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“Neil, why are we here?” Allison asks casually, fingers fluttering through a rack of satin slips.
“Gift,” Neil answers.
“Who are you buying women’s lingerie for?”
He stares. Allison rolls her eyes.
“Neil?” Renee calls from deeper in the store. He turns heel and weaves through the racks in search. When he reaches Renee, she’s already holding a bralette up to him. “This color would look lovely on you.”
Neil never said he was shopping for himself; Renee somehow knows anyway. Allison laughs behind him, incorrectly assuming Renee is kidding.
Taking the bralette from Renee, he presses it to the back of his hand to compare shades. It’s an incredibly rich emerald color, pretty against his skin. If Neil wants to be safe, he can go for black, but something more personal might have better consequences. Andrew’s perpetual hard-on for symbolism is easy to take advantage of.
“The fabric is itchy. The color fits, but not this. I’m more interested in bottoms, anyway,” Neil says with a shrug. Allison raises her eyebrows.
“Oh, are you now?”
“Yes.”
It’s incredibly entertaining to fuck with people when they can’t tell if he’s joking or not. Andrew is a horrible influence; first the dry humor, now the lingerie.
“We’ll need something that feels good against your scars,” Renee hums, glancing around. “Let’s see what we can find.”
Neil nods and scans the store. It is not meant for men. Luckily, Neil is only 5’3 and isn’t exactly concerned with whether or not his dick will fit inside the fabric.
Wandering around and avoiding eye contact with the staff and advertisements is easier than he thought it would be. He used to feel terror, catching sight of underwear models in stores—it felt like his mother knew he was watching, knew he was curious—so he kept his head down until they were gone. Now, Neil doesn’t feel the urge to look at all; he doesn’t really give a shit if strangers look good or not.
Neil pinches several fabrics between his fingers while meandering the racks. Just imagining some of them against his skin sends uncomfortable shivers down his spine.
“Neil!” Allison shouts. He spins to find her and Renee speaking with an employee. “C’mere, she found something.”
Running up the employee’s left arm is a puckered burn scar. It disappears under his collared shirt, just barely peeking back out by his neck. Neil approaches. “Howdy! Try feeling this.”
Renee nods encouragingly before Neil grabs it. A white lace bralette decorated with flowers, sheer enough that he can see the employee’s hand past the barely-there cups. Neil holds the largest span of fabric against the back of his palm; it’s smooth and doesn’t pull against the lighter-inflicted scars near his knuckles.
Neil hums in approval. He rubs the bra under his shirt sleeve, between his armbands and neck, trying to get a better picture.
“This works,” he says. Renee clasps her hands together and smiles. Neil holds a cup and strokes with his thumbs. “Any idea what my cup size is?”
“Oh my god, you were dead serious,” Allison grins with delight.
The employee taps his fingers on his chin, making a dramatic thinking expression. “Probably an A or B, depending on your pectorals. I would need to measure your ribs to find out what would fit, though.”
Neil’s grimace is definitely noticeable. The idea of a stranger with access to a possible garrote standing within strangling range makes him nauseous.
“Actually, would you mind if I borrowed the tape measure?” Renee asks sweetly. “Neil prefers not to be touched by people he doesn’t know. I’m sure you understand.”
“Oh, absolutely!” He fishes through his shirt pocket and hands the tape to her. “I get it, man. As long as I get that measure back at some point today, go nuts. This set is on that rack over there. Come get me if you need anything.”
Neil walks out of the store with two things: the knowledge that he’s a B cup, and a bag of lingerie Allison jumped to pay for. In return for the favor, he wasn’t allowed to disclose what she secretly bought for Renee.
They shook hands and left it at that.
———
[Conversation Begun At 5:57PM]
Jos10: Good evening. I would like to know when you next wish me to warm your bed, as I have preparations.
A.Miny: what.
A.Miny: I would like to know why you’re dming my porn account as opposed to using my phone number, which you have.
A.Miny: are you roleplaying Dracula?
Jos10: Nae.
A.Miny: I am going to ignore you said that. bed, not couch? how curious. for what purpose?
Jos10: Seductive purposes.
A.Miny: you are very bad at seducing people.
Jos10: I mean, it worked on you, so I can’t be doing too bad.
A.Miny: that is a shame I will take to my grave.
A.Miny: what are you attempting to seduce me into?
Jos10: I think you know.
A.Miny: humor me.
Jos10: By now you are aware that I borrowed a toy and lube. Take a wild guess.
Jos10: It doesn’t have to be soon, or ever really. If you want that in particular though, let me know in advance.
A.Miny: I’m blocking you.
Jos10: :/
A.Miny: after the next Eden’s trip. when Nicky is asleep and can’t interrupt.
Jos10: :|
Jos10: :]
A.Miny: what the fuck.
A.Miny: who taught you that?
Jos10: It was a collective effort by several people.
Jos10: So, technically next Saturday morning?
A.Miny: yes. I’m regretting this already.
Jos10: I thought you didn’t do regret.
A.Miny: you have awakened it in me.
Jos10: Aw, shucks.
A.Miny: blocked.
[Conversation Started At 7:35PM]
Andrew: do we need more lube?
Neil: Yes. And condoms, if you prefer.
[Conversation Started at 7:41PM]
Neil: Why did you kick Kevin out of the dorm? He took refuge on Matt’s couch.
Neil: He looks sad. :/
———
Aaron seems to sense a difference in the air on the drive to Eden’s. A foot through the door, he grabs Kevin and convinces him that they both need to be blackout drunk before going home. Kevin is always waiting for an excuse to do just that, so he complies easily.
Under Neil’s leather jacket is a white shirt, and under that is a white bralette Andrew has yet to notice. His ripped jeans hide matching underwear, which are surprisingly comfortable considering they were made for women. They end just past his groin, nonexistent waistband laying halfway to his navel.
Under those, Neil is wearing an anal plug.
Andrew senses a difference, too. He doesn’t know precisely what, but spends a good amount of his time sending Neil suspicious glances.
“Hello,” Neil says, grabbing a stool next to Andrew at their chosen table. He hides his flinch the best he can while sitting, plug shoving deeper into him with the movement. “Come here often?”
He receives an unamused look. “Unfortunately,” Andrew replies.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
After a brief pause, Andrew scans him up and down. Somehow, he sips his virgin daiquiri with judgement. “No.”
Neil nods. “Okay. I’ll buy myself something instead. Drown my sorrows.”
Grabbing a water bottle from their table, Andrew checks the seal to ensure it's untampered with before handing it over. “Use that.”
Neil uncaps it. “As you wish,” he quotes.
Andrew glares.
Downing it with the expectation of losing a lot of fluids tonight, Neil chugs then sets the empty bottle in front of him. The plastic vibrates to the beat of the music, shifting and jumping around as if dancing atop the table. Neil shifts in his seat, jolting when his plug hits a particular spot inside him.
He was sure to open himself up alone before going to Andrew with it. It seemed considerate at the least, not making Andrew prep everything while Neil just had to lay there. Andrew is big, and starting from nothing would take far too long if Neil wants to get fucked at any point tonight. Aside from that, Neil is a bit more selfish with his intentions; he needs to see Andrew’s face when he finds what Neil has under his clothes.
Andrew narrows his eyes at Neil. “You’re hiding something.”
“Nothing sinister, I assure you.”
“Your assurance means nothing to me.”
Neil wiggles in his seat. Andrew notices.
———
While Andrew lures a wasted Kevin to the couch with a Snickers bar, Neil slips into the studio to grab a Polaroid camera.
He returns to the living room just as Andrew throws a blanket over Kevin, knocking him out like a canary.
“Was it that easy to get Aaron into bed?” Neil asks.
Andrew huffs at nothing. “He refused to go upstairs until I made him a turkey sandwich. He did not eat it. It’s in his hand. I hope he wakes up with crumbs everywhere.”
Neil exhales through the nose; basically laughter for him. “Bed, yes or no?”
Andrew places the uneaten Snickers on Kevin’s face. “Yes. Lead the way, Orpheus.”
“Are we leaving Kevin in hell in this scenario?” Neil starts up the staircase.
“Yes.”
Just to be safe, Neil doesn’t look back.
Like every time they use Andrew’s room, Neil pokes Kevin’s face on an old EAU poster while Andrew sets all three locks in place. Next to the door, a minuscule picture frame holds the image of Neil with a blank face and two thumbs up. It covers the hole Andrew made with a throwing knife; Nicky tried knocking while Neil was blowing him, and Andrew reacted on instinct.
“You’re wearing a plug,” Andrew accuses, turning toward Neil from the door.
“Yeah,” Neil shrugs and puts the camera on the desk. “I did suggest you should fuck me. We don’t have to do that right now; anything you want is on the table. If that is something you want, I’m prepped anyway.”
Every decision Neil makes in regards to Andrew’s pleasure has an escape route. He gives enough pause for Andrew to deflect or disagree, keeps his tone nonchalant so Neil’s hope regarding the matter isn’t a factor that may sway him. Always has another option tailored to satisfy.
Because Neil is content just as long as Andrew is there. He may have branching desires or curiosities—sucking Andrew off, bottoming for him—but those can be easily discarded if Andrew isn’t interested.
Andrew stares intensely, head tilted to the side.
“Anal, yes or no?” Neil asks.
Andrew blinks for the first time in maybe a minute.
“Yes,” he says. Moonlight streams in from the window and makes his eyes shine. Sometimes, for a split second, Neil gets confused if they don’t reflect like an animal. Andrew runs his tongue behind his bottom lip, mirrored piercings shifting.
“Could you get on the bed for me? Sitting or laying, either way.”
Andrew sits at the foot, right in front of where Neil is standing. He leans back and pretends to be relaxed, hands propping him up against his green, bear-covered bedding. It’s distracting; with Andrew’s jacket in the downstairs closet, his black tank opens his shoulders and upper-arms for Neil’s viewing pleasure.
Neil’s gaze flicks to the nightstand. A brand new bottle of lube sits there, unopened. No condoms.
Before Andrew, Neil didn’t really know what being nervous was. Life-or-death fear was more familiar to him than the anxieties that came with social interaction. He understands it more, now. He wants to please Andrew, doesn’t want to offend or disappoint him. The rush he gets in his trapezius muscles, the burning anticipation…that’s novel and terrifying. Unlike the terror he felt when he first found Andrew attractive, this new buzz isn’t negative. Isn’t shameful.
Neil shucks away his leather jacket and lays it over Andrew’s seldom-used bedroom desk. He meets Andrew’s eyes and slowly pulls his shirt off over his head.
Andrew’s pupils dilate.
Neil isn’t the biggest man. He’s short, more lean and lithe. He’s built to run. Exy did, however, grant him decent upper-body strength. The cups of his bralette are filled out, lace flowers planted along his ladder of scarred ribs. Thin straps over his shoulders, one straight across his iron scar, fit enough to be comfortable. The fabric is sheer and doesn’t cover anything, meaning his nipples poke through the cups with the cold.
“Any particular reason for this?” Andrew asks. His voice is almost imperceptibly quieter.
Neil pops open his ripped jeans and pushes them a few inches down his hips. Matching lace peeks out and stops halfway to his belly button, but auburn hair trails all the way to his navel.
“You kept complaining about my boxers. Figured you wouldn’t hate these as much,” Neil explains, shoving his pants off and kicking them away. He adjusts the sole decorative garter on his right thigh, chiffon over an elastic band. “I bought them for you.”
The bed creaks as Andrew grips the mattress, knuckles pale. Veins pop out of his arms with how tense he is, expression intentionally blank.
Arousal builds in Neil’s groin—he’s been half-hard for hours, ever since he worked the plug into himself while fantasizing about Andrew’s taste. The bulge in his underwear is evidence enough.
“Neil,” Andrew hums. He spreads his legs wider, so Neil steps between them and sets his hands on Andrew’s shoulders. He’s glad Andrew doesn’t like women; that way he can’t compare their sensual grace to whatever Neil has. “An entire trousseau was unnecessary.”
”I appreciate that you know what a trousseau is,” Neil says, which is a large understatement.
With touch so light it feels like a breeze, Andrew runs his fingers over the hems and seams of Neil’s lingerie and armbands. Thumb scraping the line of Neil’s erection, his nail bites the tip to tease.
Andrew clasps his hands together behind Neil. He moves up to see if the bra has hooks—it doesn’t—then back down, sliding right between the curve of his glutes. Andrew pressing lace into Neil’s skin makes him dizzy with satisfaction. Andrew goes lower, and lower. His hands are big enough to widely cup Neil’s ass, from waistband to the plump flesh his underwear doesn’t cover.
His ring and middle finger find the flared base of Neil’s plug and press.
Neil twitches at the lines of warmth striking through him. Starting in his ass and that small bundle of nerves, wildfire spreads through his stomach and thighs. He rolls his hips into Andrew, pushing back against the plug.
Lightening quick, Andrew flips them over. His strong arms tighten around Neil as he twists, and suddenly Neil’s back hits the bedding, Andrew between his legs.
“Oh,” is all Neil can manage. Andrew adjusts, then throws Neil further up the bed, head hitting the pillows. “Shit—“
Andrew plucks at the garter, snapping it against Neil’s thigh.
On his hands and knees, Andrew stalks closer. Even in the dark, his blond eyebrows are visibly drawn together, the pointed bar through his right shifts along with it. Moon-white hair curled with sweat, black-lined eyes trained on every movement Neil makes, the broad hills of his shoulders and the marble column of his throat—
“Fuck me,” Neil breathes, then immediately slaps a hand over his mouth. Too late. His voice is far rougher than he meant it to be, more desperate for this than he wants Andrew to know.
Andrew stops when his face is parallel with Neil’s bulge. He sinks, braced on forearms bracketing Neil’s hips. Andrew licks a long, slow line over Neil’s cock, not bothering to move the fabric. The heart stud through his tongue catches on the lace.
“These will stay on for now,” Andrew says. “Any questions?”
“Do whatever you want to me.”
Andrew’s bullish exhale hits Neil’s navel. “That is not a question.”
“That's all you need to know.”
Jaw clenched, Andrew evokes terrifying intensity through his stare. “That’s a dangerous thing to offer. Such an easy privilege to abuse.”
“You won’t hurt me.” You couldn’t stand it.
“You sound awfully sure of yourself.”
Neil shrugs. “Whatever you want. Anything.” Anything as long as it’s you.
“Anything?” Andrew scoffs.
“Full access.”
Andrew hefts Neil’s leg onto his left shoulder and bites, hard.
Hissing in a gasp, Neil throws his head into the pillows, eyes screwed shut. Pain flashes across his inner thigh as he feels each individual tooth, then a studded tongue scraping along the flesh. For some inane, inconceivable reason, pleasure shoots through Neil’s body. The arches of his feet, the backs of his knees, his tailbone and up his spine to a buzzing skull and—fuck.
“Neil,” Andrew calls. Neil pries his eyes open to peer at him. “That kind of ‘full access’?”
Sarcasm thickens his tone, a smug look behind his mask as if he caught Neil in a lie. Andrew loosens his jaw and licks blood off his incisors. Neil’s cock throbs in his underwear, ass clenching around the plug.
“Yeah—yes. That.”
Andrew blinks.
He licks bloody droplets from the puncture and nips Neil again, far gentler this time. Neil softens with a satisfied groan.
This stinging pain is different from all his other injuries. Different from Lola and her car lighter, or Riko and his knives. It feels…good. A consistent tingle that activates every nerve in him, building the urge to writhe and ask for more. Andrew has claimed Neil with things before: chokers and markers and cum. But the bite feels deeply personal when it spills life out Neil’s skin, and Andrew drinks it before it can hit the blankets.
“Could you—again?” Neil pants. He grips the pillow under him for some semblance of support.
“You want me to bite you again?” Andrew clarifies, albeit judgmentally. Air from his words run over the fresh wound.
“Yes. Bite me.”
Andrew complies several times over. Dragging his teeth from one thigh to the other, he presses deep, bruising marks that leave red on his canines. Neil is trembling after half a dozen; Andrew stops when his breathing gets labored.
Resting his cheek to the fat of Neil’s thigh gives Andrew a pillow while he peers upwards. A drop of blood rolls down his lower lip, so Neil reaches to wipe it off.
Palm cupped over Neil’s aching cock, Andrew kneads him through his underwear to spark friction. “You are incredibly hard considering how little I’ve done.”
“I’ve been hard since before Eden’s. Been wearing lingerie and accidentally hitting my prostate for hours,” he defends. Andrew places his thumb over the plug base and presses. “You are such a bastard.”
“So I’ve been told.”
He keeps his thumb there and leans forward to drool around the head of Neil’s cock, soaking the lace with spit. Fabric does absolutely nothing to block how warm and wet Andrew’s tongue is, how strongly he can drag it across the tip.
Neil combs Andrew’s bangs out of his eyes and holds them up. Andrew peeks through his lashes, eyeliner smudged.
Neil will never, never say it out loud, but Andrew is pretty like this.
Forget Andrew wearing his own lacy bras or garter belts, forget when he’s clean shaven and smooth for a commission, forget the mascara and lip gloss, and the countless pictures of him face-down-ass-up on his account. This: Andrew with sweaty, fucked up hair, muscular shoulders bulging from his tank top, the judgmental look in his moonlit eyes and the blood still in his gums. His blond stubble is two days grown-out, scratching like sandpaper against Neil’s skin, and the thick calluses on his hands are from racquets and knives alike. Neil hasn’t kissed him all night, but if he does, he knows Andrew will taste like virgin daiquiris; they stay as sober as possible when they know hooking up is imminent.
This is Andrew at his prettiest. A little fucked up, a little dirty, and definitely sugar-flavored.
“Full access. Anything I want,” Andrew glares. “This is your last chance to repeal that.”
He doesn’t mean it. If Neil took it back, Andrew would drop it in a heartbeat.
Neil tousles Andrew’s hair. “You know I won’t.”
Andrew runs his fingers over Neil’s bite marks, checking to make sure they’ve quit drooling blood. When he’s satisfied with the results, he sits up, grabs Neil’s hips, and flips him onto his stomach.
A grunt knocks out of Neil with the movement. He ruts into the mattress, cock hard enough to hurt. Apparently he likes being manhandled by Andrew. Good to know.
Up and down Neil’s back, Andrew pets across every inch. Open nerves twinge, and Neil grips the bedding to stop himself from wiggling. When Andrew plucks Neil’s bra strap, he yelps more than groans as it hits his iron scar. Neil can’t stop clenching against the plug, body aching for more stimulation, deeper, harder.
Andrew pats Neil’s flank. “Knees.”
Following directions leads to Neil’s knees braced below him, holding his ass in the air with his face in a pillow. Thumbs slide under Neil’s waistband and hook to pull it down his thighs. Not all the way, just far enough that Neil feels the chilly night against his skin. Nothing stops Andrew from seeing the flared base of the plug peeking out of him.
Neil’s face burns and he doesn’t fully understand why. He crosses his arms and hides in them.
Andrew slowly exhales, loud.
Fingers around the base, Andrew drags until the thickest part of the plug holds Neil open. Neil tries to breathe evenly; he almost succeeds until Andrew starts thrusting in and out. Teardrop shaped, the difference between girthy bulb and the slim rod just past it is dramatic. Overwhelming. Andrew definitely knows this; he tortures Neil by sliding between the two, likely watching his rim stretch.
Moaning into his arms dampens most of Neil’s noises. He gasps at the burn.
Anal so far is a novel sensation; neither he nor Andrew have initiated anything with each other. In Andrew’s porn, he never even fingers himself despite the toys he manages to take.
Neil knows about Andrew’s trauma. Between his own admissions and Aaron’s testing comments, Neil never expected Andrew to want anal with him in the first place. Then again, he started this affair not expecting anything as an option, even touching. Now that he’s ass up, wearing lingerie in Andrew’s bed—Neil should probably stop expecting things.
“Andrew…” rumbles out Neil’s throat. He shifts his hips, pushing backwards. “More?”
There’s no verbal response, but Andrew removes the plug. An obscenely wet pop follows as lube drips from Neil.
Rough palms grope Neil’s ass and spread him open. Shivers run along his spine as cold air chills the lube.
Silence fills the room.
Then Andrew leans and spits across Neil’s hole. Warm saliva rolls down and over his entrance; it would keep dripping but Andrew swipes it up and stuffs it into him.
Neil trembles and moans into the pillow.
Despite the fact that Andrew wouldn’t admit to it, he kisses sweetly from the nape of Neil’s neck down to his tailbone. Then further. Andrew exhales through his mouth, fanning hot air shockingly close to where he hasn’t touched Neil before.
“What…what are you gonna do?” Neil asks, skull filled with cotton.
Andrew flattens his tongue against Neil’s perineum and licks a hard line over his hole. Neil barely manages to muffle his shout. Delicious buzzing starts at their point of connection, and Neil jerks backwards onto Andrew’s tongue. The wet muscle laps over several times, dipping past Neil’s rim and flicking to tease.
The noises. Andrew spreads Neil apart, licking and kissing over him, so unfairly soft. The same sounds as when they makeout fill the room: squelching skin and the smack of lips. Unlike a makeout session, Andrew closes his mouth over Neil’s rim and sucks. Neil has to suffocate himself with the pillow so he doesn’t yell.
Drooling against him, Andrew’s stud drags over Neil’s perineum as he collects saliva and pushes it into him. The cold rings of Andrew’s piercings warm up fast.
Andrew slips into him and drinks out leftover lube. His tongue flexes and relaxes, lapping over everything in his reach. The act itself burns Neil’s face and back, hot and tingling to the touch. The stimulation itself makes Neil drip precum into his underwear, every lick as powerful as scratching an exposed nerve.
Neil kicks his feet into the bed because it’s so much but not enough, and everything is pure electricity emitting off of Andrew’s presence. Pleasure sparks in the center of Neil’s spine; he arches his back to scratch the itch. As someone with multiple near-death experiences, Neil can completely understand how Andrew could kill him with this.
Panting breaths brush over Neil’s left cheek until Andrew sinks his teeth into it. After nipping the area a few more times, Andrew decides to lick his way up Neil’s body. Plush lips form a constellation of kisses across his back, each vertebrae and both shoulder blades, his trapezius muscles and hairline.
Neil stops trying to suffocate himself so he can pull up and meet Andrew halfway. He tastes like lube and skin, but kisses Neil with jarring delicacy. Armbands bracketing Neil’s ribs, clothes rubbing across his bare body, Andrew sets his lips just behind Neil’s left ear.
“Alright?” He asks, voice rumbling.
Neil throws an arm around Andrew’s neck and draws him closer. Needing Andrew’s air to breathe, he kisses open-mouthed and sloppy until Andrew humors him and reciprocates. Laying a hand on Neil’s waist, Andrew rolls him onto his back and fully blankets his body. Denim-clad knee between Neil’s thighs, cotton shirt grinding on lace grinding on skin.
Andrew only tolerates the distraction for so long before gripping Neil by the face and holding him down. “Are you alright?” He repeats.
“I’m alright,” Neil says. His voice is wrecked in a way he’s never heard before. “I’m very alright. Why are you so good at that?”
“It’s only good because you haven’t had better. Other than that, call it beginner’s luck.”
Neil blanks.
It isn’t insane to assume that Andrew has hooked up with people before. He’s a porn star. He’s twenty years old, incredibly attractive (Neil’s standards are only Andrew really, he isn’t a fair judge), and frequents a BDSM club enough that the staff know his name. Andrew is…Andrew. It’s incomprehensible to Neil that he may be the first person Andrew has done this with.
He hasn’t heard about past hookups from anyone—but Andrew is secretive as shit anyway. People still don’t know they’ve been…whatever they are…and it’s been six months.
Neil never considered that he hadn't heard about Andrew’s past flings because there weren’t any. Besides fucking Roland.
He stares up at Andrew hazily, then slides a hand through his blond hair.
“Kiss me?” Neil suggests, so Andrew does without a second of hesitation.
And, yep, beneath the lube and skin is the taste of strawberries. Fingers combing through Andrew’s hair, Neil kisses him with heart-pounding desperation; the kind he has after they share trauma, the kind at every first. Cheeks flushed red enough to ache, he presses into Andrew’s soft lips with as much tenderness as his fucked up body can manage. Tender because neither of them really know how to be. Tender because Andrew deserves it.
Neil doesn’t care if Andrew makes him clean all the jewelry, he massages Andrew’s ears anyway. In reward, he gets a low-throated purr and Andrew grinding his cock against Neil.
“How d’you want me?” He mumbles into Andrew’s mouth.
Andrew pulls away. “Excuse me?”
“How do you want me?” Neil repeats. “What position? Keep in mind I’m not flexible.”
Narrowing his eyes, Andrew says, “Why don’t you pick?”
“I don’t care how you do it, just as long as you fuck me and I don’t pull a muscle; I wanna be on court Monday. My singular stipulation is you inside me.”
Neil feels Andrew’s heart pick up speed from the solid press of their chests together.
“Neil,” he scowls despite something vulnerable peeking out of his expression, “find more stipulations. I will not have free rein with you.”
Andrew’s fear has finally made an appearance.
Neil would stake every piece of gear he owns that Andrew wouldn’t hurt him on purpose during this. He can bet millions on how gentle Andrew would be if that’s what Neil asks of him.
Andrew wouldn’t place the same bets.
Andrew doesn’t seem to understand that Neil trusts him the same way he trusts Neil; that they have not an ounce of desire to scare one another. They’ll tease and toy and taunt, but the moment a sign of unease pops up, they pivot. Neil would rather stab himself between the ribs than make Andrew uncomfortable during sex—and Andrew shares that sentiment.
Except, Andrew doesn’t trust himself.
Sniffing out sadists is second nature for Neil, but Andrew never set off that alarm (based on tales from the other Monsters and Renee, his past meds were a much different story). Despite that, Andrew illogically assumes he’ll snap and attack Neil. Force something on him. Andrew doesn’t like having free rein because he doesn’t trust himself to be safe with that freedom, no matter how many times he’s proved himself worthy. He needs a limit. At least one. That assures him Neil isn’t taking this privilege lightly.
“I want to see you. Don’t care how, just let me see your face,” Neil says. “There’s your stipulation.”
Andrew nods, and Neil doesn’t mention how visibly he relaxes.
He sits up, Neil’s thighs over his spread knees. Andrew takes a long time to blankly stare at Neil, roaming over every inch of him. In response, Neil stares at where their hips connect. His underwear is damp with spit, and Neil admires how the white lace looks against Andrew’s black clothing. He makes note to snap a picture of that at some point.
Reaching over, Andrew grabs the brand new bottle of lube from the nightstand and peels the plastic off the cap.
“No condoms, I see,” Neil says, unsurprised at the glare he receives. “That’s fine. Though you’ll have to help me shower later.”
Andrew raises an eyebrow. “You don’t typically shower, after.”
“You don’t typically cum inside me,” Neil rebukes.
The lube slips out of Andrew’s hands and hits the bed. Thankfully it’s closed. Frozen in place, Andrew’s fingers are in the same position as when they clutched the bottle. He’s trembling ever so slightly. Colors are strange at night, but Neil watches Andrew’s cheeks darken with what can only be blush. His blinks are few and far between.
A tug pulls at Neil’s lips. He tries so hard to fight it but eventually loses.
Neil snarls out a grin; wide enough for his cheeks to throb, teeth bared and eyes slanted.
He hurries to cover the smile with his arm, hurries to tamper down the smug glee he feels at rendering Andrew speechless.
Andrew inhales, eyes wide and Jupiter-colored, pupils signs of his high.
“Andrew?”
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
“C’mere,” Neil beckons.
All ten fingers buried in Andrew’s hair, Neil pets as adoringly as he can manage. Like waves lapping at a beach, he presses and tugs, guiding Andrew’s movements as their mouths connect. It should probably disgust Neil, kissing Andrew after where his tongue has been, but Neil likes being disgusting with him. Drinking blood and drooling over lingerie, smearing precum wherever he’s able.
The taboo sort of…melts away, when Neil does this. His brain twists everything Andrew could possibly do into something appealing, and Neil can’t find a reason to mind.
“Is there anything you want to remove?” Neil asks as he rubs their cheeks together, cat-like.
Andrew’s stubble scratches his face, satiating something deeper than physical in Neil. Mouth against temple, he revels in the scent of his hair and delicate sensation of it caressing his lips; he inhales deep and presses a not-kiss to Andrew’s forehead.
“Pants,” Andrew responds, knocked down to a monosyllabic answer.
He keeps an arm braced next to Neil, fabric of his bands brushing Neil’s ribs, and reaches down to strip with one hand. It’s unfairly hot how easily Andrew can open his belt like that. Shuffling and kicking aside, Andrew is down to his underwear and tank top quickly. Neil can’t see what kind of briefs he’s wearing, but he can feel the soft cotton between his thighs.
“Not lace?” Neil inquires.
Andrew shrugs, shoving his face in Neil’s shoulder. “They’re comfortable.”
An accidental sigh breaks out of Neil, illogical happiness flooding him with the cozy implication of Andrew’s words. Such a minute detail, that Andrew prioritized his comfort over seducing Neil—so absolutely trivial, small. Worthless to someone else.
Swelling affection makes it hard to think for a moment—but that gets quickly overshadowed when he feels the raw warmth radiating off Andrew, and how easily their erections slide together.
“Feels good,” he mumbles, rocking his hips. “How do you want me?”
“Like this.” Andrew feels around to find the lube, wrist rubbing against lace as he takes it from beside Neil’s hip. “How much attachment do you feel for this lingerie?”
“They don’t itch my scars. May become sentimental after this, but I can always buy more for you.”
Andrew acknowledges that with a hum. He briefly adjusts to drag Neil’s underwear off, tossing them somewhere across the room, then settles back between Neil’s legs. His bralette and sole garter still remain; index slipped under the elastic, Andrew caresses the skin of Neil’s thigh.
Luckily Andrew’s body protects Neil from the cold, because he’s still dripping with spit and lube. The bottle cap pops.
“Two or three fingers?”
“Three.”
He’s seen Andrew warm up lube for himself enough times that he knows what the following pause is. Oddly, Andrew wraps his hand around Neil’s cock first, stroking slick and tight.
“You need to relax,” Andrew says into his ear. Whispering makes his voice rougher, every single cigarette butt hardening into the gravel of his throat. Neil stutters out an exhale. “Your muscles are tight and your jaw is clenched. Loosen up. Do not let me hurt you.”
Neil purposefully relaxes every muscle in his body, melting until he can intimately feel the sensations around him; soft blankets, smooth lace, Andrew.
“There.” Andrew gives a particularly slow stroke. “Just like that.”
“You are the expert.”
“I am. And it will do you well to remember that,” he murmurs, spreading more lube between his fingers. “Ready?”
“I’ve been ready for hours.”
Andrew scoffs and presses the pads of his fingers against Neil’s hole. He slips two digits in, sliding perfectly.
“Relax,” Andrew stresses. But how could he? How, when Andrew’s fingers are thicker and rougher than Neil’s, overwhelmingly different than opening himself up, calluses dragging against sensitive tissue. “It’s okay. Relax.”
Neil is loose from the plug and Andrew’s tongue, but the fingers still have a noticeable stretch. Embers stoke as Andrew crooks his fingers and slowly thrusts.
Neil wraps his arms around Andrew’s neck and breathes into his temple.
“Okay?” Andrew asks.
“Yeah. It isn’t directly pleasurable, but I feel like I need more. Is that normal? I feel empty.”
“That’s normal. I’ll give you more in a minute,” Andrew says, slipping a third finger in with the other two.
Andrew pets along his insides slightly faster. Semi-good, Neil pushes himself down onto them. When Andrew hits deeper, it’s like a gunshot—the burn radiates outward until it envelopes Neil’s entire body.
Thumb on Neil’s perineum, Andrew suddenly focuses, movements meticulous. He hums with an emotion Neil can’t parse, then—
“Fuck!” Neil shouts. Pure static sizzles up his spine, cock throbbing painfully while his eyes roll back.
Andrew politely moves his touch elsewhere. “Prostate. No need to be so dramatic when I barely—“
“Oh, you ‘barely touched it’? Fuck off, you did that on purpose,” Neil groans, writhing like that will return the butterflies in his stomach. “Why did you stop?”
“You had a conniption. Apologies if I didn’t want you to wake the neighborhood.”
“Because you care so profoundly for the feelings of others?” Neil avoids Andrew’s piercings and bites the shell of his ear. “Here’s a feeling for you, Andrew; I feel like you should stick your dick in me before I have a real conniption.”
Andrew slips his fingers out. The popping open of the lube bottle signals Neil’s victory. They’re pressed too tightly together for Neil to watch what Andrew is doing, but the slick sounds of stroking and hissed breaths give him a good idea.
Andrew pushes himself up with his free hand to look Neil in the eye. His shoulders and arms are unfairly beautiful, woven silk over dense stone, moon highlighting his curves. Sweaty bangs fall across Andrew’s forehead, cheeks dark and splotchy. He breathes through his mouth, still jerking off even as he gives Neil a serious look.
“You are going to listen to me. Understood?” He stresses. Neil nods, a little in awe. “You are not going to be a brat with this. When you go down on me, whatever, but this is more than that. You will move exactly as I say, at the pace I set. Do not pull faster than I push. Do not rush, or attempt to take more than feels good. If you try, I will be furious. If you hurt yourself, this is not going to happen again. Have I made myself clear?”
Neil almost cums on the spot.
Instead, he nods.
Andrew scowls. “Verbally respond. Do you understand? Yes or no?”
“Yes,” Neil whispers. “Yes.”
Andrew presses his lips to the space between Neil’s eyebrows.
“Stay relaxed. Tell me if there is unpleasant pain.”
“Yes, Andrew.”
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
They adjust until Andrew’s knees prop Neil’s ass up, their hips closer together. Andrew sits up straight, allowing Neil to finally see his cock from a new angle. Rock-hard and throbbing, glistening with lube in the moonlight. He looks…far bigger like this. Blood rushing excitement fills Neil’s veins. He wraps his legs around Andrew’s ribs.
With a guiding hand, Andrew places himself exactly where he needs to be; he drags the head of his cock over Neil, leaving behind smears of excessive lube that dampens Neil’s pubic hair.
He holds himself right against Neil’s hole and presses.
It feels like nothing aside from pressure for a few seconds, then Andrew slips past the tight ring of muscle and Neil crumbles. Blunt dragging on raw inner nerves, Neil sighs to rein himself in and forces his eyes closed. The pleasure of an itch being scratched, an empty stomach being filled, medecine taking pain away—Neil isn’t sure if that’s from sex or Andrew.
Three inches in, Neil finally lets out a breath.
He opens his eyes to find Andrew staring. His scowl from before is gone, brows fully even and eyes slightly wide. Andrew isn’t looking down, his gaze is locked on Neil’s face. Neil’s thighs twitch.
“Grab my hips,” he gasps. “I don’t want to break the rules but my body keeps moving and you have to hold me—“
Andrew wipes his lubed hand off on his tank and slides his arms around Neil’s spread legs. His thumbs perfectly cup Neil’s hip bones, fingers clenched against his skin. And suddenly Neil doesn’t need to worry about going where Andrew doesn’t want him, because the hands holding him are immovable.
“Okay?” Andrew croaks.
“Okay,” Neil nods.
Inch by inch, Andrew glides in, eyes never straying from Neil’s face. Neil is too busy keeping his own eyes open and uncrossed to focus back. When Andrew’s hips finally connect with his own, Neil is shocked when he looks down and doesn’t find a bulge in his stomach.
Andrew’s lashes flutter shut finally, nose slightly scrunched in concentration.
Their panting syncs up as the only sound in the room. It’s the fullest Neil has ever felt, one good flinch away from crying tears of overwhelm. Dandelion fluff fills his arteries, cotton padding his brain. Falling asleep would be easy.
“How do you manage this?” Neil asks. “Doing this all the time—it’s so much. I can’t think straight but you—you do this for a living.”
Andrew swallows and shakes his head. “It’s not the same. Toys…do not feel like this. It’s different.”
“You could’ve warned me,” he complains.
“I didn’t know,” Andrew snarks back.
Neil shuts up fast. He blinks several times, opens his mouth as if to talk, but changes his mind and presses his lips together.
It’s one thing to assume, but it’s entirely different when that assumption is confirmed.
It isn’t insane to assume that Andrew has hooked up with people before. It’s Andrew. He had bewitched Neil so easily, so fast—and Neil has spent a lifetime not getting attached—how easily could Andrew charm a normal person?
What makes him worthy of this?
“There’s no need to look so shocked,” Andrew scowls. “It can’t be that surprising.”
“I didn’t…”
“Neil. Look me in the eye and tell me who you think I would have had sex with,” he says, appearing incredibly judgmental.
“…Roland?”
Andrew lets go of Neil’s hip to flick him on the forehead. “Your idiocy knows no bounds. We kissed. Thrice. Then he touched what he shouldn’t have and has a scar to prove it.”
“You’re a virgin,” Neil says. Plain and simple.
The utterly blank stare Andrew lays on him is chilling.
“Excuse me?”
“You haven’t had sex with anyone before,” Neil elaborates. Andrew opens his mouth, but Neil cuts him off, “—That was not sex. Look me in the eye and say that’s the same thing as what we’ve been doing.”
The expression on Andrew’s face shoots through Neil’s chest, leaving a bleeding hole over his heart. Devastating and raw. Andrew’s jaws hangs down, posed to argue if not for the shakiness of his eyes, the trembling of his hands, the confusion in his brows. Neil has little to no empathy left—not after the Butcher and Riko and his mother—but looking at Andrew forms a lump in his throat.
He just looks so young.
“Andrew…” Neil begins, despite the crack in his voice. “Andrew, you’re shaking. Do you want to—“
“No.”
Andrew blinks himself back into his body, scanning Neil’s face. Gently, he repositions Neil’s thighs and sinks down into him, buried in Neil’s neck. Neil combs his fingers into Andrew’s hair and massages his scalp.
“Andrew,” Neil whispers into him, “okay?”
“Okay.” He nods. “Okay?”
“Okay.” Neil kisses every part of Andrew’s head he can reach—something that would be inconceivable to him even seven months ago. He doesn’t try to digest why, or pick apart exactly how he’s changed so much; Andrew has a strange talent for awakening new desires in him. “Can I amend my stipulation?”
“To what?” Andrew says against his neck.
“I don’t care if I see your face,” he says. “As long as I can touch some part of you, I’ll be satisfied. Like how we are right now.”
“Amendment accepted.”
“Thank you.”
Andrew tucks his arms around Neil, one hand slid under the lace of his bralette, the other holding his shoulder blade. His palms are warm, rough fingertips tracing whatever scars they land on.
He doesn’t pull out, instead grinds his hips against Neil. Fuzzy pleasure rolls in his gut. Neil nuzzles his cheek on Andrew’s temple. Underneath sweat and smoke, he smells Andrew’s good conditioner; a product he only uses for special commissions or shoots.
“You smell like cherries,” Neil accuses.
“Fuck off,” he grunts back.
Andrew rests his lips on the side of Neil’s neck, barely pulling out. Neil swallows excess saliva so he doesn’t choke when Andrew thrusts back in.
“A little more?” Neil requests.
The entire time Neil has known of him, Andrew has never once genuinely moaned. When he feels good, he forces himself to breathe evenly and calmly, maybe allowing a deep groan. Occasionally, it rumbles in his soft palate like a purr.
Andrew is coming undone, and Neil can tell because the noises escaping him are more than just air. Neil can recognize Andrew on his breath alone—but this is more, this is Andrew’s voice.
Pulling out halfway triggers an uncomfortable emptiness in Neil’s gut. He twitches in place attempting to obey Andrew’s orders.
Andrew presses and rolls his hips, cock dragging against Neil’s prostate with the motion. They’re both shocked when the same moan leaves their lips; deep, breathy hums from far back in the throat.
“Oh,” Neil gasps, “I liked that.”
“I am not going to fucking moan for you.”
“Didn’t ask you to. Just stating my opinion.”
“You have shitty opinions,” Andrew says. He gently rocks in and out of Neil, fingers tracing circles around the vertebrae beneath his bra.
“Careful, there. Liking you is one of my opinions.”
“I stand by that being a shitty opinion.”
“I think it’s pretty great. Considering the position I’m in, and all,” Neil nips between Andrew’s piercings, teeth catching the shell of his ear. Shifting to hold Andrew’s head in his hands is second nature. He cups Andrew by the crown and neck, effectively hugging him against Neil’s shoulder. “This isn’t the worst place to be.”
Andrew scoffs and thrusts harder as punishment.
Neil grips Andrew tight and forces himself back into the pillow to relieve tension.
The fluidity Andrew’s hips possess is downright impressive—and Neil has known about it since he first started watching Andrew’s porn. Arguably, they’re the most flexible part of his body. Witnessing him block a goal with an unholy twist to reach the ball was life-altering. Andrew uses those hips to his advantage now; occasionally he thrusts hard just to be an asshole, but more often does he roll into Neil.
A thorough dig into Neil’s insides, a grind when buried to the hilt—it’s a devastating move that makes Neil want to see just how deep he can really get. Just how full can Neil really be?
Stretched open and stuffed on Andrew’s girth, every single movement hits his prostate. Andrew is a goddamn roller coaster; rumbling and jolting and spiking adrenaline.
“Fucking Christ,” Neil groans, hugging him tighter. For all the twists and turns and drops and loops, Andrew is also the safety bar in the cart, keeping Neil from falling to his death. “Andrew.”
Andrew bottoms out with a groan Neil can hear. The fact it’s even audible turns Neil from aflame to blazing.
Andrew senses his satisfaction and huffs, “Shut the fuck up.”
“I di-dn’t say a-nything,” Neil argues through his moans.
Andrew catches the skin of Neil’s shoulder between his teeth, sharp and bursting. From one to another, his nerves bounce between each bite Andrew has left, throbbing with pleasure so heady his stomach drops.
Neil has no idea why, no excuse, but he licks long and wide over Andrew’s face, drinking his sweat from jaw to hairline.
Salty and musky, he idly wishes he could take a shot of it from Andrew’s collarbones.
“Neil—“ he gasps. The hand under Neil’s bralette tenses, scratching his spine.
Thick and hard and rolling like waves, Andrew fucks him open. Neil tightens his thighs around Andrew, the bites on them pulsing as they press against his briefs. His cock drags against every ridge inside Neil; Neil’s own erection is shoved between their stomachs and rubbed raw from Andrew’s tank—he almost forgot there was anything besides Andrew and his hole.
They pant in matching cadences. Flickering, swirling heat grows heavier in Neil’s groin. Neil knows when he loses control—knows when he’s vulnerable. If a threat walked in, his legs wouldn’t be able to hold him up.
Andrew begins to lose his perfect tempo, straying to thrust in a way that scratches some mental itch.
Neil combs his fingers through Andrew’s hair, trying to breathe. “Andrew, close.”
Andrew simply nods against his neck with stuttering hips.
“Am I allowed to cum?” Neil asks. He’d tremble right out of his skin if not for Andrew’s embrace holding him together.
“You don’t need my permission,” Andrew hisses.
“Don’t need it,” Neil agrees, “but I want it.”
“Fuck—“
Neil gasps and moans into Andrew’s ear, partly because he can’t help it, partly to drive the man crazy. “Andrew, can I cum? Will you let me?”
“Yes, you can cum, I’m letting you—“
The next time Andrew’s cock hits as deep as it can, Neil blurs around the edges.
Gasps turn into whines against Andrew’s hair. Anything he spurts out gets soaked up by Andrew’s shirt or sandwiched between their torsos. His prostate feels as if someone took a knife to an outlet, body humming and shaking like a leaf. Andrew doesn’t stop—probably can’t—but Neil doesn’t want him to anyway.
“Andrew, Andrew—“ Neil clenches, ass tightening around him. “More, more—c’mon, Andrew, cum in me—“
Andrew locks his teeth into Neil’s neck, biting right under his ear where everyone will see. Andrew moans into it, muffling the noise with Neil in his mouth. Thrusting into him and staying there, Andrew’s hip bones prod the backs of Neil’s thighs as he cums.
Neil pulls Andrew up by the hair just in time to see his eyes rolled back, mouth agape. He shoves their foreheads together to drink his breath, gulping in whatever air his overwhelmed body can manage.
Deep inside himself, Neil feels warm and wet and thoroughly claimed; Andrew pulls away slightly and his cum slides to fill the empty space. Neil finally relaxes.
“Andrew…”
“Stop talking,” Andrew says.
His entire body is trembling. When Neil loosens his grip on Andrew’s hair, his forehead drops like a bag of rocks into Neil’s chest.
Under the straps of Andrew’s tank, Neil slides his hands against supple skin. He massages his fingers into the wings of Andrew’s shoulder blades and the knotted rope of his spine, completely slick with sweat. He trails Andrew’s back with his fingernails but doesn’t scratch.
Andrew purrs. He smushes his cheek into Neil’s pec, nuzzled into the bralette. Eyes closed, hair fluffed, Neil would be fine staying like this forever. He rests his lips on Andrew’s head.
“Don’ sniff me you degenerate,” he grumbles, not bothering to open his eyes.
Neil hyperventilates through the nose. Andrew reaches down and snaps the elastic on his garter.
Andrew is melted and vulnerable and dazed. He’s uninhibited, inebriated, defenses down.
Neil wants to swallow him whole.
“Hey,” Neil says, “give me a poem.”
Andrew forgets to lie.
“How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me, my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running. So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes, and over our heads the gray light unwinds in turning fans,” he recites from the depths of his brain, voice utterly flat. He yawns, pauses, and continues, “I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.”
Pressure forms behind Neil’s eyes. He wriggles his nose, licks his lips, banishes the lump in his throat.
“I brought a camera up here, by the way,” Neil says.
That gets Andrew to look. Neil huffs a laugh.
At a glacial pace, Andrew pushes himself up, shifting hips reminding them how they’re still connected. Andrew’s brows furrow instead of wincing, and his lower back pops loudly once he’s sat.
He frowns. “We should invest in towels,” Andrew grumbles, plucking his tank away from his body, fabric soaked in Neil’s cum. He tugs it off and wipes the rest of Neil down before tossing it in the vague direction of a laundry basket.
Neil probably nods, but he’s too busy staring at Andrew’s torso to pay any attention.
Andrew continues, “I’m only going to pull out long enough to grab the camera.”
Subconsciously, Neil shifts so Andrew hits deeper, and he receives an unimpressed eyebrow-raise in response.
The solid five seconds Andrew’s cock slips out of him is torturous. Cold air hits between Neil’s legs after so long of having Andrew blanket him. Emptiness aches enough to be painful, and Neil can’t tell if it’s psychological or physical. Stretched open, raw, Neil feels a mixture of lube and cum drip out his hole.
Thankfully that’s when Andrew returns; he gathers the spill up with the head of his softening cock and pushes back into Neil. The ache disappears. A shamefully loud squelch follows the action.
Andrew checks the camera’s film while buried to the hilt in Neil’s ass. It’s definitely attractive. “How many pictures am I allowed to take?”
“As many as you want,” Neil answers with a rush of excitement. These photos will be good, he knows. Him and Andrew somehow find a way to snap the filthiest shots imaginable, exactly tailored to each other’s desires.
“This will take a minute,” Andrew says.
Sat on his haunches, drenched in sweat and still slightly out of breath, blond hair messier than Neil’s ever seen—Neil is okay staying as long as Andrew wants.
Then Andrew pinches his nipple, and Neil smacks him away on instinct. “Fucking ow!”
“Would you prefer I bite them? May tear the lace,” Andrew shrugs, then takes the other between his knuckles and pinches that, too. Neil hisses through his teeth, more pleasured than pained. “You know how I pose in bras?”
“Yeah?”
Andrew raises an eyebrow.
Neil scoffs.
He gropes himself hard with both hands, what little excess fat he has spills between his fingers, nipples erect between his index and middles.
“Flash is on,” Andrew warns, then leans in to snap a picture. The light is sour and sharp in the dark. “Turn your head to the left, neck bared.”
Obeying stretches the skin around the two bites Andrew left there, one on his trapezius and the other vertical below his ear. Flash.
Andrew hums. With his right hand, he shoves the fabric of Neil’s bralette to the side, pec cupped and pushed up. Flash. His hand spans across it; he gropes the same as Neil, one nipple bare and the other covered, squeezed through their fingers. Flash.
“Your tits are better than mine, dunno why you like them so much,” Neil jokes.
He gets a blank stare in response. “You do realize you said that with a British accent, right?”
“Did I?” Neil asks, squinting. He hasn’t slipped up like that in years—yet he just did over something so ridiculous. His mother is probably rattling in her grave. “I think some distant family member possessed me.”
Andrew stares a little while longer, locked at Neil’s lips before moving on.
Fingertips tapping down Neil’s stomach, Andrew stops just next to Neil’s cock, soft and sensitive where it lays. He swipes his thumb up the length. Neil twitches, shooting a glare. The slope of his thumb cups under Neil’s balls, hand reaching to Neil’s navel. Neil’s cock stops before Andrew’s fingers do. Flash.
“I thought size didn’t matter,” Neil teases, but Andrew’s gaze doesn’t drift away. “You like that you're bigger than me.”
“Yes,” he says, piercing scrunched with his brows. “You could kill me.”
“Yes. And you could kill me.” Neil feels a strange pull at his lips.
“And here we are,” Andrew muses. “I could take my armbands off. I could hand you a knife, sharpened. A gun, fully loaded. You could keep it against my neck. What would happen? What would you do, Neil?”
“Depends. What’s the context?”
“Let’s say it’s the same as tonight. Before we even took your underwear off.”
“I could hold a weapon to your throat all you like, but I’d still want you to fuck me, if you wanted to,” Neil tilts his head. “How does this circle back to dick size?”
Andrew tilts his head at the same angle as Neil’s. “Something, something, power. Yaddy-yadda permission.”
“Very poetic, I applaud you.” A grin carves itself into Neil’s cheeks. “Are you finally grasping the depth of my trust for you?”
“Fuck off,” Andrew scowls through his heated skin.
Down to Neil’s legs, bites stick out like fired clay against sand. Throbbing circles perfectly map Andrew’s teeth, pink marks where they were sharpest. Andrew between bites between thighs. Neil idly hopes something will scar. Flash.
Hand on the back of Neil’s thigh, Andrew pushes him into the bed, bending him in half, somehow hitting deeper. “Fuck. Didn’t I say I wasn’t flexible?”
“You bend for me just fine.”
Fresh arousal sloshes around inside him, muscles across his body spasming.
Andrew grinds against his ass, and Neil feels it in his throat. Flash. Pulling away aches like a loss, but Andrew doesn’t leave completely; his tip settles just past the entrance. Flash.
Andrew cups his waist. “Can I pose you?”
“Full access,” Neil hums. Carefully setting the camera on the bed, Andrew flips him over fast enough that cum can’t leak out of his now empty hole. “This feels familiar.”
“Knees,” he directs. He presses Neil’s chest into the mattress and folds him. Face-down-ass-up. Neil spreads his legs. “You’re a natural. It’s disturbing.”
“Learned from the best.”
“I have created a monster.”
“Okay, Frankenstein, take your pictures.”
Andrew pries him apart with a coarse hand on the ass. Flash. The bed squeaks as he sits up straighter for a better angle, the front of his thighs on the back of Neil’s. He’s tucked into his briefs now, soft cotton against skin. The warmth of his bulge slides between Neil’s glutes.
“Hey,” Andrew says, low and sweet before his left hand wraps around the back of Neil’s neck. For a touch so potentially threatening, Neil melts into the comfort of it, eyes fluttering closed. Andrew caresses his hairline. Flash. “Okay?”
“Okay,” he murmurs. Eyelids and arousal alike in heaviness, he sighs and keeps himself awake.
Andrew preps his final shot. Slipping two delicate fingers into Neil, he scoops out lube and cum until it runs down his perineum. His dirty hand shifts to pry Neil open, raw and wet. Flash.
“Shower,” Andrew commands.
Neil groans in annoyance.
———
They lean against each other on the trek to the upstairs bathroom, both pretending Andrew doesn’t need just as much support as Neil does. They had to speed, because Neil was still very much dripping cum down his leg.
Energy depleted, armbands and clothes stripped, they keep the light off and sit on the shower floor. Facing each other, Neil’s back to the drain, spray perfectly aimed to soak his hair but stay out of his face.
Andrew scrubs shampoo thoroughly into Neil’s scalp like a dog groomer, but combs the wet strands with care. Wordlessly, he swaps their positions and lathers cherry-scented conditioner everywhere but the roots. Neil returns the favor, though Andrew’s hair is much easier to detangle due to how much Neil was petting it; Neil was a knotted disaster from his head jolting against the pillow.
“You look dumb as shit,” Neil says fondly, fingers buried in Andrew’s bubbled hair.
“Says you,” he almost grumbles something much ruder, so Neil makes him purr with a scalp massage instead.
Sharing soap, they take turns washing and rinsing each other, tender around the scratches and bites. Andrew gets out before Neil does to remove and clean any jewelry that may have been desecrated, so Neil focuses on making sure there’s nothing left to slide out of his ass when he stands up.
A towel hits him in the face as soon as he shuts off the faucet and pulls the curtain back. He eventually escapes its clutches and scrunches excess water out of his hair.
Andrew hefts Neil to his feet, pats him down with a towel, and places him on the closed toilet seat. The door is open to let steam escape, so they slip on baggy shorts. Andrew’s metal jewelry sits in a cup on the counter, fizzing with alka-seltzer; clear silicone slides into their previous places after Andrew cleans the areas, and he looks fully naked without black spots littering his skin.
“You think Aaron is still holding that turkey sandwich?” Neil muses.
“Most likely,” Andrew replies. He unscrews a mason jar of homemade lotion, rubs it into his scarred forearms, then turns to Neil. “We have to clean those bites.”
They collaborate to smear antibiotic cream over the barely-open wounds. Andrew has to get the one he left on Neil’s ass. After that’s done, Andrew slicks his hands up and covers Neil in a thin layer of lotion, over all his worst scars.
“I feel like a slug,” he gripes. “Food or bed?”
Andrew's stomach grumbles, perfectly timed. “Take a wild guess.”
“Okay. You have to help me down the stairs.” Neil stands on unsteady feet and presses himself into Andrew’s back, cold, soft and clean. “I won’t be able to walk straight for a while.”
Andrew scoffs. “No need to be hyperbolic.”
“Who said I was? I feel empty after that. If you make bacon I might be able to recover.”
Andrew manages to sound exasperated even as he says, “As you wish.”