Chapter Text
Kevin’s breath is heavy on Andrew’s neck. The feeling should be unpleasant, and Andrew is a little pissed that it’s not. Kevin has somehow wormed his way under Andrew’s skin over the past year. He knows the feeling of Kevin’s hand, the rough and scarred texture of the flesh, better than his own. The internal clock that lives inside Andrew’s head has set itself to Kevin’s schedule, waking up with the sun and exercising under the moonlight.
“Andrew! Are we going to Columbia when we get back?” Nicky pops up from the seat in front of them, asking questions that he knows the answer to just to hear his own voice. Andrew gets even more annoyed when he feels Kevin stir against his side. Nicky’s eyes go wide, noticing his mistake. “Oh shit! Didn’t mean to wake the princess!”
“Shut up Nicky,” Kevin mumbles against Andrew’s shoulder. The idiot’s going to have a crick in his neck that he’ll complain about, but that’s not Andrew’s problem. He’s already managed a flight this morning, whipped cream and mocha flowing through his veins and nicotine swirling around his lungs. None of it was quite enough to dull the fear that lived somewhere deeper in his body.
Kevin is awake now, which means that he’ll want to crawl over Andrew’s body to go and talk to Dan about their strategy for tonight’s game. The Trojans are good, of course they’re good, and Kevin’s ever present hard-on for one Jeremy Knox does nothing more than stoke his competitive spirit to a full blown bonfire.
Andrew doesn’t think about the press of Kevin’s thighs on his arm as the taller man brushes up against him. He doesn’t breathe in the smell of Kevin's deodorant or remember how the hand that's grasping their backrest felt tangled in his hair the night before. Instead, Andrew counts to ten before shoving Kevin the rest of the way into the aisle.
Kevin whips his head back towards Andrew, fire burning behind those green eyes. “You are such a child.”
If the striker doesn’t appreciate Andrew’s answering smirk and shrug, that’s his problem.
The ride from LAX to USC’s campus is quick, barely a half an hour journey without any rush hour traffic to contend with at midday. The suddenly single seat allows Andrew to stretch his legs, massaging out some of the lingering anxiety still clinging to his skin like cobwebs. He closes his eyes, listening to the rest of the Foxes: Dan, Kevin, and Matt talk strategy, Aaron and Nicky bicker over Nicky’s Nintendo DS, Renee pages through her latest book while Janie reads her own. Judging from the wet mouth sounds coming from the back of the van, Allison and Seth are in an “on” phase.
Gross. At least Andrew has the dignity to make out with Kevin in the comfort of his car, or in the locker room after night practice.
They arrive on campus with little fanfare.
Andrew watches as Kevin and Matt unload the stick rack from the van. He turns to haul his bag over to the away locker room, but a gruff voice stills his ambling.
“Minyard. Are you actually going to play today?” Andrew and Wymack have gone through the same song and dance for every game this half of the season. Andrew parrots out his response.
“What’s in it for me?”
“A bottle of Johnnie Walker Black when we’re back home, Blue if we win.” Hmm. That was more than he usually offered, but it was the semifinals.
Andrew shakes Wymack’s hand with a vigor that has his coach grunting and snatching it back with a curse.
The Gold Court is as bright and loud as Andrew expects and Kevin vibrates at his side as they wander into the away lounge. His wide eyes shine, reflecting the golds and reds that cover every surface. The couches, the posters, the banners on the walls - all gilded and resplendent.
“Keep your boner in your pants, Day. Knox isn’t even here yet.”
Kevin snorts at Andrew’s whisper, his good mood not deterred by the ribbing. Once again, Andrew realizes that he should be irritated at his lack of ability to rile Kevin up, but he can’t muster the energy.
The team splits along the gender binary, with Renee, Allison, Dan, and Janie heading into the girl’s locker room and the rest of them into the boy’s.
“Cannot fucking believe we’re here,” Seth says to no one in particular as they all change out. Even without the drugs, his eyes are wild. “Semi-fucking-finals. And we’re going to crush them.”
“Don’t get cocky now, Gordon. The Trojans are better than us in almost every sense.” Kevin shoots Seth down, like he always does. Thankfully, there are enough people between them that it doesn’t bubble into a fight.
Andrew is well practiced at sneaking glances while Kevin changes out. He gets an eyeful of Kevin’s toned abs while he pulls his socks on, a glimpse of Kevin’s ass as his jersey is tugged over his head. There’s a smirk on Andrew’s face as he notices the faded bruises peeking out of Kevin’s compression shorts — knowing that he’s the one who left those there. Andrew knows that Kevin’s mouth tastes like the mint gum he’s always chewing mixed with high shelf vodka and just a dash of chalky vanilla protein powder.
Even though he’s good at what he does, Andrew is still caught. Kevin’s eyes darken as he notices that he’s being watched. He may be a warrior on the court, but Kevin is a prey animal at heart.
Los Angeles is used to their team winning and the sound of the crowd leaks through the walls of the building. It’s too early for them to be flooding into the stands, so the college students and townies spend their time grilling and drinking in the parking lot.
The Foxes reconnect in the lounge for a rousing speech by Dan and a promise of marathon running if they fail by Wymack. There’s an itch under Andrew’s skin, just below the surface. He realizes that it’s been there all day, and it bothers him that he can’t figure out why.
“Come on, Kevin. Let’s go say hi!” Dan calls over, beckoning the two of them towards the doors to the outer court. Kevin jumps at his captain’s words, which makes Andrew roll his eyes. He’s not the jealous type, but if he was, Jeremy Knox would benefit from sleeping with one eye open.
Their court is big enough that both teams can do their pregame practice at the same time. Trojans pour out of their side of the outer court, more than twice the amount of Foxes. We’re going to get fucking crushed, Seth, Andrew thinks as his eyes flit over the red-and-gold clad players. He recognizes most of them from Kevin’s incessant obsession, having pretended to sleep through a year and a half of USC games.
One player, however, is a mystery.
Andrew watches the small striker dart around his teammates. It’s subtle, but they all keep a respectful distance from him. He’s fast. Really fast. The guy turns around and Andrew catches the name on his jersey — Josten. And then his heart stutters as Josten peels off his helmet to laugh at another Trojan’s joke.
Deep, auburn hair is curling from the sweat that he’s already worked up. There’s a smattering of scars littered between the freckles on his tan skin. Andrew’s a good distance away, but somehow Josten notices he’s being watched. He whips his head to meet Andrew’s gaze, and Andrew is treated to seeing his piercing blue eyes.
Somehow while he’d been occupied, Jeremy Knox had jogged over and was engaging in conversation with Dan and Kevin.
“Who’s number 10?” Andrew’s voice startles Dan and Jeremy, but Kevin is used to his non sequiturs.
Jeremy looks back at his team, a big smile cutting across his face. “Oh, you mean Neil? He’s our new striker. He actually started at the beginning of the school year, but was out on leave for a while.”
“Is he any good?” At least Kevin’s first thought being Exy made sense in this context.
“Oh Kevin, he’s better than good. Josten’s going to outplay both of us before long.” Jeremy looks sincere as he says it, and Andrew knows that it’ll only rile Kevin up. “I’ve actually known him for a couple years - he’s like a little brother to me. A real pain in my behind sometimes, but isn’t that how family goes?”
Neil must have a sixth sense, because he takes that moment to jog over to where the captains are talking. Jeremy throws his arm around Neil’s shoulders, a privilege even at only a few inches taller, and Andrew clocks the split second Neil flinches before giving in to the casual touch. Hmm.
“Neil! Speak of the devil, we were just talking about you. I want you to meet some of the Foxes. This is their captain Dan Wilds, goalie Andrew Minyard, and of course you know Kevin Day.”
“You should’ve made that save against the Bearcats. Gomez has such an obvious tell.”
Neil ignores Dan and Kevin, directing his words to Andrew. Up close, he can map the ruinous constellation of his face. Four freckles make up a perfect replica of Orion’s Belt. There’s a small scar through his right eyebrow, a gash that had clearly not been treated properly. Instead of being a turn off, Andrew can feel a telltale heat spark in his gut.
“Big talk for a little Trojan,” Andrew responds, arms crossed over his broad chest.
Neil just scoffs and turns to Kevin. “Sorry about your hand.”
Kevin is about to answer with some rehearsed platitude when Neil cuts him off, continuing his thought.
“It does make it easier for me to be the better striker though, so thanks for that.”
Jeremy splutters out an apology before yanking Neil by the arm back over to their side. Andrew just makes out Neil muttering something about ‘him being right’ before the two strikers are gone. Either the kid has a massive set of balls on him, or a complete lack of self preservation skills. And either way, Andrew has to admit to himself that the Trojan is interesting.
Kevin has steam shooting from both ears at Neil’s comments. It’ll be something if the insolent child has any backing to his boasting. Exy has been boring for so long, and the thought of someone insulting Kevin about his precious sport to his face was just interesting enough to get his attention.
Pregame warm ups go by in a blur. Renee and Andrew spend their laps discussing the potential benefits of hand crank radios in the apocalypse. Renee sees the positive of staying in communication, but Andrew worries about the physical exertion and needing to replace parts. They do a few drills with the rest of the Foxes. Throughout the whole exercise, Andrew can feel bright blue eyes tracking his movement. And if Kevin is showing off just a bit, flicking his wrist or twisting his body more than necessary, then Andrew is pretty sure he knows why.
Renee is on for the first half. The Trojans have decided to do something crazy with their line up, but Andrew doesn’t care enough to pay attention to how. He’ll block the goal against ten or fifty Trojans for the promise of whiskey. Kevin will start with Seth, who will then be traded out for Janie. Andrew watches from the bench as the stands fill up with a tsunami of red and gold. He doesn’t watch as Aaron keeps glancing over to the Vixens. Their deal had been dissolved when Aaron caught him and Kevin in the back of the GS a few months ago in a…compromising position.
He feels it when Kevin sits down next to him, just a few minutes before the starting whistle. The subtle but constant vibration that Kevin emits before a game.
“They’re crazy for this. They’re going to lose.” The awe radiating off of the striker’s body is irritating, like a light sunburn on Andrew’s pale skin. He’s even more annoyed when Kevin turns to face him. “Aren’t you excited – even a little bit?”
Kevin should know better by now. Know that Exy is a means to Andrew’s end. Except there’s that new wrinkle that he keeps trying to smooth out in his head. “If that new striker is as good as he says he is, maybe it’ll actually be interesting.”
He catches the moment that those deep green eyes go wide, noticing the admission in Andrew’s voice. Luckily, Andrew is saved by the bell. At Wymack’s insistence, Kevin gets up and follows the rest of the starters through the doors and onto the court. A booming voice announces the Trojan’s line up, talking loudly over the boos from the crowd as they realize the surprise Captain Knox had for USC. Andrew tracks their number ten as his name and position are read, unconsciously memorizing the curve of his ass and the line of his legs in those hideous golden shorts that he wears. Dan shakes hands with Knox, a coin is flipped, and the game begins.
***
Number Ten is living up to his pregame taunts. Andrew grudging admits to himself that the way he plays Exy is beautiful – from the way he uses his racquet like an extension of his arm to gain a few extra inches to how he runs as fast as he is graceful. Josten uses his small size to his advantage, rolling under Matt’s arm to throw a perfect pass to Knox and suddenly the goal behind Renee is lighting up red. The smaller striker doesn’t even gloat, just clacks sticks with a teammate and moves back into position.
The Trojan goalie is good, but she’s not as good as Andrew. He drinks in the sight of Kevin slamming two goals in quick succession, the flex of his shoulders and the way his back lengthens as he bends with his swing. Kevin’s body is an instrument that he keeps in perfect condition – the tuning is never out of key. Andrew can’t help the smirk on his face as he thinks about how only he knows how to get him to make the sweetest music, plucking with his clever fingers or blowing with his expert mouth.
Kevin’s getting frustrated. He’s bumping up against his backliner harder than necessary and at one point he starts yelling at Seth, completely ignoring Knox going for their goal. Seeing the red blaze behind Renee only sets him off more. A ruthless, frustrated Kevin Day on the court means he’ll be insufferable later, but if Andrew’s suspicions are correct, he might have help to deal with him.
With all of the red, gold, and orange on the court, it looks like a sunrise. By the time the buzzer sounds for the half, the Trojans are winning 6 to 4. It’s close enough that everyone is on edge. The lounge fills with the sounds of athletes gulping down sports drinks, panting from exhaustion, and trying to hype each other up.
“This gap is nothing. I’ve been watching USC, and they’re exhausting themself. They don’t know how to conserve energy to play a full game.” Wymack stands in front of his team with his arms crossed, black flames licking up towards his sleeves. “We’ve got a real fucking chance here, y’all. Let’s cut them off at the knees and go home winners.”
All around Andrew, the Foxes erupt into cheers and clapping. They are a band of misfits, a halfway house that comes with a shiny scholarship. None of them are used to winning, but the scent of it is in the air. It’s a heady aroma.
There are still a few minutes before the second half, so of course Kevin makes his way to where Andrew is sitting on his own.
“That new striker. He’s…fuck, Andrew. How have I not seen him play before?” Kevin wipes the sweat from his forehead with a towel before swigging down his ice blue Gatorade, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. The sight is practically pornographic. Andrew deserves sainthood for the restraint he’s exhibiting to not drag him into a bathroom stall right then and there. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s unpolished. I could name a dozen mistakes that he made out there, but the potential he has is undeniable. How did he end up with the Trojans?”
Andrew just listens as Kevin prattles on about the Trojan’s number ten. How he’d juked Matt to make it past the backliner, how he’d just smiled at Seth when he stole the ball from Seth’s net.
“Seth screamed in his face, and he just said ‘have a winning day!’ I’m sure he has a tell, you’ll figure it out when you’re on.” Finally Kevin takes a breath, and his eyes are back on Andrew’s profile. Those pleading, searching, moss green eyes.
“Ask me,” Andrew finally responds. He knows what Kevin is looking for from him.
Kevin’s gaze is burning a hole into the side of his face. The heat radiating off his body isn’t just from running around for forty-five minutes. “Shut him out. Don’t let him score a single goal.”
“You’re too easy, Day.” Andrew shoves Kevin’s face back with a finger to the cheek just as the warning buzzer sounds. If he’s going to shut out Josten, it will only partially be because Kevin asked him to.
***
Watching Josten play from the bench is one thing, but seeing him up close and personal is another thing all together. Andrew cannot help but compare the three strikers. Kevin is technical in his style, playing the position with an aggressive precision that could only be fostered in a place like the Nest. Knox, on the other hand, is looser. He almost looks like a dancer as he weaves through the Foxes’ defense.
Josten is an anomaly. His sloppy footwork is made up by his ridiculous speed. The striker’s short stature, which would usually be a detriment to shooting at the goal, just means that he can maneuver easily around the larger players. Andrew watches from his position as Josten uses Nicky’s momentum against him, sending his cousin sprawling.
Andrew blinks and he’s faced with those piercing blue eyes. Josten lines up to take his shot, taking a split second to square his shoulders before he lets the ball loose. His eyes flick towards the right corner of the goal. Bingo.
Crack!
The goal stays dim as Andrew blocks the ball with a wide arc of his racquet. It thuds halfway back across the court, right by a Trojan dealer who had clearly been expecting his team to score a point. Andrew gets to savour the shocked look on Josten’s face, before the striker breaks into a devilish grin. He pauses to speak before going to reset his position.
“Oh, this is going to be fun.”
Then he and his Chesire cat grin are gone, and Andrew worries that he might just be right.
***
In the end, Andrew blocks all of Josten’s shots on goal. He does let in a couple from Knox. It’s worth it to rile up Kevin. The Foxes beat the Trojans 10 to 8, and the winners clump up in the center of the court to celebrate, careful to avoid exhausted Trojans laid out on the ground. Every red-and-gold clad player looks like they’d just run a marathon, all of them except number ten. If anything, he looks more energized than before as he helps Knox up and over for the handshakes.
Both teams line up to the sound of a disappointed stadium emptying to salvage the rest of their evening. Andrew can tell that the Foxes are grateful to be playing a team unlike Breckenridge or the Ravens. There was only one yellow card given out the whole game, and no real injuries.
Kevin and Josten shake, gripping each other’s hands a little more firmly than necessary. Once again, Andrews blinks and Josten is in front of him – grin on his face like before. The eyes that hold his own are the same icy blue as the Gatorade that had slid so prettily down Kevin’s throat at halftime.
He surprises himself when he takes Josten’s outstretched hand with his own. Andrew’s are bigger and more callused from years using the larger goalie’s racquet. Josten’s hands are warm and rough, fingertips lightly stained from nicotine use.
“Good game, Minyard,” Josten offers before he’s dragged away by a few of his teammates. Andrew lets the feeling of his hand linger for just a moment before trailing Kevin back towards the away locker rooms.
“Kevin, wait!” Jeremy Knox jogs over with a couple of his female teammates, the goalie and one of their backliners. “We’re going to a club after this. It’s not too far away, and I know you’re not flying out until tomorrow. The Foxes are welcome to join us!”
Nicky can smell a party invite from a mile away, like a truffle pig for cheap shots and strobe lights. He breaks away from his conversation with Aaron to reply. “Yes! Text Kevin the details and the Foxes will be there. Besides, your mini me owes me a drink for the way he knocked me on my ass. So much energy in such a small package, how do you manage it?”
“Neil hasn’t listened to me since he was seventeen,” Jeremy offers with an apologetic smile. “I helped coach his high school team. Between us, Neil’s had a pretty rough past. I think Exy was his outlet for a lot of stuff. I’m just glad I convinced him to come to USC after he graduated.”
Based on the scars that litter his arms and the knowledge of a “rough past,” it seems like Josten would be a perfect candidate for Wymack’s team of second chances. Andrew allows himself a moment to think about having the striker on his team: how he’d interact with the Foxes, if he’d be part of the Monsters or the upperclassmen, what he sounds like when he moans.
Oops. That last one doesn’t actually hinge on them being on the same team.
The teams finally split up, and Andrew allows himself to graze Kevin’s lower back as he passes him going into the showers. Kevin shudders as goosebumps radiate out from where Andrew’s fingers touch. They both know that it’s a promise for what the night will bring.
There is constant chatter as the Foxes finish showering and change into their regular clothes. It only gets louder as they rejoin the girls in the lounge to coordinate taxis to the club. It’s lively and no one cares about sports there, Knox had added to the benefit of Andrew and chagrin of Kevin, who’d love nothing more than to watch the University of Arizona game still going strong.
Andrew rides with his family and Kevin, not caring how the rest of the team splits up between the other cars. Wind whips his hair from the cracked passenger seat window. He briefly entertains the idea of rolling it all the way down to light up, but decides that he doesn’t want to get them all kicked out just yet. Nicky fills the car with his stream of consciousness, so used to being the only one talking that he yelps when the taxi driver throws in his two cents.
The ride over lasts about twenty minutes. Los Angeles is lit in soft pinks and oranges as the sun fades behind the valley. Low set houses and condos stream past in a blur of western suburbia. The sight should be pretty, but Andrew cannot have good things without a catch. San Jose is six hours away and yet it still feels too close. He practices the grounding exercises he’s learned from Bee, tensing and relaxing his muscles until his body is back under his control.
“We’re here!” Nicky reports as the club comes into few. “I wonder if everyone is already here. I cannot wait to get LA drunk.”
“What does that even mean?” Aaron hops out of the car first. “How is this any different from getting wasted at Eden’s? We don’t even have crackers.”
The two of them bicker as they walk up to the line, as they all flash their IDs to the bouncer, and as they move into the club. It’s a good distraction, letting Andrew keep his hand on Kevin’s lower back while trailing behind towards where the Trojans have posted up. He’s not shy about his claim on Kevin, but he doesn’t need to flaunt it, either.
Jeremy effortlessly merges the two teams, introducing Dan and Renee to Dermott and Alvarez. Andrew watches as Matt fist bumps with Winter and Anderson in some sort of display of backliner solidarity. There’s one Trojan in particular that Andrew is actively seeking out.
There.
Neil Josten is sitting at a high top surrounded by his teammates, a can of soda held in both hands. He’s unfairly pretty with his glacial eyes and high cheekbones, auburn waves still damp from his post-game shower. It makes Andrew need a drink, now. Before he can turn and maneuver Kevin towards the bar, Josten catches his eye. His stare is molton as he sucks on the straw sticking out of his can.
Immediately Andrew shoves Kevin with a thrown ‘going to get drinks’ to the rest of his team. They have to have this conversation now or Andrew isn’t sure what he’s going to do.
The bar is more crowded than the rest of the club, but he doesn’t recognize any of tonight’s players around them. As they wait for their turn to order, Andrew finally broaches the topic to Kevin.
“What do you think of Josten.”
Kevin looks at him with just a hint of confusion. “He’s got a surplus of potential. He could be Court one day if he improves.”
Of course his first thought is Exy.
“Idiot. What do you think of Josten?” He raises one eyebrow for emphasis. Andrew knows that Kevin was staring at Josten’s ass on the court more than strategically necessary. He just has to lead the tall man to the point.
Kevin’s face flushes, his pupils starting to swallow up the green of his irises.
“Oh. Oh.”
“Oh,” Andrew mocks, unable to help himself. He’s also unable to not be blunt when it counts. “Do you want to fuck him?”
Kevin is saved by the couple in front of them vacating their spot against the bar. He steps up, orders a random assortment of drinks and shots, and closes out the tab with the team’s card, all with Andrew’s hand firm on his lower back. The physical connection is grounding for the two of them. Kevin knows that Andrew will hold him up, and Andrew knows that Kevin won’t leave his side.
The bartender turns to start putting together their drinks and Kevin can’t side step any more. He splutters in the way that Andrew already knows his answer.
“Andrew—I mean he’s attractive, sure. And the way he played…fuck.”
His hazel eyes perform a practiced roll. “I’m well aware of your kinks, Day. Do you want to fuck him together.”
If it’s possible, Andrew feels Kevin’s body temperature shoot up ten degrees through his thin shirt. There’s no more green visible in his eyes – all Andrew can see is dark, dark desire. Neither has had a drop of alcohol yet, and still Andrew feels drunk on the idea of sinking to his knees in front of Josten with Kevin at his side.
Of course, they still have to actually talk to the Trojan. If he says no, then they’ll be disappointed but respectful. Andrew doesn’t think he will, though. Not if his senses are correct.
The bartender spins around with the last of their drinks, throwing a wink towards Kevin before going to help the next group of bar goers. Andrew grabs a wad of napkins from the counter and shoves them into his back pocket. For later.
He remembers how pale Kevin’s skin had been when he showed up, broken and lost, on the Foxes’ team bus. Years of being kept from the sun had emphasized his Irish heritage. Every time Kevin looks for his answers at the bottom of the bottle, his skin flushes a bright red, splotchy across his nose and cheeks.
Now, almost two years out of the Nest, Kevin is tan. Andrew loves kissing the soft brown skin of his neck, dragging his tongue down his sun kissed thighs. The contrast of Andrew’s pale abs, covered in a sparse layer of blonde hair, tensing against Kevin’s bronzed torso as he rides the striker on his twin XL. It gets him all riled up.
Even tan, Kevin can blush. He’s blushing now, probably thinking about Josten in a similar position.
The Foxes and Trojans are fully integrated when they return. There doesn’t seem to be any bad blood between the winners and losers of tonight’s game. It’s a rare sight in the sport they play – full of so much violence and aggression. Instead, Nicky and a few of the Trojans are deep in conversation about Fergie’s new solo album. The Trojan’s starting goalie is making out with one of their backliners on the dancefloor, hands tangled in each other’s hair.
Josten has moved onto a bench seat next to Matt Boyd. Of course the giant is attempting to adopt the striker. He doesn’t look uncomfortable, per say, but he locks those blue eyes with Andrew’s and the look he gives says save me.
Kevin’s busy putting down and passing out the drinks so Andrew gets the show started. He downs a whiskey before walking up to Josten and Matt, trying to ooze a sense of confidence not desperation.
“Smoke?”
Josten looks up from his soda and the face he makes is a little hard to parse. He’s not quite surprised at the intrusion, but it’s almost like he’d been waiting for the invitation.
“Sure. Outside?” Andrew realizes that his accent is an anomaly. There are hints of something foreign, with a little Northeast in there as well. Another mystery he isn’t sure he’ll get to solve in one night.
Andrew nods his answer as Josten says a short goodbye to Matt, leaving his finished soda on the table and wiping the condensation onto his pants. Now that he’s standing, Andrew is able to get a good look at his outfit. Dark wash jeans that are practically painted on, scuffed red and gold converse, and a deep navy top underneath what seems to be a well-loved bomber jacket.
Kevin is always aware of where Andrew is, so he finishes downing a shot with Aaron and Allison and walks over to join them.
Neil looks sceptical at the third member of their little crew. “You smoke?”
“No,” Kevin offers without further explanation.
***
The alley outside of the bar is deserted, which’ll make the whole situation easier. Andrew slides two cigarettes out, putting them between his teeth before looking at Kevin expectantly. He knows Josten is watching as Kevin flicks the lighter and brings the small flame up to the two sticks, watches as Andrew breathes them both to life.
Neil leans against the brick wall next to Andrew and accepts the cigarette he’s offered wordlessly. They exist there for a few moments, Kevin standing slouched in front of them, just breathing in the smoke and the crisp night air.
“Did you just ask me out here to smoke?” Neil’s words break the silence.
Well, that’s enough pretense.
Andrew’s voice is rough as he responds, already thick with something like desire. “We want to blow you.”
The hand holding his cigarette pauses on the way to his mouth. Andrew tracks his body for any signs of negative tension, but his shoulders are still relaxed and he isn’t running away. There’s no pressure for an answer – both Andrew and Kevin allow the statement to sink in fully.
After a minute or so of quiet, Neil nods his head. “Okay, yeah. I want that.”
It’s as if the game’s starting buzzer has gone off, but instead of them on opposite sides of the court, Kevin has permission to reach for Neil’s face. Even in the dim glow of the streetlight, Andrew can see just a thin ring of blue in his eyes, pushed out by dark desire. He’s always had a fascination with Kevin’s hands. It had started when Andrew helped Kevin put his broken palm back together – making sure he did his physical therapy exercises, massaging scar cream into the flesh, kissing his palm in a rare moment of gentleness. Now, he finds himself enraptured as Kevin’s large hands cup Neil’s jaw.
“Can I?” Kevin is breathless, words almost shaky as they come out. He’s so close to Neil that they’re sharing cigarette-scented breath. “Kiss you, I mean.”
Neil meets him in the middle as his answer. The kiss starts off tentative – two people exploring a new sensation together. It doesn’t take long for it to get messier, wetter. Andrew tracks Kevin’s tongue as it traces along the seam of Neil’s lips. He can’t help but get involved, wrapping his hand around the back of Neil’s neck and massaging there. Neil’s mouth opens in a groan, allowing for Kevin’s tongue to dart inside.
Kevin pulls back, smirking. “He tastes good, Andrew. He’s sweet.”
Andrew remembers the cola Neil had been sucking down minutes before and his own mouth waters. Neil’s pleading look as he turns toward Andrew is all the invitation he needs to crash their lips together. Kevin’s right, sticky sweet soda and cigarette smoke is a heady combination. Neil’s a little clumsy, but he makes up for it with his enthusiasm. Just like on the court, Andrew can’t help but think.
Besides the faint thumping music, the only sounds in the alleyway are his mouth on Neil’s and Kevin’s panting breaths. With a start, Andrew realizes that Neil has his fists firmly by his sides. Someone’s heard the rumors, he thinks. There aren’t many people in the league who don’t know about his aversion to unwanted touch. This touch, however, is desperately wanted.
He guides the Trojan’s hands to rest in his hair. Neil breaks off the kiss with a questioning brow, so Andrew explains. “Keep them here for now.”
His nails scratch gently onto Andrew’s scalp, sending a wave of pleasure down his spine. It increases twofold when he feels Kevin start to mouth at his neck, under his ear. Andrew trails his fingers up and down Neil’s side, under his bomber jacket. The muscle there is firm beneath the soft, thin material of his shirt. Neil jolts as Andrew thumbs his nipples.
“That feels nice,” Neil pants into his mouth. Kevin shifts from Andrew’s neck to Neil’s, sucking and nibbling at the skin peeking out just above his jacket. Andrew pulls back and watches a string of spit connect their lips together before breaking.
Kevin follows Andrew’s lead, and now they’re both standing in front of Neil. He cups Neil’s jaw and brushes his thumb on the skin there. “Good. It’s supposed to.”
His eyes trail down the man in front of him. There’s a distinct bulge in the front of his jeans, one that matches his and Kevin’s. Andrew telegraphs his movements as he drags one hand down his side to rest over Neil’s hardness, using his other hand to pull Kevin into a bruising kiss.
“H-hot,” the words are cut off as Andrew starts to roughly rub up and down with his left hand. “Didn’t know I wanted this until the g–game tonight. The way you blocked my shots…lit, ah, something inside me.”
Andrew bites Kevin’s plush bottom lip when he feels the other man shudder at the mention of their earlier activities. “I’m not the one with the Exy kink, Josten. If you’re talking shop, talk to Day.”
What he does with Kevin back in Palmetto does not feel incomplete. Andrew has worked with Betsy enough to admit that he likes how Kevin makes him feel – how his large hands make him feel small and safe, how pliant he goes when Andrew gets on top of him. Adding Neil to the mix isn’t fixing anything, but rather it’s like adding toppings to a sundae. Whipped cream and sprinkles and hot butterscotch caramel dripping down cool vanilla ice cream.
“You make me want to be a better striker. I, ah, love watching your games with Jeremy. He’s going, oh, to be so jealous. The way you kept playing even after your accident. That might’ve been the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” Kevin groans next to him, one hand going to relieve some pressure on his own hard-on and the other threading through Neil’s waves.
Neil is starting to thrust against Andrew’s hand, hiding his small moans against the back of his own hand. Andrew is a benevolent partner, so he breaks away from Kevin and sinks to his knees. He flutters his eyes up at Neil, who’s auburn hair is haloed by a streetlight somewhere near them.
“Yes?” Andrew questions, both hands now resting lightly against his button and zipper, “Or no?”
Neil breathes out his affirmative before Kevin is once again devouring his mouth. Being on his knees is meditative. There are rules and expectations to the action, something that Andrew finds comfort in. He likes his routines, likes sugary coffee in the morning and cigarettes in the afternoon and Kevin’s body in the evening. From the way Neil is reacting to the two of them, this is not something that he does with any frequency, and Andrew is practically drooling at the thought of making it feel good. He’s trying to ignore how painfully hard he is in his own jeans.
The button makes a satisfying pop as it slips out of its hole, and the zipper slides easily down the curve of Neil’s bulge. Andrew has to stop as he registers the boxers that Neil is wearing – they are red and gold, with little Trojans logos and “USC” printed all over. It’s so absurd that he snorts, drawing the attention of the two making out above him.
“We should get you a pair of these, Kevin. You are their biggest fan.”
Andrew drags the dark jeans down Neil’s thighs, just enough so that his hard-on is easily accessible. There’s a blooming wet spot that immediately becomes a target. He mouths along the length, feeling Neil give a full body shudder. A broken off sigh leaves his mouth, along with something muttered in French against Kevin’s lips.
Andrew feels Kevin draws back in surprise. The two of them start speaking shakily in the language. Of course Kevin found a Trojan who happens to also speak French, he thinks as he gets back to working Neil over. When he can’t take it anymore – or maybe he can’t take the sight of those ridiculous boxers – Andrew unceremoniously shoves them down, hooking the elastic around his balls.
A sparse covering of auburn hair, curly and a few shades darker than his waves, trails down and around the base of his cock. Neil’s tan here, too, just like the rest of him, and proportional. He's longer than Andrew, but Andrew’s sure he’s thicker. Kevin’s bigger than both of them. The head is flushed a deep, pretty red and a drop of precum beads right at the tip. Andrew can’t help flicking his tongue and licking it off.
“Fuck, A–andrew, yes,” Neil moans, switching to English. Andrew would know that he’s fucked out in any language from the way his breath hitches or the sheen of sweat that’s built up across his tensing abs.
Andrew also knows that it could be better.
He hooks a finger in Kevin’s belt loop and tugs. It gets the striker's attention, breaking away from Neil’s face and looking at Andrew expectantly. Andrew flicks his eyes up and down a couple of times until Kevin gets the message and sinks to his knees next to him.
There’s the thinnest blue ring visible in Neil’s wide eyes, dark desire making him look hungry, like a predator waiting to pounce. Neil gingerly places a hand in each of their hair. “Is this okay?”
“More than okay,” Kevin practically preens as Neil’s fingers massage his scalp. He looks to Andrew, will follow his lead. Andrew makes eye contact with Neil, needing to hear it one more time before the fun really begins.
“Yes or no, Neil?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” Neil chants as Andrew brings his hand to Kevin’s mouth. His tongue is hot and wet as he licks all over Andrew’s palm. It’s a practiced motion for the both of them, safe and familiar ground.
“Good boy.” Kevin shudders at the whispered praise before drawing back. Andrew takes Neil in his hand, the saliva not as good as lube, but it will do for a back alley tryst. The way Neil throws his head back against the brick makes Andrew think that he doesn’t mind, either. Kevin joins in, fondling Neil’s balls as Andrew slowly drags his hand up and down Neil’s soft flesh. He keeps the pressure firm, twisting just a little at the end, the way he knows Kevin likes it.
When he’s fully hard, Andrew licks a stripe from the base to the tip. Neil smells faintly like cucumber body wash and sweat with a hint of alcohol, although that might be his own breath. The Trojan is responsive – letting out little moans and gripping Andrew’s hair tightly when he likes something, but never hard enough to hurt. It wouldn’t be so bad if it hurt, Andrew thinks idly. Something to consider at another time. He feels Kevin join in, their tongues meeting at the tip.
It gets sloppy after that, Andrew and Kevin making out with each other over Neil’s cock. Sometimes Kevin will suck one of Neil’s balls into his mouth, sometimes Andrew will graze the barest hint of his teeth against him.
“Oh, uh, jesus fuck!” Neil cries out as Andrew finally starts to take him down. He tastes bitter and a little salty and more intoxicating than the whiskey he’d downed ten minutes prior. “Fuck, your mouth, A–andrew!”
Kevin’s hand strokes what Andrew can’t fit in his throat right away. He looks up at Neil like a supplicant praying at an altar. “He’s good at this, isn’t he Neil? He looks so good from that angle, doesn’t he?”
The words make Andrew blush and he hums around the cock in his mouth, sending another wave of shivers through Neil. Andrew relaxes his throat with a practiced ease and takes down the entirety of Neil. Kevin seizes the opportunity to pepper kisses across the skin of Neil’s hip while he runs his hands gently down his still jean-covered thighs.
The twitch Neil’s cock keeps making starts to signal that their fun might be coming to an end soon. Andrew continues sucking him down, wishing for once that someone else had the same memory that he did. If only Neil would be able to remember this moment in the same technicolor detail that he would when they were once again across the country from each other.
“I–I think I’m gonna cum soon,” Neil rasps, both hands now in Andrew’s hair as Kevin moves to observe. “Oh, fuck. Feels so good, Andrew. K-kevin.”
Andrew had been thinking earlier about how he wanted to finish Neil off. A few options came to mind. He was never one to shy away from swallowing, but there was something else that he wanted to try.
“Cu–cumming!”
As soon as he feels Neil’s abs start to clench, his eyes screwed tight in pleasure, Andrew takes him in hand and jerks Neil roughly through his orgasm. He feels wet, hot ropes hit his cheeks, his forehead, his lips. Some even gets in his eyelashes, he thinks. Andrew continues to stroke Neil until he feels him squirm a little with oversensitivity.
Andrew turns to Kevin slowly. “A little help?”
Kevin doesn’t hesitate. He grabs Andrew’s jaw in both hands and licks broad stripes across his face. It becomes less about the cleaning and more about making out, the bitter taste of Neil hot and heavy on both of their tongues.
Andrew is never going to put all his effort into Exy. The sport is a step above a waste of his time, is something he fell into and didn’t bother crawling back out. Kissing Kevin, however, is a well deserved pastime. He’d get gold at the Olympics in making Kevin melt and getting him hard. Andrew doesn’t even have to be touching him there now to know that he’s solid as a rock in his jeans.
Neil breathes heavily above them as he tucks himself back into his boxers. He tugs at Andrew’s hair a few times, not wanting to step outside the bounds but clearly wanting something. The fact that he’s still being respectful of boundaries after having his world rocked does not go unnoticed.
Andrew’s knees crack as he stands. Suddenly, he finds himself crushed against Neil’s mouth in a brutal kiss. Neil’s hands grip his shoulders as if the Trojan is worried that someone will take him away. As if. They’d get a knife in the gut if they tried. Kevin stands up beside him, and it’s slightly disorienting now that there is once again a foot separating them.
With Neil’s lips on his own and Kevin’s hot mouth sucking at his neck, Andrew knows that he isn’t going to last much longer.
Neil pulls away from the kiss, and Andrew is almost embarrassed by the way that he chases him. His voice is almost a whisper as he gestures to Andrew’s hard-on. “Can I return the favor?”
With a nod, Andrew starts to unbutton his pants. Kevin, always knowing what to do, takes Neil’s hand into his mouth. Andrew cannot tear his gaze away from Neil, whose blue eyes are glued to Kevin’s expert mouth. He swirls his tongue around each digit, sucking gently and nipping at the knuckles before spitting into the palm. It gives Andrew enough time to free himself from his sensible black boxer-briefs.
“Andrew likes it hard and fast,” Kevin murmurs before pulling at Neil’s earlobe with his teeth. He’s always been sensory – needing to touch and taste and speak whenever they’re together. Even when his throat is hoarse from yelling during practice, Kevin manages to turn Andrew bright red with his words.
Andrew does like it hard and fast, but he isn’t sure how to feel about being so known. There’s a creeping sensation of being too exposed, his back open to the alley. Andrew grabs Kevin by the wrist and maneuvers them until Kevin is behind him, large hands on his waist and hard length rubbing against his ass.
Once Kevin is situated, Andrew nods to Neil. “That hand’s going to dry, Josten.”
With an eye roll, Neil takes Andrew’s cock in one hand and brings him in for a kiss with his other. Both are branding-hot against his skin. Calluses and scar tissue are familiar territory. Kevin makes up for his lack of finesse with size but Neil’s are smaller, more nimble.
Andrew holds on to Neil’s hips for dear life as Neil does a twisting motion with his wrist. Shudders as Neil gathers precum from the tip to add to the glide. Pants as Neil slows down for just a moment before speeding up again. It’s a symphony of sensations with Neil’s tongue sliding against his own and Kevin grinding on him from behind, mouth sucking marks into his junction between his neck and shoulder.
He leans back and captures Kevin’s lips. There’s too much movement for them to really kiss, but it’s another point of contact that Andrew craves. Four hands on him and each one is wanted.
“Do you think you can cum just from this?” Andrew breathes into Kevin’s mouth as he grinds his ass into Kevin’s clothed erection. The moan he receives in response is pornographic. It’s one that will play on repeat in Andrew’s head for many shower sessions to come, he’s sure of it. Kevin holds him steady as he continues to thrust, chasing the friction between their jeans.
Andrew returns his attention to Neil and can’t help the groan that escapes his lips as he takes in how fucked out he looks. Neil is beautiful. His hand is doing wonderful things to Andrew cock, and he knows that he isn’t going to last much longer.
There’s something freeing about getting lost in the moment. It’s startling to realize how safe he feels sandwiches between the two strikers. As if on instinct, he closes his eyes and rests his head back against Kevin’s chest. The sounds wash over him – Kevin’s pants, the squelch of Neil’s hand stroking his cock, his own heavy breathing.
“Fuck.” It’s barely more than a whisper. “I’m close.”
His body jumps as he feels Neil and Kevin both latch onto either side of his neck, wet and messy and just a little sharp with teeth.
“Oh shit!” Andrew’s vision goes white as he cums over Neil’s knuckles, the two vampires still attached. He collapses back into Kevin’s strong body, who holds him up. Of course he does. Kevin will always hold Andrew up, just like Andrew does for him.
“Kevin?” Neil asks, unaware of the mess Kevin has just made in his pants. Andrew had felt him tip over the edge as he attacked the skin under Andrew’s ear.
“I’m all set,” Kevin says in between kisses to the top of Andrew’s head. It’s disgustingly domestic compared to what they all just did. “Shit that was so hot. Can’t believe I came in my pants like a horny teenager.”
Andrew tucks himself away and grabs the wad of napkins he’d swiped earlier, handing them over to Neil so he can clean himself off. They all have to go back inside after this, and no one wants stains on their dark colored outfits. He watches as Neil wipes Andrew off of his hand and proceeds to litter.
“Are you a law breaker?” Andrew asks, one eyebrow cocked. Jeremy had mentioned something about a troubled past. With the Foxes, that could mean anything from underage stripping to underage drug use to not-so-accidental vehicular manslaughter.
Neil snorts, and it’s another sound that will live in Andrew’s memory bank. “You could say that. Maybe I’ll tell you about it sometime.”
Of course it’s Kevin who has them crashing back to reality. “If you beat Penn State next week then we’ll see each other again in the Championship game.”
He really is lucky that he’s too tall and Andrew is too spent to smack him upside the head. There’s only so much Andrew can take, being outnumbered by jocks two to one. “Remember our rule, Day.”
“No Exy talk within an hour of an orgasm.” Kevin recites, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. This startles a laugh out of Neil, who looks as surprised as Andrew as it bubbles out of him. It’s a good sound. Andrew is glad for once that his memory doesn’t have a storage limit.
Neil’s face flushes, his tan skin reddening under Andrew’s gaze. “I wouldn’t mind doing this again. With both of you.”
His words causes flashes in his mind – Neil on his back, on his knees, Kevin fucking into Andrew as he fucks into Neil, Kevin and Neil going at it while Andrew just watches. It’s a sexual slideshow that has his dick straining valiantly in his zipped jeans.
“I guess you’ll just have to beat Penn State.”