Chapter 17 Nicholas #3
Taking Andrew’s hand once they’re both naked, he brings him into the bathroom, letting Andrew set the temperature. Despite his fever, he sets the water on hot, stepping beneath the spray and groaning loudly as the massive rainfall shower coats his entire body.
Nudity has always been one of two things for Nicholas—perfunctory because of locker room necessity or a prelude to sexual activity.
There’s nothing perfunctory about the sight of Andrew’s beautiful body naked and wet, but it’s not entirely sexual either.
Sure, Nicholas’s dick is half-chubbed, he’s got eyes, and he’s attracted to Andrew, but simmering beneath that attraction is something equally powerful—appreciation.
He appreciates the lines of Andrew’s lanky body, the curves and dips of his angular build that contrast sharply with the softness around his middle.
His body is lived in, in a way Nicholas’s never has been.
His entire life, his body was a tool. As a child, his looks won him the only kind of parental affection he was allowed—praise when people found him cute, which reflected well on his superficial mother and father.
In hockey, his body became a tool—a weapon.
As he got older, and grew bigger and stronger, those two worlds meshed, and eventually he learned how to use his body to get anything he wanted—attention, money, sex.
His body is muscled, toned, a commodity to be bought and sold and used by agents and companies and fans. There’s none of that in Andrew’s body, and Nicholas wants to worship him for it—every human imperfection calling to something primal in Nicholas.
Cracking an eye open, Andrew frowns when he sees Nicholas standing outside the shower. “You just gonna stand there and stare?”
“Fuck no,” Nicholas replies, hurrying into the shower.
As soon as Andrew reaches for the shampoo, Nicholas is there pushing his hand away.
Before Andrew can question it, Nicholas is manhandling him to the side out of the direct spray before sudsing up his hands with shampoo.
He’s never washed anyone else’s hair, but it can’t be that different, so he lowers his hands into Andrew’s hair and begins to wash.
For a second, he worries this isn’t what Andrew wants, but that turns out to be unfounded when he massages the shampoo into Andrew’s scalp and earns himself a deep, guttural groan.
“That feel good, princess?”
“Like you don’t even know.”
Nicholas's grin is self-satisfied as he continues to wash Andrew’s hair.
Somewhere along the line, it turns into more of a scalp massage than washing.
He continues until Andrew’s entire head of dark hair is white with thick, foamy bubbles, and his breathing is slow and even.
Not wanting to break the spell of relaxation he’s managed to create, he slowly walks Andrew back, using his hand to support the weight of his head as he tips it back.
There’s no resistance from Andrew, no commentary or sounds, his silence speaking volumes about how exhausted he must be, but also how much he clearly likes this literal princess treatment.
Nicholas can’t help but wonder if it’s a by-product of getting sick, or if he’s been hiding in plain sight, waiting for the right person to notice he needs to be taken care of as much as he takes care of everyone else. Probably a bit of both.
“Keep your eyes shut,” Nicholas instructs before guiding Andrew fully beneath the spray.
While the water rinses the shampoo from Andrew’s hair, he gets a washcloth and lathers it with his favorite body wash, the familiar scent enveloping them when he scrubs himself down hurriedly. He wants to wash Andrew last, planning to take his time with him.
Still beneath the spray of water, the shower head washes away most of the soap, but since Andrew isn’t actually dirty, Nicholas doesn’t think it matters.
This is just about taking care of Andrew, making him feel good, and recognizing that showers are part of what regulates his boyfriend.
Nicholas doesn’t need to understand it to partake in the ritual, running worshipful hands over Andrew’s pliant body.
Nicholas never gave much thought to nudity.
Yet being allowed to greedily take in every detail of Andrew’s body, being allowed to touch, he’s thinking about it now.
He’s never enjoyed someone else’s nakedness when it didn’t benefit him.
It’s odd for Nicholas, because he’s not getting anything out of this, so why is Andrew so goddamn nice?
He likes washing Andrew, likes being the one person in the world Andrew isn’t hiding from right now.
It makes Nicholas proud to be the person allowed to take care of him.
“Pretty sure I’m clean,” Andrew murmurs, his words slow and quiet like he’s half-asleep standing up.
“I’ll be the judge of that, princess.”
Dropping to his knees, Nicholas tips his face up and forgets how to breathe. Andrew is looking at him with the softest expression, his hand smoothing Nicholas’s damp hair off his face.
He’s looking at Nicholas in a way that has his dick taking notice.
Andrew is fucking beautiful and precious, and he’s Nicholas’s.
The soft expression on Andrew’s face shifts when his gaze drops and he takes notice of Nicholas’s dick between the spread of his thighs.
Almost immediately, his shoulders hunch.
Before Nicholas can say a word, Andrew speaks.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
Nicholas moves faster than he ever has, off the floor and in Andrew’s space, hands on his chin to tip his gaze up. “The fuck are you apologizing for?”
“I’m not—” Andrew stops, shuddering when Nicholas drags his thumb over Andrew’s jaw. “It’s not just because I’m sick. I don’t always get hard, but you do, you will and—”
“And my attraction to you isn’t your fault. It’s not your obligation or responsibility, and it sure as shit isn’t something to apologize for because I’m turned on from touching you.”
“Oh.”
“Exactly.” Nicholas grips Andrew’s entire chin in his hand. “You don’t fucking apologize for that again. Not to me, or anyone, ever. Not that you’re going to be with anyone else if I have a say.”
“You keep saying that like I’m in high demand,” Andrew scoffs, the exhaustion radiating out of him so intensely that Nicholas wants to lock him away forever so the goddamn world can stop taking, taking, taking from this man.
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“You. Are.” He punctuates each word with a kiss to Andrew’s forehead, pleased when that simple show of affection stops Andrew’s arguments.
His body sways forward until his forehead rests on Nicki’s shoulders while his fingertips smooth across Nicholas’s bare stomach, dangerously close to his dick. He knows Andrew isn’t teasing him, but what exactly his endgame is remains to be seen.
“What are you doing, princess?”
“I don’t know,” Andrew whispers. “I don’t want to jerk you off, but I want to touch you. Is that selfish?”
“I don’t give a fuck if it is,” Nicholas answers. “You can do whatever the fuck you want to me.”
“That’s not fair to you.”
“You keep saying that like I’m not here of my own free will. I don’t do shit I don’t want, Andrew. Not like this. It’s not a hardship to be with you. I’m not missing out.”
“I just don’t want you to regret picking me.”
Part of Nicholas wants to slam his fist against the tile wall, the helplessness he feels hearing those words enough to make him irrationally angry. Lashing out won’t make Andrew feel better, won’t assuage the insecurity that is far bigger than he realized.
“I regret a lot of fucking things I’ve done in my life, princess, but you aren’t one of them.”
Andrew slowly lifts his head, his lips parted and his cheeks flushed. From the fever or the hot water, he has no idea. What he does know, is that Andrew needs to lay down, needs to be held, needs to fucking rest.
“Let’s go to bed.”
“You could—you know.”
“Don’t make yourself uncomfortable for me, not ever.”
Andrew shakes his head slowly. “I’m not.”
“But—”
“I know it might seem weird. I don’t always understand either. But right now, this is okay. I don’t want to help you, but I want to be close to you. Knowing you’re turned on because of me, without the pressure of having to reciprocate is—nice.”
“Are you sure?” Nicholas asks, his dick waiting, very on board.
“I’m sure,” Andrew whispers, hiding his face into Nicholas’s neck while he takes in slow, measured breaths.
“You made me feel so good.” Andrew’s lips brush against the hollow of Nicholas's throat while he speaks. “It would make me happy if you felt good, too.”
“Being allowed to touch you makes me feel good,” Nicholas points out, needing to make sure Andrew understands.
“I want you to touch yourself, Nicki.” Andrew’s lips brush over the hollow of his throat, not a kiss but something infinitely more intimate, as if Andrew is actually breathing him in. “Think about me and touch yourself.”
“Fuck, princess.”
“One day, maybe. We could try that thing you said. If I didn’t have to do anything, and it was with you, I think I might like it. No promises.”
Nicholas damn near shoots his load at the idea of touching Andrew like that. Worshiping him. Bringing him to complete pleasure while Andrew lays there atop Nicholas’s silk sheets and pillows, surrounded in luxury like the princess he deserves to be.
“I can’t stop smelling you,” Andrew says, halfway between a laugh and a yawn. “I’m addicted to how you smell.”
“I’m addicted to every fucking thing about you,” Nicholas admits, pretty sure he’s seeing stars when Andrew’s fingers trace beneath his belly button.
Curling a hand around his dick he strokes, doing his best not to come in ten seconds flat, something that becomes infinitely harder when Andrew’s arms wrap around his waist in a hug.
The position makes it a little awkward to jerk himself without touching Andrew, but then Andrew presses closer, sighing happily.
“You can come on me,” he whispers, “the shower will wash it away. I don’t like it in bed or anything, but in here…yeah.”
Fuck. Isn’t that a fucking mental image.
“You’re going to kill me,” Nicholas groans, fucking his own fist hard and fast. With Andrew wrapped around him, he can’t see, but he can feel his hand bumping against Andrew’s hip, feel the way the tip of his erection brushes up against his skin.
It’s the smallest fucking contact in the grand scheme of sex, yet it lights up the pleasure center in Nicholas’s brain.
When he comes, it’s with a choked off sob he tries to hide by burying his face in Andrew’s hair, his entire body trembling with the intensity of his release.
He knows it has nothing to do with the fact that he hasn’t gotten laid in weeks, and everything to do with the intimacy of being so fucking close to Andrew.
“Mine,” he growls, rubbing his face into Andrew’s hair, breathing in the scent of sex and his shampoo on Andrew, his entire body thrumming with the pleasure of claiming him.
“Yeah,” Andrew murmurs. “Yours.”
Post-coital endorphins have Nicholas grinning in a way he rarely does, his hands digging into Andrew’s hips to keep his smaller body close.
Work hard and you can have it all, Nicholas. Respect. Money. The family empire.
That was what his father drilled into him.
He’s spent his entire fucking life chasing it, or some version of it anyway, yet none of it has ever been enough.
The thrill of fame is hollow, the riches equally so.
If Nicholas had everything, he never understood how he could still want.
He understands now. This right here, this is what he’s never had.
This is what he’s been missing—companionship, trust, love.
Nicholas is falling in love with Andrew fucking King.