Title: About Need
By: sandersyager
Rating: R/NC-17
Summary: Angsty sex between Warrick and Greg.

Sometimes it's about need. Those moments when you're so close to breaking apart, so close to just falling and letting the chaos swallow you. Those moments when it's hard to remember why you care in the first place and you wonder when did everything get so hard? When did you get this far down and why is he the only thing that can piece you back together?

The thing Greg needs is the thing he can't ask for. He knows Warrick would give it to him, would give him anything. It's just that the words freeze in his throat, get caught on the lump of tears he can't let fall because... there's a laundry list of reasons why and none of them really matter, only that he can't.

So, he meets Warrick at the door, looks at him with wet eyes and a dry mouth and trusts him to know. He hopes Warrick can read the signs, the way Greg wraps his fingers around his tie and pulls him in for a kiss before he can even say hello. Hopes Warrick knows what it means when Greg clings to him, shoving the jacket of his suit away from his shoulders, tugging the knot of silk at his throat loose.

Greg doesn't care where the length of green and silver lands, only that Warrick's fingers dig at his hip, just shy of painful. That's what he needs, just that little bit of sharp pressure, and the press of teeth at his collarbone. Warrick knows not to mark him, they have to be careful and Greg wears enough scars. So, Warrick drags his teeth over skin that stays hidden with a mix of tenderness and care that makes Greg whimper and it's not quite enough but it's a start.

"I... please..." It's all Greg can manage, all the sounds he trusts his mouth to make and he's not surprised when his voice sounds broken and breathless. No more surprised than when Warrick nods, kissing him gently before leading him to the bed.

It's the last gentle act; Greg's hands are pulled roughly over his head and Warrick doesn't need restraints to keep him there. It just takes one glance, and Greg doesn't want to move, doesn't want anything but Warrick and release. He lets Warrick peel off his shirt, drag his jeans and boxers past hips, knees, feet to land in a pile on the floor. He's used to Warrick stripping him, he's counting on it now, needs it now.

There's no romance to this, no lingering kisses, no caresses. Nothing is whispered between them as Warrick kneels, pressing Greg's thighs up, slicking fingers to spread him open. Greg's barely hard, and it's not about sex, not really, just feeling. He bites his lip at two fingers pressing into him, at the burn and sting, and familiar rhythms make it hard to think.

Greg thinks it's almost mechanical, the way they move together, the way Warrick moves over him. They have it down to a science from the hiss of breath as Warrick's cock enters him to the syncopated grunts and moans as Greg's hips rise to meet his thrusts, feet locked around his waist. His hands stay clenched beneath his pillow, his eyes open wide.

He can't deny that it feels good, that his body hums with pleasure when Warrick strokes him, knowing exactly when to tighten his grip, where to drag his thumb. Warrick knows how not to drag this out, pushing both of them to the edge and then over. Greg screams when he comes, lets his throat open and everything he can't say, everything he's not supposed to feel gets summed up in one long, harsh sound. It doesn't matter that he won't be able to do more than whisper for hours after, only that he can let go now.

There's need then there's comfort, and Warrick gives him safety in both, pulling out and dragging sheets over Greg. He slips from the bed to finally undress, curling around Greg when he's done, stroking damp hair from his forehead and kissing his temple lightly. "Tell me what happened, baby?"