this has been on my ao3 for a bit but it kind of goes with this piece i think:
Neil is still wearing his sweatpants. He’s still catching his breath. He’s still lying here in the dark, in Andrew’s bed, with the sheets and blankets kicked to the floor.
Andrew went to clean up. Neil’s not sure if that means grabbing some paper towel or taking a shower. After sex, Andrew is sometimes distant and sometimes mellow, depending whether he’s shying away from the vulnerability or giving in.
Neil doesn’t mind either way. He doesn’t mind waiting here to find out which kind of night it is. He’ll know soon enough. If the shower starts, or the TV cuts on, or the microwave whirs — then Neil will count to ten, to zehn, to dix, to десять, then he’ll get up too, and the night will go on.
After sex, Neil is sometimes boneless and sometimes energized, depending on his own adrenaline and his prior exhaustion and Andrew’s level of creativity. Tonight, Neil definitely has control of his limbs. He could get up, could pull on a shirt and go up to the roof or out to the supermarket frozen aisle. His heart rate still hasn’t settled, thumping in a way that makes Neil’s legs twitch with restlessness.
Neil won’t get up yet. First, he wants to see what kind of night it is.
“Cleaning up” turns out to mean a wet, soapy washcloth. Andrew flicks the lamp on when he returns with it. He sits down on the edge of the mattress as he rubs the cloth roughly against Neil’s stomach, then tosses it vaguely in the direction of his hamper. Andrew’s eyes don’t leave Neil’s face. He looks calm, but not closed off. He’s still not wearing a shirt.
When Neil lifts himself up onto his elbows, Andrew shoves him back against the pillows with a hand on his chest.
Neil fails to hide a smile. Andrew rolls his eyes, but then he’s swinging a knee over Neil’s legs and settling on top of him. His cheek rests on Neil’s chest. His palms cradle Neil’s triceps. The too-fast thump-thump-thump of Neil’s heart contributes to that ballooning feeling in his rib cage, a pressure that almost hurts. He shakes one hand free so that he can bury it in Andrew’s slippery-soft hair. Andrew’s sigh is a warm puff against Neil’s bare skin, and Neil tips his face so that he can press his lips to the crown of Andrew’s head.
It only takes a few minutes for Andrew to fall asleep. Neil is too amped up to do the same. He could still go for a jog. He could join Kevin at the court, or do laundry, or write the paper he has due at the end of the week.
He won’t get up, though. He’ll be patient, counting Andrew’s breaths and tracing patterns into his hair.
Neil is stupid, but he’s not a fool; on this kind of night, he won’t be the one to pull away first.
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