Nick/Chris - motorcycle accident

"WhatthefuckSHIT!" A screech of tires and a slow-motion confusion of dogs and leashes and shouting and next thing Chris knew, his was on his side, his motorcycle half-lying on one of his legs, and he was blinking up at the sky through his visor. An automatic panicked systems check: he could move his toes. He could move his fingers. His ass hurt. A lot. He decided to stay lying down for a minute or two. It seemed the smart thing to do.

"What the hell? What the hell?" he heard someone saying. "Oh shit, um, don't move. Just ... yeah, don't move." Chris felt the motorcycle moving off him and didn't do anything to stop it. He could hear the yip of dogs; that was probably a good sign, too. Relatively speaking. "Shit. Are you okay, man?"

"Yes," he said carefully, raising his head. "I think so. Am I bleeding?" It didn't feel like he was bleeding. In fact, he felt pretty okay. He squinted up; the sun was behind whoever was speaking to him, though he sounded awfully familiar. "Mom?" He made his voice deliberately small. This guy had almost caused his death; he deserved a little fucking-with. "Mom, is that you? Everything's so dark..."

"Aw, hell," he heard him say, halfway between worried and frustrated. "That can't be good. Um. You're not bleeding, though. We should ... I think we should get the helmet off you. I think that's the first thing I'm supposed to do. Just ... let me tie these guys up. Stay there, don't move, I'll be right back."

"No, don't leave me," Chris wailed, flailing a dramatic hand into the air. "Don't leave me alone in the dark! It's getting cold, *so* cold, I think I see a light! A bright light! There's music! It's beckoning me forward, it's calling me, it's telling me that if...what? What? If I want it to be good, I have to get a bad boy?" He opened his eyes, feigning shock. "Oh my god, there's a perv in heaven!"

"Are you ... shit, you're *fucking* with me, aren't you?" He looked like he was going to smack him for a second, then abruptly backed off. "Asshole. I should sue you. Just let me tie up my dogs, all right? Shit."

"Oh, I don't know." Chris turned his head carefully and came nose-to-nose with a small brown dog who was yapping frantically directly at his face. "The sound of the barking is really very charming, especially since the helmet makes it echo." He reached up and unbuckled his helmet gingerly, easing it off his head once the dog was gone, and relaxed back onto the cement, wincing. "What the fuck were you doing in the middle of the road? Good thing I've got superhero reflexes, is all I'm saying. I wouldn't be threatening lawsuits if I was you, dude."

"I was going around the patch of the construction on the sidewalk," he said impatiently, tugging the dogs closer to him. "What the hell were you droing driving the wrong way on it? Wait ... Chris? Fucking Kirkpatrick?"

"Give the boy a prize," Chris said wearily, running a careful hand over his buzzed hair. "What, you think everyone quotes Backstreet during near-death experiences? Nice to see you, Nick. Wait till I tell Justin that I missed an opportunity to kill you. And I wasn't going the wrong way, it turns into a *two way street* at that intersection, genius."

"I have a place around here," snapped Nick. "I walk this route every day. Believe me, it's still one way on this block. Now are you hurt or can I smack you now?"

"I live a block away!" Chris stared at him, disbelieving. "It's *definitely* two-way here. I've driven it enough times, I should freaking know." He narrowed his eyes at Nick, though it probably wasn't as scary since he was still laying in the road. "Maybe I'm hurt and maybe I'm not, but if you smack me I'll beat your ass so hard you'll never hump a drumset again."

"Fine," said Nick. "Whatever. Me and my seriously freaked out dogs are going to leave the scene of this particular accident now. Watch the signs next time. You tourists are always taking this block the wrong way; they just aren't usually moving along quite as fast as you were."

"Your dogs *should* be seriously freaked out, they almost died! Much like me!" Chris pushed himself up to a sitting position, then groaned and lay back down. "God, my ass. Ouch. You could at least help me move my bike. Oh, hey, the dogs are all right, right? I missed 'em?" They looked fine, but it was hard to tell with the small yappy-type dogs. He should know.

"Yeah," said Nick, turning back to him. "You missed them. And me, too, thanks for asking. Just tell me, do I need to call 911 here? Or are you going to be okay?"

"I know I missed you, if I hadn't your mouth wouldn't be running like that," Chris pointed out, grinning and starting to enjoy himself, despite his sore hip and the fact that he felt like his right leg had lost some fairly important skin. "Plus, I like dogs. *You,* on the other hand, haven't been nice to me since Rock 'n Jock." He sat up again, more slowly, keeping his weight on the left side. "Ouch."

"I haven't *seen* you since Rock 'n Jock," Nick said, crouching down next to him and helping him to a sitting position. "Except that one time, for two seconds. Oh. Okay. You might be bleeding just a little ... but I think it's only a scrape. We should probably at least get you inside, though."

"Great," Chris groaned, glancing at his shredded jeans. "I liked these jeans, too. Shit, and my *bike*. I just got it out of the shop!" He slapped at Nick's hands, rolling to his side and then to his feet, staggering and shaking his head. "Yeah, I think I should really get inside and pick all the germ-laden gravel and glass out of my leg before it rots right off. Good idea."

"I'm trying to fucking help, here," snapped Nick. "I know it hurts, but you don't have to be an asshole. It was an accident. Now if you can handle the dogs, I can walk your bike to my place. It's not far."

"Dude." Chris looked at him and wiggled his fingers a little, aggrieved. "Hi, I'm the injured party here. A little sympathy? And I think I'm being pretty nice about the whole thing. I bet you'd be crying like a bitch right now!" He reached for the leashes and almost overbalanced. "How far is your place, and most importantly, is it uphill?"

"I'm over a block. It'll take a few minutes, at this speed, but it's not far. And dammit, Chris, if you don't shut the fuck up I'm leaving you and your bike here, I swear. I've been more than patient about this. I'm a little shaken up here, too, you know. I was almost fucking run over by some jerk speeding the wrong way up the street."

"Fine, go," Chris snapped, limping over to the bike and struggling to get it upright, using only one leg for leverage. "I'll just stagger home, bleeding and bloody because a certain rocket scientist decided to take a stroll up the middle of a busy thoroughfare. A busy two way thoroughfare. At which point I crashed my bike to avoid killing him or his yappy rats." He sniffed. "All *you* lost was your sense of humor. *I'm* probably going into shock."

"Busy?" said Nick, gesturing widely over the street. "Have you *seen* another car since the accident? All *day*? Christ. Take the dogs, they don't pull hard. I can walk the bike. Just ... just do it, okay? We're both too pissed off right now to talk.And I need a drink. And you need ... a new pair of pants."

"Oh, hey, you didn't say there would be alcohol." Chris gave up on the bike and took the leashes Nick offered, making a face at him. "I'm not really that angry, amazingly, or at least I wasn't till you started being all pissy at me. Which is *so* unfair, considering who's actually hurt here and who should be showering who with gifts of gratitude for quick thinking and lightning-fast reaction time."

"I think I"m the one with the reaction time," countered Nick, hauling the bike up and giving it a tentative push. "I managed to get myself and a pair of dogs out of the way of the madman on the bike, careening toward me. Looks like nothing's bent too bad. Should be a quick fix. For what it's worth."

"Says the singing dancing bike mechanic," Chris snorted, limping after him with a dog leash in each hand. They seemed to like him though, trotting happily at his heels, sniffing his legs. "I think you're thinking of some other motorcycle accident. Cause you're sure as hell not describing the one I was just in. In which I was very heroic and saved the life of two really nice little dogs."

"Saved them from yourself, right," said Nick. "Saved them from a very dangerous man. My place is just the bottom of this hill, take a right. The gate code is five-five-nine-two if you beat me there."

"Yeah, I'm just speeding away, here." Chis gave him a long look. "Sprinting. With the one leg and all. I think I'll just hang back here and let you handle your own security, thanks." He hobbled a few more steps, watching Nick push his bike. "When we start going down the hill, you're gonna want to use the brake," he pointed out. "Otherwise it'll just roll away from you."

"Wait," said Nick, stopping where he was and examining the bike. "Wait, how do I do that? We don't need both of us taking a spill with this thing ... "

Chris rolled his eyes, disappointed that Nick couldn't see it. His eye-rolls were works of art. "Left handlebar. Squeeze the handgrip, just like on a bike. Are you telling me you don't know how to ride a motorcycle? Seriously?"

"What?" said Nick defensively. "I never have, all right? And it's not like you're a master rider yourself, Mr. I'm-too-good-for-street-signs. Okay, I got it, I'm good."

"You'd better be glad I'm as good as I am, Mr. I'm-too-good-for-sidewalks," Chris sniped back, grimacing as the hill started and his sore leg had to take more weight. "Beautiful people have to obey traffic laws just like everyone else, you know. The streets are for things with engines. The sidewalks are for things with legs."

"Yes, well, I'll take the street over the wet concrete and day," said Nick, sounding like he was starting to get impatient again. If he'd ever stopped. "Oh shit, oh shit ... " He jogged a couple steps and Chris saw him clamp harder on the brake. "Be glad you've got the dogs, man. Okay. We're almost there."

The dogs yipped and tried to chase Nick, and Chris growled at them warningly. They quieted instantly, and came back to his side. "Don't lose my bike and I won't 'drop' these leashes, 'kay? How almost is almost? Because honest to god, if I don't get to sit down soon I won't be held accountable for my actions. Are we there yet?"

"See the gate? That's my place. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other and you'll make it," said Nick, jogging with the bike again and getting further ahead. He had the gate swinging open before Chris caught up. "Now you just need to get up the lane to the front door. Or actually. Hm. Stairs. Actually, take the walk to the right and we'll go in the back door. It's easier."

"No. Stairs are fine. I want to sit." Chris headed stubbornly for the front door. It looked like a much shorter walk. "You can just lean the bike on the fence right there. I'm gonna have to get it towed anyway, the front drive rods are bent. Goddamnit." Step after slow limping step, he made it to the door.

"You look like hell," said Nick as he propped the bike up, nothing Chris didn't already know and nothing he really needed to hear. "Is there supposed to be a kickstand or something? Do you just want me to leave it like this?"

"Yeah, there's a kickstand, but it's probably fucked up right now. You never know, but you can leave it like that." Chris eased his weight onto the railing around Nick's top step, sighing in relief, watching him wrestle with the bike. "Dude, just leave it. Seriously, I don't think it can get more damaged than it already is. Come here and let me into your house so I can raid your medicine cabinet."

"It's the same code as the gate, only backwards," Nick told him, still fussing with the bike. "This things seems like it's gonna fall over. don't say I didn't warn you. I'll be up there in just a second. If you want to unhook the dogs, you can let them go; the grounds are fenced in."

"Yeah, you told me the code for the gate and I was already thinking of my next clever one-liner, so it didn't really stick, I'm afraid." He unclipped the leashes from the dogs and they bounced all over him with joy, then ran yapping for Nick, tangling around his feet. "Tell the truth. You were standing in the middle of the road because you were afraid you'd trip over your dogs, right?"

"You've found me out," said Nick dryly, crouching down to give his dogs some love before heading for the steps, and for Chris. "That's just keep that our little secret. It's two-nine-five-five if you want to hit it or ... " He bounded up the steps. For the first time, Chris noticed his hands were shaking. "I can get it. There."

"Hey." Chris looked at him carefully. "You okay? I didn't actually clip you or nothing, did I? You're looking shakier than me, which is a neat trick right now." He started slowly for tht eopen door. "Point me at the nearest couch?"

"I'm just ... just shaken up," said Nick, waving his hand dismissively. "Just go through the archway on your right and through to the second room. That's the den, it's comfortable. Don't stay in the first room, it's got couches, yeah, but you're better off sitting on rocks. I'm gonna grab some peroxide and bandaids and ... what else do you need?"

"Ice. A washcloth and warm water. Scotch. That should do it, thanks." Chris just kept moving, afraid that if he stopped he wouldn't get started again. His hip was already starting to stiffen up. "So what're you shaken up about? I missed you by a mile. And the dogs."

"Actually, you kind of didn't," said Nick, his voice muffled by a couple of walls between them. "You were kind of heading straight for us and I'm kind of letting myself freak out about it a little now that I'm home and everyone's safe and okay. I don't have any scotch ... oh wait, yes, yes, I do ... I'll be right there."

Chris sighed and slumped onto the couch, easing his leg up so it was resting on the cushions and leaning back into the corner. He let his head tip back on the padded arm. "Sorry about that," he called softly. "I was probably going a little fast. I honest to god have never seen anyone on the road there, though." He rubbed his hip, frowning. "Have some of that scotch yourself," he added, louder. "That'll help the shakes."

"Oh, believe me, I plan to," said Nick, his voice getting closer now. "Have you taken your pants off yet? You're going to have to if you want me to clean it and bind it up. It looked kinda messy, that's gotta hurt."

"I'll clean it myself," Chris said hastily, wondering if he could. "Probably oughtta do this in the bathroom, someplace that won't stain." He struggled back up to his feet. "It's bound to bleed a little when I get the gravel out. I think these pants are a total loss, too."

"Believe me, you can't do anything to that couch that hasn't already been done, blood and all," said Nick as he joined him in the room. "Another reason I kinda led you past the white ones. Stretch out, I can take care of it for you. But pants first, okay? They're probably just making it worse, all ragged and dirty."

"You know, last time someone was this insistent about me getting my pants off, I don't think he had first aid in mind," Chris noted absently, allowing Nick to push him back down to the couch. "Fine. But I don't want to hear a single word about bloodstains or...and hey, is this sanitary? Did you put me on some disgusting couch of infection?" He eyed Nick with deep suspicion.

"It's been cleaned," said Nick, rolling his eyes at him. He had a pretty good eye-roll himself. "Just drop 'em, okay? I'm not going to do anything to you that's not ... medicinal. So unless you got road rash on your dick -- in which case I think you'd be complaining a little louder than you are -- you're safe from me."

"No, the jewels came through okay," Chris said gratefully, patting them gently before unfastening his pants. "No hanky-panky, Carter," he warned, sliding his pants down and wincing as they pulled over the long scrape on the outside of his thigh. "I know all about you kids these days and your little games of doctors and nurses. I'm warning you, I have a scream that can shatter glass."

"What makes you think I'm into guys anyway?" said Nick as he knelt on the floor next to Chris's legs and touched the injured one tentatively. His hands were still shaking, visibly. "Ow. That's some scrape, man. You want the scotch first?"

"Yeah. And hello, kidding. I'm not casting any shadows on your raging heterosexuality." Chris reached for the bottle that Nick offered, uncapped it, and took a long swallow, shuddering at the taste. "Okay, hit me. Not literally. I'm hoping you won't care if I don't watch. Maybe you should have some of this yourself. You're shakier than I am, and I'm the one who almost lost a leg."

"I came pretty close myself," said Nick, not even hesitating a second before taking a swig of the scotch. "Okay, I'm gonna clean it now. It's gonna hurt. Swear all you want, but just don't hit *me*, okay? You do, and I'm in a position to do some damage. I'm just saying."

"I may kick," Chris warned. "I'll try not to hit you. Just, you know, try not to wreck the boxers. These are my favorites." He looked down at the raw scrape along his leg and grimaced. "That's just lovely. God, at least I wasn't wearing shorts, thank god for denim. Just....do it soft? If you can?"

"I'll do my best," said Nick with a sigh. "I'm not, like, a medic or something. But I kinda know what I'm doing here. I've scraped myself up a hundred thousand times and I was a real clumsy kid so ... I pretty much know how to take care of a scrape right. Brace yourself, okay? I'm gonna start."

"Okay." Chris braced himself, and closed his eyes, and hissed lightly as he felt the first touch of the cloth. The next one was firmer, and he scrunched his whole face, digging his fingers into the couch cushions and holding so still he was almost shaking. "It's a good thing Joey isn't here," he said almost conversationally, desperate for a distraction. "He faints at the sight of blood sometimes. It's a bad scene, big strong guy like him, it's like a tree going down."

"Seriously?" said Nick, letting out a short chuckle. "I never knew that. Last thing we need in here is another patient. I'm good with scrapes, kinda, but I doubt I'd be much help with head injuries. So hey, since when do you live around here anyway?"

"Since three months ago," Chris gritted out, twisting a little but holding his leg still. "Okay, you need to hurry up with that, because I'm seriously gonna start yelling in a second, and that would just be embarrassing. Not to mention painful for you, and so far you haven't been bad, despite the uncalled-for mouthiness at the scene of the crime. Just dump the peroxide on and get it over with."

"Look, there's a lot of road crap in here," said Nick, patiently continuing with his cleaning. "Do you *want* to get an infection? They're not fun, believe me. And they have a tendency to scar. Ask me nice and I might show you. Just give me a couple more minutes. Yell if you need to, I know you're a mouthy bastard yourself."

"No," Chris gasped, feigning shock. "Mouthy? Moi? Never!" He thumped his other heel into the couch cushions as Nick poked at a particularly sore spot. "Jesus, what are you doing down there?! OUCH! FUUUUUCK! MOTHERFUCKING SON OF AN ASSBASTARD WHORE!" He finally just let go and screamed, getting it all out before slumping back down and taking another huge swallow of the scotch. "I feel much better now," he informed Nick calmly.

"Good stuff," said Nick, reaching for the peroxide. "You're not gonna like this any more. Or I can just skip straight to the antibiotic cream. Peroxide is kinda old school anyway. Your choice. Then I'll wrap it and. Um. Find you some pants, if you want."

"Just do the cream, peroxide AND antibiotic's a bit much," Chris said, still calm. "And yes, Nick, I would like pants. Because otherwise I will be wandering the neighborhood naked, disoriented, and bleeding, and really, the world only needs one Robert Downey Jr. So pants. And then I'll just pass out here for maybe a day, once I finish this bottle of very nice scotch, and then I'll be on my way and out of your hair."

"I mean I didn't know if you'd want pants *now*. I thought you might want to let the leg breathe a little first, since you aren't walking anywhere just yet. Or for a while, probably. While letting you wander the neighborhood naked would be funny, the neighbors talk and it's just a bad scene. So ... three months? Seriously?"

"Three months seriously. I even have a Blockbuster membership." Chris thumped a fist into a couch cushion, then went back to being carefully calm. Hopefully Nick was almost done. "So tell me, Carter, distract me. Tell me about the neighborhood. What's fun, what sucks, where to go. I moved in three months ago, but I think this is my third week here, really."

"I live here because it's *not* exciting," said Nick. "Because I'm not likely to trip over another pop star when I walk down the street. Except ... " He gave Chris a wry grin and gestured at him. "There some good clubs if you do downtown, if that's what you're looking for."

"If I wanted clubs I'd be in New York, or possibly LA," Chris said dryly. "Though it's nice to know that there are options-OW! Careful. I was thinking more along the lines of what restaurants are good and where the good skating parks are, actually. This is my little home-away-from-the-industry. Of course, who do I run into but you." He waved at Nick vaguely, trying to communicate "hot, successful, gorgeous, young, talented" with the flip of his hand.

"I thinik there's some irresistable pull, no matter where we go," mused Nick as he pulled some poorly wrapped gauze out of the pile of things he'd brought. "Fame calls to fame or something. We should be glad it doesn't cause collisions more often. Does that feel okay? The leg?"

"No." Chris eyed the supplies warily. "Dude, where the hell did you get all that stuff? It looks like the remnants of a high school first aid course or something. That can't be sanitary. Maybe you should just leave it off and let this thing just heal up on its own. And loan me some shorts. On me they'll be pants, and I'll be all set."

"This'll protect it until it starts healing up a little. Less chance of infection that way, plus it protects it from rubbing up against anything." He looked up at Chris once he'd taped the end down. "Did I mention the part where I was a clumsy teenager? Yes? That's why I have all this stuff. Never entirely outgrew that."

"I remember you being a clumsy kid, all right," Chris said, watching him work. "Not so much now, though. You did pretty good on the ball court, anyway, and I haven't seen you much other than that. You been hiding out here?" He sighed in relief when the scratch was covered, and held out his hand, which was also scraped and sore. "Can I call you Nurse?"

Nick took Chris's hand in his carefully and examined it. "Not unless I'm in a costume in your bedroom and you're planning to follow through on some kinky fantasy," he said, deadpan. "This one doesn't look so bad. Is this the hand you usually use?"

"I use both of my hands, like much of the human world," Chris explained, raising an eyebrow. "I find that two really help me with things like driving and eating and getting dressed. You know." He smirked a little, and took another long pull of the scotch. "Oh, Nurse Carter," his voice had a coy falsetto that was one of the only amusing things about sounding like a girl half the time. "Is it time for my sponge bath?"

"You should be so lucky," said Nick, letting out a snicker. "I meant are you right-handed or left-handed. If you're going to be using the hand a lot, i'll wrap it better. If you're not, I'll wrap it looser. It'll heal faster looser, but it'll protect it better if it's closer and thicker. You *could* make this a little easier for me, you know."

"Oh, just slap a bandaid on it and leave it," Chris tossed off. "That one's not so bad. And where's the fun in making it easy? Easy's boring." He watched Nick closely as he cleaned his hand. "Where did you learn all this stuff, anyway? Joey was clumsy as fuck, and he can barely open a bandaid. Well, he can now, but that's just because of Bree. What's your excuse?"

Nick gave him another wry glance as he bound the hand only twice around and taped it down. "I was embarrassed about it," he admitted when he was done. "Got to the point I stopped wanting to tell anyone, started taking care of it myself. Haven't had to in a while but ... turns out it all comes back to you pretty quick."

"Good thing for me," Chris commented, then leaned his head back. His whole body was starting to hurt, and he was feeling woozy, and Nick was incredibly gorgeous and nice to look at. Scenery. "All kids are clumsy. You should have seen Lance. And like I said, Joey. And me, god, there wasn't a tree in any of my neighborhoods I didn't fall out of. It's nothing to be embarrassed about.

"I was the youngest, and AJ wasn't clumsy," said Nick simply. "He laughed at me a lot. We were just being kids -- well, teenagers -- but ... you know how it is. Anyway. That's where my half-assed expertise comes from. You feeling any better? You don't look so good. You're kinda pale."

"Well, I did just survive a motorcycle crash," Chris pointed out wearily. "And I'm not exactly feeling up to par. I think a little paleness isn't too unexpected, considering how much this fucking hurts." He flexed his hand experimentally. "Thanks for patching me up, man. Decent of you, and you did a good job. I don't think they'll have to amputate. You don't *really* have to give me a sponge bath."

"Gee, and that was the only part I was looking forward to," said Nick. He took the bottle scotch back from Chris and had some more, still shaking a little. But he hadn't even mentioned it. "Do you want me to call a doctor, for real? I don't know how bad it is."

"Eh, no," Chris shook his head. "Sore muscles and stuff, I think, nothing a doctor could do anything about. Mine's such a freak he'd probably prescribe me massage therapy or acupuncture or some shit, and I don't need the hassle. Hey, sit down a second. Relax. You've still got the shakes. I hope I didn't scar you for life or anything, the pop world would never recover from the loss."

"Sorry, I"m okay," said Nick, sitting back finally so he wasn't on his knees. He rubbed them slightly, then stared at them. "Haven't really come down from the adrenaline high yet. You should, um, probably stay here for a while, then. You're not in any shape to go anywhere."

"Probably not. I think I'm getting drunk; if you don't mind, I'll just hang here for a little while." Chris moved his feet, clearing space on the couch. "Come on, sit down. Like I said, relax a little. Swear to god, dude, you look more freaked out than I am. What's that all about?"

"It's just adrenaline," said Nick again. "It's that feeling, you know, like you want to run around the building a few times, or go a few rounds with a punching back, but you know you're gonna crash any second." He crawled up onto the couch and sat down, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. "I'm just hoping it'll pass soon."

"I'm familiar with adrenaline, yep," Chris agreed, still watching him. "You must be pretty tense if it's lasting this long, though. Never pegged you for the high-strung type, Carter." He scratched thoughtfully at his thigh, where the road hadn't scraped through his skin, but left it red and itchy. "Thanks for loaning me your couch. I don't think I coulda got my bike home on my own."

"No, I'm pretty sure you couldn't've," said Nick, scratching at his knee. "Not that I didn't think about leaving you there, at least for a minute. You're a real jerk when you're hurting, anyone ever tell you that? You're much nicer now."

"I'm drunk now," Chris said placidly, nodding at him. "And I think I was pretty nice, all things considered. That was just a little snappish, not really jerkish. Did you hurt your knee? You've been fucking with it." He stretched out his leg gingerly, and had another sip of whiskey. He couldn't feel his knees, and that had to be a good thing.

"I just stumbled," said Nick, shaking his head. "It's fine. Nothing like that number you did on yourself. You got enough room there? You should ... *I* can stretch out full length on this thing, after all. Need anything?"

"You sure?" Chris peered at him suspiciously. "You should take care of your knees, kid. Trust me, you'll miss 'em when they're gone. I've got plenty of room, you're the one balled up in the corner like a...what're those little bugs that curl up when you poke them? Anyway, like one of those. Potato bug!"

"Did you just call me a potato bug?" asked Nick, letting out a disbelieving laugh. "Um. Don't worry, my knee is okay. It's probably just bruised or something. I've done way worse than this to it."

"I said you're *like* a potato bug," Chris said with as much dignity as he could. "And don't be dumb, lemmee see. You may know about scrapes, but I'm the local expert on knee injuries." He sat up straight, only flinching a little, and reached for Nick's knee, gently wrapping his hands around it. They looked very small on Nick's long leg. "Does it hurt?"

"Ow! Fucker. You didn't need to squeeze, you know. I already told you it felt bruised." When Chris looked at him, it looked almost like Nick was *pouting*. "In othe words, yes, it hurts. But I've done worse, I'm sure."

"I didn't squeeze at all," Chris protested, frowning at him. Cute little fucker, all pouting and making him feel bad. "Seriously, I didn't. Let me look, it sounds like it's pretty bad, if just touching it hurts like that." He drew Nick's leg down straight, towards himself, and started rolling up his baggy jeans. "See, I'm not even making you get naked. As long as these'll roll up far enough."

"Yeah, probably," said Nick, setting himself more comfortably. "I promise you don't need to worry about it, though, Chris. I just banged it a little when I stumbed. It got strained a little when I was doing the hill with your bike, but I made it okay, right?" And then knelt on the floor for a while while he was taking care of Chris's leg. "You should be stretching out, relaxing."

"I am stretched out and relaxing. Kind of." Chris rolled the jeans as far as he could, the top of Nick's calf, and winced when he saw the dark purple of bruising stretching down over his shin. "Dude, you weren't even limping. Tough guy. This needs ice, I think, and rest at least, and I can't even see how bad it is because of your pants. *You're* the one who should be stretched out."

"No, it feels better when it's bent," said Nick bending over so he could see. "Is it bad, or are you just trying to get me out of my pants?"

"A little of this, a little of that," Chris said breezily, patting his calf gently. "But I seriously think you should be icing it. As quick as possible, too, it's swelling like a bitch. You must have banged it harder than you thought. C'mon, it'll be fun, we can sit here and watch game shows and bitch about our injuries."

"Well, I might've twisted it a little, too," admitted Nick, biting his lip and looking as though he was trying to recall exactly what had happened. "All right, well, if you can hang out in your boxers, so can I. I keep an ice pack in the freezer, I can go get it, I guess."

"Nah, you sit still," Chris said, heaving himself to his feet. "All I've got is surface injuries and some pulled muscles, I'll do the walking. Um." He wobbled a little as the whiskey went straight to his brain, but years of practice kicked in and he straightened. "Get your pants off, kiddo. I'll be right back. Hey, which way is the kitchen?"

"Hey, you're supposed to be lying down," said Nick, but Chris already had some forward momentum going. "Um. Okay then. It's just on your right there ... should be on the bottom shelf, I think. The one I don't use much."

"You don't use the shelf much, or the freezer much, or what?" Chris grunted a little as he reached up to the freezer, retrieving the ice pack and limping back to Nick's side. Jesus, those were some long long legs. Logically, he knew that they were the same length they'd been before, but somehow bare they looked much...more. And that knee was looking bad. "Okay, that's a bruise and a half, right there. *You* might want to think about seeing a doctor, you know." He collapsed back onto the couch, closer this time, and laid the ice pack gently over the bruise.

Nick hissed, but that was about it. "No reason to," he insisted, moving to make room for Chris again. "I'm still pretty mobile. It probably looks worse than it is, is all. Give it a few days and it'll be fine."

"Uh huh," Chris said skeptically, sagging into the couch with a sigh. "Well, if it doesn't, go get it looked at. In my experience, these things usually look just about as bad as they really are. Give it a few hours to stiffen up, and you'll be needing a ride to the doc's." He shook his head. "We're a fun pair, huh? All banged up and nowhere to go."

Nick snorted and closed his eyes and rubbed his knee gingerly, under the ice pack. "Well, we're not exactly going to be going out clubbing, that's for sure. But at least there's the television. And do you smoke, man? I just picked up some stuff off a friend of mine last night. That would kill some time."

"Oh, fuck yeah," Chris said, grinning at him. "That would seriously hit the spot right now. Nature's painkiller, and it'll make afternoon TV *so* much more fun." He pushed Nick's hands out of the way and started rubbing his knee, small gentle circles with his fingertips that he remembered feeling good on his own gimpy knees.

"Oh," said Nick, exhaling quickly and stopping what he was doing. "Oh, that feels good. Damn. Where did you learn that?"

"I've been hurting my knees since you were...probably in diapers," Chris answered dryly, pressing his thumbs against the top of Nick's calf and continuing with the circles. "Believe me, I know all the tricks. I still think you're gonna have to see the doctor, but at the moment..." He grabbed a pillow and stuffed it under Nick's knee, supporting it, and smiled at him. "Keep it up, keep it iced, and hope for the best."

The way Nick nodded so quickly, Chris knew he was hurting more than he let on. "Just let me ... " He bent back over the arm of the couch and snatched up a baggie off the cluttered bookshelf behind him, tossing it on Chris's lap. "There's a pipe around here somewhere but I don't feel like looking; there should be some rolling papers in there." He sat back up and Chris heard his back crack. "Mmm, that felt better than it sounded."

"Yuck, I hope so. You're too young to be playing percussion on your bones." Chris let go of his knee to open the baggie, sniffing it appreciatively. "Good stuff. You're lucky I roll the meanest joint in all of Florida." He folded a paper, shook out an ample filling, and started to twist. "This should take care of the ouchies nicely."

"That and those talented hands of yours," said Nick appreciatively. "I twisted it a little last week doing yard work, too. That's probably why I stumbled in the first place, why I wasn't quite quick enough to get out of your way. The bruising might not be all from today. So you don't need to worry about it so much."

"You let me worry about how much I'm worrying, and concentrate on finding something decent on television," Chris reproved, licking the edge of the paper and sealing the joint tightly. "Gotta lighter? We need fire, here. And you, don't move that knee. Why the hell were you doing yard work anyway? We hire people to do that kind of thing. It's in the popstar handbook."

"I had a fight with Brian again," said Nick, sounding reluctant to talk about it. "I needed to blow off some steam. I sure as hell don't keep up the grounds myself. Lighter's on the coffee table, next to the remote. You could grab both, if you really liked me."

Chris stared at him, lips pursed, the look that always made Justin reconsider his current postion on things, but then reached for the table and came back with the lighter and remote, grumbling a little as the motion stretched torn skin. "So you fight with your buddy and end up mowing the lawn? Well, I guess it's better than punching something, or getting something pierced. Here, I rolled, you smoke." He handed over the joint and lighter, and went back to rubbing Nick's knee.

"Mowing the lawn is usually more productive than hitting the wall," said Nick, "and less painful. Most of the time." He stopped talking to light the joint, hitting it pretty hard before handing it back. "And I'm trying to slow down on the tattoos. Damn that feels good, Chris."

"Everyone's got their talents," Chris said, wryly. "I'm glad it's helping. Mmmmm, nice." He burned the end of the joint, then inhaled deeply, holding the smoke in his lungs. "Must have been some fight if it drove you to yardwork," he squeaked, before blowing out a cloud. "Justin's cars were the cleanest they've ever been when he was breaking up with Brit."

"Well this wasn't anything like that," said Nick. "Just an argument. I needed some air, some hard work. It was either that or light up, get some munchies and try to veg out. And that's one solution that hasn't exactly done me any favours in the past."

"Amen, brother." Chris toasted him with the joint, taking another hit before passing it back. "Surrounded by genetic freaks and exercise junkies, is what I am. Oh, and Joey. Thank god." He went back to his rubbing, liking the way Nick sighed and relaxed a little when he did. "Dude, you won't be doing any yardwork for a while on this. It's all puffy and hot and shit. You wrenched it pretty good, I can't believe you got my bike back."

Nick leaned closer to take the joint back. "It didn't feel so bad," he said. "I think that was the adrenaline or something. I mean, but still. I'm not the one that had a bike fall on me." He took a hit and scratched the side of his nose, staring at the ceiling for a few moments before letting the smoke out. "You feeling better, by the way?"

"Feeling no pain," Chris said contentedly, the warm haze filling him and making his fingertips tingle. "I mean, I am, but I don't care. It's cool, this was a fantastic idea." He trailed his fingers up and down the sides of Nick's knee, not rubbing so much as petting soothingly. "How about you?"

"Getting there," he said, passing the joint back again. "My knee just feels hot now. But better. I think that's mostly you, though. It's all ...not tight. Not *as* tight. Make sense?"

"Muscles are relaxing," Chris said knowingly. "Makes sense for sure. You probably wrenched it. A week or three, you should be back in good shape. 'Course, I'm not a doctor." He left one hand on Nick's leg as he took the joint and hit it. "Least I could do, after you used up all that medical tape on me. That was pretty cool, man, all wrapping round and round, I coulda been a mummy or something, but god, it's gonna be a bitch to get off, I bet."

"You just take it off the same way it went on," said Nick. "Just like anything. Or cut it off if you want, but that's a little kinkier." He reached his hand out expectantly. "Do you think it would be kinky, to wrap someone up like a mummy and then have to cut them out of it, piece by piece?"

"Depends." Chris handed the joint back. "Like, if you were doing it to be kinky, and like, licking every piece of the person that was revealed? Then yeah, I bet it would be. Or if you only unwrapped the parts you needed to have bare to have sex with them." He grinned at the heavy feeling, the little shiver he got in his belly at the thought. "They wouldn't even be able to move, not even a little bit. More even than just tying someone up. Very kinky."

"I'm gonna have to remember that one," said Nick with a determined nod. The joint was almost gone already, between them, even before Nick hit it again. "That's what I was thiking. Only expose the bits you needed, as you needed them. Mayve a few other random spots for fun. Wow, that would be cool."

"Mmm, yeah," Chris said, eyes half closed and thinking about it. "You'd have to use that non-sticking tape, or do it with someone with no body hair. Or, oh, someone shaved. All over. That would be part of the whole thing, like, a hot bath and shaving, then being wrapped up slowly. And then, not knowing which parts would get exposed...that's so sexy."

"Mmm, yeah," said Nick dreamily, passing the joint back. "You wanna finish this off? If you just did it with gauze, like I did, it wouldn't stick, and it would be all soft and comfy. And easy to cut."

Chris brought the joint up close to his nose and squinted at it. "It's almost kicked. Little baby roach. Used to be a papa roach!" He giggled, before lighting it carefully and smoking the last of it. "You'd have to be awful careful with the cutting, because the person would be totally at your mercy. Teasing and torturing and tempting and fucking would be good, random pokes with scissors would just ruin the mood. But the gauze, yeah. And lots of tape, outside, so the person couldn't get out. It doesn't work if it's just for pretend." He petted Nick's knee, vaguely registering hot tight skin, recognizing the need for touch that he always got when he was this stoned. He hoped Nick didn't mind.

"Yeah," agreed Nick, "but not so tight that it's not fun. Just enough. Man, surrender is a pretty cool thing. It's amazing to be with someone you trust like that, to be able to let go and let them have their way with you and not be afraid."

"Yeah," Chris murmured, shivering a little. "One of the best feelings ever." He shook it off, as much as he could, and pinched the end of the roach, setting it on the table. "Well. I can't even tell I have legs any more, much less that one of them looks like hamburger. That can only be a good thing. Good like pizza " He chafed his palms over Nick's knee, drooping back against the couch cushions.

"It's not so bad," said Nick, touching the bandages on Chris's leg carefully. "You'll live, I promise. It would have been really sucky if one of us had been *really* hurt. Oh, oh man, or my dogs. But they're okay, they're fine, they're having a blast in the yard. Do you like peaches?"

"I love peaches," Chris nodded. "And dogs. I'm way glad your dogs are okay, man, that would have sucked so hard. Because I woulda felt so bad I bet I wouldn't have been able to ride any more, or, like, face you at awards shows, and then I'd turn into a hermit and my career would be over. Not to mention the totally crushing guilt." He turned his head to look at Nick, feeling like he was moving through syrup. "Do you have peaches?"

Nick nodded his head and smiled. "I do. Oh, but they're in the fridge and we're sitting down and ... maybe later. So you don't have to worry about not riding anymore because everyone is fine. Except your bike, and you can fix your bike."

"Right. And my skin, and that grows back." He licked his lips consideringly, eyes on Nick's eyes. A little red and bloodshot, but blue blue blue. "My mouth is, like, really dry. The driest ever, I almost can't talk, and for me that's a fairly serious problem. Like, an issue. So I might maybe need a peach soon, or a soda, with ice and some lemon, yeah, that would be really nice. Only you can't walk."

"I can walk!" said Nick indignantly, trying to swing his legs down again. "I can walk just fine. Do you want a peach soda? Well, except I don't have any. But that would be good, huh? Peach soda?"

"No no no," Chris said quickly, grabbing Nick's legs and pulling them back onto the couch, over his lap. "No walking for you, not when you're stoned with a bad knee, that is such a bad idea, I remember that. I'll go. I want peaches. And soda. And maybe chips, do you have chips? You have to tell me where to find them, though, because your kitchen is really big."

"You have a bad leg," Nick pointed out. "I should know. I fixed it. And my kitchen isn't really big ... well, maybe it is to a little person like you. But it's all logical at least."

"Shuddup, you big freak," Chris scowled at him. "Short jokes aren't funny, you know, when you've been hearing them all your life and getting called 'Shorty' and worse and being picked up by tall people and stuff. I'm not a little person, I'm a manly manly man, and that's that. Also, your bad leg is worse than my bad leg, and I want peaches right now."

"Sorry," said Nick, curling up on himself again instead of stretching out. "You know where the fridge is. Um. You know. Next to the freezer. For the soda, and the peaches. And there are a million kinds of chips in ... one of the cupboards. I think. Well, not a million, I've been cutting back. But at least, like, two."

"Okay. Chips and peaches and soda and...you want anything else?" Chris tugged Nick's leg, not into his lap again, but straighter. "Come on, potato bug. You need to keep it straight as you can, or it'll freeze up all bent, and then you'll be hopping around like a stork on one leg, and that's just silly. And no getting mad at me if I bring back other food, since you're turning me loose in your kitchen." He licked his lips avidly. "I didn't have my breakfast today."

"Hey, bring back whatever you like," said Nick, which was just exactly the wrong thing to say. "Go exploring, it's fine with me. I'll just sit here and be all potato-buggy."

Chris giggled, hiding his eyes behind his hand. "I just pictured you covered in a little gray shell with little antennas on your head. Oh man. It was oddly cute." He crawled off the couch, loving the loose painless feeling in his body and the fuzziness in his head. "I like your carpet," he said suddenly, looking down at the pattern. "It's neat. All squiggly. I'm bringing back food, man. I'm like, the mighty hunter Chris, off to raid the nearby village for...chips. Yeah."

"Just don't kill anything in your quest," Nick warned him, sprawling across the length of the couch. "And if you get to picture me with little antennas I totally get to call you litlte man. It's only fair. And don't forget the peaches!"

"As if I would forget the peaches," Chris snorted, his mouth already watering for them. "Are they the good kind all cut up and skinned in a can in syrup? Because mmm mmm mmmm." He loped into the kitchen, moving slowly and carefully. "There's nothing to kill anyway! All your food's in little bags and stuff, I bet, unless you're hiding a cow in your cupboards. Oh god, now I want steak."

"There's steak in the freezer," Nick called out to him. "Remember to cook it first. And the peaches are ... peaches. They're, like, a fruit. In the fridge. They're, um, round. And fuzzy. But it's okay because they're supposed to be, not like those grapes I left in there too long ... "

"Oh, gross," Chris called. "Good thing I'm stoned or that would've totally killed my appetite. I hate mold. I can't believe you don't have the kind in a can, though, those rule. I guess the round fuzzy kind will be okay, but I might make you peel them for me. And I am so not going anywhere near fire right now." He rummaged through the fridge, finding peaches and bread and cheese and lunchmeat, and piled it all on the counter. Then to the cupboard for chips and Goldfish crackers and dried apricots and a chocolate bar, and two plates and knives and forks. He gathered it all up, and trotted back to the living room.

Nick's eyes widened as he potato-bugged again to give Chris room on the couch. "Wow, that looks *great*," he said. "You are the kitchen *master*. I concede the title to you, man. That's a *feast*."

"I told you, no breakfast," Chris explained, feeling self-satisfied. "And we need to keep our strength up so we can heal. You know. It takes a lot of energy to be injured, we have to stay well fed." He spread the food out on the coffee table, bread and cheese and meat on one side, chocolate and chips and soda and fruit on the other. "There. There we go. Now we can eat. Only you have to peel my peach."

"That's right," agreed Nick firmly. "We need to eat a lot. And I have to peel your peach? Why do I have to peel your peach? Can't you peel your own peach?" Then he his his mouth behind his hand and snickered. "That sounds really dirty."

Chris shook a finger at him sternly. "You have a filthy mind, Carter. You have to peel my peach because the fuzz tickles my nose and if I do it myself my hands'll get all sticky." He paused, stared at Nick, and started giggling uncontrollably. "Oh my god. It *is* dirty!"

"See, see?" giggled Nick. "You want your fuzz to tickle *my* nose, and you want to get *me* sticky. You're a dirty, dirty man, Christopher Kirkpatrick. You're corrupting me here. Okay ... okay, gimme that peach."

Chris howled, laughing, tears in his eyes, but he managed to hand over the peach, settling back comfortably on the couch and finally hiccuping to silence, with a few leftover giggles for punctuation. "I'm not corrupting you! You're the one with the filthy mind thinking dirty things about nice innocent fruit." He snickered again at that. "I think I'm gonna eat a nice safe sandwich. You can't make innuendo about bread and mea-mea-MEAT." He collapsed again.

"It's your fault!" protested NIck, staring at the peach like he had no idea what to do with it. "You're the one that picked out all the food and served it to me. What I am supposed to do with this anyway? I don't think I've ever peeled a peach before ... "

"You peel it like you peel anything else! I brought you a knife, even. You just, you know. Peel it." He grabbed Nick a plate. "If you do it right, you won't dribble all over your clothes. Hee." He reached for bread, put a couple of pieces of turkey between the slices, and ate the whole thing in four bites, holding a soda with his free hand. "Mmm, good."

"Yeah, you have quite a talent for eating meat," said Nick, reaching gingerly for the knife. "Okay, here goes nothing. If I bleed, that's your fault, too. I can't believe I'm peeling your peach." He started giggling again and almost *did* cut his thumb.

"Be careful! God! One of us bleeding is enough!" Chris griped, watching him like a hawk. Like a hawk who couldn't stop giggling or completely open his eyes. "And you're a very dirty boy and also a tease, all your meat and peaches talk. I think I'll eat some chips."

"That seems pretty safe," said Nick, taking forever to peel the peach. "Okay, you weren't kidding about the sticky. It's all over me. Here, fix this." He leaned forward and held his fingers close to Chris's mouth. "You need to suck the juice off them," he explained. "So I can finish with your peach."

Chris felt his eyes go huge, and his mouth fall open, and Nick took the opportunity to nudge his fingers closer. Chris barely had to move before he had three fingers in his mouth, resting on his tongue, and his eyes fluttered closed. Nick tasted like salt and peaches and a tiny tang of antiseptic. His mind was whirling, but he just sighed and sucked and licked them clean. He couldn't talk with those lovely long fingers in his mouth, after all, and he was grateful. He was sure that anything he could say at that moment would be shatteringly stupid.

"Thanks," said Nick as he slipped his fingers away again, letting them linger against Chris's lower lip. He *had* to have known what he'd just done. He just had to. "That's much better. You suck really well."

Chris opened his eyes and stared at him some more, breathing a little fast. "Ah, thank you?" he stuttered finally, moving away a little warily, watching Nick closely. "I've never had any complaints," he added inanely, wondering when the world had gone crazy. It was probably all the pot. "You should eat a sandwich too, you know." Now that the first urgent edge was off his own hunger, he reached out for Nick's knee again.

"You wanna feed me some meat?" asked Nick as he turned his attention back to the half-peeled peach. "My hands are kind full right now. You'd just have to stuff it in my mouth, is all."

"You wanna feed me some meat?" asked Nick as he turned his attention back to the half-peeled peach. "My hands are kind full right now. You'd just have to stuff it in my mouth, is all."

"Okay, you've got to stop that," Chris blurted, resting his hands on both sides of Nick's knee. "Because it's totally fucking with my head now and I'm thinking things you don't want me thinking, unless I'm really wrong about you, and I could be, but whoa. And okay. You're peeling my peach, after all, even if it's taking you years." He tore off a small piece of turkey and held it to Nick's lips, hand only shaking a little.

Nick licked his fingers as he took the piece of turkey, still looking perfectly innocent. "Mmm, good," he said, finally finishing with the peach and holding it out to Chris proudly. "There you go. I'm finished. Can you lick me off again?"

"No!" Chris grabbed the peach and held it tightly, far away from Nick's tempting fingers. "No licking! You're teasing me, it's not fair. You're too pretty and I'm too stoned. I'm gonna eat my peach and you can lick your own fingers." It was rare Chris was beat at his own game, but Nick had his mind scrambling to form even one coherent thought.

Nick pouted at him and sucked one of his own fingers into his mouth, which wasn't any better. "I'm sorry I'm pretty," he said. "I really don't mean to be. Sometimes it just happens, you know, in spite of me. Do you like your peach?"

Chris snorted. "Yeah, it's great, or it would be if I wasn't being distracted by your uncond--uncons--not-on-purpose prettiness. Pouting like that. Don't mean to be, my ass." The peach was slippery with juice, and he laid it gently on a plate, cut a little piece with his own knife, and tasted it. It was perfect. "Oh my god. This is the best thing I've ever tasted. Oh my god."

"Even better than my juicy fingers?" asked Nick happily. "They're good, huh? I want a peach, too. Peaches are exactly perfect right now."

"I brought you a peach," Chris pointed out, hunching protectively over his own. "It's right there on the table, see? It's...as good as your fingers, maybe. Different. Kind of like sometimes you're hungry, and you take a bite of a steak and it tastes like the best thing ever, but then you take a bite of apple pie and *that's* the best thing ever too? Like that. God, I want steak."

"You have to cook it," Nick reminded him. "And you may get me to peel your peach, you're not getting me to cook your steak. You could share your peach with me, you know. If you really liked me."

"I like you fine," Chris said, popping another slice of peach into his mouth and closing his eyes in bliss. "I don't know if I love my *mom* enough to share this peach, especially since there's another one right there for you to eat. I guess...maybe you can have a piece." He cut a slice and held it out to Nick, juice dripping down his thumb stickily.

"Mmm," said Nick. sucking Chris's thumb and finger into his mouth as he took the slice of peach, tonguing them lightly before letting them go. "Oh wow, this is the best thing *ever*.

"Told you," Chris choked out. Unable to resist, he slid his wet thumb over Nick's lower lip, fascinated by the way it shone and the deep pink color. "You have the sexiest mouth I've ever seen," he said gravely, giving up on fighting the pot haze and the insanity of the whole situation. "I just thought you should know that." He went back to eating his peach.

Nick grinned, peach juice still wetting his lips. "Yeah, you really think so? I don't know ... there are lots of sexy mouths out there, on all the pretty boys and girls. Am I really the bestest?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Chris grinned back, licking his own fingers and imagining he could taste Nick. "You're a sexy thing, Carter, and I've always had a weakness for blonds with incredible mouths. Your wonderful bedside manner and that neat little oral fixation ain't hurting you any in the rankings, either."

"Oh good," said Nick, sucking on his own finger again. "You're not so bad yourself, you know. You've really got that sucking thing down. That's a big plus. Can you hand me a soda? And a straw?"

"Jesus," Chris laughed helplessly, shaking his head. "You're too much. No, I didn't bring straws. You'll just have to drink your soda like the rest of us who aren't trying to show off our lips. Here you go." He handed the can over, and relaxed back into a half-sprawl, pulling Nick's leg over his lap. All the touching had licking had erased any discomfort he might have felt, touching him.

"But I thought you liked watching them," said Nick as he took the can. "I figured I'd show you what I can do. And plus ... no spillage. Which I'm probably going to do." He took a sip and did, in fact, spill a few droplets of it on himself. "Oh damn. Now I have to take my shirt off."

Chris stared at him again. "You know, if you want to sleep with me, all you have to do is ask," he offered conversationally. "This teasing is nice, but pot makes me horny anyway, and you're pretty much driving me insane right now. Just so you know. Whatever you're doing, it's working. Whatever you want, you can have. Up to and including m, though I can't imagine why you'd want me."

Nick stripped off his shirt and breathed a sigh of relief. "So I did good?" he said anxiously. "I really am going to get laid tonight? Pot throws me way off my game, I didn't know if I was flirting right."

Chris laughed till he lost his breath, leaning over and resting his forehead on Nick's leg. "Baby, you were definitely doing it right. You were doing it so right I figured it had to be some kind of joke. Yeah, you're gonna get laid tonight, as long as you're careful with your knee." He turned his head and looked at Nick's smooth, bare body, a smile still pulling at his lips. "Sexy sexy, Carter. Wow."

Nick grinned at him happily. "Glad you think so," he said. "You wanna finish eating first, though? Because man, I'm still starving, and one slice of peach just isn't quite enough for me. You could feed me something else, if you wanted."

"Hmmmm." Chris tipped his head back and eyed Nick lazily. "I could feed you a sandwich, or chips, or you could eat your peach yourself. I recommend the sandwich, though. You're going to need your energy, I think. Even if I *don't* let you wrap me up like a mummy."

"I don't think you want to trust me with scissors near you body right now," admitted Nick, lazily sucking on his fingers again. "Make me a sanwich? Pretty please? I promise to make it worth your while."

"Um. Okay." Chris had to push Nick's leg out of the way to reach the table, but figured it would be worth it. He had only the bare bones, turkey and bread, but at least it made making the sandwich simple enough, and it was on a plate and ready to go before Nick had even taken his thumb out of his mouth. "Here you go." He handed it over, and rested his hand on the dip of Nick's waist.

"You're supposed to feed it to me," teased Nick, but he did reach for it himself in spite of that. "Mmm, so good! Almost as good as the peach. You want some?" He broke off a piece and offered it to Chris.

"Nah, I had one," Chris grinned. "It's impossible to feed someone a sandwich and make it sexy. It all falls apart if you don't have both hands involved." He started moving his own hand, though, stroking his fingertips over Nick's belly, marveling at the silk-soft feel of Nick's skin. "You feel...whoa. Your skin. It's...whoa."

"I've been taking care of it," said Nick with his mouth full, running the fingers of one hand over the same area Chris just had. "My skin. I've been ... I like it soft. Don't tell anyone I said that. Good sandwich!"

Chris's fingers brushed against Nick's, and he ducked his head and shivered. "Well, it paid off, taking care of it. I appreciate it, anyway. It's so soft..." he smiled at the low hum of excitement that started in his stomach and spread. Touching Nick somehow made it real. He dipped just the very tip of his fingers under the waistband of Nick's boxers, and stroked a little.

"Sweet, sweet Chris," murmured Nick, his mouth full again, or still. "This makes walking in the middle of the road worthwhile. Only I can't get on my knees for you, so don't even ask."

"I still wish I hadn't crashed my bike, but the day's definitely looking up," Chris agreed, palming the hollow by Nick's hipbone casually. "No, I think we'll be strictly horizontal. And unacrobatic. We're both a little too banged up to be getting too athletic, huh? Now finish up that sandwich. I have some serious making-out planned for your immediate future."

"You could start while I'm still eating the sandwich," offered Nick. "I really wouldn't mind. I mean, since you're still pretty much down there and all. And not too busy eating or drinking yourself. Don't worry, I can catch up."

"Nick!" Chris withdrew his hand from Nick's shorts and folded them primly in his lap. "I'm not that kind of boy. I was taught never to play with my food, you could get a cramp or choke or something. Also, making out means kissing, and I am *not* doing that when you have some nasty mouthful of half-chewed food."

"Not even peach?" asked Nick, winking at him as he finished off the sandwich, and chased it down with a gulp of soda. "Okay, I'm good, I'm done. You can kiss me now."

"Really? May I? You're so kind." Chris smirked at him, and ran a hand up his side, humming again at the feeling of his skin. "You're gonna have to come over here a little. As nice as it is to have your legs in my lap, I can't get around them to kiss you. You've got a lot of leg, baby. I'm sure we'll put them to good use, later."

"I've got a lot of *every*thing," said Nick with a roll of his eyes and a laugh. He swung his legs down and slid closer. "Look at us, we're entertaining ourselves just fine and we never even had to turn the TV on."

"I'm an entertaining kind of guy," Chris laughed, leaning into his side and nuzzling his shoulder, before lifting his face up to Nick's. "Good food, good weed, good company, a nice dash of sexual tension, who needs TV? Add a little wow-I'm-glad-I'm-still-alive, and I'm surprised we're not totally naked and sweaty already."

"We needed peaches," said Nick solemnly. "Before we could do anything else, we needed to have some peaches. And soda. And I'm still bummed I don't have any peach soda. You aren't kissing me yet."

"Movin' to the country, gonna eat a lot of peaches," Chris sang softly, grinning at him, leaning in to brush their lips together. "There. Kissing. Now you."

"That wasn't a kiss," protested Nick, pressing his lips to Chris's. He still tasted like peaches, in spite of the turkey sandwich. Like wonderful, juicy, ripe peaches. "There. That's the way you should be kissing me."

Chris smiled with delight, having gotten his way. "Okay, I can do that." He turned to face Nick, slipping a hand over his waist to the couch beneath, propping himself up over Nick's chest. "Okay. Let's do some more of that kind of kissing." He licked his own lips, before kissing Nick again, deep and slow and flavored with peaches and pot.

"Ow," Nick blurted out. "Ow ow ow, no more kissing on the couch, no more. Let's go."

Chris flinched back. "How did that hurt your *knee?*" He leaned away, off of Nick, and sat back up straight. "An' if it hurt you just kissing, I don't know how we're gonna do anything more than that. You sure you want to do this?"

Nick pouted prettily and straightened his leg. "I was leaning against it," he confessed. "When we were kissing. We just need to go kiss somewhere else is all. Don't you want to kiss me some more?"

"Well, yeah," Chris said, in the tone he usually reserved for 'duh'. "As long as you're sure. Nothing's worse than getting all hot and heavy and having to stop because someone's in screaming pain." He didn't lean in again, though, hesitating. "Where...what do you have in mind?"

"Well, bed," said Nick, giving Chris a 'duh' look in return. "My bed is huge, because -- as you so politely pointed out before -- I'm not exactly a small guy. Lotsa room, nice and soft. Like my skin, only blankets, not skin."

"Can I tell you how wierd it would be if your skin felt like a blanket? Seriously. Very very odd." Chris scrunched up his face at the thought. "Though, hey, you'd be really handy to have around in the wintertime. Not that you're not now, since you're big and pretty warm, but if you were a real blanket you could, like, rent yourself out as a space heater. If you didn't already have the amazingly lucrative singing career, of course."

"Right, which tends to take up most of my time," said Nick. "I'd have to be a blanket on a strictly casual basis. So are you gonna come to bed with me or not? You can bring the other peach, if you want."

"I think that might be kind of really hard on your nice bed," Chris argued, struggling to his feet. "Now that you've said all those nice things about it, I'd hate to get it all sticky and stuff. And us too. I think I'll have to save the licking you from head to toe for an occasion when we're both a little more flexible."

"Yeah," Nick had to agree. "Same with the mummy thing. That needs, like, patience and dexterity, and I don't have much of either right now. Help me up? My leg feels kinda weird."

"Is it squashy," Chris asked with a frown, holding down his hand. "Maybe you're broken. That would seriously suck, we should take you to the doctor. *After* we have sex, because that's kind of a priority right now, if you're..." he looked down at Nicks body, the hard length behind his boxers, and smirked a little. "Otherwise you might scare the nurses."

"I would *never* have made it home if I broke myself," said Nick with a firm shake of his head. "It's just stiff. I'm stiff." And he giggled helplessly.

"You're so stiff," Chris agreed, laughter trembling in his voice. "You should really stretch. Maybe some massage. Move around a little, get the k-k-kinks out..." he was laughing so hard he almost couldn't hold on as Nick pulled himself up, using his hand. "Oh god," he gasped, leaning on Nick and standing still for a moment. "Stiff!"

"Yup," giggled Nick, thrusting his hips at Chris and rubbing against him. "You bet I am. Now lets get our invalid selves to my room so we can make out proper, okay? There's no stairs, so we're golden."

"Ooooh," Chris sighed, losing his laughter suddenly at the touch of Nick's hips against him. "That's nice. We need to get somewhere so you can do that some more." He stepped to Nick's side and slung an arm around his waist, hoping to help if Nick stumbled. "Lead the way."

"Right," said Nick, stumbling only as he turned, but walking stiffly. "Right, you don't know where I sleep. You've never been here before! That's why you thought you could get lost in my kitchen. Okay, this way ... " He went rhough the kitchen and took a right. "It's right here, right through these doors."

"You have a little sign that says "Nick's Room," Chris laughed, shaking his head. "Is that in case you lose track, or is it a leftover from touring?" He followed Nick into the room, and had to pause in admiration. "Dude. That is the biggest bed I've ever seen. You could *live* in that. I think it's bigger than my first apartment!"

"It's great, huh?" said Nick, going to jump onto it, on his knees, then thinking better of that plan. "You could get lost in that bed. 'Specially a guy like you. Don't let go of me, k? And you'll be fine."

"I think we're gonna have to have a little talk about the short jokes," Chris said reflectively, shoving Nick gently down onto the bed. "I mean, really. Not that I mind hanging on to you, but I think I'd be able to swim my way to the edge, should it come to that." He crawled after Nick, gingerly, peering down at him finally. "Are you comfy? Not gonna bump your knee again? Need anything? Glass of water, extra pillow, cookie?"

"You brought cookies?" said Nick, his eyes widening. "Oh, but crumbs, so no. Just you is good. Oh, but get naked first. You might not lose yourself in here, but you might lose any, you know, random articles of underwear."

Chris rolled his eyes, but stripped obediently and quickly, settling back over Nick's prone body, still careful of both their bumps and bruises. "There. No articles of clothing to get lost, nothing in the way except *your* article of underwear. There's plenty of room to play in here."

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