Chapter Text
They're having a movie night when the idea sinks its hooks into Andrew's brain. He’s not blaming the Foxes, but their bad taste in films is the catalyst to a milestone Andrew didn’t think he’d have to deal with so soon.
In a swift motion, he brings the hand that's not on Neil's thigh to itch at the back of his own skull, unsettled. He almost thinks he should ban himself from these get togethers, if only to avoid these ideas from taking root. Though, if he's being more honest with himself for once, he'll admit it's not the first time it crossed his mind.
It's possible that's the problem entirely.
No, this idea is more comparable to a mosquito, swarming around in his head and beating against the grooves at random points in the day. It's so powerful, so persistent, it's like this one mosquito is a whole swarm, poking around the ridges in an indecisive process to figure out where it finally wants to dig in.
The movie night is just the point in which it finally latches on and doesn't let go.
It's a predictable action film; Andrew doesn't understand why every director in Hollywood keeps trying to recreate James Bond, but he stopped caring about the movie two minutes in. Neil is boneless and relaxed from the shower they shared after practice, fingers drumming beats against Andrew's wrists while his brow furrows at the film. It has enough explosions and suspense to keep Neil somewhat entertained, though Andrew suspects the focus is mostly due to Neil trying to pick apart the inaccuracies of it all.
Most of the time, Neil ends up staring at Andrew for a majority of the film. Andrew finds it easier to not mind in the darkness, where he can feel the brightness in Neil's eyes instead of actually seeing it.
Essentially, this is the only reason he comes to movie nights.
He's almost at the point where he's ready to ignore the thing completely, along with the Foxes’ scathing commentary, but then the scene comes on.
It's not hard to see coming, but as crude and rough as the Foxes are, their movies don't often include sex scenes. Andrew isn't usually bothered by this type of thing, but it does nothing for him. He's neither repulsed or intrigued; the man isn't his type (or Neil, his brain says, unhelpfully), and the scene isn't aggressive enough to feel like assault.
No anger or heat surges under his skin as the slow orchestra plays, the woman's dress falling to the floor in what he's sure is supposed to be a good shot but has been so overdone it's pointless. Suddenly there's skin, and chests, and the actress' loud gasps turn into louder moans.
It's obnoxious, how fake it sounds, the camera angle cutting to show just enough in between movements.
"Ughhh," Nicky groans, and Allison turns to give him a look. Nicky sags in his chair even further just to spite her, almost falling out of it. "Why do they always do this? I don't need to see two straight white people suck face and bone in every movie! What is this doing for the plot?"
Aaron's head perks up, and he pauses his mid mouthful of those stupid chips Katelyn got him. "What's wrong with straight white people?"
"Everything."
Matt raises his third beer of the night. "Cheers bro, I'll drink to that."
Aaron looks to the wall, as if it will offer him anything better than his current company.
Andrew's eyes fly back to the television, right at the moment the hero slots himself between the actress' legs.
The swarm in his head digs in.
Andrew's hand tightens in the couch cushion, but he keeps the one on Neil's thigh steady so he won't notice. Neil can be so perceptive when he wants to be, when it comes to Andrew specifically. It's infuriating, sometimes. Andrew never asked to be known so well, yet here they are.
Neil cracks a smile at Nicky and Aaron's fighting, more fond of it now than anything, and Andrew tracks the curve of it with his eyes. On screen, the spy starts thrusting.
"It's romantic!" Allison counters Nicky's claims, and he chucks a pillow at her with a surprising amount of force. Some of the feathers float out.
"They met not even a day ago!"
Aaron's chips are forgotten, which is about as serious as his brother gets nowadays. "I think you've hooked up with dudes you've met within an hour, you asshole."
"This ain't about me."
It's at this point Neil decides to speak, his brow arching in a way Andrew is pretty sure he didn't do prior to starting their this. Andrew's eyes fly up to catch it, and he realizes he'd been admiring the slope of Neil's neck, the discoloration where his hair meets his nape. "Honestly Nicky, what right do you have to talk about plot? Didn't you make us watch that terrible beach movie last week just because you liked the actor?"
Off to the side, where they're trying to become siamese twins, Dan and Matt chime in with some 'ooo's and air horn noises. They’re loud enough to startle Kevin from whatever he’s texting Thea about, and Allison’s cackle follows. Renee’s smile has a slight sharpness to it, the evillest she can look nowadays.
Andrew can't be bothered by the antics; his focus keeps returning to the movie, and the fact is nearly enough to startle him. But he stays still, calm, and doesn't give anything away. It's the best defense he has for the war about to rage inside him. His mind, two seconds from overdrive.
"Et tu Neil?" Nicky sniffs, and then the actress has some kind of orgasm, since she makes a noise akin to a dying bird.
And, because when is it ever about the love interest, the man keeps going, chasing his own release. Andrew's throat feels scratchy.
Andrew spares a look at Neil's face, and finds the striker's attention divided between the screen and Nicky's ramblings. Andrew doesn't care about whatever Neil says in return, he's too set on the slide of Neil's tongue over his bottom lip, the heat of his skin under his palm. Andrew moves his hand more towards Neil's inner thigh, and his breath hitches when Neil's legs widen on instinct for him.
The idiot isn't even aware of it.
Andrew would only need to slide his hand deeper to graze the place where he and Neil could be connected, as close as they can get. He'd be able to work Neil open, savor the twitch of Neil's hips.
Neil is mouthy enough in bed with how they do things now. Would he be louder? Uncontained?
Andrew allows himself to watch the rest of the scene play out on screen, the two rehearsed 'rough' thrusts, the groan of pleasure. But this time, it's hard to be disinterested. It's hard to not let his mind, so gifted with spinning fantasies on account of his cursed memory, put him in the spy's place.
What would Neil feel like, he wonders. Tight and warm probably, strong legs locking around Andrew's hips until his ankles are crossed and knocking against his lower back. Neil can get so greedy sometimes, even with his obnoxiously high consideration for Andrew's boundaries. When he's allowed to take, he's desperate about it.
Would Neil let him go that far? No, would he want to?
Does he want--
Andrew stops the train of thought there, but doesn't cut the journey short. He has no choice but to be stuck here now, and thus, Andrew can no longer swat the idea away like the pest it is.
Going all the way with Neil. It's not something he could avoid thinking about after a certain point. When Andrew looks back to the days where he held Neil's hands down, when he never got off with him in the same room, he's forced to acknowledge how much he's allowed.
Not allowed. Welcomed. Wanted.
Bile rises in his throat on instinct, and he squashes it down. Sex with Neil is not something he needs to feel terrible about, and he doesn't. It feels the opposite of terrible, and Andrew hasn't worked through all those troublesome thoughts yet. He can't pin a label to it.
He remembers when jerking off in the shower, mouth pressed to Neil's, had felt like a huge thing to give. Now it wouldn't be enough.
Neil touches him now, Andrew asks him to touch. He's used to Neil's weight on top of him and his hands sliding suggestively over his abs, his biceps. His hands are used to resting comfortably over the curve of Neil's ass, grinding against him.
And it hasn’t stopped there. He's had Neil's mouth on him, his blue eyes on every part of him as the striker sucked him off after a particularly good game.
Andrew had shut down the goal, and the look in Neil's eyes had made him feel far too much. Overwhelming, dizzying.
So they'd taken the next step, not without hiccups, not without caution, but they'd done it.
And that's the thing with Neil; once they cross a certain line, it's a snowball effect. They're incapable of going back.
Neil blew him then for the first time and suddenly Andrew couldn't get the image out of his head, Neil's lips around his cock, trying to adjust to get the best reactions out of Andrew, to make it feel good.
Neil, so stupidly determined about everything he does.
And Andrew, the fool he is, got used to it. He never expected it, because routine was not a yes, and some days he preferred to not be touched at all.
But now, when Neil sinks to his knees or asks to jerk Andrew off, the initial anxiety Andrew might've felt months prior isn't there. It's been burned away into something more concerning, addictive.
Because Neil will stop if he needs him to.
So, Andrew let go, and the floodgates opened.
Shared handjobs turned into frequent blowjobs, which turned into heavy petting without clothes. Andrew feels stripped down, raw, with how much trust he's given this single person.
Every now and again, he searches deep in his soul for some ounce of disgust, regret for any of it, and it makes him angry to find none.
The only thing that does make him angry is how good it feels, a natural reaction Andrew can’t just drop cold turkey. Yet, his body doesn't just enjoy the progressions he and Neil have made together, so does his mind.
Again, he derails the train there, not willing to admit it, and returns to the thought of plowing Neil into their mattress.
It was only a matter of time before he ended up at this crossroads, only so far he and Neil could go before reaching the logical 'next step.'
But, it doesn't have to be a step at all if Neil decides against it. If Neil doesn't want to, they won't. The itch in Andrew's brain is mostly due to the fact they haven't discussed it. He has no idea how Neil feels, if he even thinks about it in the way Andrew does.
There hasn't been time, but Andrew knows if he's reached this point he has to bring it up.
He's not afraid to; he and Neil aren't like that. It's about framing it in a way Neil's exy-only brain won't read into it wrong.
He needs Neil to be able to say no if that's what he needs, he doesn't want to imply he wants this from Neil, that there's a pressure to take it there. Because as stubborn and rebellious as Neil can be, unwilling to be pushed around, Andrew is a weakness.
So, Andrew won't accept anything from him other than the absolute truth. 'Always' doesn't exist with things like this.
The movie turns back into a mindless explosion show while the fantasy in Andrew's brain is paused, mostly because indulging in it feels wrong at this point. If it's something that'll never happen, there's no point letting it play.
What he already does with Neil is enough, more than enough. Andrew never thought he'd ever be like this with anyone, and he's still not used to it. His pleasure during sex came from control in the past, on being able to dictate how it all went, to touch without being touched and have the person like it.
Neil turns everything upside down; where control once stood undefeated, something else sits, unmovable. White-hot, blinding desire.
A danger, unacceptable.
Andrew's eyes rest back on Neil and the heat coiling in his abdomen subsides, softened by the unruliness of Neil's bangs and the glow against his cheek. That's another problem too, about Neil. Desire isn't alone.
But, Andrew sets that issue aside for now.
Feeling Andrew's pensiveness, Neil turns his head, blinking so slow Andrew can see the flutter of his lashes. He nearly pushes his face away.
He's not sure what Neil sees in his analysis; Andrew knows he can't read minds, but it's unsettling and calming all at once to watch him trace the wrinkles in Andrew's face. He asks himself if maybe Neil can feel the itch too.
Neil hooks his fingers over Andrew's lightly, and Andrew realizes all too late how tight his grip on Neil's thigh had gotten.
"Okay?" Neil asks, and fuck him for doing so, for catching Andrew slip. He curses himself for slipping at all, or maybe the better term is falling.
Andrew taps Neil's hand once, twice, three times, and squashes the urge to kiss him.
"Yes," he says, and it's not a lie.
It's not a lie, and he doesn't have the energy to think about why that is. He just knows that soon, it will become a bigger problem. He puts it to rest.
Instead, he watches Neil nod and smile, and when Andrew finally turns back to the television, his brain gets to work on the words he needs to say, and knowing how they’ll probably come up short.
--
Andrew's mind is a vault mechanism. When one part of the lock is cracked, there's usually another waiting behind it.
He hasn't realized it yet though, couldn't possibly, with Neil rutting in his lap.
Andrew grunts as his nails dig into Neil's hips, where the brunet's sweatpants are dipping dangerously lower by the minute, a consequence of the force of their dry humping.
He's not quite sure how they got this carried away in the span of ten minutes, but all Andrew knew then was this wasn't a bad day, this was a day where Neil could pin Andrew to the couch without consequence.
So he let him.
Neil is shirtless, scars on display along with hard nipples and a twitching abdomen, the heat building and building.
Because of Andrew.
The position should feel stupid, immature, maybe even high school, but Andrew's brain is swimming with a pleasure comparable to nicotine.
It's nothing he thought he'd feel before, because the weight of someone on him never used to lead to good things.
"Fuck," Neil breathes, hips stuttering against Andrew's and wiping the dangerous path away before Andrew can even take a step towards it. Neil gives a rough jerk, barely able to fight Andrew's grip, but he prefers when Neil works for it. He doesn't let up, because he knows the striker is nothing but determined.
Neil whines, surging forward to pant into Andrew's mouth. He growls; part of him was enjoying the show and doesn't appreciate the interruption. The other part of him can't get enough of Neil's mouth, the wicked tongue pulling his out and sucking on it like it's another part of Andrew's body.
Neil is always so scatterbrained; he'd do it all if he could.
Andrew's breathing comes out heavy, wet, and they've fallen out of position quite a few times as a result of their desperation. Neil's clothed cock is barely grazing Andrew's now, but he doesn't have the will to stop Neil from moving so fast, so needy. There's a small wet spot forming against Andrew's pant leg, and he watches Neil fight to keep his head from lolling back from the dizziness of it.
It makes something smug burn through Andrew's chest, seeing Neil sigh and whisper incoherent nothings which don't amount to much more than 'yes' and 'more, Andrew, more.'
Andrew leans back into the couch cushions and bucks up, earning him a sound so Neil he can't take it. It's a cross between a gasp and a groan, devolving into another string of curses. At this point, Neil's pants are low enough to reveal the coarse hair of his groin, the criss crossing scars almost as tantalizing as the hardness pressing against Andrew's leg.
Andrew suddenly doesn't have enough hands. He's torn between pressing his palm over the scars, keeping Neil under his grip, or digging into Neil's hair to expose the column of his throat.
This is why this kind of thing can still get a bit overwhelming, but not in a discomforting way like it used to.
It's still fairly new, the dry humping. At first, it had started as slow and experimental grinding in the morning, Neil pressed up against Andrew's front while he rocked forward. The first time, Andrew had to stop, too taken by the newness of it, the unfamiliarity.
He hadn't had time to really pick it apart and think about why he was doing it or if it made him anything like them. If pressing Neil down and chasing his own relief didn't reveal something uglier about him.
By that point, he'd had Neil's hands on him on a regular basis, jerking him off and pulling him into his throat. Those things were becoming less daunting.
He's used to letting Neil get him off now, to getting off in front of him with his own hand. It's just...this is so much more shared, intense. Andrew isn't quite used to it, but the movie night sits heavy in the back of his head still, and he thinks it might make a little more sense now.
The process to get here had been the same, a slow evolution; they'd use grinding as a means to get worked up, to cause friction before moving onto blow jobs or heavy makeouts. It turned into a thing when Andrew didn't have the patience to separate from Neil for even a moment. Humiliating, but in the heat of the moment he hadn't thought twice. He remembered asking for his yes between biting kisses before humping Neil into their bed, and when he came, the rush had been blinding. The heat running through his veins carried all through his spine and down to his toes, intensified even more by Neil's body jerking against his.
Close, intimate.
And so very, very close to the real thing.
Before that thought threatens to ruin everything, Andrew bucks up again and Neil's moan blocks the path again.
Andrew is so hard it's painful.
Before Neil can press down in kind, Andrew tightens his hold until Neil can do little more than squirm, leaving them stuck like that, with Neil's hands making a mess of Andrew's hair and unable to give them the sweet friction. Andrew rubs circles into Neil's hip bones until he hears the sigh he's looking for.
Watching Neil blink, eyes blown wide in a desire fueled haze, makes Andrew lick his lips in anticipation.
Neil blinks down at Andrew, not really seeing, breath stuttering as he fights the grip. "H-hey--"
"Hey," Andrew replies, feigning innocence. It's not effective, when one of his hands snakes around to Neil's back, looking for any trace of discomfort or even a silent 'no.' When he finds nothing but want, he presses his fingers down onto Neil's lower back to force him forward. Neil's back arches like a cat, like Andrew pulls all the strings. "Move up."
Neil exhales shakily as he shifts, legs spreading and putting him back to where they initially started. Andrew takes the time to rid himself of his jacket, way too warm, and unzips his jeans to help the tightness.
Neil's gaze flies to the prominent bulge under Andrew's boxers instantly.
"Right there," Andrew says with his hands back on Neil's ass, squeezing the muscled flesh greedily and trying hard to avoid the thought of spreading him open like this. He aligns Neil so their cocks are settled against each other again. It's a struggle for them to stay still; Neil leans forward so Andrew's neck muffles most of his groan, and sucks on his pale skin. Andrew's voice is nothing short of strained when it comes out. "That's it."
Neil smiles when he pulls back, and Andrew has to look away. Idiot, always so pleased with proof of Andrew's unraveling. "Can I--"
"Yes," Andrew growls, and he meets Neil halfway. One hand flies to the back of Neil's neck, digging into the hair at his nape to pull him close again. His skin is scorching to the touch.
Neil doesn't hesitate. His hips move fast as his hands dig into Andrew's biceps, intent on chasing the orgasm for both of them. Small, jagged whimpers leave his mouth with every thrust, his cock brushing right against Andrew's. Neil is practically bouncing, and it doesn't take long for Andrew to realize he's moving too, just as fast, just as rough. The head of his cock pokes out of the slit in his underwear, smearing precum on Neil's pants.
"Oh fuck, fuck," Neil moans at the same time Andrew starts grunting with each jerk of his body, unconcerned with the volume. If anyone knows what's good for them, they won't be back early. Andrew's vision starts to blur, his movements less coordinated, breathing loud. He's close, so close and the heat pooling in his abdomen makes his head swim.
It should unnerve him, this lack of control, this animalistic urge to keep going, take and take. But Neil looks the farthest from afraid above him; he's matching Andrew in his entirety, grunting loudly and rotating his hips in just the right way for them to feel every inch of each other. His hands are dutifully clutching Andrew's shoulders, unwilling to move. Because Neil knows, he knows this is Andrew's most vulnerable moment, seconds from orgasm. No matter how close to the edge they are, Neil won't risk Andrew's discomfort, he won't let Andrew's pleasure be overridden by shock or the disregard for his boundaries.
Andrew hates him, he hates how Neil is the only one who will ever make him feel this way, because now no one else is good enough.
In more ways than sex.
Andrew snarls from the anger of it all, from how inaccurate it feels to call it that. He brings a hand up to wipe the sweat off Neil's brow, pushing aside his bangs so he can see those eyes for all they are, the ring of blue a bottomless pool Andrew no longer tries to escape.
Neil's mouth falls open from whatever look is on Andrew's face, and he's no longer able to keep his eyes open, throwing his head back as his orgasm rips through him. He trembles in Andrew's arms, and Andrew feels the warmth of Neil's cum against his cock, even through his sweats.
Andrew's arms lock around Neil's waist as he thrusts up harshly, and in the last split second before he comes, he imagines they're not just dry humping like dogs in heat. He allows himself to imagine he's inside Neil, that they're as close as they can possibly be, and it makes Neil feel good instead of pained.
Andrew comes, but it's with an unexpected dose of shame. Despite that, he comes hard. It's full body, enough to make his shoulders shake, his breath hitch. It's that same tingling sensation running over him, stronger at the points where he and Neil touch.
It doesn't make sense to him.
He hadn't meant to let his brain go there, to let the fantasy rear its ugly head again, but it had felt so...
He didn't have the right to think about it without Neil's yes, not in this case. Because it means some fucked up part of him craves it, needs to take it.
He won't, he won't do that. He knows he won't, but then why does it make his stomach swirl?
Andrew sighs before going rigid, and Neil must take it as his cue to separate. That's one thing which hasn't really changed, Andrew's need for space. It's gotten better, he can normally stay pressed against Neil for ten or so minutes, and it's weirdly comfortable. However, eventually his brain will begin to overthink or itch with a need for room, and he'll have to push away.
This immediate stiffness is unusual though, and Neil catches it so fast Andrew should feel vulnerable about it.
Neil goes still as soon as he senses something is off, and removes his weight from Andrew in a blink. He's never seen Neil move so fast away from him, not out of fear, but concern.
Neil is mistaken here though; he's not the one who's done something wrong.
Neil puts as much distance between them on the couch as he can, bringing his knees to his chest and only grimacing at the wet squelch of his pants.
His chest is still heaving, and part of Andrew finds excitement in that. He made Neil feel good, it's proven by his mussed up hair and swollen lips, the high blush. Neil waits, eyes scanning the lines of tension in Andrew's body, the soft parts of his face.
Andrew watches him for a long time as he thinks, trying to find evidence he's right, that he took it too far. Neil can't read his thoughts, but for a moment Andrew worries he can.
Did he feel it, Andrew's body claiming him, using him in a way Neil maybe has never thought of?
Andrew glares, but he knows Neil will be able to tell it's not at him.
Andrew is usually able to begin the long dissection of these issues in his own head, revealing the threads he can offer to Bee to pull at and untangle into something more manageable. But right now, he's at a loss.
They sit like that so long their breathing evens out, and only at that point does Neil reach out. He extends his hand forward, not commanding, but offering. Yes or no. "Andrew?"
Shit.
He hasn't moved in minutes. Time is never something he managed well in his head, always pulling him back to the past in a blink while the future pulled apart like dust, disintegrating before taking a full shape. He inhales shakily; Andrew hates to show so much, but this is Neil. They're alone. He scrubs a hand over his face in frustration, trying to bring it back to its blank state before he reaches out to pull Neil closer.
They're still not touching anywhere else, Andrew can't handle that yet, but it's enough of an acquiescence for Neil to understand the problem isn't him.
He moves to the cushion next to Andrew, his bare feet settling against the carpet as he waits for Andrew to say something.
And well, this is where he brings it up. There's no point in waiting, beating around the bush is useless and pointless and not something they're capable of doing.
Andrew's words come out blunt as ever as he stares into nothingness. "Before I came I thought about fucking you."
The harshness of the words, and how removed they are from any emotion should probably make any normal person flinch. Neil isn't just anyone.
Neil, for all his usual drama, doesn't react to that, and Andrew feels the ghost of relief. Once, Neil told Andrew his lack of reaction to otherwise terrible events made Neil feel better about them. Andrew hadn't really understood, but now he just might be seeing the logic.
Neil's gaze on him during their vulnerable moments typically makes Andrew want to jump out of his skin, far too exposed, but with this it's less difficult to plow forward. Neil stares at Andrew, as blank as he can manage, while still letting the curiosity furrow his brow.
Andrew wants to wipe off the sweat there.
He cracks his knuckles, mulling over the words and trying to find a way to say them where he won't have to admit too much. Unfortunately, it's impossible.
He scowls at the coffee table as he speaks, like the words are vile. "I've been thinking about it a lot lately. I haven't been able to stop."
Why can't he stop?
Because part of him can't help himself, is that it? He can't control himself, even after years and years of limiting every possible stimuli so he could.
If he sounds angry it's because he is; how dare Neil push him this far, so unintentionally. Yet even then, Andrew knows the blame is all on him. The irritated tremble in his voice should not fucking be there, just like the thoughts shouldn't be. He shouldn't have given ground enough to make such a confession, to make Neil think he's torn up and ugly.
Andrew should be a blank slate, but Neil is chips in the stone, splashes of paint which Andrew cannot scrub off.
He told Neil what he's always told Neil: the honest version of how he feels, even if he wishes he felt nothing.
Long before the movie night, long before he cares to remember, and he remembers everything, he's thought of slotting their bodies together, of pulling Neil impossibly close so they're intertwined in every way.
At Andrew's aggravated scowl, Neil finally chooses to speak. The confusion is more obvious on his features now, the ring of blue reappearing and threatening to wash Andrew in waves.
"You don't have to stop," Neil says, like it's the simplest damn thing in the world.
What the hell does he know? He's not in Andrew's head, he's not--
"Neil--" Andrew almost growls, a warning Neil should be all too familiar with. Stop while you're ahead.
Neil is a very bad listener, with a short fuse to match.
"I think about it," the striker bites out quickly, almost challenging. Those blue eyes widen with the admission, rocking on the balls of his feet. Andrew's entire body freezes up, hell the world might have stopped for all he cares. Even Neil bites down on his bottom lip, as if to cut the words off, before realizing how stupid that would be. He knows how Andrew feels about regret, and he's not lying in this moment. Andrew would be able to tell. A few seconds of quiet pass, they hear some muffled music through the windows. Neil's voice is a silky whisper to his ears, despite how cracked it sounds. "I think about it too. So...there, stop putting this just on you. I think about it a lot so, you don't have to do...that."
It's so stupid, how Neil can remain so interesting even when Andrew's feeling this on edge. It's a welcome distraction for a second, before the words really sink in.
Neil thinks about it.
Viciously, Andrew steps on the small slug which resembles hope as it crawls through his brain. He ignores the mess in his pants as he turns to face Neil, sitting cross-legged on the couch.
Andrew raises a brow, daring Neil to elaborate on the that he's referring to.
"Hide it so I don't have to know," Neil supplies, waving his hand in the air. "Shoulder it all yourself like you always do. This way I've made it both of our problem."
Neil winces, no doubt scolding himself for the poor choice of words.
Andrew's face is back to a blank slate. "A problem, is it?"
That's certainly how he saw it, but having Neil echo the sentiment makes him feel more, which would be terrible enough, but the feeling isn't even good.
Neil's gaze is a freshly sharpened blade. "No. Not to me," Neil says, firm. "You know we don't have to, but--"
"But you think about it," Andrew echoes, unable to help it. The coils he tries to wrap around the realization are slippery and can't get a grip, so he repeats it. Neil thinks about it, the desire is shared.
What is he supposed to do with that information now? One step forward, two steps...somewhere.
Neil swallows, and the redness on his cheeks is oh so appealing to even Andrew's hazy mind.
Neil thinks about it.
But that doesn't mean they can just...do it. Andrew doesn't know if he can; the disconnect between what his body wants and what his brain can manage is a minefield and he's never wanted to scratch at gray matter so badly.
Briefly, he understands why Aaron values normalcy so much. Normalcy would allow Andrew to just be the horny college student he could've been, instead of having to deal with all these speed bumps and cones in the road to get to the ultimate goal. And even if he were to get there, there's a big chance he'd decide it's better to turn back around to prevent a crash.
But he is not Aaron, and he does not value normalcy.
He values--
"I do," Neil states, so understanding, and maybe a little flustered. Flustered, not scared, not unsure. "I like doing that stuff with you Andrew, but how it is now is good, more than good. Hell, that was so...wow. You know I've never felt this towards someone."
Neil's smile is so far away from what Andrew can handle he has to ruin it.
"Horny?" He says, and hates how even when he's deflecting the thought sends a shiver through him. The thought of Neil only wanting him, only giving himself to him. Andrew squashes the possessiveness, uncomfortable.
Neil gives him a look for that, but isn't deterred. "Technically yes, but you know what I mean."
Unfortunately he does, but that's even more uncomfortable to think about than the physical desire. Neil has never been shy about his feelings for Andrew, not since Andrew actually acknowledged their this and showed how he was going to make zero moves to push Neil away. Even if Neil did hold back his bluntness, he gives Andrew those fucking looks like he's the most amazing thing he's ever laid eyes on, not some delinquent with a crooked nose and a hostile disposition.
And still that can't be it. Neil's desire, like his feelings, are so intense they can't possibly be fake. The eagerness, the desperation with which he receives Andrew's advances...it's not the issue. Neil is trying to tell Andrew he doesn't need to feel pressured, like Andrew doesn't already know that.
He thinks he's getting closer to what his real problem is with it, but it's just out of reach. It's a shared desire, he checks that off. Neil thinks about it, another check. And Andrew...
No matter how he tries to kick it aside he wants it. His body craves it and his mind can't let it go. He wants and it's so nauseating in how it's not, instead it's light and tender and all things he is not supposed to be.
So, where is the issue? It's him, it's--
"Stop avoiding the truth," Neil says, and when Andrew looks back at him those pale blue eyes are intense, almost deadly. They pry Andrew apart, flaying the flesh from bones and seeing the rawness inside, like Neil has managed to pin down the anxious animal inside him with talons sharp as knives.
The words 'shut up' die on his tongue; what truth? What can Neil see that he can't?
Andrew doesn't have fears. He briefly entertains the idea that what bothers him is the fact Neil thinks about it and that means one day he'll really want it and won't be able to hold the urge back. If Andrew can't give it to him, if he decides he can't go through with this, Neil will be like everyone else, just someone who wants more than Andrew can offer. Then he'll leave.
But Andrew doesn't fear. And it would be stupid to fear; anyone who would leave for something like that simply isn't worth the time of day. Yet...yet...
Andrew thinks of life without Neil, and he remembers emptiness crashing down, an empty stadium, and true darkness.
Frustrated beyond all reason, Andrew retreats into the bedroom to change into clean underwear and sweats. There are no footsteps behind him, no annoyed sighs or disappointment in his wake. He hates how Neil knows how long he needs before following, how trusting he is, because he changes right in front of Andrew a few moments later, needing no boundary.
"There's no 'truth' in this to avoid," Andrew answers, delayed, as he tracks the curves of Neil's body, the scars making him feel safe and angry all at once. Angry at those who would hurt his person, safe knowing Neil doesn't shy away from the ugliness.
Neil shrugs as he sits on the bed, beckoning Andrew over. He follows, of course he does, it's automatic.
What he says isn't a lie; he hasn't figured out the truth of this. Neil grins at him, infuriating. "No, I just think you're avoiding thinking about it. Don't get me wrong, I have no idea what you're actually thinking about, I'm not a mind reader. But if something else weren't bothering you I don't think you'd be this antsy."
"I'm not antsy."
"I told you, I'm the better liar so you should stop trying," Neil says with a smile, kicking his legs out in front of him. There's bruises on his knees from their last game. Andrew reaches out to press his palm against them, frowning at the yellowish color; there was no helping the fall, but Andrew had still checked him out afterwards. Neil sighs into the touch, leans into it, and it hits Andrew that this level of vulnerability he's been given is not something he's ever asked for, but he couldn't let go of if he wanted to.
Can’t let himself betray.
"I haven't made up my mind," Andrew says, not like he has to. Neil is normally good at knowing when Andrew isn't ready to give his final answer, but something about this feels different. It makes Andrew say as much as he can. "I don't know yet if I can do it."
What he thought would be devastating to admit aloud feels more like one weight has been shed. Neil doesn't even react, apart from prying Andrew's hand off his knee to trace the veins on his wrist.
"That's okay," Neil whispers, and there's enough encouragement in the tone to make Andrew growl.
"Shut up."
Neil freezes, his fingers hovering over Andrew's knuckles, and has the audacity to squint at Andrew. The man always did have a death wish. "It is."
Andrew turns away, in what to others would read as a clear dismissal, the cold shoulder. Neil has never cared to accept those things.
"Andrew," Neil says, and it's with conviction this time. No gentleness. "I'm not going to...leave if we never do it, I don't care about that, I just care about you. But if it is something you want, it's a yes--"
Fury spikes.
Andrew bites back the auto-response of 'I don't care if you leave' because it's a deflection he won't bring into this. He doesn't have time to keep that wall of his intact during a conversation like this. Neil will fight it and see through it and it'll waste their time.
But honestly, screw Neil for seeing through Andrew so easily. For pulling out fears that shouldn't be there and aren't, they aren't.
When Andrew turns his scowl on Neil, the striker doesn't so much as flinch. Andrew is here, giving away too much, showing too much, and Neil takes all of it.
"That doesn't have to be your final answer," Andrew stresses, voice tight, and this time Neil does have the decency to look surprised. Those pretty eyes soften with it, and Andrew sees the exact moment he puts something together which Andrew hasn't yet touched. "We don't have to. That goes both ways, I won't take that from you unless you're 100% sure so you better be and fuck you if you don't tell me the truth when the time comes. And it's not going to be you letting me, or doing it for my sake, or some other half-assed reason. If you don't want to, we won't. "
If I can't, I won't.
And the only reason he wouldn't be able to is if...
Andrew feels a stone settle in his stomach, and almost grins from how amazingly stupid this all is. Bee would be so proud, him getting to this point, on the cusp of figuring out what the hell is going on in his head.
All of a sudden Andrew is tired, too much energy pulled out of him, a war of emotions, all for him to come to the obvious conclusion.
It always comes back to Neil.
And Neil seems to have figured it out too; he stares at Andrew for a long time, scanning his face, giving him that look, the one which burns Andrew from the inside. Warm.
"The next time one of them says you're soulless, I might have to fight them."
All Andrew's words, and Neil manages to find the sliver of realness buried in it. For a moment, Andrew thinks Neil will let it go, for Andrew's sake. But, he should know better. They're no longer at that point, and Bee would call that progress, but Andrew doesn't know what to do with it yet.
All he knows is that if Neil thinks he can soothe any of Andrew's thoughts, he will, no matter how many times Andrew tells him he doesn't need it.
It's quiet, when Neil finally speaks. "You wouldn't hurt me," he whispers into the small space between them. Andrew hadn't realized they'd gotten so close, but there's his forearm, pressed right against Neil's. No wincing, no queasiness.
Andrew starts to turn away, and Neil risks blocking him with his hand. Andrew's vision is all blue, Neil's bangs such a mess he wants so badly to push them back again. "You wouldn't hurt me Andrew, if that's what you're worried about. You couldn't. I trust you. Of course I want to, but it's not a deal breaker. Stop treating it like one."
Andrew doesn't move, it's amazing he can even look at Neil, but he can't stop. There's so much he could argue in return, lots to prove wrong. Neil doesn't know anything about this, he can't possibly get it, or know what he's really giving Andrew, or what he’ll want in the future.
Their future; another subject to flood Andrew's brain. Too much at once, too much.
And yet, Neil is a deadly weapon, except with Andrew the slicing wounds give way to blooms instead of blood.
Neil strikes. "If you decide it's a yes, and I come back and say no, would it be a deal breaker for you?"
Andrew twitches from the mere thought, which is as good as a full body jerk. Neil could say he never wanted to have sex again and Andrew wouldn't push, he'd stay. "No," he seethes, unable to keep it out of his voice. Neil goes right for the throat every time, making one of Andrew's arguments null.
As for the other...
"I want to," Neil says, and for once, he seems embarrassed. It's a rare thing on Neil, the worried lip, the giddiness. Like he's excited. It's not even about the sex, he's pretty sure Neil did this when Andrew first held his hand too. Andrew's stomach flips itself over in half, the bastard.
"You wouldn't be taking either," Neil says, and Andrew flinches internally. Hurting Neil...he could hurt Neil, he could-- "We'd be...sharing, like we always do. So you can stop beating yourself up over my decision, and think about yours."
In Neil speak: Do whatever you need to do to figure out what you need, I'll be waiting.
Andrew hates the assumptions, mostly because they're right. This is not something he can resolve with one conversation. The thought of somehow ruining this for Neil, for making his first time something horrible, is too much for him to unpack this quickly. Who knows how long it will take him to reach a decision, or what the decision will be.
Yet, Neil's here, telling him he doesn't care how long it takes, or where Andrew lands at the end of it. He'll be here, now and after.
What percent is Neil even at? The millions maybe. Andrew's blood boils before it comes down to a simmer, then fades completely. Andrew never asked to feel, but Neil is wearing him down everyday.
The thought repeats: Andrew doesn't know how to stop.
He clenches his fists, grabbing Neil's shoulder and forcing him down onto his side to lie next to him. Words won't work for him anymore, and he's not capable of touching or even kissing right now. But it's a concession, a thing he is learning to give without despising the weakness of it.
Neil gives a small yelp but goes with Andrew willingly, not resisting. His curls fan out on the comforter, one decorated with cats that Nicky gifted them. Andrew sighs; Neil has yet to make any sense to him, even when the entrance to the messy path ahead of him has cleared.
He'll need as much rest as possible to figure this out. It's too early to go to bed, but after all this Andrew needs sleep, and he hates how Neil being next to him has become the new normal.
"I fucking hate you," he says in the small margin of space between them, and closes his eyes before he can be blinded by Neil's idiotic smile. "Go to sleep junkie."
Andrew's memory feeds him Neil's smile anyways.
Neil sighs across from him, and Andrew immediately feels drowsy, like it's a spell over him. He falls into it, not resisting.
As the world fades in and out, the most important thoughts stay afloat, and he embeds them in his head. They're less like mosquitoes now, more like additional grooves.
Neil wants it, Neil is ready. There's no sense in Andrew dwelling on that issue further for now, so he bypasses the first lock of his mind. Of course, he was never so optimistic to think that was the only thing holding him back, and Neil pulled that out of him too.
The big issue, the one holding Andrew back. The striker's words flood his mind, blurred and echoed. 'You wouldn't hurt me.'
But is that the truth? There's only one way to find out, and Andrew isn't sure if it's something he's willing to risk. Neil never was and never will be someone fragile, but that’s not the point. That’s not what Andrew means.
Just the realization he has the power to hurt Neil with this, the way Andrew was hurt…it makes him shy away from any attempt.
After all, he decided long ago he wouldn't risk losing Neil, not for anything, returning words said on rooftops. And yet…Neil makes him itch to prove those things wrong.
He's not sure yet where to go from here, but he pushes it aside to think about later. He has as much time as he needs. With the first lock conquered, the tension in his shoulders relaxes. Neil thinks about it, wants it. So can Andrew.
Just like that, Andrew finally concedes; he lets the idea of want flood in.
This time, there's no guilt to be found. Neil, with all intentions, made sure of that.