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The highway passes in a blur of lights and shadow, the quiet hum of the car filling the space between them. Though he won’t say it out loud, Andrew is glad to be back home with Neil. They’re half an hour away from the Columbia house now, and Andrew can tell Neil is anxious to get there. Neil is practically buzzing; his hand fidgets where it rests on the gearstick, as if restraining himself. Andrew wants to reach out and make him stop, but he doesn’t. He’s trying to resist until they’re home, where he can take his time steadily taking Neil apart.
The roads are mostly empty at this hour, just the occasional flash of headlights cutting through the dark. Neil drives like he always does—focused, steady, the world outside flashing by without urgency. He likes the quiet confidence Neil exudes while driving, and the opportunity it provides to admire him. The quiet between them isn’t uncomfortable; it never is. But tonight, there’s something different, something shifting beneath the usual companionable quiet.
Andrew sits in the passenger seat, knee propped against the door, watching Neil with hooded eyes. He looks good. His hair is a little long—Andrew will have to trim it this weekend—and his scars are highlighted each time a car passes in the other direction. He’s wearing his orange bandana and one of Andrew’s old PSU shirts, and the sight makes Andrew’s mouth go dry. Seeing Neil’s keys looped around his pointer finger makes his stomach flip. Every time Neil looks over and catches Andrew watching him, they share a heated gaze. It’s been too long since they’ve last seen each other, and it’s taking more restraint than Andrew will ever admit to keep his hands off of Neil.
Neil’s expression shifts, as if he’s come to a decision, fingers flexing against the gearshift. A moment later, he breaks the silence. “Yes or no?” he asks. Over the past few years, they’ve gotten to a point where they don’t have to ask and instead take silent cues from each other; they usually only resort to asking with words when they’re trying something new.
It doesn’t take long for Andrew to respond. It’s a good day; he’s finally getting to see Neil again, and he’s missed him. “Yes,” he says, and when Neil looks over at Andrew, his gaze is heavy. If Andrew were anyone else, the weight of that look would probably make him shiver. Instead, he returns Neil’s gaze as if it’s a challenge.
It starts off innocent. Neil’s hand settles on his thigh, light at first, testing, waiting to see if Andrew changes his mind. He doesn’t, and Neil presses his hand down just enough to be noticeable. Andrew can feel the key ring looped against Neil’s finger and almost says something about not having put them down first, but he’s too distracted by the warmth seeping through the fabric of his sweatpants, a presence he can’t ignore even if he tries.
Then, Neil starts testing. His thumb moves first, a slow, lazy drag against the inside seam of Andrew’s pants. A casual brush, like it’s absentminded, like it’s not deliberate at all. Andrew keeps his expression neutral, but they both know what Neil is doing; the look on his face when he turns towards Andrew is anything but pure.
Neil’s fingers flex, tightening briefly before shifting higher, tracing over the muscle of Andrew’s inner thigh slowly, deliberately. He moves without hesitation, but he doesn’t rush, intent on seeing how long Andrew will let this go on. Andrew doesn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction, but his skin feels like it’s on burning everywhere Neil touches.
Neil hums, a small sound low in his throat, letting his hand linger for a moment before he continues. His thumb traces over the inner seam of Andrew’s sweatpants and then his hand teasingly moves up, up, up. It’s maddening, and it sends a thrill through Andrew’s entire body. He needs to get his hands on Neil, preferably as soon as possible, and they’re still too far from the house.
“Neil,” he says, voice betraying nothing, but he does shift, just enough that Neil’s hand moves even higher. “Take the next exit.”
Neil’s lips twitch as if he’s won, and maybe he has. His grip tightens for just a second before moving his hand back to the gearshift and guiding the car off the exit. His hand returns to its teasing movements whenever he doesn’t need to change gears. Andrew can barely stand it; it feels like the longest three minutes of his life before Neil finally pulls into an empty parking lot.
As soon as Neil turns the car off, Andrew is moving. Neil barely has time to react, but he doesn’t seem surprised when Andrew reaches out for him, as if this was his plan all along.
“Come here,” Andrew says lowly, pulling Neil over the gearstick and into his lap. Neil lets out a sound of relief, as if this is exactly what he needed. He rests his hands lightly on Neil’s waist and waits for him to settle, knees bracketing Andrew’s hips, hands instinctively going to his shoulders. Neil doesn’t try to hide the sharp inhale he takes.
Andrew is too focused on drinking in every reaction of Neil’s to make a comment about him still holding the keys. Neil’s gaze on him is hungry; when Andrew swallows, Neil tracks the movement with his eyes, unblinkingly. He doesn’t move, though, content to wait, as if he hadn’t been teasing Andrew five minutes ago.
He doesn’t make Neil wait long. He pulls him closer, fingers pressed against Neil’s waist, grip steady and firm, before moving one hand to the back of his neck and crashing their lips together. Neil’s hands cling to Andrew’s shoulders and hair. When he gasps, Andrew swallows the sound.
Andrew taps Neil’s wrist twice, silent permission for him to touch Andrew anywhere. Neil immediately melts against him. He had thought he was greedy to touch Neil, but Neil clearly feels the exact same way about touching him. Now that he’s been given full permission to touch Andrew, it’s like a switch has been flipped. There’s barely an opportunity for Andrew to move his hands with how fast Neil is going. It’s Neil touching every inch of Andrew he can reach as quickly as possible, hips brushing against Andrew as he moves. His hands rove over Andrew, starting at his hair and moving to his shoulders, back, and chest. When his hands briefly slip under Andrew’s shirt and towards his wristband, the keyring is cold on his skin. Andrew bites his lip warningly, but Neil just continues, hands moving to Andrew’s biceps.
He pulls away to catch his breath, leaning his forehead against Andrew’s and watching as he runs his hand down one of Andrew’s arm to his wrist. He pulls Andrew’s hand off of him and presses his keys into Andrew’s palm. When Andrew’s fingers close around it, the keys still warm from Neil’s touch, Neil is practically looking at him with stars in his eyes. Andrew doesn’t have it. “You have a problem,” he says, but he moves his hand under Neil’s oversized shirt and spreads his palm against his side so Neil can feel the keys.
Neil hums, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he focuses back in on Andrew. “Maybe,” he agrees, a devilish look in his eyes.
If Andrew had thought Neil had been going fast before, then he certainly wouldn’t have been prepared for what came next. It’s as if Neil can’t slow his hands down, can’t stop. Their lips clash together until Neil pulls away to focus and his hips occasionally jerk against Andrew’s unconsciously. It’s too much, and not enough. Andrew feels overwhelmed; he’s hot all over and his head is spinning.
“Neil,” Andrew says, but Neil doesn’t hear him. “Abram,” he says a little louder, and this time Neil does hear, but he doesn’t stop. “Slow down,” he says.
“I can’t—“ Neil’s words are cut off when Andrew gently grabs his wrists. He whines, but doesn’t complain further when he sees Andrew is still holding the keys. He nods understanding, and presses his lips to Andrew’s neck. “It’s been so long,” he mumbles against his neck, and “I missed you, Drew” he says as he trails kisses up the column of his throat and reaches the shell of his ear.
“Neil,” Andrew says again, voice slightly strained. Everything he doesn’t say is conveyed in him uttering Neil’s name: I missed you too and I want you and I’m so glad to see you. Despite leaning into Neil’s ministrations, he tries to recover with a ground out, “Your neck fetish is not attractive.”
“You like it. I like that you like it,” Neil says, biting the sensitive skin behind his ear. Andrew shivers, and one of his thighs twitches, brushing against Neil. Andrew feels Neil’s sharp inhale against his neck.
From there, it’s purposeful. He repositions Neil so one of his thighs is between his legs, and he shifts his thigh again to brush against Neil, giving him silent permission. Neil moans, digging one of his hands into Andrew’s bicep and the other into Andrew’s other thigh before he starts to move.
Andrew pulls Neil into a deep kiss. Neil opens his mouth to him without hesitation, and Andrew doesn’t miss the way his breath stutters when he rolls his hips slightly, slow and measured, testing. Andrew lets Neil set the pace, but he helps guide Neil’s movements, one hand on his waist and the other on his ass.
Neil pants against Andrew’s lips as his movements speed up, desperate for more friction and for release. Andrew moves one of his hands to Neil’s thigh and he squeezes the muscle. Neil could probably do this for hours without his thighs burning at all; they’d have to test it out sometime. Neil’s legs have always been one of his downfalls, and it’s clear that Neil undoubtedly also has a thing for his thighs.
Andrew manhandles Neil into a better position against his thigh and Neil keens, continuing to grind his hips quickly. They kiss messily until Neil pulls away and looks down at his movements. He shifts one of his thighs so it brushes against Andrew every time he grinds down. The sounds Neil is making are driving Andrew crazy. He encourages Neil to move faster, faster, faster, and he does, somehow still not tired at all.
A loud honk breaks through the moans and heavy breathing filling the car, surprising Neil so much that he nearly jumps. It wasn’t aimed at them, but it was close enough to catch them off guard. Neil pulls back immediately and freezes, the only movement the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes heavily. “Fuck,” he says eventually, voice gravely. The expression on his face is simultaneously embarrassment and annoyance at having been interrupted. Andrew wants to kiss the expression away, but Neil has already readjusted and leaned back to put some distance between them. He doesn’t move off of Andrew’s thigh, though. Andrew watches and waits, grip on Neil loose, ready to take his cues from him.
Suddenly, Neil laughs, a blinding smile taking over his face. Andrew reaches out to shove his face away. Neil doesn’t turn back to look at him until Andrew’s hand drops to his neck. His lips are bright red and swollen, pupils blown wide, and his messy auburn hair flashes like an inferno from a distant light. If they don’t leave now, Andrew will pull Neil back in and they’ll never make it home.
Andrew sounds slightly breathless when he finally speaks. “Let’s go home.”
“Home,” Neil echoes, with a ghost of a smile on his lips as he looks at the keys Andrew is holding for him and then at Andrew himself. He nods, and moves back to his seat, getting them back on the road. His hand returns to its spot on Andrew’s thigh as if that is its rightful place. If Andrew teases him extra that night in return, that’s no one’s business but theirs.