Page 74 of Protecting the Nerd

“More like slamming headfirst into it.” A shadow of a smile played on his lips. “Every time I think I’m on the verge of a breakthrough, the numbers morph into a seemingly impenetrable fortress. If I could just…figure it out.”

I placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. The muscles beneath were tense, coiled tight. “Knowing you, I’m sure you’ll crack it.” I gave a gentle squeeze. “But maybe you need to step away for a bit. Clear your head.”

York let out a breath, and the tension in his shoulder eased fractionally. Gratitude flickered across his features, the storm in his gaze breaking for a moment, revealing the vulnerability he so rarely showed. “You’re right. Often, the solution comes when I stop looking for it.”

“I know. And I have just the thing to take your mind off it and help you relax.” I led him toward the dining room, where I’d set up my surprise. Lost in his world as usual, he hadn’t noticed I’d been cooking for the last few hours, but I didn’t mind. He’d see now, and I knew he’d appreciate it.

The candles flickered amid the twilight glow, casting warm light onto the rich hues of the Indonesian spread I had laid out on the table. Rendang, babi pangang, and gado gado simmered beside dishes of fragrant nasi goreng and bami goreng. Intan had given me all the recipes, and I had made everything as she had described. I’d even included atjar ketimoen, the delicious fresh pickled cucumber with Indonesian spices, that I had made two days prior. My stomach had been growling for a good hour now.

“Quill, this is…” As York took in the sight, the earlier shadows in his eyes gave way to a shine of appreciation. “This looks amazing.”

“Thank you, nerdy. I wanted to do something special for you. Please sit.” I pulled out a chair for him, waited until he sat, and took my seat.

We both filled our plates, and I watched as York sampled a forkful of the beef rendang, his eyes closing in delight.

“Wow, this is incredible,” he murmured, the tension visibly melting with each bite. Seeing him relax, even if only for the duration of a meal, felt like a small victory.

As always, conversation flowed as we discussed the most random topics. “Did you know that the colossal squid has the largest eyes in the animal kingdom?” York’s voice held a mix of wonder and factuality that made me smile. “I watched this fascinating documentary on the complexities and marvels of deep-sea creatures.”

“Can’t say I did, but I did know octopuses are smart.”

York nodded. “They’re true escape artists and have been known to learn how to open doors.”

That led to a discussion on Finding Nemo, which led to Star Wars, and then we agreed on the missed opportunity of developing the characters of Poe Dameron and Finn and the simmering bromance between those two. “It’s not really queerbaiting,” I said. “But it sure came close.”

“It did, and I would’ve loved to see that,” York said.

We were both full and pushed our plates back, staring at each other with this wonderfully casual intimacy.

“Thank you, Quill,” York said softly. “For this, for…well, everything.”

“Always.” I reached across the table and squeezed his hand. His fingers fluttered in mine, a silent language of gratitude and the ever-present sexual tension, the lingering heat that always seemed to simmer beneath the surface.

Together, we cleared the dishes, our movements synchronized in a domestic dance that had become natural. I rinsed while he loaded the dishwasher with precision, ensuring everything would fit. It was in these small moments that true intimacy lay—not in the passionate embraces or whispered confessions but in the shared spaces of everyday life.

I wiped the counter as he turned on the dishwasher, and then we placed the glass containers with leftovers into the fridge.

“The last one.” York handed me the last container. Our fingers brushed, and a jolt of electricity coursed through me.

I put it in the fridge and closed the door. York’s eyes met mine, a silent plea written in their depths. In two steps, he’d closed the gap between us and encircled me in a hug that was both unexpected and desperately needed. His body tensed against mine, then softened, melting into an embrace that spoke more than words ever could. He was such a hugger, and I loved it. He seemed to get something from touch that was so much more than mere affection, like it satisfied some deep emotional need in him.

“Quillon,” he murmured, his breath warm against my neck.

“Hey,” I whispered back, tightening my hold. For a moment, we simply stood there, finding solace in each other’s presence. But the comfort of the hug soon gave way to an urgency, a need for something deeper, more primal. York’s lips found mine, and what started as a gentle, warm kiss quickly ignited into a roaring fire.

Our mouths moved together with fervor, as if someone had poured gasoline onto the embers, turning it into a blaze. York glided his hands over my back and pulled me closer while I tangled mine in his dark hair, scratching his scalp in the way he loved so much.

“Bedroom,” he gasped between kisses, and I nodded.

We stumbled up the stairs to the bedroom, our lips never parting. The journey was a blur of sensations—the feel of his body heat radiating against mine, the taste of him on my tongue, the sound of our breathing, heavy and intertwined.

Once inside the bedroom, we broke apart only long enough to shed our clothes, each piece discarded carelessly. He pushed me backward onto the bed, and I went willingly, pulling him on top of me. Our mouths fused again as our cocks found each other, and we rubbed unashamedly against each other, the friction sending sparks through my whole body. The connection between us crackled like electricity as we came together, skin against skin, heartbeat syncing with heartbeat.

York kissed me passionately, almost aggressively, nipping at my bottom lip and chasing my tongue until I allowed him to catch me. He acted as if a tendril of his previous frustration was still inside him, looking for an outlet, and I was here for it.

While he kissed me, he explored the contours of my body with a mixture of tenderness and reverence. He roamed my chest and the planes of my stomach, then slipped his hands underneath me and squeezed my ass. His touch had always been gentle, almost cautious, as if he were afraid to unleash the full extent of his strength. But now, a different energy emanated from him, one that rippled through the air and made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Each caress built the anticipation, heightening the desire until it became unbearable.

“Quill,” York said, his brown eyes dark with longing. His hands stilled on my skin, and his gaze shifted into a firm resolve. “Can I top you?”

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