Work Text:
It’s the first tattoo shop he sees as he drunkenly stumbles down the street. Nico spends a long while staring up at the sign. The bulk of the thing is wooden and weirdly ornate with gold-plated metal lettering spelling out The Times like it’s an old timey newspaper press or something. Yet, beneath the curly words with their swooping, matching T’s, A Tattoo Parlor is embossed in the same gold.
Fancy place. Nico knew this part of town was rich as fuck considering Vash’s weirdo brother was the one who chose the bar — “Or else he won’t come along—pleeeeease, Wolfwood?” — but he finds it hilarious that even their tattoo shops are bougie.
Taking one last swig of his paper bag-covered tequila, Nico shoulders into the building. The bell above the glass door tinkles pleasantly. From the depths of the shop comes a ragged, “Be with you in a second.”
Nico’s brain sluggishly brings up images from history books weighing down the backpack he hauls around five days out of seven. Speakeasies of the twenties tucked behind false walls and hidden in dank vegetable cellars. Secret, but rich because how the fuck else were people supposed to deal with their hardships other than drinking? Beating their wives and terrorizing their kids, probably. Didn’t change much when they finally got their booze in the end, though.
Tipsy brain fixated on what few thoughts it could string together about fucking speakeasies, Nico doesn’t notice that someone’s at the desk until he (oh-so politely) clears his throat. Jerking, Nico nearly upends his tequila bottle completely in surprise. Thankfully, his grip tightens just in time.
“You smell like the bottom shelf of a bar.”
The guy behind the desk is tall as hell and thick as fuck. Like a damn tree trunk. Tattoos line both arms and creep up onto his neck with the rest of his wide body hidden by a black, short-sleeved button-up. Mid-length lank hair is tied half-up… or maybe it had just been in a bun that gave way over time.
He also has a massive fuck-you mustache that almost makes Nico burst out laughing.
“Uh—” Nico croaks out to hopefully fend off the drunken giggles clawing up his throat. “Hi. Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. Was hoppin’. With friends. Well, friends and a brother. A brother of my friend. Not my brother. My brother is at home. Sleeping. He’s fourteen.”
The dude just stares. Hazel eyes are heavily lidded and completely unimpressed. His mustache bows, the ends nearly touching the neat beard shaping his jaw. Anxiety mounts in Nico’s chest.
“Nice place you got here!” he chirps, hoping that his voice doesn’t shake. “It’s uhhh… speakeasy-core. Nice.”
“Speakeasy-core.” Mr. Mustachio snorts. “Go home, kid. There’s nothing here for you. Doubt you’re even old enough to get ink in the first place.”
“I am so!” Nico winces at how his voice cracks. Yet, his chest swells with stupid, teenager pride as he stands up a little straighter and says, “I’m eighteen.”
“Wow, good for you. Getting wasted at eighteen is a real achievement.” Mr. Mustachio gives a sarcastic round of applause that makes the muscles on his arms push at this sleeves and jiggle with every impact. It makes the naked pin-up girl etched into his arm shake her ass like she’s doing Zumba.
“My fake ID is preeetty good,” Nico brags as he saunters forward and places his bottle down on the desk. Fishing out his beaten up duct tape wallet, he shoves the ID in Mr. Mustachio’s face. “See?”
Unamused eyes flick over to the ID, then back at Nico’s face. “Nicholas, huh?”
Puffing out his chest again, Nico preens. “Nicholas Deeeee Wolfwood at your service!”
“Good to know what name to put on our ban list.” Mr. Mustachio shakes his head as he pulls away from the desk. “Get out of my shop, kid. We’re closing and I don’t have the energy to deal with your drunk ass.”
“Hey!” Nico pouts as a big bubble of disappointment fills his belly. “Stop calling me kid!”
“Tell me your real age and I might.” As he speaks, Mr. Mustachio is puttering around the back of the store. It’s pretty small, actually. Only, like, two chairs. The tattoo places (place, one singular place) Nico had been in before were bigger than this.
“Eighteen!” Nico barks, insulted. “Turned eighteen last week!”
“Happy belated birthday.” With a tug, Mr. Mustachio tears off the crumpled end of a piece of cellophane. Nico’s promptly distracted by the way his muscles bunch. “Why are you still here?”
“I wan’...” Swallowing, Nico forces his tongue back into submission. “I want a tattoo.”
“Nope.”
“But I’m of-age!”
“You’re drunk off your ass and you haven’t convinced me that you’re not sixteen,” Mr. Mustachio shoots back as he tucks the roll of cellophane into the drawer of one of those rolly metal carts. “Even if you are eighteen, I’m not poking someone three sheets to the wind. Go home and do your homework or something.”
“I don’t have any—” Teeth clack together as Nico forces his mouth shut. It’s true that he finished his homework before going out tonight but this jackass doesn’t need to know that. “C’mon, man! I thought tattoo artists were supposed to be cool!”
Snorting, Mr. Mustachio bends down to grab a cylinder of wipes from the bottom shelf of the rolly cart. It makes his shirt hike up a little in the back. Nico wants to put his face in the hair that lines his spine.
“Cool is the last thing that anyone would describe me as,” Mr. Mustachio drawls as he rights himself and tugs his shirt back into place. He plucks a wipe from the tube and begins to clean off one of the seats. “You’re not gonna get any ink tonight, kid. Go home.”
Pouting, Nico slumps on the desk and props his face up between his palms as he watches Mr. Mustachio clean. He’s not sure why he’s staying around. The guy obviously doesn’t want him there and Nico’s not one to linger where he’s not wanted… except, apparently, to spite grumpy old men.
“What’s your name?” Nico asks after a few minutes of aching silence. Or seconds. Something like that. Time’s funny. “You know mine. Is only fair.”
Mr. Mustachio pauses for a second, his head hanging as he visibly collects himself. Nico’s not complaining. The guy’s pose is giving him a reeeally nice view of those shoulders. Big.
“If I tell you, will you leave me alone?” Mr. Mustachio mutters as he lifts his head and looks at Nico over one of those big ol’ shoulders.
“Maaaybe,” Nico lies.
“Roberto De Niro.”
Oh, come on. “Bullshit.”
Amusement creeps over Mr. Mustachio’s face. “I’m not shitting you. Roberto De Niro. Not named after the actor. Probably.”
A peal of laughter rings out of Nico’s lips. “Seriously!? There’s no way your folks didn’t name you after him!”
“I don’t like to think about it,” Roberto admits as he turns his attention back to the chair.
“How old’re you? Maybe he wasn’t kickin’ when you were born or somethin’. Pure fuckin’ coincidence.” Nico is practically sprawled across the desk now, all to happy to spread out every limb like a lazy cat.
“Considering he was…” Roberto squints for a second, hand pausing just as long. “...Thirty? Twenty-something?”
“No,” Nico gasps.
Standing up from cleaning his chair, Roberto tosses the wipe away in a nearby can and turns to face Nico. One of his hands comes to rest on his waist, thick fingertips tucking against the softness there. Considering how far it doesn’t sink, Nico bets that pure muscle resides under that pudge.
“What?” Roberto grunts, one eyebrow lifting.
“You’re not fifty,” Nico insists. “You gotta be like… thirty-six. Forty, tops.”
That gets a proper laugh out of Roberto, one that has Nico lifting onto his toes and his metaphorical tail swaying. Roberto laughs like it’s getting punched out of him, a wheezing guffaw that bursts into the air.
“Shit, you know how to flatter an old man,” Roberto says between his chuckles. He waves a dismissive hand in Nico’s direction. “Save it. I’m fifty-three.”
Nico gives a long, sharp whistle. “Goddamn.”
“I said save it.” Despite the firm words, Roberto’s tone holds no small amount of amusement. “I know I’m not at my prime. Not that I ever was, but that’s how shit goes.”
Not at his prime? Nico blinks. He’s not sure what Roberto sees in the mirror, but all Nico sees is a strong guy who’s probably a good artist, has a great sense of humor, and who has a pretty sweet mustache. What’s not to like?
Speaking of art… Nico falls back onto his feet and looks around the desk. There’s three binders situated neatly beside the old-style cash register that he doubts actually works. Each binder is attached to the desk with a small, artfully patina’d chain. Roberto. Milly. Meryl.
“Who’s Milly and Meryl?” Nico asks while he tugs Roberto’s binder free.
“Co-workers.” Roberto has moved onto the second chair, giving it and the space around it the same attention as the first. “Milly’s my niece, opened this place with me. Meryl’s an intern.”
“Huh.” Nico cracks open the binder and is immediately drawn into the bold line work and pretty colors. There are a few tabs on the side that Nico has to tilt his head to read — which nearly causes him to go ass over tea kettle as his head swims. “Oof.”
“You good?” Roberto is in front of him again, faster than Nico expected.
“Yeah, yeah!” Nico laughs. “Drank too much.”
“Obviously. Let me get you some water.” And then he’s gone again. Damn, he’s really fast. Or Nico’s just absolutely fucked up.
Turning his attention back to the binder, he flips to the tab labeled Flashes. Tiny designs litter each page. The plastic pockets that hold each paper crackle as Nico flips through them. Everything from three-inch pin-up girls to sharks to roses to wildly intricate pocket watches. They’re the kinda shit you’d see patched onto some motorhead’s arm — only a lot higher quality than the stick-and-pokes that Nico sees around the club he sometimes bums cigarettes at.
“Here.” A big red solo cup of water is placed in front of Nico. He wrinkles his nose at it and sets the binder down on the desk. “Drink it, brat.”
“Nottabrat…” Nico grumbles as he paws the cup over and leans over it. Using both palms just in case, he picks up the cup and tilts it and his entire body back.
The world spins and Nico promptly waterboards himself as he falls back — against a warm chest.
“Jesus Christ, kid.” Roberto’s entire chest vibrates when he talks. “Who let you drink this much, huh?”
It takes a bit for Nico to reply as he’s snorting and coughing and trying to get the water out of his sinuses and lungs. A cloth is pressed against his face and Nico blows his nose so hard it feels like his brain comes out with the snot.
“C’mon. Let’s get you some fresh air.”
Before Nico knows it, he’s sitting at the edge of a raised concrete walkway and looking out over a small, private parking lot. There’s a beat up forest green Jeep staring him down. A bobble head that looks like one of those… rescue dogs sits on the dashboard. Mastiffs? No. Hmm.
“St. Bernard,” Nico rasps.
“Yep.” Roberto lowers himself beside Nico and splays his surprisingly long legs out in front of him. The weathered brown jeans he wears pull up his calves and show off bright blue socks with some sort of pattern on them. Nico can’t focus that good. “Got it because it looks like my dog. Vito.”
Nico gives Roberto a dry look.
“Don’t fucking judge me, brat.” A thick finger flicks Nico in the center of the forehead, right where his bangs are the thickest. As Nico whines, Roberto twists his body to grab something behind him. “Mind if I smoke?”
“Only if you don’t share,” Nico huffs as he rubs his forehead.
Roberto sighs. “Drinking and smoking at sixteen…”
“I’m eighteen, old man.” Crossing his arms, Nico glares at the St. Bernard bobble head. “Seriously.”
Movement draws Nico’s attention. A slim cigarette fits between Roberto’s teeth. It almost looks too small for how big Roberto’s mustache is. One big knuckled hand lifts to ward off the small nighttime breeze as he flicks his lighter to life and ignites the end of the cigarette.
Nico can’t look away. The light from the Zippo makes Roberto’s face bloom with a warm glow, lines of orange tracing all of the curves of his face. His nose is real pretty. All big and strong and shit. Nico wants to kiss it.
Chuckling around his cigarette, Roberto kills his lighter and leans back on one arm as he settles in. A lazy inhale is followed by an equally languid exhale.
“I’m just fuckin’ with you,” Roberto drawls around his mouthful of smoke. “Still. Smoking and drinking at your age? What hell are you running from?”
Ha. Nico tears his eyes away from Roberto and stares at the Jeep again. Hazy headlights watch him like attentive eyes, wide and waiting. All Nico can offer is a shrug.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Roberto clarifies after another avalanche of smoke escapes from beneath his mustache. “Food for thought.”
Nico isn’t stupid. He knows what he’s running from and he knows this shit is bad. But what else could he do with Livio still in that house and no real future? Sure, Vash has offered to move in with him and help get Livio out of the shitty position he’s in but… Nico can’t abandon his kid brother to the wolves like that. To Chapel. Hell, the only reason Nico was comfortable enough getting out tonight was because Chapel isn’t home.
“... You seriously not gonna share?” Nico grumps as he peeks over at Roberto.
“Nope.” Smoke rings trail up toward the navy velvet sky. Tiny stars are visible if Nico squints. “I might be an idiot, but I’m not giving cigarettes to barely legal teens.”
Nico rolls his eyes. At least the cool breeze feels nice on his heated face.
“You’re a good artist.” The compliment comes out before Nico can stop it. “Liked what I saw in your binder.”
“Thanks.” Roberto puts his cigarette between his teeth and rubs at the back of his neck with his now free hand. Muscles in his arm bunch and relax as he squeezes the obviously aching muscles. “You didn’t even get to my big stuff.”
“I’ll go back and look more. After.” Nico pulls a leg up to his chest, arms folding around it. He rests his cheek on his knee and watches Roberto through half-lidded eyes.
Roberto juts out his bottom jaw and lets the smoke in his mouth trail up over his mustache before getting pulled back in through his nose. It’s stupidly sexy.
“Right,” Roberto drawls after releasing all the smoke in his system with one firm huff. “After.”
Not in my prime. Yeah, right. Nico continues to watch Roberto as they sit in silence. Inhale… exhale. A finger tapping at the barrel to flick ash into the breeze. Long legs stretching out in front of them, heels against the pavement two feet below.
He’s getting to the end of his cigarette.
“... Can I finish that off?” Nico asks, voice low.
“I said no—”
Concrete digs into Nico’s knees as he slings his leg over Roberto’s lap and perches on his thighs. Hazel eyes widen minutely. If Nico had been any further away, he might not be able to read the blatant surprise on Roberto’s face. Face-to-face like this, Nico can see everything… even the light dusting of freckles across Roberto’s nose.
“Please?” Nico asks as his forearms rest on Roberto’s shoulders. “Pretty please?”
Caught in the middle of an inhale, smoke escapes Roberto’s mouth when he opens it — and Nico greedily inhales. He leans forward with his mouth open. Their noses brush as he tilts his head to get even closer. Hot smoke filters along his tongue for just a second… a taste and definitely not enough. Damn it.
“I’ll share,” Nico breathes against Roberto’s mouth. His mustache is faintly tickling Nico’s upper lip.
He doesn’t get a reply. Roberto is stiff as a board beneath him.
Reaching over, Nico plucks the end of the cigarette from between Roberto’s fingers and places it between his own lips. Musky smoke drips down his throat and into his lungs. It’s thick and unfamiliar — a different brand than his regular. Stronger. How many does Roberto smoke regularly?
Just as the bitterness of the filter touches his tongue, Nico pulls the butt out and tosses it aside. Smoke sits hot and heavy in his chest, burning his insides as he keeps it in.
When he leans forward towards Roberto’s open mouth, the man twitches… and his lips open wider. Smug. Nico feels so fucking smug as he sighs smoke onto Roberto’s waiting tongue. He’s caught Roberto off guard and it fills Nico with such a sense of power that it almost makes him dizzy.
That is, until Roberto wraps a hand around the back of Nico’s neck like a vice and drags him into a proper kiss.
Nico’s squeak is cut off by Roberto’s tongue swiping against his teeth. His mouth is filled with the taste of nicotine and alcohol — and Nico doesn’t know who it’s coming from. Fingers grip into slippery black fabric, holding on as Roberto devours his mouth like a starving dog.
He hasn’t kissed many people in his short eighteen years of life. Nico likes to flirt, sure, but actually acting on that is more than his heart can handle most of the time. Once, he made out with Vash — something they both enjoyed but eventually shrugged off. That had been nice, but it was nothing like… like this.
Their teeth click together as Roberto presses even closer, forcing Nico’s back to arch. His fingers scramble over Roberto’s shirt, dragging over his shoulders and gripping the front. Some seam pops as Nico tightens his hold. His mouth hangs open, tongue lapping against Roberto’s because it’s the only thing he can do against the assault.
Fuck, he’s getting hard.
Whimpering, Nico’s hips roll forward instinctively when Roberto sucks his tongue with a noisy pull. Only after the wet muscle pops free are they able to breathe again. Nico pants as he clings onto Roberto’s front.
“Shit…” he whispers, his voice pitching up to an embarrassing, nasal level.
Roberto’s chuckle makes Nico’s entire body hum.
“Don’t start what you can’t finish, brat,” Roberto murmurs. “You let me go any further and I’m not stopping.”
Shit. Nico shudders as goosebumps flood his skin and his hips jerk forward. He’s practically rubbing himself against Roberto’s belly now, humping him like he does to his pillows on lonely nights.
“Please.” If he were any more sober, Nico might hesitate — or at least feel anxious. Right now? All Nico feels is heat and want and need and… “Please, Roberto.”
He feels like a little kid begging for candy from his dad. Whining, pleading, cajoling. It’s humiliating how a single kiss made Nico melt like this. His pride twists uncomfortably in his chest, but the liquor in his system refuses to back down.
“Sounding so sweet like that,” Roberto breathes as he buries his generous hand into Nico’s messy hair. “How can I say no?”
What doesn’t make Nico feel like a kid is the big, hot palm sliding down the front of his body, over his dark red shirt that’s just a little too tight and a little too small. It’s easy for Roberto’s fingers to tuck under the loose waistband of Nico’s baggy jeans — and even easier for him to touch the wiry thatch of black pubes that surround his cock.
“Ugh,” Nico grumbles as he rolls his hips forward again. “C’mon… Faster.”
Roberto’s fingers part messy black curls and splay on either side of his dick. He doesn’t actually touch the damn thing and rubs on the fuzzy skin instead. Up and down. Tugging Nico’s tight balls up and letting them drop.
“Nah,” Roberto hums, fingers tightening in Nico’s hair. “We’re going to do this my way.”
“Goddamn—” Nico’s whine is once again cut off by Roberto’s tongue as it forces its way between his teeth. A harsh breath escapes Nico’s nose and warms the air between them.
The hand between his thighs continues that maddening rhythm. Up and down. Never actually touching. Rubbing him like—like he has—
“Mm—” Nico tries to pull away, tries to speak. Roberto keeps him against his mouth.
He has no say. No power here. Roberto will treat him however he wants—like he deserves.
It’s hard to breathe. Nico huffs breaths through his nose, panting as Roberto begins to rub him firmer. Faster. Making Nico hump forward to get more. Please. Please. Please. Pleasepleaseplase—
“Shh, baby.”
Had he been saying that out loud? Christ. Humiliation twists alongside his pride — and, somehow, that just makes it better. Nico tilts his head back as his cock kicks against his zipper, the head dragging against metal. Commando had been a good fucking idea tonight.
“So needy.” Roberto is speaking into his throat now, kissing the tense column every time Nico chokes back a breathy moan. “You want me to rub your pussy, sweetheart?”
Nico jerks. He was right. Roberto was treating it like a cunt, despite the balls he can feel against his fingertips and the dick between his knuckles. A flood of mixed emotions fill Nico from his curling toes to the top of his head. Thankfully, alcohol has more bravery than a fucking Navy Seal.
“Yeah,” Nico’s tequila whimpers. “Touch my—my pussy.”
Roberto moans and slides his hand further into Nico’s pants. Hips lift in response as a single palm cups both his cock and balls, fingers folding over them to squeeze. Hopefully no one is lingering in the back of the shops nearby, because Nico lets out a loud moan that echoes down the parking lot.
“Shh.” Two fingers shove between Nico’s lips, knuckles catching between his teeth. “Don’t want anyone else to see me playing with you, right?”
Panting, Nico shakes his head as watery dark blue eyes meet heady hazel. Drool drips between Roberto’s knuckles and beads of it catch on the light hairs on Nico’s chin.
“You feel so cute and small, kid.” Roberto slides his fingers in deeper and Nico winces, trying not to choke. His other hand squeezes Nico’s cock and balls again, making his thighs tremble. “How could I not call a tiny cock like this your cunt?”
It’s—He’s not wrong. Nico isn’t… He’s not big. He’s not even average. It’s humiliating to change in locker rooms. He’s worked on making himself wider, bigger, so guys have better places to look than between his thighs. Roberto’s words should be mortifying — as much as mean teenagers jeering about how small his dick is.
Yet.
Nico huffs wetly around Roberto’s fingers and his eyelids flutter in response. Approving and deep, Roberto hums before shifting the position of his arm. Now, his big fingers cup around Nico’s balls and his thumb jabs against the underside of his cockhead. Sparks flare in Nico’s gut and his eyes pop wide open.
He’s seen pussy before. A moment of curiosity had him peeking at Vash and promptly being offered a proper look. Between bros, of course. Vash’s cunt is cute and puffy and covered in golden hair. His clit is big and his folds peek from between the lips. Nico will admit that he’s thought once or twice about putting his fingers along those folds and rubbing his thumb up against Vash’s clit.
Just like Roberto is doing to him.
“Fffuhhghh—” Nico’s voice is garbled around Roberto’s fingers as his—his cunt is toyed with. His hips twitch and rock. Humping against Roberto’s hand. Twisting in circles to get that maddeningly steady thumb to move faster.
“Shit, kid,” Roberto breathes as his thumb rubs tight circles against Nico’s frenulum. “If I could, I’d fuck you right here. Make you lose all that bratty energy when I pump you full.”
Nico gasps, tongue smearing against Roberto’s rough fingertips.
“Yeah? You like that idea?” His voice is so rough and ragged. Nico’s so dizzy. “Breeding your little pussy?”
“Mmmphhhghhh!” Nico chokes on Roberto’s fingers as he surges forward and fucks against Roberto’s hand. He can feel his balls pulling up. It almost hurts to have just one part of his cock teased like this. Nico can feel his tip dribbling like a faucet. “Pphh—”
“Knew you were trouble the first second I saw you,” Roberto continues as he drags his lips along Nico’s neck. “Didn’t know you were this kind of trouble.”
Nico is beginning to shake apart. His balls are twitching in Roberto’s palms, seizing with every jab at his slick cockhead and raw underside.
“Gonna make a mess for me?” Roberto growls. “I can feel your cute pussy twitching.”
Whining, Nico wraps both of his arms around Roberto’s neck and shakes out the fingers from his mouth. Pressing his lips against the side of Roberto’s head to keep himself quiet, Nico ruts down against Roberto’s entire hand.
“So fucking adorable,” Roberto laughs. “Cum for me, sweetheart.”
Nico doesn’t. Not until Roberto opens his mouth and digs his teeth into the side of Nico’s neck. Then, Nico is gone. Stars explode behind his eyes and his balls surge up toward his pelvis, emptying their sticky load against Roberto’s arm and up his own belly. Strings of white coat curly pubes and the heaving curve of Nico’s belly. Staining both of their shirts. Making a mess.
“Fuck yeah—” Roberto groans deep in his chest once he unlocks his jaw and mouths against the throbbing mark he left behind. “Come on. Let it all out.”
His balls hurt. Roberto keeps squishing them, urging more spurts to come free. His fingertips nudge behind them, just below his fuzzy asshole. Milking him. Nico gasps hard against Roberto’s hair as he rides out the orgasm longer and longer until he’s only shaking muscles and electrical pulses.
It hurts so good.
It hurts.
It hurts.
“St—Stop—” Nico whimpers.
Amazingly, Roberto does. He slips his hand free and cups Nico’s ribs as he shakes in Roberto’s lap.
Time passes. Funny time. Time that doesn’t make sense or register in Nico’s head. He’s not sure how long he’s catching his breath, but when he comes back to reality, Roberto is cradling him to his chest like a baby.
“Bluh,” is all Nico can say. Roberto chuckles, making his body vibrate comfortably.
“Bluh to you, too.” There’s the smell of smoke. Had Roberto lit another cigarette?
Nico pries his eyes open and finds Roberto’s chin. Looking beyond it, there’s a lit cigarette and a contemplative look on his handsome face.
“Regretting it already?” Nico rasps. His throat feels raw.
“Yeah,” Roberto replies truthfully. “Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna take you home and fuck you properly tonight.”
The double negative makes Nico’s brain short circuit for a bit. Then, it abruptly comes back on and he’s pushing at Roberto’s chest so they’re face-to-face again.
“Really?” It’s stupid how excited he sounds.
“Really. After a shower. You do smell like a bar.” There’s a pause and Roberto’s eyes narrow almost like a wince. “If you don’t have someplace to be. Like home.”
Livio…
Nico bites his bottom lip.
“Um.”
“I’ll drive you home, then.” As if Roberto isn’t hard as a rock beneath Nico’s ass. “Let’s get you going.”
“Wait.”
Roberto hasn’t moved a muscle. His hands hold onto Nico’s thigh and shoulder, holding him to his chest. It’s kind of uncomfortable — Nico’s arm is smushed up against his belly and his legs are folded awkwardly against the concrete. He’s not even sure how he got into this position. Hadn’t he been straddling the guy?
“Give me your number,” Nico says as he mentally shoos away his wandering thoughts. Fingers loose, he reaches into his pocket and tugs his phone free. After unlocking it, Nico waves it in front of Roberto’s face until he lets Nico’s thigh go and snags it from his grasp.
“This is a bad idea,” Roberto mutters as he puts his information into Nico’s contacts.
“Probably,” Nico mumbles and slumps back against the man. Warm. “Bad ideas ain’t always bad, though. Y’know?”
“That makes no sense.” Roberto drops the phone back on Nico’s belly. “But, sure, kid. Sure.”