“What are you doing, princess?”
“I don’t know,” Andrew whispers. “I don’t want to jerk you off, but I want to touch you. Is that selfish?”
“I don’t give a fuck if it is,” Nicholas answers. “You can do whatever the fuck you want to me.”
“That’s not fair to you.”
“You keep saying that like I’m not here of my own free will. I don’t do shit I don’t want, Andrew. Not like this. It’s not a hardship to be with you. I’m not missing out.”
“I just don’t want you to regret picking me.”
Part of Nicholas wants to slam his fist against the tile wall, the helplessness he feels hearing those words enough to make him irrationally angry. Lashing out won’t make Andrew feel better, won’t assuage the insecurity that is far bigger than he realized.
“I regret a lot of fucking things I’ve done in my life, princess, but you aren’t one of them.”
Andrew slowly lifts his head, his lips parted and his cheeks flushed. From the fever or the hot water, he has no idea. What he does know, is that Andrew needs to lay down, needs to be held, needs to fucking rest.
“Let’s go to bed.”
“You could—you know.”
“Don’t make yourself uncomfortable for me, not ever.”
Andrew shakes his head slowly. “I’m not.”
“But—”
“I know it might seem weird. I don’t always understand either. But right now, this is okay. I don’t want to help you, but I want to be close to you. Knowing you’re turned on because of me, without the pressure of having to reciprocate is—nice.”
“Are you sure?” Nicholas asks, his dick waiting, very on board.
“I’m sure,” Andrew whispers, hiding his face into Nicholas’s neck while he takes in slow, measured breaths.
“You made me feel so good.” Andrew’s lips brush against the hollow of Nicholas's throat while he speaks. “It would make me happy if you felt good, too.”
“Being allowed to touch you makes me feel good,” Nicholas points out, needing to make sure Andrew understands.
“I want you to touch yourself, Nicki.” Andrew’s lips brush over the hollow of his throat, not a kiss but something infinitely more intimate, as if Andrew is actually breathing him in. “Think about me and touch yourself.”
“Fuck, princess.”
“One day, maybe. We could try that thing you said. If I didn’t have to do anything, and it was with you, I think I might like it. No promises.”
Nicholas damn near shoots his load at the idea of touching Andrew like that. Worshiping him. Bringing him to completepleasure while Andrew lays there atop Nicholas’s silk sheets and pillows, surrounded in luxury like the princess he deserves to be.
“I can’t stop smelling you,” Andrew says, halfway between a laugh and a yawn. “I’m addicted to how you smell.”
“I’m addicted to every fucking thing about you,” Nicholas admits, pretty sure he’s seeing stars when Andrew’s fingers trace beneath his belly button. Curling a hand around his dick he strokes, doing his best not to come in ten seconds flat, something that becomes infinitely harder when Andrew’s arms wrap around his waist in a hug.
The position makes it a little awkward to jerk himself without touching Andrew, but then Andrew presses closer, sighing happily.
“You can come on me,” he whispers, “the shower will wash it away. I don’t like it in bed or anything, but in here…yeah.”
Fuck. Isn’t that a fucking mental image.
“You’re going to kill me,” Nicholas groans, fucking his own fist hard and fast. With Andrew wrapped around him, he can’t see, but he can feel his hand bumping against Andrew’s hip, feel the way the tip of his erection brushes up against his skin. It’s the smallest fucking contact in the grand scheme of sex, yet it lights up the pleasure center in Nicholas’s brain. When he comes, it’s with a choked off sob he tries to hide by burying his face in Andrew’s hair, his entire body trembling with the intensity of his release. He knows it has nothing to do with the fact that he hasn’t gotten laid in weeks, and everything to do with the intimacy of being so fucking close to Andrew.
“Mine,” he growls, rubbing his face into Andrew’s hair, breathing in the scent of sex and his shampoo on Andrew, his entire body thrumming with the pleasure of claiming him.
