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.

Chapter Text

ANDREW

Andrew wakes up the day they’re due to fly to Brazil with someone else’s arm lying across his pillow. He flinches, instinctively sitting up and scrambling away to the furthest wall, before a couple of vague memories of last night start to click into place. A drink being handed to him at the bar which he didn’t order. A guy smiling at him a few seats away, raising his own glass in toast. The same guy offering him a line of something in the bathrooms. The same guy gasping and moaning in the back of his car. The same guy being shoved down onto his bed.

He let him sleep here? Andrew really needs to get his shit together.

For a while, after Neil did what he did, Andrew had zero interest in sex. It wasn’t that Neil had ruined it for him– it was good with him. More than good. Fucking incredible, really. But that wasn’t it. It was more that he’d let his walls down. Inch by inch. Let Neil take him apart and put him back together again. He trusted Neil. With his truths. His mind. His body. He wasn’t going to let some stranger who had no respect for his boundaries put him right back to square one.

But… time passed, and there was still no Neil. No scarred skin and icy blue eyes that looked straight through all of Andrew’s bullshit. There was just Andrew. A hot-blooded, extremely gay young guy at the height of his fame and career, who happes to gives a really good fucking blowjob. Why deprive the world just because Neil Josten was no longer interested?

So— he downloaded Grindr. He found the bars where the security didn’t give a shit what you did in the bathrooms. He got guys off, and he got himself off, and he drank enough booze that he forgot he’d ever had anything more than that.

He tried, at least.

He reaches out and flicks the guy that’s still in his bed right on the forehead. Hard. He flinches, his eyes flying open as he looks up Andrew.

“What— “ he looks around, confused. “Huh?”

“Get out. Now.”

He squints at Andrew. “Andrew Minyard?”

“Wrong twin. Leave. I have knives.”

The guy stares at him, and Andrew struggles to see what the appeal of this one was. A real baby face. Chubby cheeks. He must have had some really great coke.

He still isn’t leaving. Andrew pointedly reaches for his bedside table and the guy suddenly jumps into action, scrambling out of the bed.

“Okay! Okay. Fuck. You psycho.” He looks around the floor. “Where are my pants?”

“Don’t care. I’ll give you ten seconds. Ten… nine…”

The guy shakes his head, frantically pulling on his underwear and hopping over to the bedroom door. Andrew waits for the sound of his apartment door closing, before he falls back onto his bed with a huge sigh.

“Fuck.”

He reaches for his phone, picking it up and looking at the screen. The clock tells him it’s almost ten thirty. The eight missed calls from Kevin Day tell him he’s running very, very late.

“Fuck.”

NEIL

Crowded airports still make Neil itchy. He’s never gotten past the habit of scanning the face of every passer-by for threats, or bristling every time someone stands too close.

LAX is more crowded than most, but Bailey is, as always, in their element. They’re standing with Neil in the departure lounge, giving their most charming smile to the paparazzi who are looming in the entrance, wielding long-zoom lenses in their direction. Neil pulls his hood up, trying to hide his face, and Bailey gently jabs him in the ribs with their elbow.

“You look like you’re smuggling something,” they say carefully. “It’s just a photo, sweetie.”

“I don’t know why you encourage them.”

“And I don’t know why you hate them so much.”

Neil shrugs, shaking off memories of the way Andrew’s shoulders would tense whenever he saw a camera— always so desperate to keep what they had hidden away from the world.

“They don’t ask.”

Bailey pauses at that, then sighs, moving to stand in front of Neil so that the photographers can only see the back of their head. They drape their arms over Neil’s shoulders and give him a soft smile.

“I’ll protect you.”

Neil manages a smile in return. “Thank you.”

They pout. “I can’t believe you’re flying so far away from me.”

Neil sighs, resting his hands on their waist. “I’ll be back before you know it. And I’ll bring you Brazilian gifts. Expensive ones.”

“Ugh. I fucking love you.”

Neil tenses, and Bailey‘s eyes widen.

“I mean—“ they say, backtracking. “That wasn’t—“

They’re interrupted by a flurry of activity at the departure entrance. Two men have just stepped out of a car outside, the size difference between them still as jarring as it was the first time Neil saw them. Kevin and Andrew. Exy’s “Prince and the Pauper” - still as big of a fascination to the press as they have been since the day Andrew first latched onto Kevin’s side. Even though Kevin has long since proven himself of capable of standing on his own two feet, it had been no surprise to Neil that Kevin ended up on the same pro team as Andrew last season. Their bond was unshakeable (plus, Kevin was never going to settle for a goalkeeper any lesser than Andrew. He wouldn’t stand for it.)

Bailey takes a deep breath, clearly pleased of the distraction. “Here’s your boys.”

Neil gives Bailey a look, then watches as Andrew glowers at the photographers, pulling his own hood over his head. Kevin, of course, spares them his best press-ready megawatt smile, before grabbing his and Andrew’s suitcases from the trunk of their cab. He hands Andrew’s off to him, and they head inside. Neil readies himself for their approach, squeezing Bailey’s waist one more time before turning to greet Kevin as he walks over, arms open.

“Neil fucking Josten,” Kevin says, pulling Neil into an almost aggressive hug. “Have you somehow gotten even shorter?”

“You saw me two days ago. Also.. fuck off,” Neil replies, voice muffled into the sleeve of Kevin’s jacket. “I may be small, but I’m perfectly formed.”

Kevin huffs a short laugh as he lets Neil go. “I don’t want to know.”

“I can vouch for that,” Bailey cuts in, giving Kevin their most charming smile. “We love us a short king. Right?”

They motion behind him, to where Andrew is leaning against a wall a reasonable distance away, his arms folded and face almost completely hidden in his hood. The parts of his face Neil can see look pale and tired, like he hasn’t slept since the press conference. Neil swallows, refusing to pay credence to the wave of concern that rises up is throat. Kevin rolls his eyes.

“Andrew’s no king. Court jester maybe. Almost making us miss our plane to the fucking Olympics.” He holds out his hand to Bailey. “Kevin Day, by the way.”

“No shit.” They shake his hand, grinning now. “Big fan. I’m Bailey.”

“No last name, huh?”

“Like a genderless Cher.”

Kevin laughs. “Right. And you’re the one keeping Neil in check these days?”

“I try my best.”

“He hasn’t been kidnapped and tortured to the brink of death in the last few months, so I’d say you’re doing a better job than we ever did.”

Neil gives him the fakest of smiles. “So good to see you, Kevin. Really.”

They all look up as a voice over the loudspeaker announces that their flight is starting to board. Neil’s stomach twists again, and he looks at Bailey. They give him a sad smile.

Kevin gently thumps Neil on the arm. “We’ll catch up on the plane.”

Neil nods, and Kevin walks back over to where Andrew is waiting for him. Neil watches as they exchange a few words, then Andrew shrugs and stands up straight, pushing past Kevin and heading towards the Starbucks counter for what he can only assume is the world’s most sugary cup of coffee.

“He looks like shit.”

Neil frowns, turning his attention back to Bailey. “Huh?”

“Andrew Minyard. Does he always look like he’s been on a two week bender?”

Neil pauses. “I have to go. Can we not have our last conversation be about him? Please?”

Bailey takes a deep breath, then smiles. They reach out and cup Neil’s cheek. “Okay. Deal. As long as you promise to forget all about what I just stupidly blurted out five minutes ago and don’t get all weird about it?”

Neil smiles back, putting his own hand over Bailey’s and gently squeezing. “I’m gonna miss you. A lot.”

“I know.”

“I’ll call you any chance I get.”

“You better.”

Bailey huffs, pulling Neil’s face towards theirs and giving him a soft, lingering kiss. Neil feels himself melt into it, his thumb gently brushing over their knuckles. After a few seconds, they pull away, leaning their head against his.

“Go kick some ass, Josten.”

He nods, and Bailey’s hand drops away from his face as they step back, giving him a smile before they walk to the exit. Neil watches them until they’re out of sight, not realising how comforted he was by their presence until it was gone. He absent-mindedly rubs at his elbow, glancing around until his eyes fall onto Andrew— who’s watching him over the lid of his coffee, his face closed off and tight. Neil swallows, then raises his hand in an awkward wave.

Andrew blinks at him, then turns and walks away. Neil lets his hand drop to his side.

ANDREW

Andrew takes two Xanax on the plane and promptly passes out. He wakes up groggy, still hungover, and with a sore-ass neck because he refuses the indignity of using a neck pillow.

Rio is hot. Too fucking hot. The sun pounds down on Andrew’s head when they step off the plane, and his sunglasses are suddenly nowhere near big enough. He feels fucking miserable, but yet— he’s pleased with himself. Because he somehow managed to avoid a certain auburn-haired pest of a striker for the entire flight. In fact, he successfully avoided talking to anyone— shooting glares at anyone who even dared to try.

The shuttle bus taking them from Galeao Airport to the Rio Olympic Village is too small, and Andrew gets on it too late, after sneaking away for a cigarette to calm his jagged nerves after they arrive at the airport. He climbs up the steps, quickly scans his eyes over the seats, and then he comes to a sudden conclusion about something he’s suspected about himself for a very long time— God hates him.

The only free seat is next to Neil.

He quickly finds Kevin instead, walking over to his seat which he is happily occupying next to someone who is very aggressively not Neil and reaching out, roughly tugging on a chunk of his dark hair. Kevin looks up with a glare.

“Move,” Andrew says bluntly.

“What? No.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

“It’s still a no.” Kevin looks over to the empty seat next to Neil, then laughs slightly. “Figures.”

“This isn’t funny.”

“You can’t avoid him forever. Now is as good a time as any to figure out your shit so that it doesn’t affect the rest of the team.”

Andrew stares at him. Focusing all of his willpower into not choking the remaining exy-obsessed idiot in his life until his eyes pop out of his head. He settles for a hard pop on the back of Kevin’s skull.

“Ow!” Kevin rubs his head. “Asshole. I’m sorry, okay? But you may as well get it over with.”

Andrew raises his hand again, and Kevin flinches, but Andrew just smirks, reaching down and tugging at a strand of his hair.

Kevin rolls his eyes. “Are you done?”

Andrew doesn’t favor him with a response, just takes a deep breath and walks to the back of the bus where Neil is sitting— gazing like a dumbass out of the window, headphones on and his hoodie pulled up in an attempt to hide his face. Andrew considers for a moment if this is really his only option. He could sit on someone’s lap, maybe. Get off of the bus and fucking hitchhike the rest of the way. Jump out of the window while the bus is doing eighty miles an hour and crash onto the concrete, probably breaking every bone in his body.

All infinitely more appealing options than sitting right next to Neil fucking Josten.

Andrew clears his throat. Neil doesn’t react. He’s probably listening to some dumbass audiobook. One of the ones he likes. A generic crime thriller about some detective who’s a loose cannon, getting paired with an overenthusiastic rookie. They probably fall in love. Neil will have figured out who the killer is by chapter three.

Andrew sighs, stretching out his foot and not-so-gently kicking Neil’s knee. Neil jumps, whipping off his headphones and pulling off his hood in one quick motion, glaring up at Andrew. Reflexes still good, Andrew notes. Awareness of his surroundings? Maybe not as sharp as it used to be.

“Jesus,” Neil says, then frowns. “Oh. Hi.”

Andrew doesn’t respond (a promise is a promise), just motions to the seat next to him. Neil looks even more confused, but then looks around the bus. When he realizes the seat is the only one available, he clears his throat and shrugs.

Andrew sits. On the edge of the seat. Leaving as much distance between himself and Neil as possible. It doesn’t stop him noticing that he smells different. Gone is the scent of the dollar store mint shower gel he always used to use, instead he smells like something expensive. Probably something his influencer other half was sent in the mail in exchange for a post, or however that shit works. It makes Andrew’s nose itch.

Neil shifts uncomfortably, puts his headphones back on his head, and pointedly stares back out of the window. Andrew pulls out his phone and slumps back in his chair, browsing twitter and trying to stubbornly ignore how much his fingers are shaking.

After ten minutes of silence, the inevitable happens. Neil takes off his headphones and says something really fucking stupid.

“I want you to break our deal.”

“No.”

Neil huffs. “Well, you’re sitting next to me. And you just spoke to me. So the deal is already pretty broken.”

Andrew slowly turns to him, eyes narrowed. “Are you eight years old?”

“This whole thing is going to be a mess if we don’t talk. We have to communicate. It’s our job.” He sits back, folding his arms. “If we don’t, we may as well give up now.”

“Giving up sounds great. Let’s do that.”

Neil doesn’t reply. Andrew rolls his eyes, leaning back in his seat and taking a deep breath, hoping the conversation is finished. He should be so lucky.

“Make a new deal, then.”

“No.”

“Talk to me while we’re in Rio. When we’re back home, you can go back to pretending I don’t exist. If you want to.”

“I will definitely want to.”

“Whatever. Deal?”

Andrew blinks at him. Has he forgotten this whole promise was his idea? No contact. No texts. No anything. And now he’s the one asking to throw it away? All for the good of his precious stickball? Andrew had forgotten how much he hated him.

“Yes,” Andrew replies eventually. Because he’s an idiot.

Neil smiles slightly. “Good. First things first— you look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you sick?”

“Hungover.”

“That was extremely dumb of you.”

Andrew nods, vaguely motioning to Neil. “I have a tendency to do very dumb things.”

“True. All this time and you still just want to fuck with Kevin, huh?”

“He’s very easy to fuck with.”

Neil snorts, fiddling awkwardly with the headphones in his lap. Andrew looks away from his hands, staring out of the window on the opposite side of the bus.

“You smell like a gay oil burner,” Andrew says eventually.

Neil pauses. “I have no idea what that means.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

NEIL

Neil loses Andrew the moment they step off of the shuttle bus, and he isn’t surprised. The rest of the journey had been spent mostly in silence, aside from a couple of instances of Andrew telling him he’s chewing his trail mix too loudly. Or to tell him something else he smells like.

“Roadkill covered in talcum powder.”

“Nice.”

“A baby prostitute.”

“That’s a line from Mean Girls.”

“You know movies now?”

It had been weird. Neil was unsettled by the entire thing, suddenly itching to call Bailey, so when Andrew grabs his suitcase and immediately walks away from Neil as quickly away as possible, that’s exactly what he does.

“Josten! You actually called!”

Neil frowns. “You didn’t think I would?”

“No… I knew you would, eventually. I just kind of figured you’d be too busy partying for the first couple of nights to remember I exist.”

“Oh yeah, you know me. Total party animal.”

“What’s it like there? Are you at the village?”

He looks up at the sight in front of him. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting but it definitely wasn’t… this. The Olympic Village reminds him of the council estates he’d passed through in London when he was with his mother. The tall, personality-free skyscrapers packed with flats for people on benefits or with low incomes. The teams have already started to make the place their own— banners saying POLAND and huge French flags are dangling from windows, stretching past several floors.

“Yeah. We just arrived. It’s… surreal.”

“You have to take a photo of the beds. Apparently they designed them to stop people fucking on them.”

“How does that work?”

“Guess you’ll never find out!”

Neil walks a little further, comforted by Bailey’s voice in his ear, until he finds the building which is draped in a huge US flag. He’s definitely never been a patriotic guy, but the sight of it is strangely stirring.

“I think I found Team USA.”

Bailey squeaks. “I hope you get drunk with the gymnastics team. They are fucking legends.”

Neil laughs. “I’ll try. Getting a gold medal is no longer the priority. Procuring a drunk selfie with Simone Biles has just knocked it off the top of the list.”

“I hope you’re not being sarcastic, Josten.”

“Me?” He smiles as he listens to their snort on the end of the line. “I miss you. But I have to go be sociable.”

“I know. And I’m so proud. Text me later, okay?”

“Okay, baby. Bye.”

He hangs up the phone, then jumps as Kevin immediately steps in front of him, arms folded and glowering like he’s about to pull Neil apart over a less-than-incredible play. Neil looks up at him, confused.

“What?”

“I saw you talking to Andrew on the bus.”

Neil rolls his eyes, pushing past him and carrying on towards the US’s building. Kevin follows him, his annoyingly long legs not taking even a second to catch up.

“Did you fight with him?”

“No.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Don’t care. We talked. I thought that’s what you wanted. Otherwise, you could have just let him switch seats.”

"I want what’s best for the team, Neil. And I worry about you two.”

Neil stops again, turning to glare at him. “Well, don’t. Mainly because it’s none of your business, but also because there’s nothing to worry about. We’re colleagues, and that’s it. That’s all we’re ever going to be.”

Kevin just blinks at him, then suddenly reaches out, roughly grabbing Neil’s wrist. He twists his arm slightly, looking down pointedly at the tiny little 03 that’s tattooed there.

“Are you sure about that?”

NEIL - TWO YEARS AGO

Neil stirs another spoonful of sugar into Andrew’s coffee, staring down into the cup as it dissolves into the already syrupy sweet drink.

Andrew is in the shower, and he turned down the offer of company, so Neil is stubbornly ignoring that feeling in his gut. The one that wants to drink in all of Andrew that he can, while he can. Not let him out of his sight, not let his hands fall away from his skin.

Junkie, is what Andrew would call him if he said any of this out loud. The insult has long since stopped being a reference to his Exy addiction and become a dig at Neil’s Andrew infatuation. Neil doesn’t mind. He knows the feeling is mutual.

Neil picks up his own coffee, wincing slightly. He’s spent the last two months on the other side of the country from Andrew fantasizing about riding him until his knees buckled, and they’d made it a reality last night. He can still feel the burn in his thighs, a pleasant soreness like he’s just run a marathon. Hopefully Andrew will offer to kiss the soreness away before Neil has to leave.

Because Neil does has to leave. Tonight. His stomach churns at the thought of it.

The noise of the shower shuts off, and Neil closes his eyes against a wave of nausea, leaning against the counter and taking a couple of deep breaths through his nose. A couple of minutes later, he hears Andrew’s socked feet padding up behind him, and the smell of his expensive bergamot and peppermint shower gel crowds his senses. Andrew leans against his back, presses his nose into the back of Neil’s neck.

“You stink.”

Neil tenses, and Andrew immediately notices, backing away just slightly.

“Neil?”

Neil shakes his head, turning around. Andrew leaves a space between them, concern painting his features. Once Neil is facing him, the knot in his stomach grows even tighter.

Andrew’s hair is damp— blonde strands of it are sticking to his forehead. His eyes— hazel, gold, unavoidable as ever— are scanning Neil’s face, searching for clues.

“What is it?”

Neil hesitates, reaching out and pushing a wet strand off of Andrew’s skin, moving it back to where the rest of his hair is laying haphazardly on the top of his head. His fingers feel unsteady.

“Neil—“

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

Chapter Text

ANDREW

The night before the official opening ceremony, Andrew barely sleeps.

He tosses, and turns, and reads, and watches YouTube videos, and jerks off, in the hope the endorphins will send him to sleep, but nothing works.

He thought he was going to be prepared for this. For the world stage. For Kevin being even more Kevin than usual. For the pressure. For all of it. And really, in another world, he could have been. A world where Neil Josten isn’t everywhere he turns, reminding him of everything he could have had if they’d just managed to keep their shit together.

He’s in a cafe in the Olympic village, three hours before the game is due to start, in desperate need of a boost. He’s standing in the line for the counter, when— of course, why wouldn’t he— he sees Neil walk through the door. He’s wearing the hideous red white and blue Team USA hoodie that had been left on all of their beds when they’d arrived, and paired it with an old pair of Palmetto-orange sweatpants. The entire outfit is enough to trigger a seizure, and Andrew has a sudden longing for the days he had an input into Neil’s fashion choices. Neil frowns when he sees the length of the line, then frowns even harder and starts to dig through his pockets, presumably looking for his wallet.

He doesn’t find it, and Andrew watches as he groans, walking over to an empty table and swinging his backpack off of his shoulder onto it’s surface, starting to dig through the contents of that too. By the time Andrew has reached the counter, Neil seems to have given up, resting his head on top of his backpack like he’s about to drift off to sleep then and there.

Andrew orders a mocha with an extra shot, hesitates, then orders a second drink before he can talk himself out of it. Once he’s paid, he walks over to the table Neil has decided to make his resting place, and puts the mug down a couple of inches away from Neil’s head.

Neil jumps, looking up at him.

“Oat milk latte,” Andrew mumbles. “That’s still your gay-ass order, right?”

Neil frowns. “How can a coffee order be gay?”

“It’s a bottom coffee, Neil. Deal with it.” He motions to the seat opposite him. “Can I?”

Neil hesitates, then shrugs, and Andrew cautiously takes a seat, putting his own drink down on the table. Neil moves the latte closer to him, dipping his finger into the foam.

“Thank you.”

Andrew averts his eyes as Neil licks the foam from the end of his finger, immediately regretting every life decision that led him to this moment. They sit in awkward silence for a couple of minutes, before Neil clears his throat.

“How are you liking Rio?”

“Scintillating conversation starter, Josten.”

Neil snorts slightly. “I’m sorry. This is just… weird.”

“I’m aware.” He sips on his mocha. “We could just pretend it isn’t.”

“Meaning what, exactly?”

“Fake it until we make it.” Andrew shrugs. “Talk to me normally.”

Neil laughs. “Did we ever talk normally? I think it was just death threats, then exchanging of deep dark secrets, then—“

He stops himself, clearing his throat and looking down at the table. Andrew cradles his mug in both hands as he watches him, tapping his rings against the porcelain. Then what, Neil? Sweet nothings? Dirty talk? Declarations of… nothing?

“How are you liking Rio?” Andrew offers in a weak attempt to change the subject. Neil looks up at him, looking grateful. “Is it the Olympic dream you always wanted?”

“It’s hot.”

“It’s so fucking hot.”

Neil gives him a lopsided smile which absolutely does not make Andrew’s stomach feel fluttery, then sips his drink.

“And yet here we are. Drinking hot chocolates and oat lattes.”

“It’s a mocha.” He holds up his mug. “Needed the caffeine.”

“Hungover again?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Yeah. Me either. I went for a run at three in the morning. Still didn’t help.”

“So, you remain a fucking psychopath.”

“I remain a keen runner.”

“Same difference.”

Neil snorts, then sips on his latte. Andrew averts his eyes once more as Neil’s tongue darts out to lick the foam that’s gathered on his top lip. Why the foamy drink? Is he punishing himself on purpose?

“We’re gonna win, ya know.” Neil says, excitedly tapping his fingers on the table. “I can feel it.”

“I hope you’re not still under the impression that your excitement for this sport is in some way contagious.”

Neil rolls his eyes. “Make me another deal.”

“No.”

“When we’re standing on that podium with our gold medals, and you feel the urge to smile… don’t fight it.”

Andrew squints. “You need professional help.”

Neil laughs. “I’m aware. Is it a deal or not?”

Andrew pauses for a few moments, staring Neil out— but he’s no match for that annoying, competitive glint in Neil’s eyes. He sighs, picking up his cup and holding it up.

“Deal.”

Neil grins, picking up his own cup and clinking it against Andrew’s.

NEIL

Faking normality with Andrew turns out to be easier than Neil anticipated. He’s missed it. This weird connection. Even before it was physical (or at least sexual, because Andrew had always been fond of touching Neil), they seemed to exist on the same plane of existence.

They stop trying to avoid each other, which makes the long days leading up to their first game feel marginally more bearable. When the day finally arrives, the coach orders the team to go distract themselves before they have to go to the stadium to warm up. Neil is terrible at distracting himself, but he still tags along as Team USA head out to the small shopping and food outlet on the outskirts of the Olympic Village. 

While most of the team stop for lunch, Neil doesn’t feel hungry, so instead he wanders off, trying to find something that will occupy his mind. 

He slows to a stop when something catches his eye in a store window. The display is full of expensive-looking home decor. Things he would normally not look twice at. Sitting in the middle, however, is a huge wood-carved owl. Bailey has a thing about owls. Their house, the part that the internet doesn’t see, is packed with owl shit of every description. Art on the walls, stuffed animals, figurines and wooden sculptures. Neil was a little unnerved by the countless pairs of creepy owl eyes staring back at him at first, but eventually he started to find the obsession kind of fucking cute.

His first instinct is to buy Bailey the owl, but the thought of trying to take a wooden figurine that’s almost as tall as he is home is a little… intimidating. He decides on the next best thing— grabs his phone from his pocket, zooming in and taking a photo of it.

He opens his WhatsApp conversation with Bailey and sends it to them— so concentrated that he jumps half out of his skin when someone stands next to him.

“Owls, huh?”

Neil looks at Andrew, who’s staring at his phone screen and looking vaguely amused. Neil locks his screen instantly, then frowns when he remembers that Bailey had set his lock screen to a photo of them kissing in front of a huge rainbow flag at New York Pride a couple of months ago. He presses lock again to hide it, then shoves his phone in his pocket.

“Huh?”

Andrew gives him a look. “Bailey. Owls.”

“Oh. Yeah. They’re uhm…” he nods. “They really like owls.”

“Mmm. Quirky.”

Neil rolls his eyes. “Don’t be an asshole.”

“Can’t help it. We’re being normal, remember?”

Neil takes a deep breath, then turns to face him properly. Andrew does the same, putting his hands in his pockets and tilting his head.

“We don’t have to talk about Bailey.” Neil says.

“What if I want to?”

“Why would you want to?”

“Because we’re being normal. And normal people talk about their romantic partners.”

“Do you want to talk about your romantic partners?”

“I don’t have any.”

Neil laughs slightly. He knows that Andrew has been far from celibate since they broke up (Nicky just loves to fill him in on all the latest gossip, even if he doesn’t ask him to.) He’s always known that Andrew isn’t like him when it comes to sex. That casual hookups were a significant part of his life before Neil came along, so there’s no reason that they wouldn’t be now. But really, Neil tries his best not to think about it at all.

“Fine. Well… what do you want to know?”

“What do you see in them?”

Neil frowns. “Seriously?”

Andrew rolls his eyes. “I don’t mean it like that. They’re obviously very fucking attractive. I mean… you could have any attractive person you wanted. So why them?”

Andrew looks down at the ground after that, picking at the black polish on his fingernails and avoiding Neil’s intense gaze. Eventually, Neil clears his throat.

“You really want to know?”

Andrew glares up at him. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

“Fine. They’re… they were interested in me. And not in a morbidly fascinated way like most people. They just… asked about me. And they barely blinked when I answered.”

Andrew nods slowly. “Okay.”

“I know it doesn’t sound like much.”

“It does.”

Neil swallows, looking away and back at the wooden owl. “I know you probably think they’re vapid and useless.”

“Their job is to take selfies.”

“They do more than that. They have their own business. They’re a trustee for a charity that funds gender-affirming healthcare. They’re a good fucking person, Drew.”

“They sound perfect. What’s the catch? Bad in bed?”

Neil shoots him a look. “Not everything is about sex.”

“I’m aware of that. I was just—“

“Being normal? Yeah. I get it.” Neil folds his arms. “I’d be happy for you. If you found someone.”

“That doesn’t interest me.”

“It might. Eventually.”

Andrew pauses. “Let’s just get through this bullshit first, shall we?”

Neil can’t help but laugh. “The only athlete on the entire planet who refers to the Olympic fucking Games as this bullshit.”

“Maybe.” Andrew pauses, then tilts his head at Neil. “Give me a number between one and five.”

Neil raises an eyebrow. This dance feels vaguely familiar. “Three.”

“Okay,” Andrew shrugs, walking away. “That’s how many I’ll let them have.”

ANDREW

They win the game six goals to three. And only because Andrew makes it so. It’s an easy win. Too easy. Andrew suspects it will make the team too immediately complacent, but then he has to remind himself that it’s a dumb game, and he doesn’t give a shit.

Kevin and Neil both scored two goals apiece, and they’re both soaring high on adrenaline when someone suggests they all head to a club in Rio to celebrate, so they say yes. 

Andrew informs them both it’s a fucking stupid idea. Their next game is starting at ten in the morning, and there’s no way any of these idiots know how pace themselves, but he knows his words will fall upon deaf ears. Which is how he ends up propping up the bar two hours later with a beer in hand, watching Kevin down three shots in a quick succession, then yell ‘whoooo!’ like the obnoxious frat boy jock he’s always been, deep down.

Andrew rolls his eyes. “It’s day one, Day. Don’t get too excited.”

“Get more excited,” Kevin counters. “We’re going to win the Olympics, Andrew.”

“Russia haven’t taken less than gold since they let this dumbass sport take part.”

“Well, they haven’t met us.” He looks around the club. “Where the hell is Josten? I need to buy him a drink for that last goal.”

“He can afford his own drinks.”

Kevin ignores him, then gasps as he spots Neil coming back from the bathrooms. He practically skips over to him, like an excited child, then grabs his arm and pulls him back over to Andrew. Andrew scowls at them both.

“Hey,” Neil says to Andrew, slightly awkwardly. He seems tipsy, but nowhere near as far gone as Kevin. “You look bored.”

“I am bored.”

“He’s being stubborn,” Kevin interjects. “Neil, tell him to lighten up. He always does what you say.”

Neil frowns. “Maybe if you asked him nicely.”

“Don’t bother.” Andrew feigns a wide, sarcastic smile. “Consider me lightened up.”

Neil snorts a laugh. “Wow. That’s terrifying. Good job.”

Kevin groans. “So glad you two are getting along again. Neil— what are you drinking? That last goal deserves a gift.”

Neil shrugs. “Uh…” he points at Andrew’s beer. “Is that good?”

“It’s a beer. So yes.”

“Then I’ll have the same.”

Kevin leans over the bar to order, leaving Neil and Andrew looking at each other in slightly self-conscious silence. Eventually Neil clears his throat.

“You played really well today.”

Andrew narrows his eyes at him. “Is that all you got?”

Neil laughs. “No. Guess not. What would you rather talk about? How lit this club is? Who on the team is gonna end up sleeping with who?”

“Oh?” Andrew raises an eyebrow, sipping on his beer. “Are you a gossip now, Neil Josten?”

Neil frowns slightly, his cheeks turning slightly pink. “I was kidding. I don’t give a shit about anyone’s love life. As long as there’s no way STDs can cost us a gold medal.”

“It would have to be some pretty severe chlamydia.”

Neil snorts, taking out his phone to check it, and Andrew motions to it with his beer.

“Did they watch?”

“The Foxes?”

“Bailey.”

Neil looks up at him. “Yeah. Of course. I just talked to them in the bathroom.”

Andrew hums. “Romantic.”

Neil gives him a look, then looks up as Kevin finally hands him his beer. He smiles, clinking it against Kevin’s glass of vodka and coke.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Kevin says. “Just do it again tomorrow. Hey!”

He yells at someone over Neil’s shoulder, then disappears into the crowd. Neil laughs, taking a swig from his beer before he looks back at Andrew.

“I hate clubs.”

“You liked Eden’s.”

“Not really. I just liked—“ he stops himself, frowning and sipping his beer again. “I don’t know.”

Andrew watches him for a moment, hesitating before he speaks again. “We could just leave.”

NEIL

According to Google Maps, the walk from the club back to the village is just over an hour. If he were alone, Neil would probably just run it— be back in his bed within thirty minutes, reliving that last goal over and over again in his head until he fell asleep.

Instead, he’s with Andrew, and for some reason, it doesn’t feel like a rush. The heat at this hour is less stifling, more pleasant and balmy. The route is littered with the occasional athlete, either drunk and hanging out with friends, or, if they’re actually disciplined, on late night runs. Andrew is swigging from a bottle of beer he stole from behind the bar on their way out, walking a couple of feet away from Neil, staying mostly quiet.

He looks up at the sky as he walks, then spares Neil a quick glance.

“Who did they room you with?” he asks.

“Tomas. He’s okay. Snores, though. You?”

“Kevin.” He swigs his beer, “I wouldn’t have come otherwise.”

Neil nods. It makes sense. There’s an extremely limited circle of people that Andrew would allow near him when he was sleeping, but Kevin Day makes the cut.

“He still sleep like the dead?”

“Pretty sure I could throw a rave and he wouldn’t notice.”

“It’s worth a try.”

Andrew gives him a look. “You into raves now, Josten? First movie quotes, now house music? They’re a bad influence on you.”

“They try to be.”

Neil’s fingers twitch towards the phone in his pocket involuntarily— the sudden urge to text Bailey is real, but he manages to resist, running a hand through his hair instead.

“So…” he walks slightly closer to Andrew, tentatively reaching out his elbow to nudge him. “Glad you came?”

“Thrilled. Nothing I’d rather be doing than sweating my balls of in exy gear while Kevin yells at me.”

“You’d be doing that back home, anyway. Maybe a little less sweat on your balls.”

Neil grimaces slightly, suddenly realising he’s talking to Andrew about his balls. He clears his throat, changing topics.

“Have you met the gymnastics team yet?”

“Just the men. They’re very bendy.”

Neil raises his eyebrows at him, unamused. Andrew stares blankly back at him before continuing.

“So I’ve heard, at least.”

“Right.” Neil tries to shake away the image of Andrew and some super-flexible gymnast making very inappropriate use of the balancing beams. “Bailey wants me to be best friends with Simone Biles.”

“Maybe they just want you to get a photo with someone that makes you look tall.”

“Are you gonna be a snarky asshole for this entire walk?”

“Yep.”

Neil laughs slightly. “Okay. Suits me.”

ANDREW

Twenty minutes into the walk, Andrew realises he’s fucking hungry.

The Olympics coach has them all on some bullshit super low carb diet, and no matter how many times he’s told that the meat and vegetables and eggs should keep him feeling full and energetic, he just knows he’s only going to be able to win this stupid tournament with a stomach full of garlic bread, pasta and ice cream.

He winces as he feels his stomach rumble. Neil glances at him and frowns.

“You okay?”

“No. I’m hungry.”

“Did you skip dinner?”

“That wasn’t real food.”

Neil smirks, then takes his phone from his pocket, pulling up Google. “There must be somewhere near here.”

“Coach would hang you out to dry.”

“Do you really think I—“ he motions pointedly to the scars on his face, “—am scared of that old man yelling at me about pizza?”

“Pizza, Josten? Try some culture.”

Neil huffs, then typed something on his phone, before holding it up to Andrew.

“Pão de queijo,” he says. “It’s fucking delicious and there’s a stand two blocks away.”

There’s a picture of some food on Neil’s phone screen that looks so good, Andrew almost starts salivating in response.

“I would suck almost any dick on earth for some of that right now.”

Neil takes the phone away, choking on a laugh. “Uh. They would probably give it to you in exchange for cash.”

“Boring.”

NEIL

The pão de queijo is fucking good. They both practically demolish their food in seconds, and as they continue walking, Neil watches from the corner of his eye as Andrew sucks the remainder of his meal from his fingers.

“Good, right?”

“Passable,” Andrew replies, dumping the paper the bread came in onto the floor.

Neil stops, looks down at the trash, then back at Andrew with his eyebrow raised. Andrew rolls his eyes, suitably chastised, and crouches down to pick it back up.

“So bossy,” he says drily.

“I didn’t say anything!”

 Andrew smirks slightly, then continues walking as Neil falls into step beside him. 

“Abigail and Ashlyn,” Andrew says.

 “What about them?”

“I bet they’re hooking up tonight.”

Neil stops again, stepping in Andrew’s path with a fake gasp, holding a dramatic hand to his chest. “Andrew Minyard. You bet now?”

“You’re not the only one who’s changed.”

“What else is new?”

Andrew shrugs. “I have a cat.”

“Fuck off. Really?”

“I write now.”

Neil pauses at that, and Andrew pushes past him, walking on. Neil follows him. 

“You write? Write what?”

Andrew ignores him, picking up his pace. Neil speeds up, too. 

“Is it poetry? Andrew?”

ANDREW

“Oh,” Neil says suddenly, stopping in his tracks and looking up. “We’re here.”

Andrew looks too—up at the Team USA building with it’s disgustingly patriotic stars and stripes banners, and rooms with windows open blaring— God help him— Kid Rock.

They’re back. Already.

“Oh.”

“At least that walk sobered me up,” Neil continues, stifling a yawn. “I hate hangovers.”

“I think I’d have to walk for another two hours to get those shots out of my system.”

Neil hums. “Amateur.”

Andrew raises an eyebrow at him. “Excuse me?”

“What if there was an Olympics-themed zombie apocalypse? What use are you going to be if you’re wasted?”

“Have you seen signs of this apocalypse, Josten? Is it on the cards?”

“It’s always on the cards, Andrew!” Neil fakes a disappointed sigh. “You’ve changed so much.”

“Unfortunately, you have not.”

Neil grins at him, pleased with himself, and they both stare at each other for a few seconds, before Neil finally clears his throat and looks back up at the building.

“We should probably get some sleep.”

“Yeah. Probably.”

“Thank you.”

Andrew tenses slightly. Those two words coming from Neil’s mouth bring back memories he can do without. Thank you. You were amazing. I’m off to die in screaming pain now. Don’t get mad.

“For what?”

“I don’t know. The company? I guess.”

“Right.” Andrew nods. “Okay. Night, Neil.”

“Night.”

No one moves. It seems like neither of them want to be the one who walks away. Andrew feels like his feet are stuck to the concrete— like he couldn’t move if he tried. They keep looking at each other, and looking, and then Andrew isn’t sure who moves first, but he knows Neil is suddenly close. Neil’s hands are in his hair. Neil is kissing him.

Neil is fucking kissing him.

NEIL

Neil kisses Andrew— because he’s been wanting to kiss him all night. All week. Because it feels like it’s what he should be doing. Because being around Andrew and not kissing him feels unnatural and frankly, fucking stupid. Because he’s still a little drunk, because he’s fucking missed him, because he smells good, and looks good and—

His thoughts grind to a halt when Andrew groans against his lips, and they stumble slightly, Neil ending up with his back to the wall of their building, Andrew pinning him to it with his hand on his chest.

They kiss until Neil is breathless, until he can barely kiss Andrew back because he’s panting, his head swimming. What is he doing? Why can’t he stop?

Neil arches into Andrew, feels his breath catch as Neil grinds slightly against his thigh. Andrew finally breaks away, leaning his head against Neil’s and taking a few heaving breaths.

“Fuck,” Andrew says quietly— like he might break some kind of spell if he speaks too loudly.

“Yeah,” Neil agrees, just as cautiously.

“Come to my room.”

Neil stares at him, then looks down at Andrew’s slightly parted lips. “Kevin?”

“He’ll be out for hours.”

Neil nods, frantic, then he’s kissing Andrew again, pushing back from the wall and walking them towards the door to the building. Andrew buries his fist in Neil’s shirt, almost helplessly, and Neil whimpers quietly as Andrew curls his tongue inside of his mouth.

It’s all achingly familiar, except for one new addition. Neil gasps as he feels it— a metal stud in Andrew’s tongue— hard and hot and exactly the same as the one that—

“Wait.” Neil breaks the kiss with a gasp and pulls back, shaking his head. “No.”

Andrew freezes immediately, the fist that’s clenched in Neil’s shirt immediately falling away as he steps back, breaking all contact with Neil as the color drains from his face.

ANDREW

 “No?” Andrew asks. 

“I can’t. We can’t.”

Neil is breathing heavily, his mouth is red and his lips are swollen. Andrew wants him so badly he can hardly stand it.

“Okay,” he says, because it’s a no. And a no will always be respected, even if it hurts. “Why?”

Neil laughs slightly, exasperated, and Andrew can’t help but glare.

“Why do you—“ he starts, then shakes his head, pressing his thumb against his lip. “I’m not going to be one of your reckless drunken hookups.”

Andrew glares at him, swallowing a lump in his throat. “Fuck you. And that isn’t what this is. You know it isn’t.”

Neil pauses, his eyes quickly scanning Andrew’s face, then just as quickly looking away. “All the more reason this shouldn’t fucking happen.”

“Neil...”

“I’m taken, Drew.”

Andrew screws his eyes closed, clenching his fists and taking a deep breath.

He’s taken. Neil is unavailable. It doesn’t matter how much he looks at Andrew. How much he talks to him. How much he knows him. It doesn’t matter that he still kisses him like he used to— like all he needs to function is Andrew’s mouth. He’s not Andrew’s. Not anymore. And that… well. That is not fucking fair. He opens his eyes.

“Then stay away from me,” he says. “I’m done.”

Neil frowns. “What? No. I can’t. We said—“

“I don’t care what we said,” he practically hisses now. Suddenly angry. “This was your choice. Ending it was your choice. Cutting me out was your choice. I respected your choice. Now you can stop fucking with me.”

Neil looks shocked. Andrew wants to smack the dumb look off of his face. He also wants to drag him back to his room, push him down onto his tiny bed and fuck him so desperately that he might just throw up.

“I didn’t—“ Neil starts, then shakes his head. “I’m not fucking with you.”

“Just go, Neil.”

Neil stares at him, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck for a few seconds, then takes a shuddering breath before he nods.

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

Andrew rolls his eyes. “See you tomorrow.”

He turns his back on Neil before he can change his mind, grabbing his key card from his pocket and pushing his way into the building, taking the stairs two at a time so that he can put as much distance between himself and Neil in the shortest time possible. When he reaches his room, he’s relieved to find that Kevin is still out. He slams the door closed and kicks off his shoes, immediately opening his phone and looking for his Grindr app.

“Reckless drunken hookup,” he mumbles to himself. “Don’t fuckin mind if I do.”

Chapter Text

NEIL

 Andrew is at Neil’s door. Andrew is at his door, and it doesn’t take Neil even a second to pull him inside. To kiss him. To press his body against his so that he can feel the heat of him. The way he gets hard at Neil’s touch. 

They stagger inside, and Neil doesn’t even know where he is. All he knows is he needs Andrew. Needs him to keep kissing. Needs him to stop kissing, so that he can—

He pushes Andrew against a wall, breaks for breath, drops to his knees, pulls at the fly of Andrew’s jeans, then he looks up at him. 

The person staring down at him is Bailey. Their cheeks are tear-soaked. Their mascara smudged. They choke back a sob. 

“Is this why you can’t say it back?”

Neil flies to his feet. Stumbles backwards. He’s home now. His apartment. His kitchen. Andrew slams the fridge door closed and glares at him. 

“Why are you doing this now?” Andrew asks, his jaw clenched. 

“Because!” Neil hears himself answering. “It’s too hard, Drew.”

“Then you’re not trying hard enough.”

“It’s not me who stopped communicating!”

Andrew shakes his head. Neil blinks, and Andrew is gone. In his place, Aaron stares back at him. His expression is cold. 

“I swear to fucking God, Josten.” Aaron hisses at Neil through clenched teeth. “He hurts himself? l hurt you.”

Neil sits up in bed with a gasp, coated in a sheen of sweat. It takes him a minute to regather his senses and catch his breath. He’s… he’s in his room. In Rio. The Olympic Village. Tomas is still gone, and the room is empty. It’s not quiet— it’s never quiet— with the bass of someone’s speakers making the floor vibrate. Neil tunes into the rhythm, closes his eyes and tries to ground himself to the beat as his dream still replays behind his eyelids. 

His entire body aches. And not just from games and practice. It’s like guilt has become a physical ailment, but it’s not just kissing Andrew that he feels guilty about. He feels guilty about stopping. Guilty for fucking with his head. Guilty for making Andrew think that something could have—

Something could have happened. With Bailey waiting for him at home. Watching his games. Reading his Google Alerts. Texting him reminders about his meds. Missing him. 

Neil shudders, throwing the sheets off of himself and hopping out of bed. Needing to get out and run before sleep takes him under again and makes him see the hurt he caused in everyone’s faces. 

He roughly pulls on some running shoes and the t-shirt he was wearing last night, deciding that the sleep shorts he has on will suffice as long as there are no press photographers lurking around the village at… he picks up his phone from the bedside cabinet to look at the time… gone three thirty. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles, dragging his hand over his face, then shoving the phone into his pocket as he heads to the door. 

He opens it, turning around to lock it when he hears a door open a few rooms down. He looks up, his heart crashing to his stomach when he sees Andrew stepping out into the hallway— clumsily shoving the hem of his black t-shirt into the waistband of his jeans. His hair is a mess, and Neil doesn’t have to guess why, because a tall, slender, dark-skinned athlete also appears in the doorway a second later, as shirtless as he is breathless. 

“Hey,” Neil hears the guy say, and Andrew spins back, looking up at him. “No goodbye?”

Andrew rolls his eyes, pulling the guy forward with a finger in one of his belt-loops, tugging him down into a hard, open-mouthed kiss. 

Neil freezes, and doesn’t realise he’s gawping at them until Andrew breaks the kiss, shoving the guy away and then turning in Neil’s direction. Neil panics, clumsily uses his key card to unlock his door again, then dives back inside, slamming the door closed behind him. He leans back against it with a loud thud, screwing his eyes closed and trying to ignore the way they suddenly sting.  

ANDREW

It’s possible that Andrew was too drunk to realise he was hooking up with someone three rooms away from Neil’s last night. It’s also possible that Drunk Andrew knew, and was happy about that little fact. Sober Andrew, however, isn’t sure how to feel about the fact that Neil knows about it. That Neil saw him leave. Saw the athlete (Pole vaulter? High jumper? All Andrew knows is he was fucking tall) that had been tied by his wrists to Andrew’s headboard just a few hours earlier.

Maybe he wanted Neil to see. Maybe Neil needed to know that this is what happens when you fuck with Andrew Minyard. When you toy with him, and give him hope, and kiss him within an inch of his life, then push him away and leave him worked up and angry and horny and—

Maybe he didn’t want him to see. Maybe he just wanted to get off. Get him out of his head as quickly and as effectively as possible.

Either way, he saw. And yeah. Andrew doesn’t know if he should care.

Andrew doesn’t have much of a heart anymore. Not since Neil left. But whatever’s left there is feeling rung out and chewed up, and blowing that stupid long-legged asshole last night did nothing but leave him with a literal, and figurative, bad taste in his mouth. Today, of course, he has to swallow it down, because they have a game.

After going back to his room for only two hours of fitful sleep, he sits on a bench in the US team’s dressing room, pulling on his uniform using muscle memory, his brain too foggy to focus. Aside from the sullen silence from Andrew’s part of the room, the atmosphere in the dressing room this morning is excited and electric; yesterday’s win still buzzing in everyone’s veins. Andrew feels it rather than sees it when Neil walks in, and keeps his eyes stubbornly on his feet as he ties his laces.

Neil’s locker is, of course, close to Andrew’s, and he walks over to it hesitantly, not acknowledging Andrew as he pulls it open and starts digging through his things. Andrew stands up, pulling his red goalie shirt on and adjusting his arm bands, staring intently at the wall. Eventually, apparently sick of the awkward silence, Neil clears his throat. Andrew screws his eyes closed instinctively, not ready to hear whatever bullshit is about to leave Neil’s mouth.

“Listen,” Neil says quietly. “I’m—“

He’s interrupted by a commotion, and they both look over at the entrance to see someone unexpected standing in the doorway, suitcase at their feet, makeup-free and wearing what is clearly one of Neil’s old hoodies. They smile, and wiggle their fingers at them in an awkward little wave.

“Bailey?”

NEIL

Neil is moving before he even realises, practically flying over to Bailey and pulling them towards him— hands desperately squeezing at their waist. Bailey laughs, throwing their hands over his shoulders and hugging him back.

“Hi, Josten!”

Neil lifts them an inch of the ground with the force of his hug. “What the fuck?”

“Ahh!” they squeal slightly, then laugh again as he puts them back down. “I missed you! I wanted to surprise you.”

Neil pulls back to look at Bailey’s face; finding himself surprised at how much he’s missed seeing it. Like this. Happy. Real. Not the tear-stained mess he helped create in his dream. He cups their cheek with his palm.

“You’re ridiculous. It’s been three days.”

“I know. God.” They grimace. “Do you think I’m a total psycho? That I can’t leave you to do your own thing for five fucking minutes? Have to follow you across the globe like a snivelling idiot?”

“No! No.” Neil scans their face, swallowing. “It’s… good. It’s good. I missed you.”

They let out a breath, relieved. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Yes. Of course.”

As they grin again and pull Neil in, he sends up a quick prayer to God that Bailey can’t taste Andrew on his tongue. 

ANDREW

Andrew watches from his locker as Bailey pulls Neil in for a kiss, and Neil sinks into it willingly. They get so into it that some random asshole wolf-whistles, and Andrew feels like he just swallowed a handful of rocks.

Neil pulls away, looking slightly embarrassed, and moves Bailey’s hands away from where they’ve slipped down to the small of his back. Andrew looks back at his feet.

Not everything is about sex, Andrew.

Neil and sex has always been complicated. Demisexual, is what Renee theorised once when the topic came up during a spar with Andrew a few years ago.

“Did he show any physical interest in you at all when you first met?”

“Only in the sense he wanted to kerb stomp me.”

“But once he grew to know you… and trust you…”

Andrew had raised an eyebrow in lieu of an answer, and Renee had laughed.

“Demisexual. Not that it’s my place to label, but… it seems to fit him well.”

“I don’t think Neil is anything. He just stumbles his way through life, trying not to die too hard.”

“Maybe you should ask him.”

Andrew had never asked him. It hadn’t seem important. But now, for whatever reason, Neil’s sexuality seems like a far more urgent topic. Today in particular, Andrew wants to know if he wants Bailey like he always used to want him. He wants to know if he aches for them. If he gravitates towards them whenever they’re alone, craving touch and intimacy and warmth.

Sometimes it’s all he can think about.

Seeing them in front of him again like this— seeing the tenderness, the genuine relief in Neil’s face when he’d laid eyes on Bailey— he’s thinking about it more than ever.

“Hi. Andrew, right?”

He snaps out of his thoughts and looks up. Bailey is standing in front of him, looking open and curious and confident. When Andrew does nothing in response but blink a couple of times, that confidence wanes and their face falls. It’s then that Neil decides to step in, awkwardly motioning to his partner.

“Uhm—Andrew. This is Bailey.”

“I know.”

Neil bristles slightly, but Bailey just schools their expression into a polite, beaming smile.

“It’s very cool to finally meet you in person. You killed it in that first game.”

He’s about to say I know once again, when Neil grabs Bailey’s arm, gently tugging them away before the words leave his mouth.

“Come on,” Neil says. “You can meet coach.”

Andrew watches them walk away, standing there like the asshole he is, wearing freshly pressed white socks with no shoes and what he assumes is a pathetic fucking expression. He scowls as Kevin walks over— fully dressed of course— holding his helmet in hand and pushing his hair out of his face.

“They seem nice.”

Andrew glares at him. “Yes. A very pleasant stalker.”

Kevin rolls his eyes. “They’re a couple. It’s nice they wanted to be here. Thea would be here too if it wasn’t for the dog.”

“You surprise me. I would have thought you’d be dragging Neil over hot coals for allowing such a distraction before a game.”

Kevin shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe. He looked pretty relieved though. It could give him an extra kick up the ass.”

Relieved.

“Right,” Andrew replies. “Guess we’ll see.”

“We should all go out after the game. Do some touristy shit. Thea made me swear I’d do one ‘relaxing’ thing a week.”

Andrew takes a deep breath, grabbing his sneakers from his locker and dropping back down on the bench. He’s not sure how the team doing touristy shit in the height of summer in Brazil could ever be described as relaxing. But what else does he have to do?

“Sure. Whatever.”

If team building is what it takes to get Kevin Day to shut the fuck up, team building is what Andrew will do. As long as he can stay as far away from Neil and his hazardous lips for as long as possible.

NEIL

Bailey doesn’t stay for the game. Too tired from their flight and unwilling to throw him off any more than they have already this morning. Despite that, knowing that they’re here in Rio is still vaguely unsettling.

What made them decide to come? Did they sense something? Did their eyes spring open in bed, sensing the moment Andrew invited Neil back to his room, and they hopped on the next flight to Brazil?

At this point, nothing about Bailey would surprise him.

They win against Spain, and it’s technically an upset, although Neil doesn’t really see why. The Spanish team seem overwhelmed and tired, barely making any attempts on goal (which is a relief— Neil knows how much alcohol Andrew consumed last night), and the US were in incredible form, fighting through Spain’s weakened defence to end the game with three goals to none. Afterwards, a freshly showered and post-nap Bailey meets them at the Olympic stadium, greeting Neil with a sloppy kiss, but they don’t get any further than that before Kevin sneaks up behind Neil and announces:

“Save that shit for later. We’re going to do tourist shit.”

We, much to Neil’s annoyance, turns out to be just him, Bailey, Kevin, and Andrew— which is how, despite being told to keep his distance less than twenty-four hours ago, he ends up standing next to Andrew, as all four of them stare up at the statue of Christ the Redeemer.

Neil’s never been a religious guy, but it’s hard not to feel moved by a Jesus that’s almost one hundred feet tall. On his other side, Bailey squeezes his hand, and he looks at them, squeezing back when he notices their eyes are watering.

“You okay?”

“Yeah… it’s just. Wow. Ya know?”

 “Wow,” Andrew repeats quietly next to him. Neil resists the urge to elbow him pointedly in the ribs. 

Neil rubs his thumb soothingly over Bailey’s knuckle. “Want me to get a photo of you in front of it?”

Bailey grins up at him, then immediately shoves their phone into his chest, skipping out ahead. Neil can’t help but laugh as they start to pose in front of him, the statue looming majestically in the background. 

Bailey looks cute today. They always look cute. But today is a particularly cute one. They’re wearing orange overalls over a Beyoncé tour t-shirt, and silver metallic Doc Martens. Their hair is spiked up with gel, the same way Matt used to do it in college, and the overall package gives Bailey the vibe of being everyone’s favourite high school art teacher. 

(A high school art teacher that Neil wants to simultaneously kiss and run away screaming from.)

They strike a few poses, and Neil gets a few shots. He’s well trained by this point, knows that Bailey mostly wants portrait images for their stories, but he also throws in a couple of landscape ones because he knows they like to print those for above their bed. He can feel Andrew watching him intently, but doesn’t acknowledge it, too busy watching Bailey grin, throwing their arms wide to mirror the statue. 

When Neil gets the money shot, he smiles and texts a copy to himself. 

ANDREW 

 Andrew knows two things for sure as he watches Neil and Bailey’s little photoshoot. The first is that there’s no way in hell their sex life can be interesting. Could Bailey even stop looking at themselves in the mirror to make sure Neil is getting off? Would they be able to stop thinking about their most flattering angles long enough to be truly fucked senseless? 

The second thing Andrew knows, most prominently, is that he needs to fucking stop thinking about Neil and Bailey’s sex life before he drives himself even more crazy. 

The four of them find a cafe near the statue, somewhere cheap and cheerful that doesn’t seem to be too packed with tourists. They find a booth together, and Neil slides in next to Bailey as Kevin and Andrew take their seats opposite. Andrew remains as quiet as he has been the entire day, picking distractedly at his napkin instead of looking at anyone or involving himself in any conversation. Thankfully, it seems that Bailey is a small talk pro, and they’re happy to sit and ask Kevin questions about his life (which he, of course, always somehow brings around to exy.)

“He can still play,” Kevin says when Bailey asks how his dad is doing. “He just doesn’t like to.”

“You two don’t play in the back yard together? Make up for all those lost years?”

Kevin snorts. “He’d rather chain smoke and get steadily fatter.”

“He has to deal with the stress of herding a bunch of little assholes somehow,” Neil cuts in. “Although I guess he went through the worst of it with us.”

“I don’t know. Apparently he’s currently dealing with a kid who really enjoys setting shit on fire. Including dorm rooms.”

“It’s nice to have hobbies,” Bailey says with a smirk, looking up as the waitress walks over. “Hi!”

“Hello,” she says in a thick Brazilian accent. “Are you ready to order?”

“Sure! Can we get two omelettes with avocado, mushroom and spinach? And two coffees, one black, one with oat milk?”

Andrew frowns at the order, watching Neil’s reaction, but he just shrugs and gives Bailey a soft smile that makes Andrew want to rip out his own eyeballs. When the waitress gets to Andrew, he orders the biggest possible pile of pancakes, with extra maple syrup, and watches contently as that one vein in Kevin’s forehead tries to make an escape. 

“Relax, Day. I play just as good when I’m full.”

 “You’re going to make yourself sick,” Kevin replies predictably. 

Andrew gives him a two-fingered salute. “At least I’ll be happy.”

Kevin orders himself something sad and carb-free before the waitress heads back to the kitchen, and Bailey sighs, standing up. 

“I have to piss.” They lean down and kiss Neil on the crown of his head. Andrew takes a deep breath as he watches Neil lean into the touch. “Don’t start eating without me.”

“Promise,” Neil replies with a smirk. 

Andrew watches him watch Bailey walk away. And Neil really watches. Did he ever watch Andrew walk away like that? Probably. He never made a secret of how much he admired Andrew’s ass. 

Kevin clears his throat. “Neil?”

Neil jumps, looking up at him. “What?”

“Is this going to be a problem? We don’t need you to be distracted.”

Neil rolls his eyes. Andrew does, too. “No, Kevin. Sorry that I looked at my partner. I’ll make sure to blind myself before they come back so that it doesn’t happen again.”

Kevin squints at him. “Well, I like them. They seem nice. I’m happy for you.”

Neil looks slightly taken aback. Andrew has never wanted to hang Kevin’s scalp on his bedroom wall as much as he does right now. Kevin frowns as his phone starts buzzing in his pocket, taking it out and looking at the screen. 

“It’s my dad.” He answers it. “Hey.”

“Hey, coach!” Andrew yells, as Kevin tries to move the phone away from him. “Kevin said you were getting fat!”

Kevin glares at him then stands up, throwing up his middle finger as he takes the call somewhere a little more private, leaving Neil and Andrew alone for the first time since last night. 

Neil blanches when he realises, awkwardly picking up a fork from the basket of cutlery in the middle of the table, resting the sharpness of one of the prongs against his finger. Andrew watches him, until he can no longer hold in what’s been bothering him. 

“Why did you let them order you mushrooms?”

Neil frowns, looking up at him. “Huh?”

“You hate mushrooms.”

“I’m… indifferent to mushrooms.”

“You once told me they were like eating chunks of rubber coated in vomit.”

 Neil lifts a hand to his mouth, looking away. Andrew knows he’s trying to cover a smirk. “Does it matter?”

Andrew assesses him for a few seconds, then shrugs. “Just trying to figure you two out.”

Neil looks back at him. “Well… you don’t need to. They like ordering for me. I like when they like things.”

Andrew tries not to wince at the familiar words, used against him in so many soft, or desperate, moments. He looks up as the waitress brings over their drinks, and Neil quickly grabs his coffee. Seemingly grateful for the distraction. Once they’re alone again, Andrew picks up the sugar cellar on their table, and pours it liberally into Bailey’s drink. Neil glares at him, but he continues. 

“Since when do you do stuff you don’t want to do?”

Neil sighs. “It’s not that serious. It’s called compromise.”

“It’s called lying.”

Neil gives him an exasperated look, glancing over towards the bathroom. There’s no sign of Bailey, so he clears his throat and moves closer to Andrew. 

“I’m sorry. About last night.”

“Are you?”

Neil frowns. “Yes. Of course.”

Andrew shrugs. “Don’t be. No harm done.”

“Did you…” Neil stirs at his coffee. He couldn’t look more awkward if he tried. Eventually, he swaps his own drink for Bailey’s, presumably so they don’t have to deal with the sugary slush that Andrew has created. “Did you have fun with that guy?”

No, Andrew thinks to himself. I didn’t. The only reason I got off at all is because I was picturing your mouth. He could have been anyone. He may as well not exist. None of them matter. 

“Yes,” he says drily. “He was hot. Ten out of ten. Would blow again.”

“You don’t have to be an asshole. Just because—“ Neil looks around, paranoid as ever. “Just because last night happened, doesn’t mean I want you to get hurt.”

Andrew stares back at him. “I’m a big boy, Neil. I can take care of myself.”

Neil swallows, about to say something else, then they both look up as Kevin drops back into his seat, ending his phone call then looking disappointedly at the table. 

“Still no food?”

NEIL

 That night, the team hit the gym together— Kevin determined not to let them fall out of peak physical condition before their next game rolls around. Bailey tags along, much to the rest of the team’s annoyance, keen to do their own work out and shake off the last of the jet lag before bed. 

Neil intentionally chooses the machines as far away from Andrew as possible. Still unable to shake the image of him with other people; Gymnasts. Long jumpers. Men with muscles Neil could only dream of. Maybe Andrew will make his way through all of them before the end of the games. An Olympic-level dick sucking marathon. 

He shakes his head, pressing the button on the treadmill that slows it from a sprint down to a walk, taking a swig from his water and catching his breath. He looks up in the mirror, locking eyes with Bailey, who’s finishing up on a leg press nearby. They grin at him, wiping their face with a towel. He smiles back, then glances around, frowning when he realises the rest of the team have already left. 

Bailey stands up, shaking out their legs and walking over. “You okay, there? Looked like you were in your own little world.”

“Yeah. Wow. I uh… zoned out.”

“And that’s why I like you safe on a treadmill, not zoning out and getting hit by cars.” They reach out and tug at his t-shirt. “Come on. I finally have you to myself. Get off of that thing.”

Neil lets himself be pulled from the treadmills and back towards the locker room, his legs still feeling slightly wobbly. The locker room is empty, too. And Neil can’t help feeling a little unsettled. But mostly, he feels sweaty and gross, and he runs a hand through his hair while grabbing a clean towel from the bench. Behind him, from the other side of the room, Bailey clears their throat. 

“Need help in the shower?”

Neil frowns, his mind delivering him unwanted images of duct tape, garbage bags, Andrew kneeling in the water, looking up at him with watery eyes. He’s a little achey after the workout, but he doesn’t need help. 

“No?”

Bailey stares at him, raising their eyebrow, and oh. Neil is a dumbass. He watches Bailey chew on their bottom lip, flutter their eyelashes slightly, and suddenly— fuck. He wants them. He wants to forget everything. When he realises, a wave of arousal hits Neil so hard that he almost stumbles.

“God, yes,” he chokes out, and Bailey grins.

He quickly paces over to them, grabbing their face and pulling it to his in a hard kiss. Bailey sighs happily against his mouth, flinging their arms around Neil’s shoulders and letting themselves be pushed against the lockers— not even flinching when their back hits the metal with a loud clunk.

Neil reaches down, grabbing their thighs and lifting them up. They react immediately, groaning and wrapping their legs tightly around Neil’s waist, bucking their hips against him. He slides his fingers into Bailey’s hair, melting against them as they trail kisses from his mouth, to his jaw, then his neck. He hisses as they bite down on his skin hard enough to bruise, grinding hard into them in response, and they cry out, the sound muffled against his neck.

“Fuck! Neil. Oh my God—“

They sound surprised, and Neil can’t even blame them. He’s not sure what’s come over him. He just knows he wants. He wants to ride this wave of adrenaline, wants to take Bailey apart right here. He wants them to be loud. He wants to make their legs shake.

“Neil—“ they gasp again. “The shower.”

He shakes his head, grinding into them again. “Here.”

“Yeah?”

He nods, then sets them down, none-too-gently, and they stagger slightly as they try to regain their balance. Neil barely lets Bailey catch their breath, before he drops to his knees and reaches for the waistband of their leggings and tugging. Bailey gasps, then helps him, both of their hands scrabbling to pull down the leggings as well as the briefs they’re wearing. Between the two of them, and two pairs of hands both clumsy with adrenaline, they get the underwear off and throw it aside.

Neil wastes no time after that, feeling urgent, lifting up Bailey’s right leg and hooking it over his shoulder, before pushing their long t-shirt up out of the way and pressing his tongue against them. They taste sweaty, and salty, and familiar. Bailey moans loudly, both hands grabbing fistfuls of Neil’s hair.

“Ohh! Jesus. Your tongue. I’m—“ they gasp, and laugh, grinding themselves against Neil’s mouth. “I’m so fucking— glad I came here. Oh fuck.”

Neil groans in agreement, and Bailey grips his hair even more tightly. Neil isn’t in the mood to be delicate, and it seems Bailey isn’t feeling too sentimental either, grunting and gasping, digging the heel of their sneaker into Neil’s back as he brings them quickly to the edge.

“Wait, wait— “ they gasp out, tugging at Neil’s hair. “Stop.”

He pulls back with a gasp of breath, wiping his mouth and looking up at them, panting.

“What?”

They grab the collar of his t-shirt, pulling him up until they’re face to face, then immediately kissing the taste of themselves from Neil’s mouth. He gasps when he feels the weight of their hand between his legs, then feels their grin against his lips when they discover what they were hoping for— Neil is hard. Very hard.

“I want you to fuck me,” they say, between kisses. “Do you want that?”

“Yes,” he says, nodding. “I want that. Do you have—“

“It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m on birth control, remember?”

He searches their face, looking for any doubt, but doesn’t find any. He nods, kissing them again and quickly undoing the drawstring on his sweat pants, pushing the pants and his underwear down to his thighs, before lifting Bailey back up. They wrap around him again, reaching down to line him up, before guiding him inside with a groan— their thighs squeezing at Neil’s waist.

“Shit,” he says as he bottoms out, slapping a hand against the lockers for balance. “Oh, God.”

It’s been months since they did this, and Neil has forgotten how good it feels— especially bare like this; skin to skin, heat to heat. It’s almost overwhelming, and he finds himself seeking out Bailey’s mouth again, needing another kiss to keep himself grounded.

“Come on,” they plead when they finally break the kiss to come up for air. “Move.”

ANDREW

Andrew stomps back towards the locker room, pissed off at himself for leaving his lighter behind when he’s pretty sure he’s never needed a cigarette more in his entire life. Seeing Bailey’s smug face again at the gym had felt like a kick in the teeth, and he isn’t even entirely sure why.

Neil is out of bounds. He knows that. And it’s nice he has someone who would travel across the world to see him, even if they are a vain, materialistic, shallow Instagram nobody. He’s happy for him. Thrilled. Over the moon. Jumping for jo—

“Ah, fuck!”

He stops in his tracks when he hears it, the sound is echoing off the walls. He hears a loud gasp next, then the unmistakable sound of a fist slamming against metal, and Andrew’s stomach twist.

“Bailey— shit. Bailey. Baby, I— I missed you.”

“I can— oh my god— I can tell.”

“You feel so fucking good.”

Andrew screws his eyes closed, listens to the rhythmic sounds of desperate, intense fucking. So much for the sexless, passionless relationship he optimistically created in his mind, he thinks, swallowing down the bile that is rising in his throat.

He hears it then— the higher pitch in Neil’s voice, the increased breathiness in his moans, and he quickly turns on his heel, walking back to the exit before he has to hear the sound of Neil Josten shaking apart for the first time in two years.

He can buy a new fucking lighter.

NEIL

Neil comes with a shaky groan, pressing his face against Bailey’s neck as he feels them tense and shudder around him, their fingernails digging into his back as they follow him over the edge.

The world comes back into focus slowly, and the first thing Neil feels past the post-orgasm tremor in his legs, is relief.

Relief that Bailey is here. Relief that he still wants them. Relief that they still want him. Relief that it isn’t over, that he hasn’t totally fucked this up.

The second thing he feels is regret.

Chapter Text

ANDREW

The Team Canada coach is older than the US coach. He’s at least mid-forties, maybe even into his fifties. Andrew has a vague memory of reading about him in one of Kevin’s magazines when he had nothing else to read on the john. He’s married. To a woman. She’s a coach too. They have kids. A real, happy, nuclear family. The pride of Canadian exy. 

Team Canada gasps as Andrew twists his wrist on the upstroke, biting roughly at his jaw at the same time. 

“Don’t—“ Canada chokes out. “Don’t leave a mark.”

Andrew ignores him, pushes him harder against the wall, drags his teeth over his skin again until the coach shudders. 

“Fuck… I’m close…”

Already? Andrew thinks spitefully. Wondering if this lack of stamina is an age thing or a Canadian thing. 

He’d found this guy on Grindr, which seems to have an endless supply of Olympic athletes in Rio ready to host. Canada had hidden his face in his photos—stealthy— just a muscular, pale torso, and dark hair disappearing into the waistband of his sweatpants. Faces weren’t important to Andrew right now. He just needed a body to touch, to press against, to pull noises from until he could forget the sound of Neil coming apart in Bailey’s arms. Team Canada suited the role almost perfectly, desperate little noises falling from his lips as Andrew ruthlessly jerked him off. 

“Fuck. I’m gonna—“

Andrew rolls his eyes, pulls Canada’s earlobe between his teeth and takes him over the edge; feels his hot come spill over his knuckles as he groans loudly, his fingers grasping for purchase on the wall behind him, under strict orders not to let his hands wander. When he’s done, he sags slightly, leaning his weight against Andrew in a way that instinctively makes him tense. 

“Do you—“ he mumbles against Andrew’s ear as he catches his breath. “Can I return the favour?”

Andrew closes his eyes, tries to picture it. This man’s calloused fingers against his skin. Would he be rough like Andrew had been with him? Would he be gentle? Andrew frowns when he realises it doesn’t matter. He isn’t even hard. 

“No.”

He pulls his hand from Canada’s sweatpants, then wipes the mess on his shirt, before stepping back. 

“Not really in the mood.”

“Oh.” He looks a little disappointed, but too sated and dizzy to argue. “Well… I have vodka. Want to stay for a drink?”

One drink turned into two drinks, turned into three, turned into Andrew getting in the mood again and giving an extremely sloppy blowjob, then passing out face down on Team Canada’s bed.

Canada is gone when Andrew wakes up, and he squints at the empty bed next to him, his head throbbing. There’s something niggling at the back of his mind, behind the ‘still kinda drunk’  vodka fuzz and the incredibly disgusting taste in his mouth. 

There’s Neil, of course. Neil is always in there. At the back of Andrew’s mind, at the front. Left. Right. All of Andrew’s waking thoughts plagued by a short blue-eyed menace, and a pretty big percentage of his sleeping thoughts too. Neil’s voice. Neil’s hands. Neil’s scars. The sounds Neil makes when he’s–

“Fuck!”

He sits up suddenly when he remembers, then immediately winces as a sharp pain hits him behind the eyeball. Game. They have a game. And it’s an early one. He digs the heel of his hand into his eye, and immediately starts running through Team Great Britain’s stats in his mind.

They’re good. Really good. And Andrew feels like if he moves another inch, he’s going to vomit all over this fucking ugly Olympic-patterned duvet. This is bad. Very bad. The only thing that could make it worse is–

His phone rings, muffled, and Andrew groans as he remembers he left it in the pocket of his jeans. He leans over the edge of the bed to find it, practically in slow motion, too scared to make a sudden move. When he picks it up, he’s not surprised to see Kevin’s name on the screen.

“Day,” he says dryly when he answers, waiting for the inevitable onslaught.

“Where did you sleep?”

“Are you my wife now?”

“I’d just like to know if you’re going to make it to the court without me having to drag you out of a ditch.”

Andrew rolls his eyes. “I’ll be there. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”

“Andrew, I hope I don’t have to explain to you how important this–”

Andrew hangs up before Kevin can finish, dropping the phone onto the sheets disdainfully. He looks around the room again, pulling a face at the amount of Canadian flags, then gingerly pulls himself out of bed, trying to ignore the way his stomach lurches.

NEIL

The thing is; Neil knows that loving Bailey is easy. 

It’s easy for Neil now, when they’re fast asleep on the pillow they’re sharing in his bed; their mouth open, gently snoring just an inch away from Neil’s face. 

It’s easy to love them when they’re awake. Smiling, laughing, seeing through Neil’s bullshit. They’re curious. And funny. And beautiful. They don’t pick fights because they don’t know how not to. They don’t stifle their emotions. 

Sex with Bailey, when he wants it, is easy too. They’re confident in their body, honest about their likes and dislikes, vocal about when they’re in the mood and when they’re not. Open to trying new things, non-judgemental.

Neil loves them. But he’s not in love with them.

Bailey wakes up with a cute snort, rubbing at their nose and sniffling. Neil smiles as they blink open their eyes.

“Morning,” he says gently.

“Josteeeennn,” they say sleepily, smiling back at him. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He leans up, kissing their forehead. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like the dead. You ruined me.”

Neil swallows, nodding. Last night had been… intense. The realisation as soon as they were done, that his mind had been somewhere else the entire time, had felt like a kick in the stomach. A sucker punch of guilt. Bailey’s face falls slightly.

“You’re glad I came…” they say quietly, reaching out and brushing their thumb over Neil’s bottom lip. “...right?”

Neil frowns. “Of course I am. Why would you ask?”

“Because… I don’t know. You’ve been quiet. Since we got back.”

Neil feels the corner of his mouth twitch. “I’ve been asleep.”

They roll their eyes, moving their hand to jab at his cheek instead. “You know what I mean.”

“I’m fine. I’m just… you tired me out.”

Bailey scoffs, then yawns. “Pathetic stamina for an Olympic athlete. Although I guess not all athletes have me to handle…”

Neil hums, gently rubbing the palm of his hand over Bailey’s scalp, finding the sensation of the cropped hair soothing. “I’m sorry if I’ve been quiet.”

They smile at him, closing their eyes. “God. If I was a cat, I’d be purring right now.”

Neil has no idea what to say to that, so he says nothing, but leans in and gives Bailey a gentle kiss. Their eyes open when he pulls away, raising an eyebrow at him and shifting slightly, shuffling forward across the mattress and pressing their hips into Neil’s.

“How much time do you have before the game?” they ask in a hushed tone.

Plenty, Neil thinks. “Not a lot,” Neil says.

Bailey pouts. “Enough time for a blowjob? I can be fast.”

Neil’s mouth twists, in what he hopes is a smile. He’s tired. And distracted. But Bailey can sense something wrong, and Neil needs them to think everything is perfect, so he nods.

Bailey grins, pulling the sheets over their head and rolling on top of him,  shimmying down the bed, kissing over Neil’s chest and stomach as they go. When they reach their intended destination, they pause, leaving a kiss on Neil’s hip, then looking up at him.

“No?”

Neil takes a deep breath. He knows there’s only one way he’s getting hard right now, and he’s not going to disrespect Bailey by giving into the urge to close his eyes and let his mind wander.

Not again.

“No,” he replies after a couple of seconds. “Sorry.”

“Pfft,” Bailey kisses his hip again, then shuffles back up the bed until they reach Neil’s face. “Don’t apologise, you nutjob. You fucked me into another dimension yesterday. Your dick deserves a break.”

Neil feels his cheeks warm, and Bailey grins, kissing his nose.

“Who are you playing today?”

“Great Britain.”

“Well, I’m in the crowd for this one. So you better win.”

Neil forces another smile, and Bailey frowns, reaching up and pushing his hair out of his face. 

“Are you sure you’re okay, baby?”

“I’m fine.”

They look unconvinced. Neil kisses them, then gently rolls them away onto the other side of the bed before climbing off of the cramped mattress.

“I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Okay…” they look irritated, but shrug it off, leaning up on their elbows. “Can I order room service?”

“You can try. But seeing as this isn’t a hotel…”

“Ugh.” Bailey flops back onto the bed with a sigh. “Say the word and I’ll find us a five star luxury suite.”

Neil laughs slightly. “Okay, sugar daddy.”

Bailey makes an affronted noise, then picks up a pillow and throws it in his direction. Neil laughs again and ducks out of the way, going into the bathroom and closing the door behind him. When he gets inside, he leans his forehead against the wood and lets out a long exhale.

“Shit.”

ANDREW

Andrew doesn’t regret anything. But he thinks, as he sways unsteadily on his feet, leaning against the post of his goal for support, that he maybe should have stopped at that second vodka. Possibly. In hindsight.

Team GB are either even better than their stats imply, or Andrew is even more wrecked than he anticipated, because he’s almost conceded three goals already, and the timer seems to be telling him they’re only eight minutes in, when Andrew would swear to the death that it had been at least three days.

The US team are a blur of red and blue, moving so fast that it makes Andrew feel even queasier. Their defense is running itself into the ground, and Andrew knows it’s an attempt to cancel out his pathetic form, but he’s in no state to do anything about it now. 

So, he watches. Swallows down another mouthful of bile that’s risen up his throat. Screws his eyes closed and shakes his head, hoping it will somehow knock his headache loose.

“Andrew!”

Someone– probably Neil, probably Kevin, maybe both– yells over to him, and he opens his eyes again, looking up. Neil shouldn’t be at this end of the court. He should be stealing the ball. Scoring. Being impressive and nimble and fast and fucking hot. Not stomping over to Andrew like he’s about to clip him on the ear.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Neil hisses, so that only Andrew can hear.

Andrew shrugs. “Tired.”

“Tired? We’re all fucking tired.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Andrew grumbles, going through the motions of theatrically scanning the crowd, even though his eyes are too blurry to take anything in. “Where’s Bailey? Surprised they can walk this morning.” 

Neil pauses. If Andrew could see through the grate of his helmet right now, he knows he’d see a giant scowl.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Nothing. I’m still drunk.” He waves Neil away. “Go away and leave me alone.”

NEIL

“You… you saw us?”

Andrew doesn’t answer, just stares at Neil and impatiently taps his racquet against the floor.

“How did–”

“Forgot something,” Andrew says with a shrug. “Got a little audio show.”

“I’m–”

“You’re what? Sorry for fucking your partner? No. You’re not.” Andrew waves him away again, more aggressively this time. “Go. Go catch your little ball. We’re done here.”

“How much did you drink?”

“Did I not tell you we’re done here?”

Neil glares, not even knowing why he’s as angry as he feels. Yes, Andrew is reckless. Stupid. And this game is the most important one yet. But that’s not even it.

He heard them. He heard… that. And this is how he reacts?

The game continues to play around them, and Neil is jolted out of his thoughts by a loud whistle, and the sound of someones racquet being slammed against the plexiglass.

He looks over, sees Kevin looking over at them. Behind them, in the VIP box, Neil can see Bailey, wearing a Team USA jersey, one of Neil’s orange beanies on their head. He can’t see their face clearly, but it isn’t hard to visualise their expression.

Neil takes a long breath, turns away from Andrew, runs back to the other side of the court as play starts again. Within a minute, Andrew’s goal lights up red.

ANDREW

Kevin is pacing. He’s pacing so fucking fast that Andrew’s hangover is getting a second wind. Andrew sits on his bed, watching his friend tear up the carpet to their room as he stomps back and forth.

“You know, it’s one thing to fuck around when it’s a college game. Even a pro game. But this is the Olympics! This is the US Court!”

“I’m aware,” Andrew mumbles under his breath. 

As Kevin spins on him, that vein in his forehead hopping to attention, he realises he didn’t mumble quietly enough.

“Are you? Are you aware? You don’t seem aware! You’re showing up to my games looking like shit! Half-asleep!”

“It’s not your–”

“I’m your captain!”

“I’m aware of that, too. You remind me often.”

“Is this a joke to you? We almost lost. If it wasn’t for the rest of us making up for your laziness, we’d be on a plane home right now.”

Andrew rolls his eyes, dropping back onto his bed and staring at the ceiling. He hears Kevin take a very long, very deep breath, before he speaks again. 

“You’re lucky their goalie was on even shittier form than you.”

Andrew doesn’t respond. At least not in words. He does, however, raise a choice finger in Kevin’s direction. Kevin practically growls, and Andrew can’t help but wince when he hears him stomp to the door, slamming it behind him.

Andrew closes his eyes, dragging his hands over his face. Team Canada wasn’t worth this bullshit. Nothing is worth this bullshit. 

He frowns when there’s a knock at the door, looking over at it. Did Kevin forget his key and have to sheepishly come back, pretending he didn’t just storm off like an overtired toddler?

Andrew sighs, pulling himself up and dragging himself over to the door and opening it, ready to tell Kevin to go fuck himself with an exy racket (not his most original insult, but it’s evergreen.)

He doesn’t expect to see Neil– standing with his arms folded, his face unreadable. Andrew blinks at him.

“Hi?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Kevin beat you to it. I’ve been a bad boy. I’ll be sure to spend the rest of the Olympics on the naughty step.”

Neil rolls his eyes. “Can I come in?”

Andrew hesitates, then shrugs, stepping aside. Neil takes a breath, then walks past him into the room. Andrew kicks the door closed behind him.

“Make it quick, Neil.”

Neil turns to him. “Why did you even bother to show for the game? The state you’re in, you should have just sat it out.”

“And miss out on all the fun?”

“Why are you doing this?” Neil swallows. “Is it because of–”

“Yes, Neil. Everything I do is about you and Bailey. Everything. My entire world just revolves around you two love birds.”

Neil glares. “What am I supposed to think when they show up and you immediately go on a fucking… bender?”

“Alert the church elders! Andrew Minyard gave a handjob and had a drink! As a consenting adult! It must be because of Bailey! The most important person in the entire world!”

Neil stares at him, shock and irritation warring on his face. They stand like that for a few seconds– Neil pissed off, Andrew feeling like he wants to scream and disappear into a hole in the floor in equal measure. Eventually Neil tries to compose himself, clearing his throat.

 “You can’t just throw this opportunity away. It’s too important.”

Andrew rolls his eyes, walking past him to the window— throwing it open and sitting on the ledge, pulling out the pack of cigarettes he keeps stashed in the pocket of his jacket. He pulls out a stick and puts it in the corner of his mouth, searching for his lighter as Neil watches him, his eyes still blazing.

“You are,” Andrew mumbles from the side of his mouth, “as usual, overestimating how much I give a shit about this sport.”

“That’s bullshit.” Neil walks closer. “You know I saw through that lie years go.”

Andrew lights his cigarette, then points at him. “Exy is still your obsession. Not mine.”

“We have to win.”

“No. We don’t.”

“We do!” Neil runs his hands through his hair, exasperated. “Because if we don’t… if we don’t, it’s over. I don’t fucking want this to be over!”

Andrew can’t help but shake his head. “I didn’t think anyone could sound more obsessed with this fucking game than Kevin. And yet.”

“It’s not the game!” Neil shouts, and they both flinch at the unexpected volume of his voice. He screws his eyes closed, trying to calm himself down. “I don’t…”

“Is it the five-star accommodation? The blistering heat?”

“I don’t want to go home. Not yet.”

“Why? Why does it fucking matter so much to you?”

“Because! Then it’s—“ he takes a gasping breath. “Because then it’s—“

Andrew frowns, tossing his cigarette out of the window and hopping down off of the ledge. He knows the signs of an impending Neil panic attack when he sees it, even if it’s been a long time since he’s had to try and coax him down from one.

“Neil,” he says sternly. “Calm down.”

“No!” Neil’s chest is heaving. “I need to stay here, because if I go home and you disappear on me, I can’t—“

Andrew’s stomach drops. “Neil…”

“I can’t do this again. I can’t. I need—“

Andrew doesn’t let him finish, stepping forward and grabbing his face, throwing his whole body against him in a kiss so intense that it makes Neil whimper against his lips. Neil’s hands fly to Andrew’s hair, digging his fingers into his scalp and kissing him back immediately.

They stumble backwards, Andrew accidentally stepping on Neil’s toes in his haste to get as close as possible. Neil’s back collides with the wall, and he lets out a pained sound. Andrew’s eyes open, and he quickly pulls back.

“Wait.”

Neil shakes his head, panting slightly. “No. Keep going.”

“Wait. Neil. Wait. Breathe.”

Neil nods, trying to catch his breath, eyes frantically scanning Andrew’s face. “What’s wrong?”

Andrew swallows, his hands still cradling Neil’s face. “Is this a yes? Or is this a mental breakdown?”

“It’s a yes.”

“I’m not doing this with you if—“

“Andrew. Yes.” Neil nods pointedly. “It’s a yes. I want this. Now keep kissing me before I fucking scream.”

Andrew glares. “I hate you.”

Neil sags slightly, relieved. “Yeah.”

He tugs on Andrew’s hair, pulling him in to kiss him again.

NEIL - TWO YEARS AGO

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

Andrew blinks at him, then reaches up and takes his hand, squeezing his fingers to try and stop them trembling.

“Neil? You’re shaking.”

“It shouldn’t be like this.”

Andrew flinches, squeezing Neil’s hand a little harder. “What are you talking about, Rabbit?”

“This! Us! I can’t…” Neil notices the lump in his throat, swallows it down. “I can’t keep saying goodbye to you.”

“It’s temporary.”

Neil laughs, bitterly. “We’ve been saying that for two years. And nothing has changed. It’s like you don’t want anything to change.”

Andrew frowns, the skin between his eyebrows crinkling in either annoyance or confusion. Neil can’t tell which, but it could be both. “Do you think I enjoy being apart from you?”

“No! I don’t… I don’t know. How am I supposed to know? Do you know how exhausting it is? Having to guess what you’re feeling?”

Andrew winces slightly, dropping Neil’s hand and looking away. “No. Guess I don’t.”

Neil watches as Andrew walks away from him, casually opening the door of the refrigerator like they’re talking about nothing. Like they’re talking about their plans for the day. About what groceries they need to pick up.

Neil huffs, frustrated. “Baby, can you just–”

The fridge door slams closed, and there’s no denying that the expression on Andrew’s face now is pure irritation.

“Why are you doing this now?”

“Because!” Neil throws up his hands. “It’s… it’s too hard, Drew.”

“Then you’re not trying hard enough.”

“It’s not me who stopped communicating! I need… I need more than this.”

Andrew scowls even harder. “What do you want from me? Do you want me to ditch my team? Tell you to ditch yours? Put a fucking… ring on your finger?”

He says the last past so disdainfully that Neil can’t help but wince. “Would that be so awful?”

“Which part?”

Neil stares at him, shaken. Andrew shakes his head, steps closer to Neil and raises a hand to his face. Neil steps back, decidedly not wanting to be coddled right now, and Andrew’s resignedly hand drops to his side.

“Neil,” Andrew says quietly. “You already have all of me.”

Neil watches him. Watches the muscles in his jaw tighten. He knows how hard it is for him to open up like this, just that one vulnerable sentence. Neil also knows it doesn’t feel like enough right now.

“Don’t you ever feel like you need more than this?”

Andrew pauses. “I’m sorry this isn’t enough for you.”

“That’s–”

Neil closes his mouth. He was about to argue. Tell him that’s not what he meant. That Andrew in any form that he can get him is always enough. But… every time they say goodbye, and Neil spends another two, three, six weeks without being able to touch him, without being able to feel the rise and fall of his chest…

“I need time to think.”

Andrew stares for what feels like hours, then takes a deep breath. “It sounds like you’ve thought about this plenty.”

“Andrew…”

Andrew looks down at the ground, pushes a hand through his still-damp hair, and Neil’s stomach tightens when he notices that his fingers are shaking now, too. 

“I’ll find an earlier flight.”

He walks away to the bedroom, without a glance back at Neil, and Neil leans against the kitchen counter, all of his breath escaping him in a loud rush.

This can’t be it. And yet, it feels like it might be.

Chapter Text

NEIL

The bed is just feet away, but right now it feels like miles. Andrew could have him right here, anywhere, but right now nothing but a bed feels like enough. Neil wants to be pushed into the mattress, all of Andrew’s weight against him. Pressing him down, down, opening him up, filling him, overwhelming his senses. It’s been too long. Way too fucking long. 

They stumble across the tiny room— barely breathing between kisses, hands roaming and restless, desperately pulling at clothes, jackets and shoes being abandoned. The last two years of Neil’s libido being sporadic and hesitant feel like a fever dream. He can’t remember anything else but this. This pure want. 

Andrew‘s own wanting is evident as he presses against Neil, both of them hard and gasping, and he pushes Neil back until the back of his knees hit the side of one of the twin beds, then pushes him down onto it. The mattress is thin and cheap, and he vaguely recalls something about fuck-proof beds, but Neil doesn’t have time to register the discomfort before Andrew is climbing on top of him. Neil sighs with relief, shuddering as Andrew’s body weight is finally pinning him down. He’s gained weight since the last time they did this. Muscle, mostly. A little fat, from a diet that’s even less healthy than it was when they were at college. Every inch of him feels bigger. More encompassing. 

Neil tugs impatiently at the back of Andrew’s shirt, pleading, but unwilling to break away from Andrew’s mouth. “Off.”

Andrew grunts, breaking the kiss and sitting back on Neil’s thighs so that he can pull his t-shirt over his head. Neil misses him, but he also wants to drink in the sight of him. He puts his hands on Andrew’s stomach, sliding them upwards to his chest, feeling the muscles twitch. Andrew stares down at him, his eyes hooded and his breathing heavy, until it’s too much, and Neil groans—tugging on his arm to pull him back down.

Neil barely notices he’s being undressed, only realising he’s naked when Andrew flips him onto his stomach and presses himself full-body against Neil’s back—the texture of his jeans rough against the skin of Neil’s ass. 

Andrew kisses the nape of Neil’s neck, his mouth open, and hot, and warm, and insistent. Neil shivers, melting against the mattress as Andrew's hands cup Neil's narrow waist, fingers strumming his ribs like strings on a guitar. He kisses Neil’s shoulder, the sensitive patch of skin next to his armpit, the individual knobs of his spine. 

By the time Andrew’s mouth has reached the dimples above his ass, unhurried in its journey, Neil is breathing heavily. When he spreads Neil apart and slowly laps at him with his tongue, Neil chokes out a sound that could be a moan, could be a sigh, could be a sob. He’s too overwhelmed to place it. 

“Andrew…”

Andrew hums and sighs in response, like he’s missed this, like there’s nothing he’d rather be doing.

 Then, everything blurs. 

Neil can barely see the pillow in front of his face, can barely hear the sounds he’s making. All he can do is feel. Feel every point of contact where he’s pressed against the mattress, and from Andrew’s hot, insistent mouth. He has no idea how much time has passed when he registers the sound of something clicking open, and then Andrew is working him open with thick, rough fingers—slow and achingly deep, with so much lube that Neil can feel it leaking out and pooling onto the cheap sheets beneath them. 

Andrew’s fingers twist, and search, and push, and Neil gasps; his back arching and his thighs trembling as he’s suddenly balancing on a cliff-edge, one more crook of Andrew’s fingers away from tumbling over. Andrew seems to sense it, stills in his ministrations and kisses his way back up Neil’s back, ignoring his quiet whines of protest. 

“Andrew,” Neil says again, anguished. 

“Sshh,” Andrew quietens him when he reaches his neck, speaking against his skin. “Not yet. I want to fuck you.”

Neil groans, failing to stifle a full-body shiver. “God…”

“Yes, or no?”

It’s been a long time since he’s heard Andrew ask the question. A lot longer than just the two years they’ve been apart. Long enough to make Neil hesitate. 

“Neil?”

Andrew sounds breathless, and anxious. 

“Yes. Yes.”

Andrew lets out a breath that sounds relieved, then, to Neil’s distaste, carefully pulls his fingers from Neil and rolls off of the bed.

“Drew?” Neil tries not to sound as desperate as he feels. He tries to roll over, so that he can get a look at where Andrew is going. “It’s a yes. What are you—“

“Stop it,” Andrew says sternly, and Neil freezes at the gentle authority in his voice. “Lay back down. I’m finding a condom.”

Neil drops back down, catching his breath and twisting his neck to watch as Andrew roots through his bags.

“Why?” Neil asks. 

Andrew looks up at him with an incredulous look , and Neil swallows. Right. Because. They need to use a condom. Of course they do. Neil doesn’t want to think about why right now. He just wants… he just wants. 

“Hurry up, then,” Neil says eventually, impatiently, and Andrew glares at him, practically growling as he finally finds a condom packet in the side of his suitcase. 

He climbs back onto the bed, lowering himself over Neil’s back and nipping gently at his shoulder as he works open the zipper of his jeans. Neil sighs in relief, and Andrew reaches a hand to Neil’s jaw, gripping him just tightly enough to turn his face towards his for a kiss. 

The angle is all wrong, but there’s nothing wrong about the way their mouths move against each other as Andrew pulls his pants and boxers to his knees, as he puts on the condom and grabs more lube, slicking himself up with a couple of slow strokes of his hand. 

ANDREW

It’s slow, until it isn’t. 

When he finally pushes inside of Neil—it’s slow. A long, steady push until his hips are fully flush with Neil’s ass. Neil shudders, and Andrew tries to catch his breath. 

It’s been a long time. He didn’t want this with anyone else. Has never wanted this with anyone else. From the way Neil takes long, soothing breaths, rolls his hips as he tries to adjust, Andrew thinks it’s safe to assume he hasn’t wanted this with anyone else either. 

He wraps his arms underneath Neil’s shoulders, holding him close all over, kisses the beautiful marks on his back. Scars to freckles to sunburn from the harsh Rio sun. Neil shudders. Can’t seem to stop himself. Involuntary gasps and twitches at every drag of Andrew’s lips. 

“Are you okay?” Andrew asks quietly. 

Neil twists again, looking Andrew in the face. Andrew’s heart throws itself against his chest at the sight of his eyes this close. Blue and piercing, his pupils huge with arousal. 

“Yes,” Neil answers, breathless. “Move.”

Andrew kisses him, then he moves. Slow, steady thrusts that make his pulse thud in his ears and Neil’s fingers curl into the sheets. 

It’s slow, because it has to be. Because if Andrew moves any faster, this will all be over way too soon. 

Neil sighs, and whimpers, and stares at Andrew’s lips between kisses, like they’re all he can focus on. 

It’s slow, until Neil starts to moan, and the sounds flip a switch in Andrew’s brain. He leans into Neil’s ear, keeps his voice low and quiet. 

“I’ve missed how you sound.”

Neil groans in response, clenching around Andrew, clawing desperately at the sheets. And after that, slow is no longer an option. 

Andrew wraps a hand gently around Neil’s throat, pushes his toes into the hard mattress to gain some momentum, and fucks into him hard, matching the rhythm of Neil’s frantic breaths. 

“Andrew,” Neil cries out, as Andrew shifts them both up the bed, and Neil moans at the friction as every thrust has his cock dragging against the rough sheets. “I’m close.”

Andrew presses his mouth to the centre of Neil’s neck, presses his tongue to his skin to taste the salt. Neil shudders, reaching back and holding onto Andrew’s thigh, trying to push him somehow deeper. 

“Come in me,” Neil gasps. 

Andrew whines, surprised to hear such a sound from his own mouth. “Condom.”

“I know. Just—“ he rolls his hips backwards, meeting Andrew thrust for thrust. “Don’t pull out, baby. I’m gonna come.”

“Fuck. Come, rabbit.”

Neil comes with a loud cry, his fingertips digging into Andrew’s thigh so hard that it will probably bruise. It tips Andrew over, too. He finishes into the condom with a loud gasp, fucking Neil through it with a stilted rhythm, until they’re both spent— motionless and fucked out. 

Andrew drops all of his weight against Neil’s back, feels Neil’s heart thumping against his ribs. He reaches back, taking Neil’s hand from where it’s still gripping his thigh, tangling their fingers together and squeezing. Neil sighs, like he’s relieved, then winces as Andrew slowly lifts up and pulls out, reaching down and tying up the condom. 

“Mmm,” Neil mumbles. “Don’t.”

Andrew pauses. “What?”

“Don’t go. Stay.”

Andrew leans back down, nips playfully at Neil’s shoulder, then at his bottom lip. 

“This is my room. Where would I go?”

“Just… stay?”

Andrew stares at him, then nods. Neil starts to shift, trying to turn over. Andrew pushes up onto his elbows, letting him, then lowers himself back down until they’re chest to chest. 

Neil gazes up at him, eyes unfocused. “I’m sorry.”

Andrew leans his head against Neil’s, both of them still trying to slow their breathing. “For what?”

Neil shakes his head, then fails to stifle a yawn. “Just… stay.”

“I’m staying.”

Neil nods, pulling him down into a slow, lazy kiss, then mumbling against his lips. “The bed is sticky.”

“Then we should clean up.”

Neil nods in agreement, then yawns again. Andrew scoffs, covering his mouth, then shuffling down to lay his head on Neil’s chest. As he drifts off to sleep, he dreams he hears Neil say something. Something he’s never said before. Maybe one day he’ll say it for real.

NEIL

Neil lets himself back into his own room the next morning on slightly unsteady legs. He’s pleasantly sore, and boneless, and he knows he shouldn’t feel as happy as he does. It’s sitting in his stomach, next to the guilt, and the happiness is taking up the most space; bright and strong and unyielding.

The guilt rallies a little when Neil sees Bailey stretched out on his bed, already fully made up and taking selfies. They look over at him, raising an amused eyebrow.

“Big night, soldier?”

He frowns. “Huh?”

“I knew you guys were going to be out commiserating until the early hours but you could at least have texted…”

“Oh. Right.” He scratches his head. “Sorry.”

Bailey smiles, tossing their phone aside and sitting up. “I’m just ribbing you. I intruded on your jock vacation. You should totally be acting like I’m not even here.”

Neil blinks, and Bailey pulls themselves up, standing in front of him and leaning in for a kiss. Neil doesn’t stop them, but he doesn’t kiss back. If Bailey notices, they don’t show it, as they lean back and give him a sweet smile.

He can’t put this off any longer.

“I need to talk to you.” He takes a long, slow breath. “About us.”

Bailey’s smile falters. “Okay?”

“Can we sit?”

Bailey lifts their chin, suddenly tense. “No.”

“Bailey…”

“Just say it, Neil. I’m not an idiot. You’re ending this.” They fold their arms over their chest, swallowing hard. “Aren’t you?”

“I care about you a lot, and…”

“I’m a super duper person?” they interrupt. “You’ve been so lucky to get to know me?”

Neil sighs. “Just let me talk? Please?”

“Is this about Andrew Minyard?”

Neil pauses, and apparently it’s answer enough, as Bailey groans, burying their hands in their hair and tugging in frustration.

“Fuck. You love him. Don’t you?”

Neil swallows— the question landing like a punch to his stomach. He looks down at the ground, suddenly unable to look Bailey in the eye.

“I—“ he says eventually. “I tried not to. But… I don’t think I ever really stopped.”

Bailey laughs slightly. An empty, mirthless sound. “Ouch.”

“That’s not—“ He looks back up at them. “It’s not that I never cared about you. I did. I do.”

“But it wasn’t love.”

Neil pauses. “I’m sorry. I’m really… you didn’t deserve this. At all.”

“I know I didn’t.” They swallow, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I knew something was wrong. I came here to...”

They trail off, and Neil swallows. “Keep an eye on me?”

“No! I trust you! I just wanted things to–” they frown, cutting themselves off, apparently noticing something in Neil’s expression. “Should I not, Neil? Trust you?”

Neil hesitates slightly. He’s used to lying. Has spent most of his life doing it in some way or another. But this is different. He doesn’t want to end this on a lie. He looks back down at the ground, saying nothing. 

Bailey takes a deep, steadying breath. “You fucked him.”

“It wasn’t–”

“When? How many times?”

“Just once. Last night.”

There’s a long silence. Eventually, Neil looks back at Bailey, and immediately regrets it. They’re stone-faced, blinking hard in an attempt to stop their eyes watering.

“I’m so sorry, Bail.”

“So you weren’t commiserating after all,” they say bitterly, their top lip curling. “Did you even shower before you came here?” 

Neil sighs. “Yes. Of course.”

“So considerate of you. Fuck.” They screw their eyes closed, shaking their head. “Fuck, Josten. All I have done is support you. And love you. And try to make you happy. And this is… and this is how it ends?” They look back at him, and a tear escapes their eye before they can quickly wipe it away. “Me being the other woman?”

“Bailey…” he steps closer to them, reaching out a hand to touch their arm. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

They slap his hand away. “Fuck you. You’re a person. Not an animal. You should have stopped. You should have told me this is what you wanted.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

They laugh loudly. “Oh! Wow! Great success! I follow you around Rio like a lovesick puppy dog while you eye-fuck your ex-boyfriend until you can’t take it anymore and fuck him for real. Not humiliating at all!”

“That’s not what we’ve–”

“Ugh! Just… shut up!”

They stand up, shoving at Neil’s shoulders so hard that he stumbles back. He doesn’t react, which seems to piss Bailey off even more, and they shove him again until his back hits the wall.

“I asked and I asked if Minyard was going to be a problem and you just…” they thump their fist into his chest. “Lied and lied and–”

They go to hit him again and Neil grabs their wrists to stop them. “Bailey… come on. Stop. Please?”

Bailey chokes out a sob, staring at him, then drops their head to his shoulder, dejected and tired.

“You’re an asshole,” they say shakily, muffled against his shirt.

“I know.”

“I don’t think you know…” they take a breath, and Neil feels them shaking their head. “I don’t think you know at all.”

“Bailey…” he says quietly, letting go of their wrists and cautiously wrapping his hands around their shoulders. “I’m— I’m sorry. It was just… I think it was inevitable. He’s…” Neil sighs. “He’s Andrew. There was a reason I told him to keep away from me before. He’s in my fucking… veins.”

There’s a moment of pause, then Bailey looks up at him. Their mascara ruined, the muscle in their cheek twitching. Eventually, slowly, they step back, wiping at their cheeks, but saying nothing.

“I understand if you never want to speak to me again,” Neil says quietly. “I know I’m an asshole. And that I fucked up.”

Bailey nods, then hesitates before finally speaking. “What is it about him?”

Neil shrugs. “He’s just… my person. I guess.”

“You guess.” They force a very sad half-smile. “I thought maybe I could be your person.”

“You’re someone’s person. Someone worthy. Someone who’s less of a mess than me.”

Bailey snorts. “They sound boring.”

“They won’t be. Nothing about you could be boring. Including the person you end up with.”

Bailey runs out of patience, shooting him a glare. “You don’t need to kiss my ass right now.”

“I’m not trying to kiss–”

“Just go.”

“Okay, but… this is my room.”

“So? I’m sure Minyard is waiting for you patiently. Maybe you can even fit in a round two before the game.”

Neil huffs, then nods, running a hand through his hair. “I really am sorry, Bail. You were amazing.”

They raise an eyebrow at him, then shake their head, walking to the en-suite bathroom. “I bet you say that to all the boys.”

Neil winces as they slam the bathroom door closed behind them.

ANDREW

Andrew mills that word over and over in his head when he wakes up in his bed alone. 

Stay. 

Was it a joke? A move? A way to lull him into the most peaceful sleep he’s had in two entire years so that Neil could slip out unnoticed?

Is that the kind of person Neil is now?

Is that what Andrew deserves?

He stares at the ceiling, still feeling the warmth of Neil’s lips, his shuddering breaths, the hot clench of him. What happened last night was wrong, and stupid, and is going to get people hurt. Still, he can’t bring himself to regret it for even one second.

All he regrets is letting Neil slip through his fingers. He should have locked the door. Tied him to the bed. Made him swear to never walk away from him ever again. Would it have worked? Or would the slimy little rabbit still have slipped out, taking Andrew’s already fragile heart with him as he did.

Eventually, his bladder won’t let him stay in bed any longer, and he pulls himself up and out of the sheets that have been pulled and stretched beyond recognition. His fingers itch to call Neil, to curse him out, track him down, but somehow he knows that Neil wouldn’t answer if he did.

It’s too early for a drink, even for him, but the half-full bottle of vodka he has stashed in his wardrobe is still going to be his next port of call after he’s pissed. He can drink, until last night is at least a little more of a blur. Until he at least can stop hearing the sound of Neil coming in perfect clarity, echoing around his skull.

He stumbles across the room, frowning and freezing when he sees a piece of paper stuck to the tiny TV in his room with… what seems to be gum. He walks over, picks it up, and feels it viscerally as his heart leaps to his throat.

Andrew -

I’m sorry I left you, it’s the last thing I wanted to do. 

I’ve gone to talk to Bailey. I at least owe them the truth.

We’ll talk when I get back. 

Neil

Chapter Text

NEIL

Kevin answers the door to his and Andrew’s room after only one knock, and Neil is so surprised that he stumbles back slightly, almost bumping into the wall behind him. 

“Neil,” Kevin says sternly, and Neil suddenly feels like a teenage son that stayed out too late. “About fucking time.”

Neil frowns, composing himself. “Is he here?”

“He’s in the shower.”

Neil stares at him. Kevin stares back, unflinching.

“Okay,” Neil says eventually, pushing past Kevin and walking into the room. “I can wait.”

Kevin kicks the door closed behind him, and Neil turns to him to see him scowling, his arms folded. 

“Congratulations. Whatever you did has made him even more monosyllabic than usual. He’s not said more than two words to me since I got back.”

Neil rolls his eyes. “He’s usually such a chatterbox.”

Kevin ignores him. “I’m going to the gym. And you —” he points aggressively at Neil. “—are going to fix this.”

Kevin grabs a baseball cap from the hook on the back of the door. The one he wears when he’s attempting to go incognito (although it doesn’t hide the tattoo on his cheekbone, so is therefore mostly useless.) He opens the door and stomps out, then pauses and looks back at Neil; giving him another pointed jab of his finger.

“Just don’t fix it on my bed.”

The door slams on Kevin’s way out, and the noise of the shower shuts off a couple of seconds later. Neil takes a long breath, walking over to the bed he was so thoroughly ruined on a few hours ago, perching on the end of Andrew’s mattress. 

Neil’s heart feels like it’s been hung, drawn and quartered. The exhilarating high of having Andrew’s hands on him again, followed by the punch in the gut that was Bailey’s face when they walked away from him. He knows it’s going to take a long time to make all of this right, but he also knows there’s no time to waste. 

He looks up when the bathroom door opens, and Andrew walks out in his boxers and a Team USA t-shirt, drying his hair with a towel. He doesn’t seem surprised to see Neil, and walks calmly over to him, sitting on the end of the bed next to him and not saying a word. Neil swallows and takes in the sight of him. Andrew looks calm, as ever, but Neil knows his tells. His bottom lip has been chewed on. So have his fingernails. He seems content enough to let Neil look his fill, but eventually Neil needs to fill the silence.

“Hi,” he says quietly.

Andrew says nothing; finishes drying his hair then tosses his towel onto the floor.

“Andrew?”

Andrew takes a long, deep breath, then twists slightly so that he’s facing Neil, finally meeting his gaze. Neil can’t help the way his heart leaps up to his throat in response. Andrew still says nothing, but reaches up and flicks Neil on the forehead with his thumb and pointer finger. Hard enough to sting.

“Ow !” Neil rubs at his head, glaring. “What the fuck?”

“I thought you had left me,” Andrew says, his voice rough. “Again.”

Neil hesitates before he cautiously responds. “I left a note.”

“A mysterious fucking note. You should have woken me.”

Neil sighs. “I know. I’m sorr—”

Andrew goes to flick him again, but Neil grabs his wrist before he can.

“Hey! I am sorry! And I need to say it. Okay?” Neil shakes his head, gently dropping Andrew’s wrist and letting his hand fall onto the mattress. “I’m an asshole.”

“Yes. You are.”

“But I’m your asshole. I always have been.”

Andrew blinks at him, unimpressed. “How’s Bailey?”

Neil winces slightly, then sighs, leaning back on his elbows. “I should have done it first. Before we…”

He trails off, and Andrew tilts his head. “Did what first?”

“Ended it.”

“It’s over?”

Neil’s brow furrows. “Of course it’s over, Drew. You were there last night. Was it not obvious? It’s you I want. Just you.”

They look at each other for what seems like hours, but is probably closer to seconds. Andrew picks at the hangnail on one of his thumbs, and Neil knows he wants to chew on it more than anything in the world right now. Neil decides to cross a precarious line, reaching out and gently wrapping his fingers around Andrew’s to stop him before he makes himself bleed. Andrew doesn’t flinch, but Neil feels it as Andrew exhales a long breath.

“I want to believe you,” Andrew says eventually.

“What would it take?” Neil asks softly, then decides to take another risk. “Do you need me to tell you that I love you?”

Andrew moves his hand away from Neil’s, and Neil’s heart sinks. 

“I don’t need words,” Andrew grumbles. “I need actions. I need you to stop being an asshole and just—”

He stops himself, shaking his head and staring at the carpet. Neil shuffles forward, trying to catch his eye again.

“Just what, baby?”

Andrew looks up at him, serious. “Stay. Stop leaving.”

Neil’s stomach twists as he hears the words Andrew isn’t saying. You have to be the one who stays, because everyone always fucking leaves.

“I’ll stay. I want to be on your team. Yours and Kevin’s.” Andrew huffs slightly and Neil reaches out, resting a palm gently against his cheek. “I’m serious. I meant it when I said I can’t keep saying goodbye to you. I stick by it.”

Andrew hesitates, before he leans into Neil’s touch. “I’m not helping you. You fix it yourself.”

“Okay,” Neil nods. “Deal. And it would help you believe me? That I’m not going anywhere?”

“Yes. It would help.”

“Okay,” Neil says again. “And we’re… we’re…?

“Okay ?” Andrew finishes, dryly. 

Neil nods, and Andrew sighs, leaning forward and pressing his lips to Neil’s in answer. 

ANDREW

They agree to take it slow. 

Keep their distance. Keep it cool. Keep it professional. At least until the games are wrapped up. 

It’s a good idea. Solid. Sensible. Unfortunately, Andrew doesn’t stand a fucking chance, not with Neil so unavoidably close. Not just any Neil. Neil at the Olympics exy final—excited, breathless, practically glowing with adrenaline. 

It’s two days after they talked, and finally made sense of things. The final is an hour away, and it’s going to be tough. Japan are a point ahead of them, practically on fire, matching the US in skill and passion game for game. Andrew sits through a pep talk from their coach, his eyes and focus solely on Neil the entire time.

Neil’s knee tapping impatiently. Neil’s fingers digging into the fabric of his shorts. Neil’s eyes, blown out and excited. 

Andrew is only human. A red-blooded, young, testosterone-fueled and extremely gay human. A human who knows how perfectly Neil’s ass fits in his hands. Knows how Neil tastes when he spills into Andrew’s mouth. Knows how to get Neil off as quickly as possible—between classes at college, before practice, after practice, in the morning before he can roll out of bed for one of his stupid runs.

Andrew has missed him. Taking it slow was a dumb fucking idea.

“It was your idea,” Neil says breathlessly when Andrew manages to squirrel him away and pin him roughly against a wall in one of the back halls of the stadium.

“What’s your point?” Andrew replies, biting harshly at Neil’s jaw.

Neil gasps, bucks his hips against Andrew’s, twists his fingers in Andrew’s hair. “No idea. Fuck, baby.”

“Don’t baby me.”

“You like it.”

It’s been two years since Andrew got to have his hands on Neil like this. He’d happily be called anything. Sweetheart. Darling. Pookie Bear. Whatever. Just as long as he got to—

Andrew spits into his palm, and Neil groans as he pushes his hand into Neil’s shorts, wrapping it around his hardening cock and squeezing, just as hard as he likes.

“We don’t—” Neil moans again, his head falling back and thudding against the wall. “We don’t have time.”

“I’ll be quick.”

Neil nods frantically, then moves a hand from Andrew’s hair, tugging desperately at his jersey. “I want— can I— you?”

Andrew grabs Neil’s hand before it can stretch the fabric, licks at Neil’s palm, then shoves it into his own shorts. “As long as you’re quick, too.”

“ aby... ”

Andrew kisses him to shut him up, and within moments, they’re both using every trick they know to bring each other to the edge as quickly as possible. Neil’s hand is as slow and deliberate as Andrew’s is fast and unrelenting. They know each other well, know each other’s tells. Andrew knows when Neil is close to coming from the way he starts to babble. Or at least, the way he tries, but the words keep getting stuck in his throat.

“Andr— ha—mmm ! I’m so—I’m close, are you—ah! I’ve missed —”

Andrew bites on Neil’s bottom lip, and Neil gives him a long, twisting stroke in response that makes Andrew’s toes curl, and at that moment, Kevin fucking Day lands on the top of Andrew’s shit list with a swift and mighty bang.

“Hey! Neil?” 

The door leading into the hall from the locker room slams open, and Kevin appears suddenly. Tall and brass and loud as fucking always. Neil’s hand leaves Andrew’s shorts as quickly as Andrew’s hand leaves his, and they both shudder at the sudden loss—Andrew leaning his head against Neil’s shoulder and hissing.

“Fuck off , Kevin,” he says as he tries to desperately pull himself back from an orgasm that was almost certainly about to make his eyes water.

Neil whimpers, clearly in the same predicament, and hides his face in Andrew’s hair.

“What are you—” Kevin says, then stops before he reaches them, letting out an almighty, overdramatic sigh. “ Seriously ? Ten minutes before the game?”

Andrew lifts his head and looks over at him, glaring. “We would have been done in plenty of time, if it wasn’t for you.”

Neil snorts, and Andrew feels the puff of breath against his scalp. “If it wasn’t for you pesky kids…”

Andrew pinches Neil’s waist, then begrudgingly lets go of him, straightening out his jersey and willing his dick to behave as he turns to face Kevin. Neil sags against the wall with a sigh, clearly bracing himself for an interrogation.

“What is this?” Kevin asks, predictably. “Did you two figure this shit out, or are you just being disgusting?”

“Define ‘disgusting’ ,” Andrew replies with a sneer.

“Being idiots. Fucking around.” Kevin looks at Neil, pointedly. “Behind people’s backs.”

Neil frowns, looking sheepish and folding his arms. “No. We’re not doing that.”

“What about Bailey?”

“It’s over. Not that it’s any of your business.”

Kevin huffs, mirroring Neil and folding his own arms as he raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “I liked Bailey.”

“So did I,” Neil responds with a shrug.

“We all loved Bailey,” Andrew cuts in, irritated, and they both look at him. “Huge fans. We’ll be sure to keep up with them on Instagram, now that they’re out of the picture, and Neil and I are together again. Are you done?”

Kevin blinks. “You’re really back together?”

Neil clears his throat. “Is that not obvious?”

“I can’t figure out if this is going to be bad for the game…” Kevin says slowly, looking between them both, “...or good.”

“Guess you’re about to find out,” Andrew huffs out as he grabs Kevin’s arm, dragging him back towards the door he came from. “See you out there.”

“Wait, you can’t finish! It’s bad luck to have sex before—”

He doesn’t finish before Andrew slams the door closed behind him. He turns back to Neil, who has the nerve to look fucking cute—head tilted, smile crooked.

“What ?” Andrew asks, because he hates him.

“Is it really bad luck to fuck before a game?”

“No.” Andrew takes a long breath, hating himself for what he’s about to say. “But we don’t have time.”

Neil frowns. “We’re not on until the second half and I was like seconds away from—”

“Shut up. Kevin ruined the moment.” He points at Neil’s wilting erection. “I’ll deal with you later.”

NEIL

Neil has never been more confused about his motivations. They watch the first half of the game from the sidelines, sat close together but feeling too exposed to touch. Andrew's body heat radiating up against his side, mimicking the pounding blood in his veins. Neil buzzing with adrenaline long after he stops feeling the ghost of Andrew’s hand in the front of his shorts. A roaring rush in his ears when Japan makes a score, wanting so badly to grab Andrew’s hand, claw at his wrist.

It’s the game. The Olympic fucking final game. National anthems have been sung. Hands have been shaken. Coins have been tossed. Forty-five minutes have been played. Four goals have already been scored when Neil finally takes to the pitch for the second half. Two on each side. It’s about to be the biggest moment of Neil’s life so far.

And all he can do is stare at Andrew.

Andrew, who is now standing in the goal, way too far away, looking equally frustrated. Or, so Neil assumes. Neil can imagine Andrew has never cared about exy less than he does right now. Two years apart from each other, finally able to be together for real, and denied a what was probably going to be mutual earth-shattering orgasms by the Son of Exy and his horrible fucking timing. 

Andrew is wearing a helmet, and Neil desperately wants to see his face. Wants to see that look—the one that appears blank to everyone else, but to Neil it speaks chapters and volumes.

The second half is about to start. Literally about to start. Seconds away from starting. Andrew raises his gloved hands in front of him, fingers stretched out, and Neil’s stomach flips.

Andrew is more ready for this than he is. He wants Neil to give him a number. Neil grins behind the visor of his own helmet, and holds up one of his hands, five fingers spread in the air.

Andrew nods, dropping his other hand, leaving the other five fingers up in confirmation. Five. Five goals. That’s all he’ll allow the USA to concede for the rest of the game.

Andrew slams his racket back against the plexiglass, and Neil bites his lip, feels it go straight to his cock. Japan has no idea what they’re about to get into.

ANDREW

The faster this is over, the faster Andrew can get his mouth on Neil’s again. The faster he can get him back to the hotel and fuck him again. The faster they can get on a flight, and Andrew can have Neil in his space again. His. His. His. Andrew’s Neil obsession has never lain dormant, not really, but right now it’s all-encompassing.

Five goals. He promised Neil five goals, before he locked them out completely. Let them get comfortable. Let them think he’s lost his edge, he’s getting old, he’s distracted.

Little does Team Japan know; even a distracted Andrew Minyard is not going to let Japan take this gold medal from Neil Josten. Not in a million fucking years.

The first three goals happen within the first ten minutes of the half. Andrew watches as Neil and Kevin match them shot for shot. The game had painfully close from the very beginning, and both teams are running each other ragged. Exy is a rough game, at the best of times. When the pressure is this intense, it’s almost lethal.

Andrew winces every time a defender crashes into Neil; feels it almost like an elbow to his own ribs. He wants to take down every single one of them who dares touch what’s his. His. His.

He’s possessive. It’s a problem. It’s never going to fucking change.

NEIL

Neil feels bruised, and battered, and exhilarated. There’s no fun in an easy victory. He knows this one will be hard-won, which makes it even more worthwhile.

They won’t lose. They can’t lose. He won’t allow it. Kevin won’t allow it. Andrew won’t allow it—and Neil’s breath leaves him an almighty woosh as he watches Japan score another goal. The ball just barely skimming Andrew’s arm before it hits the plexiglass, and the goal lights up red.

The score is nine-eight to Japan. Andrew has conceded five goals. He stands in the goal, stretches his arms and shakes them out, thumping his racquet on the floor twice. Neil smirks, and he does the same, before looking at Kevin. He doesn’t need to see Kevin’s face to know that he’s grinning, before slamming his own racquet down twice in a row.

Two. They need two more goals to win. And Neil isn’t going to let anyone take them from him.

ANDREW

Kevin scores again. Then Neil takes them into the lead with a goal that Andrew knows he’ll be watching again, again, ad-infinitum, until Neil is old and grey and retired, and still boring Andrew to death about this boring-ass sport.

There are only seconds left on the clock, and all they have to do is hold back Japan’s strikers a little longer. All Andrew has to do is keep locking down the goal, knocking that dumb little ball away. Easy as that. Slam. Slam. Nope. No goal for you.

Five seconds to go, and something goes wrong. There’s a ball coming towards him, and he isn’t ready for it. He doesn’t even know who shot it. Was it that girl striker? In the pigtails? The one who always fakes top left? Was it the tall guy? The one who hissed a homophobic slur at Andrew when he blocked his last two attempts like they were nothing?

He’s not ready.

He flinches, waiting for the wall to turn red. He can already see the disappointment on Neil’s face when they lose. He’ll try and hide it, of course he will. He’s fucked up too much recently to be anything less than wildly protective over Andrew’s feelings. He’ll smile. Say it’s fine. That he’s just glad they got to play together.

And Andrew will replay this stupid fucking goal in his head for the rest of his stupid fucking life.

The wall doesn’t turn red, and Andrew frowns, watches as the ball bounces away from him, like it’s in slow motion.

He saved it.

The final buzzer goes, and after that, he’s sure the crowd is screaming, and his team are going apeshit, but all Andrew can hear is the buzzing in his ears. 

He rips off his helmet, shaking his head to try and clear the white noise. He barely has time to look over, before he registers that Neil is running at him. Full speed. Neil at full speed is no joke, but he somehow skids to a stop in front of Andrew before they collide.

Neil rips off his helmet, and Andrew blinks at him, his head still spinning.

“Yes,” Neil manages to say, his breath coming out in gasps. “Or no?”

Andrew swallows. But he’s not sure why he even hesitated. Yes. Yes to all of it.

“Yes.”

Neil grins, and then, somehow, he’s in Andrew’s arms—legs wrapped around his waist, arms over his shoulders, and they’re kissing. The crowd gets even louder, and Andrew doesn’t give a shit. He holds Neil close, and everything else disappears. 

When Neil finally breaks for air, he pushes a strand of Andrew’s sweaty hair from his face, where it’s fallen from his bandana. Neil’s eyes are so blue. His. His. Bailey never had him. Not really.

“I fucking love you,” Neil gasps against his mouth, before going in for another kiss. And another. “Fuck.”

“Shut up,” Andrew replies, because he has to, but he doesn’t stop him. In fact, he kisses him back just as desperately.

“Andrew, we won. ”

“You’re welcome.”

Neil grins at him, takes Andrew’s helmet from his hand and throws it aside, before kissing him once again. Hard, this time. Like he has a point to prove. Andrew lets him, would let him forever, even if his mouth was bruised and torn to shreds.

They’re rudely interrupted when Kevin pounces on them, planting a wet kiss on Neil’s cheek and almost knocking them all onto the ground.

“Olympic fucking champions ,” Kevin yells in Andrew’s ear.

Andrew knows Kevin is off-the-charts high on adrenaline right now, knows that punching him in the gut right now would probably ruin the celebratory vibes of the moment. Thankfully, the decision is taken from his hands as Neil laughs and shoves Kevin away. Kevin grins back at him, flipping him the bird, before he gets dragged away by the rest of their teammates.

Neil looks back at Andrew, cupping his face and begrudgingly letting his feet fall to the ground. They both stagger slightly, but Andrew holds Neil close with a fist buried in his jersey.

Neil smiles at him; sweet and slow. Andrew is never letting him out of his grip again.