin.

That went around Nick's throat. It was loose, silky, Greg kept two fingers on Nick's skin, between the ribbon and his throat, as he got it about where he wanted it. He didn't stop once he'd knotted it this time, but made a large, floppy bow, and circled to the front to arrange it under Nick's Adam's apple. Then he wrinkled his nose and pushed the bow to the side.

He looked...almost happy as he released the ends. Nick immediately swallowed, then opened his mouth at how the ribbon moved with him. He could feel it when he raised his chin to speak. It was cool and soft.

“G.” It was all he could manage as his eyes went to the mirror, the sight of himself...beribboned. Like a show dog. Or a girl. It looked like...Greg's collar. Felt like it too, wrapped around his throat, just snug enough, the ends falling to his collar bone, pink and shiny and harmless, bright against his skin. He breathed out, turned to Greg with eyes he knew were wide and alarmed.

“Greg, people will think that I...” When Greg had that collar on, it was whatever Nick wanted, no questions asked. Nick didn't think he could be open like that.

“You what, Nick?” Greg angled his head away so Nick could meet his gaze in the mirror but nowhere else. Greg knew damn well what he was talking about. People would think that Nick did whatever Greg said. Was his slave—no, Greg wasn't Nick's slave. It wasn't like that, it was more like Greg wanted Nick to have all of him, trusted Nick with that much and he didn't care who knew it.

Nick swallowed. Again. The ribbon tugged at him, like the way Greg wasn't looking directly at him.

“I can't wear this to work,” he sidestepped. The presence of ribbon at his wrist tugged at him too, less intense and less obvious, but a reminder just the same. Greg had put it there. Greg had wrapped him in pink to say...to say something public and obvious. Nick ran a touch along the bow at his neck and satin tickled and itched in strange places. “...My family...”

Greg snorted and Nick's skin flushed. Greg turned back to him, and his gaze, on Nick's neck, on his hand, seared him it was so hot.

“I don't wear my collar to work,” Greg pointed out. Nick went still as Greg's hands joined his. The pads of his fingertips traced the ribbon, paused over Nick's racing pulse. It was Nick's turn for goosebumps and Greg's turn to warm him. Greg crooked one finger under the bow itself, then pulled.

Nick's feet stumbled the two small steps forward.

“Do you really care what anyone else thinks, Nick?” Greg's breath teased him, damp over his mouth. He hadn't let go of the bow. Nick hadn't asked him to, though he kept his hands up. Greg's palms were sticky and warm on the back of his hands.

“I look ridiculous, G,” he spoke in a rasp. Greg just shook his head from side to side.

“You look like a box of chocolates, all for me.” Greg was almost panting. Nick jerked his attention up from his pink lips, that same color pink, to his dark eyes. “I want you to be honest. What you...whatever you tell your family is for you, Nick.”

Nick's gaze flicked away for on second. To the mirror, to himself, wrapped up in pink ribbon, waiting for Greg to kiss him instead of just moving forward and kissing Greg first. Waiting, barely breathing. There was air, warm air that smelled like Greg. He breathed in.

The ribbon meant he didn't have to know everything. That it was okay to wait if he wanted. Greg had probably known that too. Damn it. Greg was holding back again.

“Greg,” he started, then bit his lip. That's what strangers would think, that he needed Greg. Greg smelled like coffee and hair products. That foamy body wash stuff that he insisted wasn't soap. He smelled good.

It was true, he needed Greg. Greg already knew that too, didn't he?

“My mom and dad...” he began again and grabbed Greg's wrist when Greg went to pull away. “...They like you.”

Greg's grin was daylight and fresh air. Maybe a bit cocky.

“Who can resist me?”

Not Nick, obviously. He stared back seriously and Greg at least dropped his smug smile, blinked away something hopeless.

“Nick, you almost died. You should have seen them... They love you.”

“They'll blame you,” Nick insisted and wondered why Greg's fingers curled back around the bow and held it tightly. “I don't want them to.”

Greg's hold didn't relax, but he aimed a careful look at Nick before putting his other hand to Nick's chest and ducking in.

“Such a gentleman.” He approved, clearly, and let his mouth rest over Nick's before closing his eyes. That Greg was probably making fun of him a little didn't stop Nick from holding his breath, shivering at the barest press of Greg's lips to his. Greg bit off a groan, withdrew enough to speak. “You can't protect me from your family unless you tell them, unless... Oh.” Nick frowned at the slow sigh, how Greg's eyelids fluttered before coming up. “Unless you really are ashamed and that's why you haven't...”

What he said was as pleading as the look in his eyes, exactly what it had been before on the couch, when he'd wanted...When he'd wanted Nick. Greg never hid anything; he gave Nick everything he had. Of course he'd want the same in return.

But it wasn't...it wasn't something that Greg or Nick, had asked for a lot. He hadn't minded when Greg had fucked him before. Greg had been gentle and slow. Bossy, kind of, once he got going, but still Greg, teasing Nick, kissing him...taking him... Always with whispers and hungry little groans, as though just the idea of Nick beneath him was enough to do Greg in. Nick had always wanted to push up toward those sounds, toward Greg's mouth and hands.

He'd liked it, how his smallest move would send Greg over the edge, how he'd pushed his cock into the mattress and listened to Greg moaning into his ear. Pressure everywhere, inside and out, and Greg encouraging him to come, knowing exactly when he would.

Rough would have felt less overwhelming. Left him less shattered.

“No, it isn't...about that.” He wasn't sure he could take being like...that...again. Naked and wide open, wanting to cry at how out of control it felt to have Greg making him come.

Rick had said he had cried, on the ground, out of his coffin, but Nick didn't remember and he'd never tried to confirm it with Greg.

Greg crooked his finger instead of leaning in, urged Nick back toward his mouth. Nick should have tried to stand his ground. With anyone else, maybe he would have. But Nick hadn't taken the ribbon off. He should have but hadn't, and knew he wouldn't when Greg's tongue touched his lower lip.

“Then what's it about?” Greg scrunched up his face and stood back when Nick's breathing hitched. He blinked once or twice, and then focused on Nick, focused too much. “You're still... Nick I didn't mean to scare you.” At “scare” Nick flinched, then felt foolish because he'd proved Greg right. But Greg wet his mouth and then leaned back, sliding his hands to Nick's shoulders. His fingertips crept under Nick's t-shirt to touch bare skin.

“I know that.” Nick worked his jaw. He did know it. “It isn't you.” What should have come out strong was hardly a whisper. He hoped Greg could figure out everything from that, that Greg wouldn't make him say it. But if Greg was reading his mind, he wasn't sharing.

Nick raised his arm to put his palm over Greg's chest, and caught the hint of pink on his skin. It made him slow, his thinking going fuzzy for a moment, and then he frowned.

“I want you,” he admitted as he brought his head up, turned his face to the side. The ribbon on his neck moved with him. Then so did Greg, putting his face Nick's throat. His breath stirred the ends of the bow. Greg's fingers were close to the ribbon, close but not touching it.

“...trust me, Nicky...” he got out. Nick couldn't tell if he was asking, and didn't move other than to take a deep breath.

“What...what did you have in mind?” he asked at last, his voice gravelly, and nearly shut his eyes when Greg's hand closed carefully around the bow. Greg himself leaned back a second later, his eyes practically sparking.

Despite the pleasure he wasn't hiding, Greg regarded him seriously for a long moment.

“I'm sure I can think of something.” He could have been teasing, but when Nick's pulse jumped against Greg's knuckles, he tossed his head and gave Nick the sternest scowl he could manage. It was kind of reassuring; Greg wasn't very good at stern. “Only what you want. I just want to make you feel good, okay? To relax.” Greg rolled his shoulders, the only sign of his tension. “If you wanna freak out you can freak out,” Greg went on, and Nick opened his mouth to protest only to stop when Greg's fingers twisted in the bow enough to forcibly remind him that he still had the ribbon around his neck.

Greg had already been too patient with him. That's what Nick would have said, then wasn't sure why he exhaled when Greg didn't release the strip of pink. In fact Greg paused and then twisted it again, just for a second, and Nick nodded without thinking.

Permission to freak out. He didn't know why that mattered. But he nodded without being told to, and Greg grinned. Like that first time between them, Greg seemed to find the right words to tempt him. He sighed in obvious relief then brought their foreheads together. “Let me take care of everything, Nick, okay?”

Nick closed his eyes and nodded again, felt the short, silent laugh the way he felt Greg's hands falling to pet over his chest and stomach. Greg wouldn't hurt him.

“Just don't...” He cut his request off before he could make it, realized that he'd reached out and had handfuls of Greg's shirt. He was trembling.

“Small steps, remember?”Greg reassured him, cooing, coaxing, using that voice he used whenever he—not casually at all—suggested they get a dog. “Now, arms up.”

Greg scratched gently over Nick's abs and snorted in quiet amusement at how Nick gave a start. But Nick couldn't help a glance at the bed. It was smaller than their bed, but probably good enough for whatever Greg had in mind. Probably. Okay, he had no idea what Greg had in mind.

“Here?” he asked to cover the chill of his t-shirt being pulled up, of Greg's palm, damp and hot over his stomach, sliding his shirt up even higher. Greg didn't bother to look up from his ogling as he answered.

“Oh yeah,” he murmured distractedly and made approving sounds when Nick remembered to lift his arms and he removed the shirt. He forgot the ribbon, too busy splaying his hands over Nick's nipples, his ribs, the small bit of hair on his lower belly, only to finally look up again when his hands reached the waistband of Nick's jeans. He cleared his throat. “Don't take this the wrong way, Nick, but I might love you for your body,” Greg joked—hopefully—though his voice was thick. Then he popped the button on Nick's fly.

Greg's sense of humor was weird. Nick was grateful for it anyway.

“That's all right, G,” he sighed with surprising ease, his voice only rising when Greg dropped to his knees without any warning. “I only love you for your mouth. Shit, what are you...?”

“Hinting for a blowjob already?” Greg shook his head playfully, and shot him an amused look. “I admire the effort, Nick, but ask me again later.” He got Nick's zipper down and out of his way. Efficient when he needed to be, that was Greg. Two good yanks and Nick's pants were down past his knees and Greg was making irritated noises at Nick's boots.

Nick was standing there in his boxer briefs and Greg was arguing with his shoes. He shivered, feeling not naked enough, then entirely too naked, as Greg stripped away bootlaces and then the boots.

He didn't seem too concerned with Nick's jeans; he stretched forward and met Nick's eyes as he pulled down his underwear.

“Oh yeah,” he said again, letting Nick's briefs end up with his jeans and then sitting back on his legs to stare up at him.

The room wasn't so chilly anymore. Greg smiled at Nick's full body blush enough to make Nick duck his head.

“I...uh...didn't know you were this shallow, Greggo,” he ventured and oh God, Greg's hands were back on him. They circled around his calves, then up to his thighs. Then his ass. “Greg.”

Greg was inching forward as he got to his feet, and there was breath on Nick's cock for a moment, a short laugh. Greg squeezed his ass, not exactly playfully, then swept touches over Nick's hips, around to the front and down. He didn't touch Nick's cock, but it pounded anyway, grew heavy.

“What are you doing?”

“...Every inch of you.” Greg's gaze narrowed to Nick's mouth, then came up. His eyes were hot and slightly glazed. Then he shook himself and focused. “Every inch is going to belong to Greg Sanders, and just to warn you, I plan on enjoying myself.”

“Well..uh...thanks for the warning.” Nick half-smiled though his cheeks were burning and Greg's hands were wandering everywhere but where they should have gone. Nick, barely, hitched his hips forward. Greg ignored it.

“You're welcome, Stokes.” He called Nick by his last name as though he'd been practicing, cool and slick. Then he bent his head to lick at the corner of Nick's mouth. “Fuck, Nick, you know when you blush, you're...”

“Just because you have no shame.” Nick tried to cover his embarrassment, but Greg wasn't listening. He leaned away to study Nick's throat, glanced up before taking another, longer, look.

When he bent down this time, his tongue darted along the ribbon, at Nick's Adam's apple. Nick put a hand to Greg's back.

“Nick,” Greg purred against his neck. Licking the ribboned collar, licking it. He was hot, prying fingers and a wet tongue. Nick's heart beat hard for him, and he leaned his head back, closed his eyes at the dizzying rush through him, the sudden weakness. He could feel his cock swelling, skin hot and tight, and a groan slipped out.

“Nick. Damn, Nick I have to,” Greg pleaded with him, not making sense until he suddenly pushed himself back. “Fuck” he swore quietly from the safety of a foot or two away at the edge of the bed. “Look at yourself.” He said it so calmly that Nick didn't think, just looked.

He was naked and flushed and decked out in pink ribbon. His cock was just visible in the mirror, straining for attention.

“I...” Nick swiped his tongue over his bottom lip and turned his head toward Greg. Greg was fully dressed, but aroused as hell, judging from the bulge pushing against his jeans. His mouth was open, but when he saw Nick looking at him, he gave a waggly sort of leer.

“You stay right there, like that,” he ordered, reaching without looking for the spool and the scissors. Nick knew his eyes widened.

“More?” He wasn't going to ask why. Greg ignored him, or his question anyway, pointing to Nick's jeans and underwear, still around his ankles.

“Off, Nick. Those have to come off. Socks too. Like, now. Yesterday.” Greg stared for a moment longer and then obviously tore his gaze away to unwind long strips of pink. He cut twice and made a choked sound when he turned back, dropped his scissors when he found Nick naked and waiting uncertainly for him. That was worse than just being naked.

“Naked, Nick.” Greg somehow echoed Nick's thought, then bit his lip.“Except for my ribbon. I... Hold still for a minute. And whatever you do, don't stop being hot.”

“G.” Nick snorted in anxious amusement, but Greg's stream of insanity kept going as he wound ribbon around Nick's right bicep, circled it twice before knotting it, tying another silly bow immediately after that. It was constricting, firm, like a strong grip. Strange when it was just ribbon.

Nick raised his head, but Greg was focused on the task he'd given himself, and still talking. “Don't stop being hot, and don't move, and don't say anything when I wrap you up like a pink Godiva bon bon just for me. I am going to eat you up, Nick, you have no idea. Sometimes you're so untouchable and I almost can't take it, but not now.”

“Bon bon?” Nick repeated in alarm, warm as his left bicep was made to match the right. He felt like a Chippendale's dancer, but before he could speak, ask, “Untouchable?” Greg and his ribbon fell out of sight, fell down to kneel at Nick's feet. He stretched on all fours to grab the scissors.

“Nick, I need to thank Sara. Can I tell her? I think she knows anyway, and she should know what she's done to me with this. Fuck.” Greg cut a few more pieces, distracted, quick snips, in between looking up, and seemed not to realize that he was torturing himself by taking this long. Torturing them both. Nick's breath caught as Greg decorated his upper thighs, how he pulled the big, loose bows in once he was done tying them, in to Nick's inner thighs.

His fingers lingered where the ribbons tangled. It was cool and hot, ticklish, and right as Nick shuddered, Greg spoke again. Trying to kill him. Soft breath on his skin, soft breath stirring pieces of satin over his skin. “...I wonder...”

Satin brushed him again, brushed against sensitive, tight flesh, against the shaft of his cock, and Nick hissed as Greg tied a length of ribbon around the base of his dick.

It wasn't binding, wasn't even a knot, just a bow, but blood throbbed around it, and the ends teased him, like lightly calloused fingertips. Nick's cock jerked and he hissed again, his head back, his whole body fucking burning.

“Greg!” He wasn't sure, but it felt like Greg had just put a pink satin cock ring on him. God, he hadn't expected that. His hands were fists, his mouth dry. He suddenly wanted to come, and come right now, because he wasn't supposed to.

“Look at yourself, Nick.” Greg didn't have to order. Nick slid his eyes to the mirror, to the ridiculous blushing image of himself as a hard-bodied, achingly aroused man, wrapped up in silky, delicate ribbons.

Greg's ribbons, the same shade of pink as his lips.

“...This what you want, Greggo?” He'd meant that to sound light, joking, but his voice rumbled.

“It's...definitely a start.” Greg put his hands up, but curled his fingers into his palms before he could touch Nick. His eyes looked a little wild, Nick had never seem him like that before. On edge. Panicked. Starving. “Nick... Nick, you need to get on that bed, like, right now.”

Nick looked down. Greg was on his knees and rocking, very slowly, back and forth, like he couldn't help himself. The spool was in his lap and he raised a hand to hold the spool steady so he could thrust shallowly against it. On a normal night, Greg would have done that to drive him crazy, maybe licked his mouth obscenely, opened his fly.

But his chin was up, his eyes bright, and when Nick was the one who had to wet his mouth, he made an angry sound.

“Bed, Nick. Now.” He jerked his head. Turned on or not, he hadn't forgotten that Nick had agreed to be his bitch.

His bitch. Nick couldn't even flinch at his own thought. He had agreed to it, was wearing the proof, even if Greg had given him permission to end this if he wanted to.

“On the bed...” Nick said it, said it, when he could have just slid a hand into Greg's hair and pulled him closer to fuck his mouth. He could have taken the ribbon off and ordered Greg to suck him off with that hungry intensity that Greg had, shameless when Nick still hesitated and tried to go slow.

He opened his hands instead, tried to smooth them down his sides. His skin was slightly damp, fine hairs under his palms. He barely noticed with the way Greg's eyes followed the gesture. It made him want to stroke a touch down his chest too, lower over his stomach, maybe...maybe to his dick, to see what Greg would do.

Nick didn't know the rules here, or he would have, if he'd been in charge. He wasn't supposed to think, or test, or argue, he didn't think. Wasn't sure if he even wanted to.

The bed, he thought again. Clarifying, just like in therapy. He was going to get on the bed and let Greg ...do whatever Greg wanted him to do. He could obey. He wasn't shameless, but he could listen. He pulled his hands away; Greg was the type to touch himself in front of a witness, Nick wasn't.

Greg seemed fine with that. He sucked in air lungfuls of air, but he kept his demands soft.

“Don't make me repeat myself, Nick.”

Nick swallowed, but moved. With those eyes on him, he stepped over, sitting stiffly on the edge of the mattress. Greg didn't do stern, but his eyes had a very clear message just the same.

“Greg, I...” He lifted his head.

“Shut up, Nick.” Greg moaned a little as he got to his feet, his hands full. “Shut up and lean back so I can make you pretty... Prettier,” he added a moment later, tossing the scissors and ribbon to one side of the bed and then pushing Nick back and straddling his legs at the same time.

“This is the part where I...oh my God, Nick...” Greg urged him back until Nick bumped into the headboard, and even then Greg didn't stop. He climbed eagerly over Nick's lap, then pushed down. His hands went from Nick's shoulders to the headboard so he could hold himself up as he dry-humped Nick into the mattress.

Greg had on jeans, rough, rough denim chafing painfully as he rubbed himself against Nick's cock. But his mouth was open, watching Nick as he couldn't resist trying to get himself off. Greg was aching and Nick had barely done anything.

“...I just need to have my way with you...for a minute,” Greg mumbled, all hot exclamations and impatience until Nick tried to put his hands on his hips to steady him.

“God, stop,” Greg begged him, snapped, forcing his body to slow. “Stop, Nick, or I won't be able to do this.” But he put a hand down, lowered his zipper and then swore again when Nick's eyes dropped.

“The rainbow boxers?” Nick wondered in disbelief. Maybe Greg had gotten something psychic from his Papa Olaf's side of the family after all. Not that he seemed to care now.

“Shouldn't have bothered.” Greg moved, adjusting himself with a small gasp, then grabbing Nick's hands and putting them back, putting them up to the headboard. It was an old wooden bed, the headboard a series of slats, each one an inch apart. Nick felt them on the back of his wrists.

His breath hitched, his stomach tightening, and then Greg was kissing him, hungry, quick, open-mouthed kisses that were possibly meant to calm him down. But he twitched his hips up as Greg's heat and weight settled over him, his ass over his cock. Greg's erection was insistent against his stomach. And there was Greg's mouth, Greg's mouth on his, on his neck, sucking, then biting, as though now that he had Nick where he wanted him Greg couldn't make up his mind or control himself. Fuck. It was hot, and wet. Wet and Greg were two things Nick liked, especially at the same time.

He forgot the headboard, the ribbon, and groaned, his lips stinging under the assault. He'd never, Greg had never kissed him like this before, words and tongue and shaky breaths. He pushed Nick back when Nick tried to rise up, holding his wrists hard enough to bruise.

“You could have died.” Greg was pissed, proved it by shoving Nick down, and then slowing again, rocking gently against him. “All mine...” Greg told him, kissing his cheek, his ear, pulling the lobe between his teeth. Nick realized that he'd turned his head to allow it, and then moved back automatically when Greg wanted his mouth again, parting his lips instead of trying to answer.

“Shut up,” Greg told him anyway. “Don't move till I... Oh God. Nick. You could have... Let me.” He was driving Nick insane. He could feel how much Greg wanted this, hear Greg's fast breathing in his ear.

“Let you what?” It took effort to speak. He wasn't like Greg, couldn't just stream out words. He twitched up again, but didn't touch, and Greg slowed again, rewarded him with a stronger downward thrust. It...hurt a little...but not in a bad way. Like a shock, or burning, or sparks traveling through his bloodstream.

He exhaled, startled, and Greg squeezed his wrists once, then relaxed his grip and raised his head. His mouth was red and open as he caught his breath.

“Feel that, Nick?” He was still moving his hips, rubbing himself on Nick's stomach, rainbow boxers soaked clear through. They stuck to his skin, outlined everything. Nick nodded hurriedly, staring as Greg arched his back.

He was watching Nick with a greedy gleam in his eyes.

“Want it?” Jesus. Nick wasn't sure what Greg was asking him. But it was taunting, and Greg was pretty, so he twisted, just a little, pushing against Greg for a moment and then moved his head up and down.

“Greg,” he tried, his voice hoarse, but Greg pulled back more, narrowed his eyes.

“I said don't, Nick,” he warned him, sliding his gaze to the side and then back to Nick. That tone, Nick knew that tone, it meant punishment for Greg when Nick used it. He stopped, glancing at Greg's face in disbelief, his body going tense though he tried not to.

“I...Greg...”

“Guess there's only one thing to do with you,” Greg expressed regret for half a second before he stretched to pull the scissors and the ribbon toward him. There wasn't much left on the roll, but Nick's eyes went to it, then to Greg's face.

“Greg...” he tried again, his mouth going dry at how Greg dropped the spool and let the last of the ribbon unfurl in one long, curly strip. He didn't want...he thought he knew was Greg was thinking, and he blinked away the stinging in his eyes. “Greg I... I didn't mean...”

“Oh, Nicky,” Greg whispered, coming back to let Nick taste his own name. His nickname at the lab that Greg had started to pick up lately, and which Nick found more than a little...cute...when Greg said it. God, Greg was cute. He let that thought calm him down a fraction, as much as he could be calm right now, and let Greg's mouth do things to his, his lips parting when Greg's tongue nudged him, licked him inside and out before Greg pulled away again.

“It's just ribbon.” Greg's hand, full of a tangled bunch of satin, rested over his chest. “Let me.”

Greg was saying that again, or asking. Nick couldn't answer, not yet, but when he didn't argue, Greg moved his hand up. He trailed ribbon up over Nick's shoulder and let it tug at the bows already at the bicep before putting Nick's arm back to the headboard. Then he flicked a look to Nick's face.

“I want...I need to be able to move, Greg.” It came out after all, even with his jaw clenched. Left him shaking for the half a second before Greg nodded and made a show of rolling his eyes.

“Duh,” he remarked, and started weaving the ribbon around the bedpost, around Nick's wrist, in big, wide loops. They wouldn't pull unless Nick did. If he did, he would slide right out of them.

He looked at Greg again, who busied himself with tossing the scissors to the floor instead of looking at Nick. He left the ribbon uncut and draped it behind Nick's head toward the other bedpost. Nick glanced around Greg, the part of them he could see in the mirror. He was bundled in pink ribbon, the silliest possible thing he'd ever heard of being used to tie someone up.

Greg's sense of humor was...weird, but brilliant. Kind of like Greg himself.

Nick looked at himself again, blushing as pink as the harmless satin curled all around him, at himself pinned underneath Greg. It wasn't...it wasn't something difficult to look at. Greg knew what he was talking about, sometimes. If other people ever saw this, they'd probably think it was as hot as he did.

“I need your hand,” Greg reminded Nick before reaching for it, then jerking his head up when Nick raised his hand to the bedpost on his own. Nick swallowed, then met Greg's gaze.

“Is this what you call having your way with me?” he asked, all doubt, then made a show of rolling his eyes at Greg's startled expression. It changed to pissed—and amused—in a heartbeat. Fuck. There was no one else like Greg in the whole world. Nick hadn't felt this lucky since he'd woken up in a hospital.

“Getting an attitude, Stokes?” Greg wondered with his eyebrows up, and left the last part of ribbon barely tied at all, just a wide knot and curls spiraling down Nick's arm. Then he shifted, rising up on his knees. Nick lifted his chin.

“Going to do something about it?” This was crazy. He was daring Greg to do something to him. But Greg was laughing, smiling really, wriggling just enough to remind Nick that he was still on top.

“Do something?” Greg twirled an imaginary mustache. He had an erection and he was twirling an imaginary mustache and Nick wanted him so much he had to struggle to stay still. “When at last I've got you right where I want you?” His sinister tone tricked Nick into a short laugh, a laugh Greg apparently decided to ignore.

“And now...” He was panting and reaching down to wet his fingers on the head of Nick's cock. He took a moment to kiss Nick when Nick gasped, teasing him with his tongue, using it to mimic the grasping, slick fingers just barely touching him. Up and down and then again, his fingertips skimming the thick length of his cock. Nick tilted his head back, tried to look into Greg's eyes.

Greg nipped at his lips, at his jaw, then returned to kiss his mouth, to tongue fuck his mouth, licking past Nick's teeth and pushing Nick back to the headboard. His hand didn't stop, stroking, petting, without any real pressure, and all the while his tongue moving in and out between his lips.

Nick couldn't buck up with Greg on top of him, but he tried, lifting his hips a few inches before Greg pushed him down and resettled over him. He took his mouth away, seemed pleased when Nick tried to follow him, straining back toward his mouth.

“Greg,” he managed, his body pounding and hot, his balls tight as Greg's fingers wandered over them, as his fingers slid back up under the shaft of his cock the head to collect more precome. Then Greg let go, and Nick shuddered as Greg brought that hand up to his mouth, his mouth which was resting over Nick's, and Greg started to suck on his wet fingers.

His eyes were intent, and a sound escaped Nick that could have been a whine. Greg made an indecent, sloppy sound and then slid his fingers free. There were noises, wet ones, and Nick couldn't seem to hear anything else. He forgot the ribbon, Greg's mouth, and focused on those fingers. He wanted them, wanted to do what it would take to get them.

“Greg.” It was a whine, a whimper, startling but then Greg's breath was hot, damp, and Nick didn't get a chance to think when Greg moved those fingers to his mouth. He instantly took them in and closed his lips around them, grunting when his tongue pushed against salty fingertips and Greg exhaled something rough.

He pushed in his fingers further, and even with his cheeks burning, Nick sucked them. Greg shifted himself forward, his boxers sticking against skin, wet over every shivering inch. His eyes widened when he pulled his fingers out and Nick followed after them.

Greg exhaled again as he brought them back, and he met Nick's gaze as Nick licked at his fingertips. Nick realized his cheeks were hot, and hollowed, realized he was begging to have fingers in his mouth, and went still. His shock lasted until Greg fingertips tapped his bottom lip, and then his mouth was open again, taking them in.

“And now,” Greg repeated himself, forcing out words in time to a slow thrust in, and then a slow pull out. Nick wasn't trying to fight him, not even one push upward. He wasn't sure when that had happened. He sucked imaginary come from Greg's calloused ends of Greg's fingers. Greg was starting to make long, soft exclamations, like moans. Nick thought he could do this all day, to hear those.

“Now this is the part where you have to do what I say, Mr. Stokes,” Greg whispered, finally, out of breath, as though Nick didn't know what Greg was going to ask for now. As though Greg's pupils weren't huge with arousal and his dick wasn't throbbing, twitching, and wet from watching Nick pretend to suck off his fingers.

He'd forgotten that, in the past months, how fun it was to see Greg like this. Forgotten having fun. Greg pulled out his fingers, left them to rest at Nick's lower lip. His expression was thoughtful, and horny. Like everything else, it was a good look on Greg.

“That ain't exactly bossy, G.” His voice rasped, but Nick allowed himself a smirk. Greg glared, lowered his hand. He smirked back at how quickly Nick's smile disappeared, then he fell slightly forward, his body rocking. Greg's hand was gone, but his arm was moving, and Nick looked down, searching for the fingers he wanted back in his mouth, aching when he saw where they were.

Greg was touching himself. Greg was touching himself. Nick licked the salt from his lips and tried to move. His hands twitched, curled toward Greg, but he was still tied up.

“Who says...a top...has to be bossy?” Greg rose back up onto his knees to let Nick look at him as he touched himself through his boxers. He was enjoying himself. Nick breathed hard and glared when Greg smirked back at him.

“See?” Greg pulled his hand away to put it on Nick's cock, teased Nick with a quick and tough tug. His palm was slightly damp, hot from where it had been moments before. Nick moved his hips up, met Greg's hand as it slid firmly down over his dick. Slid down. Slid up. Squeezed. For the first time, Nick pulled at the headboards, at the ribbons. They gave an inch, almost freeing him, then he forgot them again at another firm downward stroke.

“See?” Greg said again, over Nick's locked, tense posture and the blooding rushing in Nick's ears. He was whispering, being suggestive and plain evil. “There's all kinds of different styles. A variety of ways I can own your ass.”

Own his ass. Nick's cock jerked at the words and there was no way Greg didn't notice.

“Like you can be bossy.” Nick's throat tightened as he tried to play it off, and Greg, damn him, grinned.

“I can, if you want me to be...” Greg jerked him again, moving his palm over the tangled, sweaty bow he'd left there. He paused at that, then smoothed both of his hands up to the bows on Nick's arms, the ribbons pressing into his skin, the ribbon at his neck. Greg gave that one a small yank, pulled it by the bow, and something about that made Nick's body rise up, made him go hot and slow, made him dizzy, and he chased the feeling, stretching forward. “...If you need me to...” Greg finished, leaning his head to the side with a question, then nodding when Nick only swallowed. “You like when it I even say the word, don't you, Nicky? Bossy.”

His fingers grasped the bow; he could have twisted it, but he left it so Nick could breathe, and ran a careful touch over Nick's carotid. Fear, excitement, nerves, arousal. They mixed uneasily for a moment as Nick waited.

If anyone else had suggested this, he would have laughed it off or gotten the hell out of that freakshow. But, fuck, he was just staring. Letting Greg carry on like this, letting Greg figure him out.

“When I said own your ass...” There was a tremulous note in Greg's voice for that at least, and his fingers came up, just for a second, to streak over Nick's cheek. “Nick you know you...” Greg made a face, a playful face to hide something else, then abruptly swung around to glance at the room.

“Or maybe you just need...my brilliance!” Greg announced in that alarming, “Name That Chemical Compound” voice, and hopped off Nick, and the bed. Nick gave a delayed start, blinked rapidly to realize Greg was gone. Greg was really gone.

Greg turned with a crazy light in his eye as Nick opened his mouth to call him back. “Stay there!” he commanded a millisecond before Nick twisted his wrists in his satin restraints. For one moment Greg was standing there smiling at him, and then he was dashing over, into the closet, and vanishing behind the doors.

“What...Greg?” Nick was too loud, more freaked out that he'd like to admit to. “What the hell?”

“Sorry, but don't move! I'll be...ow!” There was rustling and then a garment bag—and Greg's socks—came flying out. “It really is crowded in here. I mean, a box full of Sports Illustrateds from the Eighties...really, Nick? You can't throw those away?”

“Those are classics,” Nick answered faintly, though half of Greg's words were muffled. His jeans came sailing out of the closet too, and Nick relaxed a fraction. Whatever Greg was doing—the hell?--he was coming back. “What about all of your porn?”

“That's research. You should appreciate that,” Greg snapped back and then ducked out of the closet. He stopped, posed, his t-shirt in one hand before he let it fall.

Nick's eyes went down to the tight, dark blue pants—too short for him, snug at his hips, straining around his erection—to the tight, tight, tight, equally dark shirt tucked into the pants. There wasn't a badge on his chest, but Nick's mouth went dry as he recognized his old patrol uniform.

Greg's hair was wild from his quick change, the blond streaks more obvious and striking next to all the midnight blue stretching across his shoulders.

“I thought you didn't want to play dress up anymore,” Nick almost said, would have, if he'd been able to speak, but he just continued to stare without saying a damn word. Greg seemed to take that as his cue to turn and look at himself in the mirror, preening for one second before pursing his lips critically. He frowned, then grabbed a large pair of sunglasses and put them on.

With big, metallic-tinted aviators on, and his mouth in a straight, no nonsense line, he cocked his fingers at Nick in the mirror and pulled a pretend trigger.

“How's this for bossy, Stokes?” he asked, spinning around again to advance slowly toward the bed. He strutted a little as he climbed on, arching his back like a sex kitten though he was in Nick's uniform, and it should have been wrong but it was Greg, and so, so right. So smoking hot that Nick tensed and moved, ribbons stretching around his muscles, teasing and tangling between his legs. He could have fucked Greg, in that outfit, bent over on all fours. He wanted to. Imagined peeling the shirt up, sliding down the zipper from behind, and then shivered when he wondered what it would feel like if Greg did the same to him.

“Fuck,” he said out loud, a swear word that would tell Greg everything, and it must have, because Greg's mouth turned up in a cocky grin. Nick couldn't see Greg's eyes anymore, but he could watch that mouth, how it moved when Greg spoke.

“You like?” Greg wondered, stopping on his knees next to Nick. “Yeah you do, don't you, Stokes?”

Greg had to stop saying his name that way, affectionately, but mocking, like he was in charge here. Nick's cock twitched, as though Greg really was in charge and then he was raising his head and staring as Greg as got to his feet.

Greg kept his balance as the mattress rolled beneath him, moving to stand, partly bent, over Nick and putting his hands on the top of the headboard.

He was fucking distant for a moment for all that the bulge in his pants could have slapped Nick in the face, his smile gone, his eyes hidden as he loomed over Nick. Nick opened his mouth, breathing too hard, and then Greg put one hand to his head and made tracks through Nick's hair with his fingers, petting at first, and then holding on as firmly as he'd pulled on that knot of pink satin.

Nick was pretty sure he moaned.

“Well look at you.”Greg heard it, seemed stunned before he covered it, tossed Nick another smile. “You look very...fuckable.”

“I...” It was difficult to speak with his head back like that, staring into silver instead of brown. It was a game, Nick knew that, but he hesitated, and then moaned again when Greg's fingers parted his hair one more time, down to the scalp, and Greg pulled him gently forward, until Nick's open mouth was against hot fabric and a cold zipper. Over Greg's cock.

He felt the tremor work through Greg at that, felt the desperate clutch of his fingers, somehow needing Nick to hold him up. Nick twitched, tugged at his bonds, wanting to reach out, but there was nowhere to go. Greg was already over him, around him, like warm, silky ribbons.

The space between them was dark, small, and his heart was thundering. There was nowhere to go, but he didn't think he wanted to.

“You want that?” Greg was still speaking the lines of his game, or making sure, trying to be cocky and only sounding concerned. Jesus, it felt strange, to not want Greg to give him that choice, but he'd had choices in the box, and he didn't want them now, didn't want anything but to feel, Greg's cock in him, wherever.

He nodded, tried to, then swallowed the saliva pooling in his open mouth. He shut his eyes at the second tremor from Greg, and moved toward it.

“Really?” It didn't fit with Greg's attempt at bad cop. Greg's tone was happy, impatient, as he shifted back and fumbled a hand to his fly to pop a button and yank down the zipper.

He'd lost the rainbow boxers somewhere in the closet, was commando in Nick's old pants. Naked. The salty flavor of precome was still on Nick's tongue, but he inhaled it again as Greg worked his dick once, pushing away the already sticky-slick pants to expose the flushed, swollen length of his cock.

Nick liked dick, liked Greg's dick. It wasn't something he'd admitted to, before Greg, but he liked the smell, the taste. The first time he'd done this to Greg, put his mouth around Greg's dick, he'd made a fool of himself by coming in his shorts—on the floor, on his knees, coming before Greg had. But he hadn't expected to enjoy the weight, the sounds, the hand at the back of his neck. It was a weird thing to own up to, at his age, something he could never have said on tape, but he could now, and arched forward, darting out his tongue.

He liked to suck cock. They ought to play that on the evenings news it was so obvious. Nick Stokes liked to suck cock, film at eleven.

Nick almost laughed, a loud, relieved sound, almost had a question for Greg, if it was always like this, random thoughts streaming through his mind as he was used for pleasure, but Greg would ask why, and Nick didn't have a lot of time here. He only had a second to swallow the taste and then Greg was groaning, his head already thrown back as he used the hand in Nick's hair to guide him forward.

“Nick.”

That said everything, right there, reverberated it down to Nick's mouth as Greg pushed his cock between his lips, and if it didn't, then there was how slowly Greg eased his hips froward, how he stopped when the head nudged Nick's throat to tell him what he was doing to Greg.

“Oh fuck yes,” Greg breathed to the ceiling, stopped and holding as Nick swallowed the spit that instantly built up.

It wasn't...it wasn't what Greg could do with his mouth. Nick closed his eyes, breathed through his nose, then inched forward until he came close to gagging. Greg muttered something, the hand on Nick's head opened and closed.

“Nick...” Greg warned, as though Nick didn't know how that felt and had wanted to do it for Greg, as though his mouth weren't wet and rich with flavor. He held still for a moment, then pulled back, just enough to swallow, to work his tongue and make Greg swear again.

“Fuck.” Greg was the one who couldn't seem to breathe. “Fuck fuck fuck,” he chanted as Nick sucked down more slick fluid, let it coat his lips and tongue, and then came back to swallow as much as Greg's cock as he could.

Greg's knees bent, just for a second, then he tightened his grip and pulled Nick back until his cock slid from his mouth. Nick opened his eyes, frowned upward.

“Let me.” His voice was all kinds of used. His mouth felt loose. He licked at his lips and they were almost numb. He was begging, not sure why, but he wanted this, Greg in him, fucking his mouth if he wanted it. Rough even, until he gagged. Not Greg going easy on him again. He glared up stubbornly.

He couldn't read Greg's expression, not with those damn glasses, but he grunted when Greg nodded and tightened his grip, urging Nick's head back as he twitched his hips forward. Greg slid his cock in slowly, holding Nick still with steady pressure.

“My little satin-wrapped chocolate Nicky bon bon,” Greg whispered, easing back before sliding in again, and Nick heard himself make a sound, a moan in his throat at the easy glide in and out, almost out, out just enough for him to breathe, to feel the jerk and spill of precome, to swallow, and then Greg rolled his hips again to push back into his mouth. “He sucks cock and he likes it, don't you, Nicky?”

He didn't think Greg actually expected an answer. Nick's mouth was clearly full, and Greg didn't wait for a response. But yeah, yeah Nick did, and opened his jaw to take more.

“You like this.” Greg was surprised, somehow, at what Nick didn't know. His tone was filthy even with that, raw, the words wet like he couldn't swallow enough either. It was hot, and Nick pushed up, thrust up into nothing, and felt sweat trickle over his skin into loose strands of ribbon.

Pink. He was covered in pink, and he didn't care so long as Greg kept his cock in his mouth. Nick shut his eyes again, left his mouth open to enjoy the slick, heavy slide of cock against his lips. The dark was filled with shifting light over his eyelids, and the short, hoarse sounds of Greg breathing. Each movement was slow, Greg's brilliance on hold as he just felt, Nick's mouth, his tongue, Nick's throat, swallowing around the meat in his mouth.

Nick wanted to feel him too, to put his hands on Greg's hips, his bare hips, and cling to his skin as he sucked him down. The idea made him push again, not frightening though he knew he wouldn't be able to breathe much, that he could choke, and he knew exactly what it felt like to have his throat tighten.

Jesus, he really didn't care. The realization didn't even make him tense.

“Do you know what you do to me?” Greg asked him, when Nick was the one burning up and trembling, thrusting into the air. He couldn't even nod, just opened his eyes.

Greg's mouth was open too, his tongue wetting, then rewetting, his lips. His hips moved, in, out, matching the gesture.

“Yeah, you're lucky you don't get the cuffs,” he panted, trying to be fierce and not making a bit of sense. “Won't speed again, will you, Mr. Stokes?” It was cop babble, Nick realized, Greg trying to role play. It had nothing to do with the ribbons, but that wasn't how Greg's mind worked. It was amazing. Touching. Oddly beautiful. Nick could probably live without the streams of weird that came from Greg from time to time, but he wasn't sure that he'd ever want to.

He grunted on purpose this time, imagining the flutter of Greg's eyes as that hit him. He could feel the twitch on his tongue, Greg's cock swelling, skin tightening, and Greg swore and pulled back, pulled out.

Nick instantly followed him, not thinking as he pulled one hand free and grabbed Greg's hip. He firmed his lips when he got his mouth back around the head of Greg's cock, what he wanted, and sucked hard. The noise that came out of Greg was pained, as exquisite as Greg himself.

Greg's hand shook. He yanked Nick back this time, pulled him off with no warning. His mouth was a flat line, but with one hand wrapped in Nick's hair he used the other to grab the bow at Nick's neck. He curled his fingers, wound it tight, and for a few moments Nick's vision was white, his whole body was throbbing. He...couldn't think...he was hard and here and everywhere was need and yet there wasn't anything to make him come.

“G,” he panted, stiff and hungry and wetting his lips over and over, he couldn't help himself.

“Nick, you're...” Greg shook his head. His cock was bobbing obscenely next to Nick's face, so close and so hot Nick could feel the warmth on his cheek. Nick stared at it, tore his gaze away to glare impatiently at Greg. He wanted to make Greg happy. Now.

He tilted his head back and looked right at the reflected image of himself. Greg thought he was sexy, all tied up and pink and rock hard. Greg wanted him, and he wanted Greg. There wasn't anything wrong with that, with using that to taunt Greg, not if he got him what he wanted.

He licked his lips, slowly, like Greg would have done. They were dark in Greg's glasses, full. Red and not pink, the same color as the cock so fucking close to his face.

“Nicky,” Greg choked out, surprised, as though it wasn't damn obvious to anybody with eyes that Nick wanted that cock, wanted to feel it, goddamn anywhere as long as it was all he felt. Greg inhaled, then smiled. It was an achey sort of smile. Heartbreaking and Nick didn't know why. The fingers of his other hand streaked across Nick's cheek again. “You gonna give me what I want, Nicky?”

Greg asked like he didn't know the answer, and his fingers curled around that ribbon, his ribbon, until it dug into Nick's skin and Nick could feel his cock leaking.

Blood throbbed around it, flooded down like he wasn't hard enough. The ribbon on his cock felt tight too, a steady, sly reminder that Greg knew what he was doing when he wanted to drive Nick crazy. Nick wanted Greg to pull on the bow, to take it off. There were too many thoughts to make sense of them, and he panicked for a moment, wanting to be on his knees, wanting Greg to be on his knees, wanting to suck Greg's cock and feel hot come on his chest, on his cheek where Greg had touched him.

“Please, Greg,” he said, not sure why, but the words slipped out. He didn't want that, didn't want to think at all. Greg dropped to his knees, rocking the bed and clearly not caring. God, his mouth was warm over Nick's, sweet even with those damn glasses hiding his eyes.

“Slow, Nicky,” he was promising, “you're going to need slow.” And Greg might have known more here, but Nick knew what he wanted and it wasn't slow. Waiting...waiting there, at the end, being so close, had killed him more than anything else. He shook his head, but Greg was still trying to be thoughtful. “I'll go slow,” he whispered, pulling away to stretch toward the nightstand.

He must have left some supplies there. Packets and lube came arcing through the air and landed against Nick's thigh. Nick barely noticed, not when Greg instantly returned to him, kissing him again, reaching for something, a condom maybe, and there was a tearing sound. Greg's mouth slanted over his, keeping Nick from looking when Greg grunted, when he tossed a wrapper to the floor a few moments later.

“No, I...” Greg's drawer was still full condoms, of lube. Nick tossed his head, put his free hand to the pillow. What was he saying? “You still have...” Stuff in here, he wanted to say. Greg should have moved everything back to their room.

“Be grateful it was there.” Greg flashed a smile at him, wriggling back between Nick's thighs. He leaned up and their cocks brushed together, sending streaks to Nick's toes and back. Nick shifted restlessly, brought up his hand to almost touch Greg and then pulled it back. Greg was still talking, absently petting the inside of Nick's legs with every word and forcing Nick to arch up again, twist against the ribbons surrounding his other wrist.

He spread his legs, feeling open and stupid the moment he did it, but Greg immediately moved, kneeling on the ends of satin, pulling on the bows he'd placed at Nick's thighs. He sucked in a breath , then slid his palms up over the ribbon, over muscle and skin and hair, up to Nick's hips. He stared down, watching his own hands. Nick just watched Greg.

“Nick, when this was my room, and I'd think about you, I never ever dreamed anything like this. Look at you.” He breathed out, moving again to put his mouth to Nick's shoulder, then Nick's arm, sucking at the soft skin of the inner arm, under the ribbon.

Nick's body came up. He bent his knees, slid down, didn't really know what the hell he was doing until his back was curved and he was stretching his restraints hard, testing the limits of the one strand of pink left to hold him. He twisted at the thought, thrusting up against Greg. Greg's shirt chafed. Nick didn't really care.

“Slow, Nick,” Greg bit out, arching away and Nick shook his head.

“No! No you don't get to go slow.” There were words, too many words, streaming out, but not pretty like Greg. They were rough and desperate, angry. “Stop going easy on me, Sanders.” He shocked himself, shocked Greg; he could tell when Greg froze.

“No.” Nick couldn't think, but when he grabbed the mirror glasses and threw them to the side, something flared up in Greg's eyes, like maybe he got what Nick was trying to say when Nick didn't. “Not slow,” Nick said again, clenching his jaw stubbornly, and Greg opened his mouth.

“Okay,” he agreed, his trembling hands on Nick's chest as he sat up. He frowned, just for a second. “But... Pillows. You should...”

“I don't care, G.” He was acting as crazy as Greg. Or not, because Greg scowled.

“Well I do, Stokes. Shove a pillow behind your back and then scoot down a little more.” Greg's chest was heaving, but when Nick just stared, he narrowed his eyes. “Do it.”

Nick frowned back at him, then dragged a pillow up and stuck it behind his back. Then he moved down. “You know you're bossy,” he complained, dead serious, and Greg snorted, like he got that. He leaned back in, toying with the bow at Nick's throat, bringing it around to the front.

“Yeah. I might be.” He nodded, then flicked a look up. “When it matters. And fuck, you matter, Nick.” Greg couldn't catch his breath, but he glared with everything he had. “That going to be a problem?”

Nick cleared his throat, swallowed, and the ribbon pulled at him.

“Sir, no, sir.” Now he was cracking jokes during sex. Greg's eyes glittered. Good again, fun again.

“Then sit back and get fucked like a good little Nicky.” Greg savored the words. He grabbed a bottle without tearing his gaze away, while licking his lips actually, and grinning. It should have been frightening and Nick's heart did pound, his stomach did tighten; he'd never done it like this, this fast, in this position.

He got goosebumps at the splash of cold lube on his stomach, and then hot, shivery chills at how eagerly Greg rubbed his hands in the mess. Greg wasn't neat, thank God. There were slippery, playful scratches up his chest and tweaks at his nipples and then another grin at the way Nick shifted up into his hands. Wet, slick hands, that grasped at Nick's hips, left prints, impressions, stained ribbon, tugged and pushed and pulled at him. It was all over him, what he wanted, what he needed from Greg. But not in him yet.

His breath caught, his eyes going wide when Greg poured out more lube, worked it between his thighs, everywhere. Down over the cheeks of his ass, between them, and he didn't stop when Nick went tense, he just rose up, leaned in to thrust his tongue into Nick's mouth, then lick his way out.

“Give it to me again, Nicky,” he ordered, so softly Nick didn't process that he'd moaned and opened his mouth wider until Greg kissed him again. The nickname was...wasn't cute anymore. Just hot. He was going to hear Greg say it at work now and get hard, was going to remember this, Greg owning his ass.

“Yeah,” he agreed, moving one leg, one thigh, so he could feel Greg closer to him. That was hot too.

Greg's fingers were the same, slippery, teasing him. They stroked across his asshole, the way Greg did sometimes with his tongue. It was gentle, easy, even when he slid one inside. Nick arched up anyway, discomfort and heat mingling, and Greg's finger was so slicked up it slid in deeper.

“Fuck.” It didn't hurt, exactly, but Nick looked up, then away, suddenly very aware of Greg, that Greg was watching him.

He turned back in the next second. Greg's eyes were so warm and sweet Nick didn't understand how he was the bon bon here.

“Nicky. Nick...” Greg was going to pull out.

“No.” Nick shook his head. “Please. I want you.” Jesus, he was sick of being afraid. He reached up, twisted his fingers into all that streaked hair and urged Greg's head down. Greg's mouth was so good he groaned into it, pushing up at the same time. His muscles clenched and then relaxed as Greg's tongue stroked his. He stretched and shifted, driving Greg's finger in past the knuckle.

“You don't have to do this,” Greg whispered, moving to speak into Nick's ear, breathing heavily.

“Shut up, Greg.” It was a whine, a lot like, “please, Greg, more,” and he moved to make Greg's finger stretch him more, to make it fuck him.

Greg, of course, laughed instead of being offended. Who else in Nick's life could he say that about?

“I told you the top didn't have to be the bossy one,” Greg remarked, and then made Nick arch up breathlessly when he curved that single finger. Still slow, still gentle. His mouth was sassy at Nick's ear, laughing as he did it again, until he shifted and added another finger and Nick moaned.

With two, the stroking brought Nick's knees up, his hips. It pushed Greg's fingers deeper, but Nick only moved to do it again, hissing at the sparks behind his eyes, the pull getting stronger. Everything was slippery and hot. He moved his legs, felt his back bow a little.

“Fuck.” He'd never sworn so much in his life.

Greg was breathing into his ear. “Like that, Nick. Like that.” He didn't ask, he already knew, Nick liked it, but it wasn't taunting. It felt right, like Nick should answer.

“Yeah. Yeah, Greg.” He put his hand down to his chest, shifting up and making himself gasp when his fingertips found a nipple. It's what Greg would have done, if Nick had let him get away with it.

“Do it, Nick,” Greg urged. He could feel what Nick was doing and glanced down, didn't try anything to stop him when Nick looked up at him and flicked his thumbnail over the pink skin.

He kicked out. Greg was evil. He had the fleeting thought. Greg was evil and too good to him, not bossy but just wrong enough to stroke two fingers inside of him as Nick had done that. God. Nick licked his mouth, didn't stop before doing it again, and fuck, Greg pushed three fingers inside his ass and it was like riding lightening.

“Greg.” He flailed for a moment, arching up to his body closer to Greg. He wanted...he just wanted. Anything. His body still burned from those fingers and yet he was shifting, rocking up to fuck himself, flicking his nipple and panting under Greg's mouth.

There was more. Greg wasn't touching him, and the ache was still in him, he still wasn't filled. Nick slid his hand down, across the lube on his stomach, looking up again, at Greg, before he touched himself. And, Jesus, Greg was smiling, a wicked, bastard kind of a smile, shining lips and darting tongue, like he knew exactly what Nick wanted.

Like he wanted it too. Nick's hand circled his cock, jacked it, just once, and Greg made a sound, half laugh, half groan. Nick shook his head, stroked himself again. He wasn't sure what he was doing, but Greg liked it, and he liked it, the duel feeling of his cock being squeezed, of his ass being spread open. Greg was watching him, and Nick trailed his fingers in the ribbon at the base of his dick. He held his breath before he glanced down, his stomach muscles tightening when he saw his cock slide through his own fingers.

He thrust up, fucking himself on those fingers, because Greg wouldn't fuck him, and this time the noise Greg made hurt.

“Nick...what are you...?” Greg inhaled sharply. “You should see...”

“I want you to,” Nick insisted, shifting up again until his fist hit the pink bow at the base of his cock. There was pink at his wrist too. Pink. He could feel it when he moved his arms, his legs. He was still tied to the bed, to Greg. He wanted...he wanted Greg to pull them, hard. Pull them hard and fuck him hard, to make Nick only think of Greg. Greg was nothing to be ashamed of, never would be. He looked up. “Come on, Greggo.”

He forced his hand away and put it to Greg's shoulder, only to almost lose his mind when Greg took his other hand, the one not in Nick, and used it to stroke himself, not stopping until the condom on his cock was shiny with lube, and his cock itself was bobbing thickly from the attention.

“Greg!” Nick was breathing roughly a moment later, his hand flying back to the mattress. He'd expected it, and yet he was still surprised when Greg put a hand to his ass, slid his fingers out and replaced them with his cock. He could feel his body stretching, adjusting, his legs opening wider. They came up, half-curled around Greg before Nick made himself hold still.

Greg's hand was at his side, rubbing in small circles, and Nick didn't want to think about what had been in his voice when he'd cried out. He just looked at Greg. He was trembling—no, he was shaking, but he tossed his head, he wanted to take it. He wanted to feel like this, stuck on Greg's cock, stuffed with it, and panted when he felt the pain start to recede.

In a minute the burn would be an ache, a need for more. If he did this more, there wouldn't even have been that, and the idea seemed greedy. Nick wanted to be greedy right now, to feel guilt for being selfish later. This was what he wanted; he could do what he had to to get it.

He parted his lips, met Greg's gaze before letting his head fall back. The bow was right there, and even fighting to hold onto his control, he could see the light in Greg's eyes to see it there.

“Don't stop, Greggo.” He could feel it now, need building at the base of his spine, spreading outward to fill him up, hot, bright. His chest hurt he was breathing so fast, but he couldn't stop. “Own my ass,” he ordered, and then something high and desperate tore out of him when Greg put both hands to his hips and pushed all the way in.

He was...more than filled. Stretched to almost breaking. Just about gone.

“That what you want, boss man?” Greg's face was inches away, his eyes watching as Nick's lips parted. Nick gasped silently, frowned at how quickly the need flared up this time, he wasn't ready and he wanted Greg to move and move now, damn it. There were too many things to feel, his cock brushing against Greg's stomach, that shirt, cheap fabric against his thighs too, Greg's heat and weight over him, breath on his face.

Greg was inside of him. He felt filled, stretched, burning up in a way he'd hadn't completely forgotten. His mouth was open, but he still couldn't speak, just moved. Greg's hands slipped to the pillows, the bed, then one came back up and he bent his head.

Greg was frozen, or stuck, licking sweat from his lip and shuddering.

“I'm going to make you feel so good.” He vowed it again, spoke urgently before working his hips with the same slow tension, filling Nick then pulling back, dragging it out to drive him crazy.

“No, I...” Nick didn't know his voice. It cracked when Greg moved, slid up to push into him at a new angle. God. Nick's legs spread wider and he dropped his head back until it hit the headboard, or a pillow, he didn't know, didn't care. Fuck, he was hot in his skin, hot under his skin, and he pushed up, but it didn't help.

He ached, didn't Greg see that? Jesus. He slapped a hand to his stomach, tried to touch himself again and this time Greg shoved his hand away.

“Don't you dare.” Greg's voice was strange too. He snapped his hips, harder, and Nick grunted, first in surprise and then to hold back the rest of the sounds he wanted to make. “Don't you dare,” Greg told him again, as though it wasn't enough that he was splitting Nick in two, heavy between his legs and moving slow, breathing over him, and not giving him enough to come.

Need spiked, white hot, and he shifted, wriggled, thrust up, wasn't sure what in the hell he did, but it wasn't what he wanted until Greg thrust in and down, his breath speeding up like the sound of his balls slapping against skin.

Fuck. Greg was fucking him like he hadn't before, force and heat and lightening, and Nick tried to turn his head. A slide at his neck, pressure, stopped him, and Greg, saying his name.

“Nick.” Not Nicky. Not Stokes. Not any other name or title. He wanted to hear it again. His hand grabbed at Greg's shirt, at his back; he thought he was urging Greg down, or just holding on, he didn't know and couldn't tell as the light shifted over him.

His body was moving, meeting Greg's now, stronger, but slow, sparking everywhere they touched, and he swallowed. His blood was loud, his breathing. He should have stopped, but he was pulling on the remaining restraints and his hand was pushing Greg down harder into him, he wanted more, and shuddered when Greg's other hand slid away from the bed, slid to him, and then to headboard.

Greg was up in the next second, looming over him, and Nick brought his legs in, groaning when that crushed Greg to him.

“Don't go. Don't leave me.” Cracking. So dry he couldn't swallow, and then Holy Jesus, Greg seized the headboard with both hands and thrust, and dry throat or not, Nick cried out.

“Greg, please. Greg.” He was on his back, wide open on his back, a cock in him, Greg's cock, and it felt good. Fucking good. Real. Right. Everything. “Don't make me wait.”

He saw his hand, yanking at a dark blue shirt, tearing buttons, and then he just felt Greg moving in, all heat and strength and sweet spot, and his cock slick on Greg's bare, flat stomach.

His muscles tightened, tightened around cock and he moaned, arching his back like Greg always did when he was like this, because it felt damn good. And Jesus, Greg rewarded him, fucking him harder, angling up and pushing until he was flushed and panting.

Nick was burning too, and twisted for it, staring up into hot, glassy brown eyes, and thought more at Greg. He wanted more. Now. He wanted it in his bones, in his cells, everywhere. He could take it.

If he spoke he didn't hear it, but he heard sounds, whining, and Greg's answer, a strained, “Okay, Nick, yes, yes, now,” and Greg's bed creaking.

Nick liked it, liked Greg fucking him like this, on his back, hard, fast and almost rough. He liked to get fucked. He reached up for it, the stinging friction and an ass full of cock, pressure and heat, and fuck, he was pleading and Greg was saying his name. Not calling him back, urging him on.

“Nick. Nicky. Please.” Hoarse and low as he fumbled between them, his fingers tearing away one ribbon. Nick had a moment of real, flashing almost-pain, pleasure and need rising up, and then Greg grabbed his cock, pumped into him.

There was light. It was light when it shouldn't have been, and there was air. Sweet, gasping mouthfuls, and a touch, hands spread out intimately over him, at his his wrists, his legs. Then a hand at his throat, at the ribbon, and Nick nodded feverishly, laying back for Greg's fingers to twist around his collar, to pull.

He opened his mouth, tried to speak, and came.

It knocked the breath out of him, left him tense, snapped up, for a long moment, everything draining from him, and then he was rolling back up, turning his face into the sound of Greg's fast breathing, his body twitching at the quick, off kilter thrusts and motion both painful and good, and then Greg shuddered and fell into him.

He felt that inside too, heat and come bursting inside of him, and licked his mouth, spreading his legs, just a little, to feel more, though he was already trembling. He could feel shifting air currents, sticky dried lube, semen. His skin was raw with it. He inhaled, just the scent of hair product and soft streaked strands against his nose and mouth, and watched his hand slide up over the bunched up shirt onto Greg's shoulder blade.

He moved his legs again, around Greg, and shivered at tug of ribbon and oh God, the burn in his lower body. He felt pulled and taken, was still wide open underneath Greg.

Greg mumbled something, and Nick blinked, trying to focus enough to listen.

“Wha...what?” Even his voice was weak. Greg repeated himself without raising his head.

“You are so my bitch now.”

Nick frowned, more out a vague worry about the pain he was going to be in later than for hearing the obvious truth. The smile that flitted across his face a moment after that didn't surprise him.

“All right,” he answered, when he could, and was amused all over again when Greg's head immediately came up. Hell, he'd already been Greg's bitch and everybody probably already knew it; he beamed whenever Greg was around, like Greg was fresh air and daylight and...a goddamn box of chocolates.

Greg squinted at him. Nick was tired, but he was pretty sure it was meant to be a careful, thoughtful study to see if Nick was joking. Nick wasn't, but he left his mouth curved up. It just felt good.

After a moment, Greg's mouth quirked. Then he shook himself and looked alarmed before pulling away.

Nick winced, closed his eyes at the cold, at the loss and brief, uncomfortable sensations of out and empty.

“Sorry.” Greg ducked his head, stripping off Nick's shirt to wipe at him, and Nick almost winced again. There was no amount of dry cleaning that was going to make that uniform safe for ALS ever again. And most of the lube was drying by now, which might have been why Greg only made a few token wipes at him before getting rid of the shirt. He peeled off his soggy-looking condom, tied it, and dropped it to the floor too, then fell back down at Nick's side with an exhausted sigh.

He laid partly on his back, mostly on his side, to look Nick up and down in a satisfied sort of way, his elevator eyes as embarrassing as ever after he'd fucked Nick. Nick had forgotten about that look on purpose.

Nick gave one good tug and pulled down his arm. It ended up around Greg, trailing curling ribbon with it, and Greg snorted when it hit his face.

“Best idea ever,” he commented, so warmly it would have made Nick flush all over again if he weren't still hot and blushing at the ache in his ass, at his hips.

He stretched a little to slip the bundle of satin off that arm, and then while he was at it, pulled off the one on his bicep. He took his arm away from Greg—who complained, not quietly—and removed the ribbon from his other bicep, then stopped when he saw the knot and loose strands still at his wrist.

It was the first one Greg had tied on him. Not a bow. Just a knot. A small one. He was supposed to wear it out later, to dinner, as though this wouldn't be all over his face whenever Greg looked at him, for the whole world to see, for a week at least.

He touched his inner wrist, where it tickled the most, but even that was faint. He rolled his hand, tried to imagine getting used to having it, or something like it, on him. A piece of Greg, with him at all times. It wasn't that noticeable really. Like a watch, or a cuff. It wasn't even as itchy as the other ones.

Swallowing, he left it where it was then reached up to pull the end and undo the bow at his neck.

Greg was watching him and he stuck out his lower lip when Nick slid the ribbon from around his throat and let it curl into one palm. He looked up, and then dropped it on Greg's chest. It really was the same shade of pink as his lips, looked nice next to his nipples, which tightened as Greg shivered.

“Not bad,” Nick finally said, making Greg blink. “But personally I think it looks better on you.”

It was relief the way Greg instantly turned to laugh into his shoulder, clutching the ribbon to his chest—Greg wasn't going to be offended if Nick didn't want to do that everyday.

“Fortunately for you, Stokes. I agree with you. I look better in everything.”

“Oh really?” Nick pulled his arm away so he could shift up. He ignored the physical pangs. Greg scooted up with him, then sat up with his back to the headboard.

“Okay, next time you wear the uniform.” Greg was joking—maybe—but his eyes went shiny for a moment anyway. Nick cleared his throat, picked up the ribbon from Greg's hand.

He toyed with it, felt Greg's attention focus back on him, on his hands, and he thought, again, about how he'd been thinking of buying Greg a new collar. It would have been too much before. Rude, somehow, to assume Greg would want that from him. Or too early to tell what kind Greg would like, even if the people in the porn Greg kept stashed everywhere were usually wearing simple collars of black leather, with a dangling loop of silver in the front, for a leash, or a chain, and Nick had thought—still thought—that Greg would look good like that. Leashed.

He'd been close to that himself today. Just now, and he swallowed, though the collar was gone. He thought...Greg might like it. Maybe...he could go out, with Greg, take him shopping to find one. The way other people picked out...

Nick stopped that thought right there, but look down at his fingers for a moment anyway. He didn't deserve that. He hadn't proven himself to Greg yet, and until he did, he had no right to ask anything.

But Greg took the ribbon from him, snickered a little as he wound it around his own neck and tied a crooked bow without so much as a glance at the mirror. He left a bow at the front, above his collarbone, big loops and dangling ends. Just right for Nick's fingers to wind through, to pull and tug.

Fuck. He didn't think Greg would mind the leash at all. Didn't think he would either.

Nick suddenly had to touch that ribbon and reached up only to flinch at the sound of the phone ringing. It carried down the hall from the living room, shrill and insistent, and he knew without getting up that it was his mother, calling back, and if he didn't answer it, she'd worry.

Greg's mouth quirked up again, not exactly a happy smile, but a smile, and Nick took the hand he'd been going to use to pet Greg and put it on his chest. His heart wasn't racing. He frowned, kind of surprised at himself, and then set his jaw before staring up into Greg's face. It was time to get on with it, wasn't it? It had been long enough already and he was tired of being afraid.

He was...he was going to tell his mother about Greg. He was going to come out, and tell his mother he was in love. With Greg. Because he was.

“Don't move, Greggo. I've got one more thing to take care of today,” he told Greg, and shifted to get to his feet. He fell back when his body protested, and then blinked in surprise when Greg leaned over him, planted a peck on his lips.

“I'll get it.” He patted Nick's chest, and though Nick should have been grateful that Greg understood what he was going through, he still scowled and blushed.

“You're bossy, you know that?” he called out as Greg got up and started walking down the hallway. Greg was going to answer the phone and talk to Nick's mother naked, Nick realized, and thought about protesting.

“And you love it!” Greg didn't even turn around and spoke without doubt. Of course, he was also right.

Nick thought about that, and then leaned back. He guessed it would be all right to take a moment to rest, just to catch his breath, and maybe listen to the sound of Greg charming his mother, the way he charmed everybody.

His eyes fell to the ribbon at his wrist, and then he smiled.

The End

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