So I Think That Nico Di Angelo Is Short, And Here's Why

rb to tell prev they're being so brave right now and pat their head a little please

Sleep tight

ibuprofen should grow on bushes like wild berries

"What was that for?"

He is warm, and soft, and he smells good.

And when Nico catches him by surprise, he touches the tips of his fingers to the swell of his lips, eyes wide, freckles blinking like stars.

Nico hides a smile, rocking back on his heels.

"No reason."

"Not that I am complaining," Will hastens to explain, "uh, I loved it, actually, I just -- I am kind of gross? I was gonna go run to take a shower before I woke you and --"

Nico leans over and kisses him again. From this angle he can -- the sand pit for volleyball is just slightly lower than the bleachers, and if Nico stands on the second step, he can just...lean over. Will's lips are right there, even if it is more a press of mouths than a kiss with Will's rambling.

It stops, though, when Nico kisses him. He clams up and kisses back like he's afraid Nico is going to stop.

"Was that one just 'cause, too?" he says, when Nico lets up. Nico pulls away and notices that he is breathless. That could be the game he just played.

It could also be the little tinge of red around his cheekbones -- barely, really, anything -- and the way he darts his eyes between Nico's mouth and his eyes. Experimentally, Nico leans slightly forward. Immediately, Will closes his mouth, then his eyes, waiting.

Nico waits, too, grinning. When Will cracks one confused eye open he cannot help but laugh, and Will shoves him, scowling.

"You're teasing me," he accuses.

Nico quiets his mirth in his hands.

"A little."

"You're mean."

"Mhm. A little."

He leans forward, again, past the threshold of middle ground between them. This time Will waits, evaluating, pout on his bitten-red lips. He narrows his Carolina-blue eyes and Nico takes the time to watch them, to memorize them. He thinks of brilliant butterfly wings and fire. He thinks of afternoon skies. He thinks of shallow, splashing lakes, of robin eggs and icebergs. Of scorpions and scales and flower petals. He thinks long enough for Will to believe him, again, to fall for it; he thinks he could get away with making him wait, again, but finds he doesn't want to.

"You taste like strawberry," Will mumbles, and presses himself closer, "the candy kind."

Nico smiles against his mouth. A bribe, of sorts. Will's tongue licks along the seem of his lips, determined to taste more. Nico allows it and slides his hands up his belly in his distraction, resting on his chest. He swears he can feel when his skin gives way to dark ink, long-healed as it is. There is less of a buzz.

Will pulls away, slightly, although there isn't much to go.

"I'm supposed to -- get ready."

"Mhm." Nico kisses him again. He resists, or he tries to. Nico hovers, for a moment, candy breath and all, and he cracks in second. "What was it you had to do, again?"

"I --" Nico swipes his thumb along the line of his ribs, featherlight, and he twitches, trembles; "I --"

He is so easy. It is like he has buttons red and tantalizing for Nico to press, and his impulse control has never been good. Nico memorized them ages ago, and uses them at his leisure; Twizzlers, before a game, dipping his hands in ice water so they're cooler than usual. A fingernail against his ribcage, a flat palm on the heart of his tattoo. A little bit of height, and the promise of a kiss, of the end of one.

Like a detonator.

"Don't stop," Will sighs, forgetting. Nico can almost see the list of responsibilities float from his brain, wrapping around Nico's head like laurels. He curls his fists to avoid the crow of victory bubbling in his throat, wrapping his hands in strands of Will's hair -- another button.

He tugs.

Will whimpers.

Easy.

"Won't," Nico promises, and kisses him again.

The Sun and the Star prequel UPDATE

I'm so excited for this we get to see nico and Hazle and Solangelo. I feel like screaming they're all badies

The book will be released on September 23 in North America and the UK

“You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

Will smiles, pushing down the bubble of air that fires up his torso, pressing down on the balloon of giggles that expand up his belly, into his lungs. He hides into the pillow, acting at sleep, feeling Nico’s hand walk across his chest.

“Tell me more.”

That callused hand pauses, and Will’s breath hitches, goosebumps pilling up all over his warmed skin. He can feel the slow spread of Nico’s tiny grin in the air, can feel the crooked edge to it, the sharp edge of possession. His teeth-torn fingernails dip below the sag of Will’s stretched-out tank top and feign hesitance, feign modesty, before sliding clear up along his abdomen, his sternum, his pectorals. The web of Nico’s thumb rests dangerously, daringly close to the edge of Will’s areola, by no accident. Will shivers.

“Greedy,” Nico murmurs, and his lips are so close to Will’s skin that he feels the rumbling baritone of his voice in the hard lines of his muscles, and they clench, tiny little spasms, with every ghosting breath. “Greedy, greedy boy.”

Will’s stomach bottoms out. He feels it, dropping to his clenched toes, and drawn unbidden from his mouth is the tiniest of little sounds, breathy, gravelly, humiliating; the quiet echo of Nico’s snicker makes it so, so much more intoxicatingly worse and he can feel it, the headiness. The way his mind starts to float.

“‘M not.”

It’s barely a defense. It’s barely words. He can focus only on the scrape of Nico’s palms against his skin, on the heat of his breath, his body; so close. Will’s mind spins and his own breathing gets short, shallow. Wanting.

“You are.” His lips touch, finally, the burning want of Will’s skin; pressing firm against the slope of Will’s shoulder, hard enough to feel teeth, to feel panting, to feel the strength of Nico’s wanting. His taking. “You drink everything I give you. You replenish your blood with it, don’t you.”

“And?” Will asks, breathless, challenging. He bares his neck and hears the sharpness of Nico’s inhale; looks out of the corner of his eyes and smirks at the clench of his Nico’s jaw, the tongue that darts out to wet at his lips, to lap at him. “Will you give it to me?”

“I will give you anything.”

He says it with the force of a thousand whispers, a million final oaths. He says it and Will hears thunder clap. He feels the ground shake, the bed shake, his thighs shake, uncontrollably, weak under the bruise of Nico’s clench, the brand of his palms. I will give you anything. I will give you everything.

“How will you ever afford it?”

Nico’s teeth sink into his skin and Will opens his mouth to shout but the only sound to exit is the broken vowels of his Nico’s name, all of them. Nico shifts to face him and he knows, but the steel in his Earthen eyes, that cost is of no question, if no concern.

I will. Easily.

Will folds into him like the stars do their ending, glowing sun.

Autistic Five HC is that he likes being upside down

Yep. He likes being upside down in trees, on the floor (but only if there’s a soft carpet underneath him), in his bed, on the couch, etc.

Why? Bc I, a fellow autistic, love being upside down. It is my one true passion. And I’m totally projecting rn bcs what else is there to do.