Are you sure about that, Michael?

Nicolas jumps when he opens the door and sees me. He can't have been expecting anyone else. Must just be nervous.

"Changed your mind?" I ask, just in case.

He shakes his head and stands back a little. "Come in."

The second the door is closed behind me, I reach for his shirt collar and undo the buttons. The fabric is soft—almost fuzzy, but not flannel. Maybe linen, worn down over time. It's that dusty green color that suits him so well.

"Impatient, are we?" he says.

I stop and take a look at his face. Smiling a little. Maybe amused, maybe anxious. I think it's amused. We lock eyes. I look back at his shirt buttons and my hands.

"Um. If I do something you don't like, stop me. But I really hate that thing people do where we both stand there," I say, "and we're both too nervous to make the first move, so we make awkward small talk while we wait for each other and it just gets more awkward by the second." I look up. He's listening. "So let's not do that. Okay?"

"Okay," he tells me, right before cupping the side of my head with one hand and reaching for my fly with the other, pushing me against the inside of the door as he—

Oh. This is different. It's like we flipped a switch. I've never seen him like this before. Exactly what I was hoping for.

He's kissing me hard and fumbling with my belt, and I'm still working on his shirt just to get that clash of mental and sensory overload I need. I'm only halfway down, but now he's got his hand pressed against my junk and I don't know if I've got enough time for the other buttons, so I'm pushing at his sleeves trying to get it at least halfway off him, but his arms are in the way—

And he just dropped to his knees. That's generous of him—

Ha, and he's better at this than I expected. I shouldn't be surprised. He's had a century's worth of practice, after all. Maybe it's like riding a bike. You don't forget how, you don't get rusty—

My hand found its way around the back of his head without my noticing. His hair's thick and straight, and there's plenty of it to play with. Been at least a few days since he washed it, but it's not super greasy or anything. Like usual, he's got it pulled back into a half-ponytail. I've been really into the more androgynous look he's been embracing since we all met him. Well, not all. Me and Dora and Michelle—

Mmm, but let's not think about them. I've got my other hand on his bare shoulder, halfway under his shirt. I can't help but caress it. It's smoother than I expected. I don't know what I was expecting. It feels like anyone's shoulder. But Nicolas isn't just anyone.

I'm amazed he finally asked for this. It's been years since I decided I was into him enough to let him know. And by let him know, I mean I kissed him. I was surprised then, too, because he let me. For, like, three seconds. And then he just pulled away and put his hands on my chest (keeping me at bay) and said "I can't." Instead of, you know, shoving me away immediately and yelling. Or something.

Oh, god, I'm already getting close. What is this? Is this a race? Is that what he thinks this is?

Not that I'm complaining.

I double-tap his shoulder. We never discussed what that means, does he understand what I'm trying to tell him? "Nico—"

... I think he understood, going by the way he jammed his throat against my dick just in time to swallow. I didn't mean to shorten his name like that. He made me cum midsentence, that was all.

I pull him in for another kiss when he comes back up, with both arms around his shoulders so I can hold him against me. He manages to kiss back, but has to pull away and catch his breath right after.

"Didn't take you for an against-the-front-door kind of person," I say.

He pants for a couple more seconds. "If you make the slightest effort to get me to elaborate on this, you're going to be on the other side of that door immediately. But don't underestimate the number of places in this house I've had sex."

I drop one of my arms to waist level so I can push his hips against mine. He's already a little hard. Good. Gonna kiss him again, too, get those words and whatever bittersweet memories are behind them out of his mouth. "You wanna stay here, or you wanna move?"

He takes me to the "guest room." It's not really a guest room anymore, though he'll offer it up if you're staying over and sleep on the couch. Functionally, it's his room now. He closed the door to the other bedroom that used to be his and Thomas's and, as far as I know, hasn't touched it since Thomas died in there. It's been a solid eight years since that happened, but I still can't blame him for it.

Michelle's slept with him in here before. But literally just slept. She's ace, Nicolas's gay. If they weren't both the way they are I might choose to suspect other than what I've been told just to get a rise out of them, but as it is, it'd be too much of a stretch to bother with.

I've stayed in here, but only ever with Mark. And that was just the one time, years ago, when Nico (I could get in the habit of calling him that, actually) took us here to explain the Rites to us.

God, that was ages ago. Everything's so different now. I guess that's what happens in your twenties. (Not to mention the twenties.)

Nicolas sits on the edge of the bed. Time to reciprocate, I think.

"How long until—" He waves his hand like he's swirling an invisible glass of wine, but with his fingers more open.

I'm gonna make him finish that sentence.

He rolls his eyes at me smirking and gestures at my crotch. "—until you're ready again?"

"Twenty minutes, maybe?"

He nods. Can't let this devolve into a conversation. I walk toward him and kneel between his legs before he can say anything else and unzip his jeans. I can only assume he wants me to work around his clothes if he's sitting down like this.

"For god's sake, Michael," he says while his hand wanders over my shoulder. "Take your jacket off."

That gets a laugh out of me. I do what he says, as fast as I can. "You distracted me. I forgot it was there."

"Well, now I'm reminding you." His hand goes right back to my shoulder as soon as I'm back to grappling with his briefs. He's pressing so hard it's practically a massage. "You're drenched."

This doesn't have to take long, but I bet it could. I only use the tip of my tongue and my finger tips for a while. Tease him as much as I can. Then I only put the tip between my lips, but he gets way harder from that, way faster than I meant for him to. I try taking the rest of it (well, as much as I can easily fit) in my mouth but barely sucking at all, going as slow as I can, almost like when you eat something that's hotter than you thought so you try to keep as much air in your mouth as you can, like you can blow it cool even though it's too late—heh. Blow.

Nicolas's breathing is measured but heavy, and he keeps letting out these little sighs that let me know I've got the right idea. He won't stop messing with the hair band keeping my hair in a low ponytail. I can't tell if he's trying to pull it off or not. All he's really doing is loosening it. Maybe he just needs something to fidget with. That must be it. Every time his knuckles brush against the nape of my neck, I shiver. After a while, I notice his legs pressing against my arms and sides.

Oh my god. Just realized. He's doing a version of that thing I do that Emilie likes so much when we make out. I curl my leg around the backs of her calves. I wasn't really conscious of it until she pointed it out. God, if I mentioned that now, I could—

—it would be such a boner-killer for him. I'd absolutely destroy the mood, right when he's about to cum. It'd be the funniest thing ever.

But I won't, of course. I want to be invited back, after all. And I want to see where this goes, too.

He's been right on the edge for a while, now. I can make him cum any time I want. So I do.

He gasps vocally, shudders, squeezes his legs tighter around my arms and back. I let go of his dick and rest my head against his thigh for a few seconds. My eyes slip shut. He pets my hair.

"Thank you," he whispers, almost inaudibly.

Heh. We're wandering into conversation territory again. I haul myself up and straddle his lap, and he wraps his arms around my lower back and holds me against him in response. I'm still a little out of breath, so I rest my head against the top of his.

Is this it? I wait a few seconds. We don't move much. I ask him out loud.

"Only if you want it to be," he tells me. I feel his arms tighten around me as he speaks, just a little. He might not have noticed himself doing it.

"I don't," I tell him.

He rubs my side. "No one's fucked me in years."

This is gonna be fuuuuun. "Gimme a few more minutes."

He does, and even better, he doesn't talk. Just holds me. When I get restless, I start grinding against his abs. Against his crotch. He moves my head so he can kiss me again. We make out longer than I thought I'd want to, but again: he's better than I expected. We end up with him on his back somehow. I don't even know if I pushed him, or he pulled me. Must have been a bit of both. Also, my hair band's gone.

I press my lips against his ear and whisper: "Take your clothes off."

He chuckles, then lets me go. I roll off him and wait. He finishes what I started and takes his shirt off.

Then he pauses and looks at me, expectantly. Smiling a little.

I smile back. "What?"

"Michael."

I know what he's waiting for, and he knows I know. That's what makes this fun. "You need something?"

He shakes his head at me. "Why are you always like this?"

"Because it's fun."

"Is it going to be fun outside without me in a few minutes, if you keep your clothes on?"

I could make it work, but I'm obviously not going to. "Oh, was that what you wanted?"

"Michael."

I take my t-shirt off, slowly. Deliberately. I can't see him watching me, but I know what his face must look like right now. Calm. Coolly watching me. Appreciating the show, but he'll never tell me, of course. Wouldn't want to encourage me.

There's a lascivious little curl to the corner of his mouth. Never seen that from him before. It's exactly what I came here for. I stand up and pull my pants off, but not my boxers.

He crosses his arms at me. When I go for his pants and underwear next—both waistbands at once, he splutters and laughs. "Michael."

"What? You'll get there eventually."

He braces himself against my shoulder and steps out of his pants and briefs. Then I pull mine off. He pulls the comforter on the bed aside, revealing crisp off-white sheets. Wonder how long he's had them.

"How do you want to do this?"

He produces a little plastic container with what appears to be shortening from the drawer of his night table. Has to reach all the way into the back for it. "On my back, if you don't mind."

I definitely don't. It doesn't take long to get him ready for me. He pulls his legs so close against his stomach his ankles land neatly on my shoulders and closes his eyes while I push myself into him.

This was what I came here for. The way he winces a little, the way he keeps his eyes closed, the way his whole body reddens as we collide, at the way I move in him. All so ordinary. So human. I've never seen him like this before, and I'm so glad he's finally giving me the chance. I've wanted to see him with his guard down for a while.

It's nothing like the way he is during the Rites. I can't see his face then, but I can feel the difference. He's present. He's not acting like a fucking machine. (... fucking machine. I crack myself up.)

I cum pretty quickly, but he doesn't seem to mind. Won't let me suck him off again, or use my hand. As soon as I'm out, he pulls me in and hugs me close.

This is usually the point where I make my exit, if I'm with someone I don't know. Well, don't know well. That I'm not close to. I usually cuddle with Emilie after, if she's not immediately up and focusing on something else. Usually it's late, then, and we fall asleep. It feels normal because we're used to sleeping (only sleeping) together, anyway. I think she likes that at least as much as sex.

This is nothing like that, though. For one, it's Nicolas. For two, there's that familiar tension. All I can assume about whatever happens next is it's not sex, and sex is what I came here for. I can sleep at home. But—

Nicolas isn't saying anything. And I can tell from his breathing it's not because he fell asleep. Either he gets me, or we're just naturally in agreement. And it is kind of late. And I bet if I stay here long enough, I'll fall asleep.

I got it. If he falls asleep first, I'll leave. If I fall asleep, then—