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He’s doing that thing to his hair again. Sam hates that thing he does to his hair. Probably because of how much he fucking loves that thing he does to his hair.
He’ll drift just the edges of his fingers against it, slipping them in without any force and hardly even any presence, just ghosting them under and back, dragging them lightly down the sides, all with the sensation of barely contained force, and full of promises and hints at what was going on behind those sharp blue eyes.
He’s been doing it since they got into the car and no matter how many times Sam swatted his hand away and told him to cut it the fuck out, he still kept it up, which was likely partly due to that fact that Sam only managed to not close his eyes and lean into it half the time.
“Stop it,” Sam snaps again, even if he can’t help smiling.
Nick’s laughing at him, low and rough, which makes it about a hundred times more obnoxious.
Sam’s going to make him stop it. Really fucking soon.
“Seriously,” Sam insists, “I’ve never seen your place, I want to take it in properly.”
Nick’s pressing closer, slipping a hand around his waist while they walk up the last stairs towards the right floor, “I think it will be at it’s most interesting seen upside down with a cool, slick, countertop under your back.”
Sam shoves him off, “Come on, I’ve been bugging you about this for weeks, let me have my moment.”
“I know this is still a little new to you, but boys don’t actually invite you back to admire their upholstery,”
Sam ignores him. “You know, Dean owes me twenty bucks if it’s not actually just a yawning damp cavern with only candelabras for light.”
“You might loose that bet,” Nick grins, nuzzling against the side of his neck even as Sam slips away.
They’re at the top of the stairs now. It’s an older building, metal staircase leading up, brick walls, 1800’s factory look to everything like so many of the places in the northern end of the city. They’re lower than most of the structures, looking out towards the harbor, and the streets surrounding are so loaded with Italian bakeries and butcher’s shops and restaurants that there was the faint aroma of fresh bread, prosciutto, and ricotta lingering through the normal scent of the city and running away with the smell of the sea.
“Here,” Sam says, grabbing Nick’s shoulders and shoving him out in front of him.
“Ooo, feeling forceful? Do I get my back on the counter?”
“Just shut up and unlock it already, alright?” Sam gives him a solid push towards the door and Nick gives him a pouty look before sighing and pulling his keys out of his pocket.
He gets them up to the door before pausing.
“Are you sure you want to go inside, I mean this hall is pretty spacious and hardly anyone ever uses it, we could just—“
“Inside!”
“Fine, fine, fine,” The keys snap into place and he pushes the door open.
Sam shoulders past him instantly, expectant smile spread over his face, and—
“Holy shit.”
Nick eases up next to him. “Want the tour?”
“Holy shit!”
It’s a wreck. It’s beyond a wreck. If library’s could vomit, and they all decided to vomit in one place at one time this would be it. The library toilet.
There’s books everywhere. And not just books, files, papers, fucking scrolls, spilling over every single surface, stacked in piles on the floor, against walls, everywhere. Sam can’t even see a single surface. He’s pretty sure that there’s furniture hiding somewhere under all of this wreck but he can’t even start to guess at even it’s basic shape.
And it’s not tidy, not all neat and lovely and stylish like some movie set of a medical records room. It’s a mess. A totally and complete mess. There’s empty scotch bottles lying around holding the books in place, somewhere on the wall are tacked up pictures of philosophers with darts sticking out of their heads. There’s paintings but hardly any of them are actually on the walls, they’re wrapped up in paper leaning against any free space as if they just arrived and haven’t been given the proper decorative consideration yet which Sam really suspects is a pretty dramatic understatement. There’s empty takeout containers scattered across the endless piles of files along with, pizza boxes, pill bottles, newspapers.
“Holy shit.”
“You said that.”
Sam turns on him, expression dead set. “We are not having sex in here.”
“What? Oh come on, it’s not that bad.”
“’Not that bad?’” He stares in disbelief, “I don’t want to take my shoes off in here, let alone anything else. How the hell do you live in this?”
“Well, I don’t usually,” Nick shrugs.
Sam stares.
“In case you haven’t noticed, I am rather focused on my work. This is more… storage.”
“Storage for what? A record of humanity and squalor?!” He turns to take the whole thing in again, trying to make out some sense of order.
He catches the dart pinned philosophers again and gives Nick a look.
“I used to do my closings that way,” Nick smiles fondly, “Chuck a dart, borrow a style.”
Sam stares. “That’s maybe the most irresponsible thing I’ve ever heard.”
The truth is it’s actually an awesome apartment now that he’s taking a second look. It matches the style of the building, old factory style, skylights, so apparently they’re actually on the top floor. The floor plan is open and what he can see of the floor is wood and awesome and the windows that aren’t buried behind piles of books are massive and the sea is right there...
“Can you see the ocean from up here?” Sam asks, turning suddenly.
“Umm… yes. Fairly sure. 80%. So, if we’re not having sex here should we head to yours or—”
Something rustles in the mess a few feet away and Sam jolts, subconsciously stepping back into Nick’s space.
“What the fuck was that?”
“The cat?”
Sam turns to him. “You have a cat?”
“…Maybe?”
Sam sighs heavily and turns around, taking a good long look at the track lights and the steel kitchen and all the wasted potential.
“How the hell did you let it get like this? It’s an awesome place.”
“Well, there’s no one else here,” Nick says, he’s still leaning against the door with a small smile, “Maybe, if there was someone else. I don’t know, someone tall who can dust the beams and replace the lightbulbs, then maybe it would all be worth it.”
Sam stares. “Did you just… ask me to move in with you?”
Nick steps a little closer, eyeing his hips like he wants to grab onto them, “Certainly see how you could reach that conclusion.”
“Move into... the garbage pit?”
Nick gives him a scolding expression.
Sam squints, “This mess isn’t just some horrible terrifying attempt to make me think your incapable of living by yourself is it?”
“Oh Sam, I don’t think you’ll ever really know the answer to that question to do you?”
Sam feels Nick’s hands slip onto his belt and tug him close enough to touch and weirdly enough he lets him.
“This is the least romantic thing in the world, you realize that don’t you?”
He’s trying to sound mad. He’s really trying. But it’s difficult when he’s smiling this hard and already thinking about where the paintings are going to go, and how nice the library is going to be, and how he won’t have to listen to Dean and Cas have morning sex, and how he can have morning sex exactly as loud as he wants.
That is after paying an entire staff of cleaners and retreating to a safe distance for at least a week.
“Do you wish I was romantic?”
Sam grins. “Not even a little.”
Nick tilts his head just an inch and that’s all it takes to kiss him. Sam kisses him back, lazy and contented and far happier than he feels like he has any right to be.
“Is that a yes?” Nick mutters, running his nose along Sam’s jaw to get at his neck.
“Certainly see how you could reach that conclusion.”
Nick laughs against his shoulder. And then he’s kissing his neck again, or trying to, he seems to be having a hard time making the smile leave his face for long enough though, and Sam’s sure he knows exactly how he feels.
“Do you really have a cat?” Sam asks.
“No. But I definitely think there is one that lives in the biographies.”
Sam grins and runs a hand up through his hair pulling his head back to kiss him again.
“I love you,” Nick brushes against his lips.
“You too,” Sam says, “But I’m still not having sex in here.”