Chapter 17 Nicholas
For days, unease has been Nicholas’s constant companion. He chalked it up to long days on the road, to tireless hours on the ice, but the truth is it was days without Andrew in his sight.
The sight of Andrew at home—in his home—where he belongs settles Nicholas.
Granted, Eden and Amanda are here too, being obnoxious and loud, but their presence barely registers, because after three days of being deprived of Andrew’s pretty face, he’s finally looking at him again.
He’s even nicer to look at than Nicki remembered.
If Tony were here, he’d be giving Nicholas so much shit.
He did give him so much shit, most of the team did, telling him he was even grumpier than usual.
They did nothing but chirp him in the locker room and on the road about missing Andrew and being whipped.
Nicholas didn’t even bother denying it because he wasn’t embarrassed.
For the first time in his life, there’d been something he wanted more than winning hockey games—cuddles. Fucking Andrew King turning Nicholas into a cuddle slut.
He’s not sure how he went twenty-seven years not knowing how fucking addicting cuddling is, but now that he knows, he can’t get enough.
He’s not touch starved, not even close. Before Andrew, he had enough sex his bed was rarely cold, and playing a full contact sport he’s touched all the time, albeit aggressively.
But no one—fucking no one—has ever touched Nicholas the way Andrew does.
The quiet reverence that night they shared a bed, the way his elegant fingers mapped every single one of Nicholas’s tattoos like his body was a work of art, left Nicholas aching.
The fact that he’d had to leave Andrew in bed the next morning, sleep rumpled and peaceful with his dark hair splayed across Nicholas’s pillow and his scent clinging to the sheets, should have been illegal.
It was enough to piss Nicholas the fuck off.
That agitation and anger stayed with him through the long days of travel and away games, all of which they lost, cementing the fact that their game next week will be the last of the season.
The only thing making the disappointment of a losing season sting less is the man in front of him.
“There’s my favorite cousin. Nicholas, dear, you look like you want to eat Andrew.”
Nicholas rolls his eyes. “Who got Amanda drunk?”
“I got myself drunk. I am a strong and independent woman,” Amanda says. “I don’t need anyone.”
“Hell yeah,” Eden cheers.
“Except Denise,” Amanda adds. “I want to bury my face in her—”
“That’s enough,” Nicholas interjects, suspecting that Andrew won’t want to hear Amanda’s drunk tirade about how much she loves her girlfriend’s squishy body. He knows from past experience that drunk Amanda can be a little graphic. “Time for you to get home to your woman.”
“I can’t drive,” Amanda frowns.
“I’ll drive her,” Eden offers.
“You’re tall enough to drive?” Nicholas says, earning him a death glare from Eden.
“Nicki,” Andrew chastises, which does nothing to make him feel bad.
He is perfectly aware that Andrew is very fond of his brother’s boyfriend, but he’s equally aware that Eden is not fond of him.
The shovel talk he’d given him in the kitchen of Andrew’s apartment had been one of the most uncomfortable and surreal experiences of his life, and that’s saying something since Nicholas has been yelled at by a lot of people.
Never someone so small and pink and angry, though.
He respects that Eden cares about Andrew, likes that he’s in Andrew’s corner, but also resents that Eden made it clear he thinks Nicholas isn’t good enough for Andrew.
Probably the fact that he’s right, that he could live a lifetime and never be half the man Andrew is, is what makes it worse. Eden feels like a reminder that he doesn’t deserve Andrew, and he wants him gone.
“You’re such a shithead,” Eden snaps, flipping Nicholas off with both hands. “You’re fucking lucky Andrew likes you, or I’d kick you in the balls.”
“Like you could.”
“Wanna fucking try me?” Eden says, up and off the couch before Nicholas knows it.
He might not like Eden, but he respects his lack of fucks. At least he’s not fake.
“Does he ever stop?”
“Behave, Nicki,” Andrew chastises, rising from the couch.
His eyes are heavy, like maybe he was half-asleep on the couch, and he runs a hand through his hair before moving towards Eden.
Andrew leans in, having a hushed conversation that ends in another middle finger and death glare from Eden, bearable only because he and Amanda make their departure right after.
“You really are a shit,” Andrew says, sounding far less bothered about it than Eden had.
“It’s not my fault he's annoying,” Nicholas grumbles.
“I love him.”
“You don’t have feelings for him, do you?” Nicholas questions.
“Eden? Absolutely not. There is such a thing as familial and queer platonic love, you know. Eden is like my little brother, and I need you to be nice to him.”
“But he doesn’t like me.”
“I’m sure that’s very difficult for your ego,” Andrew says, moving in front of Nicholas. So close, yet not close enough to satisfying Nicholas.
“I don’t give a fuck who likes me so long as you do,” Nicholas admits.
“I like you, quite a lot.”
“Enough to go get naked with me and cuddle?” Nicholas questions, situating his hands on Andrew’s hips.
The shift in Andrew’s posture is undeniable, his shoulders sagging as he sways forward. Nicholas is there, pulling Andrew against his chest into a tight embrace.
“Don’t wanna be naked,” Andrew mumbles into his shoulder. He lets out a deep sigh, the weight of it heavy, like maybe he’s been holding something in for a long time.
“Why?”
“M’cold.”
“Cold?” Nicholas echoes, reaching for Andrew’s chin and tipping it up so he can press his lips to his forehead. “You’re warm.”
“No, I’m cold,” Andrew counters, despite the heat radiating off his body.
“You look tired, too,” Nicholas notes, not liking the implications of this combo. Has Andrew not been taking care of himself while Nicholas was on the road?
“Is that your way of saying I look like shit?” Andrew asks.
Now that he’s voiced it, Nicholas can’t help but notice that he looks worse for wear. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his normally perfect hair is completely mussed on one side, like he slept hard and forgot to brush it after, very unlike the Andrew he knows.
“You don’t look like shit, you look tired.”
“That’s a tactful way of saying I look like shit,” Andrew huffs, dropping his face to Nicholas’s shoulders.
His hands slip beneath Nicholas’s suit jacket, tugging at his shirt until he pulls it out of the waistband.
Then his hands settle on the bare skin at Nicholas’s back, and he lets out a contented sigh.
Even without looking, he traces the snake tattoo on Nicholas’s spine, up and down in perfect repetition, almost as if he actually did memorize it before.
“The house was quiet without you,” Andrew murmurs.
“Peaceful quiet?” Nicholas questions, relaxing into the embrace.
How the fuck is it that Andrew can affect him like this? Nicholas has had marathon, mind-blowing sex that didn’t get him as calm as Andrew’s touch. Maybe Andrew’s got magic hands or something. They sure as shit feel like it, every stroke up and down his spine making Nicholas sag.
“Sort of. Lots of time to think after work.”
Nicholas is starting to understand how much Andrew thinks. Possibly more than anyone else he’s ever met.
“About what?”
Andrew’s breathing changes, his inhale slow and deep. “Can we lay down before we talk about it?”
“Yes.” Nicholas kisses the top of his head. “Can I be naked though?”
“Is that a ploy for me to touch you?”
“No ploy, I was going to flat out demand it.”
Andrew’s quiet laughter has Nicholas swelling with pride.
“Lucky for you, I am very amenable to this idea,” Andrew says. “Can you do me a favor though?”
“What’s that, princess?”
“Take a shower.”
“I’m not dirty,” Nicholas points out. “I showered after the game, before we left to come home.”
“Yeah, I know but—you smell different.”
“My toiletry bag got lost on the second day and I had to borrow Tony’s shit. He uses fucking two in one body wash and shampoo.”
“I don’t like it,” Andrew says. “I like when you smell like you.”
A soft growl of pleasure rumbles out of Nicholas’s chest at the idea that Andrew likes his scent. He was going to shower regardless because Andrew, who never asks for anything, asked him to, but knowing why has him even more eager.
“Are you going to change?”
“Yeah, but—” Andrew pulls back, cheeks flushed. He really does look two seconds away from passing out. “I wanna shower first.”
“Use my stuff,” Nicholas demands. “I wanna smell myself on you.”
“You going to rub yourself on me, too? Piss on me to stake your claim?”
“You into piss?”
“If you ever pissed on me, it’d be the last time you ever saw me,” Andrew says, his indignation kind of adorable.
“Noted. No pissing. I noticed you didn’t say I couldn’t rub my naked body on you.”
“If you wanted,” Andrew says, the red flush to his cheeks spreading down his neck.
“Princess,” Nicholas growls, crowding into his personal space with both hands on his face, “you like me claiming you.”
It’s not a question, and Andrew doesn’t answer, at least not verbally. The tiny shudder he releases though, the widening of his eyes and the way he leans into Nicholas’s touch, says it all.
Andrew King is his and he likes it.
“After you shower, I want you to put on my clothes.”
“I have my own clothes,” Andrew says, the protest half-hearted at best.
“I want you to smell like me. Every inch of you. My shampoo, my body wash, my clothes, and then my sheets. Because you’re mine.”
“Caveman,” Andrew grumbles, those gorgeous brown eyes of his half-lidded as his fingers smooth down Nicholas’s spine.