The unwanted reminder of how impossible it would be to ever find someone who actually wanted him, not someone motivated by money or fame chasing or someone who would run from the attention, puts his nerves on edge. He doesn’t want a relationship because they’re stupid and pointless, but if he did, no one would stick around. Not for the right reasons.
“Nicki,” Andrew yells, loud enough to be heard over the cacophony or shouting and horns and chaos around them. The crowd is growing and Nicholas’s mood is tanking. He wants to get out of here, wants to get Andrew safely out of this pandemonium. He also doesn’t want to think about why the idea of other people staring at Andrew, possibly touching him, makes him want to break something.
Grunting, he grabs Andrew, kicking his car door shut before manhandling him towards his own car despite Andrew’s clear confusion. There will be time to explain later.
Using his own body to try and block Andrew from view, he guides him into the passenger seat, going so far as to lean over him to try and buckle his seatbelt. It puts Nicholas’s nose in Andrew’s thick head of hair. The scent of his shampoo—crisp and clean—goes straight to Nicholas’s dick, which is apparently very interested in how Andrew smells. Thankfully, Andrew doesn’t seem to notice.
“I’m pretty sure I can at least handle this,” Andrew grumbles, trying to push Nicholas’s hands away.
“Princesses don’t buckle themselves,” he says, lips against the shell of Andrew’s ear to be heard.
Andrew grumbles but lays his hands in his lap, a flare of possessive pride flooding Nicholas’s system at the submission. He’s never taken care of anyone else before, but taking care of Andrew lights up an unused part of his brain like a fucking firework.
Mine, his brain screams as he slams the car door, breathing easier once Andrew is out of direct public viewing. He’ll breathe even easier once Andrew is in his home.
Blinking at the onslaught of flashes, he flips the paparazzi off before sliding into the driver’s seat and peeling away from his spot with a screech.
“Fuckers,” Nicholas curses, watching them disappear in his rearview mirror.
The ghost of their existence lingers in the way Andrew taps at his legs, three times on his left knee and three times on the right. Always the same, repeating the pattern over and over while chewing on his bottom lip.
“They don’t matter, princess.”
Andrew doesn’t reply, and Nicholas hates that more than he should. He’s gotten used to Andrew bossing him around or being his slightly haughty, controlling self. Something he apparently likes more than he realized now that he can’t have it.
An apology sits on the tip of his tongue but won’t come out. If he admits this was all his fault, it’ll give Andrew an out to end their agreement, and Nicholas isn’t ready for that—isn’t prepared to let Andrew go yet. So he stuffs it down like the asshole he is, pretending they’re not speeding away from the wreckage of Andrew’s past life. A life he isn’t going to be able to have anymore, not while he’s dating Nicholas.
Eventually it’ll end but not yet.
Not fucking yet.
“Thank you,” Andrew says, breaking the silence with two words that are entirely undeserved, but which Nicholas greedily takes because he's a bastard like that.
“You’re welcome.”
“I shouldn’t have bothered you, but I didn’t know what to do. My brothers don’t know about us yet, which—well now they probably do judging by the way they’re blowing up the group chat and all the missed calls, but I couldn’t handle lying to them or trying to explain. I didn’t want to, not yet and I just…I didn’t know who else to call.”
“I told you, you call me,” Nicholas reminds him. “That’s what boyfriends are for.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Andrew says. His eyes are focused outside the car, watching the cars whiz by them as Nicholas takes the ramp onto the freeway, hauling ass back to his house.
“You must’ve had some shitty boyfriends or girlfriends in the past then.”
“I’ve never had one period,” Andrew clarifies.
“Why the fuck not?” Nicholas demands, his foot heavy on the gas as he speeds through traffic.
“Uh, you have met me right?” Andrew laughs in a way that makes Nicholas angry.
“Yeah.”
“Right, anyways?—”
“No changing the subject, princess.”
Andrew’s hand clenches on his knees. “Look, people aren’t exactly lining up to date me. Especially when I’ve got a twin who looks exactly like me but is way more fun. I’m not the first choice, alright? I’m not fun. Even you said it when you first met me. I’m not your type, I’m not most people’s type.”
“Don’t listen to a word I fucking say. I’m a fucking dick.”
