Chapter 11 Nicholas #3
Nicholas opens his mouth then closes it. He never thought of it like that.
Andrew laughs around a mouthful of eggs, his hunched posture loosening slightly as he turns towards the television. “What did you pick?”
“It’s old but—”
“The Fast and the Furious,” Andrew finishes when Nicki clicks the remote so the screensaver ends. “I love this movie.”
“You do?”
Andrew nods. “It’s kind of horrible which makes it incredible. I also really love cars.”
For the next hour and forty-six minutes, they fall into companionable silence, broken only when Andrew makes a derisive comment at the television about something being inaccurate or impossible, or to remark about a car he used to want.
At some point, Nicholas finds himself watching Andrew more than the movie.
Something about the way he mouths the most iconic lines, or smiles during the ridiculous high speed chases has Nicholas enjoying this movie the way he did the first time he saw it.
By the time the credits are rolling, Nicholas’s dick is rock hard, and his head is a mess of confusing desires ranging from wanting to pull Andrew into his lap to cuddle to pulling him into his lap to alleviate the throbbing in his dick.
The latter desire takes center stage when Andrew rises from the couch and extends his long arms overhead, arching his back in a stretch that has the sweatshirt rising to expose the smallest sliver of his stomach.
Despite his lankiness his stomach is soft, a little round at the middle, with a dark trail of hair leading down below the waistband of the sweatpants.
Nicholas wants to shove his face into Andrew’s belly and mouth at the dark hair.
Shit. It’s been far too long since he got laid. It’s clearly affecting him. What he needs to do is go find a nameless person to scratch this itch—fuck his brains out so he doesn’t have to think or want.
“The movie was a good idea,” Andrew says, looking more relaxed than Nicholas has ever seen him. “Thanks.”
Something damn close to pleasure settles in Nicholas’s chest. He demanded a movie for selfish reasons, but it’d been something Andrew enjoyed, something he needed, and the fact that Nicholas provided it makes him feel good. The kind of good he usually only feels when scoring a goal.
Nicholas is so fucked.
“Now it’s time for my phone.”
“No.”
“I love how you say that like you’re the boss,” Andrew laughs, as if Nicholas being rude and bossy is funny. Most people are scared or annoyed by him, but Andrew seems to be slightly amused. “Give me your keys.”
“No.” Nicholas crosses his arms, aware he’s being difficult and refusing to stop.
Once Andrew gets his phone, he’s going to be stressed out again. He’s going to call or text his brothers, and he’s going to stop being Nicholas’s, and he doesn’t fucking like that.
“Someone is a stubborn fucker used to getting what he wants.” Andrew walks around the back of the couch, leaning over Nicholas.
His big brown eyes are so fucking pretty, and his thick hair is falling down around his face, and yeah, he smells like Nicholas’s fucking shampoo which is a lot to handle.
“But newsflash, Nicki, you can’t have everything the way you want it. ”
“I know that,” Nicholas snaps.
If things were the way he wanted, Andrew would be back on the goddamn couch, ignoring the entire world and only paying attention to him.
“Be a good boy and tell me where the keys are.”
“Fuck you.”
“That is not being a good boy,” Andrew laughs.
“Well newsflash,” Nicholas says, using Andrew’s words against him, “I’m not a good boy.”
“I don’t know about that,” Andrew says, sobering. “You seem like a pretty good man to me.”
That genuine praise is more than Nicholas deserves or can handle.
“Keys are in the gold bowl by the front door,” he says. “I’m gonna piss.”
“Thanks so much for that extra information,” Andrew deadpans.
Nicholas waits until Andrew is walking away to slide from the couch, his erection painfully obvious as he makes his way to the bathroom off the living room.
He has no need to piss, but he sure as shit needs something, his arousal higher than ever after spending nearly two hours so close to Andrew.
His behavior at the end did Nicholas in, and as he shoves his pants down and wraps a hand around his dick, all he thinks about are brown eyes and dark hair.
Knowing Andrew is distracted, but will be back, he doesn’t bother dragging it out or teasing himself.
If anything, his strokes are hard and fast—desperate in a way he rarely is.
Usually it’s other people tripping over themselves to get a chance with Nicholas, who is more than happy to oblige, but this need in him, the images of Andrew’s intense stare or soft tummy have Nicholas aching.
He wishes he had lube, something to soften the touch.
He hates jerking off dry, but there’s no way he’s going to spend the rest of the day sporting a hard on without a pillow to hide under.
Faster than he expects, he hears Andrew’s voice in the living room, too low to make out the words but loud enough to remind Nicholas that Andrew is here.
Just outside this door, he’s wearing Nicholas’s clothes, smelling like Nicholas.
The thought breaks something in his brain as he comes without warning, shooting his load over the counter and making a mess of his own hand.
The release is intense, but the relief is not. Nicholas frowns at his reflection in the mirror before quickly cleaning up and washing his hands.
Making his way out of the bathroom, he finds that Andrew is still on the phone, and judging by the expression on his face and the way he’s tapping his fingers on his thigh, he’s not happy about it.
“I told you I’m fine. I know I need to explain, and I will—” he pauses when he catches sight of Nicholas, offering a tight smile that is nothing like the one he granted him before. Nicholas decides he hates whoever is on the phone. “Later.”
The voice on the other side of the phone is obnoxiously loud even though he’s not on speaker phone, and Nicholas can make out every word. “Now, Annie.”
“No.” Andrew sighs. There’s a hunch in his shoulders and a tightness in his body that wasn’t there before, one that had been washed away by the sound of the sea and his home clothes and a movie. Nicholas doesn’t like it.
“Annie,” the other person intones.
“Look, I’ll call you tonight I promise, just—” Andrew pauses, eyes on Nicholas. “I’ll explain later.”
“Fuck later, I want to know right now.”
“I’ve got to go, Charlie. I love you.”
“Don’t you dare hang up on me, Andrew King.”
“I’m hanging up,” Andrew says, ignoring the way the other person, Charlie apparently—the twin brother then—shouts.
“Charlie’s a little—” Andrew starts, then trails off.
“Annoying,” Nicholas finishes, throwing himself on the couch next to Andrew, perhaps closer than is strictly necessary, torturing himself as the familiar scent of orange amber wafts into his nose.
Beneath that, Nicholas can pick up something woody too, likely from his Dior body wash.
Despite just jerking off, Nicholas’s dick chubs up in his pants.
Fuck his life.
“Charlie isn’t annoying,” Andrew counters. “Well, actually no, he really is, but only I can say that because I love him. If anyone else says it, I kind of want to hit them.”
“You can hit me, princess.”
“I’m not going to hit you,” Andrew says with a shake of his head.
To Nicholas’s surprise, he leans back, bringing his arm up against Nicholas’s.
With his hoodie on, there’s no skin to skin contact, but the pressure of his body and the scent of Nicholas all over him has Nicholas feeling like a fucking caveman.
“Anyway, he’s just worried, which is fair. I put everyone through a lot.”
“The fuck you talking about?” Nicholas frowns. “You didn’t do anything.”
“I did,” Andrew counters. “I went into this deal with you knowing if things went public it would affect the people I love. When you said we were going to keep it quiet, I selfishly decided I didn’t need to tell them yet, and look where that got us.
Charlie’s been worried all day, and he said Alec missed his classes, and Jason had to have his assistant coach take over morning practices because he was so worried. That’s my fault.”
“Pretty sure your brothers are fucking adults, who cares.”
“I care, Nicki. That’s part of loving people. You care when they hurt, or they’re worried, especially when it’s my own fault.”
“This is why I don’t do feelings. That’s too much fucking work.”
“Maybe one day you’ll find someone worth it.” Andrew’s lips are turned down in a frown that makes Nicholas want to hit someone, except he’s pretty sure he’s the reason it’s there. Him and his deal and blowing things with the paparazzi and being an asshole.
“Un-fucking-likely.”
“Whatever you say.”
“Exactly. What I say.”
“Would you like something to bang your chest with next? Or maybe something else to display your dominance?”
“Fuck you,” Nicholas gripes without any real bite.
Were anyone else saying that to him, he would probably be pissed. Somehow coming from Andrew, it’s lacking whatever it is that would normally put Nicholas on the defensive.
“So, Annie?” He prompts, knocking his knee against Andrew’s.
“Charlie couldn’t pronounce my name when we were little, and instead of Andrew, it sounded like Annie. It just stuck even when we got older. People tried to tell him it was a girl’s name, but to be honest I think it just pissed him off more. Charlie’s always hated gender norms.”
“Think I’ll stick with princess,” Nicholas smirks, giving in to temptation and reaching out to touch Andrew’s hair.
It’s softer than it looks, the thick strands sliding between his fingertips.
Not even the ache in his knuckles matters, just the glide of his fingers through Andrew’s hair when he does it again.