Nope, nope, nope. Nico's hand is shaking slightly, because he's trying so hard to grit his teeth and hold it out steadily for the goo to ooze into.

Even when it's on his palm, there's an overwhelming urge to mash it or fling it. There's not a direct corollary within the Greco-Roman pantheon for a symbiote, but the symbiote forms hit a lot of monster notes. Nico's cool with them, now, and yet he's finding there's a definite difference between being cool with his badass friend's powers and watching black ooze melt into his skin.

"Oh gods," he breathes. He can feel something buzzing around in his brain that sets him on edge. Nico reaches for his sword and stops as his brain erupts into panic. What if he can't touch it anymore? What if he's going to get sucked into it because he's a monster?