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Language:
English
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Published:
2023-07-27
Words:
1,151
Chapters:
1/1
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41
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249
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Kiss It Better

Summary:

They stay like that for a while. Andrew examines Kevin’s hand, squeezing, rubbing, until the memory of the pain is almost gone. It’s replaced by that feeling Kevin always gets when he’s around Andrew. A warm, fuzzy, unusual feeling he can only describe as: safety.

Or, 1k-ish of Andrew being unexpectedly soft with Kevin. Enjoy.

Notes:

Inspired by this lovely art that got reintroduced to my Twitter timeline today: Kandrew kisses

I don’t think this needs any content warnings but please correct me if I’m wrong!

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Kevin is playing badly. He knows it. He knows Andrew knows it. He doesn’t know what time it is, but he knows it’s late, and he knows he should stop before he makes things even worse, but he can’t. 

He can’t stop just because he’s in pain. If he stopped trying every time he was in pain, this whole thing would be worthless. The tiny slither of hope he has for this shitty team would be gone forever. 

Pain is something he can handle. Something he’s used to. 

He takes a long breath, then hooks another ball into his net, ignoring the twinge in his hand as he swings the racquet back and forth, staring over at Andrew. 

Andrew is leaning against the side of the goal, arms folded. His face is covered by the protective grill of his helmet, but Kevin knows him well enough to know that he’s alert— assessing Kevin’s every move, despite the relaxed slouch of his body. 

It’s hot on the court. The air conditioning being switched off overnight to save money means that the July weather has made the court stifling. Kevin lost his shirt an hour ago. Andrew stubbornly did not, but the sweat dripping from the bottom of his helmet says enough. 

Kevin takes a couple of steps forward, twists the racquet as he brings it back to shoot, and then—

“Fuck.”

A bolt of pain shoots through his hand. The sharp kind. The kind that even he can’t ignore. The racquet falls to the floor with a loud clatter, and Kevin grabs his wrist, staring down at his hand. He doesn’t know what he expects to see. The hand is still in one piece— the fingers and other bones that make it up are still pointing in the right directions. The pain has already faded to a deep throb, but the shock is still ringing in Kevin’s ears so loudly that when he looks up and sees Andrew standing in front of him, he jumps. 

“We’re stopping,” Andrew says bluntly. His helmet has been thrown aside. His hair is a sweaty mess. Kevin wants to fix it with his fingertips. 

“I’m okay, I just need to—“

“Shut up.” Andrew interrupts. “We’re stopping.”

“Andrew…”

“Sit.”

Andrew shoves at Kevin’s shoulder (he has to reach up on his tiptoes to do so) and Kevin relents, dropping cross-legged to the floor, still gingerly holding out his hand in front of him like it might explode at any moment.

Andrew kneels in front of him, and holds out his palms. Kevin swallows, then dutifully drops his still throbbing hand into them. Andrew— gentle, in a way only Kevin ever witnesses— undoes the strap of his glove, then slowly pulls it off, trying not to jostle Kevin’s hand too much. 

He turns the hand from side to side, looking carefully, then looks back up at Kevin, raising his eyebrows.

“If you keep doing this, you will make it worse.”

Kevin scowls. “I’m not going to stop playing.”

Andrew rolls his eyes. “I am not telling you to quit your precious stickball. I am telling you to learn your limits.”

“If I stop, then he wins.”

Andrew pauses, looks down at Kevin’s hand again, his thumb brushing across Kevin’s knuckles so gently that Kevin has to stifle a shiver. 

Andrew can be gentle. Like this. Unwilling to cause Kevin pain after swearing to protect him. 

He can be less gentle. When they’re both drunk. And worked up. And out of view. He can bite at Kevin’s lips until they’re swollen. Push his hands into the front of Kevin’s jeans. Or the back. Take him apart with ruthless speed. 

But they don’t talk about that. Not when they’re sober. And definitely not during night practice. 

“I promised to keep you safe,” Andrew says eventually. “I can’t do that if you run yourself into the ground.”

“I’m sorry.”

Andrew tenses at that, then squeezes Kevin’s hand just slightly. Kevin winces, then Andrew immediately soothes the ache with a gentle massage. 

They stay like that for a while. Andrew examines Kevin’s hand, squeezing, rubbing, until the memory of the pain is almost gone. It’s replaced by that feeling Kevin always gets when he’s around Andrew. A warm, fuzzy, unusual feeling he can only describe as: safety. 

He knows Andrew is a man of his word. Protecting Kevin is what he swore to do. But Kevin can’t help but wonder if they share the same feeling whenever they’re not in each other’s sights— an empty disconnect. A need to find the other as soon as possible. To return to normal. To slow their pulse back to something acceptable.

Andrew huffs, letting go of Kevin’s hand and snapping him out of his daydream. Kevin frowns as he shoves at Kevin’s legs, taking a few moments to realise what he’s hinting at. He swallows, then uncrosses his legs, splaying them so that Andrew can fit in between them. Andrew turns around, shuffling until his back is against Kevin’s bare chest, then picks up Kevin’s hand again. 

Kevin freezes, shocked, trying to get a glimpse at Andrew’s expression— hoping it will offer him some kind of clue to this sudden development. What he sees is Andrew’s usual blankness, but Andrew mumbles under his breath. 

“You will take a few days off.”

“I can’t do that.”

“I’m asking you to.”

Kevin pauses. Andrew is not an asker. Usually, he demands. “Okay. Fine.”

“Fine,” Andrew repeats dryly. 

There’s another pause, and then— and Kevin isn’t entirely sure he’s seeing this correctly— Andrew lifts Kevin’s hand to his mouth, gently placing a kiss against one of the scars on the back of his hand. Kevin’s fingers twitch. 

“Andrew?”

Andrew ignores him, kisses another scar, and Kevin closes his eyes, finally letting himself relax, melting against Andrew’s back. 

He’s familiar with the feel of Andrew’s mouth, in areas far more intimate than this, and yet this feels completely different. Andrew kisses his hand like he’s trying to… well— like he’s trying to kiss it better. 

Kevin leans forward, pressing his mouth against Andrew’s hair. Andrew doesn’t react, kisses his hand again, and then lets it drop to Kevin’s thigh. 

“You should shower,” Andrew says, and Kevin freezes again. “You stink.”

Kevin hums, presses another kiss to the crown of Andrew’s head, frowning as Andrew pulls away, standing up. Kevin looks up as Andrew looks back down at him. 

He looks blank as ever, but Kevin can’t help but notice the pink tinge to his cheeks. 

Andrew huffs, then kicks at Kevin’s leg, before walking away to the court doors. Kevin watches him, still reeling, feeling warm and lethargic— not sure he could move even if he tried.  Andrew reaches the doors, then turns back to look at him with a scowl. 

“Move your ass, Day. Or you’ll be showering alone.”

Suddenly, Kevin finds he can move pretty damn quickly.