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It's still raining when Andrew blinks awake. Raindrops patter against the window, his heart thumps against his ribs, pounding into the mattress — much like he had been doing to Neil before he woke up from the dream.
He can still feel the phantom warmth of Neil beneath his palms, hear the sound of their bodies coming together over and over again. His blood sings with the dream in his veins, his dick is hard and throbbing, pressed uncomfortably between his thighs and the sheets beneath him as thunder rumbles through the bedroom.
It was no doubt the antecedent flash of lightning that woke him up just before the climax, just as Neil's moans went breathy and high as he shuddered and came, but before Andrew could follow him over the edge.
Now, in the waking world, the Columbia house is silent except for the storm outside, Andrew's bedroom is dim from the overcast sky even though the clock on the nightstand says it's almost noon, and beside him, the real Neil is still sleeping.
All week, local news channels have been forecasting a wet and rainy weekend: April showers to bring May flowers etc. It had started last night on the drive in from Palmetto, just a few drops hitting the windshield that turned into a downpour by the time they pulled up into the driveway and the two of them got their bags, dripping puddles onto the carpet, inside. After a hot shower and a dinner of frozen leftovers, the power had flickered and gone out so they'd watched the storm in the darkness of Andrew's bedroom, laying back on top of the covers, counting seconds between lightning strikes and the low crackles of thunder that followed until the storm settled and they went to sleep.
Then in the morning — at who knows what ungodly hour, as the sun was still blocked by deep purple-black clouds — Neil tried to roll out of bed for a run.
Not really feeling like finding him hours later drowned face-down in a ditch or smeared across the road or barbecued by a stray bolt from the heavens, Andrew had tugged him back, luring him with warm blankets and warm kisses and warm hands that readily traversed every inch of skin that was given with breathless yeses and I wants and like thats until Andrew had them both gripped in his hands. He stroked them at the same time with a sleepy, lazy rhythm, his face buried in Neil's neck, nose pressed against the rabbiting heartbeat there where he stayed until first one and then the other tensed and came apart.
There was a halfhearted clean up after. Neil was useless like he always is after an orgasm, boneless, looking like he was never going to move again, much less run. He blinked, heavy and slow and sated as he leaned in for one last kiss, then he dropped back into sleep. Andrew followed not far behind, still buzzing.
It must've been that content hum that produced the dream, a thread following him into his subconscious, weaving and building upon the fading high from real life. It was more like a memory, a heady collage of every stuttered breath from Neil's lips, every shiver and gasp and roll of hips from the past couple of years together.
There was definitely a storyline to it though, and Andrew definitely did not reach the end of it.
It might've been for the best. He's had wet dreams before, and while most of the time they're harmless, an inconvenience at worst, sometimes the comedown is more complicated after waking up — sweaty and sticky and with a sour taste in his mouth.
Now, Andrew maneuvers himself onto his side, watching the lightning occasionally flash across the walls in his room, across Neil's sleeping face, feeling the thunder gently rattle the wall at his back. He picks the dream apart, poking his fingers into every soft inch of it to see what falls apart, and finds only what he'd been feeling when his eyes were closed: warm, wanting.
His eyes are closed now as the remnants of the dream fizzle through him, straight to his groin and his dick twitches, reminding him of the inconvenient part of all this. He has a choice: ignore it and go back to sleep or take care of it and then go back to sleep. The latter is largely less appealing because it requires getting up, leaving the haven that is this bed.
He's still undecided as he blinks the room back into focus, and sees the exact moment Neil wakes up.
It's almost imperceptible. There's just a slight pause in his breath as he holds himself completely still, always waiting a second before opening his eyes, like he's figuring out where he is, orienting himself so he can react properly to whatever is waiting for him. Andrew watches it play out in the flutter of eyelashes as he remembers that he's here, in their bed, and he doesn't have to do that anymore.
Then Andrew is hit with the full-force of baby blue at a moment where his faculties are not equipped to handle it — and it only gets worse as Neil stretches, lithe and languorous, a whole production of skin and scars moving over muscles and Neil scrunching up his face, grunting and mussing his already wild bed head as he finally settles back down. One hand under his cheek on the pillow, he asks in a raspy voice, "Sleep okay?"
Andrew has to blink a couple of times to get the after images to fade, like he's blinking bright spots out of his vision after looking directly at the sun for too long.
Neil's mouth curves upward. He reaches out and cups the air around one of Andrew's ears, which have grown hot as blood rushes to them. Andrew smacks his hand away. "Don't be smug," he says and leans in.
Neil, smug, flops onto his back, half under Andrew. But there's a hint of confusion in the furrow of his brow. "Smug? Did you dream about me?"
Andrew doesn't deign that with an answer.
Neil studies his face, confusion morphing into something more like concern. "Was it a good dream?"
Resigned, Andrew lets his hips fall from where he'd been holding them up and away, his very present erection pressing pointedly into Neil's thigh. "Yes, idiot."
Neil's mouth falls open, all pink and surprise. "Oh."
Andrew hates him. "Oh."
He pulls away, rolling off of Neil back to his own side of the bed, intent on burying himself in the blankets and maybe never coming back out. He hears the sheets rustle, feels the mattress dip as Neil props himself up on his elbow.
"Was it like earlier? Like, did we get each other off?"
Andrew huffs. "Are you looking for a play-by-play or just fishing for compliments?"
"Neither. Just curious. I've never had one before."
The rain is still pouring outside. The air in the bedroom is light and gray and neutral and Andrew never wants to leave.
"We don't have to talk about it."
Andrew sighs and shifts onto his back, turning his head slightly to look at Neil, above him with hair falling into his eyes and pillow creases on his face just below the burn scars. Andrew wants to trace them with his thumb until they smooth out, wants to press his lips to the sleep-warm skin.
"Dream-you didn't talk this much."
The mild worry on Neil's face breaks into a slow smile that sends something as melty as chocolate through Andrew's chest. He reaches up a hand toward Neil's face and Neil leans into it, rubbing his cheek into Andrew's palm. "And that was a plus side, I'm guessing," Neil says. "Unless you like hearing me talk."
"Fishing."
Andrew moves his palm over Neil's curved mouth, suppressing a shiver at the feeling of Neil's lips pulling back, a small scrape of teeth, a tease of tongue. His ears feel hot again as he takes his hand away, rubbing it on the shoulder of Neil's t-shirt. "Disgusting."
Neil hums. "Dream-me sounds boring."
"Peaceful," Andrew corrects.
"A peaceful sex dream, huh?"
Andrew snakes his hand up once more to wrap around the back of Neil's neck, yanking him down. Neil catches himself with a palm braced on the pillow next to Andrew's head, his knee going in between Andrew's. He smells like sleep, like warmth and sweat and Neil.
"Did dream-me still kiss you," he whispers.
"Don't make this a thing," Andrew warns.
Neil's still smiling that ridiculous, melty smile, leaning down. Instead of going in for a kiss, Neil ducks his head and Andrew feels a puff of breath on his ear a second before Neil's lips brush against the burning skin, nipping at his earlobe. Andrew fists his free hand in Neil's shirt, breath catching in his chest as Neil turns his head and presses the flat of his tongue to the corner of Andrew's jaw, licking a line all the way to his bottom lip, which he takes into his mouth and sucks, teeth scraping.
When he releases it with a slight pop, Andrew takes a moment to swallow, then says, totally evenly, "Gross."
"I want to hear about the dream," Neil says, swooping down to place a peck on Andrew's chin. "Can you talk about it?"
Andrew squeezes the hand still wrapped around the nape of Neil's neck and reels him in for a real kiss, bruising and deep as he plunges his tongue inside Neil's mouth, feeling the noise Neil makes more than hearing it, rumbling through him like thunder. Neil's arm shakes beside his head, on the verge of collapse. Andrew reaches out a hand and knocks it down, hitting the structural weakness right at the elbow joint.
Neil buckles, but catches himself on his other elbow to keep from falling completely on top of Andrew. Ridiculous. Annoying.
Andrew untangles their mouths enough to say, "It's a yes, Neil," and only then does Neil finally allow the gap to close. Andrew huffs. Exasperation. Wonder.
It turns into a hiss as Neil's weight settles on top of him, all heat and pressure, his cock already stiffening where it rubs up against Andrew's thigh through layers of pajamas. Neil makes a small noise, his hips rutting once before he seems to catch himself. He pulls back to meet Andrew's gaze.
"Is it a no?" he asks. "To my other question."
Andrew locks eyes with him. "It is not a no. Why are you so interested in this?"
Neil moves — impossibly — closer, his body dragging over Andrew's, making them both gasp at the fleeting friction.
"I'm interested in you." Neil lets his head drop to Andrew's shoulder, then he turns and starts mouthing at Andrew's neck.
Andrew's hand tightens in Neil's hair for a fraction of a second as Neil's tongue laps at his skin, long flat strokes from earlier mixed in with shorter kitten licks before he finally closes his mouth on a spot just under Andrew's ear and sucks hard. Andrew shudders with his whole body. By the time Neil finally relents, his toes are curled and he's sure there's going to be a bruise for days.
"I like knowing things about you. You said it was a good dream. I like knowing what you like, what makes you feel good." Each word Neil speaks is a brush of air against sensitive skin cooling with spit. Andrew nearly loses his grip on himself. "I want to feel good with you."
Neil drags his lips to the other side of Andrew's neck like he's thinking about leaving a mark there too, but Andrew might actually die, so he tugs at Neil's hair until he lifts his head. His cheeks are flushed and feverish like Andrew's own. Andrew's heart bangs between them where they're pressed together so hard he's sure Neil feels it.
"I can show you," he says.
"Yes," Neil says immediately. He places another little peck, this time on Andrew's cheek. "Touch me anywhere. Whatever you want, it's a yes."
Andrew stares at him a moment. "Idiot," he says.
(He's never claimed to be original.)
He pulls Neil in, and they kiss for another few drawn-out moments. Neil goes soft and pliant above him, letting Andrew adjust the angle of his head this way and that, open his lips with a thumb on his chin, lick into his mouth. Andrew pushes his hips up, his thigh grinding into Neil, and he swallows down the soft sounds as they pour out of Neil.
"Roll over," Andrew breathes against his lips.
Neil leans to the side, flopping onto his back and Andrew sits up, watching the rapid rise and fall of Neil's chest, his arms at his sides, waiting.
"You can touch me," Andrew says as he pulls himself on top of Neil, the bed dipping beneath his weight, settling between Neil's legs in a reversal of before. "Anywhere."
Neil reaches out a hand and presses it to the center of Andrew's chest, palm light and hot even through the fabric of his t-shirt as he slowly drags it down to Andrew's waist, then hip. Andrew shivers when Neil's thumb strokes over his hip bone. "Still yes?"
"Yes," Neil says on an exhale, flexing his grip before letting his hand fall back down to his side to fist into the pillow by his head. "Show me."
Neil is warm and malleable under Andrew's hands as he runs his hands down Neil's powerful runner thighs and grips him under his knees, pushing his legs back. Andrew has to swallow a rising feeling back down his throat once, twice at how easily Neil folds, opens up, his knees touching his chest. His face is relaxed and content, his eyes a bright bright bright contrast to the gray sheets, the gray backdrop of the rain outside the window.
Andrew adjusts his own hips, lining himself up, then he rolls his hips forward, grinding his erection into Neil's ass. Neil sucks in a breath.
"I fucked you like this," Andrew says, moving in a mimicry of the slow and deep thrusts from the dream.
Neil moans like he did in the dream, like he's really getting fucked — and this is what Andrew likes: how reactive he is. Andrew never has to guess if something feels good for Neil, it's always there in the way his breath punches out of him, the way the muscles in his neck pull taut as he throws his head back, his smart mouth that never stops running. "That feels— That feels so good. Andrew."
It sends sparks shooting through Andrew's veins. Embers that burn deeper, right into the marrow of him, expanding and filling in all the cracks. It's searing, the feeling of being wholly known.
They're both fully clothed and everything is muffled, restricted, hot. The air feels damp with their labored panting, Andrew's t-shirt is beginning to stick to his lower back with sweat, but all of that is just background noise as he balances what it felt like to have Neil like this in the dream, under him and gasping — with the present moment: so much denser, so much more even with all of the layers between them.
It's a loss of control. He doesn't know that the next slow grind of his hips will line them up like this, make Neil moan like that. This isn't something constructed from his memories or from the deepest parts of his own psyche.
But Neil is still predictable, like the low whine he makes when Andrew stops moving — and this is important, because besides that small noise, Neil doesn't protest or ask questions. If Andrew can predict nothing else, he knows that if he needs a moment, if either of them want to stop, they will, no further explanation needed while they sort their shit out. That's important. That's probably the most important thing.
Andrew puts his weight into his hips, his hands, to keep Neil pinned. Neil's ankles brush against his shoulders as he leans down and Neil cranes his neck up to meet him in a kiss, brief but sloppy with their tongues sliding together and lips slipping under teeth. Then Neil's head falls back against the pillow with a thump.
"God," he says and gasps, eyelashes fluttering as Andrew rolls his hips, once, hands tightening on Neil.
"We could keep doing this," Andrew says, as low as the rain trickling against the window.
Neil's gaze flicks to him, still sharp and bright. "We could," he agrees. "We could also do it like in your dream."
Andrew sits back on his heels, letting up the pressure. Neil stays folded in half like it's easy, his own hands replacing Andrew's when they drop away. The sight of him holding himself open like that... Andrew closes his eyes briefly as the mental image of Neil doing something so intimate, so trusting burns into his mind.
He opens his eyes to give Neil a hard look, which is met with a calm expression. Andrew hands clench on his lap. "It's messy."
Neil smiles, melty, because he knows. "Yeah."
"And time consuming."
"We've got time. We have the whole weekend."
Andrew traces the seam of Neil's sweatpants with his gaze, trailing the line from where it splits him down the middle, curving around his ass — up, up to where his dick pokes at the waistband, pink head peeking out just slightly. His shirt is bunched up haphazardly around his ribs, his abdomen scrunched from the folded position he still holds himself in.
When he gets to Neil's face, Neil is gazing back at him. "We don't have to. We could stop here," he says, in that voice he seems to only use for Andrew.
He adjusts his grip on himself, sliding a hand down, using the crux of his arm to hold his leg while his fingers follow the same line Andrew's eyes did but in reverse, moving down, down. He stops with his middle finger stretched out along the seam just at the apex of the tight curve of his ass.
"Or I like this. I also like it when you fuck me." His finger taps on the spot once. Andrew can't contain his shiver. "I like how careful you are when you open me up. I like the way it feels when you're inside me. I like that I feel it for days afterward."
His finger strokes lightly on himself. Andrew's eyes stay there, half of his attention watching the small movements, half listening to Neil's smooth voice as it continues, "If you're talking yourself out of it, okay. If you're trying to talk me out of it, you won't. Unless you say you don't want to. I want this, Andrew. Whatever you'll give me."
There are no alarm bells going off in Andrew's head. All of the usual trip wires and snares are unsprung, and he knows their locations, knows where to step to avoid them — the path as clear today as any good day can get. He has Neil's consent, so if it's only a question of whether Andrew wants to continue, well that answer is in the way Andrew's fingers twitch. His skin craves Neil's in the same buzzing jittery way he craves his first cigarette of the morning. He wants to put his mouth on Neil, make him burn, breathe him deep into his lungs and hold him there.
Andrew reaches out and lightly pinches Neil's wrist to stop his movements. "Lay down before you pull something."
Neil smirks. "I stretch every day. I could probably stay like this for hours."
Andrew's stomach jumps, even as he's thinking about how to explain to this moron just how stupid he is, but Neil is already obediently releasing his hold, letting his legs fall to either side of Andrew. Andrew grips his thighs, kneading muscles under his palms, working his way up to where they meet his hips. Neil groans as he digs his thumbs into tendons.
"Good?"
"Yes," Neil says, eyes closed.
Andrew continues for a couple more moments, then curls his fingers under the waistband of Neil's pants in a silent question. In answer, Neil plants his feet and lifts hips, allowing Andrew to pull his sweats and boxers in one go, leaving Neil exposed to him.
Neil's legs are a sight to behold. Strong calves dusted with light hair. Thick thighs that Andrew wants to worship with his mouth — so he does. He starts at the thin skin by Neil's knee, trailing his lips up, placing soft kisses and bites along the way to the sound of Neil's stuttered breath, mixing in a little tongue here and there for variety and to get Neil to reach for his hair and grip. The inside of his thighs are the most sensitive so that's where Andrew spends the majority of his time, giving each leg his full attention, nipping and sucking until the skin is red, until Neil's hands are flexing on his scalp as he tries not to pull too hard.
"Andrew."
Andrew glances up. Neil's cock is bobbing on his stomach, hard and dripping precome — just from this.
"Can we," Neil gasps. "I want—"
Andrew places a final kiss on Neil's spit-slick skin and sits up, pulling his own shirt off and tossing it somewhere behind him before leaning over to the night stand. Neil's hands come up, slowly, his palms pressing to Andrew's waist and moving up, thumbs swiping over Andrew's nipples.
Andrew nearly fumbles the lube as he grabs it from the drawer. He has to stretch for the box of condoms, and Neil takes full advantage, leaning up to capture a nipple in his mouth, teeth running over the nub. Andrew's breath leaves him.
"Josten," he says through gritted teeth.
Neil pulls back and Andrew can feel his grin as he gives one final lick before falling back.
Andrew finally grabs the damn box and slams the drawer shut. He tosses the items to the side so he can place both hands on either side of Neil's head on the pillow, leaning down so their noses almost touch.
"Sorry," Neil says, not sounding sorry at all. His eyes are so blue. "I'm guessing dream-me didn't do that either?"
"Shut up," Andrew nips gently at his nose.
"I like it," Neil whispers, lips brushing against his. "I like that you dream about me."
It takes a second for Andrew to pull everything back as it rushes up to the surface. His voice is only a little unsteady as he says, "Don't get a big head about it." He stops any further conversation by kissing Neil senseless, breathless.
They pull back a little as a boom of distant thunder rolls over the house. Neil traces a finger down Andrew's cheek. "Yes or no?" he asks, still whispering like he doesn't want to break the silence.
Andrew knows this Neil isn't a dream; he's more than anything Andrew's mind could come up with. "Yes."
Andrew opens him up slowly — this part always slow, always careful and thorough with more lube than even he thinks is necessary. He watches Neil's face as he pushes his index finger in past that tight ring of muscle but Neil's expression continues to be relaxed until Andrew works up a steady rhythm, going all the way to the knuckle. Only then do Neil's lips part.
When Andrew gets permission, he adds a second, curling his fingers and brushing over the spot in Neil that makes him grit his teeth and moan with each pass. By the time he adds a third, Neil is babbling, the relaxed look replaced with one of hooded eyes and open mouth and: "Fuck, Andrew, I'm good. I'm ready. I want—"
Andrew slows, but doesn't pull out. He looks down and flexes his fingers inside Neil, feeling and watching the rim stretch, deliberating.
Neil's hand comes down, two fingers brushing over his wrist. Andrew flicks his eyes up and sees Neil's flushed face, his clear gaze. "Andrew, I'm ready for you to fuck me now."
Andrew wanted to make Neil burn, but it's Neil's eyes that set Andrew ablaze. He's smoldering with a heat he feels from his ears to his gut, all the way down to his toes. He makes it a point to focus solely on Neil while fingering him open, but now, he is acutely aware of how hard he is himself. His dick aches and strains against the fabric of his sweats, pushing at a damp patch that's been growing there for the past thirty minutes (and he hasn't so much as rubbed against anything in that time so, really, he has no room to talk about Neil's sensitivity.)
With one last look at Neil's assured face, Andrew gently slides his fingers out, wiping them on his pants before sliding to the edge of the bed to remove them entirely. His boxers are next to go and they plop to the floor right next to Neil's shirt, which he has sat up to shuck off.
Now, as Andrew moves back into position, they're both naked — and Andrew is wondering how he lasted so long without getting them there, skin on skin, as Neil accepts him back into the space between his thighs and they press close together. Their cocks bump and Andrew reaches down to wrap a palm around Neil, giving the rigid shaft a couple fast strokes until Neil gasps.
"Andrew, I need—"
"I know. I've got you," Andrew says, shifting Neil's legs one-by-one to rest on his shoulders.
Neil bucks his hips, grinding himself into Andrew's hips. He says again, softer, "I need you."
Andrew flings out his free hand, patting at the blankets until he finds the bottle of lube and the condoms. He has to release Neil to open the foil and slick himself up and Neil lets out a whine that makes Andrew's entire body buzz with anticipation.
Before he lines himself up, he takes a couple seconds to catch his breath. Even as they're both prepped and ready, pressed close and panting, he waits for the urgency to subside, for the restless need to pull back until his brain feels sharp again and he knows he won't lose himself trying to chase an orgasm.
Neil doesn't push him, or ask him if everything's okay. He waits, flushed from his cheeks down to his hips, scars, both pale and dark, carved into pink-tinted tan. Andrew reaches out to lightly trace the slash across his abdomen, watching muscles jump under his fingers. The motion grounds him. He turns his head, kissing the side of Neil's knee by his shoulder.
Neil's eyes, when he looks back at him, have gone unbearably fond.
"Ready?" Andrew asks, dropping his hand down to position his cock at Neil's entrance, sliding the tip over the puckered skin.
Neil's hands are fists in the sheets. "Yes," he says. "Andrew. Yes. Fuck."
Andrew pushes into Neil's heat slowly until the head of his dick passes his rim. Neil clamps down on him like he's trying to suck him in and Andrew swears, gripping Neil's thighs. "Relax," he says through gritted teeth of his own, rubbing his thumbs into Neil's skin.
Neil relents his grip on the sheets to press the back of his hand to his mouth, biting at his knuckles. "Fuck," he says again. He drops his hand, sucking in air, pulsing around Andrew, slowly letting up. "Alright, keep going."
"Good?"
"Yes. Yes."
Andrew pushes in a little more, eyes flicking from Neil's face to the point where his dick is disappearing inside him, getting swallowed up. The heat. The tightness, even with the long prep and excessive lube. Andrew releases a controlled, shaky breath once he bottoms out, hips flush with Neil's ass. Neil's thighs pressed up against his chest, his thundering heart.
Neil is still clenching around him. Andrew won't last long at all if he keeps that up, but one look at Neil's face — mouth open, and his cock leaking steadily onto his stomach, painting stripes over scars that catch slightly in the gray light — says he won't either.
"Andrew," he says, sounding on the verge of desperation. "You can move. Whenever you're ready, I— I want you to."
Andrew pulls out inch by inch until he's halfway, then he pushes forward. Neil lets out a long moan, throwing his head back. Andrew adjusts his grip on Neil's thighs, shuffling closer, jostling them both, and Neil makes a strangled noise as the head of Andrew's cock brushes that spot inside him on the next pass.
Andrew leans into it, lowering himself until Neil's knees touch his chest. From this angle, he drags past Neil's prostate every time he moves, his cock going deeper than he's ever been and — it feels like he'll never stop burning, burning.
He's a couple of shallow thrusts in when he remembers the dream. It's a just flash in his mind quickly overcome by reality, a pale shadow compared to the high-definition experience of right now: Neil's face inches from his, his hands buried in Andrew's hair, huffs of his breath on Andrew's lips. Real, real, real.
Andrew starts moving faster, stretching out his legs behind him for more leverage, hands braced on the mattress, every muscle in him straining for the orgasm he feels gathering low in his belly, threatening to shake him apart. Under him, Neil's moans are starting to go breathy and high-pitched — another component of the dream that completely fails to live up to real life. Andrew's mind could never capture the way Neil bites his lip like that, says Andrew's name like this:
"Andrew, Andrew, I'm close. I'm gonna come."
"Can you come like this," Andrew asks, breathless as he speeds up, barely pulling out before he's surging back in.
Neil grinds his head back into the pillow. "Fuck," he half-sobs on a particularly hard thrust. "I'm— I'm so close."
Andrew pushes him deeper into the mattress, running his teeth along Neil's jaw. "Neil, come for me."
He feels Neil's breath catch, feels Neil clench hard on his cock — then he's coming, shuddering through his orgasm, mouth open on a silent cry. His hands close into fists in Andrew's hair as Andrew fucks him through it, taking in every shattered breath, every pulse of heat between them and around his cock until Andrew's own resolve crumbles and he's thrown off the edge, coming hard with a groan.
His hips stutter in halfhearted thrusts until the aftershocks of pleasure fade, eventually stopping completely before either of them can get too overstimulated. Then it's just the two of them pressed together, sweaty and breathing each other's air as everything settles.
Neil's eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, eyes a deep, sated blue in this light.
Andrew moves back enough to ease himself out of Neil, fingers clumsy as he removes and discards the condom. Neil's legs fall back down to the bed with a low groan from him and Andrew's gaze flicks to him sharply.
Neil slicks back his sweaty bangs, shaking his head to the question he must read on Andrew's face. "No. No, I'm not hurt. It feels good, like I've just run a marathon." He closes his eyes, putting a hand to the back of his forehead with the air of a fainting debutante, chest shaking with tired laughter. "Jesus," he breathes. "That was kind of amazing. I think I came so hard I lost a few braincells."
"A precious commodity," Andrew says, crawling back over to him. "Seeing as you have so few to begin with."
He does not love the way their skin sticks together with sweat and lube and come, but he feels able to tolerate it enough to lay out alongside him, their shoulders pressed together, his face almost in Neil's neck. For a few moments, at least. When he can stand it, it's actually this part that Andrew thinks he might like the most: the closeness, their heartbeats slowing, syncing up.
He pulls the sheets up to his hips, but Neil doesn't make any move to cover himself so Andrew watches the rise and fall of his chest as his breaths even out, his soft cock lying against his thigh, the marks on the skin there now a deep red Andrew can already picture himself tracing with his tongue later.
Neil shifts, another small groan leaving him as he adjusts his hips. Andrew reaches out a hand, rubbing the joint a little. Neil sighs in relief.
Andrew asks, "Massage later?"
"It's really alright."
Andrew pinches him.
"Ow, okay," Neil agrees, sounding amused. "Thank you."
Andrew hums and they settle into a comfortable silence.
Andrew doesn't notice the air has gotten colder until goosebumps rise on his skin and Neil says, "Guess the power's back on," as the ceiling fan starts whirling around above them. Andrew hums again, leaning into Neil's warmth, feeling his huff of breath on the tip of his nose, his cheek pressing against his hair.
They'll have to leave the bed eventually — but right now, Andrew can tolerate this a little longer.