Games We Play

Tit For Tat

...."Out with it, yeah?"....

Andy props himself on bent elbows, a slow smirk curling the corners of his mouth. He looks like the cat who ate the canary. "I have literally no idea what you're talking about."

"Fovvs..." Rye's resolve quickly fades, his arms falling to his side, shoulders slumping. "You're annoyed with me, innit?"

"Not annoyed, frustrated."

"I don't..." Rye shrugs, still confused. "What's the difference?"

Andy brings a hand to his lap and runs his palm teasingly up the length of his inner thigh.

Rye tracks the movement. He watches Andy's fingers slide up under the soft cotton of his hoodie, exposing a sliver of the creamy skin beneath before ghosting back down over his jeans.

It isn't until Andy's fingers trip over the bulge of his denim-clad cock, that things fall into place for Rye.

"Oh," he frowns. And then his eyebrows climb his forehead, "Oh!" Then sobers, "Oh, you're 'frustrated'. Bro, how is that my fault?"

"Oh, I don't know, Ryan..." Andy quickly rises to his feet, sounding peeved.

Rye instinctively takes a step back. Andy might be a little guy, but he is well intimidating in this intense state.

"Maybe if you'd kept your hands to yourself instead of pulling my proverbial chain."

Rye gapes in disbelief. "Since when do we ever keep our hands off each other? That's part of being Randy. I was playing it up for the crowd, as we do. Wasn't trying to pull you. Christ. You know that."

"What I know is," Andy says, closing the distance between them, "you are perfectly aware of what it takes to wind me up - what buttons to push - and you didn't hesitate to use them against me. In front of a crowd, no less, where I can't walk away."

Andy presses a finger into Rye's chest, walking him across the room until Rye finds himself flat, up against the door.

"Fovvs, I didn't..." Rye pauses, his stomach in knots. The last thing in the world Rye wants is for Andy to be annoyed with him over a bit of cheeky grab arse. "Are we really fighting over this?"

Andy sags, his hand falling away, and takes a step back. "No, of course not."

He turns and walks back to Harvey's. Collapsing back on to the bed, he throws an arm over his face and groans. "Sorry," he says quietly. "I'm just keyed up or summat."

"Can see that." Rye bats Andy's knee aside and sits down on the bed next to him, dropping his elbows to his knees. He hesitantly looks sideways at his friend, who is lying still beside him.

Andy is hiding his eyes beneath his arm, but he isn't able to mask the pink flush that is creeping across his cheeks and down his neck, disappearing beneath the soft fabric of his well-worn hoodie.

Rye swallows hard, daring to let his eyes travel down to the tight-fitting trousers that continue to give away the magnitude of Andy's arousal. Jesus. Had he really caused all that?

It felt like a betrayal to their friendship, and yet under the surface, there was a bright, shining flare of pride. 'Too right, I caused that. Fovvs is attracted to me.'

He shakes his head, hoping to rid himself of the notion. No such luck.

"You had me brickin', mate," he says after a minute. "Thought maybe..."

"Maybe what?" Andy raises himself up on his elbows, frowning at Rye, daring him to finish that sentence.

"I don't know; thought maybe you actually fancied me or something."

"Don't be stupid," Andy grouses, falling back into the mattress. "Everyone fancies you."

There is a tone to Andy's voice, a clear indicator of a full-on mood hatching, and Moody Andy is fun to mess about.

"So that's a yes then," Rye beams, his mouth curling into a prideful smirk. This is entirely too much fun.

"I said nothing of the sort," Andy denies, his voice pitching up in protest.

"I'm alright if you do, Fovvs. I'm just saying you don't have to try so hard. You know I'll always favor you."

"Try so hard?!" his voice another measure higher.

"Yeah, I know you like a bit of banter and all, but you came on awfully strong if you were tryin' to woo me."

"Woo you?" Andy bursts into laughter, wrapping his arms around his middle. "I wasn't -"

"Oh yeah, I know," Rye assures, waving him off. "No wooing. If I'm being honest though, I reckon you were hoping I'd just throw you down and have at it. We did get halfway there, to be fair."

"Oh my God, Ryan."

Rye enjoys the exasperated way his given name falls from Andy's mouth. Maybe a little too much.

"Don't act all coy now." Rye pushes on. "I think your intentions were pretty clear. I mean, I've got a bite mark on my neck to show for it. Not a love bite, mind. An actual bite mark, with teeth and all."

"Have you?" Curious, Andy cranes his head up again from the mattress to scope out the bruise and cringes. He reaches out and runs his fingers over the mark as if soothing it away. "Sorry," he says again, chuckling lightly under his breath.

Rye spins on him, his eyes wide with comical disbelief. "Think it's funny, do you? We have to see Blair in the morning. Or have you forgotten? He's gonna take the piss out of me for this."

"And you're bothered?" Andy asks, skeptical. "Not like it's the first time you've worn a love bite in front of Blair. Not even the first time I gave it you."

"You're right, Andy. In fact, I reckon it's only fair you have one of your own to match."

"No, don't -"

*********

AN: Ah, yeah. Matching love bites. I'm about it.
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