Chapter 7 Nicholas #2
“You know, princess, if you’re that desperate to see me undress you only had to ask.”
“We’ve been over this. I’ve seen your social media. You’re a very impressive specimen of a man, blah, blah, blah. Now go shower.”
Just to be ornery Nicholas crosses his arms. “Make me.”
“Fine.” Andrew puts his hands on Nicholas’s hips and pushes. Or tries to. Nicholas uses his bigger build to his advantage, digging his heels in and refusing to be moved. “What the hell are you made out of, rocks?”
“Muscle,” Nicholas smirks. “Want to see?”
“I know this is very hard for you to believe, but not everyone is walking around desperate to see you naked.”
“That is a lie,” Nicholas scoffs. “Name one person who isn’t dreaming about getting into my pants.”
“Me.”
“Ouch.”
“I would like to see you out of them though,” Andrew says smoothly, unruffled by the frown Nicholas sends his way. “You sat on the floor in those.”
“In coveralls.”
“Which other people wear. I really don’t want that anywhere near my—well—anything.”
“What the princess wants, the princess gets,” Nicholas says, snapping open the button on his jeans and pushing them down with his boxers in one swift go. If he’s expecting Andrew to drool or get a hard on, he’s sorely disappointed. “That’s not the reaction I was expecting.”
“You are hardly the first man to drop his pants around me. I have three brothers.”
Nicholas tries and fails to repress a pout. Is Andrew comparing him to one of his brothers?
Attempting a sexy striptease, he pulls his shirt off over his head and tosses it to the floor, kicking off his shoes and pants next until he’s standing completely naked in front of Andrew. Whenever he does this for a camera or a one night stand, it doesn’t fail him.
“I bet they don’t look like me,” Nicholas tries.
“I really don’t spend time comparing dicks. They’re all the same.”
“My dick is not the same as everyone else’s,” Nicholas gapes, looking down at himself. He’s been complimented more than once on his size and shape, especially in proportion to the rest of him.
Andrew’s lack of reaction to his nudity, something most people find greatly alluring, is both a hit to his ego and more than a little confusing.
“Are you gay?” Nicholas blurts.
“No.”
“Bi?”
“Why, are you trying to figure out why I’m not desperate to fuck you?”
“Yes, actually.”
Andrew sighs. “For the sake of what you’re trying very hard to sus out, I would consider myself bisexual because I have dated men and women. But I find the term asexual more fitting and affirming, so I usually just use that.”
“Asexual,” Nicholas repeats, trying to recall everything he knows which is admittedly not much. “Then you hate sex?”
“Will you go shower,” Andrew sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Only if you explain more when I get out,” Nicholas demands.
“Fine, yes. Go take your goddamn shower and then let me shower. Then once we’re both on the couch in comfortable clothes with enough ice cream to regulate my brain with sugary dopamine, you can ask me whatever you want. I can’t promise to answer if it makes me uncomfortable, but you can ask.”
“Okay.”
“Nicki?”
“Yeah?”
“Go.”
Nicholas does go, stumbling into Andrew’s bedroom and towards the shower in his ensuite.
He stops midstep, pausing in the middle of Andrew’s bedroom to study it.
Everything is white from the bed piled high with fluffy blankets and pillows to the oversized chair in the corner.
There’s even a thick white rug under his bare toes that covers most of the hardwood floor.
Above the bed is a single painting, splashes of blues and purples that remind Nicholas of the sea.
Aside from that sole painting, everything is devoid of color, the room sparsely filled.
What should seem barren is simply calm, and it is surprisingly easy to picture Andrew in here.
“Stop being nosy,” Andrew demands from the open doorway. He marches into the room behind Nicholas and lays his hands on either side of Nicholas’s bare waist. “Take the damn shower.”
“Bossy.”
“Someone needs to keep you in check,” Andrew says, his long fingers curling around Nicholas’s hips. It’s a good thing he’s facing away from Andrew because his dick definitely takes notice of how those hands feel.
“That someone going to be you, princess?”
“Apparently,” Andrew says, physically marching him into the bathroom. “Now be a good boy and wash off, and deal with that before it pokes someone’s eye out.”
“So you did notice,” Nicholas grins.
“Hard not to notice that,” Andrew says. “I’m going to step out now and assume you know how to wash yourself.”
“You could help,” Nicholas says, knowing Andrew is going to turn him down but unable to stop himself from trying.
“How about no,” Andrew snorts. With his hands on his hips and his expression serious, he is adorably stern. “Why are you smiling?”
“You the boss of my smiles now, too?”
“Just…shower,” Andrew grumbles.
“Alright, princess. Just for you.”
Andrew huffs out something unintelligible as he leaves the bathroom.
Alone in Andrew’s private space, the urge to snoop around is strong, but Nicholas really could use a shower, and he’s not sure he wants to risk annoying Andrew further.
A little playful annoyance is one thing, but there was a tightness in his expression that makes Nicholas wary of pushing too hard.
It’s an odd feeling, since noticing that kind of tension is normally exactly what makes him push.
Whether it’s his parents, or opposing teammates, he’s always been good at reading people—at knowing when and where to push for maximum effect.
Finding a weakness to exploit is how to get on top.
Only, noticing Andrew’s weaknesses make Nicholas want to do something far different.
He doesn’t want to provoke, he wants to protect.
He also desperately wants to come. Focusing on that need, he steps into the shower, adjusting the water until it’s comfortably warm.
Something about being in Andrew’s space makes him want more, and he reaches for the body wash, flicking open the cap and inhaling the subtle scent.
He squirts some into his hands, lathering it over his chest and down his stomach until he reaches his dick, curling a soapy hand around himself.
Thoughts of Andrew flood his mind. Andrew’s particular little frown, his mischievous smile, his soft hands on Nicholas’s hips. Fuck.
Knowing that Andrew has no interest in Nicholas, not even for a quickie, should be enough to extinguish his arousal, but all it does is heighten it.
He’s never met anyone like Andrew, never met anyone who went head to head with Nicholas, who challenged him and demanded things from him.
He’s never met anyone with such strong morals, willing to do anything to help the people he cares about.
Nicholas can’t imagine it. Even Amanda is only in his life because he pays her.
Frowning at his morose turn of thoughts he attempts to redirect them, tries to focus on the physical—on the sharp angles of Andrew’s face, the shape of his almost delicately long fingers, or the fan of his thick eyelashes.
Instead his brain keeps circling back to how Andrew makes him feel.
Stroking himself hard and fast, he tries to keep it physical, to think of nothing more than how hot Andrew is, but his brain refuses—reminding him about the way Andrew felt in his arms tonight or how much fun he is to tease.
Pleasure mounts as he continues to fuck his fist, speeding up his strokes until he’s coming with a grunt—the scent of Andrew’s body wash and sex clinging to his fingers. He takes long minutes rinsing away the proof, all of it swirling down the drain as Nicholas’s mood follows.
Nicholas doesn’t have crushes on anyone, and certainly not on khaki-wearing, bossy assholes who tell him when to shower. He doesn’t.
Making quick work of the rest of the shower, he washes and rinses before turning off the water.
When he steps out of the shower water drips onto the floor and he’s quick to grab one of the towels.
It’s soft and fluffy, which for some reason annoys Nicholas.
Scrubbing the towel over his hair, he barely spares a second to look at himself in the mirror.
What the hell does it matter how his hair looks if Andrew doesn’t want to fuck him?
When he steps out of the bathroom, the bedroom is empty, and a clean outfit has been laid on the end of Andrew’s bed.
It’s a sweatshirt in a light tan with a pair of matching sweatpants.
There’s even a clean pair of boxers and socks so he doesn’t have to put on his dirty ones.
Nicholas aggressively shoves his feet into the socks before pulling on the boxers, surprised at how weirdly nice it feels.
They’re not his usual silk kind, but they’re soft and snug fitting, and the extra attentiveness to what Nicholas might need is annoying.
Stupid Andrew being thoughtful. Is this because he’s playing the part of Nicholas’s fake boyfriend, or would he do this for anyone?
Somehow the question only makes him even crankier, as does the fact that the clothes are a perfect fit.
They hug Nicholas’s ass and thighs, stretching across his broad chest in a way that makes them seem almost painted on.
He doesn’t need to look in the mirror to know he looks good, but the thrill that normally gives him is nowhere to be found as he exits Andrew’s bedroom in search of his fake boyfriend, who won’t be at all impressed by how sexy he looks.