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I.
It was inevitable, if he really thought about it. Professional sports were hard on a body, and Exy was harder than most. Andrew was a goalie - and one of the best in the US pro league at that. He didn’t get slammed into walls, tripped by rackets, crashed into by players. But he did swing his racket quick as a snake, shutting down goals and crushing the dreams of hotshot rookie strikers - which, if he was honest, was the thing he liked best about Exy. So he did swing his racket, repeatedly. And apparently, repetitive motions caused things like stress injuries - specifically, for Andrew, a torn rotator cuff in his right shoulder.
The surgery was successful, the PT was long and boring, and Andrew had finally been cleared to start lightly working out his long unused muscles and thus start the path back to the court, with one caveat - he had to commit to weekly sessions with a sports massage therapist. Andrew’s response to the Wolverine’s team doctor had been succinct: “Fuck that and fuck Exy.”
Walking out of the office, ignoring the calls of his coach and assistant coach, Andrew had headed straight for his locker, punched it twice with his left fist, and then spun around to sit down. Kevin had yelled at him, because that’s what Kevin did, and Andrew had stared at him impassively, because that’s what Andrew did.
When Kevin calmed down a bit he dragged Andrew out for drinks and proceeded to remind the sullen goalie that Andrew did, in fact, care about Exy, that Kevin had, in fact, helped Andrew to build a life that gave him something to live for - just like he’d promised - and that Andrew did, in fact, have to figure out how to deal with a massage therapist because at 30 years old he had at least 15 good years left on the court and Kevin would be damned if he wouldn’t make sure Andrew played every single one of them. Andrew had said nothing, which meant Andrew knew he was right.
That night Kevin texted Andrew a contact for his own massage therapist, and an admonition for Andrew to “sort your shit out and get back on the court.”
The next morning, Andrew had called Bee, and she suggested he could set boundaries and try, and that if he didn’t like the first person he tried, there were others out there. Andrew had sighed because he did know that Kevin was right, and he did know that Bee was right - he just wasn’t sure if he dreaded more the idea of letting a stranger touch him or the idea of having to explain to a stranger why he didn’t really want them to touch him in the first place.
Resigned to at least try, Andrew had called the number Kevin had given him, and scheduled an appointment for a fucking massage.
II.
Andrew wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting - maybe incense and mood lighting. Instead the office was full of clean lines, light and airy, with a couple of cozy couches in the waiting room. A pert receptionist that looked like he was barely out of high school had grinned at Andrew and set him up with some forms to fill out and sign. If anything, this room reminded him of Bee’s office back at Palmetto State, and somehow it calmed a couple of the frayed edges of his nerves. Just a couple though.
The receptionist grinned at him again when he handed back the paperwork, confirmed that they’d received the medical write-up on his injury the day before, and told him that Neil would be out to collect him shortly.
Andrew sat down again and stared a hole into the wall, considered how he had willingly signed up for this torture. It’s not that he hadn’t gotten better about being touched in the last few years, but that had been on his terms, with him in control, and not with a total stranger. After Roland there had been a few others - not relationships, but hook ups that evolved over time. He’d even gotten to a place where he could let Nicky hug him carefully, or allow Renee to lean into his side briefly.
The biggest changes had been after Aaron and Katelyn’s twin girls were born, and then a couple years later their little brother Michael. His nieces and nephew climbed all over him, tugged on his hair, curled into the crook of his arm, softened his edges.
He’d made leaps and bounds in progress, even Bee had said so, but nothing close to what was about to happen. Andrew worried at the edges of his armbands, caught himself doing it, stilled, and just as he did he heard someone call his name. He looked up. Fuck.
“Hi, I’m Neil,” the man standing in front of him said, his hand stretched out to ostensibly shake Andrew’s, and Andrew...was not a man to gape, but his mental jaw was on the floor. Fuck you Kevin, a little warning would have been nice. Andrew somehow managed to make himself stand up, to nod, but he didn’t take Neil’s hand.
Neil was only a few inches taller than Andrew, which was unusual as Andrew - at 5ft even - was used to being towered over by most of the people around him. His dark auburn hair curled a little wildly over his forehead and he gazed curiously at Andrew with clear, ice-blue eyes set above sharp cheekbones and - good lord - those were freckles scattered across his nose. Scars crossed his cheeks - sharp straight lines clearly drawn with a knife on one side, mottled uneven burns on the other. He had muscle, but it was lean and long, in contrast to Andrew’s solid build. Fuck. Neil was heartstopping-ly, mind-blowing-ly, overwhelming-ly gorgeous. Andrew was going to murder Kevin.
“If you’re ready we’ll go have a chat and get started,” Neil said with a small, warm smile. Of course he wasn’t ready, but Andrew nodded, and followed the man down the hallway into another room.
The massage room was bright and neat, just like the rest of the office had been, the massage table looming in the middle of the room poking at Andrew’s nerves. Neil perched on a stool and gestured to an armchair across from him. Andrew remained standing, crossing his arms in front of his chest, and after a moment Neil nodded and smiled that small warm smile again. He glanced down at his clipboard, then gazed back steadily at Andrew with those eyes .
“Let me jump right in with something. You play for the Wolverines, with Kevin,” Neil said. It wasn’t a question. “I’ve known Kevin for a long time.” Neil paused here, a small hesitation. “Kevin is…well, he’s Kevin. He called me yesterday, and before I knew what he was doing he was talking about you.” A look of frustration crossed Neil’s expressive face. “Which is completely unethical, so I hung up on him.”
Andrew stared back at Neil, checked in with himself, realized he didn’t actually care that Kevin had called Neil – which surprised the fuck out of him, and he huffed a little sigh before uncrossing his arms and sitting down on the arm of the chair. “Okay. And what did our friend Kevin tell you before you hung up on him?”
“Hmmm,” Neil hedged for a moment. “Something along the lines of you being an asshole, but that you are his best friend, and that you don’t really like to be touched – and well, that was about all he got out before I yelled at him and hung up.”
“Hmmm,” Andrew hummed back. Neil’s voice was gentle and soothing and Andrew couldn’t help but wonder what he sounded like when he yelled. Particularly at Kevin. “I’d say that’s true – except for the best friend part.”
Neil nodded, “Okay. I just wanted it to be clear that I had that information. He shouldn’t have called me about you, and I want you to know that client confidentiality is in place here and I would never talk about you with Kevin, or about Kevin with you.”
Andrew nodded. He was a bit distracted by Neil’s eyelashes, which were longer than they should be and darker than his hair.
“So,” Neil continued on after looking down briefly at his clipboard again. “I see that you’ve never had a massage before. For your particular injury we are going to want to work the muscles through your shoulder, your arm, into your upper chest and back. I will need to concentrate on your right side, but ideally we will want to spend some time on your left side as well to balance things out. Do you have any questions about this process?”
Andrew snapped out of his internal reverie, which had moved on from eyelashes to Neil’s elegant hands where they clasped the edge of the clipboard. Fuck, he was so, so gay. He cleared his throat so softly he didn’t think Neil would hear, but the man’s gaze sharpened a little at the sound.
Andrew glanced over at the massage table. “You’d want me to lay on that. With my shirt off.” It was only half a question, a request for confirmation. Andrew knew how massages were supposed to work.
Neil considered him, ran his eyes down Andrew for a moment. The look was…clinical…but Andrew’s body didn’t care and he felt his chest warm under Neil’s gaze. The feeling quickly cooled when Neil’s gaze landed on his armbands and stayed there until blue eyes caught his again.
“For today let’s start sitting up. Would it help if you could keep your shirt and armbands on?”
Andrew stared at him, then nodded again.
“Okay,” Neil said, “But you are going to have to put those knives aside.”
Andrew stilled, startled, his breath paused, his dormant anger trying to creep up his spine.
“How.” Andrew asked, not able to articulate it any differently at the moment, but Neil understood him anyway.
Neil’s fingers raised halfway to his cheek, but he dropped them to his lap and that small smile came out again. “I know knives,” he said, “and I won’t have them on my table. You set them aside, and we’ll give this a go. I won’t do anything without your permission, and I will stop any time you want me to. You won’t need them here.”
Andrew stared at this man, and he stared back at Andrew. Neil’s little smile sharpened his cheekbones, but his eyes were soft and open and laid bare before Andrew.
Fucking Exy, fucking Kevin, fuck.
After many moments, Andrew nodded again, pulled the long, thin knives out of his armbands one by one to set them aside, and then hopped up on Neil’s table.
III.
Why did Neil always smell this good? Andrew was perched on the massage table, shirt off, eyes closed, as Neil stood next to him. Neil had Andrew’s arm draped bonelessly over his shoulder as he pushed his strong, elegant fingers into the back of Andrew’s shoulder, down his bicep, stopping just short of his armbands, before leaning forward to reach up and repeat the motion. His auburn curls tumbled forward as he leaned towards Andrew again, and Andrew quietly inhaled the subtle scent of rosemary and mint that must be from Neil’s shampoo. He smelled herbal and clean and safe. Andrew didn’t know what to do with that, but it was distracting.
This was Andrew’s seventeenth massage session with Neil. Seventeenth out of twenty mandated massage sessions, coupled with continued PT and strength training. Three more weeks and he would be cleared to play. Three more weeks and he would no longer have to come back. Three more weeks and he would no longer have an excuse to come back.
Halfway through their first session, when Andrew had sat tense and almost trembling in his t-shirt on the table, Neil had stopped and asked what he thought would help him to relax - admonishing that the massage wouldn’t work well if Andrew was braced against his touch the whole time. Andrew had suggested Neil try talking, about anything at all, anything that would remind him who was touching him, would keep him present. Andrew didn’t need a distraction, he needed to be grounded.
So Neil had talked, and, on his own, he had also started telling Andrew when he would be moving on to another section of his back or shoulder or arm, would ask him if it was okay. Would wait for Andrew’s consent. There had been moments in the second and fourth and fifth sessions when Andrew had tensed up from some piece of his past rising unbidden to the surface, had told Neil no, and each time Neil had lifted his hands immediately, stepped away calmly, asked Andrew with no judgment what he needed and if they needed to wrap up their session for the day.
It had been during the tenth session that Andrew had asked Neil if it would be better if he took his shirt off. Neil had nodded, but said that it wasn’t worth it if Andrew was going to tense up again. Andrew had stared at him impassively while he peeled his t-shirt off. If Neil had paused, if his breath had hitched subtly, if his hands had been less than steady when he put them on Andrew’s shoulder, Andrew chalked it up to nothing - to surprise - because this was Neil’s job, Andrew was just a client, and besides, Neil didn’t swing.
After the first session with Neil, Andrew had shown up at Kevin’s house, pounding on the door, not bothering to text the asshole and give him a heads up. Kevin had blinked at him owlishly when he’d opened the door to find an irritated Andrew, then scoffed when Andrew accused Kevin of fucking with him by sending him to the hot massage therapist.
If Andrew hadn’t been so unsettled from the surprise of Neil and his face and his hands on him, it would have been comical to watch his friend sputter helplessly in the face of his accusations. Andrew should have known better - Kevin was asexual and pretty much clueless about anything that wasn’t Exy.
They’d gone out for drinks again - because alcohol was the one concession that Kevin would make to his macro and micro driven athlete’s diet - and while Kevin wouldn’t confess anything about Neil’s background, he did admit that he’d never known the man to date and that as far as he could tell Neil’s sexuality toed the same lines as his own.
Today Neil was chattering away about the yoga class he’d taught last night - something about a sequence that hadn’t gone quite as planned and apparently had been harder than he thought it would be, although why people couldn’t hold chaturanga for more than 10 seconds was beyond him.
All Andrew could think about was Neil in yoga pants...stretching up, stretching down, his pliable body bending back against a bed underneath Andrew’s... fuck he needed to think about something else or he was going to embarrass himself . Andrew was a goddamned menace, and after all the care Neil had shown for him and his issues, he would be dammed if he would fuck this up or make Neil feel uncomfortable...make Neil feel unsafe.
Neil stepped away from Andrew, his story about incompetent yogis halted as he moved to Andrew’s other side, asked for permission to touch his left shoulder. Andrew starred into blue eyes for a moment, those eyes that were clear and calm. Those eyes that Andrew wanted to drown in. Fuck. He couldn't do this. He couldn’t do this.
Andrew felt the panic try to claw its way up his throat and he pushed it back down as much as he could before he bit out a rough “no” and shoved off the table, grabbed his hoodie and stalked out the door.
IV
Funnily enough it was Aaron who talked him into going back to see Neil for the last three sessions. He’d never actually just walked out on Neil before - every other time when he’d said “no” they’d talked around the situation, even managing to resume the massage the last time. Andrew had never just...left.
When he’d shown up at his brother’s house the next day for one of their weekly dinners, it had taken Aaron all of five minutes before he dragged him away from the twins and Michael to ask him what was up.
“Ask him out then,’’ his brother had intoned when Andrew gave him the barest bones of the situation.
His relationship with Aaron wasn’t perfect, but they had survived years of therapy together and fatherhood had mellowed Aaron. Somehow after Nicky had moved back to Germany, Andrew had become someone Aaron came to when he needed to talk. Somehow after the girls had been born, Andrew had mellowed towards his brother. Sometimes - only sometimes - he would talk to Aaron too.
Andrew snorted at his brother. “It's not that simple.”
“How is it not that simple?”
“Because Neil doesn’t swing! Kevin said-“
“Kevin’s an idiot,” Aaron interrupted. “He doesn’t know anything that he can’t find at the end of an Exy racket and he certainly isn’t the one you need to listen to about this.”
Andrew vaguely considered defending Kevin, realized he didn’t have the energy, and instead said nothing.
Aaron sighed. “Look Andrew. You want to play Exy, this is your career, and you’re almost cleared for practice. Three more sessions. I’m shocked you’ve gotten this far with Neil and what - you think you are going to find another pipe-dream like him that you’re going to let touch you? That you’d let finish out those sessions?”
Andrew glared at his brother, refusing to dignify that with an answer.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so.” Aaron looked smug. Andrew wanted to punch him. Realized he wanted to punch him because he was right. Still wanted to punch him.
Aaron softened a little. “Seriously Drew, what’s the worst that could happen?”
His brother’s use of the twins’ nickname for him was a low blow. The girls hadn’t been able to say his name when they’d started talking, and “Andrew” had turned into “Drew” and it had stuck. When little Michael had picked it up too, butchering it to an even shorter “Roo” Andrew had officially been a goner.
Andrew huffed a sigh. “I could make him feel unsafe by letting him know what I - hmmm - by asking him out, him saying no, and then still having to see me in a professional capacity against his will.”
“Is that really what you think will happen?” Aaron asked.
Andrew glared silently at him again in response.
“Fine!” Aaron said. “Then finish your sessions first, get his number from Kevin, and you know - just text him and ask him to coffee or something. Like a normal human being.”
“Coffee,” Andrew stated, unconvinced.
“Yes, coffee. It’s what normal people do. When they like someone.”
Andrew had started to turn and head back to the kids when Aaron called his name, stopping him, and he turned back to his twin.
Aaron hesitated briefly, then said quietly. “It’s not nothing that you can let him touch you. That he pays attention to your boundaries.”
Andrew nodded a little. “I know.”
V
When Andrew arrived for his massage session the next week, Neil gestured for him to sit in the armchair before they got started. Neil’s warm smile softened his intense blue eyes as he gazed at Andrew with that calmness, that openness. Andrew tensed for him to ask him what had happened last time, but he didn’t.
“Do we need to do something differently today?” Neil asked instead. “Would it help if you kept your shirt on?”
Andrew shook his head, feeling a tightness in his chest at Neil’s willingness to accept him, at the ease with which he respected his boundaries. It wasn’t just the pretty face and strong hands and lean body that kept Andrew’s interest.
“Hmm,” Neil tilted his head. “Is there something I did last time that wasn’t okay?”
Andrew shook his head again. “It’s fine, it was me - not you. I’m fine today.”
Andrew couldn’t say that actually it very much was Neil, but not in the way the man might think. That Andrew wanted to put his hands on his skin, to kiss the corner of his jaw, to bite his full lower lip as he pressed him up against a wall and... damnit . This is what got him in trouble last time.
Andrew glanced up at the ceiling and started running through Exy stats in his head on a loop, and then he pulled the knives out of his armbands one by one before he stood up and tugged his sweater off and hopped up on Neil’s table. Neil regarded him for a moment before nodding slightly and stepping over to Andrew.
“I’m going to start with your right shoulder from the front, moving down a bit into your pectoral, and I’ll have to keep a hand above your shoulder blade in the back to steady you. Is that okay?”
“Yes,” Andrew breathed.
Neil smiled his small smile, put his warm hands on Andrew, and started chattering away about his two cats and how they had gotten the fancy canned food one time - because the pet store had been out of his usual brand - and now they both refused to eat anything else.
Andrew managed to keep his mind on Neil’s cats, made it through the session without incident, and before he knew it he was hopping off of the table and tucking his knives back into his armbands.
When Andrew had put the last knife back into its sheath and pulled his black sweater back on, he turned to find Neil leaning against the table, staring at him.
“Staring,” Andrew said, without thinking. Neil’s cheeks flushed a bit as he pushed himself from the table, looking away. Well, hmm. Interesting.
“Sorry,” Neil said, looking back at Andrew again. “I was just thinking that you only have two more required sessions with me. Do you think you will continue on after that?”
“No,” Andrew said. Neil’s face flushed again at that, but his jaw also tightened and his eyes sharpened and Andrew realized he’d sounded a bit harsh but he wasn’t sure what else he could say because he did need to get through two more sessions with this incredibly gorgeous man touching him, and that flush was doing interesting things with Neil’s freckles and fuck.
Andrew took a step towards Neil before he stopped himself, thinking that the man’s reaction couldn’t possibly mean what he wanted it to mean. Neil looked up. They both took a breath. The moment broke, and Neil smiled that smile.
“See you next week then,” he said.
“See you next week Neil.”
VI.
Andrew sat still on the massage table, his second to last session already almost over. Neil worked down both of Andrew’s arms, and across the top of his back and shoulders.
Andrew marveled at the fact that any tension he held about Neil touching him was completely removed from the monsters of his past, and instead was completely wrapped up in the fact that he wanted Neil to be touching him and that he wanted to touch him back. He wasn’t sure when that had changed, but as Neil pressed carefully into his forearms through his armbands Andrew checked in with himself and found no lingering darkness.
Andrew watched Neil’s face as he worked around the black armbands, Neil’s scars moving across his face as he talked about trying - and failing - to keep cactus plants alive in his apartment and whether or not they weren’t getting enough sun as suggested by the so-called experts at the plant shop in his neighborhood, which was ridiculous, as he had giant windows and lots of light and yes, he was sure he wasn’t overwatering them.
Andrew took a breath, held it, checked in with himself again, and then interrupted Neil’s thoughts on sandy soil and specialty fertilizer: “would it help if I took my armbands off?”
Neil’s hands stilled, and he lifted them away from Andrew’s arm before looking up. “Do you want to take your armbands off?”
Andrew thought about it. Neil couldn’t hide the scars on his face. There were scars on his hands and arms too, brutal scars, but different from Andrew’s. Neil didn’t try to hide those either, working in short sleeves so he could use his hands and forearms and even his elbows as he worked on his clients.
Andrew thought about it again, and he did want to take his armbands off, because he wanted to give that trust to Neil, because he knew Neil wouldn’t break it. So he did. He peeled one off, then the other, quickly, before tossing them aside on the table.
The white scars running the length Andrew’s arms from wrist to crook of elbow were both the same and not the same as Neil’s. Andrew didn’t know what had led to Neil’s scars, but he was pretty sure they weren’t self inflicted. Andrew’s were. But both of their scars marked their survival. They were different, but they meant the same thing. Andrew’s scars were old, white and pale against his golden skin, and they didn’t incite the revulsion in his stomach like they once did. He’d lived with his scars, he’d lived with his choices. But still. Baring his arms like this was...something different.
Andrew looked up and realized that Neil was looking at his face, not his arms, and Andrew was blown away once again by the man’s respect and awareness of his boundaries. Those blue eyes staring into his melted away any rising tension over what he had just done, and he said, “you can look.”
Neil dropped his gaze to look down at Andrew’s forearms, which he had rested scars-up back on his lap. He started to reach one hand out to Andrew’s arm, then dropped it back to his side before looking up again, smiling softly. Andrew thought he would lay his whole soul bare for just one of those smiles.
“Okay,” Neil’s voice came out rough, and he cleared his throat before starting again. “I’m going to work on the back of your forearm, up across your bicep, and into your deltoids. I won’t touch the inside of your arms. Is that okay?”
“Yes,” Andrew said, and he turned his arms over before Neil pressed his hands into the back of his arms and Andrew couldn’t stop a small tremor that ran up his spine at the touch. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d let someone touch him there.
Neil paused at the tremor, but Andrew nodded, said it was fine, and Neil continued on, both with the massage and with his worries over his cacti.
When the hour was up, Andrew hopped off the table, this time pulling his armbands on first before re-sheathing his knives and shrugging back into his shirt. He turned to find Neil leaning against the table again, watching him.
“Staring,” Andrew said.
Neil didn’t blush this time, but instead pushed off the table, stood, took a step towards him. “Andrew, I-” he paused. Shook his head. Smiled. That smile. “Thank you,” Neil finally said.
He didn’t say for what, but Andrew thought maybe he knew. Thought maybe he needed to have another conversation with Kevin.
Andrew nodded at Neil. “See you next week.”
“See you next week Andrew.”
VII.
It was rainy and cold and generally gross out on the day of Andrew’s last session with Neil. He’d had a full physical and a final PT evaluation the week before, and was cleared to start practice next week. Kevin had insisted on celebrating last night and had even willingly eaten a whole slice of pizza along with his salad.
After his friend had a couple of drinks in him, Andrew had brought up Neil, asked Kevin how sure he was that the man didn’t swing. Kevin wanted to know why, but Andrew found he couldn’t find the words, so instead he ordered another scotch and told him to nevermind and fuck off. Kevin had gazed at him curiously for a few moments and then dropped it.
Sitting on Neil’s table now, Andrew was finding all of his words and they were clogging up his brain - words to describe Neil’s strong, confident hands...his warm, gentle smile...those sharp cheekbones splattered with freckles below clear, piercing ice-blue eyes. The stupid stories about cats and cacti, the mapping out of his boundaries, the blushes...the staring.
Neil was standing behind him, pressing and smoothing the muscles all around his right shoulder blade as he chattered on about lasagna, and how no-boil noodles were bullshit and that you practically had to burn the cheese on top to keep the dish in the oven long enough to get the noodles soft enough and he wondered could he take the half box of no-boil noodles back to the store for a refund - he was perfectly happy pre-boiling his noodles from here on out thank you very much.
Neil came around the table to stand beside him, gained his consent to work on his biceps and upper pectorals and forearms, then continued to wax poetic about this one brand of jarred tomato sauce he’d found that was pretty much as good as anything he could make from scratch, which was fine, but he still refused to use pre-shredded cheese because they added things to that cheese to keep it from sticking together, and really it didn’t take that long to shred a block of mozzarella.
Neil always chattered away during their sessions, but this diatribe about lasagna had taken on a different tone, was almost frantic. Neil’s hands were still firm and warm and calm against Andrew’s skin, but his voice was betraying him, his usual honeyed, soothing tone absent, his words coming a little faster - even more inane than usual.
Neil was pressing into his left bicep, making a passionate case for the use of full-fat ricotta cheese, when Andrew put his hand around the man’s wrist to stop him. Neil jumped back, and Andrew quickly released him, holding his hands up and open. “Neil. What the fuck?”
Neil clamped his mouth shut, the flush crawling up his neck and into his cheeks, highlighting those freckles like it did and Andrew thought he would die right there on the table. He hopped down, but kept a little distance from Neil. Andrew was very aware that he was standing there stripped bare from the waist up, his armbands on the table, his hoodie draped across the armchair next to his knives.
“What’s wrong?” Andrew didn’t elaborate, as clearly something was wrong.
Neil didn’t say anything for a moment, then let out a big sigh, wrapped his arms around his waist, and then blurted, “Kevin called me this morning, he...he said some things before I managed to hang up on him.”
Andrew thought his heart might stop beating. Neil looked miserable, the smile usually lingering at his lips was non-existent, and he was looking anywhere but at Andrew. Still, Andrew was going to make him say it.
“And what did our friend Kevin have to say?” Andrew asked, his voice flat.
“It’s stupid,” Neil hedged.
Andrew waited, not saying anything. He kept his eyes on Neil, but reached over to the table to pick up his armbands, slowly pulled them on. The motion caught Neil’s attention and he looked up, blue eyes finally finding Andrew’s.
“He said that he thought you were interested in me. Like you know, like you liked me.” Neil said the last part so quietly Andrew had to strain to hear. But he did hear it, and his heart began to crumble.
Neil was clearly uncomfortable. Andrew had made him feel uncomfortable, feel unsafe. Neil knew that Andrew liked him, and he had been forced to touch him, and this was... so achingly awful. No matter what Andrew thought he might have read into Neil’s reactions to him, the man clearly didn’t feel the same way. Of course he didn’t feel the same way...how could he?
Everything was hurting and Andrew had to get out of there. He was going to fucking kill Kevin.
“I think we’ve done enough of this session that it counts, wouldn’t you say?” Andrew said blandly as he walked over to the armchair. He forced himself to calmly re-sheath his knives, to pull his hoodie over his head.
He turned to go, and caught Neil standing stock still, watching him. Again. This time Andrew didn’t say anything, didn’t call him out for staring. He reached for the door, didn’t look back as he said, “Goodbye Neil.”
“Wait,” Neil said, and somehow he was right beside Andrew, his hand wrapped in the sleeve of Andrew's hoodie - careful, so careful not to actually touch Andrew. Even now. Andrew stopped, but didn’t turn back around. He didn’t want to see those blue eyes gazing at him, didn’t want to see the loss of trust, the unease that was surely there now.
“Do you like me?” Neil asked quietly.
“Does it matter?” Andrew muttered.
Neil huffed out a frustrated sigh, “Well I don’t know Andrew, but Kevin said he thought maybe you did, and I wanted to bring it up before our session today but I didn’t know how...I didn’t know what was ethical because I really like you, and I had just wanted to get through today so that maybe, you know, we could get coffee or something because that’s what normal people do apparently, and I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable but clearly I’ve fucked that up and now you’re angry and I really just guess Kevin was wrong and…”
Neil trailed off because Andrew had turned around, had taken a step towards him. Neil’s gaze was clear, earnest, looking steadily back at Andrew, and he didn’t step back when Andrew came into his space.
“Say it again,” Andrew breathed.
“What?” Neil asked. He was staring at Andrew’s lips now. Good fucking god.
“The part about you liking me.”
“Oh,” Neil whispered. “I really like you.”
“Good,” Andrew said. Neil’s eyes snapped up to his. “Because Kevin wasn’t wrong.”
“Oh,” Neil said again, his eyes widening, that damned smile coming back to play against his lips.
“Yes or no?” Andrew asked softly.
Neil gazed back at him, “Yes or no what?”
“Idiot. Can I kiss you?”
“Oh. Fuck yes.” Neil smiled that soft, warm smile, and Andrew stepped into him, marveled at how his body already reached for Neil’s, how there was no hesitation as he pressed against him, cupped his face with his hands, pulled Neil down, and kissed him.
Neil’s lips were full and soft and hot against his, and this was it, Andrew vaguely thought, he must have died, because this couldn’t be happening, but it was happening, and Neil’s lips parted, and Neil’s body melted into his, and Andrew walked Neil backwards until he had him pressed up against the door and - fuck - a little moan escaped Neil as Andrew swept his tongue into his mouth, and Andrew wanted to - fuck - he pulled back a little from Neil, leaned into his neck, asked, “can I touch you?”
“Yes, anywhere,” Neil gasped back, and Andrew reached under the hem of Neil’s shirt, ran his hands up his back, seeking out the heat of Neil’s skin like he’d wanted to for weeks, kissing along Neil’s neck, along his jaw. Andrew saw Neil’s hands hovering near him out of the corner of his eye and said, “put your hands on my shoulders,” and Neil did, sighing softly against Andrew’s face and yep, it was official, Andrew had died.
He captured Neil’s lips again, savoring this, gently and slowly, his hands exploring underneath Neil’s shirt, coming around to his chest, to his belly. Andrew pulled back a little, broke off the kiss, his hands lingering against Neil’s skin, his fingers gently following the lines of the scars he couldn’t see.
Neil blinked back at him, pupils blown, taking a minute before he looked down at Andrew’s hands, at his shirt half raised above them. He tilted, his forehead coming down to rest against Andrew’s. They both closed their eyes, sharing breath.
“You know,” Neil said, “everyone asks about my scars. Even clients. It’s like, they can’t help themselves...and they can’t even see the worst of them.”
Andrew hummed back at him.
“You didn’t ask. I waited and waited and you never asked.”
Andrew pulled back again so he could look at Neil, pulled his hands out of his shirt, reached up for his face again, gazed intently at him.
“I think,” Neil said quietly, “I think when I realized you really weren’t going to ask me was when I realized I liked you.”
Andrew wondered if he blinked that this gorgeous idiot might disappear. He leaned forward for another kiss, just a quick confirmation that this was real, that Neil was standing in front of him, that he liked Andrew. He wanted more, he wanted to take Neil apart, kiss every inch of his scars, feel the warmth of his skin against his, hear more of those moans. He wanted everything...but they had time. They had time, because Neil liked him.
Andrew stepped back a little. “Neil, would you like to get coffee with me?”
Neil nodded. “I think that’s what normal people do.”
“So I’ve heard,” Andrew agreed. “Come on, I’m driving.”
“Now?” Neil asked.
“You have somewhere better to be?” Andrew raised an eyebrow at him.
Neil’s smile widened, “No. Not at all.”
As they headed out into the rain together and climbed into Andrew’s sleek black Maserati, Andrew thought that maybe he would only kill Kevin a little .
And then he’d buy him a drink.