Nico Sanchez

Nico pulled back from the kiss, his eyes fluttering open like he was surfacing from deep water he hadn’t realized he'd been sinking into. His breath came in shallow, uncertain gasps, and his gaze lingered on Jordan’s face, searching but unsure of what he was looking for. Painfully hyperaware of how close they were, he didn’t know whether to lean in again or pull away completely. He waited, hoping that maybe Jordan would say something to dissolve the awkwardness. 

But Jordan didn’t speak. Instead, his hand stayed warm against Nico’s cheek. The other slid upward, fingers tracing the delicate line of Nico’s neck, brushing just below his ear before settling gently at the base of his throat. Not tightly, nothing threatening, just a coaxing and gentle touch. It felt less like control and more like invitation.

And so, with a shaky exhale, Nico leaned in again. This time, the kiss came easier, less hesitant. Urgent and a little messier, as though the tension that had been simmering all night had finally snapped free. The taste of wine lingered between them. Nico’s hands searched for somewhere to land, eventually pressing flat against Jordan’s chest. His fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, gripping it desperately as though it were the only thing keeping him from slipping away.

He wasn’t sure where this was heading. He’d kissed people before, but only in thoughtless little experiments, fleeting party moments that dissolved as soon as they happened. None of that prepared him for this, the spark of heat and gravity that made his breath trip. 

His body acted before his brain had a chance to catch up, swinging one leg over Jordan’s lap, the movement clumsy. He barely had time to settle before the sharp sound of glass clinking against the floor broke the moment. Nico’s eyes immediately darted to the side, catching sight of one of the wine glasses tipped over on the floor. A crimson stain was already spreading across the rug, bleeding into the fibers in a slow, unforgiving way.

Panic rose in Nico’s throat, choking him.

Red wine. A white rug. Of course it was a white rug. 

His mind snapped back to the hours he’d spent bussing tables last summer,working himself tired for a paycheck that barely covered anything he actually wanted. Judging by the rest of Jordan’s apartment, where even the soap in the bathroom probably looked like it had a résumé, Nico was pretty sure even a full month’s pay wouldn’t cover the cost of replacing this. He’d probably still be apologizing for it long into his twenties.

“Oh shit,” he blurted, his voice tight and his stomach sinking. “I didn’t mean to— Oh, no, I’m sorry—”

His instinct was to pull away, to leave the mess, but Jordan didn’t move. If he’d looked at the spill, he gave no sign of it. Jordan’s hand stayed at Nico’s throat, not forceful but enough to draw him back in.

“It's alright. Don’t worry about it.” Jordan's voice brushed against Nico’s mouth as his hands slid down to rest at Nico’s waist. The softness of the words was almost absurd in the moment.

When Jordan kissed him again, Nico immediately felt a shift. The intensity had changed, simmering beneath the surface as if everything had accelerated at once. He could feel the heat of Jordan’s body, a burning energy that made his pulse quicken. He wanted more, but his head was lagging behind, with a sense of overwhelm that made him want to pull back, just for a second, to breathe.

 Jordan’s hands moved up his back and with every new sensation Nico’s mind scattered, his skin feeling like it was burning. He was crossing into uncharted territory, with someone older, someone who seemed so unshakably composed. And more than that, someone he barely knew.

When Jordan’s fingers slipped beneath his shirt, Nico didn’t stop him. He welcomed it, his body reacting instantly, his nerves sparking. There was an urgency inside him, a need he hadn’t expected, like he was falling deeper into something with no clear way out. His legs tightened around Jordan’s, and he felt the unmistakable pressure of excitement building, too much and too fast. Jordan tugged the shirt over Nico’s head, the fabric dragging against his skin as it left him exposed, the cool air hitting his chest like a shock.

Jordan’s lips found his neck, and he clenched his jaw to hold back the gasp threatening to escape. His own fingers trembled as he worked at the buttons of Jordan’s shirt, each one harder to undo than the last. He was desperately trying to stay composed, to prove he was in control. But in that moment, with Jordan’s lips and hands on him, and his own body misbehaving at every turn, Nico knew that control was the last thing he had.

Pushing Jordan’s shirt off his shoulders, his fingers slid awkwardly down his chest, feigning ease while his pulse hammered, his touch skimming Jordan’s skin like he wasn’t entirely sure he was allowed to. When Jordan's fingers brushed over Nico’s waistband, he looked up at Nico, not questioning exactly, but offering a moment. A quiet checkpoint. Nico gave a sharp nod, as if the ache in his chest didn’t threaten to crack him open.

The sound of the buckle undoing felt louder than it should have. Nico pushed his own pants down quickly, like ripping off a bandage. Jordan tugged his pants the rest of the way off without breaking the rhythm of the moment., like he wasn’t overthinking every little movement.

Don’t freak out. Please, don’t screw this up. 

The thoughts flitted through his mind uninvited.

Jordan stood briefly to remove his own pants, and Nico’s eyes followed before he could stop himself. He felt like an actor who hadn’t memorized his lines. Like he was still learning how to exist in his own skin, like he’d somehow misplaced the version of himself that fit this moment. He glanced at Jordan’s bare chest, the way his muscles seemed to fit together in a way that just made sense. His fingers twitched at his sides, wishing he felt even half as put together, wondering if he’d ever look like someone worth staring at.

This is happening. It’s actually happening. 

He wanted to feel like he deserved to be here, but all he could do was try not to let his own doubts show as Jordan stepped closer, closing the space between them once more. Jordan shifted them on the couch, easing Nico down so he lay against the cushions. He hovered above Nico, their bodies pressed together, and Nico inhaled sharply at the sensation. 

Warmth meeting warmth, pressure in all the right places. 

Jordan’s hips rolled against his, and Nico bit back a sound, his hands gripping Jordan’s shoulders as he tried to move with him. He tilted his chin up, let Jordan kiss along his jaw, but underneath all the nerves and trying-too-hard confidence, a thought rose, sharp and aching: 

I’m going to mess this up. 

His breath stuttered as Jordan moved against him again and Nico could feel the fabric of their boxers between them, too thin, too much, yet not enough. It wasn’t even skin, not really, but still it lit him up like fire.

Jordan’s hand slid down and curled around the back of Nico’s thigh, lifting his leg gently, guiding it up and around his waist. The movement sent a jolt through him. Jordan's grip was firm on his thigh, holding him in place.

Nico felt like he couldn’t breathe.

His hands found Jordan’s back, clutching harder than he meant to, nails pressing into skin. His mouth parted as they moved together, friction hot and slow. 

Something fierce and territorial clawed its way up inside him. 

Possessiveness. 

The word surfaced from nowhere and lodged itself in his mind like a stone in still water. It didn’t belong there, Nico wasn’t like that. But with Jordan pressed against him, moving with him in a rhythm that felt dangerously close to sacred, he felt that alien emotion crackling through him. It coiled low and tight, and he didn’t want to let go. Didn’t want anyone else to ever have this version of Jordan that touched with such certainty, that kissed like he already knew every inch of Nico’s hesitation and didn’t care.

He knew Jordan wasn’t his. He knew he had no right to this feeling, to any sense of ownership. But that didn’t stop the surge inside him, strong and irrational.

The air was stolen from Nico's lungs when he felt Jordan, hard and close, through the thin cotton. The pressure, the heat… It was perfect. He sucked in a shaky breath, trying to hold on to it, but his body had other plans. A moan escaped before he could catch it, his spine arching off the couch.

And then it hit. 

It hit him hard. Fast, hot and humiliating. 

Nico bit down, as if trying to take it all back, but his body moved without him, shuddering as release spilled between them, damp through the cotton. A sharp inhale seized his chest, shame chasing the rush.

Shit. 

Heat rushed to Nico’s face so fast it hurt.

Shit, oh no. Too soon. Way too soon.

The aftershocks pulsed through him while Jordan’s weight still hovered above, and all Nico could feel now was mortification rising like a wave. He kept his eyes shut tight and threw an arm over his face, hoping maybe if he didn’t look at Jordan, he could disappear completely. 

He stayed like that, staring at the darkness behind his eyelids, wishing for some divine intervention that would let him sink into the couch, past the cushions, through the floorboards, all the way to China if he focused hard enough.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered the wine he’d spilled earlier on Jordan’s fancy rug.

The second stain of the night, and somehow this one felt even harder to clean up.