It’s Called a Racquet, not a Stick
“…Taking time to understand, unbuckle, and replace Andrew’s boundaries had eaten up months of their previous year; there were things that Andrew was still not okay with, things that might always be a no for them, but Neil was at peace with that—he would do anything it took for Andrew, and he knew that the Foxes’ impenetrable goalie was aware of that. A few places had become safe for Neil, the shoulders being one of them. Neil held him close by his left and buried his free hand in soft blond hair with his opposite. Despite how much of a gap existed between them when it came to things that they were comfortable with—things that were known and accepted—there was nothing that could come between them.
Andrew pulled him in until their chests barely brushed. It was a newer foundation for them—for a long time, there had been a space between their bodies when they were kissing as created and dictated by Andrew. Now, however, he’d closed that chasm centimeter by centimeter until each breath between them was felt by the other’s breastbone. Neil never invited himself in, they were not there yet and there was a chance it would never come to fruition. This also failed to bother Neil, who was happy to live with what Andrew had to offer—be that dismal or vast in comparison to what any other person could give. It took only moments of desperate pulls of their lips for their kisses to deepen, turning from subtle and searching to wanting and hard…”
Read the rest of it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37152298 if you want.
romaincrisis
vaporwave
annaxmalina
theartofmadeline
pixelskylines
stormborns