Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

ANDREW

Andrew gets the call when he’s on his knees outside the stadium, flinching away from the dick in his mouth when the phone in his pocket starts to vibrate. The guy leaning against the parking lot wall scowls down at him as he sits back on his heels.

“Hey?”

“Shut up.” Andrew pulls the phone from his jeans, wiping his mouth. “You’re lucky I didn’t bite it off.”

The guy (James? Jimmy?) huffs impatiently, and Andrew frowns down at the number on the screen on the screen of his iPhone, before hesitantly answering it.

“Yeah?”

“Minyard? Are you sitting down?”

“More like kneeling.”

Christof, Andrew’s mind-numbingly boring and overpaid sports agent, pauses. “Okay. Well… congratulations! I just got the confirmation. You’re on the Olympics starting line-up!”

Andrew’s stomach twists. He doesn’t respond.

“Uh… Andrew? Did you get that? You made Court!”

“Thanks. Bye.”

“Wait, wha-”

Andrew hangs up, staring down at his phone as the screen goes back to black.

Court. The Olympics. The peak of his exy career. An inevitable call, really. He’s been the top goalie in the sport for the last three seasons, has just signed the biggest contract for any goalkeeper in the sport’s history. If anyone else had made the starting line-up, there would have been an uproar.

***

Come with us. Let's all play in the Olympics together one day. We'd be unstoppable.

***

Andrew does not want to go to the fucking Olympics.

“Hello?”

Andrew flinches, looking up at James or Jimmy or whatever his name is. His dick is still out, flagging a little, and he’s looking at Andrew expectantly. Andrew blinks at him.

“Yes?”

“Are you going to–”

“I’m bored.” Andrew stands up, wiping the corner of his mouth and wiping the dust from his knees. “You can finish yourself off.”

“Seriously?”

Andrew shrugs. He doesn’t owe this guy anything. Selling t-shirts for the home team whilst happening to be kind of hot, at the same time Andrew happened to be bored and horny, does not a long-term relationship make. Andrew will probably never see him again, which was kind of the idea.

“Yep.”

He glares at Andrew, tucking himself away at last and doing up his pants. “Asshole.”

“Very astute.”

James or Jimmy shakes his head, pushing away from the wall and stomping away. Andrew waits for him to be out of sight, before leaning against the wall himself and unlocking his phone, opening his browser and typing–

‘Exy US Olympic line-up announcement’.

NEIL

When Neil gets the call, he doesn’t hear it buzz, because Bailey is muffling his ears with their thighs.

Neil has been with Bailey, officially, for just over six months now. He met them at a New Years’ party that Allison dragged him to after she told him she was sick of looking at his “beautiful, miserable little face” and was going to get him laid if it killed her. He didn’t get laid that night, but he did spend so long talking to an attractive, funny, non-binary ‘fashion influencer’ (whatever that meant) on a balcony outside, that they didn’t even notice it was midnight until fireworks started lighting up the sky.

Bailey had laughed, and kissed his cheek, and given him their number, and after that things kind of developed in a slow, and scarily normal way (in comparison to Neil’s extremely limited romantic history, that is). They went for coffee, then they went to a movie, then they kissed in a park. Eventually, Neil found himself in a relationship. His friends were happy for him, and he was pretty happy for himself, too.

There’s a lot that Neil loves about Bailey. The main thing he loves about them is— they’re unapologetic. Both in the way they present themselves, and the way they are with Neil. They claim him. Their relationship has never been a secret. From the moment they started dating, Bailey was shouting about it from the rooftops (the rooftops being their Instagram account with over seven hundred thousand followers and counting), like Neil was something to be proud of. The same way they were proud of their queerness, their style, their career— they were proud of being with Neil. Posting videos from his games, sharing news articles when he hit new records. All of these little things that showed Neil he was an important part of their life.

It was something Neil wasn’t used to, and it took him a while to adapt. So, too, did the physical side of their relationship.

Until now, sex wasn’t something Neil ever had to think too hard about. He thought he’d figured it all out. Kind of. His sexuality was non-existent, and then there was Andrew, and for a while his sexuality was Andrew. Andrew Andrew Andrew. Then Andrew was gone, and it was back to non-existent. That made sense to Neil.

But then he met Bailey. And he liked Bailey. Bailey was good looking. Kind. Safe. Witty. The more he got to know them, the more he wanted to try it out. It being; sex with someone else. Making Bailey feel good started to sound appealing. If Neil felt good at the same time, that was just a bonus.

Right now he feels good. A low-level hum of good. The warmth of arousal in the pit of his stomach is increasing with every twitch of Bailey’s fingers in his hair, their involuntary response to every firm swipe of his tongue.

“Neil…” Bailey rasps. “That’s so good, sweetie… just there… a little harder…”

Neil hums appreciatively. There’s another thing he loves. The praise. Never having to guess that he’s doing things right. With Bailey, there’s never any doubt. He brings one of Bailey’s legs over his shoulder so that he can press his tongue deeper, and they groan, digging their heel into Neil’s back.

When they come, it’s a show, as always. Their back arches, and their thighs shake, and they cry out— fingers pulling at Neil’s hair until his scalp stings pleasantly with it. He doesn’t stop until Bailey’s thighs finally relax, and they drop back down onto the mattress with a loud, content sigh.

He quickly kisses upwards, over their belly button, and Bailey giggles, ticklish and breathless. When he reaches their chest, he slows— gently brushing his lips over the sensitive surgery scars on their chest. Bailey stops giggling and gives a shivery sigh, the fingers that are still buried in Neil’s hair stroke it gently.

“Mmm,” they hum affectionately. “You and my ex-titties. Obsessed.”

Neil doesn’t deny it, just continues to lay kisses on his way up to Bailey’s mouth. They hum when Neil’s mouth meets theirs, and reach between his legs— questioning. When they find him half-hard, they pull away from the kiss to look at him, and their eyebrow quirks.

Bailey understood quickly that Neil’s libido is unpredictable. They established early on that his arousal wasn’t guaranteed, but he was more than happy to get Bailey off in any way they craved. They didn’t take offense— way knowledgeable than Neil on matters of sexuality— but when Neil does show an interest, the excitement is always evident on Bailey’s face no matter how much they try to conceal it.

“Want to?” they ask gently.

Neil closes his eyes, humming at the sensation as their hand gently rubs at him through his boxers. “Yeah.”

Bailey kisses him, letting go of his cock and reaching over to the bedside cabinet. “Do we still have lube?”

“I think s—“

They both jump as Neil’s phone starts vibrating loudly on the cabinet.

“Oh!” Bailey grabs it, looking at the screen. “Who is this with the terrible timing? Daniel?”

Neil frowns. “My agent.”

Bailey holds up the phone to him. “Important?”

“Maybe.” He grimaces, leaning down and kissing them again. “I’m sorry. Hold that thought?”

They laugh, pushing him away, and he rolls onto his back before answering the call.

“Hello?”

“Neil! Are you busy? I’ve been calling for twenty minutes.”

Neil watches Bailey as they climb out of bed, pulling on one of his shirts and padding out of the room. “Sorry. Was busy. Not busy now. What’s up?”

“I just got the call. You made court.”

Neil freezes. Court. The Olympics. Team USA.

“Really?”

“Yes! You did it! They want you on the starting lineup.”

There’s a long, long, awkward pause. Neil looks up as Bailey appears back in the doorway, holding up a carton of eggs and giving him a questioning smile.

“Neil?” Daniel’s voice still hisses through the phone. “Are you still there?”

“… fuck.”

ANDREW

“You’re fucking coming.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely...”

“I wasn’t asking.” Kevin slams his locker door shut. Andrew doesn’t flinch— far too accustomed to his amateur dramatics. “Andrew, this is the Olympic Games.”

Andrew blinks. “You don’t say.”

“You can’t ditch the biggest opportunity of your career just to avoid your ex-boyfriend.”

Andrew flinches, glancing around the locker room to make sure none of their other teammates are in earshot. When he sees no one around, he looks back at Kevin and fixes him with a glare.

“He was never my boyfriend. And what I decide to do, or not do, is none of your business.”

Kevin rolls his eyes. “At least let me buy you lunch. Try and convince you.”

From anyone else, this could be perceived as flirting. Andrew knows better. Kevin isn’t interested in him that way. And even if he was—

(Andrew had suggested it. Once. Drunk and in the mood to do something particularly stupid. He’d offered Kevin the best blowjob of his life, and Kevin had told him no. Because of Neil. Sometimes Andrew thinks Kevin is more obsessed with Neil Josten than he ever was.)

“You’ve been trying to convince me since the day we met. Your stubbornness is as admirable as it is irritating.”

Andrew closes his own locker and sits down on the bench to tie the laces on his sneakers. Kevin huffs loudly and sits next to him. Stubbornness.

“Andrew, it’s—“

“I promised him I’d keep away.”

“And you did! For two years. Almost risking your entire career in the process.”

“It wasn’t a two year promise.”

“No, but it was enough. You gave him space, and it worked. He’s moved on. He’s happy.”

Andrew curls his lip before he can stop himself. Happy. Neil is happy. With a very pretty person who, from what Andrew can tell, takes selfies for a living. Apparently this is worthy of millions of Instagram followers, and also of Neil’s attention.

“Are you implying I haven’t?”

It’s a dumb question. And they both know it. The look on Kevin’s face shows it. “He’d want you to come.”

“You don’t need to make this about Neil. You want me to come so that we have a chance of winning. It’s okay to admit that.”

Kevin pauses, then shrugs. “Fine. I want you to come because I want that gold medal. We have the best chance if you’re there with us.”

Andrew doesn’t respond, just finishes tying his shoes, before taking his phone out of his pocket. Kevin takes a deep breath, seemingly realising that he’s getting nowhere.

“Just think about it. Okay?”

Andrew blinks at him for a couple of seconds, before he nods. Just slightly. Kevin seems satisfied with the tiny gesture and finally unclenches, standing back up.

“Thank you.” He points at Andrew, raising a stern eyebrow. “Don’t get too wasted tonight. Practice starts at eight.”

Andrew glares, and Kevin shakes his head, grabbing his bag and walking out. Andrew watches after him, then looks back down at his phone. Muscle memory takes him to Instagram, and the search function, which autofills ‘@neiljosten’ as soon as he types the ‘@n’.

Neil has posted a story. A rarity. Something that only usually happens when—

Yep. He’s shared a story he was tagged in. The story was posted by Bailey, the freeloader with the diamond septum ring. They’re grinning at the camera, excited.

“I have huge news, guys. I’m dating an Olympic gold medalist!”

They wrap an arm around someone off camera, and then drag Neil into shot, squishing his cheek against theirs. Andrew tenses when he sees the slightly uncomfortable smile on Neil’s face.

“I have even left for Rio yet,” he mumbles.

“Future gold medalist,” Bailey corrects, then plants a wet kiss on Neil’s cheek. He pulls a face, humoring them. “I’m proud in advance!”

“Don’t jinx me, baby.”

Andrew exits the story in an instant, locking his phone and throwing it onto the bench next to him.

Baby.

Andrew is getting wasted tonight. Kevin isn’t the boss of him.

NEIL

“Why aren’t you excited?”

Neil looks up across the table of the diner, momentarily losing his laser-focus on cutting up a piece of bacon with his knife and fork.

“Huh?”

“About the Olympics.” Bailey clarifies, shoving another mouthful of pancake in their mouth. “You’ve been tense ever since you found out.”

Neil frowns. “I have?”

Bailey rolls their eyes, swallowing their mouthful before sitting back against the leather seat of their booth. “Yes, sweetie. I can practically hear your teeth grinding.”

“That’s dramatic.”

They give Neil another look, and he sighs, putting down his knife and fork and sitting back too.

“It’s complicated.”

“You? Complicated?” Bailey clasps their hand to their chest, eyes widening. “I am in shock.”

“Funny,” he replies dryly. “You know what I mean. It’s just… a lot of pressure. A lot of eyes on me. Important eyes. One little fuck up and it’s in front of millions, billions, of people.”

They nod. “I know. But you also know you’re good. Really good.”

He shrugs. “I’m good in the US. I don’t know if I’m Olympics good.”

Bailey hums, picking up their fork again and staring down at their plate. “So it doesn’t have anything to do with Andrew Minyard?”

Neil pauses, looking up at them. They look up too, meeting his eyes with a challenge. He takes a deep breath.

“It’s not like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like… like you don’t need to be jealous. Of him.”

“I’m not jealous,” Bailey pouts, sipping their coffee. “I’m concerned.”

“Concerned?”

They sigh, reaching out across the table and squeezing Neil’s fingers. He swallows.

“You never talk about him. But I know you guys were… intense. I’ve heard stories.”

“It was a dramatic time,” Neil concedes. “We all went through a lot of shit. That tends to… I don’t know. Intensify things.”

“Trauma bonding?”

Neil tries to keep the scowl off of his face. Trauma bonding, although not totally inaccurate, feels like an offensive dismissal of what he found with the Foxes when he was recruited. They saved his life. They gave him a life. But he can’t expect Bailey to understand. They weren’t there.

“Something like that.” He pokes at his food again with his fork. “It was a bad time to get into a… relationship. It was never going to last.”

Bailey tilts their head, still frowning. “But you were happy? For a while?”

Neil hesitates, not sure how to answer. Eventually he decides not to answer at all. “When we… when it ended. I made him promise not to contact me. Or come near me. Ever.”

Bailey grimaces. “Damn. Cold turkey?”

Neil shrugs. “I thought it would be easier.”

“Was it?”

Nope. It was awful. Gut-wrenching. Suddenly not having Andrew to lean on— not even being able to text him—had been the most difficult thing Neil had ever had to adapt to.

“Yes,” he lies. “In retrospect.”

“You’ve never even played against each other?”

Neil shakes his head. “When Andrew makes a promise, he sticks to it. He flat-out refuses to play whenever our teams meet up.”

“But you don’t think he’ll refuse the Olympics?”

“I don’t think even Andrew is that self-sabotaging.”

“A promise is a promise. Right?”

Neil shrugs, pushing his bacon around his plate. “I guess we’ll find out.”

“Do you want him to break it?”

Neil thinks for a moment. “Even if he came… there’s never a guarantee that he’ll even make an effort. I wouldn’t put it past him to fly all the way to Rio and just stand in the goal staring into space. Out of spite.”

“He sounds like an asshole.” Bailey smiles. “No wonder you liked him so much.”

Neil scoffs. “Yeah. I have a type.”

“Ouch.”

They’re still smiling. Neil can’t help but smile back— leaning over the table and giving them a soft kiss, before leaning his head against theirs.

“It’ll be fine. He probably won’t even show, and if he does, it doesn’t matter. I’m with you. Okay?”

Bailey hums, kissing him again. “I’m gonna miss you, ya know.”

“I’ll miss you too. You keep me sane, you know that?”

They smirk. “You’re not sane. If you were, I’d be bored.”

“That’s cute. And horribly unhealthy.”

Bailey shrugs. “I like what I like, Josten. And what I like is your crazy ass. Why did you stop kissing me, by the way?”

Neil laughs, resting his hand on the back of Bailey’s neck and pulling them close for a kiss that tastes of maple syrup.

ANDREW

Andrew should be immune to hangovers by now. His body is stubborn— still refusing to let him feel hydrated and like an actual human being in the morning, just because he was out until three doing vodka shots and— if his blurry memory serves him— jerking someone off in the middle of a crowded dance floor.

He doesn’t deserve this headache. He also doesn’t deserve Kevin Day, and yet here he is; standing in front of Andrew and fixing his tie as they wait to be called out to meet the press. He swallows down another wave of nausea.

“You know, I haven’t actually said yes to this yet.”

Kevin gives him a look, tugging on the knot of his tie. “Then why are you here?”

“I’m considering my options.”

“Your options are to go to Rio or waste your entire life.”

“Exactly,” he belches, and Kevin glares. “Truly Sophie’s choice.”

Kevin shakes his head and finishes up, stepping back to give Andrew a once-over. Andrew lets him, fidgeting with one of his cufflinks and waiting for Queen Day’s approval. Kevin nods, then turns to the mirror next to them to assess his own appearance.

Andrew pulls out his phone, turning away so that Kevin can’t see the screen, then goes to Neil’s instagram page. There’s a rare post on his grid from ten minutes ago. And even rarer— it’s a mirror selfie. Neil in a dark gray suit, with an orange (of course) tie. He’s doing an awkward thumbs up, and Andrew wants to chew through his fucking phone. There’s a caption:

First Rio press conference. Guess this is actually happening #TeamUSA

Andrew glares at the post, then double taps on it, before locking his phone.

NEIL

Aminyard03 and 15,561 others liked your post

Neil stares down at the words underneath his Instagram photo, hoping they’ll start to make sense. Is this some kind of glitch? Andrew has been hacked, and instead of sending all of his followers links to a crypto scheme, he’s liking Neil’s photos to freak him out? That has to be it. Right?

“Are you ready?”

He looks up as Daniel sticks his head into the room, quickly pocketing his phone and straightening out his jacket. He nods.

“Yeah.”

“Come on, buddy.” Daniel opens the door fully and steps aside. “This is your moment.”

Neil can’t even roll his eyes at his agent’s sentimentality. This is his moment. He’s been picturing this since he was a kid, first getting his knees bruised in the little league. He dreamt about this the night after the Foxes first won the championships. Walking out into the Olympic stadium, his head held high, the US colors on his back, the teammates that changed his entire life at his side.

He’s earned this. And he’s not going to let Andrew throw him off.

His name is announced to a room full of reporters, and Neil steps out on the stage to applause, taking his seat at the end of the stage and looking out over the crowd. He sees faces he knows— sports reporters who have followed his every move, even since his college days. Some of them are decent, most of them are hacks. They’re all looking at him like he’s going to give them the quote that’s going to get them on the front of the sports section, but he has no intention of starting shit today. This is all too important.

It isn’t until someone stands up to ask a question that Neil realizes he was the last on the team to take his seat, and the press conference has begun.

“You must all be very excited to be heading to the Olympics. Do you have a strategy? Will you be able to avoid relying on exy powerhouses such as Kevin Day?”

“I’m a better striker than he is,” replies a dry, monotone voice, and Neil’s insides twist.

That voice that first told him to stay, that once murmured filthy, wonderful things in his ear. The voice he still hears in his head when he wakes up after a nightmare, wracked with guilt.

“We hear you almost didn’t sign up, Mr. Minyard. Is that true?”

“I couldn’t do it without him,” Kevin cuts in, in full press-charming mode. “Who else is going to bully me the entire time?”

“If only they gave out medals for pissing Kevin Day off,” Andrew mumbles. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Neil looks over at him, and Andrew looks back. He looks straight through him, his expression cold. It’s the closest Neil has been to Andrew Minyard in two years, and he couldn’t feel any further away.