Games We Play

That's a Fiver

Andy turns into Rye's side and wraps an arm around his waist, snuggling into the warmth of Rye's chest.

***

The soft light of early morning washes across the room, and slowly Andy stirs from his sleep. He takes a deep breath and arches into a full-body stretch. But when he meets the firm resistance of another body, he freezes, his eyes popping open in alarm.

He's not in his own room, not curled up in his own bed, but is instead draped across miles of smooth, warm skin. Andy frowns, quickly raising his head.

Rye's lying there beneath him with one hand tucked behind his head, his arm bent at the elbow showing off the supple swell of a bicep, his chin tucked into his chest, and soft, burnt caramel eyes staring back, smiling.

There's a split second of panic and confusion, followed immediately by a rush of memories. Andy fails to stop the sharp exhale or the soft whimper that escapes with it.

"Did you forget?"

Rye's voice is thick and raspy and runs down Andy's spine like warm shower water.

"Course not," Andy covers, masking his panicked expression with nonchalance. He rolls up and away, stealing the blanket to wrap around himself and scooches towards the foot of the bed.

Behind him, Rye props himself up on an elbow and watches, amused and wearing only his crooked smirk. It's not fair, Andy thinks, casting a glance back. No one should look that good straight away in the morning.

Everything about Rye is effortless...everything except his hair which is currently a tangled mess of bedhead. It's endearing, really. And a major temptation.

Andy yanks the blanket up, pulling it tighter around himself and shuffles around to the cast-off pile of clothes.

Rye slides out of bed, graceful and lean and stark naked, and Andy quickly busies himself gathering his clothes so as to avoid staring.

"So, why are you running away?"

"I'm not –" Andy turns and steps right into Rye's space, surprising the both of them. "I'm not running away," he tries again but ends his argument when Rye's hand slides into position at Andy's waist as if it had always belonged there. Rye leans in instinctually for the kiss, but Andy stops him with a hand.

"We're meeting Blair this morning," he counters, and Rye groans, his head falling into Andy's shoulder.

"Do we have to?"

Rye's arms sneak around Andy's back, and even though it's the last thing on earth he should be doing at this moment, Andy lets himself be sucked into his grasp.

"You're an absolute menace, do you know?"

It's a weak argument, even as he's tilting his chin, allowing Rye the access he's looking for.

"Are you complaining?" Rye mumbles into Andy's neck, his breath painting Andy's skin and drawing goosebumps down his arms.

But when Rye's hands travel below Andy's waistline and come to rest on his backside, Andy does put a stop to it, if reluctantly.

"Rye."

"Andy," Rye answers, mouthing at Andy's jawline.

"Blair," Andy counters, and gets another unhappy groan in return.

"Fine." Rye drops his hands and takes a step back. And once again, Andy is reminded that Rye is naked, and beneath the blanket he's clutching, Andy is too.