Barbarian (Jericho’s Boys #3)

4. Nico

“Does it hurt?”

Casey shook her head, eyes trained critically on the needle piercing her skin, watching intently as Freckles tugged the thread through the raw edges of her wound, drawing it closed one stitch at a time. She was shockingly calm about it. Nico probably would have puked watching someone sew him up like this at her age.

He sat sprawled in a chair on the opposite side of the small dining table where Freckles had made up a makeshift workstation. Doctor and patient sat catty-corner to each other, her hand resting on a white napkin-like object Freckles had called a drape. A number of bottles and bandages were strewn on the table as well as the open suture kit.

Nico was only half-watching as he towel-dried his shower-damp hair, his borrowed sweats a tad too big, making them pool at his ankles. He couldn’t be positive but he was at least fifty percent sure these were Seven’s sweats, left behind from when he’d had to clean up at the penthouse after a different job.

It wasn’t anything new. They were always arriving in one set of soiled clothes and leaving in different clean ones. Nico felt a little bad. It wasn’t like Coe could ask their housekeeper to do their bloody laundry, which left Jericho or Freckles to handle it themselves. The idea of Freckles doing laundry made Nico’s lips twitch. He couldn’t picture it.

He shook the thought away as Casey—who had yet to shower—looked up at Freckles and asked, “What’s it made of?”

Freckles gave her a curious look. “What’s what made of?”

Casey nodded towards her hand. He’d already closed the two smaller cuts and was working on the largest one down the center of her palm, which was deep but not so deep it had severed muscle or tendon. At least, according to Freckles.

“The stitch stuff. It looks just like the thread we use when we’re sewing bags.”

Atticus nodded. “It is. It’s nylon. They commonly use it in manufacturing handbags, upholstery, and outdoor equipment. Anything that requires a strong stitch.”

Leave it to Freckles to know that.

“It’s safe for my skin?” she asked, her tone suspicious.

“Of course. It’s actually ideal for sutures. It’s tough, flexible, waterproof, and causes minimal irritation to tissue,” Atticus said, like he was addressing a group of medical students and not a thirteen-year-old girl.

Jericho smirked from his spot in the kitchen where he was making Casey a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in his pajamas. It was the only thing Freckles trusted Jericho to make in his kitchen. Not that Jericho had any burning desire to be in the kitchen, at least not for any reason that didn’t involve molesting his husband while he cooked for their children, who were—thankfully—sleeping through this ordeal. They usually did. But Nico understood that. Trauma tended to make one a heavy sleeper.

“Does that mean I can shower when you’re done?” she asked, grimacing as she looked down at her soiled clothes.

“Yes, of course,” Freckles assured her. “But we have some questions for you before our friends get here to take you to their place.”

She nodded, scrolling through her phone but not really seeming to absorb anything. Nico couldn’t imagine having been through something so traumatic and having his mother missing while still maintaining any sense of composure. Not at that age, anyway. But Casey was the picture of calm, more curious than worried.

That made one of them. Nico couldn’t stop thinking about the troubles crashing down on him. Not just stumbling upon the dead body of a triad member—which was an enormous issue all by itself—but trying to decide how to deal with Mal, who was still showering in the spare bathroom.

Nico captured his bottom lip between his teeth as his traitorous brain pictured his best friend’s naked body beneath the steamy water, face tipped back, droplets clinging to his lips and lashes. Fuck. Why had he ever shared a shower with that man? He knew way too well how he looked naked and wet.

And now, they’d kissed. No, they’d more than kissed. Nico didn’t even know what to call what had happened between them, but whatever it was it was one hundred percent Mal’s fault. Friends who kiss? That wasn’t even a thing. But Nico had pretended it was just so reasonable in the moment. Because he was weak and stupid and horny. And Mal was strong and pretty and smelled incredible all the time, even dripping with sweat. Especially dripping with sweat.

Nico tried to push those thoughts away. He really did. He was sitting in a room full of people. He couldn’t be getting worked up thinking about his best friend or, more specifically, about the soul-searing kisses they’d shared. Fucking asshole. Couldn’t Mal just be bad at one thing? Why couldn’t he have been a weird kisser? Or a bad kisser who slobbered or used too much tongue?

Nico dropped his forehead to the table with a groan, causing the table to vibrate, then jerked up, giving an apologetic look to Freckles and Casey before setting his head back down less emphatically. The cool wood felt soothing on his overheated skin. What was wrong with him? It had been less than two hours since they’d had to wait for a clean-up crew—dressed as a legit clean-up company—to arrive and cart off the body of a dead Chinese gangster, and all Nico could focus on was how he’d let Malachi con him into blowing up their friendship.

Maybe Mal had only just pretended to be this adorable little alien creature. Maybe he was actually an evil little bunny-teethed sex demon sent to lead Nico astray. What other explanation was there? Kissing Mal was supposed to extinguish the hunger gnawing at his insides, not throw gasoline on it. How dare he be so fucking sexy? So hot. So good with his tongue…and his hands.

It made no sense. Mal was an awkward turtle on his best day. He made weird eye-contact and spit out random facts like he was the back of a Snapple lid. He had a mean streak ten miles wide and he looked at Nico like he was a ten-course meal. He could—and would —debate whether subbed or dubbed anime was better with the same heat and fervor he’d defend something big, like human rights. He made silly expressions when he was reading and he sneezed like a cat.

Him sexing up Nico like the rent was due made no fucking sense. It had to have been a trap…or a fluke. His insides twisted painfully, his heart heavy. He’d really hoped Mal would be bad at kissing. Fooling around with him was supposed to be a one-time thing, a temporary solution, not the answer to every prayer he’d ever had.

Stupid, dumb, sexually adept cat-bunny.

He’d ruined everything.

Nico’s chest tightened, the inexplicable urge to cry overtaking him. Mal was already his everything. He couldn’t be the person who got him off, too. Nico knew better than anyone what happened when people brought feelings into sex or sex into feelings. He’d watched his mother chase love again and again, bringing home loser after loser, each one more dangerous than the last, until she’d finally just given up, choosing instead to exchange sex for money. She’d told him a million times that choosing money over love was the best thing that ever happened to her.

She’d cautioned him to harden his heart, to never seek fulfillment or validation in other people. She had told him it was fine to date someone, it was fine to fuck them, but to keep love out of the equation. Love was for family and friendship. Relationships were for stability, nothing more than a financial contract.

His friends said it was crazy to listen to his mom, that she was just bitter after being hurt so many times in the past. The only member of their friend group who understood was Seven. Nobody knew better than him that love was a fucking illusion. He thought Nico’s mom was an icon.

Nico jumped as a hand landed on his shoulder, bolting upright with a gasp, earning a giggle from Casey and a smirk from Freckles. Mal lingered over him. Nico tipped his face upwards to look at him, his heart kicking as they made eye contact. Mal’s mahogany curls were dripping, missing the towel around his neck to land on his borrowed gray t-shirt, making the fabric darken everywhere they landed.

“You good?” Mal asked, frowning so hard his brows knitted together.

Nico nodded. “Tired,” he said, by way of explanation.

Mal dropped into the empty seat at the table, the legs of the chair making a horrific dragging sound as he then proceeded to drag-hop the chair closer and closer until they were touching. When Nico gave him a weird look, he gave him a closed-lip smile that was silly enough to have him biting back a laugh.

Mal was so weird.

“Now that you’re here, I wanted to ask Casey a few questions,” Jericho said, setting the sandwich and some chips on the table within the girl’s reach. “Would that be okay with you?”

She nodded, looking more apprehensive than she had just moments ago. “Okay.”

“Did you know the man who broke in?” Jericho asked, placing a hand on his husband’s shoulder.

She shook her head, her face falling as she added, “No. Not really. I would see him around the stalls sometimes. There’s been a lot of weird men hanging out there lately. They make everyone nervous.”

“The stalls?” Mal asked.

Casey nodded. “The booths we sell from. Most of the regular customers are designers looking to buy silk from the other stalls, but a lot of boutiques come for my mom’s handbags. They’d either buy them outright or offer to keep them in their shops on commission. But…then things changed.”

“Changed?” Nico asked.

Casey gave a stilted nod. “My mom’s custom designs were her own. They were unique, that’s why the boutiques always wanted to keep them in stock. But a few months ago, we started selling…”

She fell quiet, her gaze ducking back to where Freckles continued to slowly, meticulously sew her wound shut.

“Selling…” Jericho prodded gently.

“I’m not supposed to say,” she whispered.

Jericho gave her a sympathetic look as Freckles finished, snipping the thread, then began to wrap her hand with a soft-looking white bandage material.

“We have to know if we’re going to help your mom,” Jericho said.

“Knock-off bags,” Casey said quietly. “Those ones that look so close to the real ones it’s impossible to tell the difference. She was selling them…like they were real.”

They all exchanged looks. There was a lot of money to be made in fake bags.

“You think this is how the triad is involved?” Nico asked Jericho. “Making vendors peddle fake bags?”

“What’s a triad?” Casey asked again, bewildered.

Before anyone could offer a simple explanation, Malachi started to…well, Malachi.

“The triad is a collective term for various Chinese secret societies and criminal organizations. Their history goes back to the seventeenth century, originally as resistance groups against the Qing dynasty. The name ‘triad’ comes from the triangular symbols used by these groups, representing the harmony of heaven, earth, and man. Modern triads are involved in a wide range of activities, like drug trafficking, extortion, money laundering, and even legitimate businesses. They have a strict hierarchical structure, with ranks like ‘Dragon Head’ for the boss, ‘Incense Master’ for the spiritual leader, and ‘Red Pole’ for the enforcers. Triad rituals often include elaborate initiation ceremonies involving oaths and blood. They’re known for their use of codes and symbols, like the number four, which is considered unlucky because it sounds like ‘death’ in Chinese. Some of the most famous triads include the Sun Yee On, 14K, and Wo Shing Wo. They operate not just in Hong Kong and Mainland China, but also in places with significant Chinese communities like Taiwan, Macau, and even the United States and Canada.”

Nico wasn’t sure if he should be impressed or horrified by Mal’s near encyclopedic knowledge of triads. When had he learned that? With Mal, it could have been from a documentary he watched one time when he was nine, a class he’d taken in high school, or something he looked up twenty minutes ago when he was in the bathroom. Mal, much like August, seemed to have an almost eidetic memory, being able to recall large chunks of information verbatim without even trying. Nico couldn’t accurately recall what he’d had for breakfast that morning.

“Oh…” Casey said. “Why are they looking for my mom?”

Not for any good reason.

Nico looked to Jericho, who shrugged. “We don’t know yet, sweetie, but we plan to find out. We just have to do some investigating first.”

“In the meantime, you’re going to stay with our friends, Calliope and Lola,” Freckles said.

“You’re going to have to miss a few days of school while we figure this out,” Jericho added.

If anyone had told Nico he’d won a few vacation days at thirteen, he would have done a victory lap around the apartment. Casey just looked anxious. “Will… Can someone get my work for me? I can’t get behind in my classes. My mom will kill me. She only lets me dance if I keep my grades up.” Her gaze snapped to Mal. “Does this mean I have to miss dance class, too?”

Mal looked at Jericho then at Casey before saying, “We’ll see.”

The sound of keys being pressed on the door lock rang through the apartment a moment before Calliope scream-whispered, “We’re here.”

Mal and Nico exchanged looks.

That was their cue to leave. It was already so late.

The moment they entered the apartment, the mood shifted, Nico’s heart plummeting. It was dark except for the kitchen nightlight. Dumpling gave a happy chitter from the couch when they entered, while Kimchi wound around their ankles, making herself an obstacle. Levi and Shiloh’s television played softly from their bedroom. It was late…or early…depending on how one looked at it. There was no way their roommates were awake, but they’d fallen into the habit of keeping the television on to quiet some of the noises from their…extracurricular activities. It didn’t do much, but it was better than nothing.

They went to their room, Nico stripping off his shirt before heading to the bathroom. Mal followed along like a lost puppy. He put toothpaste on Nico’s toothbrush for him before doing the same for himself. They brushed in silence, their bodies knocking together occasionally as they used the sink, both smiling at each other in the mirror each time it happened.

It was utterly normal. Boringly mundane. They’d done this a million times before. Standing like this, side by side, Nori perched on the back of the toilet, trilling at them until they let her drink from the faucet. But something had changed. The energy between them now crackled like static electricity. Nico felt this weird anticipation like something was coming. He just didn’t know what. Why couldn’t Levi and Shiloh be awake? They were always a good diversion whenever Nico got too in his head.

When they finished with their teeth, Mal put their toothbrushes away. Nico sucked in a sharp breath when Mal gripped his waist and plopped him on the countertop, his heartbeat running wild behind his ribs. Nico stared at him stupidly until Mal handed him the cleansing wipes, an expectant look on his face.

Oh, right.

He quickly cleaned Mal’s face, just as he did most nights, then took the small bottle of product, using his fingertips to apply it, rubbing the serum over his skin, paying special attention to the now barely-there acne scars on his cheeks.

Nico’s chest tightened. He loved those scars. He’d fantasized about kissing each and every one more times than he’d ever dare admit out loud. Those scars proved that Mal, as radiant as he was, was still just a human and not some fantasy Nico had conjured in his head. His best friend’s intense gaze remained locked on Nico as he stroked his face, bouncing from his lips to his eyes, making his already erratic heart rate much worse.

“All done,” Nico said softly, a little breathless, his cheeks hot.

“Your turn,” Mal murmured, stepping between Nico’s open legs to get unnecessarily closer.

Nico inhaled deeply, eyelids fluttering at the scent of Mal’s skin, something spicy, masculine, probably his deodorant. Mal rarely wore cologne or perfumes. Nico wanted to roll around in his scent. Being this close to Mal was making Nico feel feral. They never should have crossed that line.

The chill of the cleansing wipes on Nico’s overheated skin helped bring him back down to Earth, but then Mal’s warm fingers were dotting moisturizer onto his cheeks and chin, rubbing it in carefully, taking far more time than needed. Nico didn’t complain. He couldn’t really gather enough brain cells to do so. He watched as Mal removed two star-shaped pimple patches from the package, placing one on a spot below Nico’s right eye and another on his chin. He couldn’t imagine ever letting anyone else see him like this.

“Cute,” Mal muttered, almost to himself.

When he stepped back, Nico hopped down, eager to escape. But Mal stopped him with a hand in the center of his chest, then grabbed a bottle from the counter. Nico’s breath quickened, fighting the moan threatening to bubble from his lips as he watched Mal pump unscented lotion into his hands, rubbing them together. Why was he tormenting him like this?

“Turn around,” he said, voice huskier than Nico had ever heard it.

It didn’t even occur to him to refuse. He turned away from Mal, letting him spread the lotion over his back, watching Mal’s eyes greedily roam the large tattoo that took up his torso. Mal called it Nico’s ‘living canvas.’ Nico was proud of his tattoo, a sprawling Studio Ghibli-inspired landscape, spanning from shoulder to waist.

He’d worked hard on it, planning and saving for it for three years. It was an intricate blend of elements that appeared to be in motion, flowing together in a dreamlike composition. In the center of his back was Howl’s castle with its mismatched turrets, pipes and legs, smoke tufting from the chimneys. Behind the castle, a full moon glowed, the edges blending into the starry sky. It was an homage to the movies that had gotten him through his shitty childhood, movies he loved. Movies Mal loved, too.

Nico gave a broken gasp as Mal spun him around. He caught Nico’s gaze, a near predatory look in his eyes as he stared him down like he was daring Nico to stop him. Mal took his time getting more lotion, then warming it up. Was it possible to die of anticipation? If so, Nico was on life support. He clenched his teeth together to hold back the whine threatening to bubble up as Mal’s hands found Nico’s chest. He prayed Mal didn’t look down, that he wouldn’t see how this…routine was affecting him.

His blood whooshed in his ears. He held his breath as Mal’s fingers traced the three blue pixelated hearts just above his now painfully erect left nipple. Mal’s gaze lingered on the tight peak before moving on, fingertips tracing the broken angel wings in the center of his chest. Nico was practically vibrating, desperate to flee but also desperate for Mal to continue. He teased his thumb across Nico’s No-Face tattoo on his right pec, brushing the tender nub just below, making Nico gasp.

Mal’s gaze darted back to his. “Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all, the pad of his thumb still dragging over it.

“S’okay,” Nico managed, voice rusty.

Mal smoothed his palms down Nico’s ribs, soothing lotion over the scorpion tattoo on the left side of his chest and the Itachi tattoo on his right. Nico slowly blew out the air he’d been hoarding, expecting Mal to drop his hands. He did, but only to tightly grip the pockets of Nico’s joggers, yanking them low, exposing the nerdy gamer tattoos nestled in his hip dips. The Playstation face buttons sat on his right, the D-pad on his left. He’d thought he was so clever when he’d gotten them illegally at sixteen. Mal made a show of lowering his eyes to the ink there. There was no way he couldn’t see the bulge in his pants, but he appeared content to ignore it, instead dragging his thumbs over the symbols on either side, slowly driving Nico mad.

Visions of Mal flooded his brain—Mal’s hands on his hips, holding him tight enough to cause bruises, holding his lower half in the air as he pounded into him, using Nico for his pleasure. Nico’s whimper became a cough. Mal’s head jerked up. Nico cleared his throat, stepping back just to put some much-needed space between them for Nico’s own sanity.

Mal let him go, though seemingly reluctant. He still blocked the door, leaving Nico no choice but to stand there as Mal grabbed his cotton candy chapstick, smoothing it over his lips, before stepping out of Nico’s way. He made to scoot past him in the small space, but, before he could, Mal’s hand curled around the back of his neck, pulling him in, pressing their mouths together in a chaste kiss that lingered.

“So your lips don’t get chapped,” Mal said. “You didn’t drink enough water today.”

“Thanks,” Nico said, voice raw.

He made his escape before Mal could respond, brushing past him, then speed-walking to the bedroom, face-planting into their tiny shared mattress with a loud groan. How were they going to sleep in the same bed after what had happened between them earlier? How were they supposed to be normal now that they’d…fooled around?

He heard Mal enter but made a concerted effort to ignore his movements. Maybe he could just play dead or act like he’d passed out. It worked for those fainting goats, right? He sucked in a startled breath as fingers hooked into his joggers once more, tugging with much more intent. His pulse skyrocketed, his hands darting out to grip Mal’s wrists, turning wild eyes on him. “What are you…” he started, then stopped short, remembering this wasn’t anything new.

Mal was always undressing Nico when he fell asleep with clothes on. Which was surprisingly often. He didn’t sleep well when he was fully dressed. Something about the way the fabric bunched around him made him want to die. Mal understood. The two of them were very different flavors of neurodivergent but they shared an aversion to constricting clothing.

“You’re going to be uncomfortable and sweaty if you sleep in those pants. Take them off,” Mal said, his tone a cross between confused and huffy, like he was irritated that Nico was being weird about something they did all the time.

“Right, sorry. I was just dozing off, I guess,” he lied, heartbeat skipping.

His cock kicked in his pants as he lifted his hips, letting Mal tug them off, his whole body flushing like he was getting him naked. Mal snorted once he wrestled them down and off. Nico didn’t even ask why. He was sure it was his borrowed black boxers with the little yellow baby chicks on them.

“Get up, I need to make the bed.”

Nico huffed but dragged himself up, watching as Mal quickly fixed the sheets, making sure there wasn’t so much as a wrinkle in sight. As soon as he finished, Nico collapsed once more, grabbing what he knew was Mal’s pillow, then inhaling deeply like a total weirdo. Hopefully, Mal didn’t notice.

He listened, half asleep, as Mal continued to get ready for bed, plugging in their phones and making sure alarms were set, the familiarity of his movements lulling him. He was almost out when he heard him open and close one of the drawers, then the rustling of fabric. He turned his head, keeping one side buried in Mal’s pillow as he covertly watched his friend, shamelessly gawking.

Mal peeled his shirt off, tossing it in the general direction of the hamper, then lowered his borrowed joggers, giving Nico unfettered access to Mal’s sublime bare ass. He’d clearly skipped underwear after his shower. Saliva pooled in his mouth. Mal had been commando the whole time. It wasn’t a rare occurrence, but it never failed to tickle Nico’s brain. He tried hard to think of his best friend like a Ken doll, just smooth plastic between his legs. But that was hard to do when he’d seen him very naked, when he’d felt his hard length pressing against him just hours before.

Fuck, his ass was so…biteable. Nico wanted to bite it. He wanted Mal to bite him, too. No. No. No. No. No. He absolutely could not think about that. If he did, it was all over for him. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from leering at defined calves, thick thighs, and back muscles that flexed with every movement.

Kill me now.

This was torture.

If Mal was aware of Nico’s creeping, he didn’t acknowledge it. He shoved his legs into white boxer briefs—the short ones that stopped at the thickest part of his thighs—then joined Nico on the bed. Nico didn’t have time to worry about if things were going to feel weird since their kiss. Mal slid an arm beneath him, drawing him close, slotting his leg between Nico’s, like he’d done a million times before. Nico tucked his head into Mal’s neck as usual, his scent soothing all his rough edges far better than his pillow ever could.

His hand slid down Mal’s back, stopping just above the swell of his ass. “Warm,” he heard himself say.

“Go to sleep, Fidget,” Mal said, one hand petting Nico’s curls and the other settling into the bend of Nico’s narrow waist, his fingers hot as brands even on his overheated skin.

He heaved a sigh, the tension seeping from his body as he molded himself to Mal. They were okay. This was okay. This was normal, comfortable. Routine. Even calling him Fidget, though that was a fairly new development.

It had started one night at the bar with a drunken Nico teasing Mal about how he’d given Shiloh a cute nickname but not Nico. Mal had taken Nico’s complaint very seriously, looking shattered that Nico had wanted for something he hadn’t already provided. Sober Nico would have felt terrible for distressing him, but drunken Nico had fed into his worry, feigning hurt. Mal had instantly asked what Nico wanted Mal to call him, but he’d told Mal that nicknames weren’t chosen by the person themselves, but those around them. This had stymied Mal, sending him into full brood until their friends arrived and began drunkenly throwing out ideas, each one more painful and obnoxious than the last.

Nico had forgotten all about it, until a week or so ago. They’d sat on the couch, Nico’s leg bouncing a mile a minute. Mal had placed a hand on his thigh, stilling it as he always did. Nico stopped the jiggling, but had instead picked up the throw pillow, shredding the fringe as they continued to watch their show.

Mal had placed a hand on the back of Nico’s neck, massaging the spot until Nico’s eyes were rolling back in ecstasy. “Relax, Fidget.”