Chapter Text
“You’re burning the mince.”
“Hmm? Oh, fuck!”
Andrew watches as Neil runs to the stove, turning down the heat and pulling the pan to another ring. He quickly jabs at it with a wooden spoon, trying to salvage the meat.
“I think it’s okay!”
“Neil, that was step one.”
“You distracted me!”
“I’m not even there, Josten.”
“You’re distracting me via…” he motions vaguely towards the screen. “... internet waves.”
Andrew drags a hand across his face, feigning despair when really he’s trying to hide the smirk that’s tugging at the side of his mouth.
Neil grins over at him sheepishly. “At least I didn’t start a fire this time?”
“If you want commendation for not burning your apartment down making a lasagne…”
“Okay, okay!” He moves the pan back, keeping a close eye on it. “How’s yours doing?”
Andrew looks down at his mince, shrugs, then adds more seasoning. “Perfect.”
It’s three months into the seven month exy season. Neil’s first as a professional athlete and Andrew’s second. Andrew renewed his contract with the New York Beavers— he had no strong feelings about the team either way, but the thought of packing up and moving again was enough motivation to stay put. Neil accepted a generous offer from the New Orleans Otters— putting Neil even further away from Andrew than he had been the past year in Palmetto.
Thanks to their conflicting schedules, it’s been two months, three days, fourteen hours and twenty seven minutes since they last saw each other in person. (Being this precise is a perk of Andrew’s incredible memory. He’s definitely not sentimental enough to keep track.)
This is one of what Nicky calls their “coping methods”. A month ago, they’d started choosing recipes and doing them together during video calls once a week. They were starting out slow— Andrew was hardly an expert, but in comparison to Neil he was an established five star chef.
“You’re such an overachiever,” Neil huffs, not taking his eyes off of the mince.
Andrew takes a moment to watch him. He’s wearing a huge orange sweater, so long it almost covers the ridiculously small fox print boxer shorts he has on. He knows Neil dresses for these calls specifically to torture him, but he doesn’t give him the satisfaction of commenting on it.
“Is it cooked?”
Neil hums, tilting his head. “I think so.”
“Okay. Now add the passata.”
“Passata… passata.” He gasps. “Oh!”
He goes over to a cupboard, opening it up and reaching to the top shelf. Andrew gets a glimpse of clenching thigh muscles, of way too tight fabric and for a moment Andrew wonders if he should just quit the team. He never liked this dumbass sport anyway.
He watches as Neil takes out two jars and places them on the counter with a thud. Andrew frowns.
“Neil.”
Neil looks over. Andrew motions to the jars.
“Did you buy ready made white sauce?”
Neil picks up the jar, reading the label, then puts it back down again.
“Yeah?”
“You’re a fucking nuisance.”
Neil laughs. “The recipe said add white sauce!”
“Then you find a white sauce recipe.”
“How much time do you think I have, baby?”
Andrew narrows his eyes at him, then unscrews his own jar of passata, adding it to his mince. Neil watches him, then does the same. They both stir in silence for a while, and Andrew likes these moments best. Not having to fill the silence with chatter, just enjoying each other’s presence, even from thirteen hundred miles away.
When Andrew first left Palmetto, their phone calls were stilted and a little awkward. They missed each other, of course, but they were two mostly quiet people, who enjoyed being mostly quiet together. Small talk over the phone was never going to be their forté. One day Neil asked if Andrew wanted to help him with his school work. Andrew said no, but Neil video-called him anyway, propping up his phone on his desk while he studied, and Andrew just… watched. He read a little of his latest book, cut in with the occasional dry remark, and they just... comfortably co-existed like they always had.
It worked well.
Since then they’ve spent a lot of time “together” like this, and Andrew wouldn’t change it for anything. (Well… anything except having Neil here where he could rid him of those stupid boxer shorts himself.)
“Hey, guess who called me after your last game,” Neil says, breaking the silence.
Andrew rolls his eyes. “Kevin had some thoughts, I assume?”
“He watches all of our games. He’s our biggest fan.”
“He watches all of everyone’s games, because he has no discernible life of his own.”
Neil laughs, looking at the screen. “You miss his annoying ass, don’t deny it.”
“Not even slightly.”
“He’s thinking of proposing.”
Andrew pauses at that, the spoon in his hand coming to a stop. It’s not a surprise. Not really. Kevin and Thea have been through a lot together and they still seem strong. Marriage, he guesses, is the next logical step.
For them.
“Is he now?”
“Our little boy is all grown up.”
Andrew raises his eyebrows and Neil laughs.
“Think he’ll ask you to be best man?”
Andrew scoffs. “Not if he knows what’s good for him.” He motions to Neil. “Add salt.”
“How do you know it needs salt?”
“You can’t cook. It needs salt.”
Neil pauses, then shrugs, grabbing the salt from the counter and holding it over the pot. Andrew squeaks and he freezes.
“A pinch. A pinch of salt.”
Neil scowls. “Pinch is a dumb measurement.”
“You’re a dumb measurement.”
Neil grins at him. “Your insults are getting worse. You really must miss me.”
“Like a hole in the head, junkie.”
Neil: two weeks :)
Andrew: two weeks
Neil: i miss you
Andrew: who wouldn’t
It was about four months into his first season that Andrew started to let himself appreciate exy a little. To say he enjoyed it would be far too generous. But it was challenging. And distracting. And he was good at it, really fucking good at it. He’s learned to let himself take pleasure in the frustrated faces of the other team’s strikers, as they watch him block shots that they were absolutely sure were going to get past him.
It’s verging on fun. But he’d never tell Neil or Kevin that. They’d be far too happy.
Mostly, it’s still a means to an end, apart from on a rare night like tonight, where everything about the game goes exactly the way Andrew likes it to. The Beavers’ defence is strong, but the Kansas Buffaloes’ attack is stronger, which means Andrew has a lot of work to do. He prefers it that way.
It’s nearing the end of the first half, and Andrew has yet to concede any goals. The Beavers are two ahead, and things are seemingly going their way.
Then... it happens.
Buffalos’ best striker gets the ball, bouncing it off of the wall and surging forward to try and pick it up again. Andrew watches him, bracing his feet on the floor, preparing to work his magic, when suddenly the crowd cheers at something. Andrew glances up at the big screen, trying to see what the fuss is about and then he sees— Neil. Neil’s face. Thirty feet fucking high.
Neil Josten - Striker for the New Orleans Otters— the caption on the screen helpfully points out.
He’s here. Andrew barely has time to react when he hears a loud horn, and the goal turns red.
Fuck.
He quickly turns back, almost crashing face first into his goal post and staggering slightly. The Buffaloes are celebrating, tackling their striker to the ground, and Andrew is pissed.
He growls, looking back up at the screen where the camera is still focused on Neil, who now looks sheepish, giving the camera an awkward wave. Andrew is going to kill him.
Two months. Five days. Eleven hours. Twenty seven minutes.
Twenty eight minutes.
Twenty nine minutes.
When Andrew finally reaches the locker room at half-time, after what seems like the longest walk from the court in history, he can hear it immediately. Chatter.
“Wait, are you thinking of transferring? Are you like… scoping us out?”
“No fucking way. He’s scored in every game this season, Otters aren’t letting him go for shit.”
“Well, why else would he come here?”
“Because it’s fucking New York, dude! Greatest place on earth!”
“The guy just came back here to say hi and you assholes are giving him the third degree…”
Neil laughs. “Honestly, I’m just visiting.“
Neil is sitting on a bench, surrounded by Andrew’s irritating (and seemingly nosey) teammates. Andrew stifles a frustrated huff. Almost nine weeks since he’s been in touching distance, and there’s nothing he can do about it. It’s almost a relief, as he’s currently still torn on whether to kiss him senseless or punch his lights out for ruining his four game streak.
The moment Andrew walks in, Neil seems to sense him— his head snaps over in his direction and an instant smile appears on his face. His ‘Andrew smile’ as Allison has labelled it. Big, goofy, involuntary. Andrew can’t stand the warmth that soars through him at the sight of it, so he glares back.
“Hey!” Neil says, unconcerned by the death look on Andrew’s face.
“Josten,” Andrew responds dryly. “You’re a long way from home.”
Neil shrugs, the smile doesn’t falter. “New Orleans isn’t home.”
Andrew chooses not to acknowledge the implied ending to that sentence— because you’re not there. Instead, he raises an eyebrow and goes to his locker, taking deep breaths and trying to calm his heart rate as the rest of the team continue their interrogation.
“But seriously, why are you here?”
“I had some sponsorship shit in the city to deal with. Thought I’d swing by and see my old teammate, I guess.”
Andrew pauses, shoving his helmet in his locker then turning back to look at him.
“I’m honoured.”
Neil grins again. “Well, you know. I’m still new to the pros. Thought I’d get some senior advice from an elder teammate.”
Andrew is definitely going to punch him. As soon as they’re alone, that’s what he’s going to do.
Perry, one of the Beavers’ back liners and one of the only teammates Andrew can stand (she’s also gay and pretty blunt), pipes up at this point. “We figured you guys hated each other.”
Neil frowns. “Why would you think that?”
“I don’t know,” she shrugs. “You’re always all over Instagram with the other old-school Foxes, being all buddy-buddy. We never see Andrew on there, so we thought maybe you didn’t get along.”
Andrew doesn’t laugh, of course. But it’s a close thing. Neil looks over at him, smirking.
“Andrew never lets me take photos. He doesn’t think he’s photogenic.”
Andrew raises his eyebrows, thinks about Neil’s other, private account, the one only a select few know about. Andrew makes a good few appearances on there, much to his distaste. (One in particular, of Andrew making pancakes in just his boxers and armbands, was only online for the three minutes Andrew wasn’t aware of its existence.)
“Also, I hate you.”
Neil laughs. “That too.”
The rest of the team frown, confused, and Andrew slams his locker door closed, stomping out into the hall to find a vending machine. He hears a series of apologies, then footsteps catching up with him.
“Hey!”
Andrew doesn’t look back at him. “You said two weeks.”
Neil jogs after him, laughing slightly. “I wanted to surprise you!”
Andrew doesn’t slow down. “I hate surprises.”
“You don’t hate this one...”
Neil catches up, walking alongside him. Andrew shoots him a glare.
“I do hate it. More than I thought it was capable of hating anything.”
“Sure, sure.”
Andrew stops suddenly in front of Neil, blocking his path. Neil almost walks into him but manages to avoid it.
“You threw me off,” Andrew says, bluntly.
Neil scoffs at that. “It was one shot! You blocked all of the rest!”
“I would have blocked every shot if your ugly mug hadn’t popped up on the screen.”
Neil grins. “You got distracted by my face.”
Andrew rolls his eyes, turning away and starting to walk again. “Fuck off, Neil.”
“Couldn’t take your eyes off of my gorgeous, gorgeous face…”
“Go away before I punch you in it.”
“I wanna kiss you so fucking bad.”
Andrew stops again, taking a long breath before turning back to Neil, who’s looking intense now— biting his lip as if it’s in any way acceptable to jump from irritating goblin to master of seduction this quickly. Andrew narrows his eyes.
Two months. Five days. Eleven hours. Thirty nine minutes.
Andrew walks over to him, standing in front of him. Neil swallows. He smells like the cheap shampoo he refuses to give up no matter how many zeros are in his bank account. He smells like the plane he just got off of. He smells like black coffee. And home. Andrew puts a hand on his chest— he’s here, he’s real— dragging it up to his throat, then he leans in, his lips an inch away. Neil’s breath catches.
“I have a game to play.”
Andrew pushes him away and Neil groans as he walks past him.
“Asshole.”
Andrew shrugs and keeps walking back to the locker room.
“Hey!” Neil calls after him. “What about your Red Bull?”
Of course Neil knows that’s what he came out here for.
“Fuck the Red Bull. I’m going to run on spite.”
Andrew steps it up in the second half. Knowing Neil is watching, and not just through his TV as usual, kicks his stubbornness into gear. He doesn’t let a single shot through. (The fact he knows this is a great way to get Neil worked up and excited is completely irrelevant.)
After, he changes out without saying a word to anyone. Neil isn’t there. Maybe the rabbit changed his mind and got on the first plane back to his rabbit hole New Orleans. Andrew’s phone buzzes.
Neil: i can meet you by the mas?
Andrew thinks of a thousand scathing replies. Insults. Jokes at his expense. But the thought of Neil in his car, where he belongs… fuck.
Andrew: i need to shower
Andrew: can u entertain yourself for ten minutes junkie
Neil: ive entertained myself for 2 months I can do another ten minutes
Andrew: i hate when you say things
After the shower, Andrew waits for most of his teammates to leave before heading to the parking lot. Neil is waiting in the front seat of the Maserati, but climbs out as soon as he sees Andrew approaching. Andrew swallows, fighting down the urge to wrap his arms around him, and instead tilts his head.
“You ever planning on telling me what the hell you’re doing here?”
Neil shrugs, coming to a stop a couple of feet in front of him. “I got out of a practice. Wanted to see you.”
“One practice?”
“Yeah, I have to be back in the morning.”
Andrew blinks. “You flew four hours to stay for one night?”
“I guess.”
“That’s stupid. You’re fucking stupid.”
Neil laughs. “I’ve missed you too, baby.”
Andrew scowls. “What if I’d had plans?”
“You wouldn’t cancel plans for me when I’d flown four hours to see you?”
“No one asked you to.”
Neil stares him out, raising an eyebrow. "Are you done now? Can we go home and order in?"
Oh, how Andrew hates him.
"I hate you."
"I love you, too. Hold my hand, yes or no?"
Andrew huffs. He definitely hasn’t missed how much of a sop this man is. Neil laughs, holding his hand up in the air in front of him, wiggling his fingers.
“Final offer! Going once… going twice… going—"
"Give me that.”
Andrew snatches his hand into his and Neil laughs again as Andrew drags him to the car.
Andrew tries to wait until they’re home, but the urge to have Neil’s lips on his is overwhelming by the time they pull up to the parking lot of his apartment. He puts on the hand brake, snaps open his seatbelt, then— it’s out of his control.
He pulls Neil into a kiss so searing that Neil whimpers. He clamours to undo his own seatbelt, then tangles his hands in Andrew’s hair as he kisses him back just as fiercely.
“Baby—“ he gasps against Andrew’s lips. “Fuck. Two months.”
“And five days,” Andrew growls back, before tugging Neil’s head back by his hair and licking a stripe up his neck. Neil shudders.
“Inside,” Neil groans. “Let’s go inside.”
They practically fall out of the car and stagger into the apartment building. They’re an embarrassing, desperate mess in the elevator— groping and gasping and kissing. By the time they get into Andrew’s apartment, they’re too worked up to do anything except kick the door closed and fall roughly against the wall, lips not parting from one another’s even once.
Neil pins Andrew’s hands to the wall, leaning down and starting to kiss his neck. Andrew lets out a loud, relieved sigh.
“I need you. Just—“ He gasps as Neil bites down on a sensitive spot. “—mmm. Fuck me.”
Neil stills, pulling back to look at Andrew’s face, an unsure expression on his face. “I— here?”
Andrew considers it. Bed would be easier. Couch would suffice. But fuck. If he doesn’t have Neil inside of him, wiping every thought in his brain completely clean, as soon as humanly possible, he may fucking explode.
“Yes. Here. Right now.”
Neil bites his lip. “I don’t know if I can—“
“Try.”
“Fuck.”
Andrew tugs his hands from Neil’s grip, then slides them to the back of Neil’s ass, gripping and pressing him harder against him. He groans.
“Fuck. Okay, where’s the—”
“My bag. Front pocket.”
Neil quickly scrambles away to find it. Andrew tilts his head back against the wall, taking a deep breath, before he quickly gets to work getting undressed. He pulls down his jeans, then his boxers, but only gets one leg off before Neil is back and—
Neil pins Andrew back up against the wall with a hard, urgent kiss, all of his hesitation forgotten. He lifts Andrew up and he gasps in surprise, wrapping his legs around him and flinging his arms around his neck, holding on tightly.
Neil hitches one of Andrew’s legs up higher, reaches underneath him and Andrew groans, burying his face in Neil’s neck, mouthing against his skin.
“Fuck…” Neil gasps as he starts to work him open. “I missed you. So much. I couldn’t wait another two weeks. I needed this too much.”
Andrew nods “Mmm. Just… more. Need more.”
Neil groans, and complies, curling his fingers and Andrew gasps, his hands moving to Neil’s back to hold on more tightly. They move together for a while— Neil grinding against Andrew to try and get some kind of relief. Eventually Andrew clutches at his back, kissing him deeply, then leans his head against his.
“Now. I’m—“ He whines slightly and Neil stares at him, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. “I’m ready. Fuck me.”
Neil nods, panting as he pulls out, putting Andrew down and finally undoing his own pants so that he can deal with the condom. Andrew’s legs feel unsteady as he watches, bracing himself against the wall and trying to catch his breath. Neil struggles, his hands shaking, and Andrew lets out an impatient huff.
“Rabbit…”
“Sorry. Fuck.”
Neil finally gets it on, then he’s kissing Andrew, lifting him back up, hitching up his leg up again and then Andrew groans, digging his fingers into Neil’s biceps as he pushes inside.
There are still rules when it comes to fucking— never when either of them are drunk, or upset, or out of sorts in any way. Almost always face to face. Always with a condom. Verbal consent if there’s something new, or something they don’t do often.
Being slow and tender, though— it’s no longer a necessity. Sometimes they both want to be taken apart hard. And fast. And that’s okay. It’s very okay.
“Harder,” Andrew chokes out after a couple of minutes.
They fuck against the wall until Neil is breathless, his arms straining, and suddenly he stills, burying his face in Andrew’s neck and gasping.
“Baby. I can’t. It’s—“
Andrew groans, still trying to buck against him. “Couch. I’m close. Just— couch.”
Neil nods, gathering up all of his remaining strength to lift Andrew off of the wall and carry him across the room until they reach the couch. He stumbles and his arms finally give up, resulting in a clumsy fall over the arm of the couch that has them landing in an awkward, panting pile of limbs.
They untangle themselves, as quickly as possible, and Neil fits himself between Andrew’s legs, hitching one of them over his shoulder and Andrew keens as the change in angle sends a bolt of pleasure through him. That, and Neil’s still frantic pace, pushes him over the edge quickly. He arches into him, shuddering and clenching around him as he comes. Neil follows him seconds later, both of them panting into each other’s mouths, eyes locked.
They rock together until they’re both completely spent, then with one last gasp, Neil collapses against Andrew, burying his head in the pillow next to his head.
They lay like that for a while, doing nothing but steadying their breathing, listening to each other's heartbeats, until eventually... Neil starts to laugh. Andrew frowns, looking at him.
“Have you—“ he’s embarrassingly out of breath. “Have you finally lost your tiny junkie mind?”
“I think so.” He pulls up, looking at Andrew, a huge dopey smile on his face. “That was… insane.”
Andrew doesn’t disagree. He reaches out, stroking Neil’s cheek, then kisses him. A soft, gentle kiss— in stark contrast to the moments before. They stare at each other a moment, taking each other in, then Neil looks down at Andrew’s feet.
“Did you know—“ He takes another long breath. “Your pants are still hanging off your ankle?”
Andrew nods. “Yeah.”
“Cool. Should I…?”
“Whatever.”
Neil laughs, and they both groan as he pulls out, gingerly sitting up to take off the condom. He tosses it in the trash, then leans down to pull off the remainder of Andrew’s jeans and underwear, before climbing back over him to lie in the gap between him and the back of the couch. He continues to stare at Andrew, who rolls his eyes at the soft look on Neil’s face.
“Worth the air fare?”
“Totally.”
“Totally,” Andrew mocks. Neil grins and leans in to kiss him.
Things get softer after that. Less urgent. Andrew spreads Neil out underneath him and kisses him everywhere. Slowly, methodically. He memorised Neil’s body a long time ago, but two months is a long time. There might be new things to see.
Neil sighs contentedly as he explores, explaining each new bruise and scratch. Most of them are exy-related. One deep cut on his chin is from slipping whilst shaving. Andrew nips at that one, huffing out a gentle “idiot”.
When he’s done, they’re lying next to each other again, and Andrew watches as Neil slowly and thoughtfully traces the scars on his forearm with his index finger. He lingers on one in particular— it’s raised, and a little red. Andrew has been bothering it, and until this moment he hadn’t even noticed.
“Sometimes they itch.”
“I know,” Neil responds gently.
He leans down, pressing his lips against his skin, and Andrew swallows down his usual urge to keep things inside, to not voice his feelings.
“It’s been hard.”
Neil looks up at him through his eyelashes. Andrew’s heart does an embarrassing jump.
“I know that too.”
I missed you like a fucking lung. When you got on that plane two months ago, it felt like I was winded. I’ve been taking half breaths ever since, and now you’re suddenly back and it’s like there’s so much. So much air. I can’t breathe it all, no matter how much I gasp.
Andrew swallows. And he says all he’s capable of saying out loud— “I mean… it’s been okay. But it would be better if you were here.”
Neil nods, looking sad and looking back at Andrew’s scars.
“You’d tell me, right? If…” he trails off, as he runs his fingers over the ravaged skin again.
“If what?”
“If things got this bad.”
Andrew pauses, then nods. “Yes. And you?”
The words lie unsaid between them— If you were thinking about running.
Neil nods back. “Yeah.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
Andrew puts a finger under his chin, angling him up for a kiss. Neil hums into it.
“I love you.”
Andrew closes his eyes. “I know.”
The airport is busy. Andrew hates airports as standard, busy ones make his skin crawl. He stays close to Neil, not holding his hand but keeping a grip on the sleeve of his hoodie to stop him wandering off.
They’ve barely slept. Both too tired and wrapped up in each other to even move from the couch. Neil’s alarm had gone off at five thirty, but they hadn’t gotten up right away.
“Fuck me, baby. I wanna still be able to feel you on the plane.”
“Ugh,” Andrew had replied, already tugging down Neil’s briefs. “Fucking junkie.”
When they get to Neil’s departure gate, Andrew feels like he’s swallowed a pile of rocks. He feels heavy, and wrong, and like he couldn’t let go of Neil’s sleeve even if he wanted to. Neil comes to a stop, turning to him, and Andrew’s fingers begrudgingly drop their comforting grip, his eyes falling to the fresh hickies on Neil’s neck to avoid looking him in the eye (they were another request— “A souvenir from my trip.” “I hate you so much.”)
Neil steps closer to him. “Drew?”
Andrew drags his eyes back up to Neil’s face. He’s frowning.
“You okay? You’re quiet.”
Andrew glares. “Because I’m usually so talkative.”
Neil smirks back. “It’s just two weeks this time. It’s not long.”
“I’m sure I’ll live.”
Neil smiles, fully this time, and Andrew swallows hard. Neil steps even closer.
“I wanna hug you. Yes or no?”
Andrew shrugs. “Do what you want.”
“We’re in public. I need an answer.”
Andrew hesitates, briefly glancing around. There are people. Lots of people. He weighs up his discomfort at being held in public against the concept of Neil getting on that plane without touching him.
He nods.
Neil nods back, dropping his bag on the floor before pulling Andrew into him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. Andrew melts into it immediately, putting his arms around Neil’s waist and burying his face in his shoulder. He holds onto him tightly, then inhales deeply, breathing him in.
Neil hums, stroking his back.
“I’m glad I came,” he mumbles into Andrew’s hair. “Even if it was kind of stupid.”
“It was very fucking stupid,” Andrew mumbles back, his fingers digging into the fabric of Neil’s hoodie again.
Neil laughs slightly, pulling back then gently tugging on Andrew’s hair until he looks up at him.
“I love you.”
Andrew huffs. “I know.”
Neil grins and Andrew rolls his eyes, pulling him down into a kiss— busy airport be damned. Neil makes a surprised noise, then Andrew feels him smile against his lips before kissing him back. He nips at his bottom lip, then pulls away to look at him.
“Two weeks.”
“Yeah.”
“Think you can not get yourself killed for another two weeks?”
Neil nods, mock seriously. “I’ll try.”
The tanoy announces Neil’s flight and he groans, planting one more kiss on Andrew’s nose (which earns him a growl) before letting go and picking up his bag.
“I’ll call you when I land, okay?”
Andrew nods, the rocks in his stomach returning tenfold as Neil gives him one last smile, then walks to his gate. Andrew watches him, then spots the huge 03 Minyard on the back of his hoodie that he hadn’t noticed before.
“Fucking junkie,” he mumbles under his breath.