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Neil

Neil pinches the glass between forefinger and thumb, pausing only momentarily to make sure it’s full before he upends it into someone’s lap. The resounding shout of outrage is swallowed by the chaotic thump of the club’s bass. Neil turns away to the next customer before the guy can reach across the bar and throttle him.

“What can I get you?” Neil asks, shouting over the people fighting for his attention. The girl gives him a hesitant smile, bats her eyelashes and asks for his name.

“Not interested,” he replies, lip upturned in disgust.

He almost crashes into Roland on his way to the other side of the bar. He shoots Neil a “Be nice!” as he passes but Neil pretends not to hear.

The customers on this end are his regulars. Tattoos up to their necks and sweet as sin, Rosie and her cackle of sweet little old women sit perched on the bar stools, waiting. They all break out into equally ecstatic grins when they see him. He shoots them a smile that pulls the stitches in his cheek, and starts preparing their drinks.

Neil is not a particularly good bartender, for his sour mood and abysmal customer service skills, but he can make a mean drink when he wants to. Roland keeps him around for his pretty face and foul attitude - the customers seem to get a kick out of the abuse.

“Here you go, girls,” Neil says as he places their whiskey sours down in front of them. He places 5 shots of tequila next to each glass, on the house. He raises one up for himself and they all clank their shots together and swallow them down. The burn feels nice, but Neil fights back a shiver at bitter taste.

Neil’s only been working at Eden’s Twilight for a few weeks, but he knows that the customers are an unusual sort. Chains and leashes, leather and lace – the people who come to Eden’s are usually here to have a good time, whether that be drugs, or the sweet release of sex. Neil doesn’t really care, as long as they tip him well and leave him alone.

He also knows the club is owned by the Monsters. He’s only ever caught a glimpse of them in flashes of moments, in the movement between bodies.

Andrew Minyard is the boss, or so he’s been told. His twin, Aaron, doesn’t come around much, but no one is really sure. Rumour is they tend to switch places with each other, Andrew for Aaron, Aaron for Andrew.

Nicky and Kevin are spotted the most, as the more approachable of the four. Nicky tends to come to the bar to flirt with Neil when he’s feeling particularly bored, or to talk business with Roland. Kevin likes to order a ridiculous amount of vodka shots and encourages Neil to join him. He likes to play oblivious, but he’s pretty sure that’s Kevin’s way of flirting, too.

Tonight, Nicky’s looking a little red-faced and happy as he crashes into Neil’s bar. He’s giving Neil a wide, empty smile, eyes shiny and glazed over. Neil raises an unperturbed brow and waits for Nicky’s usual obnoxious commentary.

“Hey, Neil,” Nicky says, and it’s lacking his usual oomph. The tone makes Neil frown and drop his dish towel.

“Hey, Nicky. Everything okay?” Neil asks, already reaching for a glass to fill with whatever ridiculous drink Nicky wants tonight.

“Everything is peachy keen, Neilio. Can I have 3 shots of tequila?” Nicky’s voice is muffled, molding into the chaos of the crowd. He’s too busy looking around to notice Neil’s staring.

“Sure thing,” Neil says, mostly to himself. He pours the shots quickly and stands stalk still as he watches Nicky swallow them down in 3 seconds flat. He slams the last glass down onto the table with too much force, and they both watch as it skids down the bar, into someone else’s glass.

Neil raises an eyebrow at Nicky and he deflates, folding himself atop the sticky bar. He places his chin in one palm and looks at Neil with wide, sad eyes.

“Andrew’s here tonight,” he says with a heavy, drawn-out sigh.

“And that’s a bad thing,” Neil says as he prepares another 3 shots for Nicky, one for himself.

“Yes,” Nicky hisses, dejected.

“Why’s that?” They down their shots together.

“Because he sucks the fun out of everything!” Nicky says, slamming a fist onto the bar top. Neil scratches the back of his neck and tries to find a reply in a more interested part of his brain.

“Well, that’s too bad,” Neil says, trying to inch himself away from this conversation. There’s one thing Neil’s learned in life, don’t encourage smack talk about the boss of a gang.

“I’m just gonna go back to work-,” Neil starts to say when hands grab two fistfuls of his shirt and yank him up off his feet and straight over the bar. In the distance, he hears Nicky’s cry of outrage.

Neil, too startled to react, grabs the wrists holding him and digs his nails in deep. When he lands back on his feet, he only has a second to steady himself before a hard fist meets the side of his face. He falls back on his ass hard, catching himself on open palms. The second fist connects with the stitches in his cheek, and the pain blinds him for an endless moment. He curses under his breath, sucking in a harsh breath between clenched teeth to fight back the burst of pain.

Anger bubbles under his skin like acid, fighting to consume him. He jumps back to his feet, aching with a fury that burns from the inside out. He surges forward, fists raised like claws. He lands two consecutive hits before someone grabs him around the waist and hefts him off of the guy.

“Neil, cool it down, man,” Matt says right into his ear. Neil immediately sags in his grasp, still vibrating with unchecked anger. Neil watches as Jeff and Baz, the two other bouncers grab the guy that had attacked him. Belatedly, Neil recognizes him as the guy he’d thrown a drink at only ten minutes prior.

“Let me go, Matt,” Neil says, fists clenching at his sides.

“Are you going to go ape shit if I put you down?”

Neil shakes his head, no.

“Okay,” Matt says as he puts Neil back down on his feet.

Neil doesn’t wait around to deal with the aftermath, instead he rips his apron from around his waist and throws it to the other side of the bar and doesn’t watch as it falls useless to the ground. He has to squeeze between dancing people, reaching hands, and prying eyes, but he forces his way through to get to the back exit.

His mind shouts for air, and so his body delivers.

He slams through the back exit and into the cool midsummer air. The wind ruffles his hair and cools the sweat on his arms. He takes in a heavy breath and slumps where he stands. He’s too busy fighting for the pack of cigarettes in his back pocket to notice the man standing in the shadows.

His hands shake as he brings one up to his mouth, rubbing it against his bottom lip for a second before closing his mouth around the end. He scrambles through all of his pockets for a lighter but comes up short. He looks up to the sky as if it will be able to conjure him up one.

Neil hears the spark of a lighter and startles. When he looks behind him, a man stands in the darkest patch of the alley, the light in his hand the only sign he was really there.

“Need a light, red?” the man asks. His voice is gravely, the words rolling off of his tongue like syrup. Neil has to suppress a shiver at the pleasant caress of it in his ear.

“Uh, yeah, thanks,” Neil replies unintelligibly.

The man steps out of the shadow and crowds into Neil’s space. He holds the lighter up to Neil’s face, cupping the flame in one palm. Neil has one moment of panic when he recognizes the white blonde of his hair and the dead look in his eyes, before he bends and lights his cigarette with Andrew Minyard’s lighter.

“Thanks,” Neil repeats, words muffled by smoke.

Andrew backs away, pressing his back into the cemented alleyway wall. Neil watches him take the cigarette from behind his ear, and press it between two pink lips. When he lights it, the smoke swirls and morphs around him like a halo. Neil can’t seem to look away.

“What happened to your face?” Andrew’s rough voice brings him out of his head.

He frowns, reaching up with careful fingertips to press against his aching cheek. His hand comes back red. The stitches must have ripped against the force of the punch.

Neil is so sick of stitching himself up.

“Fuck,” Neil says to himself, suddenly embarrassed and ashamed.

Andrew raises an eyebrow, and Neil feels the need to explain himself.

“A customer punched me,” Neil says, still looking down at the blood on his fingers.

“You’re the bartender,” Andrew says. It’s not a question.

“Yes,” Neil answers.

“Did you punch him back?” Andrew asks, taking a harsh pull on his cigarette. His cheeks hollow as he breathes it in, and Neil catches himself checking the sharp edge of his jaw.

“Yeah.”

Andrew watches him, his eyes dragging slowly down his frame, taking in every dip and arch of his body. When his eyes melt back up to his face, his pupils are wide. Neil feels hot all over.

“What did you do?”

Neil startles himself with a laugh. “What makes you think I did anything?”

Andrew simply raises an eyebrow. Neil laughs again.

“He said I’d be hot if I didn’t have this ugly scar on my face, so I threw a drink at him.”

Andrew nods, as if in agreement.

They lapse into a comfortable, aching silence. The sound of their exhaling smoke, and the whiz of passing cars the only sounds between them.

Neil holds his cigarette up to his face and watches the ashes shiver and flack into the wind, the smell a small comfort.

Out of his peripheral he sees Andrew drop his cigarette and squash it with a heavy boot.

“Come,” Andrew says and Neil finds himself abiding.

Andrew makes his way back inside, Neil at his heels. They wind their way back to the front, the sea of people parting as Andrew walks by. People stare, but Andrew doesn’t notice them or doesn’t care to. Neil is too preoccupied with staring at the swell of his shoulders beneath his black dress shirt to figure it out.

Andrew brings him up to the second floor, past the dancing, drinking crowds to the back where a lonely office sits. He has to unlock it with a key that he pulls from around his neck.

He shoulders the door open, and inside they find Aaron, Nicky and Kevin. They all startle at the newcomer, Nicky so much as jumping to his feet.

“Holy shit, Neil,” he says, moving forward as if to grab Neil. When he flinches back, Andrew steps in between them, as if to shield Neil from his own cousin.

“Aaron, can you fix his face?” Andrew asks without looking away from Nicky.

Aaron huffs an annoyed breath, but gets up to collect the first aid kit regardless.

“Sit,” Aaron says to Neil, pointing to the leather armchair in front of the desk.

“Um, listen, this is kind of unnecessary. I can fix myself up.”

The idea of touch has his skin crawling, itching and swarming with bugs.

“Aaron is pre-med, don’t even worry about it, Neil,” Nicky says, his reassurance going right over Neil’s head.

“I’m not going to repeat myself,” Aaron says, wielding a bandage in one hand and a bottle of disinfectant in the other.

Neil doesn’t move.

Andrew turns his face to the side to give Neil an unimpressed look. “Sit, Neil.” And Neil sits.

Aaron is mechanical and professional in his assessment of Neil’s face. He doesn’t touch skin with bare hands, and he keeps an appropriate distance between their bodies. Neil looks forward and lets him work.

“What were the stitches for?” Aaron asks as he presses an alcohol-soaked swab to his cheek. He hisses at the sting.

Andrew is leaning back against the door, arms folded against his chest as he watches his brother’s careful hands against Neil’s cheek.

“A cut,” Neil answers, eyes still on Andrew. He blinks back the memory of his father’s smile and the sharp edge of cleaver against his clavicle. He doesn’t think the Monsters would appreciate the full story.

“From what, dumbass,” Aaron asks, venomous.

“A knife,” Neil says, equally as unhelpful.

“Someone cut you with a knife?” Kevin asks, incredulous. When Neil’s gaze flicks to where he has sprawled himself on the couch, he’s gripping a bottle of vodka he recognizes as belonging behind the bar.

“You could say that,” Neil replies.

Andrew straightens himself against the door, his gaze cutting to Neil’s.

“And why would someone do that?”

Lies chip and wedge themselves between his teeth, and then drip out between closed lips. “I like to run my mouth.” Not a lie, not a truth.

Nicky chirps a laugh; Kevin snorts.

“You can say that again."

Andrew is still watching Neil, a question in the sharp edge of his gaze.

“These looked like they were ready to come out, and now you’re going to need new ones,” Aaron interrupts, pulling a syringe from the kit like it’s nothing. Neil flinches. “It’ll most probably scar now.”

“It was going to scar regardless,” Neil replies without thinking. “You’re not sticking me with that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I said so. Just stitch it up without it.”

Aaron gives him a hard, piercing look. “I’m not going to do that.”

“Why not,” Neil repeats, antagonistic.

“Because I said so,” Aaron spits back.

“Alright, children,” Andrew cuts in, razor sharp.

“Just bandage it up, and I’ll do the rest myself.” Aaron rolls his eyes but does what he says, slapping a bandage on his cheek a little too roughly.

“There you go, you’re Highness.”

“Thanks,” Neil says under his breath, standing on unsteady feet.

Everyone in the room sits and stares at Neil. He feels a rush of uncomfortable energy beneath the surface of his skin.

“I’m just gonna go back to work now,” Neil says pointing to the door behind Andrew. Andrew stands straight and moves out of Neil’s way. As Neil reaches for the door, Andrew puts a hand in front of him, cutting him off.

“Go home, Neil,” Andrew replies.

Neil’s eyes bore into Andrew’s face but he can’t find anything but the mask of impassiveness he’s blanketed himself in. He nods, but he doesn’t mean to.

Andrew lets him pass, and he tries not to make it look like he’s running away.

After that night, Neil sees Andrew everywhere.

He feels eyes on him like a soft caress on the back of his neck, a gentle kiss behind his ear. He tries to find the honey gold of his eyes in the crowd, but it's always gone before he can find them.

Andrew is there almost every night, in whispers and glimpses. Neil finds himself fighting for even a blink of him in the crowd.

After 7 nights of being watched, Andrew pops up at the bar.

Neil’s 3 hours into a hectic shift, when a particularly handsy older man finds an interest in him. He’s been served, and told in no uncertain terms to fuck off, but there he sits, leaning into Neil’s space, trying to get a whiff of his shampoo. He’s whispering the things he wants to do to him as Neil grasps a knife in a scarred fist and raises it like he’s going to use it.

“Alright, calm down,” the man says, voice teetering on scared. “Learn to take a compliment.”

“I’ll be sure to remember next time that it’s a compliment when my face is referred to as ‘very fuckable’. Now get the fuck away from my bar.” The man scurries away with his tail tucked between his legs.

When he turns back to serve his next customer, there Andrew stands.

“Oh,” Neil says, suddenly flustered. “Hi.” He tucks the knife back into its place under the bar.

Andrew fights back an amused smile and says, “Hi.”

“What can I get you?” Neil asks, fighting against the sudden anxious energy burning under the surface. His heart pitter patters in his chest, butterflies in his stomach.

“Whiskey. Neat,” Andrew says.

Neil notices the people have created a bubble around him, granting him breathing room. Neil wonders how they all know who he is - why they are too scared to touch him.

Just as Neil’s reaching for a glass, Roland sneaks in and grabs it from his hand. He pours Andrew’s drink with quick, practiced hands and leans over the counter to hand it to him, his sly, flirtatious grin breaking across his face like an open wound.

Suddenly, Andrew’s attention is no longer on him and he feels the loss like a missing limb. For some reason, he craves Andrew’s attention like he craves air.

He frowns as he watches Roland lean in close enough to touch, whispering into Andrew’s ear. Neil is close enough to hear the meaning behind his words. He looks away like he’s witnessing an intimate moment, busies himself with clanking glasses and puddles of ice.

He doesn’t like the dark look that passes over Andrew’s face, the dilating of his pupils as he listens to whatever Roland is whispering to him. He meets Andrew’s eyes for a fleeting moment before he casts his eyes away and moves to make his way to the other side of the bar. Customers shout and call for him, but he doesn’t stop until he’s as far away from Andrew as he can get.

He doesn’t like the jealous feeling that surges in his chest, hot water boiling over and burning him.

Neil’s pouring an old fashioned in a glass when Andrew pops up again. Neil doesn’t look up from his pour, but he can feel Andrew’s eyes eating him alive. He feels sweat collect in his palms as he hands the drink over to the patron, holding out his hand for the 20 she slips into it. He doesn’t bother giving her change, and she doesn’t bother asking for any.

Neil doesn’t immediately go over to Andrew, instead leaning over to the tall frat boy that’s been eyeing him all night.

“What’ll it be?” he asks, throwing the towel in his hand over his shoulder.

“I’ll take your number if it’s up for grabs,” the guy says, leaning down to whisper in Neil’s ear like he’s exchanging secrets. Neil can feel Andrew’s eyes on him, burning a hole in the side of his face. Neil lets a smirk split his face in two, his eyes going hooded as he turns his face towards the customer.

“You’re going to have to work harder than that if you want my number,” Neil purrs, leaning back and looking up expectantly.

Neil feels more than sees Roland come up beside him. He leans over to talk to Andrew but Andrew cuts in with a sharp “Go away, Roland.” Neil cuts his gaze to Andrew just in time to see the hurt flash across Roland’s face. He runs off like a kicked puppy.

Andrew comes up beside frat boy and simply says “Fuck off.” He takes one look at Andrew Minyard, leader of the infamous Monsters, and disappears with an unintelligible sputter.

“Neil,” Andrew says expectantly.

“Andrew,” Neil replies.

They stare at each other for a breathless moment, eyes boring into each other. Andrew looks furious, eyes hard and unseeing as he watches Neil. Neil feels triumphant, successfully having gotten under Andrew’s skin.

“Did you want something?” Neil asks, unbothered.

“Yes.” Andrew leans forward, hooking his index finger into the collar of Neil’s shirt, tugging him forward until he can feel the hot rush of Andrew’s breath on his neck. Neil tenses, holding his breath.

Andrew winds his hand behind Neil’s neck, fingers scraping along the feather soft hairs at his nape. Neil gasps at the touch, confused and intrigued by the feelings that surge within him.

“Stop flirting with the customers,” Andrew says, hot and low in Neil’s ear. He shivers at the soft caress of breath, closing his eyes as Andrew clenches a fist in his hair.

“All of them?” Neil asks, voice strained.

“All of them,” Andrew replies.

Neil turns his head, and presses close enough to brush lips against Andrew’s ear as he speaks. “What about you?”

Andrew suppresses a shiver. He shoves Neil back over the bar and disappears into the throng of the crowd. Neil has to calm his beating heart as he watches him go.

All eyes are on him as he turns to vanish into kitchen.

Andrew

Andrew sits at the table in the far corner and listens to Dan with one ear, and Kevin with the other. His eyes are focused on the redhead at the bar one floor down.

He’s got his apron wrapped around his waist, cinching him in all the right places. He’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt but Andrew can still see the sharp cut of his collarbones, and the spatter of freckles that climb up his throat. He’s currently fixated on the curls as they bounce with movement, one curling over a piercing eye. He watches as Neil blows it out of his way with a purposeful breath.

“Are you even listening to me, Minyard?” Wilds asks, slamming her palm down on the table with enough force to rattle. Kevin stops talking, leaning forward to peer at her over Andrew.

Andrew slowly turns to her. “You were just telling me how the Moriyama’s are encroaching on your territory. My question for you is, which Moriyama’s? The Ravens or the more important ones? Because I don’t have time for Ravens.”

Dan fiddles with her glass, rolling words around in her mouth like mouthwash. Andrew goes back to staring at Neil.

“There’s talks that Riko wants Kevin back,” Dan says with a nervous tilt to her voice.

Andrew snorts around the glass pressed to his mouth. “Riko is always talking about wanting Kevin back. He can try to take him if he dares.”

Neil’s now letting a woman scream in his face as she gestures excitedly to the glass in her hand. His eyebrow raises, a cold smile creeping at the edges of his mouth. Andrew wants to lick it off his face.

“You’ve been staring an awful lot at that bartender, Minyard. Have anything you want to share with the class?” Dan asks, a playful edge to her voice.

Andrew shoots her a hard glare before going back to his gazing.

“He’s been admiring him from afar for weeks. It’s kind of sickening.”

Andrew turns, whip quick and says, “Don’t act like you haven’t been hitting on him since he stepped foot behind that bar, Day.” Kevin chokes on his drink as Dan laughs.

“Well, if you aren’t concerned about this Raven news, I’m gonna head out,” Dan says as she stands, stretching her arms above her head. “While we’re talking about ogling. That new bouncer, Matt. Do you mind if I steal him for a minute?”

Andrew turns to her, amusement glinting in his eyes. “As long as he tells someone to take his place, I don’t care what you do with my bouncer, Wilds.”

She laughs.

Neil

Neil doesn’t leave Eden’s until three in the morning when the streets are already bare and echoing with early morning stillness.

The patrons already long gone, leaving empty glasses and dying cigarettes in their wake. Neil had stayed back long enough to help clean up the scattered tables, and the littered garbage on the ground.

Neil abandons Eden’s with his hood up over his head and his head down. He’s used to people seeing his size and underestimating his abilities, so he has taken to keeping himself as concealed and inconspicuous as possible.

He lives five blocks from Eden’s, but the walk feels like hours long at this time of night.

The streets are deserted and quiet, the sound of the wind whistling past, and the soft thumping of his shoes against the pavement the only sound around him.
He hears the patter of footsteps before he sees them, and on instinct he reaches into his pocket and grabs the hilt of his pocket knife. The footsteps come faster and louder as they close in on him. Neil turns his head quickly to see how far they are when the barrel of a gun cuts him across the face. His head snaps back, and he stumbles back a step. His ears ring and his head throbs as stars burst across his vision in vivid colours. Neil tries to block the fist that comes at him but he’s too slow, forearm getting sliced on the upward surge of a blade.

“Someone’s lost their touch,” a familiar voice says, as they jab a fist into his gut, effectively bringing him to his knees. Romero grabs a fistful of his hair and punches him with the other. Neil feels the burst of blood drip down his face and into his mouth. The acrid taste has him gagging.

The second man comes up beside Romero, a long, sharp blade held carefully between delicate fingers. He hands it to Romero with a wicked smile.

Romero holds the knife up to Neil’s face, sharp edge tearing right through flesh.
“You didn’t think you were going to get away that easy did you, Junior?” Romero asks as he digs the knife in.

Neil hisses through clenched teeth but keeps his words tucked away where they can’t hurt him.

Just as Romero brings the blade down to Neil’s jugular, the squeal of tires echoe behind them. Romero and his lackey snap their heads in the direction of the car and curse. Romero shoves Neil back with careless hands, and he falls onto his elbows.

Romero turns to the car as it comes to a screeching halt at their side. Neil stares in astonishment as Andrew climbs from the driver’s side, gun raised like a promise. He shoots Romero, once, twice in the head, and then does the same to his friend.

Neil watches as Romero’s body crumples to the ground at his feet, blood puddling beneath his head, a pillow of red.

Neil stares up from his sprawl on the pavement, cheeks twinging with echoes of pain. Andrew’s face is sharp with anger as he looks down at Neil, analyzing him for injuries, cataloguing every cut and bruise and ache.

“You are a magnet for trouble, red,” Andrew says, holding his hand out for Neil to grab.

When their skin meets for the first time, Neil feels like a fire burns beneath his skin, spreading and spreading until it pumps through his veins, straight into his heart. Neil tries not to gasp with it.

Andrew hefts Neil to his feet. He hides a flinch of pain as something pulls in his side, but Andrew is paying attention. He drops Neil’s hand like it has burned him.

“How bad are you hurt?” Andrew asks, staring at Neil’s concealed ribs like he can burn the fabric right off of his chest with sheer will alone.

“I’ve had worse,” Neil replies, voice soft and shaky.

“I don’t care. How bad?”

“Like a 6 out of 10.” Andrew frowns like he doesn’t believe him.

Suddenly, like the air changing direction, Neil and Andrew become achingly aware of the dead bodies on the ground, and the open road behind them.

Andrew pulls a phone from his back pocket and dials a number as he watches the puddles of blood expand and merge. It rings for only a second before someone answers.

“I need cleanup at my location.”

Someone replies through the line.

“Yes.” And then he hangs up.

He gazes at Neil with an indecipherable look in his eyes. He scans Neil’s body one more time, taking special care to watch the slow drip of blood on his chin.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Neil is in no position to argue.

The ride is quiet except for the humming of the Maserati’s engine and the shift of the changing gears. Andrew doesn’t grace him with so much as a glance, and doesn’t seem to mind the everlasting drips of blood that pool and collect everywhere Neil moves.

Andrew doesn’t tell Neil where they’re going, and Neil doesn’t ask. He feels an inexplicable urge to trust Andrew, even with the blood still fresh and warm on their hands.

They pull up to a mountain of a home, windows and doors multiplying the closer they drive up. Andrew parks in front of the garage, and gets out of the car before the engines even fully off. He’s opening Neil’s door before his fingers can even caress the handle.

He feels numb and achy as he stands on unsteady feet. Andrew seems to be ready to catch him if he falls, but Neil refuses to be a damsel in distress.

Andrew leads him inside. The walls are cavernous with high, endless ceilings. The walls are almost all bare except for the occasional dark painting that describes a scene of utter devastation. Andrew doesn’t seem to notice Neil’s curious eyes, as he disappears up the stairs and leaves Neil stranded. Neil walks aimlessly through rooms, pulling and tearing at every inch of Andrew he can find within the four walls. He stumbles upon a study with floor to ceiling bookshelves. The desk in the middle of the room is neat and overflowing with paperwork. The couch in the corner houses a sleeping cat, fat and orange all over.

“Neil,” Andrew says from behind him, startling him enough to have him snapping his neck and spinning in place. “Stop dripping on my floor,” he continues as he hands him a tissue. Neil holds it up to his bleeding nose.

“Sorry,” Neil says, words muffled by blood and tissue.

“Shut up,” Andrew says, crowding into Neil’s space. Neil takes a step back, but Andrew follows. They continue this dance until the backs of Neil’s knees hit the edge of the desk. Neil turns his head to look at it, and then back at Andrew. Andrew merely raises an eyebrow.

“Yes or no, Neil?” Andrew asks and all Neil can do is nod his head for the words caught in his throat.

Andrew takes two handfuls of his thighs and hikes him up onto the desk. Papers and books clatter to the floor, but Andrew doesn’t care. Andrew nudges his way in between Neil’s spread legs, keeping a careful distance between their bodies. Neil’s heart beats, heavy in his chest.

Belatedly, Neil recognizes the first aid kit in Andrew’s hands as he places it atop the desk by Neil’s hip. Neil can’t stop looking at the flex of Andrew’s hands as they open the box and as they fiddle with the contents inside.

“I don’t think you’ll need stitches, but you’re definitely going to have a black eye,” Andrew says and Neil watches as his lips shape the words. When he looks up Andrew is already watching him, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“Can I clean your face, red?” Andrew asks, words slow and soft.

“Yes,” Neil whispers, words painful as they pass through split lips.

Andrew is careful as he presses alcohol-soaked swabs against the open cuts on his face. He blinks his eyes closed and clenches his teeth through the stings. He feels Andrew wipe caked blood from his face with a warm cloth and place bandages against the tender open wounds with delicate fingers. Neil doesn’t open his eyes until Andrew’s thumb presses gently into the soft flesh under his right eye.

Andrew is looking at him like he’s hungry and Neil is the only thing that can fill him up. Neil wants to be devoured.

“Andrew,” Neil says, and it comes out scratchy and used. Andrew’s eyes bore into his own and for a blinding moment they see each other, without the flirting and the jealously and the watching. Neil see’s the Andrew beneath the hard, rough exterior, a man who would kill for him, a man who can hold him gently between two hands and keep him whole.

Andrew’s eyes flick down to Neil’s raw, swollen lips and then back up, asking for permission.

“Andrew, yes,” Neil says, because it’s all he can say.

Andrew plants his hands on either side of Neil’s hips and presses closer. Neil’s knees close around Andrew’s waist subconsciously and his arms come to lay across Andrew’s shoulders. Andrew leans forward, slow and easy – teasing. He stops when their lips are millimetres apart, their breaths mingling together in the scant space between them.

Neil wants to surge forward and capture Andrew’s lips between his own, but it feels criminal. He closes his eyes and lets Andrew place a delicate hand on his lower back, another against his jaw. And then Andrew’s lips are on his own.

It’s soft and achingly slow, lips dragging together in a sensual dance. Neil wants to run his hands through Andrew’s hair, drag him forward, force his mouth open against his own.

Andrew drags a careful thumb along his jaw and Neil gasps with it, opening his mouth to Andrew. It’s a slow slide of tongue and lips and teeth. Neil loses himself in Andrew, the teasing glide of fingers along his spine, the gentle tug on the hair at the nape of his neck.

When Andrew pulls away Neil is breathless, almost desperate enough to beg for more. His eyes are blown wide when he looks up at Neil, lips swollen, and red from Neil’s split lip.

“If I had known this is what it would take to shut you up, I would’ve done it weeks ago.”

“You’ve wanted to kiss me the moment you saw me,” Neil shoots back, muddled brain and all.

“I hate you,” Andrew says, and means it. He hates the way Neil’s hair falls just the right way around his face, the spatter of freckles along his nose like constellations, and he definitely hates the soft edge of a smirk as it fights to take over his face.

“Sure,” Neil says with a sharp smile.

Andrew surges forward to shut him up again.

Neil and Andrew slowly but surely begin to build their lives around each other. It’s subtle at first, with Andrew idling after Neil’s shifts to drive him home, and then not so subtle when Andrew gives him a key to his home and a promise to keep him safe.

It’s the way they shape and form to fit into each other's lives. Neil burrows himself into Andrew’s side and Andrew can’t do anything to stop him.

Aaron pretends not to notice the shift from quiet crush to full-fledged love affair. He likes to let his brother live in a delusional world where he doesn’t have feelings for people and things like he does.

Neil remains their firecracker bartender and Andrew continues to lead a gang, and not much else changes.

It’s after hours, the light casting the club in an awkward light as the crew cleans up the mess left over by aggressive partygoers.

Andrew is still somewhere tucked away upstairs, out of sight but never out of mind.

“Hey, loverboy!” Roland shouts from behind the bar. Neil stops his aimless cleanup to give him his attention. “You’re free to go. I can get the rest from here.”

Neil gives him a two-fingered salute and makes for the back. He grabs his abandoned hoodie from his locker and makes his way back out. He passes his coworkers on his way up to Andrew’s office. Matt gives him an excited wolf-whistle, and he gives him the middle finger in response.

It’s quiet on the second floor, and darker. Neil is just reaching the end of the hallway when he hears a dangerous crash and the sound of muffled gunshots. His heart races uncontrollably in his chest as he rushes towards Andrew’s office, hands reaching for the knife at his ankle, and the knife in his pocket. He holds them easily in both hands, the hilts familiar and uncomfortable all at once.

The door to Andrew’s office is cracked only slightly, but Neil can see Andrew, hands up by his shoulders, tense and shaky with anger and fear.

Through the wood he hears the unmistakable voice of Riko Moriyama. “I told you not to take my things Minyard. Now I’m going to take yours. Tit for tat and all that. You know how it goes.”

“Fuck you,” Aaron spits, just out of sight. Neil’s fists clench around his knives, white with the force of it.

“Be quiet,” Riko says and Aaron makes a noise of pain as they move behind the door. Neil has just enough time to get out of the way, and out of sight before the door opens. He presses against the wall and hopes to God Riko won’t see him before it’s too late.

Aaron sees him right away, eyes growing wide in surprise. Neil lets his father’s smile take over his face and readies his blades. Just as Riko exits the room, Neil stabs the knife right into the back of his neck. He lets go of Aaron in surprise, choking on blood as it fills his mouth. He grasps his throat and falls to his knees as Aaron scrambles away from him. Neil kicks him out of the way, and he falls onto his face, blood spilling around him, a red silhouette.

Neil turns into the room, second and last knife poised.

Andrew’s looking at him with awe, shock and a tinge intrigue.

As Neil steps across the threshold, he comes face to face with Lola Malcolm.

Her face splits into shock and then a smile creeps along the edges, razor sharp and pure evil.

“Junior, oh how I’ve missed you,” she sing-songs.

“How’s your brother? Still dead?” Neil asks, smile just as sharp.

Her face drops, anger taking over like a bad storm. She charges Neil, a knife in each hand and a vengeance thick like blood.

Her blades slice the air where Neil’s face had been. Neil drops, swiping her legs out from under her. She falls flat on her back, her own knife slicing the soft skin of her wrist. She wails in anger, surging back to her feet. She slams her fist forward but Neil catches it with his palm, swinging with his own and smacking her right in the face with his bruised knuckles. She stumbles back with the force and he swings again. He feels her nose crack, bones breaking beneath his hand. Her back hits the wall and she slides down, blood caked along her face like spattered paint.

He kneels in front of her, “I should rip you limb from limb for what you did to me,” he says, holding his knife up to her throat, the edge skirting along her jaw, a promise in the sting.

“We should’ve killed you when we had the chance,” she spits blood in his face. He smiles down at her.

“Yeah, Lola, you should’ve,” he says as he drags the knife along her throat. He watches the blood spurt and drool down her front. He listens to her choke and beg, words garbled and muffled by red.

He watches the life leave her eyes and finally drops the knife.

When he stands, Andrew and Aaron are there watching him. He can imagine the picture he paints, blood soaked, wearing his father’s face.

He coughs up the words lodged in his throat. “This is probably a good time to tell you that my father was the Butcher.”

His eyes are only for Andrew. He’s scared Andrew will look at him different now, knowing what he is capable of.

Andrew takes a careful step towards him. “You should have told me.”

“I didn’t want you to see me differently.”

“You are not your father.” Neil wants to believe him, but there’s blood on his hands, and two bodies at his feet.

“You saved my life,” Aaron says, words quiet and shaky.

Neil doesn’t know what to say.

Andrew takes a step closer, and reaches for Neil’s hand. They slide together, slick with blood.

“It’s okay, red. We’re okay,” Andrew says, soft like Neil is a delicate thing. “You did good.”

“He was going to hurt you,” Neil whispers.

“Yes, he was going to hurt us.” Andrew leans forward and presses their foreheads together.

“Why didn’t you tell me you could fight like that? You’re wasting your potential behind that bar.”

Neil laughs, wet and hollow. “Maybe I like being a bartender.”

“That mouth is better served somewhere else.”