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Debris
by Nicola
Rating: PG
Spoilers: #3.22, 'Play With Fire'
Greg didn't like the sound of breaking glass. He couldn't help but flinch — a tiny squirm of his shoulder against Nick's hand — as each test-tube dropped and shattered. The sound raced through his synapses, and his heart sputtered as he waited for the expected sequential sound: the explosion. (Never loud enough in his memory; always eerily muffled, with an imagined blast of heat that prickled against the inside of his skin.)
The whole tray was gone now; test-tubes, beakers, flasks reduced to a splintered mess as Nick nudged him further back against the counter. If anyone could make breaking glass seem gentle, it was Nick. To him, these things were just debris in his path to Greg's heartbeat. The test-tube stand clattered and Nick heard only Greg's breathing.
A final dish fell; a sharp crack against the tiled floor. Greg flinched, but Nick held him: strong arms encircling his shoulders, fingers stroking playfully at the tousled hair that hid at the nape of his neck. Nick's lips covered his with a soft warmth and a tiny explosion in Greg's heart obliterated all other thoughts.
February 2004
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