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Two

Reply to Lucy

Added to the Roswell Slash Archive October 24, 2001

Title: "Two"
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's having a problem with Nick, and saying "no."
Warnings: Not beta'd. Just another little ficlet written in the lj to pass the time. Probably a bit of a kink warning on this, although it isn't as bad as some I've done. What can I say - vampires bring this side of me out. Or, you know, anyone, really.



        It was easy. Two letters. He could just put them together, say the word -

        "Oh, _god_."

        No. Too many letters. That wasn't good. But he wasn't playing _fair_.

        Warm, wet lips touched down in the centre of his back, and he almost jumped right out of his skin.

        Nick laughed, a rumbling, vibrating noise against Sean's sweat-slick skin. "Something wrong?" he asked.

        Sean didn't answer. It wasn't a question that required one - and, really, Nick wasn't expecting him to _say_ anything. Not yet.

        He could just turn over - no, maybe not turn over. He was vulnerable like this, but if he turned over - Somehow he'd get out of the bed, and go somewhere, somewhere far away. Or, at the very least, turn back time, to when he still had more than one brain cell left - _definitely_ back to when he had some clothes on.

        Losing his clothes. That was probably his first mistake. Not that they were _lost_, exactly - they were lying on the floor, right there. Right where Nick had put them. If he stretched his arm out a little, he could just reach out and -

        "Fingers?"

        Shit.

        He _wasn't_ going to say anything.

        "How many, Sean?"

        No, no, no.

        He licked his lips. Because they were dry, not for any other reason. Unfortunately, Nick took that as an invitation, and pushed a finger inside.

        Sean tasted salt. Sweat. He didn't know if it was Nick's, or his own. Or both.

        It wasn't until the finger pulled free of his mouth with a soft 'pop' that he realized he'd been sucking at it, like a baby at a nipple.

        Fuck.

        "Is one enough? Or do you want two?"

        He pressed his lips together, tightly, but that finger, now wet with his own saliva, rubbed over them, teasing him. He viciously wished that it was enough for Nick to _fuck_ him, hold him down and just do it, maybe even leave a bruise or two. But, no. That wasn't _nearly_ enough for Nick.

        Nick had to make him _like_ it.

        Nick had to make him _want_ it.

        Nick had to make him _beg_ for it.

        Fucker.

        He whimpered against that teasing finger, and it pressed inside, again, followed by the second. He pressed up with his body, laving those fingers with his tongue as they fucked his mouth.

        Soon, his mouth wasn't going to be enough.

        He caught the fingers with his teeth, trying to keep them in his mouth, but Nick slapped him gently on the ass - not hard enough to hurt, exactly, just a sharp little 'smack' that _sounded_ worse than it felt. But it made him jump, made his mouth open, and Nick's fingers were gone.

        And then they were back.

        But not in his mouth.

        He didn't plan on pushing up. He should have just stayed still, and let Nick do whatever he wanted, get it over with already. He planned on being a mummy, a dead fish, a mannequin, a blow-up doll. Let Nick get off on him, get it over with, and get out. He thought all of these things, knew what he wanted, _knew_ what he should - shouldn't - do.

        But his body - Fucking thing. Under Nick's control. It would do any goddamn thing Nick wanted it to.

        He pushed up, Nick pushed back, and those fingers slid smooth inside him, probing and twisting and _fuck_. That felt good.

        Too good.

        He moaned.

        Nick put his free hand in the middle of Sean's back, pushed him down flat on the bed. "You're so greedy for it," he said, amused. "Slow down."

        Bitch.

        No, that wasn't right. Nick wasn't the bitch, here.

        He pushed up again and Nick straddled him. Just like he'd known would happen. Nick had to keep him down, or this would be over too quickly. And, fuck, that couldn't happen. Nick still had his clothes on. All of them.

        Even his shoes.

        He moaned again, neck craning, wriggling his hips. Nick's tongue slid up his spine in one long motion, from the crack of his ass to the back of his neck, turning his backbone - assuming he'd ever had one - to jelly.

        He lay there, flat on the bed.

        "That's better," Nick praised. The fingers twisted inside him. "Isn't that better?"

        "Mm." It would have been non-committal - meaningless, really - if he hadn't sounded so fucking _happy_.

        "You know you like it when I make you feel good," Nick said. "You know I can make you feel even better, don't you?"

        He didn't say anything.

        He heard a sound, softly metallic, small. Then the slide of leather against denim, and a dull 'thump' as the belt hit the floor.

        He closed his eyes.

        Waited.

        Nick lay down flat on top of him, still fully clothed. Buttons from his shirt pressed into Sean's back, the dog tags cold metal on his hot skin. Fully clothed. Except for the belt.

        "Baby," he breathed, those four letters hot on Sean's ear.

        Sean tried not to whimper.

        "You want me to."

        He didn't say anything.

        "Tell me, Sean."

        He bit his lip. Hard.

        "Say it."

        He thought he could taste blood in his mouth.

        Nick's hands slid down his arms, fingers curling into his own, dug tight into the sheets, prying them free, knitting them together. Nick rubbed his body - his fully-clothed body - against Sean's.

        "Sean."

        He groaned.

        A small kiss pressed against the tip of his ear.

        "Baby."

        "Fuck," Sean groaned.

        "Mm."

        "Fuck me."

        "What?" Nick was still nuzzling him, nose pressed against his hair, lips and tongue worrying his ear.

        "Fuck me," he said, louder. "Please, Nick. Fuck me."

        There it was. He was begging.

        Sometimes, he really hated himself.

        Nick dragged his nails back up Sean's arms, over his shoulders, and down his back. He thought he could hear buttons pop, and waited for Nick to lift off of him.

        It didn't happen. He wasn't taking his clothes off. He didn't realize that until Nick was fucking him, too fast, too soon, and he was too wet and too open and too eager to react with anything but a pleased whimper.

        Goddamn, he was a slut. For this. _This_. He'd do anything for this. And Nick knew it.

        He curled his fingers even more tightly into the sheets, twisting them. Pushed up with his hips, even though Nick was flat against him, deep inside. He wanted something deeper - even though there was no way Nick could _go_ deeper than he was.

        They moved together, Nick still mostly holding him down, hips moving in time, bodies slapping together. Rough denim rubbed against his bare thighs and he knew there would be marks this time - not bruises, but something tangible for a little while, like rugburn. A spark flared in his mind.

        They'd never done it on the floor.

        Yet.

        He came rubbing himself against the mattress, his own drooling cock an afterthought compared to the one pushed deep inside his ass. His orgasm triggered Nick's, and then it was over, but they were still together, panting, sweaty-sticky and half-hard. Nick kissed him on the back of the neck, lazy fingers combing through his damp hair.

        Two little letters. Next time, he'd manage to get them out.

        End

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