Chapter 22 Andrew #2
“Yeah?” Nicki looks up just as he’s kicking off his silk boxers. His dick is half-hard, as it usually is when Andrew is naked. Somehow, that pleases Andrew. He might not want to do anything about it, but he likes it and that’s ok. What he wants and likes is okay.
“I want to watch you come.”
Nicki’s head cocks to the side. “I thought you didn’t want that tonight.”
“I don’t. Not for me. I just…I want to see you feel good.”
“You don’t have to do that for me, I told you, I’m okay if there’s not always sex.”
“I know you did, and I love you for that, but…but I want this. I want you. I know it’s not in the way other people might, but—”
“Fuck other people,” Nicki says, stepping close enough his fully hard cock presses into Andrew’s side. He lets himself enjoy it, not for sexual gratification but because Nicki is aroused, and Andrew likes when Nicki feels good. “What do you want?”
“I want to touch your tattoos while you fuck your fist.”
“That’s fucking hot,” Nicki grunts, absolving Andrew of any worries that perhaps Nicki wouldn’t be into it.
“Then I want you to come on me. But only because we’re in the shower. You have to wash it off after.”
“I can do that,” Nicki says, a rumble of pleasure emitted when he claims Andrew’s kiss.
“You want a show?”
“I want you,” Andrew whispers into his mouth. “Not a show just…you. I want to be close to you while you make yourself feel good. I want to feel your muscles constrict, hear you whimper, want to know it’s because of me, even if I’m not doing anything.”
“Fuck.”
“Is that okay?” He asks, despite knowing it is. It’s hard to feel selfish. To ask for what he wants, especially when it’s atypical to the kind of sexual dynamic he’s grown up hearing about from his brothers or the media.
A lifetime of feeling like his own relationship to sex was too different from most people, combined with feeling unsafe fully exploring it, has left its mark on Andrew in the form of a few hangups he needs to work through.
“More than fucking okay.”
Andrew exhales, trusting Nicki to mean what he says, always.
With that last bit of permission, he tugs Nicki into the shower, setting the water hot enough the room fills up with steam while they take turns washing each other’s hair.
Before they rinse, Andrew takes his soapy hands and skims them over Nicki’s shoulders covering the tattoos in thick, white bubbles.
Smiling to himself, he squeezes more shampoo out of Nicki’s hair, doing the same on his chest.
“Not that I’m complaining, but what are you doing exactly?” Nicki asks.
“I want to see if I can remember the exact patterns of your tattoos while you jerk yourself off.”
Nicki smiles like that is a perfectly normal thing to say.
“What happens if you get one wrong?”
“I won’t,” Andrew says, drawing the last bit of bubbles from Nicki’s hair and painting it across his stomach.
“But if you did,” Nicki repeats, widening his stance.
Between his legs, his cock hangs heavy and full.
Standing just outside the spray of water so as not to wash away the bubbles, he’s in the perfect position for Andrew to really appreciate him.
His shoulders are massive, his waist tiny, and his thighs are thick enough the hockey gods themselves must’ve rejoiced.
What Andrew likes best though is what’s inside.
The heart that beats so strong and steady just for him, the way Nicki is so possessive even when Andrew is certain there’s no competition, how protective he is of Andrew’s peace even when Andrew wants to ignore his own needs.
Nicki might be a bit of a grumpy asshole, but he’s Andrew’s grumpy asshole and he loves him, flaws and all.
He has no illusions about this man, understands his flaws and shortcomings.
It is not that neither of them can live without the other, they were each surviving in their own ways, succeeding even.
But together? Together, they’re even better.
Scraping his nail across the hollow of Nicki’s collarbone in the exact path of his snake tattoo, he watches Nicki shiver.
Delighted in the response, he repeats the action on the other side and watches Nicki audibly hold his breath.
With careful movements, he reveals the moth that sits at the center of them both, its delicate wings wrapping around Nicki’s throat.
With measured touches, he continues to reveal more—delicate line work that juxtaposes so sharply with Nicki’s strong body.
Andrew could spend a lifetime memorizing him and never get enough.
With every inch of revealed skin, Nicki gets harder, his breathing labored and his cock leaking, but he doesn’t make a move to take himself in hand, so Andrew takes matters into his own hands, drawing an arrow from Nicki’s sternum down his bubble covered stomach, pointing directly to his erection.
“What are you doing?”
“Giving you directions.”
Nicki crowds him back until Andrew hits the wall.
This shower isn’t nearly as big as theirs at home, which means even with Andrew smashed between Nicki and the wall, they’re both beneath the spray, though the bulk of it hits Nicki who is too tall for the hotel shower, sending the water directly onto his chest and washing away all Andrew’s hard work.
“Think you’re real funny, don't you?”
“I was just helping,” Andrew says in mock innocence. “In case you forgot where it was.”
“Didn’t forget,” Nicki growls. “Had something better to focus on.”
The idea that Andrew, doing almost nothing, might be more interesting than Nicki’s dick is not a reality he was prepared for, and it has him surging up, desperately needing to kiss Nicki.
To remind himself this is real. That whatever his desires look like, however they change by the day or even moment, Nicki appreciates.
“Touch yourself,” Andrew demands, this need unfamiliar. He’s still not hard, doesn’t want to come or be touched himself, but his need to have Nicki come is almost unbearable. He needs Nicki to feel good, to see him fall apart, to hear that familiar needy tremble in his voice.
“Fuck, princess.”
Tangling his hands in the longest bits of Nicki’s hair, he tugs his head down, their foreheads pressed together as they both watch Nicki take himself in hand.
The tattoo that curls around his wrist and across the top of his hand looks obscene when it’s wrapped around his dick.
Like the rest of his body, his dick is huge, the sight of it slipping through his hand oddly satisfying.
It’s a little confusing, because Andrew doesn’t like cocks on their own.
The idea of watching porn, or anyone else doing this, would not only do nothing for him but probably flat out squick him.
But this isn’t porn or a stranger. This is Nicki, his Nicki, and he likes watching him take himself apart.
“Does it feel good?” Andrew questions.
“So good.”
Andrew blinks away the water in his eyes, fascinated by the sight before him.
He likes that there’s no pressure to join, that he can just exist in this moment with Nicki watching as his strokes speed up, as his breathing becomes more labored.
When he starts to get noisier, Andrew kisses him, wanting to taste the sounds of his pleasure, letting the sounds wash over him.
“Close,” Nicki grunts.
Pulling out of the kiss, Andrew looks down, wanting to watch him come.
“Is it still okay if I—”
“Come on me, Nicki,” Andrew finishes, unsure why he likes the idea so much, but for once not feeling the intense need to understand it. Nicki is safe, meaning that exploring his desires, however they might shift and change, is now something his brain has decided is safe.
“Yes,” Nicki gasps. He strokes harder, faster, his desperation palpable. “You’re fucking mine.”
“Show me,” he goads, needing the proof as much as Nicki. “Show me I’m yours.”
The demand has Nicki moaning so loudly, it echoes off the tiled walls. Yeah, Nicki definitely had the right idea with this penthouse suite. If Andrew thought anyone could hear them, he’d probably die, but knowing that he’s the only one who gets to hear Nicki is heady.
There’s absolutely nothing he’s doing except being here, and Nicki is a quivering mess of desire. Andrew has never felt more wanted in his life.
“Are you watching?” Nicki asks, fucking his fist.
“I’m watching,” Andrew confirms, his own breathing labored as his eyes track the movement of Nicki’s hand as it glides from root to tip, his weeping cock revealed at the end of every desperate stroke.
It’s not just Nicki’s body, which is undeniably gorgeous.
It’s not just his dick, which really does nothing for Andrew without the man attached to it.
It’s Nicki. Nicki, who once refused to care about anything or anyone, who loves Andrew so fiercely.
Nicki, who is kind of a spoiled asshole yet also the most loyal, good man Andrew has ever known.
It’s that this man falling apart in front of him is his.
His to love, to care for, to argue with, to protect. His partner in all things.
Tears prickle at the corners of Andrew’s eyes, the overwhelming need to be closer making it hard to breathe.
When Nicki notices them, he whines, crashing his lips into Andrew and kissing him while he comes all over Andrew’s stomach and chest. Without breaking the kiss, Nicki rubs his release into Andrew’s bare skin as if marking his territory.
It’s ridiculously possessive, but Andrew likes it, his body buzzing with feel good endorphins.
The pleasure isn’t sexual, at least not for Andrew, who is practically floating. It feels good to let everything go. Nothing in the world matters right now except them and the feeling of Nicki’s lips against his own, a tender, claiming kiss that leaves Andrew breathless and boneless.
“I got you,” Nicki murmurs when they pull apart and Andrew is trembling.
He didn’t do anything, didn’t even come, but his legs shake and his heart pounds, and he feels decidedly vulnerable and slightly overstimulated.
Something Nicki clearly senses. For once in his life, his first instinct isn’t to hide, but to let it out—taking in a shuddering breath as Nicki’s soaped up hands smooth over his chest washing away the evidence of what they just did.
Because Nicki knows him—knows Andrew needs to be clean always, can tell Andrew is overwhelmed, but he’s still here. Still taking care of Andrew.
“That’s it, princess. Just close your eyes. Let me handle this now.”
Closing his eyes, he taps each finger to his thumb then repeats it, the smallest bit of his overwhelm fading as Nicki continues to wash every inch of him, moving him under the spray of water to rinse away the soap and leftover shampoo.
Once they’re both clean, they step out of the shower, but Nicki won’t let him dry himself, growling something about princesses don’t dry themselves.
Nicki draws the towel over his body with the same care he did the soap earlier. As if Andrew is something precious. It’s an intimacy Andrew gave up longing for, and one he won’t ever take for granted.
Suddenly exhausted despite doing nothing, he sways into Nicki, resting his forehead against his shoulder while Nicki hastily dries himself. Though the bedroom isn’t far, Nicki scoops him up and carries him to bed.
“I’m going to hold you all night,” Nicki proclaims, sliding beneath the covers with Andrew— every inch of him plastered to Andrew’s back from his toes to his head as Nicki tucks Andrew beneath his chin, slips a leg through his and throws an arm around his middle.
“Awfully presumptuous of you,” Andrew teases, not ashamed to admit he loves when Nicki gets growly and possessive.
“Not possessive, just the truth. You’re fucking mine.”
“Yeah,” Andrew says around a yawn, wiggling back into the embrace. He’s never been so glad to not have an ounce of personal space in his life.
“You’re always going to be mine, princess.”
A soft hum of agreement rumbles out of Andrew as he reaches for Nicki’s hand, removing it from his stomach to pull it towards his mouth. He kisses each of Nicki’s fingertips, hugging the hand to his chest as his eyes grow heavy.
The last thing he’s aware of is a kiss being pressed to the top of his head, followed by the familiar rumble of Nicki’s voice whispering I’m keeping you forever, before he falls into a contented sleep.