Six

Cade

"W hat's wrong with you?"

We've been back long enough, and I mean, he definitely had a few, but he shouldn't still be wasted.

"Nic."

"Shut the fuck up, Cade." He sighs, finally moving away from the bathroom door where he's been standing for the past minute. He's not moving normally, though.

My mouth opens and then closes just as quickly so I can—smartly––swallow the words I feel compelled to say. He doesn't want me checking in on him, and I'm not even sure why I want to. But he's walking so slowly and a little wobbly. It's making me uneasy. He has a history of being… not okay.

"Are you drunk?" I make myself ask for peace of mind. "How much did you drink?" I couldn't help but notice him and his buddy––whoever the fuck that guy was––sitting together. Like friends. I've never known Nic to have friends. Plus, the guy looked like a tool. Kind of skeevy. Maybe he drugged him. Maybe that's why Nic kissed that fucker.

"I'm… dizzy. Or something."

"Dizzy." I scoff, my fingertips pulling at the fabric of the shorts I changed into when we got back. "Lightweight." I don't sound as easygoing as I mean to.

"I'm not a lightweight." He scowls at me, and for whatever reason, the sight of it makes me feel better, my chest less tight. It's almost normal—like he's close to himself. But still, it seems like something isn't right.

"Coulda fooled me."

"It's just my leg, and… I'm really tired and still buzzed. I'm fine. Just need to lie down." But he doesn't lay down. He just sits there with his eyes closed, bracing himself with his hands on the bed.

I want to tell him that he should be careful, that if drinking makes him walk like a baby deer, then maybe he shouldn't drink. But I don't think me showing any actual concern for him would go over well.

Plus, I don't have any actual concern for the guy. He can do whatever he wants––put himself into alcohol poisoning for all I care. But then I look at him and instantly change my mind.

"You're bleeding." I stand up, my body pushing me to act, but I get stuck as soon as I'm off the bed. It takes him a second, confusion flooding his features before the blood trickles over his lip enough that he finally feels it.

"Shit," he mumbles, his hand cupping his nose to catch what he can.

"Are you… good?"

"It's just the ibuprofen."

"I––what? That makes no sense." I finally move and pick up the shirt I left on my bed before we all left for Class. When I give it to him, he doesn't hesitate to hold it against his face.

"My meds––they don't react well together."

"What meds?"

"None of your business." He shoots me an indignant look, but with my tee, all wadded up under his nose, it doesn't have the effect I'm sure he's going for.

It's true. It's none of my business, but also, he's my roommate. So, maybe it should be my business. I'm forced to spend an unfortunate amount of time with the prick, so I should know these things. Right? At the very least, so I'm prepared for stuff like this.

"Does this happen a lot?"

Another glare.

"What meds? How much did you drink? I don't think––"

"Cadence. Fuck off."

"No." I move back and sit down on the edge of my bed to make a point. "It's my room."

He scoffs––I swear we could have entire conversations consisting of that one little sound at this point––and my lips try to pull into another smile, but I stop them. The urge is gone when he moves to stand up. I make sure to beat him to it because just what the hell does he think he's doing?

"Sit down. Nic, stop ," I order, my hands on his shoulders to keep him from trying again. "Don't be stupid."

He goes quiet––or stays quiet, I guess––and it takes a few seconds of that to recognize that I'm being weird. I can't even think of a time I've ever touched him. Hit him, pushed at him, elbowed him––stuff like that has happened a lot. This is none of those.

I remove my hands and let them fall to my sides, where they feel strange. Almost heavy. "You should sit down." Which he's already doing. Idiot . "You're dizzy. And bleeding."

"I need to wash my face."

"Well… wait." I step away, moving into the bathroom with what feels like choppy movements. I pull a hand towel off the rack and wait for the sink water to start running warm before wetting it. I move fast, specifically not letting myself think about things too closely, and am back in front of him not even a minute later. "Here." I hold the damp towel out, reaching for my shirt with my free hand while doing so.

But he's Nic, and nothing with him is easy, so he ends up stubbornly leaning back enough that I can't reach it. "Stop mother henning me. I swear, you're just like your mom—so fucking annoying."

"At least I'm not like your mom."

My whole body tenses as I wait, locking up like I expect him to strike. I regret saying it pretty instantaneously, a bit guilty even. She's not well. That's the only actual information my mom ever gave me. I don't know what his relationship with that woman is, but I do know that he's very protective of her, and I probably should not have said that shit.

But he doesn't react. Not really. He stares at me, his grey eyes narrowed a bit, but other than that… nothing.

It's underwhelming. My shoulders slump like I'm some kind of letdown, but that can't be. It's a relief that he's not putting his hands on me, not a disappointment. When he finally moves––reaches a hand out––I flinch. Just a little––the tiniest bit, really––but it's a degrading move all the same. He grabs the wet cloth out of my hand, and then it's even worse. I overreacted. He was not about to choke me.

"I'm not going to reward you for your poor behavior, Cade."

"Wha––" I sputter, the question tripping on its way out. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" But my face heats as he cocks that judgemental bicolored brow at me. We both know what it means.

Maybe–– I hope ––I'm wrong, but there's something in the look he gives me that tells me he sees right through me.

I take a few steps backward and wordlessly sit on my bed, feeling out of place in the room I've slept in for the past couple of years because my room is also Nic's now.

"Are you okay?" I make myself ask in an effort to change the subject. But also, I need the peace of mind. Assholery aside, I want him to be okay.

Because if he weren't, it'd be a hassle. A heap of unnecessary stress. He'd be a bigger pain in the ass than he already is. That's all this compulsive need to mother hen him is.

Nic wipes at his face with the towel, not looking at me as he does it. When he finally meets my gaze, I have to make myself hold his stare and ignore the smeared blood above his mouth. Just when I think he's going to ignore me, he gives me a nod, and I take a very slow breath, relieved. He's okay, and there's no problem.

I gotta watch him, it seems. Maybe find out what meds he's on so I can read up on it. It'd be good to know, I think. But, for now, he's okay.

This time, when he gets up to go to the bathroom, I let him.

It gives me time to consider the bullshit he just said. I know what he meant, but… well, what the fuck did he mean? Like his hands anywhere on me is some prize. Reward . Pfft.

∞∞∞

A sharp exhale has me holding still the second I wrap my hand around my dick. After a swift look to make sure that Nic is still asleep, I slide my fist up in one long, achingly slow stroke that is not at all relieving––because, of course, it's not.

My hand is dry, and he is only a few feet away. I can hear him breathing, making it too hard to settle into the right mindset for this.

But I need it. Something has got to give. I'm embarrassing myself at this point. It's been too long since I've done this or had any sort of release—before he showed up, I'm pretty sure. And if someone like Nic is getting to me, it's a must that I get it over with.

I drag my hand out from under the covers and lick my palm in one long stripe, hoping that it's enough to get past the initial discomfort. It takes longer than it should since I'm forced to move slowly and keep quiet so I don't wake him up.

I don't even know what I'd do if Nic did wake up. Fuck . That'd be humiliating.

My head leans back, sinks into my pillow as I roll my lips between my teeth to keep a moan from escaping. I can feel my frustrations uncoiling that much more with every new muscle that pulls tight. My palm skims over my slit, collecting precum to make the glide easier. Each stroke laps at my spine until it's hard to keep my breaths quiet, and I have to look to make sure Nic is still asleep.

He's facing the wall, the white patch of hair on the back of his head visible in the little bit of moonlight that seeps through our curtains. Still sleeping.

" Fuck ." I make myself look away, but tearing my eyes off of him doesn't convince me that I'm not being a pervert right now. I shouldn't be doing this. Not right here, with Nic right there. I should stop . It feels wrong.

A quiet moan should have me freezing, but I find myself chasing more instead. My hips jerk, a shallow fuck up into my fist that makes my stomach clench. I know I should stop, but it's too good. Nic could wake up at any second, but it's so fucking good.

My free hand finds its way to my neck, and I can't even pretend I don't want it there. I let it rest, a loose band that has a shiver raking across my skin. I don't understand why it feels so nice—it's barely even a tease. But the soft touch gives me a sense of craving that's vibrating beneath my skin, slowly building into something overwhelming. My hand starts to tighten—both of them do. Oh, god . I need a little more. More .

" Cade ."

"Fu––" I gasp, my body stuttering to a stop. " Fuck ."

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing. I—nothing." The hand still wrapped around my cock squeezes, and I let go quickly with a hiss.

"Nothing," his sleep-rumpled voice parrots. He sounds pissed. Annoyed, maybe, at having been woken up. That's all it is. No way he knows what––"You're over there moaning like you're getting paid for it, but sure. Let's go with nothing ."

"Fuck you," I spit, face heating. "That's––"

A bitter little chuckle has me shutting up, face on fire, and pulse racing. I was on the verge of coming, all sorts of feel-good shit coursing through me, and it's all gone. Poof. Just like that. Chased away by that cocky laugh.

"Pretty sure it's you who needs to be fucked, little brother."

My cock jumps, raises up off my abs, heavy and hard enough to move the blanket a bit. So maybe that feel-good shit isn't completely gone––still there and getting all mixed up in this confusing little bubble of humiliation.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" My head shakes, refusing to admit fault here. Shit like this happens. Like Liam and I never heard each other? Of course, we did. "A normal person would have ignored it," I insist, like somehow pointing this out will shift the blame off of me.

"A normal person wouldn't be fucking his fist a few feet away from his big brother."

I know he's only trying to goad me, to piss me off, and I fucking hate that it works. He doesn't think of me as family and never has.

"You're not my brother. You're just the baggage me and my mom got stuck with." I'm back to breathing heavy, pissed off in a way that only Nicolas Aldana can bring on. There are too many things going on right now, and my body doesn't know how to react. My dumb dick is still hard. It aches. I can feel it throbbing, and it's difficult to ignore.

"Are you imagining it's mine?"

" What? " I scoff, turning to see him through the dark room. Nothing about Nic makes sense. "What the fuck are you––"

"The hand on your throat."

My fingers flex against my pulse point, the rest of me unmoving as a breath gets caught in my chest. I forgot it was there.

"If you are, you need to squeeze tighter."

"Shut up." My eyes screw tight, my embarrassment nearing the point of smothering.

"If it were mine, you wouldn't even be able to speak. Breathe."

"Shut up," I plead, my voice annoyingly whiny as my hand stays right where it is.

"God, listen to you."

But I'm listening to him , to the gravel still lacing his words––the sound of them rumbling in the space between us. Rough and coarse—it's doing shit to me. I hate it.

"Are you embarrassed? You fucking should be, Cade." He lets out another dark laugh that has my skin crawling, every inch of me begging for relief. What's wrong with me? I am embarrassed, but it's like my cock hasn't gotten the message. Still stiff, almost in pain, and for what? Not Nic, with all this venom in his voice. There's no way.

"You could have…" I take a breath, try to calm down. "Ignored me."

"Yeah, but that's not what you wanted, is it?"

I don't speak. It feels like a rhetorical question, but also, I'm not sure I know the answer.

"Those moans, they're not that quiet, Cade. You wanted me to know. You like my hand so much––such a pathetic little slut for it––that you couldn't help yourself, huh?" His breath hitches, and I can't even begin to describe the instant relief that sound gives me, the feeling of it overpowering the shock at his words.

"Are you––" A sound a lot like a moan drowns out my question as I take myself in hand once again. I don't have to worry about a dry stroke this time––my dumb dick is drooling, doesn't understand how wrong this is.

Or, hell. Maybe it does. Maybe that's why it's acting like this, has me acting like this. A pathetic little slut . Another moan, softer now, makes me roll my face into my pillow in the hopes that I can smother the sound.

But his bed is so close. He can definitely hear everything I'm doing, and I'm too keyed up to mind it. I have no intention of stopping. God, I don't even think I could.

There's an absolutely demented part of me that wants him to keep talking. Say it again, say more. I need him to keep talking.

"You are so desperate for my attention, practically begging for it."

" Oh , god. " My back bows, nothing muffling the needy sounds coming out of my mouth now.

The quiet laugh he lets out is cruel, has anticipation coiling around my balls as they pull up in a tight hug against the base of my dick. "You like this," he says. "You want to be degraded by me. That's cute, little brother."

" Nic ," I groan, the protest dissolving as my hand moves faster, fist squeezing tighter. Slick sounds barely audible as I fuck my fist, just like he said.

"That's right," he agrees, almost like a praise, and the sound of it pushes me closer. "I'm not even touching you, but it's me making you feel this good. Say it again."

It's disgusting how fast I listen. " Nic . Fuck." My hips lift off the bed, meeting a downward stroke as the air is expelled from my lungs, my vision whiting out as bliss barrels through me. A grunt trips over a whine as I try to smother the sounds of my orgasm, but as I stroke myself through it, everything gets wet—every stroke making noise as I drag my cum up and down my cock.

It's not until my body finally slumps that I feel the beginnings of regret.

That did not take very long at all—coming for Nic. Not once I got started anyway. How am I going to live that down? I don't know how to move on from this. How to explain it.

I blame my dumb dick. Have to.

But I mean… it felt good. Still kind of does, even with shame trying to ruin it. My hand caught most of my cum, which is quickly cooling as I softly stroke through the aftershocks with a loose grip, and the soft grunt I let out has me finally letting go of my neck. My stomach twitches through the comedown as I catch my breath, feeling a little cold now that I'm not chasing the orgasm I so desperately needed.

I feel oddly settled. At ease. As my heart starts to pump slower, I get the crazy thought that the comedown is almost better than the orgasm. It just feels so good, so peaceful. Pretty foreign. I can't even remember the last time I felt so relaxed.

And then I remember Nic.

I'm being loud, breaths so heavy that I can't even hear him. For a moment, a very quick second, I thought he was touching himself. I heard it in his voice––in the words that had me overwhelmingly turned on––and I was excited because it meant that I wasn't alone. I wasn't the only brainless one in the room. But I'm less sure now.

"Did you…" God, he just listened to me come. Talked me through it. Why is it so awful to ask? I really don't see how it can get any worse—unless he didn't. Wasn't into it like I was. I mean, fuck. I was into it .

He came. The alternative is that he meant the things he said. He called me things that only work if he was getting something out of it too. I don't know what this was, but I know that I want him to say yes. Yes, he was touching himself. Yes, he finished. Yes, he fucking liked it. Just say yes, asshole.

"No." He scoffs.

"Bullshit," I call his bluff as my stomach drops. "You were—"

"I think it's obvious you have a little crush on me, but let's not get it twisted. That shit is one-sided, Cade. I can barely even stand to look at you—nothing about you makes my dick hard."

"That's––" It hurts my feelings, which is ridiculous. I shake my head, searching for the right thing to say—something that doesn't make me look stupid. I have to blink as my eyes start to water. "I don't have a crush on you. And I am not a slut."

I think I might have made myself look stupid anyway.

He laughs, not nearly as sexy-sounding as he had been only minutes prior, and it has me sitting up.

"All that cum on you kind of says otherwise."

I regret existing at this point. My dumb dick has moved past dumb. That thing is the stupidest fucking… it… "You're so… you––"

He chuckles darkly, all smug with it, and I wish I were anywhere but here. "You should clean yourself up."

What a loser . I am such a loser.

"Fuck you," I spit, but I'm on my feet, Dumb Dick all tucked away in my boxers, because, yeah. I do need to clean myself up .