“Yeah, that’s not surprising. Although I’m sure he usually …. picks up more exciting girls.” Not that her life wasn’t exciting enough, she would love it if things … toned down, just a fraction, but … his type seemed more along the lines of girls willing to jump off cliffs on a frequent basis. “ — right. Of course. Is everyone he knows some kind of … hacker, or?” She wasn’t sure that was even the right word, but REGARDLESS.
Tennyson cocked his head, “Luv I’m sure yer plenty interestin’, otherwise X wouldn’t’ve kept talkin’ to yeh.” He smiled, too, chewing idly on the inside of his lip. Outside of the black site he’d been in for the past month, his life might have been one of the most normal of the crew. “Ach, no, I’m no hacker,” okay so he totally was, but that was a hobby. “I’m a stunt driver,” he grinned, and his chest puffed out a little. “Most’ve X’s friends? I s’pose they’re all talented in some useful ways, sure.”
He's feeling no pain right now, can barely remember his own name, or the fact that he'd just been driving for ten hours on nothing but energy drinks, burgers and root beer. There was a small part of him that wondered if Nicks realised how dirty he was, if it mattered, but as he kept taking him in entirely, that thought was washed from his mind. Tennyson is still twitching, but then Nicks is there and present, and he just lays there as his shirt's all but ripped from his body. It's fine, it's all fine, because he's here and he's been a month without even beating off in that black site(they'd use his sperm for something, not sure what, but they would.) and it's painfully apparent at how fast he'd come in Nicks' mouth.
"I...I know.." Is all he can say at first. He's just laying there until he knows what Nicks' wants because he's too afraid to touch him right now. He's angry and fragile and Tennyson is big and clumsy and he'd broken many things before. He couldn't live with himself if he reached up and touched him and broke Nicks--his Nicks--when he was just trying to show him some affection. "I--Black site. Detained." He manages to say, not that it's much of an explanation, but it wasn't exactly the easiest thing in the world to free oneself from one of those things, let alone get out still in one piece without some sort of thing implanted (He'd checked. No new scars or lumps, no nanotech.) But that was how much he needed Nicks, how much he knew Nicks needed him.
His mind's slowly coming back into his body as he feels the young man touching him everywhere, his body alight with sensation, grinding and twisting and gripping, and even he can smell his own musk, but none of it matters right now because Nicks is on top of him and god if that isn't a sight for sore eyes. Tenn had tried not to think about him in the black site cell (brain wave scramblers can also read the waves. he didn't want to tip them off to Nicks' location), but he'd gone to sleep every night thinking of his face "Officially? Man you're deranged!" always put him to sleep with a smile.
And just like that, he's told--without words, but told all the same--to take his cock, and he does, large fingers curling around it as his other hand runs up and down all of that smooth skin. In any other situation, Tenn'd be the one in control, but despite him being the only one holding a cock, his cock, he doesn't know what to do when his face is firmly grabbed, and all he can do is look at this boy. Those swollen lips, those red-rimmed eyes, dark with lust. New Rule? That could mean anything, and before he can question it, there are fingers in his mouth and he's sucking like a good boy, like he's meant to, moaning just a bit, his chest rumbling with the deep noises.
Once a week, that was doable...unless he got detained or abducted again. But he'd make a program to auto-text if he had been, so Nicks would know and he wouldn't panic, and then maybe the crew would come and get him. Adele could pick Them off at a distance and Nicks and X would run in and save the day. He hears how small those words sound, despite the severity behind them, and he's nodding, vaguely a "Yessir" is said around the fingers in his mouth before their lips are crushed together.
It's insane, the amount of want that pours through him even after he's already orgasmed. He's being used like he was some toy and a sick part of him loved it (sick only thanks to his Catholic upbringing. The guilt was strong, that's what they always said). He moans into him as his arms come up to wrap around him. There's not a lot of chance to stay like that before he's shoved back down and Nicks is up. Off. "Nicks?" He questions before he watches the clothes start to come off.
Later. He would explain later when Nicks was sober and able to listen to full sentences without shoving something in his mouth. There's heat behind the words and yet...there isn't. Tennyson swallows hard. "I...no sir," There was enough dirt on him, and now on the bed, they'd have to sleep in this. "I'm sorry," It's dumb and empty but he can't think of anything else to say, nothing that will make sense to Nicks in this state. So he shuts his mouth and then there's teeth on his nipple and fingers in his arsehole and he's moaning like a whore in church because no one's ever done that before and fuck if it doesn't feel amazing. There's another finger and then there's a feeling that's like an electrocution but fun. Tennyson almost yelps, eyes wide, whites glowing a bit in the low light of the motel room "F-Fuck, Nicks--!"
He's nodding, though, now. Before Nicks covered him, pressed into him, his mind was coming back, but it's gone, now, and all he can do is nod at him, "Yours," comes out in his thick accent, but it's dripping with lust, and at his next breath, he gasps in, there's a cock, Nicks' cock, in his arse. "S...sh..." he can't come up with words, vocabulary has left the building, and his knees are bending, legs wrapping around the younger man, and large fingers are walking all over that smooth skin, looking for a place he can grab on, somewhere he can hold so he doesn't come apart at the seams and then there's something in his arse as well and he doesn't know--can't parse what it is and he doesn't care because he doesn't want this to stop.
Maybe he can nod his head a bit, but he's being bent in ways he didn't even know he could be bent in, keening every time he gets bit, and he's already fucking wrecked. No sleep, too much caffeine, and the worry that he'd broken Nicks in a way he couldn't repair, just like the other people in his life, except Nicks mattered, Nicks mattered more than anyone and he feels suddenly warm, and he can smell something but he can't even wrap his mind around it before the cock's back in his arse and he's pistoning and now he's coming, Tenn can tell, and Tenn's just blissed out somehow, brain overloaded with all the sensations
With Nicks on top of him, Tennyson wraps his arms around that lithe frame and holds him close as he twitches and orgasms. "I'm yours, Nicks, I am..." It's not even hard to say when it's true.
By the time he hears loud knocking he’s half through the second bottle of whiskey and only ninety percent sure it’s the police.
Until he hears the voice.
There’s a loud thud, swearing in a string of english mixed with who the fuck knows following by a few clattering slams. After a moment the door is opened, and Nicks is there bare-footed and red eyed swaying on his feet. “You–” His voice wavers, and his fingers curl clumsily in the messy sleeve of his hoodie. The loose fist meets Tennyson’s chest weakly and Nicks feels his eyes burning again, stinging with fresh tears. “You didn’t answer. And they said a driver crashed.” Another weak punch at Tennyson’s chest and he’s swaying a little on his feet. “Fucking asshole, you fuck, fucking – fuck you,” there’s no heat to the words at all as he hits his chest again.
Relief threatens to suffocate him and his forehead is on the tall asshole’s chest. Nicks thinks he’s saying words but all that’s really coming out are broken muffled sobs coupled with half-hearted curses. He doesn’t even see the vodka, honestly he doesn’t fucking care at the moment. Tennyson’s heartbeat is fast and hard against his skin and Nicks refuses to tell him how relieved he is that he’s alive.
Tennyson is real, solid, and warm. Fingers twist roughly into the fabric of his shirt, refusing to let him go as he forces down the tears and sobs instead just dragging Tennyson inside before kicking the door shut with his bare foot. Nicks waits just long enough for the annoying box to get put aside before shoving the behemoth back onto the bed. Wiping his face, he’s tugging and fumbling with the buckle of Tenn’s belt before finally he’s got it open.
Nicks rubs away more tears roughly, scowling down at the other man.
“S-Shut up.”
Keep reading
Nicks isn't that much shorter than him, but when he opens the door, that first second, Tennyson is sure he's staring down at a small child whose thought they lost their favourite toy. "I'm sorry," he says without thinking, and he's being hit. He deserves it, he was a horrible person who left the only person who'd ever really cared about him since he'd managed to outlive his entire family. Nicks is drunk and hitting him and Tenn is just standing there and taking it because he knows he deserves worse than that. Look at him, the kid's a wreck, he fucking broke him. "I'm sorry I didn't..." he can't even speak, it's not worth it, there's no reason to. None of it mattered because Nicks' head is on his chest and his free arm is wrapping around him, holding him close, his head nuzzling against the one buried against him. "Shh...I'm sorry, christ" And he's already starting to cry, too.
They're a regular pair, look at them! Standing in the doorway blubbering at each other, where they can see. (not sure which they this time, really. Both of them. All of them.) Seems like Nicks gets the hint because they're inside now, the door's closed, not locked, so he puts the case down and at least does the door chain up. He's got just enough time to do that before he's falling onto the bed and Nicks is playing with his belt buckle, "Ah, Nicks... ye don't have--" But then there it is, shut up. "Right." Somehow he's just silenced that easily, even though he wants to say he isn't sure this is the best idea, that Nicks is crying and that he'd hurt him and they needed to deal with this like grown men, even if that meant just letting Nicks cry on the bed in Tennyson's arms, he would do that.
It's in this moment he realises he hasn't showered in over a day, and has been sitting and basically stewing in the car for the past 10 hours, no matter how high he had the aircon on. He's filthy but Nicks mumbles something about it and he doesn't really hear him because his dick's out and in Nicks' hand and he can't remember how to speak English. Or any other language, for that matter. "F-fuck..." he moans as his entire cock's encircled by the wet warmth of his mouth before he can say anything, do anything. His hands reach for anything, something he can grab onto. One of his hands fists into Nicks hair, along for the ride as his head begins to bob, he's not forcing him.
His other hand holds him up, just a bit, so he can look down at Nicks and watch him. He's so hurt but he's still here, still blowing him because he needed him that badly. Tennyson doesn't know if he fully understands just how much he'd needed Nicks until this particular second, and he's moaning and groaning "Y-yes..." He feels like he should say things, positive things maybe, just because Nicks hadn't heard his voice in so long, "Just like that, luv, oh, fuck..." there's hands up his chest and tangling in his chest hair and his eyes roll into the back of his head as his hips twitch when he realises that Nicks is actually taking him all in. All of him. No one's done that before, and he can feel Nicks' gagging and he's still doing it.
He did need him. That realisation crashes over him and it's really not long before he's feeling himself come close, "F-Fu--Nicks, I'm gonna---" His hips are thrusting into Nicks' mouth, moaning until he careens over the edge, exploding into him, and his entire body locks up in a twitching mess as he falls back against the bed, a shivering, moaning mountain of a man "T-thank you--" he says between gasps, "C'mere..." his hand's still in Nicks' hair, and he doesn't yank him up, but he makes a gentle tug, a suggestion.
“Yeah, I’ve — I’ve heard it before.” She smiles, albeit absently. It was a good point, She had a tendency to cave to frustration, but she knew where he was coming from. “I probably would’ve given up on attempt 68 though.” She shrugged, laughing lightly. “Ah — We ran into each other at a bar? I dunno. I must’ve said something interesting enough to make him stick around.”
A bar, that makes plenty of sense. At least it wasn’t somewhere strange, somewhere they usually were (you know. them). “Not if all y’had was candles an’ lanterns. Yeh’d probably push through just outta sheer annoyance with th’lack of light.” Tennyson smiled down at her, “That’s usually how it happens with girls an’ X. I met him by hackin’ through his firewall when we was both lookin’ into a mysterious plane crash in--” he looked around, just checking, “Just outsid’ve Angkor Wat.”
“I’m not really...science class,” he said, “But have y’never heard the sayin’ Thomas Edison said he didn’t fail, he found 99 ways not t’make a lightbulb? That means he went and cocked it up 99 times until he got th’power t’go right.” He picked at the edge of his sweater sleeve, “So how’d yeh meet X? Yer not th’usual type he pals around with.”
Miraculously enough, Nicks isn’t at Xander’s place. After the first night he’d debated bailing and by the end of the first week he was housed up in a shitty motel. That, of course, was after he’d stolen his fair share of blankets from Cage’s place with the shaky promise of returning them cause fuck if he was gonna trust the sheets at the local motel 6. He’s thumbing through twitter and mourning the loss of the heater when he sees the news, when his anger goes cold and the body they pull out of the river looks suspiciously like Tennyson’s own hulking frame.
It’s a small miracle he manages to react as poorly as he does.
So he’s got two bottles of whiskey and a bottle of vodka. One bottle lasts him through most of the day and he doesn’t hear the phone chiming next to him on the nightstand. Nicks is curled up in his hoodie, eyes swollen with tears he’ll deny shedding till hell freezes over and curls more into the pillow while he watches some shitty ass soap opera on the television. Sniffling, he finishes the bottle as a couple are dramatically reunited. “Fucking lies!” He can’t even get the goddamn whiskey bottle to break right. Nicks curls up, cradling his phone and numbly dialing the first number in his speed dial; Tennyson.
There’s a voicemail he’ll listen to later but for now he’s crying and holding the stupid bit of plastic and metal to his ear, “I’m at some shitty ass motel cause it reminds me of you and your fucking awful taste and how fucking pathetic is that huh? Sofia and James can get reunited after a fucking car crash and you – why’d you have to leave? I just wanted to spend the weekend together, do something fucking normal cause we ain’t like that and now you –” Nicks closes his eyes tightly, sobbing and curling in on himself as the phone drops from his fingers onto the floor. He’s got his hands over his face as he cries, face full of tears and snot and body heaving with sobs.
He still hadn't picked up after he'd redialed, and Tennyson decided to stop and get the booze now so he wouldn't have to wait. While he was in the parking lot, he used his equipment to track where the last phone call had come from so he knew where the hell he was going (because calling and asking for an address, of course, never even crossed his mind.) Address in hand, he's been to the city enough times, Tenn knows where it is. He doesn't use GPS (they can track that. You know who they is.) Besides, the voice would just distract him from keeping his eyes on the road.
Around hour five, he's barely paying attention to the road after downing his third bottle of root beer and his second five hour energy, he's now using one of the empty bottles so he doesn't have to waste time pulling over to relieve himself. Because it's much more sensible to whip his dick out at 70+ miles per hour and pee into an opening the size of a quarter instead of pulling over to pee wherever he felt like. Either way, he's got a full case of vodka behind him, and it's a miracle he manages to avoid rush hour traffic in every large city he passes through. Maybe they wanted him to get to Nicks quicker (different they. Different agendas.)
The whole time his brain's going a 90 miles a second, trying to figure out how to apologise because surely he'd be expected to do so in person, too, just on the phone wasn't good enough. And Nicks would be so cross, he was already hurting, that just made Tennyson drive faster. Somehow, he made it from just outside of Louisville to the little motel in ten hours and fifteen minutes. He'd probably broken a decent amount of laws. Whatever. Nicks needed him. The tires of the car he'd commandeered screeched into the lot (he parked relatively normal, only took up one spot, really!) and he whipped his phone out to pull up the tracking info again, able to pinpoint which room he was in without having to bang on every door and talk to other people (and probably terrify them, that was the default reaction to a giant banging on your door in the middle of the night.)
He grabbed the case of vodka, hefted it up on his shoulder and pounded up the stairs to the door with the "406" stamped on it. For some reason, he froze, just for a second, had to find his breath before he bang-bang-bang'ed "Nicks! Are ye' in there?"
"Where are you Tenn? I...you aren't dead right? Cause you're too stubborn and-- T-That wouldn't be you on the news? You're not the body they pulled out the river you fucking can't be you asshole--! I...j-just come back. I need you."
This one showed up right after the other, and he didn’t let it finish all the way before he was hanging up and dialing Nicks. Shit shit shit. Tennyson was already on the way to the liquor store to buy out half their vodka section. It was taking too long to pick up, and he maybe clipped a couple cars because who paid attention when the only man who’d ever actually cared about you suddenly thought you were dead?
“Yo, this is Nicks, leave it at the tone.”
Shit was he mad at him?
“Nicks, I ah,” what did he even say? Before he could take another full breath, it all came pouring out,
“I was on an important stakeout because I’d got some new information about one of those suspicious plane crashes, right? You know th’ones I’m always on about. And then I poked th’wrong bear, and I’ve spent the last month in a black site. Th’food was good, really. Probably because of which one it was. I’m not suppose t’know which one it was, but it was th’one outside’ve Louisville. Yeh’d think they donnae have any there, but there’s actually four of ‘em within a 500 mile radius, but anyway, I just managed t’get maself out yesterday, an’ I’m goin’ t’grab ye some vodka. Are y’still at X’s place? I should be there in maybe ten hours, unless I hit traffic. I’m sorry, it’s not like those communists let yeh make phone calls. I’m comin’ I promise. Iloveyoubye.”
Wait.
Shit. Had he said that out loud?
“Siri, redial!”
“Dialing,”
“Nicks, c’mon,” maybe he could head him off before he heard that message.
"I hate you so fucking much leaving me here. I'm gonna burn all your classified files and take a piss on the ashes. It's been weeks man and not one fucking call or text. Fuck you."
That was his fault, but Tennyson’d never blame Nicks for it, nope. He’d blame himself and his own obsessive arse that he checked his voicemail and had forgotten to turn his brightness down.
This black site actually had a decent chef. And surprisingly easy access to the knock-out drugs, once he’d been able to get a layout kicked up in his mind. He was horrified at the prospect that Nicks had burnt any of his files, those were hard to get, some of them irreplacable.
"I caught a cold and it's your fucking fault and Cage made me stay on his fucking moldy couch. Him and kim chi are fucking like rabbits but what else is new and-- and-- I miss you idiot. Get your fucking ass here already and bring me some vodka."
So now he was biting his tongue so hard he could taste the copper to avoid laughing. Tennyson was on a stakeout, and he was hiding, and it was bad enough he was checking his voicemails in this bush(and frankly surprising he had any service). He couldn’t get caught, because then he’d end up in some black ops site he wasn’t supposed to know existed–but he did, he knew where they all were.–again. And he’d only just gotten out.
He put a quick note in his phone to make sure not to show up without vodka.
"...[sigh] listen man, I just. I freaked out alright? It got real and fuck, I don't know what the fuck- I didn't mean those other things yknow? Well you still have a hairy ass."
God, was he really this transparent, at his age? Or did he just happen to fall for this skinny little twerp so hard it mattered what he thought so much that this apology could make him smile. But as he was listening to it, he got another vibration. Another message. He saved this one.
"Man fuck you. Honestly you're the worst, I bet a dog would treat me better than your hairy ass."
There it was. Just like every girl who’d ever called him a freak, it felt like an ice pick right to the heart. It was difficult not to just crush the phone right then and there. He definitely wasn’t calling him back until he calmed down, because he’d yell, and then he’d yell in Gaelic, and that wouldn’t do either of them any good.
He hadn’t meant to let seven–Seven??–voicemails pile up like this. Tennyson sighed, deleted this one and moved onto the next. He would listen to every single one before he replied, because he didn’t want to be uninformed, or to have missed something. Even if he felt like more insults were coming.
Just a little note, I’ll be iconless for at least a little while. I cannot find literally ANY Rory McCann icons, I’m not using The Hound, so I’ll have to make my own and I don’t have time to til at least Thursday. Thanks, folx.
