“I want to see if I can remember the exact patterns of your tattoos while you jerk yourself off.”
Nicki smiles like that is a perfectly normal thing to say.
“What happens if you get one wrong?”
“I won’t,” Andrew says, drawing the last bit of bubbles from Nicki’s hair and painting it across his stomach.
“But if you did,” Nicki repeats, widening his stance. Between his legs, his cock hangs heavy and full. Standing just outside the spray of water so as not to wash away the bubbles, he’s in the perfect position for Andrew to really appreciate him. His shoulders are massive, his waist tiny, and his thighs arethick enough the hockey gods themselves must’ve rejoiced. What Andrew likes best though is what’s inside. The heart that beats so strong and steady just for him, the way Nicki is so possessive even when Andrew is certain there’s no competition, how protective he is of Andrew’s peace even when Andrew wants to ignore his own needs. Nicki might be a bit of a grumpy asshole, but he’s Andrew’s grumpy asshole and he loves him, flaws and all. He has no illusions about this man, understands his flaws and shortcomings. It is not that neither of them can live without the other, they were each surviving in their own ways, succeeding even. But together? Together, they’re even better.
Scraping his nail across the hollow of Nicki’s collarbone in the exact path of his snake tattoo, he watches Nicki shiver. Delighted in the response, he repeats the action on the other side and watches Nicki audibly hold his breath. With careful movements, he reveals the moth that sits at the center of them both, its delicate wings wrapping around Nicki’s throat.
With measured touches, he continues to reveal more—delicate line work that juxtaposes so sharply with Nicki’s strong body. Andrew could spend a lifetime memorizing him and never get enough. With every inch of revealed skin, Nicki gets harder, his breathing labored and his cock leaking, but he doesn’t make a move to take himself in hand, so Andrew takes matters into his own hands, drawing an arrow from Nicki’s sternum down his bubble covered stomach, pointing directly to his erection.
“What are you doing?”
“Giving you directions.”
Nicki crowds him back until Andrew hits the wall. This shower isn’t nearly as big as theirs at home, which means even with Andrew smashed between Nicki and the wall, they’re both beneath the spray, though the bulk of it hits Nicki who is too tall for the hotel shower, sending the water directly onto his chest and washing away all Andrew’s hard work.
“Think you’re real funny, don't you?”
“I was just helping,” Andrew says in mock innocence. “In case you forgot where it was.”
“Didn’t forget,” Nicki growls. “Had something better to focus on.”
The idea that Andrew, doing almost nothing, might be more interesting than Nicki’s dick is not a reality he was prepared for, and it has him surging up, desperately needing to kiss Nicki. To remind himself this is real. That whatever his desires look like, however they change by the day or even moment, Nicki appreciates.
“Touch yourself,” Andrew demands, this need unfamiliar. He’s still not hard, doesn’t want to come or be touched himself, but his need to have Nicki come is almost unbearable. He needs Nicki to feel good, to see him fall apart, to hear that familiar needy tremble in his voice.
“Fuck, princess.”
Tangling his hands in the longest bits of Nicki’s hair, he tugs his head down, their foreheads pressed together as they both watch Nicki take himself in hand. The tattoo that curls around his wrist and across the top of his hand looks obscene when it’s wrapped around his dick. Like the rest of his body, his dick is huge, the sight of it slipping through his hand oddly satisfying.
It’s a little confusing, because Andrew doesn’t like cocks on their own. The idea of watching porn, or anyone else doing this, would not only do nothing for him but probably flat out squick him. But this isn’t porn or a stranger. This is Nicki,hisNicki, and he likes watching him take himself apart.
“Does it feel good?” Andrew questions.
“So good.”
Andrew blinks away the water in his eyes, fascinated by the sight before him. He likes that there’s no pressure to join, that he can just exist in this moment with Nicki watching as hisstrokes speed up, as his breathing becomes more labored. When he starts to get noisier, Andrew kisses him, wanting to taste the sounds of his pleasure, letting the sounds wash over him.
“Close,” Nicki grunts.
Pulling out of the kiss, Andrew looks down, wanting to watch him come.
“Is it still okay if I?—”
“Come on me, Nicki,” Andrew finishes, unsure why he likes the idea so much, but for once not feeling the intense need to understand it. Nicki is safe, meaning that exploring his desires, however they might shift and change, is now something his brain has decided is safe.
“Yes,” Nicki gasps. He strokes harder, faster, his desperation palpable. “You’re fuckingmine.”
“Show me,” he goads, needing the proof as much as Nicki. “Show me I’m yours.”
The demand has Nicki moaning so loudly, it echoes off the tiled walls. Yeah, Nicki definitely had the right idea with this penthouse suite. If Andrew thought anyone could hear them, he’d probably die, but knowing that he’s the only one who gets to hear Nicki is heady.
There’s absolutely nothing he’s doing except being here, and Nicki is a quivering mess of desire. Andrew has never felt more wanted in his life.
“Are you watching?” Nicki asks, fucking his fist.
