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“Wanna go for another round?” Sid asks, poking Andy’s back with his big toe. Andy grunts and laughs, flipping Sid off from where he’s lying on the bed, facing away from Sid.
“You know I can't,” he says. Sid rolls his eyes. How he wishes Andy hadn’t fallen off the bed mid-fuck and landed right on his ass. What a waste.
“What if we go slow?” Sid asks, poking Andy again. This time Andy turns over to face Sid, looking right into his blue eyes.
“Sid. I need to be able to go to college tomorrow, you know,” he says, his voice hushing at the word ‘college.’ Sid sighs. He doesn’t want to be reminded.
It’s stupid; it’s not like Andy’s going to stay here forever or whatever. But his stomach still clenches around that dirty word every time.
“What, you think they’ll notice if your ass is a bit sore?” Sid asks, his fingers curling around the edge of Andy’s boxers and tugging them down. He rubs the worn out fabric between his fingers, not ready to let go yet.
“If I walk in with a limp and yelp each time I try to sit down, then yeah, they will,” Andy says, pressing his nose against Sid’s so that he can't focus on Andy’s face anymore, his big blue eyes taking up all the space.
Sid doesn’t say anything, just presses his forehead against Andy’s. He moves his fingers up, resting them just under Andy’s waistband, and makes tiny circles with his fingertips on Andy’s bare skin.
“C’mon. I won't be getting this ass any more this month,” he breathes against Andy’s mouth.
“Who said that?” Andy asks, pulling away suddenly. He looks right into Sid’s eyes and raises his eyebrows.
“So, what, you’re gonna drive all the way here the first month of college just to get your ass pounded?” Sid asks, mouth turning up in a smirk to stifle the way his heart suddenly accelerates. It doesn’t work.
“I'm a horny teenager. If I could, I'd take you with me for my daily dose of fucking,” Andy grins at Sid. But there’s always something so honest about him that Sid can't help but feel that he isn’t joking, that if he said yes, then Andy would actually pull him all the way to his new college with him.
Sid snorts, and turns over.
He pushes the blanket off of his body and gets out of the bed, stumbling slightly. He doesn’t know what it is about Andy, but he always feels slightly drunk just from being in his presence.
“You got other options, man,” Sid says, picking up his own boxers from the floor and putting them on, along with one of Andy’s faded Buzz Lightyear shirts. He isn’t sure why Andy still has it, but Sid isn’t complaining when the soft fabric rubs against his skin, Andy’s smell still strong on the cloth. He doesn’t turn around to face Andy, or to see the way his brows furrow and his lips turn slightly downwards.
“Who else is there?” Andy asks simply. Sid can feel his shrug all the way from the bed.
When he turns towards Andy again, he’s got Sid’s black skull shirt on, inside out. Sid feels something in his chest constrict as his lips turn up of their own volition.
“What?” Andy asks defensively.
“C’mere,” Sid says, reaching out with his arms. Andy moves forward in confusion. Sid taps Andy’s sleeves, and gestures for him to take off the shirt.
“I told you, no more fucking,” Andy warns, but moves to take off his shirt anyway.
“You’ve got my shirt on the wrong way, dumbass,” Sid says, rolling his eyes at the idiot. He watches as Andy’s cheeks colour. It makes him look even cuter than ever.
“That, and we don’t have to fuck for me to admire your abs,” Sid says, smirking at the way the colour on Andy’s cheeks deepens. Any comments about his body, and he’d immediately start blushing and fidgeting. Not that Sid didn’t mean what he said- working out suited Andy.
Andy shakes his head at Sid, but leaves his shirt off. Sid smiles to himself.
“C’mon, let’s go do something,” he says, climbing out of the bed. Andy stays where he is, admiring Sid’s tanned legs and the way he walks, his legs turning in slightly with each step, the tattoo behind his knee standing out in sharp contrast.
“You coming, or what?” Sid scowls, snapping Andy out of his reverie.
“Not today I'm not,” Andy says, grinning at Sid. Sid slaps a hand on his head theatrically, groaning at Andy’s attempt at a dirty joke.
“Just…come on, will you?” he says. Andy doesn’t miss his smile as Sid turns away.
-x-
“Why the fuck do you still have those fucking toys?” Sid asks, running his eyes over the box in one corner of the living room suspiciously. Andy can't figure out why he’s suddenly turned edgy and nervous, staring at the box as if he’s afraid a monster will emerge at any second.
“I was sorting out my room, relax,” Andy says, putting a hand on Sid’s shoulder gently. Sid starts and pushes Andy’s hand off.
He moves forward slowly, eyes not inching away from the box for a second. When he’s close enough to touch the toys, he turns around and looks at Andy once.
Andy just nods at him, and flashes him a smile. He isn’t sure why Sid’s so scared, or why it seems that he needs Andy’s support for something, but either way, Sid flashes him a tiny smile that doesn’t reach his eyes back in return, and turns back around.
He bends down cautiously, and picks up one of the toys slowly. He turns the toy he’s picked out- Mr Potato Head, Andy used to call him- and inspects it from every angle, finally turning it over. He raises his eyebrows at the name carefully printed with permanent marker on the toy’s foot. Sid squeezes the toy once, and holds his breath.
When nothing at all happens, he heaves a sigh of relief, a short laugh escaping from his mouth suddenly.
Andy raises his eyebrows at him quizzically as he replaces the toy and walks back to Andy. Sid shakes his head at him, a smile playing on his lips, and says, “Can't believe you used to mark all your toys.”
“Can't believe you didn’t,” Andy throws back, knocking his knees against Sid’s as both of them make their way over to the couch.
“Didn’t need to. Most of them weren’t mine, anyway,” Sid shrugs. Andy looks at him sitting there on the couch, his knees bunched up in his arms, his head thrown back, and sighs softly. Sometimes, the differences in their lives catch him off guard, make him want to go back in time and undo all the pain Sid’s had to live through.
But he can't.
“What kind of marker did you use, anyway? Gotta be some kind of good shit, still hasn’t worn off,” Sid mumbles out.
Andy huffs out a laugh.
“Nah, I kept darkening the name every few years,” he says, sheepishly. Sid laughs silently beside him, rocking Andy’s body slightly.
“Figures,” he says, picking up a marker pen lying somewhere between the cushions of the couch and turning it over in his hands.
Andy picks it out of Sid’s fingers and tests the marker pen on his thumb.
“Still has ink,” he announces.
Sid rolls his eyes. “Yeah, no shit,” he says, looking at Andy’s thumb, and the one perfect dot of black marker ink on it.
Andy looks him right in the eyes, and waggles his eyebrows.
“You know what this means, don’t you?” Andy asks solemnly.
“What?” Sid asks nervously. He doesn’t like the way Andy’s smirking slightly, or the way he’s waving the marker in the air. He inches away from Andy slowly.
Andy grins at him.
“It’s fate,” he says, whipping the cap off the marker and capturing one of Sid’s feet in the same motion. Sid lets out a shriek of laughter- fucker caught him right in his tickle spot- and shoves at Andy’s arms.
Andy quickly prints out his name on the bottom of Sid’s foot, A-N-D-Y in block letters lined up against the Sid’s soft pink skin. Andy lets go of Sid, a nervous smile on his face as his eyes seek out Sid’s. Sid stares at Andy’s name on his foot, and everything it entails, as his heartbeats pick up speed. He bites his bottom lip and takes a deep breath.
“It’s washable,” Andy bursts out suddenly, his teeth biting down on his bottom lip, fingers digging into the couch nervously. If you don’t want it.
Sid looks at him, his cheeks slightly pink, his eyebrows turned in and eyelashes jutting out, so soft, always so soft. Sid isn’t sure how he of all people ended up on this college kid’s couch with his name written on his foot, wearing his boxers.
But as far as places go, it’s not a bad one.
“Gimme that,” Sid says brashly, snatching the pen from Andy’s loose grip and dropping to the floor.
He picks up Andy’s right leg from where it’s stretched on the floor and quickly dashes off the three letters on his foot before he can change his mind.
S-I-D.
And a tiny skull, for good measure, drawn right at the edge of Andy’s little toe.