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Andrew thinks regrets are for quitters. For a man who thinks the word “living” is a subjective term, as opposed to “enduring,” he refuses to believe he’s made decisions he’ll put past it in himself to think about after doing them. AKA regrets.

So, when he tells Neil that, “Everything is a yes tonight, but the shirt stays on,” he does not regret it when Neil divulges in around ten minutes of foreplay that leaves his tight boxer shorts damp. Nipping and kissing at Andrew’s neck, abdomen, down by the inseam of his thighs; touches impersonal and chaste by his arms and sides, Neil set out for a warpath on Andrew’s body that left him aching for more.

It was a Friday night, off-season. The house was asleep, his cousin and brother drunk, Kevin drunker, and they weren’t in a rush.

Neil hooks his fingers around the hem of Andrew’s boxers and pulls down, looking up through thick lashes to see how Andrew was doing, his lips kissing a trail as Andrew nodded at him and more and more skin got revealed. Andrew reaches down to rub gentle circles on his clit, eyes on Neil’s as Neil shifts his legs around to take the boxers off completely. Andrew’s other hand is clutching at the meaty underpart of his thigh, but he didn’t know if he was doing that for stability or to resist the urge to rub at Neil’s cock where it was outlined and half-hard in his own boxers.

Neil sets a hand down by the side of Andrew’s hip, leaning in, only hovering a few inches above Andrew, and ducking down for a kiss.

Neil whispers against his lips, “What do you want, ‘Drew?”

Andrew presses one last kiss to the edge of Neil’s lip, on this odd little puncture mark Andrew’s seen from time to time. Neil can never remember when he got it or from where, but Andrew likes to think he bit a fork once. “I’m gonna flip us over. Yes or no.”

“Yeah, why?” Neil asks, carefully lowering himself down to rest his chin on Andrew’s chest. Andrew lets him.

He says, “Feel like going for a ride tonight.”

Neil huffs out a laugh, the smile on his face outlined by the streetlight streaming in behind parted curtains. Andrew reaches up to cup the side of Neil’s neck with one hand, thumb caressing the scar on Neil’s cheek, palm resting over the fast beat of Neil’s pulse.

He flips them over before Neil had his wits on what was happening, letting out a loud gasp, then laughing, smile hiding behind a free hand. Andrew reaches down to grab it away from Neil’s face, then sits up.

He feels the warmth of the body beneath his thighs, feels the warmth coming from between his legs. He sits down on Neil’s lap and starts grinding on the soft material of Neil’s boxers, one hand trailing touches down the scars on Neil’s chest as his other hand kept him from falling forward on Neil.

There were times when this was the only thing Andrew needed, and Neil oftentimes indulged him, as he was doing so at that moment. Neil lets out soft grunts every time Andrew stroke up, scarred fingers twisted on the sheets beneath them, looking like this was the best thing he’s ever felt in the world.

Andrew lets his fingers catch at the hem of Neil’s boxers. “Off?”

Neil nods, mouth open in a gasp, “If you want to.”

Goddamn, did Andrew want to.

He kneels up over Neil’s abdomen and reaches behind him to shove the boxers off. Neil’s cock momentarily slaps at the side of his thigh, and Andrew is nearly quivering with the need to have it fill him one way or another. The hand on Neil’s chest that was keeping him up slips to the side. Neil’s hands hover to support, but ultimately do not touch him.

Andrew backs off, his hand now at the base of Neil’s cock, pushing it so it laid flat on Neil’s stomach. He couldn’t imagine that the callouses on his hands and the dryness of his palm were the least bit comfortable, but for Neil, friction was usually enough to get him going. Neil thrust up, but at this point, Andrew was too exhausted, his mind too stupid with arousal, to verify if Neil was doing it unintentionally.

Neil twists around once Andrew starts rubbing up his thighs, reaching for the bedside drawer. He drops back into the bed with a full-body shudder as he realizes that Andrew’s bent down over his dick, spitting onto the head for better lubrication. Andrew watches his thighs twitch with interest, as he makes a loose fist around Neil’s cock and strokes.

“Don’t make a mess,” Neil mutters. He tosses over the bottle of lube, the condom still in his other hand.

Andrew makes a point of giving him three hard strokes before grabbing the lube. “I’m not the one who cums faster. You’re the one making a mess here.”

The lube is cold on Andrew’s palm, and he doesn’t save Neil from the sensation, lathers it on fast just so he can watch Neil squirm.

“See, if you—fuck, if you keep doing that,” Neil says, his stammering only serving to amuse Andrew further. “It’s technically your fault I’m making a mess.”

Andrew hums, only slightly amused by the way Neil is resisting planting his feet on the mattress and thrusting into Andrew’s fist. “Maybe you should put on the condom before that happens. Or, I could swallow it, see if you can get it up fast enough afterwards.”

Neil licks at his lips, the condom in his other hand dropping on the bed. “First one. Let’s go with the first one.”

Good. Andrew was too tired to rile Neil up a second time this evening anyway.

Andrew leans back and sits between Neil’s knees, reaching down with a spit-slick hand to play with himself. Neil pulls the packet open and rolls the condom on, fumbling here and there. He reaches a hand out for Andrew when he’s done, leaning back down against the headboard.

Andrew takes it and pulls himself back onto Neil’s lap, other hand already lubing Neil up.

“No prep?” Neil asks, only a bit wary. He and Andrew have only been trying this for a week, so he assumes Neil still hasn’t caught up that Andrew likes the sting that comes with.

Andrew shifts his grip on Neil’s hand so that he has it on Neil’s wrist. He brings it to his pussy and leans down to whisper, “Is that not wet enough?”

Neil’s fingers rub firmly up against Andrew’s hole, and Andrew cants his hips side to side to get the wetness all over his pussy, Neil’s hand nearly immobile beneath him. When he looks back at Neil, Neil is looking at him in that dumbstruck awe type that always gets on Andrew’s nerves, because his stomach reacts first.

“You’re so wet,” comes Neil’s usual breathless response. “So wet for me, Andrew.”

Andrew hates how he reacts to that too, humming his assent against the crook of Neil’s neck. He stifles the hitch in his breathing when one of Neil’s fingers slip in. He sits back up, making Neil withdraw his fingers from Andrew’s pussy, and makes sure that Neil is lubed up enough so that he can finally fill himself up.

Grabbing Neil’s cock, fingers slipping on the rubber, he leads the head up to his hole and slowly, slowly, slips it in. He gauges Neil’s reaction to it more than his own. His stomach feels like it requires more oxygen than his lungs, one hand holding one of Neil’s wrists down in a vicelike grip, the other going up to his clit as he slides in a few inches, then goes back to the tip. Neil is making his usual babbling whispers, telling him how good he was, how tight it was, and he lets out a soft, drawn-out groan when he's fully sheathed.

Andrew, after relaxing his breathing, says, “Try not to wake everyone up,” before rolling his hips forward.

His bed is incredibly squeaky, and Neil is breathing hard through his nose, trying not to let any unintentional noises out, and Andrew isn’t too bothered by it. Drunkards often slept like the dead, and hearing Neil holding his noises back is a thrill that has Andrew thrusting faster.

“Andrew,” Neil chokes out. The sound of it is barely audible over the squeaking. “Lemme touch your clit.”

Andrew nods, can’t help the gasp that is wrought out of him when Neil sits up and leaves a few inches between them, his fingers grazing Andrew’s abdomen as he rubs circles around Andrew’s clit, thrusting up a little into Andrew. The change in angle feels good, and so does the feeling of Neil’s mouth at the side of his neck.

The squeaking of the bed frame is gone, now replaced by the slap of Andrew’s thighs and ass on Neil’s lap. Andrew’s breathing is getting shallower with each deep thrust and the way Neil’s rubbing at his clit just right, but Neil lets out first.

“M’gonna come,” he mutters against Andrew’s shoulder. “Keep going, keep going.”

Andrew keeps going, and soon enough, Neil’s thrusts get more sporadic, and he shakes his way through it, letting Andrew milk it all out.

Andrew hasn’t come yet.

Andrew steps off, laying back against the foot of the bed, one hand continuing Neil’s strokes on his clit, the other already busy slipping three fingers inside to finish the job. Neil is gasping for breath, knees keeping him up on the mattress and watching Andrew do himself in.

He holds a hand up in offering when his breathing goes back to normal.

Andrew slips his fingers out as a response, keeps his other hand on his clit. Neil spreads his legs wider and rests between Andrew’s thighs. He swats away the hand on Andrew’s clit and replaces it with his mouth.

Andrew gasps again, hand immediately reaching down to tug at Neil’s head. Neil’s calloused fingers enter too easily, curls up inside him, and hits the spot Andrew couldn’t reach on his own.

“Neil, shit,” he hisses, planting his feet on either side of Neil’s shoulders and thrusts down into Neil’s fingers.

Neil goes faster, thrusts deeper, fingers curling with every upward stroke that had Andrew’s toes curling.

Not the first time since they’ve done this, Neil pulls up, his mouth wet with Andrew’s arousal, and withdraws his fingers, letting Andrew shout as he squirted.

It gets all over Neil’s front, and Andrew is gasping for breath, hissing curses whenever he could. Neil slides back in, but doesn’t go back down. He leans up, instead, to kiss Andrew.

Like it helped any with Andrew’s breathing.

Andrew comes blindly, his thighs shaking with the intensity of it, and Neil gives him a few more minutes before slipping his fingers out, then looking down on himself.

“And here you said I was the one who was going to make a mess,” he quipped, his voice barely audible in Andrew’s ears, where the blood was still roaring and his heartbeat was still pounding through his head.

He rolls his head to the side, not bothering to rearrange himself just yet, then grabs Neil’s wrist and pops the fingers into his mouth, sucking and licking between digits until he couldn’t taste himself on them anymore.

“There,” Andrew says, watching the trail of spit between his mouth and Neil’s fingers when he pulls them out. “You’re 5% cleaner now.”

Neil rolls his eyes, and they both pretend that Neil wasn’t about ready to go hard at just the sight of his fingers in Andrew’s mouth.

Andrew has him grab a towel to lay over whatever wet spot Andrew left on the mattress, and Andrew replaces their sheets.

 


 

(“Keep your voice down next time,” Aaron tells him the next morning. It is one of those mornings when they speak to each other. “Some of us actually try to sleep sometimes.”)