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Then pausing, for a brief breath, on the threshold—
He opens the door.
The night air greets him with its pleasant summer levity, and sparing one last glance at Valentina (who gazes at him with big, twinkling eyes from the doorway), he steps outside.
The walk across the lawn to Cabin Seven is terrifying for more reasons than one—other than the pre-date jitters, he warily eyes the harpies out on their patrol closer to Camp borders, to stop people from sneaking out for the night. Luckily, Nico has the incredibly useful ability known as shadow-travel and will be avoiding getting his head bitten off tonight, thank you very much.
When he reaches the front steps of the Apollo cabin, golden light glowing around the doorway where the air seeps through, he gives the wood a solid rap with his knuckles. Once, twice.
The door cracks open, and familiar green-tipped hair and bluebell eyes greet him. "Hi, Nico," says Kayla, grinning at him a little too wild to be natural. "Give him another second, he's nervous."
"Don't tell him that!" Comes Will's voice in the form of an undignified screech, and Kayla just laughs good-naturedly. A few other people inside make snickering noises, and Nico can't help but let out his own chuckle at Will's expense.
In all his nerves, he forgot how much of a cute little goofball Will can be. It's funny, how perfect and infallible Will can seem in Nico's head—like a statue, like some untouchable star in the sky—when the reality is that he, too, is human. Well, half-human. And that humanness makes him so much better.
"Alright, alright, I'm ready," says Will, and Kayla swings the door open wider for him.
Never mind. Untouchable star in the sky was the right way to put it.
Nico's breath bids a hasty retreat from his lungs as his eyes fall on Will Solace. There's his clothes, first of all—a simple white button-down, short-sleeved, with little floral blue details on the hems and light blue buttons, just a tad bit lighter than his eyes. And he looks amazing in white, he always does, because the light shade sits so well against his deeply tanned skin, pulling out the warmth of it the way the encroaching night pulls out the warmth of the sunset.
His jeans are brushed denim, everything that same clear-sky blue, drowning Nico in their oxygen. Especially his eyes—all sharp and piercing as always, accentuated by those little crinkles in the corners that stretch and fold around freckled, oil-painted skin.
And then there's his hair, his hair, all golden and perfect and curls tighter than usual, bouncing in ringlets in front of his brow and curling delicately around his ears, and then his lips soft like the skin of a peach.
And lastly, in a true act of homicide against one Nico di Angelo, he has chosen to wear a black cotton tank under his shirt, soft and ribbed, poking out in a triangle over the top button of the shirt as if to point to his abdomen and tell Nico to place his hands there.
It's hard to resist.
"Hey," Nico croaks in a suave and collected manner, voice cracking in an intentionally sexy way, and he is thankfully saved from his act of social suicide by Will being equally flustered in return.
"Hey," Will says, grinning too broadly like he might puke, eyes both terrified and terribly hungry.
Nico flails for something to say, for a second, and then he remembers that he has a plan, and this is a date, and they actually have a destination. He squeezes the basket of strawberries in one hand and offers the other hand to Will like a ritual sacrifice. "Let's go?"
"Do you know where he's taking you?" Kayla asks from the doorway, and Nico nearly jumps five feet in the air because he genuinely forgot she was there.
Will just shakes his head.
"But I trust you," he decides, giving Nico another shy grin, and Nico might just melt into a pile of bones right there.
Without further preamble, he lifts his hand and slides it onto Nico's, connecting their palms. The weight of Will's hands—calloused, burned, heavy and warm—settles Nico's nerves like a cozy blanket. Nico takes a deep breath.
"Let's go," he says, reaching with the soles of his feet into the shadows below, slinking into them silently.
When they emerge, stumbling out from under a beam atop the Chrysler building, Nico nearly drops both himself and the basket of strawberries. Luckily, he manages to sway into Will instead, and by virtue of stumbling into each other, their net forces become zero.
"Whoa, you okay?" Will asks breathlessly, one hand instinctively around Nico's back. Nico nods, pulling gently away because, as enticing as Will's scent is, it's probably more socially acceptable to eat the strawberries first.
"I'm fine," he reassures, brushing himself off with his free hand before gesturing to the ledge bathed in moonlight, overlooking the city. "Welcome to the top of the Chrysler building."
"Whoa," Will whispers, stepping out. It's a sizeable ledge— the corner of a square, as big as the inside of Nico's cabin. This high up, the structure behind them is purely decorative and has no windows, just places for maintenance workers to walk. No one can see them.
Nico follows him, trying not to gawk at the sight of Will Solace, bathed in moonlight. The cool tones of it do interesting things to his warm features, like fire against flint in the dead of night.
Nico flips open the top of the picnic basket and pulls out the blanket there, handing it to Will. He gently unfolds it and places it down, for Nico to put the basket on top. Gently, then, they both sit down, Nico with his legs crossed delicately and Will with his legs stretched out in front of him, feet swinging side to side like windshield wipers.
"How's the view?" Nico asks as Will gazes at the twinkling city lights, cars moving around like ants in a grassy thicket.
"It's…beautiful," Will whispers, tone reverent. "I can't decide where to look."
"What about up?" Nico suggests.
Will tilts his head back to look at the stars, spread against the inky black void like glitter glue. Nico looks, too, because he doesn't want Will to catch him staring in the wrong direction. The stars truly look magnificent—this high up, the city pollution is less of a concern.
"It's gorgeous," Will says, soft for a moment, before he turns to Nico, lip quivering. "But not as gorgeous as—"
"Nope! Don't be cheesy!" Nico says, reaching up with his hands as if he plans to plug his ears.
Will laughs. "Why not?"
Because I might cry. "Just—I can't handle it," he mumbles, almost embarrassed. His hands curl to fists in his lap, shoulders hunching.
"Hey," Will whispers, voice soft as night, reaching over to slide his hand into Nico's, "I mean it. You're beautiful."
Nico beams, even if he tries to hide it. In a moment of courage, he meets Will's eyes. "So are you."
They're leaning over the strawberry basket, towards each other, but the knock of Nico's elbow against it reminds him that it's there. Gently, he extracts his hand from Will's grasp to lift one of the strawberries, holding it up in all its red-hued, juicy glory against the pale moonlight. He offers it to Will. "Try it."
Their skin brushes together as he takes the offering, holding the fruit in the pads of his fingers reverently before bringing it to his lips and taking a bite. He chews thoughtfully, humming. "They're good," he decides once he swallows, and Nico's eyes shamelessly follow the bob of his throat. "Sweet."
"Kayla and Valentina picked them."
"So I've heard," Will says with a smile, thinking of his sister fondly. He takes another bite, juice staining his lips so they start to glisten. He gives Nico a grateful nod. "I like them. Thank you."
Nico reaches for a strawberry of his own, and they sit in silence for a while, just eating the berries one by one. There's something unbearably intimate about it all—the closeness of Will, his body heat radiating from mere inches away, the sounds of simply chewing and city noises below filling the air with a liberating sweetness.
It's cool and warm and cozy and freeing. It's…everything Nico hoped for, actually.
"What do people do on dates?" Will asks quietly. "Like, what do they talk about?"
Nico shrugs, fingers flattening the leaves on his strawberry. "They get to know each other."
"But you know everything about me."
After recovering from the initial shock of that statement, and the way it floods his body with a pleasant glow, Nico stops to consider the truth of it. He knows how Will's eyebrows furrow with unspoken worry and shoulders hunch with a silent burden, he knows the topography of every wrinkle earned too soon on his face, he knows the way his lips tremble when he cries, quiver when he laughs, and turn up when he smiles.
He knows the back of Will's hand like the back of his own, he could map out the freckles on Will's nose in his sleep. He knows that Will carries the weight of his sadness close to his heart, under his tattoo, and he knows that it pulls him down every day like a ball and chain.
He knows Will's favorite color ("green"), and Will's favorite song ("the last one off of my mom's first album, especially the part where the drums stop and it's all still for a second"), and Will's favorite pair of socks ("red with the pink geckos"). He knows what Will couldn't do even with a gun to his head: Kill someone, name a constellation correctly, or speak negatively of Rogue One: A Star Wars Story.
But does he know everything?
"Not everything," Nico argues aloud.
"Well," Will amends, "Everything that matters."
A pleasant breeze flits through the air. Nico turns over Will's words in his palm, biting into them like a strawberry.
"It doesn't feel that way," Nico decides, when his thoughts have begun to settle. "It feels like I could learn about you forever, and still there'd be more to know."
Will chuckles, shoulders hunched slightly like he's received a compliment and can't possibly handle it. "I think that's just people, Nico. People are endlessly complex."
"True," Nico admits. "But I want to know everything about you. Even if…"
His voice trails off, the rest of the sentence left unspoken.
Even if it takes me forever.
After a beat, Will nods slowly. "Me too."
They don't meet each other's eyes, perhaps because the heat simmering in the space between them would reach a flashpoint if they did. Instead, they both resign themselves to looking out into the city, alternating between lights below and above.
"Then tell me something…" Will says slowly, "that no one else knows about you."
As he waits, he takes another bite of the strawberry he's holding and watches Nico out of the corner of his eyes. Nico inhales, turning over the years-old question in his head. He doesn't wish to give another admission of trauma, not again. Instead, he scratches deeper into his psyche. Something truly personal.
"Sometimes I think," Nico begins, "that, despite my streak of rotten luck, what I have is still more than I deserve. And not because there's something wrong with me—not that, not exactly—but because it's too good for anyone. It's more than I could ever want for. Friends, family, a home…it's so pleasant that I feel in debt to it for the rest of my life."
Will nods, his hair rustling slightly in the wind. His gaze withdraws from the view below to his own feet, swaying side to side. "I can understand that. For me, sometimes I feel terribly selfish. Sometimes, some strange part of me wants other people to hurt the way I've hurt. And…I feel terribly guilty, but I can't stop. I can't change how I feel."
Nico sighs. He reaches out with his hand—across the basket of strawberries, into Will's lap—to grasp Will's hand and squeeze. "That's okay," he says quietly. "They're just thoughts, Will."
"Sometimes it feels like thoughts are everything," Will mumbles. "Like…everywhere. Like they're the only thing that's real."
Nico squeezes his hand again. Warmth pulses between them, like energy flowing through a circuit. "But they're not. There's a whole world out there, when you remember to look."
He takes a deep breath and steels himself, turning his head in Will's direction. "But…what are you thinking right now?"
Will chuckles weakly, betraying his nervousness. "I'm thinking about how perfect you are. And how scared I am that I'm gonna mess this up somehow."
"Hey," Nico says, pulling their clasped hands into the space between them, tugging Will just slightly closer, "I'm not perfect."
And finally, Will looks at him back. Despite the low light, his blue eyes are brighter than ever.
"I know," Will admits, tone raw. "I know better than anyone, Nico. And yet…"
It's all I see.
It's strange, Nico thinks. Everything else in life seems limited, like at some point it has a beginning or end, a boundary. But Will Solace seems endless. Nico could reach his hand between his ribs and spend a lifetime studying the heart he claws out, to no avail. He will never know, he will never be satiated, and that feeling of bottomless hunger gnaws in his gut like an ache that lasts lifetimes.
Every time he looks into Will's eyes, it takes effort to claw himself back out into the present moment. Time warps around the edges of Will's gaze, and Nico is terrified and thrilled by the prospect of getting lost in it. Crossing the event horizon, never to return.
He is stretched out, he is laid bare. And in some foreign way, in a way which he would never expect, he wants it.
Gently, firmly, Nico pulls his hand away from Will's only to lift the basket of strawberries, setting it aside so it no longer stands between them. Then, succumbing to Will's gravity, he scoots closer, leaving only an inch of space.
Shaking himself awake, Will turns back to look at the view.
"We've got the whole summer ahead of us," he says, as Nico's skin prickles with the newfound proximity. "What are we going to do?"
Nico's lips twist into a sly smile. "Hopefully more of this."
Will barks out a laugh. "Right. Definitely."
"But also…" Nico's voice peters out as he tries to find the right words. "It would be nice to take it easy. Be kids for once…for the last time. Before we go to college come September."
Will nods. "That would be nice."
The silence that settles between them this time is different—more charged. Maybe it's the newfound proximity. Maybe it's the reminder of their youth, of the ticking clock and the time passing by. Maybe it's just the natural byproduct of Nico di Angelo being next to Will Solace.
Whatever it is, it burns between them silently.
Powerfully.
Will is the one who reaches out this time—fingers tiptoeing across The Inch between them, grazing the seam on the knee of Nico's jeans. The minute scratch hits much more like a bolt of lightning, and Nico wonders with a jolt when on earth his skin got so sensitive. Why does the breeze feel like a thousand tiny puffs of air, chillingly cold against the skin of his neck? When did collar of his shirt start feeling so tight?
Still, against the more rational thoughts in his mind, he slides his hand over Will's and turns. When their eyes meet again, the dip in spacetime returns, and Nico is pulled helplessly in Will's direction. If he knew better, he'd kick and scream and try to escape. But he doesn't. He's stupid and foolish and in love.
They pause just millimeters apart, and Nico thinks he's found it. The event horizon.
Move forward now, and he will melt his wings. He will surely fall into the sea—it's as sure as the dawn, it's as sure as the sunset.
Kiss Will Solace once, even twice, and he may survive. But this time, he will come plunging down.
He accepts it.
He closes the distance, pressing his lips against Will's, and the simmering heat between them all at once combusts into something much more dangerous. Soon, his mouth parts, and so does Will's, and the obsessive quest for heat and depth and closeness begins in a way that suggests it may never end.
His hands come up to slide into Will's hair, and then lower, where the back of his neck curves seamlessly into the muscles under his collar. Will's hands, by contrast, choose instead to grasp firmly at Nico's sides, then slide around to the small of his back.
Very quickly, things escalate, and very quickly, Will's head tips back as Nico slides his lips across his mouth, to the corner, to the jaw, to the ear, to the neck. Freckles must be counted, and Nico keeps a careful catalogue, tasting them with the tip of his tongue for…you know, science.
Will simply holds on tighter, stilted gasps and shuddered breaths escaping his mouth as Nico finds every excuse (carefully picked apart from Will's skin by Nico's teeth) to slide forward until he's practically in Will's lap, knees knocking into his sides. Will doesn't seem to mind—his fingers have slipped under the hem of Nico's shirt, sliding across the bottom vertebrae. He presses, trying to bring Nico closer, and Nico is happy to oblige.
"How did I stay away for so long?" Nico mumbles, lips moving against the hollow of Will's throat as his hands slide down Will's shoulders, grabbing the collar of his shirt and clasping around the top button, already left undone. Nico stretches it open, exposing more of Will's clavicle for him to kiss and smooth under his tongue.
Will tries to respond to Nico's words, but his voice seems to die in his throat as Nico sucks and nips at the skin there. Instead, attempting to communicate that the feelings are mutual, he slides his hand more boldly up Nico's back, bunching up the shirt material as he goes.
The night air hits Nico's back and he shivers, pressing closer to Will's body on instinct. This, unfortunately, sends Will tumbling down, Nico falling right with him.
When Nico falls on Will's chest, he lets out a surprised laugh, and Will joins in, body trembling with giggles. They lay there for a moment, delirious with the thrill of being in love, before Nico props himself up on Will's chest with his hands and looks.
Will's head is tipped back, bouts of laughter still falling from his lips. His hair spreads like a halo on the picnic blanket.
Nico slides his knees back until his thighs firmly bracket Will's hips, bodies pressed together at the core. He shivers, hands coming down to the second button from the top of Will's shirt.
Staying there.
""I've never…"
Will's hands are still on his waist, grasped firmly in a way that makes Nico seem held, seem known. He looks up adoringly, eyes sparkling in a way that is multitudes more luminous than all the stars in the sky above.
He blushes. It's a hesitant, rose-colored thing.
"Me neither," he admits.
But the threat of the unknown is not enough—not when he can feel the heat of it under him, begging for his touch as he slides his hands down Will's chest, leaning forward. Slowly, carefully, he brings his lips back to where they belong, butterflies fluttering pleasantly out from the base of his stomach to the tips of the capillaries in his fingers.
Those fingers grasp that second button and pull it apart, as the last bit of conscious thought Nico has left pauses to wonder: Why on earth did we both wear shirts with buttons?
To tease each other, he frustratedly concludes, running his hands along the fabric of that black undershirt, where Will's tattoo would be. Will makes a pleased sound into their kiss. His hands run up Nico's sides again, under the shirt, under the undershirt, obsessed with any skin he can find. Nico can relate.
Nico pulls away slightly to playfully tug Will's lips between his teeth. Will's closed eyes blink open again drowsily, remaining half-lidded.
He can feel it where their hips press together—molten hot, flooding through him again and again so dizzyingly whenever he pays attention to it. His fingers already tremble with the force of it—the force of wanting, so desperately.
Part of him—the part that is wise and clever, the part that analyzes all options and develops world-saving plans—thinks that they should probably cut this short and shadow-travel to Cabin 13 right about now. The other part of him—the part that followed Will Solace to Texas and stood in his bathroom, smug, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist—feels a strange hormonal thrill take over his rational thoughts and is pretty okay with that, actually.
No one can see them up here, after all.
Deftly, with a new excited urgency, he pulls off the second button on Will's shirt, and then the third. Will senses the change of pace and gasps, lips parted, finding nothing but air as Nico returns to attack his neck.
Will decides to return the favor—raising his arms so they overlap Nico's, he makes quick work of opening Nico's shirt, only slowed down by the teasing kisses that Nico keeps placing where his neck meets his shoulders. Nico doesn't know what he's doing, not quite—but what he does know is that this feels amazing, and Will smells like citrus and summertime, and that he's never wanted anything more.
He has nothing left to hold him back, after all. Nico's spent the last three years making peace with wanting, with the entirety of what that entails. Not just the word gay but all its ramifications, from the bricks thrown at the bar in this very city to the desires that seize him in the middle of the night regarding the boy beneath him right now and all the various ways they could fit their bodies together, if they were both so willing.
And now, now that the work has already been done, now that the conversations between him and Will have already been had, the time has come for fingers and lips and unrestrained wanting.
Even this—even the before, layers of clothes still between them—is so much better than Nico could have ever imagined.
Shirts thrown open at last, they both dive in with renewed vigor, lapping and sucking with tongue and teeth in a way that is messy and urgent and even crude, like they have taken the opportunity to shed their intellectual sensibilities (which have always hung on both their shoulders as a point of pride and a heavy burden) in favor of giving in to their desires.
Nico's hands make quick work of bunching the undershirt up Will's chest, hands hungry for all the skin they can find, and that's when Will begins to glow softly.
He pulls back to giggle. "Will, you want the whole city to see us?"
Will just groans pitifully, a low sound that vibrates through them both, and Nico exhales the last of his reservations away in order to cloak the space surrounding them in deep shadows.
"That's better," he mutters, encapsulating them both in a pocket of darkness as he dives back in, this time shedding the shirt completely from Will's shoulders, and then his own. Emboldened by their new shadow-born privacy, Will kisses Nico with enthusiasm and teeth, hands sliding down and back until they rest on the curve of his ass.
Nico chuckles into the last scraps of air between them. "Really?"
"Of course," Will replies, voice cracked open, shameless as always.
And when Nico thinks two can play at that game, he grinds down just once into Will's hips, and coaxes out a breathless moan.
The sound of it rushes through his bones, pushing through his body like a force unstoppable.
He needs to hear it again.
Blindly, recklessly, he rocks his hips down once more, feeling the enticing heat of Will Solace just a few layers of clothing away. Bending down for another kiss, his hands begin to travel around with a mind of their own, gripping at Will's sides to hold him in place as his hips twitch up, again, again. Each jolt is stronger and surer than the last, getting closer, closer, but not close enough.
Wave after wave of pleasure sparks in his nerves without dulling, in fact, only getting stronger. He can't decide what to focus on—Will's fingers, slipping into the pockets of his jeans? Will's mouth, warm and open and pliant around his tongue? Will's thighs, strong and tense and and beginning to tremble beneath him?
Will's dick, pressing into your ass through your jeans?
Nico might never recover from this.
And there's the noises, from both of them, drawn out and desperate in a way that would leave them both embarrassed if they had the mind to care. It's all whines and whimpers and moans and it really shouldn't be sexy, but everything that Will does is sexy. Everything about him is enticing and cloying and addictive, from his scent to his forearms pressed against Nico's waist to the way his mouth parts, lips wet and wanting.
Nico tastes them again, and again, and again, grinding into Will with growing insistence because they're so close, but not close enough. Not yet.
He draws his fingers down Will's stomach, through the hair below his navel, and reaches the button clasp of those jeans.
Will never wears jeans. He wore jeans for Nico, for this date. They're on a date.
He lifts his face from Will's, wanting some sort of confirmation as his thumbs grip Will's waistband.
"Can I?"
"Yes," Will whispers, nodding desperately, and Nico would make fun of him if he wasn't so eager himself. Quickly, the button is undone, and so is the zipper, and Will squeezes Nico's ass as he does the same with his own black jeans. They manage to pull the waistbands of their pants halfway down their thighs before they basically give up, too overcome with the urgent chant of now, now, now to bother with anything more. It's less than perfect, it's filled with the edge of frantic teenage horniness, but Nico supposes that's what they are. That's what this is.
And that's okay—no, it's good, even.
Nico lowers himself to Will again and he thought before was wonderful, but this? This is so much better. This is so amazing he doesn't think he can handle it anymore. He's going to finish embarrassingly early.
Luckily, Will seems to feel similarly, because he pulls his hips back slightly, taking deep, frantic breaths. "Wait, wait," he chokes out, hands gripping Nico's hips so tight it bruises.
But just to make sure, Nico asks, whispering into the crook of Will's neck, "You okay?"
"Fantastic," Will replies, panting. "Too good. Please wait."
And even this, waiting to be ready with their hips millimeters apart and their arms wrapped tightly around each other, Will glowing like a firefly in a Texas summer night while Nico has them both wrapped in a cloak of darkness, is perfect. It's a little bit silly, and Nico's got half a mind to start laughing at the stupidity of them needing to take a break before they've even gotten naked, but it's still perfect somehow.
Finally, nerves calmed but still buzzing pleasantly all over their skin, Will releases his vice grip on Nico's hips and they press the fronts of their boxers together, drawing ragged breaths from the both of them as the pleasure flows through like a current. It's electric, and it's at least a little bit terrifying, and Nico is so, so grateful that he's made it here.
Will's hands slide back to return to their rightful place: Fondling Nico's ass. Nico just laughs, because he doesn't know what else to do.
Will cranes his neck to the side to find Nico's eyes and meet his gaze. There's a stupid, dopey, pleasure-addled smile on his face and when he finally pushes his hips upward they're both just looking at each other and grinning.
"What?" Nico asks between giggles, as if he isn't frotting against Will in his underwear right now, jeans bunched up at his knees, a tanned and freckled hand palming his ass with zero shame.
"I think I love you," Will whispers, smile only breaking to moan suddenly, his eyes widening and rolling to the back of his head as everything rushes over him again.
Nico tilts his head up to kiss the moan right out of his mouth, thrusting his hips down with more purpose, because he definitely agrees.
The heat builds and builds where their cocks press together through the thin fabric, muscles clenching and letting go as every wave of pleasure hits, and it is quickly addicting. Nico slides his lips over and around Will's, arms squeezing his shoulders and neck as if there's any way to pull him closer (there really isn't).
He can feel it—when it turns so hot it's cold, burning and making his thighs twitch, the precipice approaching fast with every thrust. But as close as they are, it's not close enough.
He runs his hand down to graze the waistband of Will's boxers, pulling back to ask a silent question with his eyes.
Here, now, should they find out—how close is close enough?
Will nods his head frantically. Yes.
Unfortunately, this involves Nico using the last ounce of his self-control and pulling back to reach for the bunched-up front pocket of his jeans, somewhere right above his knees. When he finally snags the corner of the string of condoms, he silently curses and also thanks Valentina for being right. She's always right. What was he expecting, if he's bringing his boyfriend somewhere remote at night?
He sits up and lets Will watch him with some amusement as he rips off two squares. He probably looks really stupid—hair disheveled, cheeks flushed, lips wet, shirt off to the side somewhere and undershirt bunched up under his armpits, jeans around his knees and rendering his legs somewhat immobile. But Will looks pleased, checking him out with a hand still on his ass, fingers indenting the thin fabric there. Teasingly, as Nico tries to open up the first condom packet, he twitches his hips upwards in a rude and incredibly pleasurable reminder of what exactly it is that they're doing.
"You fucker," Nico mutters, and the second it leaves his lips he thinks of multiple crude comebacks Will could make to that statement. Luckily for him, Will says nothing, and lets Nico pull out the first condom.
"What do you wanna—?"
"Just—" Will replies, speaking fast through his embarrassment—"Like what we were doing before. Like…pushing them together."
In an act of total self-humiliation, Nico moans, turned on like crazy just by the words. Will blushes crimson, watching Nico's fingers fumble with the condom with one hand and the waistband of his boxers with the other.
Just as he starts to lower them, Nico is once again struck with a bout of nervousness. It's a lot, isn't it? To bare yourself for someone like this? To be so physically and emotionally vulnerable?
But the look in Will's eyes, pupils blown and cheeks flushed, is enough to convince him to pull his boxers down, fabric prickling his suddenly sensitive skin as it slides off his cock. He looks away from Will, too shy to see his reaction, as he pinches the top of the condom and tentatively rolls it on the best he can from what remembers from that embarrassing video he was forced to watch back at camp. When he looks up again, Will is staring at his dick with his lips parted and eyes wide, and Nico feels the self-consciousness creep through him again.
"S-stop staring!" He hisses, blushing hard. Will looks up like he didn't even realize he was staring, tone flustered and apologetic.
"Sorry! Sorry."
He sounds so ashamed that Nico feels bad, realizing that he'd probably stare too—heck, he's definitely going to in just a second. So, he quickly sputters, "No, no, it's okay," and holds out the second condom to Will.
Will stares at it for a beat, before he understands. "Oh," he says, pausing, and Nico has to yank his gaze up when it starts to fall to the tented material between his legs. "Uhm. Could—could you…?"
"You want me to put it on?" Nico asks, head tilted with curiosity more than anything else, and Will squeezes his eyes shut in embarrassment as he nods.
"Yeah, yeah I do."
Awestruck by the trust he's been offered, Nico nods frantically and reaches for the hem of Will's boxers, pulling them down a smidge as his eyes land on the trail of blond hair there. He feels his own cock twitch, eager as ever, and looks back up into Will's eyes to search for any hesitancy as he lowers the boxers completely.
There is none.
When he looks down again, his cheeks heat up with renewed vigor as he takes in the sight. Will's cock is flushed and hard and there, just inches away, and everything about this is so obscene and hot and overwhelming that Nico thinks he might just pass out.
Remembering what he's trying to do, he fumbles with the second condom packet and opens it, pulling it out and pinching the top as he hovers it over Will's cock, tip glistening with precum. He looks back at Will's eyes to see if anything has changed.
"Yeah?" He asks.
"Yeah!" is the quick and enthusiastic answer, accompanied by nodding and a flushed smile.
Nico takes a breath and takes the leap, fingers grazing the head of Will's cock and making it twitch as he rolls the condom down. Will clenches his teeth and hisses, and Nico feels his thighs straining with the effort to keep still. That just makes him gasp, in shock, because he's doing this. He can't believe he's doing this.
Once it's on, he lets go and Will whimpers, lip bitten between his teeth. They meet each other's eyes again and search for what to do.
They're here. Another cliff, another vast ocean, another endless sky. Another precipice. Another choice.
There's so many words in Nico's head that he can't figure out how to say. Cheesy, honest, too honest. I love you. I've dreamed about you for years. There's no one else I'd rather fool around on the top of a skyscraper with. We're kind of stupid for not going back to the cabins. I don't really care.
All that comes out is the ghost of a name. "Will," he pleads.
Will reaches out to wrap his hands around Nico's neck, pulling him down eagerly. Nico essentially trips, plunging down all at once into Will's lips as their legs and clothes tangle hopelessly. But this time, this time, their cocks slide together too, and it sounds like triumph crescendos in Nico's ears when they moan into each other's lips.
"Nico!" Will cries out, arms hooking around his back and pulling him close as Will's eyes go wilder than he's ever seen them, hips jolting up after the pleasure they've been offered. Nico gasps and presses down, one hand sliding frantically between them in search of—yes.
"Oh!" Will sounds out when Nico slides his hand around both of them at once, squeezing tight with a swordsman's grip. The pressure is electric, burning brighter and hotter than anything Nico's ever felt before. But at the first firm stroke, he grimaces at the rubbery texture.
"Oh, um," He mumbles, pulling his hand off and bringing it to his mouth to spit into his hand. Will starts to laugh, but his face quickly slackens when Nico returns to gripping their cocks together, pumping up, then down.
At the helpless moan that escapes Will's lips, Nico feels something he didn't expect: He feels smug, just a little bit. Like a mixture of triumph and hubris, he find himself greedily swallowing every noise that comes out of Will's mouth as he braces himself lower, letting their thighs and torsos press together for more skin on skin. Again, letting his spit coat the glide, he strokes up and down, moving his hips with the motion, and watches hungrily as Will squirms and writhes beneath him.
Oh, he's drunk on this. He will never get enough.
He does it the way he likes, hoping Will feels the same: a quick flick of his wrist upwards, unbearably fast, and then unbearably slow back down. They breathe together, lips on lips, the intimate drag of their bodies in sync filling Nico with an unyielding pressure. He pants, his cheek pressed flat against Will's because he can't hold his head up anymore, his back arching closer and closer and clamping his hand tight between them. And still, he does not relent, gasping and shuddering with every stroke.
This is close, not close enough. But Nico thinks it might do—as much as he wishes that he could pull apart his skin and wrap Will inside of it, close to his heart for all eternity, he cannot, and so he settles for the warmth of the incomplete ring he's formed around them both, wrapping them tightly together. He picks up the pace, feeling their cocks twitch, feeling the callouses of his hands rub against their oversensitive skin. And through it all, Will's letting out these tiny breathless moans, eyes filled only with the void and hips bucking helplessly in their endless, obsessive quest for more.
Nico wants to give him more. Nico wants to give him everything.
And so he tries, working his hand between them as Will scrambles helplessly at his sides, his hips, his ass—trying to pull Nico closer when they're as close as they can get. And the crescendo has returned, liquid in heat and plasma, resonating through his body with every rhythmic beat.
And Nico kisses him, like he can make up for all the years of waiting, like he wants to flood Will with the sheer amount of love he feels despite the words not existing to explain it. And it's messy, so messy, so awkward the way Nico's knees are still tangled in his jeans and so vulnerable the way his back is exposed to Will's wandering hands. But that's what makes it so perfect. That's what strikes him as the pleasure knocks their teeth together with the sheer force of its path, from their center to the tops of their heads and the tips of their toes, sparking and tingling and burning with friction.
They're here. They're doing this. Together.
"I—" Nico tries to say, but it turns into a whine when one of Will's hands slides into the crevice between their bodies and joins the grip on both their cocks, overlapping Nico's fingers. Together.
Will moans, and that says it all.
And they begin the rhythm again, slightly out of sync, knuckles bumping as they stroke each other faster and faster in a frenzy that neither of them could accomplish alone. And by the gods it has Nico writhing, hips thrusting up, up, up, again into their hands at the feeling of Will's lanky fingers squeezing his cock with a breathtaking reverence.
He sees the end, he sees the precipice, he sees the light above and he chases it, because why not? He's choosing this. He's choosing love, and he's choosing the way it makes him weak. He's choosing to let Will see it as his body shakes and his eyes squeeze shut and his lips part, he's choosing to let him listen as he moans Will's name, choked out and stuttered even though it's just one syllable long. And when he reaches this new, extraordinary height, pleasure spiking until it's overloaded every cell in his body, he chooses to let go and come plunging down.
"Nico!" Will cries out in turn, and they both fall down together, wrapped in each others arms, hands moving up and down through it.
I love you. I love you. And that's all that matters, really, as the crest of the tallest waves pass through them and their muscles twitch in tandem. The pleasure washes out into a pleasant buzz as they soften in each other's hands, gasping, panting.
"I—" Nico begins, breath betraying him for a second as he tries to collect himself. He settles, instead, for placing one more lingering kiss on Will's lips.
Will answers for him, instead, chuckling slightly. "I'm so sweaty."
Nico giggles deliriously, and both their chests shake up and down as they grin stupidly at each other. Nico kisses him again and gets only teeth. He smiles back.
"Wow," he breathes.
"I know, right?" Will replies, shaking his head in disbelief as he lets go and props himself up by his elbows. Nico sits up, too, and glances down at their softening cocks, giggling.
"Uh, we should probably—"
"Yeah," Will agrees, and they both wince with oversensitivity as they pull off the dirty condoms, toss them aside, and start to pull their clothes back on. "Uh…I'll bring lube next time."
Nico laughs with the admission of a next time, because yeah, there will be a next time, and that's crazy to think about. He tucks himself back into his boxers and sits back, out of Will's lap, to pull his jeans up over his knees and onto his hips, still unable to stop smiling and giggling. Ugh, he's a mess. He can't let anyone see him this happy, lest he ruin his reputation.
"Were you—" Will glances pointedly at the leftover strip of condoms in the corner, "were you planning—"
"No!" Nico blurts, embarrassed, before he quickly realizes that it would have been totally okay if he was. "Uh…I mean, not really. Valentina made me take them."
Will just grins, wide, lazy, as he zips up his jeans and reaches for where his shirt lies around somewhere. "Sure," he says, a little bit of mirth coloring his tone. Nico bites back a retort, because he can't really be mad at that adorable, dopey face.
The shadows that Nico cloaked them in have receded, and once again they can see the twinkling lights, both of the city and the stars. They get dressed—well, they leave their shirts open because they have tanks underneath and can't be bothered to sit here doing up buttons—and then scoot close to each other once again, pressed side to side.
Will wraps one arm around Nico's waist and pulls him closer, and Nico returns the gesture, leaning his head on Will's shoulder.
"I can't wait to do that again," Will mumbles excitedly, still smiling, and Nico gently slaps his knee.
"Give a guy a break, won't you?"
"Fine. But when we get back to your cabin—"
Nico snorts fondly. "When did you become such a rule breaker?"
Will snickers, burying his nose in the hair atop Nico's head. His voice is somewhat muffled as he speaks. "When did you assume I was a goody two-shoes?"
"Fair."
Will squeezes him again. "We have a whole summer of this, di Angelo."
"You're such a hornball."
"I don't—" Will sputters, aghast. "I don't mean that, I mean dates! And stargazing! And cuddling!"
Nico pulls back to look him in the eye, smiling. "And this. And us."
Will nods, leaning forward to kiss Nico's nose. "And us."
They sit like that for a while, enjoying each other's warmth, watching the city below. Will tries to find the little dipper, and fails miserably. Nico kisses every knuckle on his fingers, and marvels at the life he chose.
He chose this. He chose Will Solace.
And he thinks, for once, he chose right.