Jay Gatsby (gatz) wrote in spinningcompass, @ 2013-06-09 14:12:00 |
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Entry tags: | !closed |
Who? Gatsby & Nick
Where? Their mansion
When? Saturday night, after the Elves party.
What? It's Nick's birthday, he gets some special treats...
Rating? Hiiiigh
Status? Closed, logged, complete.
Despite having drank a decent amount of alcohol, Gatsby couldn't imagine that it would have an effect on someone driving an open top car. Anyone witnessing his current driving skills would have begged to differ, as he swerved his way along the empty city streets towards his mansion, the loud purr of the engine filling the silence.
"I'm sorry to drag you away so early, old sport!" he shouted at Nick, to make himself heard over the engine and wind. "I can't say I care much for the parties of Elves. I hardly know what is expected of me," he told him, slamming the brakes, reversing, turning a missed corner. He sped along the open stretch of road, screeched to a stop, turned with a skid into his own driveway. "You don't mind too much, do you?" he asked, as the engine was switched off.
Nick, admittedly, hasn't really known what to do with himself whilst he'd been at the party. The obvious thing was to drink but he didn't know if he could trust himself too drunk. Not that that seemed to matter to him, because he had imbibed a fair amount of whiskey and cola which was a surprisingly delicious combination-
And it was his birthday. Only no one knew. Gatsby didn't know and Nick wasn't going to bring it up. He didn't wish to celebrate. He hadn't celebrated in years.
So all in all Nick was pleased to be driving home, even if he was still reluctant to call Gatsby's grand house his home. It seemed a tad too generous and far beyond what he deserved. He slept in the very corner of the bed as though to not leave his mark on the place. But it was beautiful. He was glad to be here again.
"Not at all," he replied with all honesty, the cold air on his cheeks seeming to make him just a little more drunk
Gatsby smiled over at him, barely able to contain his secret glee. "Good, good," he nodded, opening his door and nearly falling out into the driveway. He cleared his throat and stood up straight, brushing himself down before he closed the door behind him, and circled round to the passenger side.
He smiled at Nick again, despite trying to keep a straight face as they headed in the front door. "Say-" he started, surprisingly nervous about it. Maybe this was a terrible idea. "Say, would you- would you like to join me for another drink before bed?" he asked, twirling around a couple of times in the hall. "Um- in the- in the- drawing room" he pointed, after stumbling over the words. He felt strangely nervous about it all.
Gatsby seemed to be in the habit of opening the door for him, and Nick wasn't the kind of cruel man to deny him that kind of small pleasure, so he sat in the car to wait for his door to be open. That was really it. Nothing to do with how drunk he felt and how he wasn't entirely sure he wasn't still moving even though the car had stopped.
He turned his head towards Gatsby, pulling himself out of the car and staggering slightly up the drive behind his friend. "Oh," he perked up just slightly because drinking with Gatsby was one of his favourite things, even though he was really rather drunk already. "Oh, yes, I would love that. I can always go for a little night cap," he said, running his fingers along the wall in the hallway as though that weren't keeping him standing. The drawing room? Well, if that were Gatsby's choice. "Of course. Of course. Though you mustn't get me too drunk! I need to make it up the stairs to bed!"
He wandered off towards the drawing room, taking a few paces forward and maybe one back every so often. It didn't even matter that it was his birthday today. Being with Gatsby every day was the greatest thing he could have ever had. And today, now, it was just the two of them. And Nick was happy. He didn't remember the last time he had been so genuinely happy.
"Oh, good! Excellent!" he gushed, apparently absolutely thrilled that he would want to join him for a drink. He didn't know what he would have done if Nick had insisted on heading straight to bed. Dragged him through there? Taken everything up to his room instead? Not to worry- he'd agreed.
"Ah, I can't promise. But there are rooms downstairs that will do for tonight, if you really can't make it," he joked, guiding him through the building. His heart picked up slightly as they reached the drawing room, and he turned to Nick before he opened the door, opening his mouth as if he wanted to say something. For a moment, he almost suggested a different room, afraid that Nick was going to hate everything about it. "Hmm-" he sounded, turning back to the door, and then back to Nick, and then back to the door.
A moment of boldness, and he swung the doors wide open. On a table, in the center of the room, there were silver platters of food, lids on for the time being- champagne and glasses, a small box, wrapped in colourful paper. Gatsby strode confidently into the room and wound up the gramophone to start some gentle jazz music. Then, he moved to the table and pulled the lids from the platters, revealing an assortment of food, and a cake.
"Happy birthday, old sport," he told him, almost sheepishly, giving him a nervous smile.
Nick swayed slightly at the sudden motion of the doors opening. And then it took a few moments for him to register what was going on. What he was looking at.
Oh. It was something for him. It was- Nick's eyes widened, his jaw dropping, suddenly feeling incredibly sober. Gatsby knew- Gatsby knew when his birthday was? And he'd gone through so much trouble for him. Nick really didn't deserve such a spread. Any of this. It was beautiful.
"No one has- no one remembered my birthday for years, how did you-" he started, covering his mouth with his hand and blinking rapidly so that he didn't dissolve into a mess of drunken tears. "How did you know? And you did this for me?" he asked, taking a few more steps into the drawing room, towards Gatsby as he unveiled the food and-
"Good Lord, Gatsby. I don't know what to say," Nick whispered, his voice slightly strained. "Good Lord. Thank you so much. Thank you. Thank you-" he was close enough to touch Gatsby, placing his hand upon his shoulder almost nervously, tentatively.
Gatsby's smile grew wider- Nick liked it! He liked it. As for an explanation of how he knew his birthday- well, that wasn't going to be so easy. He hummed thoughtfully, and turned from Nick to strike a match and light a few candles- he still hadn't managed to get any electricity sorted, but it was a luxury he could easily live without.
"Yes, yes- of course I did, I- I know that I utterly ruined your last birthday. Although, I suppose that was actually only a matter of months ago, not a full year, but- ah, it's a pleasure to have a second chance," he told him, still not explaining how he could possibly know that.
He smiled, amazed that Nick had such a reaction to his simple gesture. "It's nothing. No trouble at all, old sport. I'm glad that you like it, certainly. Please, sit, eat-" he told him, gesturing for him to sit down as he picked up a bottle of champagne, opening it with a loud pop.
"Oh, no, no no, you didn't-" Nick replied, even though in all honesty his birthday last year had been awful. Awful. And yes, only a matter of months away. But Gatsby had lit candles and it was- well, it was just gorgeous. The whole set up was gorgeous.
"But still, this is perfect. This is perfect," he said quietly. "I haven't had a birthday in a very long time." He really didn't mean to say that. He really- he didn't mean to say that out loud. He laughed a little bit nervously and then sat as he was asked to, reaching over to pick at some of the food. His laugh was a little more genuine when the cork on the champagne popped out and Nick- he looked up at Gatsby with complete and utter adoration. Perhaps he was a tiny bit enamoured with him. Just a tiny bit. But Gatsby was such a gentleman.
"I don't know if I'm worthy of champagne, though," he chuckled. "Although I have fond memories of it at your parties." He remembered writing about it. About writing about Gatsby and champagne...
"I did, I did- if I had known-" he sighed, and shook his head. There was no point in going over it. It was done now, but here they were- and apparently he had been right after all. They could repeat the past.
"Well, never mind. Here we are now," he smiled. "Yes, you certainly weren't very vocal about it. Your thirtieth, as well!" he pointed out, although Gatsby supposed that no one had done anything for his own birthdays, ever. He'd been too poor in his childhood, and as an adult- he hadn't told anyone, either.
"Not worthy of champagne? Baloney! I've never heard such nonsense, of course you're worthy of champagne. A helluva lot more worthy than you think," he told him as he poured two glasses and handed one over. He was clearly drunk, easily noticed by the way his formal elocution slipped into something more casual.
"Here-" he handed him a small box, containing a gift for him. Of course, he hadn't bought it considering the nature of the island, but it was the thought that counted, he figured.
"It wouldn't have mattered if you had- it didn't matter, Gatsby. I got to spend it with you," in a way, anyway. Nick smiled. "It's not important. I was hardly- well, even Jordan was a more important member of the group than I was. I wasn't all that vocal at all. But it's fine. I should-" He was only friends with them by association. Really only because he'd lived next to Gatsby, not even because he was Daisy's kin.
He had noticed the change in the way Gatsby spoke as well, and he was completely charmed by it. The little slurs and the drop into the slip into colloquialism. Beautiful. Gatsby really was beautiful. He knelt up and took the champagne from Gatsby, sipping on it and giggling at the fizz. Yes, he was clearly drunk as well. But it was delicious.
Then there was the present. Nick- well, again, he couldn't remember the last time he had received a present.
"You really didn't have to do this," he said, taking the box and sitting with it in his lap. "You really- Gatsby this is too much! You're too much, sometimes," Nick laughed, carefully putting his glass down and then picking carefully at the paper until it came apart. "Oh," he liked things that came in boxes. But of course there was nothing that could have prepared him for what was in the box. His jaw dropped and, as when he had walked into the room and seen the set up, he covered his mouth with his hand, eyes wide. "Oh, oh Gatsby. Oh. You- oh goodness. You shouldn't have."
"Wouldn't have mattered? Why, of course it would have mattered-" he insisted, as if he somehow could have controlled the horrible way the day had spiralled out of control. It had been a terrible idea. Meeting up with Daisy and Tom Buchanan in their home in front of their friends? A terrible idea. "No! No, don't- no-" he stuttered, no even sure how to express just how much he disagreed. "If anyone was the outsider, it was me. I shouldn't have been there that day, it was- foolish," he told him. He could only see it in hindsight, he'd been so wrapped up in his naive vision of the imagined future.
"It's nothing," he insisted, as Nick thanked him for the offered present. Still, he watched expectantly as Nick peeled off the paper to reveal his gift. He hoped he'd picked correctly, something that Nick would actually like, and not just feel like he had to wear it because it had been a gift. But no, his reaction said it all. He liked it- he loved it.
"If it's not right- if there's something else-" he stuttered, even though he knew that wasn't what he was meant to be saying. He moved over, sitting down next to Nick, a little too close for comfort by most people's standards. "If there's anything else, if there's anything you want, just ask for it. Anything at all, old sport," he told him sincerely, searching his face as if he might find out what it was that Nick was thinking. What would make him happy.
Nick shook his head quickly lest Gatsby should take it upon himself to remove the gift and change it.
"No," he said softly. "No, it's beautiful. Thank you so much." Then Gatsby was beside him, sitting close, and Nick tipped his head slightly to look at him. It was such a searching look he was being given, so sincere, and Nick honestly believed that Gatsby would give him anything.
Nick felt himself lean in, lean towards Gatsby as though to kiss him. He wanted nothin more than that. To feel his lips, touch his hair, undress him-
He stopped himself within a heartbeat, lurching back into a straighter sitting position.
"Having you here," he said, quietly again. "That's all I want. I thought I'd lost you again, Gatsby, and my heart broke." Nick reached for his champagne, swallowing two large mouthfuls. "It was bad enough the first time. All I want is for you to stay with me. Stay here," he corrected quickly so as not to sound too needy. "You're safe here. People are good to you." And Nick wasn't at all jealous.
"I'm glad that you think so," he smiled, and he really was. He just wanted to make him happy. He gazed back at Nick, feeling something in the air between them, but he wasn't quite sure what it was. He was probably just a bit drunk. He blinked rapidly as Nick leaned closer, wondering what was happening-
And then he cleared his throat, moved to drink with him. His heart broke? He cared that much? Of course, he'd read the book- but it was different, having him say it. That was all he wanted? Gatsby didn't even know what to say.
"I can do that," he said eventually, with a nod, although there was a bit of a confused frown on his face. When had anyone ever just wanted him, not what he could provide for them? When had anyone ever cared like this? And Nick- what had he ever done to deserve a friend like Nick? "I'm not going anywhere, old sport. Don't worry yourself," he said softly, trying to wrap his head around it. "Are you happy here?" he asked eventually.
The silence and the tension was almost tangible and Nick felt nervous for a moment. Nervous that Gatsby might know something, that Nick might have accidentally said something to imply that he had been feeling a little stronger about Gatsby than he should.
"Thank you," he said quietly when Gatsby agreed. "Just, please, don't go through any more doors or anywhere unless you take me with you. If you're going to die again, Gatsby, I don't want you to be on your own this time," he said, clamping his hand over his mouth when he realised what he had said. "Not- oh, no, Gatsby, not that I want you to die. Just- I just mean- you know what I mean?"
He swallowed down the rest of his glass of champagne, reaching for the bottle again. He paused. Was he happy here?
"I'm happy with you," he said softly in return. "So I am happy here. Do you want some more champagne?" He smiled brightly, wanting to lighten the mood again. "It's my birthday."
"Take you with me?" he repeated, as if he could barely comprehend it. Not because he wouldn't want to take Nick, but because he couldn't imagine someone who would actually want to risk their life on his behalf. "I don't very much feel like dying, either. I'll try my absolute best not to," he agreed, giving him one of his famous smiles, deciding not to dwell on how morbid it all was.
"I'm so glad. I so want for you to be happy," he admitted, a little too honestly. It really was all that he wanted. And maybe it was partly that he'd built himself around Daisy for so long, that he really had very little idea of who he actually was without her. He didn't know what he was meant to be working towards anymore- so there was Nick. He could make Nick happy.
He nodded, finished off his glass, and let Nick refill it. "Yes, yes, it is!" he said, quickly following Nick's lead into a lighter topic. "We should dance!" he told him suddenly, as if it was the best idea in the world.
"Gatsby, you must believe me," Nick said softly. "You make me very happy," he nodded, knowing he sounded sentimental, knowing he probably sounded a little bit crazy and obsessive, even. "You do. You always have. Let's just-" he knelt up, a little wobbly, holding his glass rather precariously. "Let's just get drunk, Gatsby. And forget everything else. Let's just forget everything,"
He knocked back another mouthful of alcohol and swallowed it down, his face lighting up at the thought of dancing. "Let's! Yes! Let's dance!" he sprung up to his feet with more agility than he thought himself capable of, toeing off his shoes and staggering slightly. "I'll even let you be the gentleman. Here, dance with me!"
Gatsby could feel himself blushing slightly, but hopefully he could pass that off as the effects of the champagne. "I'm so glad. You deserve to be happy, Nick," he told him, sincerely. He smiled at him, appreciating his words immensely. "That's a swell idea!" he laughed, tipping the champagne into his mouth as if following Nick's orders to the letter. He was a bit drunk already, but it was Nick's birthday, and the night was fairly young.
Oh, good, Nick had agreed to his silly idea. "Wonderful!" he exclaimed, hopping to his feet, the champagne swishing about in the glass, spilling over the edges. "Oh-" he sipped at the glass as a solution, and then placed it down. He kicked off his own shoes, and went to Nick willingly. Funny, really. He never had been one for dancing at his own parties. He'd danced with Daisy, but only a slow waltz, and that had certainly been more for her pleasure than his own. For a chance to get closer to her without anyone suspecting what was really going on. But with Nick- he wrapped an arm around him, and took hold of his hand as they started to move around the room- and it was purely for fun, for their own enjoyment. And he really did feel happy.
Nick hadn't had much luck with his champagne either, watching it dribble down the inside of his wrist before he licked it up awkwardly and then put his glass down, opening out his arms to his friend. His best friend, really. The best man he knew. And he loved that Gatsby was so willing to go to him, so willing to join in with him and be tipsy and dance around.
Of course he remembered the way Gatsby had danced with Gatsby, and he didn't assume he would get anything as intimate, but with the two of them as drunk as they were it was easy enough for them to both bump against each other, chests and legs and arms. He laughed, his arm moving around Gatsby's shoulder, the other one in Gatsby's hand. The music was soft, maybe not entirely right for them to dance slowly to, but neither of them were going to be waltzing in this condition.
"You, you are the best, Gatsby. You are the best of men. You are worth a thousand thousand other people. Anyone in the world. And you're so warm. You're very warm, Gatsby. Are you too hot?"
Being so drunk and unsteady, Gatsby was under no illusion that they would be able to follow any set steps, and was perfectly content to just spin about the room with him, in something that seems to be a mixture of a waltz, a foxtrot, and something they were entirely making up as they went along. But goodness, it was fun!
He laughed happily as Nick complimented him, feeling his cheeks flush again. "You're too kind, my good man. You see far too much good in me, I think!" he insisted, twirling him around in time with the music, or close enough.
Was he hot? "Perhaps the alcohol is leaving me a little flushed," he admitted. "Are you too hot? Do you want me to open a window?" he asked, letting go of him for a second to let his jacket slip from his shoulders onto the couch. He rolled up his shirt sleeves, and then moved back to Nick again.
"You positively radiate goodness, Gatsby," Nick grinned. "It is impossible to not see the good in you. You are the best man-" he hiccoughed, the little twirl making him just a bit too giddy to talk properly for the moment. "You're the best man."
"You don't have to concern yourself with the windows," Nick shook his head. "You just feel rather warm pressed against me. I didn't wish for you to overheat. I would be forced to drag you to the pool and throw you in," he grinned, regaining his balance as Gatsby let him go, throwing his own jacket carelessly to the floor and pulling at his tie, loosening it enough to slip it over his head without the complications of undoing the knot. He was already in short sleeves, a fancy trend of the day it seemed, and he opened his arms to his friend as he moved back to him, hand sliding once more to the nape of Gatsby's neck, seeking his fingers with the other.
"You are ever so accommodating to me," he grinned. "I don't think such dance moves as these, wonderful as they are, would have been fully appreciated at your other parties."
"Ah, applesauce!" he responded, clearly a little embarrassed by Nick's flattery, but letting it pass without much more of a fight about it. Nick was drunk, but then, it was clear from the book that he really did mean it. His high opinion of Gatsby was a source of constant confusion for him, but it was nice to know that someone thought well of him, at least.
He laughed at the thought of Nick throwing him into the pool. "You wouldn't dare," he teased him, although as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. They sounded too much like a challenge. "Ah, that is not encouragement!" he added quickly, giggling and spinning.
His arm slid around Nick's waist again, spinning them drunkenly about the room, hardly in time with the song at all. "I can't imagine why not!" he exclaimed. "We're absolutely wonderful. Even Fred Astaire would envy us!" he joked.
"Don't dare me, Gatsby," Nick teased. "Don't. Because I might just do it. And I would. I really would. And you'd get your lovely shirt all wet. And I'd be able to see your vest. And then you'd have to take your pants off." Nick laughed then, despite Gatsby's rushed assurance that it wasn't encouragement. "I don't believe you. I think you want that more than anything else in the world." Okay, that was a bit of an exaggeration.
And then they were dancing again. And Gatsby's body was still so, so warm. "I think we would just make people jealous. That's the problem. His fingers drifted against the short hair at the nape of Gatsby's neck and for one little flash of a second he remembered how he had touched himself thinking about Gatsby. The time he had imagined him going down on him-
His cheeks flushed and he looked away, turning his eyes away bashfully. But then his fingers slid from Gatsby's neck to the knot of his tie, trying to work it open with one unsteady hand, their foreheads all but resting together.
"And goodness knows who might walk by and see me!" he exclaimed in mock horror. A lot of the people on the island seemed to have pretty much no shame, he could hardly imagine that anyone would notice if he were sopping wet, but he'd certainly find it most embarrassing. "More than anything else?" he repeated, dissolving into almost hysterical laughter at the thought of it. "You're drunk!" he accused him, prodding him in the chest.
"Oh, we make people jealous wherever we go. Just can't help it, old sport!" he teased. He caught the embarrassed look on Nick's face, but he couldn't imagine what could have caused it. "Are you too warm?" he asked, noticing the red in his cheeks. "It's only me, take off some layers-" he insisted, as Nick tried to remove his tie.
"You've encountered the problem of a tie pin," he explained, reaching up to his own tie, his fingers brushing against Nick's as he pulled the pin out for him- although why he was helping him undress him, he wasn't entirely sure.
"Oh Heavens above, Gatsby," Nick chuckled. "I'm certainly not drunk, how dare you accuse me of such things!" he teased, because that was obvious. He was very drunk, and he slapped Gatsby's hand away from his chest.
Take off some layers? Oh, heavens, he shouldn't be offered such things. The touch of Gatsby's hand as he helped with the tie pin literally made him weak at the knees so that he had to grip a little harder, press a little closer, breathing out the smallest, stuttering breath. Nick licked his lips, working again on his tie, pulling it loose, his mouth going dry at the sound of the fabric sliding against itself.
"I don't think there's any need-" he whispered. "For me to take off any more clothes."
"No, no, of course not! What could I be thinking of?" he laughed happily. He stayed still, pin in his hand as Nick slipped off his tie- there it was again. That strange tension that he didn't quite understand fully. He was drunk, that was all. Very drunk.
"It was just a thought, there's no need," he said hurriedly, as if Nick might have thought he wanted him to undress for some reason- he didn't want that, did he? No, why would he?
The song came to a stop, and there was a couple of seconds of silence before Gatsby came to reality. "Oh!" he pulled back, and headed over to the gramophone again to wind it up. "If you're certainly not drunk, we really should fix that, you know," he told him, nodding for him to pour more champagne.
Getting him more drunk seemed like the greatest suggestion and Nick nodded enthusiastically, reaching for the bottle of champagne. He remembered with fondness the time they had slept in the same bed after all of the alcohol they had drunk and, in the back of his mind, there didn't seem to be anything he wanted more than for that to be the conclusion to his birthday.
Still, he picked up the bottle and went to look for his glass, turning suddenly enough to knock it off of the table. It fell to the floor and cracked and, at any other time, Nick would have felt bad. But now, now he just wanted to drink. He be picked up the bottle and lifted it to his lips, licking around the rim and then swallowing down a few mouthfuls, fizzy though it was. "I appear," he giggled. "To have broken my glass." He beamed again, lifting the bottle again, dribbling a trickle of the drink down his front. Well, that had happened before as well. Apparently Nick never learnt.
Even sober Gatsby wouldn't have cared about the broken glass. but while he was drunk, it was apparently very amusing. The music started up again, and Gatsby put down his tie pin before hopping over the broken glass, and flopping down on the couch again.
"I think-" he started, losing the thought immediately. He frowned slightly, and then started again. "I think- we decided that- gentlemen don't need glasses!" he reminded him, picking up a canape and tossing it into his mouth.
He looked over at Nick and laughed, leaning in to him for a moment, running his thumb up his chin to catch the trickle of champagne, then licking it off of his own thumb. "You're wasting it," he told him, as if he could talk, given his former habits doing everything but drinking the stuff.
Nick stayed standing, watching Gatsby with a gaze that was far too heated, but Gatsby seemed far too drunk to notice. "You're right," he agreed. "you're right. We are gentlemen, are we not? We must do as gentlemen do and-" Nick paused as Gatsby's thumb ran over his chin, his eyes darkening.
"I do apologise," he whispered, taking a step towards Gatsby on the sofa. The bottle swung casually in his hand and his thoughts drifted along the same line as Gatsby's. "I seem to remember," he continued, resting one knee on the sofa, holding the bottle over Gatsby's head. "I seem to remember that you didn't particularly care much for wasting Champagne before," he said softly. "I seem to remember you enjoying having it all over you."
"We are the most gentlemanly gentlemen, indeed!" he agreed with a drunken giggle.
And then Nick was close to him, and he was pointing out exactly what Gatsby had just been thinking. And it was true- he could remember the first time it had happened. A female guest had simply tipped her glass over his head, gleefully rubbed the alcohol into his hair as it dripped down his face and neck, soaking his shirt- someone had apologised for her drunkenness and pulled her away into a car, but there had been no need to apologise. He'd enjoyed it. Such opulence, that he was now so rich he could have champagne massages. That everyone around him was so extravagant that it seemed like the kind of thing that could just happen carelessly. And it had become habit. A small indulgence, when everything else was for Daisy. The champagne was just his own indulgence.
"Mm, you have an excellent memory," he smiled up at him- Nick was holding the bottle over his head- was he going to actually do it? "Is this just another way to cool me down?" he asked, feeling a little rush of excitement at the possibility.
Nick remembered. He remembered the way women had started to habitually rub Champagne into his hair and oh, even then Nick had thought it painfully sexy. The way Gatsby had looked so pleased, the way he had luxuriated in the touches and yes, it was something only the rich could do. And now- well, now they could still have everything. Gatsby could have everything, and he wanted to play with Nick-
"Is it going to cool you down?" Nick all but purred, forgetting himself slightly. "You always looked as though you enjoyed it quite a lot, Jay. Positively encouraged it," he murmured on. Gatsby surely knew- he could surely tell what Nick intended, even if Nick had only been teasing before. Now he was not teasing. Now he wanted to do it. To indulge Gatsby. He was shivering himself, not through cold, but because he was growing painfully more aroused by the idea of pouring Champagne over the man beneath him, soaking him with alcohol-
Nick tipped the bottle, a dribble of Champagne trickling down onto Gatsby's hair. Nick's fingers ran through it as it dampened, watching some run down the sides of Gatsby's face. Nick readjusted his position, pulling on Gatsby's hair as he supported himself, sliding his leg over Gatsby's body to rest upon his chest.
Gatsby laughed softly, and gave Nick a confused look. "Well, of course it-" he stopped short, his stupidly naive mind finally catching up with what Nick meant, causing him to blush deeply. And yet, he still didn't imagine that Nick could mean it about himself- rather, that Gatsby had a bit of a thing for Champagne, regardless of who was doing the pouring. "Yes, it's a very pleasant experience," he told him, catching the way that he called him Jay. He couldn't remember him ever doing that before- it was nice. It was relaxed, friendly. Like they really were best friends, none of that stupid formality.
He gasped with surprise as Nick actually did tip some of the Champagne onto his head, the cool liquid chilling him delightfully as it trickled down his neck, along his collarbone. And then Nick's fingers were in his hair, and God, it felt amazing- because of the Champagne, not because it was Nick. Obviously. Even though he was getting very, very close-
"Mm, you're a natural-" he teased, gazing at him rather intensely.
Nick's breathing had grown slightly heavier, his eyes fixed on Gatsby's face. The gasp, his gasp was a beautiful sound and Nick had to bite his lip to keep himself from making a noise as well. No, that would only ruin the moment. And God, this was a wonderful moment. Nick ran his fingers through Gatsby's hair again, rubbing the Champagne into his scalp, wetting his hair completely. It was very- it was a very erotic experience.
For a second he glanced down at the liquid pooling in the dip of Gatsby's collarbone. He wanted to lick it up. He wanted to run his tongue up the side of Gatsby's neck to chase the dribbles of alcohol.
He wanted to stop- no, no, he thought he should probably stop, but he couldn't. He really couldn't. He tipped the bottle all the more, pouring it over Gatsby's hair.
"Open your mouth," Nick whispered.
It really was a very erotic experience. Gatsby had always found it to be so, but he was surprised to find that it didn't lose it's sensuality when it was Nick doing the pouring- in fact, if anything, it was better- no, no, that was just because he was drunk and Nick was his friend- of course. He was just comfortable with him, that was al.
He was pouring more down upon him, and Gatsby was fighting with himself to keep silent as much as Nick was. It was too much, it was too good-
Nick told him to open his mouth, and Gatsby obeyed instantly, tilting his chin up slightly, his breath coming in short gasps- they should probably stop. He didn't want him to, but if they wanted to maintain some sort of decency, they should probably stop. This was close to getting dangerously out of hand, but- it felt incredible.
If Nick focussed his attention properly he would know how hard he was, despite being drunk. He was completely turned on by everything he was witnessing, the way Gatsby moved, the way his hair felt beneath his fingers.
The instant reaction from Gatsby, his obedience was even more erotic. His lips parted in a silent purr of pleasure, his tongue trailing softly over his own lips as he tipped the bottle again and drizzled more of the alcohol into his mouth. God. His fingers in Gatsby's hair tugged gently, pulling his head back more, letting the Champagne run over Gatsby's chin, then his neck, soaking the collar of his shirt. The material went instantly transparent, baring the vest beneath it.
"I could bathe you in Champagne, Gatsby."
This was incredible. Gatsby felt overwhelmed by everything that was happening- Nick tugging at his hair, the taste of Champagne, the way he could feel it trickling down his neck, beneath his shirt-
His mouth closed slightly as he swallowed, sending more of the liquid spilling down his chin, soaking into his clothes. God, such promises. Suddenly, the thought of Nick bathing him in Champagne was the sexiest idea he'd ever heard.
No, it was just being bathed in Champagne. Not Nick. No, it was Nick. Nick bathing him in- no, just the Champagne- he was so confused, realising to his horror that he wasn't rendered quite as impotent as he'd imagined when Daisy was here. He made a vague noise of approval, hoping to God that Nick wouldn't notice. He should tell him to stop- but would that be even more obvious? And he didn't want him to stop-
Nick didn't really even care anymore. The Champagne was trickling into the little V shaped at the top of Gatsby's collar where it opened onto his chest and it had him transfixed. Gatsby's skin shone in the light of the candles where the light caught the liquid and Nick still wanted nothing more than to lick it from his throat and run his tongue over his collarbone, lapping up what remained of the alcohol.
One more tug to Gatsby's hair and then Nick let his fingers move down, trailing down his cheek and then down his neck, rubbing the Champagne into his skin with gentle touches, finally letting his hand come to rest against the triangle of exposed chest at the top of Gatsby's shirt. There his touches lingered longer, gentle and almost sensual attention as he watched the wetness seep through the material, his eyes wandering down and fixating on the little bump of Gatsby's nipple. From the cold, no doubt, the chill of the liquid moving over it. The only sound in the room was the sound of their breathing, or at least Nick's breathing, heavy and hard as he stared. He was sat on Gatby's hips, so anything going on between his friend's legs wasn't evident to him.
For his part Nick again couldn't bring himself to care for whatever evidence he might be exhibiting that he was enjoying this. It was probably already evident that he was enjoying this, from the size of his pupils to the flush of his cheeks to the trembling breaths he drew.
He could bathe Gatsby in Champagne. Rub it into his skin all over his body.
Gatsby drew in a sharp breath as Nick's hands moved down to his chest, enjoying the light massage, the gentle touches. He was too busy worrying about his own increasingly hardening cock to notice anything going on with Nick's- but Nick did seem to be enjoying it. That was okay, wasn't it? It was okay to find it pleasurable- it was. That didn't have to mean it was sexual, even if his body seemed to have different ideas.
He laughed suddenly, a soft chuckle, just because it was completely, ridiculously extravagant. And he'd never expected the evening to end with the Champagne soaking him right through.
"You need to experience this," he told him. It wasn't a question, it wasn't an offer, it was a necessity. He reached up and took the bottle from him, shaking it slightly to see how much was left in it. Not much. "Mm- drink this-" he insisted, pressing the bottle to Nick's lips, waiting for him to grab it back. Then, he playfully shoved him aside and reached for a new bottle, popping it open enthusiastically.
Nick laughed at the suggestion that he needed to experience what Gatsby was. And yes, yes, that was true. He would like it, he'd like it. He'd like it. But he didn't want to deprive Gatsby of this- But apparently he didn't have a choice, and though he took the bottle from him Gatsby- well, Gatsby just took advantage of him! shoving him aside so that he was no longer perched on Gatsby.
He laughed again, even though the motion jogged him sufficiently to spill some down his front and dribble some from his chin. He sputtered, wiped it, and then beamed at Gatsby as the other bottle popped open and it foamed. Nick caught himself licking his lips, his mind obviously wandering, running rapidly towards the thought of Gatsby's cock.
"You make everything look so delightful, Mr. Gatsby," he teased, tipping his bottle back and draining the rest of it. "No wonder the ladies went wild for you."
"Champagne makes itself look delightful," he insisted, positioning himself in front of Nick, apparently having forgotten about the situation in his trousers. He scoffed, and shook his head at him, not buying that for one second. "No, Nick. No, they didn't. It wasn't me. They- went wild for money, you see?" he explained. It had all become painfully clear since reading the book- but Nick wasn't like that. Nick actually liked him.
He smiled fondly at him, moved closer, one hand moving to the back of his neck as the other raised the bottle over his head. He could feel his heart pounding away in his chest with anticipation. He wanted Nick to love this. The bottle tilted, a slow trickle of Champagne dripping into Nick's hair- and then he tipped the bottle further, pouring it out. His fingers moved up into Nick's hair, gripping at it, tipping his head back and letting the liquid pour down his neck, his chest-
Nick's smile softened. "Well, they missed out. They should have been going wild for you, Jay," he said. "I always, always thought of you. Oh. I thought of you all the time," he was drunk, absolutely drunk, the new mouthfuls of Champagne fizzing in his belly and making him a little drunker.
His breathing hitched as Gatsby moved closer, his eyes closing when Gatsby's hand moved to his neck, keeping them closed as the Champagne began to dribble into his hair. The trickle grew in strength, goosebumps rising all over his skin as it ran down his neck and down his back, as Gatsby's fingers raked through his hair. He moaned. He moaned unashamedly, his cock throbbing between his legs. Nick more than willingly let his hair be pulled, let his head be pulled back, parted his lips to catch some before it ran down his neck, down his chest, soaked his shirt and the front of his trousers. It cooled his aching erection but did nothing to stop the arousal. If anything, Gatsby's proximity only made it stronger.
Another trickle of Champagne ran down the inside of Gatsby's wrist, down his arm and Nick turned his head, lifting his own hand to steady Gatsby's arm as he licked up the stripe of alcohol, chasing it as far as he could without dislodging Gatsby's fingers from his hair.
"You're different," he told him. And he meant it as a compliment, he didn't mean that it didn't count. It counted, of course it did. His head was spinning, but he could only assume that it was because of the alcohol.
He smiled happily at Nick's reaction, glad that he seemed to get just as much pleasure from it as he did. It was a wonderful thing to be able to share with him, something that Nick may never have had the stupid luxury of trying before. He knew it was a strange sort of fetish, but God, Nick looked absolutely divine. No, no- not because it was Nick- no-
Nick licked his wrist, and Gatsby gasped in surprise, a sudden heat in his arm, his skin prickling under the sensation. He gaped at him, surprised, but not complaining. The bottle dropped down, and he very deliberating poured the Champagne onto his chest, letting it soak through his shirt and drip down into his lap.
And then Gatsby moved, hardly thinking about what the hell he was doing- he climbed on top of him, straddling his lap.
Nick groaned very obviously as the Champagne ran down his chest, soaked through both layers - shirt and vest - and made him shiver. But the groan was absolutely for Gatsby. For the gasp, for the way he had reacted to his tongue, the way he tasted. His cock- he felt the chill of the cold alcohol against his cock but it didn't make him any less aroused. Nothing could make him less aroused now.
Gatsby climbed into his lap and Nick, by all accounts, was lost in the moment. The long, long moments of being covered in champagne. His hands pressed against Gatsby's chest, shirt plastered to his skin, and Nick leant in, running his tongue over the dribble of alcohol running into that delicious little V of skin.
He should probably stop licking Gatsby, but he wasn't going to.
And the way they were sitting, the way they were positioned meant that he could feel the heat radiating from between Gatsby's legs and he, his cock, was pressed against one of Gatsby's thighs.
"Pity to waste it," he whispered as an excuse for his licking.
Gatsby probably shouldn't have climbed on top of him, but Nick didn't seem to have any problem with it. Quite the opposite, in fact. He could feel Nick's erection pressing against his thigh, but it was actually strangely reassuring to know that he wasn't alone in finding the whole experience painfully erotic.
Nick's tongue moved against his neck, and Gatsby could feel his cock aching with desire for him- no, not for him- he was just drunk, it had been a while- that was all. It was fine. It was all fine. Nick didn't mind the embarrassing little side-effect of their fun. He smiled at him, and gave him a nod of agreement, his free hand moving to pull at Nick's collar. He tugged him forward, the last of the champagne spilling down his neck, soaking him through- Gatsby's lips moved to Nick's neck, and he licked slowly, savouring the taste of him mixed with the Champagne.
As he leaned in to him, he could feel the hardness of Nick's cock rubbing against him, his own cock brushing against Nick in return, sending a shiver of pleasure through him- he wanted more. He was drunk, he knew he was drunk, his head was spinning and everything was arousal and Champagne and Nick's skin and electricity.
Nick would have felt completely different about this whole thing if he hadn't been drunk. Oh no, but being drunk was wonderful right now. He could feel Gatsby's cock, he could feel it hard against his own and it made him groan again. That and the way Gatsby's mouth moved over his neck. His neck. Gatsby's held his collar and pulled him forward, licking his skin. Oh God. He all but purred, letting his own tongue run back up Gatsby's throat. Yes. Yes. Gatsby wasn't pulling away, he wasn't moving back in disgust. So Nick took this as his cue to enjoy himself a little bit more.
Because it was his birthday.
He licked, his tongue teasing up to Gatsby's ear, one other hand pressing against his wet chest, palm over his nipple, the other moving down to Gatsby's arse, groping. Properly groping.
"It's my birthday, Jay-" Nick whispered into Gatsby's ear, rolling his hips and pressing his cock against Gatsby's thigh. "Nngh," he groaned, letting out a little shaky breath against the other man's cheek.
Gatsby knew that they should stop. He knew that things were getting a bit out of control, but he didn't really want to stop yet. There was something exquisite about having Champagne licked from him body, and he was certainly enjoying the attention to his neck.
The empty bottle was dropped to one side, and Gatsby lifted his hand to the back of Nick's neck, using his palm to hold him in place as he mouthed his skin, his lips moving against his collarbone, tasting the alcohol- then pressed against the pulse point on his neck, feeling the frantic fluttering of his heart.
He gasped in surprise as Nick groped at his arse, encouraging him to stay close, to continue to move against him.
"Yes. Yes, it is. Happy birthday-" he said breathlessly against his skin. Nick rolled his hips, and Gatsby practically whimpered as he felt the friction against his own cock. He had to move, he just had to move, just for a moment, to just ease the tension in his muscles-
He rolled his hips against him, still gripping onto his collar with one hand, the other behind his head, fingers tangled in Champagne-soaked hair. He leaned toward him, his cheek pressing against Nick's, his lips moving very softly against his skin, as if he could pretend he wasn't doing anything if it were soft enough.
Nick wasn't even conscious of the Champagne bottle falling to the floor. He didn't know where his had gone, either, only that his hands were free to go everywhere and they were going to. Still Gatsby hadn't pulled back. he still hadn't moved away, even with Nick's hand on his bottom, holding him close.
He could feel Gatsby even before he rolled his hips, but then there was that movement that brought him closer, so that if Nick shifted too, if he moved just slightly to the side they pressed together, exhaling a sharp breath again, the barest hint of a moan catching at the end of it. Nick gripped Gatsby's arse, forcing him forward so that there was no way they couldn't press against each other, so that their aching cocks rubbed together. Nick rolled his hips again, his fingers wandering up, up the damp skin of Gatsby's neck and back into his hair as well, holding him in place.
The muscles in his stomach were beginning to tighten, every brush of their erections, even through the material of their trousers, was tantalising, electric, making him dizzy with want. Oh, so much want. Nick's lips brushed over Gatsby's cheek again, moving until their noses pressed gently together and his breathing, hard and ragged, puffed against Gatsby's mouth.
"Don't be afraid to move," he murmured with another roll of his hips. "I can feel you. You can move."
Nick's cock pressed against his, and Gatsby wasn't able to stifle the soft moan that escaped him at the surprise of the sensation. But it was no mistake- Nick was pulling him forward, encouraging him to rub against him. But Gatsby was nervous despite the encouragement. He knew what he wanted physically, but if he started to get his head involved, it all got very confused. He was rather too drunk for his head to get too involved, though.
As if he could read his mind, Nick told him not to be afraid. Nick wanted him to move. Gatsby had told him that he would give him anything he wanted, and when he was drunk, apparently that included grinding him into the sofa. His arms were draped around Nick's neck, holding him close as he rolled his hips again, rather more purposefully this time. Instant shivers of pleasure rushed through him as their erections rubbed together through their trousers. This was actually happening-
He gasped, his lips slightly parted close to the corner of Nick's mouth. His hips rolled again, and again, meeting Nick's rhythm, growing in confidence the more that he moved. Because he wanted this, he needed this- he hadn't known just how much he needed it, but with every brush of their cocks the tension was growing and growing- if they kept going like this, Nick was going to make him come- and he didn't want to stop, even though he knew that he should before he let that happen.
Gatsby felt amazing. And it shouldn't have been enough for him to reason that it was his birthday and that was the reason it was fine for Gatsby to rub against him. And it also didn't matter because they were drunk. But he would be lying to himself if he said that the fact that it was Gatsby made this all the better. Because, if he was honest, he loved Gatsby, and all he wanted to do was make him feel good in a way he didn't think he had been made to feel in a long, long time.
And Gatsby was getting into it, that was good. It was good but oh, maybe too good, because every roll of Gatsby's hips rubbed their cocks together and there was honestly only so much Nick could take. Their lips were so close, but kissing- that was out of the question. That was too far. His breathing had picked up, gasping quick little breaths against the corner of Gatsby's mouth. His eyes were closed but if he was going to make Gatsby come he wanted to watch-
That thought was too big for him to comprehend for the moment. That he could make Gatsby come. But he was going to, the heat and tension that pooled in his stomach was becoming overwhelming and his grip on his friend tightened, fingers pulling needily at his hair whilst the other hand roughly groped his backside.
The gasps turned into soft cries of pleasure with each meeting of their cocks and Nick trembled.
"Jay, I'm very close," he whispered, his brow furrowing, his trembling increasing as he tried hard to hold back.
It was too late to turn back now, and Gatsby didn't want to stop. He felt incredible, Nick was making him feel incredible. And God, Nick actually wanted this, he actually wanted him to be grinding against him, rubbing their cocks together-
His breathing was ragged and rapid, gasping against his cheek. He loved the way he was gripping onto him, reassuring him that he wanted him to be there, close to him. Gatsby's hands practically cradled Nick's head, until he lifted his lips from Nick's cheek to press their foreheads together, trying to look at him properly, although why he wanted to be able to do that, he wasn't sure. Maybe to let him know that he wasn't ashamed- oh, but he should be. This was terrible, this was shameful, they were drunk and rubbing themselves together on the sofa, about to get off on each other- it should have been so shameful. And yet he just couldn't feel it like that.
"Yes-" he responded, the word just slipping out before he could even logic out what was happening. Everything was heightened, he was shaking with pleasure, the heat building up and up and- oh, God, he was going to come. He was definitely going to come. "Yes, I know. It's- it's okay-" he told him. But it wasn't, was it? Why was he saying that it was okay? They shouldn't be doing this. But just a few seconds, just a few seconds- that was all he needed-
It was okay. Nick couldn't acknowledge what Gatsby had said, but knowing it was okay really helped. He pressed up against him, as though they couldn't get any closer. They couldn't get any closer. He pressed up to Gatsby, the rocking of his hips becoming all the more frantic, faster, harder, until he could only sob, his whole body shaking as he came, feeling the damp heat spreading through his underpants. But still, Nick couldn't stop, rubbing against Gatsby until the pleasure was too much, too great. His parted lips were ready to moan Gatsby's name, but just in time he closed them again. That would be too much. Far too much. He loved him.
Still, he clung to him, unable to let him go for now. He couldn't let him go yet.
Nick was moving harder and faster underneath him, and Gatsby was rocking with him, clinging onto him as though he would never let him go again.
The noise Nick made when he came was enough to make Gatsby moan with him, and then there was the wet heat of Nick's orgasm- fuck, Gatsby had done that. He'd given him an orgasm, and Nick was still moving, and Gatsby couldn't take any more. He came hard and suddenly, wave upon wave of pleasure washing over him as he writhed about in Nick's lap. With a soft sigh of satisfaction, he flopped forward into Nick's arms, holding onto him, his cheek pressed against his as he tried to catch his breath again, his heart racing away in his chest. Nick had made him come. Perfect, wonderful Nick Carraway.
Nick clung to Gatsby, even as he lay in his arms. Perhaps even more so with him in his arms. Gatsby had come. Nick had made him come, made him moan like that. Oh, God, he'd made Gatsby moan like that. He could feel the harsh breaths against his neck, the writhing had dislodged Gatsby's shirt slightly, and Nick just wanted to strip him off and lick him clean. Lick him. But he couldn't. He wouldn't. He couldn't ask Gatsby to let him do that.
His grip started to relax just slightly, his hand no longer gripping Gatsby's bottom, the other hand moving gently through his hair. He wanted to tell him endlessly that he was beautiful, he was wonderful, he was perfect and Nick adored him but he couldn't.
His breathing began to slow. His lips rested near the corner of Gatsby's mouth. They'd have to move. Move and pretend that they hadn't done this. Move and never mention this again. It was for the best. Gatsby shouldn't be afflicted with his sins...
Gatsby didn't want to lift his head again, because that would mean that he'd have to look at him, he'd have to deal with what had just happened.
He felt incredible, and awful at the same time. God, he was so ashamed of himself that he felt like he wanted to weep against Nick's shoulder. They were drunk. It was stupid, and they shouldn't have kept going, but they were drunk, and- it was okay. It was just a strange place, mixed with alcohol- that was all. But even drunk, Gatsby knew that he was lying to himself. He'd wanted it to be Nick beneath him, no one else.
He sat up slowly, looking at the exposed triangle of skin at Nick's chest instead of into his eyes. "I should-" he started, not sure what exactly he should be doing. Go to bed? Shower? Leave? All of the above? He scrambled awkwardly to his feet, all too aware of the dampness in his pants. "Um- happy birthday, old sport-" he said to the floor, before half-stumbling out of the room and heading straight for the stairs, nearly tripping over his own feet in his hurry to get to his bedroom.
Nick wanted Gatsby to stay right where he was. All of those things about holding onto a moment forever. But he couldn't. Because Gatsby was pulling away from him. And wouldn't look at him. And that was understandable. Nick had done something terrible, he'd dragged Gatsby into his perversions, even though- well, Robin... no, no, he shouldn't think about him. About that. He wanted to cling onto these last few moments with Gatsby-
He hiccoughed when Gatsby sat up, looking down too since they weren't meeting each other's eyes. And then his lap was empty and the chill settled over him. Mutely, Nick nodded his head. "Goodnight, Gatsby," he whispered. No more first names. No.
Oh, how quickly Gatsby had wanted to be away from him. He sighed, sliding back down the sofa and hating the sticky, wet feeling the Champagne and his come left.
Yes. Happy Birthday.
Nick pulled himself to his feet and shuffled his way towards his bedroom alone.