Chapter Text
Andrew shuffles into the kitchen still half asleep despite the clock on the wall showing fifteen minutes past eleven. It’s a Friday (one of those rare ones with no game, no practice, and no class) and Andrew has planned to do absolutely nothing all day but eat ice cream, ignore Kevin’s complaints, and kiss Neil silly on the roof.
He starts the coffee machine and pulls out two mugs, milk, tea and honey for Neil, sugar and caramel syrup for himself. He fills one of the mug (a plain white one with “this is a cup” written on it) with water and lets it heat in the microwave while he puts four tablespoon of caramel in his own mug (this one says “no bees in here i promise” in yellow and black—a birthday gift from Bee).
He is just about to pour coffee into his cup when he overhears Neil get out of the bathroom. Kevin, who’s been banging on the door for a good five minutes, half shouts something Andrew can't understand and slams the door behind him.
He feels a warm breath on the back of his neck and his body instinctively tenses and relaxes all in the same second when he catches the smell of the redhead's shampoo. Scarred arms shimmies underneath his shirt and wrap around his waist, pulling Andrew into their hold.
“Your mug’s in the microwave,” Andrew says, letting out a single soft sigh as Neil presses a kiss to his nape.
Neil hums but doesn't answer, focusing instead on drawing shapes on Andrew’s soft tummy, stroking the skin of his chest, the matching scars, until he gets to his nipples. Neil’s hands cups his chest, and Andrew's skin prickles as his thumbs swipe over his nipples in circles—Neil doesn't need to see them to know they're a pale shade of pink, has the color memorized by heart. Andrew feels the buds harden around the silver barbells and his entire body jolts when Neil pinches one of them between his fingers.
“Neil,” he clears his throat, hates how weak his voice sounds already, “I am trying to make coffee here.”
Neil’s lips quirks up from where they are attached to Andrew’s shoulder. “Oh, am I bothering you?”
“You are always bothering me,” Andrew fires back. Neil, who is past calling him out on his lies anymore, only chuckles.
One of his hands leaves his chest to make its way downward, stopping above Andrew’s boxers. His underwear is absolutely drenched from his boyfriend’s teasing, and, without thinking, he begins to rub his thighs together to get some well-needed friction on his clit.
Neil makes a sound of disapproval and grabs his right thigh to stop the movement, his warning touch firm enough to leave a red shape on his skin. With his other hand, he toys with the hems of Andrew’s boxers, pulls on the elastic band then lets it go, the smacking sound ringing around the room. Andrew’s breath shakes with anticipation.
“Yes or no?” Neil whispers, lips brushing his ear.
Andrew is desperate for it, but still he hesitates. Kevin is in the bathroom, but he could come out any minute now. It's not like he’s never surprised them in the middle of the act before, but this is a level above just walking in on them when they're under the covers; they both know Kevin would be mad.
He’s weighing up the idea of getting on with it and have Kevin yell at them for perverting a common area when Neil suddenly takes his earlobe into his mouth and tugs on it with his teeth. Andrew’s breath hitches, chorus of yesyesyes echoing in his head, and he must've said it aloud too because Neil does not wait one more second before sliding a hand into his boxers.
He spreads him open and slowly nudges his finger through his folds, stroking up and down a couple times, gathering slick, but never touching where Andrew is most sensitive. His dick is throbbing from how turned on he is and his hips instinctively roll forward, chasing Neil’s touch in hope to rub his clit against the palm of his hand. He tries that once, twice, before Neil tuts at him again. His arm comes to wrap entirely around his waist, pinning his hips back against his own, effectively trapping him. Andrew bites back a whine.
“I hate you,” he says. Neil hums, unfazed, but finally slips one finger inside his pussy without any resistance—it’s warm, wet, and so incredibly tight that Neil feels his cock harden even more at the memory of the flesh squeezing around it.
"Fuck, Andrew you're dripping,” he says in awe, and the blond hates the way his cheeks heat up at the words.
Neil starts slow, too slow, and Andrew does whine then, fights Neil's bruising grip on his waist to drive his finger deeper.
“Neil, get the fuck on with it,” he growls, his core throbbing at the promise of being filled.
For probably the first time in his life, Neil listens—he pulls out, circles his entrance with the pad of his finger to gather more slick before adding a second one, pressing both digits into the tightness of Andrew’s hole. His pussy clenches around the intrusion and Neil mouths at the skin of his neck, making him relax enough for him to push all the way in.
One of Andrew's arms comes to wrap around Neil’s head from behind, fingers tangling in auburn hair as he tilts his head back, granting Neil better access to kiss and lick up his throat.
The angle is not the best, but Neil makes do with what he has—pleasure shoots up Andrew’s spine when he pulls out his fingers to push them back in deeper, curling them just right. His mouth is unrelenting on his neck, kissing, licking, and biting at the sensitive flesh, leaving no patch of skin untouched by the softness of his lips or the sharpness of his teeth.
Andrew doesn’t hear the bathroom door open—too focused on the feeling of Neil's fingers in his cunt, Neil’s lips on his neck—which is why he startles at the sound of Kevin's voice.
“Andrew!” he shouts as if he’s three miles away, “Go shower! We are going to the court today, we are not slacking off with the championship right around the corner.”
Andrew’s sudden movement forces Neil’s fingers deeper into his cunt and he whimpers. Neil, the asshole that he is, quickens the pace, hitting that spot over and over—Andrew has to grab the counter with his other hand in order not to fall forward, knees wobbling.
“I think Kevin wants an answer, baby,” the asshole rasps in his ear. Andrew’s breath hitch at the pet name. Fuck. He knows Neil is right, Kevin will not leave it alone until he receives a proper answer. He steadies himself.
“Fuck off K–,” Fuck off, Kevin is what he meant to say, but the rest of his sentence turns into a loud moan of Kevin's name as Neil’s thumb brushes over his clit. His entire body shudders so sharply Neil has to tighten his grip on his waist to keep him upright.
“Sorry,” Neil breathes, sounding not sorry at all.
Andrew takes the challenge as it is.
He takes a breath and closes his eyes, trying to focus on anything but Neil, or his fingers, or his mouth, a task that's been proven to be quite difficult. He clears his throat.
“Fuck off, Kevin,” he yells back, ignores the way his voice breaks on the ‘off”.
Neil mutters a good boy in the skin of his throat.
Andrew's hole squeezes so tightly around his fingers that Neil is half afraid he’s going to break them. Still, he rocks them inside, making Andrew inhale sharply.
He feels hazy, heart pounding in his chest, and his tone is laced with desperation when he chokes out, “Neil, I need to come.”
In the distance, a door opens again. Andrew doesn't hear it, lost in his own pleasure, but Neil does. His middle and forefinger keep the same speed but his thumb now rubs at Andrew’s clit in earnest, little circling motions that have his boyfriend grip his arm, nails digging into flesh so strongly that he’ll likely have marks tomorrow. He sucks the skin of his neck into his mouth as payback.
Neil’s pace is brutal, fingers going in and out of Andrew’s pussy like he’s trying to rearrange his guts, pressing into his g-spot with each shove. His cunt squelches; the noises are so obscene and so loud in the quiet of the room that Andrew wonders if Kevin can hear it from the bedroom. The thought has him flushing all the way down to his chest.
As if reading his mind, Neil detaches himself from his neck to say, “Do you think Kevin can hear how wet you are right now? How desperate you sound?”
He's not expecting an answer and Andrew doesn't give him one, doesn’t think he could even make his mouth speak, but his pussy gets impossibly wetter and he moans, hips arching into the motion.
The little circular motion on his clit fastens and the pressure builds up low in his abdomen, heat sparking through his entire body. He can't think beyond the broken record of fuck and yes and don’t stop and Neil Neil Neil and–
Kevin yells again, “Andrew, come on!”
“Andrew,” Neil groans in his ear, "you heard the man. Come.”
Andrew’s body tenses and, with one last hard rub over his clit, the tension snaps. Shockwaves overtakes his body as his cunt gushes around Neil’s fingers, thighs spasming so violently he cannot do anything but hold onto Neil for dear life as he falls apart against him, nails digging into his forearm, fingers clutching at his hair.
One of Neil’s hands cover his mouth to muffle his loud moans while he works him through it, whispering encouragement in his ears—that's it and I got you and you’re doing so well.
He slumps against his front once his orgasm subsides, turning his head into his neck to breathe him in. He closes his eyes and feels the sweet press of lips against his forehead.
Andrew barely has time to bask in the feeling before he hears footsteps coming closer. Neil backs away from him, fingers disappearing from his cunt. His hole clenches around nothing and he hates the sudden feeling of emptiness—he wants Neil back inside him now, wants to keep him warm all day, wants him to stretch him so good he can't think about anything else but that drowsy feeling of pleasure that comes with having Neil’s fingers, his cock, buried deep inside of him.
He’s taking slow breath, willing his body to stop shaking, when Kevin enters the kitchen. Andrew’s back is turned to the door, but he must be doing a real shit job at pulling himself together because Kevin opens his mouth.
“Are you okay?” he frowns. “Please don’t tell me you’re sick. We can't afford you to miss practice.”
Andrew exhales through his nose and turns around to face Kevin. He hopes his face isn't as red as he feels.
“I’m fine, Kevin.”
His answer makes Neil huff and Andrew looks at him then, for the first time. His cock is still achingly hard, the shape of his bulge obvious through his pants, but he doesn't seem to mind. Instead, when Andrew meets his eyes, he’s smirking. Without looking away from him he, very deliberately, sucks the fingers he’s been fucking his hole with into his mouth, licking the slick off.
Fucking fuck. Andrew feels his pussy twitch again.
Kevin has gone uncharacteristically silent, and Andrew only remembers he’s in the room when he makes a strangled noise. Andrew internally hopes he hasn't witnessed Neil’s shameless display, but when he turns his head back to him, Kevin is not looking at either of them—his eyes are locked on Andrew’s wet thighs, on the couple drops of slick dripping down his legs (his soaked underwear is thankfully hidden by his oversized t-shirt.)
Uh-oh, Andrew thinks.
Kevin’s face is beet red, his mouth opening and closing a few times, completely at loss for words, until he just whirls around without saying anything, and walks back to the bedroom.
When Andrew looks at Neil again, the striker just shrugs.