[AN: A little one-shot sequel to 'Just Drive the Car'. I wanted to do something from Nicky's POV just to see what it's like.]
Joey is barefoot in the kitchen when I get home. He's wearing my bathrobe and eating peanut butter with a spoon. My laugh makes him do that eyebrow thing he does when he thinks he's too cool to comment. Anybody else, that'd annoy the crap out of me, but on him it's cute. It was cute already when I thought he was just random eye candy, and it's even cuter now.
He takes a swig of beer to clear his mouth and says, "Where'd you go?"
"Beer and peanut butter. That's just nasty." I drop my coat on a chair and start getting my tie off. I hate when I have to wear a suit. I'm not wearing it a second longer than I have to.
"I woke up, you were gone, the car keys were still here, I thought maybe the aliens got you."
"I took a cab. You can't park downtown." I go in the bedroom to stow the suit. You have to hang them up right away or you can't wear them again without sending them to the cleaner first, and I only have two.
Joey doesn't follow me, and he doesn't answer. Around the time I'm pulling my jeans on, it occurs to me he might be mad. I don't know. We're friends, we're screwing, that doesn't mean I know him all that well. It makes me kind of nervous to realize that. I come back out carrying my shirt, and I almost expect him to be sulking, but he's just sucking on another spoonful of peanut butter. He looks me up and down. He stops eating while he does that, like he just forgot there's a spoon in his mouth. Mad or not, I guess he still thinks I'm hot.
But. Still. "You know it's better if I don't tell you what I'm doing."
He nods, screwing the lid on the jar.
"You still officially report to Dad. If he asks..."
Another nod, this one with a shrug component.
"I don't want to put you in an awkward position."
"Yeah, I got it." He turns his back on me to wash his spoon.
I can't take it anymore. Things just don't feel right. I need him to smile. I drop my shirt, come up behind him, put my hands on his waist and nuzzle his damp hair. It's so black it's like wet velvet, and the smell of it goes down my nerves like lightning, so I can't remember what I was going to say. Something stupid comes out instead: "Don't be mad, baby."
"You're washing one spoon. You're washing it like it's a test tube that had ebola in it. You are too mad."
"I'm trying to think if I should be. But so far I'm not." He turns his head a little, then relaxes back against me all at once, so I realize how tense he was before. "No, you're right, it's cool. The less I know about your business, the -- uh -- shit." He breaks off, because I pressed him against the counter and now I'm nibbling on his neck. He catches his breath sharply. "Nicky, I can't talk when. When you. Oh Jesus." He drops the spoon in the sink.
He's just so damn responsive, it drives me crazy, I hardly have to do anything and he's blushing and breathing hard. The first time, I thought it was just because... well, it was the first time. But we've gone a few rounds since, and he's still exactly the same way. He acts like my hand sliding up his thigh and my teeth tugging his ear make this the hottest moment of his life.
I can't help teasing him. I ghost my fingers up his neck, along his jaw, tilt his head back and brush feather kisses across his cheek. Smooth cheek, must've shaved when he showered. I roll him against the counter, and his eyelashes flutter, his lips go slack, his hands white-knuckle on the edge of the sink like his knees almost gave. I breathe a soft laugh. "You're good for my ego."
"You're bad for my standing up anymore," he says with a matching laugh. He opens his eyes: coffee, black, two sugars. Ten sugars. Scalding hot. "Bed or floor? Do that again and it's floor."
I love how he gets incoherent when he's horny.
I back off, catching his hand, just the tips of two fingers, and tug him towards the bedroom. It's such a movie moment, such a sleazy seduction moment, that I have to laugh about it. He grins back at me, that goofy grin of his, the one I never see in public places. He catches a belt loop and tugs me in by my jeans for a kiss. He lets me go, but then I need another one, so we stumble along blind and liplocked until the bed hits me in the back of the knees.
He doesn't follow me down. He takes a step back, hands to the tie of the robe. He hesitates.
"Uh-huh," I whisper.
He unties the robe and lets it drop. I forget to breathe. God, he's beautiful. He's a Greek marble. Perfect proportions, rock solid, and it's not gym muscle either. I hate that puffed-up look gym queens get, they look like plastic action figures. Joey got his muscle loading trucks and kicking ass, and that's just beyond sexy to me. And the little flaws on his smooth olive skin, scars that might be from childhood accidents or they might be from knife fights, who knows -- and there's a mole on his right hip, how did I not notice that before --
"Take a picture," he complains. "You just gonna stare all day?"
I give him a wicked grin. "Maaaaybe?"
He growls. "Get yours off too. Actually, let me."
I stand up to make it easier. He follows my jeans down, then mouths me through my underwear. My cock twitches, and I hear myself make a sound like a hiccup. He laughs softly against me. It feels weird and amazing. I grab at my waistband but he beats me to it, and then his lips are against my skin, his unbelievable perfect lips, his tongue, and his eyelashes are so dark on his cheeks, his hands on my thighs and his bare feet tucked under his ass, it's like a dream.
Now it's me who can't stand up anymore.
I grab his wrists and pull him up, push him down on the bed and pin him there. His eyes go black. I roll my hips and we both gasp. Kiss him deep and hungry, roll again, cocks sliding side by side between our pressing stomachs, making him arch against me. Feel his wrists flex in my hands.
Then our fingers lace together, and suddenly it's all different.
Somehow, between one breath and the next, my control is gone. His is too, I can feel it. I can't plan, I can't play, I can't tease. All I can do is grind against him, drink his breath, gasp his name. Our hands clutch tight. I can't get enough of kissing his mouth, his skin, his hair, frantic like I'm starving. I'm on fire, my mind is a blank. All I can think, all I can feel is Joey. Joey, oh God Joey.
He's right there with me. Writhing under me, moaning in my ear. "Oh Nicky oh fuck yes."
His whole body shudders, and then there's slickness between us, hot as blood. The slide of it sends me over the edge right after him, whimpering against his neck. Salt taste of his sweat, shiver of muscle as he twitches with aftershocks.
Fingers relaxing. Hoarse breath. Tug of my own hair stuck to my back as I turn my head.
"Holy shit, Nicky," he whispers.
"Yeah," I whisper back. I'm not sure if I should look at him just yet. It isn't safe. I might fall in love or run away or die. I've never felt this raw in my soul before. All my defenses are totally down.
He frees one of his hands. Runs it trembling over my hair. His hand is shaking. I'm not the only one who's naked here.
Every instinct, every habit is telling me to sit up and grab for the tissues, make a joke, defuse the tension. A nice joke, because I really like him, but that's all I'm ready to do is like. I wonder if he's thinking the same thing. Any second now he could pop this bubble and maybe it'll never be like this again. We'll be friends who screw. Who like. He'll be with me, but he won't be mine.
Don't be a chickenshit, Nicky. It can't hurt worse than a bullet.
I raise myself just enough to meet his eyes. See the fear and wonder there. I touch his cheek with curled fingers, kiss him soft and slow. Draw back to check how that went over.
His smile is so sweet I can't stand it. I hide against his neck with a little laugh of pure relief. He wraps his arms tight around me. I can hear his grin when he speaks.
"I like it here. I think I'll stay a while."
I know what he means. It scares the hell out of me, and it's exactly what I need.
"Good," I whisper, and I break out grinning myself. "You do that."