cigarettesmokeandexyracquets:

The words “don’t make me beg” cause Andrew to freeze. They’re not whine out in frustration or passion but breathed out small and anxious, soft and brittle and vulnerable. Andrew looks up and sees the almost panic on Neil’s face, the half-hidden shame that rests there, and removes his hands from Neil’s body. 

“You don’t have to stop,” Neil says, or starts to say but then thinks better of it. He takes a deep breath and pulls his hands down to his chest, clasping them prayer like in the way Andrew knows is Neil wanting to reach out but not. He’s almost thankful, almost angry, doesn’t know what or why he feels so he sits back and creates a pocket of distance between them.

“What’s wrong?” Andrew asks. They’re better at this now, talking instead of just hoping the other will understand. 

“It’s stupid,” Neil says, chewing on his lip.

Andrew raises an eyebrow and waits patiently for Neil to work it out.

Neil closes his eyes and they both wait until their breathing evens back out. Neil reaches for his shirt Andrew had tossed to the floor and Andrew gets it for him. Neil shrugs into the soft cotton like armor and twists his hands into the hems. “Sometimes when you get me laid out like that, it’s like you want to hear me beg,” Neil says. He won’t quite make eye contact and Andrew hates it but he won’t touch Neil right now.

Andrew pushes out a harsh breath through his nose. Truth for truth, words laid open and bare. “I like to hear you ask for it,” Andrew says. It’s like confirmation that Neil wants him, that his yes is genuine and consent is still there. 

“I can’t do that for you,” Neil says and his jaw clenches.

Andrew reaches out a hand, palm inches away from Neil’s cheek in askance but doesn’t touch. Neil breathes out, relieved and exasperated all at once, and leans into the hand. Andrew’s thumb strokes over rough skin gently and he guides Neil into looking at him.

“Why?” Andrew asks, because there’s more that Neil isn’t saying. Things he needs to know so he doesn’t trigger accidental panic like this again. Andrew has always been careful about not breaking his toys.

“In Baltimore,” Neil says, grimacing around the words like they hurt coming out, “Lola made me beg in that car. She made me ask her not to hurt me, not to hurt you. It’s not the same, but…”

But it is, and it’s something Andrew is intimately familiar with. “Okay,” Andrew says, sliding his hand back to cup the back of Neil’s neck.

“Just like that?” Neil asks, but he already knows the answer. Here, in this bed in Columbia, two years and 500 miles away from Baltimore, Neil is safe.

“Just like that,” Andrew says, and presses their foreheads together.