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Title: LJ Drabble Author: Ros Pairing: JM/NB Rating: Hard R By the time Nick gets out of rehab, he's thinned down. Hollowed out, too from the looks of him, eyes wide and black, and fathomless. Makes James twitch, to see him like that, standing on James's doorstep like some kind of prodigal son, and when Nick walks into the room with the silent foggy air of ghosts surrounding him, James stands there with the door open for a moment longer. Before he flips the lock shut and leans back against the wood. He almost offers Nick a beer, before he remembers. Stink of whiskey and fangirl sweat still all over himself, and he's probably a walking...whatsit. Enabling thing. Switch. Nick licks his lips like he knows exactly what James is thinking, leans in to breathe traces of a life he's sworn to give up forever. Evidently, giving up doesn't mean he can't taste it off someone else. It's a mistake and a blessing when Nick gets down on his knees and fumbles at James's zipper, murmurs something about steps and forgiveness. What the fuck is there to forgive, except that his jaw still stings where Nick's knuckles found a way to make his point there. James can't even remember what the argument was about. Does remember this, though: that pretty mouth dragging friction up the insides of his thighs, and if James pulls his jeans down a little further to help, well it's the only thing he *can* do to help. Can't hold Nick's hand and tell him that it's going to be okay, or that he's never going to drink again. That he's going to make it. James can't even help himself. Instead, he tangles his fingers in Nick's hair, all those curls growing wild and shameless and Nick's still shameless, too. Makes a hungry sound at the back of his throat when James pulls him closer and guides the head of his cock between those lips. "There you go," he says, soothingly. Brushes his thumb against Nick's hollowing cheek as he pushes in further. Nick looks up at him eyes wet with something that looks too much like gratitude for James to be able to stand it for too long. So he lets his eyelids drop, and sinks into all that dark, wet heat. Months in rehab, and Nick hasn't forgotten a single thing, when it comes to this. Still works his tongue against all the places that gets James breathing and thrusting fast, faster. Still makes those small noises and clutches at James's hips with large hands that leave their fingerprints all over James's skin, outside and in. And when James fists his hair and slides himself down Nick's throat, says, "Missed you," in a voice gone frayed and worn at the edges, Nick still swallows him down like a pro. Like he needs this. Like the addict that he's always going to be. -End