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liron-ao3 · 3 years

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But of course.

Dean runs a hand over his face, completely exhausted. He's so tired. It's nothing unusual. He never sleeps enough. But this again?

Damn it!

Where is the angel!? It's a question he has asked a thousand times, never getting an answer. Just once and then he had found him, pulled him against his chest, smiled from ear to ear, huffed in relief as he felt Castiel's rigid body in his embrace.

He had managed to ignore that Cass didn't hug back. He didn't want to think about what it meant. He didn't want to question his own motives, either. Sure, Castiel was his friend. Dean is a loyal person. But more than once, Benny had asked him, "Why?" If the angel was really worth the hassle. He had never found an answer other than a disgruntled, "Yeah."

Dean pushes up from the empty bed, pulls a shirt over his bare chest and pitter-patters barefooted over the bunker's cold floor. He'd like to call for his boyfriend, but that would wake Sammy and with him likely Eileen. She's seven months pregnant and struggles enough to get sleep with her restless legs and heartburn.

It's the fifth night in a row that Dean woke up to an empty bed. The former angel suffers from insomnia that even tops Dean's worst phases. Every night, Dean prays that his love might find rest in his arms. He's not sure who he is praying to. Jack? Maybe. Anyway, his son isn't listening. Hand's off.

Dean shuffles through the common places where Castiel usually tries to kill time - the kitchen, the library, the main room. Once, he even found him in the storage room where the Empty had taken him, standing at the exact spot where he had smiled while Dean's heart shattered into pieces. But he hadn't smiled then.

He hasn't smiled a lot since he's back. Not even when Dean had told him that he loved him, too. Not when they first kissed. Not when they first made love. He assured him that he wanted it, wanted him. And Dean decided to believe him. It would become better with time, he hoped.

To each of the few smiles that Castiel mustered, there is melancholy. No. This word isn't strong enough. There's something as heavy a lead pressing the former angel down, tinting every good emotion grey.

Dean hates it, can't shake the feeling that it's his fault. He thought he did the right thing, fighting him out of the Empty. But all he had gotten were tired eyes and a "You shouldn't have done that."

It had made Castiel so happy when he told Dean that he loved him that it was enough to summon the Empty. But now that he has him, nothing really seems to pierce the veil of darkness. It's so much worse than the worrisome, honey-collecting version of Cass all those years back. At least, he had smiled then.

It's superficial and stupid to wish for this, Dean knows that. It was just another way for Castiel to cope. He always carries all the world's burdens on his shoulder, especially Dean's crap. But it's not fair!

Dean never expected an apple pie life. Not really. But with Cass, he had hoped for a slim slice of it. At this point, he'd be thankful for a crumb.

He scolds himself inwardly for this train of thought. He's ungrateful. He falls asleep with his man snuggled against him every night. He looks in blue eyes when they make love. He holds his hand when they watch a movie. It's so much. More than he ever dared to dreamt of.

Dean's steps grow wider and faster as he nears his Cave. Maybe—yes! There are flickering lights under the door and subdued music coming from the room. Dean takes a deep breath before he pushes the door handle down.

Castiel sits in the armchair that is labelled his boyfriend's in Dean's head. He looks at the tv screen, his eyes fixed on a bumblebee collecting nectar.

Dean chuckles softly, calling attention to himself, hoping not to startle Castiel. He doesn't. His partner doesn't even so much as flinches.

"Bumblebees are funny. By all rules of aerodynamics, they shouldn't be able to fly," Dean says, hoping to pull his boyfriend's gaze to himself.

"That's not true Dean. Humans were just too fixated on their formulas for aeroplanes to see the dynamics behind the wingbeats, the vortex they produce, not to mention the joint I added to make it possible for them to kink the wings and heighten the weight they can move even further.

Dean sinks into his armchair. "You worked on creating them?" Castiel hums in affirmation. "Why are you watching a documentation then? You know them better than anyone."

Castiel is silent for a long moment and Dean wonders if he somehow insulted him. But then, there's a sound that he hasn't heard way too long and it makes his heart clench.

A chuckle.

Not as free and loud as he knows it can be, but it's there, echoing in the sparsely decorated room.

"It reminds me that my existence had meaning."

The short burst of hope crumbles to dust at these words. Dean fights against the tears brimming his eyes. Castiel saved the world, more than once, and especially with his self-sacrifice. They wouldn’t have defeated Chuck without him!

"Your life has meaning," Dean says, his voice carefully schooled. Castiel chuckles again, bit tjis time without mirth.

"I know."

It feels rehearsed, like an automatic reply to soothe Dean's nerves. No. This won't do! Dean gets up and down on his knee in front of the man he loves. He cups his cheeks with both hands, relishing that Castiel leans into the touch.

"You are important. To me, to Sam and Eileen, to Claire and Kaia, and so many more. We need you, man."

"You'd be well off with or without me," Castiel answers evenly and Dean covers the pain with anger, lets it build up in the very familiar way. He clenches his jaw and lets go of this boyfriend's face, gets up, turns, and kicks a pile of DVDs through the room.

Then he turns back, outstretched pointer hovering mere centimetres from Castiel's face.

"You have no idea!" The force of Dean's words makes Cass pull back - not in fear but in gut-wrenching surprise. "I burnt you on that pyre, spread your ashes in the meadow. I got you back just to let Chuck let us screw over once again. I'm not proud to say this, but with you gone, I thought of flipping the bird to this shit of a life and go down in a damn vampire nest or something."

"Your life is not shit!" Castiel counters, always willing to make Dean feel and think better of himself. Hell, he did it even when he thought he would die for good.

"Yes, you're right. But still—" Dean runs a hand through his hair. His brain isn't awake enough for the depth of discussion they need to have and neither is Castiel's judging by the looks of his lover's red-rimmed eyes. He takes a deep breath. "You are my home, Cass. My rock. I don't say this to make you stay or to make you put on a brave face. I appreciate that you're not acting as if everything is fine. But we need to talk about what's going on in your mind. What makes you so sad all the time. I can't—"

Castiel looks at him with unhidden fear. Hell! The man fought demons and angels, God himself. He shouldn't look like that because of a hunter who feels so many things that he can never properly put them into words.

"I can't ignore it any longer. You need help. Hell, we all need therapy. But, damn it, Cass! I want us to be happy. I want you to be happy. And don't tell me you are. You're a terrible liar."

There is another chuckle and Dean wants to cry. Because it's all too much and not enough. He can't make his boyfriend better and that sucks big time. He's a doer, a carer, a damn Acts of Service love languager. He's shitty at gifts that his man understands, he's bad with words when it counts. But he can touch, is allowed to touch now. So he does.

He pulls Cass into his arms, feels him melt against him. He brushes his hand through the unruly mop of hair. "Come to bed. Sleep. Tomorrow, we'll take care of this, okay?"

He feels Castiel's head nod against his shoulder. He presses a kiss into his hair and pulls back, scrutinising him for a long moment. There is the ghost of a tired smile on his lips. Dean counts it as a win.

He switches off the tv and leads him to their bedroom, tucks him in before he slides under the covers, and pulls him close. "I am here. And I am happy that you are here. Never doubt that," Dean murmurs. "You're the best thing ever happening to me."

"But I'm broken, Dean. I can't be of any use to you, now that I lost the rest of my grace."

Dean huffs his anger out through his nose. "If you're broken, we'll find a way to fix you. And the other bullshit—don't you dare think that's what we kept you around for. You're family. Like a brother to Sammy, a father for Claire, the man I love. Don't get pissed, but your love has always been your strongest asset. You saved me from me a million times. Hell, just think of Jack." He takes a deep breath because his anger won't solve anything. "You are love and you are loved. You don't need to be useful and still, you are. Every. Single. Second."

Castiel looks at him with glassy eyes. "I want to believe you."

Dean presses a kiss on his forehead. "I know." He brushes a strand of hair out of Castiel's eyes. "Just promise me you'll try."

"I will," Cass whispers and then he smiles. Tired, but enough to form crinkles around his eyes. And it's just a start. Dean knows that. But it's enough for now.

"Sweet dreams, honey," Dean whispers and cradles Cass' head to his neck. "I'll watch over you."

#dean winchester #castiel #deancas #destiel #fanfiction #deancas fanfiction #deancas fanfic #destiel fanfiction #destiel fanfic #deancas oneshot #destiel oneshot #depression

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xxisxxisxxis · 4 years

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Gateway Drug | Part Forty-Eight

Table of Content or Part Forty-Seven

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Word count: 5.6k

Warning(s): explicit language, drug abuse, verbal abuse, explicit sexual situations, graphic mention of suicide

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"We can get your stuff up and drop it off later." Duff offers as I pull my shoes on and grab my car keys.

"Okay."

"Don't forget your purse." He adds, and I grab it from the coffee table.

"You alright going by yourself, Viv?" Steven asks me and I tuck a strand of wet hair behind my ear.

"Doc's meeting me there." I tell him.

"So, you don't know if he's okay?" He asks next and I exhale.

"No. I don't, and I really, really don't want to think of him not being okay so let's just not talk about it." I tell him, stepping to the door.

"Well, can you call us and let me know how he's holding up?" He follows me to the door and I nod.

"I will." I assure him, grabbing his hand in mine and squeezing it for a moment. "Thank you for letting me stay with you. I love you, I'll talk to you later." I say to him.

"Love you, too." He replies, smiling a little.

I leave to my car and head home as fast as I can.

I hate to be morbid, but every worst case scenario was flashing through my mind.

He had a plethora of all sorts of drugs throughout the house, plenty of sharp knives around, we had a pool, he kept a gun in our room...there was no shortage of suicide attempts or methods to use if he felt in the shock of Nona's death, that he couldn't go on.

And that's all I could focus on the entire way to the house.

I punch the code in the gate and as soon as I get in the driveway, I'm putting the Corvette in park, yanking the keys out, bursting out of the car and sprinting up the stairs to the front door, my shaking hands fumbling to unlock it.

The second I get the door open, it's pretty obvious Nikki hasn't kept the house up. At all.

Clothes are on the floor, empty cling wrap that obviously housed bindles of coke are scattered about, empty liquor bottles decorate almost every flat surface, empty syringes randomly placed throughout the living room and a bitter, familiar smell violates my nostrils from the kitchen.

I slowly make my way to our bedroom, looking around for Nikki.

His closet door is open, revealing a floor littered with needles, lumps of tar, pills and blow...and a crack pipe.

"Well, that's a new demon." I mumble, disappointed, before stepping to our bathroom.

I open the door, and sigh with relief at the sight of him in the bathtub, staring off.

I'm 99.9% sure he's stoned out of his mind.

"Nikki?" I ask him softly, getting on my knees beside the bathtub.

I notice a disgusting looking clumpy mixture is floating atop the water, and I realize it's vomit.

"Babe." I say more sternly this time, hoping to get a reaction. His dead, somber eyes shift to me. "C'mon, let's get out." I suggest, reaching into the water that's turned cold from him being in here for long.

"Just fuck off." He says to me, trying to stand up on him own, but he nearly falls out of the tub.

I just ignore him, helping him out, careful not to get the vomit that's clinging to his skin, on me.

"You need to rinse off in the shower." I suggest to him.

"Get me a shot of blow." He tells me slowly.

"I'm not getting you drugs." I reply calmly, moving his wet hair from his face as he holds himself up using the counter.

"Then what's the point of having you around?" He snaps.

"You're fucked up, covered in your own vomit. I don't think you're in any position to piss off your only help at the time you need it most." I tell him as politely as I can. "Please let me help you, Nikki. I think we've done enough damage to each other the past couple of months to last a life time."

He looks at me, a mixture of defeat and exhaustion cloaking his features.

He doesn't argue when I turn the shower on.

By the time he's rinsed off, the door bell's ringing, and I'm handing him a towel and going to the door to see Doc once I've got it open.

"Hey." He says. "How is he?"

"He just got out the shower. I'm gonna try to get him to go to bed. He looks like he hasn't slept in days." I explain.

"Alright." He nods. "I'll check back in later. Just call if you guys need anything."

"Thanks, Doc." I reply and he gives a sad look before going back to his car.

I go back the bathroom to see Nikki rinsing his mouth out with Jack.

I take the time to notice he's gained some weight back. I thought he'd lose more of it, especially since he's on crack now, apparently.

"Funeral's saturday." He says out of nowhere, and I bite my lip nervously, not saying a word. "My granddad gave me directions to get there but I forgot already."

Again, I don't say a word.

I don't have to. He can read my expression.

"I mean, that's why you're here, isn't it?" He asks, knowingly. "Pretty sad it takes the woman who raised me, dying, in order for my fucking wife to come home."

"You need to sleep." I ignore his comment, guilt reeling through me.

"And you just need to go back to your replacements for Mötley. I don't need you here." He argues.

"Pretty loud barking for someone who spent how many nights calling me, crying for me to come home?" I remind him as I cross my arms.

"I was fucked up." He states.

"Sober thoughts." I counter him.

"Vivian. I'm not fighting with you. Fuck off or shut up because I've got enough going on right now and I'm not wasting time on going back and forth with you." He steps past me to the bedroom and I follow after him.

"Of course not. You'd much rather waste time shooting up and free basing." I scoff, and I'm quickly dodging an empty bottle of whiskey as it collides with our bedroom wall right beside my head.

"Go to hell!" He screams at me, shaking, angry tears sprouting down his cheeks. "I can't even grieve in peace because you just refuse to let me do what I need to do! You aren't happy or satisfied unless I'm fucking miserable! I'm in hell right now and you come in and start shit just because you can, and you know exactly what fucking buttons to press to get under my skin and suck the life out of me like a fucking leech!"

"Drugs don't help anything, Nikki. It makes things worse. You just need to let yourself feel everything and power through it."

"When your aunt slit her fucking wrists you couldn't keep yourself off my dick for weeks! You fucking avoided talking about it and kept yourself distracted with me! In fact, while they were having her funeral and burying her, you were face down on my bed begging 'harder, Daddy', so I don't want to hear shit from you, of all people, about how I should cope!" He doesn't hold back, his shaking finger pointed at me viciously and I rub my lips together, tears toppling from my eyes.

Nikki's coping mechanism was drugs. Mine was sex. That's why, once our marriage got so bad off we couldn't even be in the same room, let alone touch each other, I went to Duff because I couldn't get my emotional and physical fix from Nikki anymore.

Messed up. Sad. But true.

"Okay." I say lowly, sniffling a little from crying. "I'm gonna go call Tom and get the directions. We can leave early Saturday morning." I mumble, leaving him alone as fast as I can without making it look obvious.

I shut the door behind me and head for the phone in the living room, dialing Tom's and Nona's number.

"Hello?"

"T-Tom, this is Viv." I start, my stomach in knots.

"Oh, hey...how're you doing?" He asks me and I rub my lips together.

"I could be better."

He let's out a barking laugh and I hear the pain in his voice as he says:

"I know exactly how you feel."

"Well, I was just calling to get directions to where the funeral is gonna be held. Nikki wasn't paying attention the first time you told him, I'm sure he was in shock."

"Well his aunt and I have called a lot the past couple months to try to tell him Nona was getting worse, but nobody answered the phone until today." He tells me and I let out a breath.

"We haven't been at home much." I reply, grabbing a pen and a envelope from the stack of bills on the coffee table. "What were those directions, again?"

He tells me and once I finish jotting them down, I'm struggling to find what to say.

"Thank you." I tell him. "And I'm really sorry."

"I'll be alright. You kids take care, I'll see you soon."

"We will, bye-bye."

"Bye-bye."

I hang up, letting out a breath as I fall back on the couch, feeling a migraine coming over me.

I close my eyes for a moment before opening them, taking in our house that is in shambles currently.

"How am I gonna have him presentable in three freaking days?" I ask God, fear that Nikki won't be put together in time, cracks into my mind before I avoid thinking about it by deciding to clean the house up.

It's while cleaning that I realize the redecorating Nikki's done while I've been gone.

Some of our furniture throughout the house has been replaced with what seem to be antique versions of it.

He's gotten black out curtains hung in every window, and there's even freaky looking gargoyles he's put up in some corners that look like demons leering in the house. They probably praise him each time he takes a shot of heroin or a hit of his pipe.

I ignore the new look of the place, once he's sober and out of this hole he's dug himself he'll want to be more uplifting and light and change the place back to how it was. But right now he's dark and gloomy, so of course where he resides is going to match that.

By the time I've finished cleaning the kitchen, dining area, living room, and our bedroom, he's coming out of hiding.

"I talked to your grandfather and got the directions." I tell him from my spot on the couch, watching TV, as I hear him open a bottle of wine in the kitchen.

He steps into the living room and sits on the other end of the couch, an entire bottle of white wine in hand, his eyes hazy, nothing but unlaced leather pants covering him up.

"I talked to Doc and he's booking us a flight for early Saturday morning, and late Saturday night so we can come back so you guys can start on the new album as soon as you can."

I glance over, seeing a new tattoo on him I completely overlooked earlier when I helped him out of the tub.

"When did you get that?" I ask, leaning forward on my knees to trace my finger along the sharp leafing of a rose stem on the right side of his chest.

He tenses a little when I touch him, his eyes glowering at me for a split second before averting back to the TV ahead of us.

I just swallow my pride.

"Nikki, I'm sorry I came in and started a fight. I know you need as much serenity you can get right now and I shouldn't have said all that stuff to you." I let out, getting it off my chest.

At first I think he doesn't hear me, until he's exhaling heavily.

"I said fucked up shit to you about your aunt." He tells me. "I shouldn't have brought that into an argument."

"We haven't seen each other for two months and I immediately started in on you, not to mention you're going through a lot and don't need me dogging on you. You had every right to say what you did." I assure him.

It's clear in his facial expression that he doesn't agree, but he doesn't try to argue anymore than we already have.

He gives me a little smile, a dopey smile, something I didn't know he'd be doing much of since the situation with Nona. Then again, he's numbed himself pretty heavily.

His ring filled fingers come up to push my hair back over my shoulder, and my heart sputters wildly in my chest as he slowly coaxes me closer to him, hand beginning to gently grasp at my hair to pull me to him.

His lips are soon brushing against mine as if testing the waters, before he presses a small, innocent kiss to my lips.

It's bizarre to think I haven't kissed him in two fucking months.

Apparently he feels the same, because the second our lips separate, he's going in for more.

I pull away a little, though and keep my hand on his chest as he looks at me, confused.

"I'm not sure if it's a good idea to do this right away." I tell him in a whisper, trying to keep myself at bay.

"Why not?" He asks in the same tone, his fingers leaving my hair so his finger tips can ghost over the skin down my neck, down my sides, catching at the bottom of my black tank top before sliding under the fabric to touch at my skin.

"Because we--" I stop talking, holding back a moan as his hand slides up my stomach and brushes over my breast.

"Because why?" He asks me, knowing what he's doing.

"Because we were just separated for a couple months and..." he grabs at my hips, pulling me onto straddle him before putting his bottle of wine down on the carpeted floor. "...a-and it's just not the best ide--ah!" A high pitched whimper escapes my throat as his teeth grasps at my nipple through the cloth of my tight fitted top, his tongue swirling around it before releasing.

He smirks at me, and I try to collect what's left of my composure.

Of course I want to fuck around. But I don't want to take advantage of him.

His hand slips between my legs next, rubbing back and forth a couple of times, causing me to squeeze my eyes closed as I can't help but to grind into his hand.

"Oh, shit." I swear under my breath, feeling slickness coat my panties with each movement against his hand.

My hands rest back on his knees, my head tilts back and I just grind against his fingers for as long as I can, electricity bubbling in my core.

Before long, I'm soaking through my shorts, causing him to chuckle a little.

"Stand up." He tells me and I do, keeping myself from rubbing my thighs together. "Take your clothes off." He says next.

I take in a breath, pulling my top of my head slowly, a wash of confidence hitting at me as his eyes stay glued to my tits, my nipples practically begging for his mouth.

My shorts are next, my hips swaying a little as I get them down my legs, and I nearly lick my lips at the sight of him with his legs slightly more spread, a toothy grin plastered on his face.

I don't touch my panties, crouching down and crawling to where he's sitting, the palms of my hands rubbing up his thighs before pawing at the bulge in his pants.

He just let's out a small hiss as I grab at him, before his hand is around my throat.

My eyes roll back, my legs shift to rub at myself and when I look back up at him he looks like he has an idea.

"Do you want it?" He asks me, still choking me enough to get me even more wet and I let out a needy sound.

"Please." I beg, that need to be filled starting to overwhelm me.

"Show me how bad you want it." He says, drinking some of his wine, letting my throat go.

I think I catch him off guard when I slide up his body to straddle his right thigh, moving my scanty making sure my clit is resting against the leather of his pants before I slowly start humping at him, riding him like I would his cock.

My soaked cunt makes it easy to move against him, a wet sound of me using him to fuck myself echoes in my ears.

"My dirty little bitch." He teases, his hand in his pants at this point.

"All your's." I say thickly, my hand meeting his at his prick, taking over as I start jerking him off the best I can while he's trapped in the skin tight confinement.

He tilts his head back, taking a deep breath as I work him while continuing to grind against his thick thigh that's proving useful as a fucktoy.

He's reaching in his pocket before long, pulling out his switch blade and sawing at the band of my thong, causing it to give way and pop off.

He greedily yanks it from me and tosses it away, his eyes taking in my pubic bone and spread, wet lips grinding against his leg.

"So fucking pretty." He says to me, bucking up into my hand, his hands going for my pussy to angle me where he can see my clit rubbing back and forth against him, leaving a trail of liquid in each go.

"Can I please ride it, baby, please?" I plead, the torture of feeling his thick, hard length and not being able to do anything about it is driving me insane.

He looks at me, fingers sliding between my legs, getting a coating of arousal on them before holding them up to me.

I wrap my lips around his digits, moaning at my taste, continuing to suck on his fingers like I'm giving them a blowjob, my eyes fluttering closed.

After a couple minutes, he's pulling his fingers from my mouth before getting me off of him so he can get his pants down.

I rest sitting on my knees, looking up at him as he gets himself freed, beads up precum dripping out of him, and I catch them with my tongue.

He gasps at the action, grinning as he grabs his bottle of wine.

I'm confused for a moment before he's pouring the alcohol onto my shoulder, causing it to spill down my back, my chest, and my legs, emptying the nearly full bottle, the warm wetness eliciting a giggle from me as he drops to his knees in front of me, pushing me onto my back.

His tongue licks up my pussy to my wine soaked stomach, biting at the rib he likes to bite at, before licking up my chest and neck, causing me to laugh and moan simultaneously, threading my fingers through his thick hair once his tongue intertwines with mine.

He grabs at himself, rubbing between my entrance and my clit before sliding just the head of his cock into me.

I arch my back, already preparing for the full feeling of him completely in me.

He pulls away from me, getting on his knees.

"Spread your legs." He says and I open them, spread eagle, giving him the perfect view of his goal.

He curses to himself under his breath, admiring me for a moment before grabbing my hips, lifting them up to meet him, and positioning himself at my cunt.

His eyes focus on my face as he slowly pushes into me to the hilt, pressing against my cervix.

"God I've missed this." He says, pulling out of me and pushing back in.

"I have, too." I breathe out, falling into rhythm with his demanding thrusts, my fingers pinching and rolling my nipples as he obliterates my swollen sex.

My juices drip down the both of us and joins the wine on the carpet, further turning me on along with the site of him looking down at himself going in and out of me while I lick my lips at the site of sweat beginning to appear on his chest.

One of my hands reaches up to play with my clit and he spits onto the bundle of nerves to further lubricate my fingers' movements, and I pull my lip into my mouth and arch my spine at the site.

He's leaning down in a moment to kiss me hotly, his tongue colliding with mine before I'm biting at his lip with my teeth, my nails clawing down his side before pushing him onto his back, climbing on top of him.

I'm licking the sweat off his chest as I sink down on to him, his hands holding at my hips while I move against him.

I slowly lift off of him, my breath catching in my throat as he moves his hips up as mine come down, burying him to the hilt.

His hands spread across my stomach to move up and down my sides, before grabbing at my ass, igniting hot flames through my skin.

My long hair is sticking to my body as the wine he poured over me is starting to mix with the sheen of sweat on my skin and getting sticky.

My thighs shake as our pace picks up because the need to reach the high over powers the need to savor the moment.

He's got my hips in a white-knuckle grip, thrusting up into me while pulling me down onto him in sync.

My moans, his grunts, and the sound of our sex fills the air as my toes curl, and I start tightening around him like a python.

"Good girl." He says, his hand smacking painfully onto my ass, knowing I'm about to finish and I arch my back and flex my hips, my tits bouncing with each powerful stroke he gives me.

I close my eyes as a whimper leaves my lips, a tear rolls down my cheek, and my muscles spasm around him as I orgasm, unable to even moan anymore as my body pumps itself full of dopamine.

I ride it out, as he slows down our pace, opening my eyes to see him staring up at me with half-open eyes, more than likely about to come, too.

"You're so fucking beautiful." He tells me, and I lean forward, kissing him for a moment before grinning down at him mischievously, purposely tightening around him, feeling every vein and ridge of his cock, as my hand reaches to massage his balls while I fuck him.

"Ah, fuck, Viv." He groans to himself, squeezing his eyes closed as pleasure washes over his face.

I feel his thighs shake little and bite my lip as his hands grope at my breasts with the same rhythm my hand gropes at him.

"You drive me f--shit--fucking crazy." He breathes out.

"I know." I reply sultrily, imagining his load emptying out into me and how good it will feel.

He tenses up and I cry out softly as he harshly pinches at my nipples.

"I gotta--ah!" He takes in a rough breath, screwing his eyes shut. "I gotta pullout so you won't get knocked up." He gets it out choppily.

"I won't." I assure him, selfishness pushing clear-thinking out of the picture.

"Viv--"

"--Nikki, please." I beg, my voice thick with need and lust and he shutters out another breath. "Tell me you don't want to and I'll get off of you."

I squeeze at his balls slightly harder, his fingers gripping at my thighs hard enough to leave bruises before we're both looking down between us to see his prick glistening in my cum.

"Tell me you don't want to fill me up and remind me whose I am." I keep my thrusts steady and a slew of swears swarm past his lips in a low tone, one of his hands moving to grip at his hair for a moment as if he's trying to get himself together.

My other hand moves to pull him to sit up and he wraps his arms around my waist, his body giving way to euphoria as he groans out, hot cum shooting into me.

My eyes roll back and close, missing the feeling of us like this as a satisfied mew slips out of my throat, Nikki's lips pressing across my chest bone, up my neck and finally to my lips.

My fingers get lost in his sweat soaked hair, my wet, sticky chest against his as we hold each other.

We both fall back onto the carpet before long, and I get off of him, curling up beside him and laying my cheek against his chest, focusing on his heartbeat because it's miraculous that he still has one.

His hand runs up and down my back, and with the mixture of a natural high, satisfaction, and--for the first time in a long time--peace, coursing through me, I'm lulled to sleep.

He wanted to pull out that night because he didn't want to pass anything to me, because he hadn't gotten a penicillin shot since screwing around on me.

Being that he had the control of a twelve-year old boy discovering porn for the first time, I don't know what the hell he would have come up with had I actually contracted something the random groupies he'd fucked in my absence, or Vanity, had accidentally given him.

I had no clue, but my high and optimism was blown a few minutes after we had our makeup session, anyway.

I open my eyes, seeing myself in the mirror on the ceiling of the living room, naked, Nikki nowhere to be seen.

I stretch, soreness spurring between my legs and I wince some, but smile at the fact Nikki and I are okay now.

Grabbing a throw from the back of the couch, I wrap it around me, stepping through the house to find Nikki.

Maybe he's in the shower.

Our bathroom's empty, and I furrow my brows, before hearing something moving around in our closet.

I swallow the lump forming in my throat and open the door, seeing Nikki shaking with wide eyes, naked, holding his gun straight at me.

He was so fucked up. He'd get loaded on crack and think someone was out to get him, he'd scream and cry and wave his gun around, hallucinating people crawling under the front door, coming to kill him, or the cops coming to arrest him.

He'd flush his own drugs, every last one, out of paranoia of the FBI finding him. Then he'd come down from his high and be pissed at himself.

There were times he would actually shoot his fucking gun in the house.

I couldn't step foot in the living room for over a month because we had to get the mirrored tiling replaced and the ceiling patched because he shot all of the mirroring out.

I bet who ever had that house after us was still vacuuming shards of glass out of the carpet.

I shut the closet door back without a word, leaving him to himself to come down.

I lock myself in the guest bedroom and try to keep from crying.

I realized then that it didn't matter how good of a wife I was, how mind blowing the sex was, how much I worshipped the ground he walked on, how much I tried...it would never be enough.

Drugs were what he was truly in love with.

I guess Vanity and I both had that in common.

We were both, simply, the other woman.

Wednesday passed with Nikki too doped up to barely roll over in the closet floor on his own.

Thursday he had Jason come over, while I went to the grocery store, so he could get some more blow to counter the heroin symptoms and nodding off.

Friday he overdid it while freebasing and was convinced "Mexicans and midgets" were "after him" (a reoccurring theme, I would soon learn.)

And Saturday...

"Nikki, babe, c'mon. We're gonna miss our flight." I put in my second earring as he stands up from the couch, stumbling forward, and falling onto the carpet, spilling his drink all over himself. "Nikki!" I rush to his side to make sure he's okay, and he's not.

Despite being clear of physical ailments, his eyes tell it all. "Have you even slept?" I ask him, helping him sit up before sitting on my knees in front of him.

He doesn't answer and I sigh, closing my eyes.

"Do you just not want to go her funeral, Nikki?"

"I'm gonna be fucked up, I'm gonna have to face my family, my mother...and I'm gonna have to accept the fact she's dead." He admits bitterly, angry at himself for not pulling his shit together in time but also angry at the fact she's gone in the first place. "It isn't fair. You know how many people--disgusting people--deserve to be dead? I can name five or six just off the top of my head alone, Viv. But do those people die? No. The people who deserve to live the most, the people who love their lives and don't take it for granted are always the ones that get the fucking short end of the stick." His eyes get teary and I just listen. "I--" His voice cracks, his teeth baring together for a second as he regains himself. "I should be dead. Not her. Not Nona."

I try not to overreact, mustering up the words of comfort my dad use to tell me when someone in our family passed away.

"Nikki, who lives and dies isn't suppose to be in our hands. And it's not unless we just decide to end our lives prematurely." I start, taking his hand in the both of mine. "You can't think that way because the plan God has for you and the plan he had for her are two completely different things. And you're still alive because you aren't done with what he has for you, yet. Nona's work down here is finished. Your's isn't. So don't think this is all for nothing because I promise you, it's not."

He doesn't even sneer at the word "God" this time.

"If there even is a God the only thing he has planned for me is to send me straight to hell." He states coldly, his tears drying.

A sick feeling of nausea rises in my throat at his words and I force myself to calm down before calling Tom to tell him we won't make it.

We watched Gilligan's Island the remainder of the day, while Nikki shot coke when I'd get up to use the bathroom.

And then Saturday night came.

"Thank you." I say to Tansy as she helps me get the last of my stuff out of my car.

I just got back from meeting Duff at their rehearsal space to get the last few things I left at their apartment. "How was the meeting?" I ask her, pertaining to the very reason she had to fly back to New York.

She gets quiet for a second before faking a smile the best she can.

"They did some test shots and are sending them to the magazine for review and they'll let me know if I got the job." She tells me.

"They called you, did they not?"

"Yeah, they did, but since it's been over a year since I was last photographed, they wanna see what they're working with." She explains and I raise a brow, getting a bad feeling as we walk to the front door of my house.

"Tansy, you can know you can talk to any of us if something's not right, right?" I remind her and she nods.

"If something weren't right I'd tell you." She assures me. "I'm just going through some stuff. It doesn't have anything to do with work."

"Tansy--"

"--Viv, I'm okay." She states, looking at me with a weak smile. "Now, go get ready so we can go out with the guys, and bombard them with album ideas because 'Theater of Pain' was not what it needed to be and we're gonna help them avoid mistakes like that again." She sighs out as I open the front door, chuckling.

I step in to the living room, about to head to our bedroom to get ready, but I'm caught off guard by Sparkie talking to a woman I've seen before.

Then I recognize her in a split second.

The raven hair, the smooth, darker skin, perfectly proportioned features and contagious smile.

Her brown eyes catch on me, her face shifts into an oddly joyous expression and she's standing up to greet me.

"How are you?!" She asks me excitedly, knowing who I am because of that night on the balcony in Tansy's New York apartment.

Tansy's expression let's me know she wasnt expecting to see her here.

Which means...

"Nikki invited me out with you guys since he knew I was friends with Tansalyn and she was gonna be back in L.A." She states, probably reading my confused look.

"Nikki?" I ask, raising a brow.

She blinks at me, unsure of something before saying:

"Well, y-you remember me, don't you, we've met before? I'm Vanity."

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