Chapter Text
Gabriel didn’t wake up all at once the next morning. His awareness came back in slow, lazy waves, carried by the warmth of the sun hitting his face directly.
He wrinkled his nose and reached out to the empty space beside him on the couch. The white linen — now slightly wrinkled and marked with clear evidence of sex — was empty. The spot where Nico had been lying was cold, but his scent, soaked into the decorative cushions, was still there. Strong. Present.
Gabriel opened one eye, then the other, blinking against the harsh light. His body felt heavy, every muscle complaining with a phantom soreness that, paradoxically, made him smile up at the plaster ceiling. He sat up slowly, completely naked.
The apartment usually woke up in absolute silence. The soundproof double windows kept the city noise out, and the appliances were so modern they barely hummed. But now, that silence had been murdered.
"Fucking button… where the hell do you turn this shit on?" A rough, irritated voice came from the kitchen, followed by a metallic clatter. "Touchscreen… who the fuck invents a coffee machine with a touchscreen? Pretentious bullshit."
Gabriel rubbed his face, unconsciously trying to fix his messy hair, then stood up and walked barefoot toward the source of the chaos.
The sight waiting for him in the kitchen made Gabriel stop in the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the wall just to take it in. It was, without question, the most dissonant — and fascinating — thing that apartment had ever witnessed.
His kitchen was a minimalist temple: glossy white cabinets, marble countertops, brushed steel appliances that looked straight out of a sci-fi movie. And right there, in the middle of all that immaculate whiteness, stood Nico Hülkenberg.
The German had his back to Gabriel, wearing absolutely nothing but his underwear. The morning light highlighted the definition of his back muscles, the small work scars on his shoulders, and the faded tattoo on his left shoulder blade. He looked massive there, raw, untamed nature trapped inside a crystal shop.
Nico was leaning over the Italian espresso machine, a complex chrome beast that cost more than most people’s salaries. He held a coffee capsule between his fingers like it was a grenade about to explode, glaring at the digital panel with genuine hatred.
"I know you want water, you stuck up piece of junk," Nico growled at the machine, jabbing the screen way too hard. The machine beeped a cheerful error sound. "Oh, fuck off. Password? Gabriel puts a password on his coffee machine? You’ve gotta be kidding me…"
Gabriel couldn’t hold it in. A laugh burst out of him, echoing through the kitchen.
Nico spun around instantly, defensive posture, holding the capsule like a weapon. When he saw Gabriel standing there, hair tangled, wearing absolutely nothing, his irritation faltered, replaced by that same predatory, appreciative look from the night before.
"Morning…" Nico muttered, dropping the capsule onto the marble counter.
He completely forgot about the coffee machine. He crossed his arms and leaned his hip against the sink, sharp blue eyes slowly dragging over Gabriel from head to toe, without a shred of shame.
Gabriel felt his face heat under that thorough inspection. Suddenly, being naked in daylight felt way more embarrassing than it had in the dark the night before. He tried to look casual, even though he really wanted to hide behind the kitchen island.
"The machine doesn’t have a password, Nico," Gabriel said, his voice wavering a little. "You just press the mug icon."
Nico didn’t even look at the machine. He kept staring at Gabriel, a slow, wicked smile curling his lips. He picked up the coffee cup the machine had miraculously finished making and took a sip, eyes never leaving Gabriel’s body.
"Forget the machine," Nico murmured, voice rough. He tilted his chin toward Gabriel. "Just look at you…"
Gabriel glanced down at himself, confused.
"What?"
"You look like you got into a street fight," Nico said, satisfied. He pushed off the sink and stepped closer, invading Gabriel’s space. The heat of his body flooding back, just like hours ago. "And lost."
Nico reached out and touched Gabriel’s neck, just above the collarbone. Gabriel shivered. A dark, vivid purple mark bloomed there, exactly the shape of Nico’s mouth.
"I marked you all over," Nico stated, rough thumb brushing over the bruise. His gaze dropped to Gabriel’s chest, where faint scratches showed, then to his hips, where Nico’s fingerprints were still red against bronze skin. "God… you’re completely fucked up."
Gabriel blushed hard, covering the mark with his hand, suddenly painfully shy.
"You weren’t exactly gentle," he murmured, eyes dropping to the porcelain floor.
"I told you I was gonna wreck you," Nico shot back with a shrug. "Judging by the way you’re walking, kinda crooked... I’d say I kept my promise."
The mention of his walk made Gabriel want to die of embarrassment. He really was feeling every movement, a reminder of just how deep and hard Nico had taken him on that couch.
"Nico, I think I—" Gabriel tried to scold him, but it came out weak. He tried to step back and hit the hallway wall instead.
Nico laughed, boxing him in, planting a hand on the wall beside Gabriel’s head. He looked down at the boy’s naked body, admiring the messy piece of art he’d created.
"No need to get shy now, baby," Nico teased, brushing his nose against Gabriel’s cheek. "Last night you weren’t shy at all when you had your legs up, begging me not to stop."
Gabriel hid his face in his hands, ears burning.
"Oh my God, man. The sun’s up…"
"So what?" Nico pulled Gabriel’s hands away, holding his wrists gently, forcing him to look up. "You’re beautiful like this. Naked. Marked. Smelling like me. Suits you way better than all this crap around you."
The compliment, raw as it was, made Gabriel’s heart race. He looked at Nico’s stubble, his broad bare chest.
"You’re gonna have to help me hide this today," Gabriel said, pointing at his neck. "I’ve got a meeting this afternoon."
Nico shrugged, taking another sip of coffee.
"Wear a turtleneck. Or makeup. Not my problem," he said, then leaned in and kissed the purple mark softly, a tender gesture that completely contradicted his indifference. "Actually, it is my problem. Because I plan on leaving more of those next time."
Heat pooled low in Gabriel’s stomach, his body reacting instantly to the implication despite the exhaustion.
"Next time?" Gabriel asked, hopeful.
Nico stepped back a little, flashing that crooked, arrogant grin.
"Oh, you can bet on it, boy. Or do you think I’m gonna let all this work—" he gestured at Gabriel’s naked body, "—go to waste? Now go put on some clothes. If you keep standing there naked in front of me, I’m not responsible for what happens to your kitchen. And I really need to eat something before burning more energy."
Gabriel laughed, feeling light despite the embarrassment. He didn’t reply, just turned around, face still on fire, and marched toward the bedroom, feeling Nico’s heavy gaze burning into his ass until he disappeared down the hall.
He took a quick shower, washing the sex away. He was extra careful with his back — still sore — and prayed Nico wouldn’t join him, because that would cost him more of his body, and this was definitely not the time. When he got out, he pulled on the first pair of boxer briefs he found and threw a gray silk robe over them, tying it tight at the waist as if the fabric could contain the chaos inside him. He sighed at his reflection.
His neck really was marked with an undeniable purple bruise. His lips had faint red scratches, and his eyes held a shine no eight hour night of sleep had ever given him. He looked like someone who’d gotten his ass kicked, and enjoyed it.
When he returned to the kitchen, the smell of fresh coffee mixed with something new: butter sizzling in a pan. Nico had taken over the kitchen. He’d opened the massive stainless-steel fridge and was now staring into its lit interior with deep disgust, holding a container of Greek yogurt like it was rotting trash.
"Gabriel, what the fuck is this?" Nico asked without turning around, hearing the boy’s bare footsteps. "Is this a fridge or a greenhouse? It’s all plants."
Gabriel leaned against the marble island, crossing his arms, trying to reclaim some dignity in his oversized robe.
"It’s healthy food, Nico. Stuff that keeps your arteries clean. You should try it," he teased.
Nico snorted, tossing the yogurt back onto the shelf with a dull thud and grabbing the carton of eggs.
"Rabbit food," he declared, shutting the fridge with his hip. "No bacon. No cheese. Not even decent ham. How do you survive? Photosynthesis?"
He moved to the induction stove, turning it on effortlessly, for someone who’d been at war with the coffee machine minutes earlier. He cracked four eggs into the pan with one hand, with the practiced ease of someone who’d done it for years.
"I’m making scrambled eggs. It’s the best I can save in this kitchen. And is there bread, or do you live off rice crackers?"
"There’s sourdough in the cabinet on the right," Gabriel said, watching him, fascinated.
There was something domestically absurd about seeing Nico Hülkenberg, in nothing but underwear, making breakfast in his kitchen and complaining about the lack of saturated fat. The visual contrast was beautiful, to say the least, marked skin and muscle against clean white lines. Nico looked like an oil stain on a sheet of paper, and Gabriel had never liked a mess more.
Nico found the bread, cut thick slices with a serrated knife, and tossed them into the toaster. Minutes later, he served two plates piled with creamy scrambled eggs and toast. No finesse. Just food. Functional. Hot.
"Eat," Nico ordered, sliding one plate toward Gabriel and pulling out one of the tall stools to sit down.
He attacked his own portion in classic Nico fashion. Gabriel picked up his fork and tasted the eggs. Perfectly seasoned.
"You’re good at this," Gabriel admitted, surprised. "I couldn’t really tell that day…"
"I can take care of myself. You live alone, you learn or you starve," Nico replied through a mouthful, washing it down with coffee. He glanced at Gabriel, blue eyes sweeping over the silk robe. "What time’s your meeting?"
"Noon," Gabriel said, checking the wall clock. Almost eleven. "Lunch with the board."
"Well, you’re gonna need real fuel to listen to those guys talk," Nico said, pointing his fork at him. "If you show up with that hickey on display, they’ll think you’ve turned into an actual person, and that might scare your shareholders."
Gabriel almost choked on his toast, instinctively touching his neck.
"You say that like being… a person is a crime."
Nico stopped chewing. He set his fork down and leaned across the counter, face to face with Gabriel. The teasing vanished from his eyes for a second, replaced by something raw and intense.
"In your world, sometimes it is," Nico said, his voice low. "They like little dolls who smile, sign papers, and don’t make noise. Like you. But last night…"
He reached out, brushing a crumb from the corner of Gabriel’s mouth with his thumb, rough, but intimate.
"…last night you made a lot of noise. And I prefer that version."
Gabriel’s heart skipped a beat. He held Nico’s gaze, feeling a connection tighter than before, right there under that white palace.
"Me too," Gabriel whispered, honest. "I prefer the version of me that’s with you."
"Good boy," he repeated the forbidden phrase, smiling, completely satisfied.
They finished eating in a comfortable silence, the sound of cutlery against the plates the only music. When they were done, Nico stood up, stretching again, completely shameless about his near nakedness.
"I gotta go," he announced, walking toward the living room where his clothes were scattered on the floor. "The shop doesn’t open itself, and I’ve got an engine to finish rebuilding. I’ll call a cab."
Gabriel followed him, a sudden tightness forming in his chest. Reality was coming back. The fairytale was ending. He watched Nico pull on his jeans, the wrinkled shirt, lace up his boots. With every piece of clothing, Nico seemed to turn back into the untouchable mechanic, putting his armor on again. But when he slipped into the leather jacket and turned toward the door, he stopped.
Nico looked at Gabriel, standing in the middle of the perfect living room, arms crossed.
"Oh, don’t make that face," Nico scolded, a little softer.
"What face?"
"The abandoned puppy," Nico rolled his eyes, walking over.
He grabbed the back of Gabriel’s neck and pulled him into a goodbye kiss. Long. Warm. Gentle. Gabriel rested his hands on Nico’s shoulders, instinctively holding on, like he was sending him off to war.
"I’m not running away, Gabriel. I’m just going to work. You know where to find me," he pulled back but kept one hand at the back of Gabriel’s neck. "And buy some bacon for that fridge. Next time I come over, I don’t want to have to eat grass."
Gabriel smiled, the sadness of the goodbye softened by the certainty of next time.
"Deal. I’ll buy the fattiest bacon I can find."
"Good," Nico winked. He turned and pressed the elevator button. "Take care."
The elevator arrived. Nico stepped inside and disappeared behind the metal doors. Gabriel was alone again, swallowed by the silence of the apartment.
Afternoons at Aventum Group always smelled the same: reheated corporate coffee, carpet cleaner, expensive perfume. The temperature was kept at a constant, artificial twenty-one degrees, designed to keep minds sharp and bodies comfortable inside cold wool suits. Still, sitting at the polished mahogany table in the main boardroom, Gabriel felt like he was being cooked alive.
The CFO’s voice droned on, a monotone buzz about quarterly projections and compliance adjustments. Normally, Gabriel would be taking frantic notes, his sharp mind dissecting the numbers before they even appeared on the next slide. He was "the machine," as Mrs. Roffer liked to say. But Christ, today, the machine was jammed.
Gabriel tugged at the collar of the black cashmere turtleneck he was wearing. Elegant. Perfect for European fall. Absolutely ridiculous for a mild sunny day inside an AC building. The fabric itched. But worse than the wool was what lay beneath it. Every time he shifted in his ergonomic chair, the fabric brushed against the purple, sensitive mark on his neck.
The memory of Nico’s touch hit him like a blow, dragging him straight back to the sofa in his apartment, to the smell of sweat and the weight of the mechanic’s body on top of him. Heat rushed up his neck, staining the tips of his ears red. He broke into a cold sweat. Feverish. Disconnected. An impostor among tailored executives.
He glanced sideways, searching for an escape, and met Oliver’s brown eyes locked onto him. Oliver sat across the table, spinning a pen between his fingers like an aristocrat — a true heir — but he wasn’t watching the presentation. He was analyzing Gabriel like a therapist.
Oliver’s gaze dropped to Gabriel’s turtleneck, narrowed, then lifted back to his flushed face, one eyebrow raised in silent question. Oliver knew. Of course he did. And seeing Gabriel suffocating in that outfit on a warm day, the math was painfully simple.
Gabriel looked away, swallowing hard. The air in the room felt gone.
His throat tightened. He needed out. Cold water. To get that fabric off his burning skin. To stop thinking about Nico’s mouth while Oliver’s father talked about profit margins. Taking advantage of a pause between slides, Gabriel stood slowly. The movement drew a few looks, including Mrs. Roffer’s.
"Excuse me," Gabriel murmured, his voice weaker than his usual professional tone. "I… need to use the restroom for a moment. I’m not feeling very well."
"Are you alright, Gabriel? You look a bit pale," his supervisor said, frowning.
"It’s just… a bit hot. I’ll be right back," he lied, forcing a smile.
He left the boardroom, feeling eyes on his back, but the sense of relief the moment he passed through the glass doors was immediate. He didn’t go to the bathroom. He walked quickly down the carpeted hallway to a small break area with a water machine and a panoramic window overlooking the city, the same view as his apartment, but from a different angle. Less personal. Less… sexual.
He stopped in front of the window, resting his forehead against the cool glass, trying to bring his body temperature down. With trembling hands, he tugged the collar of his sweater down, exposing his skin to the AC, breathing deeply. The mark throbbed, a signature of ownership that burned and excited in equal measure.
"You know, for a management genius, you’re a terrible liar."
The voice came from behind, amused, like got you. Gabriel closed his eyes for a second, silently cursing, before letting go of the collar and turning around. Oliver stood at the start of the hallway, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, a smug grin on his face.
"I’m not lying," Gabriel tried, but it came out weak. "I came to get water."
Oliver laughed, pushing off the wall and walking toward him.
"Water. Sure. And you decided to get water dressed for a North Pole expedition inside an office like this."
He stopped in front of Gabriel, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, even though the hallway was empty. He discreetly pointed at Gabriel’s neck.
"Let me guess… the mechanic didn’t fix you, he wrecked you," Oliver teased, eyes sparkling. "You’re melting, Gabi. And I’d bet my car it’s not a fever."
Gabriel huffed, defeated. The wool itched, cold sweat slid down his back, and the lie took more energy than he had.
"Fine," Gabriel gave in, whispering fast. He pinched the collar, pulling it down just enough to let air in without revealing everything. "It’s not a fever. I’m just overheating. Happy?"
"Not even close," Oliver shot back, stepping closer, invading his space. "I wanna see. Move your hand."
"Ollie, no—"
"Move it," Oliver insisted, serious now, curiosity shining in his eyes. "You’re acting like you’re hiding a prison tattoo. Let me see what you’ve been up to."
Gabriel hesitated, glanced around to make sure the hallway was still empty, then sighed heavily and pulled the collar down, tilting his neck. The harsh white Aventum lighting illuminated the mark in all its purple-red glory.
It wasn’t a discreet hickey. It was dark. Possessive. The clear pressure of the mouth of a man who wasn’t young. Mature.
Oliver let out a long, low whistle, eyes wide.
"Holy fuck, Gabriel…" he whispered, genuinely impressed. "Did he try to decapitate you or brand you like cattle?"
Gabriel immediately covered his neck, his face burning hotter.
"He… he got carried away. It was… intense."
"Intense? That’s attempted homicide," Oliver laughed, though shock edged his voice. He studied Gabriel’s face, the disguised dark circles, the shine in his eyes, the tension in his posture. "Oh my God… you slept with him after the show…"
"Yeah," Gabriel admitted, staring at his shoes. "I took him upstairs, and… he only left this morning."
Oliver crossed his arms, leaning against the opposite wall. His usual teasing faded into something more analytical.
"You’re screwed," Oliver declared, not laughing this time. "You know that, right? Look at you. You’re shaking in a board meeting because you can’t stop thinking about a hot mechanic who lives in a garage."
"I’m not shaking," Gabriel lied, shoving his hands into his pockets.
"You are. And worse— you like it," Oliver pointed, then sighed, shaking his head. "You know what’s crazy? This doesn’t even look bad on you. You’re glowing like a pregnant woman. He makes you happier than this place…"
Oliver’s words echoed what Nico had said. Dolls don’t make noise. Gabriel felt a knot form in his throat.
It was true. He was uncomfortable. Sore. Marked. But for the first time that day, he felt like he was actually inside his own body, not just piloting a corporate avatar.
"I don’t know what to do, Ollie," Gabriel confessed, his voice trailing off. "It’s like… I have two lives now. And this one…" he gestured to the sleek hallway, the city view, the meeting room door. "…this one is starting to feel black and white."
Oliver stayed quiet for a moment, studying him. Then he uncrossed his arms and placed a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze.
"Then stop trying to mix the two, my friend," was all Ollie said.
Gabriel nodded, grabbing a disposable cup and filling it with ice cold water. He drank it in one go, feeling the chill spread inside him, even though his skin was still burning.
"And… Gabi?" Oliver called as they started heading back.
"What?"
"Next time, tell him to aim lower. If you show up in a turtleneck in summer, I’m checking you into a psych ward."
Gabriel let out a short, nervous laugh, adjusting the cashmere one last time.
"I’ll try to remember that."
They stepped back into the meeting room. The air conditioning hit Gabriel’s face, cold, artificial. The man was still talking. Nothing had changed in there. When Gabriel glanced at Oliver, they both struggled not to laugh.
He had a dirty little purple secret hidden right under the nose of all that perfection. And somehow, that made everything a lot more interesting.