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tkwrites · 2 months

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It Doesn't Matter - Part II - Nico Hischier x ofc

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Title: It Doesn’t Matter - Part II

Part I | Part II | Part III | Playlist

Author: Tory / @tkwrites

Relationship: Beginning: Nico Hischier x Original female character

Summary: When Nico agreed to pose for Lena as her nude model, he never expected how difficult it would be or where the night would take them.

Warnings: Slow burn, talk of lots of anxiety, being naked for the sake of art, smut at the end (18+): handjob (f on m) fingering (m on f)

Word count: 12,200

Comments: This fic has taken on a bit of a mind of its own. It’s much, much longer than I originally envisioned, but I couldn’t bear to cut any of it down. I hope you like it as much as I do and enjoy Nico and Lena finally sharing their feelings for each other.

If you enjoyed this, please let me know by commenting, reblogging, or sending in an ask. Your encouragement and comments truly inspire me to keep writing.

It Doesn’t Matter - Part II

“I feel like I shouldn’t eat before,” Nico said, looking down at the spread of sushi that had just been delivered to the apartment.

“Why not?”

“So I’m not…” he patted his stomach affectionately. Not only would he be immortalized in her art, he didn’t want the first time she saw him naked to include being bloated from eating too much rice.

Lena flipped her hand and shook her head, “the whole point of a nude study is to see a human figure as it is, not as someone who's prepped for three days or something.”

He looked unconvinced.

“Do whatever you feel comfortable with, but don’t get hangry on me,” she warned, pointing her chopsticks at him.

Holding up his hands in surrender, he laughed.

He ate but stopped as soon as he felt the mildest hint of fullness. He could eat more when they were done.

“So, do I just get naked?” he joked, sliding the plastic takeout containers into the fridge.

She snorted, but the tips of her ears flared pink.

“I…kind of hoped…” her voice trailed off. She wasn’t sure if she could just come out and ask for what she wanted. If he were a hired model, she would have asked him to come in a specific outfit, but this was Nico, and he was doing this as a favor.

“What?” he asked, unsure why she was being so hesitant. He was doing this for her. Didn't she know he would do just about anything for her? “Do you want me to wear something specific?”

Well, if he was offering. “Can you put on some dark suit pants with a belt?”

That wasn’t so bad. “Anything else?”

“No socks.” She knew he didn’t love to be barefoot, but for this, they would go against the picture and story she was building in her mind.

“Does it matter what color boxers?” he asked instead of protesting. He couldn’t remember what color he’d put on that morning.

Just thinking about seeing him in his boxers made her blush. Which was so stupid. She’d walked into the kitchen just the week before, only to find him walking around in nothing more than a tiny pair of black boxer briefs. They’d hugged his ass so tightly that she could see the muscles shift every time he moved.

Finally managing to shake her head and desperate to change the subject, she blurted, “I’m going to go set up in the living room.”

Nico smiled at how flustered she was as he went to change. Maybe Nina was right. At the very least, she might not be totally wrong.

“Maybe I’m just reading too much into it,” Nina had said when he had called his siblings in a panic the day before, trying to figure out how exactly he was going to get through this. “But I think you should give it a try. At least tell her how you feel. You don’t see the way she looks at you.”

He did see the way she looked at him. The same way she always had. Friendly and open and kind. But that was it. It never went beyond that.

“And what if I tell her and she turns me down? Or what if I tell her, and she says she doesn’t feel that way? I can’t just go back to how it was before. I can’t just take it back.”

“Isn’t it killing you to not tell her?” Luca asked. He didn’t understand it as well as Nina did, and had both feet firmly in camp ‘grow a pair and tell her,’ like Jack.

He gave a non-committal shrug. It was killing him. No, that was too dramatic. It wasn’t killing him, but it was making him a little crazy to feel so much intense emotion without having anywhere to put it.

Nina was tired of having this same discussion with him, which had only increased in frequency when Lena moved in. If she knew for a fact Lena wouldn’t turn him down, she wouldn’t hesitate to bully her little brother into spilling his guts. But as it was, she couldn’t guarantee anything.

“I’m going to make an ass of myself,” Nico moaned.

“You are not,” Nina admonished at the same time Luca said, “so what if you do?”

Luca continued before either of them could jump in, “you make an ass out of yourself every day you don’t tell her the truth.”

Nico had glared, and Nina had rolled her eyes.

In any case, knowing Lena was also nervous took some of his nerves down, too. At least he wasn’t alone in that.

Pulling out her art supplies, Lena felt like she might throw up. She was nervous and excited, and also so worried she wouldn’t be able to capture him. The last thing she wanted was to make Nico look flat.

Although landscapes were her specialty, the Institute insisted every artist get a full education, crossing over as many mediums and styles as possible. Even if it wasn’t the students' specialty, lots of things could be learned from going outside your own box.

She was scraping by in the class mostly because Professor Brown took pity on her. She told Lena over and over again that she had the talent but needed to feel the art. It was a criticism she only partially understood. Lena always felt her art, but figure drawing was indeed harder for her to connect with. She wasn't even sure why it was so difficult. Perhaps because a person was always moving, unlike a mountain that stayed steady and steadfast no matter what was happening around it. Capturing a facial expression was definitely harder than it was to find the divots and crags of a landscape.

This was another reason she wanted to sketch him. She knew him so well and knew she wouldn’t be able to turn off the part of her brain that was freaking out about seeing him naked. She would have to pay attention to his humanity and try to translate it onto the page.

Nerves ate at her stomach. Not only with the idea of not being able to capture his lovely figure, but also… Nico was her friend. Sometimes a little more than that if either of them needed a date to an event, but they’d never taken it beyond their usual, comfortable banter that often flirted with the idea of more. It was one of the things that made moving on from him so hard. He never made solid moves, but he never cut it off, either. He flashed his dimples and made her weak in the knees, but never went so far as to kiss her or really ask her on a date.

Seeing him naked without being in a relationship felt like a step too far. At the same time, it felt like the only option. There wasn’t another man she’d be comfortable sketching, despite her bluff about Jes.

Now she wished she hadn’t eaten.

At the very least, she would have the barrier of her art and easel between them. Maybe this really would force her into feeling her art. It already felt like she was fighting through her anxiety, and he wasn’t even there yet.

When he came into the living room, Nico found the furniture rearranged. She’d shoved the coffee table out of the way and set two of the dining room chairs in its place. She was unpacking her supplies, leaning a large sketching pad on her easel and lining several graphite pencils up on the side table, along with a sharpener.

“No paints?” he asked.

She jumped, and her heart did a little skid to the side. “These pieces are all supposed to be done in one color. I feel most comfortable with graphite, so I’m doing that instead of colored pencils,” she rambled before managing to cut herself off.

Turning to look at him, she breathed, “good heavens, you look hot,” before she could stop herself. She knew he would be, but she still felt like she’d just been socked in the stomach.

It was a bit selfish of her to request this particular outfit. She always liked the way his suit pants fit, and seeing his toned chest rising above the clean, sharp line of his black belt made her fingers itch to hold a pencil. His muscles were sculpted for practical use - not too bulky, but not too lean. Chiseled enough to show ridges and valleys, but not so much that he looked like a hulked out action hero.

He was desire personified. He was… he was an Adonis.

A cheeky smile lit his face, “good to know.”

She made herself laugh to break the tension.

“Where do you want me?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows. It felt too intimate, too much like something he fantasized about if he didn’t force himself to joke about it.

A triumphant smile lit her face. This she could do. She was used to directing models into shapes where the light would highlight the most interesting part of their features. She asked him to stand in the middle of the room and turned him a few times, trying to get the lighting right.

Nico tried not to flex or stand too stiffly when her hands were grasping his forearms to turn him this way and that. She stepped back to study him, then came forward to begin the process again.

Eventually, she shoved the couch out of the way and asked him to lean against the wall.

He stayed rigidly in the position she left him in as she brought another lamp into the room, angling the shade to get the shadows she was looking for.

“Just lean against the wall with your hands in your pockets.”

He did, and laughter burst out of her chest, “you can relax.”

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted, looking up without changing his posture. He felt stiff and on display. In his mind, this was going to be much sexier than the reality was turning out to be. He didn’t know what to do with his hands or his eyes. Or his mouth. Was he supposed to be doing something with his mouth? Should he be smiling?

“Just stand like you would if you were waiting for something.”

"What am I waiting for?"

“Like you’re waiting for…me?”

“Where?”

“I don’t know, Nico,” she caught the exasperation in her voice and cut it off. He wasn’t a professional model. He wasn’t used to coming up with scenarios on the fly like this. “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head, “like you’re waiting for me to…” she trailed off. “It doesn’t really matter why.”

If it was up to him, he’d be waiting to take her to bed. She was wearing the same pink shirt she’d worn that day he walked in on her in the kitchen, and it brought up vivid memories of her wearing it without a bra. He wondered if she was wearing the matching underwear. The thought made him blush and cast his eyes down.

His hair flopped over one of his eyes in that cartoon prince way it always did.

“Stay there,” she practically yelled, her hands itching to capture the angles of his face.

The sound of her pencil brushing her paper took over his thoughts, and he tried not to twitch as his hair tickled his eyelid.

“Can you relax your shoulders?” she asked.

He rolled his shoulders back and did his best to relax, “better?”

“Don’t move,” she chastised.

He smiled a little before trying to settle his face back into the expression he had before.

Just as his neck was beginning to ache, she ripped the page from her pad and asked him to sit down.

He looked at her for direction and smiled at her intensity. He wondered if she always looked at people like this when she was drawing them. He was a little disappointed that in the six years he'd known her, this was the first time this kind of intensity was being turned on him.

“Just get comfortable.”

Nico extended one leg and slouched into the chair, letting the other knee fall to the side so his legs were spread.

“Can you,” Lena stopped herself mid request, biting her lip. In her mind, she was forming an art story of him slowly undressing. She wondered if this was just her lust talking and if that was okay.

“Can I?”

She decided she didn't care if it was her lust driving. It would be a good, easy to follow series.

Her cheeks were aflame, glowing bright in the lamp light. “Can you undo your pants?”

His eyes widened momentarily, and she saw his Adams apple bob in his throat.

Forcing his fingers into action, he worked at the button and zipper, well aware of her watching his movements.

“I want to sketch your hands,” she said, voice reverent.

Nico stilled immediately and looked at her, holding his zipper pull. That wasn’t a reaction he’d expected.

“Oh, God,” she covered her face, pencil still in her fingers so the point angled down at her wrist. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

He couldn’t stop the cocky grin that spread over his face. This was more like what he’d imagined posing for her would be like. “You can sketch my hands anytime you want, hase,” he said, adding on the pet name before he thought better of it.

Her blush got brighter. She hated when he called her that. Bunny. It was a term of endearment that Nina assured her was well known and used by friends and lovers alike, but it brought up all sorts of wishing on her part that they were the latter.

“Where do you want my hands?” he asked because he knew it would make her more flustered.

She had to clear her throat and duck behind her easel. “Wherever,” she squeaked out, trying to calm her racing heart.

Laughing, he thought about photos of underwear models and tried to get his body into a position like that. He hooked his right thumb into his waistband, exposing more of his red boxer briefs. The other hand fell off to the side, relaxed.

Peeking around her easel, Lena lost her breath. She had never seen him so sexy. He radiated confidence and comfort with his body — something she never quite managed to feel about herself.

This was going to be impossible.

“Look at me.” She really didn’t want him to look at her. She felt like she might set fire to her sketch pad if he did, but it would make the most impactful portrait.

Nico’s eyes met hers, and her stomach jolted. The teasing, flirtatious energy radiating from him hit her in waves. The rumble of desire she'd been feeling in her low belly purred to a higher gear, and she had to consciously stop herself from clenching her thighs together. Flirty and intense, his eyes were focused on her with purpose. Wanting, she realized with a jolt. That’s what this expression was. The kind of wanting where you want the person you’re looking at to know you want them.

She’d imagined getting this look of open desire from him so many times that having it turned on her now nearly knocked the breath out of her.

Forcing her hands into action, she’d never been happier to find muscle memory taking over – drawing the basic shape of his body when her mind was still running around screaming about how outrageously, unfairly attractive he was.

Eventually, her creative mind took over, and she relaxed into the art, strokes lengthening and easing.

When it came time to detail, she started with his face, trying to capture his relaxed, intense stare. In any other circumstance, she was certain her panties would catch fire or dissolve right off her body if he gave her this look. In all the years she’d known him, she’d never seen this expression. He would never be so forward with her in real life.

Despite her heart beating so hard she felt it in her throat and her wrists, her pencil stayed steady.

The exercise wasn't lost on her. Even the first drawing felt different. This looked different from her usual work, too - more real in a way she couldn’t really describe. Almost as if he might just walk off the page and kiss the viewer.

Wanting to get this expression just right, she paused to take a photo so she could reference it later.

“Can we turn on some music?” he asked after a minute or two.

“Sure. What do you want?”

“Whatever, just something.”

Flipping on the TV, she pulled up his music subscription service and selected a slow playlist. Something he wouldn’t be tempted to bop his head to before going back to her easel to finish.

Pushing aside the longing to be on the receiving end of this wanting in a situation where he wasn’t acting, she continued on.

He stayed in this position the longest. He found it the most comfortable, and apparently, the way he was watching her, the concentration in her mouth, and the way it narrowed her eyes just slightly was fine for her. It was a relief to not have to school the wanting off of his face for once.

After getting to a place where she felt like she could pick back up in a day or two, she had him remove his pants and sit backward.

Almost immediately, he leaned back, one hand gripping the chair for balance while the other ran into his hair. She yelped at him to still.

He went rigid. The position forced him to engage his core, and the arm lifted to push back his hair started to cramp from halting mid-movement.

This sketch ended up being her favorite, though she knew people would like the one before better. This one was really a study of his body — how his muscles flexed and bulged. She even somehow managed to capture the feeling of movement in his bicep. She’d only been able to do that with trees before. Plus, the whole thing was such a Nico gesture, it felt more like him, too.

A page ripped from her sketch pad, and finally, letting his arm down and shaking it out, he watched her settle it, face down, onto the pile,

“Okay,” she came out from behind her easel, her hands clasped in front of her, “I’m gonna go… get some water if you want to undress and sit back like this?”

He nodded, feeling his cheeks heat to match hers. This was all fun, games and teasing until he had to be naked in front of her. And she wouldn’t even be touching him. She’d be standing three feet away, looking at him the way she looked at one of her paintings.

He’d daydreamed about being on the receiving end of that intense gaze so many times, but getting it in this situation felt like a poor consolation prize.

He was on his own here, with no one to share the vulnerability of being naked with.

“Do you need anything?” she asked from the kitchen as he was stripping off his boxers.

“Water?” he asked, setting them on top of his folded pants.

Walking back into the living room, two bottles in her hand, Lena stopped short.

She had seen many nude models and taught herself to get over the shock quickly. Training her mind to see the person as a sculpture, not a living being, she focused on the beauty of the human body and not the person living in it. And Nico’s body was beautiful. Smooth golden skin, dotted with freckles and moles, that stretched over living, moving muscles.

Except, he wasn’t a marble statue. He was a living, breathing, beautiful man, and she knew him. She knew how he acted and what he loved, and she knew how much she loved him. And how much it meant to her that he was willing to put himself in such an uncomfortable position for her. She loved him so much, her heart ached with it. How could she possibly translate that into a two dimensional piece of art?

She knew from experience how awkward it was to be a model, let alone a nude model, and that was with people she barely knew. For Nico to be naked in front of her, willing to let her sketch his strong legs and expressive eyes was something totally different. Now, besides seeing his body, which really was so beautiful, it nearly made her lose her breath. She could also see the anxiety in the set of his thigh and the curve of his spine.

Quite suddenly, gratitude and love for him swelled within her chest in a way she had never experienced. It felt hard to breathe.

A small noise escaped her throat.

Looking over his shoulder, Nico asked, “okay?”

She nodded. Her feet finally moved, and she handed him the water. “You’re so beautiful, Nico,” she said, that reverent tone back in her voice as her eyes wandered down his body.

He felt a blush creep down his neck. “I don’t…” he cleared his throat, “I mean, you’re…”

His brain wasn’t working right. She was watching him with this wonderment in her face, like she’d just found the answer to the universe. He wanted to tell her she was the beautiful one, not him, but he couldn’t seem to find the right words when she was looking at him like that.

“Thanks,” he finally managed to say. "What do you want me to do?”

Now that they were here, she had no idea. She just wanted to watch him for the rest of the night.

The embarrassment she’d expected never came.

She adjusted her easel, so she was looking at him, just off to the side. She could see three-quarters of his face, but his thick thigh hid his penis from her view. “Just try to get comfortable,” she said.

Her voice was so kind and gentle that it relaxed Nico a little, but mostly, he still felt coiled tight and out of sync. “I don’t know that I can,” he said truthfully.

“That’s fine. I know I’m asking you to be comfortable in a really awkward situation. If you feel like you can’t look at me, that’s fine.”

The truth was that he always wanted to look at her, but seeing her this way, looking at him with holiness in her face, made him ache for her in a way he’d never felt with anyone else. It felt nothing like any of the dreams or daydreams he’d had that involved him being naked in her presence before.

She started with his legs first, so he didn’t have to find a way to position his head right then. “Can you flex your right thigh?” she asked.

He did, and she giggled. He glanced over to find her in the same spot, shaking her head, “sorry, the other thigh? Your left. My right.”

Nico tried his best and heard a breath rush from her.

“Good grief, your legs are so sexy,” Lena said before she could stop herself.

His breath lodged in his chest. “My legs?” he repeated, his voice one step off from croaking. Had she really just said that?

“Yes,” she said, her tone serious, pencil still working. “Men’s legs are severely underrated.”

When he glanced at her, he found her concentrating again, but her mouth was set in a new expression, lips soft and parted slightly, like she was waiting to be kissed. At this point, it was nothing short of torture.

Pulling his eyes from her, he folded his arms around the chair back and set his chin on his hands. He watched the album cover bouncing around the TV screen. Mens legs were underrated. How many men did she think about like that?

“That’s really nice, Nico, if you can just stay like that.”

Cookie wandered in then and flopped onto the carpet previously covered by the coffee table. He watched Nico with slow blinking eyes, and he tried not to feel so observed.

After four more songs of listening to her pencil and eraser working, she said, “Okay.”

He sat up.

“Wait! I have to take a picture.”

He winced, feeling the muscles in his back knot up. “Those aren’t getting turned in, are they?”

“Nope, they’re just for me,” she winked.

His eyes widened, and she laughed.

“No, they’re for reference so I can finish the drawings. I’ll delete them later.”

Forcing a laugh, Nico couldn’t quite decide which was worse - her taking the pictures or telling him she'd delete them so casually.

“Okay, so for the last two sketches, I was thinking one with you standing, and one with you supine.”

“Supine?” he repeated. He’d never even heard that word before.

“Laying on your back.”

Well fuck. Of all the times he imagined himself on his back with her, this was just another one that would crush the daydreams he clung to on long, lonely nights. Pushing that thought away, he asked, “what’s first?”

“Whatever’s easiest for you.”

“Standing full frontal?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “None of my figure drawings have included genitals. I could cut you off at the pelvis or sketch from behind. Which would you prefer?”

He shrugged, feeling too spent to make a decision, especially one like this. Then, quite suddenly, he realized: If he was standing in front of her, he’d have to watch her looking at his dick the whole time. “Behind,” he blurted, too quick, too loud.

After following her instruction, he found himself standing, facing the large window, where the curtains were mercifully drawn. One of his feet was up on a rung of the coffee table, forcing him to keep balance with the other.

“I think you need to hold something,” she said, standing and walking out of the room.

Upon coming back, she handed him the chain he wore most of the time. He’d left it on his bathroom counter, unsure if she wanted him to wear it. The fact that she seemed to know where he’d left it without asking wasn’t lost on him. He wondered if she assumed that’s where he’d left it or if she’d somehow seen him put it there.

“You can fiddle with that,” she said.

It was cool and solid in his hands, and he allowed it to slip through his fingers, feeling the ridges and links of the metal, before his fingers slid over the cross. His breathing centered, and he felt some anxiety unknot between his shoulder blades.

After a quick outline, she filled in some details that wouldn’t come through in a photo and asked him to lie down. She knew he was losing steam. It was a lot to ask to pose for six different portraits. Not only did it require a certain amount of stillness on his part, but it was also a night full of being watched. She could fill in the details later.

“Let me get you a blanket to lay on,” she said.

He breathed a sigh of relief. At least he wouldn’t have to lay buck naked on the floor.

She fetched the cozy blanket she kept on her bed. It was soft and comforting and smelled like her, like the sweet, citrusy scent of her perfume. It was all at once comforting and disconcerting. He had so many memories with this scent. There was even a time his dick would twitch every time he smelled it. It was around too much, now, for that reaction, but it still called up a sharp longing in his gut.

Wrapping it around himself, he sat on the floor, then lay down.

She fetched him a pillow, and once he was comfortable, began directing. “Can you bend your knee closest to me?”

He was slow to move but did it anyway.

Sensing his fatigue, she told him, “I know, we’re nearly done.”

He sighed, relieved he didn’t have to ask.

“I was hoping this one would be sort of satisfied.” she said, settling herself onto the floor facing him, her easel collapsed to be shorter.

He arched one of his eyebrows.

“I don’t know,” she answered, “I mean like, content, I guess.”

“I don’t think I can do that right now,” he said, hearing a wearied annoyance come into his voice. He was too tired to school it back. He was feeling spent up. Too much vulnerability with too little reciprocation.

Lena bit her lip. “Can I do anything to make it better?”

A sigh shifted his chest into a new position, “I just feel really…” he wasn’t sure what the words he needed were.

She waited patiently for him to finish. He liked that she never rushed his thinking.

Finally, he threw the other half of the blanket over his lap and sat up to face her. “I feel like I’m all exposed.”

She nodded.

“And you’re not.”

She hmm’d and pulled her bottom lip into her mouth, thinking. It was such a Lena gesture that it made him smile.

“Do you want me to get undressed?” she asked, then immediately regretted it. It seemed like the reciprocal thing to offer, but upon hearing the words out loud, she realized exactly how much she didn’t want to do it. Then they both would be anxious and awkward, and she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on her art, and that would be a loose loose for everyone.

“No.” Yes, of course he did. But if that were to happen, he wanted to earn it. He didn’t want it to be because he couldn’t sit through modeling for some portraits. Plus, then he would be completely distracted by her.

She scooted a little closer to him, questioning in her eyes.

“I feel,” he hesitated, searching for the right thing to say. A long pause passed where she didn’t get fidgety or impatient, just waited for him to continue. The phrasing came in SwissGerman first, or course, and then he had to figure out how to best say it in English. “I feel like I’m doing this for nothing.”

“For nothing?” she repeated, a mildly panicked look crossing her face.

“I’m doing it for you, but for what? So you do well on your project?” He was happy to help, but it felt like too much. Too much given without any reciprocation. Perhaps his fatigue was talking.

Her mouth pursed, “I can see where you’re coming from, but it’s a little more than a grade at this point. With you, I've finally been able to sketch the body the way I've been trying to for so long. And the fact that you’re willing to do something so uncomfortable, so vulnerable for me makes me just…I don’t even know how to say it.” She wanted to tell him that it made her love him. She’d told him she loved him before. She’d told him that many times: “love you, see you later,” but this felt different, deeper and truer somehow, and she wasn’t sure she was willing to admit those feelings.

Instead, she asked, “do you want to see the sketches so far?” feeling they may be the best explanation she had.

He perked up. She rarely showed anyone her art until it had been worked on more. A rough sketch was something she held close to her chest, wanting to keep it private until she deemed it good enough to display. He nodded, and Lena stood to retrieve them.

Given a moment to think, he assessed his body, finding what was lacking with a quick scan. “I think I need to eat,” he said.

His metabolism was so high, spiked higher by so much physical exercise all the time that hunger often came on swiftly, affecting his mood more than he’d like to admit. His teammates teased him to the point that he always had a snack with him. How long had they been at this drawing thing? He hadn’t eaten enough to begin with, and now they were however many hours in, and he was hungry.

That would also explain it. She hadn’t been joking when she told him not to get hangry on her. Setting the sketches in front of him, she went to grab the sushi from the fridge.

The drawings were farther along than he expected. She worked faster than he knew.

It was a strange thing to see himself in her delicate, penciled outlines.

Flipping over to the second sketch, he blinked a few times. He was himself, but not. The man on this paper was confident, relaxed, and flirtatious in a way he always wanted to be, especially with Lena.

“Is this how you see me?” he asked when she came back into the room.

“That’s how you are, Nico.”

It was like looking in a weird, funhouse mirror. Was this how she saw him all the time?

The third sketch was all in the details: the peek of the tattoo on his bicep, the flex of his abs, and the swell in his boxers.

He flipped to the first nude sketch. She perfectly captured how he felt. Anxious, unsure, and alone. It even looked like he was bouncing his leg. Yet, the portrait didn’t seem to feel anxious. It somehow felt like acceptance. She wasn’t fighting against his feelings to make them prettier, never asking him to feel anything different. She took him as he was and translated him onto a page in a way he’d never seen or expected to see.

How could he possibly be these two things just an hour apart?

“It’s weird to see your own facets turned back on you, isn’t it? I felt that way when I had to sit for class portraits.” They had all taken turns modeling for their classmates so they could understand better the perspective of the model, and it had been strange to see sixteen different versions of herself at the end of the class - each of them skewed a little based on the artist.

In the last drawing, he looked more relaxed. He was so glad when she’d handed him his cross to hold. Not only was it something comforting and familiar, but she’d also given him something to do with his hands, which felt important.

This was the drawing that most made him look like a hockey player, he thought. He could clearly see how his butt and thighs were thicker than the rest of him. He’d long ago gotten used to the size of his legs, but it was still strange to see the disproportion of them in comparison with the rest of his body laid bare so thoroughly.

She dipped her head to capture his line of vision, “I meant what I said before, Nico,” she said, handing him the to-go container. “You really are beautiful.” She flipped back to him tense and unsure. “Even here. Maybe even most here.”

His eyes shot to hers.

“This,” she tapped the drawn version of him on the back, “represents a huge sacrifice you're making for me. Putting yourself in a very uncomfortable position to help me get better at my art. To help me really understand the human form for the first time. I look at this, and I see how much you care for me.”

When he’d finished with the rest of the sushi, feeling sated and comfortable, he looked at her. She’d placed her sketch pad on the floor and put the last drawing on top of it. Hunched over, she was filling in detail.

He always appreciated this about Lena, that if he needed some time to himself, she would find a way to keep herself busy. He didn’t feel like he had to entertain her all the time, like he did with a lot of the women in his life. It was a refreshing change of pace.

He watched her work for a while, fascinated with the way she braced her hand with just the knuckle of her pinky finger so she wouldn’t smudge the charcoal already on the page.

Clearing his throat, he set the empty container to the side.

Looking up, Lena could see how much better he felt. His shoulders were more relaxed, and his hands were loose in his lap.

“Do you want to keep going?” she asked, moving the drawing back to the pile.

He nodded.

“We can pick up again on Sunday if you’d rather.”

He wasn’t sure he could convince himself into doing this again. “No, I feel better,” which was a partial truth, “let's finish now.”

She scooted back to her easel. When she got settled and looked around it, she found he had changed positions. Still on his back, his other knee was slightly bent, the blanket draped around his far hip to cover himself. His hand was up, resting under his head, showing off the smooth underside of his bicep and the tattoo of his families zodiac signs.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

"Yeah. Could you adjust the blanket?” she asked. “So it’s not so folded?”

He nodded and pulled himself into a half crunch to see and adjust the fabric. His abs contracted, and Lena looked at the ceiling before she could be overwhelmed with attraction.

“Like this?” he asked.

When she looked again, it was better, but still looked too placed, not like it’d been hastily thrown over him.

Her lips pressed together, an he sighed, knowing what that meant. “Can you just adjust it?”

“You’re sure you’re okay with that?”

Pulling in a fortifying breath, he nodded.

As she crawled over to him, Nico felt his heartbeat quicken.

Her hands softly gathered the blanket, pulling out the folds. If he were wearing something underneath, she’d just toss it up and let it fall, but she couldn’t do that.

Her fingers brushed the inside of his thigh as she tucked more of it between his legs, and the muscle fluttered all the way up to his groin. Biting his cheek, he stifled the groan of frustration that crawled up his throat.

“Sorry,” she said, holding her hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, eyes still closed. Maybe he hadn’t been as successful as he thought. If he looked at her now, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop the semi he was sporting from popping into a full boner and he just couldn't take that embarrassment. “it’s okay. Just, no more.”

Nodding, she scooted back to her easel.

Keeping his eyes closed, Nico thought about swimming in the cold, glacial lake near home until his body relaxed.

“Nico,” Lena asked, her hand on his shoulder.

His eyes fluttered open.

Above him, her expression was soft and full of that same wonderment from before. “I’m done if you want to get dressed.”

He nodded, and she left the room.

Before going to join her in the kitchen, he pulled his boxers and trousers back on.

“Sorry I fell asleep,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Nothing to be sorry for. I’m glad you felt comfortable.”

He hugged her then, bringing her body closer to his. He'd been thinking about it for too long.

“Thank you for doing this for me,” she said, voice intimate, dim and quiet.

“You know I'd do anything for you,” he said.

Did she know that? She figured she did. “Still, I know it wasn’t easy, so thank you.”

Nico stilled when she tucked her face into his neck. She’d done this before when he’d comforted her after a breakup. Then, he’d wanted to show her he could be the better man for her, but he’d been unwilling to cross that line. He still was. Maybe Jack and Luca were right. Maybe he did just need to grow a pair and ask her out. But what if she didn’t want him and didn’t want to deal with the repercussions of that discussion and wanted to move out? He would feel horrible. She’d have to find a place that would let her keep Cookie or take him back to her parents.

“Are you okay?” she asked, running her hands over his back. His skin was warm and surprisingly soft. Along with the scent of his soap and the mild undertone of sweat, there was a faintly cedar-y smell clinging to his skin. She’d never been able to tell where it came from. It was too faint to be cologne.

His muscles trembled. “Yeah,” he said into her hair, trying to calm his racing heart.

Her phone trilled from her back pocket. Lena was the only person he knew who didn’t keep her phone on vibrate.

She pulled back so she could look at it.

Nico reluctantly let his hands fall to his sides. “Your mom?” he asked. It seemed she was the only one who ever really called Lena. At least when he was around.

“No, it’s Milo,” she said, silencing the ringer and setting the phone face down on the counter. “He’s probably drunk and wants to get laid.”

Nico’s heart began to race with worry, jealousy, and fear. “Does he do that a lot?” Thank god his voice didn’t squeak over the words.

“Once a month or so, I guess.”

He knew he shouldn’t ask this question. He knew it was none of his business, but he was tired and emotionally empty, and his filter was thinner than usual because of it. “Do you take him up on it?”

Her eyebrows raised, a sarcastic look taking over her pretty features, “are you serious, Nico? Of course not. He’s just drunk dialing through his contacts list.”

“I always hated that guy. He’s such a tool.”

Hearing that phrase come out of Nico’s mouth, in his strong accent, made her laugh out loud. “What?”

“That’s not the right word?” he asked. “Like he’s selfish and just does things to be cool?”

“It’s the right word,” she confirmed, this teasing smile on her lips that would liquify his bones if he let it. “I know you never liked him. I just didn’t realize you felt so…strongly about it.”

His nose scrunched as he blew out a frustrated breath. “He wasn’t good enough for you.”

“Well, he couldn’t measure up anyway.”

“Measure up to what?”

“To this guy I’ve liked for a really long time,” she said, not quite brave enough to spit out the truth.

“So why don’t you date him?” Nico asked instead of demanding to know who this man was.

“I can’t ever tell if he’s into me.”

“He’d be a fool to not be into you.”

“Would he?” she asked, looking into his face, wondering what he meant by that.

“Yeah. You’re kind and fun and smart,” he said.

Part of her swooned when he didn’t lead off with the fact that she was pretty. The other part of her was a little disappointed he didn’t seem to notice.

“Any man would be lucky to have you,” he added on quietly as his eyes dropped to his feet. He couldn’t possibly look at her while telling her another man would be lucky to have her. It would happen one day, he knew, but he kind of hoped he’d somehow be out of the picture when it did.

Lena studied him as he looked at his bare feet.

His curiosity got the better of him, “who is this guy anyway?”

Well, shit. She’d really talked herself into a corner this time. What was she supposed to say now?

“Do I know him?”

She nodded.

“Does he play?” he asked hesitantly.

She nodded again.

“I thought…” The knowledge sliced through him: if it wasn’t about hockey, it was about him. “I thought you didn’t like hockey players,” he said, fighting against the ache in his chest.

Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “What gave you that idea?”

“I overheard you talking to Jessica at the rink once about how you wouldn’t date me because I was a hockey player.”

“You’re sure I was talking about you?”

“You said ‘I don’t date hockey players,’ and then Jessica asked, ‘what about Nico?’”

Understanding sparked her memory. “Did you stick around to hear my answer?” She hadn’t even known he was listening in on that conversation. She’d been sitting on the refreshments counter while Jessica baked the soft pretzels. He must have been around the corner, heading into the locker room.

“You said ‘it doesn’t matter.’ I couldn’t listen anymore, so I walked away.”

A small smile lit up her face. “If you had stayed, you would have heard me say, ‘it doesn’t matter, Nico’s not like the other guys. He’s sweet and respectful.’”

“Oh,” he said because he didn’t know what else to say. “I thought you didn’t date hockey players,” he said again, lamely.

“I don’t. I mean, not the average ones,” she added on when his expression fell. “I told people that because they’d wonder why I was around the team all the time, but not shacking up with any of them. Those boys I grew up with were all such dogs, but you never made me feel less than for being a woman or like I needed to put out to be accepted.”

His nose wrinkled.

“See, that?” she asked, noting his disgust. “That’s why I like you, Nico. You’re sweet and kind and so respectful of women.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You see it in locker rooms all the time. I’m sure you see it in yours currently.”

The conversation paused as he thought.

“You’re different than other players,” she said. “Jessica was asking me that because she knew you’re a hockey player that I liked.”

“You liked me?” he asked, his mind running in circles trying to process all the information coming at him.

“Yeah, Nico,” she said. Well, she was already here, she may as well spill the whole pot. “I still do.”

Half of his mouth lifted just enough to dimple his cheek.

“Ugh, don’t flash your dimples at me! I can barely keep my hands to myself as it is,” she said, shoving his shoulder.

That was new. “What if I don’t want you to keep your hands to yourself?”

Her breath hitched in her throat. “Don’t tease Nico. It’s rude.”

“Who said anything about teasing?”

“I —” she was having a hard time articulating her words, “but you —”

He patiently waited for her to finish, attempting to school the grin off his face.

“But you don’t even like me like that,” she finished, lamely.

He couldn’t help it, laughter burst out of his chest, “what?”

“You’ve never made a move,” she said, feeling outrageously embarrassed. It was one thing to admit her feelings, but then to have them thrown back in her face was something she just couldn’t handle.

“You know what Jack tells me every time he sees us together?”

She was so taken off guard by the question that it jolted Lena out of her spiraling thoughts. “What?”

“He tells me to make it happen.”

Her eyebrows shot up.

“All the guys know I’m in love with you.”

Her breathing hitched, and she gripped the counter behind her to keep from falling over.

“In fact, everyone knows I’m in love with you. Nina says I look so lovesick no one can miss it.” He took a step in so they were nearly chest to chest. “But somehow, you don’t ever see it,” he added quietly.

He was so close, she was certain he could hear her heart hammering. Her mind was still caught on, ‘all the guys know I’m in love with you.’ It was like she couldn’t process the words. “You’re in love with me?” she asked.

A deep, frustrated sound, like a groan, filtered up his throat. The thought of pulling that sound out of him in any other circumstance made her knees feel weak. It sent heat racing between her thighs.

“I’ve been in love with you since I left Halifax,” he said, relief he didn’t have to keep anything under wraps flooding through him. “That’s why I broke up with Viv when I left. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and it wasn’t fair to her or to me.”

Her wide eyes snapped to his, and Nico took a steadying breath. She really hadn’t known. All this time, he thought she must have, but held to her principles enough to turn away from it.

“I’ve been in love with you since you left Halifax, too, Nico.”

It was his turn for his breathing to hitch. “What?”

“I thought you didn’t like me like that.”

How was this possible? Nico felt like his knees were slowly turning to jelly. “How could you think that?” he croaked.

“You never made a move,” she repeated.

“You said you don’t date hockey players,” he defended.

Hands fluttering up to cover her face, Lena shook her head. “I can’t believe this,” she said, a small laugh escaping.

Reaching up, Nico gently encircled her wrists and pulled her hands away. She let them fall by her sides.

His heart was galloping in his chest. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, surprised to find his voice quieter than he meant it to be.

Lena nodded, a feeling as though she were about to jump out of a plane surging through her body. Something grand and beautiful waited for her if she could just put her faith in the parachute and step into the unknown. Well, partially unknown. She knew Nico, and she wasn’t afraid.

One of his hands drifted up to her face. Cupping her jaw, he stroked her cheek with his thumb. “You’re so beautiful, Lena,” he said, glad to find his voice had evened out.

For the first time, she recognized that look he was always giving her. That wide open, soft gaze. Love, she realized with a shock of understanding. It was love. It had been love this whole time. She really had been blind.

Her eyes darted away as her cheeks flushed pink. “Thank you.” She wouldn’t lie, hearing it eased some of the anxiety in her chest.

He waited for her eyes to come back to his before leaning down. Heart hammering with six years of anticipation, their lips finally met.

When her head tipped slightly to the side and her mouth opened to him, a shock raced down his spine while a sigh filtered up his throat. The kiss was better than any fantasy his mind had concocted through the years.

His tongue tentatively slipped into her mouth, and Lena felt a flash flood of right, this is right, this is the most right thing that’s ever been right in my life, sweep through her.

Her hands fluttered up to his shoulders, and she felt his, heavy on her waist, squeeze when her tongue slipped past his lips.

God, Nico was in paradise. This was the softest, most heavenly, love-filled kiss he’d ever experienced. How did people even find words for this? Sudden understanding sparked in the back of his mind. This was why people wrote sonnets and songs and books. He wanted to drown in this feeling.

Eager to see his face again, she eased back.

“This is okay?” he asked, eyes snapping to hers, worried she was having regrets.

Nodding, she leaned forward and slid her mouth over his.

This kiss was slower, more passionate. When her teeth grazed his bottom lip, Nico felt electricity zing through him.

His fingers ran into her hair to cradle the back of her head.

There was no stopping the moan that filtered up her throat when he sucked on her tongue gently.

Fuck, he loved that noise more than anything he’d ever heard. He wanted to hear it again, and again and again in every possible position and every possible circumstance.

All at once, the kiss was electric, the initial softness giving way to the chemistry and sexual tension that had been brewing between them for more than half a decade. Lena had never felt anything like it. It was exhilarating and somehow grounding in a way she’d never experienced, as if they were rooted together by their passion.

She wanted more of him. Her hands dove into his hair, noting the groan he let out when she pulled it lightly.

Nico lifted her onto the counter. He wanted her closer than their standing position allowed. She wrapped her legs around his waist. It was exactly what he’d been hoping for.

He broke away and trailed his mouth to her jaw, eager to taste her skin.

“Nico,” her voice was a breathy little moan.

He was a fool for not telling her sooner. God, he was such a fool.

Her hand found his jaw and pulled his mouth back to hers with a simple, “more,” that nearly drove him out of his mind with the need to obey.

Their teeth clicked, and she gigged.

He loved this, too - getting her in all the ways, even the awkward ones. A laugh fell into her mouth, and it brought him back to himself. He wanted to savor this. There was no need to rush. She wasn’t going anywhere.

Nico felt himself pout when she proved him wrong, and her lips broke from his. She stripped off her shirt, and before he could get his eyes on her, he felt her mouth connect to that soft spot under his jaw. How did she know?

“Lena,” he breathed. Her hands slid down his front, and the shock of her touch sent his skin to trembling. “Oh my God, Lena.”

She’d always loved the way he said her name, but this was something else. This was a song she would never get tired of, one she wanted to listen to again, and again, and again.

Her mouth explored his throat, sucking his pulse point. His dedication to go slow dissolved a little with every brush of her tongue, every graze of her nose ring across his skin.

His hands were suddenly everywhere. All over her back, cupping her butt to pull her to the edge of the counter so their hips could touch.

Feeling the rigid length of him pressing between her legs turned Lena feral. She’d done this to him. She was doing this to him. Tightening her legs around him, she wanted to do so much more to him.

Their hips ground together as his hands slipped to unhook her bra. “Okay?”

“Yeah.”

He fumbled with the clasps briefly before they gave way.

Taking the garment at the center gore, she pulled it away from her body. A brief moment of chaos ensued as their arms tangled in the effort to get it away from her. Finally, she flung it over his shoulder and giggled when the metal bits clinked against the tile floor.

Laughter split his face into the adorable, dimpled smile she loved so much before his gaze turned back to her. Even as the corners of his mouth remained turned up, his jaw slackened as his eyes blew wide.

Dreams and reality crashed into each other, and Nico felt his breath rush from his lungs. He’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

“Hase,” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. It was a bit of a cutesy pet name, but his brain was too busy trying to soak in every detail of her he’d been so starved for to think of a new one.

He murmured something under his breath in German, and Lena felt heat race to her core. She slid her hands into his hair in an attempt to pull him into a kiss, but he resisted, eyes still glued to her chest.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathed, voice husky.

“Thank you,” she said, feeling a blush overtake her cheeks.

He reached out, then paused, hands stopped in mid-air. “Can I?”

When his eyes flicked up to meet hers again, she lost her own breath. She was so used to seeing Nico’s expressive eyes wide with (what she knew now was) love, sparkling with mirth or drooped with disappointment. This…lust, different even from when he was posing with his pants undone, was new. Heat mixed with love and wonder. She’d never felt so desired.

She nodded, finding her voice wasn’t where she left it.

Nico was already throbbing against the zipper of his trousers, and cupping her breasts in his palms only made it worse. When she arched into his touch with a moan, it became damn near unbearable.

Unable to wait any longer, he crashed his lips to hers as their hips surged together again.

If he wasn’t careful, he was going to blow his load in his pants before he even got to feel her touch. Forcing himself to slow down, he concentrated on the weight of her breasts in his hands and the taste of her tongue in his mouth.

She was the one who took it further, one of her hands slipping down his stomach to cup him over his fabric prison.

Now would be a horrible time to faint, he told himself, even as he felt his eyes rolling back and his hips pushing forward into her hand. He groaned against her lips.

His mouth slid to her neck, and she shivered, feeling her nipples tighten more as his teeth scraped over her sensitive throat.

He was hard and so hot, even through the fabric of his trousers. It suddenly wasn’t enough. Removing her other hand from his hair, she fumbled with the belt buckle. Finally managing to get it open, she asked, “this is okay?”

“God, yes,” he moaned, hips restlessly moving against her hands.

As she was tearing the zipper down, one of his hands slid toward the fastening of her own jeans. “Okay?”

“Uh-hu.”

It was only after he flicked the button open and managed to pull the zipper that she realized she didn’t want to do this here. Not where, if she leaned back, her head would hit the cabinets, and not so close to where they prepared their food.

“Can we move to the couch?” she asked, breath in his ear.

Could they move to the couch? He would move them to the moon if she asked.

Lightning fast, his hands were suddenly cradling her bum, hauling her off the counter so he could cary her to the living room. A surprised yelp escaped her at the sudden show of strength.

He had to wrench his eyes open so he wouldn’t dump them on the floor as she licked his jaw up to the lobe of his ear, which she nibbled gently.

When they made it there, he tried to sit down still holding her, but only half managed it before he was falling the rest of the way. He didn’t mind her crashing on top of him. Feeling her chest pressed to his was a lifelong dream coming to fruition.

She was moving so restlessly on top of him, hips grinding, it made him whimper. Her hands snaked between them again, this time to shove his pants down.

They both pushed and tugged, and finally, he was free.

She broke away to look at him, and he had a sudden, terrible worry she would be disappointed. He wasn’t the biggest guy, but he wasn’t too small — at least no one had told him so.

“Oh, Nico,” Lena murmured, finally getting her hands on him. He was perfect. Thick and hard and searingly hot against her palm.

“Lena,” he moaned, head tipping back against the couch cushions. Finally feeling her touch was incredible. Now really would be a terrible time to faint.

She pulled her hand away briefly to spit into her palm, and he almost lost it, feeling like he could have come from the sight alone.

As soon as she began to stroke him, he was done for. There was no coming back from this — though he couldn’t think of a reason why they would need to.

His mouth dropped open, and his eyelids fluttered, attempting to keep looking into her face. The pleasure she was pulling out of him won out, and his eyes closed.

“Feels so good,” he groaned, his accent thickening as he spoke. He was going to lose his English next.

It happened, and he started babbling in German.

His voice was lower in his native tongue - it always had been. Lena felt her core flutter in anticipation.

He repeated the same word several times like it was a question, but she didn't know what it meant.

Nico opened his eyes and came back to himself enough to realize she didn't understand, and therefore couldn't do what he was begging her to.

“Kiss,” he managed in English, unable to pull out the correct grammar. “Please, kiss.”

Oh, that's what kush meant. In hindsight, it did sound a lot like kiss.

When she caught his lips, Nico couldn't hold back a moan as her tongue licked into his mouth. He had imagined this so many times, but those fantasies didn't prepare him for the actual feel of her hands on him, or the sweet, warm taste of her mouth, as if she'd just eaten one of those cinnamon sweets she liked so much.

Pleasure sparked and fizzed across his skin.

Jesus, this was better than anything he’d ever felt. Was this what six years of longing and anticipation did? Deciding it didn’t matter, he pushed the thought aside and let his whole mind be consumed by her soft hand, her incredible tongue, and the knowledge that this was actually happening. This was happening for real. He wasn’t going to jolt awake in a few minutes with a boner so hard it hurt.

“Lena,” he groaned into her mouth.

She pulled away just enough to whisper against his lips, “what do you need?”

Everything. He needed everything. “You,” he said instead.

“I’m here,” she said, pulling at his length with a little more fervor.

His hips pumped up into her hand, desperate for release.

“Lena, I’m…” he couldn’t even get the words out before he was exploding.

She moaned along with him, drinking in the pleasure that washed over his face - his fluttering lashes and panting mouth.

Closing his eyes, Nico tried to compose himself. The sight of his release splattered over her breasts might actually make him faint.

She kept going with slower, gentler strokes until he winced, then gently pulled her hand away.

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice deep and satisfied.

She giggled.

God, he couldn’t even move. Her mouth was back at his neck, and he breathed out a curse in German.

“Is that good or bad?” she asked into his skin.

“So good.” He needed to teach her so he wouldn’t have to explain. “Wanna make you feel good, too,” he said instead of launching into a lesson in German swearing.

Lifting her mouth from his neck, she looked down at him.

God, he was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. “You’re so handsome, Nico,” she whispered, tracing a thumb over one of his bushy eyebrows.

He flushed.

“I’ve thought about what you look like when you’re coming so many times,” she said, tracing over his cheekbone this time.

“You have?” he squeaked.

She nodded. “And it was so beautiful.”

“I have too,” he admitted, slowly sliding his hand up her thigh. “Can I see it?”

Biting her lip, she nodded.

Even as he was working his hand into her underwear, his other was coming up to her face and gently thumbing her bottom lip out from under her teeth.

“Show me how to make you come,” he said, eyes boring into hers.

Shit, she might just fall apart from that look alone.

Rising onto her knees, she shoved her pants and underwear down to give them easier access. His fingers slipped between her lips, and she moaned, pressing toward them.

“I don’t really get off from penetration,” she said, “I like it, but it won’t make me orgasm, so it’s all about the clit for me.”

Sliding his fingers back from her entrance, he searched for that little nub. “Here?” he asked when he thought he’d found it.

Reaching down, she moved him where she needed him, so the pads of his fingers were making direct contact. “Here,” she breathed, guiding him to circle over and around her pearl.

Her eyes fluttered closed, and he devoured the pleasure that flowed over her face.

“I like this, too,” she said, moving his fingers into a V so they traced on either side.

He started a pattern from her instructions — circling and stroking, then splitting as he pulled back.

“You can press harder,” she moaned softly.

He did, and her hips stuttered into his touch.

“Can you…” she trailed off, feeling suddenly shy. She’d never asked a man for this before. Then again, this was Nico. He’d taken every other instruction to heart and was touching her exactly the way she wanted. She knew he would at least try.

“Anything,” he rasped, “tell me.”

Hips seeking, she moaned and loved that he was so willing to please her. She could see it in the way he was watching her — this eager, desperate look in his eyes, full of wonder and desire and so much need.

“Can you suck my nipples?” she finally whispered.

Growling something affirmative, he leaned in and drew one of the tender buds between his lips.

Her voice keened, and her hand flew into his hair to cradle him to her chest, “use your tongue,” she instructed, then moaned, “yes, Nico,” when he laved over the sensitive peak.

He was so turned on by her. By her confidence in knowing what she wanted and that she trusted him enough to tell him. Not to mention the way his name was panting out of her mouth.

Her back arched, pushing her hips into his hand and her breast into his mouth.

If Nico had known pleasing a woman could come with instructions like this, it would have changed his whole life.

He moved to the other breast, almost suckling at the tender bud.

“Fuck, Nico,” she moaned, “feels so good.”

“Show me how to take you there.”

“Put your fingers inside me.”

He obeyed even though he didn’t know how he’d stroke her clit now. Just as he was getting ready to detach his other hand from her breast, she guided his wrist so the heel of his hand pressed into her.

“Nico,” she moaned as pleasure flooded her system. Her hips ground into his hand. He felt incredible. God, was this what she’d been missing every time a man asked what she wanted and then did what they wanted anyway?

Her next words fell apart just as she did, turning as nonsensical as her rhythm.

Even watching the pleasure roll over her face didn’t prepare him for the feeling of her coming. He'd never felt anything like it. Her muscles clenched in quick succession, fluttering around his fingers. Fuck. If she did this around his cock? He might die.

All at once, the pleasure surging through her snapped, and she collapsed against him.

Nico eased his fingers from her and eased them up to his mouth, eyes rolling back at the first taste of her. He couldn’t wait to get his mouth on her.

Before he could suggest they move to the bedroom, she was curling against him and tucking her face into his neck. Her breathing slowed. It was late - well past her usual bedtime, and Nico knew how a good orgasm could relax his body right to sleep if he was already tired.

“I love you,” she whispered into his neck.

A thrill zinged through him. “I love you, too,” he said, stroking a hand up her spine.

Upon waking, the first thing Lena noticed was that her breasts were bare, nipples puckered so tightly in the chilly morning air that they ached. Somehow, though, the rest of her wasn’t cold.

Trying to roll over, she ran into a solid body behind her.

The night before came crashing back. Nico posing for her before admitting he loved her. He loved her! Part of her still couldn’t believe it. She smiled, remembering the incredible way he looked falling apart beneath her before he teased the most incredible orgasm she’d ever had from her body. So incredible, she’d fallen asleep right in his lap. He must have moved them into this spooning position on the couch rather than moving her into her own bed.

Her phone trilled again. That’s what had woken her. Where was it? It sounded nearby.

Nico mumbled something and tightened his arms around her when she tried to get up.

When it rang for the third time, she realized it wasn’t ringing at all - it was her alarm. She needed to get up. As much as she wanted to just stay here and recreate the night before again and again and again, something Nico wouldn’t have minded if his hot length currently pressing into her back was any indication, she couldn’t. She had to show Professor Brown her sketches, and she had a painting to turn in in her post modernism class.

“Nico, I have to get up,” she said, lifting his arm from around her waist. Her chest was itchy from where his cum had dried on her skin.

“Nonig,” he mumbled, pulling her back into him.

“Yes.”

Finally managing to extract herself, she immediately fell off the couch.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice still thick with sleep.

God, he was adorable waking up. Mussed hair and heavy lidded eyes.

Nico didn’t want this moment to end. It couldn’t. It was too good. He watched, amused, as she tripped over her pants before tearing them down her legs and kicking them them off before she stumbled into the kitchen.

She finally found her phone — she’d left it on the counter — and cursed when she saw the time. She didn’t even have time to shower.

He groaned a pleasant curse in his native tongue and rolled onto his back, stretching his arms over his head. Sleeping on the couch was definitely not going to help him in the game tonight.

He sat up abruptly. “What time?” he called.

“It’s 9:05. I have to go to class.” she said, debating if she should just pull her jeans on and go. No, if she couldn’t shower, she at least needed to change.

He cursed again, jumping to his feet. This was not how he wanted the morning after to go. He wanted to make her breakfast in bed and ravish her again before he had to leave. Now, he had to rush. Practice started in 30 minutes, and it would take him 20 to get to the rink.

He ran to his bedroom and stopped short. There was a suitcase next to his dresser. He’d forgotten he was heading out on a road trip.

Running his hands into his hair, he wondered how this could have happened. He would have to be at the arena before she got home from class, and then they would leave from there to catch their flight to Florida. He finally got her, and he had to leave. This was the worst morning after he could have imagined.

Attempting to run down the hall and pull on her chucks at the same time probably wasn’t the best plan, but Lena needed to see him before he left. She wouldn’t see him again for six whole days. Stumbling, she crashed through his doorway just in time to watch him pulling on a new pair of underwear. She finally got her other shoe on before she stood up, pushing her hair out of her face.

He turned to her, and she lost her breath. She’d seen him naked, and he still did this to her.

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” she said quietly.

He didn’t hesitate to stride to her, take her face in his hands, and kiss her deeply, like he’d wanted to for so many years. He was never giving up the opportunity again.

Gathering her against him, he broke the kiss in favor of burying his face in her hair. “I wish this morning was different.”

“I know, I do, too. But I’ll be here when you get back,” she assured, running her hands down his back. At the tail end of her stroke, she let her fingers curve in so her nails traced over his skin.

He pulled back to look into her eyes, cheeks dimpling.

A smile spread over her face, and she leaned up to brush her lips over his, “I’ll see you on Thursday.”

He nodded.

“Good luck,” she said, kissing him again, “I love you.”

Maybe this morning wasn’t so bad after all. “I love you, too.”

The smile she gave him made him want to move mountains.

“Thank you again,” she said, leaning in to kiss him one more time.

“For what?” he called after her as she ran down the hall.

“For everything,” she called back. “For all of it.”

It Doesn't Matter:

Part I | Part II | Part III | Playlist

To read all my fics, check out my Fanfiction Masterlist

#nico hischier #nico hischier fic #nico hischier fanfic #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier blurb #nh13 #nico hischier x oc #nico hischier fanfiction #nico hischier one shot #nico hischier x ofc #nico hischier smut #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #hockey romance #hockey fanfiction #nico & lena #🥭anon

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ishomieokay · 4 months

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Idolatry (Chapter 3)

18+ 5.3k homelander x hispanic oc, age difference, manipulation, breaking and entering, stalking, obsessive behaviour. part 3/?. AO3 link. part 1, part 2

Homelander's fooling around with a perky Latina almost twenty years his junior. She's looking for a daddy. He just wants a good fuck, and maybe to mess with Maeve's head. It's not going to end well.

The day after, it was as if nothing had happened. They were cordial but not overly friendly, maintaining a professional distance while shooting, careful in case they were overheard. From time to time, Aura María caught a glimpse of Homelander staring in her direction, but she couldn’t be sure if it was real or just a trick of her mind. She returned home late with a pounding headache, the lack of sleep and the long hours on set taking their toll.

It was Friday night, and she had no plans, which wasn’t unusual. Her party girl days were firmly behind her. Aura María felt a mixture of thankfulness and regret that things had never spiraled out of control even back then. Now, her routine was only occasionally interrupted by meetings with friends at overpriced coffee shops or the occasional night gala. Despite being relatively young, she sometimes felt inexplicably old.

She retrieved a pair of pajamas from her closet, laying them neatly on the bed next to her folded underwear, then made her way to the bathroom. She contemplated sending a text to Homelander as she sat in the tub, softly lip-syncing to a Ricardo Montaner song. Surely, permission had been granted when he provided her with his number. While his infatuation lingered, she reasoned, she could have some fun, even if that was all he wanted from her. She had no other prospects, after all.

Three years after arriving in the United States to work for Vought, Aura María still lacked a social life outside of her workplace. This was partly due to her commitment to warding off her many admirers. Cultural differences made it much more challenging to establish friendships, something she’d never excelled at even back home. She had been alone for a while and wasn’t particularly interested in changing that, especially when it came to romantic relationships.

Aura María had begun to question her sexual orientation when her 21st birthday came and went without a lover or even a fleeting interest in physical intimacy. It had occurred to her that she might be a lesbian or asexual. Homelander had proved her wrong in that regard. She did have needs, and now that they'd been satisfied, however briefly, she was aware of them in a way she'd never been before.

She took hold of her breast, retracing the path Homelander had drawn with his tongue the night before. It felt like a dream now. She decided that the barely concealed erotism of the lyrics was probably just getting to her and turned the music off. When she went back to her room, everything seemed the same at first glance. It was unusually cold, though. She turned around and realized that the window was open, but she couldn't remember whether she had closed it or not. The clothes she had neatly folded before getting into the tub were now in disarray.

She had trouble falling asleep and felt uneasy throughout the rest of the night. The cold seemed to seep into her bones. She tossed and turned, her mind replaying the events of the previous night and the strange occurrences in her room. The sense of someone having been there, the disordered clothes, and the open window gnawed at her. As she finally drifted into a restless sleep, Aura María couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

She dreamed of Homelander's intense gaze, the sensation of his touch lingering on her skin. The night seemed to stretch on endlessly, filled with half-formed images and unsettling whispers that left her feeling more exhausted when she finally awoke.

Aura María texted Homelander in the end. They had agreed to meet at one o'clock for lunch, but it was well past two when he finally arrived. He descended from the sky like a rocket, landing thunderously on the pavement. The impact shook the ground, sending a ripple of excitement through the crowd that quickly gathered around him. He handled the attention as gracefully as always, giving fist bumps, patting shoulders, and signing autographs. Over twenty minutes passed before he made his way to the restaurant door. The crowd didn't follow, thanks to the timely security’s timely intervention.

When he reached her table, he was smiling broadly and unapologetic. Although she couldn’t bring herself to be mad, Aura María put on a show of irritation anyway.

"So, you're the fashionably late type, huh?" she said, crossing her arms.

"Ah, not all the time. Only when the world needs saving," Homelander replied nonchalantly, taking a seat beside her.

"How convenient for you."

Aura María had more than a few sassy remarks at the tip of her tongue, but something at the corner of her eye caught her attention. The crowd had not dispersed yet. They were standing on the other side of the window facing their table, and there were news reporters and paparazzi among them. Word always traveled fast when it concerned Homelander.

Aura María felt her lips turn downward. This would probably reach Stan Edgar and the other executives at Vought. She wasn't sure how to feel about that. She had always valued her privacy and hadn't had much of an issue protecting it even after becoming a renowned filmmaker. No matter how good her work was, almost no one seemed to be interested in the personal life of a documentalist.

"Just so you know, if you were planning to keep this, whatever it is, a secret—that's not gonna work out. Not anymore."

"Who said I wanted to keep it a secret?" Homelander replied, smiling slyly at her. He took her hand then, rubbing the back of it with his thumb. Aura María felt a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth but was quick to suppress it.

"Explain it to me, won't you? Why in the world wouldn't I want everyone to know I'm dating such a dang brilliant, talented, and beautiful woman?"

'Dating,' Aura María thought, a bit bewildered. 'Am I dating Homelander?'

Assuming one was generous enough to consider meeting for drinks after work a date, this hardly counted as their third time going out. However, Aura María guessed that was the right word to describe their situation—dating. Even in the privacy of her thoughts, it sounded wrong. Never in her wildest dreams would she have dared call it anything other than a hookup or situationship at best.

"I mean, you do have a mirror at home, right? This is the kind of thing most guys would be shouting from the rooftops."

"Mmm, you're coming off strong today, aren't you?" Aura María replied, pleased but unwilling to let him have it so easy. "Sorry to say, but I think bootlicking looks awful on a man, especially if he's just doing it to get laid."

Homelander blinked at her, then laughed, seeming oddly delighted by her rudeness. He had one thing in common with all the men who've tried to woo her in the past. The banter was half the fun for him.

"O-okay, the lady's not into sweet-talking, then," Homelander leaned forward to whisper in her ear. "That's fine. I think I could change your mind about the bootlicking part, though. Maybe, mmn, broaden your horizons?"

Aura María blinked, then arched an eyebrow in disbelief. "You're not serious."

Homelander looked her up and down, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. "If I was, would that freak you out?"

Aura was already aware of the fact that Homelander was not exactly the pedantic goody-two-shoes he pretended to be for the sake of his image. Apparently, he was into having sex while having verses of the Book of Revelation read to him. As if that weren't blasphemous enough, Aura María also had the feeling that she'd awoken in him a virginity kink. Still, this thinly veiled insinuation came as a surprise. Not for the first time, she felt oddly flattered that he would share this part of himself with her—one that he usually kept hidden under wraps.

Smiling and unwilling to back down, Aura María met him with the same energy. "I'd say I'm open to new experiences."

Homelander whistled. Then he lifted the tablecloth and made a show of leaning down to take a look at her shoes.

"Oh, shucks," he said in a disappointed, cartoonish voice. "Nah, it wouldn't work. You're wearing high heels."

"What a pity," Aura María deadpanned.

"I wear boots all the time, though. Leather," Homelander replied, dragging the 'L' obnoxiously and then winking at her. "I'd let you borrow 'em, just this once."

"I feel tricked. You're not the serious man I was led to believe."

"Chica, I walk around all day long wearing a skin-tight spandex suit and a cape. I am the very definition of an unserious man."

"Well, I can't argue with that," Aura María said, then gestured at the window with her head. The crowd was still there, although there were fewer of them now. "I think you should be more careful with what you say when out in public, though. You know what would happen if any of those news reporters found out that the Homelander is into dominatrixes? The internet would explode."

"I think you're exaggerating."

"Maybe. Parents wouldn't buy their kids those cute Homelander dolls Vought just released, though. That's for sure."

Homelander tilted his head to the side, then said very slowly, "action figures."

"What?"

"They're not dolls," Homelander corrected her with a serious face. His every word was emphasized by the tapping of his index finger against the table. "They're action figures."

After a beat, Aura María burst out laughing.

"Coño, este pana es un caso," she said, covering her face with one hand.

Homelander blinked at her, then parroted back her words but in an awful American accent, mispronouncing every syllable and clearly unaware of what he was saying. Rather than offend her, the sound of the leader of the Seven mercilessly butchering her mother language only made her laugh harder.

Once they left the restaurant, Homelander gently scooped Aura María into his arms. He sensed her hesitation, her body tensing slightly as they rose. To keep her at ease, he flew slowly and close to the ground, weaving through the cityscape with the grace of a shadow. Aura María clung to him, her arms around his shoulders, holding tight enough to dislocate a lesser man's neck. Homelander, with his superhuman strength, barely seemed to notice.

The cacophony of the city was soon replaced by the serene whisper of leaves as they reached a secluded clearing in Central Park. The moonlight cast a silver sheen over the grass, the stars twinkling faintly above. The distant hum of traffic was a mere murmur here, overshadowed by the rustling trees and the occasional chirp of crickets. They decided to take a stroll, savoring the rare peace away from prying eyes and the relentless noise of the city.

"It's unfair, to be honest," Homelander began, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Sorry?” Aura María replied.

"You know almost everything there is to know about me. I mean, it'd be strange if you didn't, I guess, after directing a 40-minute-long documentary on me. I don't know the first thing about you, though. It's unfair, it's all I'm saying."

"What do you wanna know?"

"Where are you from? Originally, I mean."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Aura María's tone sharpened, her hackles rising defensively. Homelander, rather than offended, seemed amused by her reaction.

"Don't get me wrong, missy, you speak English better than many people who were actually born here. The accent gives it away, though. So, Venezuela, am I right? What city, though? What's it like there?"

"Oh." Aura María relaxed, her tension dissipating.

She had thought he was questioning her heritage, a common and hurtful experience. "I'm from Caracas, born and raised. It's loud and dirty and full of weirdos, like any capital. It's in the middle of a valley, though, so there's also nature and trees, lots of macaws. I grew up in the East, which most would say is the fancy part of town. Like, uh, American suburbs, I guess."

"I don't find that surprising at all."

"Please, like you don't have Old Money written all over your face."

"I should hope so. You've no idea how much Vought spend just to make it this pretty," Homelander replied, smiling teasingly down at her. His smile faltered slightly, as if he just realized he'd said something he shouldn't have. Aura María laughed it off, unsure what he meant. Had Homelander just confessed to her he'd had plastic surgery?

"My dad's a native, from a small town called Alto Orinoco. That's in the Amazonas. We look nothing alike. His maternal grandparents were from a tribe called Wayú, and apparently their Spanish was very bad," Aura María said. Although she most definitely took after her mother, someone educated in the matter could glimpse a few ethnic features in her. She had eyes dark as night, larger than average and almond-shaped, a round face with plump lips and thick hair of an intense black shade.

"My mom's from a town not far from the capital called Valencia. Her parents were Italian immigrants and racist as fuck. They disowned her when they found out she wanted to marry a Wayú. When I was little, they often came by the house, though. Once I was old enough to understand that they wanted me around because I only looked 'a little Indian,' I told them not to come back," she said, wrinkling her nose.

"Uh," Homelander said, ever so eloquent. He was staring at her strangely. "That's a... very colorful background."

"You think? Not very different from my friends' back home, though. We are all a weird mixture of something over there."

“So, interracial marriage is normal in your country?”

“I guess? I mean, we don’t really have a concept of it. To us, it’s just marriage. Obviously, there are racists, like, well…”

“Like your grandparents?”

“Yeah, like them. People from different races marrying each other is usually not a big deal for us, though. Not nowadays. I was surprised to see how much of a taboo it still is here, to be honest. You would think citizens of the so-called first world would be more open-minded.”

Homelander actually sniggered. “There’s people in this country who think the Earth is flat, María. Give us a break.”

“I guess you would know a lot about that,” Aura María replied, a glint in her eyes. “I’m pretty sure flat-earthers make up most of your fanbase.”

Homelander stared at her gravely. “There are flat-earthers among my fans. They are not the majority of them.”

“Oh. So, you would say it’s an insignificant amount, then?”

“Definitely.”

“So, if tomorrow you were at a rally and openly said that the Earth is in fact round, everything would be fine? Is that what you’re saying?”

“…no,” Homelander said, reluctantly. “It would affect my ratings. Like, a lot. Stan would have my head on a plate.”

“I thought so.”

“If I tell you something, you promise not to laugh?”

“What?”

“For the longest time, I thought Venezuela was a country in Europe.”

Aura María halted to a stop. “Please, tell me you’re joking.”

Homelander shook his head, pursing his lower lip.

“I mean, I can’t say I’ve met a lot of Venezuelans. The ones I have only dressed in designer clothes and threw 100$ bills around like they were pennies. That did not scream Third World country to me.”

Aura María frowned. “When was this?”

“Uh, 2008, I think? I was hosting a beauty pageant with Melanie Brown. You know, one of the Spice Girls? Your candidate won; I forgot her name.”

“Ah, Dayana Mendoza. Yeah, people who work at those pageants have lots of money. I should have known you only ever heard of my homeland because of Miss Universe.”

“Well, look at the bright side, chica. I may think Venezuela is a Third World communist hellhole, but at least I know that you’ve got A-tier women and not everyone’s brown. Better than a flat-earther by a long shot.”

“You’re such a fucking asshole.”

Aura María’s voice carried a mix of frustration and amusement. Homelander chuckled, a low, amused sound that rumbled in his chest. “Anyway, I guess that means we’re even,” he said, his tone casual but his expression unreadable.

“Mmn, I don’t think we are,” Aura María replied, her brows knitting together as she looked away, gathering her thoughts.

“What’s that?” Homelander asked.

“You said you wanted to know more about me because I already knew everything about you. That’s not true, though. I think most of what we filmed for that documentary was bullshit.”

Homelander’s expression shifted abruptly. The playful glint in his eyes vanished, replaced by a serious, almost steely gaze. His jaw tightened, and Aura María could feel the tension radiating from him. She realized, belatedly, that this might be one in the long list of questions she wasn’t supposed to ask.

“What makes you say that?” Homelander asked, his voice low and measured.

Aura María hesitated, feeling the weight of his stare. She forced herself to keep going, her heart pounding. “I could see it that day when we were filming the childhood segment. You know, back at Maryland?”

“Okay?” he responded, his eyes narrowing slightly as he tried to read her.

Aura María smiled awkwardly, her cheeks flushing. She could feel the heat rising to her face. “You’re gonna think it’s weird that I noticed. But, uh, during a recess, I heard you asking Madelyn where the restroom was. You also got lost a couple of times when we were filming the house tour.”

“Oh,” Homelander said, his face going blank for a moment. He looked away, his gaze focusing on the horizon as if searching for an escape from the conversation.

The trees rustled softly in the breeze. The sky was painted with hues of blue and black as the moon rose higher, casting long shadows across the grass. Aura María felt a knot in her stomach, regretting her boldness. She had hoped to pierce through his facade, to understand the man behind the mask, but now she feared she had pushed too far. The vulnerability she had glimpsed in him earlier seemed to retreat, replaced by a cold, impenetrable wall.

Homelander’s face softened slightly, though, as he met her eyes again. There was a flicker of something—maybe understanding, maybe resignation. “Aren’t you a clever one?” he said quietly. “Not many people notice those things.”

Aura María relaxed a little, relieved that he hadn’t shut her out completely. She offered a small, tentative smile. “I guess it’s my job to notice things.”

“Yeah, I suppose it is.” He nodded, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re right, of course. A lot of what’s out there about me is…curated. For the public.”

Aura María nodded slowly, feeling a pang of empathy despite her wariness. “I understand. Image is everything, especially for someone like you.”

“It’s more than that,” Homelander replied, his voice unreadable. “It’s about control. About making sure people see what Vought wants them to see.”

“And what about what you want?” Aura María asked, genuinely curious.

Homelander looked at her, his eyes searching her face as if weighing how much to reveal. “What I want doesn’t matter as much as what they need me to be.”

They continued walking in silence for a few moments, the sounds of the park around them feeling comforting despite the tension. Aura María could see revelation before her eyes, a glimpse of truth in a world of illusions. Although all of her instincts were telling her to change the subject, she would herself digging for more. “You know,” she said softly, “I was thinking about what happened that day. With the blanket.”

Homelander's face tightened, a shadow passing over his usually composed features. "Right. You were there."

"When you got Randy fired? Yeah, I was there." Aura María's tone was gentle, trying to tread carefully on what was clearly a sensitive subject.

Homelander didn’t look sheepish at all. He raised one eyebrow, his gaze unwavering and intense, as if waiting for a reaction.

"Relax," Aura María was quick to say, sensing his defensive stance. "He was a shitty producer. I was glad to see him gone."

"Ah, see? I was looking out for you, even then," Homelander said with a smile, pointing at the tip of her nose with his index finger in a playful gesture.

"Sure you were," Aura María replied, flashing him a teasing smile. She knew what he was doing—trying to steer the conversation elsewhere. She decided to press on, determined to get to the truth. "What was it?"

"Uh?" Homelander feigned ignorance, though his eyes betrayed a hint of unease.

"What got you so upset that day? I mean, if it was just about Randy getting his crusty ass hands on your blanky, I understand. I don't like it when people touch my stuff either. But I got the feeling that there was something else going on."

Homelander stayed quiet, his jaw clenched.

"It's okay if you don't want to talk about it," Aura María said softly, trying to give him an out.

"It was nothing, really. It just... brought back bad memories," he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm gonna ask you a question. Can you promise to answer it truthfully?" Aura María's voice was steady, but her heart pounded in her chest.

"It depends on the question," Homelander replied, his tone guarded.

"Did you really grow up in that house?"

"No," he said simply, the word hanging heavily in the air.

Aura María remembered Homelander talking about his mother's perfect cake, eyes full of love and reverence, only for him to go completely blank-faced the minute the cameras stopped rolling. A void formed in the pit of her stomach, though she wasn't sure why. "Was anything of what we filmed that day real? Anything at all?"

Homelander just shook his head, his lips pulling downward. He looked like a child being scolded, vulnerable and exposed.

"And the blanket?" she asked gently.

Homelander hesitated, then. Aura María put her hand over his, waiting patiently. He stared at their joined hands for a strangely long time.

"Only real thing on that set," he said finally. "It pissed me off that they would put it there without even asking."

Aura María understood then. It had angered him to see something real among all the fakery. She tilted her head to the side, considering him. There were only a few reasons she could think of to completely fabricate the background of a world-renowned celebrity, and none of them were very nice. What was Vought trying to hide?

"You come from a bad place, don't you, John?" she asked softly, using his real name for the first time.

He raised sharp eyes to look at her, the vulnerability in his gaze taking her by surprise. She had never seen him like this—so hesitant and out of his depth. "I don't want to talk about it."

"That's okay. You don't have to," she replied, her voice soothing.

Homelander stayed quiet, something about his expression making her heart ache. The tough facade he usually wore seemed to crack, revealing a glimpse of the man beneath the superhero persona.

"Aw, I'm sorry, papi," she murmured, kissing his cheek gently and laying her head on his shoulder. "I wasn't trying to make you sad."

"It's fine," Homelander said, though his voice lacked its usual confidence.

The embrace was tentative at first. Aura María could feel the tension in his muscles, the residual wariness that made him hold back. But as the seconds ticked by, he seemed to relax into her, his grip tightening. She pressed her cheek against his chest, the warmth of his body radiating through the thin fabric of his suit. She could hear the steady, powerful beat of his heart.

The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the park and turning the sky into a canvas of deep blues and purples. Homelander and Aura María walked side by side, the cool evening air brushing gently against their skin. The city’s distant hum was a comforting background noise, reminding them that despite the surreal peace of the park, the world outside continued to churn.

"You followed me that day," Homelander said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Uh?" Aura María glanced at him.

"When I walked out, you went looking for me. No one else did. I mean, there was Madelyn, but she... she only wanted me to keep filming, yaknow? She didn't really care about me."

Aura María had heard the rumors about Madelyn Stillwell's involvement with Homelander. Although it didn't seem like the right time to ask, she couldn't help but wonder. It had always seemed odd to her that America's most-sought-after-bachelor would set his eyes on a woman known around the whole metropolitan area to be a moody two-faced narcissist. Aura María was certainly not glad to learn about her sudden passing, but in all honesty, she much preferred to deal with Ashley Barrett. Despite her often-neurotic behavior, at least there was something human about her.

"You, though? You walked up to me when I was going back to the set, and you said... you said that you were sorry if your crew did something to upset me. That I didn't have to keep going if I didn't want to."

"Oh, yeah. I remember." Aura Maria’s expression softened, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

"It's not common, you know? For people in this industry to be kind. Genuinely kind, no ulterior motives."

"No, I guess it's not," she replied, her tone thoughtful.

Aura María understood what he meant at once. Entertainment was not for everybody. She'd learned that the hard way and she'd already been a full-grown adult when she started working for Vought. Homelander had made his debut when he was only eighteen years old. She couldn't even imagine what growing up in that environment would do to a teen. Aura María wondered if that was the reason he asked her out—a small act of kindness she barely even remembered.

She could still recall that day vividly. They had been filming at a grand estate in Maryland, a faux representation of Homelander's childhood home. The house was opulent, with perfectly manicured lawns and an aura of artificial nostalgia. The set was bustling with activity, lights and cameras everywhere, creating an atmosphere that was both chaotic and meticulously controlled.

He had felt overwhelmed at some point, though at the time she had not been ablet o certain why. After what had been labeled by the crew as The Blanket Incident, he’d walked out into the expansive backyard, seeking a moment of solitude. Aura María remembered the feeling of the cool grass beneath her feet as she followed after him, the way the breeze had whispered through the trees, offering a fleeting sense of peace.

Then, out of nowhere, she spotted Homelander coming back from the barn. His presence, normally so commanding, had been almost sullen that day. A look she hadn’t expected from someone so larger-than-life. She had approached him with a concerned look in his eyes, and although her words had been simple, apparently, they had stayed with him. She had offered him an out, a rare moment of empathy in an industry that often lacked it.

Aura María had wondered awhile back if it was a good idea to go out with such a high-profile celebrity, even if only for one night. With a man so different from her, both in social and economic standing. It had been so very intimidating and still was. She was happy she said yes, though.

It felt strange to let him into her bedroom. She'd had people over before, but it was not quite the same. As Homelander stepped inside, Aura María suddenly became acutely aware of every little detail she'd never given a second thought to before. The stuffed animals she brought from Caracas because she couldn't bear parting with them, the Studio Ghibli posters that lined the walls, the TikTok LED lights she bought during an online shopping frenzy and never took down.

She cringed inwardly, realizing for the first time that her room could easily belong to a middle schooler. Homelander didn’t comment on it, though. He just stared down at her, eyes intent and gleaming in the low light of the room.

"I think we are overdressed, aren't we?" he said with a half-smile, a playful glint in his eye. "Take it off, come on."

Aura María bit into her lower lip, then proceeded to remove her dress. She crumpled it into a ball and threw it on the bed. Homelander was having none of that, though. He tsked at her, shaking his head slightly.

"Ah-ah, pick it up," he said, wiggling his finger. Aura María frowned, feeling a mixture of annoyance and curiosity, but still did as she was told. "Fold it, then put it in the drawer."

"You're into very weird stuff, you know?" she muttered, her voice tinged with a mix of amusement and nervousness.

"'Course not. I just don't like making a mess."

"Sure, that's all this is," she said, rolling her eyes as she took off her underwear and folded it along with the dress, placing them neatly on the bed.

"That's better."

Homelander approached her slowly, his gaze roaming over her body, making her skin prickle with anticipation. He put both hands over her breasts and squeezed them lightly. Aura María took a deep breath, already feeling the first stirrings of pleasure run through her. His touch was firm yet gentle, sending waves of warmth through her body.

His hands traveled down, caressing her sides, then her hips, and finally stopping at her ass. He squeezed her buttocks, then pulled her closer so that they were chest to chest. Aura María put her arms around him and leaned forward to kiss him. The apartment was deadly quiet, only the soft noises of their kissing and the erratic beating of her heart could be heard. It was embarrassing, really, how worked up she'd gotten after he'd barely touched her.

It made sense in a way, though. He was, after all, her sexual awakening. Aura María found it weird and sort of embarrassing that it would finally happen in her mid-twenties. Talk about a late bloomer, she thought wryly. But there was no denying the chemistry between them, the way his mere presence seemed to ignite something deep within her.

As their kiss deepened, Homelander's hands continued their exploration, making her skin tingle with every touch. The LED lights cast a soft, colorful glow around them. Homelander pulled back slightly, his breath warm against her lips. "You’re beautiful," he whispered, his voice husky with desire.

A shiver ran down Aura María's spine. She felt exposed, vulnerable, but also incredibly alive. She looked into his eyes, seeing a mixture of lust and something deeper, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

"Thank you," she whispered back, her voice barely audible.

They moved to the bed, Homelander guiding her gently. As they lay down, he continued to explore her body with his hands and mouth, each touch sending sparks of pleasure through her. Aura María's mind was spinning. She felt a connection with him that went beyond the physical, a sense of understanding and mutual need. In the quiet of her bedroom, surrounded by the remnants of her past and the promise of something new, Aura María let herself be swept away by the moment. She surrendered to the sensations, the intimacy, and the overwhelming feeling of being seen and desired.

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