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Sleepless

Reply to Lucy

Added to the Roswell Slash Archive September 6, 2001

Title: "Sleepless"
Author/pseudonym: Lucy
Fandom: The Forsaken
Pairing: Sean/Nick.
Rating: NC-17.
Status: New, complete.
Archive: No.
E-mail address for feedback: lucy_fur1@yahoo.ca
Series/Sequel: None.
Other website: http://members.tripod.ca/~angelspace/Lucy.html
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Sean can't sleep.
Warnings: Not beta'd. Yet another lj ficlet.



        He hated the way his teeth hurt, and his left arm was sunburned, and his back ached, and they'd just spent too much time in that goddamned car, already.

        He hated the way that the pills felt going down, felt guilty that he was complaining about taking two aspirin to rid himself of a driving headache when Nick was popping upwards of thirty meds a day to ward off the virus without a peep. He was angry that he was angry all the time and Nick wasn't, ever, or didn't seem to be.

        He was tired and cranky and wanted to go back to bed and pull the covers up over his head and not move.

        But he couldn't sleep, and tossing and turning might wake up Nick - but probably not, since Nick slept like the dead. Which was creepy, in a way, and comforting in another, because he could cuddle around Nick when he was asleep, sort of touch him and hold him and Nick never even knew. Which was also sort of creepy, and made him feel guilty, but he did it anyway.

        He sighed, rubbing his fingertips over his temples, willing away the headache and calling on sleep. He'd have to get up and drive in a few hours, again, and god knew if he didn't sleep he'd be even more of a zombie than he'd been acting lately.

        He hated the fact that he wasn't believing any of this stuff, and they weren't getting any new leads that meant anything, and he was keeping up this mindless chirping optimism that didn't fool Nick for a second, and didn't make him feel better, even though he smiled and nodded and didn't say anything, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses and long body stretched out across the other side of the car. He wanted to stop and rest and regroup, recapture some enthusiasm for this quest, find a magical piece of information that would help end all of this, already.

        He hated that the fact that Nick was dying instead of him didn't seem enough for him to go on anymore.

        His body was flushed and hot and the chipped white sink he leaned against was cool. He thought about having a shower, about having a cry, about going out and getting a pack of cigarettes or a six-pack or a hooker. Something to take the edge off, to pull him back from the hysteria that was rising in his throat like a scream he could barely hold in anymore.

        He jumped when Nick pulled the door all the way open and stood there in the slice of bathroom light, rumpled and sleepy. "Shit," he yelped, louder than he intended. "You scared the hell out of me."

        Nick smiled, his face crinkly and his eyes barely open, and Sean couldn't help smiling, too, even though he didn't want to. He wanted to cry, a lot, all of a sudden.

        Nick didn't say anything, just reached to the switch on the wall and turned the light off. Sean blinked against the sudden darkness, eyes adjusting to the neon-sign dimness of the outer room.

        Nick took his hand and pulled him out of the bathroom and back to bed, pushing him down on his back. He was going to protest, but Nick was suddenly on top of him, mouth hot and seeking against his own, tongue pressing insistently between his lips and Sean opened to him, sucking that tongue inside his own and drinking from it like nectar. He whimpered and shivered and shook, body one unending nerve, all tense and yet crackling with electricity, hands clinging to Nick's back, fists bunching up the white t-shirt he wore and sliding over hot, silky skin. So much heat on his over-warm body should have been uncomfortable but wasn't; it was comforting and inviting and heavy and safe, and he thrust up against it and pulled it down over him, like they could just fuse together somehow. Nick kept kissing him and he moaned, unsatisfied. He wanted more.

        When Nick's hand fumbled down the front of his shorts, he knew exactly what he wanted, and let go long enough to allow Nick to rise up over his body, knees straddling his hips, hand jacking his cock. He reached for Nick's erection with shaking hands, and surprised himself with the ferocity of his growl when he finally grasped its heated length. They stared at each other in the dark, panting and stroking and wanton, needy, greedy, masturbating each other with their eyes and hands and mouths, and when Nick leaned over and kissed him he came, hot and hard, and brought Nick with him.

        He lay there, flushed and sated and sleepy for the first time in weeks - not just tired anymore - almost purring with contentment, and Nick wiped himself off with the sheet and then cleaned him up, too, tossing the crumpled, sticky linen to the floor beside the bed when he was done. Nick settled down beside him on his back, and the last thing he heard before his eyes closed was Nick's mumbled "you can sleep on me, if you want."

        He moved and flung himself lazily over Nick's warmth, and slept.

        End

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