Request: Can you write an imagine about nick having a wet dream about you but you guys are only best friends and the guys all know he likes you? Sorry if this doesn't make sense or is too weird
Nick stood in the shower, the steaming hot water coursing down his back and trickling off the breadth of his shoulder blades, the muscles shifting as he took an excessively deep breath. His head was bent, a strand of his slickened dark hair stuck to his forehead. His hands were braced against the tiles on the wall which were glistening with steam. The muffled, echoey sound of a Chris Brown filled the bathroom, the beat thrumming through his veins.
He was so intoxicated it physically hurt his head and knotted his stomach. Everytime his mind lay idle images of her appeared, branded on his closed eyelids. He pictured her skin beneath his eager hands, the stretch marks like lightning bolts on her hips that he would run the tip of his tongue over, gazing up at her through his eyelashes as she arched her back closer into his body.
He let out a soft moan as he trailed his hands down the plane of his stomach, imagining her hands touching the contours of his torso, her fingers splaying against the ink on his skin. He pictured her slowly tugging her jeans off so she was left in her panties. Those red lace ones he knew she kept for special occasions. His hands trembled as he reached for her bra to unclip it, ravishing every inch of skin he was exposing. He bit his lip as he imagined the sinful pout of her plump lips as she sank to her knees in front of him. He wrapped his hand around himself as he imagined his hands tangling in her hair. Her head bobbing as her lips wrapped around him, dark eyelashes fluttering.
He groaned as he slid his hand up and down his length, wishing it was her mouth, her tongue flicking over him.
He pictured her pressed against his chest, his fingers trailing down to that spot between her legs which made her weak in the knees
"Nick," she moaned, her delicate hand moving his to her neck. His vision was filled with the heady scent of arousal as he squeezed the sides of her neck just enough to give her the thrill of his complete and utter control.
The thread holding his self control together snapped entirely as he pictured the curve of her thighs; so real he could almost touch the beads of hot water rolling down her skin in front of him. He jerked himself hard, a gutteral moan escaping his lips, her name threatening to follow suit. He wanted her gripping his hair as he pressed his tongue to her, wanted her writhing beneath him as he pinned her hips with his hands. He wanted to bend her over and watch himself bury inside her. He would yank her hair into a makeshift ponytail, his hands knotting in it as he messily kissed her neck, his teeth scraping against her pulse point. Her body would shake ever so slightly under his as the tip of his tongue slid against her throat. He savoured the image of her biting her lip as she moaned, eyes closing. A combination of "fuck" and "nick" tumbled from her lips. He would slip his hand between them and squeeze her ass before slapping it, a crimson mark left in his place. He snapped his hips against his own grasp, knuckles of his other hand colliding with the cool, hard tiles sending pain rippling down his wrist. He groaned as he finished, her name floating about the steam-filled bathroom like the embers of a fire as it died down.
His breathing seemed too loud as he pulled a towel around his waist, leaning against the basin. He splashed cold water on his face and looked at his appearance in the mirror. His dark lashes were coated in silvery droplets of water, as was his chest, which was marred with searing red lashes where the hot shower water had left its mark. His lips were bitten to the point they had horizontal marks in them.
He knew the boys could tell. Everytime she came over he couldn't keep his eyes off her. It was impossible not to fall in love with her smile, or the way her eyes lit up when she talked about something she was passionate about.
Perhaps it was the simplest of gestures; the brush of her hand against his, the times a hug lingered for a little longer than necessary. The way she threaded her hands through her hair when she thought, her fingers weaving through her curls.
He sighed as he tilted his head towards the ceiling. His vision became clouded and hazy with the grey steam as he thought about what had just happened.