After Andy left, Drew performed a quick mental triage. First and foremost, he needed to get his desk cleaned up. Then he needed to get his project finished. And when Andy returned, Drew could apologize for snapping at him, and they could move forward.

Drew had always been good at filing things away in this manner—there was nothing he could do about the situation with Andy at the moment, so he simply shelved it mentally and turned to the other tasks at hand.

Drew was especially careful with his computer—it was pretty much impossible to be at college and not have a laptop, and his father had helped him cover the daunting expense of a laptop right before Drew's freshman year. By now, the computer was slow and barely held a charge, but Drew was determined to make it last until graduation.

Even as he was wiping up the last of the water, Drew could feel himself recalibrating, stabilizing. He and Andy had had fights like this before—and fight wasn't even really the right word, Drew reflected. Andy could be frustrating at times—he was impulsive, which could lead to wonderful things, like the time he'd rounded up a group of their friends freshman year to play flashlight tag in an academic building. But sometimes, it just lead to Drew's laptop narrowly missing taking a bath.

Drew could have been kinder, he knew, but it wasn't the first time—or even the fiftieth time—that Andy had done something careless. Once Andy cooled down, he'd come back, and everything would be fine. Drew could apologize again for snapping at him—Andy was quicker to forgive than anyone Drew had ever met—and they'd go back to normal.

Drew turned his focus back to his project, drew a deep breath, and got back to work.

* * *

A few hours later, Drew was putting the finish touches on the project when he heard a soft tapping against the doorframe. He looked up, startled—he hadn't even heard anyone come home.

Andy was standing in the doorway. He grinned sheepishly and held up a bag.

"I brought us tacos," he said.

Drew flushed with pleasure at the small gift.

"Thanks, Andy," Drew said. "You didn't have to—"

"I felt bad," Andy said. "And I wanted to. Are, um, are you still working?"

"Nah," Drew said, pushing his chair back from his desk. "I just finished."

He followed Andy upstairs and they sat down on the couch as Andy unpacked the food he'd brought home.

"I really am sorry," Andy said quietly after a moment. Outside, the sky was gloomy, rain pattering steadily, and the room was dim.

"It's okay," Drew said. "I overreacted. It was an accident."

"Yeah, but it was stupid."

"You're fine," Drew said gently. They ate in silence for a while, but the stillness between them was peaceful and companionable, not tense. The tacos had come from Drew's favorite restaurant, a little hole-in-the-wall place near campus, and he appreciated that Andy had remembered his order.

It was still strange to him, even after being friends with Andy for several years, that Andy would remember what tacos Drew liked best, would remember to get an extra slice of lime for him. It made him feel cared for, which made something in the back of his brain prickle, as if it was hard to believe he was worth that.

When Drew finished, he leaned back against, sinking down into the couch.

"So… you still mad at me?" Andy said, glancing over at him. He said it lightly, as though he were joking, but Drew saw the slight furrow between his brow—Andy's tell that he meant whatever he was pretending to joke about.

Drew smiled softly.

"I wasn't mad at you," he said. "I get a little stressed about stuff like my computer because… I saved up for ages to get that thing, and if something happens to it, I can't afford another one."

Andy glanced over at him. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but then shut it and just nodded. Drew flushed slightly. Drew didn't exactly keep his financial situation secret, but even after three years it was still staggering sometimes to notice the differences between his life and Andy's, the way Andy always had the safety net of his parents to fall back on in case of emergency.

Drew cleared his throat.

"Anyway… thanks for getting food."

"No problem."

Drew could sense a tension unresolved, something waiting to be spoken still lurking between them, but he wasn't sure what it was—he wasn't even sure if he wanted to say something, or Andy did, or both, or neither. He didn't want Andy thinking he harbored any ill will—Andy was, after all, Drew's closest friend, and a spilled glass of water wasn't going to change that.

Andy sat back on the couch, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world for Drew to put his arm around Andy's shoulder. Drew had just meant it as a gesture of friendly affection, a peace offering, but then Andy melted against Drew, resting his head against Drew's shoulder.

Drew relaxed a little, leaning his head on top of Andy's. Andy's hair was still a little damp from the rain, and Drew could faintly smell his shampoo. He and Andy had never been particularly touchy-feely—not the way Max and Finn, for instance, were, where they always seemed to find any excuse to be draped over each other.

This is nice, Drew thought. Outside, there was a low rumble of thunder, but Andy's body was warm against him. Drew closed his eyes, allowing himself to relax a little and enjoy the feeling of holding someone. Contact like this was something he'd never really done before, something he'd never allowed himself to want.

A few minutes more wouldn't hurt.

It had been a long day, and Drew hadn't slept well the night before, and soon he found himself drifting in and out of the edges of sleep. He thought about when Andy had kissed him in the alley behind The Cricket, how strange and not strange it had been all at once, how kissing a man had been so much better than Drew had ever imagined—

Drew inhaled sharply as he realized heat was gathering in his crotch.

"You okay?" Andy murmured.

"Yeah," Drew said. "I, uh… almost fell asleep."

Drew knew he should probably move away, but he was so warm and comfortable and sleepy like this as the rain beat against the window—

Andy shifted, placing his hand on Drew's upper thigh, and then Drew was wide awake. Drew's cock began to harden as Andy slowly slid his hand over Drew's sweatpants to the sensitive span of Drew's inner thigh.

"Andy?" Drew asked, so quietly the words barely made it out of his mouth. Andy's hand stopped moving. "Um, what are you doing?"

There was a beat of silence.

"Do you want me to stop?" Andy asked.

Drew hesitated. The answer was no—don't stop—keep going—touch me there—but when Drew opened his mouth, he found he couldn't speak.

Andy's hand was still frozen, tensed against Drew's leg, waiting for a response. Drew shook his head and swallowed, the sound echoing as loud as gunshot in the quiet apartment. He shifted, spreading his legs a little further apart and tilting his hips up helpfully.

Andy's hand slid further up Drew's leg, stopping so close to his cock that Drew could feel the heat of Andy's hand through his sweatpants. In the span of moments, he'd gone from a little turned on to almost painfully aroused.

"Max and Finn—" Drew said, his voice coming out hoarse. It was less of a reminder and more of a way out for Andy, if he wanted it. You don't have to—unless you want to—

"They won't be back for a few more hours," Andy said, and some distant part of Drew's brain noted that Andy's voice sounded a little rougher, too. Andy was straight, though—why would he be affected like this the way Drew was?

Any questions, though, flew right out of Drew's mind as Andy grazed his hand over the length of Drew's cock, and Drew gasped, his hips bucking slightly at the contact, the sensation of being touched by someone who wasn't himself.

Seemingly encouraged by Drew's response, Andy stroked him again, a little more confidently this time. Drew's eyes fluttered shut and he tried to keep his breathing steady as Andy palmed his cock. He could feel a damp patch forming in the fabric of his sweatpants as his cock began to leak.

Andy's fingers teased along the waistband of Drew's sweatpants, sliding under the material, and Drew hissed in a mixture of surprise and pleasure as Andy's hand, fingers cold against his skin, slid underneath, resting for a moment against Drew's hipbone.

With the hand not currently shoved down Drew's pants, Andy grabbed Drew's arm, still wrapped around Andy's shoulders, and Drew realized he was digging his fingers into Andy's arm. He loosened his grip, expecting Andy to move Drew's arm to the back of the couch.

But instead, Andy guided Drew's hand to his crotch, and Drew's own cock twitched when he felt that Andy was hard, too.

There was no time to think about what this might mean, though, because then Andy wrapped his hand around Drew's cock and stroked him firmly. Drew let out a low moan, and Andy shifted, rubbing his cock up against Drew's hand through the slippery material of his athletic shorts.

Drew took the hint, sliding his hand under the waistband and taking Andy's cock in his hand.

"Fuck," Andy gasped, and Drew felt an odd well of something like pride—it felt good to elicit that reaction from someone with just his touch.

Drew's attention was wonderfully fractured, torn between the feeling of Andy slowly stroking him and the desire to focus on Andy, to feel the contours of someone else's cock for the first time. He found he liked all the different sounds he could tease out of Andy as Drew traced his fingers up the shaft and around the head, sliding his thumb through the bead of precum at the tip.

He wanted to bring his fingers to his mouth, wanted to taste it.

Andy made another needy little noise, nuzzling his face against Drew's shoulder, and Drew wrapped his hand around Andy's cock, stroking him and matching the speed of Andy's hand on his own cock. The air was full of the scent and sound of sex—the ragged panting of their breath, the musk of sweat and precum.

Andy's hand was moving faster now, and Drew's breath caught in his throat. He couldn't remember ever being this turned on before, even during his best solo masturbation sessions. The newness, the strangeness, of it all was intoxicating, and he could feel an orgasm building.

"If you keep going, I'm gonna—" Drew gasped, unable to finish when he felt Andy's cock twitch in response to Drew's words.

"Fuck yeah," Andy whispered harshly. "I want you to—"

And then Drew was over the edge, coming hard in his sweatpants. He only just managed to keep stroking Andy's cock as bright sparks of pleasure bloomed behind his closed eyes with every pulse of his cock. He'd made an absolute mess, but that hardly seemed to matter right now.

"Oh, Christ—" Andy moaned, and then he was coming, too, his release spilling hot and wet over Drew's hand as he bucked his hips up to meet Drew's grip.

They both collapsed back down on the couch weakly, their hands still down each other's pants, panting as they regained their breath. Drew's heart was still beating wildly, his head spinning.

He and his straight friend had just jerked each other off, both totally sober, on a rainy Tuesday afternoon. Drew had given—and received—his first handjob. Surely, Drew should be freaked out right now.

But he wasn't. He just felt happy, sated, and a little sleepy.

Andy withdrew his hand, wiping it off on Drew's sweatpants, and Drew pulled his own hand back. Andy glanced at him, his grin bright in the gloom of the darkness.

"I call first shower," he said, and then he bounced up off the couch and disappeared downstairs.

* * *

Drew had always assumed that, once he was ready, finding someone to hook up with would be a messy, complicated procedure.

But it wasn't.

It was, he discovered, quite the opposite.

He and Andy didn't talk about that afternoon on the couch. They didn't need to. By the time Drew was out of the shower, Max and Finn were home, it was like the whole thing hadn't even happened.

Except now Drew knew what Andy sounded like when he came, and Drew knew what it felt like to have someone else's hand on his cock.

So Drew went about his semester, falling into an easy routine. He rowed, he worked, he slept, he ate, he hung out with his friends. He kept an eye on whatever was going on between Max and Finn, who seemed to be spending every other week giving each other the cold shoulder.

And after the next crew party, after Max disappeared into his room—Finn hadn't come out with them—Drew found Andy colliding into him as the bedroom door shut behind them. They were both a little tipsy, and later, Drew couldn't have said who fell into who. But regardless of who started it, suddenly Drew found his face buried against Andy's hair as Andy guided him backwards—

And then Andy was falling into bed on top of him, Andy's face pressed against his neck as they ground their hips against one another, quiet except for rough moans and uneven gasps as they jerked each other off again.

The first time, on the couch upstairs, Drew had been sober and nervous and shocked, but this was different. This was easy and fun and sexy as hell—he loved the feeling of someone else's skin warm and smooth against his, the desperate little noises Andy made when Drew stroked him, the weight of Andy on top of him.

When they'd both come, Andy slid out of Drew's bed and into his own, and they both fell asleep easily, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all. The next morning, neither one of them acknowledged it, but there was nothing awkward lingering between them.

It became a weekly occurrence—stumbling back after a party or a night out and ending up in the same bed, fumbling in the dark, hard and half-naked, the contours of Andy's body slowly becoming familiar beneath Drew's hands. They simply seemed to fall together as though it were a foregone conclusion. He knew what they were doing was just about physical relief, and nothing more.

And Drew didn't mind, not one bit.