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There are only two things in life of which Andrew Ladd is completely certain:1) Middle school health teachers are underpaid.2) Ryan Kesler is the biggest douchebag in the world.The first truth is sort of self-explanatory. Andrew is a health teacher. He deserves a lot more money for having to educate preteen kids about how to make good life choices. He does his job well (at least, he thinks he does) but after taxes and rent he doesn’t have much to survive on. That’s why he works a second job three times a week at Bettman’s Sporting Goods. And that leads him to the second truth.Ryan Kesler is an asshole. Maybe it’s his face (which looks eerily like a moose’s) or his voice (which he uses far too much). Maybe it's the way he flirts with every person within a fifty mile radius (because the man has no shame and no tact either). Andrew isn’t sure why he so adamantly hates Ryan Kesler. But one day he accepted it as truth, and since then Kesler has given him no reason to think otherwise.Take, for example, how he always shows up to his shift late. Andrew doesn’t exactly keep tabs on Kesler—he doesn’t care that much, he swears. But lateness is one of Kesler's defining traits, and it gets in the way of their job. Bettman doesn’t seem to notice, but Andrew does. He’s not supposed to be the only person covering the hockey section of the selling floor. The hockey section is chaotic enough with two people working it. Andrew isn’t patient or wise or fast enough to deal with four customers at the same time. Andrew is reluctant to admit that he isn't perfect, but it's the true. That's why he needs Ryan Kesler to pull his weight.Except he doesn’t. He’s late. And it’s always a fucking disaster.“Okay, but I want that in black,” some newbie hockey mom whines. Andrew tries not to snap at her.“I’m sorry, ma’am, but those socks only come in blue or white,” he reminds her. The display is right there, for Christ’s sake.“You can’t check your storeroom or something?” The mom puts her hand on her hip. Dear God, he hates it when they put their hands on their hips.“No, ma’am,” he sighs. Under different circumstances he might go back and stare at the blue and white socks for a few minutes just to humor her. This time, though, there are other customers that need his guidance. He can’t leave an entire section of the store unattended. Fuck Ryan Kesler. "I took inventory of the hockey apparel two hours ago and there wasn’t any black. We don’t carry them in black and never have. Your best bet would be to check the manufacturer’s website,” he tells her in the most careful, encouraging voice he can manage.“Whoa, whoa, what’s happening here?” a male voice drawls out from behind him. Andrew resists the urge to curse. “I’m sure the customer is always right,” Kesler shoots the hockey mom a blindingly fake smile. She falls for it because just about everyone does and almost purrs in Kesler’s direction. Andrew’s lips press into a hard, flat line. He walks away.He knows that Ryan will flirt with the hockey mom. Then he'll convince her that she’s beautiful. He'll that her husband doesn’t treat her properly or whatever shit he tells that particular brand of customer. Andrew doesn’t know the specifics, nor does he want to. The hockey mom will feel flattered and then buy hundreds of dollars in fucking hockey socks from Kesler. Bettman will give his ‘I’m-pleased-because-your-morals-are-fucked’ smile to Kesler. Then Kesler will rule victorious despite showing up fifteen minutes late to his shift every fucking day.Andrew lives a cruel, underpaid life. He’s still trying to come to terms with it.Sure enough, every bit of Andrew’s prediction comes true. The hockey mom blushes. Kesler puts his arm on her shoulder while they look at socks. Then she somehow finds herself to be content with blue and white and decides to buy ten pairs of each type. It’s fucking disgusting. Afterwards Kesler makes Andrew hate him even more by sauntering up and rubbing it in Andrew’s face once the lady leaves the store.“Hey, man,” he has the audacity to sling his arm over Andrew’s shoulder. It's his way of rubbing salt in the wound, because he’s a dumbass. “You need to be more persuasive.” Kesler nods at his own words like he’s a fucking prophet or something. “I’m just trying to help you out, bro.”And maybe, just maybe, that’s was pisses off Andrew the most. Kesler has a shitty name and a shitty face and a shitty voice and a shitty attitude. He’s a walking reminder of everyone Andrew hates in the world. Andrew resents Kesler’s ability to charm people, the way he so casually manages to get away with anything. He resents how Kesler takes so much for granted. But resentment—well, resentment just is. It’s a passive emotion as far as Andrew can tell. He knows how live with resentment.But some days he feels as though he can’t live with what he feels for Kesler. It’s hatred, plain and simple. He hates Kesler’s nerve. He hates that Kesler thinks he’s better, thinks he’s wiser, thinks he’s cooler. It’s pretentious and it’s wrong and it makes Andrew burn with something dangerous. He can’t ignore how much he hates Kesler. It’s under his skin—the way that Kesler walks around like he’s something special and gives Andrew advice. The way Kesler acts as though there’s nothing better than being like him.Andrew fumes. He shoves Kesler’s arm away and goes back to work.*There was a time, once, when Andrew didn’t hate Ryan Kesler. It only lasted for about six seconds. It ended the moment Kesler made a dick joke while introducing himself. But upon first glace Andrew couldn’t see how terrible a person Kesler is. Instead he thought Kesler was kind of attractive, with a smile that lit up the dreary employee break room like nothing else. He thought Kesler would be a good co-worker in the hockey section. Hell, in six seconds he’d already started to wonder if he could turn Kesler into a Blackhawks fan.Of course, then Andrew got to know Kesler. He learned how sneaky Kesler was, how he didn’t seem to carry any shame or remorse. He learned how Kesler flitted around Bettman’s Sporting Goods like he belonged there. Like he belonged in Andrew’s space and Andrew’s mind. He learned how Kesler treated his entire life like it was a game and everyone else was already losing. He learned how to hate Kesler with every ounce of his being.Sometimes Andrew thinks his loathing towards Ryan Kesler comes a little too easily. Sometimes he wonders how hard it would be to feel otherwise. Usually, though, he’s just content to hate.*Pretty much everyone at Bettman’s Sporting Goods knows that Andrew and Kesler hate one another. Bettman either doesn’t know, or does and just likes causing drama. They’re always assigned to the same section at the same times. It’s dumb, because they often end up arguing instead of selling shit. Then they both carry similar angry pouts on their faces (though Andrew insists his is decidedly less pouty than Kesler’s) and end up scaring customers away.Life would just be a whole lot easier if Kesler could take shifts at another time. Maybe he could work as a cashier instead of strolling around the floor. He could just not work at all. But Andrew Ladd’s life doesn’t seem to enjoy being easy. So he continues to fight with Kesler over the same stupid shit. It’s part of his routine. He says goodbye to the kids from his eighth period class, drives to Bettman’s, waits around for Kesler to show up, and then goes to war.“I swear to God,” Andrew hisses, “I can handle this.”There’s a fancy-looking guy wearing a business suit and one of those Bluetooth things on his ear. He looks important, and he looks like he’ll buy a lot of hockey gear if Andrew can convince him to. Which Andrew definitely can—he doesn’t have this job for nothing. He’s good with people and he knows a ton about hockey. There’s a reason he’s held onto this part-time job for six years, both while he was in school and now that he’s teaching in one. He’s damn good at it.And then Kesler waltzes in like he’s hot shit, batting his eyelashes and pretending to be an expert at everything under the sun. And he finds Andrew inadequate, thinks he has the right to take control of situations that have nothing to do with him. It’s so fucking pretentious. Andrew’s worn down to his core. Kesler needs to stop.“I know you think that,” Kesler begins—“I know you think otherwise,” Andrew mimics, “But I’ve been working here longer and I know what I’m capable of. There are, like, three single moms eyeing the Under Armour right now. Go handle that,” he suggests. He’s much more diplomatic than Kesler will ever be.“I’m older than you,” Kesler points out, as though this makes him the supreme king of convincing rich people to buy hockey gear.“I’m dealing with it,” Andrew snaps. The customer has been standing around looking disappointed with their display of goalie equipment for too long. Andrew thinks he might walk out if no one tries to assist him soon. “Hello, sir,” Andrew grins. The businessman blinks, “Can you help you today?” The guy blinks again. He sort of maybe shakes his head. It’s hard to tell. Andrew knows Kesler is smirking at the exchange and he fucking hates it.“Told you so,” Kesler murmurs under his breath a couple minutes later. Andrew clenches his jaw. He knows he’s above responding with something snarky, even though he could.“Fine,” he spits out, because Kesler is giving him weird shark eyes and he feels the need to say something in response. “You try.” Kesler clears his throat and adjusts his uniform, which is a waste of time because he looks dumb no matter what.“Have you ever played goalie?” Andrew hears Kesler ask the man, pointing to the display. “I’ve heard it’s harder than it looks.” Andrew rolls his eyes. He should go find something to do, head over and help the moms in the clothing aisle, but he wants to see Kesler crash and burn. The man responds to Kesler in the same way he did to Andrew—a grunt, what could be a shoulder-shrug, and then nothing. Kesler looks dumbfounded.“Come on dude,” Andrew grins once Kesler retreats, even though nothing is funny. “I thought you were excellent at this jon.” Kesler makes some disgruntled noises that would likely be curse words if they were off the clock.“It’s not like you started a conversation with him, either,” Kesler finally responds in a clipped voice. He flounces off to sell overpriced hockey sticks to optimistic little kids, and Andrew is glad to see him go.*Andrew Ladd has only jerked off thinking about Kesler once.He’s still a little in denial about it, for obvious reasons, and when he does remember he feels ashamed. He feels frustrated with how easy it was, on a Friday night after a shift and some drinking, to think of Kesler while splayed out on his bed. They’d had a particularly bad day. There was an argument over inventory or something. With any other co-worker Andrew wouldn’t have minded, but of course, Kesler is different.He’d thought about pushing Kesler to his knees. He’d thought about wiping the smile off Kesler’s face by fucking it. He thought about letting Kesler cry and choke and whine on Andrew’s cock like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever tasted. He thought about curling his hands in Kesler’s dumb hair and pulling until it hurt. He wanted to fucking use Kesler, was the thing, get him back for all the times he’d made Andrew feel lesser somehow.Andrew came when he imagined Kesler panting, eyes glazed over, mouth falling open while Andrew marked him up with jizz. Whimpering for it. Wanting it. Wanting Andrew.(He doesn’t like to think about how thinking about Ryan Kesler made him blissed out for, like, three hours. The thought of it makes him both angry and turned on. He’d rather just avoid the situation in general. So he does.)*Weekends are, without a doubt, Andrew’s favorite part of the week. It means he gets a break from answering questions about sex and using fear tactics to prevent kids from smoking weed. It also means he doesn’t have to see Kesler’s stupid face. Every Friday evening, as Andrew drives away from Bettman’s, he questions if there is a god out there. Surely not having to deal with Kesler for two days straight is a fucking miracle.(Then again, a god who would allow the creation of Ryan Kesler is someone Andrew wants nothing to do with. So by the end of his Monday afternoon shift he’s back to being atheist.)Monday shifts are the worst for everyone. Kesler is always exceptionally moody. He has a tendency to brood instead of asking people if they need help choosing skate laces. This is inconvenient because everyone who walks into the store seems to need help choosing skate laces. Andrew hates Mondays because he never falls asleep early enough on Sunday night and neither do his students. It’s April and all the kids still want it to be spring break. Andrew’s having a hard time getting them to focus, and sometimes that extra frustration carries over to his second job.It doesn’t help that Kesler has the emotional maturity of one of his students, too. The man is a total jackass and Andrew doesn't want to deal with it.“Can you take the next group that walks through the door?” Andrew asks through clenched teeth. He hates asking for help from anyone, let alone Kesler. But they’re both halfway into the four-hour shift and Kesler hasn’t done anything. He’s currently leaning against a cardboard cutout of Kevin Bieksa, because of fucking course he’s a Canucks fan. Kesler eyes Andrew up and down. Andrew realizes asking Kesler to not be a lazy dumbass is asking far too much. “Fine,” he grits out, walking away to restock the goalie masks.As the two hours of work fades into three, Andrew feels his annoyance with Kesler bubble with increasing energy. He helps customers and restocks shelves and spends half an hour working as a cashier because someone is running late. The whole time he can’t help thinking about how Kesler should help him out, too. Co-workers at Bettman’s are rarely friends, but the ones working the same times in the same section tend to be cordial at least.It would be nice if he were able to admit to Kesler that he needs help stacking shoe boxes without feeling inexplicably weak. It would be kind of awesome if he could request Kesler do his fucking job and get an actual response, too. In a perfect world, Kesler wouldn’t like Andrew (and he wouldn’t like Kesler) but they could at least… get along, somehow.As the clock strikes seven and Andrew’s stomach starts to grumble with hunger, he realizes that he’s tired of letting Kesler push him around. Or rather, he’s tired of not pushing Kesler around a little in return. Usually Kesler does whatever he wants and Andrew lets him because he’s too tired to start a fight. Today he feels too tired not to fight, not to speak up.He’s filled with a fretful sort of adrenaline. It's the sort of energy that makes him feel unstoppable, like a train that might fall off the edge of a cliff instead of travelling towards its intended destination. Andrew can’t figure out what the outcome will be, but the energy makes him feel as though it doesn’t matter. He’s going to confront Kesler and he’s going to do it right.Andrew waits until Kesler decides to take his break, and then he opts to take his break too. He follows Kesler into the employee room. Andrew fucking hates the employee room. No one knows why it’s there. There are a couple foldable chairs but no table. There's an unused water dispenser that sits on its side in the corner, forgotten to the world. It’s a dreary ass room. Andrew hates spending time there more than he hates spending time on the floor during a busy day before the Stanley Cup Final. Because it sucks.“What, are you following me?” Kesler sneers once he notices Andrew has walked into the employee room as well. Andrew wants to make an equally annoying remark but, well, Kesler has a point. “I think we need to talk,” Andrew says. Kesler laughs and walks over towards him, puffing out his chest as though it’ll make him taller. It doesn’t. Andrew has that advantage, at least.“About what?” He asks, cocking his head to one side.“About your work ethic,” Andrew manages to spit out. He’s so angry he can't think, let alone form words. He hates Ryan Kesler. It doesn't matter if it's not justified or if he overreacts a little. He just hates this guy, hates him so much it makes his vision blur. “It’s pretty goddamn terrible, in case you weren’t aware.”“Bettman has no complaints,” Kesler replies. Andrew rolls his eyes. Bettman sits around in his office making bets on how successful the Oilers’ rebuild will be. He’s not the most attentive boss, otherwise he would know how much money he’s wasted by hiring Kesler. “I do my job well,” Kesler insists, maybe because he can’t go two seconds without complimenting himself.“You haven’t done anything today except lean against walls and stare into space!” Andrew exclaims, and wow, that came out a lot louder than he intended it to.“You have bad days, too!” Kesler replies in a loud voice that makes Andrew wince. “You don’t—you don’t know shit, Ladd,” Kesler fumes. He looks like a child having a temper tantrum, but Andrew can’t bring himself to find the scene amusing. “I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job.”“Yeah, you do!” Andrew knows he's close to screaming and god, he doesn’t even care, because it's been a miserable day and yelling feels good. “You clearly need me to remind you how much of a piss-poor worker you are! You’re lazy as hell and I’m tired of picking up your slack!” He realizes that his hands have curled into fists. Apparently Kesler does, too, because his lips twist into a brutal, humorless smile.“What, Ladd?” he gestures towards Andrew’s hands, towards the position they’ve taken. “Do you take this job so seriously that you’re willing to fight me on it? Are you going to punch me?” And then he laughs that same harsh, cold laugh. He’s laughing like Andrew is the most ridiculous thing he’s seen all week and it makes Andrew want to throw up. “Do it then,” he snarls. Andrew isn’t sure if it’s a command or a request or something else. “Punch me.” Kesler’s eyes flash with anger. The air between them feels humid and thick.“You will do no such thing,” a voice calls out from behind them. It’s Bettman, Andrew realizes as he spins around. “Finish your shifts. And then meet me in my office.”Kesler shoves past Andrew on his way out, hard enough to make Andrew’s shoulder twinge with pain a little afterwards. When Andrew lets out a deep sigh and follows Kesler out, he can’t remember when he started holding his breath.*The look in Kesler’s eyes—unadulterated loathing— makes Andrew ache with something other than hatred. He doesn’t want to think about what that could mean.He really doesn’t.*At 10:00, Bettman’s Sporting Goods closes. Shortly afterwards, Andrew takes the trash out and makes sure that nothing in the hockey section is in disarray. And then he follows Kesler into Bettman’s office.He’s pretty sure he’ll be fired. That would be a shame, because he loves talking about hockey to people and he loves getting paid 9 dollars an hour to do it. He wonders what Kesler does outside of Bettman’s, wonders if he needs this job to stay afloat, unlike Andrew.It’s the closest he’s ever come to seeing Kesler as a human being. It alarms him just a little.“What I overheard is unacceptable,” Bettman begins. Andrew hopes the lecture won’t be too long. He hates Bettman’s voice. “This business stands for a certain set of values—honesty, professionalism, teamwork. I know you both have a hockey background. I know you both know how to work with other people, even people you might not get along with.” To his right, Kesler snorts. Bettman must not understand what it’s like to hate someone, even when that someone is your teammate.“I don’t want to fire either of you,” Bettman continues. Andrew is lying if he says he doesn’t notice the way Kesler sinks down in his chair with relief. Something pangs within him. It’s not hatred. It’s closer to sympathy, and it pisses him off. “But you both need some time to figure out how to prosper as a unit.” Andrew tries not to make a face. “So I’m assigning you both to inventory for the next eight weeks.”“What does that mean?” Kesler asks, and Andrew glad for it because he doesn’t know either.“It means you’ll both be working in the storeroom together, taking inventory as a pair. But I’ll also put you in charge of other things—ordering new supplies, figuring out extra ways to make revenue. The work itself doesn’t matter too much. You’ll do whatever I don’t want to. The point is that you’ll spend the next four weeks working together. Think of it as one big teamwork exercise.”Bettman grins as though he’s found the secret to world peace. Andrew and Kesler both make strangled noises of horror in unison.*Andrew spends the entirety of Tuesday resenting Kesler for getting him into trouble with Bettman. He sits around seething with rage, so much so that almost everyone he knows points it out at some point, from students to co-workers to the janitor. It’s miserable.On Tuesday nights he has an agreement with Steegs where they grade each other’s papers and drink modest amounts of beer. They also tend to whine about their lives as teachers—or, for Andrew, his secondary gig at Bettman’s. He’s not allowed to mention Kesler because he complained about the douchebag too much and his friends made a rule about it.“So tell me whatever you don’t want to tell me about,” Steegs says patiently. He doesn't even look up from the labelled penis diagrams. Andrew frowns.“Not allowed,” Andrew reminds him in a sullen tone. He’s grading a horrible essay about America’s involvement in World War II. Steegs is adamant that his kids try their hardest, but this one can’t spell ‘Germany’, so Andrew is a little skeptical. “It’s about… that co-worker.”“He still works there?” Steegs makes a face. “I figured, since you stuck around, he quit. The way you complained about him for those first two weeks, man—it was hilarious.”“Fuck off,” Andrew scowls. It’s becoming his permanent facial expression, what with having so many shitty co-workers and shitty friends. “Yes, he stills shows up during my shift. And now Bettman’s assigned us to eight weeks of partner work because he overheard us fighting.” Steegs’ eyebrows rise to impressive heights. “Don’t look at me like that, dude,” Andrew complains.“I just can’t picture you getting into a fight with a co-worker is all,” Steegs shrugs. He has a point. Andrew considers himself to be a pretty just guy with a pretty good grip on what’s appropriate and what’s not. Almost punching Ryan Kesler is not acceptable. Andrew should know better. Kesler makes it hard. “This guy must be pretty bad,” Steegs adds on, and when they doesn’t get a response he says, “It’s only eight weeks. You’ll be fine.”Andrew eats a slice of pizza. He silently disagrees. *Wednesday comes too soon. He spends the entire day in a state of denial, and then he takes the long way driving to Bettman’s from school. He knows he’ll show up at 4:00 like he’s supposed to, but taking side roads and sitting in the parking lot for longer than usual feels a like silent resistance.In the end, that's all pointless. He clocks in and heads towards Bettman’s office. Kesler is already waiting there. Perhaps under difference circumstances Andrew would be something like pleased. Finally, Kesler is doing his job properly. Today he doesn’t have the emotional capacity for gratefulness. Bettman tells them to go take inventory on all the new shoes they received the night before. He seems pretty gleeful at the concept of Kesler and Andrew working together for six hours. Andrew wants to punch a wall.“You count and I’ll write it down,” Kesler commands in a gruff voice once they enter the storeroom. The storeroom is a dark, dank empty place. Everyone hates it because there are a bunch of hidden, unexplainable closets. It’s easy to get long among the rows of merchandise they may or may not ever sell. It also reeks of weed because Bettman is too lazy to install a security system within the depths of hell and all the high school employees light up after their shifts on Saturday.“Um, no,” Andrew scowls, because counting the shoes seems far more difficult and thus is a job made for Kesler. “You count. I write.”“No,” Kesler growls, “You count today and I’ll do it tomorrow.” Andrew scowls by default. It’s not that bad an idea, is the thing. So he heads towards the shoe aisle and begins counting the amount of shoes they have in stock by brand. They pause every once and a while so Kesler can write numbers on the inventory sheet.“Why the hell do we have so many running shoes?" Andrew whines to himself. Behind him, Kesler lets out a short laugh. Andrew feels fire flicker in his stomach. By the time their shift ends, the fire has subsided. Six hours alone with Ryan Kesler wasn’t as terrible as he thought it was going to be. Andrew thinks that's because they kept to themselves instead of interacting like Bettman wanted.“I guess on Friday we’ll finish the soccer cleats and come up with the final total,” Kesler remarks in a cool tone as they both head outside.“I guess so,” Andrew agrees after a long, long pause. It’s all remarkably civil. He wonders when it’ll end.*As it turns out, their semi-civil conduct lasts a lot longer than anyone expects. On Friday they finish counting every shoe Bettman has in stock. The next week they dedicate to yoga pants (why did Bettman order so many yoga pants?) and then move on to swimwear. One day Andrew counts and Kesler records; the next day they switch. They don’t talk to one another. The air feels stiff. They’re both getting through it without fighting, though.At least they are until they find the couch.The thing about the stockroom is that it used to be its own store with its own sections and little rooms and whatnot. Every once and a while, they run until a supply closet or have to make a weird turn to keep taking inventory. It’s like the room itself is trying to get them lost. On the second Friday they find a hidden room that wasn’t cleaned out before the previous owners left.Andrew thinks ‘room’ is a little too kind a word to describe the space. It’s just an old maroon couch and space for a couple people to stand. There’s a pull chain light bulb in the center of the space, and that’s about it. It’s fucking creepy and Andrew immediately wants to leave, wants to shut the door behind him and get back to counting Speedos.Kesler, it seems, has other ideas. He opts to turn the light on and lie down on the couch like he owns it, like Andrew isn’t staring down at him with a mixture of confusion and disgust.“What are you doing?” Andrew asks. He thinks it’s a valid question. They’re supposed to be working. One person can’t take the inventory all at once. That's why Bettman assigned them both to the job. Andrew doesn’t like standing around—especially when it means standing around waiting for Kesler). He’s getting paid to take inventory. He wants to take inventory. “Come on.”“No,” Kesler mutters. He’s splayed out on the couch in his dumb-as-hell work uniform, a black and white jersey with Bettman’s logo on the front and Kesler’s name on the back. The shirt is kind of riding up, leaving space for tanned skin between the black jersey and his preppy khakis. Andrew doesn’t know why he’s staring at that skin. He tears his eyes away and decides to glare at Kesler instead. “I’m tired,” Kesler proclaims. “Let’s hang out here for a minute.”“You’re so immature,” Andrew blurts out, a little louder than he meant to. Kesler laughs. For some reason he always laughs when Andrew says something rude to him, which just serves to anger Andrew more. “Everyone’s tired. We still have to work,” Andrew tries to reason. He resents having to argue in favor of doing his job to Ryan Kesler. Kesler lets out something between a groan and a yawn. He licks his lips. Andrew follows the motion and then hates himself for it. Hates Kesler, too.“Nah, man, I don’t feel like it.”“Not up to you,” Andrew reminds him in a tight voice.“I’m taking a break here. If you want to take inventory, do it yourself,” Kesler tells him. The trick is that he’s holding the clipboard with the inventory sheet as far away from where Andrew is standing. Andrew feels like he’s gone back to sixth grade, back before his growth spurt, when kids would steal his stuff and hold it above his head . They just wanted to watch him jump for it. They thought it was funny.“It’s 9:50,” Andrew reminds him. “We can leave in ten minutes anyways. But I want to finish this section first.” Kesler doesn’t reply. Instead he chooses to sit up but keeps his legs spread open a little—lax, unhurried, like he runs the world. Andrew feels the anger swell inside him like a tsunami, and before he knows it, he’s lunging for the clipboard.Except he never reaches it. He underestimates the distance Kesler is holding it away from him and falls half into Kesler’s lap. His hands reach for the wall instead of the inventory sheet. Then when he scrambles for leverage he ends up pressing his half-open mouth into Kesler’s collarbone. That's when Andrew realizes he’s half-bitten Kesler. His teeth had closed around whatever skin they fell onto before he could regain control of his jaw muscles.“What the fuck,” Kesler curses, and then everything goes a little fuzzy.He’s vaguely aware of Kesler smashing their lips together. It’s not a kiss, not even close. It’s just teeth and lips clashing against one another. Andrew tastes blood and he doesn’t know who it belongs to. Then Kesler drops the clipboard and somehow pulls Andrew onto his lap. Andrew is too dizzy with the hurt to react logically. Instead he pulls himself as close to Kesler as possible and starts grinding down.He thrusts as hard as he can. He doubts it's comfortable for Kesler. They’re still mashing their faces together. Andrew knows one of them is making these desperate, breathy noises. It might be him. Andrew grabs a fistful of Kesler’s hair and pulls his face closer, trying to kiss with as much aggression as he can muster. Kesler responds by digging his thumbs into the Andrew’s upper thighs so hard it’ll leave bruises.Andrew knows that he’ll wake up with sore lips and bruised legs and it makes him feel ridiculous with want and resentment. He’s running on nothing but bitterness and need and he doesn’t want it to end. At some point, Kesler and Ladd break away. They suck at each other’s necks so that they don’t have to make eye contact instead.“Christ, Ladd,” Kesler laughs in a shaky, harsh voice, “You must be pretty fucking desperate.” Andrew decides to bite him instead of responding. Sure enough, Kesler lets out a moan like someone punched it out of him. Andrew licks over the mark. He knows it’ll stay there all weekend. He wonders if he’ll see it when Kesler shows up to work Monday afternoon.“Fuck you,” Andrew murmurs into Kesler’s ear, enjoying how his breath hitches. “You’re getting off on this,” he says like it’s a secret, because Kesler’s hips are rising up in little sharp jabs. “You’re in a supply closet and I’m marking you up and, and you, you like it, Kesler, don’t fucking lie," he hisses. "God, fuck you, I hate you so much, what the fuck is wrong with you, this is so fucked up.” Andrew can feel the desperation in his voice, knows he’s rocking down against Kesler like a teenager, but he can’t help it. He wants to ruin Kesler and he wants to be the one responsible for it—They come almost in unison. Kesler lets out this ridiculous relieved moan, hips stuttering, biting into Andrew’s lower lip. Andrew follows behind with a distressed grunt. He feels like his body has betrayed itself. His mind is too blurry to comprehend what he’s done. He’s too exhausted and too hateful to care. “Get the fuck off me,” Kesler snarls, pushing Andrew to the ground carelessly. He gets up and walks out the door and when Andrew finally does the same, he realizes their shift ended and Kesler must have left the store. There is jizz sticking to his skin and blood trickling from his mouth and bruises forming just about everywhere.Andrew sighs. He hates Ryan Kesler. He drives home.*On Saturday night, Steegs unexpectedly shows up at his doorstep with beer and Chinese food and demands that they play NHL 10. Andrew thinks it’s nice that he brought the stuff. He’s always up for beating Steegs in any capacity. Then he remembers that he’s not wearing a shirt and he kind of looks like he was attacked by a vampire.“Whoa, dude,” Steegs starts. Andrew holds his hand up. He glares until Steegs lets it go. They play for a couple hours while eating food and talking trash. When Steegs tries to start wrestling him, though, all the happiness dissipates. It reminds him too much of what it felt like to be manhandled by Kesler, the way they both fell into one each other with snarling lips and bitter teeth and vengeful hips. The desperation and the heat and the flashes of hatred felt too good to ever be repeated.“Get the fuck off me, you sore loser,” Andrew spits out. They both realize Andrew is uncomfortable, even though wresting is nothing he’s ever turned down before.“Alright, man,” Steegs says in that quiet voice he uses when he’s trying to figure something out. Andrew doesn’t like that voice. “Are you going to finish that orange chicken?” Andrew shakes his head no. His chest feels tight and his body feels tense. Steegs doesn’t say anything past that. Andrew feels grateful for it.*It's not going to happen again. Andrew knows it can't, so it won't. If he acts as though it didn't happen then everything will be okay. That's his plan. He wants to stick with it.As usual, Ryan Kesler ruins everything.The first thing Kesler does on Monday after they both enter the storeroom is rip the clipboard from Andrew's hands and press him up against the wall. It feels cold and hard and horrible against Andrew's back and he shivers on instinct. Kesler mistakes this for desperation and begins grinding his hips against Andrew's. They kiss, wet and sloppy and aggressive, and Andrew is sure that to Kesler his mouth must taste like revenge."So I was thinking," Kesler begins, but then he stops speaking. He decides to start thrusting against Andrew while rubbing at the places on his ribcage that he bruised up on Friday. Kesler doesn't continue his sentence and Andrew whimpers. Distantly, he realizes that the only thing he can focus on is how badly he wants Kesler to make him come."Jesus, fuck—Tell me, you asshole," Andrew grits out. He sinks his teeth into Kesler's shoulder for good measure. Kesler is still rotating his hips, but it's too slow and there's not enough friction. Andrew wonders if he'll scream from the frustration."I was thinking about doing this to you all weekend," Kesler whispers. Andrew moans at that, the image of Kesler thinking about what they did and getting off on it. "But I was wondering how it should end." Kesler lets out a throaty laugh. It's not dissimilar to the one he uses when making fun of Andrew under any other circumstances."Should I make you come in your pants like a kid who couldn't control himself, or not let you come at all?" Kesler asks. Andrew makes a whining noise that he'll never admit to. "Which one is it going to be?" He asks, rolling against Andrew and pulling his hair a little."Fuck—fuck you, you're fucked up," Andrew mutters because he doesn't want to choose. He doesn't know if he even wants to be grinding up against Kesler anyways."That was rude," Kesler tells him in a sticky sweet voice. "But I guess you made your decision." And then he pulls away from the wall and heads towards the swimwear. Andrew is hard and his skin is too hot and wants to fuck Kesler so much it makes him ache.Once he catches his breath, Andrew follows Kesler down the hallway. He's pretty sure he doesn't have a choice.*Andrew doesn’t get his payback for three more days. At that point he’s been working with Kesler for three weeks. They’ve moved past the mainstream inventory and are working in the nooks and crannies of the room. It means that they usually end up counting stuff tossed inside random closets and down dead-end hallways. The more Andrew sees of the stockroom, the more he questions the legality of Bettman’s store itself.It’s Kesler’s turn to take charge of the clipboard, which Andrew prefers. But today he’s doing a shit job of it—at least, more so than usual. He tallies 12 badminton rackets instead of 21. He questions if Andrew really counted the football kicking cages, because he can't believe there's only two in stock. He gets pissed when Andrew can’t figure out how to calculate the amount of tennis balls in stock. Andrew's defense is that he teaches kids about STDs, not basic math. Kesler isn’t having it.“You’re so fucking incompetent, Ladd, I swear to God. Why the fuck did they hire you anyways, did you sleep with Bettman or something—”Andrew’s tired of listening to Kesler’s voice, so he slams him against a shelf of neon-colored sweatpants. He kisses him until Kesler realizes he can’t whine anymore. They stay like that for a while, panting instead of arguing. They run their hands up and down each other’s body and pressing wherever they please. The point isn’t to make it good. It’s to make it hurt. Somewhere along the line the two become synonymous.“What the fuck are you doing?” Andrew growls at one point, as Kesler pulls him by the hair and switches their positions. Now Andrew’s back is pressed against the unsteady wall of clothing. Kesler breaks away at the question. The room is poorly lit, but Andrew sees the glazed-over look in Kesler’s eyes and it makes his breath hitch a little. Kesler looks dazed, like he needs someone to direct him, like he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing.“Fuck you,” Kesler breathes without malice. It’s not an answer. Andrew grabs Kesler’s ass and pulls him closer, forces their foreheads together. He can’t read Kesler’s eyes, but he has a hunch what they’re asking for.“Get on your knees,” Andrew whispers. He says it like a command, but it isn’t. Neither of them know what they’re doing or why. They might as well just suggest shit and pick and choose what they’re in the mood for. Andrew feels how hard he’s getting and take a long look at the way Kesler is licking his lips. “Do it.”Kesler falls to his knees like he’s wanted to do it forever, and it’s one of the hottest things Andrew’s ever seen. He can’t even get out another order before Kesler’s tearing off his pants and sucking on Andrew’s dick. There's no preface, no warming up, just starts sucking Andrew’s dick like it’s all he ever wants to be doing. Kesler moans a little, seems hesitant after a few seconds, like he’s waiting for something. He pulls off to speak and Andrew makes a whining noise at the loss.“I’ll swallow. You can pull my hair. I can take it.” Kesler is flushed with embarrassment and doesn’t have the nerve to look at Andrew while he says it. But Andrew’s not going to turn down the opportunity to live out one of the best jerk-off fantasies of his life. He has the chance to fuck Kesler’s face, and he’s going to take it. So Andrew tugs Kesler onto his cock, feels his throat relax, and starts thrusting.Andrew doesn’t want to admit it, but Kesler is good. This can't be his first time giving a blowjob. He looks good, too, choking once or twice but never pulling off for long, tearing up but refusing to relent. He's taking everything Andrew gives him in stride. Kesler is getting off on it, too, and that makes Andrew want to turn things up a notch. He pulls Kesler’s hair a little harder and listens for the whine it pulls from him.“You look good like this, Kes,” Andrew whispers, the nickname slipping out before he can stop himself. He slows his thrusts a little so that he can focus on how desperate Kesler looks. “Look so pretty, taking my cock so well,” he croons. Kesler makes a growling noise that vibrates inside his throat and makes Andrew gasp for breath a little. “I like you on your knees,” Andrew continues, “Like how desperate you are for it.” Kesler looks up at him, glaring but without much heat because they both know it’s the truth.Shortly after that, Andrew loses the ability to speak. Forming words just seems too hard, too much to ask of him while he’s fucking Kesler’s face. Kesler is drooling a little, definitely close to crying. His hands are curled around Andrew’s hips and will leave thumbprint-shaped bruises. The thought of it sends shivers down Andrew’s spine. Every once and a while Andrew’s cock hits the back of Kesler's throat. He makes a choked-off noises when it happens and that pushes Andrew closer to the edge.Finally he fists his fingers through Kesler’s hair and pulls him forward so his lips are against Andrew’s pelvic bone. He comes down his throat with a drawn-out moan. He feels Kesler choke on his come a little and that makes his stomach clench. He knows Kesler is swallowing everything without protest. When Andrew’s hips finally stutter to a halt, he hesitates. His plan was to fuck Kesler’s face and walk away. It was supposed to be retribution, not something mutual.But Kesler’s eyes are wide and his lashes are clumped with tears. He looks goddamn beautiful with come dripping from his spit-slicked lips. Andrew wants to pay attention to how pretty Kesler looks when he comes. He pulls Kesler from his knees and unzips his pants and starts jacking him off. Kesler makes whining noises deep in the back of his throat. He's leaning against Andrew like his legs are too weak to stay up alone. It makes Andrew feel powerful. Makes him realize how he wants to fuck Kesler up, how desperately he wants Kesler to come because of him and no one else.“Next time,” Andrew whispers, “Next time, I’ll come all over your face and make you walk out of here like that.” Kesler grunts but doesn’t respond. Andrew bites down into his neck. “Or maybe I’ll fuck you open with a finger,” he suggests, “Dry, so it’ll hurt a little—because you like that. I know you do.”Kesler’s head drops so that his forehead is resting against Andrew’s chest. He’s only an inch shorter than Andrew, so the angle is sort of weird, but it feels nice to know he’s messing with Kesler.“Are you gonna come soon, Kes?” Andrew asks in a taunting voice. Kesler thrusts forward into his hand a little quicker. “You gonna come because you liked sucking my cock so much?” Kesler whispers something that sounds affirmative. “Say that again,” Andrew commands. Kesler shakes his head and Andrew grabs his hair, forces him upwards so he has to look Andrew in the eyes. “Say it again, Kesler.” His eyes look wild—scared, even, or maybe just lost.“Yeah,” Kesler whimpers, “Yeah, I am.” Andrew smirks and pulls Kesler in for a half-kiss. He bites down on his lower lip and pulling at it, tightening his grip on Kesler’s hair until he’s making desperate, pained noises. He nips at his earlobe and presses his teeth into the soft, soft skin until Kesler cries out and comes all over his hand.Kesler looks devastatingly good when he comes. It’s the sort of image Andrew wants to see more than once. He is both horrified and thrilled at the prospect.*It’s not supposed to become a thing, but it does.They still get their work done, of course, and they get along better while doing it, but afterwards they always hook up. Usually that means blowjobs. Other days they sloppily kiss until they can’t stand it. Then they writhe around together on the floor of a supply closet, leaving as many nasty bruises with their mouths as possible. Andrew gets used to the stinging feeling of bite marks on his ribcage. He learns how much he enjoys the texture Kesler’s hair in his hands.It’s not supposed to become a thing, but it does, and neither of them seems to care.*Kesler shows up to work abnormally late one day, and Andrew gets pissed. In all honesty, he was okay with Kesler being fifteen minutes late back when they were both assigned to the floor. He could rely on Kesler to show up at some point. But when Kesler shows up that late during their fifth week of work together, Andrew doesn’t feel like sitting around and taking it. He can’t start taking inventory on the lacrosse equipment until Kesler shows up. That ends up being around 5:15. Andrew feels enraged.“You are more than an hour late,” Andrew growls, shoving Kesler up against the wall and digging his teeth into his shoulder. That’s sort of become his instinct, lately. Then he realizes Kesler hasn’t responded and looks up. Kesler looks like a fucking mess—and not in the ‘I just came because you sucked my dick’ way, but in the ‘my dog just died’ way. And Andrew feels somehwat bad about it.“My kid is sick,” Kesler grits out. “I’ve been cleaning up puke for the past twelve hours straight.” Andrew blinks. He blinks again.“You have kids?” He asks. It seems like a valid question. He wanted secret co-worker hate sex, not to be part an affair or whatever. Kesler has kids. “I think you’re supposed to tell people that before they, like, suck your dick.”“Fuck you,” Kesler snarls. He pushes Andrew in the general direction of the lacrosse aisle and doesn’t answer the question until they’re walking out of the store.“I have two kids with my ex-wife,” Kesler tells him as they brace the chilly night air. “High school sweethearts—married too young, had kids too early, you know the story.” Andrew grunts something that sounds like ‘yes’ even though he doesn’t know at all. He doesn’t have any married friends and he’s never felt any inclination to settle down himself.“That sucks,” Andrew offers mildly.“So do you,” Kesler snarls back. It’s not even a good comeback, but Andrew can tell Kesler feels uncomfortable, so he laughs anyways and heads for his parking spot.“See you on Wednesday,” Andrew remarks as he opens his car door. He doesn’t wait for Kesler to answer before driving away.*“You’ve been in a good mood lately,” Steegs remarks that Tuesday. Andrew pauses from gorging on French fries to pull a disgusted face.“No, I haven’t,” he insists. Steegs doesn’t bother arguing otherwise.*On Wednesday, Bettman pulls them both into his office as they walk into the door. Andrew’s first thought is that he’s found out they’ve been hooking up on the job. It which is, admittedly, not the most moral thing he’s ever done. He would understand if Bettman fired them for it. Hell, he’s lucky he wasn’t fired after Bettman overheard that fight. He shouldn’t be pushing his luck.“I realized that you two will finish inventory within the next week or so,” Bettman begins. Andrew breaths the smallest sigh of relief. It's not about them hooking up, then. “But I want to make sure that my message has stuck in. So I’d like you two to work on this fundraiser I’ve been planning for a while.” Andrew tenses up.“What exactly is this fundraiser, sir?” Kesler asks, because Andrew sure as hell wasn’t going to.“A bake sale!” Bettman exclaims. “We can hire some local bakeries and ask if they’d be willing to help us out. Of course we wouldn’t be able to pay them; be sure to mention that. Who wouldn’t want to donate cookies so that we can order more baseball bats?”“No one, sir,” Kesler replies in a purposefully blank voice, and Andrew bites down on his lip until it hurts to keep from laughing.“Right,” Bettman nods in their general direction. “So here’s a list of bakeries I complied,” he shoves a binder towards them. “You’ll need to do some promotion around town, so be sure to handle that. And you need to make it entertaining somehow. Just get me money, alright?” Bettman raises skeptical eyebrows at Andrew and he bristles a little. He is capable of running a fundraiser. At least, he’s a lot more capable than Kesler is.“We’ve got it, sir,” Andrew tells him, taking the binder and following Kesler out of the office. They don’t talk until they’re both inside the storeroom.“Holy fuck,” Kesler curses. He sounds faint. “This is so much extra work.” Andrew winces because Kesler is pright. They’re going to have to run this on most of their own time, and Bettman won’t pay them for it, either. He’s preparing his kids for their final exam and has to plan his vacation in Florida with Steegs. He definitely doesn’t want to sell cupcakes alongside Ryan fucking Kesler. But there’s nothing he can do about it now.“Let’s just finish the fucking inventory,” Andrew suggests. For the first time ever, Kesler doesn’t have any protests.*The biggest bump in the fundraising road is that Bettman told them that they weren’t allowed to pay any of the baked goods vendors. All the bakers realize this fundraiser won’t get them any profit, so they’re understandably reluctant to help out.“This is fucking ridiculous,” Andrew whines at 9:30 the next Friday. He’s been calling baked goods stores for five and a half hours. He didn’t even think that was possible, especially because Kesler is helping out, too. They're currently trying to convince non-local bakeries to drive along the highway for a couple hours to deliver food.“I know, sir, it’s a little inconvenient,” Kesler sighs from across the room. They’re chilling out in the storeroom so that they can exchange blowjobs whenever they get too frustrated. Kesler is lying down on his back. His legs are spread open and he arches his back as a way of, like, getting out his anger. Andrew kind of wants to fuck him and is kind of upset about it. “Yes, sir, I know,” Kesler growls. “Okay, fuck you sir. Bye." “That was a little unnecessary,” Andrew comments with a snort. “What’d he do, call you fat?”“I’m not fat,” Kesler snaps, which is beside the point, and then, “He called me stupid.” Andrew does think Kesler can be pretty stupid, but for some reason it seems wrong to say so in front of him. “Whatever, I’m done with this.”“There are like thirty more names on this list,” Andrew points out. “Some pie shops and a cake place and a ton of homemade doughnut stores.” Kesler groans instead of contributing to the conversation. Andrew can’t blame him. “I think we should just finish them up now. I don’t want to have to stress over it anymore. And I sure as hell don’t want to call these people over the weekend.”“There’s no way in hell I’m staying here after hours,” Kesler snaps. Andrew feels the same way—Bettman’s is fucking scary once everyone else has left.“We could go to my house and finish up?” Andrew suggests. “I mean, it’s not far.” Kesler spends a ridiculous amount of time mulling the idea over. “I can make us coffee and heat up pizza and shit,” he offers, scooting offer so that he’s closer to Kesler. “Plus,” he adds, straddling Kesler and pinning his wrists against the concrete ground, “I could fuck you. If you wanted.” He rolls his hips against Kesler’s for good measure.“What the fuck,” Kesler replies weakly. His pupils are dilating, though, so he doesn’t fool Andrew. “Did you suggest that just so you could fuck me?” Andrew knows that Kesler hasn’t shot the idea down and presses his teeth into Kesler’s pale throat. “Jesus fuck, get off me.”“Does this mean you’re gonna come home with me?” Andrew asks, fingers playing with Kesler’s belt a little for the hell of it. “Are you gonna finish your work like a good boy and then beg me to fuck you as a reward?” Andrew knows he’s verging into unknown territory, but he sort of gets the vibe nothing is off-limits with Kesler. He might has well push the envelope.“Give me food and help me brainstorm for this stupid fundraiser,” Kesler shoots back, “And then maybe we’ll see.”It’s a yes. They both know it’s a yes. Andrew can’t wait.*Andrew fulfills all his promises in order, because his mother taught him to be a man of his word.They make coffee and eat reheated pizza and don’t talk at all. When they start going through the names from the binder, he keeps his voice level low. Andrew appreciates it. When they're done wading through phone numbers and voicemails and rejections, they’ve convinced a single bakery to donate some muffins. It feels like victory, but only for a second.“What are we supposed to do?” Andrew asks to no one in particular. Kesler makes an exasperated groan from where he’s sitting on Andrew’s couch.“We could make some of it ourselves,” he suggests. Andrew wrinkles his nose.“You know how to bake?” he asks, and Kesler rolls his eyes.“We got my daughter one of those Easy-Bake things for Christmas,” Kesler says. “I make amazing chocolate chip cookies.” He sounds ridiculously proud of himself for it and Andrew doesn’t have the heart to tease him. “Hey, what’re those?” Kesler asks a few minutes later. He points to the stack of tri-fold poster boards leaning in the corner of Andrew’s already-cramped living room.“Eight grade health projects,” Andrew sighs. “The department forces me to assign the kids tons of projects and essays and shit—just means more work for me.”“You’re a health teacher?” Kesler sounds repulsed by the idea. Andrew laughs.“Yeah, man, at the middle school. It’s a rough job. You couldn’t handle it. Having to tell sixth graders how to put on condoms and everything,” he adds on just to watch Kesler shudder at the idea. They sit around in silence for a while. Andrew wonders whether Kesler is thinking about Andrew putting condoms on bananas or something. He looks disgruntled, but that seems to be his resting expression.“I want you to fuck me now,” Kesler says out of nowhere. Andrew’s eyes widen. “Where’s your bedroom?” Andrew points down the hallway and follows Kesler to his own room. He feels like he’s lost control of the situation. When they get into his bedroom, Kesler presses him against the wall, cowers over him as much as possible, and licks into his mouth. After a couple minutes of it, they’re both turned on and panting.“Go get the stuff,” Kesler commands him once they break apart. It takes a moment for Andrew to understand what he means—his head is fuzzy; he’s not thinking about logistics. He just wants to touch Kesler everywhere. He wants to take his time pressing his teeth against every inch of tanned skin he hasn’t discovered yet. He wants to drag it out and make sure Kesler’s begging for it.“How rough do you want it?” Andrew manages to ask once he’s grabbed lube and condoms. He strips out of his work uniform down to his boxers and watches as Kesler does the same. Kesler doesn’t show off while he strips, which is kind of a shame. Andrew wants to watch him, wants to take inventory of the way his muscles move—but it does get him naked.“As rough as you can manage,” Kesler replies with a smirk. Andrew feels his stomach flare with heat. He knows he’s going to make Kesler beg him, beg for bruises and for hurt and for more, and he can't wait.“Turn around, then,” Andrew orders, and he feels a rush of satisfaction when Kesler does as he’s told. Andrew forces Kesler’s arms above his head, crosses them, and presses downwards. Kesler whines a little at the warning—don’t move. Andrew wonders if one day he could tie Kesler up, tease him for hours knowing there was nothing Kesler could do to stop him.“Get it over with already,” Kesler jolts Andrew out of his thoughts. They both know he’s not serious. They both know he wants Andrew to fuck him well and fuck him hard. It’s not something Kesler wants to be over, not too soon, anyways. Understanding what Kesler wants versus what he says is a little terrifying. Andrew douses his fingers in lube and tries not to think about it.He slips the first finger in as slowly as possible, bit by bit, and waits for Kesler to react. He hears a bitten off moan and watches Kesler clench his hands into fists. His face is pressed into the pillow, like he doesn’t want to look at Andrew, and Andrew understands. He twists his finger a little and runs the other hand down Kesler’s spine, encourages him to relax into it.“When’s the last time you did this?” He whispers, slipping in a second finger so that when Kesler tries to answer, all that comes out is a surprised whimper. Andrew decides it’s a sound he wants to hear more often.“A few months ago, maybe,” Kesler’s voice sounds fragile, like he doesn’t have the energy to speak at his regular volume. “He was a lot fucking quicker than you,” he adds. Andrew laughs and curls his fingers a little until they hit Kesler’s prostate. After a while, Kesler seems to realize that being rude to Andrew won’t get him fucked any sooner. He starts lifting his hips upwards a little, tries to force Andrew’s fingers down further.“You can take three, right?” Andrew asks, but it’s a rhetorical question and he adds the third finger anyways. One of Kesler’s fists grips down on the pillow, pulling at the fabric. Andrew starts fucking his fingers inside Kesler, quick and hard. He used way too much lube and it’s dripping everywhere. When he tells Kesler so, he hears a shaky moan. Kesler’s face is still pressed into pillow. Andrew gets onto the bed and kneels on either side of Kesler’s legs. He slaps the meat of Kesler’s thighs once.“What the fuck, Ladd,” Kesler grumbles, so he does it again. He watches Kesler’s skin turn white and then red in the shape of his hand.“Do you want it?” Andrew teases, stilling his fingers entirely. Kesler kicks at Andrew but misses. “Come on, Kes, tell me.” He starts moving again, thrusting at an excruciating pace, slower than either of them wants. Kesler makes heavy, wet noises instead of responding, and Andrew wonders if he can make him so desperate that he cries. “If you don’t tell me, I won’t do it,” he warns. It’s a lie. Kesler looks amazing laid out on his bed, clutching at his sheets, and Andrew wants to fuck him until he forgets his name. But Kesler doesn’t have to know that.“Fuck,” Kesler cries out, “Fuck, yes, I want it.” Andrew trails his other hand up and down Kesler’s back, leans all the way over and mouths at his spine. He licks at Kesler’s sweat and leaves the smallest of bite marks between his shoulder blades. “Andrew,” Kesler growls, “Andrew, fuck me, please.”“Good boy,” Andrew smiles against Kesler’s skin, “Look so good, Kes. How do you want it?” He extracts his fingers while Kesler thinks about it.“O-on my back,” Kesler answers. His voice is shaky and Andrew likes it. They both shuffle around—Andrew gets off his boxers, tugs at his cock twice, and puts on the condom. Kesler turns over and scoots up, spreads his legs so that Andrew can see him.“One day,” Andrew promises as he pulls Kesler’s legs as far apart as possible, “I’m going suck you off until you cry. It’ll be sloppy and slow and you won’t be able to come from it until I tell you so.” Kesler lets out a litany of curses and jerks upwards, sealing their lips together with a muffled groan. He bites at Andrew’s lips until they both taste blood. Andrew presses his fingertips into Kesler’s collarbone until he shouts from the pain.“Fuck me right now,” Kesler grits out. Andrew lines himself up with Kesler, rubs his cock between Kesler’s cheeks until he can’t stand it any longer, and then thrusts inwards all at once. Kesler sounds as though the breath has been knocked out of him and they both have to take a few seconds to get back in control. They make eye contact. Kesler’s pupils are dilated and his lips look swollen and wet. He looks like a mess. Andrew loves it.Andrew settles for a rhythm that's harsh and unforgiving. It’s a sudden change, too sudden for Kesler to react. They both moan at the feeling. Andrew hasn’t fucked another guy since summer vacation. He realizes how much he missed it—missed the smell, missed the aggressiveness. It takes him a while to find Kesler’s prostate, but once he does, Kesler starts making incessant noises. Andrew should find it more annoying that he does.“I want—I want you to…” Kesler starts, but then must think better of it. Andrew bites at one of Kesler’s nipples and he arches into it.“Tell me,” Andrew whispers, fucking down so hard that he bottoms out again. Kesler’s eyes are watering. His breathing is ragged. “Tell me what you want me to do to you,” he urges. Kesler throws his head back. Andrew licks at the skin, feels Kesler vibrating under his tongue.“Choke me,” Kesler says in a rush, “I want you to choke me.” He closes his eyes. Andrew doesn’t hesitate before doing it. He splays his fingers out against Kesler’s throat and uses the other hand to cradle Kesler’s neck. Then he fucks into him at the same pace, like nothing’s changed. Except now Kesler’s noises are muffled, and Andrew can see his fingers making marks on his throat. It's intoxicating. Andrew’s not the one with his oxygen cut off but he’s finding it hard to breathe anyways.“Kesler,” Andrew shudders, fucking down as hard as he can manage. He watches tears leak from Kesler’s eyes. “Kesler, fuck, fuck, Ryan, I’m gonna come.” Kesler nods as much as he can around Andrew’s grip and Andrew comes with a whining noise he’ll never admit to afterwards. His grip on Kesler’s throat loosens, and when he regains attentiveness all he can hear is Ryan’s struggling breaths. Andrew pulls out as slow as he can manage and throws the condom across the room into the trashcan.“Nice shot,” Kesler comments in a voice like sandpaper, almost maniac with desperation, “Now get me off.” Andrew can’t do anything but nod and rub his thumb over the leaking head of Kesler’s cock. He licks his hand and then starts jerking Ryan off, watching the cut of his hips as they thrust up to meet Andrew’s hand. He wants to memorize the sight of it, for some reason.“You’re going to have bruises on your neck,” Andrew comments. Kesler nods frantically in agreement. “And bite marks on your back. And bruises on your hips,” he adds. He was using Kesler to steady himself while they were fucking and it must have left some damage there. “All marked up ‘cause of me.”“Yeah,” Kesler breathes, hips stuttering a little, “Fuck, yeah, I am.”“I fucked you well, huh?” Andrew licks his lips. “You let me do that. You let me fuck you. Can’t deny it, Kes; you did. I fucked you until you cried,” he points out. Kesler’s eyelashes are still sticky with the saltwater. If Andrew was five years younger, he would already be hard again and ready to jerk off to the thought of that. “Come for me, Ryan. Do it, I want you to. Want you to know you came because I fucked you.”“Fuck you—you’re an asshole,” Ryan bites out before succumbing to his own orgasm. Andrew briefly thinks that Kesler needs to learn some fucking manners, because he just made the dude come and doesn’t deserve insults. Then he becomes too enthralled by the sight of Kesler coming all over his stomach to think of anything else.After a few minutes of lying around, Kesler finds the bathroom and cleans himself up. They sit in silence for a while longer, Andrew on the verge of passing out, until Kesler retrieves his phone from his pants and starts whining about the time.“Jesus, it’s one in the morning,” he curses, “I have to take my son to a baseball game in, like, six hours.” Andrew feels no sympathy. He stares at his ceiling and decides not to respond. “You don’t care, do you?” Kesler spits out. He sounds angry.“Not really, dude,” Andrew rolls onto his stomach. He doesn’t know why Kesler would think otherwise. They’re enemies-with-benefits. Kesler’s personal life is nothing he wants any part in. “You’re ruining my afterglow,” he reasons.“Fuck your afterglow,” Kesler mumbles while putting on his clothes. “And put on some fucking pants.”“Don’t tell me what to do,” Andrew replies, even though it makes him feel like a ten-year-old. Kesler lets out the sigh of someone who is currently walking through hell. Andrew thinks he’s a little overdramatic. “See you at work on Monday,” he offers as Kesler makes his way towards the doorframe. Kesler gives him the tiniest of nods and Andrew hears his front door slam shut thirty seconds later.Andrew can’t fall asleep for another two hours after that because his sheets smell like someone else. He wonders if the restlessness is something he could get used to.*During their sixth week working together, Andrew and Kesler continue to brainstorm ideas for the fundraiser. Choosing the location is simple enough—they go for the store’s parking lot because it’s free and covenant. Bettman insisted on entertainment, so they hire Steeg’s atrocious rapping. Kesler thinks it’ll drive people away instead of attract them. Andrew thinks Kesler is a killjoy. They set the date for Saturday, June 12th, which happens to be the day after their punishment is over.All in all, they fight less than Andrew expects. The quickies they manage between assignments must help-Andrew works better with bruises on his hips, apparently. But even without that, they get along more than they used to. There’s a sense of mutual understanding. They both hate Bettman. They both hate one another. They both kind of hate themselves. They’re being forced to feel the same emotion for the same reasons, and it makes everything a little easier.Steegs continues to claim Andrew is in a better mood. He refuses to believe Kesler has anything to do with it.*On Friday of that week, Andrew suffers through the third existential crisis of his life.The first occurred when he was thirteen and realized he liked boys. He liked girls, too, but he liked boys especially. The second occurred when he was nineteen, in college, taking a class on physical education methods in North America. He realized he wanted to teach kids about their bodies and how to take care of them. He never looked back. Both of these incidents were resolved without much angst, or as little angst as possible.The third existential crisis is not like the first two at all. It starts when one of his kids makes a scene in his class. He starts talking about the dangers of cocaine and the girl, Cara, starts bawling her eyes out. Andrew’s first instinct is to give her a funny look and pray that she stops soon. Then he remembers that he’s her teacher, and responsible for her mental health. Treating her like a freak isn’t the way to go about the situation. He takes Cara out into the hallway and tells the rest of the class to finish their worksheet without making much noise.“Is something wrong?” he asks her. Something has to be wrong, but a part of him hopes not. Maybe she just wanted to get out of class or something.“Yes,” Cara mumbles. She doesn’t look at him and she keeps sniffling. He feels his heart sink.“Do you want to pretend like you have a headache and spend the rest of class in the nurse’s office?” He asks her, because he’s a cool teacher. He doesn’t want to force her to sit through the lecture if something about it is bothering her. Cara gives him the tiniest of nods. “Would you be okay with coming back here during lunch so that I can fill you in on some material we’ll cover later?” Cara nods again. He sends her on her way.Cara keeps her word and comes in during lunch, which is a relief because he didn’t want to hunt her down in the cafeteria. That is what outside of Andrew’s comfort zone. Cara sits down in the seat nearest to the door and Andrew sits down next to her. She looks exhausted, more than his students usually do.“I was wondering if you would be okay with telling me what that was about,” he says in the gentlest voice he can manage. “You don’t have to say anything, but I want you to know I’m here to listen.” Cara stares down at her desk for a long time. Andrew swallows the lump in his throat and wonders if he should have bought tissues.“It’s just, um, my mom, and stuff,” Cara begins. Andrew nods and she keeps talking. It’s one of the saddest stories he’s ever heard. Cara’s mom was a drug addict. Her dad left them and she just died. Cara is headed to live with an aunt four hours away. “I don’t want to leave,” she tells him through heavy sobs, “I don’t want to leave and I wouldn’t have to if my dad wanted me, but he doesn’t.”“I’m so sorry,” Andrew says. It doesn’t seem like enough to him. Three words are not enough to express emotions as strong as what he feels for Cara. It’s a horrible, unfair situation, and he realizes that it was happening right under his nose. She was his student when her mother began addicted in sixth grade. She was his student when her father deserted them a year later. She’s his student now, his motherless student, and he feels as though he should have known.“I don’t want to leave this school,” Cara tells him. He can’t do anything but hug her, let her cling to him as tightly as she wants. He gets her tissues to wipe her tears. He has friends in her aunt’s town and he tells her about how great it is, how happy she’ll be there with people that love her. “There used to be people that love me here,” she despairs. Andrew can’t say anything to that. They sit around in solemn silence until the bell rings and she heads to biology.He spends his afternoon classes in a stoic haze. He tells them to do silent work and doesn’t tell them off for discussing their weekend plans instead. He’s too lost in his own thoughts, in the responsibility he feels for Cara’s situation. Andrew knows that he’s not really at fault, but still—he’s a teacher. His job is to teach kids about healthy relationships, about good choices. He’s supposed to set them up for a better future.It feels unfair, then, that some of his kids seem set up for failure. He wonders if he's failed Cara, if somehow he could have stopped her train wreck of a home life. He should have noticed, should have cared. He feels like he missed something along the line. Perhaps he wasn’t observant enough or empathetic enough.He wonders how many other people he sees on a daily basis are struggling. He wonders how many other people he’s failed to care for. The number is probably too high. The realization makes him sick.*Kesler notices immediately that Andrew isn’t in the mood for small talk.“Do you want to come over to my house and work on posters together?” He suggests around three hours into their shift. Andrew tries saying yes, but his throat is too dry. He just nods a little and hopes Kesler understands.*“I’ll make us some tea,” Kesler suggests once they enter his house. It’s different from what Andrew was expecting. There’s a yard and an open floor plan and potted plants on the windowsills. The house itself is sort of falling apart with age, but Kesler seems to keep it organized.“I like your place,” Andrew tells him once he’s drained two cups of tea and has a third in his hands. Kesler shrugs.“My ex’s parents bought it for us when we married right out of high school,” he explains. “She and the kids live in a nicer part of town now, in one of those mansions with fifty bedrooms and a pool. They let me stay here because they knew I wouldn’t have anywhere else to go otherwise.”“That’s nice of them, I guess,” Andrew says. He’s too tired to tell Kesler to stop sharing personal information.“It wasn’t a bad divorce,” Kesler shrugged. “We both wanted to branch out a little. It made more sense for us to raise our kids happy and divorced rather than angry and married.” Andrew doesn’t know what to say to that, so they drink tea and eat dry cereal together in silence.“Should we make the posters, then?” Andrew suggests. He realizes Kesler has been staring at him oddly for about twenty minutes and he wants it to stop. Kesler can’t seem to drop the issue, though.“What happened with you?” he asks as midnight approaches. Andrew shoots him a warning glace. They’re both lying on Kesler’s living room floor, and he’s close enough to see the worried look on Kesler’s face. It pisses him off. "Andrew, please,” Kesler adjusts his tone so that it sounds less demanding or something, “I want to know what’s up.”“None of your business,” Andrew spits out, “Stuff from my other job.”“Can I do anything to help you about it?” Kesler asks. Andrew feels uncomfortable with the situation. He wanted to work on posters advertising a bake sale, not talk about his existential crisis with Ryan fucking Kesler.“No," Andrew sighs. Before he can protest, Kesler has used this answer as an excuse to kiss him. Maybe he thinks he can convince Andrew to fess up by getting him hard—fuck if Andrew knows. He lets Kesler kiss him, though, because he’s sad and desperate and lonely. Feeling another set of lips against his is better than nothing at all. It’s veering towards actual kissing instead of their usual angry version. The goal is to comfort rather than to rile up. Andrew can’t get his head around the chance of pace.“What do you want to do?” Kesler asks him breathlessly. Andrew’s shifted so that he’s half on top of Kesler, half on top of their abandoned posters. He starts grinding down on Kesler’s leg. “Andrew, tell me what you want,” Kesler pleads, pressing a kiss to the spot below Andrew’s left ear.Andrew thinks about it a little. His mind feels syrupy. It’s a mixture of exhaustion from his experience with Cara and dizziness from how good Kesler is at kissing him. It’s hard to put into words exactly what he wants. He doesn’t know if what he wants is appropriate.“Can I suck you off?” Andrew asks. Kesler gives him a hard look, like if he stares long enough Andrew will make sense to him. “Ryan, can you please let me suck you off?” Andrew repeats. He can’t explain the reasoning behind it, but it’s all he wants to do. In college he had a boyfriend for a few months, and whenever he was struggling with school or family or the future, he would suck the guy off. Something about making people feel good has always made Andrew feel good in return.“Yeah,” Kesler nods, “Yeah, sure.” He tugs off his khakis and pulls himself onto his couch. Getting between Kesler’s spread legs is a little intimidating to Andrew. He’s overcome with the need to do a good job. He’s blown Kesler two or three times in the storeroom before, but it was nothing like this. “How—how do you want it?” Kesler asks.“Don’t pull my hair,” Andrew requests. “And, uh, I can swallow like usual.” Kesler nods a little and then places his hands in Andrew’s hair. He doesn’t pull, just rubs into his scull a little. The pressure feels good and Andrew feels his mouth drop open a little.He leans towards Kesler and starts mouthing at his boxers. They smell like a mixture of musk and fabric softener, and Andrew likes the feel of them against his mouth. Kesler makes little whining noises until Andrew finally decides to get him all the way naked. Kesler has a nice dick, not too long but thick enough that it feels heavy in Andrew’s mouth. It’s the sensation he’s searching for. Andrew wraps his lips around Ryan’s cock and starts sucking.“Christ, you’re good at this,” Kesler breathes, and the praise makes Andrew’s dick stir. He swirls his tongue around the head of Kesler’s dick and then sinks forward until it hits the back of his throat. The action causes him to choke a little, but he likes the way his eyes water. Kesler’s hands in his hair feels like an anchor. On his knees, he feels like he can forget about his struggles, or maybe even come to terms with them.Andrew closes his eyes and sucks at Kesler until he’s forced to pull off for breath. Ryan is breathing heavily and his dick is leaking with precome. Andrew opens his eyes so that he can lick at it while staring up at Kesler. He knows Ryan is close and he knows Andrew got him there. It’s a fact that makes his stomach stir with contentedness. He realizes what he wants next.“You can come on my face,” he tells Kesler. His voice is scratchy from keeping Kesler so far deep. Ryan nods a little, like he can’t believe what’s happening, and grips his own dick with a gasping sound. “C’mon, Ryan,” he goads, because that’s the best way to rile Kesler up.Sure enough, he feels warm liquid splashing onto his face less than thirty seconds later. Most of it ends up on his cheeks and chin, but some lands on his lips and he licks at it eagerly. Kesler nudges the head of his dick over Andrew’s lower lip and spreads it with his come. It’s filthy and incredible and Andrew never wants to open his eyes.When he finds the nerve to, Kesler is looking down at him with unreadable, stormy eyes. Andrew’s breathe catches in his throat. He can’t recall anyone ever looking at him like that.“Come here,” Ryan whispers. Andrew rests his head on Ryan’s thigh instead. “Andrew, come here.” Ryan helps him up and helps Andrew out of his pants. His vision feels blurry almost. It’s hard to focus on anything at once. He recognizes that Ryan is touching his cock, letting him rub up against his thigh. He’s whispering about how good Andrew was, how good he is.“Ryan, I-I’m close,” Andrew warns, and with a flick of his wrist, Ryan sends him over the edge. He falls forward so that he’s resting his head on Ryan’s uniform-clad chest. It feels wrong somehow.“Are you ready to go?” Kesler asks in the same quiet voice he used earlier. Andrew grumbles out a few curse words and nips at Kesler’s collarbone.“We didn’t finish the posters,” he points out.“You can come over on Monday and work on them,” Kesler proposes. “I’ll let you fuck me on over the kitchen counter if you want.” Andrew snorts.“What, you think that’s enough to make me feel better?”“It sure as hell wouldn’t make you feel worse,” Kesler points out. His voice has turned sour. Andrew just wants to go home.“I’ll think about it,” he shrugs, putting on his clothes as quickly as possible even though there’s come drying on his stomach. “Start thinking about where we should put these up,” he adds on his way out, gesturing to the advertisements.“I don’t need a reminder!” Kesler calls out in his typical pissy way as Andrew reaches for the doorknob.“Yeah, you do, dickhead,” Andrew replies. He shuts the door with a little more force than necessary and comes up with insults for Kesler the entire drive home, for no reason at all.*“How’s life across the border?” Andrew mother asks over the phone on Sunday night.“Fine,” he responds while chopping carrots, “The weather’s been nice lately.” He tells her he’s going to Florida with Steegs for a week over summer break and then wants to head back to British Columbia for a bit. They chat about his students and friends for a while. It’s a pleasant and mildly boring conversation.“Are you seeing anyone?” she says out of nowhere. Andrew almost cuts himself on the carrot knife in surprise.“No,” he tries to sound as disgusted by the prospect as possible. “Why…Why would you think that?”“Kris may have said something to me,” she explains in a sheepish voice. Andrew contemplates how much time it would take for him to drive over to Steeg’s house and demand an apology.“Kris is a dumbass,” Andrew points out.“That’s not a nice word, Andrew,” his mother admonishes. Andrew doesn’t disagree.*On Monday they work on the posters some more, and when they're done they press bruises into each other's ribs. It's their version of a victory celebration. Afterwards they get approval from Bettman to leave the store and set up posters during their shift on Wednesday. Kesler makes good on his promise and lets Andrew fuck him over his kitchen counter after their shift. Their goodbyes are awkward as usual, but that seems unavoidable to Andrew.Wednesday is easy the best day of work Andrew can ever recall. They take his car and drive all around town, putting up posters wherever they can. They bicker over what music to play and Kesler insists that he’s a better driver. It’s an easy sort of banter that Andrew can deal with. He can be productive with Ryan around. It’s not something he’s used to, but it’s also not something he’d keen to give up.Afterwards Kesler gets his car from Bettman’s and follows Andrew home. Andrew puts him on his stomach and fucks him until they both white out. He spends an embarrassing amount of time tracing circles into Kesler’s back with his tongue. His skin feels hot and solid underneath Andrew and he desperately wants to taste it. He marks him up with his teeth eventually, but for a while he’s content to fuck into Ryan and breathe in his smell with no anger attached.“I’m starving,” Kesler complains afterwards. Andrew is learning that Kesler is needy after sex. It’s not the sort of discovery he wants to brag about. “Get me food.”“You’ve seen the kitchen,” Andrew points out, because he’s pretty needy after sex too. “You can get it yourself.” Kesler lets out an annoyed sigh.“Fine,” he frowns, putting his clothes on and padding out towards the kitchen. Andrew waits for him to come back to bed with crackers or granola or something. Instead he hears his front door slamming a few minutes later. Kesler has left.“Asshole,” Andrew mutters. His wallpaper doesn’t disagree.*Thursday of the seventh week is exceptional for one reason: Ryan Kesler calls him.Andrew gets a call from an unknown number while Steegs is over, stealing his food and losing at video games. He doesn’t answer it the first time because he’s in the middle of Mario Kart, but his phone keeps buzzing until it’s too much of a distraction. He picks up and ignores Steegs annoyed look—their game can pause, for Christ’s sake.“Hello?”“Hey, Andrew?” It sounds like a familiar voice. It sounds like a voice Andrew has gone to immense lengths not to hear in the past.“Ryan?”“Y-yeah,” Kesler stammers. “I got your number from Bettman.” Andrew frowns and sits back in his chair.“That’s weird, dude,” he comments.“Yeah, fuck you,” Kesler shoots back. Andrew laughs and ignores Steegs’ weird look. “I need help with something. It’s about kids.”“Have you tried calling your ex?” Andrew suggests. He’s not good with kids. He’s good with teaching preteens how to not fuck up their lives, but that’s different.“I can’t,” Kesler snaps, as though that would be obvious. Andrew wants the call to be over as soon as possible, so he refrains from asking why. “Look, I need to know how you convince a kid to go to school.”“Well, that’s not what my job entails,” Andrew begins.“I mean, how do you get them to focus?” Kesler sounds desperate. Andrew thinks long and hard.“Depends on the kid, I guess.” That answer gets him a frustrating sigh from Kesler’s end. “If they’re angry about having to be in my class, I might take them out into the hallway and ask them what exactly is bothering them. If they’re sad, I let them sulk in the corner and ask them to come in at lunch so that we can talk it out and go over what they missed. If they’re too excited, I threaten to remove some privilege—not let them eat snack or chew gum in class or something.”“What if they don’t want to go to school because they’re afraid of failure?” Kesler asks. Of course that’s the issue Kesler’s kids have. Of course.“Tell them that it’s impossible to do well all the time,” Andrew reasons. “You’ll love them forever and you’ll help them get back up when they fall down. I don’t know, man, I’m not a parent.”“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Kesler sounds surprised and Andrew is a little offended. He has plenty of amazing ideas, regardless of what Ryan might think. “Thanks, Andrew.”“Yeah, no problem,” Andrew answers easily, and then the call is over. He looks over at Steegs and feels his face fall into a scowl. “Okay, why are you looking at me like that?”“Because it sounds like you just gave advice on child-bearing to someone over the phone,” he replies. He has a good point. That’s a first in Andrew’s book. “And you sounded pretty friendly with them, so. I was wondering who it was.” At the word friendly Andrew almost falls off the couch.“Oh my god, dude, no,” he feels personally offended by Steegs comment, “That was that co-worker. The one that I’ve hated for, like, three years.”“Doesn’t sound like you still hate him,” Steegs shrugs. Andrew sulks for the rest of the afternoon. He hates Ryan Kesler. He doesn’t like people insinuating otherwise.*Friday’s shift is a relief because Bettman allows them to work on the floor again. Andrew ignores Kesler for the entire six hours. He’s testing the theory that if he ignores Kesler enough, he’ll just disappear. So far his data is grim. Kesler asks him for help persuading a customer to buy fancy new skates. He falls back into old patterns, bossing Andrew around and prancing around the store like it’s his kingdom. Andrew wonders if his somewhat-non-hatred of Kesler was just a temporary slip. He hopes so.He manages not to speak to Kesler the entire time until they’re walking out of the building. Kesler starts walking alongside him. He jabbers on about coming over to Andrew’s house the next week to bake the cookies. Andrew stays silent until they reach his car and both still. He looks at Kesler for a long time without saying anything. He’s forming a game plan.“Come home with me tonight,” he says in the most casual voice he can muster. Kesler shrugs and nods. He follows Andrew home and plays country music too loudly while doing so.Andrew slams Kesler against the wall the second he walks inside. He ignores Kesler’s confused curses and holds him there, lets him struggle a little. It feels nice to hold down a writhing body. Andrew doesn’t want to think about why. He kisses Kesler so hard that his lips feel bruised afterwards. Kesler makes little hurt noises in the back of his throat. Andrew feels drunk on power.“What the fuck are you doing?” Kesler sounds pissed off. Andrew is thrilled by it.“I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t remember anything other than my name,” he hisses. For emphasis he grips Kesler’s throat. He feels like playing dirty and it pays off. Kesler looks faint. He nods. Andrew can’t see his eyes because it’s so dark in his living room, but he's willing to bet they're glazed over with desperation. It’s Andrew’s favorite look on Kesler.“W-where do you want me?” Kesler asks while palming at his khakis. Andrew tears the hand away and laughs when Kesler whimpers at the loss.“Bedroom,” Andrew orders, “Go get ready.” It gives him an obscene amount of satisfaction to watch Kesler slink down the hallway, all his usual cockiness gone.Andrew pours himself a glass of water just to be an asshole and waits around his kitchen for a while before following Kesler into the bedroom. When he does, Kesler is completely naked with two fingers inside himself. He doesn’t stop fucking himself when them once Andrew enters the room, either, just stares at him with hot, heavy eyes. Andrew can’t help the way his breath hitches. He just wants to ruin Kesler. It’s all he can think about. He wants it and he’s going to take it and no one can stop him.“Don’t stop on my account,” he comments with a smirk after he notices that Kesler’s hand has halted its movement. Kesler growls but does as he says. Andrew just watches him for a while, looks Kesler up and down with the sleaziest attitude he can manage.“Are you gonna fuck me or just stand there?” Kesler snaps. There’s something strange in the air between them. Andrew can’t identify what it is, but it scares him nonetheless. He wants to fuck the uncertainty out of his system.“Hands and knees, then,” Andrew says in a rough voice, daring Kesler to say something in response. He tugs off all his clothing in a matter of seconds and then presses his body against Kesler’s sliding in with a single thrust. It’s so tight that it’s almost painful, and he can only imagine how Kesler must feel. “C’mon, Ryan,” he whispers into Kesler’s ear, “You know I like it when you make noise.” Kesler shudders and presses his face into the pillow.“F-fuck you,” he mutters, stuttering because Andrew slams into him again without warning.“Too rough for you?” Andrew questions. He bites down into the meat of Ryan’s back so hard that he tastes blood. “That’s right,” he hisses, trying to get Kesler to say something, “You like it.”“Fuck,” he moans, pushing back against Andrew’s cock. “Fuck, so do you.”“Yeah,” Andrew replies, because Kesler fucks him up inside and he doesn’t see the point in denying it. “I keep thinking about it. About what you look like when you cry, you know, how you beg for more. ‘S hot, Ryan.”“I like when you lose control a little,” Kesler admits. His voice sounds frail, like he doesn’t know if he should be speaking. “Always have to be in control of everything, yeah? But I don’t let you.” Andrew feels himself flush with arousal and anger and honesty. He wraps his fingers around Ryan’s throat and presses down a little. It’s a reminder. It shuts them both up.He’s not sure how long they fuck for. It feels like hours and seconds at the same time. Andrew whispers filth and Ryan responds without hesitation. He bites into Ryan’s shoulders and back until it’s a bruising bloody mess. He makes Ryan grip the headboard and keep his hands there until his arms are shaking, muscles straining. Ryan makes desperate gasping noises the entire time. He comes after Andrew says something about tying him up and blindfolding him, leaving Ryan on the bed for as long as he likes. It’s a nice tidbit to file away. Andrew feels marginally more in control.Pulling out takes a whole lot of willpower, but Andrew has an idea and he wants to try it out. He nudges at Ryan until he convinces him to turn over. Andrew pulls of the condom and starts stroking his cock, head titling back because it feels so good. Ryan tugs him down and kisses him messily. He begins sucking a constellation of bruises into Andrew’s neck, and Andrew allows it.“I’m going to come on you,” he tells Ryan as he gets closer. Ryan lies back on the pillows and whines a little. Andrew bites his lip. It might be split open; he can’t tell. He can’t focus on anything while Ryan is looking up at him with wide, blown-black eyes. “Beg me,” he says as he rubs his thumb over the head of his cock. It sounds more like a plea than a command.“Come on me, Andrew,” Ryan demands immediately, “I want you to, come on, please.” He arches his back and spreads his legs, as though he could get fucked again. “Come on me. Come for me.” Andrew does it with an embarrassingly loud cry, all over Ryan’s stomach and hips. He falls on top of Ryan and manages to press their lips together. It’s lazy and cruel at the same time, a mix of hatred and understanding. It makes Andrew dizzy.Kesler is the one that speaks first. Andrew wishes he wouldn’t.“Are we going to talk about that?” he asks. Andrew stiffens up at the suggestion. He’s never analyzed what he does with Kesler. He doesn’t want to start now.“What is there to talk about?” he shoots back. Kesler gives him the sort of look he might send to a spider or a puking child.“You know,” he makes a noncommittal hand gesture that Andrew flat-out refuses to interpret. “This.” Andrew shrugs.“I don’t like you. You don’t like me. We fucked. There’s nothing else.”“Is that seriously all you have to say?” Kesler looks at him with malice. Andrew is used to the look. It doesn’t rile him up at all. “You practically mauled my back. And seem to have a weird thing about control, which you should talk to someone about, probably.”“Fuck you,” Andrew scowls. “If you didn’t like it you could have said something.” He feels a strange sense of pride when Kesler falls silent. That’s their deal and they both know it. “I don’t want to talk about this with you,” he continues. “I don’t want to talk to you, like, in general.”“God, you’re the fucking worst,” Kesler groans.“You knew that before you let me fuck you,” Andrew points out. “Though, for what it’s worth, I think you’re shittier than me.”“Not worth much,” Kesler grumbles. Andrew can’t think of anything to say to that. He turns onto his side and purposely doesn’t watch Kesler get dressed. He doesn’t flinch when the front door slams. He doesn’t feel like he’s fucked up something between them. He doesn’t feel like that means something.Andrew Ladd doesn’t care about Ryan Kesler. He doesn’t care at all.*When Andrew walks in the store on Monday afternoon, Bettman reminds him that this is week eight. He has three more shifts with Kesler, plus their fundraiser Saturday afternoon, and then he’s free. He gets to work the floor without speaking to Kesler at all. Bettman sounds disappointed with the idea. Andrew doesn’t know how to feel. He might miss the hate sex. He might miss Kesler’s occasional witty comment. He doesn’t want to miss those things. But he might.“I’d like you two to work on the baseball inventory,” Bettman tells him. Andrew dutifully heads towards the stockroom. He’s expecting to wait the standard fifteen minutes for Ryan to show up, but Kesler is already there. He’s leaning against a row of fancy running shoes displaying what could be the ugliest scowl Andrew has ever seen.“Glad you decided to show up,” Kesler snaps. It’s a dumb comment, especially coming from Mr. I’m-Always-Late-Except-For-Today. Andrew seethes with rage instead of saying something idiotic back.They spend the next few hours working their way through the inventory. Kesler holds the clipboard and Andrew counts off the items. It should be just like the rhythm they established, but it’s not. Kesler refuses to do anything except watch on with a blank expression on his face. He doesn’t respond to anything Andrew says. It’s like their first day together, but worse, because Kesler makes Andrew feel like he’s the only one responsible for the tension. Halfway through the shift, Andrew snaps.“What is your fucking problem?” It sounds more childish than he intended, but it’s a valid question. It’s a question Andrew wants an answer to. Kesler laughs. He always laughs when he knows he’s pissing Andrew off. He always laughs when he knows he’s in the wrong and doesn’t want to admit to it.“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replies back in a haughty voice. The voice he knows Andrew hates. The voice he knows gets to Andrew like nothing else does.Before Andrew can stop himself he’s attacking Kesler. He bares his teeth like an animal in a raging snarl and prays to god one of his fists collides with Kesler’s face. Instead he finds himself being pulled to the ground. Kesler uses his own muscle to overpower Andrew and sends them both for the stockroom floor. Andrew grits his teeth with frustration.“I don’t know what the fuck I did,” he struggles under Kesler’s grip, “But you need to get over it.”“Fuck you,” Kesler responds sourly, which doesn’t help either of them whatsoever. He glares down at Andrew for a moment before letting up. They re-collect themselves and start taking inventory again. Kesler acts like nothing is wrong. Andrew lets him.It isn’t until they’re walking into the parking lot after closing up the store that Kesler admits why he’s so pissed.“You treated me like shit the other night,” he tells Andrew. Andrew has to bite his tongue so that he doesn’t make a stupid comment. He thought he was supposed to treat Kesler like shit, and vice versa. He thought that was the whole fucking point. “I want it to stop.”“You want…” Andrew trails off. He doesn’t know what Kesler means.“Stop treating me as subhuman,” Kesler suggests, and Andrew flinches. “Or we can stop seeing each other outside of work.” Neither of them says anything for a while, just stare at one under in the light of the parking lot lamppost.“I like what we do together, Andrew,” Kesler says gently. The use of his first name feels too personal. “It’s a good deal; it works for both of us. You can bite me and tease me and do whatever the fuck you want. Just treat me with a little fucking respect afterwards.” Andrew remains silent again. He’s overwhelmed with the information he’s been given. Kesler looks half sympathetic, half frustrated. “Let me know on Wednesday. Or we’re done.”We’re done. As if they were ever ‘we’ in the first place. As if maybe Kesler wants them to be.Andrew goes home and drinks the vodka waiting in his fridge, even though it’s a school night and he has to be awake in six hours. He figures one more bad decision can’t hurt that much.*“So I think I have a problem,” Andrew tells Steegs on Tuesday. They’re creating their final exams. Steegs’ is obviously more difficult, but Andrew strives to make his exam worth taking. The kids are required to show up to his class on the last day of school. He might as well make them do something.“That’s nothing new,” Steegs remarks. “Hey, help me with this exam. Do you think five questions on World War I will be enough?”“No one remembers anything about World War I,” Andrew points out. “Except for that archduke guy. And that happened before the actual war anyways, right?”“Who the fuck gave you a teaching license,” Steegs mutters. Andrew can’t even be offended, because, well. He wonders himself sometimes. “Are you going to tell me what your problem is or are you going to stare at your Vietnamese food all night?”“Kesler gave me an ultimatum.”“The dude from work you don’t like?”“The dude from work I hate,” Andrew corrects. “And also, the dude from work that I’m fucking. They’re the same.” Steegs almost drops his paper plate of takeout onto the floor. “I know I didn’t tell you and that’s a shitty thing for a friend to do,” he adds on before Steegs can say so. “But I’m not, like, proud of it. So I didn’t want to say anything.”“And I’m not proud that my last girlfriend cheated on me with a circus clown,” Steegs reminds him, “But I told you anyways.”“That’s different,” Andrew insists.“Not really” he shrugs. “It was embarrassing and shameful. I still realized I needed to tell you, dumbass. And now it’s your turn.”“He thinks I treated him too… harshly,” Andrew explains. “Not during sex, because that’s like, a good harsh.” Steegs makes a face. “But afterwards. I kind of just… kick him out every time. And he didn’t like it this time around.”“So what’s the ultimatum?”“I can stop being that way, or we can stop hooking up.”“That’s all?!”“Yeah, but—”“No, no,” Steegs cuts him off, “Don’t do that. You’re given the option between good sex or no sex, and you’re conflicted because you don’t want to hold the guy’s hand afterwards?”“Oh my god,” Andrew groans. “There’s no fucking way I’m holding Ryan Kesler’s hand after fucking him into another dimension.” Steegs rolls his eyes. “I’m serious, dude. You don’t understand. We don’t… We hate each other. That’s the whole point. It’s how we started fucking. Just… getting our anger out, at each other, together.”“Okay,” Steegs puts on his patient voice. It’s the one he uses with misbehaving students. Andrew doesn’t appreciate it. “You can get your anger out through the sex, right?” Andrew nods. “And you don’t have to love him afterwards.” Andrew nods again. “But, like,” Steegs looks like he’s struggling for words, “Is it that big of a deal? To treat him civilly when you’re not in bed?”“Maybe,” Andrew replies the most sullen voice he can muster. He’s never been good with changing his attitude. Usually his attitude suits the situation. “Don’t say no to a good thing,” Steegs advises.Andrew takes a bite of his dinner. He wonders when Steegs became the mature one.*“So I thought about what you said the other day,” Andrew tells Kesler the second he arrives at Bettman’s. “I think I’d be cool… with that. With, uh, not being as much of a douchebag,” he clarifies.“Good choice,” Kesler remarks. Then he drops to his knees and gives Andrew a blowjob to prove it.*After that, things between him and Ryan get a lot better. They finish their plans for the fundraiser and get their co-workers involved, too. By the end of their shift on Wednesday, they’ve arranged for a dozen people to volunteer selling the baked goods. They follow up with the muffin bakery from two hours away to ensure the delivery will come. They figure out how many of each type of treat to make on their own, and after their shift they go out and buy the ingredients.Andrew knows that he couldn’t do it without Ryan. He knows that this is a joint venture, something they’re both invested in. Seven and a half weeks ago, the idea of it freaked him out. It made him swell with misguided anger and foolish pride. Now he understands how Kesler isn’t perfect, but he isn’t completely evil either. He understands how they fit together, sort of. His dedication mixed with Ryan’s stubbornness. His patience mixed with Ryan’s charisma.They get a lot done together. He thinks their co-workers are impressed by it, and he likes that. Working with Ryan makes working minimum wage at a sporting goods store marginally less frustrating. When Ryan feels like it, he can help out. Andrew just has to make sure he’s in the mood to pull his weight, and he will.“So I’ll meet you at 4:00 at your house tomorrow, right?” He asks Ryan as their shift comes to a close.“Yeah,” he nods, “Let me give you the address.” He scrawls it with Sharpie on Andrew’s left arm. His handwriting is messy as hell, and Andrew tells him so.“I don’t know if I can even read this,” he laughs. “What if I get lost and end up at some random grandma’s house instead?”“That would be unfortunate,” Kesler states, “And also not my fault. That handwriting is legible.”“Did one of your kids tell you so?” Andrew snorts.“Yes,” Ryan sniffs, “And they’re much smarter than you, so I trust their judgment.”“You’re so fucking lame,” Andrew remarks with a smile. He lets Ryan press him against the wall of the storeroom and kiss him until their lips are swollen.“You like it,” Ryan argues, and Andrew doesn’t argue back because he’s right.*“I never want to bake anything ever again,” Andrew declares 24 hours later. “This is too much, Ryan, I swear to god.” He’s covered in cake batter and brownie mix. There are sprinkles in his hair. Ryan’s whole kitchen smells like baked goods, which was nice for the first six hours. Now Andrew just wants it all to end. He starts cutting the salted caramel brownies into tiny pieces and prays for something to save him.Ryan just laughs at his pain, because he’s a douchebag. It’s also probably because he’s a father and has a high tolerance for being covered in cookie dough. Andrew decided not to teach kindergarten for a reason, and this is it.“Come on now,” Ryan grins, “Be happy.” He takes the tube of icing he’s using to decorate sugar cookies and presses the tip of the tube to the corner of Andrew’s mouth. “And stay still,” he adds, painting a line from Andrew’s lip to his cheekbone and then repeating it on the other side. “See, now you’re smiling,” Ryan proclaims.“I hate you,” Andrew sighs. He runs his hand through the icing and proceeds to wipe it on Ryan’s face.“Hey, hey, I was trying to cheer you up!” Ryan protests. Somehow he manages to look attractive covered in sparkly blue icing with flour caking his hands up to his elbows. It’s not fair.Andrew almost says something sassy about how Ryan needs to stay in his lane and not worry about Andrew’s feelings. Before he can think of the right wording, Ryan’s sticky frosting lips are pressed against his. It should be gross, especially when Ryan grabs him and gets flour and batter in his hair. But Andrew doesn’t mind because the icing tastes sweet and Ryan is happy and truth be told, he hasn’t seen the dude smile often. Or ever.“The gingerbread is going to burn,” Andrew points out after a while. Ryan groans.“I can’t believe I’m getting cockblocked by Christmas food,” he grumbles. “It’s June, man, why’d we decide to make gingerbread?” Andrew can’t even remember. That might have something to do with how good Ryan’s fingers feel, tracing symbols with flour into the V of his tee-shirt. It’s hard to think when guys do that sort of thing.“Let’s just finish making this stuff,” Andrew sighs. There’s only a couple batches of chocolate chip cookies left, plus decorating those gingerbread men. “And then we can fuck however you want.”“How generous of you,” Ryan rolls his eyes. But he kisses Andrew afterwards, so the sarcasm is forgiven.They finish making the cookies and pack them all away into organized trays for Saturday morning in record time. Andrew is expecting Ryan to take control a bit, scratch him up for old time’s sake. He said Ryan could have anything he wanted, and he figured Ryan would want it rough.He’s wrong.Well, he’s mostly wrong. There’s still a lot of lip-biting and nail-scratching. That’s the best kind of pain, the type that turns Andrew on like he’s pretty sure nothing else will. There’s something about the harshness that gets to him. The rawness of it. Two people too needy to be gentle. He likes that a lot.He also likes the way Ryan slowly peels off their clothing, takes time to look at Andrew like he’s never really done before. He likes it when Ryan licks icing from his shoulders and bites down into the soft, smooth skin of his stomach with still-sugar-coated lips. He likes it when Ryan starts making little hitching noises, the kind he always makes he’s desperate. He likes it when Ryan drags him into the living room and pushes him down on the couch.He likes it. He likes it all.“You gonna tell me what the plan is?” Andrew breathes after a while, because kissing is nice but fucking is better. Ryan shrugs. He bites Andrew’s nipple instead of answering at first.“I’m going to ride you,” he concludes, eyes flashing with heat, “Right here.” Andrew sucks in a breath and nods. He doesn’t want to look that eager… but he is. Ryan has some pretty fucking amazing ideas. Before Andrew has time to think about how awesome his night is going to be, Ryan has already pulled lube out.“Do you… keep lube in your couch cushions?” Andrew asks. Ryan rolls his eyes as though he didn’t just pull a tube of lube and a condom from nowhere.“I was a boy scout,” Ryan tells him while Andrew starts squirting lube onto his fingers, “We’re always prepared.” Andrew almost laughs, but then Ryan attempts to sit on top of his index finger and he can’t manage it.Andrew has never seen fingering someone as a particularly attractive part of sex. It happens because it has to. He doesn’t much care for foreplay, unless it’s with Ryan and includes lots of teeth marks. But he likes fingering Ryan open, enjoys the way it feels. He watches Ryan’s huge, muscular thighs flex. He watches Ryan’s face as he shifts up and down on Andrew’s finger (and then another, and then another). It’s a promise of things to come. It gets Andrew hard sooner than he wants to admit.“Come on,” he pleads after a few minutes of his watching Ryan, too preoccupied by the movement to focus on his own cock. “Come on, Ryan, ride me.”“Okay, okay,” Ryan leans in for a dirty kiss. Andrew knows he’s aiming to sound confident but it doesn’t work. His voice and hands and thighs are all shaking, like he wants it so badly he can’t sit still. Andrew wants it, too.Andrew finds leverage by digging his fingertips into the flesh above Ryan’s hipbones and uses it to pull Ryan forward onto his cock. It feels so good that Andrew has to take a moment, look up at the ceiling and pant a little. It never takes them long to find a rhythm, and this is no exception. Andrew is content to sit back and watch as Ryan fucks himself on Andrew’s cock. Ryan’s stomach muscles ripple a little. He whimpers every time they bottom out.It’s some of the best sex Andrew’s ever had. Not because it’s particularly exciting or unusual, but because of the way it looks. Ryan is just… hot. He’s especially hot when he’s taking what he wants from Andrew, looking down at him with drooping eyelids and bitten-up lips. Andrew’s not doing much work besides stroking Ryan’s cock and pressing kisses into his chest, but it’s nice. It’s laced with cake batter and smartass comments from Ryan but it’s good, it’s so good, it’s—Andrew comes after a particularly impressive downward thrust and Ryan follows shortly afterwards, streaking his own chest. Andrew licks it off him afterwards. He contemplates whether that’s too intimate a gesture, but doesn’t come to any conclusion. Ryan tends to make that shit difficult.*The second Friday of June is important for two reasons. The first is that it’s the last day before finals week. This means Andrew is inundated with requests from always-absent students for extra credit. He always says no, because it takes actual fucking effort to fail 6th grade health. It’s his job to make sure grades reflect that. The Friday before finals week also means Andrew puts on Disney movies in class instead of forcing them to work. It’s a good deal for almost everyone involved.The second important thing about this second Friday is that it’s his last day working alongside Ryan. There will be no more ridiculous joint assignments, though they do still have to put on the fundraiser that Saturday. There will be no more vicious blowjobs in the storeroom. There will be no more passive-aggressive shifts. There will be no more close contact. It’s everything Andrew has wanted from the moment Bettman gave them the damn punishment in the first place.They spend the shift finish inventory. Andrew realizes just how much he hates spending time in the storeroom. It’s a fucking creepy place to be in. Afterwards Ryan tells him to go home and sleep. They have to wake up early in the morning for the fundraiser. Andrew reluctantly admits he has a point.But before they get off into their cars and leave, Ryan asks to show Andrew something. He doesn’t say what, exactly. It probably says a lot about Andrew that he doesn’t even question this; just follows Ryan. They go far into the storeroom and then reach what appears to be a supply closet.“You know, I think I’ve seen one of these before,” Andrew comments while Ryan pushes his way past moldy mops and disintegrating footballs. "Actually, I think you've blown me in here." That baseball in the corner looks familiar.“Fuck off with the sarcasm,” Ryan advises. There’s a ladder propped in the corner of the closet, and he starts climbing it. “Just follow me, dumbass.” Andrew does it, because why the hell not? He’s almost certain Ryan isn’t brave enough to murder him. Almost.Sure enough, a grisly death is not what awaits Andrew at the top of the ladder. Instead Ryan lifts up a slab of ceiling and reveals that the ladder goes up past the storeroom, to the roof. It’s a pretty nice view, even though it’s past dusk. All he can see are the meek, twinkling lights of their town. They spread out for what must be miles and then slowly disperse, get dimmer, until the landscape fades into highways and farmland.“This is nice,” Andrew says after a while. He’s uncomfortable with the silence. It seems palpable. He’s desperate to push it away, out of view. “Thanks for showing it to me.”“No problem,” Ryan replies. “I, uh, figured you’d like it.”“Don’t get sappy on me, dumbass,” Andrew laughs. Ryan makes an indignant noise.“I would never,” he insists.“Are we even allowed to be here?” Andrew questions. He doesn’t think so.“Does it matter?” Ryan’s lips turn up into something like a smile.“Nah,” Andrew shrugs. “Not much does, eh?” They both laugh. It’s not funny.*The hugeness of the fundraiser doesn’t hit Andrew until he pulls up the lot of Bettman’s at 6:30 in the morning on Saturday. It’s one thing to plan an event. It’s quite another to put those plans into motion. Andrew doesn’t quite realize this until he steps out of his car into the mild morning weather. In fact, he doesn’t wrap his head around it until Ryan pulls up five minutes later with a car full of cupcakes.“So we’re really doing this, huh?” He grins. Ryan gives him the most hesitant of smiles in return.“I guess so,” he nods, and they start pulling the baked goods from his backseat. By the time Bettman himself arrives an hour later, they’ve set up all the different stands with various types of goods. Andrew gives directions via cell phone to that one bakery that agreed to donate muffins. Ryan makes sure everyone that agreed to volunteer remembers to wear the proper tee-shirt. When 9:00 arrives and Bettman opens, the whole fundraiser is set up and ready to go.The entire day simmers with a feeling of satisfaction. Andrew splits his time between marketing cookies to parents and supervising everyone else. About an hour into the sale, Steegs starts a rap battle with a four-year-old onlooker and fails miserably. There’s cheerful pop music playing in the background. People are willing around inside and outside Bettman’s, even people who parked to enter other stores.Basically, they’re selling a shit ton of baked goods. And it’s fucking awesome. It’s like an apology from every horrible minor hockey bake sale Andrew was ever forced to take part in as a child. The thing about his first job, his main job, is that the satisfaction is delayed. He doesn’t get to see his hard work pay off for ages, sometimes never. This is different. This is working towards something with someone else, and it makes him want to jump out of his own skin with glee.“Hey man,” Sharpy swings by Andrew’s pastry station during his break for lunch. “We’re taking you out to the bar to celebrate this shit.” Andrew gives him a disparaging look for cursing in front of kids, but he doesn’t pick up on it. “Bring that other guy too.” Andrew winkles his nose.“Ryan?” he asks. He glances towards the other part of the parking lot, where Ryan is convincing a little girl to eat a sugar cookie with him. It’s a cute thing to witness. “I don’t know if he’s into that stuff.” Sharpy is unfazed by Andrew’s hesitance. “You guys spend a lot of time together, right?” he asks. Andrew nods. He feels dumb. He feels like he can’t explain him and Ryan to anyone, not even himself. “Bring him along. He worked hard. The dude deserves a few beers.” Andrew agrees just so that he can shoo Sharpy away. He wonders if he should have fought against the suggestion more.They sell out at 3:30. Bettman is pleased because they’ve made him far more money than he deserves. Andrew is pleased because it’s done. He gets a rush of happiness from finishing things, from finishing them well. It seems that Ryan feels the same way.“We’re done,” Andrew comments as they start packing up cookie containers. The weather is really nice, and he almost wants to sit outside on the pavement and watch the world go by. It’s a weird sentiment, and not one he’s familiar with. He wants to stay. The fundraiser wasn’t even that big of a deal, in the grand scheme of things, but he liked working on it. It made him feel useful, perhaps more than teaching kids about weed does.“It feels kind of anticlimactic,” Ryan offers. “I can’t begin to count the amount of time I spent worrying about this thing. And now it’s just over.” Andrew is suddenly aware that they aren’t just talking about the fundraiser.“Yeah,” he swallows, “I, uh, kind of liked it though.”“Me too,” Ryan confesses. Then he adds, “Only a little.” They take down the bake sale stations piece by piece and shove them into Andrew’s car. He forgets to mention the bar until they’re tearing down posters at an intersection.“Oh, uh,” Andrew stammers, “My friends wanted to take us out. Like, to a bar. It’s on them.” He expects Ryan to flat-out refuse, but he doesn’t. He just shrugs and nods.“What, did you think I was going to say no to free alcohol?” he laughs at the expression on Andrew’s face.“Fuck off,” Andrew spits back.He doesn’t mean it like he used to.*Steegs picks him up at 8:00 and when they arrive at the bar, Ryan’s already there. He’s laughing with Soupy and play-fighting with Sharpy. He seems to have fit right in. Andrew doesn’t like it. He’s always been the type to compartmentalize. There’s his school life, his personal life, and his life at Bettman’s Sporting Goods. They don’t often overlap, and Andrew likes it that way. Ryan ruins it. He ruins everything.“Man, why didn’t you tell me your co-worker is the shit?” Sharpy cackles after Andrew orders a beer.“Because he’s not,” Andrew answers, sipping his drink. Sharpy looks disgusted.“God, you’re so wrong,” he insists. “He’s, like, hilarious. You should see his impression of you.”“He does impressions of me?” Andrew asks a little too loudly. It gets Ryan’s attention.“To be fair, it’s not that difficult to act like a stuck-up know-it-all,” he chimes in. Sharpy looks delighted, the fucker.“See what I mean! He’s great,” Sharpy gushes.“Get off of me,” Andrew growls, pushing Sharpy towards Burish. He hates his friends a lot.Sharpy has a point, is the thing. Ryan is actually kind of witty. He’s a massive douchebag, sure, but he gets along well with Andrew’s crowd. He drinks a lot and argues about hockey. He has an opinion on everything, and Andrew realizes he sometimes want to hear it. He wants to know what Kesler thinks about sports and life and people. Ryan can be pretty charming, in a dumb asshole way. Andrew’s friends seem to agree.Ryan and Andrew end up squished together in a booth for most of the night. Their thighs touch through their jeans and their shoulders bump together. It’s odd to see Ryan look so relaxed, kind of sloppy while drunk. It’s the first time they’ve seen each other wearing normal clothes instead of work uniforms. It’s the first time they’ve spoken outside the context of work and/or sex.It’s uncharted territory, like climbing a mountain without knowing what’s on the other side. Andrew doesn’t mind the view.He ends up going home with Ryan. He’s not completely certain how it happens. They’re both a little too drunk, definitely too drunk to drive home on their own. When Ryan’s cab arrives and he leaves the bar, Andrew finds himself following. Sharpy gives them a knowing look (what he thinks he knows, exactly, Andrew isn’t sure). Steegs raises his eyebrows when Ryan and Andrew lean against one another. Andrew pretends not to notice it.So he lets Ryan drag him out of the bar. He lets their fingers intertwine as it happens. He gets into the cab with Ryan and ignores the dumb smiles on both of their faces. They’re smiling at nothing, at everything, at themselves. Andrew knows he hasn’t had that much to drink, but it feels like it. He feels fuzzy. He knows he’s not supposed to like Ryan but he can’t fucking help himself, not while Ryan is squeezing his hand and directing him out of the cab, into Andrew’s house.“What are you doing in my house?” Andrew asks once he realizes Ryan’s closed the door behind himself. Ryan blinks, like he hadn’t considered the question himself. Andrew laughs at the look on his face and pulls him in for a sloppy kiss.“I’m glad the fundraiser worked out.” Ryan speaks in a whisper, even though there’s no one to hear him besides Andrew. “It was nice.”“We did well,” Andrew agrees. He kisses Ryan again, just because he knows Ryan will let him. Something inside his stomach twists. He doesn’t know if what he’s doing feels very wrong or very right. He wonders if he’ll regret the comradery in the morning. His brain is too fuzzy with alcohol to care.“Are you sober enough to get it up?” Ryan asks him. Their kissing has turned a little dirtier, a little more promising, a little more like what it used to be. What it’s supposed to be. Andrew thinks about the question a little. He grinds his hips against Ryan’s a little.“Yes,” he decides. “Do you have something in mind?” Ryan’s eyes glimmer, so the answer must be yes.Instead of saying so, he drags Andrew down the hallway and into the bedroom. They make out in the doorway for a little bit, because alcohol makes them both touchy-feely. Andrew takes a while to enjoy what they’re doing. He doesn’t want to rush to the next action. He curls his fingers into the cotton of Ryan’s V-neck. He takes time to appreciate the feel of Ryan’s skin, the scratch of his beard, the taste of his mouth.They somehow find their way to Andrew’s bed and fall on top of one another with Ryan on top. Andrew presses kisses in a line from Ryan’s lips across his jaw to his left ear. He considers biting a little, thinks about slipping back into their typical rough way. Somehow, tonight, that doesn’t feel right.“I’m too drunk to fuck,” Ryan tells him. It’s something between a confession and a complaint. Andrew smirks. “Don’t laugh at me,” Ryan whines. He grinds his hips downwards and the tactic works. Andrew doesn’t laugh. He moans instead.“Is that all you’ve got?” Andrew challenges. He’s realizing that’s the best way to get Ryan to do what he wants. Sure enough, Ryan grinds down again. They slowly slide against one another, their bones thumping against the others’ from time to time but never in a painful way. Carefully, as though if they move faster they might fall apart, they peel each other’s clothing away and discard it on the floor.Andrew is used to be the one marking Ryan up, but tonight they switch. He likes the way Ryan’s mouth feels on his bare chest. He groans when Ryan nips at his collarbone and shivers when he follows it up by licking at the skin. Ryan slides down Andrew’s body, grinds lower and lower against Andrew’s thigh. He mouths at the taunt muscles of Andrew’s abdomen until Andrew cries out. It’s lazy and almost sweet and so perfect Andrew could cry.He doesn’t cry. He pulls Ryan forward by his hair and kisses him until they’re both out of breath.“Touch me,” Ryan orders in a strained voice. “God, touch me right now, you asshole.” His voice sounds affectionate, though, so Andrew obeys. He closes his entire hand around Ryan’s cock and lets him fuck his fist with small, desperate thrusts. Andrew pulls himself upward so that he can press a kiss to Ryan’s chest. He thinks he hears Ryan’s heartbeat. He wonders if Ryan can hear his.“I want you to rub off on me,” Andrew groans a few minutes later. Ryan is getting antsier, almost humming with want, and Andrew wants him to channel that energy elsewhere. “Come on, Ryan, please.” Andrew Ladd is not above begging. Not when it’ll get him what he wants, what he needs.Ryan’s head falls forward so that he’s resting his forehead against Andrew’s shoulder. He whines when Andrew pulls his fingers from Ryan’s cock but starts thrusting against Andrew’s hip after that. The air in the bedroom seems too humid and stuffy. Ryan is so close, touching every part of Andrew’s body, fingers trailing everywhere he pleases. It’s tragically intimate. Andrew can’t stand it.He comes with a soft cry, muffled by biting down on Ryan’s shoulder. Ryan follows soon after, moaning into the filthy kiss he’s sharing with Andrew at the time. Their come mixes together, coats their stomachs. Andrew runs a finger through the mess. It’s not as gross to him as it should be. None of this is like it should be. He knows that, deep down inside. He also knows that what he has with Ryan could be good—could be terriblehorribledisgusting, but could be good, too.“I can hear you thinking,” Ryan whispers against Andrew’s jaw. “Stop it.”“You stop it,” Andrew mumbles. He tries to glare but can’t. Ryan shakes his head, but not in a cruel way. He gets up from the bed but returns a minute later with a washcloth and cleans them both up. Andrew curls his fingers into Ryan’s hair and kisses him as a thank you.“I guess I should call a cab now, huh?” Ryan says a few minutes later.“No!” Andrew yelps. “N-no, uh, you can stay.” Ryan gives him a confused look. “How’d you even get to the bar?” Andrew asks. He hopes that if he changes the conversation, Ryan won’t question him about staying. He’ll just… do it.“I live within walking distance,” Ryan reminds him. Andrew frowns. He hadn’t made the connection. “Also… are you sure? About me staying?” God damn it.“Yes,” Andrew growls. He tugs the sheets over both his chest and Ryan’s to prove his point. “It’s not a big deal. It’s late.” In reality, it’s before midnight. Andrew has kicked Ryan out much later than that. Ryan doesn’t bring that up, though. He’s smart enough to shrug and curl up against Andrew a little.“Only if I can be the big spoon,” Ryan proclaims. Apparently he felt actions weren’t enough, and wanted to solidify his cuddling position verbally. What a dumbass.“Yeah, yeah,” Andrew laughs, pretending to squirm within Ryan’s hold. “Just this once.”He does not, in fact, fall asleep smiling. He’s pretty sure resting muscles don’t work that way.(It’s a close thing, though. Maybe too close.)*The first thing Andrew realizes when he wakes up is that he’s hungover. The second thing he realizes is that he really needs to pee. Once he’s taken care of all that—gone to the bathroom, poured himself some water, felt intense regret and sorrow towards his liver—he realizes he had somewhat gentle sex with Ryan the night before. And that they cuddled afterwards.
Shit.
Ryan himself is nowhere to be found. Andrew didn’t feel him get out of bed and didn’t hear a cab pull up to his place, though both of those things must have happened. He feels a little disappointed. He’d sort of entertained the idea of making breakfast for Ryan. He’d wanted to use his pancake-flipping skills to make fun of Ryan’s ‘I’m-a-hot-dad-and-better-at-life-than-you’ act.The truth is, Andrew’s too broke to afford ingredients for pancakes, and he’s actually pretty fucking shitty at making them anyways. So it’s definitely for the best that Ryan didn’t stay the whole night. Definitely.*Andrew dreads the next Monday more than usual. He’s never a fan of Mondays, especially the first Monday of finals week, but this is something different. This means he has to see Kesler again—and he doesn’t want to. He’s starting to feel this little thing inside him, this little voice telling him hatred is wrong. The little voice says Ryan isn’t a terrible person; in fact, Andrew kind of likes him.The little voice is a lying douchebag. Andrew is sure of it.He spends all of Monday hanging out multiple choice tests and trying not to pop his gum. Then he gathers up his dread, squeezes it into his chest, and carries it to Bettman’s.The first fifteen minutes of their shift passes, but Ryan doesn’t show up. He doesn’t show up after the first hour or the second or the third. Andrew assists people with their shopping and runs around the storeroom trying to find NHL-approved sweatpants. Ryan plays no part in his shift entirely. He almost asks about it to Bettman on his way out, but decides against it because that would be weird. He doesn’t want to give the impression that he cares about Ryan, not even to his boss.He dreads Monday for no reason at all. Even afterwards, though, the sadness doesn’t go away.*As always, Steegs is the one that figures it out.He knows something is up with Andrew the second he walks in the door. He’s dealt with eight weeks of passive-aggressive question avoidance, and he’s tired of it. Andrew should have known that. So Steegs interrogates him the entire time they try to grade final exams. He asks some wrong questions with a few right ones mixed in, and after three hours, he pieces it together.“Oh my god, you’re in love with him.”“I am not in love with him,” Andrew almost falls off the couch with shock and disgust.“Okay, maybe not love,” he agrees, “I don’t know if you’re emotionally mature enough for that.” Andrew flips him off. Steegs is unaffected. “But you don’t hate him—not even close. Jesus, Andrew, it’s not the end of the world.”“It is,” Andrew moans. He hopes this is just his students’ dramatics rubbing off on him, and not his actual reaction to maybe having feelings for another human being. It’s probably a mixture of both. “Oh my god, Steegs, there’s no way he likes me, though. That’s our deal. Fuck, I went against our deal!”“When he shows up to work on Wednesday, tell him,” Steegs advises. People say that like it’s simple. “The worst that happens is that he says no.” They say that, too. Andrew fucking hates it. Getting rejected by someone he cares about (no matter how reluctantly) is still getting rejected. Andrew doesn’t know if he actually likes Ryan. He doesn’t want to. He’s not the type to have a relationship, and he came to terms with it a while ago. Ryan can’t just come into his life and be an attractive douchebag and mess that up.“No,” Andrew sighs. “No, I can’t do that.”“You could,” Steegs insists. “You might not, I know. But you could if you wanted to.”Andrew just doesn’t think he wants it enough.*When Ryan doesn’t show up to work on Wednesday, Andrew gets a little more concerned. He realizes how much he misses the snarky comments, the disapproving eye rolls. They helped him work harder. They gave him something to prove, maybe. He knows he should feel angry with himself, for getting invested in a co-worker so suddenly and for no good reason. Instead he feels angry at Ryan for not being there.When Friday comes and goes, and Ryan doesn’t arrive, Andrew takes matters into his own hands. He walks into Bettman’s office and searches for an explanation.“Oh,” Bettman shrugs, “He quit. Told me he would be doing so ages ago. Wanted to move on to something else.” Andrew nods like he knew this all along. He didn’t. He had no fucking clue, even though he feels like he should have. Ryan should have told him, or he should have pieced it together, or something. Bettman shoos him out of the office before he can really think about it.He takes the long way home, and when he accidentally turns at the wrong intersection, he decides to keep going. By the time he’s fully conscious of the decision he’s made, he’s parked in Ryan Kesler’s driveway. It feels right. It feels inevitable. He gets out of his car and walks to the front door.He knocks, and then he waits.*Andrew Ladd and Ryan Kesler are both creatures of habit.Hatred has always been their first instinct regarding one another and regarding themselves. It makes sense more than kindness does. It’s easier. It’s quicker. It leaves them with a sense of resigned satisfaction. They are messed up, but that’s okay, because the other is messed up too. This has always been Andrew’s defense for his hatred. It quells the cognitive dissonance. He might be a shitty person sometimes, but Ryan Kesler will always be worse.It’s heartbreaking to see enemies as humans. When Andrew pulls Kesler against his lips and pushes him to his knees, he knows this better than he ever wanted to.He undoes his belt and pulls his cock out without even saying hello. Ryan is rolling with it, as always, because this is what they do together. Together. Andrew resents the word.“I f-fucking hate you,” Andrew finally spits out while fucking Kesler’s face a few minutes later. “God, you’re so horrible.” He’s looking up at the ceiling so that he doesn’t have to look at Ryan. His back is cold from resting against the front door. He wants to come and he wants to leave. He figures that’s all he knows how to do at this point.“You just—you just left me,” Andrew tries to swallow back the words but they come out anyways. “Fucking quit, without telling me shit, after everything we did together, fuck you.”(They are words meant to start trouble. He hadn’t realize how much so.)Ryan pulls off and stands up before Andrew even knows what’s going on. One second he’s going through the motions of angry sex with Kesler. The next second he’s being pushed onto Ryan’s couch. And is the object of Ryan’s most heated, angry stare.“What the fuck are you talking about?”Andrew has seen Ryan angry. He’s seen him pissed off and annoyed and bothered and exasperated. But he’s never seen him look so full of indignation. There’s disappointment mixed in there, too, like he expected better of Andrew. Like Andrew let him down.“You quit.” The words hang over them. Ryan doesn’t react to them. “You quit the store.”“I told you I was going to quit after I finished my degree in physical therapy,” Ryan looks flabbergasted. “Like, six months ago.”“You told me six months ago?” Andrew is repulsed by the idea of it. “You have a degree in fucking physical therapy?” Ryan makes a noise like a dying man. Andrew zips up his khakis. Sex is not in the picture right now.“Yes, oh my god, we went over this…. Back then.” Ryan looks exhausted. Andrew is flabbergasted.“Dude, you know I didn’t listen to anything you said six months ago. I fucking hated you. You fucking hated me!”“I know!” Ryan’s voice is so loud that he can't help but flinch at it. “I know, Andrew!”“Okay,” Andrew breathes. He sinks down into the couch, as far as he can go. “So you didn’t abandon me. My mistake, I guess.” He suddenly feels dirty, feels like he’s taken advantage of Ryan somehow. He feels like Ryan doesn’t deserve all his hatred, and that’s not the sort of feeling he’s used to confronting directly.“I didn’t realize you cared about what I did,” Ryan says to break the silence a few minutes later. It’s a good point.“Whatever,” Andrew mumbles. “Whatever, yeah, I know. I’ll… leave, now.” He feels so stupid. He feels like a fucking dumbass because Steegs was right, he doesn’t hate Ryan at all. He actually wouldn’t mind being his boyfriend, and being the small spoon every night, and all that shit. It’s is a stupid thing to want, a stupid thing to think about—“You can stay,” Ryan tells him. “You look like you could use some tea. Or fast food.” Andrew doesn’t have the nerve to look at Ryan’s face. He doesn’t know if Ryan pities him or is angry with him or what.“Nah, man, that’s…” he struggles to find the words to express his discomfort. None seem to fit. “I don’t have any reason to be here,” is what he settles on. It doesn’t feel right, but it’s the best he’s got.“That’s bullshit,” Ryan says. He grabs Andrew by the chin and forces him to make eye contact. Ryan looks like he’s half disbelieving and half stubborn. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”“I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me,” Andrew admits. He’s getting a little choked up and he’s ashamed of it. He just doesn’t know how to deal with the situation. For someone who teaches about healthy relationships, Andrew is remarkably poor at navigating them in real life.“I’m trying to tell you that I like you, dumbass.” Ryan lets out a deep exhale after he says so. “It would be nice to see you outside of work, and not angry, or whatever.”“You want to take me on a fucking date?” Andrew almost laughs because it seems so ridiculous. Him and Ryan Kesler, dating. If he’d known this would happen three months ago he would have started bawling.“Unfortunately, yes.” Ryan sounds humored, so Andrew risks a glace in his direction. He looks stressed out but he’s smiling anyways, sort of like how he was after the fundraiser. Andrew feels his stomach lurch with affection. He realizes that he doesn’t have to block the reaction out.“I mean, I guess,” Andrew muses. They’re sliding back into their banter and it’s good, it’s really good. It’s not terriblehorribledisgusting like he thought before, not even close. “But you’re paying for everything. I’ll pick the most expensive place in the state.”“Fucking douchebag,” Ryan groans, but he doesn’t say no.“Yeah, well, it’s too late to back out now.” Andrew knocks his knee against Ryan’s. He likes the way they look side by side.“I am aware.” Ryan’s lips curve into an even bigger smile.Then he presses a kiss to Andrew’s forehead, and doesn’t even complain when Andrew kicks him in response.*There are only two things in life of which Andrew Ladd is completely certain:1) Middle school health teachers are underpaid.2) Ryan Kesler is the biggest douchebag in the world.As luck would have it, he is not easily deterred by either.*