“I’m sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing?”
“Because no one likes being stopped in the middle of sex. I just…It was good and then—” but Andrew can’t explain how it was okay until it wasn’t and how wrong Andrew felt. “It’s me, it’s always me.”
“Hey.” Nicki’s hand settles at his lower back. “I happen to like you.”
“Even after I ruined tonight?”
“You didn’t ruin a goddamn thing.”
The temptation to argue is strong, but before Andrew can do it, Nicki moves behind him, those thick hockey thighs of his bracketing Andrew at the same time Nicki’s arms wrap around his middle. Nicki’s body is solid, strong, safe, and Andrew’s arguments die on the tip of his tongue as he lets himself be held,allowing Nicki to support his weight as his head falls back on Nicki’s shoulder.
“You did so good telling me what you need.”
Again, Andrew almost argues but he stops himself, wanting the praise more than he wants to disagree. It doesn’t feel true or earned, he doesn’t feel like he did anything to be proud of, yet Nicki’s words soothe the pain his brain is trying to inflict. He’s spent so long isolating during meltdowns and spirals, he didn’t even realize how damn nice it could be to have someone buffer his mental fall.
“So good,” Nicki repeats, kissing the side of his face.
Andrew hums, turning his face into Nicki’s neck to breathe him in. The scent of sex lingers in the background, a reminder of what was just interrupted. In the past, Andrew would’ve run, unable to parse what part of sex he didn’t like and what he now understands to be his autistic brain processing. It was so intertwined, separating them felt impossible so he simply shut it all away, which was fine given his general lack of interest in sex anyway.
Here with Nicki, it’s suddenly safe to examine which parts he likes and doesn’t like, but that clearly doesn’t come without its own set of landmines to navigate. Andrew can acknowledge now that no, it wasn’t just the lack of trust from his last partner. He doesn’t like penetration, doesn’t like the feeling of something else inside of him. Except maybe Nicki’s tongue.
“I don’t think I like being fucked,” Andrew confesses, the words half-mumbled into Nicki’s neck. Even knowing Nicki won’t be angry, he holds his breath, waiting.
“Okay.”
“Ever,” Andrew adds, needing Nicki to understand. “I thought I could try again, that it would be different if it was someone I trusted but I don’t like it. I don’t want your fingers ordick in my ass ever again. I understand if that’s disappointing or a deal breaker.”
“You listen to me, Andrew King.” Nicki grabs his jaw, not hard but gentle, his face tipped enough to look directly into Nicki’s eyes. “Nothing about you is a disappointment.”
One sentence, a million insecurities soothed. Andrew’s biggest fear in life has always been disappointing people. His parents. His brothers. His friends. Romantic partners. His boss. Everyone. Trying to be perfect all the damn time left Andrew exhausted and on high alert constantly.
“Do you believe me?” Nicki asks.
“I want to.”
“What do you need?”
“It’s not just about me,” Andrew mumbles.
“Fine, you wanna know what I need? I need to make you feel good. I need to take care of you. I need it.”
“Why?” Andrew croaks.
“Because.” Nicki rubs his cheek into Andrew’s hair. “Because you’remine.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah,” Andrew nods. “Okay.”
“Tell me what you need. What you want.”
“I want to stay like this,” Andrew says, loving how it feels to be so wholly surrounded by Nicki.
“Done. What else.”
