shadows_have_offended | (no subject)

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Neil's had enough to drink that it all seems like a good idea, but not enough that he's impaired, that this could be taken as a terribly bad idea. He's had enough that the idea has had time to really seem like a great idea, by the time he pulls his phone out and nervously sends a text. A quiet invitation. Maybe he shouldn't be so bold to assume anything, but he doesn't think he's assuming a damn thing. And, after all, it's not like the text said anything as presumptuous as come over let's fuck--Neil isn't nearly so crass as all that. But it's a clear sort of invitation, in private together.

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It takes Steve a while to get there. He's at work when he gets Neil's text, finishing off a job that he'd started earlier in the afternoon, but, when he's done, he heads home to shower and change.

On my way up, he texts, after somebody in Neil's building lets him through the door. He makes his way up to his friend's apartment and knocks, leaning against the wall in skinny jeans and a t-shirt, his hair pushed back from his face. He's bought beer.

Neil feels stupid for being nervous, but he hasn't had a lot of people over to his place. And it takes a little while to hear anything from Neil, which doesn't help the nerves. But when he does, it sets butterflies going.

He answers the door and smiles a little, waving him in. He's got something stupid going on television, to drown out the quiet. "Hey. You found it. Oh, and beer too."

"Just trying to be a good guest, man," says Steve, holding out the six-pack out to Neil with a smile. "You can't turn up empty handed."

"I suppose that means I've got to be a good host," Neil jokes, and is suddenly very glad that he cleaned recently, that he's not living like too much of a bachelor at the moment. He takes the beers and heads toward the couch, setting the pack down and pulling two of them out. "Do you want one now? Can I get you anything?"

"I'm an easy guest, I promise," says Steve, wondering how long it'll take Neil to get to the point. They've been texting a lot and some of it has definitely felt like flirting. "I will take a beer, though."

Neil grabs a lighter off his coffee table, because he hasn't got a bottle opener close at hand, and he uses it to pop the top off one of the beers, before handing it off to Steve. With him here, things feel at once easier and infinitely harder. There's that stumbling block that exists--in his head, he knows, more than anywhere else. A hang up that lingers from the times he grew up in.

He opens his own bottle the same way and settles onto the couch. "You can take a load off. I ask before biting."

"Biting?" asks Steve, arching an eyebrow and taking a swallow of his beer before he drops down onto the opposite end of the couch. "Should I be worried?"

It's bolder than his normal, skirting, skittish flirting, and Neil feels himself blushing about it, but he laughs about it and sips his beer. Casually, he scoots a little closer across the space the separates them.

"I think," he says toward the beers, "if you were really worried you wouldn't have come over."

A little shiver goes through Steve's chest, down into his belly, and he clears his throat before he nods.

"Yeah," he says. "You're probably right."

It's not a dismissive, or an upset, sort of noise that Steve makes. Neil looks at him and sips beer a moment, and then scoots just a little bit closer yet. Not quite close enough that they're touching, but almost.

The nerves get the better of him for a moment. He tucks his legs up toward his chest, glancing between Steve and the television a little bit, trying to be casual. "...I've never really done something like this, honestly."

He's aware of the way that Neil's edging closer and closer to him and he sways in slightly, just enough that their shoulders touch.

"Me either. I mean, with girls. But never...never with another guy." Because it does feel like they're edging towards something.

Neil smiles a little bit, soft, because he sort of realizes that it maybe sounds like he hasn't fooled around with guys, and that's not right. At the same time, it seems sort of important that they're both sort of fumbling in that nervousness. That Neil's nervous because he hasn't had a lot of people over to his place, and especially not for something like this, and that Steve's nervous because he's never done this with a guy at all.

He smiles a little bit and glances at Steve through his eyelashes. It doesn't hurt to just cut the cord, to just say the words and try, at this point. "Wanna make out a little?"

The last time they made out, they'd both been pretty drunk, and they'd been dancing, and it had been a bit different. Now, Steve has barely a few sips of beer in him, but he can still feel the electricity, the desire, dancing under his skin. He nods.

"Fuck yeah," he says, grinning.

There’s enthusiasm and Neil feels this wave of relief that Steve doesn’t need a couple more drinks to be interested. He takes one more steeling sip of his beer. He’s had a couple, just around the apartment while he was keying himself up about all this, but he just feels warm and loose and pleased. Wanted.

He waits for Steve to put his drink down before he leans in to kiss him. Slow at first, but jot quite shy. Investigating without being anxious. It’s different than kissing drunk.

It isn't the first time the've kissed, and Neil is the only person that Steve's kissed since Hawkins. He keeps it slow, keeps it soft at first. He leans back in the sofa, and he lets Neil go as fast or as slow as he wants. But he definitely doesn't pull away.

It’s nice to just go slow and easy for a moment, to just feel the kiss. Neil leans into it a little, adjusts how he’s sitting so he’s a little more comfortable and not quite so folded up. He knows how he can get, how quickly he can get worked up, but for now, it’s just exploration, just the lazy sort of kissing that comes from interest and comfort and feeling wanted.

It takes him a few minutes before he slides a hand up Steve’s arm, from wrist to shoulder, feeling the shape of him. He deepens the kiss a little then, as he rubs his thumb against the neck of Steve’s shirt but doesn’t quite let himself bury his fingers into his hair yet.

It feels nice when Neil touches him, Steve finds, the almost cautious hand sliding up his arm. He leans into tit, pushing it a little bit harder, a little bit deeper, his own fingers coming up to brush along the side of Neil's jaw. The touch is light, almost fluttering - encouraging.

Every little edge and tilt and the slow burning build feels really nice. The way they touch, slow and investigating. Neil lifts his hand and buries his fingers gently in Steve's hair. A gentle touch still, but more definite, more firm than just a brief, exploring touch.

Neil's fingers feel good in Steve's hair and he makes a soft sound, smudged against Neil's lips. His own fingers move with more purpose, sliding against the side of Neil's neck to pull him in closer.

The noise was a heady thing, sank heat through Neil, right through his belly and down his spine, because he could feel it just as much as he could hear it. The quiet noise of the television was a washing white noise now, enough to mute steady breathing and keep back the silence that might have seemed uncomfortable otherwise. Neil’s been in too many overly quiet places; he likes manufactured noise too much these days, and natural ones too, like this, the soft breath sounds of another boy and the steady, messy noise of kissing getting out of hand.

He shifts a little again, but this time back. It seems easy, with the way they’re clinging at each other’s necks and shoulders, to pull Steve along with him as he tilts back on the couch. Somehow, lying down seems the better choice than climbing on top of Steve. Maybe because it puts Steve in a position of control—easier to push back and away if he gets overwhelmed—or maybe because he just wants to feel his weight against him.

Steve finds himself quite content to be pulled down onto the sofa and, honestly, this position feels a lot more familiar to him. He sprawls out on the sofa, mindful, for a moment, of his sneakers, his body pressed against the length of Neil's, against his side, as they kiss. He keeps his hand where it is, cradling the side of Neil's neck, holding him to the kiss a little.

They’re near enough in height that it’s not clumsy to fit together, but Neil’s still just a little bit taller. That’s less important, stretched out underneath Steve. He wiggles a little, moves until they fit together neatly—or maybe just because it’s a point of friction and he wants to see how much he can work this other boy up, wants to see where the boundaries are. Kissing another boy is one thing, after all. Neil’s distinctly aware that he’s the more practiced party here, when it comes to what two boys do with each other beyond kissing, because Steve’s admitted to that.

He's almost entirely on top of Neil now, pressed together at chest and hips. He can still feel that electricity, which makes him remember what he said to Dustin. The way that Neil wiggles underneath him draws Steve's attention to his own rapidly hardening cock. He pushes the kiss deeper, tilting his head to nudge at Neil's mouth, wanting to kiss him deeper.

It was Neil's turn to let out a quiet noise, a wanting sort of sigh as he opened his mouth and sought more, as he grabbed at Steve a little harder. It's easy, when he can feel Steve like that, to let himself feel wild and carried away. It's easy to arch up against him while they kiss, to let the heat of it all sink low in his belly and get him harder by the second.

He can feel Neil starting to get hard, feel himself answering, and his cheeks flush dark, but it just makes him hungrier. He kisses harder, squirming a little to press his hips down more firmly, with a little bit more purpose.

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