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mon petit plaisir

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Steven’s arms are draped around his neck, sweetness on his lips. Andrew should have known this would happen. It’s Paris and Steven is so pretty it hurts. Andrew feels like leaping and drowning in him. The closeness is making him burn up, a satellite falling to earth.

God, Paris. They’re in a cocktail club in Paris. It’s like an old movie. Dimly lit and smoky orange, warmth from Steven’s hands and eyes. He has him fixed with a rare look Andrew’s never witnessed from him before. It’s sex and want and heat. Paris has done something to Steven, and so has the distance between New York and LA. It’s made him forward, liable to open his pretty mouth and ask for exactly what he wants from Andrew. Andrew guesses the fear of a lost chance will do that to a person. Even someone as shy as Steven Lim.

“Say that French thing to me again. The one we learned today,” Steven murmurs, eyes flicking down to Andrew’s mouth. The booth they’re in is small, tucked in the corner of the bar and lit by one solitary light on the dark cherry wood table. The corner of Andrew’s mouth lifts up slowly.

La vie est pleine de petits plaisirs,” Andrew pronounces, words rolling off his tongue like delicate cursive. Steven takes in a breath and Andrew slides a hand onto his hip, fingers slipping underneath his shirt.

“What does that mean again ?” Steven asks, allowing Andrew’s nose to trail across his cheekbone. His lips ghost over the corner of Steven’s mouth.

“Life is full of little pleasures.”

They had a fight the night before Steven flew out for good to his new place in New York. Andrew doesn’t remember now what sparked it. Distance. Lost chances. Steven should have said something sooner. Andrew should have kissed him like he wanted that night on the beach in Australia. It could have all been avoided. All of it went unsaid then, they’re making up for lost time now.

Andrew ignores it now, he has Steven for a while. They’re in Paris. The start of season five. He tucks his face into Steven’s neck, breath making Steven shiver lightly.

Mon petit plaisir,” Andrew whispers, pulling him closer and kissing his neck gently. One of Steven’s hands slide into his hair.

“What– what does that mean?” Steven questions, voice sounding small. Andrew’s hand moves to his thigh and he presses his mouth against the shell of Steven’s ear.

“My little pleasure,” he answers huskily, before kissing down Steven’s jaw, all the way down to his lips. Against him, Steven sighs softly.

French desserts, French alcohol, French kissing. It’s all divine excess. This is what indulgence is, Andrew thinks.

“Shouldn’t have agreed to going on a walk with you. God, you’re nothing but trouble,” Andrew chuckles when they part briefly. He smiles lazily at Steven and brushes his thumb over his bottom lip.

“Do something about it then,” Steven whispers, leaning his face into the palm of Andrew’s hand and looking at him through dark lashes. Andrew’s smile drops and he falls into him once more, lips meeting harsher than before. Steven tastes expensive. He tastes like they should be getting out of here.

“We should go back to the hotel,” Andrew rasps against his mouth. Steven looks dizzy when he pulls away, nodding softly.

Andrew holds onto his hand as he pulls them out of the booth and into the crowd of people. It smells like cigarettes and perfume. The music is loud and slow. Andrew is bathed in red light, fingers twined with Steven’s. He follows Andrew like a religion until they’re pushed out onto the chilly street. Together together, aimlessly and hopelessly together. Leading and following with footsteps and fingerprints under coat sleeves.

They kiss in the hotel elevator. For a second it feels like the elevator in Steven’s new building, his chest goes warm and sad all at once at the thought of Andrew with him in that lonely apartment. Doesn’t matter. He’s here now. And how funny and unfortunate it is that Paris has become a halfway point for them. A shore for them to crash upon together.

Étage deux. Étage trois. Étage quatre.”

Andrew’s tongue is in Steven’s mouth when the elevator door slides open and they stumble out, composing themselves for the hallway. They pass by Adam’s hotel room. Adam who is none the wiser. It’s sobering for a minute until Steven is pressing their keycard into his hand.

With a click the door swings open, Steven’s hands pulling him into the room. Andrew shuts the door and the light from the hallway outside is eaten up quickly. They breathe in the darkness, shoes and coats coming off. Andrew loves the gleam of Steven’s eyes. He tugs him close by the waist, their noses brushing and Steven’s hands sliding over his shoulders and into his hair.

The kisses are desperate now, Andrew tugging at Steven’s sweater and Steven tugging at his hair. They stumble further into the room and Andrew presses Steven up against the wall gently, hands on his slim hips as his tongue brushes against Steven’s. The latter pulls away, lips still lingering.

“I want you,” Steven gasps, pulling at Andrew’s shirt until it slides over his head and they meet for another kiss. Andrew hums into his mouth, hands grabbing at Steven and pushing his sweater up to his ribs.

“Andrew I–“ he says between kisses. Andrew pulls away, taking in his face in the dark, illuminated softly by the city lights outside their windows. Their breaths mingle together and Steven’s eyes search his desperately. They’re watery, like he’s close to crying. Andrew quickly cups his cheek in concern, thumb stroking over Steven’s cheekbone. The hesitation that crosses his eyes is terrifying.

“Is it too soon to do this yet?”

“I don’t–“

“We can stop if you want Steven.”

“No,” Steven insists, hands falling onto Andrew’s shoulders. “No I just– I don’t–“

He swallows thickly. “I don’t want you like a best friend.”

Andrew gazes at him searchingly. He’s struck by how gorgeous, how nervous, Steven is. The two of them standing in a dark hotel room is a universe on its own. Time stops when Steven says his name as Andrew presses him into the wall again with a needy kiss. They have forever in this hotel room. They have Paris.

He pulls Steven’s sweater off, his long arms above his head before wrapping around Andrew’s neck.

“I don’t either, I want you like this. I want you in my arms. I wanna– I wanna kiss you like this. All the time,” Andrew rushes out and kisses up his neck. His skin is so soft, his hands skate over as much of it as he can before he settles on Steven’s rib cage. Steven is covered in goosebumps, shaking with want.

“Drew,” Steven moans when Andrew makes a mark on his neck, head tilting back against the wall. Andrew hoists him up into his arms, Steven’s legs wrapping around his waist.

They kiss feverishly as Andrew walks them to the bed with his hands braced under Steven’s thighs. He lays him down gently, knees dipping into the bed. The orange light from the street lamps below blankets Steven, shadows from raindrops on the windows dotted all over his naked skin. His eyes shine in the light, dark and desiring below Andrew.

“Your hands are shaking,” Andrew murmurs, feeling the tremors from Steven’s hands as they run along Andrew’s biceps and forearms. He gently grabs one of Steven’s hands, pulling it to his lips and kissing it softly.

Steven lifts his eyes to Andrew’s handsome face, half of it illuminated and half covered in dark shadow. He’s split by shadow and light. Steven’s half-full moon. The broad slope of his shoulders makes Steven’s hand seem delicate. The whiskery kiss to his knuckles makes him shiver. He wants those kisses everywhere. He wants this for however long they have.

“I need you,” Steven confesses. The difference between wanting and needing is a big one. He knows this. And he needs Andrew to know it as well.

The long, deep kiss Andrew gives him feels like an understanding between them. It’s raining, pattering in time against the window with Steven’s heartbeat.

He realizes he‘s totally, definitely in love when Andrew pulls away and looks at him. Really looks at him.

“You have no idea, Steven,” Andrew says softly. It’s so gentle, so featherlight, Steven might cry.

In a matter of minutes, their jeans are piled in the floor, Steven arching his back off the bed as Andrew pulls his boxers down his legs. They don’t waste their precious time.

Kisses down Steven’s stomach and fingers threading into dirty blond hair, moving lower and lower until Steven is crying out for Andrew. His hands wrap around Steven’s thighs, holding him in place on his tongue as he goes down on him. He’s seeing stars and his stomach bubbles like champagne as Andrew works him over, peering up at Steven in the dark with determined green eyes.

Andrew,” he breathes out. Andrew pulls back and lays kisses on his thighs, devouring him absolutely. He watches Steven’s face crumple. They’re swallowing each other in the darkness, mouths and bodies pressed together. Steven feels like he’s blooming, hands sliding down Andrew’s back and resting on his shoulder blades.

His nails dig into Andrew’s back when his fingers press into him. It’s a shiny new feeling, one that Steven rolls his hips into. His body sings when those fingers crook inside him, deft and experienced.

Andrew swims in the sounds he makes. He feels like he’s back in that syrupy, smoky bar, pulled down in the undertow of heat that Steven has evoked in him. He loves this, on top of Steven with a part of himself within him, coaxing his secrets out. He’s making waves crash on Steven’s beaches, dredging up moans and whimpers and sighs.

They roll around between the sheets of Steven’s hotel bed, Andrew guiding him with hands on his waist. It’s rhythmic and fluid, honey being poured into tea. They’re lost in the woods together.

“Are you okay?” Andrew murmurs against his neck after he’s wholly within Steven. Steven’s hips raise and his fingers grab at the sheets below him, jaw jutting up in pleasure.

“Yes. Oh my God,” Steven hisses out. He feels the roll of Andrew’s back muscles under his fingertips before he feels the drag and burn of him inside him. Andrew pulls back and gazes at him in a way Steven’s never been looked at before. Dark eyes and parted lips. Burning desire. His little pleasure.

Their hips move together and Steven gasps. It’s overwhelming, the feeling of Andrew inside him and surrounding him. It encompasses him, devours him. He kisses him again and shifts deep inside him.

“Andrew,” he moans sweetly, fingers reaching up to wrap around the rods of the bedpost like creeping vines. Steven is tight and new and delicate. Andrew is set on breaking him to pieces and putting him back together carefully.

His hands shift him up the bed further, the movement reaching inside Steven and shaking him. Touching that sweet spot inside him like no one else has. Steven thinks no one else can.

Andrew groans above him, cursing under his breath and cradling Steven’s hips when Steven wraps his legs around his waist tighter. His hand grips the headboard above Steven’s head, moving inside him deeper and harder. Steven’s hands rest on his torso, soft, dark chest hair under his fingertips. Andrew covers one of his hands with his free one, lacing their fingers together. It’s so tender Steven let’s out a little sob.

“You’re so perfect, Steven. God, I–,” Andrew cuts himself off and kisses Steven sloppily. He moves a hand up to the nape of Andrew’s neck, foreheads pressing together and lips brushing.

He looks him in the eyes. “I do too.”

The room comes crashing down around them. Andrew’s hips still and Steven arches off the bed with a silent whine. Their time starts counting down again.






Paris is loud in the morning. It’s worse than LA but not quite as bad as New York. Outside there is honking, people yelling in French, bike bells and trucks rolling past. Andrew’s eyes peel open slowly, brow furrowed up at the noise. The sky outside the window is gray. Rain again.

Steven’s head is tucked under his chin, rhythmic breathing passing his lips and tickling Andrew’s chest. He smiles fondly before stretching his legs and yawning. His calves brush against Steven’s. The stretch tapers off in him wrapping his arms tightly around Steven’s waist and burying his face in his silvery hair.

“Morning,” Andrew rasps when Steven hums softly. He pulls back and watches Steven wake up slowly. They’re on borrowed time now. They’ll be at the airport in an hour and a half he expects. It’ll be just like this past summer, all over again. Andrew can feel time tugging at the bandaid.

“Good morning,” Steven smiles. It’s a floppy and sad sort of smile. Maybe this was all a lost cause.

“Your hair is a mess,” he points out, eyes on Andrew’s hair. It’s sticking up in about twenty different directions. Andrew smirks at him and grabs him by the waist, rolling over on top of him.

“And who’s fault is that?” Andrew teases, slapping a showy kiss on Steven’s neck. Steven laughs loudly, protesting half-heartedly. It’s not long before they’re kissing again, lips and bodies melding together and laughter slipping away into sighs.

“Andrew. The airport.”

“I just– I just want to savor you. Just a little longer. Let’s just have Paris. Please.”