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Nico extended out his arm for Jack, and carefully, he slid into place. It was strange. Nico’s body carried every mark of the life he led. Violence had signed its name across his skin again and again, yet somehow it hadn’t diminished him. If anything, it made the quiet moments feel even more improbable. The man who could command a room with nothing more than a glance was lying here in nothing but boxer briefs, letting Jack borrow his warmth before dawn.

“You keep staring,” Nico murmured, his eyes still closed.

Jack’s ears burned. “I know.”

“Find something interesting?”

Jack huffed a quiet laugh, ducking his face against Nico’s shoulder. “I’m just realizing you’re real.”

That finally coaxed Nico into opening one eye. “I was under the impression I’d been real this entire time.”

“I know.” Jack smiled faintly. “But you’re always put together. Like nothing can touch you.”

“Because nothing can touch me, Jack.” Nico said, trailing his fingers along the dip of his waist.

“I’m touching you.”

“You are.”

Jack shrugged against him. “So then I think your theory has a flaw.”

“My theory,” Nico said, grabbing one of Jack’s legs and hooking it over his own. He had to stifle the moan down from the throb of his empty hole. “concerns those who wish me harm.”

Jack clambered on him, lying chest to chest with the man, humming when he felt Nico’s hand land softly on the swell of his ass. “And what if I wished to harm you?”

Nico gave him a flat, rather amused look, and said, “If you had told me that a few months ago, I’d be more inclined to believe you.”

Jack’s chin rested on his sternum, Nico’s hand drifting up to card his fingers through his hair. He didn’t have much more to say, his eyes drooping at the overwhelming scent of Nico, Nico, Nico. He wanted to stay like this forever, forgetting about hockey, and the life he built for himself. It was a selfish thought, given that it was a fleeting moment, but he let himself selfishly think it. He rested his cheek right over his heart, listening to…just how fast Nico’s heart was beating.

It caught him off guard. For someone who moved through the world with impossible composure, whose hands never seemed to shake, Nico’s heartbeat was anything but controlled. It hammered steadily beneath Jack’s cheek, quicker than it had any right to be, betraying a nervous system that refused to match the calm expression he wore.

“What’s your favorite kind of cake?” Jack asked, inching his way up, up, up, until he was face to face with Nico, their noses brushing.

“I don’t eat cake.”

Jack rolled his eyes, his own fingers brushing through his hair. His very soft, thick hair. “Indulge me, please.”

Nico regarded him for a long moment, then he sighed. “I don’t have one.”

“Bullshit.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, bunny.”

“Everybody has a favorite cake.”

“I assure you, I have successfully lived thirty-two years without forming an opinion.”

Jack’s fingers continued wandering through Nico’s hair, separating the dark strands before letting them slip back into place. It was softer than he’d expected. Everything about Nico always looked so deliberate, so immovable, that he’d half expected his hair to feel just as severe. “I think,” Jack murmured, “you’d like chocolate.”

“I’ve had chocolate.”

“No, not chocolate. A proper chocolate cake. The kind that’s almost too sweet to finish.”