“That’s okay,” Nicki soothes, kissing the inside of his thigh.
“I don’t know,” Andrew repeats, unable to keep the edge of panic from slipping into his voice.
Nicki doesn’t appear disappointed or frustrated when he pulls his fingers out, crawling the rest of the way up Andrew’s body. He hovers, almost like he wants to kiss him, but before Andrew can point out where his mouth just was, Nicholas excuses himself to the bathroom. A minute later, he returns, resituating himself over Andrew, lowering his mouth to Andrew’s, tasting minty and fresh. Andrew’s relief is a tangible thing, not just at the taste, but at how well Nicki knows him, how easily he did what he knew would make Andrew comfortable. How perfect he is, maybe not literally, but for Andrew.
Deepening the kiss Andrew groans. Kissing Andrew likes, no question. From the glide of Nicki’s lips against his own, to their shared breaths and having Nicki close enough for Andrew to touch his hair, it’s all good, good, good.
Nicki kisses Andrew for long languid minutes until he’s sighing and boneless again. Only then does pull back to stare into his eyes.
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Focus on kissing me. Pull my hair, do that stimming thing you do on my undercut. Whatever you need, you just focus on me, princess. I’m going to get you relaxed and ready, but if you change your mind, we stop.”
“But—”
“If you change your mind, we stop.” Nicki repeats, tone firm but gentle.
Andrew nods, reclaiming Nicki’s lips in a kiss. His mind races, trying to figure out what that meant, what might be coming, but then Nicki’s tongue finds its way into Andrew’s mouth, and he drags his nails over Nicki’s shorn hair, and the combination of sensory pleasure makes his brain do a happy buzzing thing.
Moments later, he becomes aware of Nicki’s fingers at his ass again, and he has a brief thought that the angle must be awkward for Nicki, a tinge of worry he might not like it, the stab of anxiety that comes with the awareness that he’s more work than other people, that sex with him will always be sporadic and never easy.
Suddenly, those thoughts are quiet. They’re not gone, but they’re drowned out by the way Nicki lavishes attention to Andrew’s mouth, by the bliss of stroking Nicki’s buzzcut, and then eventually by a sharp flare of pleasure when Nicki finds his prostate.
“Mine,” Nicki growls into his mouth.
“Yours,” Andrew confirms.
Another finger is added, and it’s still weird, but at least now Andrew’s brain has decided it’s not bad weird. It’s different, which Andrew’s brain still isn’t sure it likes, but his heart is on board, so he tries to ignore his damn brain for once and focus on Nicki.
“I’m going to fuck you now, princess. Real gentle and slow, going to make you feel so good you can’t live without it.”
“Cocky bastard,” Andrew laughs.
“Confident,” Nicki grins, the look on his face one Andrew won’t soon forget. It’s not the smile Nicki uses for social media or endorsements, it’s one Andrew’s only ever seen directed towards him.
“Hey, Nicki.”
“Yes?”
Andrew crooks his finger so Nicki gets closer. It’s not close enough, so Andrew grabs his face with both hands, pulling him down into a searing kiss that leaves them both a little dazed. When Nicki pulls back, there’s an almost glazed look in his eyes that makes Andrew feel really fucking good. He’s maybe not so good with the sex stuff, but he feels confident he can handle Nicki’s heart.
“You’re mine too, Nicki.”
“Yeah, princess.” Nicki kisses him again, a barely there press of lips that’s achingly gentle. “Yours.”
That single world feels better than any physical pleasure. That certainty relaxes Andrew, grounding him enough that he can stay calm while Nicki puts on a condom and follows Nicki’s instructions to bear down against the intrusion, even when Nicki’s dick is the thing pressing in instead of just his fingers.
“How fucking big are you?” Andrew asks after what feels like years but is probably seconds.
“Big,” Nicki replies in that no nonsense tone of his. “You’re doing so good. You should see yourself.”
Andrew cannot imagine anything more horrible than the notion of looking at himself being fucked. Andrew barely likes mirrors period, the increased self-perception is often too much. Having to look at himself being so vulnerable, well, Andrew would rather walk off a cliff.
“I’m going to pass.”
“More for my eyes then,” Nicki says, peppering kisses across Andrew’s jaw and cheeks as he continues to work himself in, inch by inch.
