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The year was 1942.
War has broken out, putting Europe through devastation. Meanwhile, movies like ‘Pinocchio’ and ‘The Grapes of Wrath’ had come out, actors had gotten awards for ‘Gone With the Wind’, plays and music had gotten released, and the whole Hollywood industry seemed to be getting better and better. Artists had it made; lower classed citizens did not.
New York was as busy as ever, what with the World Fair closing and people bustling and getting angry about World War II. It felt that because of what was going on in Europe, the United States was at a stand-still. After entering the war at the end of the last year, factories starting pulling up their ends of the war efforts and it felt like every other man was being sent off.
Nick Carraway had full confidence that he and Gatsby were safe.
The one time he had his doubts about this was when he hadn’t received a call or message from him for a straight week.
He didn’t think him dead, perhaps ill or maybe even vacationing and he hadn’t told him. Yes, that must be it, he could have gone into the city or maybe across the border. Definitely not over the ocean.
Finally, though, his worrying had caught up to him and he couldn’t help but go to check on him himself.
When the butler opened the door, seeing Nick’s condition made his conscious let him inside, and he showed him to Gatsby’s bedroom.
“Mr. Gatsby, you have a visitor.”
“Tell them I’m not here!”
“It’s Mr. Carraway.”
Silence filled the spacious hallway, Nick standing there with nervous anticipation, until the bedroom doors were opened. When they stood face-to-face at last, Nick could see the exhaustion and depression in Gatsby’s icy blues. It made his heart sink, and he could see that Gatsby’s heart had plummeted.
“Nick…” he whispered, a gasp behind his name, “what are you doing here?”
“I came to check on you!” Nick suddenly exclaimed, “What else would I be doing after I haven’t heard from you?!”
Gatsby winced. “I’ve had some matters to attend too-”
“Why couldn’t you tell me that? You look like you haven’t slept in a week-”
“I haven’t.”
A pause in time. As they spoke, Edgar had excused himself seeing that it was a private conversation. Nick was flabbergasted, but at least it explained the exhaustion. But what about the deep sadness that swam in his eyes? It only pained his heart further.
“Why haven’t you?”
Gatsby was never really good at taking care of himself. His priorities were always on his secret businesses or simply just having fun. Sleeping and eating weren’t priorities, they just weren’t on his mind. But to not have slept for a straight week just wasn’t normal. Or safe.
Gatsby sighed and turned around, waving with a hand for Nick to follow him into his room. He approached a fabric-covered canvas which stood on an easel, and as soon as the doors were shut, he pulled off the cover to reveal a portrait of Nick, sleeping in his bed. Nick’s jaw dropped.
“You… painted me? Here?”
“The morning light hit you beautifully… I couldn’t resist. And I couldn’t stop.”
Slowly, Nick approached the painting, seeing the similarities between it and the bedroom. The small clock on the bedside table, the wrinkles in the blankets, and the golden sunlight. It was breathtaking to see just how beautiful he was in Gatsby’s eyes, though not even that image could describe just how he felt for him. It made the situation even worse, somehow.
“If it’s finished… Why haven’t you gone to sleep yet?”
“Because come dawn I have to leave and say goodbye.”
Nick froze, except for his heart which started beating harder in his chest. His hands shook lightly and he frowned with unbelieving confusion.
“What?”
“This was a gift, for you. I meant to leave this for you tomorrow after I’ve gone.”
“Gone where..?”
“Nick, I’ve-...” Gatsby paused and shook his head, turning around so he wouldn’t have to face him. The next few words were some of the hardest he would have to say, and he didn’t want to see his face when he said them. “I’ve been called to war. I wasn’t quite sure what to say, so… I didn’t.”
When Nick didn’t respond, he turned around with panic. Nick’s eyes were opened wide with shock and tears welled in his eyes. He couldn’t believe it, he didn’t want to believe it. Gatsby wasn’t leaving. That’s not how they were supposed to end.
“Old sport, say something, please.”
Nick shook his head and instead approached him, looking up to peer into the wavering, nervous eyes that belonged to the one whom he had always feared to lose. The one who he vowed to follow into the dark, the one who…
He promised he’d always be by his side.
And his heart was breaking, knowing that Gatsby would be leaving him. Again.
Before Gatsby could realize what was happening, Nick had turned him around and pushed him onto the bed, colliding their lips as he fell on top of him. Gatsby gasped, his breath staggering, and he automatically put his arms around Nick, not daring to let go. Nick’s hands were nimble as he unbuttoned Gatsby’s shirt, pulling at every piece of clothes he could until his torso was bare.
The gasp that left Gatsby’s lips was heaven to Nick’s ears when he scratched down his chest, his hands stopping at Gatsby’s belt. When that was gone, Gatsby quickly worked at removed Nick’s upper half of clothes as well, but was suddenly paralyzed feeling lips on his neck and collar bone.
“N-nick-” he whispered, his voice scratchy. He wasn’t sure he had the energy for this, he certainly didn’t for anything else, but a drop of something wet fell on his neck, a tear- and he just couldn’t resist. He wanted him just as desperately, and it was now or never. So as his belt was removed along with Nick’s shirt, he allowed a moan to leave himself.
“You can’t leave,” Nick whispered in his ear, grinding down against him and making him groan. He was trying to avoid sounding desperate, making it almost a command, but the sadness in his voice couldn’t be totally hidden. “I love you, I- I need you.”
“I need you,” Gatsby muttered, shutting his eyes tightly and thrusting his hips up to meet Nick’s. The two moaned in harmony, but Nick gasped when, suddenly, Gatsby had taken a strong grip on his hair. He pulled his head back just enough to get his lips on Nick’s neck, making his heart beat falter as teeth grazed his skin. In response, Nick’s hands quickly set to work at removing his pants. Once they were loose, the moan that vibrated on his neck made his own pants a little tighter. “Nick, I need you,” Gatsby whispered, nipping at his ear lobe. “Now. I can’t wait another month, or another few years. I don’t want to wait anymore.”
Again, another tear hit Gatsby’s shoulder, and he mended this pain with another electrifying kiss on Nick’s neck. He was being sure to leave his mark on him, solely so Nick could feel him even after his departure, and so others would know that his heart belonged to him. Or, that his heart wasn’t available.
When every bit of textile was removed, Nick was almost tempted to hide himself away. Gatsby was beautiful, his body carved perfectly. He was even well shaven, too. He didn’t have much of a bad body himself. In fact, it was much better than the average man’s, but he never thought that highly of himself anyways. When Gatsby sensed his uncomfort, he cupped his face in his hands and kissed him warmly, deeply, and sensually.
“You are marvelous,” he whispered, his cheeks rosy and forehead touching Nick’s, “absolutely the most beautiful person I have ever seen.”
“Stop,” Nick blushed so much at this shower of affection that his ears started to burn as the blush couldn’t fill his cheeks any more. Gatsby grinned at this, his first real smile in a week, and he shook his head as he kissed him gently, needingly. Slowly, he moved his hands down Nick’s body and carefully took hold of his hips, pressing his fingers into the soft skin as he positioned him just right above himself. His erection took notice of this, throbbing once and making his groan spill into Nick’s mouth. Nick put his hand on Gatsby’s chest at first lightly to keep himself held up, but when his breathing picked up at the feeling of his member pressing against him, he couldn’t help but dig his nails in.
It hurt, that was undeniable. It was a new feeling which made his whole body tense and that area ache, and this led to Gatsby taking a moment to let him adjust. When he bit down on his lip, a shaky sigh escaping him, Gatsby grinned and pushed in deeper, a guttural sound of pleasing leaving him.
He was big, which had made Nick nervous at first. But feeling him inside him, getting deeper and deeper, filling him up- it made him see stars the night sky had never let him see before. He pushed himself lower in Gatsby’s lap, making the older gasp and grip his hips harder. He thrust upward, making Nick suddenly cry out with need and fervor. There was no more room for conversation, neither of them could even form a word that wasn’t ‘fuck’ or ‘god’.
Nick had came first. Gatsby’s had left finger-print sized bruises on his hips and waist and quarter-sized hickeys all around his neck and collar bones. He was quite proud of himself, actually, for painting such a wonderful portrait on Nick. The beauty that was his face when he finally had his relief made Gatsby feel, in short, like a man.
He didn’t stop when Nick came, though, of course. It only made him drive himself deeper into his lover, finding that he fit inside him perfectly. His warmth and tightness had made Gatsby needy, even, as he rammed himself against Nick. The loud moans and cries that emitted from Nick, the clear embarrassment but blissed-out look in his eyes- it was all enough to make Gatsby cum hard. He held Nick in place on his lap- all the way down- and he filled him up so good it left Nick with a limp.
Nick fell asleep first, too, after Gatsby had made sure they cleaned up. It made him chuckle at the irony, seeming as that he was the one that hadn’t slept in a week. He was glad he didn’t fall asleep first, though; Nick was angelic as he slept. It saddened Gatsby a little in the moment, knowing that he would never truly be able to catch the beauty that was Nick Carraway in any of his paintings.
A picture would do, though.
Quickly, daring not to disturb the universe, Jay rummaged around in his closet until he found a camera with just enough film to take one picture. Holding the camera as steady as he could with still-shaky hands, he took the perfect picture of his beloved, covered by a blanket, draped in the light of the evening’s setting sun.
And before Nick could wake up, he was gone.