#neil (not looking away from the exy match on tv): what ice cream did you get | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

darkblueboxs · 5 years ago

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howdy i love your aftg writing!! here’s a concept: i feel like once neil’s past is out, he has no reason to hesitate absolutely sucker punching someone. like we know he made neil a pushover because it raises less questions, but now that everyone knows who he is im SURE he’s just bitch slapped someone mid-game. no holding back, like if u say something fucked up he’s just gonna try to kill you!! do you know who this man is?? there’s no doubt in my mind that he knows some quick and lethal punches!

Oh yes, anon. Bruiser!Neil I can DEFO get behind.

Here’s 3k of Neil punching stuff, and Andrew being wildly turned on by it. Read here or on AO3 (Check AO3 notes for content warnings, etc.)

*Edit* : In the original version of this fic, Nicky faces racist abuse in addition to homophobic abuse, and quotes the offensive language and slurs used against him. After concerns were raised regarding how I handled this abuse (specifically, the language used, the context in which the abuse takes place, and my position as a non-latine) I censored and subsequently removed the relevant dialogue. I sincerely apologise and promise to do better in the future. Please don't hesitate to contact me with any questions and concerns regarding this subject.

[01/06/2020]

All the Guys Love a Bruiser

Neil’s mother taught him how to throw a punch, of course she did. Their lessons took place anywhere spacious enough to swing a fist, in empty parking lots behind greasy gas stations or in dingy motel rooms if she thought the walls were thick enough to cover up the noises they made.

Mary had always been more flight than fight, an instinct she had forced into Neil over years of running. Even she had to admit, however, that sooner or later they would hit a dead end, and while that would spell certain death for both of them, it would be better to go down fighting than it would on their knees.

If their lessons ended with Neil aching black and blue, it was his own fault. He needed to be quicker, smarter, crueller. More like his mother.

Matt’s teaching style is different from Mary’s, as is his fighting style. It bears the hallmarks of professional athleticism, all stances and positioning and strategy. While his mother’s idea of a lesson in self-defence was to hit Neil until he figured out how to dodge her blows or hit back, Matt talks him through how to angle his body, how to make a fist in a way that won’t break his fingers. At the end of their first boxing lesson, the only bruises on Neil’s body are the light purple spreading across his knuckles.

That evening, he and Andrew take over the beanbags, TV muted in the background while they dig into ice-cream. The tub is pleasantly cool in Neil’s hands, and he rubs his knuckles against the sides like an improvised icepack. When the residual cold has melted away, Neil flexes his fingers, enjoying the faint tingle dancing across them. These marks are different from those his mother gave him; they weren’t inflicted on him unwillingly but earned with sweat and exertion. When Matt had let go of the punching bag and told him they were done for the day, Neil had been surprised by his own disappointment. He had never been sorry see the end of his mother’s lessons.

Andrew takes his hand suddenly, startling Neil from his thoughts. It’s a purely analytical touch; he turns Neil’s hand over and runs a finger across the blossoming bruises of his knuckles.

Neil bites back the I’m fine, knowing the look it would earn him. Instead he says, “I had fun. We’re meeting again next week.”

Andrew nods. It’s a few moments more before he relinquishes Neil’s hand, however. The heat of Andrew’s skin mingles with the singing twinge of Neil’s bruises like an after-print.

Next week, Andrew slouches into the gym after Neil. He ignores Matt’s invitation to join them, flopping onto a rowing machine and leaning back against the machinery so he can kick his feet up on the seat rail. They’re lucky that they chose unsociable hours for their workout, or a line of athletes would be forming to glare at him.

Andrew watches them train from across the room with apparent disinterest. He can feign boredom all he likes; Neil knows he wouldn’t have bothered following him to the gym without reason.

Matt, if anything, seems amused by Andrew’s presence. “Dan comes to watch me practice sometimes, too.” He pauses to correct the angles of Neil’s feet before nudging his arms into blocking positions. “She did it even before we started dating. She used to sit on an exercise bike and pretend she was cycling so I wouldn’t know she was there to watch me. It was never very convincing.”

“Why did she want to watch you?” Neil shifts his weight, trying to copy Matt’s position.

Matt’s face crinkles up with laughter. “That’s the most Neil thing you’ve ever said.”

“Everything I say is a Neil thing.”

“She liked it when I took my shirt off. C’mon, man, join the dots.”

“You don’t take your shirt off to box.”

“Yeah,” says Matt. “Don’t tell her that.”

Neil rolls his eyes. “Can I hit you now?”

Matt barks out a laugh, and training resumes.

“Enjoying the show?” Neil asks Andrew an hour later, dropping down on the gym mat next to him. Andrew hands Neil his water bottle with an unimpressed look.

“You’re awful.” Andrew flicks a look over to Matt, who is using their break to chat with the only other gym regular insane enough to be working out at the crack of dawn on a Sunday. “He could knock you on your ass with one right hook.”

“I know I’m awful. That’s what training is for.” Neil pauses to gulp down most of the bottle. A droplet escapes his lips and tracks down his jugular before falling into the dip of his clavicle. Andrew’s eyes track its path. “Matt isn’t going to hurt me. Is that what you’re worried about?”

“I’m not here to babysit you.”

“Huh.” Neil drains the last of the water before shaking the residual droplets over his head. The beads glint in the corners of his vision as they catch in his bangs and fleck his cheeks, mercifully cooling against his skin. Andrew is still watching him intently. His eyes flick to Matt once more, checking that he is still absorbed in his conversation.

“Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Neil replies, and he watches as Andrew takes Neil’s hand in his. The skin is flushed from strike after strike, not yet coloured in bruising patches but soon to be. Neil’s hands feel softer for it, sensitive to Andrew’s touch.

“I know my limits.” Neil isn’t sure why the gym suddenly feels three degrees warmer. “Really, it doesn’t hurt.”

“I know. I trust you.” Andrew sends one more look over Neil’s shoulder like he’s checking the coast is clear before pressing Neil’s knuckles to his lips.

The breath Neil was in the process of catching slips from his grasp entirely. “Oh.”

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“You like watching me fight.”

“It’s more interesting than watching you run.”

Neil leans in until he can see each individual freckle on Andrew’s cheeks. “Interesting?”

Andrew’s cool look is betrayed by the twitch of his jaw. “Something like that.”

If Matt notices Neil’s new vigour when they return to practice, he doesn’t comment on it. When he catches Neil’s eye, however, he grins knowingly. Perhaps Matt’s conversation had not been as absorbing as he made it out to be. Soon, however, the rhythm of the exercise draws Neil’s attention back to the task at hand.

Neil first learned to throw a punch because his mother believed that one day his life could depend on it. That isn’t the reason that he has resumed his training with Matt; it turns out that a good instructor and fewer death threats make the activity far more pleasant than Neil remembers. It may be a useful skill, but he values the challenge more than he does the practicality. The physicality, too – in fact, he likes boxing for the same reasons that he loves Exy. Quick, brutal, thrilling. He finally understands, too, why Andrew likes to spar with Renee whenever his emotions get on top of him. There’s a certain a sense of control that comes from putting his fist through a break-board. Not that he needs the empowerment as much as he once might have – most of Neil’s tormentors were killed long ago, his fears with them. Given his new life of safety and security, it’s likely that he’ll never really need to know how to throw a good punch.

It takes all of one week for Neil to be proven wildly, wildly wrong.

Opposition strikers – with one glaring, now very dead exception – are not typically Neil’s problem. Generally, if they end up playing on the same side of the court as him, something has gone wrong in the team’s strategies.

He can tell even from a distance, however, that one of the Terrapin strikers is causing difficulties. Not in terms of ability – of which Terrapin’s #13 has little – but in attitude. Thirteen is a vocal player, and Neil can hear snatches of his voice echoing across the court. No fists have been swung, which is an impressive feat for the Fox defenders, but perhaps only because the luck of substitutions has put Thirteen against Nicky more than anyone else, and Nicky is more likely to react to insults with mirth than anger.

Shortly before the end of the first half, Nicky is subbed off at the same time as Thirteen. Nicky passes Neil on the way to the court doors, clacking their racquets together with half a smile. “Give them hell, Neil.”

Thirteen passes them at the same moment, slamming Nicky’s shoulder as he passes. Nicky mutters a word under his breath that would have earned him a month of washing-up duty at Abby’s house before heading for the Foxes’ bench. Neil watches him go, eyebrows creasing together. Nicky isn’t easily upset by the cruelty of strangers; it’s the cruelty that comes from within his own family that is most likely to shake him from his good humour. The barbed insults of nameless players on the court, on the other hand, are usually brushed off with a rude gesture and no more.

Swept up in the rush of the match, Neil forgets about Nicky’s discomfort until half-time. The team pours from the court in high spirits; they have a decent lead over the Terrapins which should carry them through the second half when exhaustion starts to kick in. Nicky, despite having blocked more shots on goal than anyone, reacts to the arrival of the rest of the team with only a pallid grin. His grip on his water bottle is tight, and the cheap plastic crackles and caves in his hands.

Nicky is an easy read, and it doesn’t take long for the other Foxes to notice. After he brushes Renee’s concerned enquiry off, however, the team leaves him be.

When Neil returns to the court for the start of the third quarter, he breathes a sigh of relief to see that Thirteen is nowhere near Nicky. He’s standing closer to goal than Neil is happy with, but Andrew is more or less impervious to verbal abuse and Thirteen has yet to show signs of physical violence. As much as he wants to keep a closer eye on the situation, Kevin’s barked commands draw his attention to the match at hand. The best thing Neil can do for the Foxes’ defence is to spend as much time lobbing the ball at the Terrapin’s goal as possible.

Neil and Nicky are substituted at the same time; they collapse onto the bench and drown their exhaustion in Gatorade. Thirteen crushed Nicky against the wall moments before the substitution, and Nicky is uncharacteristically quiet as Abby examines the cut over his eye.

“You’re not whining about cramping your style,” she says as she presses a plaster in place. “Should I be worried?”

“Nah, this is great for my style. All the guys love a bruiser.” Nicky winks despite the blood crusting in his eyelashes. “Neil knows what I’m talking about, don’tcha, Neil?”

Abby makes a noise that isn’t convinced, but doesn’t press the issue. Neil waits until she’s out of earshot before saying casually, “I still have a few contacts in the mafia.”

“Your sense of humour is dire,” says Nicky, but he’s grinning, so Neil counts it as a win. “Don’t worry about it. I think Andrew’s drawing his fire now. Andrew handles that kind of thing a lot better than me.”

“What kind of thing?”

Nicky winced. “Don’t ask.”

“Tell me.”

“Let's just say he isn't exactly lining up to lead a Pride march.” Nicky snorts humorlessly.

The joke doesn’t land, and not because of Neil’s non-existent sense of humour. He may not be as obvious as Nicky in his preferences nor as dark-skinned, but he has still been on the receiving end of enough of that brand of bullshit to know how it scratches at one’s insides.

“I wasn’t joking about those contacts.”

Nicky sighs. “I was worried you would say that.”

Neil’s attention keeps slipping from the game and over to Andrew, who is standing in goal and ignoring the tirade of insults being thrown his way like a statue facing down a breeze. His non-reaction only seems to stoke Thirteen’s fury, spittle catching in the mesh of his helmet as he watches Andrew knock yet another attempt away from the Foxes’ end.

Andrew spares Thirteen no more than a second of blank indifference in the face of his tirade. Then he drops his stance, shoulders setting into a silent challenge that sends a hot bolt of excitement straight Neil’s to gut. Andrew is locking down the goal.

The Terrapins don’t score again for the rest of the match.

Neil is through the doors before the final buzzer has died, charging into the crush of Foxes at centre-court to join in their celebrations. Andrew, as usual, hovers at the edge of the throng, but he accepts the clack of Neil’s racquet against his. A light sheen of sweat dances across Andrew’s forehead and his lips are parted as he regains his breath after the exertion of locking the Terrapins out.

“Did Thirteen give you trouble?”

Andrew snorts derisively despite his breathlessness. “He tried.”

Neil gets to see Thirteen up close during the handshakes. He barely grazes the tips of each Foxes’ fingers as he passes one by one, but he stops when he gets to Neil. “I remember you. You were all over the news, weren’t you? The runaway Wesninski.” His expression speaks to his delight at the revelation. To no-one’s surprise, Thirteen is a sore loser.

Andrew barely moves, just a slight adjustment to his footing so that he presses a little closer into Neil’s shoulder.

Neil smiles. It is the kind of smile he has not had use for in some time. “Looking for an autograph?”

Thirteen snorts. “Bet you think you’re real bad. Bet you think those scars make you look tough. Too bad you’re still a puny little bitch.”

Neil flexes his hand before clenching it into a fist. “I do think I’m real bad, actually. Want to find out why?”

The striker waits for the hit to come. Neil doesn’t give him the satisfaction; the guy is a piece of shit, but he isn’t worth the trouble he’s clearly looking for. Neil drops his hands, meets his gaze, and waits for him to give up on getting his reaction and leave.

Most of the other players are moving off to their own respective sides, and their stand-off is beginning to attract attention. Kevin squints over at them, and at his side, Aaron pulls off his helmet.

“Oh shit. Twins.” Thirteen’s gaze swings from Aaron to Andrew, flashing with sudden recognition. “I remember you too.” His expression turns sharkish. “Now that was a story. So, which one is the murderer, and which is the brother-fucker?”

Andrew barely twitches. Neil’s reaction is less restrained.

It’s almost a play-by-play of decking Riko at the Winter Banquet. The key difference between that punch and this one is hours of training with a borderline-professional boxer.

Neil squares his stance, draws back his fist, and puts his whole body behind the punch. He’s rewarded with the sickening crack of a nose breaking and a hot spurt of blood splattering his knuckles.

Thirteen staggers back, shock registering for a second before he spits blood at the floor. He’s swaying on his feet, but there’s still fight in his eyes.

Andrew’s hands go to his sheaths, but Neil waves him back. He wipes the hand bloodied by Thirteen’s face across his jaw unthinkingly, feels the wet, red heat clinging to his skin. “Hey. This one’s mine.” The smile he tacks onto the words is toothier than he means it to be. With blood still smeared across his chin, he can only imagine how he looks.

Andrew’s hand judders to a halt at the hems of his armbands. His jaw is clenched tight but roaring over the current of concern is something far darker. It creeps into his eyes, a weight to his gaze normally only visible in the privacy of their bedroom. Andrew’s gaze runs the length of Neil’s body before coming to rest on Neil’s mouth. His bottom lip catches momentarily in his teeth as he nods.

Thirteen’s first swing hits, and a burst of blood dances across Neil’s tongue as his lip is split open. Thirteen’s luck ends there; Neil blocks his second punch with a move Matt taught him the day before. He drives his free hand into Thirteen’s solar plexus, knocking the air from him.

Neil doesn’t get much time to appreciate how the striker falls on his ass as they’re rushed by teammates and officials who break them apart.

Neil stands placidly before Wymack and bears his row with the bare minimum of decorum. The lecture is undercut by Nicky, who’s expression alternates between elation, amusement and mock disapproval from moment to moment. Matt, at least, waits until Wymack is finished before applauding.

“I’ll give you some notes later, but all things considered it was a solid right hook.”

Neil brushes the team’s reactions off as best he can; he certainly didn’t do it for their recognition.

He takes his time showering, watching with a strange, sick pleasure as he rinses the striker’s blood away. It turns pink in the shower basin before swirling at last down the drain. Beneath the blood, Neil’s knuckles have begun to bruise, satisfaction burning them blue.

It’s at these times that Neil worries that he may have inherited too much from his father; the temper, the violence, the bloodlust. Then again, they all served as tools to his survival at one point or another. The key difference between Neil and his father is who they choose to turn their anger on. Neil’s father always set his sights on the underdog. Neil prefers to punch up.

No; if there’s one thing Nathan gave him, it was a distaste for bullies.

There’s a familiar tap at the door to Neil’s stall. The rest of the Foxes cleared out some time ago, still rowdy from the post-match high. Tonight was a home game; most of the team will be halfway back to Fox tower already, thinking only of booze and the weekend stretching ahead of them. There’s only one player who would have any reason to linger.

Andrew steps under the spray, his hair is plastered to his head by the steamy drizzle. He holds his hand out, and Neil offers his without question for Andrew’s inspection.

Andrew’s voice is dispassionate as he inspects the damage. “I don’t need a knight in shining armour. Nor for you to fight my battles for me.”

“The fight was for my own satisfaction. But I’ll stop if you want me to.”

Once again, Andrew presses his lips to Neil’s raw knuckles. The contact stings, sweet and savoury, pleasure and pain. “Would it kill you to make life easy for once?” The words tingle against the tender skin.

“I thought you liked to watch me fight.”

“Just because I find your stupidity entertaining doesn’t mean I encourage it.”

“It’s my stupidity you like, is it?”

“What else do you have?” Andrew’s eyes track the rivulets of water snaking down Neil’s neck.

“I’m sure I can think of a few things.” Neil says. Then, for clarity, “Yes or no?”

“Yes.” Andrew doesn’t let go of Neil’s hand, thumb running across the reddening knuckles once more before leading it to his chest. Neil leaves it resting there, marvelling at the colours bleeding between them under the shower’s onslaught, pink and brown and red and blue. Andrew soon tires of Neil’s staring, and is the first to bridge the gap between them.

Neil once compared Andrew’s kisses to a fight with their lives on the line. Countless kisses later, this fact has not changed in the slightest. Andrew leaves a bruising trail of kisses across Neil’s neck until he can’t remember which marks are from Exy and which are from Andrew. They all sting the same, sweet way.

Each kiss pressed to his mouth carries a metallic tang from Neil’s burst lip. He can tell from the fierce pressure of Andrew’s mouth against his that Andrew can taste it too, is feeding off the adrenaline rush just as Neil is. He catches Neil’s bottom lip between his teeth and with it sucks a groan from deep in Neil’s chest.

Andrew draws back to level him with an unimpressed look. “You’re far too into this.”

“You’re one to talk.” Neil raises his hand to Andrew’s eyeline, wiggling his fingers. Andrew’s eyes catch on the blooming violet patches. “You like this. Admit it.”

Andrew steps forward until his cheek brushes Neil’s fingers. Neil turns his hand automatically, cupping Andrew’s face.

“Yes,” says Andrew. His eyes stay on Neil’s, even as Neil’s hand drops lower.

It’s a small miracle, Neil thinks, that Andrew can trust Neil’s hands on him, after all he knows they are capable of. Maybe that’s part of the appeal, the evidence painted into Neil’s knuckles that Neil’s gentler touches are reserved for Andrew and Andrew alone. It’s strange that Andrew should love Neil’s fighting spirit as much as he does. After all, it was Andrew who taught Neil how to stand and fight in the first place.

It’s a fact that neither will ever let the other forget.

Neil leaves the shower sporting several more bruises than he entered with. Some are from Exy, some are from fighting, and some are from Andrew’s mouth.

He loves them all just the same.

* Thanks for reading, let me know what you think! Still open to prompts etc.

#tfc #aftg #andreil #the foxhole court #all for the game #my fic #asks #anon #WHY IS TUMBLR FUCKING WITH THE POST FORMAT ASKDHSKDFGGGG

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wematch · 6 years ago

Text

The Truth Behind It

Neil finally makes a Twitter account the year after he leaves the Foxes. His PR has been nagging him about making a social media account since he joined the team but ultimately he uses it to annoy Andrew. Of course things escalate and the rumours of a rivalry between the two form, that is until Neil clarifies everything.

You can also read it on [AO3]

As always a big thank you to @velvetnoodle for being such a wonderful beta!

Neil is lying on the sofa of his empty apartment staring at the ceiling. The match he had been watching in the TV just ended and now the post game interviews are about to start; the sound of Andrew’s voice coming from the screen draws his attention back to the TV. He grabs the remote to turn the volume up and sits up on the couch to pay attention.

He can’t help but be surprised when he sees Andrew’s blank face right next to his team captain ready to do the interview. Andrew never liked to do this sort of thing and has always left that pretty clear in the past. But this wasn’t college anymore, they were now playing for professional teams and the contracts they signed were different, interviews and the occasional photos were part of their careers as professional athletes.

But that doesn’t mean that Andrew would go there and put on a smile for the cameras and pretend to be nice like Kevin does. No, Andrew will be there because that’s what’s required of him. Nothing else.

Neil is amused at the whole interview; Andrew either ignores the questions thrown at him or gives the shortest answers possible. And when it becomes clear that the reporters are no longer asking Exy related questions, Andrew just exits the room leaving his captain behind.

When the interview is over, Neil’s phone starts beeping so he fumbles on the couch in search of it. When he unlocks it he finds a message in his chat with Allison. It’s only a screenshot, and when Neil clicks to expand it he can see that it’s from a tweet of Nicky just saying next with laughing smiles and then Andrew’s reply to it saying You’re next.

Neil snorts. When did Andrew get a Twitter account? Maybe his PR had him make an account just like they’ve been asking Neil to do. He puts his phone away and watches the sports channel that is currently showing a game from the past season. But he doesn’t pay too much attention to it; he keeps thinking about what Allison showed him so he grabs his phone again and decides to download Twitter to try the damn thing. It will get his PR off his back and he can tease Andrew a bit.

He makes an account in a few minutes, and then he proceeds to type his first tweet.

@JostenN10: Who let @AJMinyard loose near the press?

In no time his phone begins to beep like crazy. People are beginning to follow him and retweet what he said, including some of the Foxes. Neil follows his friends back, and takes some time to figure out how to disable all the notifications except for theirs. He gets distracted trying to read what they’ve tweeted to each other lately until a notification letting him know that Andrew had just mentioned him appears.

@AJMinyard: @JostenN10 Mind your own damn business.

He smiles at his phone when he reads Andrew’s reply and gets up to prepare to go to sleep. His phone rings a few minutes later so he lays down and answers it. “Are you banned from interviews yet?”

“Not yet,” Andrew replies.

Neil begins to grin; of course Andrew will try to make it happen soon. He turns off his lamp and makes himself comfortable in bed to talk to Andrew. They haven’t seen each other in two weeks and Neil misses him. “You still coming here next weekend?”

“Yes,” Andrew answers, and then he proceeds to tell Neil about the book Renee let him borrow a few days ago when she went to visit him.

And like most nights they don’t talk for long as they both have practice in the next morning. So after Neil tells Andrew about his teammates becoming really stressed about the upcoming matches, they hung up to get some sleep.

***

A few days pass, and Neil’s team wins a game where he scores an impossible shot. Once he’s dressed after the game he comes to sit on his car to make some time for the stadium to clear out.

He checks his phone to see what time it is, but finds that he has a few notifications on Twitter so he clicks to open it. He sees several of the Foxes congratulating him about the game. All except for one.

@NickyHe: What an amazing shot @JostenN10, so proud!!

@AJMinyard: @NickyHe you forgot the part that he face planted himself into the plexiglass. Bravo.

Neil snorts when he reads what Andrew sent him and immediately begins to type his answer.

@JostenN10: Fuck you @AJMinyard

He then puts his phone away and drives back to his apartment. Once he arrives, he takes off his shoes and sits on the couch, the adrenaline of the game has passed and Neil feels his legs giving out.

He takes out his phone from his pocket to call Andrew. “I’m probably going to be told off tomorrow for that,” he comments, remembering his PR warning him to think about what he posts online because it could impact him and his team.

“Tell that to someone who cares,” Andrew replies and Neil can hear the slight amusement in his voice. “They should just ban you from social media before it’s too late.”

“Probably,” Neil agrees. “If they were smart they would ban us both, just to be safe.”

Andrew hums and for a few moments neither of them speak. Andrew is going to stay over during the weekend so Neil walks to his fridge and opens freezer to check if he still has ice cream for him. He sees a container of Andrew’s favorite flavor and grabs it.“Your ice cream container is almost empty, do you want me to buy a different flavor or the same one?”

Andrew doesn’t answer right away and sounds like he’s walking around. So while he waits for Andrew to answer, Neil closes the freezer and starts to look at the take out menus to think about what he’s going to order for dinner.

“The same,” Andrew tells him.“You going shopping tomorrow?”

“Yeah, but I should be back before you arrive,” Neil replies.

***

Almost two weeks later, Neil’s sitting in the locker room putting away his things in a gym bag and he can feel the tense atmosphere of his team in the air. They just lost an away game and it will make it difficult for them to move to the next round. So he takes a deep breath, closes his bag and follows his teammates in silence.

On his way to the parking lot Neil checks his phone and goes on Twitter where he sees he has several mentions from the others about the match. He’s not really in the mood to talk about it, so he ignores them until he notices that Andrew also mentioned him.

@AJMinyard: @JostenN10 I thought you knew how to run

@JostenN10: @AJMinyard At least I played, what did you do on your last game?

@AJMinyard: @JostenN10 You have a death wish

After a short drive, his team gets back to their city. Neil leaves the team bus and enters his car, feeling slightly calmer after bickering with Andrew. He begins to drive and only checks his phone again when he stops at a gas station, and he sees that he has a message from Andrew.

Andrew: How long?

Neil: At the gas station, 20min

Neil pays for the gas and buys some chocolate bars for Andrew that were in the counter. When he enters the car and throws the chocolates to the other seat he realizes that it’s getting late and he’s getting hungry so he sends another message to Andrew.

Neil: Indian tonight?

Andrew: Yes. Number 37?

Neil: Yeah and Naan bread

Once he arrives at Andrew’s apartment he opens the door and Andrew calmly gets up from the couch to stop in front of him. Neil silently drops his bag to the floor and holds up the chocolates one in each hand in front of them.

Andrew spares them a glance and holds Neil’s hands with his own. “You can live. For now,” he comments and Neil can see that he’s amused. Then he moves forward and kisses Neil for a moment, and just as quickly Andrew steps back taking the chocolates with him. “Dinner should be arriving anytime now,” he informs him turning his back to Neil.

“Good,” Neil says, thinking that he’s quite hungry and follows Andrew into the living room to wait for dinner to be delivered.

***

Neil takes a deep breath and steps into the room full of reporters to follow his captain. He was put to press duty because the reporters have been asking why he never makes them, so of course they sent him today with the warning to watch his mouth.

After a few questions about the match they just had, one reporter changes the subject. “You seem to have a rivalry with your former teammate Andrew Minyard, care to comment?”

“No,” He replies, trying not to roll his eyes at the so-called rivalry that, according to Allison, everyone has been talking about.

“Are you excited to go against him next week?”

“Yes, I can’t wait to see him,” he replies and fights the urge to smile when he thinks about Andrew and the time they’ll get to spend together next weekend.

“There’s some rumors going around that while you were at Palmetto you two didn’t get along?” another reporter immediately asks, interrupting his thoughts.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure he hates me,” Neil says to the camera with a grin, choosing to let them interpret that however they want.

Later that night he checks in at the hotel where his whole team is staying before they fly back to their city in the morning. He goes to his room and opens the window to light a cigarette on the small balcony. He breathes in the smell of smoke and once the cigarette is gone he thinks about calling Andrew so he grabs his phone. He unlocks it and notices that he has a notification from Twitter and opens the app.

@AJMinyard: @JostenN10 You’re right, I do hate you.

His heart skips a beat after reading Andrew’s message from two hours ago. He stares at the message for a few moments but ultimately realizes that is already quite late and he doesn’t want to wake Andrew, so instead of calling him tonight he only answers him on Twitter.

@JostenN10: @AJMinyard Good

***

After the game between their teams, Neil silently follows his team into the locker room to wait for their turn to do the post-game interview. His coach comes inside and turns the TV on so that they can watch the other team’s interview. Andrew’s team won and Neil almost has the urge to roll his eyes when he sees that they sent Andrew to do the interview.

“Andrew, what was it like to play against your former captain?” a reporter asks as soon as he steps into the room.

“Interesting,” Andrew replies with a blank face.

“You confirmed on Twitter that you hated him - did something happen between the two of you?” another one asks.

Andrew turns to the side to look the reporter in the eye before he answers. “You could say that.”

“Would you like to share some details about that? The fans have been wondering what happened to the two of you; even Kevin Day won’t comment about it.”

“It’s good to know that someone has learned to shut their mouth,” is all Andrew says, ignoring the question completely. And then he turns around as if preparing to leave.

“Just one more question; did you had a chance to speak to Josten after the game?”

Andrew pauses after hearing Neil’s name being brought up again. “If only there were days were I didn’t have to fucking deal with him,” he says without looking at the cameras. “I’m done with this,” he adds, and then leaves.

A few minutes pass, and Neil follows his captain to do the interview for his team. As soon as he’s in front of the cameras the reporters don’t even ask about the game, choosing instead to try and see if Neil can give them more information about the situation with Andrew.

“Neil care to comment about your rivalry with Andrew?”

“Rivalry?” Neil asks, feigning confusion.

“Yes, the public is concerned about what really happened between the two of you and why you hate each other so much.”

“Oh, that,” Neil begins to grin; their so called rivalry is what is making his PR send him to press duty after every game. The press has been dying to know more about them.

“Andrew didn’t say anything about it in his interview moments ago, but can you give us an inside scoop? Did you guys have a serious fight while you were in the same team?

“What?”

“Andrew has been known to have violent tendencies. Did something happen?” another reporter quickly asks.

“What? Fuck, no.” Neil says, no longer grinning. Fuck the reporters; they’re only interested in the gossip that could make them sell more and they were going too far with their assumptions. He doesn’t want anyone to think that about the two of them, so he turns around and leaves before he says something he really shouldn’t. He did swear on camera, but his PR should be proud that he shut his mouth after that and walked away.

Later that night they’re both back at Andrew’s apartment in bed and Neil has been scrolling through Twitter for the past half an hour reading a lot of opinions about their so-called fight, and he’s just done with the whole thing. At the beginning, it was fun to tease Andrew and watch everyone start to wonder why, but now it was all getting out of control. He takes a deep breath and looks at Andrew by his side. “I’m tired of this stupid rivalry.”

Andrew stops reading his book and looks back. “It is getting boring,” he comments, and when he sees that Neil isn’t going to add anything else for now, he turns his attention back to the book.

Neil goes back to Twitter and sees that Nicky’s making jokes about the interviews they did today and commenting about the whole situation between them. Neil decides to reply to one of Nicky’s tweets that is full of laughing and crying smiles.

@NickyHe: @AJMinyard He really hates @JostenN10

@JostenN10: @NickyHe @AJMinyard He really does. Especially today since I scored him so many goals

Neil can hear Andrew’s phone vibrating from the notification and watches him grab his phone to check it so he waits, looking at his own phone to see if he’s going to reply.

@AJMinyard: @JostenN10 I hate you everyday. Now shut the fuck up, you’re distracting me

Neil snorts and begins to type his reply:

@JostenN10: @AJMinyard Is that a threat?

@AJMinyard: @JostenN10 It is now

@AJMinyard: @JostenN10 I’ll fucking kill you if you don’t let me finish this book tonight

@JostenN10: @AJMinyard I’m not afraid of you

Out of the corner, of his eye he sees sudden movement and reflexly brings his arm up to defend himself. He isn’t fast enough, however, so he feels a object hitting him on the head. He grabs it to check what it is and sees the book Andrew was just reading. Andrew had just thrown the book at him without any force behind it so Neil looks to his side and grins. He’s met with Andrew looking at him with an eyebrow raised, as if daring him to do something about it. So Neil keeps the book against his chest and grabs his phone once again.

@JostenN10: @AJMinyard just fucking threw the book at my head!

Then Neil, still grinning, turns to look at Andrew again, wondering if it would be okay to post a picture of them together to just end this mess once and for all.

“Staring,” Andrew comments turning to the side and props up his head with his hand to look back at Neil.

“Can I post a picture of us?”

Andrew stills for a moment, clearly not expecting that.“Yes,” he tells him after a moment. “Now give me back the book.”

Neil turns on his camera, takes a picture and gives him back the book. He shows the picture to Andrew and once he glances at it and returns to focus on his book, Neil posts it. It’s a picture of him seated on his bed holding the book and looking at the side grinning, where you can see half of Andrew’s side looking back at him.

@AJMinyard: @JostenN10 You should’ve learned how to duck by now

(And the media goes crazy.)

#andreil #aftg #aftg fic #andreil fic #tfc #tfc fic #andrew minyard #neil josten #social media #twitter #exy #interviews #minyard-josten rivalry but not really

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chaosprince-apollo · 8 years ago

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Dumb soft valentines day Indriel for @poze-laceen and @everythingthatmatters because I am in fact trash, I wanted to write something nice for y’all and like...I dunno it’s kind of shit and rushed, but forgive me. I did my very best. I can’t actually make you pancakes. I love you?

Andrew is relaxing on the couch when something lands on his stomach. He opens one eye slightly to find Ichirou staring at him. Andrew hums a greeting to the older man before closing his eyes. “Uh, Andrew...” Ichirou starts.

“What do you want?” Andrew says, cutting him off. He can feel the couch dip slightly at his feet as Ichirou sits down. There are a few moments of silence as Ichirou makes himself comfortable. Andrew is a little tempted to kick him out of spite but it's not worth the effort. “It's the 14th,” Ichirou says matter of factly.

“I know what the date is”

“Of February” Ichirou clarifies. Andrew opens his eyes to actually look at what Ichirou has given him. He's actually surprised by the small bag of chocolates and has to take a minute to compose himself. “You bought me chocolates,” Andrew notes, Ichirou laughs and smiles brightly. “I made them actually, you like sweet things.” Andrew is thinking about what to say in reply when his thoughts are interrupted by a sleepy murmur of “Ichi...Drew?” and he glances over to see Neil wandering in dressed in tracksuit pants that are too big for him. Andrew would have thought Neil could find clothes that fit by now, then he realises they are an old pair of Matt's and the fact the piece of clothing is staying on Neil at all is some kind of miracle. Neil's habit of borrowing clothes of everyone is atrocious but Andrew admits he thought Neil looked good when he'd started wearing Allison's crop tops. Andrew sits up to allow extra room and Neil wriggles his way in between Andrew and Ichirou. Neil spots the chocolates and goes to take one. Andrew slaps his hand away and shifts them out of his reach. Neil pouts for a second and then returns his face to neutral. “Those are mine, get your own” Andrew tells him and Ichirou snorts in amusement. He pulls out a second bag and gives it to Neil. “Thanks,” Neil says. Ichirou stands up and brushes nothingness from his clothes, Andrew notes that he's dressed for work. Ichirou shoves a hair gently through Neil's hair and gives Andrew a wave. “I have some business to attend to, you have a booking for seven pm. I'll send you a car,” Ichirou tells them. “Don't you mean we have a booking?” Neil calls after him but Ichirou has already left. Neil fidgets a little next Andrew. Andrew grabs him and pulls him down after a minute Neil stops squirming and lets out a huff.

“Stop with whatever you're over thinking about,” Neil's brain ticks away for a few seconds before he sighs and buries himself in Andrew's chest. “Don't get too comfortable, you're not staying here” Andrew tells him. “Why are you out here on the couch anyway?” Neil asks. Andrew shrugs but doesn't elaborate. Neil shifts of him and rolls himself onto the floor and then up into standing position. “I'm going to make pancakes” Neil announces wandering off towards their kitchen. Andrew peels his ears and smirks slightly when he hears Neil trip over a cat. He stretches himself out and closes his eyes again, this time when something lands on his stomach it meows irritably. “Me too Fat Cat” Andrew mutters. He sits up taking the Sir with him as he makes his way to the kitchen. Their other cat is eyeing off Neil's pancake mixture suspiciously. Andrew puts Sir down and gives King a quick brush and then scoops him off the bench so he can take his place. Neil rolls his eyes and leans forward slightly. Andrew matches him “Yes or No?” Neil leans in the rest of the way and kisses him softly. “Happy Valentine's day, ” Neil tells him. “Your pancakes are going to burn” Andrew replies. Neil pulls back and tosses the pancake in the air with a smug look, Andrew is a good cook but he can never get the stupid flip thing to work. Neil plates up his creation and pulls out a tub of ice cream and a bottle of maple syrup and brings it all to their kitchen table. “Eat” he demands and Andrew slips into a chair and shoves three syrup drowned pancakes into his mouth at once, “about this booking Ichirou has made” Neil begins, stabbing his food with a fork. “About this booking Ichirou has made" Andrew mocks. Neil glares at him and continues to play aggressively with his food. “You are not obligated to go,, ” Andrew says and Neil shakes his head. Neil pauses for a long while. “It's not that I don't think I should, that we, should go,” Neil says. “I like it even, it's just a bit much.” Neil finishes in a defeated tone. “Are you freaking out because someone is doing nice things for you?” Andrew asks, “I thought you were over this” “No, but I didn't even think about getting either of you anything, and he's going all out” Neil replies. Andrew quirks an eyebrow. “Why the fuck would you get us anything?” he questions and Neil snickers. The idiot finally eats his food. After breakfast, and after the cats are fed, and after a few everyday mundane chores that Andrew tries his hardest to get out of Neil informs Andrew of his plans to go to practice.

“We have a game in a few day” Neil all but whines when Andrew points out he can take a day off.

“I'm coming with you then, ” Andrew tells him and Neil's face lights up, he's never stopped being an Exy junkie, Andrew doubts he ever will. The court is empty when they get there which is no surprise, The don't have a scheduled team practice and most people are off celebrating or moping over how lonely they are. The two of them gear up and meet each other out on the court. They go hard with each other. Neil scored two goals on Andrew. Once because he let him, it is Valentine's day after all. The other one, though, Neil scores that one all by himself. Andrew is never sure if he's angry or proud. After a few hours, they pack up their gear and hit the showers.

“You did well,” Andrew tells him, right before he drops to his knees and sucks Neil off.

They make it back home in time for the driver to show up, it's not one that Andrew recognises but him and Neil seem familiar enough. He sends the driver off with an apology and a tip before curling up next to Andrew on the couch. The don't really do anything, they eat a decent amount of Ichirou's chocolate, the flick between twenty channels on the TV, Andrew plays with Sir a lot and pretends like he isn't and then finally the front door opens and Ichirou walks in.

Ichirou looks tired, surprised and extremely grateful all rolled into one. “Welcome home,” Neil tells him. “Did you kill anyone today?” Andrew asks at the exact same time. “Not today” Ichirou replies as he drops a kiss on the top of Neil's head. “I mean it is Valentine's day after all” he dead pans, his eyes sparkling with humour. “But of course” Andrew quips. “Happy Valentine's day” he adds leaning upwards to kiss Ichirou on the cheek. “That's very sweet of you,” Ichirou says and Andrew hits him in the stomach with a cushion, Neil laughs so hard he chokes a little and Ichirou has to rubs his back while he flails helplessly.

“You are both idiots, I'm moving out” Andrew announces. The two of them frown at him, trying to figure him out, it's nice to know he can still shock them after all this time. “Because you hate us?” Ichirou asks. “Because I hate you” Andrew replies.

It's all as close to perfect as they are ever going to get and it's not a bad feeling to have them here together at home instead of in a fancy restaurant with missing pieces. Andrew tells Ichirou as much when Neil decided to order take out and Ichirou complains that they could have eaten a five course meal hours ago.

#tfc #indriel #valentine's day #am I forgiven?#I swear Andrew is a closet romantic in this #also it's kind of from Andrew's POV so I'm not sure how I went with that #BASICALLY I AM SUBJECTING YOU TO A GIANT EXPERIMENT #see Lina this is why I was asking Kandriel or Indriel the other day so I decided to go with Indriel #I hope that's okay?

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darkblueboxs · 5 years ago

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All the Guys Love a Bruiser

Posting attempt two because tumblr is fucking with me and I can’t fix the read more on the original ask. Not today, Tumblr! Not! Today!

Read here or on AO3 (Check AO3 notes for content warnings)

Original ask

“You like watching me fight.” “It’s more interesting than watching you run.”

Neil learns how to throw a punch. Andrew is more than a little into it.

*Edit*: In the original version of this fic, Nicky faces racist abuse in addition to homophobic abuse, and quotes the offensive language and slurs used against him. After concerns were raised regarding how I handled this abuse (specifically, the language used, the context in which the abuse takes place, and my position as a non-latine) I censored and subsequently removed the relevant dialogue. I sincerely apologise and promise to do better in the future. Please don't hesitate to contact me with any questions and concerns regarding this subject.

[01/06/2020]

If their lessons ended with Neil aching black and blue, it was his own fault. He needed to be quicker, smarter, crueller. More like his mother.

Andrew takes his hand suddenly, startling Neil from his thoughts. It’s a purely analytical touch; he turns Neil’s hand over and runs a finger across the blossoming bruises of his knuckles.

Neil bites back the I’m fine, knowing the look it would earn him. Instead, “I had fun. We’re meeting again next week.”