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On the Sunday after his mildly bad day, Andrew sleeps in.
Neil wakes up at 6 a.m., goes for his morning run, comes back and showers, sets a granola bar (chocolate chip) on Andrew’s side table and then pads out into the living room to cuddle with the cats while Andrew wakes up incrementally. His sharp ears pick up on Andrew stirring around 11.30 a.m., but it isn’t until 12.30 p.m. that he emerges, yawning sleepily and looking even tinier than usual because of the oversized, fuzzy yellow sweater he’s wearing. Renee had given it to him for his birthday because it has cartoon bees embroidered on the elbows.
“I know you don’t usually wear colour, but this was really lovely and I thought of you when I saw it,” Renee had said sweetly, handing over the package at the very small birthday dinner Neil had arranged at their place.
Andrew had scraped the tape off within minutes and upended the contents of the package unceremoniously onto the coffee table. Neil and Renee both watched as he picked it up and silently inspected the bees, fingers stuttering over the embroidery. Without saying a word, he’d retreated to their bedroom, sweater in hand and had come out a few minutes later, wearing it. Renee’s smile was sweet and content the rest of the night and Neil’s eyes never strayed far from how the fluffy fabric hugged Andrew’s chest and shoulders.
Later that night, Andrew had pressed him into the mattress and straddled his hips, wearing only his new sweater. Neil’s lips had parted in a prayer Renee would be scandalized to hear had been incited by her gift.
Neil’s thoughts are interrupted by Andrew’s hoarse voice. “You’re staring.”
He doesn’t know how to respond to that without embarrassing himself so he just shifts on the couch to make space for Andrew. At least Andrew looks better than he did yesterday, making the ache in Neil’s chest ease up a little.
“Did you eat the granola bar?” he asks.
Andrew shuffles over and moves the cat out of his way, sinking into the opposite end of the couch. “Horse food,” he mutters, pulling the sleeves of his sweater all the way to his knuckles so that only his fingers peek out.
“It’s sweet but also healthy! Best of both worlds,” Neil argues half-heartedly. Andrew’s eyes flutter close and he doesn’t respond.
They sit like that for a while, in silence that is only broken by King’s loud purring when he finally finds a warm spot on the windowsill behind their heads. The dust motes swirl in the sunbeam falling on the couch. Neil traces the paisley pattern of the fabric with the tip of his finger and then looks up at Andrew again.
“Do you want to eat anything else?”
Andrew shakes his head. Neil chews on his lip, staring at Andrew’s profile. His hair is a mess, curls flying everywhere. There’s a pillow imprint on the cheek that is facing Neil and his pulse dances maddeningly in the hollow of his throat.
“Andrew? Can I kiss you?”
Andrew opens his eyes at that, turning his head very slowly to pin Neil with a piercing gaze.
“Yes,” he finally says after a minute, his tone very flat.
Neil hesitates for a second but then crawls over to Andrew’s side of the couch, through the sunbeam, stopping just short of his thigh. Andrew doesn’t move at all. Very slowly, so that Andrew has time to say no, Neil reaches for his hair with one hand, the other still braced on the back of the couch. The position is awkward but he leans in anyway, his hand resting lightly on the back of Andrew’s head to help pull him close. Their lips meet briefly, Neil’s mouth pressing against Andrew’s in the softest way he knows how.
Andrew is staring at him when Neil pulls back. Neil leaves his hand in Andrew’s hair, carding his fingers through the curls and scratching at the scalp gently.
Without looking away, Andrew reaches for Neil’s other hand, holding it up between their bodies. With his own other hand, he lifts the sweater away from his body and, just like Neil had done to Andrew all those months ago, Andrew brings Neil’s hand to rest on the bare skin of his chest and lets go.
“Andrew?” Neil asks, his voice barely a whisper.
Under the spread of his palm, he can feel Andrew’s heart beating. It’s steady but rabbit-like, unlike Andrew’s calm, blank expression. Neil stares at the bump his hand creates under Andrew’s sweater for what feels like an eternity. They’ve been exploring each other’s sexual preferences for a while now but this is more than that. It’s an intimate act and it makes Neil’s throat feel like he’s swallowed glass even as a blazing warmth pools in his belly.
Andrew’s breathing grows shallow. Neil finally drags his gaze up to Andrew’s eyes again, not caring about how Andrew can probably see the naked and painful affection written all over his face.
“Where can I touch you?” Neil’s voice cracks down the middle because of the intensity in Andrew’s hazel eyes, but he’s too far gone to care.
“Waist up,” Andrew replies, shifting a little to accommodate Neil between his legs.
“Can I touch your jaw and your cheeks?”
“Yes.” Andrew can’t hide the bite of impatience and it makes Neil’s heart flutter in his chest to know that Andrew wants this, that he likes it just as much as Neil does.
Though he is loath to do so, Neil removes his hand from under the mustard yellow sweater and brings both hands up to Andrew’s face, cradling it. He smooths his thumb over the plane of Andrew’s cheek and registers the barely-there stubble underneath his fingertips. Andrew watches him with half-closed eyes and parted lips.
“Can I kiss you?”
Andrew responds by leaning up the few inches that is separating them, mumbling a yes against Neil’s mouth. Their pace is gentler than Neil ever remembers it being and his hands cup Andrew’s face in quiet desperation. This is new and delicate and feels like fine gossamer or spun sugar. Neil never wants to let go.
“Andrew,” he murmurs reverently, “Can I kiss your neck?”
“Junkie,” Andrew replies, without heat. Neil smiles but waits for the exasperated nod before dropping his head into the crook of Andrew’s neck, placing small kisses on the underside of Andrew’s jaw, the side of his neck and his collar bone. Andrew’s hands fist in the back of Neil’s shirt and Neil’s rest lightly on his biceps.
Neil moves onto the other side of Andrew’s neck and smiles against his skin as Andrew forgets to suppress a small gasp.
“Yes or no?” Andrew asks suddenly.
Neil is a little surprised, unsure of what Andrew wants to do but he says “Yes” immediately. Andrew’s expression doesn’t change but his hands find Neil’s and slowly, he laces their fingers together. Neil’s gaze drops to their hands, his mouth falling open.
With their hands intertwined like this, Andrew pushes his knee into Neil’s side until he gets the hint and shifts until he’s flat on his back on the couch, with Andrew pinning his hands on either side of his head, holding himself up a little so that their bodies aren’t flush against each other.
After a minute, Andrew lets go, sitting up slightly to grab a cushion to put under Neil’s head. Neil’s confusion must show on his face but Andrew ignores it, choosing to make sure Neil is comfortable instead. When Neil hums to indicate he’s okay, Andrew sinks down until he’s resting on Neil’s chest, his hand curled into Neil’s shirt. His curls brush Neil’s chin and as Neil’s heart speeds up – he’s pretty sure Andrew can feel it.
He swallows, once, twice. One of his arms is pressed between the couch and his side and the other dangles towards the floor.
“Andrew? Can I put my arms around you?”
“Yes,” Andrew’s reply is half-muffled by Neil’s shirt.
Remembering the waist up rule, Neil carefully crosses his arms over Andrew’s back, letting one stray to the nape of his neck. Andrew sighs very quietly into Neil’s chest as Neil drops a kiss on his curls.
After a while, Andrew’s breathing slows down and Neil guesses he’s fallen asleep. He’s about to drift off himself, eyes fluttering close, when Andrew mumbles, “Today’s a good day.”
Without Andrew’s watchful gaze on him, Neil allows himself the biggest, stupidest smile, curls his fingers into Andrew’s hair and sighs contentedly.