Chapter Text
Neil didn’t have an addictive personality, if you didn’t count his obsession with Exy. He had things he wanted now with a determination he couldn’t let go – his team, his home, his dreams for the future, his hopes for the new freshmen. He had things he refused to give up on. He had things he needed desperately; the occasional cigarette burning down to the filter between his fingers, to score the winning point, to sit silently on the roof and feel the wind against his face and the drop below his feet. He wouldn’t say he was addicted to any of those things.
He thought he could be addicted to the heat of Andrew’s hands.
They pressed him down into the mattress with silent command, the pulse in his palms rapid and red-hot against Neil’s skin which they claimed with full knowledge of Neil’s vocal and unhesitant consent. They traced the lines of his bones, skimming over his collarbones and wrists and shoulders. They pushed down over the battle wounds scattered on him, marks from his father and his life on the road and Riko’s cruelty and Lola’s precision and his father’s fury again that one last time, the occasional mottled bruise from their most recent match. They walked each scar easily, tracing it in its entirety before moving to the next one. His fingertips were firm and steady as they trailed over the raised lines and puckered dents, the pale swatches and dark patches. They memorised each mark as Andrew stared into his eyes, watching for his reaction and waiting to be told no.
Andrew’s palms had calluses from practice and his fingers were rough and thick as they held him down. They closed firmly around Neil’s crossed wrists above his head on the pillow, then deliberately travelled up in a light touch to where Neil’s nails dug into his own palms, half-moons that Neil would trace over and over later like the outline of a key, until they faded like the others could not. Andrew touched his tense fingertips and the strained line of his knuckles and said nothing. Neil didn’t have to explain he was clenched so tight to anchor himself in the now instead of murky memory and with determination never to cross Andrew’s boundaries uninvited, and Andrew didn’t have to explain why that meant so much under the façade and left him able to touch Neil like this.
Andrew shifted forward a little from where he lay between Neil’s legs, looming over him with an arm braced alongside Neil’s held to hold a little bit of distance between them. Mind the gap, Neil’s brain regurgitated from his time on public transport, and he held himself still so as not to lean up into the warm weight of Andrew held so deliberately away from him.
“You can touch here,” Andrew said with the same blank look as always. He touched his own hair for a second, then rested his heavy hand back on Neil’s crossed wrists. “I told you that already.”
“I know,” Neil replied, his voice a little tight from the buzz under his skin.
“You usually try to pull my hair out these days.”
“Not on purpose,” Neil said with a small twitch of his lips. He watched Andrew’s eyes for a few moments, thinking how best to phrase this. Yes, ever since Andrew gave him permission to touch back he’d been unable to let go, his hands aching when they weren’t buried in Andrew’s hair to hold him close for another blissfully numbing and scorching kiss. But tonight he was holding himself back on purpose, without needing to be told. “Do you want me to?” He asked to give himself time. “Do you miss it?”
Andrew looked away from Neil’s eyes and up to Neil’s hands. Neil fancied he could feel the weight of Andrew’s gaze on the wide swathe of scarring around his wristbones, reminders of Riko and Lola and being more willing to shred his own skin on handcuffs than stay where he was trapped.
“Do you not want to touch me anymore?” Andrew asked back, a dodge with unexpected honesty that put a little dart of warmth in Neil’s chest.
Neil knew better than to demand an answer before giving one himself. “I do. I always want to touch you. And I like the restraint too.”
Andrew’s gaze flicked back to Neil’s face. Andrew heard the unspoken without difficulty, knowing the chasm of difference between voluntary, self-inflicted restraint and violent, outside restraint. Neil wetted his lips and stretched his fingers for a moment.
“If we’re going further,” he said carefully, weighing each word. “I want to do it like this, at first.”
Andrew’s gaze sharpened, things moving in the darkness masked behind ice. At length, he gave Neil an answer back. “I miss it.”
Heat curled in Neil’s chest, a hopeful flame fanned by satisfaction and muted joy that Andrew would meet his honesty with vulnerability yet again, a careful reward to each of them for feeling their way through this thing between them, all secrets and memories given carefully to each other to guard, peeling back the layers and making gates through the defensive walls around them both.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Andrew said and kissed the smile from Neil’s mouth with a searing heat that evaporated the breath from Neil’s lungs and left him shaking and alive and his brain buzzing happily without thought. As Andrew’s tongue pushed into his mouth and his hand rested hot and heavy over Neil’s ribs, he slowly lowered himself down to lie chest to chest with Neil, his weight bearing them both down into the bed. Neil let Andrew’s body heat consume him and Andrew let Neil hold him up.
Neil’s brain fritzed out for some time, overwhelmed with the achingly wonderful weight of Andrew on top of him, the unbelievable heat setting fire to his skin, and the possessive crush of his mouth, kissing until Neil’s lips felt sore and bruised in the best way and the residual ache from all his scars was eased away. Andrew kissed like kissing was the only thing keeping him sane and the only air Neil ever wanted to breathe was air traded from Andrew’s lungs. Neil knew Andrew couldn’t miss the hard shape of his erection against his hip, like Neil couldn’t miss it either. But for some time, that didn’t matter. They breathed each other’s air and consumed each other until Neil had to pull away, dizzy and gasping. Andrew let him and raked his eyes over Neil’s expression and the flush of his chest as he trembled.
With a vaguely thoughtful air despite the redness of his own mouth and face, Andrew moved his free hand up to Neil’s throat as he struggled to breathe. He cupped his hand around Neil’s windpipe and let it rest there, not squeezing or pressing, just gravity and muscle tone holding it there. He watched Neil’s expression carefully until he got a gasped ‘yes’ and slowly tightened his grip, pressing against his jugular and oesophagus and larynx like he wanted to map them. Neil swallowed the saliva in his throat and took short, rapid breaths around the constriction, his blood rushing frantically in his ears and thrumming against Andrew’s fingers. Dark memories waited just out of sight with the feel of a blade and dashboard lighter, but the calmness of Andrew’s eyes kept them back. Sparks of pain flashed in his palms from the cut of his nails but he breathed through it, light and fast against the careful weight of Andrew’s hold. Andrew watched him like there was nothing in the world even vaguely as interesting to him, watched him tremble and wheeze and grin fiercely as Andrew brought him to the edge and held back just enough.
When Neil’s chest jumped, his diaphragm contracting without his lungs, Andrew took his hand away and rested it on Neil’s hip. Neil sucked in great, shuddering breaths and panted, his head tilted back and mouth wide open. He closed his eyes for a minute to calm himself from the electric thrill, savouring each sweet mouthful of air whooshing in and out of him, soothing the ache in his chest and pressure behind his eyes. There was a swiping touch at the side of his mouth and Neil couldn’t summon the mental energy to be embarrassed that he was drooling slack-jawed while Andrew watched with his perfect memory and rubbed the wetness away for him. That tiny touch made his stomach bottom out for a second, the slightest admission of care that could never be fully vocalised, not yet at least.
Andrew let him recover until he was breathing normally again and opened his eyes.
“You said ‘going further’,” Andrew said, the rough edge to his voice the only outward sign he was as affected by Neil as Neil was by him.
“Mm.”
Andrew just looked at him, spare with his words and jealous of his questions as always.
“As far as you want to go,” Neil rasped.
Andrew looked away and went back to tracing idly over Neil’s scars, bare to him without a shirt to pull down and cover them. It had taken a long time for Neil to be comfortable with that, and with Andrew’s calm perusal of them. Neil felt it worth it now though, the ever-present heat of Andrew’s fingertips anchoring and securing him, sliding new sensation and memory alongside the old and smoothing the ragged edges where they brushed against his mind.
Andrew was fully dressed apart from the bands and sheaths on his arms, discarded at Neil’s request earlier in the evening without a word of protest. He still wore his long-sleeved shirt and they were both in soft sweatpants, Neil’s rucked up a bit to his knees from how he was lying with his thighs bracketing Andrew’s hips, soles pressed flat either side of Andrew’s calves.
Silence rested between them for some time, comfortable as they both thought and looked at each other. Neil watched the curve of Andrew’s profile as he thought, admiring the very familiar jut of brow and cheekbone and the slight dip of his sharp cheek, smoothing out to his clean jaw and long neck. He wanted to put his tongue to Andrew’s pulse and feel him shudder, but it wasn’t the right moment. He waited Andrew out patiently.
Eventually, Andrew sat up a little and pulled his shirt over his head in one sharp jerk, dropping it to the floor to crumple beside Neil’s. He braced his forearms alongside Neil’s head again, holding himself up just a little, and met Neil’s eyes with a grim set to his mouth.
“Thank you,” Neil said quietly once Andrew was settled. He kept his eyes on Andrew’s face, refusing the temptation to look down for now. “May I see?”
“Yes.”
Neil let his eyes flick down in careful sweeps to the skin only now revealed to him. He saw the strong swell of muscle in Andrew’s shoulders and biceps, taut as he held himself away, the strength behind his amazing goalkeeping and home-run swings. Neil felt saliva pool in his throat and a little jolt of heat went right to his groin as he imagined putting his hands and mouth on that strength, biting down if he was allowed, tasting more of his skin. His eyes saw the strong lines of Andrew’s torso, lean and muscled from training and a shade lighter than his face from the lack of exposure, the slightest of tan lines around his collar. He saw the occasional small scar, souvenirs from fights on and off court. He saw others he knew were his own childhood battle scars and kept his eyes moving. He caught a glimpse of pale hair under Andrew’s navel until their bodies pressed together and he lost sight of it. He knew there were other scars pressed into the mattress that he had only touched once or twice, and never been allowed to really see.
“May I see?” He asked again, careful and soft.
Andrew considered him for another long minute. “Not yet.”
Neil nodded firmly and gathered that little promise close to his chest, a small dream of the near-future he wanted to be worthy of earning. “Thank you.”
Andrew nodded back, then took a slow breath. He shifted between Neil’s hips and with a start, Neil felt him push forward just a little, a tentative thrust that had their erections rubbing against each other through their sweatpants. Neil couldn’t hide his shocked gasp and dug his nails harder into his palms, knuckles creaking from the force of it. He thought maybe a little blood welled up but he didn’t care.
Neil vividly remembered the time Andrew had washed him after being released by the FBI, how he had delivered on his half-promise to blow Neil and then knelt with him in the water, Neil’s hand in his hair as he got himself off silently and guardedly, for the first and only time in the same room as Neil. Whenever they were alone even now, Andrew would get Neil to come, they would separate so Andrew could sort himself and they could both calm down, and go on with their day without talking about it.
And now Andrew was grinding against him, just a little, with all the implications of getting off together loud and clear in the air around them.
“You don’t have to,” Neil said once he had his breath back. “The shirt is more than enough.”
Andrew flicked his gaze up to Neil’s happily-crossed wrists, the reminder of his choice and respect for all the invisible lines. “Do you trust me?”
Neil was floored for a moment and frowned up at Andrew. “Yes.”
“Then trust me to know what I can handle.”
Neil took the rebuke in silence and nodded.
Andrew rested a hand on his wrists again as if securing him. “Stay,” He said, half a request and half a reminder.
Neil understood then – with Neil offering such vulnerability and willing submission and the choice not to touch even when he wanted to, Andrew could stomach doing this together and show his own vulnerability. If Neil touched him while he was trying this, it would all break apart. He heard the nerves and stress behind Andrew’s words, stormy waters under a glacier.
He met Andrew’s eyes with his own and pressed his hands deeper into the pillow, tilting his wrists up a bit to press into Andrew’s palm. “Yes. And you?”
“Yes,” Andrew replied after a moment. He took his hand away from Neil’s wrists, trusting him to keep his word, and resettled his weight so he had a bit more leverage, their bodies flush from thigh to chest and Andrew’s heavy, hot, wonderful hands on Neil’s ribs. Andrew’s eyes fixed on Neil’s kiss-sore mouth and pushed his hips forward again. It was short, light, and hesitant, but it lit every nerve up Neil’s spine and his back arched without his permission, mouth falling open again in a wordless gasp.
Andrew paused for a moment, then did it again. And again. The fourth time, a ragged moan shivered from Neil’s mouth to their mutual surprise. They froze and stared at each other. They were quiet men by nature, and quiet lovers. Words were carefully conserved until needed the most, guarded and traded carefully in subdued tones, especially when they were alone. They were used to the occasional gasp or pant, moreso now they had been exploring Andrew’s fascination with Neil’s breath. Neil had whispered Andrew’s name once or twice, always so quietly and breathlessly the syllables were almost inaudible. Their reticence made it easier to be together like this, shut away in their dorm room but certainly not alone in the apartment; Dan and Matt were playing video games loudly in the front room, oblivious to the fact Neil and Andrew were here at all, presuming them to be on the court and never bothering to check the bedroom that was off-limits anyway. Neil didn’t care that they were doing this with others in the next room – he refused to give up these stolen moments and they were always so quiet nobody ever heard them. He knew Andrew felt much the same.
But then, Neil had never made a noise like that before.
He licked his lips, words spinning around in his mind to explain, say they should stop, anything at all.
Andrew thrust again cautiously. Noise pushed up through Neil’s throat and his back arched again, heart going a hundred miles an hour. In the next room, the murmur of voices faltered and Neil felt his face flame, though the burn scar tissue on his cheek was oddly cool, a stark pale patch without feeling.
Then, Andrew smiled.
It was just a tiny one, a widening of his lips and mouth and slight lift to his cheeks. Nothing like the manic mask of his meds, but genuine and devastating and oh God Neil felt his dick throb where Andrew was pressed hard and heavy against him.
Someone knocked on the door and they both froze. “Is somebody hurt in there?” Dan asked lightly.
“No,” Neil replied after a moment, though even the monosyllable couldn’t disguise the wrecked shade to his voice that gave away exactly what they were doing.
“Oh my God,” Dan laughed quietly. “Okay, right then. I am definitely not opening this door.”
They heard her walk away and after a moment, the video game music flicked back on at a much louder volume.
Neil looked back to Andrew, who still had that tiny smile on his face. He pushed again, a bit more confidently, and Neil gritted his teeth to choke back the moan that threatened. Andrew kissed him fiercely, claiming his lips and tongue and mouth and scraping his teeth mercilessly against the swollen edge of Neil’s lips until Neil couldn’t take the sensation and moaned again, muffled into Andrew’s mouth.
He was so hard it hurt.
Andrew thrust his hips in a shallow rhythm, seemingly spurred on by Neil’s helpless noise and distracted by how it buzzed in both their throats. Andrew was shaking him apart and sending his brain in a tailspin and Neil surrendered to it with a shudder, his nails cutting sharp into his palms with the effort of staying still and quieting his groans as much as possible into Andrew’s mouth. His back arched up from the mattress and his thighs locked unconsciously around Andrew’s hips as they moved with a white-hot friction, rushing hard and fast and delirious with it.
It rushed over Neil sudden and all-consuming – his hips jerked up a few times and he keened, shocking them both with the volume and pitch of it. His hips were still rocking with trembling aftershocks when Andrew panted shakily against Neil’s cheek and moved his hips hard and vicious against Neil’s once, twice, three times.
Neil’s back and hips slowly sank back into the mattress, borne down by Andrew’s weight as they both tried to come down from that dizzy high. Neil could feel liquid in his boxers starting to pool and stick unpleasantly but he didn’t suggest they move, too boneless and shaking to do more than try to breathe.
Andrew held himself up on his forearms, his head hanging low to hide his expression. Once Neil had his breath back and some portion of his brain functioning again, he murmured, “Andrew.”
Andrew was silent, the line of his back tense and knotted as he held himself still through whatever thoughts he couldn’t push away, and still, still, here with Neil, pressed close if unseeing, and not pushed away. No get out or silent dismissal. He was here, solid and braced against Neil, trusting and vulnerable and raw with it.
Neil thought about a hand on the back of his neck or curled in his collar whenever he was on the verge of panic. He thought about the careful way Andrew had held his face to inspect Lola’s damage in the Baltimore hotel room. He thought about stolen – no, shared – cigarettes on the roof and an obnoxious percentage. He thought about three words Andrew had gifted him with earlier. I miss it.
Neil slowly uncrossed his wrists and lowered his arms, ignoring the ache in them. He held a hand just away from Andrew’s face, where he could see it but not touching.
“Andrew,” he murmured again, quietly requesting.
It seemed to take an age, but Andrew nodded.
Slowly, carefully, Neil threaded his fingers through Andrew’s hair and over his scalp and traced shapes and patterns there, holding him close and secure. He heard Andrew’s breath shake but didn’t acknowledge it and kept stroking instead. He was baffled by the amount Andrew had given him today, in word and deed and quiet presence. He didn’t know yet how to repay it or what had inspired such an abrupt shift of trust, but he knew he could try and anchor Andrew in this moment, as Andrew had done for him so many times.
He stroked through Andrew’s fine, light hair over and over until the tension in his back began to fade, and he allowed himself to lie down against Neil again. He didn’t look up, kept his eyes on Neil’s chest instead, but that was okay. Neil cradled his head and rubbed through his hair and had no name for the soft, warm flickering in his chest. They breathed together silently, muscles sore from the unexpected exertion, and listened idly to the chatter of voices and video games in the next room, determinedly loud even though both Matt and Dan had to have heard Neil’s cry.
All Neil cared about was that Andrew wanted his hair touched and wanted to remain close this one time. He was more than happy to provide that. They lay together and very slowly, Andrew relaxed against him, his breath soft and quiet on Neil’s chest. Neil realised Andrew had fallen asleep and blinked away the wetness in his eyes. He held still and kept a hand in Andrew’s hair.
Nobody could ever survive saying Andrew was soulless, Neil was determined. Neil would destroy them if they ever tried.
An interminable time later, he heard the door open and Nicky’s distinctive voice in the apartment, as well as a few of the freshmen. Neil was surprised Andrew didn’t wake up – sober he was a very light sleeper – but he seemed oblivious. Neil traced the edge of his ear with a fingertip and with his free hand cautiously nudged the armbands lying to the side of the pillows, with their sheaths and hidden knives.
“—gonna get my stuff,” Nicky said, his voice getting louder. Andrew twitched and started to stir and Neil felt acid course through him at the thought they would be disturbed.
“No! Don’t go in there—” Dan started in alarm. But Nicky was already opening the door and Andrew was waking up and Neil felt exposed, exposed.
“Oh my God!” Nicky exclaimed in shocked delight.
Neil had a hand on a knife sheath and in the next moment a knife thudded hard and fast into the wall beside the door, in his fingers for less than a second.
Nicky yelped and shut the door abruptly. The knife quivered in the plaster, too solidly embedded to fall out.
“Okay, I’ll stay out!” Nicky laughed. “Wow. Congratulations, you grumpy shits!”
Another knife joined the first and Nicky laughed again, amused by Neil’s anger. He heard Nicky walking away and call to Dan and Matt, “Did you know Neil can throw knives?”
By this point Andrew was fully awake and staring at Neil. Neil met his blank stare and traced the back of his ear again. “Hi.”
“Hi.” Andrew replied.
“You were asleep,” Neil explained.
“You never said you could handle knives.”
Neil shrugged. “Nathaniel was the Butcher’s son. They taught him young.”
Andrew absorbed the pronoun for a second. “Will Nathaniel teach me?”
Neil felt his lips twitch. “No. Neil thinks you’re too dangerous already.”
Andrew looked at him for a moment in silence, then reached out to touch Neil’s palm. He traced the half-moon dents and small scabs with the edge of his nails. His face was inscrutable as always but Neil knew he was pleased.
“This is getting disgusting,” Andrew said eventually, shifting his hips a bit. Neil grimaced in agreement and dropped his hand regretfully from Andrew’s hair, letting him get up. His body abruptly felt too light and cold without Andrew pinning him down, but he swallowed disappointment and sat up as well. They cleaned up and changed clothes turned away from each other, each taking a few moments of privacy after the intense intimacy of earlier. Andrew crossed to the wall and examined the knives embedded there thoughtfully as he pulled his armbands back on. Neil shrugged on a fresh shirt and watched him.
“I’ll trade you my scars for lessons.” Andrew said.
Neil checked his own scars were well covered by the baggy shirt and tugged at his own armbands, hiding the worst of Lola’s damage. “Deal.”
Andrew pulled the knives out of the wall with a couple of measured tugs and opened the door, blank-faced and unruffled. Neil followed him out and they were met with grins and mocking applause from the small crowd in the front room. Neil saw money changing hands and didn’t want to know how many bets were being settled. He saw a couple of freshmen looking astounded – he knew they hadn’t believed the upperclassmen when they said Neil and Andrew were together, thinking it was a prank.
Andrew was tucking the knives into the sheaths but paused to hold one out to Neil, carefully gripping the blade so Neil could take the handle.
“Feel like practising your aim again?” He asked half-seriously.
The freshmen gawped and Nicky laughed. Neil smiled and took the knife. The familiar weight of it made his stomach churn for a second, but the grip was different to the ones he remembered. Andrew’s knife, Renee’s before that.
He casually flipped the knife and caught it still-spinning in one hand, earning an appreciative murmur from their audience. He did it again a few times until they were all quiet, then handed it back to Andrew. “Not right now.”
“You two are a terrible influence on each other,” Nicky huffed.
Neil thought of quiet words and fierce kisses and the texture of Andrew’s hair. He thought of the way Andrew trusted him enough to fall asleep on him, and himself allowing Andrew to see and touch all his scars. He saw Andrew watching him and smiled warmly.
Andrew prodded his chest. “Stop that.” He said and walked away. Neil grinned to himself, hearing the softer undertones inaudible to everyone else.
“Your flirting is disgusting and fascinating,” Nicky informed him.
“Shut up, Nicky,” Neil smiled. Then he turned his attention to the slack-jawed freshmen and channelled Wymack. “The fuck are you all doing here? Practice in fifteen minutes, go!”
They scrambled to obey their vice-captain and the upperclassmen followed them out the door. It was really quite a beautiful day.
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