“Because you don’t like it, or because it’s hard for you to believe?”
Andrew opens his mouth then closes it, looking away.
“Get used to it then because I’m going to tell you how incredible I think you are as often as I’m allowed.”
“Look at that, it’s bedtime,” Andrew says, clearly unable to handle the praise a second longer. He turns to walk away, but Nicholas can’t handle that prospect, so he follows, draping his much larger body up against Andrew’s back. “Fucking koala.”
“Sexy man.”
“Shut up, Nicki.”
Nicki hides his smile in the top of Andrew’s head, trying to recall if being near anyone else has ever made him happy. For so long, he’s chased this feeling—a fleeting sense of happiness that came and went too fast from winning hockey games, or buying expensive shit he didn’t need, or fucking a willing body. The gratification had been swift, but so too, had been the crash.
Andrew’s presence is a quieter feeling, but bigger too, and Nicholas might not understand what it means, but he knows he wants to keep it.
“Do you smell yourself this much?” Andrew asks the third time Nicholas sniffs his hair on the way upstairs.
“Nope,” Nicholas answers.
“And yet, you’re still smelling me.”
“Yes.”
“Brute.”
Despite his words, the hitch in his breathing and the way he rubs his hand over Nicholas’s forearm makes it clear he’s enjoying the situation. Despite this obvious enjoyment, when they get to the top of the stairs he starts to turn right.
“Uh, that’s not the way to my room.”
“You said you didn’t hit your head, so I assumed you’d be able to find your own room.”
“I can find my own room,” Nicholas frowns, reaching for Andrew the second he’s out of Nicholas’s arms. “But you’re supposed to join me.”
“I never agreed to that.”
“I have very soft sheets. Silk. Like your jersey.”
At the mention of the jersey Andrew flushes, fingering the hem. “You didn’t use your bedsheets, did you?”
“Pretty sure there’s no amount of money that could’ve gotten Denise to do that.”
“Good point.”
“So, you’ll come to my room.”
“Why?”
“How else will you know I’m sleeping? You gotta make sure I rest.”
“I do?” Andrew’s expression is questioning, but he inches closer to Nicholas.
“Yes.” Nicholas’s hands grab Andrew’s hips, manhandling him to within holding reach. “I need to see you in my bed, princess.”
“I don’t know.” Andrew pretends to debate it, but Nicholas can tell he’s going to come, just needs to pretend to think about it first. If that makes Andrew feel in control, Nicholas can play this game.
“I’ll put a shirt on.”
“You don’t need to do that,” Andrew says, eying Nicholas’s heavily tattooed chest with clear interest. The fact that Andrew likes looking at him makes Nicholas feel so fucking good. He wants to look good for him, to know he enjoys what he sees.
