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It’s no secret to the entire Fox Lineup that Kevin has something going on with Andrew and Neil, but he’s always chosen to keep this strange little connection ambiguous. As vaguely as possible, he indulges little by little, but never too much — never too far. He watches from the opposite side of the couch as the two intertwine hands, pressing lips together whether in soft or heated kisses, not bothering to overthink how naturally the act seems to come to them right in front of their one-man audience and no one else. Not bothering to acknowledge the fact that he’d be a damn liar to hide the irrefutable truth that he just can’t seem to turn away, eyes locked on loving embraces and gentle touches, boundaries cherished like religion, lives circling and melting together like the earth and sun.
It’s a concept so foreign, to be loved by someone, body and soul. To be cherished with all they are, displayed proudly like the most coveted trophy in the entire game, worn around each other’s chests in hickeys like medals. Beautiful creatures, a puzzle to analyze; he’s never been fond of the word love, but recently it’s been all he’s witnessed, passed around the court, held tightly between each of their calloused hands.
They pass it his way, too — shreds of connection, of pinky promises and brushes of lips — but deep down, he’s never not been afraid of this stretching beyond a risk he can still desperately protect, reaching out to grasp it like his own self-control might slip away any second. Gentle kisses peppered across sore muscles after particularly rough practices, thumbs grazing lovingly across his scarred hand. Touches are few and far between, cherished and feared all the same, purposely kept at arm's length, locked behind a cellar vault like an undeniable Pandora’s box.
And yet here he lies, every wall he’s struggled to keep up crumbling right before his eyes. Neil occupies his mouth, lips wet and hungry, whilst Andrew straddles his lap, trailing hands beneath his shirt. They ask the usual yes or no, and Kevin stumbles over his words as per usual, giving up on his fight to withhold his agreement, his own yearning for this, this, this.
This is how it happened before: Kevin’s own body getting the better of him, desperately craving hands and skin, to know someone so deeply it shakes him to his core. He hadn’t gotten the chance to tell Lydia no, Riko looming over his shoulder, insistent they get their virginities out of the way. Soft curves, strawberry blonde ringlets, long batting lashes; Kevin still isn’t quite sure of his own type, but even then he knows where he likes to have his own hands, grazing over rough edges with his back against the mattress, looking into eyes that don’t doubt his own wonder. Thea was a little better, but not much. The sharp edge of defined muscles, hands trailing and consuming, but taunting words digging their way deep into his own subconscious.
“You make too much noise, you know that? So whiny. It’s pathetic, honestly.”
“You fuck like a virgin. Maybe some practice will make you a little better.”
Kevin’s teeth sink into his bottom lip as Andrew peppers kisses down his stomach, soft and airy touches, testing his own waters, surveying the tide. As they trail beneath his navel, he fights to keep from instinctively kicking his legs. The sharp twitch that results is an inescapable casualty of war, but Andrew’s hand reaches upward to grab ahold of his thigh. Not firm enough to stop the action, but just enough to reassure, to acknowledge.
Neil pulls away, their lips disconnecting in a desperate loss of warmth. Auburn curls fall as he leans over Kevin’s frame in tune with Andrew, looking down into pleading eyes with the softest hint of an almost-smile. It takes a while for Kevin to realize that he’s already heaving, before Andrew even reaches the button of his jeans.
“First?” he questions, although there isn’t a hint of accusation or malice in his voice, simply curious wondering. And how strange it is for someone to inquire without judgement, looking down at him with stars in their eyes, light refracting and dancing across icy blue.
Kevin shakes his head hesitantly with a cautious admission. “No. Not quite…”
Andrew stops with his fingers still curled around the zipper, eyes impassive as always, but pursed lips wondering, searching and scanning for something. “Not quite,” he echoes.
Kevin could admit it out loud for the first time, acknowledging the two he’d rather grow to forget. The one he never wanted, not really. That he racked himself with guilt for months over only using at Riko’s insistence, bodies tangled hesitantly, heated touches unpleasant and utterly humiliating with an audience always lurking in the corner. The other he thought he wanted, fighting turned to tension, sex angry and mocking, leaving a feeling in his gut afterwards that he could never seem to label.
But he doesn’t. He can’t — not yet, at least. They ruin the excitement, the memories that only feel wrong on his chest, scraping daggers across skin he’d rather focus on the feeling of Andrew’s hands and mouth lingering across. He closes his eyes, a rattling breath escaping his lips, and says again, “Not quite.”
Andrew doesn’t move. His hand still remains frozen around Kevin’s zipper, his jeans half-undone but still on. “Is this consent or an existential crisis?” he questions quietly, softly, his words hovering in the air between them. “I’ll stop.”
“Both,” Kevin blurts out, followed by an involuntary, “Don’t. I want to.”
“You can tell us if you don’t,” Andrew insists. “Tell us if you don’t.”
Instinctively, Kevin’s body works against him once again. He bucks his hips, chasing the feeling lost of Andrew working him, and whines against his own will, “Don’t stop.”
Immediately, though, the realization of his own pathetic voice settles in, and he can feel the heat rising in his own cheeks as Neil’s eyes widen, brow raised in questioning. “Do that again,” he whispers.
And how odd of a request it is. Kevin glances back up at Andrew, confusion knitting his own brows, but something finally changes about Andrew’s expression: he’s curious, sitting back on his knees to watch it all unfold, even as Kevin continues to squirm underneath him. “Andrew?” he asks desperately, but the blond only watches, unblinking for what feels like minutes.
“Yes or no?” he asks with a different infliction.
“Y— Yes. Yes. Keep—” He’s losing composure, whining more and more by the second, and oh how utterly pathetic he feels in his own skin as his own voice lingers in the air, but his partners… Well, they look strangely enamored.
Andrew gets the zipper all the way down, and he’s not wasting any time before he’s sliding Kevin’s pants to his knees, leaving him vulnerable in boxers growing tighter and tighter by the second. His shirt comes off next at Neil’s doing, messily pulling the garment up and over his head before going in for another kiss, but when Andrew starts to inch down his only remaining dignity, leaving Kevin the only one unclothed, he can’t seem to shut his stupid mouth.
It starts as a low whimper against Neil’s lips, a soft sound caught in his throat. He can’t bite his tongue to stop it, with Neil’s own swirling against his bottom lip, and he can’t contain the whine from slipping out involuntarily. Andrew presses a kiss against his hip, barely a ghost against his skin, takes Kevin into one hand, and — fuck.
His mouth is moving before Kevin can catch his breath, a kitten lick across the length of him before he’s swallowing him whole. Kevin short-circuits, already sensitive and close to tears as progressively louder noises leave his mouth. He’s panting when Neil pulls back, face scrunched, eyes helpless and pleading. His legs twitch, the muscles in his thighs all clenching on instinct to keep himself from tangling his hands in Andrew’s hair.
“Interesting,” Neil notes, his blue eyes twinkling in the dim light of the afternoon, the window of the Columbia house open to the backyard. He looks beautiful with the sunset seeping in, illuminating auburn against the backdrop of pure bliss and uncontainable sighs. He isn’t teasing in his words; he means them with every inch of himself, clear in tone and action as one hand rests flat against Kevin’s bare chest, the other cradling his cheek. “I didn’t expect you to be so… vocal.”
“I did,” Andrew says around him, the vibration of his voice sending shivers down his spine. “He gasps every time you kiss him.”
It makes Neil smile, all white teeth and giddy excitement. He’s… getting off on this? The thought alone baffles Kevin, so convinced of the turn-off he’s been sure for years his voice is, but… Neil likes it. It’s unfathomable, but he doesn’t have time to overthink. Andrew is working him so close to the finish line, and Kevin is too busy fighting demons not to come too soon to fixate on the hideous noises escaping him with each swipe of Andrew’s tongue.
“This is… good,” Neil decides. His fingers continue to dance across Kevin’s chest, ghosting light touches that aren’t doing him any favors in the effort to shut the fuck up. He whimpers against the combining sensations, loud and vocal enough to be overheard… but no one stops him, no one covers his mouth, forces him to shut up. “Louder.”