Chapter 15 Nicholas #3
“I have to leave tomorrow,” Nicholas reminds him, burying his nose in Andrew’s hair.
Fuck, he smells like the shampoo Nicholas put in his bathroom.
He couldn’t help himself after Andrew moved in.
He assumed he would use his own bath products, but the urge to have Andrew smelling like him again had him selfishly filling the guest shower with his own array of fancy hair care and bodywash, something Andrew apparently used again.
Nicki wants to smell him everywhere, wants to lick him, too.
“Oh yeah.” Andrew’s chest expands, arms holding Nicholas so tight. “Maybe when you get back. I just…give me time.”
“I can be patient for you.”
“Can you?” Andrew pulls back, the corner of his mouth quirking up in amusement.
He’s so expressive, it’s delightful. Nicki is so used to trying to read the room, knowing the difference between the bullshit people say and how they really feel.
There’s no bullshit with Andrew, and while Nicholas can’t fathom he’s worthy of this kind of smile, he’s a selfish fucker who will greedily take it.
He’s going to take anything and everything Andrew gives him.
“I can.” Nicholas nuzzles into his hair again. “You smell good.”
“I smell like you,” Andrew huffs. “Your stuff smells good.”
“You can smell it on the source,” Nicholas offers. “I’ll go get naked and wash myself right now.”
“That’s not necessary,” Andrew mumbles, swatting Nicholas on the chest. He ends up leaving his hand on Nicholas’s chest, fingering the low, loose collar of his tank top. “You have so many tattoos.”
“You like them.” It’s not a question, he can tell Andrew does from the look in his eyes, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t want confirmation.
“I always liked them. It’s why I followed you on social media. Charlie always teased me about having a crush but it wasn’t that. Not then. I thought you were a complete asshole, but you were nice to look at.”
That has Nicki’s chest puffing up with pride. Well, maybe not the asshole part, but Andrew isn’t actually wrong about that so he can’t be bothered by the truth.
“And now?”
“You’re definitely still an asshole, but it’s not all you are.”
“And still nice to look at?” Nicholas prompts, purposely stretching the collar of his tank out to give Andrew a better view.
Andrew’s cheeks darken, but his fingertips skim over the massive wings tattooed over his ribs that stretch up his chest enough to be seen where he’s pulled the shirt down, each intricately filled with flames.
“Yes, you’re really nice to look at.”
Nicholas is so curious about what enjoyment and desire means for Andrew. He isn’t sure if he should bring it up, but his thoughts must be clear because Andrew shrugs.
“Just ask.”
“You’re attracted to me, but you don’t want to fuck me.”
“I didn’t want to fuck you.” Andrew’s nails trail down the center of the butterfly’s body.
“Now, I don’t know. There’s this space in my brain for sex, and it’s all compartmentalized.
It doesn’t feel like it impacts me, you know?
I’ve had sex, a few times in college, and I didn’t enjoy it.
I don’t—” Andrew pauses, and Nicki yanks the tank off in one fell swoop, eager to give Andrew something to focus on.
Sure enough, this does the trick because once Andrew’s fingers are tracing the skilled line work across his ribs, his mouth is moving again.
“I meant it before, I don’t really care about sex.
I like reading about it, which you know from my books, but that’s other people, it’s not real.
The few times I tried it was…I wasn’t repulsed, but—”
Andrew licks his lips, both his hands on Nicholas’s stomach now as he traces the bouquet of florals on one hip and the dragon on the other.
“I don’t enjoy participating reciprocally.”
Nicholas waits for more, but it becomes apparent after a prolonged silence there is nothing else.
“And?”
“What do you mean, and? That’s it.”
“Does looking at me turn you on?”
“Not in the way you mean. I like it. I want to touch you. But I don’t want more than this. Not right now.”
“But maybe in the future?”
“Maybe yes, maybe no,” Andrew shrugs. “I’ve never been with anyone where it didn’t feel like an expectation.
Every date, every touch, every single goddamn desire for any shred of intimacy is always treated like a precursor to sex.
Do you know how exhausting it is to feel like what I want isn’t enough?
Even if I do want sex with you, which I don’t know if I will, by the way, I don’t know what it’ll mean or how often.
Sometimes I think I’m demisexual, other times gray ace, the micro labels don’t always fit, which is why I just say asexual, but either way—I know I don’t like reciprocating, so sex with me would never be fun for you. ”
“I have yet to hear a single thing that indicates sex with you wouldn’t be the best sex of my life.”
“Well one, you might never get sex, or you might only get sex once a year, which you’d hate.”
“I’ve got two fucking hands, I’m a big boy who can use them if I want an orgasm, and you don’t.”
“Also,” Andrew continues, his cheeks an attractive rosy color as if Nicholas’s answer pleased him, “I don’t want to….do things to you.”
“You’re touching me now.”
“Fine, let me be more specific—I don’t want to pleasure you sexually, okay? Ever. At all. I know it’s weird.”
“Who the fuck told you it was weird?” Andrew doesn’t answer. Nicholas plans to address that later. “I’m fucking serious, fuck whoever the fuck told you that. Fucking cunt bag piece of shit.”
“Look, most people don’t want a partner with little to no interest in sex, especially when that very hypothetical and sporadic interest involves no desire to reciprocate.”
If Andrew is trying to turn him off, he’s in for a surprise.
“Do you mind if I touch you?” Nicholas questions. “When you want it only.”
“But you won’t—”
“No buts,” Nicholas interrupts. “I asked you a question, princess. If you were in the mood, if you wanted sex, would you enjoy being touched?”
Andrew’s facial expressions shift rapidly, settling on something surprisingly unsure. “Maybe.”
“I can fucking work with maybe.”
“But—”
“Stop saying but. I’d still want you if you didn’t want to fuck ever, and I know you don’t believe that, so I’ve got to show you. But if you do, the idea of you just laying there is hot.”
“That can’t be hot,” Andrew protests, eyes flaring.
“Hot,” Nicholas repeats, grabbing Andrew’s hands and dragging them up until they rest over his chest. He pushes Andrew’s palms firmly so he can feel Nicholas's heartbeat, feel the proof of what the idea does to him.
“That’s what a princess does, isn’t it? Lies there and feels good. You’d be the prettiest princess for me, spread out in my silk sheets doing nothing, because that’s your job, and my job would be making you feel good. My pretty pillow princess.”
Andrew’s eyes are wide, pupils dilated, and his mouth forming a little ‘o’ of surprise, like he can’t believe what Nicholas just said. Anyone who wouldn’t think it was the honor of a fucking lifetime to make this man feel good can jump off a fucking cliff.
“You…um, I need a drink of water.”
“Are you thirsty, princess?”
Without sparing him another look, Andrew flips him off before grabbing a bottle of cold water from the fridge. He gulps down, and Nicki doesn’t bother pretending he’s not staring at the long line of Andrew’s throat.
“You still gonna check me out?” Nicholas asks, hopping onto the edge of the kitchen island, spreading his legs wide and arching his back so his body is on display. Yeah, he’s bruised up, and there’s some nasty scratches, but he still looks sexy.
“No, I think you’re fine,” Andrew replies, gulping down the last of his water. “I think it’s time for you to go to bed.”
“Will you come with me?”
“I’m not going to fuck you, Nicki.” Despite this protest, he positions himself between the spread of Nicholas’s thighs, tipping that handsome face of his up. “You played hard. You need sleep. Especially since you’re leaving for your away games early tomorrow.”
“I guess someone should put me to bed.”
“I’m not your daddy,” Andrew retorts.
“Good thing that’s not what I’m looking for then.”
“And what is it you’re looking for, Nicki?”
The question might be simple, yet somehow it feels loaded, as if it’s about so much more than what he wants right at this moment.
“Someone I can count on. Someone I can trust.” He reaches for Andrew, hand settling at the back of his neck. “I’ve never had that.”
“I can be that man.”
“I know you can.” Nicholas is hit with a wave of affection for this man in front of him.
How is it possible that everyone doesn’t see how perfect he is?
How is everyone not falling all over themselves to be with him?
Nicholas can’t imagine it, but then he was too stupid to see it in the beginning, so maybe everyone else is, too.
“What?” Andrew asks.
“Thinking about how perfect you are.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Mhmm,” Nicholas hums, giving Andrew’s neck a firm squeeze before moving it into his hair. The waves are so thick, but soft too, and Nicholas slides his hand into hair. “Fucking gorgeous and smart.”
“Stop it,” Andrew mumbles.
“Because you don’t like it, or because it’s hard for you to believe?”
Andrew opens his mouth then closes it, looking away.
“Get used to it then because I’m going to tell you how incredible I think you are as often as I’m allowed.”
“Look at that, it’s bedtime,” Andrew says, clearly unable to handle the praise a second longer. He turns to walk away, but Nicholas can’t handle that prospect, so he follows, draping his much larger body up against Andrew’s back. “Fucking koala.”
“Sexy man.”
“Shut up, Nicki.”