Chapter 22 Andrew
“What did you think of New York?” Nicki asks.
It’s the first thing he’s said to Andrew since they left.
After departing the party, something heavy settled around Nicki, and though he’d held Andrew’s hand and sat close in the car ride back to their hotel, he'd been noticeably closed off otherwise. It wasn’t until they made it into their suite, the door locked behind them that he finally opened up.
Given how little Nicki talked about his parents before they came here, despite orchestrating an entire fake boyfriend situation for this one night, he’d assumed their relationship must be complicated.
Even with those suspicions, he’d been unprepared for the reality of their callousness and emotional abuse.
If that was what he witnessed in a few hours time in public, he can’t imagine what reality Nicki lived growing up.
Barnabas Whitmore is a self-centered and cruel man who found nothing but flaws in his only son. It twisted Andrew’s insides up to witness, even more-so to think about how that must’ve influenced Nicki’s desires to forge their original deal.
No wonder Nicki didn’t trust people or want to need them.
No wonder he was so damn starved for intimacy and affection.
No wonder he was perpetually surprised when Andrew liked the real him and not the rich, celebrity version he pretended to be for sponsors and the league.
Nicki had been raised as a commodity, a product to be used and sold, and then when his parents found no use for him, devalued.
If Andrew thinks about it for more than a few seconds, it makes him viscerally ill.
His Nicki with his beautiful, thorny outside.
His Nicki, who is protective and loyal and has never once lied to Andrew.
His Nicki, who sometimes wants to be the little spoon, who craves being held and touched, who wants to be loved.
“If you need to think this long, I’m going to assume you hate it,” Nicki says.
“New York is interesting,” Andrew offers, realizing he took too long to reply.
“That’s code for you hate it.”
“No, it's—okay, yeah.” Andrew laughs, lowering himself onto the end of the bed. Nicki follows suit, his side all but plastered to Andrew as if he can’t bear to be separated by even an inch of space. “It’s just a little much. It’s very crowded and loud and kind of overstimulating.”
“I’m sorry for bringing you here. That was an asshole move. You don’t deserve to be used like this.”
“We had a deal, Nicki. I promised you I’d come. I’ll come anywhere you ask me to.”
“Don’t do that,” Nicki says, shaking his head. “Don’t do shit for other people.”
“For you? Always.”
“No.”
“Yes,” Andrew challenges, sliding his hand down Nicki’s leg to rest on his knee.
He gives it a squeeze. “This is what being partners means. It means we show up for each other when things are hard, not just when they’re easy.
It means we’re there for each other to lean on, to find sanctuary in.
I want to be your sanctuary, Nicki. This thing between us can’t just be you taking care of me.
I like it, but…but you have to let me take care of you, too. ”
“I don’t deserve it.”
“That’s bullshit,” Andrew challenges. “And even if it wasn’t, which it is, then too bad.”
“Too bad?” Nicki repeats, a quirk in his lips.
“Yeah, too bad.” Andrew moves without second guessing himself, sensing what Nicki needs, even if he hasn’t yet realized or acknowledged it.
He straddles Nicki’s lap, twining his arms around his neck.
“You are mine, Nicki. I get to protect you, support you, love you, even when you don’t think you deserve it. It’s not my job, it’s my privilege.”
“Fuck, princess.”
“I know they did a number on you, but you need to know they’re wrong. They’re wrong about you, Nicki.”
“Why are you so sure?” Nicki whispers, those blue eyes filled with so much pain, it physically hurts Andrew. He can’t undo what they did, but he sure as shit can love Nicki loudly for the rest of their lives. Maybe if he’s lucky, his voice will eventually drown out theirs.
“Because I love you. Because you and I, we’ve seen each other at our worst, and we still chose each other.”
“I’ll always choose you, princess.”
Andrew brings their foreheads together, brushing his lips against Nicki’s in a barely there kiss that has Nicki whimpering. “Do you promise?”
“I promise.” Nicki’s hand is at the back of Andrew’s head cradling it gently, possessively, as he brings their lips together for another kiss that’s searing in its desperation. Beneath him, Nicki trembles.
“Shh,” Andrew soothes, kissing Nicki again. “What do you need?”
“I need you.” Nicki’s hands are everywhere, roaming over his back then down to Andrew’s ass, as if he can physically pull Andrew inside his own body. “I need to touch you. To take care of you. Please.”
“Yes.”
“Mine,” Nicki utters like a prayer, rising from the bed and taking Andrew with him. Andrew’s legs wrap around Nicki’s waist as he’s carried to the bathroom.
“I want to forget. Help me forget, princess.”
Andrew skims his nails over the back of Nicki’s head. “You know I’m yours.”
Nicki nods, lowering Andrew’s ass onto the counter in the bathroom before dropping to his knees then reaching for Andrew’s shoes.
Though Andrew can easily remove them himself, he suspects Nicki needs to be the one to do it.
With intense concentration, Nicki carefully removes each shoe.
He doesn’t stop there, cradling Andrew’s foot in his hand before slowly inching the sock off his left foot, going so far as to press a kiss to the inside of his ankle then the arch of his foot.
He does the other side too, the tender attention rendering Andrew speechless.
He’s clearly in no hurry, resting his cheek against Andrew’s knee while he smooths his hands up and down Andrew’s calves beneath his dress pants.
The touch seems to be as much for Andrew as it is Nicki, and Andrew slumps over, running his hands through Nicki’s hair, each of them soothing the other, and themselves with gentle touches.
The intimacy makes Andrew’s chest wobble. This right here is what he’s always craved. Not a fast burning fire, or a desperate passion in bed, just a steady quiet kind of love.
“I love you,” Andrew whispers.
“I love you,” Nicki echoes.
It takes Andrew by surprise at how calm the declaration makes him feel.
He’s talked to his brothers about their relationships before, heard Alec’s explanations about the way he loves Theo—achingly and desperately—like he can’t bear to live without him.
Or Jason who loves Emerson as big and open as he is.
Or Charlie and Eden, whose love is in your face and loud like Charlie’s art.
This isn’t like that. His feelings for Nicki aren’t desperate or aching. It’s not consuming him, demanding he proclaim it to the world. It’s not messy or bold. It’s something different, something theirs and theirs alone. Something as steady and unmovable as the sea.
Loving Nicki is quiet, and for a man like Andrew whose brain never stops, it’s a welcome relief to find solace in another person. Nicki loves all of Andrew and that is steadying—his love there even when Andrew can’t touch it or see it. A place to return to. A safe haven. Home.
“Can I undress you?” Nicki questions, as if Andrew could deny him anything.
“Yes, Nicki.”
“Thank you,” he murmurs, hands on Andrew’s hips to guide him off the sink and into a standing position.
He makes quick work of Andrew’s pants then his suit jacket.
He moves onto the shirt next, undoing every button like he’s unwrapping a present, kissing the skin he reveals.
Pushing the shirt off his shoulders, he takes a step back, eying Andrew with obvious appreciation.
Were it anyone else, he’d balk under the attention, hyper aware of the places his sharp angles and extra softness around the middle aren’t considered conventionally attractive. Yet Nicki is looking at him like he’s the most perfect thing he’s ever seen. Under Nicki’s gaze, he feels perfect.
Not all the things the world told him or the things he told himself. Not broken. Not weird. Not difficult. Not hard to love. Just Andrew. Nicki’s Andrew. Nicki’s princess.
“I need to touch you.”
“You are touching me,” Andrew points out.
“It’s not enough,” Nicki grunts, hands roaming over Andrew’s chest to settle at his hips. His thumbs slip under the waistband of Andrew’s boxers, tugging those down, too.
Andrew’s not hard, not close, and tonight not in the mood. Not for that. There’s no insecurity when Nicki takes in his soft cock, no fear he’s going to disappoint, just a relief to be seen, to be known, to be wanted.
“So fucking perfect.”
“You have too many clothes on,” Andrew tells him, running his fingers along Nicki’s throat and delighting in the way his Adam’s apple bobs. “I think you should take them off.”
“Do you now?”
“Yes.” Andrew’s fingers curl around Nicki’s throat, his thumb resting over Nicki’s pulse point to count the rapid beats. “Show me what’s mine.”
“Bossy princess,” Nicki smirks.
“You like me bossy.”
“Damn fucking right I do.”
There is the truth of it. Nicki likes Andrew.
He likes him put together and dressed up as much as he likes him in his home clothes.
He likes him charming his teammates as much as he likes him crashing out in a rage room.
He likes all versions of Andrew, none of them more or less real, just different parts of himself—some of which he spent so long hiding, he hardly knew how to let them out before meeting this beautiful man.
Watching Nicki undress himself, there’s none of the carefulness he exhibited while undressing Andrew. He’s not putting on a show either, which somehow makes it better. Just his Nicki, stripped down and open, only for Andrew.
There’s a want in Andrew, one he’s never had the freedom to explore. It’s not sexual exactly but adjacent.
“Nicki.”