Chapter Text
The evening air carried that soft, dusky chill that always came after a summer rain — not cold, just damp enough to cling to Victor’s skin through his shirt as he approached the familiar door. He’d made this route before, more times than he could count, but lately every step here felt like walking into something heavier. He couldn’t tell if it was anticipation or trouble.
The package in his hand felt unusually light. His other hand kept smoothing over the creases in the brown paper as if he needed something to do with his nerves. The light spilling from the windows of Andrew’s house was warm, golden, almost too inviting — a trap disguised as comfort.
Victor rang the bell.
The door swung open not in a hurry, but in that slow, deliberate way that always made his stomach knot. And there he was — Andrew. No towel this time. No dripping hair. But something in his presence still hit just as hard.
He was in a casual black t-shirt and loose sweatpants, barefoot, one hand braced lazily against the doorframe like he had all the time in the world to stand there and watch Victor. The other hand held a book — not just any book, but the book. The one Victor had mentioned in passing months ago during one of their longer delivery exchanges. His favorite novel, the one he’d reread until the spine cracked.
Victor blinked, thrown. “That’s—”
“I know.” Andrew’s mouth tilted at one corner — that near-smile that wasn’t a smile at all, just something dangerous in disguise. “It’s yours.”
Victor hesitated, glancing between the package in his own hand and the book in Andrew’s. “…Mine?”
“Signed, even.” Andrew turned the book so the title caught the porch light, then flipped it open. On the creamy first page, in looping black ink, was a personal dedication from the author — Victor’s name written clearly.
Victor’s breath stalled. “How did you—”
“You talk more than you think you do.” Andrew stepped forward, bridging the space between them just enough that the edge of the book brushed Victor’s chest. “Game nights. Little details you drop without realizing. You make it… easy.”
The heat that flared up Victor’s neck was immediate, and he knew it had nothing to do with the weather. His fingers brushed the cover, not quite taking it yet. “…You planned this?”
“I don’t do accidents,” Andrew said simply. Then, as if the air between them wasn’t already stretched thin enough, he added in that deep, even voice: “Figured if I was going to confirm what you’ve been suspecting… I’d do it properly.”
Victor’s grip tightened around the book, finally taking it — and in that moment, their fingers overlapped just slightly, long enough for Victor to feel the warm press of Andrew’s skin. It was brief, but the contact had weight, like the first push in a long-built tug-of-war.
Neither of them looked away.
Andrew leaned in just a fraction — enough that Victor caught the faint scent of rain still clinging to his shirt, the quiet rasp of his voice low enough for only him to hear:
“So… you going to thank me now, or next game night?”
Victor swallowed hard, words caught somewhere between his tongue and his racing pulse. He didn’t answer — not exactly. But the faint, knowing smile that curved his mouth before he turned to leave was enough to make Andrew’s eyes narrow with interest.
The book felt heavier in his hands than it should.
And Victor knew — by next game night, something was going to give.
Victor set the delivery bag aside, the book tucked under his arm like it was both armor and a challenge. The moment he stepped onto Andrew’s porch, the air between them felt almost electrically charged. Every time he had come here before, it had been a polite handoff, a smile, maybe a nod. Tonight, the quiet heat simmered, waiting to spill over.
Andrew didn’t move immediately. He leaned casually against the doorframe, one shoulder brushing the frame, and studied Victor like he had all week — patient, calm, but utterly predatory in that way that made Victor’s pulse spike. “You brought it,” he said softly, the words almost a whisper but loaded.
Victor’s chest tightened. “Of course I did.” He paused, fingers brushing over the cover of the book. “…You really did sign it, huh?”
Andrew’s smirk deepened. “I told you. I don’t do accidents.”
Victor’s laugh was low, shaky, more tension than amusement. “…Seems like you plan everything.”
“I plan what matters.” Andrew stepped forward slowly, enough that Victor could smell him — that faint woodsy-spicy scent, dry and warm from his earlier shower. “And you… matter.”
Victor froze, heat rushing through him. Something shifted in the air, thickening like syrup around them. For the first time, he felt that late-night in-game teasing manifest in the real world. He could feel the pull, the magnetism that had been building silently across their games and deliveries, now undeniable.
Andrew’s hand hovered near Victor’s arm, brushing against it lightly — teasing, testing — and Victor’s fingers twitched to meet it. They didn’t touch fully at first, just almost, letting the tension coil tighter with every heartbeat.
“…You’ve been driving me insane,” Victor muttered, almost to himself, almost to Andrew.
Andrew leaned in, letting the edge of his lips graze Victor’s jaw, just enough to send shivers down his spine. “…Good. I like a challenge.”
Then Victor made the move — subtle, deliberate. He closed the distance between them, pressing himself just slightly against Andrew’s chest, tilting his lips up to meet his. Andrew’s eyes flickered briefly with surprise, then darkened with that slow, consuming grin Victor had come to memorize in every late-night chat.
The kiss started slow. Testing. Taste and breath mingling, a teasing tug-of-war. Victor let his hands trail up Andrew’s shoulders, fingers pressing into damp hair at the nape of his neck. Andrew responded immediately, hand going to Victor’s hip, thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles that hinted at more.
The weight of weeks of teasing, hints, and stolen online moments pressed in on them. Every inch of Andrew that Victor could touch was deliberately warm and yielding, but the restraint in Andrew’s eyes made it clear — he was letting Victor take the first bite, first move, first claim.
Victor’s lips moved over Andrew’s jaw, over the curve of his ear, each kiss deliberate, slow, building heat. Andrew groaned softly, a low, guttural sound that vibrated through Victor’s chest. His hand slid under Victor’s shirt, tracing the muscles beneath, and Victor arched instinctively.
“You like that, don’t you?” Andrew murmured against his skin, voice husky and teasing.
Victor smirked into the kiss. “…Maybe.”
Then Andrew caught him by the wrist, tugging him toward the bedroom, each step measured, controlled. Every brush of skin against skin, every shared breath, was an extension of their game nights — the late-night teasing, the delivery handoffs, the subtle innuendos — now transformed into real, physical chemistry.
They reached the bed, and Andrew leaned Victor back against the mattress, hovering over him with that confident, predatory smile. “I’ve been waiting for this,” he admitted softly, letting his lips find Victor’s again, deeper now, hungrier, lips and teeth and tongue tracing patterns like they had all week online but infinitely more intense in real life.
Victor’s hands fisted in Andrew’s damp hair again, tugging lightly, urging him closer. Andrew’s hands roamed Victor’s sides, the small of his back, finding every point that made him shiver, every breath hitch, and responding with the teasing confidence that had kept Victor up late at night, imagining this exact moment.
Breath came faster. Hearts hammered. Their mouths moved together in a slow rhythm, each kiss, each touch a test and a surrender at once. Andrew’s lips trailed down Victor’s neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spots deliberately, while Victor’s hands explored the planes of Andrew’s chest, feeling warmth, tension, and the solid weight that grounded him even as desire flared.
The tension that had been coiled for weeks — every late-night chat, every delivery, every sly, teasing remark — finally exploded, crackling between them like fire.
Victor pressed himself fully against Andrew now, letting his hands roam freely, letting the long-suppressed desire take over. Andrew responded in kind, pulling him closer, lips and hands moving in tandem — push, pull, tease, claim — until there was no separation between them anymore.
The game, the deliveries, the teasing, the hints — everything had led to this: their first, fully shared, unbearably electric moment in each other’s arms, and neither could — nor wanted to — pull away.