Chapter 14 #2
“Can we just … not, right now?” Nick begs when Matt shows up at his apartment, falling into the man’s embrace. “I know I’ve been a dick, and I’m sorry. I just … I don’t wanna waste what time we have.” If Matt’s going to chew him out, he’d rather it be over the phone—so sue him.
Matt’s hands settle on his hips, and though he’s smiling at Nick it looks a little tight. “You got it, babe.” He raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Bedroom?”
Even though it’s exactly what he wanted, a stab of pain gouges Nick’s chest—Matt’s obviously not as torn up about it as Nick has been. That’s fine. It’s cool.
He plasters on a seductive smile, leading the way to his room. If he’s going to fuck this up with his feelings, might as well get one last mind-blowing orgasm for the road.
Every brush of Matt’s fingers on his skin feels like a brand—the musician wastes no time in tearing Nick’s clothes off, biting kisses down his throat and chest. Nick’s breathless as he gives back as good as he’s getting, nipping at Matt’s lower lip, smirking into the kiss that becomes more a clash of teeth and lips as they fall to the bed together.
“Someone’s feeling feisty tonight,” he drawls, watching something he can’t place flash across Matt’s expression.
“Gotta make the most of you while I’ve got you, y’know?” Matt replies, whiskey eyes boring into Nick’s. His next kiss is softer, slower, but his hands still grip Nick’s thighs like he’s afraid to let go.
Nick ignores the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Instead he flashes a wolfish smile and slides down Matt’s body, kissing the trail of dark hair leading down to his cock.
Taking Matt in his mouth, he pins the taller man by his hips as he reflexively bucks up into the wet heat of him, Nick relaxing his throat the best he can around Matt’s impressive length.
“Jesus, Nicky,” Matt gasps, one hand reaching down to tangle in Nick’s hair, the sharp tug going straight to Nick’s core.
Nick’s proud of himself for barely even flinching at the nickname only one other person has ever used. It’s fine, it’s not a big deal.
Nick twists his tongue over the head, looking up impishly. On the off chance he hasn’t fucked this up with his radio silence, Nick is going to make damn sure he gives Matt an orgasm he’s going to be thinking about all Christmas.
He raises his head off Matt’s cock just long enough to shove two fingers in his spit-slick mouth, pulse jumping as Matt lets out a deep groan.
“Fucking hell—Nick!” Matt cries out as those two fingers start to press into him, Nick sliding his lips back over the thick weight of him, his other hand still braced firmly on Matt’s hips.
Matt squirms and twists, and Nick’s about to pull off in alarm—but then a bottle of lube is tossed unceremoniously at his face, and he laughs around Matt’s erection.
“Oh, you want it so bad, don’t you, hot stuff?
” Nick teases, wasting no time in getting his fingers properly lubed up.
Matt is gorgeous, splayed out on the bed beneath him, hair in disarray and a pretty pink flush rising up his chest and neck.
Just looking at him makes Nick’s whole body ache with need.
Nick wants to ruin him; wants to send him home to Oregon covered in hickeys and limping in such a way that no one will doubt what he’s been doing. Wants to send Matt off in his hockey jersey and let the world know who made him look that way.
Pushing away the thoughts, he focuses on the task at hand. No need to get ahead of himself.
Nick could lie there watching Matt squirm on his fingers for hours—but they’re both too wound up for that.
Instead, he doubles down, pushing every button he’s learned makes Matt go wild, squeezing the base of his cock as he takes him in as far as he can, feeling him right up against the back of his throat.
He pulls back up, sliding his tongue up the thick vein on the underside, right as his fingers hit the sweet spot.
Matt cries out, back arching, and spills into Nick’s mouth.
Nick swallows the best he can, fingering Matt through the waves of pleasure.
He doesn’t let up when Matt is spent. The musician whines as Nick’s fingers slip out of him, but his lust-clouded eyes are eager, watching the blond lean up to grab a condom from the drawer.
“Nick,” he whispers, and Nick pauses. “Kiss me.”
That’s a demand Nick will never ignore—uncaring of his lube-slick fingers, he pulls Matt’s face towards him, devouring him in a fierce kiss. Matt clings on tight, one hand moving down between them. Nick stops him before he can derail his plans.
His hands shake as he rolls the condom down his erection, breath hitching at every touch to the oversensitive skin. He’s not going to last long, but he can make it worth it for both of them.
Matt’s face as Nick breaches him is absolute bliss.
Nick wishes it were safe to take a picture of him, to keep it on his phone when he misses him.
He slides in slowly, knowing how oversensitive Matt must be, how much the other man loves being fucked right after an orgasm.
Matt jerks and whines at every inch, and when Nick’s fully seated he leans up, muscular arms wrapping around Nick’s shoulders, practically bending himself in half to bite at Nick’s ear.
“Fuck me like you mean it, Nicky,” he begs, desperate, once again with that hint of something Nick can’t place.
He kisses Matt’s cheek, grinning wickedly.
“Your wish is my command.”
With Matt holding him so close, it’s hard to get the kind of rhythm he’d like, but Nick isn’t complaining.
It’s strangely … intimate, feeling the way Matt’s muscles twitch each time he thrusts, feeling his hot breath against his neck.
There’s a frantic edge to it, Matt’s hips moving to meet him on every stroke, his spent cock making a valiant effort at returning to life.
When Nick comes, it takes the breath right out of him.
All he can do is hold Matt even tighter, losing himself to the tsunami of pleasure rocketing through his body.
“Christ,” he mutters once he’s regained the ability to speak. Slumped against Matt’s chest, still inside him, the musician’s embrace makes it clear that he’d like to stay that way for a little while longer.
In the wake of his orgasm, creeping in around the edges of the endorphin rush, there’s an itch under Nick’s skin that he can’t quite shake. He knows, now, that he has to say something—they can’t fuck like that and claim it’s just casual.
But why did it feel so … final?
To Nick’s pleased surprise, Matt doesn’t leave after sex, nor does he ask Nick what his problem was this week.
Maybe it’s Christmas magic or something—Nick’s not going to look that gift horse in the mouth.
He lets himself snuggle closer to Matt on the couch, curling his fingers into the sleeve of the other man’s soft T-shirt while Matt absently toys with his hair.
The lights are down low, the TV glowing as it plays one of the Die Hard movies.
Fingers squeeze gently at the back of his neck, and Matt shifts slightly. “You want anything? Drink, snack, whatever? I have to pee,” he says, voice low and apologetic. The hockey player gives a dramatic sigh but pushes himself up into a seated position.
“I’m good. Go piss, girl.”
“Dork.” As Matt stands, he presses a soft kiss to Nick’s forehead. It’s nothing, really, but it has Nick sitting there dazedly as the other man walks away, his skin tingling from the contact.
That, that surely cannot be the actions of a man who’s just here to fuck. Right??
Be brave, Amy told him, like maybe he doesn’t need to swallow back the overwhelming affection he feels when he looks at Matt sometimes. Like maybe it’ll be okay if he reaches out to tangle their fingers together for no reason other than to feel Matt’s skin against his own.
Like maybe he’s got a chance.
Nick must be lost in his thoughts for a lot longer than he realized—the couch dips beside him as Matt sinks back into it, a chocolate-peppermint cookie in one hand. Lindsay’s holiday baking started early this year.
“No cookie for me?” Nick’s lips curve in a pout, and Matt scoffs.
“You said you didn’t want anything.”
“I didn’t know you’d found the cookies!”
Matt laughs, his hair falling into his eyes as he shakes his head in dismay. Giving Nick a smug look, he takes a large bite out of the cookie. “Sucks to be you,” he coos with his mouth full.
“Asshole,” Nick accuses—then he lunges, mouth-first, aiming for the rest of the cookie in Matt’s hand. Matt reels back just in time, Nick biting the meat of his forearm instead. The musician yelps, still laughing.
“Ow, you dick!”
Nick ignores him, making another lunge for the cookie.
He pushes Matt back against the couch, trying to pin him down to claim his prize.
But despite Nick’s NHL status, Matt is both bigger and stronger than him—something Nick shouldn’t find as hot as he does.
Matt easily turns the tables, flipping them over until Nick’s the one pinned.
He’s only using one arm, his other held out behind him, keeping the cookie firmly out of Nick’s reach.
“Ask nicely,” Matt reprimands playfully.
Nick smirks, lurching up—not for the cookie this time.
Instead, he presses his lips to Matt’s. Caught off guard, Matt doesn’t react for a moment, and Nick takes the opportunity to tease his mouth open, delighting in the taste of chocolate and peppermint as the kiss deepens.
Matt cradles him closer, groaning softly, the scrape of his stubble against Nick’s cheek sparking a fire deep in his belly.
Nick wiggles one arm free to grip Matt’s shoulder—and then reach up, plucking the remains of the cookie from limp fingers.
Then he shoves Matt off the couch and onto the floor.