Page 68 of Seal the Deal
“The food was touching,” Andrew answers, triggering the memory of their first not-a-date-date where Andrew’s half of the table had been covered in plates. He’d thought he was just being difficult, but maybe he misjudged. “I know it’s ridiculous, people are always giving me shit for it, but once the food touches, something in my brain can’t stomach it. Plus there were no ingredient lists, and what if there were mushrooms or onions.”
Andrew shudders dramatically.
“I’ll call the chef tomorrow and have him make you whatever you want. What do you like?”
“You don’t need to do that,” Andrew protests, stabbing at his scrambled eggs like he’d rather be eating anything else.
“I’m calling the chef, princess. If you don’t tell me what you want, there’s just going to be two of everything.”
“That would be a waste. I wouldn’t eat it.”
“I know,” Nicholas smirks.
Andrew groans, slumping into the couch like some kind of shrimp, hunched over with his legs pulled to his chest. Even with Nicholas’s impressive training routine, he’s not sure his body could bend like that.
“I like soup a lot and tortillas, flour, not corn. I don’t mind pasta, but the sauces can’t have any chunks, and if there’svegetables it needs to be on the side. I like meat or seafood but not reheated, that's just—no. Leftover meat is disgusting.”
“It’s not leftovers, it’s meal prepping.”
“Meal prepping is literally leftovers rebranded.”
Nicholas opens his mouth then closes it. He never thought of it like that.
Andrew laughs around a mouthful of eggs, his hunched posture loosening slightly as he turns towards the television. “What did you pick?”
“It’s old but?—”
“The Fast and the Furious,” Andrew finishes when Nicki clicks the remote so the screensaver ends. “I love this movie.”
“You do?”
Andrew nods. “It’s kind of horrible which makes it incredible. I also really love cars.”
For the next hour and forty-six minutes, they fall into companionable silence, broken only when Andrew makes a derisive comment at the television about something being inaccurate or impossible, or to remark about a car he used to want. At some point, Nicholas finds himself watching Andrew more than the movie. Something about the way he mouths the most iconic lines, or smiles during the ridiculous high speed chases has Nicholas enjoying this movie the way he did the first time he saw it.
By the time the credits are rolling, Nicholas’s dick is rock hard, and his head is a mess of confusing desires ranging from wanting to pull Andrew into his lap to cuddle to pulling him into his lap to alleviate the throbbing in his dick.
The latter desire takes center stage when Andrew rises from the couch and extends his long arms overhead, arching his back in a stretch that has the sweatshirt rising to expose the smallest sliver of his stomach. Despite his lankiness his stomach is soft, a little round at the middle, with a dark trail of hair leading downbelow the waistband of the sweatpants. Nicholas wants to shove his face into Andrew’s belly and mouth at the dark hair.
Shit. It’s been far too long since he got laid. It’s clearly affecting him. What he needs to do is go find a nameless person to scratch this itch—fuck his brains out so he doesn’t have to think or want.
“The movie was a good idea,” Andrew says, looking more relaxed than Nicholas has ever seen him. “Thanks.”
Something damn close to pleasure settles in Nicholas’s chest. He demanded a movie for selfish reasons, but it’d been something Andrew enjoyed, something he needed, and the fact that Nicholas provided it makes him feel good. The kind of good he usually only feels when scoring a goal.
Nicholas is so fucked.
“Now it’s time for my phone.”
“No.”
“I love how you say that like you’re the boss,” Andrew laughs, as if Nicholas being rude and bossy is funny. Most people are scared or annoyed by him, but Andrew seems to be slightly amused. “Give me your keys.”
“No.” Nicholas crosses his arms, aware he’s being difficult and refusing to stop.
Once Andrew gets his phone, he’s going to be stressed out again. He’s going to call or text his brothers, and he’s going to stop being Nicholas’s, and he doesn’t fucking like that.
“Someone is a stubborn fucker used to getting what he wants.” Andrew walks around the back of the couch, leaning over Nicholas. His big brown eyes are so fucking pretty, and his thick hair is falling down around his face, and yeah, he smells like Nicholas’s fucking shampoo which is a lot to handle. “But newsflash, Nicki, you can’t have everything the way you want it.”
