Chapter 20 Andrew #2
“Are you sure?” Nicki questions.
“Would I say it if I wasn’t sure?” Andrew counters.
“Yes, you fucking would, which is why I’m asking. Don’t do this for me. If you don’t want it, then I’m fine. Look, my dick is already softening.”
“Does that mean you can’t keep it up if I wanted you to do all the things you said.”
“I can fucking keep it up,” Nicki growls, kissing Andrew until his toes tingle and all the air in his lungs is gone.
Nicki’s kisses are possessive, demanding, and unexpectedly grounding.
There’s finesse to his kisses, an experience Andrew doesn’t possess, but he tries to match it with feeling, pouring everything he wants, everything Nicki makes him feel, into this one kiss.
Judging by the sounds Nicki makes, he’s at least enjoying it as much as Andrew, who has no problem acknowledging this is the single greatest kiss of his life. No one has ever kissed Andrew like they need him to survive. No one but Nicki.
“So you’re sure?” Nicki asks again, breathless and handsome.
“I’m positive. Or well—positive I want to try, but there’s something you need to understand first. This doesn’t mean I’ll always want sex now.
I might again tomorrow, probably not but maybe, but it might not be for months.
I just…I don’t know. This is new for me, and I don’t want to get your hopes up then disappoint you. ”
“Nothing about you could disappoint me,” Nicki tells him, cupping Andrew’s jaw.
“I don’t want to do anything,” Andrew blurts, deciding he might as well go all in.
“Okay.”
“I mean I want to kiss you, and uh, touch you, but not touch you. I don’t like bodily fluids, and I don’t really like jerking guys off.”
“Okay.”
“You’ll have to do all the work.”
“Okay.”
“Why do you keep saying okay?”
“Because it’s okay, princess. You keep throwing things at me with a tone that suggests I’m going to say no, and I’m not.
You want to lay here in this expensive bed, lit up by the New York skyline and be worshiped?
I’m your fucking man. You want to feel good without lifting a finger. I’m at your fucking service.”
“Oh.”
“That’s right,” Nicki croons, still holding his jaw as he kisses Andrew, pulling back just enough their lips brush when he speaks. “You’re mine, and I take care of what’s mine.”
“So I can just…lay here.”
“Mhmm,” Nicki hums, kissing Andrew’s cheek then his jaw. “You’re going to let me make you feel good. If you don’t like something, you tell me, but otherwise let me be in charge. You don’t have to think or move. You don’t have to do anything but lay there like a pretty princess.”
“You make me sound like a doll,” Andrew grumbles, unsure why it makes his body tingle. He’s not a doll, but he likes the idea of just being there without doing anything. The removal of that pressure, that demand, makes Andrew feel good.
“Not a doll. You’re too real, too mine. But a princess? Abso-fucking-lutely.”
Somehow, that’s even better and Andrew finds his dick hardening, not as quickly or impressively as Nicki’s, but an erection just the same.
Apparently, Andrew is turned on by the idea of someone being slightly obsessive and possessive with him.
Charlie would have a fucking field day if he knew.
Maybe…maybe Andrew will tell him. Maybe it’s okay to explain this to Charlie, to share more with his twin than just the easy things.
He would understand if Andrew explained why he shut out sex for long.
He might tease Andrew something merciless if he finds out about the princess thing, but with Nicki as the prize it’s worth it.
“Your only job tonight is to look at me,” Nicki says, his accent pronounced, voice deep and commanding. “Focus on me. Moan for me.”
“Bossy,” Andrew remarks, gliding his fingers over Nicki’s tattoos.
There’s dual snake tattoos that wrap around both collarbones in a way that looks almost real.
Andrew traces the barbs, the skin so very soft despite its appearance otherwise.
This tattoo is much like his Nicki. Rough in appearance, but soft to the touch.
At least with him. Nicki is still a grumpy asshole to everyone else, and Andrew is hard pressed to deny that he likes being the only one given full Nicki personality privileges, the only one allowed to have this gentle version of his man.
“You want to be in charge?” Nicki asks.
“No, thank you,” Andrew answers, using both hands to map Nicki’s tattoos now. He knows most of them by heart, but being allowed to touch without expecting, knowing he doesn’t have to do anything, makes him long to appreciate Nicki in his own way.
“What a polite princess,” Nicki rumbles. “Now lay that gorgeous head of yours down on the pillow and open your legs.”
Doing as he’s told, Andrew spreads his legs wide to make room for Nicki to settle between them. Nicki stills when his fingers graze the waistband of Andrew’s boxers, a harsh frown marring his features.
“What?” Andrew questions.
“Fuck.”
“What?” Andrew repeats, a sinking feeling in his gut. Did he change his mind already? He seemed so certain.
“I don’t have condoms or lube. I didn’t think we needed them,” Nicki explains, sounding like someone canceled Christmas. Nicki drops his forehead to Andrew’s belly, half-mouthing at his tummy and half-whining, which is a sound Andrew has never heard him make. “Want to be inside of you.”
“You can.”
“No,” Nicki groans, kissing Andrew’s hip. “You need to be prepped and loose, princess. I won’t hurt you, ever.”
“I packed supplies, Nicki.”
“Princess.” Nicki smirks, lifting his head to stare at Andrew, “did you plan this?”
“Um—yes?” Andrew shifts under the intensity of Nicki’s stare. “I like to plan things.”
“Don’t ever fucking change,” Nicki smirks, tumbling off the bed and racing to Andrew’s suitcase.
“In my toiletry bag,” Andrew explains before Nicki dumps his luggage out, and judging by the intensity of his movements seems like a distinct possibility. “The lilac one with the—yes, that one.”
Nicki is back on the bed and between his legs in record speed, lavishing Andrew’s neck and cheeks in kisses. “Mine.”
“Did you doubt that in the last sixty seconds?”
“No, but you did. I saw that look in your eyes.” Nicki’s blue eyes are so dark they’re almost black.
He’s painfully observant, and though Andrew has a hint of unease at being so acutely perceived, there’s an intense relief too.
There will never be any hiding or masking in front of Nicki.
He sees through it, sees Andrew. “I’m going to tell you every chance I can. ”
“Oh no, how terrible,” Andrew deadpans.
“You’re a fucking delight, princess.”
Andrew bites his bottom lip, trying and failing not to let his smile split his face in two.
Sex has always been terrifying for Andrew.
Confusing. Vulnerable. Difficult to mentally compartmentalize and therefore anxiety producing.
Also, sometimes very squicky. With Nicki, it’s still a little scary, because Andrew’s default is anxiety in the face of newness, but it’s a little exciting too.
He never imagined he’d be in bed with someone who could make him smile, someone who would want to take him apart and put him back together.
He never dreamed of having a partner who wants to own him, body and soul.
“Nicki.”
Nicki’s answering smile is one Andrew has never seen, something full of such pride and pleasure, it robs Andrew of the last breath in his lungs. Nicholas Whitmore is a gorgeous man, and somehow he is Andrew’s.
“Yes, princess?”
“I’m ready to feel good.”
Nicki’s bitten off fuck is the last thing he says before kissing his way across Andrew’s belly and down his hips, curling his fingers into Andrew’s waistband.
He turns his gaze on Andrew, watching his face as he pulls them down.
Though he’s seen Andrew naked in the shower, he was sick then, and this feels different because it is different.
“Fucking perfect,” Nicki says in a tone that bears no argument.
For once in his life, Andrew doesn’t want to argue. He doesn’t want to minimize himself or take up less space. He wants to be the center of someone’s world—the center of Nicki’s world.
His boxers are removed, then Nicki’s, but he makes no immediate move to touch him, seemingly content to take Andrew in. It’s nice but not enough. Andrew doesn’t even know what he wants, only knows he needs to be touched, to be reminded viscerally how much Nicki wants him.
Every touch is a balm to his tired, weary soul. Nicki’s kisses, his caresses, can’t white out the insecurity and pain of the past, but goddamn do they come close.
It’s clear Nicki’s experienced, taking Andrew apart with gentle caresses and a mouth on his dick that brings him to such high planes of pleasure, he hardly recognizes the sounds he’s making.
With every touch Andrew loses more of himself, fisting one hand in the longest bit of Nicholas’s hair on top, while the other hand fondles his buzzed undercut.
The best of both worlds—something to stim on and something to pull.
When Nicki pops off Andrew’s cock, it’s all he can do not to sob.
He didn’t even know it could feel so good to have someone blow him, and while he’s sure that some of it is Nicki’s obvious dick expertise, it’s also just because it’s Nicki.
He likes having this big, strong man between his legs, worshiping him.
“Please,” Andrew whimpers.
“Princesses don’t beg,” Nicki tells him, voice rough from having Andrew’s cock shoved down it.
“No?”
“No,” Nicki smirks, moving Andrew’s legs over his shoulders so that he’s almost bent in half, completely exposed as Nicki buries his face in Andrew’s ass.
“I didn’t shower,” Andrew squeaks.
“Mine,” Nicki growls, the vibrations making goosebumps spread across Andrew’s arms and legs.