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think i'm losing (where you end and i begin)

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Andrew is tired. Tired in a way that makes him feel way fucking older than his 20 years, and he can see the expression reflected on all of his teammate's faces.

He shouldn't be tired, he knows; he didn't give his all on the ice, working himself to the point of exhaustion and beyond just to come up short, because he was stuck in the press box, helpless and worthless.

But Andrew is still tired.

He jumps when a hand lands on his shoulder, squeezing slightly before letting go, and he knows who it is even before he turns around.

There's Jimmy, something a little like hesitation and a lot like pleading when he says, quiet, too fucking quiet, "Come home with me?"

Andrew nods.


He drifts off a few times on the ride to Jimmy's apartment, his forehead resting against the cool-to-the-touch window, and he jerks awake every time they hit a bump and he sways, head falling against the glass harder than it should. Jimmy's free hand is resting on Andrew's knee, and he keeps glancing over every so often, like he has to check to make sure Andrew's still there, that he hasn't disappeared while Jimmy hadn't been watching.

It's stupid and maybe should be creepy, or annoying at the least.

It isn't.

It just makes Andrew feel sort of warm and secure, knowing that Jimmy is looking after him so that Andrew doesn't have to look after himself.

This... whatever it is between them, it's sort of tentative and new. Andrew doesn't know what exactly they have, because it sure as hell isn't a relationship. It's rushed blow jobs in supply closets and rough kisses against the doors of hotel rooms, when emotions from the game are running high and random pickups just don't get it.

There have been some lazy hand jobs and making out on the couch in the middle of playing video games, or watching whatever it is Andrew closed his eyes and picked on pay-per-view on Jimmy's TV, but those instances are few and far between.

This is just a thing.

Which is why it surprises the hell out of him that he's pressed against the door the second they walk -- well, Jimmy walks, Andrew just sort of stumbles blindly in behind him -- into Jimmy's house and Jimmy is kissing him.

Not normal kissing, either. Jimmy's got his fingers buried in Andrew's hair, his much larger frame bracketing Andrew against the wood, and he's kissing Andrew like...

Well, like Andrew actually means something.

There's a sort of gentleness there that Andrew's never seen before, in the way that one of Jimmy's big hands cradles the underside of Andrew's jaw and the other stays knotted in Andrew's hair, not enough to hurt but enough that Andrew probably couldn't move.

But he doesn't want to.

A knot of something loosens in Andrew's chest and he makes a low, muffled sound into Jimmy's mouth before he's curling his fingers in the front of Jimmy's worn t-shirt and pulling him closer, desperate for something unnamable, something that he can only get if he just keeps kissing Jimmy.

The sound their lips make when they pull apart causes Andrew to cling tighter before he can help it, feeling the warm skin under his knuckles when he tugs at Jimmy's shirt hard enough to stretch the collar.

They stand there for a second, just breathing into each other before Andrew presses up, closing the distance between their mouths.

It's easier now than it was, especially when Jimmy relaxes underneath Andrew and slides his hand underneath the hem of Andrew's shirt to press against his stomach, soft and easy, and Andrew takes a shuddery breath.


It's the first word he's spoken in what feels like days, and it comes out that way, low and hoarse.

Andrew's probably more relieved than he should be when Jimmy nods, but he doesn't dwell on it, especially when Jimmy's fingers curl in his belt loops and tug him closer.


They don't fuck. Andrew doesn't know if he was expecting it, but when he falls on the bed and shifts backwards, all Jimmy does is kneel in between his spread legs and lean in to kiss him again. His hands stay on Andrew, skating over his skin after he tugs Andrew's shirt off, avoiding the fading bruises that still stand out like judgments against the backdrop of Andrew's pale skin.

Andrew pushes Jimmy's shirt up his chest and breaks the kiss for just long enough to pull it off and drop it over the side of the bed.

Moments, or maybe hours later, Andrew doesn't know and honestly doesn't give a fuck, Jimmy shifts a certain way, brushing his thigh over Andrew's crotch, and Andrew realizes that he's hard, almost achingly so.

"Jimmy," he breathes, pressing fingertip marks into the meat of Jimmy's shoulders, standing out bright red and angry, with half moons at the top from his fingernails. "Please."

Jimmy doesn't respond verbally, but he does twist, smoothly sliding his long thigh in between Andrew's legs, and Andrew rocks up against the hot weight. It's almost embarrassing how quickly he comes after that; no slow build up, no anticipation, just him thrusting up against Jimmy and going tense as Jimmy leans in to suck a mark into the curve of Andrew's neck, startling harsh against the way his thumb is stroking the soft skin of Andrew's stomach, almost absently.

Andrew makes a choked noise as he comes, teeth digging into his bottom lip hard enough to hurt, not that he'd know. He's only vaguely aware of the fact that Jimmy makes the same noise against his neck, and he's reaching down to slide his hand under the waistband of Jimmy's pants before he's even fully come down from orgasm.

A few strokes around Jimmy's dick, a twist upwards at the end that Andrew knows Jimmy likes, and then Jimmy is shuddering against him and Andrew's fingers are hot and sticky.

They lie there for a few moments, still tangled in each other, flushed skin pressed against flushed skin, and Andrew is tired.

He feels more than sees Jimmy get off of him, the hot weight leaving him cold and almost empty feeling, but it doesn't stop him from drifting into the hazy state halfway between sleep and wakefulness.

It's a barely comprehensible blur of colors and feelings as Jimmy cleans them up and then Andrew kicks his pants off, sliding under the covers when Jimmy tugs at the fabric.

This is new, he thinks as Jimmy slides under the covers next to him, and there's cautious fingers skittering up and down the line of his spine.

Not bad, just... new. Different.

"Feels nice," Andrew mumbles against the cotton pillowcase that smells like Jimmy, arching his back into the light touch, and the gust of warm air over the back of his neck when Jimmy chuckles at him makes his eyes flutter closed.

"Go to sleep, Andrew."

Jimmy sounds fond, and almost amused, and it makes Andrew smile into the pillow.