Work Text:
Neil is gross, and sweaty, and covered in more mud from Soccer than should be acceptable, and Todd is letting him lay on top of him as he reads, anyway. His face is buried in Todd’s neck with his arms circled around his middle as Todd mumbles the words on the page to himself, one of his hands resting gently on the back of Neil’s head, and he can feel the steady rhythm of Todd’s pulse against the side of his neck. Can feel the way his matches it, almost imitates it. He knows it’s ridiculous and not at all how the human body works, but the idea of their hearts working in the same tempo still makes him grin like an idiot.
Besides, even with a lack of evidence to back up his claim—which Keating, fun as he is, would more than likely shake his head disapprovingly at—he wouldn’t be shocked to find out that they had, at some point or another in the past, synced in any of their countless, mutual feelings. It’s almost certain they have, because sometimes it feels like Neil is walking around with Todd’s heart fit snugly in his chest right next to his own. And while most people would probably attribute that to any number of medical issues, like hyperthyroidism, or anemia, or what have you, it doesn’t shake Neil’s certainty in his belief. Yes, wherever he goes, Todd's heart goes with him; even if Todd himself isn’t present.
Like the week before school had started, when Neil was walking through town by his lonesome on the way to the store and he’d been stopped in his tracks by a book that was on display in a shop window. A Marianne Moore collection, one Todd had longed to read for himself for months, sitting pretty amongst other surrendered pieces of literature. It was almost unnatural how quickly his heart had sped up, almost unhuman how loud he could hear it in his ears, and he’d already bought it before he could even register he was doing so. Just the knowledge that he was going to be able to give it to Todd in a week's time and see his gorgeous smile in response had the tips of his ears going red and his chest pounding.
Or in the middle of August, when Neil had been milling about the house on a rare afternoon where he was alone, thinking of the way Todd looked in the summer sun and missing him desperately, only to be interrupted by the phone ringing with Todd on the other end. He had, apparently, managed to dodge going to a luncheon with his father a mere half an hour ago by claiming he had some summer work for English to do. It had made Neil laugh, because the only work Keating had assigned any of them over the summer was to make the most of it.
“I don’t know what’s up with me,” Todd had said, bashful, after five minutes of breathy hellos and quiet laughter. Neil could see the pink of his face clearly behind his eyelids, could feel the release of a shuddering breath beneath his palm, hear the thumping from a chest he wasn’t sure was his or Todd’s, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Eyes closed with the intensity of the feeling, Neil had whispered, as though the admission could be any more intimate, “I know what you mean.”
Or three weeks ago, when in a similar and yet wildly different scenario Neil had stumbled into their room riding a high of excitement and hadn’t even given Todd the time to react before trapping him with a barrage of kisses. He’d hardly been able to reciprocate, laughing too hard and caught too off guard, but Neil’s heart still soared at the sound; at the obvious comfort being felt in his presence. Needless to say, he was at it for a good few minutes before finally pulling back to hold Todd’s face in his hands.
He was grinning sweetly, eyes so full of love they were almost overflowing, and his heart was beating wildly, much like Neil’s own, under his thumb. Before he’d even got the chance to explain himself, Todd beat him to it in a monumental show of understanding, “What play is it?”
The flier for Much Ado About Nothing tryouts sat patiently in his back pocket, content to be forgotten as the two exchanged kisses for a couple minutes longer.
Or, perhaps most notably, in January, when Neil could taste Todd’s heart in his mouth after Todd had kissed him without warning. That had been the first time Neil had noticed it, and could hardly even differentiate which heart beat was his own and which wasn’t when he’d attempted to reciprocate to try and avoid the awkwardness of the situation. It’s like the entire scenario is burned into his mind, down to the way both of their heart rates had doubled when Todd had asked Neil to kiss him again.
Which, actually, Neil had never gotten a concrete reason for. He’d never complain, as sad as it makes him he’s almost completely certain he’d still be living in ignorance toward his own feelings if it hadn’t happened, but an explanation wouldn’t hurt. For the past ten months he’s been working under the assumption that it was just Todd, more aware of his feelings at the time, asking the boy he had a crush on to kiss him another time, but if the last year has taught him anything it’s that Neil, smart as he can be, is often very wrong in his assumptions about things.
Untangling himself from Todd, who moves accordingly to make room for him, he shifts his weight to be resting on his hands so he can look him in the face. Closing his book (the aforementioned Marianne Moore collection, which he’s re-reading for the third time now, but still manages to find new things to point out) and tossing it gently to the side, Todd smiles at him.
“Finally going to go take a shower?” He jests, glancing down quickly at Neil’s dirty gym clothes. Neil chuckles, but shakes his head.
“Maybe after this,” he says, leaning into the hand Todd has moved to hold his cheek, “But I’ve been wondering something.”
Todd’s hand moves again to his shoulder as the other comes up to rest on the back of his neck, and Neil takes his familiar silent attention as his go ahead to continue, “Why’d you ask me to kiss you? Back in January?”
His smile drops, fondness being traded out for a bone deep confusion, and the sight makes Neil’s own head spin in puzzlement. Glancing quickly off to the side with a confused laugh, Todd only says, “What?”
“Remember?” Nothing but a lost stare looks back at him, wide-eyed and too genuine to be a joke, “When you asked me to kiss you?”
Minutely shaking his head as if the action isn’t confusing the hell out of Neil, Todd stands his ground, “I… didn’t do that?”
Neil blinks, searching Todd’s face for something he isn’t even sure of, “You definitely did.”
“I think I’d remember that, Neil.” Todd frowns, dropping his hands back down to the mattress and fiddling with the sheets, “You just kissed me.”
Pushing off his hand to fall at Todd’s left, he hides his face in his hands to think. He knows, for a fact, that Todd had asked him to kiss him. It happens every time the memory replays itself in his head. He saw it play out every time he closed his eyes and was brought back to the moment for the entire first month after it had happened, saw it every time Todd has asked him to kiss him since, saw it when the topic of first kisses was brought up in general. There was no way that it hadn’t happened, because there was no way that Neil—so completely oblivious to his own feelings and sexuality at the time—had done so just to do so. There just wasn’t. Unthinking as he can be, he’s sure he’d have given some thought to something as big as that.
He can picture it right now, Todd’s hands on his face, their breath mingling with their close proximity, the sound of his heart in his ears, the loving smile on Todd’s face, and then, at the peak of the emotion, with that look in his eyes, Todd asking Neil to kiss him. This is how it always plays out, how it played out in general, and as tense a moment as it was he can’t imagine Todd finding it embarrassing enough to lie about. After all, Neil had done what he’d asked, and if Charlie and Cameron hadn’t barged in he’s not sure he would have stopped as soon as he did.
And, really, Neil can’t see Todd lying to him in general. Has he been secretive before? Sure, but he’d be a rotten hypocrite if he got mad about that. But if Todd isn’t lying, then the only other possibility is that he did, indeed, forget he’d done it all, which… could make sense. It had been a very emotionally driven experience, and with how fast Neil’s mind had been racing he wouldn’t be shocked if Todd’s was running doubly as. So it is plausible that Todd could have just forgotten, too caught up in the moment to remember the details, and if that’s the case he’s more than happy to jog his memory.
“Here, come on.” Neil takes his hands from his face, sitting up properly again as he guides Todd to be sitting in front of him. He follows without question, at least not verbally, and before long they’re back in a position Neil knows as well as the back of his hand; their bodies facing one another, close enough to be entrapping if anyone were to walk in. Not that they’ve been very vigilant with not getting caught in too intimate positions in general over the past few months, which they definitely should be. Case in point, Todd letting Neil lay on top of him in a room without a lock.
Todd must figure out what he’s doing as soon as he grabs at his hands, because he takes over bringing them to cup his face in a way that never fails to make him relax. He can feel Todd’s heartbeat through his hands, familiar and comforting, and he sighs when he starts to lightly scratch behind his ears. With dried sweat and mud covering his body he feels exceptionally grimy, and he can’t imagine he’s the most pleasant to look at currently, but even with his less than pleasing appearance Todd looks at him like he lit the world in its darkest hour.
His heart stutters when Todd laughs, wiping away some of the dirt with a smile that could stop a war, and it’s moments like these where Neil is really aware of just how gorgeous he is. That’s not to say that it ever slips his mind, but every once in a while—when he laughs, or smiles, or looks particularly invested in what he’s reading, or gets that focused look on his face when he’s writing, or has just gotten out of the shower, or… well, you get the point—it hits him like a ton of bricks. The set of his eyes, the slope of his nose, the quirk of his lips, it all comes together like a painting he’d stare at in a museum. He could write epics on nothing but the color of his lips, write sonnets on the way his hair falls over his eyes, write soliloquies on the softness of his cheeks. He wonders if Todd knows he’s a muse; he wonders who Todd’s is.
There’s a buzzing happening beneath his skin, bouncing between his bones like a puck in a hockey rink, and suddenly all he can think about is being closer, closer, closer. Close enough he can’t tell where Todd’s nose ends and his begins, or maybe so that he can feel every intake of breath. Eyebrows knitting together, a finger runs across Neil’s lips as Todd makes a quiet noise of concern that makes his breath catch, his hand grasping desperately at Todd’s forearm, “Did you cut your lip playing soccer?”
He probably did, he had taken a fall face first into the grass after tripping over Woodsie’s foot during a scrimmage after all, but in lieu of an answer and overwhelmed by an almost debilitating amount of need he leans in for a kiss, instead.
There’s a faint taste of coffee on Todd’s lips that lingers even when he pulls away, and as he kisses up his jaw and down his neck and across his hairline the smell of his cologne—the one he bought because he liked the name—makes him smile. Todd grabs his jaw and brings him back to his mouth, kissing him slow, and he squeezes his shoulder and bites down on his lip and hopes it gets across the mantra of I love you, I love you, I love you, running on loop in his head.
By the time they separate Todd is pink as a summer morning, eyes blown with endearment, hair spread around his head on the bed like a nimbus as he smiles up at him. His hands are still roaming Neil’s face, feeling the divots and scabs and beauty marks he could identify blind by now, and Neil takes one of them by the wrist to plant a kiss to his palm. It makes his lip sting, which means he absolutely did cut it while playing soccer, and he’s about to give Todd one last kiss to finally take his leave to go shower when he remembers.
He drops his face into Todd’s neck with a groan, dropping all of his weight on top of him and getting a huff in response.
“I did just kiss you, didn’t I?”
Todd laughs, the feeling vibrating through Neil’s entire body, and plants a kiss on the side of Neil’s head, “You did.”
Burying his face further into Todd’s neck, Neil’s shoulders shake in his own silent laughter, which only spurs on Todd’s, and before either of them know it they’re stuck in a laughing fit. Every time one of them stops the other snorts, or lets out a muffled chuckle, and they’re back at it again for another thirty seconds. It’s ridiculous, really, because of course Neil had kissed him without any real prompting; he’s never had the best impulse control when it comes to things he really wants that are right in front of him. His brain must have really been working overtime to keep him in the dark about his own feelings.
Lifting himself again, still laughing under his breath, he shakes his head, “I’m gonna go take a shower.”
His boyfriend puts on a fake look of disgust, but it’s completely ruined by the dopey grin he can’t shake, “Good, you smell like a sewer.”
“Hey!” He says with faux offense, lightly pinching Todd’s nose between his right index and middle finger, “You just just got done kissing me, you’re the last person allowed to judge.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Todd rolls his eyes and swats his hand away affectionately, linking his fingers with Neil’s like he has a thousand times before. And Neil knows it’s not how hearts work, knows it’s him being grossly romantic, but he swears he can hear their hearts sync up when Todd tilts his head to the left with a glint in his eyes.
“One more kiss before you go?” He asks, and, well, how could Neil say no to that?