He hesitated at the juncture between carpet and linoleum. This felt like the first night they’d come here, when he wasn’t sure what Adam expected. They’d apologized, and Adam had invited him here, but did that mean everything was fine?

Adam glanced back over his shoulder, but he didn’t stop stirring whatever was in the saucepan on the stove. “Everything okay?”

Nick wanted to touch him, to feel some contact that wasn’t full of violence and anger. “Yeah. What are you making?”

“Hot chocolate with Nutella.”

“It smells amazing.”

“It’s my guilty pleasure. My mom used to make it when I had a bad day.” He tossed another glance over his shoulder. “Don’t tell anyone at the studio. I’m supposed to live on lettuce and carrot sticks.”

“You’re worse than Quinn.” But now his eyes were on Adam’s body, the breadth of his shoulders, the slow movement of his arms as he stirred the pot. The way dark hair curled at the nape of his neck. The softness of his skin, the hardness of the muscles underneath.

Touch him. Touch him. Touch him.

“I doubt that,” said Adam. “Hey, can you pull down some mugs?”

Nick couldn’t even remember what they were talking about. But Adam’s request broke the spell and spurred him into motion. He found the mugs on the second guess, reaching to pull them down from the highest shelf.

When Adam’s hands came around him from behind, he gasped and almost dropped both mugs.

Adam laughed and slid his hands up Nick’s chest, moving close until they were almost pressed together. He kissed the back of Nick’s neck, breathing along the skin there. “You were making me crazy, standing there like that.”

He was making Nick crazy, standing there like that. When Adam’s hand slid under his shirt, tracing the skin below his rib cage, Nick shivered.

“I wasn’t sure what you wanted,” Nick admitted.

Adam froze. The mood in the air changed.

Then his hand tightened on Nick’s waist roughly, jerking him close. Very close. “Any question now?”

Nick blushed so hard he was glad he was looking away. He shook his head.