jemejem:

kiss. kiss. kiss.

Andrew’s lips are sticky and raw, but he still goes to press his lips against Neil’s, slightly off centre.

They’re comfortable, you see. There’s an enormous pillow, one of two, wedged between Neil’s back and the end of the couch. Andrew’s kinda on his hip with his legs curled enough to get his feet up too, but this couch is soft enough that it doesn’t hurt and isn’t numb, even after being here for what had to be hours. Days. Weeks, months, years.

Andrew didn’t want to move. Ever.

Neil’s legs are draped over Andrew’s. His left hand is entwined with Andrew’s right, resting on his lap. The other has his fingers curled in Andrew’s collar, brushing against soft skin.

Somehow, they’re at a perfect angle where Andrew doesn’t have to hold himself up, or crane his neck down, and Neil doesn’t have to reach. A few years ago, this would have been clumsy and barely as stretched out.

There’s something beautiful in kissing without the desire to finish: To just keep going, on and on.

Neil’s flush is a special thing, dappled, his red hair bringing it out even more so. It’s across his cheeks, jaw and ears, down his neck and along the sliver of collarbone that is visible, thanks to a loose t-shirt that is certainly not his and covered with cat hair.

The flush makes his eyes glisten, and Andrew stares. He watches Neil’s eyebrows furrow in concern, and the hand in his collar untangles to trace it’s fingertips across Andrew’s lips.

“’Drew?” His voice is hushed. There’s no need to talk above anything but a whisper when it was just them.

Andrew wanted to let his head fall to Neil’s shoulder, to sigh out and confess every love proclamation that ran through his head in times like these.

“If you’re uncomfortable –”

He let his head fall. It fit perfectly in the knook of Neil’s shoulder and neck, and he felt the shaky exhale of Neil’s surprise with clarity.

Neil’s head fell back onto the pillow, and Andrew felt the swallow.

Folded in with one another like this, the afternoon sunlight peeking through the closed shutters on the opposite side of the rooms, Andrew might whisper three words that shouldn’t change anything, but weighed so heavily on Andrew’s tongue that he suspected they would.

Untangling their entwined hands, he pressed his palm on Neil’s chest, a thin sheet of cotton keeping the pads of his fingers from Neil’s past that marred his skin. He slowly spread his fingers wider and Neil sighed, sinking even further into Andrew.

Neil arched his neck downwards as Andrew pressed up, in perfect synchrony, their lips slotted against each other.

kiss. kiss. kiss.

His head fell back onto Neil’s shoulder. Neil’s heartbeat was strong under his hand. Andrew could hear his own thudding into where it was pressed into Neil’s shoulder.

He closed his eyes, a gently thud-thud lulling him to sleep.

How far they’d come, to fall asleep like this, together.