You Were My Favorite Mistake [Gentlemiss & CharlotteV]

When Pearce moved off of him Niko had the one negative effect on still being high and that was blinding panic for a moment that he would be left alone. And just when he thinks he can't handle that, Pearce is dropping down again, only half on top of him this time, so he can breathe. Kind of. His chest is still heaving.

He laughs a little breathlessly, not that anythings funny, just because he feels great. And he knows he's coming down, little by little, either from the drugs or post orgasm he doesn't know, but he still feels amazing. Correction, Pearce feels amazing, and he never wants to not touch him again.

He sighs, runs a hand through his sweaty hair and let's his arm drop on the futon above his head. A quick assessment says his shoulders are sore, so is his back from being forced up, his hips from behind forced down, heels from digging into the bed, much more sensitive parts from overuse. But it's not...the bad kind of hurt he's come to associate with sex. It's...good. The background of an ache that makes him realize he'll remember this when he tries to put on a backpack, or run his hand over his neck, or stretch. And the thought makes him shiver a little.

Nothing compared to the full blown shake that courses down his spine when Pearce licks up his neck, and he whines in the back of his throat even as he makes more skin available. "Don't," he whispers, "too much." Because even as much as he wants Pearce to touch him constantly, his nerves feel on fire.

Pearce was going to kill him...Niko wasn't even sure he would mind, honestly. It seemed like a pretty good way to go. Wrapped up in pleasure with a smile on his face. He decides not to fight it, sinks down and lets the man pamper him in a way that almost hurts but instead it's just...he's pretty sure he sees heaven, at some point.

When Pearce moves again he groans slightly, opens his eyes to watch the man find his pants somewhere. Niko busies himself with running his fingers across what skin is still touching his. As the ecstasy wares it becomes more bearable, touching Pearce, less like a sensory overload, and the information about time is the only thing that takes him off his happy throne.

He let's himself indulge for a little while longer though, in the way Pearce feels wrapped around him, warm and...safe. It's the last thought that eventually makes him move, and he detangles himself slowly, wincing at the ache that is definitely more prominent when he's not flying, but it's still nothing he regrets.

Finding his clothes isn't hard, and he pulls them on one by one before leaning over Pearce to grab his beanie off the back of the futon. He hesitates for a moment, eyes searching the mans face, but eventually he gives in for a kiss. It's slow and sloppy and he realizes then how tired he is, but he pulls himself away and grabs his backpack on the way out the door. A bus ride home, climbing in through his window, and then Niko crashes.

***

He sleeps his Saturday away, wakes up around three because there's a bang and then a curse that causes him to open his eyes and debate on if it's worth it to go investigate.The fire alarm going off minutes later is eventually what throws him out of bed, and he's downstairs in a heartbeat.

There's something on the stove burning to a crisp and he sighs as he twists the burner off, leans over and opens the windows, picks up the nearest thing made out of paper and waves it in front of the device until it shuts the fuck up.

Cassie - despite her attempt at hardcore clothing and badly done mascara - is in tears when he finds her sitting in the pantry. She apologizes and he just shakes his head, pulls her out by the arm and throws the burnt food out the backdoor.

He makes the kids fishstiks once it's breathable again, throws in some macaroni because he's feeling generous, feeds them all before finally going back upstairs. He decides on a shower while they're all busy, locks himself in (Cassie's vanity chair pushed up against the doorknob for good measure), and strips down.

It's only when he catches himself in the mirror that he realizes how utterly fucked out he is. His hair is still a mess, his neck is actually still a little red...beard burn, maybe? Even if Pearce was more stubble than beard. But it's his hips, really, that stand out.

The bruises aren't big, the size of his fingertips really, and they aren't deep...just noticeable. And Niko can't help himself from pressing over them, a moan pulled from his throat as the memories snap back.

Pearce Nathan's was the both the best and the worst thing to ever happen to him. The sex had been fucking amazing...best-night-of-his-life shit. So good he could almost still feel it...like a shadow. The kisses spread across his body, Pearce's fingers digging into him while he held him down. Fuck. Fuck.

Suddenly his shower became a lot more than just washing off.

***

Sunday he wakes up to yelling. It makes him irritable enough he throws his pillow at the door, and across the room Toby's follows after a moment, but they both know that isn't going to stop whatever's going on downstairs.

It doesn't sound like the George's...too many female voices. And Niko wonders, not for the first time, if Mrs. George finally figured out Aaron had been banging the Miss Kay lady down the street for the last six months.

He sighs as he squirms around a bit, finds his phone buried under his pillow, and finds Pearce's name in the contacts way too easily. His text is quick, simple: I have Monty Python and you have weed. Wanna hang? It's a stupid fucking movie, but it's awesome when you're a little bit high, and honestly Niko doesn't even care what they do as long as he can get out of this damn house.

Niko smirks at the reply he gets, even if it is almost ten minutes later, but he snaps his phone up and sends back a text about how he's sorry Pearce can't appreciate good television. Toby asks him who's making him smile like an idiot at a phone and Niko threatens to smother him if he doesn't shut up.

He finds a clean black shirt somewhere in his closet, sniffs it twice to make sure, and pulls it on. Like all his clothes it's a little big, sleeves going over his knuckles and all, but that's kind of perfect given the weather. Jeans, shoes, and a baseball cap thrown on his head later he's sneaking his way into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

Cassie's perched on top of the counter, but she barely spares him a look as she leans in close, lining her eyes with mascara he's ninety percent sure she made out of oreo crust. Niko waves, leaves out the back door, and makes it to Pearce's in record time because the buses are usually empty on Sunday's.

He lets himself in because Pearce said he could, grins at the smell of what could be pancakes or waffles and hopes to god there's enough for him as he kicks the door shut behind him, toeing his shoes off at the door and falling onto the futon.

He was afraid it'd be weird, almost...seeing somebody he'd had sex with again...knowing who they were at all, really. But it's...not. Kind of. A little bit. But Pearce let him come over, right? Even if the sex didn't get to be a thing that happened a lot...he's here.

"Dude," he mutters. "Please tell me I can have a waffle."

Niko rolls his eyes but he's already crawling across the futon to get at the remote. It's not the middle of the fucking night so there's no South Park to watch; instead he flips through channels, looking for something mildly interesting. Pearce has a lot more options than he ever has.

"You can have waffles if you put your shoes where they belong," he mocks under his breath, and may or may not be actually five years old, because when Pearce walks by and kicks his legs out of the way Niko definitely does not kick back. Halfheartedly, but still.

The plate of waffles looks amazing, and he abandons the remote in favor of holding his hands out, waiting somewhat patiently, until Pearce gives him that fucking look and "Oh my god, you're actually serious." He throws his head back on the futon for a moment before pushing himself off the futon, grabbing his shoes up in one go and twisting back around to face him. "Where the fuck do you want me to put them?"

Niko makes a point of sticking his tongue out as he crosses the room and drops his shoes by Pearce's. Honestly, he figures he really shouldn't be surprised, Pearce's entire place was spotless enough he probably wouldn't think twice about eating off the floor. Okay, bad analogy, Niko would eat anything off the floor if it was good enough food, but the point stood.

Still, it felt weird being...organized. Niko generally was a messy person on his own, but it didn't help that he'd never actually had to be cleanly...except for when he was five and the nuns got so mad at him he had to pray for an hour because his room was wrecked. Apparently his excuse that "the floor needs to be covered so Satan can't get to me" wasn't good enough.

He rolls his eyes as he flops back down in his spot, ignoring the somewhat smug look on Pearce's face as he passes over the waffles. Which, as first bite proves, are ridiculous so whatever.

"I can't believe you didn't let me bring Monty Python," he mutters, even though he actually doesn't care, he just needs something to whine about and the waffles are too damn good to be the subject.

"I have a sense of humor," Niko shoots back, but he's grinning a little despite himself, enjoying breakfast which is fucking great. He doesn't even know what's on the tv but it doesn't really matter.

It doesn't take long to finish eating and Niko finds himself both glad and upset that there's not more, but he lets Pearce take his plate anyway and rolls his eyes when he realize the guy is probably washing them, but he ignores it, curls up and watches whatever is happening on the screen in front of him.

When Pearce comes back with a joint and a lighter Niko is more than happy to sit up and take it. He's been mostly sober this weekend, which is an odd feeling, so lighting up and taking the first hit makes him sigh out of relief. "Dude," he mutters. "This is why you've taken over the drug market. I didn't even know shit this good existed."

"No," Niko agrees before tilting his head back and taking another long drag, "you really don't.". He holds the smoke in his mouth for awhile before letting it out just artfully enough to create a smoke ring. He grins to himself then sits up enough to pass the joint to Pearce.

It's been a long time since he's just...hung out with someone. A really long time. Actually, probably so long that the last time he did was with Pearce himself. Niko only had one year of middle school before he realized drugs and blowjobs were a thing and then life kind of went...messy from there.

He moves one of his arms behind his head, nudges Pearce's thigh a bit with one of his feet. "Hey, why'd you drop out of school?" it's something he'd only really thought about once since the man brought up the idea of a GED, but now that there's nothing else to do and conversation seems like it might be a thing.

"Yeah, I get it," Niko says, nodding a little. "I'm barely making it now. I can't imagine fucking college..." Not that there's a way Niko could go to college without fucking straight edge grades anyway...and that just simply wasn't happening. School was hard. He was really good at math, decent in English, but everything else...

There were three ways to go to college: money, sports, or brains. Niko had none of those. Pearce did, but if there's not a point...there's not a point. School wasn't for everyone. Clearly, some people were better off being drug dealers. The idea of Pearce playing soccer though...running until he was all sweaty, taking showers in the locker room, fuck, fuck fuck fuck.

Thankfully the comment about his feet snaps him out of his thoughts, and he snorts as he pushes himself up. "Goddamn, you fucking diva." Still, he turns himself around, drops his head easily in Pearce's lap, and reaches up to take the joint from him.

Niko tenses the moment fingers touch his hair, considering jerking away but after a second he relaxes. It's not like Pearce hasn't literally touched every inch of him already, and regardless it's kind of...relaxing.

He winces at the mention of art, distracts himself with blowing smoke rings for awhile. "Picasso was an abstract artist," he mentions after awhile, voice barely a murmur, but it doesn't really matter. He doubts Pearce cares and honestly he's just avoiding the subject.

He shrugs a little finally, passes the joint back. "I grew up and stopped being so fucking cocky?" he guesses, turns his eyes up towards the ceiling. Actually, lie, he was still pretty damn cocky sometimes. Just...not about his art. "Eventually you stop thinking your cool and start seeing the flaws in the shit you make."

Niko's not actually sure when he started getting self conscious about hist art, honestly. It didn't matter that he'd won a fucking scholarship for it when he was in sixth grade...he was nowhere near something to brag about. He could draw, sure, and he was pretty good with paint but...

There were certain types of people who made their art into something, and types who didn't. Niko was pretty damn sure what he was. "It's just a hobby," he finishes with.

Niko snorts. "Why, Pearce Nathans, who knew you were such a fucking romantic." He keeps the joint when Pearce denies it, hides his smile behind another hit before throwing one arm on the futon behind him and resting the other on his chest. He's got a good view from down here...his eyes can travel Pearce's jawline, down his neck. He wonders if he ever got his mouth on that a couple of days ago...Of course, he remembers the sex, but he might of literally blown a few braincells in the process.

He's so distracted just looking at Pearce that he doesn't actively notice the fingers touching him, or the pattern he knows they're going in. Not until there's pressure on a particularly sensitive area and Niko is not proud of the noise he makes. At least the joint is back in his mouth by then, and he can save himself any further embarrassment by taking another hit. "I'm a fine artist," he mutters, just to distract himself from thinking about sex. Which isn't working, not really. "I'm not a great one. I'm not great at anything. Except fucking shit up, but that's beside the point."

Niko glares when he's moved because rude, he was comfortable. But Pearce has a point - he never meant to get so fucking depressing. Shit, avoiding that was why he was on drugs so often. So he keeps himself propped up while Pearce goes into the kitchen, definitely does not stare. At all.

"Fuck, I'm always down for alcohol," he decides, and when Pearce comes back he lays his head more on the mans thigh than his lap so he can hopefully drink without choking himself. He finishes off what the joint has to offer and takes a drink when Pearce gives it to him. There's more alcohol proof than he's used to and for a moment his nose screws up, but it passes quickly.

"Okay," he says, "change of subject. Because I will turn into a mess if we drink and talk about this shit, so..." He pauses for a moment because honestly he doesn't know what to talk about. Niko doesn't actually talk to anyone. He looks towards the television for a moment, hoping for ideas, and then snorts. "So what the fuck do you watch on here anyway? Mr. I-Have-Shit-Taste."

Niko bats at Pearce's hand when his nose gets flicked because, hello, he's not a kitten, but he also doesn't make any other move to get away so whatever. The second time he gets his hands on the bottle the drink is easier to take, and he finds he likes it better than the shit he usually gets.

Pearce's comment surprises a laugh out of him. "Cocky asshole," he mutters, but his eyes scrape over what he can easily easily see of the man's torso and honestly...yeah, he can't argue. So instead he pushes himself up on his elbows. "Okay, favorite video game?"

The answer ("Anything with a good storyline, and isn't just mindless shooting.") starts off a game of twenty questions. Niko eventually ends up sitting, passing the bottle of Jack back and forth, as he spouts off whatever question comes to mind: "Favorite drink?" Scotch, alongside my more secret love of mixed drinks. Must be the sweet tooth. "Vanilla or Chocolate?" Vanilla, unless there's mint involved. "Ever had a threesome?" No, I'm much too possessive.

He's not really sure how it happens, but he ends up in Pearce's lap, sitting back on the man's thighs because it makes passing easier, okay? He asks about Pearce's favorite drug, but the older male just shakes his head, says he doesn't have one. Niko scoffs at that, throws back another drink, and moves on. "Favorite superhero?" because fuck if that isn't important. Niko needs to know. It could make or break what was turning out to be the start of a pretty decent friendship. fFlash or Robin, and if you actually expect me to pick between the two get out. Niko rolls his eyes, mutters DC like he's disappointed or something, but he supposes the answer will do.

"Biggest turn on?" he asks, taking one of the last few drinks the bottle has to offer before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The answer he gets (Control, feeling another persons will crumble underneath my fingers. Having someone willingly submit.) isn't something he's expecting, and he really hopes he can blame the shiver that travels down his spine on something other than being way fucking turned on.

Turns out, it doesn't matter, because  in the next second he's muttering a curseword and then they're kissing, the bottle of jack still in one hand, the other splayed across Pearce's chest. It's a little sloppy, because he's well on the way to drunk, but he doesn't even fucking care.