His hand slid down Mal’s back, stopping just above the swell of his ass. “Warm,” he heard himself say.
“Go to sleep, Fidget,” Mal said, one hand petting Nico’s curls and the other settling into the bend of Nico’s narrow waist, his fingers hot as brands even on his overheated skin.
He heaved a sigh, the tension seeping from his body as he molded himself to Mal. They were okay. This was okay. This was normal, comfortable. Routine. Even calling him Fidget, though that was a fairly new development.
It had started one night at the bar with a drunken Nico teasing Mal about how he’d given Shiloh a cute nickname but not Nico. Mal had taken Nico’s complaint very seriously, looking shattered that Nico had wanted for something he hadn’t already provided. Sober Nico would have felt terrible for distressing him, but drunken Nico had fed into his worry, feigning hurt. Mal had instantly asked what Nico wanted Mal to call him, but he’d told Mal that nicknames weren’t chosen by the person themselves, but those around them. This had stymied Mal, sending him into full brood until their friends arrived and began drunkenly throwing out ideas, each one more painful and obnoxious than the last.
Nico had forgotten all about it, until a week or so ago. They’d sat on the couch, Nico’s leg bouncing a mile a minute. Mal had placed a hand on his thigh, stilling it as he always did. Nico stopped the jiggling, but had instead picked up the throw pillow, shredding the fringe as they continued to watch their show.
Mal had placed a hand on the back of Nico’s neck, massaging the spot until Nico’s eyes were rolling back in ecstasy. “Relax, Fidget.”
“Fidget?”
“Mm. It suits you. Since you never stop moving.”
Nico had made a noncommittal noise, but he’d secretly been pleased with the silly name, especially when Shiloh had brought him a tiny dragon plushie the following week with Fidget embroidered onto its chest. Nico had rolled his eyes, but he knew Shiloh understood how much he truly loved it when he put it right in the center of his plushie pile. He slept with it clutched to his chest whenever he was forced to nap without Mal.
“Night, Bunny,” Nico managed around a jaw-cracking yawn.
Mal poked him in the ribs. “You said you’d stop calling me that.”
Nico snuggled deeper, pressing the words into the skin of Mal’s throat, just to the side of his Adam’s apple. “I did no such thing. I said I’d stop calling you that in public.”
“It makes no sense,” Mal pouted. “Everyone else thinks I’m a cat. You’re the only one who calls me Bunny.”
Nico grinned into Mal’s throat, aware he was riling him up. “I call ‘em like I see ‘em. Nicoseebunny. Nicosaybunny. It can’t be helped. You’re a bunny, Bunny.”
He could almost hear Mal rolling his eyes, which only made him smile harder. He knew Mal didn’t hate the nickname as much as he pretended. It was the attention it garnered whenever Nico slipped up and said it in front of the others that got to him. All their friends would coo and squeal until Mal would make subtle but effective threats about what might happen to them should they choose to continue mocking him. Mal was strangely shy about most things.
Nico had quickly learned that the only time Mal wanted all eyes on him was when he danced. Which worked out for Nico. Itwas impossible for him to look away when Mal danced. It wasn’t just his flawless technique or his ability to break down complex dances into bite-size pieces even children with no dance practice could follow. People—dance people—raved about Mal’s skills. They marveled at how someone with mostly lyrical training was so good at hip-hop.
Nico didn’t know technique and didn’t care a bit about precision. When Mal danced, he defied Nico’s understanding of physics. How did he get his body to look like it floated across the dance floor? How did he isolate his muscles so he appeared almost inhuman? It was like the music moved through him, like those lights that danced to the music at Christmas time. It was a stupid analogy but not an inaccurate one. Mal was riveting when he danced.
And…so hot. Too hot. It made Nico think things. Dirty things. Bad, wrong things. It was why he tried to avoid Mal’s practices now. Well, that and his roommate’s sudden aversion to wearing underwear beneath his very loose pants when he danced. At least with underwear, Nico had stood a chance of maintaining his sanity.
But no…Mal had chosen violence, forgoing underwear altogether whenever he practiced in the apartment. He said he liked to be comfortable. How was underwear uncomfortable? Like Mal’s dick was so big underwear was painful? Was that even a thing? Nico couldn’t even counter the argument by saying it wasn’t true. Not when—through no fault of his own—he knew firsthand that Mal’s dick was, objectively speaking, far above average.
Two people couldn’t sleep the way he and Mal did each night and not deal with the awkward morning boner situation. It was biologically impossible. They’d just sort of made a silent pact to ignore it. But that was before…
Ignoring Mal’s impressively large dick would be impossible now. Now that he’d felt it pressed against him with intent. Now that he’d had time to imagine it splitting him open and rearranging his guts.
He dry swallowed, heart speeding up again, beads of sweat erupting at his hairline and at his lower back, his body reminding him he was still horny and unsatisfied.Think of something else. Dead bodies. That gross snot stuff at the top of kombucha. Liver and onions.
Nothing worked. Not the squeak in their ceiling fan or the strange whirr of the PC in the corner. The more he tried not to think of Mal’s cock, the more he did until his blood was rushing south, his own cock filling rapidly.
Fuuuuuuuuuck.
What was wrong with him?
This was what happened when a person went without sex for too long. Their dick took over. He tried to shift his pelvis so Mal’s thigh was no longer pressed directly against his rapidly growing erection, but his leg stayed firmly planted, Mal’s grip ironclad.
“What’s wrong?” Mal mumbled, his voice startling in the near quiet of their tiny room.
“Nothing,” Nico squeaked. “Just…hot.”
Mal was silent for a beat before his hand squeezed Nico’s waist. “The heat is making you hard?” he asked with just a little too much amusement for Nico’s liking.
This was what Nico didn’t understand. How could Mal be smug, bold, sexy, and smart one minute and awkward, shy, and weird the next? Mal said his personality shifted daily, but Nico felt like it shifted moment to moment, confusing the fuck out of him. Who was the real Mal? Were all of them him? What was it like living in his head?
