Fic : Chasing Trains
Title : Chasing Trains
Pairing : Nick/Joe
Rating R
Summary Chasing trains is a losing battle. It's a lot like watching his life pass away.
Notes Written for Fic fest. Prompt : Joe/Nick futurefic. Kind of sad and schmoopy, but I think it could also be really sexy. One of them is a bachelor, the other is married, and his wife dies. Kids or no kids, doesn't really matter to me. The bachelor comes to console the widower, cooks for him, cleans, takes care of him in all of the ways the wife had. The widower initiates sex and it eventually gets revealed that the reason the bachelor never married is because he's always wanted his brother like this.
Not sure it'll meet the prompt exactly, sorry hon! I wasn't even gonna post it (it's a big sappy ass mess.) but I decided to anyways. (Unbeta'd.)
There's something about trains, the way when Nick was little and they were traveling down a long country road. It's almost sad, the endless battle, trying to race the train, reach destination unknown first. You always lose, Nick remembers, and that's a lot like this - watching his wife of four years pass away.
When they'd first found out about Vivian's cancer it came as a shock. Much like his diabetes it had been there, unknowingly growing inside the frail shell of a human body. But there's no shots for cancer, no easy fix and with the later stages already staring them in the face, palliative care was the only real choice they had.
It only takes a few weeks, weeks that seem to drag on forever and are too quick and too slow all at once. He sits by her bed, holds her sweaty hands, and she squeezes his tight - reassuring. It's inevitable, the slow descent into the chaos that death provides. She fights hard, day after day. Nick watches, waits. Like everything else that lives, she dies, slow but painless with the help of doctors and drugs.
It's early on a Sunday, an odd day if Nick allows himself recall. The birds are quiet outside, no morning songs or softly exchanged conversations. The ground is still wet from the night before, raindrops drizzling from tree branches and windowsills.
He leaves for a short frame of time, his feet dragging as he walks the halls with a fallen face. It's a rough day, Vivian's face especially white against the hospital sheets. Coffee should help, should fix the dim day.
There's a feeling inside him as he walks back, like something that was full a moment ago no longer is. He knows when he enters the room, a nurse somberly standing over the bed and the machine that once displayed Vivian's life has fallen flat. She's gone, her face so peaceful even in the most painful situation Nick's ever felt.
The room is quiet, the nurse gone and the awkward silence of the day eating him alive. He holds her hand still, the coolness a shocking contrast to the warmth he once found in her. There's no words to be found to express the situation, Nick doesn't know what to do, so he just sits.
Joe's the first one there, his eyes so dark underneath he looks as tired as Nick feels. The creak of the door is a crash of thunder in the room, and Nick turns to look, the skin of his face burnt red by tears and grief.
"Oh Nicky," Joe whispers, reaches and holds Nick so tight. His body shakes, their bodies shake, and it's like the only thing either of them can do is hold on for dear life, cry hopelessly into each other's shoulders.
Joe never leaves his side, day after day. At night he even curls close to Nick's side, arms practically holding Nick together. The plans for the funeral are painful, like pushing through a brick wall with your bare hands and pretending that it doesn't hurt, isn't tearing the skin of pale palms.
There's a crowd of people, each new face an echo of the last. He's forgotten who most of these people are, isn't sure he's even met a good half of them. They shake his hand, pat his back, hug him and say quietly how sorry they are. Most of them really are, the remorse in their voice so evident it physically pains Nick.
Moments in between Joe takes him aside, holds his head to his shoulder and runs his fingers through Nick's always childish curls. He offers no apology, knows Nick doesn't want one, has heard them too much. He's the glue to Nick's fragile being.
It's a tough decision, one Nick thinks over for much longer than he should have to, but he finally decides to speak.
"I remember when I first met Vivian," his voice shakes, and finding Joe in the crowd is a welcome comfort that soothes the quake in his throat. "It was winter, so she was all bundled up. She had this... old wool scarf, I think it was her mom's," he plays the scene over in his head - the snow, the chill biting at their faces, the way they ran right into each other like destiny had planned to put them there at that exact moment.
"Her cheeks were so red, and I'm still not sure if it wasn't actually from the embarrassment," he laughs, lighter than he's been in days, "She'd never admit it to me either way. So stubborn." He smiles, and Joe returns it, embracing him from the other side of the room.
"The first time I took her to meet Joe and Kevin it was like I'd gained another brother. She had a burping contest with them, and won. I think I knew then that I wanted to marry her. She always had this crazy ability to be completely comfortable with herself, and when we finally did it - got married, it was just her and me against the world. I'm going to miss that. I'm going to miss all of it, every single part of her. Her beautiful smile, the way her hair smelt like cinnamon and she'd smack Nick and Joe for smelling it. I thank God for every day I had with her. We're all lucky to have known her, and I was lucky to be in love with her."
The end is quieter than the beginning, more peaceful. They bury Vivian that day, a small grave under a beautiful tree with cherry blossoms. It's the place she'd like to be, Nick thinks. Joe holds his hand, squeezes tight just like Vivian had just a week ago, reassuring.
"You did good today," Joe says later that night. They're stripped of their suits, old ragged shirts and comfortable shorts taking their place.
He's sitting on the edge of Nick's bed, waiting for him to turn out the lights. Joe's been at his side for the past week, but tonight Nick's scared that Joe'll leave. "Will you stay?" maybe it's just the fear of losing anything else that makes him ask, but Joe answers easily, crawling into his side of the bed and waiting for Nick to join him.
Joe's warmer than the blankets themselves, like an oven against the curves of Nick's body. It's not much past the early AMs when Nick speaks, breaking the comfortable silence. "Thank you."
"For what? Man you know I'll always share a bed with you as long as you don't hog all the covers." Joe's voice is sleep laced.
"For everything," Nick edges impossibly closer, falls asleep in Joe's arms.
It goes on like that, a repetitive routine of Joe and Nick. Nick sits alone in his room most days, knowing Joe's just a few steps away and that he can call out at any minute, and there his brother will be.
Joe cleans, washes their clothes and accidentally bleaches some of Nick's favorite manpris. Luckily Joe is better at cooking than he is at cleaning, and Nick's healing process is assisted by a full belly.
There's a particularly hard week a month or so later, just after Joe starts returning to the normalcy of life every so often. It's not much, only short lunch dates where he brings Nick his favorite foods home.
It's unnerving, how much Nick needs Joe. When he's not there it's harder to breathe, to even move on with the monotonous ways of a grieving widower.
Nick's woken one night, a soft slam followed by muttering and a slick sound of movement. The hall is dark, and there's just a small beam of light from the window glowing on where Nick finds Joe on the couch. He's spread out, tight jeans pushed down his thighs, hand wrapped tightly around his cock as he thrusts and moans lightly.
Nick's heart pounds in his ears, blood traveling at an electric rate. He doesn't hear himself, even notice he's moving but suddenly Joe's jumping and looking right at him. "Oh shit, Nick. I'm so sorry." He's trying to pull his pants up, the hardness of his cock an uncomfortable weight between his legs.
"Don't," Nick stutters lightly, "Don't stop." He steps closer, his eyes curious and Joe looks at him with this oddly terrified glance. When he doesn't listen Nick takes another step forward, practically straddles Joe's legs and takes his brother's cock in his hands, pumping harder than he'd seen Joe doing minutes before.
"Nicky, wha-" Nick swallows the question, pushes his lips to Joe's. It's a rough exchange, unlike the soft touches of Joe's fingers in Nick's hair, of Joe's hand wrapped around Nick's hip. Their tongues meet, tangle and taste each other.
Nick pulls away, pushes their foreheads together and jerks his brother harder, his fist working hot and quick. "Let me do this, please. Let me help you," Nick whispers, and there's no question Joe's giving in, the tenseness of his shoulders running thin.
He thinks about moving, about pulling Joe to the bedroom, fucking into the heat of his willing body and filling him with a piece of his soul. There's still that fear though, the hesitation that if Nick stops, lets Joe collect himself, that it'll all end. Nick's not ready to risk that.
Joe's voice is getting pitchy, the grind of Nick's hips paired with the pull of his hand wearing Joe's resilience down. He looks puzzled when Nick brings his hand back, put doesn't get a chance to question it because Nick's right there, cock out and thrusting so fucking hard against Joe's sweat coated body.
They hold tight, bruising grips and loud moans leaving their mark in the room. When they come, one after another, it's like a bolt of lightning breaking in the sky. Everything is so bright, vibrant and amazing.
"Thank you," Joe whispers when they're stretched out on the sofa.
"For what?" Nick's voice is tired, a step away from a dream.
"Loving me," comes Joe's shy response.
"Always," Nick turns in, pressed like two pieces making something complete - whole.
Nick's not better, not over Vivian. But he's getting better, getting there. And there is where Joe is. It's a train he's willing to try and beat.
Pairing : Nick/Joe
Rating R
Summary Chasing trains is a losing battle. It's a lot like watching his life pass away.
Notes Written for Fic fest. Prompt : Joe/Nick futurefic. Kind of sad and schmoopy, but I think it could also be really sexy. One of them is a bachelor, the other is married, and his wife dies. Kids or no kids, doesn't really matter to me. The bachelor comes to console the widower, cooks for him, cleans, takes care of him in all of the ways the wife had. The widower initiates sex and it eventually gets revealed that the reason the bachelor never married is because he's always wanted his brother like this.
Not sure it'll meet the prompt exactly, sorry hon! I wasn't even gonna post it (it's a big sappy ass mess.) but I decided to anyways. (Unbeta'd.)
There's something about trains, the way when Nick was little and they were traveling down a long country road. It's almost sad, the endless battle, trying to race the train, reach destination unknown first. You always lose, Nick remembers, and that's a lot like this - watching his wife of four years pass away.
When they'd first found out about Vivian's cancer it came as a shock. Much like his diabetes it had been there, unknowingly growing inside the frail shell of a human body. But there's no shots for cancer, no easy fix and with the later stages already staring them in the face, palliative care was the only real choice they had.
It only takes a few weeks, weeks that seem to drag on forever and are too quick and too slow all at once. He sits by her bed, holds her sweaty hands, and she squeezes his tight - reassuring. It's inevitable, the slow descent into the chaos that death provides. She fights hard, day after day. Nick watches, waits. Like everything else that lives, she dies, slow but painless with the help of doctors and drugs.
It's early on a Sunday, an odd day if Nick allows himself recall. The birds are quiet outside, no morning songs or softly exchanged conversations. The ground is still wet from the night before, raindrops drizzling from tree branches and windowsills.
He leaves for a short frame of time, his feet dragging as he walks the halls with a fallen face. It's a rough day, Vivian's face especially white against the hospital sheets. Coffee should help, should fix the dim day.
There's a feeling inside him as he walks back, like something that was full a moment ago no longer is. He knows when he enters the room, a nurse somberly standing over the bed and the machine that once displayed Vivian's life has fallen flat. She's gone, her face so peaceful even in the most painful situation Nick's ever felt.
The room is quiet, the nurse gone and the awkward silence of the day eating him alive. He holds her hand still, the coolness a shocking contrast to the warmth he once found in her. There's no words to be found to express the situation, Nick doesn't know what to do, so he just sits.
Joe's the first one there, his eyes so dark underneath he looks as tired as Nick feels. The creak of the door is a crash of thunder in the room, and Nick turns to look, the skin of his face burnt red by tears and grief.
"Oh Nicky," Joe whispers, reaches and holds Nick so tight. His body shakes, their bodies shake, and it's like the only thing either of them can do is hold on for dear life, cry hopelessly into each other's shoulders.
Joe never leaves his side, day after day. At night he even curls close to Nick's side, arms practically holding Nick together. The plans for the funeral are painful, like pushing through a brick wall with your bare hands and pretending that it doesn't hurt, isn't tearing the skin of pale palms.
There's a crowd of people, each new face an echo of the last. He's forgotten who most of these people are, isn't sure he's even met a good half of them. They shake his hand, pat his back, hug him and say quietly how sorry they are. Most of them really are, the remorse in their voice so evident it physically pains Nick.
Moments in between Joe takes him aside, holds his head to his shoulder and runs his fingers through Nick's always childish curls. He offers no apology, knows Nick doesn't want one, has heard them too much. He's the glue to Nick's fragile being.
It's a tough decision, one Nick thinks over for much longer than he should have to, but he finally decides to speak.
"I remember when I first met Vivian," his voice shakes, and finding Joe in the crowd is a welcome comfort that soothes the quake in his throat. "It was winter, so she was all bundled up. She had this... old wool scarf, I think it was her mom's," he plays the scene over in his head - the snow, the chill biting at their faces, the way they ran right into each other like destiny had planned to put them there at that exact moment.
"Her cheeks were so red, and I'm still not sure if it wasn't actually from the embarrassment," he laughs, lighter than he's been in days, "She'd never admit it to me either way. So stubborn." He smiles, and Joe returns it, embracing him from the other side of the room.
"The first time I took her to meet Joe and Kevin it was like I'd gained another brother. She had a burping contest with them, and won. I think I knew then that I wanted to marry her. She always had this crazy ability to be completely comfortable with herself, and when we finally did it - got married, it was just her and me against the world. I'm going to miss that. I'm going to miss all of it, every single part of her. Her beautiful smile, the way her hair smelt like cinnamon and she'd smack Nick and Joe for smelling it. I thank God for every day I had with her. We're all lucky to have known her, and I was lucky to be in love with her."
The end is quieter than the beginning, more peaceful. They bury Vivian that day, a small grave under a beautiful tree with cherry blossoms. It's the place she'd like to be, Nick thinks. Joe holds his hand, squeezes tight just like Vivian had just a week ago, reassuring.
"You did good today," Joe says later that night. They're stripped of their suits, old ragged shirts and comfortable shorts taking their place.
He's sitting on the edge of Nick's bed, waiting for him to turn out the lights. Joe's been at his side for the past week, but tonight Nick's scared that Joe'll leave. "Will you stay?" maybe it's just the fear of losing anything else that makes him ask, but Joe answers easily, crawling into his side of the bed and waiting for Nick to join him.
Joe's warmer than the blankets themselves, like an oven against the curves of Nick's body. It's not much past the early AMs when Nick speaks, breaking the comfortable silence. "Thank you."
"For what? Man you know I'll always share a bed with you as long as you don't hog all the covers." Joe's voice is sleep laced.
"For everything," Nick edges impossibly closer, falls asleep in Joe's arms.
It goes on like that, a repetitive routine of Joe and Nick. Nick sits alone in his room most days, knowing Joe's just a few steps away and that he can call out at any minute, and there his brother will be.
Joe cleans, washes their clothes and accidentally bleaches some of Nick's favorite manpris. Luckily Joe is better at cooking than he is at cleaning, and Nick's healing process is assisted by a full belly.
There's a particularly hard week a month or so later, just after Joe starts returning to the normalcy of life every so often. It's not much, only short lunch dates where he brings Nick his favorite foods home.
It's unnerving, how much Nick needs Joe. When he's not there it's harder to breathe, to even move on with the monotonous ways of a grieving widower.
Nick's woken one night, a soft slam followed by muttering and a slick sound of movement. The hall is dark, and there's just a small beam of light from the window glowing on where Nick finds Joe on the couch. He's spread out, tight jeans pushed down his thighs, hand wrapped tightly around his cock as he thrusts and moans lightly.
Nick's heart pounds in his ears, blood traveling at an electric rate. He doesn't hear himself, even notice he's moving but suddenly Joe's jumping and looking right at him. "Oh shit, Nick. I'm so sorry." He's trying to pull his pants up, the hardness of his cock an uncomfortable weight between his legs.
"Don't," Nick stutters lightly, "Don't stop." He steps closer, his eyes curious and Joe looks at him with this oddly terrified glance. When he doesn't listen Nick takes another step forward, practically straddles Joe's legs and takes his brother's cock in his hands, pumping harder than he'd seen Joe doing minutes before.
"Nicky, wha-" Nick swallows the question, pushes his lips to Joe's. It's a rough exchange, unlike the soft touches of Joe's fingers in Nick's hair, of Joe's hand wrapped around Nick's hip. Their tongues meet, tangle and taste each other.
Nick pulls away, pushes their foreheads together and jerks his brother harder, his fist working hot and quick. "Let me do this, please. Let me help you," Nick whispers, and there's no question Joe's giving in, the tenseness of his shoulders running thin.
He thinks about moving, about pulling Joe to the bedroom, fucking into the heat of his willing body and filling him with a piece of his soul. There's still that fear though, the hesitation that if Nick stops, lets Joe collect himself, that it'll all end. Nick's not ready to risk that.
Joe's voice is getting pitchy, the grind of Nick's hips paired with the pull of his hand wearing Joe's resilience down. He looks puzzled when Nick brings his hand back, put doesn't get a chance to question it because Nick's right there, cock out and thrusting so fucking hard against Joe's sweat coated body.
They hold tight, bruising grips and loud moans leaving their mark in the room. When they come, one after another, it's like a bolt of lightning breaking in the sky. Everything is so bright, vibrant and amazing.
"Thank you," Joe whispers when they're stretched out on the sofa.
"For what?" Nick's voice is tired, a step away from a dream.
"Loving me," comes Joe's shy response.
"Always," Nick turns in, pressed like two pieces making something complete - whole.
Nick's not better, not over Vivian. But he's getting better, getting there. And there is where Joe is. It's a train he's willing to try and beat.