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Chapter Text

Despite what most people may believe about him, Andrew Minyard did not have a death wish.

Yeah, he got into fights with his team’s opponents that might have a foot on him. Sometimes he recklessly drove his loud car through residential areas, and sure, he consumed sweets like they held nutritional value. But he wasn’t an idiot and didn’t want to die. He just liked to test the limits of his emotions. Push himself to the edge, literally, just to see if the wind was strong enough to sway him. To most people, he would be bordering the line of suicidal. To Andrew? Eh. Unenthusiastic hand wave.

There was the metaphorical sense of a death wish too, as in a somewhat lack of regard for one’s life and how the consequences may affect them in the near future. Now, Andrew wasn’t one for regrets, but that was because he usually spent a long and hard time thinking about his choices before he made them. He wasn’t impulsive, never had been.

Not until Neil Josten.

Neil Josten was a fucking problem.

Well. That’s what Andrew told his best friends, along with a bunch of brutal nicknames he had come up with for Neil, including “bastard” and “rat boy.” What Andrew didn’t tell them was that he thought Neil Josten was so hot that he had permanent half-moons on his palms. We’re talking white-knuckled clenched fists, constantly. There was no way that his incredibly gay brain cells could comprehend someone like Neil. The solution they provided was to squash him like a bug.

Or to have sex with him.

But that wasn’t an option, so fly swatter.

Ahem. Neil Josten.

He was the Foxes’ newest addition, joining almost six months ago. Neil was a year younger than Andrew’s twenty-one, and in the beginning, he was timid, and as graspable as water. He kept to himself, and honestly, came across as quite strange. Andrew swore he blinked only once a minute.

Neil had never participated in any of the team’s activities, and even Andrew went to those, so. Weird. At first, he thought him a spy (because Andrew was a reasonable man), but then, during their initial interaction (one that emulated a fox cornering a rabbit), Neil’s throat bobbed, his pulse thrummed, and his eyes kept darting left and right for an out. And something switched. Andrew no longer wanted to scare him into a confession. Instead, he wanted to make him feel safe enough to open up.

So he did. He choked—which Andrew never fucking does—and instead of picking meat from Neil’s every bone, he told him he’d watch his back.

It was a terrible fucking mistake.

Neil was a goddamn foal learning how to walk when it came to… whatever their new agreement was. He’d freeze up when choosing a spot in the lounge, and Andrew would have to nod him over to lean against his armrest. Neil hesitated before Andrew shoved him into the back seat of his car to head to Eden’s. He’d pause before celebrating a win with Andrew, and the blond would have to swat a gloved hand against his helmet and say, “Nice job, Pinnochio,” to get him to relax.

But then, after their first few games, Neil finally loosened up. Started slouching his back. Laughing when Matt made a joke. And that was the problem. From then until now, Neil had turned into a goddamn—into a—Andrew was angry just thinking about it. Into an athletically built, sunkissed, sparkly-eyed fuck. His timid, awkward, flighty side was long gone (and Andrew sure had poked around for it.) The Foxes, an exy racquet, and Andrew too, he supposes, had provided Neil with a new-found confidence that was not going anywhere.

And he was by Andrew’s side, constantly.

Thankfully, the universe had some mercy. Neil was roomed with Matt, who had gotten close enough to him that the senior took up a lot of his time. Andrew and Kevin had a dorm to themselves, but Kevin’s muscled-lankiness was useless since he was one of Andrew’s said best friends (that is the only time that will ever be admitted. Snort it like a sicko and move on.)

Kevin was equally as much of a moron as Neil, since they both shared exygasms on and off the court. They chugged pre-workout and vibrated from it all morning. Andrew swore that if Kevin could shrink Neil down, he’d keep him in his bright orange hood just to whisper about their favorite athletes all day. Or to discuss their trauma. Who knew? Not Andrew. He minded his business.

But Kevin being so close to Andrew was another problem (apparently those never stop, there’s just one after another like a goddamn conveyor belt, providing either a surprise twin or a psycho Raven or an auburn wet dream) because Kevin understood Andrew, which caused uncomfortable shivers in itself, but it also meant Kevin knew. He knew about Andrew’s too-powerful-to-be-called-a-crush crush on Neil, and he was god awful at hiding it. Kevin had zero social cues. He waggled his really-nice eyebrows (that Andrew plucked for him) whenever Neil pulled off his jersey in the locker room. Commented on Neil’s form in the gym. It was inappropriate. It made Andrew fantasize about violence.

And then there was Aaron, who unfortunately has a twin-accessible Bluetooth into his train of thought. So he would look at Andrew, then look at Neil, and then do the same thing Andrew did with his upper lip: some disgusted sort of ick-face. And Nicky, their cousin, was gay, and knew any gay man around would consider Neil at least fifty times. Then there was Dan, Matt’s girlfriend, and Matt was Neil’s best friend, and Neil was practically Andrew’s walking video game companion. So she knew, but there’s also Renee, who was All-Knowing. And she was fucking Allison, and Allison coaxed all secrets out of her because Renee was gayer than Andrew (this is a joke). And then finally, to top it off, there was Wymack, everyone’s not-father, and all of his non-children’s drama was none of his business, but he had to know.

It was fucked, because Andrew had been dealt the entire deck to keep in order.

But he couldn’t, because he had no control when it came to Neil.

He’s screwed.

[ 1 ]

Whoever invented Seven Minutes in Heaven.

When Andrew takes a shower, he likes the water scalding, the door locked, and his music loud. Somewhere from within their dorm, Kevin is probably muttering to himself about the volume. It’s little of Andrew’s concern. The man is due for his monthly removal of the stick from his ass, anyway.

When he gets out, the bathroom’s walls are dripping from the humidity. Andrew ruffles his towel through his hair and then drapes it over his bare shoulders before pulling on black boxer briefs that hang low on his hips. His fringe is already reaching past his eyebrows, and Andrew scoffs in disbelief, smearing pomade across his fingers and running them through his hair. Then, he puts on moisturizer and cologne, sticks his toothbrush in his mouth, and checks the dripping mirror for his workout progress. Because Andrew wasn’t currently bulking, the muscles lining his chest and torso were sharp enough to cut. Still, he isn’t a toolbag that flexes in the mirror, so he definitely doesn’t spend a solid minute doing that. He only spits out his toothpaste and leaves the bathroom, bringing a billow of hot air with him.

“Holy fuck,” Kevin complains. “Do you want to try not creating literal Hell in our dorm?”

Andrew flicks on the ventilator in hopes that Kevin wouldn’t start.

“Jee, thanks.” Kevin scoffs, continuing to shuffle through his hangers. “Have you seen my jeans?”

“No.” Andrew tugs on the pants he’d laid out— his, thank you, Kevin is a fucking giant—and pulls on a matching black tee. “Are you ready?”

Standing in nothing but loose exercise shorts, Kevin asks, “Does it look like I'm ready?”

“Yeah.”

“You do realize I’m not going if I don't find my jeans.”

“You’re a very particular pain in my ass. Do you realize that?” Andrew asks, shoving Kevin toward the bathroom. “Go fix your hair.”

Kevin sputters something messy to him, but Andrew ignores it in favor of finding the taller man’s bottoms, which are in their neglected to-be-folded pile. Andrew throws them at Kevin’s legs, and the taller man sighs his thanks before dropping his shorts and pulling them on.

Andrew falls into his chair and pulls out his phone, plugging in the girls’ address. It’d take ten minutes to get there, and checking the time, he sees it’s already an hour past the party’s start. Before he can remind Kevin, the man walks out of the bathroom and buttons up his top.

“Are you ready?” Kevin parrots, buckling his belt.

“Waiting on you.”

“You took an hour in the bathroom.”

“I needed to shave.”

“It doesn’t take an hour to shave your balls.”

Andrew grabs his keys and wallet. “Stop talking.”

“Suck my dick,” Kevin says, following him out of the room.

Renee, Allison, and Dan live in a skinny three-story townhouse they rented off campus. When they get there, Andrew parks next to Renee’s hybrid and follows Kevin through the unlocked front door. They enter a long hallway that ends with a staircase. Off to the side of it is a den filled with folding tables already overflowing with red cups, empty bottles, and loud students. Outside on the patio, people stand smoking in tight circles, and Andrew thanks Fuck that he’d kicked the habit because he would’ve had to join them.

They go upstairs and find their teammates in the kitchen. Dan is in the middle of telling a story to a circle of people Andrew has never cared to remember the names of. Allison and Renee are whispering by the pizza boxes, holding spiked iced teas and ignoring their guests.

In the attached dining room, Neil sits next to Matt and Nicky.

Andrew had felt Neil’s presence as soon as he walked through the doorway. The lithe athlete is impossible to miss, sitting with a leg kicked out and an elbow on the table. Neil’s eyes meet Andrew’s, and he smiles at him in what’s likely supposed to be a friendly greeting but ends up a syrupy, sneaky thing that Andrew considers quite rude. He gives himself five seconds to ignore Neil in favor of grabbing a beer from the fridge before he walks over.

Matt greets him. “What’s up?”

Andrew nods his chin in reply before giving Neil all his attention, taking in his spindly fingers that rested twined across his abdomen. As always, Neil’s clothes were a bit too big—his long-sleeved shirt a muted color, his shorts rising up his thighs. Andrew rolls his eyes back up to Neil’s, the ones that had tracked his every step over, and raises an eyebrow.

“Hey,” Neil says.

Andrew is only two inches from his thighs. He could trail his fingers across their soft hair if he wanted. Neil probably wouldn’t even flinch. “I thought I burned that shirt,” he says instead.

“Oh really?” Neil asks, his smile pulling up into something smug. “I must have bought another one to spite you.”

“You’re really dedicated to the runaway look, aren’t you? Shame. You might look better if you actually put in the effort.”

Neil cocks his head, his fringe falling across his face. “You mean like you do?”

Andrew sucks his cheek against his teeth before taking a swig of his beer. “How long have you been here?”

“Like twenty minutes. That’s good, right? Do you think it’s cool to leave?”

“I’d give it another five.”

“No one is going anywhere,” Allison says. She walks up to the table and sets down her plate of cold pizza. “I have a lot of shit planned.”

Said table groans.

“Like what?” Matt asks. “I ended up half-naked last time.”

“You mean when you fucked your girlfriend in my bathroom? Yeah. I remember.”

Matt shrugs. “Dan’s your roommate. It’s her bathroom too.”

Andrew reaches a sly hand to hook around Neil’s wrist in an attempt to snatch him away from Allison’s plotting. Sure, he could try to avoid the redhead all night, or he could act on the fact that Neil was somebody he didn’t hate being around to make the party slightly more tolerable.

“I think he means when we played strip poker,” Nicky teases.

“Oh yeah. That. No more poker. Andrew is here,” Allison reminds them.

“Fuck. Well, that’s okay. He’d sweep all of us anyway.” 

Neil shoots up an eyebrow, as in, Is that so?

Andrew only tugs his wrist again, hauling Neil up and towards the hall.

“No! Nope.” Renee was suddenly in front of Andrew, blocking the doorway and their only way out. “Hi. Sorry, you’re not leaving. If I have to deal with Allison’s games, you do, too. ”

Neil sighs, his voice rising into something phony. “C’mon Renee, I thought you liked us.”

“I do. That’s why I want you here.”

“You’re not as kind as you come across,” Andrew deadpans.

“And you’re not as slick.” Renee smiles, not daring to touch Andrew but turning Neil around with an arm across his shoulders. Neil’s wrist slips from Andrew’s grip, and his fingers burn from where they’d wrapped so easily around it.

“I’m not playing anything stupid,” Kevin declares, leaning against a wall by the group.

Dan had finished her storytelling. She hugs Kevin in greeting and says hello to Andrew before saying, “It’s all stupid. Accept it and enjoy it.”

Andrew takes another sip of his beer. Finally, it’s just the exy players in the kitchen, the other party-goers having dispersed around the house. Neil begrudgingly sits back down in his chair, and Renee falls in alongside him. Andrew steals the seat on his other side, his shoulder bumping Neil’s as he does so. Neil, being a jerk, nudges him back, and Andrew isn’t above returning it even rougher.

“Alright, is everyone drunk enough for Seven Minutes in Heaven?” Allison asks, draping an arm around Renee and sliding into her lap.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize we were still in high school,” Kevin says, but Andrew finds it to be an adolescent statement in itself.

“Well, we are, Kevin,” Allison snaps. “Listen, I’m not forcing anyone to hook up. If you want, you can use your seven minutes with Neil to dirty talk about exy racquets. Be my fucking guest.”

Neil snorts from next to Andrew, but Kevin meets his eyes with a look that almost begs for cut slack. Andrew plays off any itch of whatever feeling sizzles throughout him at the thought of Kevin and Neil being partnered and downs the rest of his beer.

“It sounds fun,” Nicky says, leaning forward. “Dan, if I get you, I have so much to tell you.”

“Oh my god, what? About that couple from your English class?”

“Yeah. I found out they—“

Andrew tones out their conversation as quickly as it starts. Thankfully, or not so thankfully, Allison continues in her push to get her teammates to play, explaining the rules of the game. They’re straightforward: go into the closet with someone random and spend seven minutes with them doing whatever the fuck you consent to. Andrew can name three people that he could stand to spend the time with—Kevin or Renee (to talk about Neil), or the little fuck himself, who keeps bouncing his leg under the table. Andrew looks at him and then down at his annoying limb. Neil stops shaking it, but when Andrew looks away, it begins to jitter again. 

Andrew sighs and whispers, “Quit it,” as he reaches a hand to pinch just above Neil’s slender knee. It works.

“Okay,” Allison sings, grabbing a hat from the counter behind her. It’s one of Matt’s baseball caps, and she shakes the contents. “Who would like to go first?”

Andrew wasn’t one to shy away from a game. If he didn’t want to do it, Allison could dump the papers full of people’s names on his goddamn lap and he still wouldn’t budge. But a small part of him is curious about what would happen. Would Neil play if he didn’t? Would he go in the closet with anyone else?

Andrew had seen the others share touches of affection with Neil, but the most was a kiss on the cheek from one of the girls. The Foxes are a close bunch—in a way that causes the other teams around to scowl in jealousy—but Andrew supposes it isn’t strange for a group of touch-starved assholes, who had been through hell and back together, to form a—

He swallows, shiver flooding throughout him.

A bond.

“If no one volunteers, then I’ll have to choose,” Allison threatens.

“What about Neil?” Nicky suggests, and Andrew comes right back into the room at the sound of Neil’s name, like his consciousness had just been placed inside him. He swears he can hear the fucking sink dripping. “Neil, have you played before?”

“What do you think, Nicky?” Neil asks.

“I think you should go first, asshole.”

Andrew’s mouth dips into a slight frown as he wonders where his cousin found the balls to talk to Neil like that. Nicky’s eyes dart to his, as though he can sense danger, before he laughs it off. “It would be nice for you to try it out first, to see if you even want to play–”

Neil takes a drink of his seltzer. It’s non-alcoholic and strawberry lime and every bit him. “Fine,” he says. “But if any of you try to kiss me….”

It’s a joke, but Andrew still sits up a bit straighter. He puts his arm around the back of Neil’s chair so casually that Neil doesn’t look up from where he ruffles his hand in the hat, but every other Fox at the table gets the message.

“Thank fuck Aaron isn’t here. It’d be more like Hell with him….” Neil says, choosing a paper and tossing Matt’s cap back to the center of the table. Andrew had seen his twin with his girlfriend in the living room, because Katelyn preferred to hang out with her friends. Andrew looks around at the group of assholes he was sitting with and doesn’t blame her for a second. She and Aaron were always branched off from the team, especially after coming out as a couple, so Andrew had only saluted his twin and left them alone.

Meanwhile, Neil had gone quiet. Andrew leans over to see what his paper says. When he catches it, his eyes flick up to Allison, who avoids his gaze, not at all innocent.

“So?” she asks.

Andrew, who had so easily met everyone’s eyes before, suddenly can’t make eye contact with a single person at the table. Even Renee, the sneaky mouse, is focusing more on the bowl of chips than on Andrew and Neil. Absolutely fucking whipped.

“Andrew,” Neil says, matter-of-fact. He closes his fist around the paper and stills, waiting for someone to say something. No one does.

After a moment, Andrew clears his throat around the growl that almost snapped out of it. Apparently, it’s his job to make it not-weird, so he stands, pushing back his chair. “If you so much as begin to mention Jeremy Knox, I’m walking out.”

Neil breaks into a smile. “No? What about Laila—?”

“If any of the Trojan’s names come out of your mouth, the closet is getting burned down.”

Allison gasps. It breaks the tension around the table. Andrew looks at Kevin and shoots him a look that says, If you were in on this, consider your head on a pike, because Andrew is about a hundred-and-ten-percent sure that every paper in that fucking hat says his name.

“Let me show you to the closet!” Allison says, snaking out of Renee’s lap.

Andrew would deal with his traitorous teammates later. He had a bag of plastic bugs in his desk and could slip them into each of their lockers. For now, he looks down at Neil and waits for any sign of hesitance. Instead, Neil only stands and slips his hands into his pockets, looking at Andrew with his bright blue, bug-like eyes.

Fly swatter.

In Andrew's mind, Neil is smushed.

Deep into his fucking mattress.

“Are you gonna go?” Neil asks.

Andrew is blocking his way. He sidesteps from the table and goes to follow the conniving blonde before someone tells them to leave their phones. Andrew isn’t sure who, but he probably should dig the knife out of his back pocket. Instead, Andrew hands his phone to Renee and leaves the kitchen without so much as one threatening look at the others. Neil and his pretty eyes had blinked at him once, and all of a sudden Andrew’s wires were yanked out, deeming him nonfunctioning. Ridiculous.

Allison cuts his self-deprecation short, gesturing towards the room meant for sucking face. “Here we are!”

It’s a walk-in storage closet full of coats and old beanbags from the girl’s dorms. There’s even a plush area rug, as though even Allison’s unused amenities needed to be stylish and comfortable. Andrew scoffs, clicking on the soft overhead light.

Allison’s long fingernails tap something on her phone before she shows them a timer set for seven minutes. Then, Neil crowds in next to Andrew, though the closet isn’t necessarily small enough to do so.

“If you burn my shit, I’ll kill you,” she says, smiling. Then she shuts the door.

Andrew takes a deep breath. Neil smells like buttercream, and it isn’t his cologne or shampoo, it’s just fucking him. He’s still facing the door, so Andrew eyes the long expanse of soft skin from behind Neil’s ear all the way down to his shoulder before it dips beneath his shirt. Fuck. He forces himself to look away and sits down on the beanbag, his knees knocking open and arms folding across his chest.

Finally, Neil turns, looking down at Andrew with hesitance.

Andrew sighs. “I thought you were past that, rabbit,” he says. Then, when Neil doesn’t budge, Andrew leans forward and grabs the bottom of Neil’s top, tugging him down to a seating position. “Sit.”

“Past what?” Neil asks, mentally coming back from wherever he’d just gone. “You know I’ve never really kissed anyone—”

Andrew’s brain short-circuits. There might be sparks and smoke coming from his ears, but he can’t find the fucks to care. Actually, he can’t do anything for half a second, apart from blink. “Neil, we aren’t going to kiss.”

Neil processes his words slowly, and a small wrinkle appears between his eyebrows. “Oh, we’re not?”

Andrew sits back and forces a single deep, slow breath. Neil is looking at him, and it’s coming across as almost disappointed. No. There’s no fucking way. “Don't tell me you want me to be the one to steal your first kiss, junkie.”

“Why not?” Neil asks.

Andrew has a mental clock ticking down behind his eyes. It’s been maybe a minute, and suddenly he’s the closest to death he’s ever been. The most resigned, the most out of control. Neil’s words give him the same feeling as looking over the edge of Fox Tower or driving the Mas.

When Andrew doesn’t answer—a mistake, Neil starts to pick at his cuticles, and Andrew knows he’s seconds away from chewing at his nails—Neil says, “I just thought maybe, if it were to ever happen, it would be okay if it was with you.”

“It would be okay?” Andrew asks. He’s lying to himself, saying that teasing Neil is better than kissing him.

“Yeah. I trust you.”

It’s a knife in his fucking chest. Neil trusted Andrew to kiss him when all he could think about was what noises Neil might make if Andrew sucked on the sensitive tip of his dick until he was squirming.

This stupid high school game was the only taste of heaven Andrew was going to get, huh? After this life, it’d be nothing but flames.

“You trust me?” Andrew asks.

And Neil scoffs out a small laugh, wrinkling his eyebrows as though saying, Well, duh? 

Andrew has to remind himself that Neil isn’t an idiot. He’s not innocent or stupid. He knows what types of monsters exist in the world and he knows better than to trust the wrong people. Yet he’s sitting here, looking at Andrew with what, five minutes left? Saying that he trusts him.

Andrew doesn’t say, I don’t want you to kiss me just because it would be “okay.” I want you to kiss me because you’re dying for it. Instead, he thinks of all Neil has confessed regarding his sexuality and supposes he’ll have to help get the striker to that point, if even possible.

“Fine,” Andrew says, and he thinks that if he or Neil were to ever sell their souls to the devil, that word would be signed on the dotted line.

Neil blanks at Andrew’s words, and Andrew gets it, because they shocked him, too. The name of the game is Seven Minutes in Heaven, but he has maybe four. Four minutes to get a taste of whatever drug has to be pumping through Neil’s veins and suck it all fucking dry. Hopefully, the high lasts him for life. Hopefully it's enough.

“Come here,” Andrew says. He lets his knees fall open further to make as much room as possible for Neil to comfortably crawl into his space.

Neil does, and he still has on that worried expression, but suddenly, layered beneath it is the same determination Andrew catches on his face when he’s playing exy. Something that hits Andrew deep in the stomach, because he’s always found it attractive, but now it was determination to kiss him.

Neil stops right in front him, folding back on his knees, and the room goes up twenty degrees. There’s enough tension to shatter glass, but they don’t have enough time to waste, so Andrew cracks it himself. Since Neil doesn’t know what to do, Andrew sits forward and wraps a hand around the back of his neck, drawing him in closer.

Their mouths hover an inch apart. Andrew can feel Neil’s sharp intake of breath and see his long eyelashes blink against his cheeks. Neil may think he's pausing for his sake, but it’s really for Andrew, who wants to savor the brief moment before he finally does what he always wanted to. 

“Is this alright?” Neil whispers, a last-minute—no, a last-second chance to make sure Andrew is okay with kissing him.

Andrew is. He knows it’s a dumb idea. But it’ll be a taste of something mouthwatering that he’ll probably never get to indulge in again. Andrew vaguely recalls saying he wasn’t an idiot earlier, but scratch that.

He thinks of all he’s revealed. He shouldn’t give too much of a shit about a kiss. Andrew hooks up with people every now and then, and Neil knows that. Neil should think this is nothing to Andrew. It’s only kissing a teammate because a game told them to. It’s safe.

Andrew almost lets something slip. He keeps his, Yes, it’s alright, to himself. He doesn’t say how badly he’s been wanting to pull Neil’s soft lips between his own since he first fucking met him. Andrew doesn’t let so much as a single breath out because he thinks it may shake. Neil’s skin is warm beneath his fingers. Andrew can feel his pulse, and it’s fucking thrumming. It causes something to coil deep within Andrew—and then he can’t help himself anymore.

Andrew leans forward and closes the gap. He kisses Neil, slotting their lips together firmly. Neil stills, his body freezing up, but Andrew just got a shot of something addictive poured right into his mouth, so he goes for it.

His fingers tangle in Neil’s hair while his other hand cups his face. Andrew softly hooks his thumb beneath Neil’s lips and pulls his mouth open. The striker’s stiffness melts away instantly, and Andrew kisses him deeper, internally dying at the hot wetness of Neil’s parted lips. 

Neil is so good. He doesn’t touch. He follows Andrew’s movements, puckering whenever Andrew does. Their kisses are as intense and rough as their dynamic—the push and pull almost dizzying. Andrew’s holding Neil’s cheek, trying not to think of how his hands could so easily slip around his slender neck, down his shoulders, and wrap around his waist. No. Andrew keeps them there, stroking the softness of Neil’s cheeks up to the roughness of his cheekbones, and Neil is practically melting into him.

During a brief second of stealing air, Andrew opens his eyes to see Neil’s hands knotted in the rug. The redhead’s eyebrows are tugged up in the middle, and his lips are wet and shiny in the low light. They have maybe a minute. Probably less. Andrew is buzzing. He’s never felt so mindless. Not even an orgasm has gotten him this braindead, and all he’s done is kiss Neil. They hadn’t even used tongue.

Speaking of, Neil’s tongue darts out to lick his lips, his eyes fluttering open to a glazed, half-lidded look. He’s checking to see where Andrew has gone, except he can only look at Andrew’s mouth. For the next thirty seconds, their lips are the only thing that matter. Neil’s tongue drags his bottom lip back between his teeth, and Andrew has had both more than enough and nowhere close to it.

He pulls Neil back against him, unable to stop himself from kissing him again, and Neil has to catch himself on either side of Andrew’s waist because he’s fallen back against the beanbag. A slight noise chokes out of Neil, and Andrew chases it back down his throat with his tongue. He swipes along the inside of Neil’s parted lips, tasting him. Strawberry lime. Neil makes a small gasp—a sound bordering on sweet that Andrew has never heard him make—before he shyly meets Andrew’s tongue with a tiny lick.

Andrew groans.

Neil doesn’t know Andrew like this. He hasn’t ever kissed him, and it’s not like Andrew has discussed his sex life with him before. So Neil doesn’t know that Andrew is usually quiet. Doesn’t know that Andrew rarely even kisses his partners, but when he does, he sure as fuck doesn't enjoy it as much as this.

Neil’s always been out of reach, but he’s kissing him back like he likes it. Andrew’s pretty sure he’s died. If the afterlife is him with his tongue in Neil’s mouth, limited to only that and not getting to drag it anywhere else, he’d suffer and take it.

He steals as many seconds as he can, daring someone to interrupt them because their time absolutely has run out. Andrew thinks he may stab them on the spot. Neil breathes out through his nose, and it’s stuttery and shaky. Andrew tilts his head to the side to kiss him deeper, to lap at more of the delicious slickness of his mouth. He holds Neil to his lips like he’s fucking drinking from him, because Neil is melty-hot like sweet cream, and he can’t get enough.

Andrew has just coaxed Neil’s tongue back out. Neil’s just gotten brave enough to hold it past his lips so that their mouths are barely touching, but their tongues are gliding against one another. It’s the dirtiest fucking kiss Andrew has ever experienced. He drags Neil forward again and finally, finally, Neil moans. It’s a small hum, satiated and whiny, as though he’d accidentally let it slip.

It’s infuriating. Andrew wants him to make all of his noises freely.

But then there's a knock on the door.

Neil pulls back. Andrew swears a trail of spit is connecting their lips before he sits back on his knees, dazed. Then Neil swipes the back of his hand across his mouth and looks away. Andrew can’t move. He keeps his face blank, but every inch of him is blazing.

Every. Inch.

He’s so hard he’s throbbing in his pants. His dick strains against the material, and he knows Neil caught it, so he shamelessly adjusts himself. He has to bite back a sound at the feeling of his cock rubbing against his briefs. Thankfully, Neil yells to whoever interrupted them for him. “Fuck off!”

To anyone else, it's venomous. But Andrew knows Neil is just as mouth-fucked as him. There’s a feminine laugh from behind the door before the shadow at the bottom of the frame disappears. Andrew feels no shame. He feels nothing and everything.

Neil looks at him. His lips are red and swollen, and Andrew thinks his may be too, but he doesn’t care. Something swells within him at the thought that he did that to Neil, and Andrew is just horny enough that he allows himself to imagine sliding his cock in his mouth.

Then Neil adjusts himself, too.

Andrew clenches his jaw hard enough that it’d wake him up from a dream, but this isn’t one. Neil has a boner because Andrew got him there.

It’s a lot. Andrew doesn’t know how far gone Neil is, but he must be dripping over the edges like Andrew, because he’s flushed and out of breath. They shouldn’t have gotten that far in less than five minutes. Not unless Neil had been preheating for months, just as Andrew had.

He cuts that thought off. No. Whatever happened here will stay here. It’s way too dangerous. Way too consuming.

Andrew clears his throat. “Any time now.”

Neil meets his eyes again and catches the look on Andrew’s face. He hopes it’s as sarcastic as he means it to be, and it must be, because Neil’s expression slips back into humor, too. He stands, but has to grab a three-drawer dresser to do it. “Alright. Thanks, I guess.”

Andrew unfolds, and he hates how weak his legs are. “You’re welcome, I guess.” It’s disingenuine. It’s mocking. It's back to normal.

They’re both standing now, and Neil is just looking at Andrew like the lost puppy he was when they first met. Andrew hates it. He wants to see Neil ignited again, so he pinches his side and says, “Let’s force Nicky in with Kevin.”

Neil is shocked into a laugh. His eyes turn back into something wicked. Success. “Alright.”

They leave the closet, and Andrew heads straight for the liquor.

Chapter Text

Since they got into the car after the girls’ party, Kevin had been non-stop in his interrogation. At first, it was to confirm that something had happened at all, to which Andrew humored him, telling Kevin it had. He would never admit it, but it was quite satisfying to see Kevin outwardly react as Andrew had felt inside. The green-eyed man froze in clicking on his seatbelt, his arm pausing awkwardly across his chest, before he wheezed.

“You guys actually kissed?”

Andrew was thankful the Maserati was loud enough to drown him out. Any babbling that Kevin managed to choke out at red lights—when Andrew couldn’t fucking gun it—he blocked out with music.

It was a shock he wasn’t pulled over.

Now, Kevin is whisper-yelling at Andrew all the way up to their dorm, and then he slams the front door, like the entire building isn’t sleeping. Andrew has had enough. Preferably, Kevin would be drunk enough to want to walk right into their bedroom and pass out, leaving Andrew to his peace (a jerk-off session on the couch, thinking about Neil’s slender fingers wrapped around his dick.) Instead, Kevin is yanking off his hightops instead of untying them, because he’s just reached that level of insanity.

“What about the team? What about our roadmap to the championship—?”

“What does my tongue down Neil’s throat have to do with the championship, Kevin?”

Kevin almost falls over, catching himself on the bench by their front door. Andrew, satisfied, drops his keys on the counter and walks to their bedroom.

Kevin yells after him. “I thought Neil didn’t swing. Why is he all of a sudden okay with kissing you?”

“That’s the question,” Andrew mutters. “What I want to know is, were you in on it?”

“In on what?” Kevin asks, following him into the room.

Andrew grabs the closest thing to him—one of his shitty paperbacks—and throws it at Kevin. The man squawks as though a lightweight book smacking into his shoulder could hurt him, but Andrew hadn’t put any real heat behind it. Still, it’s better to keep his roommate on his toes.

“You knew they were trying to get Neil and I to hook up.”

Kevin was a good performer but a shitty liar, and Andrew could always tell when the taller man was trying to act casually, because Kevin was never casual.

“I knew something was going on. Dan told me to ‘play along’ when she hugged me,” Kevin says, and Andrew is grateful the striker breaks so easily because he liked the next paperback. “I didn’t know that was the plan.”

Andrew clenches his jaw, turning to put his phone and wallet on his desk. The fact that his teammates were even making plans to get Neil and him to hook up was mildly irritating. As though Andrew wanted or even needed their help. He exhales slowly through his nose before turning back to Kevin. The man had acquired his toothbrush and was sleepily scrubbing in the bathroom doorway.

“If they do any other shit like this, stop them.”

Kevin huffs through the foam. “They don’t listen to me.”

“I don’t give a shit. If they make Neil uncomfortable, you’ll have bigger things to worry about than championships.”

“Alright,” Kevin says, taking Andrew’s threats as seriously as they were. He disappears to spit into the sink, and when he returns, he unbuckles his belt. “So what, are you and Neil a thing now?”

“No.”

“You just made out?”

“We just made out.”

“Do you think he liked it?”

Andrew almost chokes on his breath. No. There is no way even just the mere mention of Neil was going to fuck him up. No one else deserved that power, especially Kevin. Thankfully, the man is too focused on getting ready for bed and doesn’t notice the flare of heat that blooms beneath Andrew’s skin. 

But did Neil like it?

Andrew thinks of Neil shyly adjusting his cock. His cock that Andrew had gotten hard.

Andrew clears his throat “Watch it, Day," he says. His words are scratchier than he’d like to admit, but Kevin doesn’t acknowledge it.

“Alright. Well, just look out for Neil.”

Andrew turns to Kevin, raising an eyebrow. Go on.

“Well, you hook up with people all the time,” Kevin explains, and sure, Andrew has a somewhat active sex life, but he wouldn’t go as far to say all the time. Kevin continues, “Neil doesn’t. A kiss probably means a lot more to him than you. If you don’t plan on starting anything with him, you should probably create some space.”

“Space,” Andrew repeats.

“Yeah. Like, healthy distance. Until things can cool down. That way he isn’t confused.”

“Neil is capable of understanding a kiss, Kevin. He’s an adult and can make his own choices.”

“I know, but are you going to stand there and tell me that Neil Josten is the type to casually kiss his friends?”

Andrew swipes his tongue across his teeth.

Kevin keeps going. “Exactly. Just be careful.”

“Alright,” Andrew says, and he’s angry because Kevin was right, and Right Kevin was going to sit his toned ass on his high horse for the rest of the week. He’ll be whistling until fucking Friday.

Andrew locks himself in the bathroom and gets ready for bed. Only minutes later, he comes back out to find Kevin asleep. Andrew wonders how someone that tall can comfortably sleep in a full-sized bed, but his roommate has one knee hanging off the edge and is still passed out with a pillow to his chest, so.

Andrew pulls off his clothes, changes into new briefs, and gets into his bed. Their room is lit only by faint street lights, and Andrew can think of nothing but Neil. He replays their kiss from start to finish and gets a spike of heat deep in his belly every time their tongues first meet. Every time he thinks about the Reserved and Indifferent Number 10 shyly sliding his tongue into his mouth.

A kiss probably means a lot more to him than you.

Andrew rolls onto his stomach, ignoring his pounding heartbeat, and thinks, Doubt it.

[ 2 ]

The entire cast of Grease.

The Foxes had decided that whoever hosted movie night got to pick what everyone else had to watch. It was a good idea, and because they switched hosts every week, it kept things fair. Their film knowledge constantly expanded, whether to nostalgic rewatches, something critically acclaimed, or complete and utter bullshit. Andrew didn’t mind it either way. He liked dark rooms and sweets and the Foxes shutting the fuck up for two hours.

Except when it was Nicky and Aaron’s turn to have the team over, and he was in for an evening of everyone singing along to shitty musicals.

On nights like these, Andrew planned on drinking.

It’d been about a week since he kissed Neil, and for the most part, they’d been relatively normal. With their classes and busy practices, Andrew and Neil usually hung out around the dorms or on the weekends, anyway. So everything was fine (Andrew thinks that if he keeps saying so, he might give in and believe it.) It just means that tonight was the first time since their kiss that they would be expected to spend time with one another, and Andrew was not feeling any which way about it.

He planned on drinking.

Andrew had thought of nothing but kissing Neil for the last five days. Seriously—he’s actually not sure how he ended up in front of his dresser again, pulling out clothes for the night. He’d done important, dangerous things all week. Driven his car. Turned in assignments. Operated gym machinery. All of it, zero recollection.

Neil was a fucking blackout drug.

Healthy distance, Kevin says in his mind.

Andrew grits his teeth and grabs a pair of sweatpants.

Kevin had been floating on a cloud the last couple of days, taking full advantage of being the one without the crisis, for once. Andrew wanted to gut him (just a little bit), but there was nothing he could do to deny it. His roommate knew how he felt, because unfortunately, the desire to want to fuck somebody didn’t just disappear. Kevin was incredibly familiar with it, having lusted after every person in a red and gold jersey for the last three years.

Point being—Andrew is letting Kevin have his moment.

The dark-haired man is currently in their kitchenette, stuffing his face with whatever prepped dinner he’d made earlier in the week. Andrew slips on his sweats and a hoodie and grabs some sneakers before meeting Kevin in the living room.

“We should ditch,” Andrew says. He thinks he’d much rather prefer to sit in the bleachers of Fox Stadium, listening to music and drinking away his thoughts. “Don’t you have a new drill to perfect or something?”

Kevin is hunched over his tupperware like some sort of healthy goblin. It’s weird. But he licks quinoa from his lips and looks at Andrew like he’s the freak. “Uh, yeah I do. Are you being serious?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s in it for you?”

“Not watching whatever movie Nicky has picked out.”

“Are you going to practice with me?”

Andrew narrows his eyes. “No, dipshit.”

“Fine.” Kevin shrugs, quick to pull out his phone. “Actually, it’s cool. Let me just text Neil—”

“Don’t text Neil.”

Kevin freezes at Andrew’s tone, and Andrew discretely does too, because what the fuck was that? Urgency?

Then it dawns on Kevin, and his green eyes light up like he’s got a bulb for a brain. “You’re avoiding him.”

Bingo. “No, I’m not.”

And Kevin laughs. It’s sick and twisted like he’s happy that Andrew is suffering. “I can’t believe this. You’re so screwed. We’re so screwed. We spent all last semester perfecting Neil’s addition to our team, and now our dynamic is going to be ruined because you fucking like him.”

Andrew is livid. Andrew doesn’t like Neil. He just wants to fuck him. He wants to stick two fingers in Neil’s mouth and slide them back until he gags. That doesn’t mean Andrew likes him. It just means Neil makes his dick hard.

Kevin is still snickering, watching Andrew like he knows better, and Andrew has to stop himself from being rude because that would only confirm things. Instead, he says, “The next time you cream your pants because Knox hugs you at a banquet, I’m not taking you home to change. Go fuck yourself.”

He fails. Big time. But now Kevin is choking on his broccoli, so did Andrew really?

“I’m going to Nicky’s,” Andrew says, pulling on his shoes. “Don’t come.”

“Wait–!” Kevin says, dropping his shit in the sink and grabbing his phone. His loungewear is orange and gray and disgusting, just like his attitude. Andrew needs a drink. “I’m coming.”

“No. You’re uninvited.”

“You can’t just uninvite me. It’s not your dorm.”

“Aaron says don’t come.”

Kevin pulls a face and opens the door. “Suck my dick, lover boy.”

Four rooms down and not even twenty seconds later, Andrew is knocking on his family’s door. The entire third-floor hallway smells like popcorn. It’s seven o’clock, so Andrew ate a while ago, but Nicky and Aaron usually have snacks laid out like it’s a fucking theater. 

“Andrew!” Nicky says, opening the door. “Kevin!”

“No. Not Kevin,” Andrew says, moving inside.

Aaron is in the kitchen with Katelyn, and she gives him the same, “Hi, Andrew,” that she always does. Andrew isn’t in the mood to speak to anyone, really, but he sees his twin pouring shots, so he gives the pair a “Hey,” and steals one.

Aaron watches him take it. “You alright?”

Andrew doesn’t answer him, because in reality, he’s fine. Surface level, nothing has changed. Kevin is being a dick, but Kevin was always a dick, it’s only that Andrew isn't in the mood to humble him tonight. Andrew is, if anything, thrown off kilter, and the person to blame is probably sitting on the rug around the corner, so, shit. He downs the drink, and though he isn’t at all a lightweight, Andrew convinces himself that the heat flooding his chest will center him a little.

For good measure, he grabs a beer. There’s also a box of sour gummies that doesn’t officially have his name on it, but Andrew knows Nicky got for him, so he snags those, too.

The sugar and alcohol aren’t enough to prepare him.

Neil is already there, and Andrew stops in his tracks because he looks like sex personified. Andrew almost wants to turn to the upperclassmen, because seriously? You’re able to have a casual conversation when there’s someone that looks like that right there?

Neil’s wearing the hoodie he’s worn so much that the black has faded to blue. It matches his sweats, but his socks are gray, and he’s sprawled in the reclining chair that Andrew had claimed years ago as his designated spot. But now Neil’s in it, sideways and with his knees up like he owns it. His hair is messy and swishing this way and that. His chin is in his palm like Allison is the most boring person he’s ever met, but then he sees Andrew walk in, and his entire face lights up. His smile is smushed from his hand, and it’s sickening.

That’s Andrew’s fucking chair.

But he imagines Neil in it with him, a knee on either side of his lap while Andrew bites marks into his neck. God. If there was one thing Andrew never thought he would regret, it would be kissing Neil Josten. How was he supposed to function when every time he saw him, Andrew thought of how Neil had whined? How he had chased his lips with his own?

Andrew swallows. It’s been half a second, but it’s almost the biggest crisis he’d had so far.

Renee notices him. “Andrew, you’re here.”

Andrew knows she doesn’t expect a reply past eye contact, so he gives it to her. The others resume their conversation, snacking on giant bowls of popcorn before moving to the kitchen to take the shots Katelyn announces.

Now alone, Andrew walks over to Neil, setting his candy on the side table. “You’re in my spot.”

Neil doesn’t look like he cares, but at least he sits up a little. “This is your chair? Since when?”

Since when did everyone question Andrew’s status with Aaron? “I’m this chair’s next of kin. Get up.”

“I’m really comfortable.”

“I’m not above moving you.”

“Eh,” Neil’s mouth pulls down. It’s rude. “I don’t think you could.”

Andrew raises an eyebrow. He could lift Neil. The redhead was a fucking paperweight compared to what Andrew could bench. In fact, he could do more than lift him. He could throw Neil over his shoulder to take where he pleased, pin him to the wall and hold him there while—

“You know I could,” Andrew says. He goes to set down his beer, but then gets an idea. The blond holds his drink above Neil’s head and tilts the bottle slightly. “Five.”

Neil’s eyebrows shoot up in amusement, a smirk blooming across his lips. He doesn’t budge.

“Four.”

Neil blinks up at him.

“Three.”

At first, Andrew thinks Neil is getting up, but then he watches as the blue-eyed asshole readjusts. Neil angles his head and opens his mouth so that any of Andrew’s spilled drink pours inside of it.

The shot Andrew took must have been strong. Must have. Because at that point, Andrew gets fucking lightheaded. It’s not because Neil is opening his mouth for him with a daring look on his face. Andrew doesn’t think about splattering his pretty expression with cum at all.

Andrew moves the bottle. Neil goes back to slouching comfortably, his smug smile almost begging to be devoured.

The others come into the living room, a little bit louder because of the new drinks in their systems. The upperclassmen collapse onto the couch and Aaron and Katelyn take the other chair (it's newer and bigger, but Andrew likes his further back from the others). Nicky and Kevin, single and long-limbed, stretch across the rug. Usually, Neil is with them, whispering to Kevin throughout the movie, but tonight he’s with Andrew, and no one even spares them a second glance.

Suddenly, Neil stands. “Bathroom.”

Andrew watches him go and then takes full advantage of his seat being occupied.

Nicky pulls up the movie while Kevin shuts off all the lights. A few minutes later, during the opening credits to which Dan and Nicky sing, Neil comes back. He steps over legs—kicking Kevin accidentally on purpose—before he folds down at Andrew’s feet.

As in, he literally sits on Andrew’s sneakers.

Andrew grips his beer bottle a little bit tighter, but he doesn't move. He finishes his drink, and during the movie, when the main character is solemnly belting her heart out, he rips open his candy as loud as possible. Neil thinks it’s funny to turn around and shush him like he hadn’t been talking to Kevin the entire time. Then, he holds a hand out for Andrew to place a piece in, which Andrew begrudgingly does, before not eating it. Instead, Neil fakes a stretch and slips it into Kevin’s hoodie.

And Andrew hates that he’s entertained. He hates that throughout a movie about a secret, forbidden relationship, he’s fantasizing about the idiot in front of him. He hates that Neil knows how to push his buttons without actually pushing them. Andrew wants to have Neil closer, and he hates that too, because he can’t stop thinking about dragging Neil up by his collar and kissing him dumb. Instead, he shifts his foot until Neil scooches off—it’s been a stubborn hour, and he’s surprised Neil’s ass hasn’t fallen asleep—and gets up.

Everyone is pretty into the movie. Unfortunately for Andrew, Nicky has popular taste. He thinks he even sees Renee mouthing the words to a song in the dim lighting, so he yanks on a piece of her hair as he walks by. 

After he puts another two shots in his stomach, not nearly relaxed enough to be a Neil-tamer, Andrew returns with another drink.

Neil is back in his spot.

Their—no, Andrew’s— chair is angled somewhat behind the couch. Kevin’s head is lolling back against Allison’s knee, so he hasn’t noticed Neil slither up into his spot. And Neil is just watching the musical like he’s suddenly interested. Like he hasn’t done anything wrong.

Andrew, staying quiet, goes up to his chair and wraps his hand around Neil’s bicep. He lifts him to his feet (because it’s that easy, but also Neil just lets Andrew move him because he trusts him) and Neil makes a small, shocked noise. For a second, Andrew feels smug about wiping the cocky expression off of his face.

Then Andrew sits.

And pulls Neil down into his lap.

Then Neil really blanks.

Andrew settles into the chair like he does this every day, because he’s content with fucking with Neil right back. His pulse is thrumming at having the striker this close, at the fact that Neil hasn’t immediately shot back up. Andrew’s drink is still in his hand, so he casually takes a sip and puts his eyes back on the screen, watching just as much as Neil is (isn’t.)

Thirty seconds pass and where Neil doesn’t move, so Andrew leans forward and whispers, “Someone doesn’t want to sit in my chair anymore.”

Neil looks at him. Really looks. Andrew thinks of Kevin’s warning and rolls his eyes. Getting even closer, he says, “Everything’s fine, Neil. Relax.”

“Okay,” Neil says quietly. He’s still sitting, but not as comfortably as he could be.

“If you want to get up, do it. But if you want to stay,” Andrew says, lowly, “it’s here or nothing.”

The challenge is familiar enough, and it works. Neil relaxes a little, and Andrew takes the chance to widen his thighs. It eases Neil higher up, and then he’s scooching all the way back until his ass settles on Andrew’s dick.

Shit.

“Okay,” Neil says. Andrew keeps his face blank, but he doesn’t trust himself to say a fucking word. “At least you’re no longer avoiding me.”

Andrew furrows his brows. “I wasn’t avoiding you, idiot.”

“You weren’t?” Neil whispers, still facing the screen. Andrew can’t help but breathe him in. He keeps his hands to himself, but the solid, warm weight on his lap is dizzying. Or it’s the drinks. Andrew takes another inhale of Neil’s sweet scent. Definitely the drinks. “I thought you were being weird about our kiss.”

“It was just a kiss. People kiss.”

“We don’t, normally.”

Andrew pinches his thigh. “It was a game,” he says. “You think I haven’t kissed Kevin?”

Neil scoffs. “You’ve kissed Kevin?”

Absolutely not, Andrew thinks. But he says, “Yes. As a dare.”

Neil hums, and Andrew can only feel it. Fuck. “Alright. Well, whatever then.”

“Whatever, then.” Andrew agrees.

Neil gets comfortable—because he’s warm and in sweats and a jerk—and relaxes back further. At one point, Kevin turns around and catches Neil on Andrew’s lap, and his entire face shifts. You’d think they were watching a horror movie (maybe they were, Andrew has no idea what the plot of the film he’s watching is anymore.) Andrew gives Kevin’s stupid face the middle finger, and the brunette pest is drunk enough to let it go.

“So, who’s a better kisser?” Neil whispers.

Andrew raises an eyebrow.

“Me or Kevin?”

“What?”

Neil sighs, like sitting on someone’s lap is so hard for him. He wiggles to readjust, but he slightly rubs against Andrew’s cock. Andrew sucks in a quiet breath. It takes everything within him not to react, because as far as he can tell, it isn’t intentional.

Neil leans in close to Andrew’s ear. “I asked, who is a better kisser? Kevin? Or Me?”

Then Andrew stops breathing. Neil’s airy words tickle along his neck, and he shivers. Chills erupt across his skin, and Neil is still pressed snug against his front, only a few despicable layers between himself and Andrew.

“I’m not answering that,” Andrew grits out.

“Me, then.” Neil shrugs, clueless as to the pot he’s stirring. Fuck Neil and Kevin’s stupid, stubborn, ongoing competition to be the best at everything. Fuck it to Hell. Andrew has never kissed Kevin, but he can’t imagine it’d be anything close to kissing Neil. He can’t even tear his eyes away from Neil’s lips, because they’re so fucking close. You, he doesn't say. There's only you.

Neil is lit up by the tv, from the sharp angle of his jaw to the soft slope of his nose. His hair is red and blue and yellow and pink, and he looks like he won, but Andrew can’t even put a name to the game they’re playing. Then Neil turns back, still bothering to pretend to pay attention, and his hips do a subtle press against Andrew again.

Andrew clenches his jaw, because this is going to become a problem. More than it already has.

Neil makes no effort to get up. In fact, he squirms, settling into Andrew between his shoulder and chest. It’s a slight adjustment, but every little shift drags Andrew’s sweats across his hardening dick. He grits his teeth because he's almost throbbing and there’s no way Neil doesn’t feel it. After a few torturous seconds, the striker whines like he's about to move again, but Andrew's had enough, whether Neil is aware of what he’s doing or not.

Andrew grabs him, wrapping a hand around Neil’s hip and squeezing tight. “Neil,” he warns roughly.

Neil hums a soft noise with the lilt of a question. “Do you want me to get up?”

Andrew isn’t drunk. He’s not. He knows his limits, and he’s had just enough to clear the kiss from his mind. This is something else entirely—this is how someone gets off.

Neil moves to look at Andrew’s face with an open expression. Fuck Kevin, because Neil’s blue eyes don’t look confused at all. They look playful, testy even. When Andrew doesn’t reply, Neil moves to get up. He doesn’t get far. Andrew pulls him right back down, his arm slipping fully around Neil’s waist, and he squeezes to keep him still.

“Stay,” Andrew says. “But stop that shit.”

“What do you mean?” Neil asks, and he's absolutely playing dumb, but his ears are turning pink. He comes back, and there’s one final press of him against Andrew as he settles in. Andrew can't help the groan that slips out, because his cock is fully hard and maybe even wet at the tip, like he’s a fucking teenager getting off from dry humping.

Thankfully, Neil doesn’t move again.

Andrew swallows. His arm is still wrapped around Neil, and he keeps it there, his hand resting to hold him.

For the next few minutes, all Andrew can think about is grinding against Neil until they finish in their pants. About kissing the smooth skin of Neil’s neck, so dangerously close to his mouth already. Andrew wants to bite him. He wants to move Neil into whatever position he wants and make his whines break into whimpers.

Somehow, though, he’s able to force his attention on the god-awful movie. It dilutes the thoughts raging through his mind. The press of Neil against him goes from absolutely tortuous to almost grounding. Without thinking with his dick, it’s comfortable. Neil is warm and fits perfectly against his chest. His head falls back against his shoulder, and Andrew can hear Neil's slow breaths. With each calming one, Andrew thinks he may need to stop being so possessive over this stupid fucking chair and learn to share it (permanently, and with the little shit on his lap only.)

The movie ends. It’s still early, but they’ve been up since morning practice, so Nicky comments on how Allison and Renee have fallen asleep on one another. Neil gets up before anyone can see them. Andrew watches him stretch his arms over his head, his hoodie rising to reveal his toned back and a smooth slither of his lower waist and hips. Neil’s sweatpants are hanging low, too low, and showing too much skin. Without the band of underwear.

The realization that Neil’s going commando has Andrew’s vision blurring, because he wasn’t wearing briefs, either. Just like fucking magic, all of his blood leaves his head and goes right back to his dick.

Neil falls in next to Kevin, stealing a few gulps of his water. Kevin doesn’t seem to give a shit, and thankfully he has enough common sense to say nothing about the lap sitting. Aaron rises to start the movie he picked out, and Andrew exhales and catalogs the memory of Neil sitting on his lap while it’s hot. Kissing the menace for a game was one thing, even if they did get mutual hard-ons. Neil openly teasing him was something else. And Neil sitting comfortably on his lap, almost small, almost his— it was fucking addictive.

Andrew was going to get a fucking headache. He looks at Neil, who looks up at him over his shoulder and smiles softly at him.

Whatever floods beneath Andrew’s ribs does not mean he likes him. Not at all.

Chapter Text

The idea was that the gym would help with relieving some tension.

It does, to an extent. By Andrew’s last rep, his compression shirt is soaked with sweat. He’d put every drop of frustration he could into his workout, and though thoughts of Neil are still buzzing around in his mind, they’re less prominent.

For all of five minutes.

Andrew’s headphones are blasting something bass-heavy, so he doesn’t hear Kevin sneak up on him. He only notices the striker when he checks the mirrors lining the walls, and Andrew takes his time to finish chugging his water before turning to acknowledge him.

“Hey,” Kevin breathes out. His chest does a steady rise and fall from his time on the treadmill, and his hair is damp. “Can we talk?”

Andrew wants to straight up decline and head for the showers, but he’d been skirting Kevin for the last couple of days (it’d done much in starving out the striker’s newfound chumminess), so it was probably time to let his roommate speak his mind.

Andrew takes out a headphone. “Go ahead.”

“I just wanted to check on you,” Kevin replies. He looks genuinely concerned, and Andrew’s initial reaction is to curl his upper lip, disgusted ick-face style, but he suppresses it. Kevin doesn’t need to be nervous every time he approaches Andrew. That isn’t how he wants their relationship to work.

So Andrew says, “No need, Kev. Everything’s fine.”

He keeps it short because he absolutely does not want to do this right now. He’ll welcome the idea of speaking with Kevin again—no, he doesn’t miss him—but the brunette had gone well over his allowance of Things Kevin Can Bring Up With Andrew. The man was going to need to wait another calendar year before he could talk about Neil again.

Kevin purses his lips. “Alright, just making sure, because tonight is the—”

“I know what tonight is.” Andrew grabs his towel and wipes off his face. “Stop worrying.”

Kevin raises his hands in submission, but his voice is snappy. “Fine.”

Andrew couldn’t care less about what was going on tonight, and Kevin should know by now not to push the exy agenda. Or any agenda, for that matter. If Andrew wanted to talk, he would.

But he never does.

(Kevin is just stubborn.)

Andrew looks across the room to the treadmills—to where Neil steadily runs, as he has for the last thirty minutes. It was no secret to anyone that Andrew was attracted to him, (including even Neil, now) but that didn’t mean that he wanted to do anything about it. Their current relationship was safe how it was. They were (and Andrew feels weird saying it, but it’s much easier than admitting anything else) friends. Anything more and things would get complicated. There would be expectations that Andrew wasn’t sure he could meet. Feelings. And underlying it all, the possibility that he might hurt Neil.

Andrew grits his teeth and hopes he hasn’t done that already.

He was avoiding Neil again, and the redhead knew it. Andrew knows that they should both just bite the bullet and talk, but he hasn’t felt the mental strength to stand his ground against his desires yet. (Also, Andrew is just as stubborn as Kevin and doesn’t want to be the one to start the conversation.) A small part of him wished that Neil wouldn’t respect him this much, wished that he would just come up to Andrew and say, “Hey, what the fuck is your problem?” But Neil would never push anything—a conversation, a truth, a touch. He was probably waiting for Andrew to approach him first.

Andrew spitefully tears his eyes away from Neil’s shorts, which bounce as he runs.

Kevin is still standing in front of him.

Andrew huffs out a breath. “Anything else?”

“Nope,” Kevin says.

Andrew eyes him and makes the mental note to get enough wine in Kevin tonight so that the wrinkle between his brows disappears. “Relax,” he says, and he shoves the assistant coach toward the locker room. “Nothing has changed.”

“Really?” Kevin raises an eyebrow.

“Yup,” Andrew says, and it’s a total fucking lie.

[ 3 ]

David Wymack (but not really).

There was a time, almost seven sweet months ago, when Andrew didn’t have to brace himself for every second spent around Neil. The newest team member was nothing more than a quiet stray, wondering if the scraps laid out were really for him. Flinching whenever he was petted. Shaking off the collar strapped around his neck.

Now, Andrew wishes there was a literal collar he could put on Neil. He means this in a sarcastic sort of way, of course, but he’s also not opposed to the mental image of his name engraved on a charm around the brat’s neck. A little strip of leather with a leash to Andrew’s fist, so he could tug Neil this way and that, until he was all doe-eyed and blushy and crumbling into the blankets.

Andrew grits his teeth and thinks, belatedly, that maybe he should have jerked off.

Then he thinks about how he already had that morning, something quick and not-shameful-enough in the shower, and that he probably would, later, too. So three times in a day would be overkill. Right?

Sure.

He’s messed his hair into something carelessly slicked back, and Andrew has on a white button-down with a black suit jacket over it. His matching pants have a faint grid pattern, and his shoes aren’t his usual boots, because Kevin had said, This restaurant is nice, dick. Take them off.

Andrew is currently leaning against his car, waiting for Neil to come downstairs. Kevin is grumbling in the backseat, angry to have been squashed next to Aaron, who was upset to be stuck in the middle. Nicky is on his twin’s other side, talking about the menu’s options. All of them are dressed appropriately. Business formal, Wymack had said (he sounded an awful lot like his son when he was telling people what to do), that means no fucking jeans, Josten.

Hence why Andrew was bracing himself.

When Neil finally walks out of the lobby doors with Matt, Andrew wishes he had a cigarette. The striker is in a navy blue sweater and black pants, paired with these stupid fucking sneakers that nobody should be allowed to wear to a sponsor dinner, but Neil is, and he looks sexy and boyish and every part evil. Andrew hates that an outfit so casual has the gears in his head clanking.

Seriously. If there was an internal thermometer in his brain, Andrew thinks it would have just skyrocketed to a shatter.

Neil laughs at something Matt says, but Andrew doesn’t hear it. (He’s not even a hundred percent sure he’s met Matt before, the name is quite unfamiliar.) His brain just lags on Neil’s hair, because it looks like someone styled it. It’s clean and soft and falls gently, but there’s some sort of product that’s holding back the striker’s habitual finger combs.

The pair approach Andrew’s car, and Matt asks, “What’s up?”

But Andrew only stares at the man who must responsible for Neil’s illicit appearance.

Matt gets it. He crinkles his eyes, both kind and cruel, and then heads toward his truck. “Well, I’m going to get the girls. I’ll see you guys at dinner.”

Neil watches him go and then turns to Andrew, easing his hands into his pockets. “Hey,” he says casually, like his canvas shoes aren’t less than a foot away from Andrew’s wingtips. Like Andrew can’t smell the sweet notes of the cologne Neil rarely wears. Like Andrew doesn’t want to be with him in every fucking way–

“Hey,” Andrew says, his voice falling into something deeper.

“How are you?” Neil asks, because it’s their first interaction in days, and the idiot must think that time reverts them back to strangers.

“Fine,” Andrew says. It’s awkward, and Andrew hates it, so he pushes out a “Ready?”

Neil looks like he wants to say more. He does that little wobble to his toes and then back to the balls of his feet before he nods.

Andrew watches Neil go around the front of the Mas and then slip into the passenger seat before he meets Kevin’s eyes through the window. The asshole rests his head in his hand, his fingers stretching up an eyebrow in impatience—maybe even dread—and he’s giving Andrew a look that says, You’re literally fucked.

Andrew gives him the finger and folds into the car. “What’s the address?”

Nicky happily tells it to him over Neil arguing about the aux with Aaron. Andrew pulls up the directions to the restaurant and sighs over the twenty-minute car ride with four overly-opinionated shitheads.

“What’s the sponsor even for again?” Aaron asks.

“Some kind of energy drink,” Kevin mumbles.

“It’s really good!” Nicky provides, going off about sugar alcohols and flavors.

“Whoa,” Neil interrupts, turning in his seat. “I didn’t know you wanted to become a rep, Nicky.”

Andrew reverses out of the spot.

Throughout the car ride, he tries to ignore Neil’s slim legs in the wide seat, his boney elbow on the middle console, and his fingers twining and untwining in his lap. He fails. (He’s been doing that a lot lately.) At every red light, Andrew can’t help his eyes dragging over Neil, can’t help but think that he belongs there. At his side. The thought is nauseating, and the familiar but unplaceable feeling swirls in Andrew’s chest, absolutely ignored.

Instead, Andrew thinks about the three in the back seat disappearing, so that he and Neil are alone. Andrew would find a private spot to park in, lean over, and kiss Neil back into his seat. He’d unzip Neil’s offensive slacks, rub his cock until his briefs were spotted with wetness, and then jerk Neil off. Fast and relentless, until Neil was squirming and pleading out cracks of Andrew’s name.

Andrew pulls into the parking lot of the restaurant even more frustrated than before. Putting the car in park, Kevin, Aaron, and Nicky empty the backseat a little too quickly for his liking. It's suspicious. He watches them wait on the sidewalk while Nicky speaks to someone on the phone (likely the girls), but Neil stays in the car with him. He’s running his fingers through his hair, giving Andrew a whiff of whatever product he used, and then he’s had enough.

Andrew turns off the music.

He supposes it would be better to go into a sponsor dinner not feeling cut off from Neil. Their dynamic as a striker and goalie was one of the things that college exy fans went crazy for—was one of the reasons why the media believed the Foxes had suddenly been doing so well. Representatives and reporters looked at the two of them like they were candy, and it was almost sickening, but Kevin made them grit and bear it. Andrew does it for him, but he also does it for Neil’s future spot in Court. He’d never tell them, but he thinks (hopes) they know.

There’s a minute of silence, and Andrew can only take it for so long. “Say what’s on your mind, rabbit.”

Neil, the bastard, scoffs. “No.”

Andrew blinks at the annoyance in his voice. He’d been on the receiving end of Neil’s attitude a few times when Neil got to PSU, but not since they’d made their deal. Andrew accepts his answer, but he can’t keep his eyebrows from slightly raising.

“You know what’s on my mind,” Neil explains. He meets his eyes, so far from the nervous wreck Andrew had met months ago.

“Not sure what you mean," Andrew says, but of course he has an idea of what’s on Neil’s mind, he just isn't certain.

Neil’s smile grows, and Andrew knows he’s fucked. “I mean all of your mixed signals. I’m not sure what you want from me.”

“Nothing,” Andrew says. He means it to be a relief, but it doesn’t look to be one for either of them.

Neil licks his lips. “Listen. I get that what happened at Allison’s party wasn’t a big deal. Same with what happened at Nicky’s. So can you stop overthinking it and quit avoiding me? I hate it.”

Andrew freezes.

He was overthinking it?

Neil continues. “I don’t expect anything from you, if that’s what you think. We don’t even have to talk about it. I get that we were just fucking around.”

Andrew can’t comprehend a single word being said to him.

“We’re friends,” Neil says.

“Friends."

“Yeah,” Neil breathes.

For a second, Andrew can only look at him, because he’s honestly fucking baffled. Neil isn’t looking for anything, either. Which is—fine, because Neil has always been uninterested in shit like relationships or sex. Or, it should be fine, but Andrew’s stomach suddenly feels like a black hole has been opened up inside of it.

Maybe he’s just hungry.

“Okay,” he says.

And Andrew supposes that takes care of that, only it feels like a stick dam against a fucking tsunami. The things that he felt for Neil had a way of slipping past every defense that Andrew could even think of attempting. He curses himself for being so selfish, and almost wants to let Neil out of the car and be alone for a few hours, but he’s avoided him long enough. The best thing for Andrew to do would be to behave normally, and hopefully, his feelings would settle back into place.

Neil raises an eyebrow at him expectantly. “We should probably go inside.”

Andrew looks back to where his family was, only they’re gone. Matt’s truck is parked next to his, still and empty. He hadn’t even heard the others pull up.

Andrew yanks the keys from the ignition and forces himself out of the car.

The restaurant is fancy. Andrew isn’t surprised, considering reps have a giant pool of money to impress athletes with. There’s a burgundy carpet lined by leather ottomans and dim lamps that leads up to the hostess. The woman doesn’t have a speck of lint from her blouse to her skirt.

“We’re with Palmetto State,” is all Neil says.

The hostess seems used to the lack of manners (her uniform doesn’t even require a name tag), so she only smiles primly before leading them through the dining area, past full tables and a busy bar. Andrew walks behind Neil and ignores the stares of any heads that turn.

They arrive at a wall of paneled windows leading to a private room, and the hostess slides open the door to reveal their team. Inside, there’s a long table set with expensive tableware and candles. Two reps stand at the end of it, and there’s a tv on the wall behind them, paused on the first slide of a presentation. Another rep sits near them, typing on a laptop.

“Andrew, Neil,” one of the standing ones says. Andrew has seen her before at Fox Stadium, being given a tour by Wymack. “Nice to meet you.”

Wymack looks pissed at their late arrival, and Andrew checks an invisible watch. It’s been five minutes at most, old man. Their coach sits in a seat at the far end of the table, next to PSU’s Sports PR manager, and introduces them to the reps. They’re going to discuss the product during drinks and appetizers, and then they’ll eat.

They continue introducing the energy drink, Power Up!, and Neil appears bored already. Meanwhile, Andrew looks around the table. There are two strategically placed seats left. One is next to Dan, who sits at the head, and the other is next to Renee, across from them and further down.

Andrew cuts his eyes to Wymack.

Wymack gives him a heavy look. Don’t you dare.

Neil waits next to Andrew, taking in the seating arrangement and putting the pieces together, too. They don’t want Andrew and Neil next to one another, like this is fucking elementary school. Thankfully, the rep at the TV continues talking, so Andrew takes the distraction to lean over Allison’s chair and whisper to her.

“Go sit next to your girlfriend.”

Allison stills.

“Can’t do that,” she says through her teeth. “Wymack wants you two apart.”

“Just name your price.”

“Two bets,” Allison says quickly, and when she smiles, Andrew sees her eyes light up in challenge.

He knows he’ll regret solving two bets the Foxes have made about him later. It isn’t a problem for now. At that moment, Andrew’s only concern is showing Neil that everything can be normal between them, and normal meant sticking together.

“Done,” he says.

With that, Allison takes the cloth napkin off her lap and stands. “Excuse me,” she says, and then swiftly exits her chair. When she walks around the table to drop in next to Renee, Andrew falls into her vacant chair.

Neil is quick to sit down next to him.

Wymack looks furious. (Were this a cartoon, his face might even be turning purple.) If you cost us these sponsors—if you ruin this dinner—I promise you, Minyard–

Andrew cuts off his unspoken communication by looking away. The other Foxes seem entertained by Andrew and Neil and uninterested in the presentation, but they still listen. At one (extremely appreciated) point, a waiter comes in to take their drink orders. Andrew makes sure to order a whiskey to ensure Kevin drinks too. The brunette—sitting on his other side—does, and orders a red wine.

Neil holds a hand out beneath the table.

“What?” Andrew asks, quietly.

“Keys.”

Andrew holds his stare in disbelief but Neil doesn’t budge. Rolling his eyes, Andrew reaches into his suit and pulls out the keys to his car, dropping them into Neil’s palm.

“Thanks,” Neil whispers smugly.

A little while later, there’s a salad placed in front of them that Andrew only picks at. Neil has taken to discretely placing croutons on Andrew’s bread plate, which he doesn’t mind at all, but still gives Neil a glare with each one. The other man’s words still hang in the back of his mind— We’re friends— and every time Andrew remembers them, a chill spreads deep within his chest.

It’s fine, though.

After the reps are finished selling their crap the main courses come, and they sit down to eat and make small talk. Thankfully, Dan, Wymack, and Kevin maneuver the conversation, so Andrew can focus on Neil and his dinner and nothing more. The drink and food are pretty enjoyable, though, and halfway through consuming both, Andrew is feeling just centered enough to start some problems.

Since he’s supposed to be acting normally, right?

It starts off platonic enough.

One of the reps is talking about the dinner—a steak dish that Neil ordered too. “It’s quite peppery,” she says. “Neil, how’s yours?”

It’s an attempt at getting friendly with an athlete. Most who have seen their interviews know that Neil is not particularly good at being friendly, though, so of course, most try to be the one to chip away at his shell. Still, the question is plain enough. The thing is, Neil isn’t paying attention. He looks up from his food and blinks.

Wymack’s stare is so equivalent to a death threat it could get him arrested.

Andrew, casting him a line, says, “How’s the food, Neil?”

“Oh. It’s good,” Neil says. He paints on a smile, and Andrew chews the inside of his cheek. Neil must have been practicing his appearances with Kevin, because the expression is so polite and so unlike him that it’s disorienting.

“Is it?” Andrew asks, but he can’t help but pinch Neil’s leg under the table.

Neil, in the middle of taking another bite, coughs. His face turns pink—a flush that spreads up his neck to the tips of his ears. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s fine.”

But beneath the table, Neil’s hand finds Andrew’s and wraps around it.

He squeezes. Hard.

Andrew keeps a straight face, taking another bite of his food like his left hand isn’t currently trapped in a death grip. He’s never held Neil’s hand before and tries not to look too deeply into the odd way he’s doing it, now. Absently, he notes that Neil’s hand is much smaller and warmer than his, but he has the same strong grip and rough callouses as every other exy player at that table. He squeezes Andrew’s knuckles once before he lets go, setting Andrew’s palm safely on his knee.

Neil knows how they work. He would’ve moved Andrew’s hand away if he didn’t want it on him. Instead, he kept it on his lap. Like Andrew won’t continue to mess with him. Because Neil was an idiot. 

Andrew pinches him again, his fingers coming together against the soft flesh just above Neil’s inner knee, and the redhead chokes around his food.

Next to Neil, Dan turns to ask, “Are you alright?”

The striker takes a sip of water and clears his throat. “Mhmm.”

Dan looks at Andrew before she looks away. The table is high enough to block his slightly outstretched arm, so he keeps his hand on Neil’s leg while the other man sneaks his under the table to grab it again.

“Andrew,” Neil warns lowly.

Andrew hums around his glass before biting liquor from his bottom lip. “Yes?”

“Can I help you?”

“I don’t know,” Andrew says, his hand slipping free of Neil’s, only it inches slightly higher up on his thigh. He tickles Neil again. “Can you?”

When Andrew sees Neil cover his smile with the back of his fingers, his worried blue eyes flicking around the table, he realizes revenge is one of the few enjoyable things in life. He checks, and since no one is paying attention to them, Andrew digs his fingers in deeper. Neil wiggles away slightly, a laugh escaping from his mouth.

“What’s so funny?” Allison asks.

Andrew thinks if Neil could slip through the floor and disappear, he would. He turns to Neil, expectant, as everyone else does.

“Nothing. Just something Andrew said.”

The Foxes are unfazed, ignoring them, and Neil continues to try to squirm away, but their chairs are too close. Andrew, who discovered that Neil was ticklish months ago and has been fucking with him since, hooks his ankle around Neil’s shin and keeps him where he is.

Neil stills, letting him. He takes a sip of water to distract from the sly smile on his lips, and Andrew can’t take his eyes off of him. Under the table, Neil’s grip relaxes a little, but he makes no effort to remove Andrew’s hand. Andrew’s hand that rests gently over the sleek fabric of Neil’s pants. For a second, he’s jealous of how they get to hold Neil’s thighs, so Andrew relaxes fully, his fingers wrapping around the top of Neil’s leg. 

Instead of tickling, he squeezes. It's the closest thing to an apology he can muster.

Neil flicks his eyes over to him.

Andrew’s hand stays where it is, but he turns to Kevin. “How's the wine?”

Kevin is leaning back in his chair, a wrist on the armrest and a lazy grip around the stem of his glass. Andrew has seen it be refilled twice so far. Kevin’s green eyes blink open a little wider when he’s acknowledged, and he goes on to talk about the sharpness of the drink. Andrew almost takes Kevin’s wine to try a sip, but then he stops, because Neil starts slowly wrapping his fingers around Andrew’s hand.

At first he thinks Neil is making him move off. But instead, he flips Andrew’s wrist so his hand is face up, and then trails featherlike touches across Andrew’s palm. Andrew’s mind blanks. He takes a sip of the wine, and Kevin is still talking to him, but he’s only able to focus on Neil’s light touches. Neil traces small circles around his palm with two fingers, trailing one up to the edge of his armband and teasing the sensitive skin of his wrist, before going back down to the tips of his fingers. Andrew can’t help the chill that shivers throughout him. Neil is only touching his hand, but Andrew is flooded with heat like a goddamn virgin. He clenches his jaw and ignores the stirring low in his belly.

He can’t get a hard on at a rep dinner, but if Neil keeps it up, he just might.

Then Neil threads his fingers through Andrews, tentative and not at all how a friend should, before squeezing gently. Andrew stops breathing, heat instantly pooling within him. Christ. He’s getting turned on from holding Neil Josten’s hand. His heart is beating a mile a minute, but the feeling in his chest is more dangerous than what’s going on in his pants, so Andrew focuses on that.

His mind provides him with nothing helpful.

Would Neil shyly grab his hand like this, to teach Andrew how he liked to be touched?

Or would Andrew be the one to show Neil just how good it could be?

Andrew swallows, and it’s extremely difficult, but he slides his hand away. When he looks back, Neil’s cheekbones are still pink, and his eyes are slightly unsure, so Andrew reassures him that they’re still okay by starting up the first casual conversation they’ve had in a while. He brings up an essay Neil had been stressing over, which Neil falls into talking about, once his mind refocuses. The rest of the dinner is spent with their slow but intriguing talk, because unfortunately, Andrew gives a shit about what Neil has to say. He wants to know how his week went, how his drills with Kevin are going, how his classes are. Andrew doesn’t show it in asking, but he shows it in listening.

Dessert comes once their plates are cleared, and it’s a variety of mousses. There are three dozen placed in front of them, all miniature glasses filled with colorful ingredients and whipped cream. Andrew takes a double chocolate and Neil grabs the strawberry shortcake, and Kevin picks the white chocolate swirls off of his key lime pie. It’s fucking delicious.

The reps clean up their shit after that, and finally, the dinner is over. Wymack tells them they’ll be in contact, and once the door slides shut after they leave, he looks at Andrew and Neil.

“You two better not have cost us this sponsor.”

Andrew scoffs. “This was only a formality.”

“Even so, I don’t need you and Josten fucking around during a dinner they’re paying for. I know you don’t give a crap about the product, but you could at least pretend.”

Andrew shrugs.

Then the bussers come in to clear the table, so Wymack stands. “Let’s get out of here.”

Once all the Foxes are outside, Andrew approaches Neil and holds out his hands for the keys.

“Nope,” Neil says, a finger through the ring.

“I had one drink.”

“One and a half, and either way, I want to drive.”

Andrew stills. Neil has driven the Mas before, but only to borrow it when Andrew was busy. A small part of him wants to say no, but the other half wants to see Neil drive it. Andrew pulls down his lips into an indifferent frown. “Whatever.”

“Seriously?” Nicky asks. “You never let anyone drive your car!”

“He lets me,” Renee provides, patting Nicky’s back.

Andrew ignores them both. He follows Neil to the car while the others make plans for the rest of the night. Neil unlocks it and folds easily into the front seat, like the car was his. Like this was something he did every day.

Andrew really needs to recalibrate, because finding Neil Josten getting into the driver’s seat of his car attractive was really, really low. He sighs, going around to the passenger side.

Neil looked good behind the wheel.

Good enough to cause a nicotine craving.

Neil adjusts both his mirrors and seat and Andrew doesn’t even fucking care, because there was something satisfying in sitting back and letting Neil take control. When the Mas purrs to life beneath him, Andrew feels every vibration, and he imagines that this is how it must feel to see your partner wearing your clothes. In your bed. On top of you.

He swallows.

The others pile into the backseat, and Kevin’s voice cuts off his thoughts. “We’re close to the bar, so let's just go there.”

Neil looks to Andrew for approval, and Andrew nods once.

Then Neil puts the car in reverse, and when he loops his hand behind Andrew’s headrest to look back, Andrew makes fifty fucking mental notes to get his feelings in check.

Chapter Text

Andrew zips his overnight bag shut and then proceeds to stare at it for a solid three minutes.

It takes Kevin coming into their room for him to quit zoning out, but even then, Andrew doesn’t want to move. His roommate goes into the bathroom and shuts the door, and alone again, Andrew lets his mind drift back to the feeling of Neil’s fingers dancing along his palm.

He looks down at his hand before squeezing it into a fist.

Then Kevin comes out of the bathroom, the toilet flushing behind him, and Andrew puts the strap of his duffel over his shoulder.

Kevin doesn’t say a word; he only whispers mindless little things to himself like toothbrush and deodorant. Andrew is familiar with how the other man behaves before a game, but it doesn’t make it any easier to be around. Still, he says nothing, because Kevin was who Kevin was, and Andrew would have to put up with his one-track, exy-obsessed brain until the striker graduated.

(Then he’d be stuck with another.)

“Did you pack your charger?” Andrew asks, leaning against his desk.

Kevin hasn’t; Andrew can see the tail end of the cord sticking out from under his bed. He watches as Kevin slithers to grab it before looping the wire around his knuckles. A few minutes later, after the green-eyed man almost forgets his vitamins and protein powder (because he can’t go a day without them, apparently), Andrew grabs his keys and heads toward the door.

“Are we giving Neil a ride?” Kevin asks.

“No, he went with Matt.”

Andrew expects Kevin to comment on the fact, but the man is too distracted trying to remember if he forgot anything else. Andrew shoves him out their front door, telling him that Yes, the heater is unplugged, before locking it behind them.

The ride to Fox Stadium is short and filled with Andrew’s loud music. Kevin bounces his knees for the entirety of the ten minutes, but he’s stopped mumbling to himself, so Andrew considers his efforts to drown out his thoughts worth it. When they pull into the parking lot, next to their team’s bus, he rolls down the windows and lets Kevin take a second.

The silence gets too heavy too quickly.

Andrew has a lot on his mind, so he tells himself that’s why he breaks it.

“Neil’s become a problem,” he says. Andrew usually doesn’t like to admit these sorts of things (just as he doesn’t like to admit caring about anything) but there was no use trying to pretend anymore. He’d spoken to Betsy about Neil months ago, very briefly, considering the attraction equivalent to any other hookup, but now Andrew knows that it’s different. What he feels goes way further than wanting to just sleep with Neil.

He looks at his hand around the steering wheel and grips it a little bit tighter.

Meanwhile, his words have snapped Kevin out of his pre-game trance. His head whips over, his mouth is held open on the words caught in his throat.

Whatever is written on Andrew’s face pulls a heavy sigh from Kevin. “Shit.”

“Yup,” Andrew says.

“I knew it was bad, but… shit.”

Andrew rubs tension from his forehead. “If that’s all you have to offer, then forget it.”

Kevin scoffs. “I mean, can you blame me? I’ve been distinctly avoiding the Neil Subject, and all of a sudden you’re bringing him up to me. I’m sort of blown away right now. What’s the problem, anyway? That you want to sleep with him?”

Andrew starts to regret ever mentioning anything, ever, but Kevin can provide what a therapist can’t—blunt honesty. It was Betsy’s job to point Andrew in a stable, healthy direction. It was Kevin’s job to tell Andrew to get his shit together.

“No,” Andrew admits.

“Then what?” Kevin asks.

Andrew looks out of the windshield. Ahead of them, the Foxes have begun to arrive, loading their bags and equipment into the bus. Neil comes from around the other side, his duffel on his shoulder, and pauses when he sees Andrew’s car. He’s in an orange hoodie and he looks terrible, but only because he actually doesn’t. At all. Andrew hates their school’s colors, but when they were on Neil, he couldn’t think of a better one.

Well. The navy sweater wasn’t terrible.

“Shit,” Kevin says, for what should be the final time (if he knew what was good for him).

“Shut up,” Andrew bites out.

“You have two options. Cut off the feelings now or try to make it work. Well, three, actually. You could also continue on this current path and have everything end in flames. Including our team’s dynamic, though. So, maybe don’t choose that one.”

“If you mention the team’s dynamic one more time–”

“Hey,” Neil suddenly says.

Andrew suppresses a flinch, but Kevin doesn’t. He jumps in alarm before cupping his hands over his face.

Neil’s got his arms folded on Kevin’s door and is leaning into the window. “Do you guys wanna hurry the fuck up? It’s not like tonight’s game determines if we go to finals or anything.”

Andrew looks at Neil as though he’s the most boring and unclever person he’s ever met. As though he wasn’t just talking about his uncontrollable feelings for him. “Kevin, flick the bug out of my car.”

Kevin grabs his bag from the backseat. “No. He’s right. Let’s go.”

Neil’s smile is mean.

Andrew helps Kevin load the racquet cart into the bus before getting on and heading straight to the back. He takes up his usual seat, a single across from Neil’s double. Kevin, right behind him, falls in next to Neil and immediately pulls out his phone. Though they had been preparing for tonight’s game for weeks, Kevin still brings up the video of their opponent’s highlights they’ve watched a thousand times and gives a headphone to Neil.

Andrew, who usually tones out their conversations, chooses to listen today. He leans his back against the bus wall, a knee coming up onto the seat, and faces the strikers. Neil mimics his pose opposite of him, his legs coming up to rest over Kevin’s. His eyes hold onto Andrew’s for a little too long before refocusing on the video in front of him, and then the duo begins to make comments about the game. After Wymack addresses the team and they pull out of the lot and onto the highway, Andrew lets his eyes shut and mentally prepares to listen to Kevin and Neil nerd out for the next four hours.

Thankfully, Renee saves him after hour two. When she comes back to say hi, Andrew decides to humor one of her road trip games.

By the time they get to East Elizabeth, the sun is setting.

The parking lot is packed with cars, college students, and reporter’s vans. The Foxes swiftly unload the bus and head into the away team’s lounge. It’s filled with purple and grey—Elizabeth’s colors—and their orange and white is even more of an eyesore than usual. 

Andrew takes up a lounge chair and Neil follows him to lean against the armrest.

Since the rep dinner the previous weekend, Andrew has held back any stolen touches or intimate moments. It was extremely fucking difficult. Every time he saw Neil, he felt the striker’s hand in his and felt the same flare of heat throughout his body. He itched to reach out and touch, but he held back. Because they were fucking friends. Or whatever.

Wymack and Dan hold a meeting, and thankfully it’s quick so Neil’s ass isn’t perched next to Andrew’s face for long. They go over plays and techniques, and then they’re being rushed to the locker rooms to change out.

Andrew’s in front of his locker, strapping on armor, when Neil turns to him.

“Hey,” Neil says. “Can I pick a number?”

Andrew looks at the smirk on his devious lips before forcing his eyes away.

“C’mon,” Neil pushes, unbuttoning his jeans. “What about for just the first half?”

“You mean the only half I’m playing?” Andrew asks.

“Uh-huh.”

“Go ahead.”

“Two,” Neil says.

Andrew’s eyebrows draw together. “If they can even make a shot on goal, you mean.”

Matt, down and next to Aaron, laughs.

“Let them score twice,” Neil continues. His smile is downright disrespectful—to both Andrew and their opponents. “Then shut them out. I’ll buy you a drink when we win.”

“Two drinks,” Andrew says.

“Done.”

“Fine.”

Kevin, who was talking about the game with Wymack, rushes in from around the corner. He hurriedly reaches behind himself to yank his shirt off before unbuckling his belt and jeans.

“Relax,” Andrew grits out.

Kevin shoots him a glare, and it holds as much heat as it can from a man standing in only his underwear. He pulls on a long-sleeve and compression shorts before grabbing his armor. “I need a drink.”

“We haven’t won yet,” Matt says.

Kevin sounds like he might choke. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Look, I’ll get you drunk after the game, alright?” Matt promises.

“Count me in!” Nicky says.

Fully dressed apart from his helmet and gloves, Andrew shuts his locker and waits. Were they to win, qualifying them for the finals, the Foxes were supposed to attend an event an hour away the following morning. Wymack had rooms at the nearest hotel booked already (Andrew can appreciate the faith, he supposes.) Andrew and Kevin were roomed together, and so were Neil and Matt. Meaning if Matt stole Kevin for the night…

Andrew glares at the taller man.

Matt’s eyes flick to Andrew before he flashes him a big grin.

“Sounds good,” Kevin agrees.

Andrew wonders why he bothers. With college, with exy, with anything, if Matt Boyd was just going to fuck him over.

He looks at Neil, who’d gone up to Aaron. The blond was sitting on the bench, nose practically touching his phone screen as he likely texted Katelyn. Neil’d snuck up to him and was peeking over his shoulder to read the messages. He succeeds for a solid thirty seconds before Aaron notices him and jerks away.

When everyone is ready, they line up for warm-ups in number order. Andrew, behind Kevin, watches as the taller man rolls tension from his shoulders and takes a deep breath. When the double doors are opened, they’re met with the volume of thousands of fans, and something shifts in the Foxes. Kevin stops bouncing on his feet. His shoulders fall back, his chin raises, and his game face is on. When Dan confidently walks out to the court, the Foxes follow her, ready for blood.

They win.

(Shocker!)

Andrew succeeds in his promise to Neil, but just barely, because on the rare occasion that Elizabeth’s strikers could get past Neil and Kevin, they were met by Aaron and Matt. One brutal, one six-four. Kevin got them three points in the first half, and Neil got two in the second, the final one being a tie-breaker. He’d scored within the last minute, flying down the court before anyone could even get close enough to touch him.

Andrew’s heart was racing from the bench.

At the sound of the buzzer, the upperclassmen roared in celebration, pouring into the plexiglass walls. Andrew followed in behind his cousin, walking over to Neil, who was lying on his back at the fourth-quarter line. Elizabeth’s players scowl at Andrew as he passes, and he gives them an unimpressed look before squatting next to his striker.

“Neil,” Andrew says, tapping his helmet.

Neil’s chest rises and falls on quick breaths, and his blue eyes flick to Andrew from behind his helmet.

“We won,” he says, and his parted mouth widens into a smile.

The other Foxes come over, cheering and hugging. Kevin comes around to Neil’s other side with a proud look on his face. “Get up, dirtbag. We’re on for press duty.”

“Can’t.”

Matt kneels down and easily scoops Neil up. “Let’s goooooo, Josten! We’re going to the championships!”

Neil is limp in Matt’s arms, his head hidden over his shoulder, but Andrew can still hear his addictive laugh.

[ 4 ]

Matt Boyd (really).

The hotel bartender is looking at Neil.

Normally, Andrew wouldn’t really give a shit. People looked at Neil all the time—Andrew included. He was fun to look at. His laugh pinched lazily at the corners, his skin was tan and clear where it wasn’t scarred, and his eyelashes were so long they had to be heavy. Not to mention his toned arms and legs. Not to mention his fucking voice, raspy around the edges but sharp overall, perfect for someone with his attitude and stupid accent–

Maybe Andrew should reel it in.

To backtrack—Andrew doesn’t like bartenders looking at Neil, because Andrew knows just how slimy bartenders can be. Memories pop into his mind, and if he cared enough about them he would shudder, but he doesn’t. Instead, he just gives a death stare to the black-haired motherfucker eyefucking Neil.

The hotel is just outside of the city, so it’s nice, and the bar isn’t big, but it’s decent enough. There are modern chandeliers of weird shapes and wobbly couches with glass tables to match. There’s also music, but it's quiet and steady. Purple lights line the walkways and the underside of the bar where Wymack currently sits. Andrew wants to yell at the man to try not to look so old and worn out, but he doesn’t. Their coach was exhausted from the long drive—he deserved a rare show of slack (and a scotch.)

On the other hand, Andrew’s teammates are insane.

The Foxes have a reputation that they unfortunately meet, filling the space with their large presence and loud voices like a fucking gas. There are a few exy fans that came from PSU, and the upperclassmen invited some friends, too. Renee, Allison, and Dan are at the bar taking shots with them, way too excited for somewhere so lowkey. 

Matt is fulfilling his promise to Kevin and getting the man drunk. The striker has had a smile on his face since he finished talking to the reporters, and the two are at the bar with Neil while Andrew watches them from one of the couches.

He has one of the drinks Neil promised him, and when the bartender says something sly that makes the trio laugh, Andrew takes a slow sip.

His eye does not twitch.

Aaron is curled up on the couch—buried in his phone as per usual—looking as though he’d rather be anywhere else. (Andrew gives his brother five minutes before he says goodnight.) Nicky was with them, too, but he’d walked off a while ago to call Erik about the win.

So Andrew was left alone. To watch Neil be stared at.

He sits back against the couch and spreads his knees.

Better get comfortable, then.

It doesn’t take long for Neil to catch him looking. His blue eyes meet Andrew’s and do a double take before he waves the blond over.

Andrew shakes his head.

Neil slumps, the pout on his lips visible from even this far away. Andrew drinks and remembers how that pout tastes. Strawberry lime.

(Though, from the looks of it, Neil would now taste like cranberry vodka. Maybe even light rum.)

Andrew chews his bottom lip.

Neil turns back to Matt and Kevin, who are laughing about something so hard that there’s nothing but quiet gasps honking out of them. The bartender looks at Neil with his eyebrows up, as though they’re sharing an inside joke, and Neil is apparently just drunk enough to keep his face friendly.

Andrew crosses his ankle over his knee. Takes another sip. Plans homicide. It’s less than a minute later when Neil looks back, and it's right before he takes a shot. The bartender—Andrew decides to start calling him Douchebag, because of the dumb way he styles his hair—follows Neil’s eyes to Andrew. Andrew doesn’t make a face, he only holds Douchebag’s stare as Neil finally gets up and walks over to him.

Only when Neil flops down next to him does Andrew break it.

“Hi,” Neil says, all slow blinks and suppressed giggles. He’s swaying slightly—drunk as shit, apparently—and falls against the back of the couch.

“Hi,” Andrew says, lowly. He leans back and slips an arm around Neil’s shoulders.

Aaron immediately sighs and gets up. “Goodnight.”

Neil gives Aaron’s back a stupid little salute. Andrew watches his twin cross the lobby and get safely in an elevator before turning his attention back to Neil.

“Have you been drinking?” Andrew asks.

Neil snorts. “No.”

“Are you lying?”

“Yep.”

Neil is close. He’s close and bendy and Andrew’s eyes get caught on his lips. In the back of his mind, he wonders if he’ll ever be able to kiss them again. If he’ll ever get the chance to suck Neil’s tongue into his fucking mouth.

“You need water,” Andrew says, suddenly. He gets up and stands in front of Neil. “Stay.”

Neil sits up abruptly—way too abruptly, because then he looks a little dizzy—and says “Wait.”

Andrew waits like he’s told, but then he’s waiting too long, because Neil says nothing. He only looks down at his lap and picks at the hem of his shirt.

Andrew sucks his teeth before putting his fingers under Neil’s chin and lifting it. “What is it, rabbit?”

Neil looks up, his icy eyes wide like he’s back to mindless prey, and Andrew’s breath catches. He realizes that Neil being taller than him might be for the best. Because like this? When Neil is below him, batting his eyes slowly and looking up at Andrew like he hung the fucking moon? Andrew’s thoughts go into a frenzy, and he’s nothing but hungry.

He’s hanging onto his sanity by a thread.

Andrew’s thumb strokes along Neil’s chin, the slightest movement.

“Nothing,” Neil says, and for a second, he seems sober.

Andrew somehow manages to break their padlocked eye contact and goes to get him some water from the Douchebag, who, once Neil is away from him and within Andrew’s reach, actually doesn’t seem too bad. He looks at Andrew with what could be viewed as respect before grabbing a cup.

Then Andrew is flanked by two unnecessarily tall men.

“‘Sup?” Matt asks, full of courage fueled by an exy win and a beer.

Kevin comes in on Andrew’s other side, a smug elbow on the bar. “Andrew. You a-need to talk-ay to a-Neil-ay.”

“That’s not—” Andrew begins, and then he decides he doesn’t even fucking care. “Nevermind. Just fuck off.”

“You do, man,” Matt says, and then he puts both hands up in surrender when Andrew guts him with his eyes.

“Just do it,” Kevin slurs, leaning closer. He’s all liquor and aerosol cologne and overstepping. “Do it. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Nah. What’s the best that could happen?” Matt counters, and he points a finger to Kevin, as in Am I right? And Kevin blows his eyes wide and points back, as in, Whoa. I never thought of it that way.

The bartender is slow on the water.

Way too slow.

It was just fucking water.

The worst that could happen was Neil doesn’t know what he wants, and Andrew would have to live with being so close to the first thing he’s ever craved.

The best thing that could happen was (also, in a way, the worst) Neil wanting Andrew just as bad, and the two of them having to maneuver whatever came after Andrew fucking Neil’s brains out.

“When was the last time you and Neil hung out alone?” Matt asks. “Since all this started.”

“All this” is only an awkward hand gesture to Matt. For Andrew, it’s fucking doomsday.

Still, he thinks back. A ride to the stadium, a trip to the grocery store, spending time at the table at Eden’s, or in the living room at the Columbia house. All passing moments. Idle in-betweens.

The bartender slides Neil’s water in front of him, and Andrew and the other two are quiet until he continues down to the girls and they’re alone again.

“Do something. Just you two. Maybe it’ll help things fall into place. Or not,” Matt suggests, shrugging.

“For now, though, go get Neil. Because he’s on his phone and he’s probably texting people rude things,” Kevin says.

Andrew turns around. Neil’s got two disrespectful sneakers up on the coffee table and his thumbs are typing furiously over his phone’s keyboard. Andrew gives the tall assholes next to him a heavy-lidded glance before he turns to leave.

“Tell him I’ll be up in like an hour,” Matt says, winking. “Just gotta get my buddy here a little more wasted.”

As annoying as Matt was currently being, Andrew knows it’s okay to leave a drunk Kevin in his hands. The green-eyed jerk laughs into his beer.

Back in front of Neil, Andrew shoves the water into his hands. “Drink.”

Neil hums and does what he’s told, finishing the cup pretty quickly. Then he looks over to the bar, at Kevin and Matt, and waves.

“Let’s go,” Andrew says, holding out his hand.

Neil scoots forward on the couch and furrows his brows because thinking must be so difficult for drunk, pretty strikers. “Where?”

“Your room.”

Neil’s eyes blow wide.

Andrew ignores him and asks, “Do you have your key?”

“Yeah,” Neil says, patting his pocket like the swiping card was a good luck charm.

Andrew scoops Neil up, a hand coming around his waist. “Here,” he says. “Lean on me.”

“I can walk,” Neil argues, but he still lets his weight fall against Andrew. His arm goes around Andrew’s shoulder, and Andrew gets a whiff of detergent and deodorant and an unfamiliar travel body wash, and his blood clots a bit trying to process it all.

Andrew leads Neil over to the elevators, passing Nicky.

His cousin covers the microphone of his cell and mouths, “Goodnight!”

In the elevator, Andrew presses the button to the fifth floor. Then, he maneuvers Neil to the wall and pushes him against it, allowing him to slump against the rail. Andrew grabs it on both sides of Neil’s hips and stays close—just in case Neil is unable to stand upright—but he keeps his thoughts in check.

Eh. Sorta.

The elevator ride is silent apart from the breaths they share. Andrew can’t look anywhere but Neil’s heavy-lidded eyes that keep flicking between his own. And then Neil is looking at Andrew’s mouth and chewing on his cheek like he’s considering it. Considering kissing him. Andrew curses each and every god that put them there because he can’t fucking move. Then Neil leans in—the slightest, almost unnoticeable inch, and the elevator dings.

The doors opening feel like waking up from a state of hypnosis. They both pull back and Andrew sucks in a breath before snaking his arm around Neil again.

Down the hall, Neil thinks it’s helpful to say, “It’s 307.”

“I know,” Andrew replies.

Neil and Matt are three rooms down from Andrew and Kevin. The striker fumbles his key from his pocket and hands it to Andrew, who unlocks the door. Inside, he flicks on the lights. Their room is a mirror of Andrew’s—and it’s fucking nice. There are two freshly made beds, clean floors, and a clear view of the waterfront reflecting the city’s lights. It smells clean. There’s a low hum from the aircon, but other than that, it’s quiet. As though they’re the only ones on the floor.

Andrew’s pulse suddenly decides to pick up the pace.

Neil mumbles something about the bathroom, so he lets him go. Andrew absolutely doesn’t check his hair in the full-length mirror by the door. Doesn’t fix his shirt and jeans and let loose a heavy breath. He was dropping Neil off and leaving. Nothing was going to happen.

When Neil comes out of the bathroom, he looks deliciously rumpled and tired. His voice has dropped into something groggy and impolite, and when he says, “Andrew–” it cracks in the middle.

Then he fumbles with the button of his jeans.

Andrew sucks in a deep breath. “Neil, what–”

“Just wanna get in bed. Help?”

Andrew carves every fucking word into his memory. He blinks, slowly, adjusting his jaw and steeling himself for one of the hardest things he’ll ever have to do.

After staring for a moment, he guides Neil over to the bed by the door and gently pushes him back. Neil lets him. He falls back to his elbows easily when his knees hit the mattress, and he doesn’t look nervous. Doesn’t look anything. Andrew gets a chill throughout his body, reminded of Neil’s words in the closet.

Yeah. I trust you.

The redhead is still messing with his jeans, so Andrew swats his hands away and makes quick work of the button and zipper. It’s not how he’d imagined doing it so many times before, but he’s alright with that. Any other time and Andrew’s mental defenses would be helpless against Neil, but now that the man was drunk, there was not a single fucking chance he would let his mind go there.

Maybe Andrew doesn’t give himself enough credit.

Neil wiggles out of his jeans when Andrew pulls them down, his slender thighs slipping free. Andrew pulls the bunching jeans from Neil’s ankles and then folds them over the bench at the end of the bed, and then he’s just there. Standing between Neil’s legs.

And Neil is grabbing the bottom of Andrew’s shirt and just holding it.

“Neil…” Andrew says.

Neil searches his face. Again, he doesn’t look drunk. He looks real. His eyes slowly fall to Andrew’s lips and he licks his own, the shy dart of his tongue leaving wetness in its path.

“Thank you for your help,” Neil says, but his words don’t match the heat in his expression.

Andrew chokes a little. He threads his fingers into the soft hairs at Neil’s nape and the striker’s eyes flutter from where they look up at him. “Goodnight, junkie.”

Then he’s removing himself from Neil’s grasp.

Neil blinks. “Okay. Goodnight.”

Andrew feels cold where Neil’s warm thighs were. He goes to the door and mutters, “Lock it behind me,” before leaving, because he needs to put as much distance between himself and the pliant Neil behind him. In the hallway, he swears there are fucking spots dancing in his vision, but he blinks them away, and once Andrew is in his room, he feels safe enough to take a deep, grounding breath.

With Neil taken care of and Kevin in good hands, Andrew lets himself take his mind far from the both of them and enjoys the hotel to himself. He strips off his clothes and lets his sore muscles enjoy the steaming rain shower for a solid twenty minutes. When finished, the bathroom tile is cool against his feet as he walks to the counter. Then he brushes his teeth and slips on briefs to sleep in.

Back in his room, Kevin still hasn’t returned. Andrew switches the tv on and turns the volume to low before sitting on the edge of his bed and shooting a text to his roommate.

Andrew: You good?

There’s a reply a few seconds later.

Kevin: Ya.

Andrew backs out of their chat, and in his inbox are texts he hadn’t seen earlier. The stamp reads around the time they were at the bar.

Neil: hi

Neil: i coudl take you in a fight i think. defintiely

Andrew feels a flare of amusement throughout his body before he sets down his phone, leaning against the pillows. The day catches up with him, and he doesn’t notice he’s falling asleep until he hears his phone buzzing.

Checking the caller ID, he sees it’s Neil and answers it.

“Hello?” Andrew asks, sitting up a little.

There’s a rustle against the speaker, then, “Hey.”

Andrew gets an unwelcome zing up his spine at the sound of Neil’s voice, all phone muffled and sleepy. 

“What’s wrong?”

There’s an exhale—a laugh, maybe. “Nothing. I just wanted to call you.”

“Miss me already?” Andrew asks, joking, but Neil really laughs then. It’s light, and it makes Andrew’s chest tighten.

“Yeah, honestly.”

Andrew leans back against his pillows. The bedside lamp is on, low and warm. Exhaustion still tugs at his muscles, but just below it, there’s something deeper. Something only Neil can conjure up. 

He sighs and lets the striker hear it. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” Neil says, sounding much more sober. “But I think you wish you did.”

It would be a lie for Andrew to deny it. It would also be a lie for Andrew to say that Neil’s voice wasn’t stroking every nerve within him.

“You’re drunk,” is all he can think to say.

“I’m not,” Neil replies. There’s another rustle of movement, as though he’s adjusting. “Ask me anything. I can prove it.”

Andrew scoffs, “I’m not playing games with you right now.”

“When do you ever?”

“I’m hanging up, Neil.” It’s a bluff, he couldn’t. Not when Neil sounded like sugar melting down to molten.

“Don’t,” Neil says. There’s something about the way he says it that’s almost pleading. “I like your voice.”

Andrew may have to take Neil out the next time he sees him.

(As in eliminate. Not on a date.)

Neil continues. “I wanted to say something.”

“Go ahead,” Andrew says. His voice is husky. He clears his throat, but it doesn’t help. Whatever is lodged in it is there to stay.

Neil pauses, and Andrew thinks he’s stopped himself again, until he says, “Thank you. For the–for kissing me. At Allison’s.”

“What?” Andrew breathes.

“I really liked it.” Neil sounds like he’s confessing, and Andrew knows why—the redhead had a silver tongue but no spine to back it up. He snapped at Kevin before running away, shared rooftop secrets in the dark, and now, he was telling Andrew that he liked his kisses from three safe rooms away.

Andrew feels a chip in his barrier. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Neil says. “I’m glad my first real kiss was with you.”

Andrew clenches his jaw against whatever begins to stir in his stomach. “Why is that?”

“Well, you’re a good kisser, for one.”

It’s not the answer Andrew is expecting, and he huffs. Normally, it wouldn’t be noticeable, but Neil can hear his quiet amusement through the phone.

“I’m serious,” Neil says, and Andrew can hear his smile.

“I know, idiot.”

There’s silence.

“Do you think…” Neil trails off.

“Well, don’t get shy now,” Andrew chides.

Neil still takes his time to stall. “Do you think we can do it again?”

It’s the nail in the fucking coffin. Andrew blacks out for a second, and every ounce of control he has over himself disappears. “You want me to kiss you again?”

“Would that be so bad?”

Neil wanting Andrew back—and from what it sounded like, just as bad—and hinting at it with a flirty voice was disorienting. Not only does his heartbeat do a concerning skip in his chest, Andrew’s blood drains from his brain and pools between his legs.

He looks down at his briefs in annoyance.

“No,” he says.

Neil asks, “Do you want to?”

“What do you think?” Death wish.

“I think I want to hear you say it,” Neil says. Then he makes a soft noise like he’s readjusting, but it sounds kind of choked. It sounds kind of—

Andrew thinks of Neil being turned on too, and it causes his cock to twitch against his briefs. Fuck. He’s fully there, now. Andrew shifts higher up on the pillows, ignoring any rub of the fabric against his dick. He’s almost gone enough to say, What if I want to do more than kiss you, Neil? But bites his cheek against the words.

“You will,” Andrew says. It’s a low-spoken promise to an empty room and a pipedream.

Neil hums, “Hmm? What do you mean?”

“Be patient, rabbit,” Andrew says. As much as he wants to do this right now, Neil is still tipsy. Sobering up or not, his current courage was without a doubt aided. “Don’t worry. Before we kiss again, I’ll make sure to beg.”

Andrew isn’t romantic, but he’s horny, and the joke slips out of him before he can grasp it. It does something to Neil, though,—there’s a small gasp and a prolonged silence before he chokes out an, “Okay.”

“Alright.” If Andrew doesn’t touch his dick in the next minute, he might die, so he says, “Go to sleep, Neil.”

Neil listens, because he always does. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Andrew parrots, mocking. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” And Neil lets Andrew hang up first.

Andrew sets his phone on the bed and thinks about Neil, two rooms over, alone and worked up like him. He pulls his briefs down to his thighs and prays to Whoever The Fuck is up there that he has enough time to jerk off before Kevin gets back.

He can’t help but groan in relief when he wraps a hand around himself.

Andrew grits his teeth and slides the precum dripping from his cock down his length. A slick noise fills the room and heat floods throughout him at the sound. Then, doing slow, repetitive strokes from the base of his dick to the tip, Andrew gets himself so hard that his cock hits his abdomen when he lets go.

He thinks about Neil, because no shit.

It’s a fantasy Andrew has revisited so often that it’s a fucking renowned classic: Neil making himself cum. Only now it’s three rooms over, still in his oversized long-sleeve, underwear, and socks. His slim legs bent up at the knee; his feet turned shyly inward. Andrew cups his balls with his other hand, moving them slowly from his fingers to his palm, and does another long stroke over his dick. Precum practically pours from him and Andrew makes a strained groan—something deep and gravelly that he only lets out when alone.

He thinks of Neil, inching his shirt up to his chest, revealing soft skin and muscles and secret scars that only Andrew would get to see. Touch. Kiss. All the way up to Neil’s hardened nipples that he’d swirl his tongue around and nibble on until the striker was flushed red and slipping out whiny noises.

In Andrew’s mind, Neil pulls his briefs down to his ankles and his cock is leaking, pink and hard and dying to be touched. Neil might hiss when he finally does, because he’s sensitive—because he doesn’t do it much. In Andrew’s mind, Neil is thinking about him. When Neil first takes his dick in his hand and gasps, he’s thinking about Andrew’s fist around him. The hands he touched so tenderly.

Andrew slips his hand up higher on his cock, wrapping tightly around the end and jerking with shorter, quicker movements, because he’s already close. Always is, when it’s Neil.

Fantasy Neil’s voice breaks on moans as his voice did over the phone. He’s impatient with himself, coating his dick with his slickness and picking up a rapid pace from the start. He hangs his head back over the pillows, his pretty neck exposed, his wet mouth hanging open, and brings himself to cum all over his belly. His legs twitch, his brows furrow, and Neil’s moans fall into an oversensitive whimper until his hand stills.

Andrew keeps his movements quick, the occasional long stroke shooting pleasure throughout him. When he thinks of Neil saying his name he can’t help but cum—white ropes shooting all the way up to his chest before spilling down over his knuckles and his slowing wrist. His orgasm hits deep in his flexing torso, and even though Andrew tries to bite down any noise, a strained whine chokes out anyway. Then his head falls back against the pillows as he catches his breath, his vision fuzzy.

Normally, it would’ve been shameful, but Andrew’s had quite the fucking day. He cleans himself off without a hassle and then gets back in bed, and Kevin is still gone, but he can’t bring himself to overthink it. His body is shot and his brain is too, and when Andrew closes his eyes again—his back safely to the wall—he’s out cold, quick.

Chapter Text

Andrew exits the bedroom, smelling good and dressed nicely, to find Kevin waiting for him in the living room like a parent catching a child sneaking out.

“Matt says you and Neil are going on a date.”

Mother fucker.

Andrew ignores him. He’s practically thrumming from some godforsaken mix of anticipation and adrenaline (he absolutely is not nervous to see Neil, fuck off) and has no energy to deal with this right now.

“So this is it, huh? You and Neil are a thing now.”

All Andrew can do in response is blink, really. He’s had it up to here with everyone poking around in his and Neil’s business.

Kevin groans. “God, say something, Andrew.”

Andrew wonders if Neil would want any snacks for the movie. Maybe they should leave now.

“You’re a dick. You’re a dick. First, I hear about this from Matt, which is incredibly insulting to our relationship, and then you don’t even explain when I bring it up!”

Andrew lets out a slow breath and doesn’t point out the fact that it was both Kevin and Matt who drunkenly gave Andrew the idea to spend alone time with Neil in the first place. Instead, he lets himself feel maybe slightly like crap and sits on the couch to give Kevin his attention. “What is it you want to know?”

“Ah, fuck, I don’t know. Maybe what the fuck happened to you and Neil’s so-called ‘friendship’?”

It’s a good question. But Kevin is using words like ‘friendship’ as though they’re appropriate (they aren’t) and demanding things as though Andrew owes him an answer (he doesn’t). Still, he’s Kevin, and Andrew has this weird, sensitive spot for him. He knows Kevin isn’t like him and Neil. The man still fought for normalcy regarding things as tricky as relationships—including and especially with Andrew—and knowing the striker, he’s likely more butthurt about the finding-out-from-Matt thing and less concerned about the team’s not-so-fragile dynamic.

“Have you ever considered that maybe I don’t know what’s going on?” Andrew asks.

Kevin shuts his mouth and takes a second to then, finally, realize that maybe Andrew (and the entire world) isn’t just trying to leave him out of things. “You always know what’s going on.”

Well, Andrew can’t deny that truth, and he internally polishes his Smart-Ass trophy. Still, it’s different this time; Neil is always the exception. “No, I don’t. Not with him. And we aren’t going on a fucking date, we’re just seeing a movie and then sorting this shit out.”

Kevin cups a pained expression with his hands. “That’s a date, you moron. God, maybe you really don’t know anything. You’re going to ‘sort this shit out’ with your tongues–”

It’s not a bad mental image. Andrew likes Neil’s tongue. Craves it like sugar. “Probably.”

“So, he likes you too, then?”

The balls on this guy.

He’s not about to tell Kevin that Neil confessed he wants to kiss Andrew again. They both weren’t the type to like someone, but ever since Andrew realized he wants more than just to get Neil all hot and bothered, he isn’t so sure anymore. Either way, if they crossed this line together, he was going to keep it under tight fucking wraps. There’s no way Kevin wouldn’t figure it out eventually, but no one else would understand how they handled one another. The Foxes would probably project their own ideals and try to interfere.

At Andrew’s shrug, Kevin chews his lip like he’s now considering a child’s marriage proposal.

Andrew rolls his eyes. He has no time for this. He almost regrets having entertained Kevin this far, and that brings him to question why his roommate was even acting this way at all. Kevin has known for months that Andrew is attracted to Neil, and he knows there’s no use trying to control either one of them, so what the fuck…?

Ah.

Kevin is jealous.

Not in a fucked up way, though, but because his two closest friends suddenly seeing one another might not leave enough room for him. Andrew rubs a hand down his face and prepares himself for a seemingly necessary evil—providing comfort. He’s Kevin, he tells himself. Your best friend, and all that.

“Neil isn’t going anywhere. You’ll still have your exy junkie,” he says, catching Kevin’s eye, and it takes effort for Andrew not to cringe at his next words. “And neither am I. It’s not that big of a deal–it’s not a deal at all. Relax.”

Maybe he should be reassuring himself of these things. Maybe he is. It works though, and Kevin looks stunned, his eyes widening to bright green moons before he sighs. Apparently it was something he needed to hear. He leans back against the wall, interrogation seemingly over. “Alright.”

Thank fuck.

“Alright.”

“Just let me know how tonight goes. If anything bad happens between you two…”

It’s another valid reason for worry, Andrew supposes, and the thought makes him sour. “Shut up.”

But then Kevin gives him a look that shows that he wouldn’t be able to choose a side. Andrew wouldn’t want him to, anyway, because best friends (will this hell ever end?) or not, he would want Kevin to stick by Neil. The two did more together—night practices and studying exy games and exercising and—

Andrew cuts off his thoughts. He’s getting a contact high from Kevin’s anxiety and needs to crack open a window.

Kevin seems to realize he’s close to the end of the rope and backtracks, a shy smirk on his tight-lipped mouth. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. We’re done here.” Andrew stands up, checking the time. Neil would be bouncing his legs in wait for him by now. He pats his pockets to make sure he has all his shit, and then heads for the door.

Before he leaves, he turns to Kevin. “You’re lucky your height keeps you useful. Otherwise?” He clicks his tongue and juts a thumb across his throat.

Kevin doesn’t believe him for a second.

[ 5 ]

Zeus.

Immediately after knocking on the door to Neil’s dorm, Neil greets him wearing shorts and a t-shirt, and Andrew’s initial reaction is, reasonably, anger.

“Spring isn’t for two more weeks.”

Neil smiles at him brightly, like warm sunrays peaking through the clouds, and Andrew feels it wipe away any of the fog that Kevin accidentally settled within him.

“It’s warm out today,” Neil explains, like those four words excuse how absurdly edible he looks. His hair is styled again, and there’s that familiar-something-sweet radiating off him, like a freshly-baked pie. He steps out of the dorm and shuts the door, likely leaving behind Matt, who was probably already texting Kevin about his evil doing. “Ready?”

Andrew swallows harshly. “Yeah.”

They make their way down to the parking lot, and Andrew tries his best to act nonplussed. He makes sure Neil ate, considering it’s already late in the afternoon, and asks him if he wants to stop and get something.

“I’m okay,” Neil says. “We can get food after.”

“Alright,” Andrew says, and he clicks on his seatbelt, starts the engine, and pulls out of the spot, all while behaving normally. Inside, though, he’s a TV blasting static, because it settles in that he really is on a fucking date with Neil.

Which meant that Kevin was somehow right, yet again. So frequently had to be a mere coincidence… Huh. Andrew equates it to divine intervention. The planets simply aligning in Kevin’s favor. Either way, it’s not for him to question. He’s on a date with Neil Josten—times are obviously changing.

Maybe he’s being slightly dramatic.

The mall is only twenty minutes away. Neil spends the ride with his knees resting against the dashboard while he talks about a bunch of college exy nonsense that Andrew finds he wants to listen to.

There’s that feeling again. It hangs in the air like dust caught in a ray of light, something easy and steady that has everything to do with Neil at Andrew’s side. Neil asks him about things he can’t remember answering—the music he’s playing, maybe, or something about the Mas—and Andrew looks over when he can, at Neil’s listening eyes and the soft pout of his lips; at his fingers, falling over the edge of the armrest. Neil knows what this means, but he shows no signs of discomfort. Instead, when Andrew makes him laugh, it flows from him easily, the melodic sound something Andrew will never, ever get bored of.

(His brain has long since stopped fighting tooth and nail against his heart, and now raises a white flag.)

(The angel and devil on his shoulders are of no help, either. The one in white has bulging heart eyes for Neil, and the one with horns, a major hard-on.)

They park and enter the mall with three minutes until trailers start, but Andrew doesn’t really care. He trusts Aaron to tell him about anything good coming out, anyway. Instead of heading towards the theater, he guides Neil to the candy store and makes him pick out at least one bag of something sugary while he grabs two, and then Neil hides them in his pockets before they make their way back over.

Turns out, movies aren’t really a good idea for them.

It was really Matt’s idea, though when sent in the form of a text from Neil, Andrew couldn’t think for a second to decline (he was instantly reminded of the feeling of Neil’s ass on his dick, one of the memories he spends his free time reminiscing about). Both of them knew it was an excuse for them to be alone and figure everything out, anyway—an attempt to do things the “right” way—but Andrew finds he can’t focus on the actors on the screen. He and Neil are sitting in the back row—with Andrew being the only one Neil would let between himself and the exit—and Neil’s converse are up on the armrest in front of them, so Andrew has the choice to either look at shit cinematography or Neil’s thighs.

The answer is easy. He still tries his best.

Maybe not hard enough, though, because then Andrew is further punished by the universe (maybe not directly, but he takes it that way), and three-quarters through the movie, there’s a sudden, heavy downpour of rain.

Andrew turns to Neil at the sound against the roof—a harsh spray that’s loud enough to be heard over the theater’s speakers and vibrate the panels on the ceiling. The couple at the opposite end of the aisle looks up, and Andrew catches a few other heads in the rows above them look around curiously, but most of them go back to watching.

Andrew can’t, though, because it’s just after the end of the climax, and all that’s left is for the shitty ending to fall flat on its face. That, and Neil is getting restless, the little rodent unable to stay still for too long. He’s practically vibrating in the chair, no thanks to the cherry soda gummies he finished within the first ten minutes, and his legs are bouncing anxiously from being cooped up.

Andrew has the impulse to grab his knee to calm him, so he does. He smooths his palm around Neil’s thigh and grips it, completely ignoring how easily Neil’s legs yank apart. At first, Neil almost jumps out of his seat, but then he stops physically worrying. Bitten nails get dropped back into his lap, and then Neil is watching him more than the movie.

Andrew rolls his eyes and pulls out his phone, eager to get Neil back in the car and worry-free as he was before. The weather app shows him that there’s a flood warning from the amount of rainfall, and he’s just about to angle it over to show Neil when the power goes out.

Like—the giant screen in front of them goes black.

The low lights on the walls cut out, and the overhead projector ceases in its flickering roll. In the quiet, there’s a rumble of thunder.

Neil tenses. Andrew squeezes his leg again and then flicks on his phone's flashlight. “Come on.”

Around them, the other movie-goers are mumbling complaints and expressing their brain-dead confusion. Andrew doesn’t care enough about the movie to finish it, and he pats Neil in beckoning as he stands. Neil follows, of course, rising quickly and descending down the stairs after him.

In the long stretch of a hallway that leads to other theaters, the lights are off, too. The tall windows connecting the first and second floor show a dark, cloudy sky and fuck, was the storm always going to roll in? Why didn’t Andrew check the goddamn weather before, when Neil commented on it being warm?

There’s a flash in the dark. Lightning. Neil watches the heavy downpour against the glass while Andrew listens to an employee down the hall, explaining to “hang in there” to other curious watchers who’ve ventured out.

“Fuck that,” Andrew says, and he nudges Neil with his elbow before jerking his head at the escalators. “Let’s go.”

“Go where? You can’t drive in this,” Neil points out, but he still follows him down the frozen steps, and thankfully, the employees at the ticket counter downstairs don’t try and stop them from leaving (their efforts would be futile, anyway).

Andrew opens the exit door to an outside walkway. There’s an overhead awning that protects them as they walk down a path toward the parking lot, but the air is still heavy with sudden humidity, and they get splashed with stray droplets that the wind blows at them.

The dark sky continues to get lit up by lightning.

At the end of the path, Andrew can’t see the Mas. He parked away from everyone, way down at the far end of the lot by the hedges. Typically he avoids parking next to strangers, in case the idiots can’t drive and scratch his car, but his caution has seemed to come back and bite both him and Neil on the ass.

The striker looks at him with a smug face, one that says What the fuck did you think was going to happen? and all Andrew can do is ask, “Ready to run, rabbit?”

“What?”

“It’s this or spend the outage in a mall, stared at by cautious employees while listening to randoms complain about the weather.”

Neil smiles. Beneath the storm, the clouds complement his eyes.

Andrew wants to—yeah. The point has been beaten to death with a stick.

“Fine.”

“That’s what I thought.”

It’s a stupid idea, but they’re athletes, and young, and kind of dumb for one another (Andrew can admit this in the face of death, in case Zeus decides to strike him down here and now). They step out from under the awning, and the rain splatters against their clothes as they run toward the Mas. Thankfully, no one else is dumb enough to watch them get drenched. At the heavenly sight of his car, Andrew unlocks it and they slow to yank open the doors and drop inside.

They’re soaked.

Neil’s white t-shirt clings to him in splotches, kissing his skin and exposing the soft flesh beneath it. His hair is fluffy in spots and damp in others, and he rakes his fingers through it as he laughs. “Christ. We could have died.”

Andrew wouldn’t have accepted that. He has things he needs to do first.

Still, there’s a rush of adrenaline through him, and maybe it’s the thunder, but maybe not. The rain is so strong that he can’t see three feet in front of his car as it splashes against the windows in big, fat droplets. Andrew puts his keys in the ignition with shaky fingers and cuts on the fan with only an inch of heat, attempting to dry out the car before it can fog from their rapid breaths.

“We’re not going anywhere, Andrew,” Neil says, pinching his shirt away from where it sticks to his abdomen, because the gods are just torturing Andrew now, though leaving was his sick idea. “What, do you have a death wish? Let’s just wait it out.”

If this were a mockumentary, Andrew would have just dead-panned the camera.

He pulls the keys from the ignition again, and it’s times like these when he wishes he still smoked. Being trapped in his car with Neil was not the idea. This is Seven Minutes in Heaven, but with literal static in the air. Andrew had wanted to pick up proper food and get Neil back to his dorm and put on an actually good movie that they could in turn ignore in favor of becoming extremely familiar with one another’s mouths, but this—

Well. The last part is still an option, Andrew supposes.

Andrew pulls off his sweatshirt and folds it into a soggy pile. Thankfully, his shirt is still dry. He eyes Neil before asking, “Do you want to change?”

Neil frowns, peaking into the backseat. “Do you have something for me to wear?”

“There’s a sweatshirt in the trunk.”

“What? Don’t go outside for—“

“No, idiot. Climb in the back seat and get it from behind the thing.”

“The thing?”

Andrew’s eyelids fall to half-mast. “Neil, get back there. I’ll show you. You’re soaking the leather.”

“I— okay.” Neil maneuvers up and over the middle console, and Andrew lifts his sneaker and shoves it over the passenger seat so that Neil lands in a clumsy mess in the backseat.

Huh. Maybe he should climb back there, too.

“Pull down the cup holder,” Andrew instructs, once Neil is upright and looking even more disheveled than before. Neil does what he’s told and then pulls down the little door that's revealed behind the cushion. It leads to the trunk.

“Oh,” Neil says.

For someone who had to have been at risk for being thrown in a trunk before, Andrew thinks maybe Neil should have known about that little secret.

“My bag is in there somewhere,” Andrew says, referring to the same overnight backpack he kept for away games or weekends in Columbia. Neil reaches into the darkness and feels around before finding it, pulling it out and onto his lap.

When he unzips it, Andrew’s hoodie is right on top. Neil takes it out but then stills, looking at something inside the bag that Andrew can’t see. When he realizes what it is, he freezes too, remembering the small bottle of lube and condoms that he keeps in there. Andrew hasn’t thought about them in forever—didn’t think before sending Neil searching.

Neil blinks back to reality only half a second later, setting the bag on the floor and then pulling off his shirt. He uses the dry spots left of his tee to wipe at his damp skin before setting it next to Andrew’s wet sweatshirt, and then he’s pulling Andrew’s hoodie over his head.

Andrew is nothing inside, at this point.

He should climb back there.

“Thanks,” Neil says. Then he scoots over and pats the seat next to him, as though reading Andrew’s mind. “Do you wanna watch videos on your phone or something?”

No. Andrew does not want to do that. Andrew wants to see if Neil squeaks like a chew toy. Wants to reach his hands beneath the hoodie that fits such an athletic person way too fucking big. His eyes convey this, they have to, because Neil swallows hard and his blue eyes dip down to Andrew’s mouth. He waits, patient, hesitant, so still that Andrew thinks if he can tear his eyes away, the rain outside might be frozen mid-fall. The world comes back in a rush, gray and cold and boring opposed to the fire in the backseat.

“Sure,” Andrew says. “Move over.”

They both know they won’t watch a single second of a video, so Andrew leaves his phone in the cupholder. His brain on the dash.

Neil leans against the door to make room for Andrew until he settles, but when he climbs back, he plants his hands on either side of Neil’s waist, intertwines their knees, and doesn’t move. The third seat goes neglected.

Neil quietly asks, “What do you wanna—?“

“You.” Andrew is a single yes away from one hell of a craved first bite.

There’s a phantom of a smile that nibbles at Neil’s lips, and he sits up a little, reclaiming his space. “What about me?”

Andrew thinks, absently, that maybe there’s a certain, better way he’s supposed to be doing this. But the rain is providing too much privacy, and it’s been too long since he’s been able to kiss Neil. “Can I kiss you?”

Neil has enough of his right mind left to look surprised before a demonic level of determination ripples over him in waves, transforming his expression from innocent to sinful. “What happened to you begging?”

Andrew is gone enough to do so. Remembering the promise he’d made last week, during a sleep-drunk phone call, he chooses his words wisely and whispers, “Let me kiss you.”

“Is that what you want?”

“I’m on my hands and knees.”

Neil hums. “Hardly convincing enough.”

Andrew hasn’t wanted to bite someone before, but Neil was bringing out the worst in him. “No? Well how’s this—your smart mouth has been on my mind every day since we kissed.”

“Better.”

“Sometimes, I can’t think about anything but shutting you up.”

Neil’s eyes widen slightly, and he settles back against the window again, a sliver of teeth visible beneath his smirk. Everything but innocent, he says, “We’re friends.”

“Your words, not mine.” Andrew almost breaks. Almost. “Let me kiss you, Neil.”

Neil inclines his chin, lifts his mouth the slightest bit closer, and puts electricity in the air that’s not so different than lightning.

Andrew parts his lips as they brush against Neil’s, and Neil slips out a soft sigh that Andrew wishes he could bottle.

“Kiss me,” Andrew says one final time, and Neil, of course, finally breaks.

Throughout all these weeks from hell, Neil’s been torturously teasing himself on a string, but he’s forgotten Andrew has the upper hand. Several, actually, including the two literal ones here and now. They’re matched in restraint, just barely, but Andrew has more experience, more confidence, and more fucking desire. (At least he thinks. Andrew was begging for a kiss, yeah, but Neil cut the ribbon.)

Neil’s lips crash against his mouth in a rough and desperate kiss that shoots off fireworks behind Andrew’s eyes. He’s immediately filled with the desire to both wrap Neil in his arms or melt completely, and Andrew almost struggles with keeping himself held up.

The kiss is at first unmoving, a sweet press filled with longing and satiation, before Neil is peppering these urgent, quick little kisses against him. Mini apologies, sweet little sugar bombs of electric urgency that fire Andrew up like a livewire. He wraps a hand around Neil’s throat and pushes him back against the window.

“Relax, junkie,” he says, smugly. Maybe there’s a little curve at the corner of his mouth, but maybe not. Andrew doesn’t give enough of a shit to care about how he might be smiling—he’s finally kissing Neil again.

Neil rolls his eyes, something half-assed and quick before he’s urgently leaning forward again. “Shut up, I want—“

Andrew lets their lips meet. This time, slower, more syrupy, and with a lot more tongue. God, the first slip of Neil’s against his sends a jolt right to his dick, because what the fuck. Neil just might be the sexiest thing he’s ever fucking experienced. Fuck wet dreams, Andrew’s got molten gold pooling in his gut right now, and he’s wide awake.

He can hardly catch his breath enough to tease, “You kiss your friends like this?”

Neil murmurs something along the lines of his previous dismissal.

“Admit it.” Andrew doesn’t know what he wants Neil to say—that they’re idiots for trying to ignore what they wanted. That they aren’t just fucking friends, that they never were, maybe, because even in the beginning they weren’t normal enough for that.

It was always meant to be this, to be them.

“You’re an asshole,” Neil says. He turns to liquid when he has Andrew’s lips on him, but he still shocks Andrew with the little sparks he fires off. “You want this just as bad.”

Andrew doesn’t reply. Doesn’t need to, because no fucking shit.

He slips a hand under Neil’s hoodie and wraps it around his hip, and the satisfaction of being able to do so boosts his ego greatly. Neil arches into it, scooting further down on the seat until Andrew is completely over him. Andrew steals another kiss before pulling back, looking down to take in the absolute dream that is Neil Josten.

Neil looks up at him, and it’s a sight he’ll never be prepared for. He’s got features both hard and soft that send Andrew into overdrive: a cut jaw and full lips, scarred cheeks and a sloped nose, intense eyes and eyelashes that fawn and feather this way and that. It’s overwhelming and not—Neil’s gorgeous, but Andrew thinks that maybe he’s also just fallen into the deep end, completely submerged and too dumb to climb up for air.

Andrew likes Neil. A lot.

He pulls Neil back up to him embarrassingly quick (the universe knows he can no longer relax) and kisses him again. He wants to inhale every little sound Neil lets out, wants to kiss the sugary flavor from his lips until they’re puffy and wet, wants Neil to outdo the rain with his release.

“Neil,” he breathes out between kisses. “Can I touch you?”

“God, yes,” Neil says. “I think I might die if you don’t.”

Andrew wants to take him apart then and there, but he can’t seem to pull his mouth away from Neil’s for a second. Selfishly, he wants this to last. Wants to savor every single tickle of Neil’s hair against his face. But there’s only so much coverage the storm will provide and only so long they’ll have. Andrew does his best to both rush and savor and lets his hips fall down to nestle between Neil’s thighs, a fantasy he’s thought so much about, now so different as it becomes reality.

Neil widens his legs to make room, just welcoming Andrew in deeper, and his innocence mixed with steady confidence is just another thing on the list. He’s downright cruel; Andrew’s dick is literally fucking weeping.

He reaches between their bodies and adjusts himself, angling his cock up towards his waistband, biting back the urge to just keep his hand there and squeeze. Instead, he falls back down against Neil, scooping him up by the back of his neck to kiss him deeper.

Neil’s usually all hard angles, carved from ice and polished to maintain his enigmatic appearance. A muscular, three-inches taller, silver-tongued menace. But he isn’t, now. He’s malleable like melting chocolate, and Andrew knows it’s due to the same words Neil uttered before their first kiss, the same words that haunted Andrew in the hotel room.

I trust you.

Andrew wants Neil to trust him. There’s a ridiculous swell of pride in his chest that he knows he’s doing right by him—at least in this case. Andrew knows how to make Neil feel good. Wants to. Is going to.

He grinds against him.

Neil’s cock is unmistakably hard. Ever since he shyly adjusted his boner after Seven Minutes, Andrew’s been gagging for it. He feels the hard swell of Neil in his stupid shorts grind right against his dick, and his eyes almost roll back in his head. Andrew's hand flies down to grip the back of Neil’s thigh and hold him closer.

There’s not much room—they’re two horny fucks, rain-damp and candy sweet, but it’s fucking perfect. Andrew couldn’t have thought up a better scenario. He does another roll of his hips down into Neil’s (sweet, delicious payback), and Neil keens out this desperate hum, gravely as it escapes his throat.

“Fuck,” Neil says. His voice is how it is first thing in the morning—weak. Cracking on a strain. “Andrew.”

The way he says Andrew’s name is just as desperate as his fingers knotting in his shirt. Andrew holds him together; legs wrapped tight; breath-giving kisses. He might as well indulge a little, since he’s hell-bound and whatnot.

But Andrew wants to hear Neil say his name like that again, so he rocks forward again, and again. Neil’s kisses turn lazy in a distracted way, and it’s a sacrifice Andrew is willing to make. His own release can be damned to hell, all he wants right now is to make Neil cum, and he wants to make it messy.

Andrew eases up to his knees, and Neil breaks out of his trance with a confused sort of look, watching him go. He has to duck so his head doesn’t hit the ceiling, and then he’s grabbing Neil by the arm and pulling him into a straddle over his lap. Neil comes up easy, settling down so Andrew’s dick is between the curves of his ass, and his full weight has the blond seeing stars.

Neil on top is something else.

From here on out, any moment without him is going to feel like a fucking fast.

This time, Neil has the audacity to kiss him softer. Sweet, and almost shy, like the flashes of lightning are a sudden spotlight. They aren’t. The storm clouds are dark in the late evening sky, and their kisses are a secret hidden by the rain.

Still, Andrew lets him, allowing Neil to get a little confidence before he takes him apart. The kiss is almost fucking cute compared to before. Neil does these teasing little licks into his mouth that have Andrew wrapping his arms around his back for more. He nibbles on Andrew’s lips like he has a bad habit, and after asking, brings his hands up to comb through Andrew’s hair. Andrew gets shivers and chills that he pretends he doesn’t until Neil teasingly points them out.

Then Neil’s kisses start getting deeper, and it’s so fucking hot that Andrew has to take back the reigns. With the little shit still on his lap, Andrew slides his tongue in Neil’s mouth to assert some sort of control, but then Neil starts to suck on it.

Neil absolutely doesn’t know it would make Andrew’s cock twitch, but he definitely feels it. He grinds his ass down, dry humping against Andrew for the sole purpose of Andrew’s pleasure, while he lets out a needy groan from his chest.

“You little pervert,” Andrew says.

Neil says, “Uh huh,” and plants a kiss on the side of his mouth. Then further, on his cheek, and Andrew can hardly keep his eyes open. Neil rolls his hips down again—it’s like movie night but the fantasy that Andrew had jerked off to after it—and Andrew’s cock pulses, throbbing and way too hard for him to think clearly.

And Neil keeps going. A rabbit taking little nibbles down the side of Andrew’s jaw, and then he reaches his neck, planting a shy kiss on the sensitive skin beneath his ear.

Andrew can only think to grab Neil’s cock through his shorts. Neil gasps, his open mouth right over the shell of Andrew’s ear, and the little gust of warm air sends another chill throughout him. It’s almost funny how they just want to make one another feel good. Andrew squeezes Neil’s dick tight, feels it twitch beneath the fabric, and engrains the moan Neil makes into his very fucking hardware.

There’s retribution—a sudden push and pull.

Neil kisses his neck hot and wet, a brief glide of his tongue against Andrew's pulse point. In turn, Andrew lets his other hand slip back to Neil’s ass and squeezes the supple flesh tightly. When Neil retaliates with another shift of his hips against him, Andrew grips his cock tighter.

“You—“ Neil starts, “—fucking asshole.”

Andrew takes a second to find the words. “Never said I was nice.”

Neil huffs a laugh into his neck. Andrew can imagine it. Canines beneath stretched lips. “I know. That’s why I like you.”

Andrew bites his shoulder. He can’t help it. All he’s rewarded with is a fabric that smells like himself, so he turns his head and nips at Neil’s neck instead. The shudder Neil lets out shows just how much he likes it.

Has Andrew mentioned he’s had enough?

He maneuvers over to the window opposite the one he just mouth-fucked Neil into. Leans back against it and then raises Neil up and guides his back to Andrew’s chest, so that Neil is sitting between Andrew’s legs. He’s inched further down, resting just under Andrew’s chin.

“Andrew?”

Andrew cups his jaw and angles his chin up so their lips can meet. The kiss isn’t the point, just a mere distraction while Andrew gets Neil’s shorts off. Still, Neil gasps and tears away, watching when Andrew’s fingers find the button, zip down his fly, and cup his erection over his briefs.

Neil’s ears bloom red. Andrew bites the top of one and says, “It’s just us.”

“I know. But it’s you.”

Andrew isn’t sure what Neil means. Hell, maybe the words make perfectly good sense, he’s just too fuzzy from the smell of Neil’s shampoo to understand. Regardless, they make Andrew curse internally, and he pushes Neil’s shorts down to his knees, then his underwear.

Andrew wishes they had a bed. That way, he could get between Neil’s legs and appreciate his dick fully (because of course Neil’s fucking dick is pretty) but Andrew can’t do anything apart from stare as he wraps a hand around it and slowly begins to stroke. Neil’s cock is hard as fuck and a deep reddish pink and Andrew has to swallow what has gathered on his tongue.

Neil groans when he starts jerking him off, his head pressing back into Andrew’s chest, hands scrambling to grab at Andrew’s arms, and Andrew is in bliss. With Neil between his legs like this, the angle is perfect, and he can jerk him off like he does himself. Andrew smears any bit of precum Neil's dripping down his cock with his palm, alternating between longer, dizzying strokes and short, twisty jerks that make Neil scramble back against him from over-sensitivity.

“Fuck, oh god, yes, Andrew, that’s so–”

Andrew isn’t even the one getting the handjob, but he knows it's good, though it could be better. He slips his left hand down into the footwell and into his backpack, and reaches around for the bottle of lube, before snapping the cap open and quickly pouring a little into his right hand.

Neil doesn’t even have a second to process it. One moment, he’s getting simply jerked off, and the next, a warm, slick hand is squelching obscenely around his cock.

“Fuck!”

He might not even realize he’s doing it, but Neil spreads his legs past Andrew’s, and the sight of his shorts kicked off one ankle, his high-top converse hooked outside Andrew’s thighs, is so fucking hot that Andrew almost cums right then and there. It doesn’t help that Neil is rutting back against him, his lower back pressing right against his crotch with urgent movements that match his hand.

Andrew twists his wrist and strokes Neil in every way from resentful and eager, all while the redhead sputters out curses and keens and broken bits of Andrew’s name.

“Andrew,” Neil whines. With his cocky voice all broken in half, he sounds like a fucking myth. There’s so much Andrew wants to do. He wants to suck marks into Neil’s neck, play with his nipples until they’re sensitive and hard and wet with his spit, finger him, fuck—Andrew wants to show Neil how good he could feel from the inside out.

Andrew puts his left foot on the front seat’s console, spreading Neil’s legs further. Neil only melts against him, eyes locked on the hand bringing his cock to the edge and back again.

It gives him enough space. Andrew brings his other hand to Neil’s mouth, his middle finger kissing Neil’s lips before Neil intuitively sticks his tongue out, wetting it just enough. Andrew is filled with thoughts of pushing it back further and making Neil suck one or two, but he doesn’t and instead slips his hand down.

“Tell me no,” Andrew says.

Neil shakes his head. Voice raspy, he says, “Yes.”

Andrew’s fingers slide down to spread Neil’s ass a little, and then he’s teasing his spit-slick finger over Neil’s hole.

Neil turns his head toward the seat, makes a sound hidden beneath the bite of his bottom lip. Andrew bites back a smirk, but the flare in his chest is unhelpable. He traces a smooth circle over Neil’s rim, pressing slightly, but not daring to finger him fully, yet. His other hand speeds up in jerking him off, quick movements that make obscene noises, and then Neil is too far gone to turn back.

“Oh, shit. Andrew, I—“

He’s scrambling to lift up Andrew’s hoodie, exposing his flushed torso, gold and tense and damp with sweat. Andrew knows he’ll think of this later, his own cock an impossibly hard strain against his pants. Neil’s knees pull together but Andrew’s spread legs keep them apart as he milks his cock right over the edge.

“Shit, Andrew I have to come, I’m gonna, I— fuck fuck fuck–“

Neil bites the back of his sleeve as he cums, white ropes splattering over his belly and Andrew’s hand. Andrew pumps him through it, squeezing tight and slowing only when Neil’s back falls from its arch, his pants slowing to sensitive shudders. He came all over the hoodie, despite his efforts, as well as Andrew’s sleeve.

Andrew gives Neil time to catch his breath. Even though Andrew didn’t come, he feels like getting Neil off was enough of a climaxing accomplishment in itself. He wants nothing more but to sit in this sweaty moment for as long as he can. 

It isn’t long. Neil is half naked and, quite successfully, a fucking mess. Andrew reaches for an extra shirt in his bag and wipes Neil and himself clean. Then Neil is awkwardly pulling his shorts back up and then runs his fingers through his hair before collapsing back against him.

He looks up at him, and Andrew finally admits he loves Neil’s fucking eyes, fly-swatter be damned.

“Can I do something for you?” Neil asks.

Nevermind. Neil asking him that is way too much.

“Not right now,” Andrew says. If Neil gets within an inch of his cock, he’d cum instantly. He needs to be able to appreciate Neil fully when he first touches him. One thing at a time.

“Okay,” Neil agrees. “That was….”

“Shut up.” Andrew pats his thigh and Neil sits up again, and Andrew stretches his back he didn’t even realize was uncomfortable.

Neil is still staring at him.

“Get yourself together,” Andrew teases. He looks out the windshield, the rain is still going, but it’s lighter. The coast is still clear.

Neil laughs. “You get yourself together.”

Andrew follows his eyes down. His bulge is painfully obvious. With an odd sense of deja vu, he adjusts himself again. His mind feels foggy in accepting the reality of what just happened, and he almost can't believe it. He just got Neil off. 

“So,” Andrew says after he’s managed to somewhat mentally reorientate.

“So…?” Neil says.

“We should talk about this.”

Neil nods, licks his lips, and rests against the opposite window looking a little less wrecked. “Yeah.”

“What is it you want?” Andrew asks. He doesn’t want to hurt Neil. It’s his top priority. But he also doesn’t plan on pushing his boundaries, so at this moment, all he can do is hope that they’re after the same thing.

Neil shrugs. “I haven’t exactly done anything like this before. I just know that I like how we are, but I also like… this.”

Considering what they just did, it should be obvious, but hearing Neil say it is still surreal.

“What changed things?” Andrew asks.

Neil thinks. “The kiss, I guess. I realized I wouldn’t mind kissing you, and then when we did I just… it was like a…” He makes a soft explosion noise, stretches his fingers out like a little bomb.

Andrew has to look away. “Idiot.”

“What does that make you?” Neil asks, nodding to Andrew’s dick.

“Fuck off.”

Neil laughs. It’s worn out and a little bit endearing. Just a little. “What about you? What changed things?”

Nothing changed. Andrew’s always been the one on the leash, he realizes. He can only lift a shoulder in a shrug. “You’ve always been attractive. The kiss didn’t help.”

Neil's eyes flick between his, back and forth. “You’re lying.”

Andrew frowns. “Maybe.”

“Tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Whatever it is you’re hiding.”

Andrew would rather go to night practice with Kevin. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

Neil scoffs in disbelief, smiling at him, like this is something fond. “Fine.”

Andrew supposes it is. “Fine.”

Chapter Text

Andrew tunes out Aaron as soon as he brings up Katelyn’s name. They’re sitting in the stands at Fox Stadium, practice is running late, and the twins have just snuck out of the plexiglass to relax in the stands. Fuck if Andrew’s going to listen to tales of his twin’s romance in his downtime.

Andrew’s attention is hard to keep, anyway, rerouting back to the same subject it has for the last 72 hours like his mind’s been hacked. Hell, maybe it has.

Like a goddamn notification, his brain is happy to supply the memory of, What happened to you begging?

God. There’s a rush throughout Andrew’s head like he’s just taken a hit of something. He’s never been one to allow himself to feel emotions too deeply, but every time he thinks of Neil, there’s a crash of brain-dead lust throughout him. It’s ecstasy. Its torture. He’s being haunted like a house.

Andrew’s eyes scan for Neil across the court. The redhead is without any armor, only wearing a jersey and those god-awful shorts. His muscles are pumped after hours of using them, and he’s looking every bit deliciously sweaty and disheveled. Andrew can't help but think of him spreading those same legs, think of his converse kicking stamps of rain into the back of the passenger seat that Andrew wants to keep there like a trophy, and then tears his eyes away.

His attention flicks to Kevin, who Neil shoves with his elbow, teasing. They’re laughing.

Even though the strikers are north and south poles (Kevin tall where Neil is short, dark where he is light, stern where Neil is slack), Neil somehow is hijacking the man into cracking a smile. Something that only Andrew was able to do until a few months ago. Neil’s skill is further emphasized by the fact that Kevin has on a jersey—because they’re in the middle of fucking practice—and he’s still able to get him to dick around.

Andrew tells himself that it’s because practice is almost at an end.

It’s more likely that Neil is just as hypnotizing to everybody else.

The point is hammered in deeper when Matt sneaks up, jabbing his fingers into Neil’s side and causing the shorter man to jump, because of course he fucking knows Neil is ticklish.

(Andrew, though, has gotten to smooth his palms over his legs and pinch the soft flesh of his inner thigh. Has snuck his hands up the back of them, until he’s squeezing the supple crease where his legs meet his ass. Has held out his fingers for Neil to lick so that he could–)

“You’re going to rip the net from your racquet, you fucking idiot. And I’m not going to restring it again.”

Aaron uses his cutthroat voice—the one that’s able to slice through any conversation—and it shuts Andrew’s thoughts right up. They’re twins, but the ability has to be a little sibling thing. Maybe a November-born thing. Maybe it’s just Aaron. (Andrew finds comfort that Aaron can be mean, because the asshole can sure as hell now take care of himself, but he doesn’t like to address it.)

Andrew comes back to his body. Looks down at his hand, at his knuckles fisted tightly through the net of his racquet, drained white, his fingers clenched. He relaxes, sets it down, and ignores his brother.

Everything is fine.

“You know, sometimes, you still manage to shock me,” Aaron confesses, and Andrew knows he’s not about to like what he has to say. He’s found siblings to be nothing but the cold, hard, black-and-white truth. Aaron can name everything wrong with and everything Andrew is doing wrong in his sleep. Can name them as easily as he recites the periodic table, because he’s a fucking know-it-all. “I never thought you’d be jealous.”

Unsurprisingly, the words rip Andrew’s skin from his bones, exposing him so raw he instinctively smooths his hand up an armband and pricks the end of the blade he keeps in it through the fabric. His stare is dragged from the court to his brother in a quick, deadly swipe.

“Jealous?” he repeats, slowly.

“Yeah, jealous. You’re practically stabbing Kevin and Matt from here. Relax.”

Aaron thinks the world is up to date with the inner workings of his mind. Thinks that everyone is just ready to hear his voice of reason. Unfortunately for Andrew, he’s following (because they shared a womb, apparently, and that puts an invisible train set between their two thick skulls that transports their thoughts, willing or not), but he still has a reputation to maintain.

“That's your Blood-Link Free Pass spent. I suggest you think before the next time you say something.”

Aaron does a little pshhh. “It’s not my fault you’re so obvious.”

“Tell me, is my willingness to gut a man obvious too?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. It’s right behind your infatuation for Josten. Didn’t you hear me? You look like you want to skin your roommate.”

“Has Kevin done something to deserve being skinned?”

“No. But maybe you should tell yourself that.”

“Your stubbornness still shocks me,” Andrew says, throwing Aaron’s words back at him (Eh. It’s more of an apathetic, monotone toss, like he’s reading a book aloud). “You still think you know what you’re talking about.”

“Correct me, then,” Aaron says. He sits up from where he laid back against a rail, ever so eager to be right. “Something happened between you two, but it didn’t go well, and now you’re realizing there’s a bandwidth to your comfort levels.”

The words sting like a paper cut, and Andrew feels his ego wince a little, though there is some comfort in the fact that Aaron doesn’t have it all right. Something happened between him and Neil all right—the building tsunami finally crashed, and now the silence left behind is deafening.

“We hooked up,” Andrew admits, matter-of-fact. He’s unable to deny the fact that he’s obvious—the entire team had been pushing him and Neil together like dolls since Seven Minutes at the girls’ house. He might as well own it, might as well shape it into something nonchalant. “That’s it.”

He’s telling the truth. They hadn’t had a moment to meet up again, much less even a second for Andrew to take a hit from Neil’s lungs, and he’s only slightly bitter about it. 

Neil shoves Kevin back again, directing him into a spot at center court. Kevin’s back bends on laughter before he holds his arms up in surrender, and then the taller man stays put.

“I knew it,” Aaron says. There’s a look of muted triumph on his expression, and Andrew, not liking his own face looking like that, scowls. “So Neil actually does swing?”

No shit. Just not in the way people like Aaron and Andrew work. Neil needs an emotional connection, a laid foundation, and the thought that he had one with Andrew and found he wanted to kiss him was enough for Andrew’s heart to pang like a bell against his ribs.

He reaches back for his racquet.

Neil backs Matt into a spot a few meters from Kevin—leaving maybe a quarter of the court within them—before he goes to stand between the two. It’s Striker in the Middle, a game fit for junkies, but Andrew doesn’t mind watching Neil bounce between Matt and Kevin like a ping-pong ball as he attempts to intercept their passes. It’s an exercise you’d give a puppy to tire them out, and Neil is usually endorphin-drunk by the end of it, euphoric and weak.

So Neil actually does swing?

“Ask him yourself,” Andrew says.

“Well, I figured as much,” Aaron continues. His ick-face (a special one he reserves for Neil alone) sours his expression, and he turns his head to watch the striker start his attempts at stealing the ball. “So, what? Josten is soft and wanted to cuddle afterward, and you didn't?”

Andrew makes a face. Something both deadly and just outright appalled. “You’re an idiot.”

But it’s not that. Neil didn’t want to cuddle afterward. They’d broken the seal, bit the bullet, set off the bomb, whatever, and then Neil had said,

I realized I wouldn't mind kissing you. I like how we are, but I also like this.

Andrew doesn’t know what he expected. What he wanted to happen, what he wanted to say, what he wanted to hear. Sitting here now, he actually feels fine being the one watching, no matter what his fucking clone has to say. Even though the people he protects may not always need it, he’s still content to play his part as the one who watches.

And if Matt and Kevin weren’t here to make Neil laugh, he’d fill that role, too.

But what gets his strings in a knot is that Andrew can’t help but wonder if Neil is craving him, too—if he cares this much, fantasizes this much, wants him just as badly. The curiosity in itself is sickening, equivalent to annoying little bugs that buzz by Andrew's ears, and they only multiply with every glance that Neil sends his way.

It’s not like Neil’s moans are playing on repeat in his head or anything. Not like Andrew can feel his proximity like a magnetic pull, or what-fucking-ever.

Matt is trying to keep up with the sharp angles of Kevin’s passes, but he can only do so for so long before he fumbles. Neil succeeds in intercepting the toss, shooting his racquet out to catch the ball successfully, and when he’s done laughing in the taller men’s faces about it, his head turns right to where the twins are sitting. His eyes lock on Andrew’s, his smile able to pin him to the seat, even this far away.

“Jesus fuck,” Aaron sighs. “You’re the one that wants to fucking cuddle. I’m going to throw up–”

“Don’t you have a cheerleader to text?”

“–this is just what the world needed. My asshole brother and that evil fuck to be boyfriends.”

Boyfriends?

Wait.

Andrew’s eyebrows lightly pull together as he chews on the corner of his lip, and that little longing for more comes back to nag at him. Provides Andrew with nothing but memories—Neil on his lap, sharing his chair, driving his car, holding his hand, wearing his clothes. Andrew wants to have. He likes Neil, and apparently that means he wants him to himself.

The thought is sickening.

It’s also not too bad.

Like fucking clockwork, Renee and Allison finish their latest lap around the court and approach from the side, sitting on the row beneath the twins.

“Hey,” Allison says, lying back so her head is resting on Renee’s lap.

“Hi,” Renee greets. “How are my favorite brothers doing?”

“Don’t ever say anything like that again,” Aaron threatens.

Andrew can’t blame him. He doesn’t reply, adjusting his racquet in his hand and tangling his fingers through the strings once more.

“Kev is in a good mood today,” Allison observes. Renee combs her fingers through her hair, and the blonde’s eyes slip closed. Andrew, for some reason, suddenly can't tear his eyes from the couple. It takes Aaron kicking his thigh for Andrew to stop staring, and he meets his brother’s glare with one of his own as Aaron’s words echo in his mind.

Boyfriends.

“You’re right,” Renee says. “It's likely because practice went really well. Andrew, you participated a lot today.”

Andrew looks down at her and raises an eyebrow.

Renee smiles up at him with unsettling, god-like energy—one that reminds him that she is All-Knowing—and he frowns.

“The brat, too,” Allison continues, referring to Neil. She angles her head to direct her next words to Andrew. “Sometimes I get why the fans jizz their pants over you two. Who woulda thought? When the most difficult teammates actually work together, things run smoothly.”

In reality, Kevin (being a drama queen) is probably in a good mood because he sees that nothing between him and Neil has changed. Regardless of Andrew’s reassurance, it was up to Neil to prove that he was still Kevin's little exy addict, and everything running smoothly today must've been enough to settle his worries.

So that’s the end of that.

Renee laughs, continuing her combing across Allison’s scalp. Andrew purposefully does not look over at Aaron, who has pulled out his phone but is definitely shooting a glance over at Andrew. Instead, he refocuses on the court. Matt has waved a white flag, but Kevin is still entertaining Neil’s little game, and Wymack is watching, clipboard-in-hands-on-hips position, as he waits for them to “Wrap it up.”

There’s silence, for a little, and Andrew contemplates getting up and heading to the locker rooms, but then Renee asks, “So, what’re we doing for Neil’s birthday?”

Neil’s birthday is the upcoming Friday, and Andrew knows for a fact that the rabbit hates the occasion. He hopes the girls are aware, too, and that they don’t plan anything stupid.

Allison asks, “A surprise party, maybe? At our place? Andrew can convince him to come. Neil will believe anything he says.”

“No,” Andrew says.

“Fine. I’ll get Matt to bring him.”

Andrew grits his teeth. He’s not one to speak for Neil, hell, and he’s not one to stop others from throwing a party, either, but he knows them. A party at the girls’ house meant a lot of attendees. Balloons. Singing. Cake. Neil would have a heart attack under that much attention.

“I’ll bring him,” Andrew says. Only he won't.

“Really?” Renee asks.

Andrew shrugs.

“Thanks, blondie.” Allison sits up, stretching. Wymack blows his whistle in perfect coordination, ordering Neil and Kevin off the court. They only put up a hint of resistance before Kevin heads over to talk to Wymack and Neil exits the court, heading in their direction.

“Okay, shut up. We have to keep it a surprise,” Allison orders. At Neil’s arrival, she says, “Hey sugar.”

“Ew,” Neil says. He’s standing a few rows below Andrew, and when he looks up at him, Andrew’s heart blows smoke. “Hey, wanna take me to get new sneakers? Kevin says mine are embarrassing.”

Andrew knows Neil’s court shoes are fine, but he still trails his eyes downward to catch a peek, taking his time over the angles of Neil's legs.

“If you want,” Andrew replies.

Neil’s smile grows. “I want Kevin to shut up.”

“Okay."

"Cool, thanks." Neil turns and heads for the locker rooms, and Andrew watches him until he rounds the corner.

Once he’s out of sight, Allison mocks, “If you want.”

Renee shushes her.

Aaron is worse. “I’ll take you anywhere, Josten.”

Andrew stands up. Thinks of changing all their passwords. (He knows a guy, he could.) Settles on saying, “Fuck you both.”

But they’re right. Neil makes Andrew into an idiot—all resolve, all barriers, every inch of his hardened demeanor, out the fucking window. Self-preservation was a lesson he was surely supposed to have learned by now, but it hasn’t settled in yet.

So turns out, Andrew Minyard absolutely has a death wish.

[ +1 ]

Himself, Neil, or the two of them, together.

Neil is squirming and breathless below Andrew, his needy hands grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. For some reason, Andrew’s senses are magnified, and every trail of Neil’s fingers sends sparks across Andrew’s skin that ripple throughout his body like thrumming pulses of electricity.

It casts Andrew’s mind into a fog—fuck, maybe the room is literally hazy?—and all he’s able to feel, think, breathe is Neil. There’s an ache deep in his gut that’s begging for more, but he doesn’t know how to help it, somehow both in and out of control of his own body.

Speaking of, Andrew’s not a hundred percent sure of how he got here, but he isn’t fucking complaining.

Neil’s lips are sweet like cherries, stained berry-red in a way that complements his cheeks. The rabbit pulls back and his stare is a hypnotic siren lure, something dangerous that Andrew feels his entire being relenting to.

Fuck it. Let Neil have him. Let this desire overwhelm him. Death by compulsion wouldn’t be the worst way to go.

Then Neil is latching onto Andrew's neck, sucking a bruise into his sensitive skin before dragging his deadly tongue across the pulse. Andrew feels his blood rush through his veins in response, feels a groan ripple up his throat that vibrates out on a shiver.

They’re still dressed—their clothes a barrier that they haven’t yet thought of removing for some reason—and Andrew is burning up. He can’t take a full breath, his forehead is sweaty, his skin a blushing red. He combs his fingers through Neil’s hair and anchors them there.

“Fuck,” Andrew says, his voice deeper than usual—husky, unfamiliar, tainted. “Fuck.”

Neil lets out a little whine of agreement, like he can’t get enough, and his lips rock eagerly against him. Andrew kisses him back and grants Neil the treat of his tongue, and the striker opens his mouth in response, beckoning Andrew to slip it inside. He does, of course, unable to stop himself, unable to do anything but devour.

“I want—” Neil is panting, his hands running up and down Andrew’s arms, squeezing, grabbing, pulling him impossibly closer.

“What?” Andrew thinks, Name it, and it’s yours.

But Neil bites his tongue (for once) and Andrew feels a flare of frustration as a result. His hand comes up to physically open Neil’s mouth, his thumb running across Neil’s shiny, swollen lips before pulling on the bottom one. “Tell me.”

Neil’s teeth come to nip the pad of Andrew's finger before he sucks it in his mouth, causing Andrew’s heart to plummet to his dick, all the blood in his body rushing south. Neil’s eyes meet his as he sucks, hollowing his cheeks as bright blue bores into hazel.

Andrew’s mind blanks. Clears completely. He realizes then that he’d do absolutely anything Neil asked, and has the desire to express so, but he doesn’t, can’t, is still strangely out of control.

Neil’s tongue slides around his thumb, slipping wetly up the front and twirling around the tip before he pulls away and sucks Andrew’s middle and ring finger into his mouth instead. Andrew’s pretty sure his soul leaves his body when Neil seductively licks between the two, and he’s unsure if he should meet Neil’s intense stare or watch his mouth work. Neil sucks his fingers in, slides them to the back of throat, and gags a little, a small choking noise echoing out of him. Andrew gets another sinful spike of arousal throughout his body like a shot of adrenaline.

“Are you getting it now?” Neil whispers, licking spit from his bottom lip. “I want you in my mouth.”

Andrew can’t even speak. His mouth feels dry; his throat closed up. Maybe Neil really is some sort of mythological creature, crafted by the Gods solely to turn Andrew on, to be every fantasy he can’t even make up, poured into one.

Suddenly, Neil maneuvers on top of him in one bold, fluid motion that leaves him straddling Andrew’s lap. On top, Neil's in complete control, and all Andrew can do is look up at him, dumbstruck.

Neil kisses him again; grabs his face with both hands, tilts his jaw up, and presses their lips together, open-mouthed and searing. When he pulls away, Andrew feels branded, and then the striker is slipping down his body, knees hitting the floor below him.

“Neil,” Andrew says. Or at least he thinks he says it. He can’t even fucking remember.

Neil smirks up at him, nibbles on his thigh, bites the fabric of his pants between his teeth. “Andrew.”

In the back of his consciousness, Andrew thinks something is missing. Permission, maybe, or some sort of acknowledgment of what’s about to happen. But for another reason unknown, he doesn’t need it, they don’t need it. Andrew knows what Neil wants, knows what he wants, and it’s almost as though their minds are connected. Like he can feel the spit pooling along Neil’s tongue, because he’s just aching to give Andrew head, like some sex-crazed version of himself. 

Neil slides his hands up Andrew’s thighs, pooling warm honey across his skin, and Andrew falls back to his elbows, lifts his hips, and lets him pull down his sweats. He’s left in his briefs, and they do zero to hide his bulging arousal. Andrew’s cock is twitching beneath the material, every pump of blood causing a throb that aches to be touched, and Neil’s eyes are glued to it. He’s never seen Andrew’s dick—never not been the center of attention—but at this moment, it’s okay. At this moment, Andrew is under the spotlight, and Neil doesn’t seem to want it any other way.

(So Andrew is, at most, a slut.)

Neil’s fingers trail up to his boxers and wrap around his cock, squeezing it hard, causing Andrew’s eyebrows to rise, his breath to leave his lungs. Neil smiles, knowing and confident and fully aware of just how badly Andrew wants him. Aware of how fucking sinful he looks between his knees. Neil strokes him a little, the material catching in a slow drag across his dick, drops of precum leaking out with every slow jerk.

Yeah, Andrew officially wants to die, and he wants Neil to be the one to kill him.

After what feels like both too much and not enough torture, Neil pulls down Andrew’s briefs, his cock slapping against his lower belly, the tip an angry, shiny pink. Neil swallows, wraps a hand around his length, and angles it towards his lips. Next to Neil’s face, Andrew can see just how turned on he is (almost impossibly hard, and he’s unsure how Neil will fit his dick in his mouth when it's almost the length of the redhead’s face). Neil rubs his cheek down the side of his cock, nuzzling it a little, and it’s obscene, it’s feral, and then worse when he sticks out that devilish tongue of his and licks a wet stripe up the underside of his dick.

Andrew’s head falls back, and he revels in the sensation for a moment as Neil repeats it, but he needs to watch, to take in every second, because this is almost too good to be true, so he sits back up. Neil spits in his palm before sliding the saliva up his cock, and the sensation is almost too much, the look on Neil’s face too dreamy. Andrew almost cums right then and there.

And then it just keeps going.

Neil opens his mouth and guides the head of Andrew’s cock into the heat. His lips wrap around the tip and suck as he laps at the arousal that's pooled there, eyes closing as though the bittersweet taste is all he’s ever wanted. The feeling is otherworldly—Andrew’s gotten blowjobs before, but there’s something about this moment that has his toes curling, his thighs tensing, and his stomach tightening. He feels like he’s both about to crash over the edge of an orgasm and a hundred miles from having one.

Neil sucks him down further. Five seconds into a blowjob and Andrew is dismantled into nothing but a mindless shell. Yeah, it’s extreme, but Neil is ruining him with every suck of his cheeks, every glide up and down absolutely tearing Andrew apart.

“Fuck,” Andrew says, and it sounds a bit like a cry. He sucks in through his teeth and crumbles against the bed. “Neil, rabbit, watch it, easy—”

Neil hums, the little vibrations causing white-hot spurts of oversensitivity that arch up Andrew’s back. “Come in my mouth,” he taunts, sinking down on Andrew’s dick again.

Asshole. Bastard. Literal demon.

Andrew fully understands his hatred now, understands that Neil makes him feel things he can't actually comprehend at all, makes him resort to anger. Frustration. Destruction. He thinks of smushing Neil’s cheeks between his fingers and kissing him dumb. Of pressing Neil into the mattress and pulling his shorts down his thighs. Of his favorite striker, ass-up, back arched, every dimple on display, Andrew’s hands around his waist…

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck–

Kevin’s alarm is going off.

Andrew’s eyes shoot open, and he’s ripped into reality and dropped back into an existence where Neil has not had his dick down his throat. Andrew’s cock is furious in his underwear—he doesn’t think he’s ever been this turned on, this close to coming without actually doing so—and he's a second from creaming his pants.

His hips grind against the mattress, and he drops his head into the pillow he’s got his arms around before releasing a groan befitting of a monster.

He just may kill somebody today.

“Kevin,” Andrew growls. Across the room, the man’s alarm is still blaring. He set it to the loudest and most obnoxious option and it still doesn’t do its job. Andrew grabs his extra pillow and chucks it, hard, across the dorm and at his roommate. “Kevin!”

Kevin jumps in his sleep, and once with a semble of consciousness, makes a pitiful little complaint. “What?”

“The same fucking ‘what’ as every other morning. Get up.”

There must be something in Andrew’s tone (sexual frustration far past its breaking point, maybe) that gets Kevin up. He blindly reaches for his nightstand and snoozes his alarm before collapsing against the sheets again. Andrew takes the chance to grip at his waning erection, eyes rolling back slightly, before shoving off the comforter. He stands up, kicks Kevin’s leg—since it’s hanging off the bed, vulnerable—and then grabs the clothes he’s draped over his desk chair the previous night.

“Wake up, asshole,” Andrew repeats.

Kevin grunts.

They have practice in forty-five, but more importantly, today is Neil’s birthday. The others had planned some breakfast thing in the athlete’s lounge, and Andrew didn’t plan to miss it. “I’m not waking you again. If you’re not in the car when I leave, you can walk to the court.”

Kevin is dead for a few more seconds before Andrew sees his arms struggle to push himself up. Still half asleep, the man offers a tired, “Fuck you.”

Andrew ignores him and locks himself in the bathroom, desperately trying but failing to remember his dream. In a matter of seconds, it’s erased from his usually impeccable memory. It’s one of the most vivid dreams Andrew has ever had, feeling just a sliver from reality, and he’s pretty sure his mind has become some sort of torture device at this point. He grips the edges of the sink, watching the rapid rise and fall of his chest in the mirror, and decides he’s not taking Neil to his surprise party tonight. 

(Technically, the prospect could be considered kidnapping, but Andrew is no stranger to crime, nor Neil to kidnapping.)

Neil would fucking hate it, anyway. Well—okay. Andrew will tell Neil about it and allow him to make his own decision, but if he’s to answer in Andrew’s favor…

Columbia it would be.

-

Andrew fixes his hair in the mirror of the Mas's visor for what must be the fifth time. He’s gone all out today—practice was short, he had no classes, and Kevin was out of the dorm for the afternoon. It left him with enough privacy to steam up the bathroom by taking the world’s longest, hottest shower, in which he groomed every inch of his body. 

Andrew’s hair is styled back, with small strands draping the sides of his face. He’s clean-shaven, moisturized, and sprayed in the musky vanilla spice cologne he wears on nights out. He even filed his fucking nails.

He’s wearing, reluctantly, a white t-shirt, because he knows it makes his arms look good and his skin look tan. His jeans are a deep black that only the new, unfaded ones can be, and his boots, the scuff-free pair he reserves for dates; not as chunky, not as scary.

For the next five minutes, Neil is nowhere to be found.

Andrew rubs chapstick between his lips. Twists the ring on his middle finger, then the one on his index, then the leather bracelet at his wrist. Before he decides to just call Neil, the striker drops into the passenger seat, and it feels like someone just clicked “play” on Andrew’s life.

But he’s chill, and all that. Andrew thrums his fingers across his steering wheel and raises his eyebrows at the human form of dessert in his front seat.

“Hey,” Neil says, sounding a little bit playful. His eyes shamelessly track across Andrew’s body, and when their gazes meet again, they’re a little hungry.

“Hey,” Andrew replies. Cool, cool, cool. He puts the car in reverse and pulls out of his spot, ignoring how good Neil looks in the red tee and black shorts he has on. He has about twenty seconds before they hit the road and Andrew has to make a decision: left to Neil’s surprise party, or right to Columbia. He drives to the edge of the lot and stalls for a moment, finding the right words.

“I’m sure you know what the girls have planned for tonight,” Andrew says.

The striker turns to him, cocks his head a little, like a puppy. “What?”

Andrew squints, unable to tell if Neil's playing dumb. “For your birthday.”

Neil pulls a face. “They planned something for my birthday?”

Wait—is Andrew ruining this? Neil is usually observant and too smart to be left cornered or out of the loop.

Andrew backtracks, unassuming. “No.”

“Andrew.”

Andrew ignores Neil’s pestering. Checks his rearview. Makes a decision. Flicks on his turn signal to take a left.

Neil still sounds confused. “The girls don’t have anything planned. Or, at least I don’t think they do. Dan was just in the dorm with Matt. It’s why I was a little late—she was telling me about the movie they’re going to watch.”

Andrew’s brain trips over itself. There’s no way Renee and Allison weren’t being serious—they would definitely plan something for Neil. Still, he drives in the direction of the girls' townhouse, clicking a few buttons on his dash until the Mas is dialing Renee.

“Hello?” she asks, her soft voice coming through the car’s speakers.

“Renee.”

“Andrew.”

“I have the rabbit with me.”

“Oh. Hi, Neil,” Renee greets. “Are you guys heading up to Columbia now?”

Andrew sucks his tongue against his teeth and makes plans to give Renee a surprise haircut. He shoots a glance over at Neil, whose face has lit up at the idea.

Neil mouths, Are we?

“Apparently,” Andrew grits out.

“Ah, okay. Good,” Renee says. “Well, did you need anything?”

“Nope,” Andrew says. Guess fucking not. Flicking on his turn signal again, he pops a U-turn and makes his way toward the route to Columbia.

“Alrighty, well. Have fun!” Andrew can tell Renee is smiling. The scheming little fox and her girlfriend now have the house to themselves, and she’s just pulled off throwing Andrew for a loop. “Happy Birthday, Neil.”

“Thanks,” Neil replies.

Andrew clicks the button to end the call and doesn’t speak until he’s merged on the freeway. “I was told they were throwing you a surprise party.”

Neil laughs a little. “Well, you told me we were getting dinner. I guess we were both tricked.”

“We are getting dinner,” Andrew says.

“Oh. So no Columbia?”

“Depends,” Andrew tests. “Do you want to go to Columbia?”

Neil shifts slightly. “Yeah. Being with you is much better than a surprise party, so.”

So.

Andrew bites his cheek. Grips the steering wheel, tight. Changes lanes for no reason, because he’s totally fine.

“What are we getting for dinner?” Neil asks, a few minutes later.

Andrew hums. “It isn’t my birthday.”

Neil laughs a little. It makes Andrew’s chest itch. “So if I said sushi…?”

“Then we’d get sushi.”

Neil is quiet for a moment, and when Andrew can sneak a peek, he catches Neil facing the window, the back of his hand pressed tight to his mouth, which is pulled into a shy, smushed smile.

Andrew hates that Neil feels the need to hide it.

Before he can think twice, his hand sneaks over the middle console and pinches Neil’s thigh, a bad habit he’s now hooked on. Neil jerks, his hand grabbing Andrew’s on reflex, and then he relaxes, his grin now free, their hands now holding one another.

“Ass,” Neil mumbles. But he doesn’t let go, so Andrew runs his thumb across his knuckles, ever so slightly. Neil mimics the gesture, and Andrew keeps his hand in his lap for the rest of the ride.

When they’re not too far away, Neil calls the restaurant and orders their food, which turns out to be a shit-ton of everything. Andrew has his overnight bag still in the trunk, but he stops at a store and runs in with Neil, and together they grab Neil some toiletries and then cut to the snack aisle. Andrew picks up ice cream, drinks, and a bag of candy, and Neil snags popcorn and a bag of trail mix that Andrew only approves because there are chocolate chips inside. They pay and throw the bags in the backseat, along with the sushi when they pick it up.

(The entire time, Andrew ignores the flashing banner in his mind. Red lights are spinning. Sirens are going off. All across the board, it’s Code: Fuck Neil!)

(And then Andrew thinks, a little more absently, that it’s now time to shut off his internal monologue. You can keep your "good luck" to yourself.)

-

When he pulls into the driveway at the Columbia house, Andrew grabs his keys from the ignition and turns to face Neil.

Neil stops tapping his fingers against his legs and blinks at him, waiting for Andrew to say something.

He doesn’t waste any time. “Don’t think I expect anything to happen tonight. What happened last week doesn’t matter—we don’t owe each other anything.”

Neil’s face, for some reason, falls. “Oh.”

Andrew raises an eyebrow.

“Well, yeah, I know that, Andrew.”

Andrew nods. “Good,” he says, going to get out.

“I just–” Neil starts. Andrew freezes, turning back to face him. “I wouldn’t say it doesn’t matter. It matters to me.”

Fuck. That’s not what Andrew meant.

Neil keeps going. He’s fidgeting. “It matters a lot, actually.” Andrew’s hand falls from the door handle. “It’s all I’ve been able to think about.”

God.

“Neil.”

“Sorry, I know it’s different for you, since you have that stuff in your bag, you probably do this all the time. It’s just the first time I’ve ever done anything like this–”

“That stuff?” A bit too slow, Andrew remembers the lube and condoms. “Neil,” he repeats.

“–but don’t think I expect anything to happen tonight, either. I’d just be lying if I said I didn’t want it to. This matters to me–”

Andrew leans over the center console and slams his lips against Neil’s, hoping that this final resort might shut him up. His hand comes up to the back of Neil’s neck and holds him tight, close, so earnestly in hopes Neil doesn’t retreat. He doesn’t—the redhead practically melts once he realizes what’s happening.

Neil angles his head to get more, to push back against Andrew, to deepen the kiss and eagerly return it. Their mouths clash in something messy and desperate, and Andrew takes soft bites of Neil’s lips as he sucks the sweetness from them. Neil lets him, until he’s breathing heavily, until he’s gripping Andrew’s biceps beneath his fingers and making tiny little noises that Andrew wishes he could turn the volume up on.

Andrew presses the words, “We should go inside,” against Neil’s lips like a wax seal.

“Right.” Neil nods. Pulls back. Meets his eyes and then kisses him again, this time his arms wrapping around Andrew’s neck and yanking him in. In the front seat, there’s only so close that they can get, and Andrew almost wants to grab Neil’s waist and pull him into his lap, but he can’t, not here, not now, not like this.

Stamping down on his desire has become second nature, but it doesn’t make doing it any easier. Andrew thinks his furnace might blow any second.

He brings a hand up and threads it in Neil’s soft hair, pulling him back a little. Andrew vaguely remembers wanting to tighten a collar around the fox, but this will have to do, for now. “Let’s go inside,” he says.

Neil can’t tear his eyes from Andrew’s lips, and Andrew isn't any better. "Okay."

Andrew gets out first. Has to. The night air is cold, the driveway dark, the porch lights off. He steps out onto the gravel of the driveway and takes a deep hit of oxygen before grabbing the food from the back seat and meeting Neil at the trunk.

When he pops it open to grab his bag, he’s met with a rush of color.

Balloons fly into the air, drifting off into the night. Andrew and Neil stand frozen, unable to process the surprise. Next to Andrew’s old exy gear, his overnight bag, and a bunch of other random shit in his trunk, he spots a white bakery box.

Neil grabs the little note taped on top. “Happy Birthday, Neil. Love Renee, Allison, and Dan.”

Andrew grits his teeth. “She borrowed my car to get the cake earlier.”

“Renee?”

Andrew nods. “I wonder if she knows she just littered.”

Neil huffs, and after a moment, laughs. Then he shoulders Andrew’s bag and grabs the cake.

Andrew realizes, then, that the girls' plan all along was to get him and Neil alone for the rabbit's birthday. One final push towards one another that they didn’t need. He rolls his eyes and slams the trunk shut before following Neil up the driveway.

Andrew unlocks the entrance and they step into the cold, dark house. He throws his keys on the small table by the door, toes off his boots, and takes the cake from Neil before leaving him in the entryway and heading to turn up the thermostat. In the kitchen, Andrew chucks the ice cream in the freezer, the sushi in the fridge, and sets the box on the counter.

Then he’s a man with a mission.

When he walks back out to the living room, Neil is still standing by the front door, texting on his phone with a small smile on his face. “I just told Renee–” he starts, but then he looks up and catches sight of Andrew approaching with determination and pauses mid-sentence. “What–?”

Neil barely has a second to set down his phone and register what’s going on by the time Andrew reaches him.

“Come here,” Andrew says, cupping Neil’s jaw and bringing their mouths together.

“Andrew,” Neil manages, sounding surprised. “What–?”

But Andrew lifts him; scoops two hands behind his thighs and slams his back into the front door, effectively shutting it. His fingers find the lock and snap it closed, and Neil gasps out a breath, wrapping his legs around Andrew’s waist.

Neil hadn’t even managed to get his shoes off.

Andrew couldn’t give less of a fuck.

He’s kissing Neil with fervor. There are no more interruptions, no distractions, no people, no alcohol, no storm, no limits. Andrew pins Neil to the wall like he’s his number one task and kisses him like a man starved, because he is. He’s been dying for this—this dream he never thought he’d get a taste of, this person he never thought he'd get to have.

All of Neil’s confessions hit Andrew over and over again.

This matters to me.

It’s all I’ve been able to think about.

“Neil,” Andrew says, mouthing at Neil’s jaw. “I trust you.”

Neil, who seems nothing but happy to be picked up and kissed like his life depended on it, physically relaxes. His arms wrap around Andrew’s shoulders, fingers tangling in the short strands at Andrew’s nape. He’s not sure why, but Neil’s suddenly nodding against him, eager, accepting, maybe happy.

Shit. Now that he’s here, Andrew isn’t even sure where to start. There’s so much he wants to do, so many thoughts that have overwhelmed him for so long, but he’s not sure he can wait. At this moment, he just wants to make Neil come again. It’s all he can fucking think about.

Andrew wonders if Neil is going to be as shy as he was in the back of the Mas.

He turns and carries Neil into the dark living room. It’s still chilly, feeling like a house untouched, but they’re quick to warm it up. The only source of light is from the kitchen, so Andrew blindly reaches for the floor lamp he knows is next to the couch and clicks it on, the room instantly filled with a warm, yellow glow.

Neil is still in Andrew’s hands, kissing down his jaw and neck now that Andrew’s distracted. He groans, his hands slipping up Neil’s legs, fingers easing beneath his shorts to the plush, soft skin of his upper thighs. Andrew can’t even make it to the couch—he lands Neil on the back of it, resting his ass on the top of the cushions.

Neil pulls back and smiles, half-bashful, half-teasing. “Couldn’t get enough?”

Andrew can only look at him—at Neil’s kiss-pink lips, at his angelic, bewildered expression—and thank the gods he’s able to do this. Whatever karma he’s earned, whatever butterfly he killed, whatever Andrew did that landed him here Neil, solidifies his opposition to regret.

“Shut up,” Andrew says. Then he pushes Neil back and follows him down.

Neil lands on the cushions with a little huff, and Andrew settles between his legs, his hands eager to grab onto the supple flesh of Neil’s thighs again, to smooth across the soft hair that covers them. Andrew wraps Neil tighter around his waist and grinds his hips forward, their cocks just aligning.

“Oh,” Neil moans, shocked. “Now?”

“Did you want me to schedule an appointment?”

“Ah, no.”

“So what? Want me to stop?” Andrew asks, repeating the movement.

Neil’s pupils blow wide, his jaw falling open in shock before he anchors his teeth on his bottom lip. He shakes his head.

Andrew continues to grind their hips together, and he thinks he could come in the next minute or two like he’s in fucking high school. And he wants to come, god, does he want to. But there’s that same tug at the back of his mind from before that tells him not like this.

He tries his best to be patient, and pulling away slightly, Andrew slips his hands between them to undo the button on Neil’s shorts. Neil is good—he lifts his hips and lets Andrew pull both them and briefs to his knees. The view is sinful, but Andrew’s missed it, and fuck if he doesn’t now have a kink for making Neil come in his stupid hightops.

Andrew moves down on the couch, landing between Neil’s bent legs, and the rabbit shoots up to his elbows. He’s flushed red, brows drawn and hands shaky as they reach to cover his dick in some last attempt at politeness. “Andrew, you don’t have to–”

But fuck the decency. Andrew doesn’t give him time to finish. He takes Neil’s cock in his hands and wraps his lips around the tip before taking it all the way down his throat. Neil chokes out a curse that drags into a groan and falls back.

Andrew yanks Neil closer, gripping his hips and holding him tight as he sucks him off. He wants Neil to know what it’s like to get life-changing head, so he’s going to give it to him. He works his lips up and down, sucks on his pretty-pink tip, and jerks Neil off in sloppy, wet movements that match the glide of his mouth.

The entire time, Neil is a wreck, and Andrew is soaking in every cracking moan that he lets out. “Oh, fuck. Andrew, wait, I'm–”

Andrew pulls off, deciding he wants to watch Neil come this time. He keeps the strokes of his hand quick, the slick sound enough to tip Neil over the edge. Their eyes meet when Neil comes, his pretty mouth falling into an obscene gasp, his expression pinched beautifully. Every pump of Andrew’s wrist lines up with the pulses of Neil’s orgasm, and their gazes stay locked throughout it. Both of them are entirely aware of who they’re with: Andrew is the one making Neil feel this good. Neil is the one Andrew bows to.

Neil collapses back, a hand coming up to rest on his forehead. Completely out of breath and covered in cum, he sighs out, “Fuck.”

Andrew bites down on a smug smirk and slips free from the tangle of Neil’s legs. For who knows what time, Andrew once again neglects his dick. He thinks he might actually receive a willpower medal from the Devil when he meets him.

He goes down the hall to the bathroom and retrieves a warm, wet towel for Neil, effectively wiping him clean when he returns.

Neil is blushing redder than a rose. “Was that really necessary?”

Andrew says, “Yes.” Doesn’t say, More than you’ll ever know.

Neil sits up and fixes his clothes before he grabs Andrew by the hem of his shirt and brings him close. Andrew comes to stand in front of him, and like this, his dick is in dangerous proximity of Neil’s face. He cocks an eyebrow in question, wiping spit from the corner of Neil’s mouth. “Hungry?”

Neil looks like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t. He hesitantly looks towards the kitchen and blinks rapidly, as though remembering the reason why they’re even here. On queue, his stomach grumbles. “Sure. Yeah.”

They unpack, wash up, and land back on the couch but in safe-for-work circumstances, their array of sushi on the coffee table in front of them. Neil gives Andrew all of his wasabi and Andrew gives Neil all of his ginger, and then they turn on some documentary on a conspiracy theory they're already familiar with.

(This is a moment not usually addressed. Something boring. Familiar. The everyday domestic life of a college student. But Andrew finds every breath significant because, for a brief, unsettling moment, he realizes he’s not at all unsettled. He’s a hundred percent comfortable.)

A while later, Neil snorts at something the tv says and turns to Andrew to delight in it with him, and Andrew doesn’t even realize he’s staring until their eyes lock. Neil makes a stupid face at him, and it’s a small thing, but it’s also big enough to rip Andrew’s heart from his chest and sign its name on it.

After cleaning up, they find themselves in the kitchen staring down at the cake. 

It’s vanilla and coconut and everything Andrew is against, but Neil grabs a fork and takes a giant piece out of the monstrosity, moaning when the treat hits his taste buds. He eats six whole bites before Andrew is convinced to at least steal a swipe of the buttercream.

It’s good.

They eat a little more, and Neil fills the silence with a story about Matt before doing the terrible, contagious act of yawning.

“Stop,” Andrew says, stifling his own.

“Sorry. Practice was early.”

“I was there. Not an excuse.”

“Well, I did also just get my dick sucked, so.”

Andrew freezes, shooting Neil a glare.

The redhead shrugs, smirking. “Blowjobs kinda make you tired.”

“Do they.”

“Yep.”

“Then we should go to bed.”

Neil stills this time, eyes flicking back and forth between Andrew’s like a goddamn metronome. “Oh. Okay.”

Andrew shuts the box of cake and sticks it in the fridge.

Neil takes his time in the bathroom, and Andrew eventually hears the shower cut on. He grabs Neil some clean clothes and leaves them on his bed before heading to the other bathroom to shower himself.

When he finds Neil again, the striker is lying back on Andrew’s bed, resting against the pillows. He has on one of Andrew’s band-tees and a pair of briefs, his legs spread out over the comforter. His phone is playing some sort of exy video, and Andrew can hear the announcer from across the room before Neil turns it off and sets it on the bedside table.

Andrew puts his shit down on his dresser. Thinks that Neil looks way too good in his clothes. Makes his way over to the bed and meets Neil’s eyes, but Neil has his gaze locked on Andrew’s body.

He’s only wearing black sweatpants. His armbands are discarded behind him. Neil has seen his scars just once before, and his eyes skim his forearms before they drag across to Andrew’s bare abdomen and nervously up to his face.

“Are you sure this is okay?” Neil asks. Andrew isn’t sure what he’s referring to—sleeping in the same bed, maybe. The sudden vulnerability. Everything.

Andrew says yes to it all.

He sits on the bed before resting back against the pillows, the soft lights of his bedroom making Andrew's muscles relax.

Neil turns to face him and licks his lips. “Thank you. For today.”

Andrew sighs, nonchalant. “You’re welcome, junkie.”

Neil’s curls lift from the pillow, and Andrew is met with a mischievous look. “I’m not really tired anymore.”

“Then why are we in bed?” Andrew asks. He means it as a jab, but the words hold more weight than he expects, and it’s almost like Neil can’t help the coy grin that pulls at his lips.

Doesn’t he know such a look would earn him a hand around his neck?

“I don’t know. People usually go to sleep at night,” Neil offers.

“Do they?”

Neil shrugs. “I think so. Maybe. I’m usually at the court with Kev.”

Andrew scowls.

Neil laughs, “What? Don’t wanna think about your kiss with Kev while in bed with me?”

It takes a second for Andrew to reroute his brain from being in bed with Neil to kissing Kevin. As always, his frown deepens when he thinks of his roommate, and it takes him a second to get what Neil is saying.

Andrew figures it’s time to come clean. He confesses, “I didn’t kiss Kevin,” like it’s obvious.

“What?”

“I lied. Don’t act so surprised.”

Neil does act surprised. He rushes to sit up and makes a giant, dramatic expression consisting of his mouth falling open. “You lied to me?”

“You’re not the only fox here.”

“Apparently not.” Neil’s lips spread into a smile as he faces Andrew, his long legs pulling up into a criss-cross position, his skin way too tan against the soft white bedding. Andrew can't help but think of making Neil melt like caramel against the sheets. Of pulling him apart and licking up his sweet strings of sugar.

He exhales slowly.

“Why?” Neil asks.

Andrew adjusts against the pillows, tucking an arm behind his head. If they weren’t going to sleep, he may as well get comfortable. “Felt like it.”

Neil laughs and gets a little closer, and Andrew’s fingers twitch uncontrollably in response, wanting to just reach out and grab.

“Did you want to make me jealous?” Neil prods.

Jealous. That word is coming up an awful lot. “No,” Andrew says.

“Good, because I’m not,” Neil says, and Andrew isn’t sure how to process the rush of feelings through his body until the rabbit explains. “You actually like me. You tolerate Kevin.”

Andrew scoffs. “Wrong.”

“So correct me,” Neil says, leaning forward on his hands, a slight challenge in his expression. The shirt he borrowed is too big for him, and its neckline dips to expose his chest beneath.

Andrew eyes him—the flex of Neil’s arm muscles, the bend of his knees, the hook of one narrow ankle over the other—and fights to redirect his thoughts. “I lied because you were freaking out over our kiss.”

“I was not freaking out!”

Andrew hums. I beg to differ.

“I was not." Neil gets closer, planting a hand on the other side of Andrew’s hip so he’s hovering over him. He leans in close to Andrew’s face. “You were the one that avoided me. Admit it.”

“Or what?”

Neil’s eyes flash; a flame flickering through water. He crawls up, straddles Andrew, and sits back on Andrew’s thighs. His weight ignites a thrum beneath Andrew’s skin and his dick jumps to attention. He wonders how long it’ll be before he breaks composure.

Or loses his fucking mind completely.

Neil’s palms rest on the bed, and Andrew's hand that isn’t tucked confidently behind his head comes to rest on the backs of Neil’s. It shocks Neil: there’s a tiny flinch and a shy glance down at it, so Andrew runs his index finger over the ridges of scars, the soft veins that pulse beneath his skin.

Neil pokes Andrew’s side in retaliation.

Andrew has to suppress the desire to jerk away.

Neil looks confused before he realizes. “Wait—“

“Josten,” Andrew warns.

“You’re ticklish too?”

“No.”

“Well, you’ve just established yourself as a liar, so. Can’t trust you.”

“That’s too bad.”

Neil hovers his hand over Andrew’s waist and does a little tickle motion in the air. It’s enough to cause Andrew to sit up and grab his hand.

“You are!” Neil laughs, and Andrew is in heaven.

“You’re annoying.”

“Fuck, I want to tickle you so bad,” Neil confesses, and the words cause Andrew to freeze. Neil would never push Andrew too far—would never make him uncomfortable physically or cross a boundary.

Still, he asks, “If I told you to never tickle me, would you listen?”

The words make Neil’s face turn serious. Immediately, he removes his hand from Andrew’s grip and starts to climb off of him. “Of course. You know I would.”

Andrew grabs his hand again, sitting up. Neil pauses, searching his eyes for an explanation. “And if I said you could try your best, but you’ll never get close?”

Neil’s starlight eyes flick between his, and his canines are back, grin flashing in the low light. “Wanna bet?”

Andrew’s had enough. He wants. Wants. Wants. He reaches to hold Neil’s other wrist, wanting to pin them behind his back and kiss him, but Neil moves it away, lightning-quick.

A challenge. The movement strikes a match—igniting the building tension between them.

Andrew flips their position before Neil can realize what’s going on, and the redhead lands on his back with a little oof before laughs bubble out of him. Andrew’s hands are on his waist, pushing up his shirt and pinching the soft skin at his side.

“Andrew!” Neil wheezes through laughs.

“Hmm?” Andrew asks, finally grabbing both wrists. He pins them above Neil’s head, and the rabbit breathes heavily, catching his breath.

“Asshole,” Neil says, sour.

“That’s why you like me,” Andrew says. The words are out before he knows it, sounding fond. Neil blinks up at him, hair messy across the pillow, his cheeks a blotchy watercolor red, and he doesn’t deny it.

“I do,” Neil says. “And you like me too.”

He seems shocked by his words, somehow daring, somehow shy, a hundred percent Neil and a hundred percent worthy of such a thing close to Andrew’s hatred that isn’t hatred at all.

Andrew is frozen, as though his silence at Neil’s accusation is a confession of his own. His gaze locks on Neil’s mouth, and he leans forward an inch to press their lips together.

Neil takes advantage and hooks a leg around his hip. Suddenly he’s free, straddling Andrew again. His weight lands on Andrew’s dick, the soft curve of his ass rubbing over him, only the thin fabric of their clothes between them. Neil could retaliate, could tickle Andrew, but he doesn’t. He stays still, overly considerate, but grinning because he managed to flip them.

“You like me,” Neil says.

Andrew knows it’s true. Knows he isn’t interested in hooking up with anyone else. Knows he wants to kiss Neil's lips until they’re puffy and weak, wants his beautiful blue eyes to roll back in his head— but he also wants this. Wants Neil to all himself in the low lights of his room, laughing and happy. Safe.

Andrew leans up to kiss him briefly. “I hate you,” he says, after pulling back. He looks up into Neil’s eyes, revels in the surprise he finds there, and says the words again, knowing they mean everything but.

“It takes a lot to hate someone,” Neil whispers.

“Well, for some reason, I do a lot for you.”

Neil takes a sharp intake of breath, and then he’s looking down at his hands. Enter the fidgeting. “Do you remember what you asked me? In the parking lot, after we….” When Andrew is quiet, Neil explains. “You asked me what it is that I want.”

Andrew waits for an explanation.

Neil asks, careful and quiet, “What if I said I wanted you?”

Andrew’s heart jolts in his chest.

Idiot. Haven’t I made it clear you have me?

Andrew swallows. “Name a time I haven’t given you what you wanted, Neil.”

Neil looks between his eyes and there’s a sudden connection between them. A sudden understanding. They are frozen in the moment, and then a pilot lights beneath them. A flicker of heat that roars to a heavy flame, setting them to a boil. Andrew is flooded with desire as he watches Neil’s eyes darken, watches the redhead slowly bite his bottom lip into his mouth. 

Well, shit.

Andrew grips Neil’s waist a little tighter. “Neil.”

“Yeah?”

Andrew bites back a stutter. Clenches his jaw. Runs his hands up Neil’s back in frustration. He’s falling. Hard. His pulse is raging, his heart a vice in his chest.

Through gritted teeth, Andrew says, “I need to know if you want this.”

Neil adjusts slightly, the backs of his thighs pressing against Andrew’s lap. “Want what?”

There are flames in Andrew’s eyes now, surely. His sexual frustration is over the brim. Wanting Neil to see how badly Andrew wants him, his fingers dig into Neil’s hips and grinds him down against his erection. “This.”

Neil’s lips part. “Oh.”

“If you don’t,” Andrew says, voice husky, “I turn off the lights, and we go to bed. I can’t,” he grates out, “do this anymore.”

Neil’s skin flushes red, his cheeks, his nose, his neck, the tips of his ears. “And… if I do?”

“If you do, I’ll give it to you,” Andrew promises. “However you want.”

Neil pulls back, eyes on Andrew’s mouth. He repeats quietly, “However I want?”

Andrew nods.

Neil absently trails his thumb over Andrew’s bottom lip and wonders, “How will I know, if I’ve never done it before? Will you show me?”

Andrew’s heart is in his throat, and whatever takes its place beneath his ribs is straight from hell. “Yes.”

“Well, I want it, Andrew.” Neil grinds down again, a flicker of playfulness twitching up the corner of his mouth. “Haven't I made that obvious?”

The thread Andrew was hanging on by? Snapped.

“Painfully,” he says, and then he flips Neil onto his back again. Right where he fucking belongs.

Andrew’s going to eat him alive. Every fucking moment of suffering led up to this. Every aching erection, every wet dream, every heavy stare, knuckle bitten, groan swallowed. Andrew is going to have his fill.

Neil turns to molten sugar below him, melting against the pillows like an obedient little fucktoy. His mouth begs for Andrew’s lips as he takes him in: red hair curling like fire against the sheets, milky soft skin ready to be sucked purple.

Andrew kisses him roughly, pent-up, and angry. It’s almost a "fuck you" and every bit a poisoned delicacy. Neil takes it all—Andrew’s lips, his teeth, his tongue, his spit. He trusts and receives and moans openly against him, deep hums from his throat that get trapped between them.

Andrew needs more. 

If anything is going to get done, he needs to manage to tear away from Neil’s lips. He mouths down to his chin and tips it up with his nose, planting kisses across Neil’s jaw to his ear that make the striker suck in a sharp breath.

Andrew kisses up to Neil’s earlobe before sucking it into his mouth and tonguing the sensitive skin behind it. He breathes a heavy sigh into the shell of Neil’s ear and Neil squirms, arching his hips upwards to grind against Andrew.

The blond places a firm hand on Neil's hip and shoves him back down, holding him in place.

“Andrew,” Neil whines.

Andrew ignores him, kissing messily down Neil’s neck, sucking his skin until a little bloom of violet puckers beneath, a mark of possession that spikes Andrew’s pride. He’s satisfied with just one, but gives Neil more; another above the collarbone that makes Neil’s breath shake. One on the opposite shoulder. Andrew kisses up to Neil’s other ear and gifts him a final hickey beneath his jaw before licking the skin to soothe it.

Neil’s pulse is thrumming; Andrew can feel it. He’s got his fingers tangled deep in Andrew’s hair, his chest rising and falling rapidly off of the mattress.

Andrew’s hands inch up from Neil’s hips to his waist, and he sits up between Neil’s legs. He wraps both hands around the narrowness of Neil’s abdomen and marvels at the size of his palms over Neil’s torso—at how easy it is to hold him. Andrew’s hands smooth up beneath Neil’s—his—shirt, hiking the fabric up and erupting goosebumps across Neil’s skin.

Andrew’s fingers flare across Neil’s ribs, and his eyes lock on Neil’s as he finally pushes his shirt above his nipples and bunches it beneath his underarms. Neil whimpers, the cool air against his hot chest causing the two rosy buds to harden, and he goes to cover himself, arms folding over his face.

How can someone so confident, so athletic, so strong, and so goddamn hot be so fucking adorable?

Andrew leans down and plants a hot kiss on the middle of Neil’s chest. Neil gasps, arches into it, and then Andrew latches his lips onto one of his nipples, alternating between nibbling the bud between his teeth and kissing it wetly, like he does with Neil’s tongue.

“Shit,” Neil breathes. “Oh—“

He must be more sensitive than Andrew thought. Andrew’s hand comes up to pinch Neil’s other nipple between his thumb and forefinger before his mouth gets jealous. A wet trail of spit is left between them as he moves to lap at the other, kissing and biting the perky bud until Neil is squirming uncontrollably.

Neil chokes on his words, “Andrew, it’s too—“

“You're okay,” Andrew says. There’s so much I want to show you. 

Neil begins to palm his dick over his briefs, and Andrew looks down to watch him. Neil’s so desperate, and his damp underwear gives it all away. The redhead is so hard he’s tenting them, and Andrew can’t help but want to make him come again.

He reaches for the bedside table and pulls out a bottle of lube, sets it beside Neil’s hip, and then pulls Neil up to a seating position. Neil looks confused, dazed, still gripping his cock with needy little squeezes, but then Andrew lifts his shirt over his head. When Neil lies back down, Andrew pulls his briefs off and then lifts Neil’s hips so his legs are over Andrew’s thighs as he kneels between them.

Neil goes to cover himself again.

Andrew grabs his wrists and pins them above his head.

“Sorry,” Neil squirms. “I just—“

“Grab the headboard.”

Neil’s fingers immediately scramble for purchase before they wrap around the wooden bars. Good.

Andrew takes Neil in—his shaky legs, wrapped around Andrew’s hips, his chest, stuttering on rapid breaths. Neil’s nipples, red after Andrew’s attention, his cock, hard and resting against his abdomen.

Andrew is exactly where he wants to be.

Pouring a little bit of lube into his hand, he slowly begins to jerk Neil off as he leans in to kiss him again. Neil immediately kisses back, muffling all curses against Andrew’s lips as the blond moves his wrist. The pleasure from his hand and mouth distract Neil enough, and with Andrew leaning forward like this, Neil’s legs have risen up, spreading wide around him. Andrew sneaks his other hand down, coats his fingers in lube, and teases one outside of Neil’s hole like he did in the Mas.

The first contact has Neil’s voice breaking on needy words, and Andrew applies a little pressure, his finger slipping only slightly into the tight, slick heat of Neil’s hole.

“Ah, god, yes.” Neil’s hands tighten around the headboard, and Andrew kisses his cheek in reward, his hands still working below. Andrew gently sinks his finger in deeper, and he hits the first knuckle easily.

When he pushes past the tight ring of resistance, Neil whines, “You can go further.”

Andrew grits his teeth. He doesn’t want to hurt Neil, but he wants to be able to finger him easily. “How about you turn over for me?”

“What?”

“Yeah,” Andrew decides. It will feel better for Neil, anyway. “Turn over.”

Andrew’s dick notices that Neil tends to follow direct orders better than leading ideas. The redhead slowly releases the headboard and Andrew kisses him as he pulls him to a sitting position before he turns Neil around in his lap, mimicking their pose in the car.

Neil grips Andrew’s thigh as Andrew slowly jerks him off, and then he places a comforting hand on Neil’s back and eases him forward, until he’s lying with his ass up.

Andrew chokes a little at the sight. Neil is a fucking dream.

“Like this?” Neil asks hesitantly, and shit, Andrew’s getting too caught up. This is all new for the rabbit. Andrew runs a soothing hand across the soft curve of Neil’s ass, over his hip, and up the small of his back until Neil shivers.

“Yes, Neil.” Andrew continues to relax him, to trail his fingers up his spine and smooth them back down to his ass, squeezing the flesh between his hands.

“Okay.” Neil starts to shift, starts to move his hips in small thrusts against the mattress, so Andrew grabs Neil’s hips and pulls them up slightly. “Oh. Sorry.”

Neil is still fully hard, his pretty balls high and tensing, like he’s already close. Andrew must be staring for too long, because Neil’s hips start to rut against nothing. “Is everything okay—?”

Andrew kisses the small of his back; plants his lips right in the dimples he sees there. Neil gasps quietly, and then chokes out a moan when Andrew’s slick finger meets his hole again, his other hand slipping below Neil’s hip and pulling him higher on his lap.

“Ohhh fuck.” Neil’s head falls, his face hiding in the blanket. His hips rock back against Andrew, slightly, and his finger slips back inside Neil’s hole with only a little resistance. He slowly eases it inside, up until the second knuckle, before dragging it back out. A noise leaves Neil’s mouth, something a little nervous and a lot perverse.

“Breathe, Neil,” Andrew says.

Neil immediately does, a big sigh falling out that relaxes his shoulders instantly. He inhales, and when his lungs fall again, Andrew is able to slip his entire finger inside. The view is deadly, Neil is so tight and his hole is pretty and pink and fluttering nervously around him.

Andrew never thought he’d deserve something like this.

Then Neil shifts back against him, effectively fucking himself on Andrew’s finger, and Andrew startles, “Junkie—“

“Andrew. I’m begging. I need it. I need more. I need you. Don’t– just—“

Andrew begins to slowly pump his finger in and out of Neil's hole, earning him a low groan of appreciation. Neil does so well for somebody taking something so new, and before Andrew knows it, the rabbit is asking for more.

“Fuck, Neil, you want another?”

Neil’s got a hand fisting the sheets and another beneath him to squeeze Andrew’s thigh. He hums a nod.

Andrew makes sure Neil's worked up enough, and sure enough, he is. His cock is dripping a shiny trail of precum down to the blanket. Andrew slicks up another finger and eases it in alongside the first, and Neil does a good job at remembering to keep breathing.

“Thank you,” Neil whines. “Oh, fuck. Are you okay, Andrew? Are you—“

He looks back at Andrew over his shoulder and god dammit of course Neil would be asking him if he's okay while Andrew’s got two fingers in his ass. 

Andrew reassures him by saying, “Don’t worry about me," because he’s more than fine. He grabs Neil’s hand and moves it back so Neil can feel his dick.

Neil’s skin blushes even redder. “Oh.”

“Feel how okay I am?”

Neil squeezes, causing Andrew to see spots in his vision. His hand feels perfect wrapped around Andrew's cock, even through his sweats. Andrew slides his fingers out before fucking them both back in.

“Fuck.” Neil’s hand stutters before he squeezes again, and Andrew keeps fucking him with his fingers, continuous little pumps that get deeper as he goes, until he's knuckles deep, hitting the deepest spot of Neil as the redhead fucks back on his hand, as he begs for more.

Then Andrew curls his fingers slightly, causing Neil to jolt.

"Ah! What was-?”

Andrew curls them again, pressing against Neil’s prostate after spending the last few minutes trying to find the right angle. He pulls out a little, and then hits it perfectly when he sinks his fingers back in.

“Shit, shit shit,” Neil cries.

Andrew sits up a little straighter, licks his lips, swallows the lump in his throat that’s formed from him biting back every ounce of desire to fuck Neil here and now. To praise him endlessly. To tell him he’s taking his fingers so well, that his ass is so hot, his hole so pretty, his legs so smooth. Instead, he continues to finger fuck Neil until the man’s thighs are shaking, until he’s reaching back for Andrew’s hand and squeezing.

“I don’t wanna come, Andrew, stop. I’m gonna, if you keep going, I’m gonna come—“

“It’s okay if you come, Neil,” Andrew says. Neil’s already so close, and that fact alone lights up Andrew’s nerves with a zing. He was more than confident of his skill in bed, but Neil’s lack of experience escalates things until they’re at dangerous levels.

“But—“ Neil stutters. It looks like he’s having trouble staying still. He gasps for a breath. “I want to come with you. I don’t want this to end.”

A wave of pleasure ripples throughout Andrew. It would be cruel to deny such a request, right?

He leans forward over Neil’s back, wraps a hand around his throat from behind, and angles Neil’s lips up to kiss him. His fingers still move slowly in Neil’s ass, and the change in position makes Neil melt.

“Stick your tongue out,” Andrew requests. Neil opens his mouth and does so, Andrew provides his thumb for Neil to suck on.

At this point, Andrew could come just looking at him.

He pulls back after a minute, not one for self-inflicted torture, and gently removes his fingers from Neil. He slips off his sweatpants, effectively wiping his hands clean on the fabric, and drops them on the floor. Neil turns over. His hair is messy, his skin covered in a damp sheen, and he’s radiating heat like he has a fever. He watches as Andrew removes his briefs, and then they’re both naked.

Neil’s eyes fall right on Andrew’s erection and stay there.

Andrew takes himself in his hand and raises his eyebrows at Neil. “Pervert,” he tsks, shaking his head.

“Says you,” Neil somehow bites back, somehow still fiery. He wraps a hand around himself, too. “You’re filthy.”

Andrew shrugs, slowly working himself as he watches Neil. Neil's focus is on him the entire time, his pupils taking up almost all of the blue in his eyes. When he speaks again, his voice is strained, guttural. “Andrew, I want to touch you. Can I touch you?”

Andrew figures that since Neil hasn’t touched someone else before, he’ll be okay; that he can hang on and not come until… until they are supposed to, together. He grips the base of his dick as though willing his orgasm away, and then Andrew nods.

“Yeah,” he says, roughly. “Come here.”

He leans back against the pillows next to Neil, taking his spot, and beckons Neil over with two fingers. When he comes, Andrew grabs Neil’s jaw for some semblance of control and kisses him while slyly guiding Neil’s hand to his dick. Neil’s fingers shake as they come to hold the thickness, and Andrew slowly wraps his hand around Neil’s to show him how to touch him. When Andrew squeezes, Neil squeezes. When he starts to move up and down, Neil does, too. 

Neil’s kisses get sloppy. His face pinches, strained. His hand starts to move without Andrew’s guidance, so he removes his and lets Neil jerk him off.

It’s the hottest fucking thing Andrew has experienced. Neil moans even though he’s not even being touched, as though he likes doing this for Andrew.

Andrew’s hips jerk when Neil’s palm slides all the way up to the head and back down, and he grits out, “Neil.”

“Sorry,” Neil says. But the little demon isn’t at all. He angles his jaw to kiss Andrew’s neck, nosing down until he’s able to suck and bite it freely.

Andrew feels his balls tighten—feels the familiar warm tingle of an orgasm building up low in his belly. His breath chokes in his throat, and a sound escapes from him that's lost between a growl and a groan. “Fuck, Neil. Don’t make me come.”

“But you haven’t gotten to yet.”

He says it like Andrew isn’t aware of the fact.

Were they going to fuck? Is that what they’re holding off for?

“Neil,” Andrew says. “How do you want it?”

Neil leans down, putting his pretty face way too close to Andrew’s cock. His hand still jerks Andrew off slowly, his eyes watching, mesmerized by what he’s doing. Neil mumbles something quietly to himself that Andrew can’t make out.

This has to be a form of torture.

“Again, rabbit.”

Then Neil plants a kiss on his hip, and Andrew is tormented. Shocked speechless. “I said I want to have sex,” he says softly, as though talking to himself. Kisses again, this time closer to Andrew’s dick.

Andrew half expects to wake up right then and there.

“You want–” Andrew swallows. Neil kisses the base of his dick, a shy one that’s hidden in the dark hair there. He tries again, “You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes.”

Neil is not an idiot, Andrew tells himself. He knows what he wants. He wants this. He wants this, and so do you.

He pulls Neil up to him and kisses him again, this time, softer. This time, Neil is eased onto his back, Andrew kneels between his legs, and Neil holds him closer than they’ve ever been. Their bare chests press together, their stomachs, their hips—the skin-on-skin contact is electrifying. Hot. Their heartbeats fucking align. The rhythm of their kisses. The intake of their breaths.

Andrew holds Neil’s cheek, strokes it, reaches for the lube, and with a light, shaky grip he manages to squeeze some into his palm.

Neil watches him rub the slickness over his cock and eases his legs up a little higher, holding the back of his thighs and spreading his ass a little.

God. Andrew is one lucky son-of-a-bitch. For a heartstopping moment, he’s fucking excited. Figures that this is how it was always meant to be. Sex wasn’t some sort of feat, with someone like Neil, it’s a goddamn blessing.

His excitement drips into determination; thickens into an all-consuming desire, an urge to wrap Neil in his arms and give him every inch of himself. Andrew adjusts, his cock coming to rest on Neil’s stomach next to Neil’s, showing them both just how deep he’ll be if Neil can take it. 

A little line of worry creases between Neil’s eyebrows and Andrew catches on. “Neil. You’ll tell me if it’s too much. If you want to stop. If you’re not enjoying it.”

Neil shakes his head. “It’s not that, I just– can you come closer?”

Andrew falters. Stills, mouth open, to stare at Neil. The words register slowly. “Yeah,” he says.

Andrew eases Neil’s thighs up further and falls to his elbows. Their foreheads press together, and they both watch as Andrew lines his cock up with Neil’s hole, pushing slightly against him.

“Breathe,” Andrew whispers, meeting Neil’s eyes. He kisses him slowly, sweetly, and Neil listens. “Good. Can you touch yourself for me?”

Neil nods and takes his cock in his hand. Breathes again. Spreads his legs a little more. Andrew pushes in, the head of his dick squeezing past the tight rim before he pauses, unable to help but drop his head to rest against Neil’s shoulder.

They both moan. Andrew hears Neil’s movements over his dick get a little slicker, feels his own cock in blazing ecstasy, and he’s barely made any progress.

Neil’s voice is silky. Pleading. “You can keep going.”

Andrew huffs against his skin. His words scrape against the gravel up his throat. “Are you sure?”

And Neil whines, “I’m dying, Andrew. I can take it. Give me more. I want it, god, I want you.”

Andrew curses. He sinks in further—almost halfway—in complete disbelief. Neil is taking him so well, and holy shit, Andrew is fucking Neil. The realization is mind-altering, teetering him over the edge of an orgasm that’s been building for months. He holds Neil’s hips firmly, and the bastard squeezes around him. “Shit.”

Andrew pushes in further, eyes squeezed shut, holding Neil so close, until his cock is in fully. A groan ripples out of him that sounds like Neil’s name. And Neil is shaking, caught between trying to relax and trying to squeeze Andrew as tight as he can, everywhere. Neil’s hand stills around his own cock, and then the only sound is of their heavy, strained breaths.

Andrew wants to move so fucking badly. He pulls back and meets Neil’s bright eyes before sliding their noses together. “Are you okay, rabbit?”

Neil adjusts his hips, and it slips Andrew’s cock in a little bit deeper. A whimper leaves his mouth. “God, yes. Just need a second.”

Andrew nods and kisses him. It’s sugary, something way too soft for the obscenity below. Andrew feels Neil’s hole stretch around him, feels his muscles relax with every smooth glide of their lips. When Andrew pulls away, a trail of spit connects their mouths, and Neil is starting to get restless. Starting to wriggle his hips and slide Andrew in and out, little by little.

“You going to let me move now, rabbit? Or do you plan on torturing me all night, fucking yourself on my dick like that?”

Neil flushes, pulls Andrew close, and hides his face in the crook of his neck. “Sorry, sorry, I— you can move. If you want.”

If Andrew wants?

He huffs and sits back, leaving Neil with nowhere to run. Andrew’s going to watch the look on his face when he first fucks him properly, going to make Neil keep his eyes on him. He hooks his hands behind Neil’s knees and pushes his thighs up until they’re against Neil’s chest. The sight of his cock buried in Neil’s ass is enough to make him dizzy, and he watches as he eases out slightly, making it only two inches before he slowly sinks back in.

“Oh.” Neil looks down and watches Andrew fuck back inside him. Neil’s dick rests throbbing against his belly, pouring out precum and aching red. He covers his mouth with the back of his hand and his eyelashes flutter; he can hardly stay focused.

“You’re doing so good, rabbit,” Andrew can’t help but say. He’s awed, once again, by the redhead and his ability to completely master whatever he takes on. Neil appears shocked by his words, so Andrew pulls out and pushes back in again, this time with a little more fervor. “So good.”

“Shut up,” Neil says, embarrassed. Andrew can’t help but smirk slightly, and Neil’s eyes fall down to his mouth.

Andrew holds him tighter, fucking Neil with full, steady thrusts now, until the head of his cock is all that’s still in Neil’s warmth when he pulls out. It’s almost too much, he feels pleasure crash over him like lava; it ripples up his spine; sends his nerves into overdrive. Neil is gorgeous beneath him, all heat up and pliable, messy and sweaty and fucking perfect.

Andrew leans forward to place a kiss on Neil’s knee before he bites his inner thigh, and the new angle causes Neil to gasp.

“Ah, fuck, Andrew.”

Andrew thrusts against the same spot, right against Neil’s prostate, and feels Neil’s hole clench around him in response. “There?”

“Yes, yes, yes–”

“You’re taking me pretty deep, you know.” Andrew grabs Neil’s hand and kisses his palm before placing it on Neil’s lower belly, and then he pushes it down before fucking Neil again. “Feel that?”

Neil lets out a broken cry before biting his lip between his teeth. He nods.

“Do you know how long,” Andrew begins, leaning forward, putting more weight on their hands, “I’ve wanted to fuck you? Do you know how badly?”

“As bad as–” Neil’s voice is raspy. “As bad as I’ve wanted it?”

“Worse.” Andrew is certain. He kisses Neil’s chest and licks a wet stripe over one of his nipples before sucking on one. “Triple it.”

“Fuck. Andrew, stop talking like that, you’re going to make me–”

“Let me. Let me see you come on my dick, Neil. It’s what I want.”

Neil curses. Looks up at Andrew, expression completely raw and a little embarrassed. “You’re so…”

Andrew can’t hold back anymore. He’s going to come any second; he feels his orgasm building in his stomach and his arms are beginning to shake as they hold him up.

“Neil. Don’t let anyone else fuck you like this.”

“What?” Neil threads his fingers through Andrew’s hair, brings his face closer. “Never. There—there’s only you. I only want you.”

Andrew kisses him, a searing hot, rough press of his lips.

“Don’t,” Neil begins. His hand stutters on his cock, like he’s right at the edge. “Don't–do this with anyone else.”

Andrew shakes his head. “Just you, rabbit.”

“Ah, god, Andrew, I’m going to come–”

Andrew knows Neil is there, feels his hole tightening, sees Neil’s hand movements getting messy as he tries to jerk off. Maybe he doesn’t need to. Maybe Andrew can make him–

Andrew wraps his hands around Neil’s waist and sits up, sinking into him at a faster pace. Neil’s grip leaves his erection as he scrambles to grab Andrew’s hands. “Fuck, fuck, Andrew–!”

Neil’s cock twitches and Andrew watches him come untouched, spurting cum all over his belly. His hole clenches with every pulse of his orgasm, and it’s enough to push Andrew over the edge, too.

Andrew wraps his arm beneath Neil’s waist and pulls him close, biting down on Neil’s shoulder as he comes, hard. He feels his orgasm in his fucking stomach, feels it down to his toes. He doesn’t think he’s ever come this hard in his life, and can barely contain the groaned-out curse he muffles into Neil’s neck, knows he’s probably leaving bruises on the redhead’s hips, but he’s completely and utterly undone.

He pulses hot cum deep inside of Neil, and Andrew’s pretty sure he blacks out for a second. His cock finishes throbbing an infinity later, and he’s left in a haze.

He’s definitely made a fucking mess out of Neil.

“Fuck,” he groans. Andrew releases his grip on Neil and searches his face. 

Neil barely has a voice. His pulse is still racing, his breath still being tamed. “Y-yeah.”

Usually after sex, Andrew is quick to get up. To clean himself; to get clothes on. But he can’t move. Doesn’t want to. Realizes he’s stroking Neil’s hip softly and doesn’t care to stop.

“Neil,” Andrew says. “Are–”

“I’m okay, ‘Drew. You didn’t hurt me. I’m—” Neil sighs, still having the audacity to blush. To look self-conscious. “More than okay.”

Andrew finds the strength to pull back. Survey the damage. Neil is spent— hair messy, neck bruised violet, skin rosy and damp. And Andrew is absolutely his mirror image, in his own way. As in he sort of can’t feel his legs.

For a second they just stare at one another, and then they keep staring. Andrew finds himself speechless, in awe, in something far deeper than anything he’s ever felt.

“Did you mean it?” Neil then asks, voice rubbed raw. “What you said?”

Andrew breaks a little. Finds he’s no longer able to hide his expressions, and his brows furrow, appalled that Neil would even think for a second that he’d lie about something like that. “Of course, idiot.”

“So,” Neil starts, shyly. His fingers are absently playing with the hair at Andrew’s nape, and it causes the blond to shiver. “We’re… together?”

Andrew swallows thickly. “Is that something you would want?”

Neil looks offended.

“Yes,” Andrew says. His eyes fall to Neil’s lips, watches them quirk up into a suppressed smile. “Yeah. We’re together,” he finishes, and then Neil no longer tries to hide his grin.