“Can and should are two different things. Princesses don’t walk.”
“Pretty sure they do,” Andrew protests, but it doesn’t escape Nicholas’s notice that Andrew doesn’t try to get down. If he wanted out of Nicholas’s hold, his feet would be on the floor, or his mouth would be running. His silence is loud, and Nicholas holds him all the tighter, understanding the privilege he’s being given.
“Am I too heavy?”
Andrew isn’t a small man by any means, but he’s a good few inches shorter than Nicholas and has absolutely no muscles, making his weight an easy carry. Nicholas has never been so glad for his size and strength as he is in this moment.
“No,” Nicholas answers, though even if he was, he wouldn’t tell him. “I’ll carry you all day.”
“You can’t.”
“I can.”
“I have work tomorrow.”
“Fuck work.”
Andrew hums, turning his head so his cheek rests on Nicki’s shoulder.
“Contrary to what you seem to believe, your desires do not control the world. I have to keep working because I enjoy having things like health insurance and food.”
“I can pay for that.”
“You cannot pay for everything for me.”
“Why?”
“Because we just started dating.”
“Not a good enough reason. Give me another one.”
“Because I said so,” Andrew huffs, turning his face into Nicholas’s neck. Whatever arguments he wants to make about Andrew’s job fall to the way side when Andrew’s forehead is shoved into the side of his throat.
“You’re hot.”
“Stop flirting with me,” Andrew grumbles.
“I’m not flirting, you’re hot,” Nicholas says, holding Andrew with one hand as he opens the bedroom door. Once they’re inside, he reluctantly lowers Andrew to the floor to peer at him. Somehow, he looks even more flushed than before. “Are you sick?”
“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Andrew snaps. “You could’ve just said you changed your mind. I’ll go shower in the other room.”
Andrew’s back hits his chest. He curls around him from behind, kissing his cheek. Andrew’s not just hot, he’s burning up. This explains a few things.
He grazes his lips over the shell of Andrew’s ear which is warm as well. “So cranky.”
“So fucking observant,” Andrew snaps.
Nicholas’s arm comes around Andrew’s waist, his hand slipping beneath his cotton polo to palm at his soft tummy. He’s warm there too, though not as bad as his face.
“Why?”
“I don’t want to be sick.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
Nicholas slides his fingers lower, noting the smooth skin beneath Andrew’s belly button.
