and the moon is swimming naked - Jesse/Andrew - NC17
BACK
They meet up on Tuesday night. Jesse picks the location, his neighborhood Starbucks, and Andrew picks the time (7pm). It's not a date, not even close, but Jesse still changes his shirt three times before leaving the apartment.
Jesse arrives first, at a quarter to, and he stands around outside, watching his breath turn into mist. It's cold and grey, depressing, but then Andrew arrives and it feels as if the sun has broken through the clouds.
"Hey," he says, grinning widely and clapping Jesse's back. "It's good to see you."
"You too," Jesse murmurs, trying to not blush.
He mostly fails, but Andrew doesn't seem to notice, leading the way inside with one palm planted at the small of Jesse's back. Jesse shouldn't be able to even feel it through his coat, but he's hyper aware of the slight pressure, as if all of his nerve endings relocated to the square inches of skin Andrew's not quite touching.
Andrew buys them tea and scones, huffing when Jesse offers to pay. "I got this," he says.
"Are you bribing me to be your friend?" Jesse asks.
Andrew smiles brightly, it seems to be his default setting. "Is it working?"
Jesse flushes, but he can't help but to smile back. He bites his tongue to not blurt out, you had me at hello, because life is not a rom-com and Jesse is not Renee Zellweger.
"Ply me with more tea and we'll see," he says instead, pleased when Andrew laughs, even though he's beginning to suspect that making Andrew laugh is less an accomplishment than it is inevitable.
--
Jesse expects it to be awkward, because he's awkward, but somehow it really isn't.
"I'm awkward," he tells Andrew, because they've reached the stage of friendship where Jesse feels the need to be exceptionally honest.
"I like awkward," Andrew retorts. "Smooth is so boring, you know?"
Jesse has wet dreams about being smooth, but he still nods, unable to keep from smiling.
"Besides, I'm kind of awkward too; maybe we'll cancel each other out."
Jesse laughs and curls his hand around his tea cup to keep himself from reaching across the table. "I wonder if there's an awkward-to-awkward ratio," he says. "Someone ought to have done research on the subject."
"Don't be silly," Andrew says. "Research grants go towards vitally important studies such as finding out that women don't like to be called fat and that people who can't afford cars are more likely to use public transportation."
Jesse laughs again and for once he doesn't feel awkward at all.
--
Andrew is easy to talk to, probably too easy, but since he doesn't complain when Jesse leaves the present and starts in on his most embarrassing childhood stories, Jesse decides to roll with it. He doesn't even start second-guessing himself until they're pretty much chased outside with a broomstick at which point he realizes he's been talking so much for so long that his throat hurts.
He promptly flushes bright red and shuffles his feet, staring at his worn sneakers next to Andrew's boots.
"Okay," he mutters. "That was me being awkward."
Andrew nudges his elbow and says, "I didn't know ‘adorable’ was a synonym for ‘awkward.’"
Jesse looks up; Andrew's staring at him with his big, big eyes, the beginnings of a smile curling his lips.
"We should do this again sometime," Andrew says.
"Yeah," Jesse agrees, because he's pretty sure he'd follow Andrew to the end of the world if Andrew'd let him.
"Tomorrow?"
"Okay."
--
On Wednesday they go for a leisurely stroll through Central Park. It's still grey and cold and depressing, but Andrew's got a pink beanie tugged down over his hair and he laughs at all of Jesse's stupid jokes.
They talk about places they've been and things they've seen, about friends and family and random shit that shouldn't even be worthy of conversation, let alone laughs.
"I thought I wanted to be Indiana Jones when I grew up," Andrew says, breath rising in plumes around his face. "Then I grew older and realized I really just wanted to bone Indiana Jones."
Jesse chokes on his hot chocolate, coughing and sputtering, while Andrew pats his back.
"Too early to divulge childhood crushes?" Andrew winces. "I can never tell these things."
"You're gay?" Jesse asks and he knows that it comes out all wrong, too shocked, too high-pitched.
Andrew pulls his hand back, nodding once, short almost jerky, before turning away. "I thought you knew," he whispers. "I figured Justin…" He trails off, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his coat.
Jesse stares at the back of his neck, mostly covered by his collar and the stupid beanie. He wants the touch the slight curl of hair there, wants to step closer and find out if it tastes as good as it looks. He wants to slip his arms around Andrew's narrow waist and have life be that effortless for once.
He wants his heart to stop racing, his palms to stop sweating, he wants to know the exact right thing to say. He wants to be a little less terrified. The hot chocolate cup crinkles in his hand, warm liquid spilling over his fingers and soaking into his gloves. He's shaking, he realizes, knees weak and cheeks flushed.
"Andrew," he chokes out, but when Andrew turns around Jesse just stares, all of the words he wants to say dying in his clenched chest.
In a perfect world Jesse would be able to say he was a two on the Kinsey Scale and have it be the truth; heterosexual, more than incidentally homosexual. In a perfect world, Jesse is Daisy's boyfriend and Andrew the incident. In the real world, and Jesse has known this about himself since before college, Daisy is the exception and beautiful, ridiculous Andrew is the norm.
He drops his cup and lets Andrew pull him into a hug, pressing his face into the scratchy wool of Andrew's coat.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I'm stupid. I want to know about your childhood crushes."
"I'm gonna buy you more hot chocolate," Andrew says and somehow that makes everything okay.
--
From: Jesse
To: Daisy
Time: 4:07am
We have to talk.
--
On Thursday there's a TSN meeting that consists mostly of a highly disorganized table read. They don't even make it halfway through the first act before they run out of time and as they walk out Andrew is looking more than a little dazed.
"Is it always like this?" he asks.
"Yeah," Jesse says, bumping their shoulders together. "You'll get used to it."
Andrew nods slowly. "That's good because right now I'm having visions of walking out on stage without my pants."
Jesse swallows thickly.
"And believe me," Andrew adds. "The world doesn't need to be subjected to my bony knees."
Jesse's gaze flickers downwards, Andrew has really long legs to go with his really big eyes and inordinately tall hair. He's about to say something, probably inappropriate, when a familiar laugh pierces through the chaos in his head and he jerks his head up to find Daisy talking to Justin by the door.
He stops so abruptly he almost stumbles over his own feet, pulse spiking so fast he gets dizzy with it. Andrew curls a hand around his elbow. "What?" he asks.
Jesse's eyes flicker about the room. They're at the theatre and the closest door leads to the closet; he wonders how many hells he'd burn in if he shoved Andrew in there. A laugh slips out, hysterical, and he says, "I wouldn't mind visiting Narnia right about now."
He's not ready to put Andrew and Daisy into the same sentence, let alone the same room, and he's pretty sure he's having a panic attack without having a panic attack and Andrew should really stop looking at him like that.
"Are you having some sort of psychotic episode?" Andrew asks. He sounds equal parts concerned and amused, fingers still wrapped around Jesse's elbow.
"Yes," Jesse hisses, then, "Don't laugh at me."
"I'm not laughing at you," Andrew says, forehead crinkling. "I'm worried about your mental health."
"That makes two of us," Jesse mutters, sucking in a breath.
Andrew's fingers around his arm work like an anchor, calming him, steadying him, and somehow that just makes it worse. Daisy cranes her neck and spots them, of course she does, and Jesse just stares in trepidation as she approaches them across the floor. He wants to pull out of Andrew's hold, but he can't bring himself to actually do it.
"Hey," Daisy says, smiling.
Jesse talked to her this morning before work, he's pretty sure he arranged for them to meet back at his place.
"Hey," Jesse croaks.
"Hi, I'm Andrew," Andrew says, sticking out his hand and moving his arm to rest across Jesse's shoulders.
"Daisy," Daisy says, staring at Andrew's arm with a slight frown forming between her eyebrows.
Her eyes flicker up to Jesse’s hopelessly flushed face, eyes dark and unreadable.
"Nice to meet you," she says, but she doesn't look away from Jesse.
"This… I… uh…" Jesse tries, heart beating so loud he can barely hear himself.
Daisy snorts. "Don't strain yourself," she says, harsh, and then she's walking away, back rigid and head held high.
"Who was that?" Andrew asks, tightening his hold of Jesse's shoulders.
"Jesse's girlfriend," Armie says.
Jesse didn't even notice Armie coming up behind them and he really can't read the look on his face now. Andrew drops his arm from around Jesse's shoulders.
"Jesus Christ," he hisses.
Jesse wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole.
--
Jesse catches up with Daisy outside, breathless and flushed, and not only from the run.
"What the fuck, Jesse," she says, lips set into a thin line. "There's rude and then there's really fucking rude and you just crossed that line."
"Sorry," Jesse gasps. "God… I'm so so sorry."
She shakes her head. "I don't even want to look at you right now."
Jesse bites down hard on his lower lip, hard enough to taste blood, and if he's ever felt like more of a failure he doesn't want to know when that was. He doesn't try to go after Daisy when she walks away and he doesn't wait for anyone to catch up with him. He gets a cab and he goes home and he feels as if he's dying inside.
--
Jesse wants to curl up on his mother's lap and cry until his lungs give out, calling her is a poor substitute and he chokes up the moment she picks up. Somehow she manages to drag the whole story out of him, in between gulps and hiccups, while Jesse relentlessly cleans his fridge and cupboards with water so hot his fingers burn a bright red.
"I don't know what to say," she says when he's done talking and he slides down to the floor, pressing his forehead hard against his knees. He's trembling, full-bodied shakes that make his teeth clatter and his chest ache; his grip of the phone turns white-knuckled.
"I fucked up," he croaks.
"Yeah," she says, soft and easy. "That you did."
Jesse doesn't know how to live in a universe where his mom doesn't have all the answers and he doesn't know how to deal with the fact that it feels as if his chest is caving in under its own weight. He listens to her murmuring soothing nonsense at him and for the first time in his life it doesn't help.
--
Jesse has pills for these occasions - small, white and bitter - it's been a long time since he last took one and now he takes two. He swallows them down dry and spends a terrifying second staring at the bottle and contemplating taking all of them. He leaves the bottle on the bathroom sink and goes into the kitchen for a glass of water.
He feeds the cats, running his fingers through Stendahl's long silky fur and scratching Zola behind the ear. Machiavelli watches from the kitchen table, dark, regal and disdainful.
Jesse straightens up the living room, changes his sheets, and passes out on the foyer floor while color coding his shoes.
--
Jesse wakes up on his bed surrounded by people. Andrew is sitting in Jesse's comfy armchair with Machiavelli curled up on his lap, turning his phone over between his fingers. Daisy sits cross-legged on the bed, talking to Justin who is stretched out beside Jesse with his arms folded beneath his head. Jesse blinks a couple of times and wonders what time it is.
"Hey sleepy head," Daisy says when she notices that he's awake and reaches out to touch his hand. She doesn't sound angry anymore, just gentle and maybe a bit sad.
"Hey," he croaks.
He's dizzy and nauseous, chest still way too tight. He looks around, cheeks flushing helplessly when Andrew holds his gaze.
"I should go," Andrew says, but he doesn't make a move to leave.
"We should both go," Justin says, clapping Jesse's shoulder as he pushes himself up from the bed.
Jesse watches them leave, watches Andrew leave, and wonders how they ended up in his bedroom to begin with.
"You called Andrew," Daisy says, when the door shuts behind them. She sighs. "He called Justin, who called me."
Jesse swallows. "I called Andrew?"
He doesn't remember a thing after passing out on the foyer floor.
"Yeah." Daisy actually smiles, settling down beside him. "You rambled enough that he got worried."
Jesse gnaws at the inside of his cheek; he's not sure how he feels about that. He turns his head against the pillows to look at Daisy. Her hair is messy, tangled around her face, and her eyes look tired. This is the end of the line, he thinks, and it doesn't hurt as much as he thought it would.
"Do you know why I kissed you back the first time you kissed me?" she asks, reaching out to cover his cold hand with her own, warm and clammy.
He shakes his head.
"Because you're nice," she says, smiling faintly. "You're nice and sweet and considerate and I was absolutely certain that you'd never break my heart." She pauses, fingers twitching a melody against his skin. "And I kept dating you for those exact reasons."
She lets out a slow breath and rolls over on her back. "Andrew's nice," she says.
"We're not…" Jesse starts, because he feels horrible about letting her get the wrong idea to begin with.
"I know," she says, exasperated and impatient. "Justin filled me in."
Jesse nods, staring at the line of her body, the rise of her breast and the dip of her stomach. She doesn't make his mouth feel dry. He feels horrible about that too.
"I always thought I'd be the one leaving you behind," she says. "Does that make me a horrible person?"
She turns her head to look at him, eyes searching.
"If it makes you feel better, I always thought that too," Jesse murmurs.
She snorts, turning back to stare at the roof. "It doesn't make me feel better," she says.
"Same," Jesse says after a few moments.
--
In the end they go out the same way that they began, with a slow fizzle and an awkward kiss.
"I'm going to miss you," he says.
"We'll still be friends," she says.
Always the practical one she gathers her stuff and brings it with her when she leaves. The box is depressingly small considering the amount of time they've known each other. Jesse feels horrible about that too.
"I'll call you," she says, standing at the door with the box clutched to her chest. He knows that she doesn't mean tomorrow.
"Bye," he says.
"Bye," she says.
The door closing behind her doesn't sound like anything at all.
--
Jesse avoids all human interaction for a week. He works from home, talks only to his mom, and ignores the increasingly desperate text messages he gets from, well, everyone. He needs time to clear his head and deal with the change. He needs time, period.
In those seven days he sends one text message:
From: Jesse
To: Andrew
Whatever I said, I probably didn't mean it. Unless it was nice, in which case I probably did. Sorry.
The response is immediate, Jesse deletes it without reading.
--
Jesse was never very good with feelings. Oh, he knows the bad end of the spectrum very well. He could write books on anxiety, unease, and fear; odes on compulsions; plays on obsessions. He's pretty sure he couldn't even write a pamphlet on love or a blog post on desire. He knows what it's like to be content, but he knows fuck-all about true happiness, and he thinks that maybe it's time he owns up to that.
The first step is forcing himself to theater practice, fifteen minutes late and sheepish. Everyone turns to look at him when he walks in; he balls his hands into fists and forces a smile.
"Hi," he says, rocking back on his heels. "I… uh… had a bit of a meltdown. I'm better now."
His chest doesn't unclench until he locates Andrew's stupid hair among the familiar faces, his fingers uncurling with Andrew's smile.
"Sorry," he mutters when he slips into a seat next to Andrew.
Andrew's only response is to curl his fingers around Jesse's knee for a moment. Jesse can feel ghost of his touch through the entire meeting.
--
After practice Andrew buys him a cup of tea and they sit staring at each other over a bland coffee shop table. Jesse's hands won't stop trembling and the table vibrates with the way Andrew is jiggling his knee.
"So this is awkward," Jesse says, staring down at the scratched table top.
"Nothing unusual there," Andrew responds and when Jesse looks up he's smiling. "Let's… Let's just start over."
Jesse nods, sticking his hand out. "Hi," he says. "I'm Jesse. Obsessively compulsively neurotic and awkward."
"Hi," Andrew says, taking his hand. It feels just like the first time, a buzz of electricity beneath Jesse's skin, a spike in his pulse, a smile, stupid and happy. "I'm Andrew. I have inappropriate crushes on fictional characters and I happen to think that awkward is adorable."
Jesse flushes, pleased, and forces himself to let go of Andrew's hand. He wonders if this is a date. He's never really been on one before.
--
Things go back to normal after that, mostly, and February March pass by in a friendship-building, awkward-making, babbling blur. Jesse spends almost all of his free time either at the theater with Andrew, or somewhere else with Andrew, talking and talking and talking until his head reels with it and he stops blushing every time Andrew's touch lingers. He's happy and terrified and happy and awkward in about equal measures and he still doesn't have a clue what they're doing.
--
In March he starts talking to Daisy again, in early April his therapist smiles softly and says she's never seen him glow before. He counts all the books in her bookshelf twice and she smiles some more at him, exasperated but, somehow also, incredibly fond.
Then Jesse meets Will and everything comes to a sudden, grinding stop. Will is Andrew's friend from London. Will is Andrew's friend from London.
"I didn't know he'd show up," Andrew mutters, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "I haven't talked to him in weeks."
Jesse bites his lower lip and watches Will talk to Justin. Will is beautiful, and tall, and built, and suave. Will is a force of nature and Jesse hates him with every fiber of his being.
"We're not…" Andrew starts but then Will comes over, grabs Andrew's ass, and says, "Ready to go, lover boy," and Andrew lets himself be pulled away with a helpless look sent in Jesse's direction.
Jesse wants to kill himself, or Will. Mostly, Will. He does the next best thing and calls Daisy.
--
"I'm not going to pity fuck you," she says when she shows up at Jesse's apartment, loaded down with pizza boxes and DVDs. "That would just be tragic at this point."
"I don't want a pity fuck," Jesse moans. "I just want pity."
She laughs and Jesse really kind of hates her too; quite a feat for someone who never actually hated anyone before, not even the guy that depantsed him every day in fourth grade.
--
Jesse counts the number of bottles on the table, nine, which means that one of them is one beer behind. He's pretty sure it's not him but he opens another one anyway, ten is even, ten is good, ten will make him stop feeling as if his heart is going to burst out of his chest and go after Will.
He tries to tell himself that he's being ridiculous, tries to tell himself that it's not Will's fault that he's stupidly attractive, and a model, and rich, but jealousy, he soon realizes, doesn't make sense at all.
For example, it would make a whole lot more sense for him to be mad at Andrew because Andrew is the one with the stupidly attractive ex, Andrew is the one the one that let himself be dragged out clubbing and didn't protest when Will grabbed his ass, but Jesse can't be mad at Andrew because Andrew is perfect, and adorable, and one of the few people beside Daisy and his mom that ever made Jesse feels as if he's special in a good way, as opposed to just special.
"I want to rearrange the cupboards," Jesse says, staring up at the ceiling. "And the fridge, and my closet."
Daisy laughs. "Don't," she says. "You'll regret it in the morning."
Jesse sighs, fingers drumming a nervous melody against his thigh. She's right of course, but he's pretty sure it would make him feel better right now.
"If he actually wanted me, he would have made a move by now," Jesse says.
He directs his thoughts towards the ceiling, because the ceiling doesn't judge, but his cheeks still color.
"Maybe he's waiting for you to take the first step," Daisy says. "I know I did."
Jesse flushes harder, remembering another place, another time, another couch and eight bottles of beer. "Why?" he asks.
He's probably a horrible person for bringing this up with Daisy, but then Daisy is the only person in the world with experience in dating him.
"You're not as easy to read as you think." Daisy's voice is soft, fuzzy around the edges, but that might just be the fact that Jesse's ears are swimming in alcohol. "Up until you kissed me I was never sure if you liked me, or just liked me, and you're not the kind of person you want to make a fool of yourself in front of."
Jesse snorts; he makes a fool of himself seven times before breakfast. "You're being ridiculous," he says.
Daisy kicks his chin. "Other people can't look into your head," she says. "When your mind goes off on a tangent and you're tying yourself into anxious knots it's not actually visible to other people. You're scarily clever, good looking, and sure, you have a lot of odd quirks, but to other people they are just that, quirks. The compulsive part doesn't show on the outside."
Jesse blinks, and pushes himself up so that he's leaning against the cushions. "That's…" He frowns. "That's… uh… thank you?"
Daisy laughs, dragging herself upright as well. "I thought you knew," she says simply.
He shakes his head slowly. He knew in a way of course, because his therapists told him so, but he never knew it was true for the people that actually know him too.
"You always keep yourself at a distance," Daisy says. "You let me see the anxiety and the OCD, but you never let me see you."
Jesse's too drunk for this, or maybe not nearly drunk enough.
"When I look at you I see this incredibly smart guy, who listens to classical show tunes, adopts homeless cats and reads book with titles I can't even pronounce. I used to think you were judging me, for being human, for having emotions and for watching movies produced this century, but then you leaned over and kissed me and I realized you were really not judging me at all."
Jesse flushes and fidgets and wonders if that's how Andrew sees him too. "I love you," he says, a little wistful, life was so much simpler when he was dating Daisy.
"I know you do," she answers, leveling herself up from the couch. "And now I'm going to go home, and feed my cat, and pretend that I'm not sad at all that I let you go."
She reaches over and ruffles his hair before making her way towards the hallway. She's not entirely steady on her feet and Jesse fumbles his phone out of his pocket to call her a cab.
He follows her downstairs, waiting outside the door until the cab pulls up to the curb. He mentally notes the license plates and makes her promise to text when she gets home.
"I will," she says, pushing herself up to kiss the corner of his mouth. "You should text him."
Jesse shakes his head, but he can't stop thinking about it as he makes his way back up the stairs. The cool night air cleared his head enough that it's no longer spinning, but he still has to hold on tight to the railing to keep from stumbling, which means he's too drunk to be texting Andrew, too drunk to be doing anything but heading straight to bed, but the thought, now that it's been planted, won't leave him alone.
--
From: Jesse
To: Andrew
Time: 3:37am
Just so we're clear, I broke up with my girlfriend for you.
--
Andrew doesn't answer Jesse's text message and the apology he sends comes back undelivered. It's only with the greatest effort of will (and a call to his mom) that Jesse manages to drag himself to theater practice on Sunday afternoon.
Andrew is the first person Jesse spots when he gets there, slumped into one of the prop couches with an arm thrown over his face; one of his long legs dragging against the floor while the other is propped up against the couch back.
"Approach him with care," Justin stage-whispers, coming up at Jesse's elbow. "Someone's a bit grouchy today."
"Oh," Jesse says, shifting his feet.
"Yeah," Justin continues. "Someone stole his phone and he threw up on his favorite shoes."
Jesse's heart trips. "Someone stole his phone?" he squeaks.
Andrew groans and pulls his arm away from his face at that, glaring at Jesse with blood-shot eyes. "Why are you all the way over there?" he whines. "You should come here and make me feel better."
"How am I supposed to do that?" Jesse asks, but he smiles as he crosses the floor, leaving Justin standing by the door.
"I always feel better when you're near," Andrew murmurs, words muffled by the arm once again thrown over his face.
Jesse flushes and fidgets and thinks he might simply crawl out of his skin with happiness. He's not used to feeling like this, not used to having his emotional well-being so tied up in one person that a throw-away comment is all it takes for his heart to nearly beat its way out of his chest, and it makes him anxious, but happy, and fidgety, but calm.
He sits down on the floor with his back against the couch after a moment Andrew shifts closer and snuffles into his hair.
"Your hair smells like coconut," he mumbles.
"I wish you smelled like coconut," Jesse retorts. Andrew smells like sour wine and peppermint; it's not half as repulsive as it should be.
Andrew chuckles weakly. "See you're making me feel better already."
Andrew's warm breaths puff against the back of Jesse's neck and he's moved his arms to curl against the edge of the couch against Jesse's shoulders. Jesse's hyperaware of the slight points of contact, skin prickling with it, and he rubs his fingertips against the floor, trying to focus on the feel of rough cold tree but failing spectacularly.
Andrew snuffles something ineligible, curling closer, and after a few moments his breath evens out with sleep. Jesse sits eerily still, staring straight ahead, and thinks he could get used to listening to Andrew sleep, which is probably one of the creepiest things he’s ever thought. He's almost happy when Paul beckons him over and he has to push up from the floor. Andrew stirs but he doesn't wake up. He's curled up on side with his hair falling over his slack face.
Jesse wants to cover him with a blanket and push his hair back from his forehead, maybe letting his fingers linger for a little too long, but he settles for putting his hoodie over Andrew's shoulders before he moves away.
"Just so you know," Justin says, when Jesse joins the group at the other side of the big room. "At this point the sexual tension is killing me."
Jesse flushes and elbows him hard in the side. "It's not like that," he mutters.
"But you want it to be, right?" Erica says, nudging his shoulder gently.
Jesse flushes some more and fidgets and counts the buttons on Erica's shirt, but he nods. She looks like maybe she wants to make high-pitched dolphin noises, but she settles for smiling softly at him, ruffling the hair at the back of his neck.
--
Maybe an hour later Andrew shuffles over to join them, draping himself over Jesse's back and propping his chin on Jesse's shoulder.
"I feel almost human now," he announces.
He's wearing Jesse's hoodie, the sleeves ending just above his wrists, and he wraps one arm around Jesse's waist as if it's no big deal at all. Jesse catches Erica giving them a starry-eyed look and tries not to fidget out of his skin.
"I make you nervous," Andrew says sadly, dropping his arm from around Jesse's waist.
"Everything makes me nervous," Jesse responds, already missing the solid weight of Andrew against his back.
Andrew makes a noncommittal sound and moves to stand beside Jesse instead. Jesse swallows past the lump in his throat and wishes he was brave enough to reach out for Andrew's hand.
--
Jesse lingers after practice, hoping for a chance to talk to Andrew alone, but Andrew seems to be avoiding him, which is unfair because he's still wearing Jesse's hoodie over his shirt and even if Jesse has to go home with his tail between his legs he would very much prefer to do so wearing his shirt.
He feels conspicuous, as if the fact that everyone knows about his crush means they're watching and just waiting for him to get shot down. He jumps when Armie reaches out to squeeze his shoulder and blushes when Erica waves goodbye. It's horrible.
He just about to slink out and forget about the shirt when Andrew throws his head back and laughs at something Paul said. He's so beautiful that Jesse's heart twists and he's helplessly drawn across the room. Andrew looks up when Jesse joins his group, half-formed question in his eyes.
"You make me rearrange my drawers," Jesse says, stupid and infatuated and scared out of his wits. "And I broke up with my girlfriend for you."
Andrew blinks, his gorgeous mouth falling open, and Jesse stares as Andrew's tongue darts out to wet his lips. It's possible that Jesse got it all wrong, that Andrew isn't interested or maybe changed his mind, but somehow it doesn't even matter, as gut-wrenchingly nauseatingly terrifying as this is; Jesse wants Andrew to know.
"Oh," Andrew says.
Jesse forces a smile, it's not even that hard, and says; "It's okay. I just wanted you to know."
He feels strangely liberated as he starts walking towards the front door. Everyone knows, Andrew knows, and his heart is still beating and his lungs still filling with air.
"Where do you think you're going?"
Andrew's voice is too loud, ricocheting off the ceiling, and Jesse turns around to look at him. Andrew looks ridiculous with Jesse's hoodie over his too -big plaid shirt, and his hair sticking out every which way. There are dark circles around his bloodshot eyes and his mouth is bright red, almost swollen. Jesse's cheeks heat up and he fights the urge to fidget, waiting for Andrew to cross the floor.
Jesse's aware of the fact that they have an audience; Paul, Justin and Linda, who are crowded against the far wall trying to pretend that they're not there at all. They're not fooling anyone.
"You," Andrew says when he catches up with Jesse. "Just…" He makes a flaily hand movement. "Just you."
"Me," Jesse agrees, trying to decipher the look in Andrew's eyes.
"God," Andrew says.
"Not really," Jesse responds, and then Andrew's arms are wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him into a tight hug.
"I'm not giving you back," Andrew says into his hair, voice oddly choked. Maybe he's allergic to coconut. "Just… Okay."
Andrew straightens up, moving his hands to cup Jesse's face. "Jesse Eisenberg," he says, very seriously. "You are the best thing that ever happened to me."
Jesse blinks, and smiles, and tries to ignore the fact that he can feel his lips trembling. "Same," he murmurs and it sounds so very small somehow.
Andrew bends forward, almost in slow motion, and brushes their lips together. He pulls away and Jesse lifts a hand to touch his lips. They feel different somehow, electrified, and his heart pounds so hard he trembles with it.
"Oh," he says, and Andrew kisses him again.
--
They end up at the coffee shop next door, staring at each other across yet another laminated table with their legs tangled underneath it.
"It's not going to be easy," Jesse warns, talking mostly to his tea. "I'm not easy." He frowns and lifts his eyes to Andrew's face. "I mean, I'm probably easy, but I'm definitely difficult too."
Andrew laughs, and reaches across the table to hold Jesse's hand. "I don't care," he says.
Jesse looks at Andrew's fingers wrapped around his palm and flushes. His stomach somersaults and his lips pull into a helpless infatuated smile.
"I really like your hands," he says and Andrew lets out a string of mumbled curses. They sound very polite, very British, and if there wasn't a table in the way Jesse would kiss them from his lips.
--
"We'll take it slow," Andrew says, pressing Jesse up against the wall outside the coffee shop and giving him a slow, thorough kiss. He tastes like coffee and the apple muffin he just ate and Jesse makes a sound at the back of his throat and fists his hands into Andrew's shirt.
"Not too slow," Jesse croaks when Andrew pulls away. "I don't handle anticipation very well."
"Okay, yeah… I can deal with that," Andrew murmurs and kisses him again.
Someone cat-calls, and the wall is cold against his back, and Jesse's embarrassingly hard in his jeans. There's nowhere else in the world he'd rather be.
--
The phone call:
("Your face is stupid, okay? I can't deal with your face. You make… you make me nervous and anxious and terrified and I'm scared of you, I am. I can't… I can't deal, okay? I can't… I…"
"Jesse, Jesse, are you okay? Are you on something? I should… I should call someone, I should… Jesse? Jesse!"
"I like it when you say my name. I do. My shoes are all organized now, almost… I should… I have to go."
"Jesse? Jesse! I'm calling Justin, do you hear me? I'm… FUCK.")
-- The End --
Additional scene/epilogue:
Jesse doesn't like the messy aspects of sex. He knows they're supposed to be part of the experience or whatever, but he just doesn't like it. He doesn't like the stickiness, or the noises (especially not his own, they are so terribly unsexy), or clothes on the floor, or messed up sheets. He likes for his sex to be level-headed and calm, and if possible, planned in advance.
(He tells Andrew all of this on their second date because there's that honesty thing and talking about his weird sex quirks while ripping a piece of bread to shreds is such a normal thing to do. Andrew smiles through the entire story and Jesse would be affronted except Andrew looks as if he's really just smiling because he's happy and not because he thinks Jesse is an amusing freak of nature.
Then he says: "I would like to schedule an appointment for next Thursday then," and Jesse is so startled he drops the remains of the bread into his water glass (he really is that smooth) and doesn't even realize Andrew's joking until he bursts out laughing.)
There's also this thing where Jesse sometimes has problems sustaining an erection, or orgasming, because of his meds. It would put a damper on anyone's sex life, he's pretty sure, and while it hasn't really been a problem since they figured out the correct dosage, it doesn't mean it's not worth worrying about.
(He saves this nugget of information for the third date that takes place in Andrew's cramped apartment. Andrew listens calmly (he always does), nodding in all the right places (which is pretty much all the time) and sipping from the neck of his beer.
"Okay," he says when Jesse's done talking.
"Okay?" Jesse asks, because that's not the response he was expecting.
Andrew smiles; it makes his eyes crinkle prettily. "Okay," he repeats and it sounds like a promise.)
Jesse’s never had sex with a guy. This is also a reason for worry (and late-night rearrangements of his kitchen drawers). He knows he likes to finger himself, and that he always felt awkward afterwards when Daisy did it to him. He knows he'd like to suck Andrew's cock, but he's pretty sure that he'd suck at it and not in the good way.
He knows he'd like to get Andrew naked, preferably yesterday, but that would mean he would have to get naked too and he worries about that part. (Andrew acts like he thinks the sun shines out of Jesse's ass and once he gets Jesse naked he'll figure out that the sun just doesn't shine on Jesse at all. There's pale and then there's pale.) He's getting to the point where he kind of wants Andrew to drug him first.
("I don't look good naked."
Andrew blinks for three minutes straight.
"I'm pale and bony and uhm… I'm not that… uh… endowed and there are garbage trucks with more grace than me and… uhm… did I mention pale?"
"You did," Andrew chokes out. "Uhm… mention that."
Andrew gulps down half of his glass of water and there's a certain satisfaction in knowing that Jesse finally managed to fuck this up.
"Just for the record," Andrew says when he puts his glass down. "Do not put you and naked into the same sentence when we're in public. I'm pretty sure they can see my boner from Mir right now."
"I just told you that I'm unattractive," Jesse points out.
"Yeah," Andrew agrees. Then he grins. "I didn't believe you.")
--
When it finally happens it takes Jesse by surprise (not the act in itself because that's been inevitable since he caught Andrew's eyes across the table and finally recognized the flare of heat in his eyes for what it actually was - desire) but how it plays out.
There's no hesitation, no awkwardness, he doesn't pause to think about what he's doing. From the moment Andrew pushes him up against the front door and kisses him hard, he just reacts.
They trail clothes from the foyer to the bedroom. They stumble over Stendahl who's looking for a late night snack and Jesse stubs his toe against the threshold and it doesn't even matter. It doesn't make it less perfect, it doesn't diminish the heat pooling at the pit of Jesse's stomach, it doesn't make him worry; it just makes him laugh, free and happy, into Andrew's gorgeous mouth.
He ends up on his back with Andrew braced above him and that's perfect too -- that's exactly how it has to be this first time. And Andrew says so many ridiculous things about how perfect Jesse is, how beautiful, how desirable, and even more ridiculous is the way Jesse just believes him, just lets himself soak in it, in Andrew, in his desire.
The first breach, Andrew's long clever fingers slippery slick with lube, is awkward and it makes Jesse squirm and blush and think too much. Then everything lights up, like the city lights turned on for Christmas, and Jesse arches up, moaning loud and long. Andrew kisses the noise from his lips, claims it for his own, and then Jesse doesn't think at all.
Andrew's nervous too; Jesse can tell with the way his hands tremble when he slides the condom on and the look of utter concentration on his face. Everything is sticky, slick with lube and sweat and spit, the sheets a bunched-up mess already, Andrew flushed and gorgeous above him, and Jesse needs like he never did before.
It hurts, at first, too big and too much, too everything to be comprehended, and Andrew apologizes and moves slowslowslow and kisses Jesse's breath right out of his lungs. Jesse's erection wilts and it makes him feel awkward and stupid and not enough for someone as perfectbeautifulgorgeous as Andrew, but Andrew just keeps thrusting, slow slow gentle, hips moving like the inevitable ebb and flow of the tide.
Jesse lights up again, from the inside, sparks along his nerve endings, fireworks in his chest. And he needs more, harder, says it blushing, almost laughing, and Andrew gives him exactly what he needs. He doesn't even notice he's hard again, not until Andrew's hand wraps around him, thumb flicking over the head, wet with need, and he almost screams because it's so good.
The tumble is inevitable after that with Andrew fucking him hard and Andrew's hand wrapped around his dick. He disintegrates, falls into pieces, make noises he didn't even know he could make; clawing - desperate and ineffective - at Andrew's shoulders.
"Yes," Andrew hisses, breath hot against Jesse's neck. "Yes, yes. Jesse…"
Andrew's shaking and Jesse's shaking and it means so much more than sex ever did. Jesse's face is wet when he pushes it into Andrew's, sweat or tears he can't even tell, and Andrew's lips are salty-slick. They don't come together, not really, Jesse peaks first, back bent like a bow and eyes wide open. Andrew fucks him through it, hips stuttering helplessly, and salt drips from his face onto Jesse's mouth and it's perfect.
Coming never felt like this before, like being turned inside out and upside down, like fire's licking through his veins, like he'll never come down from this high. It's too much and too intense, , and it's just enough and more than everything, like Andrew's kisses, his smiles, and the way he touches as if he can't help himself.
Andrew's orgasm face is ridiculous, eyes scrunched shut and mouth slack, and Jesse laughs, at him, at them, at himself for being so scared of this, and cups the back of Andrew's head, kissing all the noises from his lax lips. Andrew's arms give out and he crushes Jesse to the bed, forcing his thighs too far apart and it hurts, but it doesn't matter, because Jesse doesn't want him to move away.
Then Andrew's pulling out and disposing of the condom and Jesse can't help the noise he makes at the sudden terrifying emptiness.
"Hey hey," Andrew whispers, coming back to the bed and pulling Jesse into his arms, sliding two fingers into him, easy and slow, as if he gets it, really gets it.
Jesse's breath hitches and he buries his face into Andrew's neck, body still trembling with aftershocks and something too huge to be named. Andrew eases him down, with gentle touches and slow thrusts, keeps touching him until he stops trembling, until he remembers how to breathe, until he feels as if he can exist without being tethered to Andrew.
Andrew pulls his fingers out then, slow and gentle, but he keeps them resting against Jesse ass, rubbing soothing circles against stretched skin, as if maybe he needs this as much as Jesse does, as if maybe he too feels as if he's been pulled apart and put together new.
Andrew cups the back of Jesse's head, tangles his fingers into soaked unruly curls and rubs his cheek against Jesse's forehead.
"I'm… uh… sorry about the mess," he says.
Jesse laughs against his shoulder, wrapping his fingers tighter around Andrew's hip. "No, you're not."
Andrew chuckles, moving the hand on Jesse's ass to curve around one cheek. "Yeah, I'm really not."
Jesse breathes for a moment, heart rate finally coming down, and rubs his foot against Andrew's ankle. "I'm not sorry either," he murmurs, and he doesn't think Andrew can possibly get how much that means.
Andrew tightens his arms around Jesse and Jesse drifts off to sleep still sticky-slick-sweaty and it's the most liberating thing to ever happen to him.
-- The End --
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Thank you so much for reading. I'm notoriously slow with answering comments, but I appreciate each and everyone. <333
There will be a sequel and it will be ridiculous. (They just won't shut up about how much they like each other. For real.)