Chapter 20 Andrew #3
If the roles were reversed, Andrew would not be at all okay with this, but he tries to let go, to focus on Nicki’s voracious enthusiasm and do exactly what Nicki told him to do—let go and enjoy it, his vision half-blurring as Nicki tongue fucks him like a beast. This isn’t his gentle Nicki, this is hockey player Nicki—the man who devours and dominates.
He’s not rough, but he’s intense, fingers digging into Andrew’s thighs as his tongue delves into places no one else’s has ever dared.
Andrew tried this once. And by tried he means he got one lick on a partner’s ass after Charlie insisted rimming was akin to visiting heaven.
The only white Andrew saw was the inside of a toilet bowl when he nearly vomited.
The smells and textures and closeness were too fucking much.
That night had ended in a lot of embarrassment and Andrew being accused of being a boring tease when he stopped everything to brush his teeth and regulate.
After that, he never tried rimming anyone else ever again, and he sure as hell never let anyone else do it to him, knowing that he would never return the favor.
Nicki doesn’t seem to care that Andrew isn’t interested in rimming him now or ever, or that Andrew hasn’t showered since this morning. Judging by the sounds he’s making, he might as well be having a feast, which does something to Andrew’s delicate ego.
Turns out, it’s damn near impossible to be insecure or shy when there’s a six foot six tattooed hockey god feasting on your ass.
Just when Andrew is sure it can’t feel better, Nicki stops.
Andrew doesn’t ask why because he hasn’t taken his eyes off Nicki once, not even when his neck ached from the strain of watching
“Back or hands and knees?” Nicki asks, not even bothering to wipe the drool from his chin. He wears the mess he made of himself eating Andrew’s ass with as much confidence as he wears a designer suit, and fuck isn’t that one of the most attractive things Andrew has ever seen.
“Like this,” Andrew answers. “I want to see you.”
“You wanna watch me fuck you, princess?”
“Yes.” Andrew stretches out his legs, knowing what’s coming but not entirely prepared.
Luckily for him, Nicki’s moves gentle once his fingers are lubed up, words of praise and kisses peppered across his thighs as Nicki works him open.
Given the tongue fucking, it should be easier but Andrew is nervous, his body finding a world of difference in Nicki’s tongue and his thick fingers.
Fingers that he is very aware are both giant and not at all big compared to Nicki’s cock.
“Relax, princess. I’m going to take care of you.
” Nicki’s finger presses in. The physical resistance is negligible, but the emotional impact is staggering.
The sensation of something inside his body is strange, and Andrew tries to take a moment to decide if he likes it.
He’s only been on the receiving end once, and that was so long ago he’s not even sure if his memories of it were bad because of the penetration, or because he was forcing himself to partake in some weird self-inflicted desire to keep up with Charlie in college.
He’d been so terrified of being left behind that he dated, tried sex, and found both woefully lacking in gratification or able to hold his interest.
Even now, if he tries to picture anyone else doing this to him, anyone but Nicki between his thighs, he knows he wouldn’t like it. The sex isn’t what Andrew wants, it’s more of Nicki he longs for.
“Feels weird,” Andrew admits.
In the past, he kept those thoughts to himself but Nicki is different. It’s safe to tell these things to Nicki. The tip of a second finger pauses at his entrance as Nicki stills, resting his cheek against Andrew’s inner thigh.
“New weird or bad weird?”
“I don’t know,” Andrew admits, slightly agitated by being unable to tell. He doesn’t like not knowing things. It feels wrong in his brain, and his spiraling can happen very quickly.
“That’s okay,” Nicki soothes, kissing the inside of his thigh.
“I don’t know,” Andrew repeats, unable to keep the edge of panic from slipping into his voice.
Nicki doesn’t appear disappointed or frustrated when he pulls his fingers out, crawling the rest of the way up Andrew’s body.
He hovers, almost like he wants to kiss him, but before Andrew can point out where his mouth just was, Nicholas excuses himself to the bathroom.
A minute later, he returns, resituating himself over Andrew, lowering his mouth to Andrew’s, tasting minty and fresh.
Andrew’s relief is a tangible thing, not just at the taste, but at how well Nicki knows him, how easily he did what he knew would make Andrew comfortable.
How perfect he is, maybe not literally, but for Andrew.
Deepening the kiss Andrew groans. Kissing Andrew likes, no question. From the glide of Nicki’s lips against his own, to their shared breaths and having Nicki close enough for Andrew to touch his hair, it’s all good, good, good.
Nicki kisses Andrew for long languid minutes until he’s sighing and boneless again. Only then does pull back to stare into his eyes.
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Focus on kissing me. Pull my hair, do that stimming thing you do on my undercut. Whatever you need, you just focus on me, princess. I’m going to get you relaxed and ready, but if you change your mind, we stop.”
“But—”
“If you change your mind, we stop.” Nicki repeats, tone firm but gentle.
Andrew nods, reclaiming Nicki’s lips in a kiss.
His mind races, trying to figure out what that meant, what might be coming, but then Nicki’s tongue finds its way into Andrew’s mouth, and he drags his nails over Nicki’s shorn hair, and the combination of sensory pleasure makes his brain do a happy buzzing thing.
Moments later, he becomes aware of Nicki’s fingers at his ass again, and he has a brief thought that the angle must be awkward for Nicki, a tinge of worry he might not like it, the stab of anxiety that comes with the awareness that he’s more work than other people, that sex with him will always be sporadic and never easy.
Suddenly, those thoughts are quiet. They’re not gone, but they’re drowned out by the way Nicki lavishes attention to Andrew’s mouth, by the bliss of stroking Nicki’s buzzcut, and then eventually by a sharp flare of pleasure when Nicki finds his prostate.
“Mine,” Nicki growls into his mouth.
“Yours,” Andrew confirms.
Another finger is added, and it’s still weird, but at least now Andrew’s brain has decided it’s not bad weird. It’s different, which Andrew’s brain still isn’t sure it likes, but his heart is on board, so he tries to ignore his damn brain for once and focus on Nicki.
“I’m going to fuck you now, princess. Real gentle and slow, going to make you feel so good you can’t live without it.”
“Cocky bastard,” Andrew laughs.
“Confident,” Nicki grins, the look on his face one Andrew won’t soon forget. It’s not the smile Nicki uses for social media or endorsements, it’s one Andrew’s only ever seen directed towards him.
“Hey, Nicki.”
“Yes?”
Andrew crooks his finger so Nicki gets closer.
It’s not close enough, so Andrew grabs his face with both hands, pulling him down into a searing kiss that leaves them both a little dazed.
When Nicki pulls back, there’s an almost glazed look in his eyes that makes Andrew feel really fucking good.
He’s maybe not so good with the sex stuff, but he feels confident he can handle Nicki’s heart.
“You’re mine too, Nicki.”
“Yeah, princess.” Nicki kisses him again, a barely there press of lips that’s achingly gentle. “Yours.”
That single world feels better than any physical pleasure.
That certainty relaxes Andrew, grounding him enough that he can stay calm while Nicki puts on a condom and follows Nicki’s instructions to bear down against the intrusion, even when Nicki’s dick is the thing pressing in instead of just his fingers.
“How fucking big are you?” Andrew asks after what feels like years but is probably seconds.
“Big,” Nicki replies in that no nonsense tone of his. “You’re doing so good. You should see yourself.”
Andrew cannot imagine anything more horrible than the notion of looking at himself being fucked. Andrew barely likes mirrors period, the increased self-perception is often too much. Having to look at himself being so vulnerable, well, Andrew would rather walk off a cliff.
“I’m going to pass.”
“More for my eyes then,” Nicki says, peppering kisses across Andrew’s jaw and cheeks as he continues to work himself in, inch by inch.
Eventually he stops, the fullness bordering on discomfort. Again, it’s not painful but it’s not pleasant either. It’s weird. Uncomfortable, more emotionally than physically.
“Shit.”
“Do you like it?” Andrew asks.
“Do I—fuck. You have no idea, do you?”
Andrew shakes his head. He doesn’t. He doesn’t have that desire to fuck like so many people, that pure sexual need.
Even when he is hard, most of the time he ignores it because he just doesn’t care.
He can’t imagine feeling driven out of his mind with sexual desire the way he’s heard his brothers describe it.
“You feel incredible. So fucking tight, so warm, so mine.”
The praise is nice, and Andrew focuses on that as the slight burn begins to dissipate.
“Tell me more,” Andrew requests, closing his eyes to focus on the rumble of Nicki’s voice and the soothing background music.
“You wanna hear how good you feel, princess?”
Andrew nods. Yes. That’s what he wants. He wants to know how wanted he is, how desired. Wants to hear that he’s perfect for Nicki, not the masked version of him but just Andrew. Oh, how he wants to be wanted by this man who makes it safe to be just him.