Chapter Text
In the quiet, moonlit streets of Crown City, the early September night air is crisp and cool. Inside the small, cluttered apartment on Maplewood Avenue, the scent of freshly baked cookies lingers, mingling with the musty smell of old books and the faint hint of marijuana. The clock on the kitchen wall ticks softly, its hands creeping toward midnight. David, with his shaggy brown hair and freckled cheeks, is at the stove, his hands dusted with flour as he carefully removes a tray of cookies from the oven. Nigel, tall and lanky with a mop of curly red hair, leans against the counter, his eyes following David's every move with a mix of admiration and hunger.
"Smells amazing," Nigel murmurs in a low and husky voice. He pushes off from the counter and steps closer to David, his breath warm against David's neck. "You're amazing," he says.
David turns, a shy smile playing on his lips. "You think so?" he asks in a voice barely above a whisper.
To anyone else, it might seem sly, but Nigel reads between the lines. He sees the insecurities left behind by his father and heightened by their society. Nigel's hand reaches up, cupping David's cheek, his thumb gently brushing away a smudge of flour.
"More than anything," Nigel replies, his eyes locked onto David's.
The tension between them is palpable, a charged energy that crackles in the air. Nigel leans in, his lips brushing against David's in a soft, tentative kiss. David responds eagerly, his hands reaching up to tangle in Nigel's hair, pulling him closer. Their kiss deepens, becoming more urgent and passionate. Nigel's hands roam over David's body, tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the heat of his skin through his thin t-shirt. David moans softly, his body pressing against Nigel's, feeling the hardness of Nigel's desire through his jeans. Nigel's hands slip under David's shirt, his fingers splaying across the smooth skin of David's back, pulling him tighter against him.
Suddenly, Nigel spins David around, pressing him back against the sink. The porcelain is cool against David's back, a stark contrast to the heat of Nigel's body. Nigel's lips trail down David's neck, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin, making David gasp. Nigel's hands are everywhere, exploring, claiming. He reaches down, unzipping David's jeans, slipping his hand inside to grip David's growing erection. David bucks against Nigel's touch, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Nigel," he moans, his voice laced with need.
Nigel grins against David's skin, his teeth grazing his earlobe. "Shh, I've got you," Nigel murmurs in a low rumble.
He spins David around again, bending him over the sink. The flour from the counter spills, dusting the floor and their clothes. Nigel kicks David's feet apart, his hands gripping David's hips tightly. He unzips his own jeans, his erection springing free, hard and ready. Nigel's eyes flick to the counter, landing on a small jar of olive oil. A mischievous grin spreads across his face as he reaches for it, unscrewing the cap. He pours a generous amount into his palm, rubbing it between his hands to warm it. David watches over his shoulder, his eyes wide with anticipation and a hint of nervousness.
"Trust me," Nigel whispers, his voice soft and reassuring.
He presses the head of his cock against David's entrance, feeling the tight ring of muscle resist. David takes a deep breath, his body tensing slightly.
"Relax, David," Nigel murmurs, his voice soothing. "I've got you. Always."
David nods, his body slowly relaxing under Nigel's touch. Nigel starts to push in, his movements slow and deliberate. He watches David's face, his eyes searching for any sign of discomfort. David's breath hitches as Nigel breaches him, the olive oil providing a smooth, warm glide.
"More," David whispers, his voice barely audible.
Nigel complies, pushing in a little further, feeling David's body yield to him. He leans over David, his body covering David's, his lips pressing soft kisses to David's neck and shoulder.
"Fuck, you feel amazing," Nigel groans, his voice strained. "So tight and warm."
David pushes back against him, a silent plea for more. Nigel grins, his hips thrusting forward, slowly breaching David's body. David gasps, his fingers gripping the edge of the sink tightly, his knuckles white. Nigel starts to move, his hips thrusting in a steady, slow rhythm. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the kitchen, mingling with their ragged breaths and soft moans. Nigel leans over David, his body covering David's, his hands gripping his shoulders tightly. He nips at David's neck, his teeth marking the sensitive skin.
"Fuck, David," Nigel groans, his voice strained. "You feel so good."
David pushes back against him, meeting each thrust with his own. "Nigel, please," he moans, his body on fire. "Don't stop."
Nigel's grip on David's hips tightens, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more desperate. The sink rattles, the flour and sugar jars clattering against the counter. Nigel's body tenses, his movements becoming erratic. With a final, deep thrust, he comes, his cock pulsing inside David, filling him with his release. David's body convulses, his own orgasm ripping through him, leaving him shaking and breathless. Nigel collapses against David, his body slick with sweat, his breath coming in ragged gasps. They stay like that for a moment, their bodies entwined, their hearts beating in sync.
Slowly, Nigel pulls out, his softening cock slipping free. David straightens, turning to face Nigel, a soft smile on his lips. Nigel pulls him into a tight embrace, his hands running through David's hair, soothing him. They stay like that for a while, just holding each other, their bodies still trembling with the aftermath of their passion. Finally, Nigel pulls back, his eyes searching David's face.
"You okay?" he asks in a soft voice.
David nods, a blush spreading across his cheeks. "More than okay," he whispers.
Nigel grins, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from David's cheek. "Good," Nigel says, his voice firm. "Because I love you, David. More than anything."
David's eyes widen with a mix of surprise and joy flashing across his face. He knows, of course, but they rarely vocalize it.
"I love you too, Nigel," he replies, his voice steady and sure. "I always have. Since we were kids."
Nigel's heart swells, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. He pulls David into a tight embrace, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know. And I promise, David, I'll always be here for you, too. Forever."
They share a soft, tender kiss, their bodies pressed tightly against each other. The kitchen is a battlefield of flour and affection. White dust coats every surface, a fine powdering over the countertops, the worn linoleum floor, and even the usually pristine face of the old wall clock that ticks a slow, steady rhythm. Mixing bowls, still sticky with dough, sit abandoned next to a scattering of chocolate chips and a half-empty bag of sugar. It’s a total mess, a testament to their late-night baking spree that quickly devolved into something far more intimate.
David, flour streaked across his cheek like war paint, leans against the counter, his chest heaving slightly. His shirt is untucked, a few buttons undone, revealing a patch of pale skin. Nigel, taller and broader, is pressed against him, his hands tangled in David’s soft, slightly damp hair. Their lips are still swollen, a tender aftermath of fervent kisses that tasted of vanilla and something undeniably raw. Nigel’s breath hitches, a soft sound against David’s ear as he pulls back just enough to look into David’s eyes, a mischievous glint dancing in his own.
"You're a disaster, you know that?" Nigel murmurs with a low rumble that vibrates through David's chest.
He uses a thumb to gently wipe a smudge of flour from David’s chin, his touch sending shivers down David’s spine. David laughs, and it's a genuine, uninhibited sound that echoes in the small kitchen.
"Look who's talking, Mr. 'I-just-face-planted-in-the-flour-sack'." He gestures vaguely at Nigel’s own flour-dusted hair and the faint white outline around his mouth. "We're both disasters. A beautiful, delicious disaster."
David rolls his eyes, but his smile never fades. Nigel grins a wide, boyish smile that always manages to disarm David. He leans in again, pressing a soft kiss to David’s forehead, then trailing his lips down to his temple.
"So, what's next for this beautiful disaster? More baking? Or something… cleaner?" His eyes twinkle, a silent invitation.
David shivers, not from cold, but from the warmth that spreads through him at Nigel’s proximity. He glances around the chaotic kitchen, then back at Nigel’s expectant face. "Cleaner sounds good. Much, much cleaner." He takes Nigel's hand, his fingers intertwining with Nigel's strong ones, and tugs gently. "Shower. Now."
Nigel playfully pretends to resist for a moment, digging his heels in, a theatrical groan escaping his lips. "But the cookies! They’ll miss us!"
"They’ll survive," David says, pulling him firmly. "We, on the other hand, need a serious scrub down."
With a final, exaggerated sigh, Nigel allows himself to be led, a soft smile playing on his lips. He follows David out of the kitchen, leaving the sugary chaos behind. The apartment is quiet, save for the distant hum of the refrigerator. They move through the narrow hallway, their footsteps soft on the worn carpet, a comfortable silence settling between them. The air in the apartment is cool, a stark contrast to the sudden rush of heat that had consumed them in the kitchen. The bathroom is small, functional, but it holds a different kind of warmth. Steam already begins to curl from the showerhead as David adjusts the water temperature, testing it with his hand.
Nigel stands just behind him, his presence a solid, comforting weight. The sound of the water spraying against the tiled walls fills the space, a gentle roar that seems to muffle the outside world.
David turns from the shower, his eyes meeting Nigel's. A silent understanding passes between them, a shared anticipation. Nigel reaches for the hem of David’s flour-dusted shirt, his fingers brushing against David’s skin as he slowly pulls it up and over David’s head. The fabric clings for a moment, then peels away, revealing David’s pale chest, still bearing faint streaks of white. Nigel’s gaze lingers, a quiet appreciation in his eyes. He discards the shirt in the small, wicker laundry hamper. David reciprocates, his hands going to the buttons of Nigel’s shirt, working them open individually. Nigel’s chest is broader and more muscled, with a light dusting of dark hair. As the shirt falls open, David’s fingers trace the strong lines of Nigel’s collarbone, the curve of his shoulders. He pulls the shirt off, letting it join David’s in the hamper.
They stand facing each other, bare-chested, the only sound the soft hiss of the shower. Nigel’s eyes drop to David’s jeans, and he unzips them slowly, his fingers brushing against David’s abdomen. David shivers, a delicious tremor running through him. The denim slides down David’s hips, pooling around his ankles. He steps out of them, then kicks off his socks, leaving them in a small heap.
Nigel, in turn, sheds his own jeans, his movements unhurried and deliberate. The air in the bathroom, already warm from the steam, seems to thicken around them. There is no rush, only the quiet reverence of two bodies, known and cherished. Nigel’s gaze travels over David, from his slightly flushed face down his slender neck, over his chest, to his lean waist. He reaches out, his hand gently cupping David’s jaw, his thumb stroking the soft skin.
"Beautiful," Nigel says in a low, husky whisper.
He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to David’s temple, then trails his lips down to his neck, lingering there, a warm breath against David’s skin. David closes his eyes, tilting his head back slightly, allowing Nigel full access. He feels Nigel’s hands slide down his back, tracing the curve of his spine, then settling on his hips, pulling him closer until their bodies almost touch.
David’s hands find Nigel’s bare shoulders, his fingers exploring the firm muscles beneath the skin. He feels the warmth radiating from Nigel’s body, the subtle scent of Nigel’s skin mingling with the coconut shampoo. It’s a moment of pure, unadulterated sensation, a silent conversation between their bodies. Nigel’s lips move lower, pressing soft kisses to David’s collarbone, then to the hollow of his throat. David’s breath hitches, a soft moan escaping his lips.
Nigel pulls back slightly, his eyes dark with a mixture of desire and profound tenderness. He looks at David, a silent question in his gaze. David nods almost imperceptibly, his eyes shining.
David steps under the spray first, letting the warm water cascade over his head and shoulders, washing away the flour and the lingering stickiness of their embrace. He closes his eyes, sighing as the heat penetrates his skin, easing the tension in his muscles. He feels Nigel move in behind him, the taller man’s body fitting perfectly against his back. Nigel’s arms wrap around David’s waist, pulling him closer until their bodies are flush.
"Better?" Nigel whispers, his voice a low vibration against David’s ear. His chin rests on David’s shoulder, his breath warm on David’s neck.
"Much better," David replies, leaning back into Nigel’s embrace.
The intimacy of being held like this, under the warm, cleansing spray, is a familiar comfort, a silent language they’ve perfected over time. It’s a space where their usual playful banter fades, replaced by a quiet understanding, a deep, unspoken connection.
Nigel reaches for the shampoo, his large hand easily finding the bottle on the small shelf. He squeezes a generous dollop into his palm, the sweet scent of coconut filling the steamy air. David feels his fingers work into his scalp, a gentle, circular motion that sends shivers of pure pleasure through him. Nigel’s touch is always deliberate, always tender, especially when it comes to washing David’s hair. It’s a small ritual, born out of Nigel being half a foot taller, making it easier for him to reach, but it has evolved into something far more profound.
"Relax," Nigel whispers in a soft, almost hypnotic voice as he massages David’s scalp.
The suds foam up, a white crown on David’s head, mirroring the flour from earlier. He feels Nigel’s thumbs work along his temples, easing away the last vestiges of the day’s stress. It’s a moment of pure surrender for David, allowing himself to be completely cared for, completely vulnerable in Nigel’s hands.
David hums in contentment, leaning his head back further into Nigel’s touch. "You have magic hands, you know that?"
Nigel responds in a low, rumbling sound. "Just for you, love."
He rinses David’s hair thoroughly, making sure every last bubble is gone, the water running clear down David’s back. Then, he reaches for the conditioner, repeating the process with the same gentle care. Once David’s hair is clean, soft, and smelling faintly of coconut, Nigel turns him around gently. Their eyes meet, a silent exchange of affection passing between them. Nigel’s eyes, usually so full of playful mischief, are soft, tender, reflecting the deep bond they share. He takes the washcloth, already lathered with soap, and begins to carefully wash David’s chest, his movements slow and deliberate.
His touch is light, tracing the contours of David’s collarbone, the curve of his shoulders, the flat plane of his stomach.
David watches him, his gaze unwavering. He reaches out, his own hands finding Nigel’s arms, tracing the strong muscles beneath the wet skin. He feels the warmth of Nigel’s body pressed against his, the steady beat of Nigel’s heart against his own. It’s in these moments, stripped bare of their usual defenses and the chaos of the outside world, that their odd relationship truly shines. It’s not about grand gestures or dramatic confessions; it’s in the quiet intimacy, the shared vulnerability, the unspoken understanding that flows between them.
Nigel moves down, washing David’s arms, then his legs, his hands moving with a practiced ease that speaks of countless shared showers. David reciprocates, his hands finding Nigel’s shoulders, scrubbing away the last of the flour, then moving down his back, feeling the strong ridge of his spine. The steam fills the small bathroom, creating a hazy, dreamlike atmosphere, blurring the edges of the mundane and leaving only the two of them, intertwined.
When they are both clean, bodies glistening with water, Nigel turns off the shower. The sudden silence is almost deafening after the roar of the water. They stand for a moment, water dripping from their hair and bodies, the warmth of the steam still clinging to their skin.
Nigel reaches for the large, fluffy towels hanging on the hook, wrapping one around David first, then himself.
They emerge from the bathroom, wrapped in towels, the scent of soap and warm skin clinging to them. The apartment feels cooler now, the late-night air seeping in through the cracks around the windows. David shivers slightly, and Nigel, ever attentive, pulls him closer, his arm wrapping around David’s shoulders.
"Warm enough?" Nigel asks, his voice a low murmur.
"Almost," David replies, leaning into Nigel’s side.
They walk into the bedroom, a cozy space filled with mismatched furniture and stacks of books. The bed, a large, comfortable haven, is unmade, the sheets tangled from their earlier slumber. Nigel drops his towel, letting it fall to the floor, and reaches for a pair of old, soft sweatpants and a faded t-shirt. David does the same, pulling on his own comfortable clothes. There’s no awkwardness, no self-consciousness between them. Their bodies are familiar landscapes, known and cherished.
They share a soft, tender kiss, their bodies pressed tightly against each other. The world outside fades away, leaving only the two of them, lost in their own private universe of love and devotion. In this moment, they are everything to each other, their bond unbreakable, their love eternal.
As they pull apart, David takes Nigel's hand and leads him into the living room.
The TV flickers to life, casting a soft glow across the room. They settle onto the couch, their bodies pressed tightly together, their hands entwined. Nigel reaches for the remote, flipping through the channels until he finds an old movie playing. David rests his head on Nigel's shoulder, his eyes closing as he listens to the soft murmur of the TV and the steady beat of Nigel's heart. Nigel's arm wraps around David, holding him close, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on David's skin. They stay like that for a while, content and at peace, their bodies and souls entwined.
The movie plays on, the actors' voices a soft backdrop to their quiet contentment. Nigel's hand continues to move, his touch soothing and comforting. David's breath evens out, his body relaxing against Nigel's. Nigel smiles, his eyes never leaving David's face, his heart full of love and devotion.
As the movie ends, Nigel gently shakes David. "Hey, sleepyhead," he whispers. "It's time for bed."
David stirs, his eyes fluttering open. He looks up at Nigel, a soft smile on his lips. "Already?" he asks in a sleepy voice.
Nigel chuckles, his hand cupping David's cheek. "Already," he replies, his voice firm but gentle. "Come on, let's get you to bed."
David nods, his body already responding to the suggestion. Nigel stands, pulling David up with him. They make their way to the bedroom, their steps slow and steady, their hands never letting go. As they reach the bed, Nigel pulls back the covers, his eyes never leaving David's. David climbs in, his body already relaxing into the soft mattress. Nigel follows, his body pressing against David's, his arms wrapping around him tightly. David sighs, his body melting against Nigel's, his eyes closing as sleep claims him.
Nigel watches him, his heart full of love and wonder. He presses a soft kiss to David's forehead, his voice barely above a whisper. "Goodnight, my love," he murmurs. "Sweet dreams. Dreams of us. Of our future."
David smiles, his voice already slurred with sleep. "Goodnight, Nigel," he replies. "I love you. Forever and always."
Nigel's heart swells, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. "I love you more than words can express. More than the stars in the sky. More than anything."
As David's breathing evens out, Nigel holds him tighter, his body curled protectively around David's. He listens to the soft rhythm of David's heart, his own beating in sync. In this moment, he knows that he has found his home, his safe haven. With David in his arms, he knows that he can face anything, that he is complete.
Outside, the city sleeps, unaware of the love that burns brightly in the small apartment on Maplewood Avenue. Inside, David and Nigel drift off to sleep, their bodies entwined, their hearts forever intertwined. The night is quiet, the only sounds the soft murmur of their breathing and the distant hum of the city. But in their world, it's a perfect symphony of love and devotion.