#fem andreil

Neil doesn't usually go up to the bar alone, but she's almost certain Andrew sent her up for the chance to watch her ass in the insanely tight jeans she picked out. Sure enough, when Neil looks back, Andrew is already watching her. She sends her a smirk and laughs when Andrew flips her off for it. But the gaze burning into her back doesn't stop as Neil turns back to focus on her task. 

The bar is swamped, by virtue of it being a Friday, and Neil makes liberal use of her elbows to force her way to the front. Ronnie is busy entertaining a few frat boys, but when she catches sight of Neil she mouths a quick, "one second!" with a wink. 

Neil rolls her eyes, tapping her fingers on the bar top as she waits less than patiently for their usual order. She's staring off into the distance, imagining Andrew's warmth at her back, when a woman sidles up to her. 

She's beautiful, Neil notices in a detached sort of way, like Allison but without aggressive blonde hair. She's only a few inches taller than Neil, even with the strappy black heels Neil would surely face plant in. Her clothes aren't any more revealing than most of the outfits in the room, though Neil squints when she catches sight of the lettering. Butch bait? She tilts her head in bemusement, a question for Andrew or Nicki later. 

"Can I help you," Neil says flatly. 

"I saw you making your way over to the bar." She leans in closer, ostensibly to make sure Neil can hear over the pounding music. Neil shrugs, surreptitiously glancing at Ronnie to see if she's nearly finished. 

"Do you dance?" the woman asks again, leaning in so far that Neil has to actively try to avoid glancing at her chest. 

"No," she says shortly, inching away to preserve her personal space. 

"That's a shame," the woman replies, eyes flicking up and down Neil's body. 

She opens her mouth again, to say what Neil doesn't know, before a hand slides into Neil's back pocket. The warm line of Andrew is easy to melt into as Neil leans into her, letting her strong arms take the weight. Andrew put herself in a muscle shirt today, possibly because Neil isn't subtle with the way her eyes track the toned muscles of her arms and upper back. 

"She's not interested," Andrew's voice cuts through the music as easily as her figure in the crowd. Neil hums, nosing at Andrew’s temple to catch the scent of whatever product she puts in her hair for nights like these. 

Neil honestly forgot about the girl across from them, but she doesn’t seem offended by the rejection. Neil turns back to Andrew instead, studying the way the flashing lights affect the color of her eyes. 

Andrew is still squared off like she expects a fight, but Ronnie’s arrival gives the other woman a chance to slip away with nothing but a laugh. 

“Still marking your territory I see,” Ronnie says coyly. The hand in Neil’s pocket squeezes, and she feels it like a bolt of electricity down her spine. 

“Make the drinks,” Andrew spits out. 

Ronnie raises her hands as if asking for peace before quickly getting their tray together. Neil grabs it, bereft of Andrew’s warmth as the other woman makes a path back to the table. Once the others have fallen on it like a pack of wild dogs before quickly returning to the dance floor, Neil stares at Andrew. 

There’s a sigh, and then a nod at Neil’s unasked question. A small smile graces her face as she slides into Andrew’s lap, hands immediately curling in the short hair at the back of her head. 

“Don’t you wanna mark your territory,” Neil teases, obsessed with the way Andrew’s eyes darken. She expects a response, a token denial maybe, but all she gets is Andrew pulling her down for a heated kiss. 

She groans, shuddering as Andrew’s hands go to her waist. Neil’s grip tightens in her hair, pulling her head back to angle the kiss better, toes curling in the heavy boots Andrew gave her freshman year. 

She moans when Andrew slips her tongue into her mouth, nearly whining when her hands slip underneath her leather jacket and shirt to reach bare skin. Neil arches into the touch, pushing their chests together and breaking the kiss to pant heavily against Andrew’s lips. 

“Arms?” Neil asks breathlessly. 

Andrew’s lip curls, “Fetish.” She accuses ceremoniously, before nodding her consent. 

Neil hums happily, pressing kisses to Andrew’s jaw as her hands slide down to run reverently over the muscles of Andrew’s arms and back. Embarrassingly, her hips buck slightly when she feels Andrew flex for her, mouthwatering as she remembers everything these arms can do. She’s distracted by Andrew’s lips on her neck in the next second, sucking harshly at her pulse point. 

Neil squirms in her lap, no longer able to ignore the wetness building in her underwear, “You think carrying me to the backroom will stop me getting hit on?”