my entry for the @aftgpridezine I am so happy to be a part of the project. Pls check it out to see all the amazing artist writers and cosplayers who have contributed 🧡🫶🏻 I spent nearly 30 hours on this drawing, I hope you all like it 🧡
Just posted a new oneshot!
TL:DR Summary: Neil and Andrew not being able to keep their hands off each other at movie night
3.5K words
Rating: E
Category: M/M
Fandom: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic (AFTG)
Pairing: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Tags: T4T Andreil, Porn What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Soft Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard (and more specific ones listed on AO3)
What if Neil and Andrew were trans and did each others shots. What then?
Yes Neil’s shot routine is based off of mine😭
@rotchfan sorry if this sucks so bad
Neil was certain he’d grown a comfortable sort of complacent in the Foxes’--and Andrew’s--care. Which was maybe why his hand was shaking on a Sunday, Andrew tucked away in their room, as he held up the syringe and needle.
He’d been on testosterone for a while, his mother allowing it only on the basis that a son was easier to hide. Nathan had known he had a little girl, so to find the opposite in place of that would maybe keep him off Neil’s trail.
It was practical, and his mother was nothing if not realistic. Bigotry cost more than acceptance did, at that point, and he got his math skills from someone. Mary knew basic equations, and Neil and hormones just fit with their needs at the time.
He didn’t think she knew that almost eight years later it was still Neil’s saving grace. So why was he having so much fucking difficulty?
It was frustrating. He was fairly sure it wasn’t the idea of the needle, or the pain, or--
“You’ve been in here too long.”
Neil released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Andrew stood at the door to the bathroom, arms crossed, face neutral in every way except for the question in his eyes, veiled behind annoyance.
“You keeping tabs?” Neil asked, knowing he was. He always was. He was fairly sure Andrew would have him microchipped if he could, not that Neil really minded.
Andrew didn’t dignify that with a response, stepping into the bathroom more, moving his eyes to look pointedly at Neil’s clutched hand around the needle.
“Oh. Yeah. Just taking a bit to do it. That a problem, Drew?” Neil asked, but it was without any actual bite. It felt good, sometimes, to prod the other man and know nothing would come of it. No pain to follow his stupid mouth, just something unbearably and indescribably fond and irritated all at once. Andrew’s brow twitched almost imperceptibly, and he stepped closer, opening an expectant hand.
“I’ve got it. I like doing it.” Neil said, and it was true. He just felt a bit off that day, skin too tight and mind too full, and he guessed that was just fucking him up a bit. He’d had more days like that since Baltimore--days where his body felt thin and reedy and prone to breaking at the smallest shit.
“I know,” Andrew stated, flatly. He kept the hand out, and Neil sighed with feigned annoyance as he handed the syringe over. Andrew tilted it this way and that, eyeing a bubble Neil hadn’t fully tapped out.
One thick finger came up to tap at the plastic of it unti the bubble floated up, and he pressed the remaining air free, a little pearl of the testosterone slipping down the needle.
“Alcohol,” Andrew demanded, and Neil dutifully handed over the little pad for him to wipe the needle clean. He then stepped closer, between Neil’s legs where he was sat on the closed toilet seat. He nudged with one leg so they splayed more, crouched into a squat, eyes on Neil’s right leg.
He wiped the alcohol wipe on a swath of Neil’s outer thigh, hummed. Stared a moment at where hair and warm skin gleamed with the brief dampness, then placed the needle at an angle, right against the skin.
“Breathe,” he ordered quietly, and Neil did. Always did.
“Yes or no, now?” Andrew checked, and Neil nodded his assent. Grunted when the needle slipped in, plunger being pressed surely and steadily. Nothing in Andrew’s gaze was anything more than knowing, and Neil wasn’t sure how being known sat for him, so he just kept quiet.
He pulled the needle free, thumbed away the brief bead of blood on Neil’s thigh.
“Thank you,” Neil said, after a moment, and Andrew just hummed in that way that made Neil’s stomach feel stupidly warm, and capped it.
“Room, now,” Andrew said, warm hand still cupping Neil’s thigh, and the man was helpless to do much but nod.
“Room, now.” he agreed.
The second time Andrew helped Neil with his shot was less of an event, not that the first truly was (it was). He just walked into their room the following Sunday, Neil’s shot supplies already in hand, and Neil looked up from his math textbook with a little frown.
“Oh. I was gonna get to it in a bit,” he commented, and snorted when Andrew tossed the supplies on the bed.
“Now you can get to it now,” he said, shrugging stiffly, then sat himself beside Neil. The air felt thicker, closer to Andrew, and Neil leaned into it a bit.
“Alright. Any reason?”
The look in Drew’s eyes was almost sheepish, and Neil’s grin cracked wider.
“What, you enjoy doing it before?” he pressed, and Andrew grunted.
“Making sure you don’t hit a fucking vein, Junkie,” he said, scowl softer than it should be.
He tugged out the T vial, connected the needle to the syringe to draw. Drew up the proper amount with singleminded focus, and Neil watched with something close to awe. Andrew paid attention. He always did--to every detail. He then switched to the injecting needle, quick but not rushed.
Neil’d never said out loud he took .3 mL, and the knowledge that Andrew paid that much attention settled something in his bones he was still growing accustomed to. Andrew’s eyes were bright, skin flushed gold from the light of the window near their bed, and if Neil were the kind to cry he thinks he would, then.
It was sentimental, but he was sure he could be sentimental, now. Could store the little things in his memory, just for him and Andrew. He knew Andrew would remember every bit of it, knew he had a whole bank of these moments, but Neil’s collection wasn’t too shabby either. Whatever details he could keep he hoarded like something precious.
“Yes or no?” Andrew murmured, voice low and rasping, and Neil choked out a yes with more arousal than he’d anticipated. Andrew noticed, clearly, because his lip did that twitchy thing it did when he was pleased.
One hand tugged Neil’s sweats down to reveal just his upper thighs, and like before he injected the T with a steadiness Neil melted into.
“All done, Neil,” he said when it was done, and Neil leaned against him until the other man stood to dispose of the sharps.
His leg didn’t even feel sore, just flushed hot.
The third time was after enough time had passed that Neil wasn’t even thinking about the last time.
That’s a lie, and he was trying to tell a few less of those. He’d been thinking about it daily--the simple way Andrew helped, the simple ways Andrew kept him together when he didn’t even think to ask for help. He’d been self-sufficient since his mother died, and this sort of care made him ache something fierce.
He went to ask for help the third time. Walked up to Andrew, mouth opening then closing, then commited. Held a hand up in question, then cupped Andrew’s jaw when the man nodded to the silent inquiry.
“Shot day,” Neil stated, and that’s all Andrew needed before he was walking them both to the bathroom.
“You’re awful okay with doing this,” Neil mentioned, as Andrew rustled through the sink cabinet.
“Told you why already,” Andrew replied, and Neil let out a short laugh.
“Yeah, you did, didn’t you?” he asked, unable to hold the pleased note from his voice. Andrew noticed--of course--and flicked his knee with his free hand.
“Sit,” he pointed to the toilet seat, and Neil did so, pulled down his shorts when Andrew pointed at his leg.
“Bossy,” he accused, and Andrew’s raised brow made him squirm on the seat. “Just pointing it out. It’s true.”
“You’re full of new observations,” Andrew drawled.
He took his time with this one. Rubbed at Neil’s leg until Neil stopped being so stiff about it, and silently injected as asked.
“You got a knot there,” Neil nodded when Andrew said so, aware.
“Did a lot of my shots on the same leg for a long time. Doctor said it’d make scar tissue. Didn’t think it was that much of an issue, all the rest considered.” Neil shrugged, and Andrew took that with the sort of look that Neil knew meant he was considering whether or not to strangle Neil. “Making the shot hard to do?” he asked, because he wasn’t sure what Andrew’s point was.
“It’s making scar tissue. Doctor was correct.”
“Oh. Well, not like it--”
“Don’t do it like that again, Abram,” Andrew interrupted, and Neil’s jaw snapped shut with a little click.
He swallowed. Once, twice.
“Yeah. I won’t.”
Kevin walked in on them, once. The two sat in the bathroom for a long moment, stared back at Kevin, and he frowned.
“Cap the needles when you’re done, it’s all of our bathroom.” he said, vaguely annoyed, and Andrew tossed one at him. Kevin let out a noise that had Neil snorting out laughter as the man fled the scene of the crime, and Andrew looked too smug at that.
“It was capped.” Andrew offered, and Neil devolved into giggles again, failing to reign in his own glee.
“Should’ve tossed the uncapped one.” the man suggested, and Andrew perked up a tiny bit.
“Such violence from you, Josten. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by that.”
“Your fault,” Neil eeked out, fighting down a smile. He did that a lot, now, too.
This time Andrew brought two handfuls of supplies in, and Neil gave him a curious look.
“Sundays work for ritual stabbing.” Andrew stated, dry, and Neil nodded.
“I can do yours,” he offered, expecting a no, but Andrew paused. Swallowed.
It was something unspoken. Late night conversations, hushed and quiet, had taught Neil enough of Andrew’s past to make sense of it. Testosterone had been on and off through high school for him, since foster homes were either accepting but transitory or unaccepting and withheld it from him. Once he’d joined the Foxes Andrew had managed to get a prescription. Like Neil, he’d never looked back. It was something they could both understand. The world was shit, sure, but being on T made it something less horrific. Whispers of how, without hormones, Andrew didn’t really think he would have survived. His past hurt enough, and his body had betrayed him and been betrayed too many times for him to really count. This was something true, and real, and controllable.
And Neil had explained that Abram had been the first name his mother had given him--the first true one, at least. The first that fit him. And that each new name had been a punch to the gut. He was a boy without an identity, and he had fought hard to cope with that. Testosterone meant that whatever his identity was, it was as a boy, and that had been enough to survive. He was a new man every week, but he was a man. He would die nameless, and useless, but he’d die with one truth in his pocket. And then he was Neil, and he was a collection of truths, not just one truth and an endless sea of lies.
This was true. The act of giving Andrew something real, and Andrew giving him something real in turn, and when he held Andrew’s thigh and pushed the plunger it felt as close to worship as Neil ever wanted to get.
He wondered if it felt that way for Andrew, too. Neither of them were faithful men, but this was tangible. It was, dare Neil say it, good.
When he finished doing Andrew’s shot he stayed kneeling, propped his chin on the other man’s knee, and met his gaze. Hazel to big, terrified, excited blue.
“Thank you.”
“It’s nothing,” Andrew whispered, a secret for just the two of them. And Neil let the familiar refrain wash over him.
