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When Neil pushes into the tiny diner next to campus with his backpack slung over his shoulder, the usual suspects are already in their usual booth, bickering up a storm, making every waitress in the establishment wish they were scheduled for any other shift.
Honestly, Neil gets it. His friends are loud. Obnoxiously loud.
Every Tuesday, Neil meets the upperclassmen for lunch at The Golden Griddle, which proudly boasts that it Serves Breakfast All Day, marked by a flashy blue neon sign. This means that every Tuesday, Neil is subjected to at least an hour of the most inane conversations that he tunes out after several seconds of being in the vicinity.
Neil isn’t sure what they’re arguing about this time as he slips into the booth next to Matt, who gives him an enthusiastic fist bump and slides him a basket of half-eaten fries. Through context clues being shouted across the table, Neil can parse out that the heated debate has something to do with whether hot dogs are considered a sandwich.
So clearly, nothing important.
Matt jabs a finger against the tabletop. “For something to be considered a sandwich, the meat inside has to be sliced!”
“Fuck you, what about a meatball sub?” Seth volleys back and smugly drawls, “bitch,” when Matt can’t come up with a proper rebuttal.
Zoning out, Neil contents himself with picking at the crinkle-cut fries in front of him, and he’s almost polished off the entire basket when Matt’s voice suddenly booms next to his ear.
“Height doesn’t always correlate with dick size! I mean, Andrew is super short, but he has the biggest dick I’ve ever seen.”
Neil must’ve missed the change in conversation topic because what?
Dan lets out a snort, a mouthful of Coke spewing past her lips at the same time Allison shouts, “Shut the fuck up!” while Seth turns on Matt, sneering, “Why were you looking at Minyard’s dick?” Renee sits serenely at the edge of the booth, delicately cutting her pancakes into squares with a fork and knife.
The half-chewed fry in Neil’s mouth chooses that moment to fly down his throat and down the wrong pipe, launching him into an ill-timed coughing fit. Allison’s head whips toward him, eyes thoughtful.
Matt’s shoulders go up to his ears in a helpless little shrug. “I saw him at the gym locker room after my workout last week. I happened to glance over when he was changing into his shorts.” Dan gives him a reassuring pat on the back. “I didn’t look on purpose!”
“Sure, Matt,” Allison says, ignoring Matt’s protests before whirling towards Neil. “So, Neil, can you confirm?”
Neil takes a shaky sip of water in an attempt to clear the fry from his windpipe. “Confirm what?” he croaks.
“That Andrew has a big dick.”
He almost chokes again. “How would I know?”
Allison has the type of expression on her face that means she’s on a relentless hunt for gossip. She gives Neil a considering look, head tilted like a dog as she tries to suss out an answer from him. “I thought you two were sleeping together.”
Neil startles magnificently, confused. Incomprehensibly, Allison’s words make him flush, up to his ears and down his neck. “We’re not,” Neil says. He feels like he’s missing something here. “We’re just friends.”
Allison continues giving Neil that look, a smug smile curving her glossed lips. Everyone at the table seems to be eyeing him thoughtfully, except for Renee, still cutting up her pancakes.
Allison opens her mouth again, no doubt to continue her interrogation, when Renee interjects. “Perhaps we should move on?” Her voice is soft but stern, like a mother reprimanding a group of fussy, misbehaving toddlers. “Neil has barely had a chance to eat.”
Renee is the only one who isn’t looking at Neil like he’s a lying liar who lies. She offers him a sweet smile, and for some reason, that unnerves Neil even more. He fidgets, self-conscious.
“Hmmm, sure,” Allison says, stealing a fry from the basket. She keeps her eyes on Neil, sharp and shrewd as she chews before turning back to the larger group. “Okay, returning to the topic of hot dogs that you’re all clearly wrong about.”
The conversation quickly devolves into chaos once again—Neil and the fact that he’s not sleeping with Andrew thankfully forgotten. At some point, Seth shoots up from his seat, waving his arms to emphasize that hot dogs should be considered a form of taco, and Allison has to yank him down before he causes a scene.
Neil sits silently, too busy thinking about Allison’s words as the fries grow cold in front of him.
I thought you two were sleeping together.
Neil has never been one to care much about sex, has never really thought about having sex with anyone, let alone Andrew. He knows Andrew sleeps around, that Andrew has an app on his phone that he uses for occasional hookups. It goes off sometimes when they’re together, and Andrew simply swipes left before turning his attention back to Neil.
He knows he likes being around Andrew; they’ve been inseparable since they met at Allison’s birthday party during Neil’s freshman year. Andrew is the person Neil spends the most time with, the only person he can be unapologetically himself around.
With most people, Neil isn’t keen on sharing every bit of himself that’s sticky and complicated and messy. Sometimes he just wants to keep things for himself—he has the right to hold his broken pieces close; if they cut his hands when he grips them too tightly, that’s on him.
But with Andrew, he wants to share everything.
It’s been over two years, and they’ve been practically inseparable, almost attached at the hip. They’re a package deal, as Dan likes to tease. The sheer joy of being with Andrew always has Neil feeling like he’s floating, weightless.
Being with Andrew is easy. Natural feeling.
But Allison’s words open a Pandora’s box of thoughts and feelings that Neil has never even considered, never even knew existed—his feelings for Andrew, now unfettered and loose in his chest.
But Neil isn’t going to think about this, not in a diner with his loud friends in the middle of a ridiculous argument about hot dogs.
Neil snaps the imaginary box shut, shoves a cold, limp fry into his mouth, and tries to tune back into the conversation.
*
If Neil is good at anything, it’s putting his nose to the grindstone and ignoring his problems with all the grace of a stubborn mule.
Unfortunately for Neil, this tried-and-true method doesn’t work this time because Neil’s current problem is Andrew. Or rather, his abrupt realization that he’s sort of, kind of, really attracted to Andrew. And that he sort of, maybe, does have feelings for Andrew.
It doesn’t help that since Matt has mentioned how, well…how well–endowed Andrew is, Neil seems to notice it everywhere.
He notices at the gym when Andrew spots him on the bench press, hovering over Neil. The collar of Andrew’s black muscle tank slips down, revealing an eyeful of strong, pale chest before Neil’s eyes shift and he spots the obvious bulge beneath Andrew’s gym shorts, only a few inches from Neil’s face. God, how did he never notice that before?
Neil’s brain runs away with that one errant thought, and his arms buckle. Oops. He scrambles to extend his arms, futile, but Andrew catches the weight before it crushes his chest.
“What the fuck,” Andrew says, his biceps flexing as he re-racks the weight. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” Neil says quickly. He can feel his face heating up. A quick glance at the mirrors lining the wall solidifies that, yes, his cheeks are unfortunately tinged an embarrassing shade of pink. He looks like he’s doing his best imitation of a cooked lobster. “Just tired, long day. Let’s switch, I’ll spot you.”
Andrew stares, clearly not believing Neil, his hazel eyes like spotlights on the side of Neil’s face. But he doesn’t say anything, simply slips onto the bench. There’s a light sheen of sweat on Andrew’s forehead. Neil wants to wipe the salty drops away with his thumb.
“Do not drop the weight on my face,” Andrew says, and Neil snaps back to attention. He nods as Andrew prepares to bench the equivalent of two of Neil, hoping Andrew attributes his red cheeks to the strenuous workout and absolutely nothing else.
Neil purposely keeps his eyes above Andrew’s waist, which allows him to focus on the way Andrew’s muscles bulge and flex instead. His cheeks stay a rosy pink the entire workout.
Thankfully, Andrew doesn’t mention it.
Neil notices when they’re hanging out in Andrew’s dorm room, sitting on Andrew’s bed, watching some sitcom on Andrew’s laptop. They’re sitting in their usual positions, side by side, Andrew’s legs stretched out in front of him, Neil’s swung over Andrew’s lap. Way closer than friends would normally sit, Neil thinks to himself.
Andrew has a hand resting on Neil’s thigh, rubbing soft, soothing circles atop rough denim with his thumb. The motion normally soothes Neil, makes him sleepy and relaxed in the best possible way. He’s fallen asleep in Andrew’s bed more times than he can count. But today, it sends rolling waves of heat up and over him.
The sweatpants Andrew is wearing are soft, worn, stretched over thick thighs, doing nothing to hide what’s beneath the fabric. Neil can feel the heat of Andrew’s skin underneath, warm and solid, the shift of his muscles as he settles on the mattress.
Neil tries to sit completely still, doesn’t want to brush his knee over Andrew’s clothed bulge by accident. He knows he should be watching the show—it’s Andrew’s favorite after all—but he can’t help sneaking glances at Andrew, studying his side profile. The laptop screen casts his face in a yellow-blue light, the shadows accentuating the curve of his jaw, the pretty cupid’s bow of his upper lip.
They’re close enough together that Neil could reach out and touch if he wanted to, could trace a finger down Andrew’s cheek and—
Andrew glances at him, then, catching Neil’s eye before darting down to his mouth in a way that has Neil’s brain firing on all cylinders before he can stop it. Panicked, Neil’s eyes fly from Andrew’s face back to the laptop screen within a millisecond.
Has Andrew always looked at him that way? Neil can’t be sure. It might be his own brain fucking with him, making him see what he wants to see. Next to him, Andrew sits still, eyes back on his laptop. Neil knows for a fact that Andrew can tell something is up. Andrew can always scent Neil’s anxiety like a bloodhound. But he doesn’t say anything. Neither does Neil.
By the time Neil leaves Andrew’s building, his muscles are stiff from keeping himself so still, too afraid that any shift will give away the jumble of somersaulting thoughts in his brain.
When he’s back in his room, he’s completely worked up, jittery, and he doesn’t know why.
Well, he does know why, but it’s baffling because this rarely ever happens: the tingle beneath his skin, the whirlpool in his stomach, the feeling that he’s burning up from the inside out.
It takes Neil a few seconds to realize that he’s half-hard in his pants from simply thinking about Andrew, and he flushes so hot he feels it in his face, down his chest, against the tips of his fingers. Neil has built his whole life around control. Of his emotions, his words, his choices. Now, he’s barely in control of his own body.
After a bit of hesitation, Neil thinks screw it. He hurries to his bedroom door, checks to make sure it’s locked once, twice, before slipping off his jeans and boxers. He knows feeling horny isn’t something to be ashamed of, even if it doesn’t happen very often.
The problem, in this case, is that Neil is horny because of Andrew.
Andrew, his friend, possibly his best friend, the person he trusts more than anyone in the world. Andrew, the most constant and comforting part of his life. Andrew, who has beautiful honey eyes with flecks of gold and green that seem to move in the sunlight. Andrew, who has a scar above his right eyebrow and a piercing on his left that makes him look more menacing than he is.
Andrew, who knows about all the awful, horrible parts of Neil and still sticks around anyway.
Taking a deep breath, Neil lowers himself onto the lumpy dorm bed, spreading his legs. He grabs the mostly full bottle of lube from the bedside drawer, warming the liquid against his palm, wincing when a bit drips onto his shirt. With a little body shimmy, he haphazardly rucks the fabric up to his chest, wraps a hand around himself before he can talk himself out of it.
Neil gasps. Holy shit.
Heat curls tight in his core at the first tentative drag of his fist, his hips bucking involuntarily, and he’s fully hard in what feels like seconds. The crude squelching sound from probably too much lube makes Neil flush, makes his stomach tighten and legs shake, his toes flexing and curling against the scratchy sheets.
Jerking off for Neil has never been a spectacularly good-feeling experience, but today, it feels different. Because today, instead of getting off simply for the sake of getting off, he’s thinking about Andrew. Andrew’s strong arms holding him close, his thick thighs bracketing Neil’s waist, his soft lips dragging across Neil’s neck, over his vulnerable pulse point.
Neil digs his back into the mattress as he slowly strips his cock, thinking about Andrew’s hands wrapped around him instead of his own, Andrew’s tongue licking up his shaft, the rough scratch of Andrew’s stubble against his thighs, rubbing him raw.
A mewl escapes his lips unbidden. He bites down on his shirt as the pressure builds and builds and builds, his hand moving faster as he grips himself tight, almost painfully. He doesn’t know if Andrew would do that, be like that, but he can pretend. Imagine.
It’s all in his head anyway.
His hazy, Andrew-addled brain supplies him with the image of Andrew standing over him at the gym, his muscled chest on display under his droopy tank top, the shape of his cock under thin sweatpants.
Before his mind can catch up to his body, Neil is swiping excess lube off the base of his dick with a finger, trailing lower, lower. Experimentally, he drags a finger over his perineum, jerking at the sensation before pressing a finger flat over his hole, rubbing slowly over puckered skin.
Fuck.
That feels good. Different. Good different. Neil feels his mouth fall open.
His thighs tremble as he rubs over the ring of muscle, a weird shiver of anticipation shooting down his spine, rolling from the back of his neck to the arches of his feet. He squeezes his eyes shut, does it again, pressing harder this time, bites his tongue on the sound that wants to come out of his mouth.
He can smell Andrew’s scent, clinging to the shirt he’s currently dampening with his own spit—cigarettes and leather, Andrew’s eucalyptus body wash, his freshly laundered bedsheets. Neil’s hips buck into his fist, recalling Andrew’s eyes darting to his lips, the feeling of Andrew’s thumb rubbing circles against his thigh. And he imagines, vividly, what it would feel like for Andrew to touch him, work him open on lube-slick fingers.
Would Andrew be gentle with him? What a stupid question, of course he would. He’d treat Neil like he’s made of porcelain and glass, stretch Neil slowly, carefully, carve a place out for himself with an overabundance of care and reverence.
Experimentally, Neil pushes a finger past his hole, slow, unsure. The tip of his finger slips inside, easier than he was expecting. It’s still a lot, overwhelming. He feels blown wide-open, and he’s barely even done anything, but it’s so, god…it’s so—
A pathetic little whimper slips from his lips, louder than he’d like. Belatedly, he hopes Kevin isn’t in the living room.
Closing his eyes, Neil concentrates on timing the tiny thrusts of his finger with the slide of his fist around his dick, slick with precome and lube, his skin blisteringly hot. He pushes his finger a bit deeper, his knuckle popping past the rim, and Neil full-on moans, the sound clawing its way out of his throat.
Shit, fuck, that feels so good. He feels like he can’t get his lungs to expand, and if this is what it feels like with just a finger, how would it feel with Andrew fully inside him?
His brain takes that single wayward thought and sprints wildly away with it. Before he knows what’s happening, he’s pushing his finger in deeper, gasping, sweating, thinking traitorous thoughts about Andrew and his sturdy muscles and his beautiful, callused hands.
The way he grips the back of Neil’s neck to calm him down, the way he looks at Neil when Neil blabs about nothing in particular, his eyes so searing and intense as they absorb every single one of Neil’s facial expressions. The shape of his lips whenever he smirks at Neil. Neil wonders how soft they are, how soft they’d be against his own lips, against his body, against his—
A quiet, desperate breath that sounds a lot like a half-formed Andrew punches out of his throat as his orgasm slams into him, sudden and overwhelming, blinding, like an electric bolt to the senses. A noise he absolutely has never made before escapes his throat as his whole body twists up off the bed, hand trembling where he’s still pushing a finger into himself.
Neil comes down slowly, lies on his bed in a daze. It’s the hardest he’s ever come from his own hands, or ever, for that matter. He’s never felt anything like this. Legs shaking, he closes his eyes, tries to melt against the covers, waits for his heartbeat to slow down, nearly unable to wrap his head around what just happened.
Behind his eyelids, he can see the shadow of Andrew, strong and infallible.
Panting, Neil thinks to himself that he hasn’t just unearthed his box of feelings about Andrew. He’s completely blown it wide open. He could try piecing it back together with weak Scotch tape and glue, but it’s no use.
There’s no way he can close it now.
*
And so Neil’s days go on. Life goes on. He attempts to act like everything is normal.
Except everything is not normal, and Neil silently curses Matt and Allison for, well, for everything, because Neil cannot stop his brain from drifting to thoughts of Andrew every possible second.
Though after some thorough internal reflection, Neil realizes it’s really not so different from before.
Before, Neil always found his brain drifting towards Andrew: what they should do during their free hour between classes, if Andrew wants to try the new smoothie spot on campus, what Andrew thinks of the new shirt Allison forced him to buy at the mall. If Andrew likes the ice cream flavor Neil found for him at the grocery store, if Andrew wants to come over and play pinball on Neil’s ancient laptop before falling asleep in Neil’s bed instead of sleeping in separate dorm rooms for the night.
Neil can connect almost every topic and thought in his brain to Andrew without trying.
But now, his thoughts also include how Andrew might look hovering over Neil on the bed, how it’d feel to be held as tightly as possible in the circle of Andrew’s really big, really strong arms, how it might feel to fall asleep with his head pillowed against Andrew’s chest, how it might feel to be touched by Andrew, to be kissed by Andrew.
Neil is always quick to erase those thoughts because they’re ridiculous.
He and Andrew are friends, good friends. Really good friends, and everything is perfect. There’s no reason to change anything, even if Allison seems to think differently, if the way she continuously badgers Neil at lunch is any indication.
Things are good with Andrew, so unspeakably good, and Neil is determined to keep it that way.
*
Neil is back on his bed, nearly naked from the waist down.
He squeezes his eyes shut, and there’s Andrew again, a blond backdrop to Neil’s red-hot thoughts. Impatiently, Neil jiggles his left ankle, kicking his underwear off before taking himself in hand, like that’ll do anything to stop the burning want in his stomach.
Electric sparks shock him through every stroke, and he purposely doesn’t think at all about how he’s getting himself off to the thought of his best friend for the third time this week, never mind all the other weeks. Neil muffles a whimper against the back of his hand as he strokes faster, harder, rougher, imagines Andrew’s hand digging fingertip bruises into his hip, Andrew wrapping his fist around Neil’s slender cock.
By the time Neil rubs a spit-slicked finger against his hole, he’s floating somewhere above his body. A strangled hnnnn noise escapes his throat, and he knows how he sounds—stupidly breathless, desperate. He’s a mess, simply from the thought of Andrew, and…
There’s a telltale sound of his bedroom door clicking open.
Kevin knows to knock before entering. The only person who Neil ever allows to barge into his room unannounced is—shit.
Panic hits faster than a freight train, a cold bucket of ice water poured straight down his lungs. His eyes fly open.
“Shit,” Neil hisses, sitting up so quickly stars explode behind his eyes, and he watches, horrified, as Andrew’s eyes go wide for a split second before flickering back to their usual impassivity.
Andrew stands at Neil’s door, one hand on the doorknob, the other balled against his side. It’s so silent, Neil can hear the soft pop of Andrew’s knuckles cracking under the strain of his clenched fist.
Fuck.
“What are you doing here?” Neil croaks, a hoarse whisper that damns him twice as bad as the flush that must be crawling up his face. And then he remembers he’s naked from his waist down, his sweatshirt shoved up to his armpits, and he flushes even more, clamps his legs together in a pointless attempt at modesty. It doesn’t matter. Andrew has seen everything already.
Dead silence.
Neil’s heart hammers in his ears, squeezes in an awful, terrible way. Andrew’s mouth tightens, his eyebrows pulling together. For what feels like a lifetime, it’s quiet.
“You texted me to come over earlier. To help you study for your psych exam.”
Neil wants to smack his head against the wall. If there is any justice in the universe, the floor would open up and swallow him whole. How could he forget? He doesn’t need help studying for his psychology exam, not really. It’s not his favorite class, but he has a high enough grade that bombing this test won’t make much of a difference. Really, he just wanted an excuse to hang out with Andrew.
Unconsciously, Neil fidgets with his fingers, curling them against his palm, pressing crescent-moon indents against scarred skin before straightening again. His silence doesn’t go unnoticed, and unfortunately, Andrew misinterprets. He takes a step back, starts shutting the bedroom door, and no, Neil doesn’t want him to go yet, not like this.
“Wait, Andrew!”
Andrew pauses at the door, shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He does that when he’s unsure about something, nervous, Neil knows. The tips of Andrew’s ears are a rosy pink. Neil has always found it cute, endearing.
What changes now? Will things change? Can you tell the most important person in your life that you want to kiss them, that you want to touch them, that you want them to touch you?
Neil watches Andrew, and Andrew watches him back. Neil thinks about Andrew, the way his eyes had drifted to Neil’s mouth, the feeling of comfort and quiet whenever they’re together. The effortless way Andrew knows him, really knows him.
His mouth is stupidly dry, and his brain is shrieking at him to say something, anything; he can’t stare at Andrew like a mute forever. He wants to know what Andrew thinks, needs to know, and there have been very few times in his life when he’s needed something so desperately.
No matter what happens, he’ll deal with the fallout.
Bracing himself, Neil rips the band-aid clean off, takes some skin off with it. “I was thinking about you,” he says, voice scratchy, and Andrew’s jaw tenses. He doesn’t move, but his eyes slowly turn dark, lidded, pupils practically eclipsing the honey of his eyes, watching Neil with an unreadable gaze. It spurs Neil on. “Thinking about you touching me.”
“Neil,” Andrew murmurs, voice low. One of his hands twitches at his side, like he wants to reach out but won’t let himself.
“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way,” Neil whispers, voice so soft it’s almost inaudible. “We can forget this ever happened, I just—”
Andrew shuts the door behind him, locks it, is across the room in record time. He plants his hands on the edge of the bed, so close to touching. Neil can feel where the bed dips under his weight, and he’s looking at Neil so intensely that it knocks the breath from Neil’s lungs.
“What are you trying to tell me, Neil.”
“That I like you,” Neil breathes, and there it is, out in the open.
It’s quiet again for a second, the space between one breath and another. Time feels suspended: two stars, too afraid to fall into the inevitability of orbit.
It’s Andrew who makes the first move, shifting closer, reaching out and hovering a hand over Neil’s cheek, fingertips nearly touching skin. Neil can’t stop the way it makes him full-body shudder. “Yes or no,” Andrew murmurs, and Neil’s heart soars.
“Yes,” Neil says quietly, but it’s also enunciated and unmistakably clear. He straightens his spine, nudges his cheek against Andrew’s palm. “Yes.”
And then Andrew is kissing him. Kisses him so soundly that if Neil weren’t sitting on the bed, it would’ve brought him wobbling straight to his knees. Neil feels possessed by it, claimed, feels like he’s drowning in Andrew, and god, Andrew tastes just as good as he smells—smoky and earthy, his hands against Neil’s jaw are huge, warm and immovable.
Andrew lets out a low hum, the tiniest sound that ignites the already lingering heat low in Neil’s belly. Neil swallows the noise, wants to bottle it up and savor it.
Neil has had a few first kisses. Not very many, but enough to know that they all felt lackluster, superficial. But kissing Andrew doesn’t feel like a first kiss. It’s vehement, all-consuming. It feels like desperation, like attempting to sate an unquenchable thirst, like being reunited with someone you thought you’d lost forever.
Someone groans, and it could be either of them. Neil can barely tell with how his head is spinning. He reaches for the front of Andrew’s shirt, fists a desperate hand against soft fabric, and suddenly Andrew is on the bed, pushing Neil down until he’s flat on his back, making a home between Neil’s thighs like he’s always belonged there.
The rough denim of Andrew’s jeans rubs against Neil’s dick, flagging from the stress of their conversation but quickly perking back up again. Neil shivers.
He feels like he’s dreaming, like this couldn’t possibly be happening. A laugh escapes his lips, almost hysterical, lands as a puff of air against Andrew’s mouth. He can feel a tiny grin pulling up the edges of Andrew’s lips against his own.
They kiss for too long, hot, frantic, like they can’t get enough of each other, like if they stop kissing, they’ll disappear. It’s so good, so stupidly good that it makes Neil want to scream into Andrew’s mouth. They could have been doing this for years; why haven’t they been doing this for years?
Andrew’s hands slide from Neil’s bare waist, up his sides, fingers tugging at the hem of Neil’s sweatshirt, a silent question. Neil nods, overenthusiastic, his curls falling against his forehead like a doodle as he arches his back to wrestle his sweater off.
Goosebumps pebble over every inch of bare skin as he’s completely exposed to the cool dorm room air. Andrew, ever observant, remedies it by covering Neil’s entire body with his own. Andrew’s body heat incinerates, invades his senses, scorches through his veins as they snap back together like magnets.
Their kiss is wet, messy. Neil can feel Andrew, hot and hard against his thigh, can feel the good-rough-almost too much scratchiness of Andrew’s clothes rubbing over his skin, and simply making out isn’t enough anymore. Clearly, they’re on the same wavelength, because Andrew doesn’t hesitate to reach behind himself, gripping the collar of his shirt, pulling it off and shucking it to the side in one smooth motion.
Neil is greeted by the sight of Andrew’s bare torso, his muscled chest, the slight curve of his stomach, skin splotchy and pink from his neck down to his chest. Neil wants to touch, wants to taste, wants to run his tongue between the smooth dip of Andrew’s defined pecs, along the lines of his abs.
Overeager, Neil pushes onto his knees too quickly, half of his bedspread slumping onto the floor in his haste. Gently, he tips Andrew back, both palms splayed out against Andrew’s sternum until Andrew tips over and falls flat onto his back. His fingertips pulse in time with Andrew’s heartbeat.
“Is this—” Neil clears his throat, suddenly nervous. Andrew’s eyes are so clear and focused on him, making Neil’s words come out all shivery. “Is this okay?”
“Yes.” And Andrew sounds so soft and painfully longing that it makes something squirm in Neil’s stomach. Andrew runs the backs of his knuckles against Neil’s side, catching against the spaces between Neil’s ribs, like he’s in awe that Neil is letting him touch.
And Neil wants to, needs to kiss him again. He swoops down so fast that his nose bonks painfully against Andrew’s before Andrew huffs an amused breath, angles their faces so that Neil’s nose presses perfectly against Andrew’s cheek, like one last piece of a puzzle slotting into place.
With Andrew beneath him like this, he can feel the thick line of Andrew’s dick pressed against his ass, has to stop himself from swiveling his hips down and back. He hears himself making noise, but it can’t really be him; surely it’s someone else inhabiting his body sounding like that. Neil knows he’s never sounded like that, never let himself sound like that. But it’s indeed him, making desperate, involuntary noises against Andrew’s mouth.
Slowly, Neil moves down the length of Andrew’s body, pauses in case Andrew wants to push him away, but Andrew doesn’t make any move to stop him. He lets Neil trail kisses down his neck, lets Neil nuzzle his cheek against the soft hair on his chest, lets Neil swirl his tongue around a pretty pink nipple.
Neil doesn’t exactly know what he’s doing, has never explored anyone’s body like this, but he lets Andrew’s hitching breaths guide him, mouthing down his golden happy trail until it disappears under denim. Andrew darts a hand out to stop him.
“Neil,” he says, breathless but deathly serious. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” Neil says, determined. Because he wants.
Hunger aches deep within his chest. Physical and heavy, hot and raw. God, he wants.
It’s not a lie. Andrew knows Neil would never lie, not to him, but he still studies Neil for a long moment, as though he’s trying to gauge the truth of Neil’s words. He nods slowly, pressing a soft and startingly tender kiss against Neil’s wrist before letting go. It’s a kind of unyielding gentleness that Neil doesn't know how to handle. He's never known Andrew as a lover, only as a friend—he doesn't know what to do with this.
Clumsily, Neil undoes the button and zipper. Andrew lifts his hips, just enough so Neil can drag his jeans down and off.
And fuck. Neil stares, pupils dilated and lips kiss-swollen.
Andrew is huge.
He can see the obvious bulge in the cup of Andrew’s boxer briefs, can feel himself salivating like a dog waiting to devour dinner, saliva pooling against his tongue and the back of his throat. Neil lets out a tiny whimper, scrambles to settle himself between Andrew’s legs until he’s face-to-face with Andrew’s clothed dick.
He doesn’t know where to start, so he does what he wants to do, which is to lean down and nuzzle his nose against Andrew’s crotch, inhaling the deep musk of Andrew, taking note of the way Andrew’s breath hitches. He mouths at Andrew over soft fabric, can’t wait to get his mouth on the real thing, tongues over the wet patch forming, making it even darker before tracing the edge of Andrew’s waistband, yanking it down over Andrew’s thighs until Andrew is in nothing but his armbands.
Andrew’s cock springs free, slaps Neil’s chin before curving against his stomach, and Christ.
Andrew’s cock is decidedly thicker than Neil was expecting, just as large and imposing as his demeanor, balls heavy, the head flushed a deep, dusty pink, tip resting past his belly button. It makes Neil feel some weird mixture of intimidated and excited, determined. There’s a vein running up the underside that Neil wants to kiss, wants to trace with his tongue. It’s an awfully gorgeous cock, not that Neil has really seen any other besides his own, but it fits the gorgeous person that is Andrew Minyard.
As soon as Neil wraps his fingers around the base, Andrew’s breathing trails off into a quiet moan, and shit, that’s sexy. Neil has never given a blowjob before, but he’s used to going off his instincts, and his instincts tell him to start by lapping up the bit of precome beading at the tip.
It’s the right move, if the way Andrew’s fists tighten against the sheets is any indication. Neil dedicates his attention to the task at hand—or mouth, as it were. With one hand curled around the base of Andrew’s cock and the other spread flat over his hip, Neil works Andrew with experimental little licks, memorizing the way Andrew’s head thunks back as he suckles on the crown.
It's easy as anything to focus on making Andrew feel good. Neil experiments, drags the flat of his tongue from root to tip where the vein pulses, sucks hard, loves the way Andrew’s back arches.
Neil looks up the length of Andrew’s body at him: at the sheen of sweat on his skin, the flush over his collarbones and up the sides of his throat, the way his hands clench and unclench at his sides, like he wants desperately to touch but isn’t sure if he’s allowed. And Neil can hardly stand the thought of that. He looks Andrew in the eye, takes one of his wrists in his hand, then guides it to his own head.
“Shit,” Andrew gasps, fingers tightening spasmodically through messy curls.
Feeling braver with Andrew’s hands on him, Neil hollows his cheeks and sinks further down, breathes through his nose, feels his lips stretched wide along Andrew’s girth, heavy, feels Andrew’s pulse beating against his tongue.
He swallows down as much of Andrew as he can, gets cocky, decides he can take more, and is immediately humbled by the sheer size of Andrew. The second Andrew’s dick hits the back of his throat, Neil chokes, eyes watering. Spit drips over his chin and down Andrew’s shaft, pooling around the base.
“Neil,” Andrew hisses. He grabs a fistful of Neil’s hair, tries to pull him off, probably so Neil can get some much-needed air back into his lungs, but Neil holds strong, keeps Andrew in his mouth. “Neil,” Andrew says again.
Neil pops off just enough to say, “I’m fine,” a string of saliva connecting his lips to Andrew’s dick before swallowing Andrew down again.
He changes strategies, uses his hand to work the part of Andrew’s dick that he can’t reach with his mouth. Neil has always been a problem solver.
It’s sloppy. Neil is all enthusiasm and no finesse, painting spit everywhere until Andrew’s shaft is slick, dripping saliva into coarse blond curls. But Andrew doesn’t seem to mind. His thighs shake and tense as his fingers card through Neil’s hair. The quiet grunts that spill from his lips drive Neil mad. Andrew has always been quiet, silent and stoic. Hearing these noises, knowing it’s because of him, makes Neil feel smug as hell.
He relaxes his muscles, blinks back the tears, feels them clump against his eyelashes, sticky and wet.
Neil’s own cock is painfully hard, curving against his stomach, smearing precome along his belly button. He feels hot everywhere, feels it on his face, against the bulge in his throat, in his cock where it’s leaking obscenely onto his sheets.
“Fuck, Neil,” Andrew groans, voice deep, raspy.
Neil feels himself try to moan, can feel it vibrate through Andrew’s cock in his mouth, can hear tiny sounds getting pushed out of the both of them, and Andrew goes rigid, tugs on Neil’s hair again.
“Neil,” Andrew warns through gritted teeth, his cock slipping out of Neil’s mouth. Neil takes a single second to gulp air greedily, chest heaving, before diving back down. “Shit,” Andrew curses.
There’s a thread of tension throughout Andrew’s body, and his hips jerk as he spills over Neil’s tongue. Come smears over Neil’s lips, his chin. Neil swallows as much as he can, coughs when swallowing and breathing at the same time becomes too much of a task. He closes his mouth around Andrew again, cleans him off with one last wet suck, an obscene slurp, before he sits back on his heels, panting. Spit drips down his chin, trickles down over his Adam’s apple.
“Jesus, junkie,” Andrew murmurs, voice rough with awe.
He sits up, massages Neil’s jaw, smooths fingers across Neil’s chin, wiping the excess come off with his thumb before slipping it between Neil’s lips. Neil sucks eagerly, swirls his tongue across the delicate skin between thumb and forefinger. He lets it slip out of his mouth with a loud pop, savoring the taste of Andrew.
Neil smiles, a dazed thing, pleased that Andrew seems to have given his blowjob skills a passable grade, before Andrew presses their lips back together, tasting himself on Neil’s tongue, tilting Neil until Neil is sprawled on his back.
“Want me to?” Andrew asks, preparing to return the favor, but Neil shakes his head.
Andrew takes this at face value, simply nods, until Neil blurts, “I want you to fuck me.” Andrew freezes, shoulders tensing, and Neil winces, realizing how straightforward that sounded, how it came off as a command. “Only if you want to. I want you to.”
“Have you ever…”
Neil shakes his head. “I never wanted to before. But I want it now. With you.”
The words make Andrew pause. He watches Neil, studies him for a moment, tilting his head to the side in a way that reminds Neil of a cat. There’s a peculiar look in his eyes, the same look he has when he's trying to figure out a particularly complex problem that keeps evading his grasp. “You will tell me if you feel uncomfortable, or if you want to stop.”
“I will.” But Neil knows he won’t want Andrew to stop. He wants everything Andrew is willing to give him and more.
Andrew presses a kiss to Neil’s jaw, just below his ear, gives Neil’s earlobe a tiny nip, almost playful. “Roll over, onto your stomach,” he murmurs, and Neil’s heart stutters.
He twists, lowers himself down, shudders when his still-hard dick drags against the sheets, feeling a bit of disappointment that he can’t see Andrew in this position.
The mattress shifts as Andrew moves behind him, slowly slipping between Neil’s legs. Neil is way too exposed like this, too on display. But knowing that it’s Andrew behind him, Andrew seeing the most intimate parts of him, makes Neil preen. He buries his face in his arms, wiggles his ass back, hopes he comes off as tantalizing instead of overeager as Andrew nudges his legs apart with strong thighs.
Andrew’s large hands slide up Neil’s sides and down his spine, knuckles dragging along every single notch on the way down.
“Andrew,” Neil gasps, muffled against the pillow.
Andrew’s mouth traces the same path his knuckles had, wet and warm, his lips trailing against Neil’s skin with an unrelenting gentleness. By the time he presses a painfully chaste kiss to the base of Neil’s spine, Neil is squirming under him, panting, stomach clenching in anticipation.
“Neil,” Andrew finally says, strong hands digging against Neil’s asscheeks, spreading him wide, exposing him even further, thumbs almost dragging over Neil’s rim. “You’ll tell me if you want me to stop.” His lips move against Neil’s tailbone. Neil whines.
“Yes, Andrew, just—”
The last part of his sentence trails off into a truly embarrassing moan as Andrew licks over his hole with a long, firm swipe of his tongue. Andrew hums, pleased, at Neil’s reaction, then sets about absolutely taking Neil apart.
Andrew’s tongue is so unspeakably hot and wet and—fucking filthy, god, Neil didn’t know anything could make him feel this way. He feels a full-body shudder roll from the back of his neck to the arches of his feet, bites his bottom lip on the sound that wants to come out of his mouth, burns hot when a loud moan rips out of his throat anyway. His hole is dripping with saliva as Andrew buries his nose between his cheeks, licks long, flat stripes from Neil’s balls to his asshole.
Writhing, Neil’s body wars between grinding his cock down against the sheets or pushing back against Andrew’s mouth. Andrew makes the decision for him, digs his hands against the meaty flesh of Neil’s cheeks, holding his hips down before pressing his tongue in further, further, further, until Neil finally relaxes just enough for Andrew to slip in.
Neil feels a sound tear itself out of his throat, ragged and high and so loud it barely sounds human. His knuckles crack where they grab frantic fistfuls of his pillow. Andrew huffs, an amused little sound, a soft puff of air right against Neil’s hole, and Neil makes the sound again.
“Never knew you could sound like that,” Andrew murmurs before diving back in.
And Neil’s brain breaks. Pretty soon, he’s drooling all over his pillow, babbling things like, Andrew, fuck, more, don’t stop, Andrew Andrew Andrew. Andrew works Neil with his tongue until Neil is pliant beneath him, soft and open, until there’s a press of a finger circling Neil’s rim along with Andrew’s tongue, a featherlight touch.
“Yes,” Neil pants before Andrew can even ask, sounding completely fucked out from Andrew’s tongue alone, sounds even more debauched as Andrew slowly slips a finger inside of Neil, cooing softly at how easily it sinks in. “God, fuck—”
There’s a sunburst of color on the back of Neil’s eyelids as Andrew crooks his finger, so much deeper than his tongue could reach. It feels infinitely better than his own finger, feels like there’s a supernova exploding inside his entire body.
“Still okay?” Andrew asks, and Neil nods, pushes back for more more more, until Andrew pulls out gently, flips Neil onto his back.
Neil whines at the loss, is appeased when he can see Andrew again in this position—Andrew hovering over him, his mouth spit-slick, his chest heaving from having his nose buried in between Neil’s asscheeks.
“Lube?” Andrew asks, and Neil jerks his head towards the bedside table, where the uncapped bottle sits from his own interrupted jerk-off session.
Neil uses this moment to compose himself, throws an arm over his eyes as he catches his breath, startles when Andrew’s hands come up and grip his wrist, pulling Neil’s arm away from his face.
When he speaks, it’s so soft, Neil almost doesn’t hear it, even with their faces so close. “I want to see you.”
Neil watches Andrew’s lips move, swollen and red and absolutely obscene. His words slowly trickle into Neil’s brain, ignites a fuse in Neil’s entire body. Neil smiles, lopsided. He’ll do anything Andrew asks.
“Good.” Andrew pours a generous amount of lube onto his fingers, drips it down against Neil’s hole.
Neil squirms at the coolness between his legs, and Andrew distracts him with a kiss, pressing a slick finger into Neil without any resistance. A second finger joins in, and Neil doesn’t have the words to describe it—the stretch, the ache, the pressure, the building want at the base of his spine.
“So this is what you look like when you finger yourself,” Andrew murmurs, eyes heavy, lidded. “When you think about me.”
A high, breathy whine drifts from Neil’s throat as he gasps against Andrew’s mouth, pulling his knees closer to his chest. He can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed. It feels like two fingers are all he can take, and yet he still wants more.
Andrew fucks him with those wonderfully thick fingers, slow and deep, thorough, pressing into Neil’s body in even thrusts that make Neil feel like his entire body is going to shake apart. His hand flies to Andrew’s arm, gripping tight for leverage, feeling the muscles tense and flex.
Before Neil knows it, he’s rolling his hips in time with each of Andrew’s thrusts, practically gagging for it. "Fuck, Andrew," he gasps, almost incoherent. “More.”
He probably sounds like a wanton slut. He doesn’t fucking care.
Above him, Andrew is gorgeous—pale skin and a sturdy body, dick twitching against his stomach; Neil wants this all to himself, all the time. He feels like a shaking, whimpering mess—a vulnerable mess.
Andrew distracts Neil by licking a stripe up his dick, sucks the beads of precome pooling against the tip as Neil cries out. “If this is too much, let me know,” he says, then slowly adds a third finger.
This time, however, he ducks his head in between Neil’s legs, licks around the rim where his fingers are stretching Neil open. A hoarse rasp of a whine explodes from Neil’s throat. His left leg spasms involuntarily, nearly knees Andrew in the face. Andrew grabs onto Neil’s thigh, gently throws it over his shoulder.
Andrew flicks his tongue between his fingers, scissoring, giving Neil a taste of what it’s like to be filled to the brim. Butterflies kiss at the back of Neil’s throat as he struggles to remember how to breathe.
He trembles. His cock lurches, dribbling precome down onto his stomach. It combines with beads of sweat, trails in rivulets to pool at his sternum.
He’s gulping in a big, shuddering breath when Andrew flattens his tongue, crooks all three fingers at once, and Neil nearly comes up off the bed. The only thing keeping him down is Andrew’s arm against his stomach.
A lopsided smirk presses against Neil’s thigh before Andrew very carefully eases all his fingers out, slides back up Neil’s body, sucks a nipple into his mouth before pressing their lips back together.
“I’m ready,” Neil says against Andrew’s lips, almost petulant, and Andrew snorts, hair darkened with sweat, a beautiful pink flush over his cheeks, all the way to the freckle on his collarbone.
“Condom?” he murmurs.
Shit. Neil feels his face flush. He did not think this through. “I don’t…do you?”
Andrew makes a face that makes Neil laugh, loud and unrestrained. “Neil, I thought we were going to study. Why would I bring a condom?” Neil sticks his tongue out, immature, and a tiny smile tugs at Andrew’s lips. “I’m clean,” Andrew says, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against Neil’s hipbone.
Neil swallows. “Like I said, I’ve never been with anyone else.”
At that moment, Andrew’s eyes seem to take on two emotions at once: longing and uncertainty. “Neil, we don’t have to—”
“I want to,” Neil repeats. He’ll repeat it as many times as he needs to, because he wants Andrew. Wants Andrew in so many different ways that span from intimate to simply existing together.
He craves Andrew all the time, a healthier version of Andrew’s nicotine addiction.
Andrew grabs the messy bottle of lube. Neil holds his palm face up, and Andrew stares, confused, until it clicks. He pours a generous amount of lube into Neil’s waiting hand, lets Neil slick up his dick, fully hard again with long, slow strokes.
At the same time, Andrew pours more lube onto his fingers, slicking up Neil’s already pliant hole, stretched and loose and ready for Andrew. After some thought, Andrew squeezes even more lube, to the point where a puddle forms beneath Neil’s thighs. It feels like overkill. Neil almost wants to laugh, to poke and tease until he realizes why Andrew is doing this.
He doesn’t want to hurt Neil, wants to make it as painless as possible. He’d never hurt Neil.
Neil reaches for Andrew with his free, unsticky hand, smoothes a palm across Andrew’s jaw, soothing the clenching muscles there.
“You will not hurt me,” Neil murmurs. He punctuates this by pushing up onto an elbow, pressing a soft kiss against the tip of Andrew’s nose before plopping back down. “I know you’ll take care of me.”
Andrew swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the movement. His hands skim up Neil’s sides, settling back on his hips. They’re so hot, those hands. Neil feels like they’re branding him every time they touch him. Andrew nudges himself between Neil’s legs and pulls him closer, until Neil is draped over Andrew’s thighs, his legs spread open around him. Andrew’s dick rests, heavy and hard, against Neil’s stomach, looks huge against his slimmer waist.
Neil feels dizzy with anticipation, feels simultaneously relaxed and on fire, a comfort like nothing he’s ever known combined with a heat that burns from the inside out. Andrew’s hands go from Neil’s hips to his ass, then down to the backs of his thighs, pushing them up until Neil is completely bared to Andrew.
“Fuck me,” Neil says, quiet. High, breathless, whiny in a way that he can’t remember ever sounding.
And then Andrew is pressing into him, torturously slow, patient, and unmoving, his eyes sharpened on Neil’s face while Neil gasps, feels like he’s being split in two, a sharp-clawed pressure forcing him open, all the way up to his spine. Andrew’s hands bruise his thighs, and Neil wants it, craves the permanent reminder, holds onto Andrew’s shoulders just as tight.
Even with Andrew’s thorough fingering, Neil takes a while to open up to him. Andrew stills when he’s only halfway in, lets Neil get used to the stretch. “Oh fuck,” Neil gasps. “Holy shit, Christ.”
Andrew shudders as he bends over Neil, his hot breaths coming out against Neil’s ear. He smoothes a hand down the back of Neil’s thigh, meant to be reassuring. Instead, it makes Neil burn.
It doesn’t hurt, not exactly, but it’s uncomfortable, huge, too full and intimate in ways Neil doesn’t know how to cope with. He presses his hand against Andrew’s lower stomach and keeps it there, feeling the muscles tense and relax as Andrew eases deeper with sharp, minute thrusts that make Neil feel like his head is about to explode.
It looks like it’s taking every inch of Andrew’s self-composure not to move, but still, he pauses when his hips are flush to Neil’s ass. Neil lifts his head to look, eyes locked onto the way his ass is pulling Andrew in, amazed that such a lethal weapon was able to fit. Andrew’s dick twitches inside Neil as if to emphasize that thought.
Neil whimpers, throws his head back to breathe, forgets how to when he gets a good look at Andrew. He’s so handsome like this, covered in a light sheen of sweat, teeth buried in his bottom lip as his eyes flicker from Neil’s body to his face, seeking confirmation that Neil is okay.
It’s a good look, one of confidence covering up concern and worry. Neil wants to record it in his heart forever.
“I’m okay, move,” Neil urges, wrapping his legs high around Andrew’s hips, and Andrew does.
Andrew is silent, almost. Blindingly focused on Neil. He drops down onto his elbows, snaps his hips forward, and fucks into Neil so deep and slow that Neil almost feels it in his throat. Neil’s arms fly to wrap around Andrew’s shoulders, clenching a hand in Andrew’s hair, fingers tightening every time Andrew pulls out and pushes back in. He feels the strain of it in his back and his legs.
Eventually, it starts to feel good, good enough to outweigh the hurt of pain from the sensation of fullness washing over him. Andrew lifts his hips, adjusts his angle, and on the next thrust, his cock drags perfectly over Neil’s prostate. “Andrew!” punches out of Neil’s throat, primal and raw, cracks pathetically on the second syllable. It’s like a lightning bolt to the brain, a sizzle of pleasure shooting through his nervous system.
He wants Andrew to fuck him stupid, cleave him open until he’s mindless, ruined, wants to feel Andrew for days. Wants Andrew to fuck him hoarse, until moans are ripped out of his lungs, until his throat is sore, until he can barely speak.
“Again, Andrew, fuck,” he gasps, fingers digging crescents against Andrew’s back. Neil comes to the conclusion that he’s mouthy in bed, but Andrew doesn’t seem to mind, obeys until Neil is panting, lightheaded and incoherent.
Andrew’s face is fortified in concentration. He lets out a long, shaky breath, and Neil pulls him down, kisses him with nothing but tongue and teeth. Every thrust feels like a miniature earthquake rocking Neil to his core, rattling something loose in the warm places inside him.
Nearly delirious, Neil traces a hand down his chest to his stomach, pressing down hard, like he might feel Andrew moving inside him, rearranging his insides. “God,” Neil groans, feels himself being fucked up the bed.
Neil tightens his legs around Andrew’s waist, digs his heels in like he’s trying to encourage a fucking racehorse, toes curling as Andrew’s cock drags over his prostate again and again and again, and the only thing that matters is Andrew—Andrew’s hands, his mouth, the slide of their bodies together.
“I think—I’m close,” Neil groans.
Andrew makes a broken sort of noise, leans forward and buries his face in the side of Neil’s neck before reaching for Neil’s cock, jerking him in time with his thrusts. Neil smears his gasps against Andrew’s temple, frantic, sweat rolling from his face into his hairline. Andrew’s fingers tighten around his cock, his thumb rubbing over the sensitive head just right, and Neil doesn’t even recognize what’s coming out of his own mouth. It might be a slurred mix of English and German, maybe some garbled French.
“I’ve got you,” Andrew breathes, words obscenely rhythmic, hitching in places every time he fucks into Neil.
Neil looks up at Andrew, his cheeks red, his eyes devastatingly fixed on Neil’s. Andrew thrusts forward once, twice, then presses their foreheads together, gasping a moan against Neil’s mouth.
It reverberates through Neil’s bones, sounds so fucking filthy and so completely involuntary that Neil jerks under him in shock, body seizing up as his orgasm punches its way out of him.
He comes so hard he feels himself black out a little, impaled, blood thundering through his ears as he gasps Andrew’s name. His legs jerk, and his back arches until his chest presses flush against Andrew’s. Andrew fucks him through it, doesn’t stop until Neil has come all over his stomach.
An almost pained groan hisses through Andrew’s teeth as his hips grind against Neil’s ass, his hair sweaty and fucked, messed up by Neil’s hands—god, he’s fucking beautiful.
“Come on, Andrew,” Neil says, tracing swirls along Andrew’s stomach.
Andrew pulls out, wraps a hand around himself, jerks himself off roughly, with none of the tenderness and finesse he afforded Neil. Neil talks him through it, mumbles, good, and yes, Andrew, and come on, against Andrew’s skin. Then Andrew is coming too, painting long ropes across Neil’s stomach and chest, muffling a moan in the crook of Neil’s neck, the most beautiful sound Neil has ever heard in his life smeared against sweaty skin.
It takes a lifetime for them both to come back.
When Neil’s brain finally clears a bit from the post-orgasm fog, Andrew is hovering over him, helping Neil straighten his cramped-up legs out. Neil’s heart still hammers in his chest, his curls sweat-soaked, stuck in a wild tangle under his head. A dopey, fucked-out grin that he can’t seem to wipe off blooms on his face.
He feels so pleasantly sated and sore, has a fleeting thought that he’ll have Andrew come inside him next time, if there is a next time. Neil’s good mood sours slightly at the thought.
With ease, Andrew slips off the bed, goes to grab the box of tissues from Neil’s desk. Neil uses this moment to appreciate the swell of Andrew’s bare ass as he walks, hopes it’s not the last time he gets to see it. Shortly after, Andrew is back, a solid presence against Neil’s side as he cleans all the sweat, lube, and come off Neil, at least the best he can with dry tissues.
“That was…wow,” Neil says eloquently, starfished on the bed, clearly still orgasm-stupid.
Andrew throws the crumpled-up tissues across the room into Neil’s trash can with surprising accuracy. Neil licks his lips, spent cock twitching just from that. God, he’s so pathetically gone for Andrew.
“Better than what you were imagining when I first walked in on you?”
Neil flushes. “Aeons and lightyears better.”
Andrew contemplates Neil with a smug little smile on his lips before shifting impossibly closer, pressing his lips to the hinge of Neil’s jaw, soft as anything. And suddenly, Neil can’t keep it all in his chest anymore.
I can’t lie to Andrew, Neil thinks, more free-falling confidence than actual thought process, and the next thing he knows, words are spilling out of his mouth, glue and flimsy Scotch tape along the box unraveling.
“Andrew, this was amazing. You’re amazing. I mean, I’ve always thought that you’re amazing. I just—I didn’t know that I wanted you, until…” Neil pauses, recalibrates, rolls onto his side so that he’s facing Andrew, tries to figure out if the expression on Andrew’s face is amusement or mild horror. “Allison thought we were sleeping together. And it made me think about how I really like being around you. I always want to be with you, and maybe I did actually want to sleep with you. And also kiss you.”
Andrew blinks, the color in his cheeks still high. Neil gives him a helpless shrug. “What I’m trying to say is, I just…I just like you.”
Andrew watches Neil closely, his gaze a physical weight against Neil’s face, eyes still drawn to the spot on Neil’s jaw that he’d kissed just a few seconds prior. He settles back against the pillows, his arm tucked under his head. “And how did us sleeping together get brought up in conversation?”
Neil ducks his head, feeling oddly guilty. “Uh, well…Matt had mentioned something about you being really gifted, uh…down there, and—”
“And how does Boyd know this.”
“He said he saw you changing. At the gym. Accidentally.” And really, the conversation is getting derailed here.
Andrew simply hums. Neil fidgets, plays with a frayed thread at the edge of his comforter.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Neil,” Andrew finally says, arm automatically coming down from behind his head to curl around Neil’s back. “But you are the only person I like being around.” His palm finds the slope of Neil’s waist, and all the nervous energy that had been buzzing inside Neil quiets to a low hum.
“Then we’re agreed,” Neil says, trying not to sound too hopeful. He fails. “We like each other, right?”
“No, I hate you,” Andrew says. It comes out sarcastic, but the effect is absolutely lost when he noses against the side of Neil’s throat, pressing absent kisses against his skin.
Is that it? Things are settled? They should probably like, talk about this, right? That had felt almost too easy, but when he considers how easy everything else has always been with Andrew, it feels right.
Neil lets out a pleased little hum, shifts so that his body is pressed right up against Andrew’s. He traces absent heart patterns on Andrew’s lower stomach, still somewhat sticky with come. They should probably get out of bed, take a shower, strip the sheets. But for now, it’s too comfortable to move.
Andrew stays the night in Neil’s dorm room. And if they spend the entire night cuddling and kissing instead of sleeping, well, it was a long time coming.
*
Neil shows up at The Golden Griddle the next day with a sore ass and a tiny limp in his walk.
Everyone is absorbed in yet another argument, the rousing debate this time: Whether ravioli is considered a dumpling.
Allison is mid-squabble when she spies Neil slinking in through the entrance. She draws up short, narrows her eyes in suspicion, a hunting dog on a scent. Neil tries to act normal, scoots into his usual spot beside Matt, absolutely fails at acting normal when an uncomfortable zing shoots up his spine as his ass meets the squishy leather seats.
Allison’s face lights up like a neon sign, a layer of self-satisfaction juxtaposed over blatant mischief, and Neil grimaces. A smarmy, mischievous Allison is a dangerous one.
Neil never orders anything at the diner, usually just eats whatever his friends push in front of him. But today, he grabs a menu as a way to block Allison’s insistent eyes. He’s staring awkwardly at the glossy image of a tuna melt on the page when someone scoots into the booth beside him.
Neil tenses. Everyone in their usual crowd is already here.
Confused, Neil looks up, only to find Andrew staring back at him. Neil’s eyebrows disappear into his bangs, surprised—Andrew never joins their weekly lunches. But after a second, the surprise melts into confused pleasure, his face lighting up as Andrew presses their thighs together.
“Hi,” Neil says softly.
“Hi,” Andrew mocks back before casually slinging an arm around the back of Neil’s seat. Neil instinctively scoots closer, clenches the menu in his hands to counteract the overwhelming desire to tuck himself into Andrew’s arms, right under his chin. He knows he’d fit.
“I knew it!” Allison shouts, voice shrill, carrying across the entire diner. “You two slept together!”
The last part of her sentence impressively comes out exponentially louder than the first. The waitress in their section shoots them a dirty look. The mom in the booth behind them quickly picks up her child and escapes to a table further away.
Andrew and Neil stare blankly at Allison, but neither of them refutes her claim. Wordlessly, Andrew tucks a finger into one of Neil’s belt loops, pulls him closer until Neil is nearly sitting in his lap. Neil relaxes immediately, leans closer to Andrew like a plant growing toward the sun.
“You all owe me fifty bucks each!” Allison says, ecstatic, waving her hands in a give-it-here motion while Seth, Dan, and Matt all groan.
Renee and Andrew share a look. Renee simply hides her smile behind a bite of pancake.
“Man, I was gonna use this money to treat Dan for date night,” Matt sighs, throwing two twenties and a ten at Allison. He pauses suddenly, leans forward until he catches Andrew’s eye at the end of the booth. Andrew raises a pierced brow, and Matt snaps his eyes towards Neil. He clears his throat. “So, um, Neil. Was I right about—” Andrew casually picks up a butter knife, and Matt raises his arms in surrender. “Right, sorry. Never mind.”
“Keep your wandering eyes to yourself, Boyd.”
Matt winces. Seth lets out an obnoxiously loud snort, yelps when Allison pinches his side. Dan smooths a palm against Matt’s chest, eyes amused, mumbling, “It’s okay, baby.”
Neil usually likes to keep the happenings in his life private, doesn’t open up to anyone but Andrew. But he’s surprised to find that it doesn’t bother him at all, that everyone now knows about him and Andrew. In fact, he feels a little like preening under it.
He gives in to the impulse to drop his head against Andrew’s shoulder, their sides completely pressed together.
Andrew places the butter knife back on the table. “Stay over at my room tonight?” he murmurs, brushing his nose against Neil’s cheek, ignoring the way everyone is staring at them. Allison is very obviously taking pictures of them that will be up on her Instagram within the next few minutes.
It’s a real testament to Andrew’s patience that he doesn’t grab Allison’s phone and chuck it out the nearest window.
“Of course,” Neil says, relishing in the fact that he can lean over to peck Andrew’s mouth freely without thinking about it too hard.
The tiniest beginnings of a smirk spread slowly across Andrew’s mouth. Neil bites down hard on his lower lip, has to stop himself from sticking his tongue down Andrew’s throat right then and there.
They’ll have plenty of time for that later.
Neil smiles and closes his eyes. He takes in the smell of greasy fried food mixed with Andrew’s cologne, the sound of his friends’ bickering, and melts against Andrew’s body, sturdy and perfect against his.