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Jealousy

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Sid’s always been a little leery of Andy’s toys, though he doesn’t quite remember why – maybe it’s just memories of the fucked-up way he used to play with his own toys, sort of hoping that they don’t hold a grudge, as crazy as that is – but he’s never been jealous before. Jealous of inanimate objects - how low can he go?

But the thing is, see, is he walked into the room today to see Andy, and the first thing he saw was those toys, all lined up with their feet pointed at him, and on every right foot, there for the world to see, ANDY in big block letters, so no one ever has to wonder who they belong to.

And Sid’s jealous, hideously jealous, because this…thing, whatever it is, with Andy is so new, so bright and precious and he’s always broken everything he touches, and there’s no way he can know if Andy feels the same way – no exchanging class rings like with girls – and damn it, he wants this to work. Andy’s bright and sweet and so damn optimistic, it makes the world seem like a good place again, and Sid really wants the world to be a good place.

Andy sees him eyeing the toys and comes up to him, throws an arm across his shoulders and says, “Hey, what’s the matter? You look like they’ve offended you.”

Sid frowns. “They’re toys; how could they offend me?”

“I dunno. Come on, come in, sit down. Make yourself at home.”

Now there’s an offer Sid is not going to refuse, and even if it’s not quite what Andy meant, he bends to kiss the other man, hot and sweet, and Andy makes a confused noise and then just goes with it, grinning into the kiss and reaching behind Sid to swing the door shut. The reach turns into a hug; one kiss turns into many, and when Sid finally breaks away to catch his breath, they’re sitting on the bed, wrapped around each other, and Andy’s eyes are wide and happy, his lips all red and swollen from kissing, and he looks wonderful.

“Wow, man,” he says at last, “not complaining or anything, but what brought that on? Usually you at least wait till the door’s closed!” He laughs, and Sid grins back, and…well, hell, nothing to lose but everything and Sid’s never been good at not taking chances. He bends down and unlaces his shoes, kicks them off and tugs off his socks, and puts his right foot in Andy’s lap.

“Huh?” says Andy, eloquently, then, grinning wider, “Want a foot-rub, then?”

“No,” says Sid, and blushes, which is rare enough to worry Andy a bit. “I…” he gestures at the toys. “They’re yours,” he says, and Andy turns to look at them, and then turns back to Sid, and yeah, he’s a smart boy, he gets it. Maybe too much too soon, Sid thinks; maybe now he tells me this is just experimenting and kicks me out; maybe now he tells me he’s not a fag he just wanted to blow off some steam.

But Andy smiles a slow sweet smile that makes Sid’s heart turn over in his chest, and reaches over to his bedside table and pulls a marker out of the pen cup there. “Are you mine, too?” he asks softly, and Sid can only nod. Andy nods back, and lifts Sid’s foot a little, and, carefully and gently and firmly enough so as not to tickle, writes his name.

Sid looks at his foot when he’s done: ANDY in big block letters, clear and perfect. Sid considers this for a minute, and then he pulls Andy into his arms and kisses him again and again and again, and Andy kisses back every time, whispering, “You’re mine, now,” between kisses, and there have never been sweeter words in the whole wide world.