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yourmidnightlover · 3 years

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holding hands

never stop loving me part 2 :)

summary - after reader and spencer make it home safe and almost sound, spencer decides to show her just how much he loves her touch.

tw - smut, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (yea, ik i do this a lot), teasing?, fingering, oral (female receiving), soft dom!spencer, fluff

wc - 2,671

a/n - you could totally read this as a stand alone piece, just know that spencer is kinda in the doghouse rn bc he said mean things to reader abt her being all touchy and annoying (even tho she isn’t). happy reading 😌

masterlist

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spencer had said he was going to make it up to you.

did he know how yet? not really. would he figure out how? absolutely.

you had been rather distant after you had solved the case and on the plane ride back home. you still sat beside him, but you didn't make any move to touch him or lay your head on him as you normally would. maybe it was because you just didn't feel like it, but spencer knew better than to think that.

"do you want to order takeout tonight?" you turned towards him to ask the question.

"yea, of course we can," he agreed, his arm reaching around your body to pull you closer to him. he felt you stiffen under his touch. "are you alright?" it was his turn to look at you, you nodded up at him.

"i'm alright," you clarified, giving him a tight-lipped smile that wasn't very convincing. eventually, you settled into his arm, leaning your head on his shoulder and succumbing to the sleep you needed.

when you woke up, it was to spencer swatting away morgan's hand while shushing him.

"morgan, she needs her rest in order to heal properly!" he whisper-yelled while trying to move morgan's hand away but failing. "don't touch her, only i can!" he clarified, morgan threw his hands up in defense as he turned to sit back down.

"y'know you get more protective than i thought you would be," morgan shrugged with a chuckle.

"what's that mean?" spencer argued defensively.

"it means that princess there is well taken care of. you just don't seem like the possessive type of guy," he reiterated as he pulled out his headphones.

"i'm not being possessive," he defended himself. "i'm being a good boyfriend by not letting you wake her up just so you can ask her a ridiculous question," spencer looked down at you in your peaceful sleeping position.

you hadn't slept well in the hospital. spencer knew this because each time he went to sleep you were awake, and you would be awake when he woke back up. the night before you were in the hospital he heard you cry yourself to sleep and you woke up before him. so, in his mind, you needed as much rest as possible if you wanted to heal properly.

that, and he wanted to feel you cuddled against him as you slept for the first time in a week.

"i think it's more than that, genius," the bald man scoffed.

"what do you think it is?" spencer sassed.

"well, i think it has something to do with the fact that you and pretty girl there," he nodded towards you, "were in a fight and you missed her."

spencer sighed, "is it that obvious?" he used his free hand to move a piece of hair from your face, his hand lingering there for a second longer.

"look, kid, i may or may not have heard what happened thanks to a little someone. you should let her know how much she means to you, alright? she's probably feeling like you're doubting your relationship because of her, so make sure she knows that she's it for you," he advised his curly-headed friend.

"she's not 'it' for me, derek," spencer sighed once more. "she's my everything."

you stirred in your 'sleep' to alert them of your presence, slowly sitting up in an attempt to not hurt yourself.

"hey, princess," spencer whispered, moving that same annoying strand of hair from your face and tucked it behind your ear.

"mmm... hi," you stretched your arms over spencer so you wouldn't hit him. "how long until we land?"

"about half an hour," he informed you, whispering as the other team members slept. "if you'd like to go back to sleep i'll wake you up before we land."

"i'm alright, thank you," you smiled.

you could be mad at him while being a nice person. you just didn't know if you were ready to get over what he had said to you.

——————————

you had gone straight home after landing, permittable by hotch who saw how tired the two of you were.

both of you were laying together on the couch, you slightly on top of spencer because of your still bruised rib that slightly hurt, he angled his head down and started kissing your neck softly. your breathing got heavier, your breaths being few and far between as your hands reached back to grasp spencer's curls.

"spence?" you asked, more like whispered. he continued his actions, the only thing that signified he actually heard you being a small hum against your skin. "i-i... can we...?" you trailed off, not sure how to ask for what you wanted.

"can we what, princess?" he asked his hands reaching around to the front of your body, lightly ghosting over your bare legs.

"you know what, spencer," you huffed in annoyance as you rolled your eyes. he squeezed your thigh firm enough to know he had done it, but gentle enough to know it wouldn't leave any marks that were too bad.

"and you know better than to roll your eyes at me," he whispered in your ear, nipping gently at your lobe. "now... tell me exactly what you want."

"i want whatever you'll give me," you turned your face towards him, giving him your best puppy dog eyes before adding, "please?" you pursed your bottom lip into a pouty position.

that was apparently the magic word because as soon as they had left your mouth, you could have sworn you heard spencer growl in your ear before continuing to kiss and nip at your neck, leaving his marks all over your body. you felt his erection twitch in his pants as you whimpered from the touch of his lips on you which spurred you to grind your ass against his hips. he grabbed your hips to still their movement before sitting up with you, slowly as to make sure he didn't hurt your ribs.

"can you walk to the room by yourself?" he asked in his normal, sweet, non-dominating spencer voice, to which you nodded your head yes as you began to walk where he had asked.

you knelt by the door naked in wait for him, hoping he'd give you something to take your mind off of your injury. when he walked in, he could've sworn he felt his heart grow with even more love for you, something he thought was already impossible.

"princess, why're you on the floor?" he questioned, kneeling down to get eye level with you.

"why isn't your dick in my mouth?" you countered, a smirk growing on your face.

"i was gonna be nice tonight since you're not well so i wouldn't push it, doll," he gave you a stern look that told you to watch it. "i still have some making up to do, i believe?" your smile returned even brighter than before as he helped you back to your feet and into the bed.

once you were comfortable, he was practically worshipping your body with each kiss and hum against your body.

"i can't imagine never touching you again, y/n," he made his way down to your chest, his lips wrapping around your nipple. he gently tugged on it with his teeth before releasing it and doing the same to the other one.

"these tits," he sucked a hickey onto one of them before moving to the other.

"this stomach," he kissed all over your torso, being extremely careful of your bruises as your hands around through his locks once more.

"love the way it feels when i lay on it," he made his way down to your thighs, loving the way you squirmed underneath his touch. he hovered right over the place you wanted most and gently bit down on your thigh, your hips bucking upward subtly from the shock.

"god, these thighs," he huffed as he squeezed them once more. "love the feeling of them wrapping around my head when i'm between them."

"then how about you get between them, then?" you sighed sarcastically, your neediness getting the better of you

"so very impatient," he mocked before pressing one final kiss to your inner thigh. "but what the princess wants, the princess gets. for now, at least."

he licked a thick stripe up your slit, tantalizingly slow just to hear the whimpers that left your lips from the feeling. your hands flew to his hair, gripping it tight as he continued to lap at your pussy.

"so good, sir," you moaned out. "please don't stop. don't stop!" you cried as his lips wrapped around your clit. "uh- right there! yes!" you shouted as your thighs strained to remain still. "yes! oh fuck, yes!" you yelled as the high hit you like a train, his hands grasped your hips so they would stay in place, working you through that euphoria. "oh, thank you, thank you so much..." you trailed off, running your hands through his hair once more as he began making his way up your body, peppering kisses all around you.

"mmm, you did so good for me, y/n," he praised before connecting your lips to his in a passionate kiss. you whimpered into his mouth greedily. "someone's eager, yea princess?" he chuckled. you nodded your head as you bit your lip. "what do you want? i need you to tell me," he whispered, his hands trailing down your body once more and connecting with your sensitive center.

"pl-please," you whined, your hips bucking into his hand. "you, i want you," you informed him as if he hadn't already known.

"you have me now," he chuckled.

"no, no. i want you inside me," you pouted, your hands pulling the hair at the nape of his neck for punctuation.

"you want me inside you?" he asked as he pushed his fingers inside you, your mouth widening to form an 'o' from the surprise. "there, i'm inside you," he teased once more as he began thrusting his fingers in and out. you held onto his arm, a way to ground yourself so you could stil talk without sounding like a baby.

"your- i want your... shit... your dick. i want your dick inside me, please," you practically begged as his fingers began curling inside of you in that perfect spot.

"ohh, is that what you meant?" he asked like a smart ass, you couldn't find it in you to be a brat about it, so you just nodded your head as he worked you through your second orgasm of the night.

"yes! ohhh, fuck, yes," your hips rutted up against his hand from the pleasure. "please, please," you asked once more. "can you please just fuck me now? i want your cock..."

"aww, of course, princess," he said with a bright smile.

he got up from the bed only to remove himself of his remaining clothes before adjusting himself, lining his dick up with your center. he ran his dick through your already wet folds before slowly pushing himself inside of you, knowing you'd still need to adjust to his length.

"so beautiful, y/n," he grasped your hands, interlacing your fingers with his as he began to push himself inside you once more.

it might've been the feeling of being in submission for him, but you felt overcome with emotions. the intimacy of the moment you were sharing was more than just the sex you normally had. it was beautiful. the way he looked at you with awe each time he thrust himself back inside of you. the way you held onto his hands tightly in order to tell yourself that it was real... that he was real.

"god, i love you," he groaned as he kissed you fervently, his pace still set relatively slower than usual. "so much, y/n."

"i love- i love you," you moaned, removing your hands from his only so you could wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling his body closer to yours. "spence, spence i'm so close," you whined in his ear, which only egged him on.

"i've got you, y/n," he pulled back to look at you as you came on his dick. "let go. let go for me," he moved a piece of hair from your face once more as your mouth flew open in pure bliss. your nails dug into his back as your pussy clenched around him, bringing upon his own orgasm, spurts of his releasing covering your walls. "fuck, y/n," he groaned, burying his neck into your shoulder before you pulled it out, wanting to observe him in such a vulnerable state.

"i love you," you whispered, only him able to hear it.

"i love you," he whispered back, pressing your foreheads together as he caught his breath.

when he managed to pull out, he found a new pair of underwear and pulled them on before going to grab you a fresh pair of his clothes to wear to sleep - you liked that they smelled like him, it helped you sleep better.

"where're you goin'?" you whined from the bed, trying to sit up abruptly but only finding a shooting pain going through your abdomen.

"shhh," he whispered, rushing to the side of the bed to guide you back to laying down. his hands found your shoulders and right before he was going to release them, you grabbed his hands.

"are you leaving me again?" you asked pitifully, tears welling in your eyes.

"no, sweetheart," he furrowed his brows. "i'm never going to leave you," he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"i know... i know i can be annoying like you said and i'm working on it," you looked down at your hands, which were now in your lap. "just please be patient?"

"you don't need to work on anything," he wiped the tears from your cheeks. "i never should have said those things to you, whether or not i was upset. i'm so sorry i made you doubt yourself," you found yourself wiping his own tears away. "now let's get you into the bathroom, okay?" you nodded as he helped you get up, guiding you to the bathroom to relieve yourself.

while you were doing your business, he went and got you that change of clothes you needed and brought them to you once you were done. he used a damp, warm washcloth to clean up between your legs and made sure to wash your face for you. he helped you get changed, letting you use him as a balancing bar, and then directed you back to the bed. he rest his head on his pillow, looking over and seeing you still on your side of the bed, not curling up into him as you usually do.

"y/n," he whispered. "i know you're probably still mad at me, which is totally fine because just because we had sex doesn't mean i'm done making it up to you. but... it's kind of harder to sleep without you cuddling with me than i thought. so if you're alright with it can we just..." he trailed off.

"spence?" you asked with a giggle.

"hmm?"

"i'm not supposed to sleep on my stomach or side," you held back a laugh, knowing it would hurt. "i mean, i'm glad we're on the same page about you still making it up to me, but it's kinda doctor's orders that i don't sleep like that."

"oh..." he bit his lip, trying to keep himself from feeling too embarrassed. "right. can we hold hands while we sleep then?" he asked, acting as if he had found a loophole.

"now who's touchy?" you joked, hurting your stomach from the laughter but finding that it was worth it.

"ha-ha," he mocked. "very funny, y/n," he groaned.

"yes, darling," you joked once more. "of course we can hold hands while we sleep."

and you did.

and for the first night in a week, you slept peacefully.

taglist:

@averyhotchner

@greenprisca

@muffin-cup

@emilyprentisslittlewhore

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer x reader #spencer x you #spencer x y/n #mgg fanfiction #mgg imagine #mgg fic #y/n

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kkyujikoo · 3 years

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These are my... 2...? Maybe 50, cents about the whole "freejk" thing. I'm gonna be extremely petty and at some points a whole lot sarcastic and it's gonna be long but I had to say it. As soon as I get my computer I'm gonna make it under read more, but the app does whatever it wants, as we know.

Listen, this ain't my first fan rodeo, and not even the first fan rodeo where I've been directly or indirectly accused of being some sort of pervert or delulu. I've been in fandom spaces since I was a teen, I was shipping mlm couples when queerbaiting in TV shows was still something that was seen as the norm rather than some cheap disgusting trick. I was there when fanfic spaces saw "slash" fics as something "different" and to be tagged with a more mature rating even when they just looked at each other.

I was in BBC's Sherlock's fandom and I shipped Johnlock during the hiatus between S3 and S4, at this point I'm not even feeling it when people call me delulu or a weirdo.

So, yeah, take this with a grain of salt: as a person who has seen thousands of times fandom drama unfolding and has lived too much of it... This whole situation is so ridiculous it makes me laugh. Like, yeah, it's maddening how people will blame anyone and everyone because they don't even see their own bias and homophobia, granted, but like... It also makes me laugh for the sheer dumbassery of the reasoning behind it all?

Like... Y'all are getting mad and for what? Because it sure as hell isn't the invasion of privacy, since y'all are watching the same content we're all watching and you're paying to see it the same way everyone else is. If you don't want to "invade their privacy", you should just... Stop watching content that isn't their music videos, RUN episodes or interviews. Memories and any kind of dvd/video that shows what they're doing behind the scenes shouldn't be part of their job as musicians, and therefore we're intruding in their privacy... Or aren't we?

Or maybe it's more nuanced than that: maybe the content they release on dvd/on their official channels is part of their job as entertainers, and it's been approved, and it's a small window THEY are granting us.

You know what's the REAL invasion of privacy and what REALLY invalidates someone autonomy? When you, who maybe aren't even paying to see that content (which is something I understand, like, dude, I'm not covered in money either), DEMAND what kind of behind the scenes content you want when I swear ABSOLUTELY NO ONE has asked you. Once again: you don't like it? You think it's some huge invasion of privacy? Don't buy it. Don't interact with it. Convince your friends to do the same. For all I care, just go and petition to boycott this kind of content. I know you won't do it, because... That's the thing, isn't it? It's not the invasion of privacy that bothers these people.

Y'all aren't mad because we get into their business or else you would have gotten real mad when we were privy to REAL private moments like people crying their hearts out.

No, no. Y'all are mad because it's "shipping content" and "fanservice" which apparently bothers you because it lacks authenticity.

Pick a side, lovelies: either you DON'T want to invade their privacy, and thus all the content they release should be focused on what fans want to see, or you WANT to know how they interact TRULY in private.

And here's the catch: "shipping content" can be anything. Shipping existed WAAAAAYYY before the word for it was invented, same way with fanfictions. Shipping means, literally, "seeing two (or more) people interact and thinking they would make a good romantic pair". That's it. That's quite literally it. Everything else is just some nuance of the concept of shipping, but at its core, it's nearly impossible to ban all shipping content when it's a group of seven people, because they should for real go in social distancing mode to do so. Most people who have parasocial relationships tend to have "ships" whether they know it or not, because we've all, at least once, looked at a dynamic from the outside and thought "oh man they look cute together". So, even if, o dear ones, your wishes were granted... What the hell do you mean by "shipping" content? Should they just film solo clips, avoiding talking about the other members? But wouldn't that be fanservice, since it's focused on pleasing the fans? (Which, ultimately, is what fanservice MEANS, and I hate to break it to y'all but the whole concept behind entertainment and thus all the content BTS releases it's... For the fans. Like, they're not going out of their way to just meet our expectations but they're certainly doing fanservice by the mere act of releasing bonus content.)

But it's not even quite that, is it? Because no one bats an eye if it's Tae kissing Nj's cheek. I've seen no hashtag against everyone - and I mean literally every one of them - wolf whistling at Nj. It's okay to show intimacy... Because they're bandmates and it's okay to be close to someone who you see basically 24/7, I hear you. And it's also okay when people see that and gush over that closeness, because it's such a nice thing to see.

Soooooo... We've got to free JK from whom exactly? From what?

Are y'all mad cause people pointed out there's very little way a bruise that stayed for a whole ass night could be a quick bite? Because that doesn't harm jk, at most makes fun of him and jimin and their poor excuses (seriously, guys, next time consider using mosquitoes or "I was doing stuff". It'll be equally embarrassing but at least the meme will be funny), and it's literally... A fair observation. Like. It's a hickey, people are gonna make jokes about seeing a hickey and poor excuses of covering it up in the exact same way they're gonna make jokes over jimin falling out of chairs. And yeah, a hickey is AT LEAST something that happens in a sensual context. Like, I could understand "people who are extremely familiar with each other will have different body language/touch in areas where usually you wouldn't see friends touching each other", but that's not. Not a hand on the thigh. It's a hickey on the neck. I don't even know a more stereotypical placing for a hickey. But once again, are y'all mad because someone is pointing it out? Because that's not being delulu or even being a shipper, really, it's just commenting on something that was approved to be shown and discussed in something that was released BY THEM.

Are y'all mad at hybe for showing something that literally fell onto their hands? Cause like, unless someone (I'm counting on Jimin, since as we know Jungkook was busy spinning him round and round and had both his hands busy) called at hybe headquarters to say "yo bang pd substitute, is it okay if I give my friend jk here a hickey? Cause he's being really annoying rn and he has to pay", I highly doubt anyone expected Jungkook to come to rehearsal all neatly marked up. Or idk, maybe someone at hybe asked them "we need Jungkook to come in with a hickey but refuse to say it's a hickey, so that fans will feel reeeeally served." That sounds perfectly plausible too. Or a good marketing strategy.

Now, if you're a big company and your objective is to have some footage of the rehearsals for a concert, and the fandom is too good at noticing stuff for their own good, and one of your artists comes in with a very visible mark, and he and his bff bropal4lyfe come n with a story about how they were playing and a bite happened, you've got three choices: 1. Cut the artist out of aaaaalll the footage. Someone would have noticed the "bite mark" anyway, you best believe that. If you don't want anyone to notice it, you gotta cut him in most of the footage where it's visible. 2. Keep the hickey, discard the explanations. You could do that, but also it would feel a lot more unfaithful to everyone involved. Also they clearly worked their ass off to invent an explanation, come on! They truly tried to do their best inventing something that was not "it's a mosquito bite", they should get some credit! 3. Keep the bite, keep the explanation.

Notice how none of these solutions include the biting never happening because... They couldn't prevent it? The only thing they have any control over is how they're framing each "accident". And that's not an easy job.

I applaud you, people on the editing team.

So... On whom should we cast the blame now? Ah, yes, I think it's finally time for the ultimate scapegoat of this fandom: Jimin. Which is funny, cause... You know... If this were really about privacy, or being "victims" of shipping... This should be about freeing him too, you know? But obviously Jimin does it for attention, while Jungkook, poor angel that he is, doesn't even know what shipping is.

Furthermore, don't we all know how much Jimin imposes himself in Jungkook's life? To the point where he, multimillionaire man feels compelled to share a car with Jimin even if they're both late in the process. And can't you see how uncomfortable he is, draping himself over Jimin, making Jimin drap himself over him?

Oh lordy, truly such an awful eight years Jungkook spent, choosing to have vacations with someone who made him uncomfortable, spending free time with him, even having to suck his ear in public to the point you can see his saliva just because Jimin was sad :( truly an all-around bad time for Jungkook, as evidenced by alllll those times when he said Jimin was pretty, cute, and all-around knowing every little thing about Jimin. I absolutely concur, the dude would be so much more happy if jimin was not in his life.

Did that sound weird and absolutely ridiculous and a really absurd joke? Because that's what y'all sound like to me. Like. Jungkook is out there living his best life, getting hickeys and showered in affection and y'all paint him as a fucking martyr??? I'm sure he's really truly desperate that Jimin holds him in such high regards 😭😭😭 I can see him suffering whenever he starts doing his own serendipity rendition 😭😭 and when he claimed you are me, I am you as his and Jimin's only 😭😭😭 I cannot believe this poor baby 😭😭😭

I've reached a point where every time I hear this stuff I laugh because the levels of twisting reality when it comes to jikook are extraordinary, Jungkook will have a literally blissed out face and people will cry in outrage.

But coming back to my point: let's pretend you're not mad at Jimin and the possibility that jikook are dating: are y'all mad... At the hickey? Because at this point it seems like the only feasible solution. And if you are, do not worry: I'm sure Jungkook's skin was throughly healed by his boo. A kiss soothes even the worst pain, doesn't it?

#jikook #that freejk dumbassery

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11thstreetgirl · 4 years

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Summary: PWP. Sami’s horny when he gets off stage… (Sami Yaffa x reader)

AN: soooo this is what my wine-infused brain comes up with. It’s pure p*rn. Detailed, unashamed p*rn. Be warned. 50+ Sami on stage playing fast songs will be the death of me (yup it’s Monroes-era Sami in this case) one day. I’m sorry it’s not gender neutral :( Enjoy!

He was always the most beautiful right after he came off stage. Skin glistening with sweat, strands of hair glued to his face and neck, smiling ear to ear, a slightly drunken happy haze in his eyes and his whole being buzzing. The nights I was there he usually came straight to me, hugged me tightly and smothered me with wet, furious kisses that tasted like wine and happiness. And he was horny. He'd never admit it but I think it was the bass trembling against his lower parts all night. Today was no exception. The guys were having a blast on stage, laughing and goofing around. I stood at the side of the stage admiring them at their work, and it was bloody marvelous to watch. Bobby the roadie was pouring out shots again, god knows how many they had already had. By the look Sami gave me when he scurried over to shoot the vodka down it was many.

Rich kicked his guitar into the next song. This was my favourite part on the setlist: Got Blood and Black Ties And Red Tape back-to-back. Two fast, filthy songs with heavy bass duty. They got Sami sweating and concentrating more on what he was doing. He stood with his legs wide apart in a low stance that accented his thighs just the way I liked. He leaned back to get better control over the instrument and hunched over a little. He looked animalistic and wild and so ridiculously hot my heart skipped a beat. The man didn’t need to do anything more to get me dripping wet. He was making rough love to his bass. Not that he ever was too gentle with his instrument, but tonight he was giving it even harder time than usually and the front row girls were definitely swooning over him. On nights like this it did wonders to his ego and got him to put his everything into what he was doing. His whole body was one with the rhythm, moving almost involuntarily with the sounds, like something that wasn’t a human anymore but rather made out of noise entirely. The way he was putting all of his weight into hitting the strings did things to me. I loved the way the muscles on his arms moved and how strong and skilled his fingers were. Whenever he wasn’t making faces and laughing at his bandmates he had his eyes closed in almost a pained expression. It came pretty close to being as hot as the way he looked when he was orgasming. He definitely was enjoying himself. It was rough and hard and I was probably expecting the same treatment later. The thought send shivers all over my body and made hot lust settle at the pit of my stomach. I badly wanted to sneak near his amp and run my fingers on it, feel the rumble physically, the low-end knock-out groove that he was pouring his heart and hunger into. Hell, I wanted to strap my whole body against it and cling onto it like it was a giant vibrator. I would've laughed at the thought if I wasn’t getting too hot and bothered to think straight. Thank God the band was just an encore away from getting off stage. Bobby poured another four shots. The guys waltzed over like the owners of the world, smiling like maniacs. Michael and Steve immediately threw their sweaty shirts off and dry ones on. The guitar feedback screeching onstage went quiet as roadies hurried to tune the instruments. The audience was going wild. Sami scooped me into a quick, sweaty hug. He grabbed my face and crashed his lips on mine into a hot, open-mouthed knee-dipping kiss. It lasted only for a few seconds but left me panting and desperate. Before I got my mind straight Sami was out of my reach and laughing with his bandmates. The black-haired blur of happy musicians shouted something incoherent, clinked their glasses together and shot down the alcohol. With Michael’s lead they ran back onstage.

I watched as they reveled around. Sweaty, hungry, they had given their everything to the audience tonight. Breathing heavy and smiling ear to ear they bowed, and bowed again, and kicked their mics and left their guitars lying on the stage, feedback screeching and filling the air with the applause and screams from the audience. It was a party as soon as the band got off stage. The laughter, all the wine, all the sweaty clothes. I knew this was how things were, it took them a while to calm down and to be able to pay attention to the real world around them. But Sami definitely was paying attention to me. They were still going through the gig together but he’d steal a look at me every now and then. When he was filling his glass he’d wink at me and give me grin that made me shudder. It was like in the beginning all over again, and it made me just to get more exited. I knew the others wouldn’t mind but still sharing such looks secretly made my heart pound faster. Sami’s half-closed eyes followed me wherever I sat and chatted with someone. I noticed him trying to cover his front discreetly.

It felt like eternity. Every now and then he’d walk past me and run his hands over mine or hug me, but always he’s go back to the conversation he was having with someone. I was getting impatient when he finally came to me.

-Let's get out of here, Sami murmured into my ear. Hell yes, finally. He put his hand at the small of my back and gently pushed me towards the door. We stepped outside into the chilly Helsinki night. Sami gave me quick kiss. I was starving for more. He scrambled through his pockets for his phone and called us a taxi. He was visibly drunk; not wasted but mischievous and he had a one-sided grin on his face. And my god he was horny. He tried to be discreet when he hugged me and grinded against me but no way in hell I’d miss it. I wanted to moan and take him right there in the middle of the street. Thank god it was a hometown show so we could just take a taxi and be back home in some twenty minutes.

Sami had a hard time keeping his hands to himself. Not that mine were in my own lap either. His hand was dangerously high on my thigh, fingers massaging the flesh underneath the fabric. He had his face buried in my hair and his breathing was ragged and hot in my ear. Occasionally he kissed my neck and my face. I didn’t ever dare to look at him because I feared we’d devour each other on the spot. Constant small shivers were running on my body. In my mind I was trying to will the driver to run a few red lights.

I felt like a teenager as we almost ran to our apartment. I fiddled with the key for what felt like an eternity as Sami had his arms around me in a tight hug and was breathing hard onto my neck. I could smell the alcohol and the desire and it was making my vision blurred. I fucking adored the man.

Finally the door opened and we stumbled in. Sami wasn’t all smiles anymore but so so horny he probably wasn’t thinking at all. Seeing him like that made me lose my mind. He ripped my jacket off and then his, dropping them on the floor. I kicked my shoes off and so did he, and as soon as all the extra clothes were out of the way he crashed his body against mine. In an instant his mouth was on mine and the kiss had nothing to do with being gentle or considerate. It was bruising and wet and made my brain numb. His hands were already under my shirt on my hips and he was pushing me towards the bedroom. There was so much going on it was a total sensory overload of pleasure. I gave into him. He could do just about anything to me tonight and I’d just follow his lead.

He usually wasn’t this raw but more soft and sensitive, making it slow and sensual. But especially after banger shows like tonight he got a lot more rough. He just couldn’t stand the pressure anymore. And every time it made me putty in his hands. The way he looked at me like he wanted to eat me alive and the way he pushed all of his weight onto me got me crazy.

I was whimpering and moaning into his mouth and he eagerly swallowed all our noise. He was moaning low and i more felt than heard it. We finally reached the bed and before pushing me down Sami tugged my shirt off. He stood there for a second, panting, my lipstick all over his face and hair tangled. I lied on the bed perched on my elbows. I wanted to sit back up and undo his belt and pants but I knew he’d got the job done faster. So I just stared at him as he hurried his clothes off. His shirt and the vest he had on it seemed to have an infinite number of buttons and his hands were shaking a little. All the while he was staring at me with his eyes half closed. Finally the shirt was off and his torso bare. I licked every inch of it with my gaze. As he moved his hands to his belt I got out of my trance just enough to shimmy out of my pants. With them I threw my socks and panties on the floor. Sami got his belt off and a second later was standing there in all of his naked glory. He didn’t waste time in savoring the moment but dived right in. He pushed my legs apart and buried his face between them. He gave me a long, slow lick before taking my clit between his lips and sucking. Air escaped my lungs in a strained moan and I could feel Sami smiling against me. He pulled off just for a second to suck on his finger before pushing it in, not that he really needed any lubricant as I was probably dripping on his fingers by now. The movement of his hand and his tongue were quickly making me a writhing mess under him. I was surprised he even had the patience for this right now. I sure as hell didn’t. On any other night I would’ve enjoyed his worship until the world ended, but tonight I was way too eager to get him inside me.

- Sami please… I got out of my mouth in between the moans. - Just fuck me already!

He moaned against me, the sound a physical tremble making me buck my hips. He gave one last lick to my clit, then got up.

- Turn around.

His voice was hoarse and his hands guided my movements. I got on all fours as he got on his knees on the bed. I pushed my ass up for him to get a better look and turned just enough to see his face as his eyes fluttered almost closed and a appreciative groan escaped him. He gave my ass a playful slap before reaching his hands around me and pulling me up against his body. He rubbed his cock on my ass and moaned. One of his hands was caressing my boob and the other slipped between my legs. I was glad he was holding me upright, I was still sensitive from all the licking. His touch was surprisingly soft as he rubbed my clit for a moment. I moaned impatiently, I was just as desperate as he was. He gave a quick kiss to my neck before murmuring:

- Mind if I get a little rough and carried away?

All I could muster was a shaky no as his finger was drawing circles on my clit. Sami groaned and removed his fingers. An involuntary sound of disapproval escaped me but was overrun with a loud moan as Sami pushed inside me with one long movement. He let out a breathy moan that sounded like he’d been holding it in all nigh. He dint give me even a second to adjust as he pulled back and pushed right back in. He set a slow but intense rhythm that left me breathless. He held his hand on my lower stomach and I angled myself so that he probably could feel himself moving inside me as I pushed my ass into his lap. He was panting and groaning and all the sounds were driving me crazy. He was holding back but I wasn’t having it. I was so far gone I just wanted him to fuck me as hard and rough as he had played his bass earlier, so I wiggled my ass on his lap every time he was deep inside me, trying my very best to make him snap. Not that I wasn’t enjoying his deep, long thrusts that I could almost feel in my throat. He was melting my brain with each movement and my little teasing wasn’t only driving him mad but me too.

And it payed off. Sami groaned, a frustrated animalistic sound, and pushed me forward so that I was back on all fours. Yes yes yes yes. He took a bruising grip on my hips and started pounding into me with such force I knew I'd be walking funny for days. Just like I wanted it. I tried to push back to meet him with every thrust but it was getting too much too fast and I was overrun with the feeling of him so deep inside me. It made my vision blurred and hands weak.

I turned to look at him over my shoulder and the sight of him almost made me cum right away. He had the same pained expression on his face as earlier, sweat making his skin glisten, hands leaving marks on my hips. The sound of our bodies slamming together filled the room with his moaning and grunting, and I doubted he was even aware he was making so much noise. It just drove me closer to the edge. He was close too without a doubt. My mind was a blank, all there was left in the world was him slamming into me, filling me again and again, sending tsunamis of pleasure all over my body. As much as I wanted this to last forever I was desperate to cum. I reached between my legs and rubbed my clit feverishly. Sami knew I was about to come and somehow picked up his pace. It was all it took and I came, violently shaking and moaning his name. My hands gave away and I collapsed on the bed. Sami lost his rhythm and pulled my hips to his, swearing under his breath as his hips bucked and he filled me. I could feel his warm cum inside me as he fell next to me.

We lied there gasping for air. Sami was dizzy and sweaty and oh-so-beautiful so I cuddled closer, ignoring the fact that we were still pretty much steaming and probably on the verge of a heatstroke. Our bedroom smelled like sex and love and my man was a mess. He could barely hold his eyes open.

- I know you know how to make me cum so hard I see stars but this was something else, I murmured against his skin. He chuckled, a tired, strained sound.

- Thank you for letting me blow off some steam. I wasn’t too rough was I? His voice was hoarse and he was still panting.

- Anytime babe, if you blowing off steam is this good. I don’t mind rough.

- Well we do have a couple of gigs next weekend….

AN: no taglist this time because ...well p*rn lol

#i know it's kinda shitty #the end didnt work out as i wanted #but i got tired of writing this #i was meant to be a fun side project so i didnt overthink it

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xlady-saya · 4 years

Text

I want this touch to be familiar [Ch. 4]

Relationships: andrew/neil, side aaron/katelyn

Summary: Deep down, Andrew knew he would always reach this crossroads, a time where the thought became too strong to ignore.

Going all the way with Neil. It’s not something he can continue to avoid thinking about. When Andrew looks back to the days where he held Neil’s hands down, when he never got off with him in the same room, he’s forced to acknowledge how much he’s allowed.

Not allowed. Welcomed. Wanted.

But that’s not all there is to it, and the desire to make a decision finally makes itself known.

Tags: first time fic, p*rn with feelings, relationship study, fluff and communication, multichapter

Read on ao3!

The second time they try is perhaps worse than the first, in that the interruption doesn't come from either of them.

Part of Andrew, the small part which sometimes wonders if there is some eternal being running the show, would love nothing more than to fight them for making his life like this.

It's even more irritating because the second time, he's ready. He's more than ready.

He's burning.

Andrew slams the door to their dorm room shut so hard the wall shakes. His free hand, the one not tangled in Neil's hair, locks it without a second thought. The sound of it clicking into place is like a starting gun, telling him they're alone, it's just them.

He can do whatever he wants.

He expects his hands to be clammy, unsure, but he hasn't moved with so much purpose in a long time, and certainly not for his own benefit.

Neil's breathy laugh is quickly turned into a gasp when Andrew locks their lips together, the desperate smacks bouncing off the walls. Kissing shouldn't feel this mind-blowing; Andrew's done it thousands of times, but when Neil moans into his mouth, it coaxes out all of Andrew's primal urges. The striker pins his tongue down, guides Andrew's hands to the curve of his back, telling Andrew to take. He growls against Neil's lips for the trick, but gives in anyway. Neil is just too much, offered willingly, wantonly.

He grabs handfuls of Neil's ass, pulling him flush to his body, showing off his strength. The cotton leggings are soft, thin, and Andrew pulls at the fabric to stretch it. He's been building up to this since this morning, when he watched Neil slowly pull the offensive pants over the curve of his ass.

Class afterwards had been interesting.

Andrew pulls Neil up a little higher; the striker's feet don't touch the floor, held completely. It's what Neil likes, though he's never said it. He knows Andrew can hold him up, dependable.

Neil doesn't even startle, just throws his head back from the promise of it. A mess already, both of them.

This time, there's no question about it. Andrew is rock hard in his jeans, trying not to hump Neil's leg for friction. There's more he wants to do, more they've been waiting to do.

Andrew's mind runs a mile a minute, but not with second guessing or caution from before.

It's clear, his mind is so clear. The desire to take is there, but there's no guilt or shame with it. Because Neil wants it, Neil's going to give. Andrew only feels pure, unsullied longing.

He acts on it, before it has the chance to leave him again.

He slams Neil against the wall, and the striker moans, like he's grateful for it. Strong legs wrap around Andrew's back after a rushed yes, pulling him impossibly close. He wonders if Neil is really afraid of Andrew leaving him in this state; it would be a sight to see Neil whining like that...

Neil's practically vibrating with excitement, rutting forward already as he kicks off his shoes. The clatter of them behind him sends Andrew's heart rate into a frenzy, it's nearly unacceptable.

He doesn't have time to correct it, when Neil looks like this. He can only feel want. The blue in Neil's eyes is wiped out, and Andrew wants to trace the scars on his face, flushed from their exertion.

Neil has other ideas; his shaking hands paw at Andrew's jacket, willing it off, and Andrew nearly smirks. He can't though, because he's just as bad right then.

He pulls Neil's hoodie off, ruffling his hair, and his hands are everywhere after that. He presses them along Neil's ribs, his collar bones, stopping to roll one of his nipples between his fingers. Neil keens from the attention, but his lidded eyes find the bulge in Andrew's pants quickly. Neil never likes to be the only one feeling good, not these days, when Andrew so willingly lets him reciprocate. "Andrew, I want--"

Andrew silences him with a harsh kiss, pinching the nub between his fingers.

Neil almost looks offended when Andrew moves away, but then his eyes widen, pulled into submission by Andrew's low tone.

If Andrew ever does admit he likes Neil's legs, it'll be the day Neil has to admit he has a thing for Andrew's voice.

"I know what you want," Andrew states, a vow. Right then, Neil wants to be taken apart, but more than that...

He wants to share this, finally, after all their talking and the memory of their first attempt. They're going to try again, and for once the possibility of failure isn't nearly as daunting. No matter what...

"It always feels good, when we lose control."

Andrew forces himself to think for a moment, his hands reaching back down to cup Neil's thighs. He can't help but squeeze, and a little gentler, Andrew lifts Neil to move them to the bed. As tempting as wall sex might sound in his head, this is still their first time.

No discomfort, no navigating more than they have to.

Neil seems to understand this, and goes slack in Andrew's arms, mouthing at his neck lazily.

The air in the room feels frantic, but it doesn't stop the wave of calm that hits them both. Andrew sets Neil down, and the striker's body creates space for him, pulling him forward so they're locked together. There's a pause as Neil falls onto his back, an infinite moment locked away in the second their eyes meet.

Neil's attempt to fight off a smile is pathetic, and he taps the side of Andrew's face by his eye. There's no blood or bruising there this time. It's as if to test Andrew is real, that this is happening.

Andrew breathes in shakily at the feeling which hits him, not knowing where to place it. The spectrum of emotions was locked away for so long, but this...he doesn't think it would be easy to place in any situation.

He's reluctant to pull away, but Neil only squirms excitedly when he does. He knows. Andrew grabs the book bag at the foot of the bed, emptying it haphazardly. The condoms fall on top of Neil, and Andrew swallows around the lump in his throat. It's terrible, what the sight does to him, like he's some teenage boy. Neil takes it in stride though, grabbing one and eyeing the reflective packaging with intensity.

So easy to read in moments like this.

Neil holds one of the condoms in front of his face, eyeing Andrew teasingly, like he can hear his thoughts. It's annoying, but it doesn't stop the traitorous part of Andrew from wondering how many of these they'd be able to go through...

"You can see me this time," Neil breathes, and Andrew stills. It’s a throwaway statement to anyone else, unnecessary, clunky. It relieves any last dredges of tension Andrew might have.

Oh, he can see alright. Neil is on his back, in front of Andrew, no room to miss the yearning or lust in his features. The striker brushes his bangs aside, like they're obstructive, and the feeling from before overflows back in Andrew's chest. Neil is so giddy about it, and the softness in the words threatens to choke Andrew. He grabs Neil's face with both hands, like he almost can't believe it.

They're not making the same mistake, it won't be like last time.

"I can," he echoes, not knowing what else he can do. This is troublesome he knows, the fact something so ridiculous can make him feel at ease. He searches his mind for hesitation, for any reason to not do this. He’s not able to stop, it's in his nature to look for the snag, but he finds none.

So he moves forward.

Andrew's hips slot against Neil's ass, and he feels the striker's entire body shiver. With a glare, he tugs at the fabric of Neil's leggings, ruined by his eager hands.

Whoever bought Neil these things can die. They're stirrup leggings, the dark fabric stretching down past his ankles to hook around his feet. They match Neil's new style of armbands, the ones that snake a little further down his arm's than Andrew's.

Allison is the most likely culprit he realizes, since the coordination was obviously made with some care.

She's going to pay.

"You like them," Neil states, a fact. He wears them on purpose, they both know it, like how Andrew started wearing more tank tops to the gym.

Despite that, he pinches Neil's thigh, relishing in the jolt.

"Admit you wear them just to be a nuisance," Andrew dodges the admission, as if it helps.

Neil's grin proves it. "When you admit you like how they make my ass look."

But well, that will never happen. Andrew sees no point in admitting the obvious.

He slides his hands over the fabric leisurely, hooking his fingers into the waistband. It's almost a shame he's two seconds from ripping the damn things to shreds if only to get Neil naked faster. Andrew's fingers twitch at the promise, and he sees the moment Neil sits up in anticipation for it. He knows what comes next.

Greedy, aren't we?

"Can we--" Neil starts, and his pants aren't even off.

"Yes Neil," Andrew sighs, as if it's a chore for him. He pushes the leggings and Neil's underwear down in one fluid movement, quick enough to make Neil gasp. It's a direct contradiction to his bored tone, he knows, but Neil likes it. "I'm going to fuck you with my fingers."

Neil's pupils dilate like a starving animal. Andrew regards him with a raised eyebrow; when he'd first suspected Neil would love the feeling of Andrew's fingers inside him, he hadn't anticipated how much. In the days since their first try, it's been the preferred way to get off. He can't judge Neil, when Andrew had been curious to experiment with it anyways. He’s not sick of it, making Neil come untouched, watching him writhe and push against Andrew's hand. Neil's never been shameless when it comes to those things. It’s especially apparent now that there’s no death sentence over his head. Plus, Andrew won't exploit his weaknesses.

So, when Neil enjoys something, he enjoys it for all it's worth. Andrew's pretty sure the shape of his fingers is imprinted inside Neil at this point, with how ridiculous they've been about it.

Briefly, Andrew wonders if after they go through with this his sex drive will finally calm down. It would make sense.

Right now though, his mind always circles back around to it. How to feel good, how to make Neil feel better.

Andrew presses down on Neil's perineum, watching Neil tense up with want. "You'll have to be good and not come this time though," he reminds, breathing the words into Neil's warm skin.

He'd rather not overstimulate Neil to that extent, though it's an intriguing thought.

With a huff of a laugh, Neil presses his foot down on Andrew's thigh, near where his cock strains in his jeans. "The same to you."

Andrew can't wait anymore.

"Be useful," he says, pushing the condom back into Neil's hands while he finds the bottle of lube.

"Jerk," Neil says without any heat, but he doesn't go to tear the condom open. That's the thing with Neil, if he's fixated on something he can't move on. His hand hovers over Andrew's groin, questioning. "Andrew--"

"Yes," Andrew growls, and Neil continues to surprise him with how fast he can move.

Neil flings Andrew's belt to the floor, and his pants are down before he can revel in the relief of it. He winces from the cool air on his cock, his body grateful.

Neil is so considerate of Andrew's needs it's infuriating, and yet Andrew's body reacts so well for him.

Neil slides a pillow underneath himself, too eager, but Andrew realizes he's already scooting forward with need.

And still, there's nothing wrong, nothing in the air telling him to stop.

There's just...them.

Neil seems to sense this too, even as Andrew's fingers pause at his entrance, intent clear. He brings Andrew lower, so he can feel all his body heat, the ghost of what's to come.

Weight, heat, fullness.

They stop, breathe, take each other in. Neil's eyes are...Andrew doesn't have a word for them. He should be upset, and yet he can't find the emotion. It doesn't apply.

Neil takes the bottle from Andrew's hand and uncaps it, tongue sliding over his kiss swollen lips. "Okay?"

He can't sound this wrecked already. And what kind of question is that?

Andrew glares, and then kisses him, unable to help it. "Yes," he says, and a few seconds later he presses two coated fingers into Neil's body, refusing to ignore the way Neil's legs spread for him, impatient.

"Fuck," Neil moans, drawing the syllables out like he can't believe how good it is. He clenches around Andrew's fingers, hand tightening on his shoulder. Andrew's cock leaks a little at the way Neil's hips twitch, and he wants to suck a mark into the bone, dig his thumb into it...

Neil's so damn hot inside. As if feeling Andrew' control slipping, Neil reaches down to pump at his cock, smearing the precum on the shaft. Neil throws his head back with another curse, reaching for the condom and tearing it open. Andrew's mind goes haywire, letting Neil sit up to slide the condom on.

Yes, Andrew's mind yells, beats against his skull. The swarm from before is back, like they've been lurking, waiting to finally get what they wanted from the start.

Andrew pulls his fingers out; they've been doing this enough, Neil's already stretched, Andrew can slide right in and--

There's a loud thump on the door, like the sound of a gunshot. They both lock up, the bubble around them violently popped. Andrew's thoughts come to a screeching halt, the swarm stilling.

They react instantly, the product of paranoia from different outlets. It's disgusting how predictable they are; Andrew's first instinct is to cover Neil's body with his own, a shield from the threat. The knives in his armbands feel extra heavy, calling him. In the same vein, Neil shoots up, as if to push Andrew away from the line of fire.

The need to protect, to guard what's theirs.

The illusion of danger is quickly shattered though, when they hear Kevin's voice. "Guys! Why is the door locked? You better not be doing anything! We're supposed to be at the court!"

The knob of the room rattles obnoxiously, like Kevin might actually break it. Neil's brow furrows as he looks over at Andrew, as if to ask if he's hearing right. It's Kevin; not a madman, or a mafia gangster. Kevin. They both share a look of realization, one that quickly dissolves into a glare. Neil's expression goes from shock to pure, unadulterated annoyance.

"Fuck off Day!" Andrew barks, shocked by his own tone. Kevin balks from behind the door, and Andrew curses himself. He hates when he gives too much away of how he actually feels, even though he's been working through that. The urge to appear uncaring would usually still be a crutch he falls back on, but in this case it doesn't stand a chance.

He's pissed.

Neil is naked in his arms, two seconds away from being fucked into the mattress, and Andrew does not like being interrupted.

But it isn't that Kevin is stupid, he's simply that much of a perfectionist with a hardhead. Like always, he steamrolls through the clear warning with another harsh knock. "Fuck no, Andrew you told me you'd drive me tonight! You gave me your word!"

Neil makes a small choking noise when Andrew tenses.

Shit, Andrew did say that. His memory now finds it appropriate to remind him of the promise, as well as the time of day. He knew he had to take Kevin to practice in the evening because of how much the other kept complaining about their stats, but he’d also planned for this alone time with Neil. He'd lost track of time.

Andrew never loses track of time.

"No," Neil whines, falling onto his back with a huff. Andrew's not sure if he's talking about the situation or Kevin's whole existence. Andrew's not sure he's ever in the history of knowing Neil seen him look so upset about the prospect of playing exy.

It's unheard of, and doesn't help the erection still leaking onto the bed.

Andrew can't move, his mind and body in a stalemate. He can't kill Kevin, that's off the table. He gave his word, it's on him, but...

"Let's go," Kevin yells with a final bang of his fist, his footsteps stomping down the hallway with an air of royal decree. Finality.

Dread creeps into Andrew's veins, and he looks down at Neil to see the feeling reflected in his actual expression. Neil doesn't cry, at least he hasn't let himself yet, not even after Baltimore. But ...he's upset. Those blue eyes waver a little, throwing his head back in restlessness.

Andrew wants to scold him for being so dramatic, tell him it's not a big deal, but the words wouldn't be genuine.

Andrew hates this.

Neil whimpers, but even Andrew can see he knows. He knows they have to go. Neil clings to Andrew's forearms a little tighter, as if grounding himself in the moment, cherishing the last few seconds of it.

Andrew has never wanted to stay somewhere so bad before; Neil's arms are a death sentence he realizes, because he'd waste away here without a second thought.

Neil's legs tremble from the excitement still coursing through him, and Andrew lets a grunt slip when he feels the striker's ankles knock against his back.

He can't handle it. He won't be able to go.

"Andrew..." Neil whispers, and Andrew leans down in a split second to press his forehead against Neil's. It's a firm touch, almost harsh. A warning. The silver cigarette around his neck hangs down, lingering over Neil's throat.

"Don't," Andrew snaps, swallowing around the anger. He closes his eyes; Neil's are too intense, too strong right then. Calling him, lulling him. He inhales sharply, another mistake. All his senses react to Neil. "Don't do that."

I can't stop myself when you do.

Neil shivers; it's the opposite of Andrew's usual 'stay.' Because they can't, Andrew can't be tempted to. They sit there for another few seconds, unwilling to move, unable to touch more for fear of falling back into it.

Andrew nearly growls as he pulls himself away harshly, trudging towards the bathroom to try and get rid of his problem.

Behind him, he hears Neil throw a pillow to the floor. "Goddammit."

They're especially brutal at night practice.

Andrew can't resist playing; he denies every single one of Kevin's shots to the goal, and sends them far down the court each time. Kevin's practically drenched in sweat from how much Andrew is making him run, but it's not the only retribution he's receiving.

Neil is fast, faster than Kevin when he wants to be, and he intercepts every shot he can. It's a coordinated attack; they're not letting Kevin have the ball if they can help it.

For how peeved they both are, it doesn't feel like enough. Andrew isn't supposed to believe in revenge, but this isn't it he reassures himself.

It's simply justice.

Kevin curses loudly when one of Andrew's returns nearly clips his ankle. Andrew doesn't think he's ever been this ruthless at a practice, and Neil rebounds a ball a little too close to Kevin's head about five minutes later.

Andrew tries not to get too distracted by Neil's stupid determination, or his panting.

Panting. Because of exy, because they're at the court and not in bed.

Andrew's next shot rings like a bullet against the plexiglass.

By the end of it, they're all exhausted, but Kevin can barely walk. All that Raven training, for what again?

Andrew glares at him as he takes off his helmet, and oh, as if the night couldn't get more aggravating.

Kevin smiles like an idiot. "See? If you guys practiced like this all the time, we'd be unstoppable!"

Silence descends over the stadium, and Andrew is all too happy to break it before he breaks something else.

He throws his racquet on the floor, much to Kevin's horror, and stomps back to the locker room with Neil close behind.

Later that week, they have their usual lunch with Katelyn and Aaron. It's not normally a chatty affair on his end, Katelyn tends to take up most of it, filling Neil in on things and instigating petty arguments between him and Aaron.

She'll never admit she does it, Andrew figured it out. He's not about to comment on Katelyn being an instigator, since that's exactly what Neil is.

Neil. Andrew grits his teeth at the dangerous train of thought, even with the striker right next to him. Neil is usually pressed against him when they sit together, but today there's a noticeable gap.

Intentional. Probably smart considering how wound up they are.

Andrew, to channel the itch in his veins, has been assembling a card tower for the past ten minutes. He's not sure if Neil is fixating so hard on him because he's impressed, or because he's imagining what other things Andrew's hands can do. Could be doing.

Either way, Andrew almost has four levels.

"Hand me another deck," he grumbles, and Neil smiles, already having opened the next one. Their fingers brush, and an urge spikes that's entirely removed from sex. Holding Neil's hand has become routine too, something to stabilize him, and he craves it. Right then, he’d probably break his fingers though, with how coiled he is, so best to not.

Andrew holds his breath and adds a card. The tower wavers.

Katelyn's chatter is missing, unheard of. The slow slurp of her soda is the only thing audible, grating on Andrew. He wonders if she knows it is. Her stare burns; Andrew doesn't dare look at her, though he's sure she's being so analytical because she's noticed how Aaron is staring at them.

Ah yes, it seems his twin is being observational today. He should really save it for his science classes.

The gaze is shifty, suspecting, and it's setting Andrew on edge by the second. His brother is so obvious, but Andrew can't pinpoint why. When he flicks his gaze up to his twin's, the curiosity too much, Aaron's eyes squint rather than dart away. Like he knows something.

But he can't, right?

Even if he did, there's no way he would bring it up. They have a silent agreement to never mention their sex lives after the time they ran into each other at the school convenience store in the condom aisle, looked at each other, and promptly walked away.

So yes, Aaron will keep his mouth shut to keep the peace, but Andrew still can't remember when he agreed to be this easily read.

Andrew returns to his cards, convinced that's the end of it. Neil starts to squirm beside him again, and Andrew resists rolling his eyes. He's already had to squeeze Neil's thigh three times to get him to stop.

Neil keeps his lips pressed together, keeping that mouth under control, a rare event.

It's a short-lived relief.

"Well, you two are antsy."

The whole table tenses, and Aaron wheezes.

The tower in front of Andrew crashes down, poetic, and he scowls at the remains of the battlefield.

Oh, right. Ignoring Katelyn's existence is starting to be a mistake, since she can be just as blunt as Neil. At the most random times too. The difference is with her it's often an accident, and it's followed up by strings of apologies reinforced by a sheltered suburban childhood.

Neil just doesn't give a fuck.

On cue, Katelyn blushes up to her ears, choking on her cola and waving her hands in front of her face. "No omg, I didn't mean--I'm so sorry!"

But well, too late.

Aaron strides on in spite of his girlfriend's muttering, seemingly set on taking advantage of the broken ice. Andrew looks around; he can't use his knives on his brother but all he has after that is a plastic spork.

Aaron leans forward on his elbows, like he always does when he's about to tell Andrew something potentially troublesome. It's more common now, since they actually talk about things, but it puts Andrew on alert anyways. This is not Bee’s office.

"Yeah..." Aaron muses, glancing between Neil and Andrew slowly. "Are you guys...fighting?"

And it's not said in concern, or disbelief, which makes Andrew suspicious from the get go. Aaron poses the question like it's one of a few possibilities, like he's narrowing Andrew's mood down like a multiple choice question.

Like he's seen this before.

Andrew glares at him before turning to Neil, a silent exchange. Neil's expression is akin to a shrug; great, he has no idea.

The confusion between them is palpable, but it's Neil who finally turns back to Aaron with a raised brow. "No? Why would we be?" Neil asks, and well...there's a lot of things they could've expected.

None of them match the reaction they actually get.

Aaron retches instantly, startling even Katelyn. She jumps in her seat, watching Aaron double over.

"Ah gross," Aaron says with his head in his hands, scowling at them a second later. "This is some weird sex thing. Go away."

Neil blanches at the same time Katelyn sputters, but Andrew keeps his face impassive. He won't give his brother the satisfaction of knowing he's right, but the fact he is makes Andrew even more annoyed than before.

"How--" Neil says, because why would he deny it like any other person? Andrew needs to push the whole table off a cliff. Neil really needs to sharpen up his lying skills too, if he's going to expose them like this.

Katelyn better watch her back too; the twins are not in the business of being this close. He will give it to Aaron though, he rendered Neil speechless. A true feat.

Andrew stares at Aaron, who scowls back, a standoff. These four second fights are becoming normal too.

There's a steady agreement reached in those four precious seconds: let's pretend this never happened.

The condom aisle all over again.

Aaron pushes his tray away, grabbing Katelyn's hand. "No way am I explaining how I know, you guys always do this! I hate you..."

And yes, Andrew's had enough. He steadfastly ignores Aaron's statement that he ever shows this much too. He doesn't. "Eat shit and die."

"Don't mind if I do!"

"...."

Katelyn's face twists in confusion, but recovers long enough to wave at Neil, oblivious to it all. She's an enigma. She must be somewhat strong too, because she resists Aaron's tug for a few seconds. It's like he's trying to pull a boulder with dental floss.

Social etiquette is a hell of a drug.

"We'll just...leave you guys to it, have fun!" Katelyn says, and Aaron retches again from behind her. Andrew really has to do it, he realizes. He has to kill them both. Katelyn's face turns as red as a tomato, jaw opening and closing. "But not like...that way, or yes do? You deserve it!"

Andrew hates her.

"Babe..." Aaron whines behind her, probably wishing the Earth would swallow him up. Another thing they have in common on this fine day.

Katelyn smiles as she's dragged away, winking. "See you...someday!"

The whole thing is over and done in less than two minutes, and yes, Andrew was counting. He rubs his neck, expecting pain from the whiplash that was the conversation he was forced to endure.

He watches Aaron haul ass across campus from afar, and knows they'll be back playing video games together later that night.

It's the nature of things now.

Beside him, Neil bangs his head against the table with an anguished groan. He keeps his face hidden, but Andrew reaches forward to tug on his earlobe.

Drama queen.

"I hate them," Neil mutters, an echo of Andrew's thoughts. He can't see him, but he's sure Neil can feel his agreeing nod.

With a sigh, Andrew starts on a new card tower. "At least you're not related to one of them."

And well, Neil couldn't compete with that if he tried.

One of the traditions which stuck after Baltimore, and perhaps one of the only things Andrew let Neil dwell on, was the giant pile the foxes made around him the night after.

The impromptu sleepover had been one of the only times Andrew allowed himself to sleep so close to others, bordered on both sides. At the time, Neil had needed him more, and Andrew would've been next to him even if they were dangling over a ledge. His need to protect had been on the fritz, his heart unable to calm down at the thought of losing Neil, of letting him out of his sight ever again.

So naturally, his fear and distrust of others had been a non-issue. He hadn't had the space in his head to think about it. Plus, he isn't and never was afraid of the foxes.

Annoyed by them is another feeling entirely.

Once a month, Nicky makes them build a pillow fort in the common area and forces them to watch trashy movies. Aaron won't say no because Katelyn often comes, and the rest of them use it as an excuse to get drunk and rag on Nicky's tastes in films.

Neil stares at Andrew, Andrew tries not to stare back, and it ends up with them all passed out in varying positions, Neil squeezed next to Andrew as they hog the couch.

It's routine, as much as Andrew hates to admit it. He never meant to become so used to the gatherings, or attend them at all, but they've begun to grate on his nerves less.

Neil never misses a single one, and Andrew can't avoid it.

But, none of them are engineering majors, and therefore don't possess the architectural skills to make a long standing pillow fort. Andrew also refuses to help.

Therefore, the pieces of furniture they move around to make it work only end up creating fire hazards and traps for those who need to get up at any point to piss. Typically, they end up toppled over in a mess of sheets and pillows the next day, and stay there.

It's pathetic, really, like toddlers are behind it.

Currently, Andrew and Neil are lying down in the graveyard of blankets that was once their shitty tent. Andrew already knows it won't get cleaned up for days, not until one of them actually trips over something. Andrew's certainly not going to help with that either.

The other foxes must've had the same idea, since they're nowhere to be found.

'Well, I think it's time for brunch,' Allison had said before the rest of the hungover team followed her out.

Only Neil and Andrew decided to stay behind, on account of Neil's forgotten math homework he needed to get done.

Andrew really should've known.

He stares up at the ceiling, listening to the offbeat tap of Neil's pencil against his textbook. They're on Andrew's comforter, or maybe he should call it their comforter. They rarely sleep separately these days. Even the nights where Andrew needs the space, he'll wake up with an itch eventually, like something is off.

Perhaps that's why he feels this way right then; there's an untrustworthy feeling of calm. It's not something he ever liked in the past, because it was always followed by some kind of calamity, danger. Yet when he looks ahead, he finds nothing looming on the horizon. The sheets Matt taped to the walls block out the sun from the windows, and the calm only intensifies.

But, Neil is next to him, so it makes sense. He hates that it makes sense, and as steely as his memory is, he can't pinpoint when that happened.

It's fitting, that it would happen in a moment like this. It should also feel like a slap in the face, that with all their planning, all their anticipation, it would happen on a random, lazy afternoon, when the question isn't even in the air. It isn't even on their minds.

"I just think if there was an apocalypse math would come in handy," Neil says in the middle of their faux argument. Andrew won't admit to liking it, but he provokes Neil when he can, pokes and prods because it gets Neil's attention.

Not that Andrew needs Neil's attention...he's bored is all.

Insulting math is a sure fire way to get Neil in his teasing mood, sending them down a rabbit hole. All Andrew had said was that math was dumb, but now they're back on the zombie topic like it's second nature. They've fleshed it out so many times, yet there's never an unlimited amount of questions to be asked.

Last week they'd spent about thirty minutes debating on when survivors would run out of gasoline, and where the best sources would be.

Neil's smile is lazy as he rests his chin on his hand, waiting for Andrew to fire back.

Andrew leans over with sigh, put upon as he circles a random answer on Neil's homework. He doesn't get the problem, but he knows it's the wrong answer. He circles it in pen. "Neil, what did I say about trying to convince me about the pros of calculus?"

It's not going to happen.

Neil hums thoughtfully, and Andrew knows the striker's memory isn't that bad. "That if I did you'd kill me?"

Neil rests his head on his textbook, work momentarily forgotten, and has the nerve to wink.

Andrew throws the pen at him. "And yet..."

Honestly, even looking at all the numbers makes him want to gag.

Neil flops down onto his back, blowing his bangs out of his face. They need to be cut, Andrew realizes, and resists the urge to tie them back. He doesn't realize he's moving to see Neil's face more clearly until he's rolled over on his side, face above Neil's. It's their usual dance, one Andrew tries so hard to refrain from. A push and pull, so their jagged edges manage to fit together even under this failed fortress. Neil looks up at Andrew with that same cheeky grin. "That's such a you threat though, you won’t do it."

It's statements like that which will make Andrew actually go through with it one of these days.

He leans down with a glare, and the cigarette pendant around his neck hits Neil in the nose.

"Doubting me will be your downfall," Andrew reminds, and he can almost predict the moment Neil is going to bite his lip to suppress his smile. Goddamn Pavlovian response.

"You'd miss me too much," Neil states breezily, grabbing the necklace and fiddling with it. Neil's so confident about it now; Andrew remembers how in the past, he'd refrain from saying anything like that, unsure of how Andrew really felt, because Andrew wouldn't even admit it.

Sometimes he still can't, but the difference is...Neil knows.

Andrew scoffs, grabbing the math textbook Neil is using as a pillow and dangling it above their heads. Neil's head hits the floor and he yelps, eyes trained on his precious work. It's not a far reach, but Andrew's stronger than Neil, and he keeps it out of his grasp easily.

Neil flies up to lunge for it, fast as lightning, and Andrew keeps his shoulder pinned to the floor.

"H-hey!" Neil says through his laughter, and Andrew will give him credit, he tries hard. He just doesn't succeed. After failing to push up against Andrew's hold, Neil goes for the squirmy approach, wriggling enough that Andrew has to actually push some of his weight onto him to keep him down. He looks for any signs of discomfort, of panic; he knows Neil's history with being tied down, unable to run.

But, it's not a day clouded by bad memories. Neil only laughs harder in Andrew's bored face, twisting violently to reach for his shitty, overpriced textbook.

Neil doesn't even take care of the damn thing, the edges are frayed, pages falling out. It's nothing less than he deserves.

But not once does he tell Andrew to stop. Neil snorts, limbs flopping to the floor in a pathetic defeat. He's trying to scowl, but when Andrew is around, Neil's lying skills are null. Useless.

Giggles fade away into light huffs of breath, and Andrew quirks a brow. Neil's usually so stubborn, he wouldn't dare give up. Then again, maybe he's enjoying this.

Neil's eyes crinkle at the edges; for once, Andrew doesn't have to look away from the light in those eyes. Which...is strange. The urge to reject it, to push it away isn't there, not even swimming beneath the surface. It's more common nowadays, yes, but not any less suspicious. Andrew sifts for it, like an anchor, something familiar, and finds nothing. Like years and years of rust wore away the shackle, for the moment.

Neil seems to realize it too; his smile falls slowly, his chest heaving with the exertion.

Panting.

And oh, how predictable Andrew has become. It's not a good thing, he knows, but it's the grave he's chosen to lie in.

Neil's eyes bore into his, and their faces are a lot closer than Andrew realized. At some point, he must've moved. At some point, his body sought Neil out before his mind could catch up.

Isn't that interesting?

Interesting, not taxing. Alluring.

He used to hate that word, but never before has it sounded so fitting.

He watches Neil swallow, follows the bob of his adam's apple and the strong line of his jaw. Andrew scoots his hand up, tapping the beauty mark he knows is right behind Neil's ear, and those blue eyes catch fire, burning Andrew from the inside.

The dormant flame, the one that's been building for days, weeks, seems to finally meet kerosene.

He wants to kiss Neil. He wants to do more than kiss Neil.

He wants whatever Neil will give him. He wants to give Neil more than he ever thought he could.

It's a sudden, irresistible craving.

Neil's breath hitches, and his hand slides tentatively up Andrew's forearm, like he's dizzy despite lying down. Andrew's hips twitch just from that realization alone, from knowing he can affect Neil at the snap of his finger, trap them away from the rest of the world by pure feeling alone.

"Um..." Neil whispers, at a complete loss for words. The textbook falls from Andrew's hands; he doesn't care what happens to it, and neither does Neil in the moment.

Andrew's hand slides around the back of Neil's neck, cradling it, and the striker's pulse is like a rabbit's.

The only difference is, he's running right to Andrew.

"Um," he repeats, mockingly, and it's the last push Neil needs. He surges up at the same time Andrew crashes forward, their lips meeting for a kiss that sends Andrew's nerves into a frenzy.

It's all over for Neil's homework, after that.

Neil shoves his scratch paper and all his supplies away harshly, making room, and Andrew is on top of him in the next second.

It's not planned, Andrew realizes too late. They didn't plan this. This is not time he scheduled, carved out. Every movement is haphazard, limbs knocking into each other to try and fit right, their bodies never quite close enough. Neil's elbow hits the coffee table nearby at one point, and Andrew swallows his wince. The striker recovers instantly, so desperate for more.

Neil's a live wire, hiking up his own shirt before his train of thought zips somewhere else, and then he's tugging at Andrew's shirt, his belt, all silent pleas which scream at Andrew.

They're saying 'here' and 'more' and 'give me.'

For all the times Andrew has to tell Neil to stop fidgeting, now he has no room to.

Andrew breaks off the kiss messily, bumping his nose against Neil's cheek before pressing a firm kiss to his collarbone. He'd think his lips were searing from how Neil's body jumps from it, and Andrew lingers there long enough to feel the vibration from Neil's groan. But he's impatient.

Impatient. That's Neil's thing, not his, but Andrew has no reason to put an end to it.

"Yes, yes," Neil breathes, as if to reinforce that thought. Andrew kisses down the length of Neil's body; his chest, his abdomen, his hip, all firm and deep like he's trying to keep Neil from floating away.

Neil pulls lightly at Andrew's hair before cradling his face, guiding him back up for a kiss with zero aim. It's alright, there's no quota. No three strikes policy, his brain reminds him, stupidly. Neil huffs a laugh when Andrew kisses the side of Neil's lips on accident before planting one right on him. In fact, he does it twice to make up for it. Twice, three times...four...again...

"T-the door," Neil somehow manages to get out in between his moans, and oh, Andrew forgot.

What a plot twist; Neil's the one thinking ahead.

"Shit," Andrew mutters, glaring at the door and all who might dare to walk through it right then. He's not having a repeat of last time.

He gets up, or tries to. It's surprisingly a challenge with Neil there. Before Andrew can stand, the redhead pulls him down for another kiss, keeping him there. Only spite allows Andrew to actually get up, the desire to prove he's not that weak, even though Neil looks downright devastated when he's left alone on the floor for the .3 seconds it takes Andrew to lock them in.

Idiot.

Andrew not only locks the door, he uses the bolt too. If anyone wants into this dorm, they're going to have to break the damn thing down.

Neil is already waiting for him in the doorway to the bedroom when Andrew turns around. He moved fast, but Andrew can't comment on the eagerness. He hadn't even thought about moving to the bed.

But yes, doing it on the floor would've been a bad idea. Andrew tries not to think too much about how he probably would've continued no problem.

From how he pauses, it must be obvious. Neil quirks a brow, and one day Andrew's going to tell him to stop adopting his mannerisms without permission. "You can do me against other surfaces later."

Andrew doesn't dignify that with a response, but he takes it as the promise it is.

And, because Neil is the worst, he reaches out a hand for Andrew to take, knowing there's no other decision for him. No, there's no other decision he wants to make. Neil doesn't care what they do, as long as it's with Andrew.

The striker proves that again and again, and the clouded parts of Andrew always wait for that to shatter. But Neil doesn't expect too much of him; they mess up, they step back, but there's never another direction Andrew wants to walk in.

Nothing would stop him, at this point.

He has Neil in his lap on their bed in the next moment; he doesn't keep track of how it happened. From how Neil is keening, Andrew must've picked him up. So easy, Andrew thinks.

Neil isn't easy about anything but this; Andrew's strong hold, keeping him upright.

He practically melts in Andrew's arms, trying to wriggle closer. Andrew's never felt a good weight on him before Neil came into his life. It's addictive almost, the light pressure, the knowledge Neil will move away as soon as he needs to.

Sometimes, when Andrew really isn't in control of his thoughts, he thinks about shackling Neil to him, so they're both tied together. It's a stupid, selfish thought, and unnecessary too.

Doomed, he thinks. He should stop...he...

Neil's hands find Andrew's neck, because of course they do, and Andrew lets himself sigh into Neil's lips.

No, why the hell would he stop?

Neil eats up every noise Andrew gives him, a concession which is becoming more frequent, and the striker's hips start to roll slowly. Encouraging.

Andrew growls into the kiss, cupping the front of Neil's jeans to feel him twitch, hard for Andrew already. Neil breaks the kiss and throws his head back; possessively, Andrew wonders how many people on campus would kill to see Neil like this. And they never will.

Andrew pulls off Neil's shirt hastily, and the striker's hands are back on his neck, never satisfied. Andrew feels the chain around his neck move from Neil playing with it, twisting it around his lithe fingers as he strokes Andrew's skin. In an instant, Andrew has a moment of clarity.

'Get me one,' Neil had said. Andrew just might be able to now.

He pushes the thought away to reevaluate later when he's not trying to make Neil look spotted.

The hickies from a few days before aren't exactly faded, but Andrew makes them fresh anyways. That one guy from Katelyn's class has been staring at Neil again, and well, if Andrew's jacket isn't enough to relay the message...

"Ohh," Neil sighs when Andrew leaves another bruise on his collarbone, licking the sensitive skin gently.

This will have to do.

Andrew doesn't even realize he's taking his time until he's not. Neil's impatience reaches its limit, the lust in his eyes threatening to roll Andrew onto his back. It happened once before, Neil riding Andrew, clothes on.

It's something they'll have to explore again.

But, Andrew reads the room. He plops Neil off his lap and onto the bed, standing to rid himself of his shirt before moving to his jeans. This part is always a little slower; Neil has seen all of him, they've made out naked, showered together frequently, but it's still overwhelming for the first beat.

Neil's gaze is hungry though, jeans messily pulled down to his own thighs, right where the material has a hard time moving. The hesitation is wiped clean from the stare, but more so the fact Andrew wants his hands to be on Neil now.

He kicks aside his pants and underwear and has to jerk Neil's chin up to get him focused back on his face and not his cock. Neil glares, like he can sense the smirk behind Andrew's mask.

It'll be inside you soon, quit it.

Neil's clothes join his quickly on the floor. Andrew will deal with it later, maybe.

Neil slides down onto his back, and Andrew fits right against him, their cocks brushing on Neil's stomach.

"Fuck," Andrew grits out, and Neil shivers. Andrew strokes Neil firmly, from base to tip, smearing the precum wherever he can. He likes Neil like this, messy and unrestrained, so... "Good..."

So good for me.

Neil's eyes snap up to Andrew's, drunk on the small praise, ready for more, ready to do whatever it takes to get more. Neil's hands come up to grip Andrew's forearms, and for the first time in all their tries, the feeling of the fabric annoys Andrew.

He doesn't want them there. He wants the armbands gone. Off.

As if waiting for himself to rethink that, he stares at where Neil's hands are clenched in the fabric, trying to find the panic, the resistance.

"Andrew?" Neil whispers after the silence goes on too long, fingers uncurling. One step ahead, if he has to be. Technically he is, but for different reasons than usual.

Andrew peels his armbands off, setting them on the floor, scars on full display. Ugly, ruined things. A sign of his struggle, survival.

Things Neil understands all too well.

The redhead doesn't so much as flinch; eyes softening into something Andrew doesn't see from him any other time. Andrew has trusted him with this before, on the rare occasion, but Neil still treats it like a gift each time.

"I told you not to look at me like that," Andrew reminds, uselessly. The words ride the sound of their harsh breathing, pulled apart and drowned out like nothing.

Real, true nothing.

Not...

"I always look at you like this," Neil says, and he probably means it to be mocking. It doesn't carry.

"Can I?" Neil asks, but Andrew is already guiding Neil by the back of his neck, bringing his lips to kiss the scars firmly. Andrew doesn't move while he does; Neil is careful about it, never grazing his teeth or pressing too hard, but it's not enough to overwrite the bad memories completely.

It's a salve, at most, but that's more than Andrew had before.

Neil's fingers glide over the raised skin, his scarred forearms meeting Andrew's own. They are a pair, aren't they? Andrew doesn't believe people deserve anything, good or bad. There is simply reality.

Yet...knowing this is his...

"Neil," he says after a while, and Neil pulls back instantly, sighing. Andrew's fingers are kneading the back of his neck, just how Neil likes. He's run away from reality for so long, they both have. Now they're so deep in it, they can't leave.

So, Andrew will take all the parts of reality he never claimed before.

Andrew reaches over to fiddle with his bedside drawer, pulling out one of the foil packets. The striker in his arms jumps, hips twitching, and Andrew never feels like laughing but that look... Neil is ridiculous.

The redhead's eyes home in on the condom, right when Andrew speaks. He sounds breathless. "I need an answer still."

It's what matters most, even with Neil spread out naked beneath him, he needs it. Neil's stare slides over to Andrew, and it's unfair. Andrew has to close his eyes; a small sliver of panic runs through him, finally.

But it's not about sharing this, it's not about being exposed. It's a weird impulse to shield Neil away from everything, so nothing bad can ever happen to him again.

So nothing can take him away.

Because, how is Andrew supposed to move on from this? It's not a path he's let his mind go down, but he will at some point. Contingencies, back-up plans, to prepare for a day where Neil may be gone.

All plans that will fall devastatingly short.

"Yes," Neil whispers, and Andrew opens his eyes to see that smug smile, bringing him back to the moment like his crisis is null. Like Neil will never leave, and Andrew is a fool to think he'd be rid of him so easily. "Let's see what all the fuss is about."

Andrew does huff then, something akin to a laugh, and Neil's eyes brighten.

"I don't expect it to be any good," he says against Neil's lips, claiming them as he tears open the condom.

He feels Neil nod, pressed so close. The heat is back, the desperation, and Andrew's hips buck forward involuntarily at Neil's voice. "Mhm, probably terrible."

"Awful."

"We'll need a lot of practice..."

"Shut up Neil." Andrew slides the condom on and uncaps the lube. It should be quick now, he'll be buried inside Neil soon, especially because--

Neil spreads his legs, licking his lips at the sight of Andrew's cock between them. "I'm probably already stretched since...we--"

Andrew swipes his slick fingers against Neil's entrance, feels it already clench around nothing. Neil shudders in relief, humming from the promise of it. Andrew shakes his head. "We? You mean you always want to ride my fingers any chance you get."

He doesn't give Neil the chance to glare; he presses two fingers in, and Neil's body takes him so well, so smoothly. He avoids his prostate, if he even takes them there then Neil will beg for Andrew to just make him come like that, blissed out with nothing else on his mind. Not even exy.

"Don't you...always me---oh shit right there," Neil sighs, laughing because he doesn't know what else to do. Andrew wonders how intensely he feels it; he watches Neil's toes curl, his legs trying to find purchase. Andrew dutifully pins them to his side, knowing they'll eventually move.

Neil's legs are strong; last time, when they weren't careful, he kicked one out mid orgasm and broke the lamp by the couch.

They never told Nicky what happened to it.

"I will if it's the truth," Andrew says, and scissors Neil with three fingers just enough to ease his own mind. Not even Neil pushing back on him can calm the distress entirely. Andrew knows the feeling of his cock stretching Neil open will still be new, uncomfortable, but he'll be slow.

He won't get ahead of himself.

"It feels good," Neil states, surprisingly firm despite how wrecked he looks. There's a dreamy quality to his eyes, but the tone gets his attention. This is Neil, leaving no room for argument. "Andrew, I mean it. It all feels so good with you."

'Only you,' Neil had said, kicking his stupid legs back and forth all those months ago, like being with Andrew made him...happy. After so many things should've wiped that feeling out, torn it to shreds with blades like Neil's skin.

But no. Neil looks at him this way still, finds room to feel more and pushes Andrew to feel it too.

Neil will only ever share this with Andrew. As much as Andrew tries not to believe that deep down, because these things will eventually end in disappointment, it's slowly starting to carry the weight of a fact. A truth.

"You're staring," Neil says lightly, playful, and he's right.

Andrew glares at him, a silent admonition. Don't get too full of yourself.

"I'm waiting for something to be wrong," Andrew says, unable to help himself. It's the truth, part of it. He won't tell Neil all the unasked for revelations he's having, but that's the gist isn't it? He's waiting for this to be wrong, knowing it's impossible.

And instead of being shocked or offended, Neil just nods, kissing Andrew slow and deep. When he pulls away, the crinkle at the corner of his eyes is back. Andrew doesn't hope for much, but he hopes that stays. That way when Neil is old, he'll have wrinkles. It will be proof that Neil was able to grow old.

"And is there something wrong?" Neil asks, hand curving to the small of Andrew's back and never lower.

"No," Andrew answers, simply, honestly.

There's really not.

"Then get in me," Neil demands, not harshly, but laced with a wildness Andrew doesn't want to tame. He wants Neil to always be like this, desperate for his cock.

Andrew can't refuse.

He slicks himself up, pushes the tip against Neil's hole, and locks eyes with the striker. He wants to catalogue every moment of this. That way, he'll remember Neil when he can't remember anything else. He hopes that day comes.

With a stuttering breath, he pushes in. It's gradual, but not slow enough to delay things. That's what he wants to do, but he prioritizes what's better for Neil.

Already, Neil is trembling, panting cut off as he takes in the feeling of Andrew halfway deep in him.

"Breathe," Andrew snaps, grabbing the back of Neil's neck and squeezing. "Hey."

"I'm okay," Neil says, and it's shaky, breathy. His head lolls to the side, and there's a new smile on his face. It's no less stupid, but it sets Andrew's nerves on fire. He has to hold the sheets in the death grip to keep from thrusting forward, especially when Neil says--"I'm way more than okay."

Neil's expression is what Andrew would define as cloud nine, and thank fuck he knows Neil well enough to pin his hips down in the next second, because Neil tries to push himself all the way down on Andrew's cock.

Andrew doesn't care how much they've been messing around, Neil's trying to hurt himself doing that.

Or kill Andrew.

The movement makes him tremble, but he won't move, refuses to. Neil whines in protest, and Andrew understands the pause is mostly for himself to catch up with this new feeling. Neil's gonna have to deal with it.

It's Neil's fault anyways; Andrew brings the back of his hand to his mouth, reining in all of his urges. It's so fucking tight, the heat is unbearable in a way Andrew's never felt before. It's a separate kind of pleasure, all consuming, and paired with the knowledge it's Neil just threatens to send him over the edge.

He's inside of Neil, Neil's first, and Neil's body language is practically begging to be fucked. Neil's legs wrap around him, coaxing him, and dammit Andrew will not be the first to come here.

He risks looking down for the next part; Andrew takes a deep breath and pushes forward until his balls press flush against Neil's backside, and he chokes on the groan he tries to keep in. Neil's hole twitches around him, slick with lube and tinted pink. Andrew can't resist, he reaches down to trace the stretched rim, feeling Neil's squirm from it.

Andrew's not sure what prompted it, maybe pure disbelief. They're connected, Neil feels good. Neil--

"Oh my god, that's awesome," Neil says with a laugh, nearly on the edge of disbelief himself.

Andrew can't stand him. "Your dirty talk needs work," he says with a glare, and tries not to click his tongue from how strained he sounds. That perfect control, reservation...gone.

"I'm just being honest," Neil huffs, rolling his hips as best he can when Andrew still has them in a death grip.

Quit it.

All the little movements, the slightest shift...Andrew feels it so much, down his spine and through his legs. It should be terrifying, but there's an eagerness there instead.

"That's rare." Andrew's voice breaks off a bit at the end, barely detectable, but Neil moans shamelessly from it. He could probably get off just from Andrew's reactions alone.

"F-fuck," Neil sighs out, extra emphasis on the 'k' which sends Andrew's brain further into a spiral. He tries not to tremble when Neil's hands paw at his own abdomen, like he can't take the feeling, how intoxicating it is. "I'm going to come so fast, I'm sor--"

Neil never learned how to keep his apologies to himself.

And that's enough to make Andrew move; or so he tells himself, really he might just explode if he doesn't. He bucks forward gently, or as gentle as someone like him can manage, testing the waters.

That time, he groans, no chance of hiding it. It's swallowed up by Neil's gasp, and one of Andrew's hands buries itself on Neil's shoulder, grounding them both. The warmth...it's incredible.

"Idiot," Andrew says, and rolls his hips again. It's harder this time, channeling parts of his frustration. His balls slap against Neil's ass, loud in the small dorm room, and they both shiver. "Don't apologize."

Don't ever apologize when it's like this.

And to think, Andrew's pretty sure this must suck when put on the spectrum of good sex. He can't get enough.

"More Andrew, more," Neil breathes out, and Andrew starts to thrust in earnest. He'll listen to Neil, just this once.

The room quickly heats up; Andrew's body refuses to go more than a few seconds before swallowing Neil's moans in a searing kiss again and again. Their breath mixes, hot and frantic in the space between them. There isn't much. Neil's lips are like water, or maybe Andrew just needs to do this or he'll risk being just as loud as his boyfriend.

Andrew's thrusts are like a lot of things he does; precise, unrelenting. He's a fast learner too, maybe more so than Neil. He catalogues every yelp and moan that leaves Neil's mouth, familiarizes himself with what gets every specific little reaction.

If he presses down on Neil's stomach mid thrust, he gets a screaming 'yes,' if he pauses a little too much he gets a long and drawn out whine. Andrew doesn't usually study, but in this case he does so without complaint. In less than two minutes, he's made Neil work up a sweat, and Andrew's glad he has this now, a workout Neil would be all too happy to do. Andrew watches Neil's abdomen flex, and wants to lick every ridge of muscle.

There's almost too much to do and not enough time, the heat begins to coil in Andrew's groin, a warning. He...doesn't want it to be over.

"Holy shit, fuck yes, like that," Neil babbles, as harsh and cutting as his personality. Andrew takes all of it, unafraid of being sliced open. The enthusiastic consent keeps Andrew's demons at bay, but he knows they're not for his benefit.

Neil just can't keep his mouth fucking shut.

He pins down one of Neil's thighs to adjust the angle, making his skin wet with lube. Every push is slower, but powerful. It might just be that he can't get enough of being as deep as he can, seeing Neil's legs curl from how well he's being stretched.

Andrew bites off another moan before it can fully form, but Neil catches it with that same brightness in his eyes, like he has any room to talk when he's falling apart on Andrew's cock.

"You like it," the striker accuses, and Andrew hates having to repeat himself: stop stating the obvious.

"Do I?" Andrew responds, petulantly, and Neil smirks before clenching around Andrew's cock when he pushes in as deep as he can go. The groan he lets out has Neil's pupils eating up the remaining sliver of blue. Darkness, a void, but Andrew has never felt more alive staring into them.

"You're the worst," Andrew growls, snapping his hips to make Neil yelp. See, right there, that's what I mean. "So mouthy."

"Get me to shut up," Neil says with a laugh, like he can't wait.

Andrew freezes, looks up at Neil to make sure he heard right. And yes, Neil is staring right at him, challenging and soft at once. He caught it, he caught it no matter how Andrew tried to hide it.

The slowness, the oh so subtle way he held himself back.

Even now, even like this.

"Fuck me Andrew," Neil begs, hands fisting in the sheets by his head. "You're supposed to fuck me until it's all I can think about."

Andrew hears the words buried beneath: 'I can take all of you.' There's provocation too, an understanding that Andrew never goes back on his word.

This time, he's glad for it.

He leans down to bite at Neil's ear lightly, pushing himself in deeper before rocking forward. And, because Andrew is so used to being the conductor of Neil's body, he kisses him right when his mouth falls open. Exactly on cue.

"Tell me how it feels," Andrew says as he pistons forward, so close, too close. He doesn't care how gone he sounds, how out of breath and delirious. He needs to hear it.

Neil grunts after a particularly rough thrust. "I...it's--"

Andrew's movements are frenzied, not as precise as before, but this time he's allowing himself something. He's chasing his own end, without guilt, the edges of his vision already starting to white out from the heightening pleasure. Selfish, but Neil's wrecked moan is far from displeased.

"No words?" Andrew mocks. "You must like it."

Neil's legs wrap tight around his back, pushing him closer, and Neil's hands come up to push Andrew's sweaty bangs out of the way. "So deep, c'mon Andrew..."

And he does c'mon. His thighs meet Neil's in rapid succession, his pace spiking. Neil's ass, as much as Andrew hates it, is perfect and soft. It cushions every thrust, Andrew can feel it squeeze and tighten.

It's almost a shame he can't see Neil from the back...one day.

"Shit," Neil grabs his own hair, throwing his head back as he leans up on his elbows, trying to meet every one of Andrew's movements. There's no finesse; it is their first time, truly. They meet out of sync more often than not, but it's hectic, drenched in want. "Yes, yes, yes."

It's more addictive than smoke, than sugar.

"Come for me Neil," Andrew commands, grip tight on the back of Neil's neck, the pressure too much, unbelievable. He finally grabs Neil's cock, leaking obscenely between them and swollen at the tip. He pumps him mercilessly, firm, the way Neil likes it. "Let me feel it."

He wants every aspect of this burned into his memory, forever. As much as his eyes want to flutter shut, to bask in his orgasm, he wants to see Neil come undone.

He does, and Andrew doesn't assign the term 'beautiful' to anything. It's throwaway, and meaningless. But...Neil is a sight.

The striker's orgasm hits him like a speeding train; his hips stutter, and the sound he makes probably hurts his throat with how it tears through the air. Andrew watches, enraptured, as Neil turns over, body involuntarily twitching and curling in on itself. His stomach is a mess. Neil's cum lands high, dripping on his torso, and it's a shame Andrew has no time to lick it up in the moment.

Neil's thighs begin to shake from the intensity of his orgasm; he's not sure he's ever seen Neil come so hard. Certainly not enough for this, for his legs to tremble like he forgot how to move them; Andrew pins Neil's legs down, and Neil doesn't panic. He knows it's Andrew, and besides, he's too far gone. Andrew basks in the vibrations he can feel, uncontrolled, unrestrained.

And then, then Neil has the nerve to smile, completely blissed out of his mind.

It undoes him.

He thrusts forward twice more; they're stuttering, shaky movements, and then he's spilling into the condom. Andrew buries his moan in Neil's neck, muffled but still louder than he's ever allowed in the past.

'All the fuss' Neil had said. Andrew hates agreeing with others, but...he understands. He shares this with Neil often, coming apart down Neil's throat or in his hand, but this orgasm is a tidal wave. It's immensely satisfying, knowing he's inside Neil when it happens, that they're as connected as they can be. Andrew rocks forward over and over again, milking the feeling for all it's worth until he's too sensitive to move.

His stomach jumps, like he was dropped from one of those terrible amusement park rides, except he thinks this feeling is one he'd chase again.

Neil's body melts beneath him, muscles relaxing with a pleased hum. It's only then Andrew is aware of how loud their breathing is, filling the room. He wonders how it can all be contained. Space is a funny thing. He always required too much of it, an excess.

In fact right then, he anticipates the feeling. He's coming down, nerves simmering with the lingering heat, and his brain is foggy. Any moment now, he will need to break this quiet calm. He clings to it, until he can't.

He slides out of Neil with a shiver, tying off the condom and throwing it in the nearby bin. Neil whimpers from the separation, and Andrew's heartbeat jolts.

He's getting predictable, but he can't take his eyes off Neil. Neil, who is barely starting to blink away the post-orgasm haze in his mind. Andrew can track it, the moment Neil sees Andrew, and understands that it's over.

His legs are still--

"Shaking," Andrew comments, his hand gliding over Neil's inner thigh. The vibrations answer back, and Neil sighs from the touch. Andrew's heart reacts again, and it's familiar. He knows he's felt this before...

A heat, one that won't go away. Neil sits up, and Andrew scoots forward, unwilling to let Neil go too far from him. Like he's still craving, still--

"Yeah..." Neil whispers, hand resting on top of Andrew's. The redhead laughs at how his own body trembles, but there's a flash of insecurity in those dark eyes.

A consequence of Neil's lack of inexperience, he sometimes doesn't know if his reactions are normal, acceptable. Like Andrew won't be replaying this in his head for days, weeks.

"That's new," Andrew says, and he feels so stupid about it. He should be asking if Neil is okay, checking him over for injuries, making sure that haze in his eyes isn't some horrible predecessor to something else, because surely Andrew went too far, and--

"Can't...can't help it," Neil says with a laugh, and that damn smile. Andrew's muscles twitch, his mind halting in its initial terror. Neil looks...more than okay. He looks how Andrew feels, and it startles him to realize what that means.

Because Andrew feels...good.

Andrew freezes from that one, abysmal thing. He feels good. Over a year ago, it would've been a miracle to feel at all.

"It won't stop," Neil fills the silence, when Andrew is quiet for too long, eyes boring into Neil's face. The striker ducks his head, almost shyly, a word Andrew would never associate with him in a million years.

Neil's only shy when he's on the cusp of ruining someone's life for fun. The thought makes Andrew's entire being jump.

And that calmness isn't just calmness, it's the beginning of desire and yearning, rushing back with the promise of intensity. It's deja vu, this singing of his nerves. Andrew's not sure why; he expected a long talk, maybe a panic, or the itch to call Bee once all this actually happened.

Instead, he's left with this. Nothing behind it, nothing waiting in the shadows. He's sure there will be, in the future.

But his mind, in a rare fucking concession, gave him this.

"Then don't stop," Andrew nearly demands, because right then, Neil can't possibly show him enough.

Neil perks up, head lifting, performing the same search Andrew is so familiar with. He travels the lengths and lines of Andrew's face, just looking. Someday, Andrew will be okay enough to ask what Neil sees.

Whatever he finds, it makes him grin, a thing which Andrew will always hate him for. "Mm, okay."

Neil's legs wrap around him slowly, loosely, as if to keep Andrew nestled there. It gives Andrew the chance to break away, to retreat, and Neil won't take offense.

But the intent is clear; he wants Andrew there, wants Andrew close.

That same clinginess takes root in Andrew's veins, already missing the heat of Neil's body.

He wades through the waters of his head, one last time, because surely that can't be right. He's been asking that a lot lately, telling himself things can't be right when all evidence shows they are.

"Do you need to go?" Neil asks, echoing the question burning in Andrew's head. Does he?

The itch is back, but it's not bad, it's not wary. It's telling him to get closer.

When too many seconds pass without Andrew moving, Neil starts to create the space for him, to back away. Andrew grabs his ankle so fast Neil jumps, and he yanks him forward, showing off. Soon, Neil is flush against Andrew again. It's right, it pushes all the correct buttons inside him. When Neil feels the beginnings of Andrew's desire, semi-hard and leaking against his body, his eyes widen.

But well, Andrew did always like to give him a verbal answer.

Lazily, he tilts his head, regarding Neil in all his glory. Disheveled hair, drying cum on his chest, open and ready to take Andrew as many times as they both want. No, no reason to leave at all. Many reasons to stay.

"I don't think I'm done with you yet," Andrew deadpans, but he doesn't mean it. Neil will know he doesn't. They can end it here, if they need to. He watches Neil process the words, the slow blink. Neil's damn eyelashes are so long, even the dumbfounded stare seems sultry.

If there is a creator, Neil was made just to fuck with Andrew, knowing Andrew will do nothing to stop him.

Neil's confusion bursts into joy, blush high on his scarred cheekbones, and when he lunges forward into Andrew's arms, Andrew is all too ready to catch him.

#andreil #aftg #andrew minyard #neil josten #all for the game

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zaraquinn · 5 years

Text

Let’s Kill Tonight

Arthur Fleck/Joker - Even though he watched the city of Gotham burn with delight, there is a part of him that still there that wants to help.

Word Count: 1,029

Joker/Arthur Fleck x Female Teenage!Reader

Requested by: my dumbass

Author's notes: okay but this lowkey might be a series, so tell me what y’all think. Also, I HOPE THE FORMAT ISNT FUCKED UP ON MOBILE BC IT LOOKS LIKE SHIT RN

Y/N - Your Name

Additional Notes: NOT A ROMANTIC PAIRING + Implications of depression, violence and suicide.

SPOILER WARNING: SPOILERS ARE MENTIONED HERE. IF YOU DON’T WANT TO BE SPOILED, I SUGGEST SCROLLING HELLA QUICKLY OUTTA HERE. but if this aint news and yall watched this, you’re welcome fellow brethrens.

A/N 2: yall already kNOW that my dumbass be making Joker 2019 fics after seeing it in the theatres (and spending money to watch it the second time woo hoo!) anyway, here’s this weird shit that i wrote, and this might be a series lowkey. Idk, if yall want me to write it as a series, i’ll see what the people want.

————

It’s been a month. A month; and the less than privileged still riot on the streets of Gotham. Screams, fires and glass scatter amongst the city so carefully built with fine class that it almost looks demolished—apocalyptic. The grey skies turn into dark nights as Y/N walks through the battered and crowded city. Ever since the confession from the man who calls himself ‘Joker’ had revealed how he was behind the killings of those Wall Street men. Y/N couldn’t help but wonder what the man she called ‘a hero to the poor people’ and a ‘vigilante for the homeless’ had vanished to. After the whole event, she aimlessly walked the streets and alleyways to find him; curiosity killed the cat, as she wandered towards a dark and dank alley. Garbage and plastic littered the rainy floor as a homeless cat had gotten startled by Y/N’s presence.

She heard from two other thugs that were part of the riot that they had met the Clown Prince of Crime himself, as he had asked them to complete a task to get the movement and rebellion moving. But after that, he was never explicitly seen again. The man was a myth, a legend, an anti-hero to people like Y/N. Although his physical presence was absent, his chaotic energy lingered in the slums of Gotham.

To be honest, Y/N wasn’t even sure why she was looking for him. Maybe because it gave her something to strive for; to find meaning. Being an orphan and getting kicked out by the only thing she could live with, it seemed like fate was not on her side. It couldn’t her any worse than this right? For years as long as she can remember, her life had been spiralling out of control. Nobody, not even who she thought was family wanted her out of their lives, and in the end, it was just that. Unfortunately, that was life, and she was just in it for shit. So, finding something; or someone to look for gave her some semblance of hope and change. She wanted to end it all, but gave life one final shot.

Her footsteps were the only sounds that echoed through the thin path as she tirelessly carried her feet to the end. “Other empty alleyway. Fuck.” She muttered to herself, her voice dry from not having anything to eat for the second day in a row. It was awful, but she did start getting used to it. Walking out the alleyway; she reached the other side, and realized that she ended up going through a shortcut to the business district into Gotham—one of the richest parts of the city. Everything in the city was brightened in colour; compared to the slums of Gotham, everyone and everywhere was painted with vivid colours instead of the monochromatic grey she always saw. Grey; so grey that it made her feel sick sometimes.

Her eyes danced and lingered in amazement at the different colours in the rich part of the city. Her eyes glued to the sky and world around her, she suddenly fell to the ground; a man with a suit had ridiculed her for standing in the way. “Fucking kid! Watch where you’re going! You don’t belong here!” He said as he walked on. Y/N’s brows furrowed as she felt the anger start to boil in her blood—reminding herself why she always sided with the Joker’s protests and his ways. Pushing herself back up, she was then again pushed down by more men in rich suits and suitcases. Wishing her gone and dead; ridiculing her over and over in their colourful suits. “Hey kid,” said one of the men who had crouched at her level from above her. She looked up with uncertainty painting her face; but beneath the uncertainty fear and anger had rose to her head. “Go home.” Was all he said as he shoved her toward the shortcut she just previously left from. The man sauntered over her small figure—his demeaning build bullying her to a corner. “That’s right kid. Go. Ack to the slums.” He yelled back, kicking her in her ribs and going about his day like nothing ever happened. It was sad that Y/N had gotten used to feeling this way. So small compared to the world—with bruises covering her skin most of the time. Her hands held the already forming bruise on her hip, as she cradled close to a unwatched dumpster fire that she soon collected warmth from. this was the third week kicked out from her foster home. Third in counting.

The time spent alone was cut short however, as she felt a figure approach her small and cuddled stance. Looking up, she huddled her knees closer to her body to reveal something, or someone she wasn’t expecting at all.

The Joker stood before her, towering over her small and huddled body as he cooly flicked his finished cigarette on the ground. For someone who started such chaos a month ago, he looked like his entire life he was dressed in a suit; but that’s not the case as his confident stance and mannerism said... different. The red and yellow suit had looked custom tailored, as it fit him so well, the green hair slicked back made him look so badass and the clown makeup—so precise and tidy like he had just put it on an hour ago. Holding out his hand toward her she stared in awe. This was it. “Are you gonna take my hand kid or just gonna stare?” He said with a small chuckle. His voice smooth as hell and his lengthy arm stretched out it was almost touching her nose.

Snapping out of her starstruck trance she nodded quickly and took his hand; easily getting up with one swift motion. Patting her on the head, no words were exchanged between the two, as he simply just took out a lighter and another cigarette, lighting it. “Walk with me kid.” He smirked, having put the cigarette in his mouth and putting his hand on her shoulder, walking with her. All she did was smile, as she thought that things were already turning up.

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✨MASTERLIST✨

#zarawrites #joker 2019 #joker #joaquin phoenix joker #joaquin phoenix #joker movie #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck #joker imagine #joker x reader

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lala-kate · 7 years

Text

Pulse Points: Chapter 7

This chapter is dedicated to @lillie-grey and @sometimesangryblackwoman. I hope you enjoy it, my dear friends and sisters.

All mistakes mine. You can read it here or on ff.net. :)

It’s been five days.

Five miserable days since she ran out of his house in a panic. Five lonely days of ignored texts, unanswered calls, and of him wondering just what the hell happened after he left his bedroom and walked into the kitchen.

One minute, they’d been kissing and touching, smiling and discussing what he should fix for breakfast--the next…

The next minute she’d shot out his front door like a frightened hare, her face wet from tears she tried to hide from him, her legs as unsteady as her voice. What in God��s name had terrified her so badly? What the hell had he done wrong?

He touched his lips, remembering the taste of her, the feel of her, how warm she felt pressed into his body, how perfectly she fit him in more ways than one. He ached all over, longed for a glimpse of that smile that had dazzled him from the moment he’d laid eyes on her in his restaurant, craved her laughter that tickled his insides, missed her touch that left him burning, remembered her scent that drove him wild.

Regina. Christ, he just missed her.

She’d left him a bruised and battered man living in a fog of his own creation, a fog he had to shake in order to get back to living. He’d had a life before her, after all, one that wasn’t so bad, actually, one filled with family, friends and a son who brightened his entire world. One regulated by schedules, salaries, and late night poker over a few beers, one that resulted nightly in his lying down in an empty bed, a bed that had once been warm because of Marian’s presence in it.

A bed now colder than ever because of Regina’s absence.

This was ridiculous--no, he was ridiculous. He had to forget her, this woman who rearranged his heart before he’d even realized she’d set up residence. Forgetting her shouldn’t be that difficult, actually, not when she’d waltzed into his life and nearly broken his nose a mere week ago, all five feet and three inches of her. But she’d somehow worked her way into his psyche and under his skin, and she refused to leave him alone, even when she wouldn’t acknowledge his calls.

The problem seemed to be his and his alone.

But she’d laughed at his stupid jokes, had been brave enough to stay the night after he’d ruined their dinner and presented himself to her in his boxers and socks. She’d let him talk about Marian, had held his hand when he spoke of her death, had listened to story after story about her Lupus and Roland’s birth before sharing her own about adopting Henry. They’d compared notes about raising boys, being single parents, about trying to balance work and family, about dealing with guilt when personal needs arose at massively inconvenient times.

He’d told her there had been no one since Marian, that no one had even caught his eye since her death. She admitted that it had been years since she’d had sex, that she kept a vibrator hidden in her nightstand drawer and that she lived in semi-fear that Henry would happen upon it one day. He’d kissed her in a way he wouldn’t have believed possible for him again, and she’d kissed him back with the same fervor, one he’d savored and devoured, one he now replayed over and over again in his mind.

She’d let him see her naked, had allowed him to kiss the scar she found so daunting, the same scar he found beautiful because it meant she lived. He’d touched it, tasted it, had memorized it’s texture as his breath painted assurances over exposed skin.

He’d thought they were on the verge of something special. But she obviously felt differently. Why else would she leave him high and dry without an explanation, a text, or even a note for five days? But that explanation didn’t make sense, either, not after the night they’d shared. No something was off, something he was missing, something that should probably be glaringly obvious and would probably bite him in the end.

Shit. Just shit.

He didn’t love her, that wasn’t possible, not after a mere two dates and one night together, no matter how mind-blowingly incredible the sex had been. He didn’t think she’d faked anything, hoped to God he hadn’t somehow inadvertently hurt her. She’d cried her release into his mouth, his shoulder, his neck, had cinched and fluttered around both his fingers and his cock.

But it had been more than sex for him, and he’d thought it had been the same for her. She’d told him as much as they’d lain wrapped up in each other, naked and sated and so very tired. She’d shown him as much over and over again, through touches, smiles, caresses and whispered confessions that felt every bit as intimate to him as being inside her body. He may not love her, but he was in the process of falling, and damn it, it was next to impossible to stop mid-air and reverse the laws of gravity.

But he had to, it would seem. She’d made that choice for him after he’d already stepped off of the cliff.

“Daddy. I don’t feel good.”

He set down his reheated coffee, this morning’s leftover brew he’d microwaved to ward off a simmering headache still bitter on his tongue. It was his night off from the restaurant. God, he was supposed to have been cooking dinner for Roland and himself while he’d been staring at his silent phone, brooding over a woman who’d written him off. But one look at his son’s face let him know that dinner probably wasn’t going to happen tonight.

His boy was pale, his cheeks flushed a bright magenta.

He moved to Roland and laid a warm palm on his son’s forehead. Christ, he was burning up. He pulled Roland to his chest and scooped him up gently, somewhat alarmed at how limp the boy felt in his arms as he moved to the medicine cabinet and took out the Children’s Ibuprofen.

“Here, Roland,” he murmured, sitting his son down on the toilet seat, popping open the lid and pouring the red liquid into a plastic measuring cup. “Drink this.”

Roland grimaced as he swallowed.

“It hurts,” he muttered, pointing to his neck. “My throat. And my arms.”

Robin ran some water into a small glass and brought it to Roland’s mouth.

“This will help,” he assured him, stroking curls that seemed droopier than usual. Roland drank without protest, his face scrunching as the liquid made it’s way down his throat. He raised his arms up towards his father, and Robin picked him up again, glancing at his watch, noting that it was already a little after 6:00 pm. That eliminated calling his pediatrician, he realized, wondering then if Roland’s temperature would warrant a trip to the emergency room.

He grabbed the thermometer and gently nuzzled it into Roland’s ear, growing more concerned as it took longer than usual for the device to beep. 102.3. Yes--it was definitely time for a trip to the ER.

He bundled Roland up in his heaviest coat, grabbing his Captain America blanket for good measure as he carried him to the car, cursing himself for not warming up his vehicle ahead of time as winter cold stung his cheeks. But Roland didn’t seem to mind, his eyes drooping to half-mast as Robin buckled him into his car seat and tucked the blanket in around him. How had this happened so quickly, he wondered? Roland had been unusually tired this afternoon, had refused his regular after school snack, had actually fallen asleep while watching Peppa Pig, but he hadn’t been hot when Robin picked him up from preschool. Robin had assumed the boy had just had an overly busy day, but he should have paid more attention, should have checked him when he’d refused his snack, should have quizzed about his symptoms before this fever had spiked.

Shit. He hoped it wasn’t the flu.

But it was making the rounds among both students and teachers at Highlands Montessori, as was strep and the dreaded stomach bug, and he breathed a word of thanks that at least Roland wasn’t vomiting. Adding that to his high fever would be adding insult to injury.

Snow flurries grew into decent-sized flakes as he drove, but the roads remained clear as he made his way to the nearest hospital and parked as close as he could to the ER entrance.

Roland didn’t protest as Robin scooped him out of his seat, his head falling onto his father’s shoulder as one small hand patted his father’s back.

“Cold,” Roland uttered, prompting Robin to walk even faster towards the door.

“Yes,” Robin said, rubbing his son’s back through the blanket. “But we’ll be inside in a second, and it will be nice and toasty in there.”

It wasn’t as toasty as he’d hoped, but it would have to do, he observed as they made their way to the front desk. Shit--it was packed in here tonight. God only knew how long it would be before it would be their turn. He carried the clipboard with the necessary forms in one hand while balancing Roland in the other, sitting down clumsily as far away as he could from any other sick person in the waiting room, a difficult task when practically every seat was taken.

“Want me to take that up to the desk for you?”

A young woman in Cookie Monster scrubs with brown hair and a nametag that identified her as Belle: RN Pediatrics stood in front of him, her hand extended towards the clipboard. He smiled, nodding as Roland snuggled further into his chest and groaned.

“Looks like your hands are full enough,” Belle observed, leaning in to feel Roland’s forehead. “How long has he had this fever?”

“Just a few hours,” Robin answered. “It hit him out of nowhere.”

She nodded, looking over the boy’s chart.

“Sounds like flu,” Belle said with a sigh. “We’re seeing a lot of it this week. I’ll try to get you two back to get checked as quickly as I can. The ER is so swamped tonight with the multi-car pile-up on Storrow Drive added to cold and flu season that they’ve called in extra help, including me. We have a make-shift peds area set up with two extra pediatricians on hand so the babies and children won’t have to wait too long.”

He closed his eyes, swallowing hard.

“Thank you,” he muttered, kissing Roland’s curls after tugging off his toboggan. “I appreciate it more than you know.”

Belle smiled and carried his chart up to the registration desk, speaking with the woman in charge a few moments, giving her instructions. Robin slid down into the chair, trying to get as comfortable as possible as he adjusted Roland in his lap until the boy’s head lay flat against his chest. Even with extra hands on deck in pediatrics, there was still no telling how long they would have to wait, and he felt his own eyes start to droop as CNN played softly in the background and various people coughed and hacked around them.

“Locksley.”

The voice shook him out of his stupor, and he stood, locating a young man with closely shaved black hair and round glasses holding his chart and motioning him towards a door.

“I’m Carlos,” the nurse stated, leading them back through a maze of hallways and equipment. A man either in extreme pain or high as a kite was yelling obscenities in the background, but Roland didn’t even stir, a fact for which Robin was both thankful and alarmed. “We’ll get you two settled and I’ll check his temperature.”

They made their way through curtains into a small, rectangular space which held a chair, a bed on wheels, and an assortment of medical equipment that left Robin cold inside. He’d seen too many rooms like this during his marriage, especially during Marian’s pregnancy and right after Roland’s birth, and he swallowed down bile, forcing himself to focus on Roland and only Roland as Carlos checked the boy’s temperature.

“101.6,” Carlos stated. “Did you give him any medicine before you came?”

“Children’s Ibuprofen,” Robin answered. “It was 102.3 earlier, so it has gone down somewhat.”

Carlos nodded as he scribbled something on the chart.

“I’m going to check him for strep and flu,” he stated. “So I’ll need you to hold him still, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” Robin uttered, adjusting Roland so he faced the nurse and leaned back against his torso. The boy nearly gagged on the throat swab and tried to hide his face when Carlos leaned in to swab his nose for the flu test, but they got it done without too much difficulty.

“The strep test takes 5-10 minutes to produce a result, the flu test about 15-20,” Carlos explained. “After we have the results from both, Dr. Mills would be in to see you.”

He nearly shot out of his seat at that.

“Dr. Mills?” Robin asked, his voice rising in pitch as his tongue doubled in size.

“Trust me,” Carlos stated as he pulled back the curtain. “You’re in good hands. She’s one of the best.”

Dr. Mills...a pediatrician…and a female pediatrician, at that. It could be a coincidence, but his heart pounded all the same, robbing his mouth of moisture as his mind scattered in one hundred directions at once. Roland snuggled back into his chest, asleep within seconds, and Robin was glad for it as he stroked the boy’s hair, his heart in tatters as Marian’s memory, Roland’s illness and Regina’s proximity turned him into a sodding mess.

Twenty minutes seemed like a bloody eternity.

He finally heard a shuffling from behind the curtain, and he watched as a delicate hand drew it aside, only to find himself staring at the very woman who had haunted his every waking and sleeping moment for the past five days staring at him with wide, tired eyes.

“Robin,” she muttered, moving into the small cubical, looking down at Roland in concern. She seemed surprised, but not startled, and he knew that his son’s chart had given her a few seconds to compose herself before facing him. How in God’s name would they have handled things if neither of them had been given any warning?

“So you’re alive,” he said, hating his words as soon as they left his mouth. She had the decency to look sheepish, but she composed herself quickly, forcing herself to meet his gaze head-on.

“Yes,” she returned. “I’m alive.” The air was thick, his every nerve on high alert as he watched her look back down at Roland’s chart and clear her throat. “Roland’s flu test was positive.”

Just like that, they’d changed course. He was actually glad for it.

“Did he get a flu shot this fall?” she asked, and Robin nodded, trying to get his train of thought moving in one direction rather than twelve. “Good. That means he should recover quicker than he would have without one.” Her words continued, something about Tamiflu being a possibility but not really one she would recommend as Henry had a reaction to it last year, about lots of fluids and rest, and would he be able to get his family to cover for him at the restaurant while he looked after Roland?

“I owe you an apology,” she then stated, catching him off guard, her voice far calmer than he felt. His insides churned, and everything hit him at once...Marian’s death, his night with Regina, their love making, her running out the door, Roland having the flu….

“Yes,” he said. “You do. An explanation would be lovely, too.”

She looked hurt, truly hurt, and he hated himself for making her look that way.

“It wasn’t you,” she began, her tone barely above a whisper. “You did nothing wrong, it was…”

“It was what?” he cut in, impatience and pain prompting him forward. “Is this where you tell me it was all you and that I shouldn’t feel bad about it? Because I do feel badly about it, Regina. I feel like shit, to be honest.”

She closed her eyes, swallowing hard before looking back at him.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I never meant to hurt you. And if it makes you feel any better, I feel like shit, too.”

A bitter laugh forced itself out, leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

“Then why did you run away? Why do this to both of us?” He stood, holding Roland to his chest, staring at her directly, willing her to tell him the truth. But her eyes fell to the chart, her cheeks heating as her breath hitched.

“It’s complicated,” she finally said, her hands shaking slightly. She looked so small and vulnerable then, and his heart squeezed until it hurt, until every part of him wanted to yell, to throw up his hands and run out in the cold until he was past the point of feeling.

“Then tell me,” he practically begged. “I’m a fairly intelligent man, Regina. Complicated stories are usually something I can manage to comprehend.”

“This isn’t the time or place,” she cut in, taking a step in his direction. “I have patients to see, and you need to get your son home and into bed.”

His chest deflated at that, and he felt like the worst dad in the world for allowing his heartache over a woman he’d known a week interfere with his concern for his son. She seemed to sense this, God, she sensed too much about him, and she handed him a paper with instructions he couldn’t quite make out at the moment.

“He’s going to be fine,” she assured him, her tone more personal than professional. “Regular fluids are the key. Pedialyte and Gatorade would be good to have on hand because he’s likely to have little to no appetite for a few days. If he won’t drink, give him popsicles. I used to have to do that with Henry.” She smiled softly, her gaze moving to the dark curls splayed over his shoulder.

“So no Italian Cream Cake.”

His own words surprised him, as did the small smile that danced across her features as she stroked Roland’s hair.

“If he feels good enough to ask for Italian Cream Cake, give it to him,” she instructed. “Nonno and Marco’s cooking might do wonders for him, especially if they can whip up a nice, healthy broth.”

“You know those two,” he muttered, unable to keep from smiling himself. “They’ll deliver it by hand if it’s for Roland.”

“Yes,” she breathed, looking up at him, seeing into him one glorious second before the mask of the physician slid back into place. “They would.”

He knew the moment was gone, and he missed it already, that one brief moment of emotional intimacy enough to let him know that something was off here, terribly, terribly off. If only she’d let him know what the hell it was.

“Alternate Tylenol with Motrin every four hours until his fever breaks, but know that it’s likely to continue to come back for several days. If his fever goes higher than 103, becomes unresponsive to medication or his symptoms linger for longer than five days, take him to his regular pediatrician to get him checked again.” She paused once more, avoiding his eyes, weighing something carefully in her mind before she swallowed hard and met his gaze. “Or call me. I’m happy to check up on him any time.”

His lips pressed together as he nodded, words pressing through dry lips before he could call them back.

“So you’ll take my calls now?”

“Robin…”

His name feathered over her lips, lips he wanted to kiss even as he wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake the truth out of her.

“Sorry,” he uttered. “That was unfair.”

He moved towards the curtain, preparing to take his leave when she reached out to touch his sleeve.

“No,” she stated, her tone low and private. “It wasn’t.” Emotions he couldn’t identify rolled over her features, but he was able to discern turmoil. It was palpable between them. “I’ll take your calls and your texts,” she continued. “I’m sorry for not answering them this week. It’s just...things have been...things are…”

“Complicated. I get it.”

They were standing close now, so close he could smell the sweet, floral scent of her hair mixed in with the strong odor of disinfectant. Her eyes were dark, her lips practically free of lipstick, and he saw then that she’d had a long, probably sleepless tenure here what with her taking on ER duties on top of her regular office hours and patients to help sick children. He wanted to comfort her, of all things, wanted to hold her to his chest, to kiss her forehead, to tell her that they’d work out whatever she thought was so tricky that it prompted her to run out the front door. But it stung, the rejection she’d served him up on a cold platter, so he stepped back instead, wondering if he’d actually call or text her, knowing he probably would because he was just that pathetic, wondering if she’d ever tell him the truth about what had scared her so badly.

Because she was scared of something between them. That much was obvious.

“Goodbye, Regina.”

The words tasted bland on his tongue as his insides shut down, and he watched her flinch before her eyes fell and she nodded, accepting what she obviously interpreted as rejection in a manner that seemed practiced and well-used. She shouldn’t get to him like this, shouldn’t matter this much, but as he turned and walked out of the hospital, she was still with him in his head, in his heart, and he cursed once he had Roland buckled in securely, turning on the heat before slamming his hands against the steering wheel until his hands stung.

He couldn’t know that she’d slid into the bathroom after he left and locked the door, that she’d cried as she hadn’t cried in months, that she was cursing herself with the same ferocity as he just had, that her heart now lay in tatters around her feet but that she was too frightened to pick it up. He couldn’t know that she went through the rest of the night as a robot, her emotions trailing behind her like a slip whose elasticity had broken, her scar throbbing even though it could generate no pain. He had no idea that his name was what she whispered when she finally fell into bed at 2:00 a.m., pulling the covers up to her chin and tracing the very scar that now stood between them.

He couldn’t know that they both thought of Marian and each other as they finally fell asleep. He couldn’t know how badly she wanted to let herself fully trust him, fully love him, how she wanted to tell him everything yet feared his reaction too much. He couldn’t know that she replayed their encounter over and over again in her mind as the minutes ticked by, wishing she’d handled it differently, wondering just what he thought of her now, knowing she’d probably never hear from him again, crying over the fact even though she thought it was for the best.

He only feared she’d just stepped out of his life forever, cursing himself and this bloody insomnia as the night’s events held him hostage, knowing deep down that he’d never be able to get over what could have been.

____________________________________________________________________________

Something was terribly wrong with his mom.

Henry knew that she’d worked longer hours than usual last night, which was disturbing in itself as hard as she worked anyway. That’s why she’d let him spend the night with Aunt Mary Margaret and Uncle Dave, because she knew how late she’d be and wanted to make certain he got a good night’s sleep. But she’d been upset by something earlier in the week, something he was sure had to do with Robin, the guy in the restaurant she’d liked, the one he’d known had liked her, too. She’d been a nervous wreck before their date, but she’d been a bigger wreck after it was over, and that wasn’t okay with Henry, not one little bit.

If Robin had hurt his mom, he wanted to let the guy have it.

He’d asked her several times what had happened, but all she’d say was that Robin was nice, but that they just weren’t meant to be. She was a terrible liar, even though she thought she was really good at it, and Henry knew there was a lot more to it that she was letting on. Besides, if Robin was such a nice guy, how could she know that they weren’t meant to be so quickly?

“She is acting weird,” Mary Margaret had stated. “I agree with Henry, David. Something had to have happened with Robin.”

“Okay,” David had returned. “Let’s say that something happened between them. It’s still none of our business. If Regina doesn’t want to talk about her love life, she shouldn’t have to.”

“Mom doesn’t have a love life,” Henry said. “You know that. This is the first date she’s had since her surgery.”

“And she needs to talk about it, David,” Mary Margaret argued, patting Henry on the hand as he ate his bologna and cheese sandwich. “You know how Regina tends to keep things all bottled up inside of her until they eat her alive. A little nudging from her friends can’t hurt.”

“Yes,” David returned. “It can. We should stay out of this, Mary Margaret.” He paused, looking directly at Henry and pointing a finger in his direction. “And so should you.”

Mary Margaret said nothing else, but she’d shot Henry a look that let him know that she had no intention of dropping it. Good. He had an ally.

The two of them were now alone together at his house, chatting as Mary Margaret was slicing vegetables for a salad that would accompany the spaghetti that was boiling on the stove.

“Do you think she’ll work as late tonight as she did last night?” Henry asked. Mary Margaret sighed, turning to look at him from her position by the kitchen counter.

“Who knows?” she returned. “Regina told me that last night she didn’t get home until 1:30. Let’s hope there are no more multi-car pile ups and that she can make it earlier tonight.”

He nodded, tapping his fingers on the counter.

“I think something happened last night, too, you know. Something personal.”

Mary Margaret paused, her eyes narrowing.

“You mean with Robin?” she asked. “Why do you think that? It could have just been a rough night with patients, Henry.”

“Aunt Mary Margaret, I know my mom,” Henry replied. “Something besides work was bothering her this morning, something she wouldn’t talk about, and that makes me think it has to be about Robin.”

He’d seen it in the way her shoulders drooped, in the way her eyes looked almost dead, had heard it in the flat tone of her voice. She’d had her hopes dashed, something she’d gotten used to as they’d waited and waited for a suitable heart to become available for her, and he couldn’t let his mom go there again. She’d been a dark, lonely place for too long.

The only person he’d seen lately who’d raised her hopes as far as they’d been raised earlier this week was Mr. Robin Locksley. Therefore, he had to have been the one who’d dashed them onto the ground.

“Crap,” Mary Margaret muttered, raising her index finger to her mouth. “I cut myself. Where are the Band-Aids?”

“There are some in mom’s bathroom,” Henry answered, already halfway up the stairs as he yelled back his answer. “I’ll bring them down.”

He pushed open his mom’s bedroom door, shaking his head at the clothes that had piled up in the corner. She hadn’t left messes untended like this since right after her surgery. This wasn’t a good sign. She’d come so far--they’d come so far, and he couldn’t stand the thought of her drifting back into depression. He sighed as he walked towards the stack of dirty clothes, intending to put them in the hamper before he grabbed the box of Band-Aids. A paper fell out of a pocket, and he stared at it as he dropped the clothes, picking up the paper, his breath catching when he realized what it was.

It was a letter. His letter. The one he’d written two years ago and sent to the family of the person whose heart his mother now had.

Why did his mom have it? How did she have it? He’d never even told her that he’d written it, had relied upon Mary Margaret to help him get it mailed so as not to upset his mom any further. There was no way she should have it, it had been mailed years ago, unless the family hadn’t wanted it and had returned it, somehow, unless she’d met the family and had figured things out, unless...

Wait. Robin. Robin!

His wife had died...wasn’t it two years ago? Wasn’t that what his mom had told him? Hadn’t she revealed that the woman had been an organ donor, Robin’s late wife, because Henry had then stated that that was a quite a coincidence, that Robin’s family had helped someone just like someone had helped the two of them?

His eyes flew open as the truth hit him like a bolt of lightning.

“Aunt Mary Margaret!” he yelled. “I know! I know what happened!”

He dashed down the steps, the Band-Aids forgotten, stopping dead just in front of his very startled looking godmother.

“What’s this?” she asked, plucking the paper from his fingers, her eyes widening as she took in the truth.

“It’s my letter!” he replied. “The letter you helped me write. It was upstairs in mom’s pants’ pocket.”

“But how?” she muttered, confusion still clouding what he’d already put together. “How did she…”

“Don’t you see?” Henry asked. “She must have found it at Robin’s house after their date, which would mean…”

“Oh my God,” Mary Margaret breathed, her eyes doubling in diameter. “His wife. Regina’s heart once belonged to Robin’s dead wife!”

“Exactly!” Henry cried, jumping up in his excitement as Mary Margaret’s hand rested on her slightly rounded stomach. “That’s why she’s been so upset. That’s why she won’t talk about what’s been bothering her, because she thinks it’s her fault. She always thinks it’s her fault.”

“Even when she’s done nothing wrong,” Mary Margaret uttered, dashing over to the oven and turning off the burner. “Come on, Henry. Get your coat.”

His heart sped up in his chest.

“Where are we going?” he asked as he slid on his navy beanie. Mary Margaret turned to face him, a determination he knew well enough to respect staring back at him through greener than green eyes.

“To L & M’s Pub and Trattoria,” she replied, scooping up both her car keys and her purse. “We need to find out if our theory is right, and to do that, we need to go straight to the source.”

“And if it is?” Henry questioned, his brows slanting upward as they walked out the front door and down the front steps.

“Well,” Mary Margaret smiled, her focus narrowing as they reached her car. “Then we’re going to give your mom and Robin a good, hard nudge in the right direction, whether either of them or David wants us to or not.”

#Outlaw Queen #oq ff #Regina Mills #Robin Hood #Pulse Points #Laura writes

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