Work Text:
The Minyard-Josten Rivalry was one of the hottest topics in professional exy. Somehow, the two ex-Foxes managed to pull a headline almost every time their teams played each other, and with the National Championship coming up in a little over a month, those headlines had become more and more frequent. The Nashville Sabres were two days out from facing the Detroit Dragons on their home court in the heart of Music City. Until then, it was all ‘Josten’ and ‘Minyard’ plastered onto stupidly expensive stadium merchandise, bitchy tweets, and Adidas and Nike (Andrew vs. Neil) ad campaigns between them.
---
Andrew Minyard had decided to fly out to Tennessee early to see the city. His PR representative visibly cringed and tried to convince him to travel with the team, and his coach was less than ecstatic about the idea of him missing their last practice before the game, but there was no use in trying to sway him. When it came to Neil Josten, Andrew was more than impossible.
When Andrew showed up at his partner’s doorstep with a bouquet of sunflowers and a barely-there smile, Neil called him just that.
“How the fuck did you convince Jones and Patel to let you off?” Neil asked, pulling Andrew into his apartment and greeting him with a kiss.
“I did not do much convincing. I told them and they dealt with it. For the record, they also called me impossible.” Andrew smirked up at Neil. “Did you know that there is a mural with your fucking face on it outside gate A15 at the airport?”
Neil shook his head and continued to press kisses to Andrew’s face. God, he had missed this face. “Outside one of the stadium entrances, they have this giant banner with the standoff picture of us from our last game as the background. Over it, in bright yellow? SMASHVILLE.” He laughed one of those beautiful laughs that Andrew immediately committed to memory. Neil’s laugh might have been his favorite sound. “Little do they know, right?” Neil teased.
Andrew thumped Neil on the nose for that and shoved the flowers into his hands. “You are disgusting.”
Neil shrugged playfully and pointed over his shoulder at the balcony doors. “Let me go put these outside. Catch up with your children. They missed you.”
As if on cue, Sir tumbled into the den from the kitchen and King rolled off the back of the couch. Both cats ran up to him, King situating himself on Andrew’s feet and Sir screaming at him while rubbing against his calves. Andrew sat down to pet both of them. “Hello, you fucking gremlins. Sir, you are fatter. King, you are lazier. You are tearing this family apart.” Sir chirped at him and nudged his hand with her nose. “You are a whore and a scoundrel. Start paying rent before I--”
“Andrew, stop terrorizing my daughter. Look,” Neil plopped down in front of Andrew and pulled Sir into his lap. “You made her sad.” Conversely, Sir chittered softly and stood to press her nose against Andrew’s. If Andrew’s heart wasn’t already doing very stupid things, the grin Neil gave him definitely solidified the level of melt he was feeling. Neil held Sir up and kissed her cheek before letting her go, and as soon as Neil’s lap was free, Andrew moved to straddle it.
Domestic silence surrounded them, then. The soft groan of car engines on the street below, the low hum of the refrigerator, and the scritch-scratching of King’s claws on the rug made Andrew press his forehead against Neil’s. The smell of Neil’s mint tea on his breath, the feeling of soft, scarred skin under Andrew’s palms, and Neil’s eyes trained on his own were all becoming concrete parts of his forever.
“It’s February 14th,” Neil whispered.
Andrew hummed noncommittally and ran his fingers under the collar of Neil’s shirt to find the chain that hung from around his neck. He pulled it out and smoothed the pad of his thumb over the circumference of the ring it threaded through before reaching to unclasp it.
“It is,” Andrew nodded. “I made reservations for dinner at a place downtown.”
“Any special occasion?” Neil hummed. “Or just your Standard Thursday night?”
“Am I not allowed to surprise my husband by coming to his apartment and taking him to dinner on a Standard Thursday night? One that obviously has no ties to capitalist schemes and heavy expectations?” Andrew took the ring, a simple platinum band, and placed it in the palm of Neil’s hand. “Wear it on your finger tonight.”
Neil slid his ring onto his finger with no questions at first but quickly thought better of it. “With our game tomorrow? Are you sure? People might recognize us,” he frowned. “I don’t want to jeopardize anything for you.” Neil had already informed Ichirou of his relationship with Andrew, and his contract had no clauses about who he could and could not be with, but Andrew’s team had a few regulations.
Andrew, predictably, did not give a shit. “They know I am going to Court, and America loves diversity, right? They cannot do anything to me,” he shrugged. “It was only a matter of time, anyway. I am up for trade as it is. Another team without those little details in their contract would pick me up.”
Neil knew Andrew was right. Andrew was one of the most sought-after goalies this year and had managed to drag himself up to the top three in the draft. “As long as you’re sure, Andrew.” He took the chain around Andrew’s neck and repeated the process with Andrew’s matching ring. “So, Minyard.”
“So, Josten.”
“Is this a very roundabout way of asking me to be your Valentine?” Neil smirked.
“You are a fucking bitch,” Andrew scoffed.
Neil wrapped his hands around Andrew’s waist and craned his neck for another kiss. “Mm, yes.”
“But you’re my bitch.”
“I am. Now, where are you taking me?”
---
“You are letting a valet touch the Maserati?” Neil asked, adjusting his tie as he stepped out of the car. “You really are going soft, aren’t you?”
“Do you think I want to park with Nashville traffic and have to walk all the way here? No thanks,” Andrew quipped, holding the door of Kayne Prime open for Neil.
“This looks like a place with six things on the menu. Expensive.”
“It is,” Andrew admitted, giving the hostess his ID for confirmation before they were escorted to their table. Like most upscale places, it was all rich, dark wood, Edison bulbs, and that weird jazz-fusion shit you only hear in restaurants, department stores, and elevators. They were seated next to one another in a small, curved booth and were immediately poured two glasses of red wine from a bottle Andrew had asked for beforehand. Romance.
Neil took his wine glass and raised it for a toast. “This is far up there on the extra scale, Drew.”
“To cherishing your fucking husband who reserved wine for you, you ungrateful piece of shit.”
“I love you,” Neil cooed after he took his sip of wine. “You know that I do.”
Andrew smiled to himself, then at Neil. “Yeah, I know.”
---
Neil finally dug his phone out from between the couch cushions with a string of curses. He was just trying to make out with his fucking husband on fucking Valentine’s Day and apparently, everyone alive had deemed it necessary to start calling and texting him. Didn’t any of these people have dates? He checked the caller ID and frowned. Why was Allison calling him? Shouldn’t she be with Renee?
“What the fuck, Allison--”
“Neil Josten, you better fucking look at the article I just sent you. Everyone in the goddamned world currently thinks you and Andrew are cheating on your non-existent wives with one another. There’s a picture of the two of you from Valentine’s Day--”
Neil hung up and immediately turned his phone off. He would deal with that tomorrow.
Andrew raised an eyebrow at him in question.
“We are adulterers now.”
Andrew laughed so suddenly that he choked. “My poor wife.”
“I can’t believe they had to find out this way. We left them at home on Valentine’s Day, of all days, to steal kisses in the back of a restaurant in Tennessee. We will have to blame the alcohol. We can just call it a friendly dinner between athletes, say that the wine was just too good to waste,” Neil snickered.
Mouthing along Neil’s jawline seemed to be a better use of Andrew’s time than dignifying that with a response for the moment, so he sucked a hickey just below Neil’s ear to make a point. “Are we going to let them run with it until the game tomorrow?”
Neil hummed in agreement and threaded his fingers through Andrew’s curls in order to pull him back into a proper kiss. “I am too busy to care, for the time being,” he mumbled against Andrew’s lips.
“Bedroom?”
“Bedroom.”
---
“Neil Josten! Josten, do you have a comment on what happened at Kayne Prime last night?”
Neil just winked at the cameras, of course.
“Is this some sort of publicity stunt? What is the truth about your relationship?”
Neil turned to the cameras outside of Sabre Arena and flipped them off with a grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Neil’s PR rep stuck his head out of the door and grabbed Neil by the arm to drag him inside.
“Andrew! Andrew Minyard!”
Andrew lifted up his sunglasses to look at the reporter who called his name and stepped a little closer. He lifted a finger to point up at the giant SMASHVILLE banner Neil had told him about. “So, you know my name. Did that shit up there tip you off?” He asked, gesturing to the fifteen-foot-long picture of his face hanging above them.
“What exactly is the nature of your relationship with your ex-teammate and current rival, Neil Josten?” The reporter asked, shoving a microphone in Andrew’s direction.
“Do not beat around the bush. What exactly are you asking?” Andrew dared, crossing his arms and shifting his weight to one leg. “I suggest you be concise. I have a game to win.”
“Are the rumors true? Are you and Neil Josten cheating on your wives with one another?”
Andrew bit his tongue to keep himself from smirking.
“I cannot cheat on my wife with my husband, can I?”
---
“If my team wins, my last name goes first on the change-of-name forms.”
Andrew smiled. “You are going down, Josten.”
---
“Does this make Sir’s new name Sir Fat Cat McCatterson Minyard-Josten?”
The look on Neil’s face made Andrew fall in love all over again.