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If someone were to ask Neil what his favorite thing about Andrew is, he honestly wouldn’t know where to begin. Andrew is the man who had held Neil up after Baltimore; the man who had cleaned his wounds. Andrew looks at Neil’s scars without a blink; kisses them as tenderly as he can. He is the only person in the entire world that Neil can trust himself to be honest with.
While these are the first points to come to mind when Neil thinks about Andrew, they’re not the only ones. Neil also loves the way that Andrew looks. He likes the softness of Andrew’s hair and the way the shaved sides feel prickly against his lips. He likes to stare into Andrew’s eyes in the morning when the early sun falls into them and Neil can pick out the flecks of gold and green. Neil likes Andrew’s strong arms and the way they wrap around his waist and pick him up like it’s nothing.
Neil doesn’t think there’s anything about Andrew Minyard that he doesn’t adore.
Maybe that’s why he gets so defensive over the man. Andrew tells Neil that he can fight his own battles, but he’s never asked him to stop, and it’s honestly not Neil’s fault that he takes every insult to Andrew’s name like a personal offense.
Actually, he probably takes it much, much worse than he would take a personal offense.
That can be proven now, ten minutes after he’d punched some random douche in the face for calling Andrew short.
Granted, the man had done much more than just call him short— Neil would have a lot more people to punch, including himself, if that was the only criteria— but that had been the last straw. He and Andrew had been sitting on a bench outside fox tower before their next classes, Neil leaning up against Andrew’s side, preening as Andrew ran a hand through Neil’s hair, when the douche had walked up, unprovoked, and offered his opinion on their relationship.
Neil, of course, had been quick to the defensive, but the man hadn’t backed down. He had brought up both Neil’s and Andrew’s pasts, bashed Neil’s scars, and threatened violence against them. Neil had beaten him to the punch though —literally. Both Andrew and Neil had been tense during this interaction, but it wasn’t until the man had spat ‘short bitch’ at Andrew that Neil finally did something about it.
He’d punched the guy in the nose, leaving him cursing after him as Andrew dragged him away. Now, Neil sits on the closed toilet lid in silence as Andrew inspects his hand for bruises or bleeding. Finding none, the blonde delivers a kiss to Neil’s knuckles before placing his hand back in his lap.
It seems as if Andrew is willing to forget about this whole interaction, which Neil would usually count as a win— it’s rare to receive no scolding after punching someone in the face. Neil himself can’t quite let it go, though. Andrew, usually so impassive to threats or insults towards himself, had slumped his shoulders in what had seemed like defeat at the man’s last words. Short bitch.
Andrew turns to leave the bathroom, but before he can, Neil asks him, “Does it bother you to be called short?”
Andrew faces him again, leaning against the doorframe to the tiny bathroom cooly, but Neil can see the tense set of his shoulders, the discomfort coming off him in waves. “Nothing bothers me,” Andrew states, voice blank.
After nearly three years of this Neil has gotten pretty good at telling when Andrew is avoiding the truth. “I know I do,” Neil teases, bringing back the old analogy and watching Andrew’s eyes roll in exasperation, “but did the short comment bother you also?”
Andrew’s been getting better at admitting to things like this, but sometimes it still feels like pulling teeth. “I don’t know,” the blonde responds, a little bit of something Neil’s never heard before creeping into his voice. Insecurity.
Neil is baffled despite himself. He knows that Andrew is a human who does— despite his best efforts— feel. Neil’s just never noticed Andrew feeling this before. “That’s okay,” Neil tells him, stretching out his legs in front of him.
Andrew only looks back at him, so Neil makes impatient little grabby hands at the man from across the bathroom, smiling contentedly when Andrew indulges him, coming to stand between Neil’s knees.
Neil raises his hands over Andrew’s waist, wrapping his arms tight around Andrew when he gets a nod of consent. Like this, Neil’s arms wrap around Andrew’s waist perfectly and his head is pillowed on his hard chest. “I like you just the way you are, Andrew,” Neil murmurs, knowing that the blonde will most likely ignore the comment.
Andrew cradles Neil’s head tighter against his own chest.
~
One thing Neil has always loved about Andrew are his arms. They’re strong and muscled, and Neil can trust them to hold him up no matter the circumstances. Neil likes to feel them wrap their way around his waist at night when Andrew snuggles up behind him, and he likes the way Andrew can manhandle him with such ease.
Last week during a grueling game against the Bearcats, Andrew had been shoulder-checked so hard that he had dislocated his shoulder.
Abby had set his shoulder back into place easily, but Andrew was stuck in a sling for at least six weeks, and it would be at least two weeks after it was removed before he would be able to play or lift weights again.
Andrew had taken this news much harder than Neil had guessed he would, and he had moped about for a few days after receiving his sling.
Even now, Andrew is sitting up in bed while Neil helps him remove his sling for a shower, frowning down at his arm.
“Why are you so put out over this?” Neil finally asks, placing Andrew’s arm gently at his side. “I was under the impression that a break from exy would be fun for you.”
Andrew is still frowning when Neil leads him to the shower, helping him out of his clothes and then joining him under the soothing water.
“I like to be… strong,” Andrew admits haltingly. Neil hums as he washes Andrew’s hair, urging the man to continue. “I like to have strong arms and to be able to pick you up and carry you around,” Andrew continues, “I like how my arms look, usually. But with this thing,” Andrew shakes his arm slightly, and Neil scolds him gently. “I can tell that they’re already getting weaker. I’m going to have to work a lot harder to get them back to where they were after this is over. Plus I can’t even get you off right now.”
Neil slightly as he rinses the soap suds off of Andrew, switching places with the blonde to start washing himself up. He’s trying to think of how to reassure Andrew without having the man shut down. Andrew’s been getting better at taking compliments, especially from Neil, but sometimes even after three years of their relationship he can get overwhelmed.
Neil squeezes some shampoo onto his hand and begins to massage it through his hair. “I do love your arms,” Neil concedes, holding up a hand before Andrew can interject. “I love your arms but I love them like this too.” Neil rinses out the shampoo, grabbing the coconut scented conditioner he shares with Andrew.
Neil says, “I like the way they look, of course, but even more than that I love the way they hold me up. You can hold me up like this too, Drew. I admire your strength— I always have, even before I knew I was attracted to you. I’ve always trusted you to hold me up, with more than just your arms.”
Neil presses a featherlight kiss onto Andrew’s injured shoulder, watching the man shiver below his mouth. He presses a few kissing along Andrew’s neck, too. “As for getting me off…” Neil trails off, breathing the words against Andrew’s neck, licking a few beads of water from the muscled column, “you should know by now that there are other ways to achieve that.”
Andrew makes a tiny little helpless sound against Neil’s ear, dropping to his knees and showing Neil how innovation works.
~
Andrew’s thighs are probably two of Neil’s favorite things to ever exist. They’re thick, and they’re so muscled and strong that Neil thinks Andrew could actually suffocate him with them. The thought is extremely arousing.
Neil loves all the time spent between them. Loves kissing up the insides of them before he sucks Andrew off, loves watching them shake after Neil is done.
Currently, Andrew is sitting on top of the kitchen counter while Neil makes them breakfast, legs kicking out in random intervals, his heels slamming into the cabinets below as he makes no effort to stop them.
Neil smiles at the man, pouring out a ladle of pancake batter into the skillet and waiting for the edges to bubble. Andrew kicks him in the side gently, and Neil grabs his socked foot in both his hands, rubbing it firmly and enjoying the way Andrew melts into his touch. Neil flips the pancake and moves on to the next foot.
After plating the last pancake, Neil turns off the stove and steps between Andrew’s legs, relishing in the easy way that the blondes legs part for him. Neil runs his hands over said thighs. They’re expanded as they rest heavily on the edge of the counter, and Neil grabs gently at the few excess inches of warm flesh that is revealed from the position. He kneads the flesh in his hands, leaning down to kiss the inside of either thigh.
Andrew tenses underneath his hands, and Neil immediately pulls back, eyes questioning. He doesn’t ask, rather waits for Andrew’s explanation. That’s a new thing they’ve been trying recently— trusting each other to explain rather than immediately asking, which can sometimes be overwhelming.
After a few moments in which Neil rummages around in the cabinets for syrup, powdered sugar, chocolate chips, and blueberries —blueberries for Neil, the rest for Andrew— Andrew finally regroups.
“They’re big,” Andrew just says, flexing his thighs out in front of him, making the extra flesh disappear and reappear with his movements.
Neil tilts his head, walking back over to Andrew and hovering his hands over those thighs once again, holding them gently when he gets a silent nod. “Is that a bad thing?” Neil asks, smoothing his thumbs over the soft skin. Andrew only has sparse thin hair on his upper thighs, and Neil feels it under his hands like the soft brush of eyelashes against his cheek.
Andrew says, “I don’t know.”
He has his bottom lip beneath his teeth. It’s still hard for Andrew to admit to being unsure some days. Some days it’s still hard for Andrew to admit to being anything but apathetic and blank, but he’s been making progress in that aspect every day.
“That’s okay,” Neil whispers, unwilling to break this quiet spell that had taken over the kitchen of the Columbia house. “Does it make you feel uncomfortable when I touch them? Or kiss them?”
Sometimes it’s easier to ask yes or no questions, but most of the time the answer is more complex than that.
Andrew looks almost frustrated, and Neil wants to wipe the crease away from between his brows, wants to tell him that he’s perfect and that Neil wouldn’t change a single thing about him. He keeps his hands on Andrew’s thighs though thumbs still moving gently against the skin, not willing to risk pushing Andrew too hard.
“I don’t know,” Andrew sighs finally, squeezing his thighs together and squishing Neil’s thumbs between them. They get lost in the smooth expanse of them. “I don’t think so,” Andrew continues, the crease between his brows remaining. “It has never bothered me before, and I don’t think I mind you touching them.” Andrew sighs again, and Neil can tell this is draining him. “They’re just… big.”
Neil brings his mouth down to Andrew’s thighs again, glancing up at the blonde through his lashes in question. At Andrew’s nod, Neil places light kisses over the expanse of his thighs, loving the sounds of Andrew’s shaky sighs from somewhere above him. Sometimes Neil finds that actions speak louder than words with Andrew.
Of course, words never hurt either. After a few minutes, Neil replaces his mouth with his hands again, eyes rushing back up to Andrew’s face and finding emotion neither of them know what to do with waiting there for him. “I love them,” Neil says simply.
Andrew nods. Neil’s words aren’t going to make Andrew change his mind or make this insecurity disappear, but maybe they can help encourage him to do so.
They make their way to the table for pancakes, Neil’s left hand holding Andrew’s right in Andrew’s lap.
~
Andrew eats a lot of sugar. This is news to absolutely nobody. Andrew likes immense amounts of sugar and cream in his coffee, always has a pint or two of ice cream in the fridge, and likes to bake cakes on the weekends.
Neil, for his part, has always been more than happy to enable Andrew in this sense. He’s not going to stop Andrew from enjoying something that he seems to genuinely like, and it’s not like Andrew is being unhealthy about it. Sure, Andrew could probably benefit from a few more vegetables in his diet, but he works out more than regularly, eats mostly balanced meals, and goes to the doctor every few months like he’s supposed to.
Even all of this, though, cannot stop Andrew from developing a little bit of extra chub around his hips. He’s had it for as long as he and Neil had been together, and Neil has always loved it. Neil loves to feel the strength and muscle hiding beneath, sure, but he especially loves the chub itself. He likes to pillow his head on Andrew’s soft stomach when they watch movies together on the couch, likes to grip Andrew’s love handles tightly when they kiss or when they fuck. It’s soft and cute and Neil adores it.
Andrew, for the most part, has never had an issue with it either. Sometimes, he will grunt for Neil to get his head off his tummy when he has a stomachache from one too many bites of ice cream. Sometimes, he will push Neil’s hand away when he grabs his sides a little too tightly.
Today , though, Andrew does neither of those things. Today, they’re in Columbia by themselves for the weekend after a game well fought (and won) by the foxes, and they had begun their stay by ordering takeout and settling down to watch a movie on the couch. Andrew had demolished a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and Neil had even indulged in a small bowl of fruit and whipped cream Andrew had made for him.
Andrew is leaning his side up against the arm of the couch, and Neil is leaning his side against Andrew, Neil’s hand resting on Andrew’s belly, rubbing his palm over the skin absently as they watch a man be taught to cook by an animated rat.
Andrew’s belly is poking out slightly as a side effect from the ice cream and full dinner. Neil himself is feeling quite full and bloated. Usually, this would not be a big deal, but tonight, Andrew pushes Neil’s hand away from his stomach, playing with his fingers instead.
Neil hums quietly, “Tummy ache?”
Andrew grunts, pauses in his movements, “No.”
Neil turns to look at Andrew, but the blonde is watching the weird rat with strange enthusiasm, his jaw clenched tight. Again, Neil doesn’t ask. He settles back down against Andrew’s side and turns his attention back to the movie.
When the rat guy finally plates the special dish, Andrew shifts against Neil’s side once again. “Sometimes it bothers me, I think,” Andrew explains quietly, almost drowned out by the sounds of the rat movie, “that I have extra fat there.”
It’s an improvement, Neil knows. An I don’t know would have been perfectly fine in this situation, but Andrew had decided to expand on the issue today, going as far as explaining to Neil what the root of his discomfort is. Neil is absurdly proud of him.
Neil hums again. “Words or actions?”
This is another thing they’ve been trying out recently. Giving the decision between words of actions to the other to choose from. Sometimes words are too much for Andrew to handle. Sometimes actions make Neil’s scars itch. They’re working on it.
“Actions,” Andrew responds, thus giving his consent for Neil to touch him. Regardless, Neil hovers his hand over Andrew’s skin until he receives a nod, just in case. Neil runs his hands over the skin of Andrew’s stomach up to his pecs, trapping the sides of his shirt underneath his armpits. Andrew sucks in a soft sigh when Neil leans down to mouth at his belly, arching up easily against his touch.
Neil kisses his way along Andrew’s stomach and sides, taking a small bit of his fleshy love handle gently between his teeth for a moment, releasing it shortly after, admiring the faint markings of teeth left behind. Neil makes his way over the entirety of Andrew’s stomach, even making his way up his chest at well. Finally, Neil can hear the rat movie ending behind him, and he pulls away, brushing his thumbs gently against the light bruises he’d left with his mouth.
Neil asks, “Words? Just a few?”
Andrew nods, eyes hooded as he tracks Neil’s movements, dragging his head to lie against Andrew’s chest, legs spread to accommodate him.
Neil says the truest words he can think to say. “You’re perfect,” he says, “I love you.”
Andrew presses Neil’s head further into his chest, until Neil can hear the thrum of his own pulse along with the beat of Andrew’s heart.
They stay like until they fall asleep, and right before they do, Neil hears Andrew murmur a quiet, “Thank you,” against the top of his head.
Neil is asleep in seconds.