Archive of Our Own ^beta

Neil tiptoes out of the bedroom, bare feet silent on the cold, wood floor.  He’s thrown a hoodie on in concession of the frost on the windows, but he still shivers slightly.  The air is dry and sharp on his skin, scars aching as winter greedily wrings every last drop of moisture from it. 

He flexes his fingers gingerly.  He rolls his neck until he hears it crack.

Only in winter do his bones feel as brittle as glass.

Neil allows himself one last look of longing back at the bedroom door.  Although his bed is warm and inviting, he knows he’ll get no more sleep tonight. 

There’s only the faint glow of the streetlight from outside to illuminate the room, but it’s all Neil needs.  He knows this kitchen like the back of his hand now, having lived here for almost two years.  He pulls a mug seemingly out of the shadows of the morning aether, then confidently makes his way over to the coffee machine and starts brewing the first cup.  While he waits, his gaze drifts, eyes lazily making their way over to the top of the couch where King is watching him. 

They stare at one another for a moment. 

Neil blinks slowly at her, a deliberate shutting of his eyelids before opening them again.  Then he waits.  King pauses before she does the same.  Neil quirks his mouth slightly.

It’s a soft morning greeting that they’ve established with one another- a ritual Neil partakes in to be granted access to her kingdom once more.  King likes to have roam of the apartment, living up to her name as she keeps fierce watch over her territory.  She is always silent, watchful, aloof.  Whereas Sir is currently wrapped up in Neil and Andrew’s bed, either flopped onto her back, attacking their feet, or curled up by their pillows as a freight train rumbles through her chest.    

Neil smirks.  He’s always amused by the polar opposite personalities the two cats have and yet how well they manage to get along with each other.  The shelter had told them they were inseparable, and Andrew hadn’t blinked twice about taking them both.  Sir is the only one that King allows to touch her, letting the gray calico rub and wind herself around the orange tabby at will.  And Sir adores it when King grooms her, her eyes shutting tight and neck exposed as King holds her tight between her paws and cleans every inch. 

Andrew calls it disgusting.  But Neil knows better.

The muffled gurgle and hiss of the coffee machine along with that sweet, magical aroma alerts Neil to the fact that his cup is done, so he grabs another from the cabinet, and sets the machine up to make a second one.  Once that cup is finished, he pours an obnoxious amount of flavored creamer into it and goes over to the window seat.  He places both mugs on the wooden frame before curling up onto the cushion, drawing his knees to his chest and laying his forehead against the frigid glass as he stares out.

He takes one large sip from his mug and sighs.

He loves this view.  It was one of the reasons he’d been so sold on this apartment in the first place.  It looks out over the Riverwalk, and he loves the mix of water, foliage, and concrete that’s visible – bits and pieces that seem like they shouldn’t work together but do. 

It had been a bit of a luxury spend that Neil had been loath to waste the money on, honestly.  But Andrew had taken one look at Neil’s face when they entered the space and signed the lease right there.  His salary more than covered it, but Neil knew that to Andrew it wasn’t the point.  The point was it was the first time the two of them had lived together on their own and Andrew had wanted them to love it.  He wanted it to feel like a home, their own space to claim, somewhere Neil felt like he could always come back to whenever that itch to run sprang up under his skin like an annoying rash.

Not that he ever said any of those things.  But Neil heard it when Andrew dropped their new key into Neil’s hand and said, “Ours.” When he’d tugged on the edge of Neil’s shirt to go grocery shopping and commanded, “Together.” When he’d held Neil’s face between his hands that first night, both of them seated on the floor, surrounded by half-opened boxes and their stuff strewn everywhere, and whispered, “Stay” against Neil’s lips.

His mouth twists into a smile now.  Because while he appreciates all the time and effort Andrew spent on finding something perfect for them, it doesn’t really matter to him where they live.  Andrew could tell him that they were living out of a box on the street, and Neil would simply nod.  As long as he has Andrew by his side, he couldn’t care less. 

He takes another sip, burning his tongue on the hot liquid and shuddering as it warms him from the inside out.

In winter, the river is frozen, a deep crystalline blue with broken shards of ice that float and shift on the river’s surface.  It’s a sharp but beautiful mosaic that is oddly deceiving, looking as if you could simply hop from piece to piece to cross the river’s edge.  He can’t explain the longing he has sometimes to try it.  The pull to see if he really is something of substance, something with enough weight to crush the floes and have the dark waters pull him under.  He hasn’t said anything to Andrew, but he sometimes wonders if that’s why he holds his hand tighter, pushing Neil to the other side of him whenever they get close to the water. 

He needn’t worry though.  Andrew had asked Neil to stay, and Neil had promised that he would. 

Never again would they be separated. 

The bedroom door creaks open, but Neil doesn’t turn.  He simply waits until Andrew is crawling up onto the window seat in front of him, dragging with him a soft chenille blanket as he settles into the space in front of Neil, leaning back against him.  Andrew settles the blanket around them, making sure they’re both covered before he relaxes back fully.  Neil buries his nose into Andrew’s hair, the soft, downy strands mussed and tickling him. 

He hands Andrew his coffee mug, and Andrew pokes his head out of the turtleneck sweater he’s thrown on over his pajamas like a sleepy turtle.  He takes a large sip and Neil’s chest flips at the absolute trust Andrew has that Neil made it right.  And he knows he has because Andrew gives a content sigh when he leans back again. 

They stay there another few minutes, watching the streetlamps along the empty Riverwalk flicker like candles due to the soft, thick snowflakes falling past them; white, fluffy bodies whirling and twirling like tufts of cotton in the wind. 

Then Neil finally whispers into the quiet, “Hey.”  He dips down and places a small, chaste kiss on Andrew’s jaw.

And smiles when Andrew grunts in return. 

❄❄❄

It’s Andrew’s favorite kind of day – slow and listless. 

They have nowhere to be today, no one they have to talk to, no promises or apocalyptic events or impending sense of doom.  No Exy, or damn yakuza knocking on their door.

Just…nothing.  The right kind of nothing.  The kind of nothing that means they can just be. 

Time.  At this point in Andrew’s life it’s a gift- an earned one, but still.  Before Andrew met Neil, time had been a punishment, crawling by slowly.  It was an infinite hourglass, with tiny bits of sand that stuck and chafed before dropping into a vast emptiness. 

Time seemed pointless and irrelevant.  Futile.  Exhausting.

Then Neil had appeared, and time suddenly seemed to speed up.  It surged and crashed, like waves onto the shore.  Andrew felt the icy shock of it, like he was plunged back into the water when he had been sitting dry and numb on the bank for so long.  The more Neil lingered, the more it seemed to slip past until Andrew felt time dripping through his fingertips, rising to his chest, circling round his neck. 

Then, for one heart-wrenching moment, time stopped. 

And started again in a hotel room in Baltimore, with Andrew’s hand cuffed and Neil’s everything in bandages, and suddenly time was all Andrew wanted. 

But the return of Neil came at a cost.  After that hellish year, it had taken them the rest of college to recover.  In fact, there were moments where Andrew thought they’d never get their claim on time back.  Between the aftershocks of their trauma, zero sense of privacy from Andrew’s family, minor dramas of their teammates, and the ever looming shadow of the Moriyamas hanging over their heads until Neil was signed to a pro team, Andrew had scarcely been able to imagine this reality. 

It seemed impossible.  A fool’s errand.  A hallucination. 

A pipedream.

And yet here they are.  Enjoying the warmth of the glow from the fireplace.  Watching the snow enclose the world in a thick blanket of silence as dusky grey clouds roll overhead, hiding the sun.  Hunkered down inside where Neil and him are safe, where they can relax, where Andrew can selfishly have Neil all to himself.

It fills Andrew with something that’s taken him awhile to recognize, and even longer to admit. 

Contentment.

Neil sighs, shifting a little, making Andrew freeze momentarily.  Then he settles back down again, and Andrew lets out a small breath. 

Minus Neil popping down to the bakery to get Andrew some fresh pain au chocolat, they’ve barely moved.  They swapped their pajamas for soft cotton sweatpants, cashmere and merino wool sweaters, and thick Sherpa socks to fight off the sharp bite in the air.  But otherwise they simply curl into each other on the velvet couch, Neil watching something inane on Netflix, while Andrew finishes his novel. 

Neil has wiggled his way between Andrew’s legs, wrapping his arms around Andrew’s torso and laying his head on his stomach.  The blanket is once again tucked into their corners and crevices, while Andrew spears his fingers through Neil’s curls, softly scratching his scalp with his blunt fingernails. 

At first, it had drawn little noises of satisfaction from Neil, but those had drifted off some time ago.  Now Neil’s breathing is even and deep, the TV background noise as he naps quietly.

Sleep makes Neil look younger, impossibly softening his sharp edges.  His fist is curled loosely into the blanket like a child’s, and he murmurs and babbles things nonsensically at times.  It’s a show of trust, a letting down of his guard that only happens around Andrew.  He knows because Boyd’s mouth had dropped when he asked if Neil ever talked in his sleep back in their dorm room at college.  After that, Andrew couldn’t have wiped the smug look off his face if his life depended on it.     

Sleep also shields Andrew from Neil’s piercing eyes; eyes that seem to hold the weight of the world in them.  They’re haunted by tragedy, honed by survival, and hold secrets that no one should have ever had to bear.  But they too have softened with time.  Nowadays Andrew more frequently notices amusement dancing in them; sees the spark of razor-sharp wit; feels the ache and burn of unleashed desire. 

But only when those eyes are on him.  Always, those eyes are for him alone.

Suddenly unable to bear it, Andrew tears his gaze away from Neil’s irritatingly gorgeous face to peek at the screen.  The last he saw it was some baking show.  Now it looks as if Netflix has moved on to a dark, medieval action piece.  His eyebrow quirks at Netflix’s strange choices, but he doesn’t move to change it. 

Because it doesn’t matter.  Because he doesn’t care what’s playing.  Because he’s so focused on his novel, these last couple chapters flying beneath his fingertips, that he can’t possibly be bothered to find the remote.

Not because he doesn’t want to wake the man sleeping on top of him. 

Certainly not.  Andrew could care less.

And apparently, so could Sir. 

Andrew nearly hisses as she suddenly hops down off the back of the couch and jumps onto Neil’s back, prodding over his butt with little care.  She stretches, her claws flexing, before she circles and curls her body into the space between his legs.

Andrew sends her a scathing glance.  She ignores it.

Neil grunts with the initial impact of the tiny body before stirring, his eyes sleepily blinking up at Andrew.  Long, feathery lashes sweep across golden, freckle-filled cheeks.

Andrew tilts his head as he stares back at him. 

Neil smiles, kisses Andrew’s stomach once softly, then settles back down again.  Within moments, he’s asleep once more. 

With no one there to witness, Andrew lets a small smile cross his face.  Then he settles back deeper into the cushions and goes back to his book. 

❄❄❄

The smell of garlic and butter has Neil’s mouth watering as he hears the pan hiss and sizzle.  Andrew twirls its contents with the practiced ease of a professionally trained chef, even though he really only started cooking since moving into his first apartment after college. 

Neil loves watching him, could simply sit at the counter and stare if Andrew would let him, but he’s been given a job.  As sous chef, he wields knives for the purpose of good, his exemplary skills finally being put towards something useful.  He slices, dices, dashes, and cuts with ease and purpose, prepping all the necessary ingredients for whatever is in this meal they’re making. 

In the background, there’s something soft and low that Andrew has put on while they cook.  It has Neil swaying as he works, sometimes humming underneath his breath as they move. 

Neither Neil or Andrew dance, but Neil thinks their movements about the kitchen could almost be considered one- they bend and sway, turning together in perfect sync.  They brush hands over backs, kiss shoulders, weave in and out of each other’s spaces flawlessly.  Their steps are a rhythm only they can hear.  It almost gives him this giddy rush when Andrew finally motions for plates. 

He brings two large dishes over and Andrew puts the meal together, adding final dashes of herbs and cheeses before handing them back to Neil to bring over to the table. 

Neil grabs silverware and wineglasses as Andrew selects a crisp white wine, pouring generously for them both.  Only when they’re finally seated does Neil pick up his fork and put that first delicious bite in his mouth. 

He moans, sighing with pleasure at the burst of flavor on his tongue. 

Andrew simply quirks a brow as he eats his in silence.  But Neil can tell he’s pleased.

They continue to eat quietly, ignoring the way King and Sir stare up at them shamelessly.  Only once both of their plates are clean and they’re on their second glass of wine does Andrew tilt his head.  He slides his hand across the table, a wordless request. 

Neil opens his hand automatically and watches as Andrew skims his fingertips over his.  It’s a leisurely glide of skin against skin, the warm touch both deliberate and featherlight.  He doesn’t pause, tracing over knuckles and palm, lifelines and scars, until he comes to Neil’s wrist.  He hovers for a moment.  Then he swipes his thumb over Neil’s pulse, once, twice. 

Neil shudders. 

Andrew lifts his lips slightly.   

He watches Neil as his fingers explore the exposed scars of Neil’s forearm, pushing his sweater sleeve back until he reaches the sensitive crook of his elbow.  He scrapes a blunt fingernail over it, causing goosebumps to form.  Then he slowly drags one finger all the way back down Neil’s forearm, over his hand, to the very tip of his middle finger.  He lingers there for just a moment, before pulling away completely, a smirk on his face at the way Neil’s has suddenly turned red.    

Neil uses that same finger to flip Andrew off. 

Andrew huffs, amused.  Then he stands up and grabs their plates. 

Neil lets him.   

He finishes his wine slowly, waiting until Andrew’s hands are elbows deep in soapy water before he brings his empty glass over to the sink.  He walks up behind Andrew, placing both hands on the counter on either side of him. 

Andrew stills. 

Neil draws close, his body less than an inch away from Andrew’s, but not quite touching.  He leans down, his breath fanning out across the back of Andrew’s neck, near his ear.  He hears Andrew’s own breath seize; a quick intake of air accented by the warm flush of color near his ears. 

His lips ghost over the skin of Andrew’s throat as he whispers, “Excusez-moi.”

A shiver erupts over Andrew’s skin at the sound of the language on Neil’s tongue, something that Neil knows drives Andrew crazy, even though he’s never admitted it.  He watches in delight as Andrew’s body sways slightly.  He can feel Andrew’s inner turmoil, the need to lean back against Neil warring with his stubbornness and pride to stay put. 

Then it nearly crumbles as Neil leans closer, his chest just barely brushing Andrew’s back, and his hips “accidentally” rocking into the curve of Andrew’s ass.  Andrew lets out a soft gasp, his forearms straining, and for a brief moment Neil worries that the plate he’s holding is going to snap in half from the tension.

Then Neil reaches around him and turns on the faucet. 

He grins at Andrew’s furious glare as he rinses out his wineglass and places it on the rack to dry.  He blows him a soft kiss and a wink, with a parting “Merci, mon amour,” before dodging Andrew’s backwards kick with ease.

He watches Andrew start washing the dishes with renewed vigor, muttered grumbling under his breath.  Neil has to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing. 

Then Sir warbles up at him pitifully. 

He lifts a brow at her.  She stares back at him, unrepentant. 

Though King will never stoop to such a level, she also watches him with a haughty tilt of her chin, seated right in front of her empty dish, her tail twitching. 

Neil rolls his eyes at the pair. 

Then he grabs their dishes and sets to work on fixing them dinner.

❄❄❄

The night drives are usually Andrew’s idea.  He loves the hum of the Maserati beneath his fingertips, the soft, buttery feel of the leather, the privacy and seclusion nighttime in a vehicle affords.  It was sometimes the only moments that he and Neil could steal for themselves in college. 

If he closes his eyes, he can still taste the desperation, the fierce need that pumped through his veins until he could get Neil alone in the car.  His presence was immediately soothing, the calm to Andrew’s storm.  Even now something settles inside of Andrew to see Neil sitting there at his side. 

The younger man leans against the window of the passenger seat, his breath fogging up the glass as he stares out into the shadowy world around them.  To Andrew’s great annoyance, he’s simply thrown on a coat to battle the frigid air and seems comfortable with the choice.  Meanwhile Andrew’s bundled in layers upon layers, his skin barely visible, and yet it still doesn’t seem to be enough.  He mutters his mild displeasure in the form of a growl that’s easily eaten up by the relaxed silence between them.   

They’re out in some suburb, somewhere that’s less city and more trees, where it’s easier to see the stars in the night sky above.  There’s something otherworldly about being here now.  It may be the silence of the snow, or the dark shadows that creep over the road, or the way warmth rises up from the vents at their feet in comparison to the frost he sees crawling up the window. 

Or perhaps it’s the astounding blue color of Neil’s eyes as they turn and find him in the dark.  Unblinking and mesmerizing, they’re filled with something that Andrew barely has the capacity to swallow in the small confines of this car.  For the first time tonight, Andrew feels heat spreading beneath his skin. 

It’s almost enough to make him break this perfect silence they’ve wrapped themselves up in, to call Neil out on the staring that he so enjoys, but he holds his tongue at the last moment. 

Finally, Neil sighs, breaking that captivating stare.  He shifts again towards the window, watching the soft flakes fall all around them.  The only noise they can hear is the crunch of snow under the Maserati’s wheels.

It’s not unusual for them to drive like this, without a destination planned.  For Andrew, the act of driving is soothing, second nature.  For Neil it’s a release, a way to escape without going anywhere.  They don’t need an end point to be satisfied. 

But tonight, Andrew has something different in mind. 

He flicks one last glance at Neil before turning onto a particular road.  He drives through an open, wrought-iron gate.  Then he slows the vehicle down significantly. 

They’re here.

He watches raptly as Neil frowns at first. Andrew can tell he’s confused, that the area they’ve pulled into is dim, remote, and unrecognizable.  He merely quirks an eyebrow in Andrew’s direction in response.

But then the Maserati slowly turns the corner, and a bright glow intrudes on this darkness they’ve been sharing, spilling through the car windows to light up Neil’s eyes.

The gardens of this particular park have been strung up with thousands of lights.  They swing from tree to tree, circle bushes, and create glittery arches and tunnels of twinkling light.  It’s breathtaking.  It almost feels like they’ve suddenly emerged into some enchanted wood.  With a quick flick of his finger, Andrew switches on the radio and Tchaikovsky’s “Waltz of the Snowflakes” begins to softly hum from the speakers. 

Neil’s mouth drops open slightly in wonder. 

He drinks in the sight of the lights, eyes darting all around as Andrew slowly drives them through it.  There’s something innocent about his reaction that sucker punches Andrew in the chest for the thousandth time, stealing his breath away.  In fact, Andrew is so busy wrapped up in watching Neil’s face that he nearly flinches at the unexpected feel of the man’s hand on his own.

Neil’s head drops back to look at Andrew, pausing, his hand pulling away slightly.

Andrew returns his gaze, then purposefully grabs it, threading his fingers through Neil’s so that they hold onto one another lightly.  Neil smiles, relaxing once more. 

They hold hands over the dash as Andrew drives through the rest of the park, snow swirling and lights dancing in time to the soft flutes and violins playing in the background.  And they never let go the entire way home.    

❄❄❄

Though the trip from the apartment parking lot up to their door is short, it’s still long enough to let some of the cold seep into their bones.  The moment they step through the door, Andrew immediately stomps over to the fireplace, turning it on without removing his shoes or any of his clothing.  His cheeks and nose are red, his mouth hidden by his thick, woolen scarf, while his eyes narrow in annoyance.

Neil’s mouth quirks slightly. 

He removes his coat and shoes quickly as Andrew huddles for warmth, soaking in the heat the fireplace gives off.  He barely registers Neil approaching him.  But when Neil gets down on his knees, his eyes latch onto him.  His brow furrows. 

Neil simply looks up at Andrew and waits.  He can see several emotions race through his partner’s eyes.  After a moment, he nods. 

With Andrew’s permission granted, Neil reaches down and begins untying the laces on Andrew’s boots.  He removes the first one slowly, careful not to touch Andrew’s foot as he maneuvers.  As per usual, Andrew has perfect balance with the tricky act.  He doesn’t lean on the fireplace mantel or grab Neil’s shoulder just in case.  He simply stands there solidly as Neil slides it off.  Once Neil is finished with the first one, he starts on the other.  When both boots are off, he rises, carrying them over to drip water on the mat by the door. 

He returns to the fireplace and holds out his hands. 

Andrew carefully gives Neil his right one.  Neil grabs the tiniest piece of material on the fingertip of Andrew’s leather glove and begins tugging at it with small, gentle movements.  It takes a bit of wiggling, but soon the leather comes sliding off him. 

Neil drops it to the floor.  Andrew hands him the other. 

This time, as the warm skin of Andrew’s hand is revealed, Neil presses his cold lips to it, giving Andrew light, butterfly kisses that steal his breath.  Neil throws this glove to the floor too. 

He yanks off Andrew’s stocking cap, smiling at how wild and matted the golden strands look before he flings it behind him.  He slowly unravels the scarf from Andrew’s neck, his mouth becoming wetter, bolder at the inches of skin it reveals.  By the time Neil undoes the buttons of Andrew’s coat, staring into Andrew’s eyes with a long, heated look, Andrew’s pupils are blown wide. 

Neil shoves the coat off Andrew’s shoulders with little finesse before Andrew’s hands are finally on him.  He grabs the back of Neil’s thighs, lifting him as Neil wraps his legs around Andrew’s waist.  Andrew turns them towards the couch and topples them both onto it, pushing Neil into the back of it as he seals his lips to his. 

If Neil was warm before, now he’s burning.  Andrew’s lips, hands, tongue are so hot that Neil feels like he’s melting in his embrace.  When he throws his head back to gulp in a breath of cool air, Andrew continues his sinful trail down the exposed column of Neil’s throat.  It has Neil’s hips jerking helplessly against Andrew’s even as he shoves his hands back into Andrew’s hair to yank him up to his mouth once more. 

They makeout on the couch for some time, hands urgent and grabby as they feel one another.  Their desperation makes Neil want to laugh, and he would if he wasn’t so breathless.  They’re like a pair of awkward teenagers hiding in someone’s basement, a moment away from getting caught.  But he revels in the want, the stark desire he feels for this man, and is grateful again for the fact that he somehow gets to have this.    

So grateful, in fact, that he purposefully begins to slow them down, until the fire in his blood becomes a distant hum.  When he finally pulls away from Andrew’s lips with one last, sweet kiss, he smiles at him and holds up a finger.  Extricating his limbs from Andrew, he leans over the back of the couch, executing a graceful handstand onto the floor before flipping himself to his feet once more. 

Andrew lifts a weary eyebrow at him. 

Neil grins.  Then he holds out his hand to Andrew. 

Andrew takes it. 

Neil threads his fingers in his and tugs Andrew through the bedroom door.  When they reach the bed, he gives Andrew a gentle push and is pleased when he falls willingly.  Neil climbs over him carefully, on his hands and knees surrounding Andrew’s body but not touching him yet. 

He looks closely at Andrew’s eyes and whispers, “Anywhere?”

Andrew tilts his head as he replies, “Everywhere.”

Neil’s grin is bright and quick before he teases his hands beneath the edge of Andrew’s sweater, subtle brushes of fingertips against the barest smidgen of skin that he sees there.  Then he slides his hands underneath and starts skimming them up his chest.  Andrew shudders at the slow, lingering glide.  He sits up as Neil slips the piece of clothing over his head to uncover bare skin beneath.  Neil smooths his hands over Andrew’s neck, shoulders, and biceps until he comes to the strips of cloth covering Andrew’s forearms. 

Again, he pauses, checking in with Andrew, who nods.  He dips his fingers beneath one armband before peeling it off.  Just like with the gloves, Neil kisses the skin that’s exposed, lips trailing along the pale pink raised scars purposefully.  By the time he’s removed both, Andrew’s chest is rising and falling rapidly beneath him. 

Neil doesn’t pause his onslaught of kisses, worshipping all of Andrew that has been laid bare before him.  He kisses the tender crook of Andrew’s elbow, the plump muscle of his shoulder, the jut of his collarbone, and the sweet expanse that is his neck.  His mouth caresses the sensitive patch of skin on Andrew’s side, across where his heart beats in his chest, and the soft pillow of his stomach, dipping a nose into the happy trail that leads below.

Andrew goes boneless beneath him.  He’s barely able to lift his hips when Neil unbuckles his jeans and pulls them off slowly, boxers and all, to expose the rest of Andrew to Neil.  And the sight of him makes Neil lose his breath. 

Andrew is glorious.  He’s so beautiful and perfect and right that Neil is overwhelmed for a moment, drinking in this image, wishing for just a second that he had a hint of Andrew’s memory so that he could save it in his mind forever.

Then Andrew tugs on the hem of Neil’s sweater, a small crease in his brow, and Neil realizes that while Andrew is completely naked, Neil still has all his clothes on. 

Another layer of trust that the two of them never thought they would reach. 

Smiling, Neil quickly undresses himself.  Then he runs soothing strokes over the tops of Andrew’s thighs to his hips, and back down again. 

Andrew’s dick is already hard, a pretty red color surrounding his head as it leaks pre-cum.  But he doesn’t touch it.  He seems content to wait and see what Neil will do, watching him from underneath hooded eyelids.

Neil runs his hands up Andrew’s thighs again, thumbs tracing the indents near his hips, before dipping low to squeeze Andrew’s cheeks, a move more playful then arousing.  Then he slides his hands back up to take Andrew’s cock firmly between them.  He begins to pump him slowly, lazily, hearing Andrew’s breath catch with each stroke. 

He stops only momentarily to grab some lube, making Andrew gasp when his wet hand returns.  The glide of it on his shaft is now both torturous and mind-blowing- Neil can tell because of the way Andrew’s hands grip the sheet, how his hips start to buck up into Neil’s fingers, and how he bites down on his bottom lip to stop any more noise from escaping. 

Neil reaches up and tugs Andrew’s poor lip away with his other thumb before Andrew can abuse it any further.  He swipes the digit along the satiny surface a couple times before leaning down and covering Andrew’s mouth with his own.  Now it’s his teeth who tug at it gently before Andrew shifts the angle of the kiss and pulls him in deeper. 

When Neil leans back, he murmurs against Andrew’s mouth, “I want you inside of me.”

Andrew hisses, teeth clenched as Neil gives a particularly hard tug on his dick before releasing it completely.  He glares up at Neil who grins.  Then he turns around and straddles Andrew so that the blonde is staring at Neil’s back. 

Taking his already lubed up fingers, he leans forward while stretching his arm back and uses one finger to circle his hole – right in front of Andrew.  He can’t see his face, but he can hear the muffled groan that Andrew gives, and smirks at the jump of Andrew’s cock as one of his wet fingers slides inside.

He fingers himself for a while, loosening his body up, adding more at Andrew’s suggestion.  Only in the safety of Andrew’s arms does Neil feel bold enough to do this - to let himself be vulnerable with the one person he knows will hold him up if the world comes crashing down around him. 

Both of Andrew’s hands have gripped tightly onto his hips, but they make no move to touch Neil further.  Instead, it’s Andrew’s mouth that does the most damage to Neil, telling him things like “yes, that’s it”, “another”, “fuck”, and then just saying his name, “Neil”, with a voice so wrecked that Neil nearly lets himself go right there. 

He makes a sound in the back of his throat, a cross between a whine and a sob, and Andrew can’t hold back any longer.  He sits up and begins to kiss his way up the arch of Neil’s spine, his mouth wet and hot as he goes.  Meanwhile, his hand forms a fist around Neil’s cock, pumping him so tight, hard, and fast that it has Neil’s hips shaking.    

When he reaches Neil’s neck, he gently removes Neil’s hand from between them and pushes him downwards.  Neil falls forward onto his elbows and knees, spreading his legs wide.  Andrew positions himself behind him and then slowly slips inside.

Neil groans, feeling full and warm and connected.  He can feel the hairs of Andrew’s thighs tickling the back of his, his hips curling into Neil’s ass, his lower stomach leaning on the small of Neil’s back.    

When Andrew’s fully seated inside of him, he leans down until he’s draped over Neil’s back entirely, kissing his shoulders and whispering into his ear, “Okay?”

“Yes,” Neil breathes, pouring the overwhelming amount of desire and want he has for this man into the single word.  Andrew hears it, a small growl on his lips as he places a hand over Neil’s heart on his chest.  He slowly begins rocking into him, setting an unhurried rhythm as he worships Neil’s back. 

Neil gasps at the slow glide of pleasure that washes over him with every thrust of Andrew’s hips, undulating like gentle waves.  Andrew is so careful with him, sliding his hands over every inch of Neil’s body, drawing him up until Neil’s seated in his lap, back-to-front as he begins to kiss him once more.  His hand slides down to grab onto Neil’s dick again and he begins to stroke it in time with his thrusts.  Neil falls helplessly, willingly into the gentle rhythm Andrew sets, his hips thrusting up into Andrew’s fist then back down onto his cock once more. 

Almost against his will, Neil’s breaths become shallow, pleasure rising that he’s powerless to stop.  He softly keens, and Andrew threads his fingers through Neil’s hand before he simply commands, “I’ve got you.  Let go.”

Neil does.  His body arches back against Andrew, his head dropping onto Andrew’s shoulder as his body crests over the wave. His eyes flutter closed as he cums over his stomach and chest.  Andrew wrings every last drop from his dick, his hand never stopping until Neil’s hips draw backwards, in danger of being overstimulated. 

Then Andrew’s hands fall away from his to reach down and grip the inside of Neil’s thighs, pulling them further apart as he chases his own release.  Neil whispers encouragement as he thrusts into him again and again, hips snapping and the sound of skin slapping filling the room.  Finally, he stills, body trembling as he pours himself into Neil. 

Then they both collapse forward onto the bed, fingers entwined once more.

❄❄❄

Neil’s heart is still thundering in his chest, his pulse thick and loud in Andrew’s ear as Andrew lays on top of him.  Its beat mirrors Andrew’s own, and he marvels at the way the two sync up as they both begin to cool.

Once they’ve both gained their breath back, Andrew sits up and slides out of Neil, the younger man giving an involuntary shudder as he removes himself.  He rolls over, finally opening one eye and staring up at Andrew.

“Shower,” Andrew mutters.     

Neil grimaces as they both sit up, sticky in multiple places.  Andrew drags him into a standing position, wrapping an arm around Neil’s waist when he stumbles a bit at first, cheeks blushing prettily.  Then they make their way into the bathroom. 

Andrew turns the shower to a nice, hot temperature and pushes Neil inside.  The younger man groans, letting the warm water beat down on his back, before turning so that it hits him in the face, eyes closed and arms stretching out to lean against the wall in front of him. 

He doesn’t flinch when Andrew joins him.  He steps up behind him, sliding his hands over Neil’s chest and placing a wet kiss on his nape.  Neil just sighs softly. 

Andrew grabs the body wash and begins to thoroughly clean every inch of Neil.  Though his touch is intimate and personal, Neil doesn’t act embarrassed.  He opens his legs wide for Andrew, lifts limbs as directed, and his blind offering of trust nearly ends Andrew.  It makes him especially gentle, his hands nearly reverent as they slide over Neil’s skin. 

He ends with shampooing Neil’s hair, ensuring none of the suds get into the other man’s eyes.  It has Neil smiling softly at Andrew, that look on his face again.  Andrew huffs and shoves it into the spray to rid himself of it but doesn’t miss Neil’s snort.

Once Andrew is satisfied Neil is clean, he moves on to himself, soaping up and washing himself down.  At first, he lets Neil scrub his back, but Neil is much too interested in peppering Andrew’s neck with kisses.  So he’s forced to push Neil out of the tub, ignoring Neil’s laughing as he finishes himself up.   

When he steps out, he finds Neil half-dried and leaning against the sink.  He’s got a towel on his hips and one over his head, and he’s looking into the bathroom mirror forlornly.  Andrew vigorously rubs a towel through his hair and over his skin before joining him.  He stands there a moment, letting Neil’s eyes find him in the glass. Then he places his hands on Neil’s hips and turns him around. 

He lifts Neil easily up onto the sink edge, and Neil opens his legs for Andrew automatically.  When Andrew slides between them, he takes Neil’s chin firmly in hand and lifts it so that Neil’s staring into his eyes.  Then he kisses him, firm and sure so that Neil knows exactly who he is, where he is, and who he’s with. 

When he finally pulls away, the soft smile is back on Neil’s face.  Then he wiggles his eyebrows obscenely as he wraps his legs around Andrew’s waist.  Andrew rolls his once before lifting Neil up and carrying him back to the bed, dropping their towels on the floor along the way. 

He tumbles them into bed naked, ensuring they’re both covered up generously in layers of blanket as they snuggle together.  Andrew curls up behind Neil, sliding his arms around him and dragging him back against his chest.  Neil sighs at the touch and falls asleep in moments.

Andrew, on the other hand, lays there watching Neil for some time.  The night sky has finally cleared, and a sliver of moonlight shines down through their bedroom window to cast Neil’s face into small relief.  His eyes trace over the tilt of Neil’s nose, the fuzz of his eyebrows, the heavy scarring on his cheek.  The plump of his lips, the mole on the edge of his jaw, and the pointedness of his chin.  He studies every detail, letting them soak into his memory as he’s done a thousand nights before.

A tiny bit of movement on the bed alerts Andrew to Sir’s arrival.  She crawls up and over their entwined limbs, uncaring, until she’s standing on Andrew’s shoulder.  She peers down at him, head cocked.  Then she drops down onto the other side of his head, shoving her face into his neck before finally settling. 

Andrew huffs.     

He takes one last look out the window and catches a star winking at him from beyond the heavy glass pane.  He nearly scoffs at it.  Because Andrew gave up wishing on stars long ago. 

And besides, with this man in his arms, he couldn’t have asked for anything more.