#maleyka

Andy knows something's wrong when he comes home to find a parka of every colour of the rainbow, plus bonus hues, draped over every available surface of the living room. And the dining room, when he wanders in. There's even one huddling by the kitchen sink. He'd think Derek was pulling a prank or something, but he's not that sophisticated—Andy's pretty sure Derek thinks yelling 'boo' when someone isn't paying attention is a prank. He heard about the woes that came out of Derek's prank on Olsen's bachelor party, so maybe he just backpedaled so Olsen wouldn't murder him with his eyes.

Andy probably should have known something was wrong when the topic of Regina came up and Derek started quizzing him endlessly on Saskatchewan's weather patterns and poring over the Weather Network's overall trends for Regina, but Derek goes on weird obsessive binges sometimes—yoga seems like the only one that stuck—and Andy kind of liked that Derek's weird obsessive binge was Saskatchewan related. He was naïve. He realises that now.

“Der?” Andy calls, and Derek pops out of the bathroom in an orange parka that's so big it practically swallows him up, which is pretty impressive, since Derek is not small. Also not easy to swallow.

“Are you sweating?” Andy asks.

“This is good at -50,” Derek says proudly.

“It's twenty-five degrees out,” Andy says. “You're going to give yourself heatstroke.”

Derek scowls, but struggles out of the parka, which takes awhile, because it's got like three different zippers and they all seem intent on getting stuck. Andy would help, but he's learned over the years just to let Derek handle shit or he'll get pissy. That and it's hilarious to watch.

It takes a few minutes, but eventually Derek's back down to a t-shirt.

“Why do we have like fifty parkas?” Andy asks patiently.

“I got some for you,” Derek says, still proud sounding. “They have ones meant for tall dudes, so they should fit.”

“That's nice,” Andy says distractedly. “Why do we have like fifty parkas?”

“Well you're going to take the deal,” Derek says. “Right? I mean, you said you would.”

“Regina isn't a barren wasteland,” Andy says.

Derek stares at him for a minute. “I looked at the weather patterns,” he says. “You lie, sir.”

Andy snorts.

“I have been to Regina in winter,” Derek says, voice rising. “You have seen me in Regina in winter.”

That's fair. Derek tended to pack a balaclava and double up on hats at the same time, and wore cheap gloves inside some heavy duty ones Andy thinks are meant for, like, polar explorers. He insisted on doing it even if they were just outside for the two minutes it took to get on and off the bus. He was even worse in Winnipeg, and the consensus favourite activity of the Senators when in the prairies was to hide all of Derek's winter shit then smirk while Derek panicked in Andy's direction. Derek's kind of a baby about the cold.

Regina's warmer than Prince Albert, and Andy's got a perfectly serviceable jacket that's only a couple years old. And now apparently at least five more draped on the couch.

“If Regina's too big a change--” Andy says quietly.

“No,” Derek says, hugging the parka to his chest. “I have parkas. I am ready. I have parkas, and I'm going to buy all the hats in Ottawa, and we will rock this.”

Andy would think the hat thing was overstatement, but judging by their house, he probably will put a dent in their substantial savings buying out every Ottawa retailer still stocking tuques in the summer.

“Derek--” Andy says, chewing his lip, and Derek comes over, tucks himself under Andy's chin, a good ten pounds of down getting between them and coyote fur tickling Andy's neck.

“If you don't want to do this,” Andy murmurs.

“I would move to a barren wasteland for you,” Derek says solemnly into Andy's throat, and Andy snorts.

To be fair, the best way to bring it up probably isn’t to pause Halo mid-mission and say, “What are your feelings about anal sex?”, choking out the words past general mortification, but it’s been six months, and Derek hasn’t even mentioned it, has let Andy dictate the pace of everything, in bed and out of it. Andy knows he’s had it, Derek’s never been shy about the kiss and tell thing (hopefully that’s not true now, because Andy would die), but so far there’s been nada. Zip. Zilch.

Derek drops his controller in his lap. Okay, there were definitely better ways to bring this up. Like in bed, probably, but Andy’s been trying, and he always ends up pussying out and going for a blowjob or a cuddle, whichever’s more appropriate at the time.

“Good?” Derek says. “They’re good feelings?”

“Is that a question?” Andy snaps, on edge, then immediately feels bad about it.

“I love it when you’re sarcastic,” Derek says. The saddest thing is that he doesn’t even say it sarcastically. He pauses. “I mean, if you’re wondering about--I’ve had no complaints?”

“Awesome,” Andy says. “Was that with the girl who tried to sell pictures of you sleeping or the one who stalked Scotiabank for three weeks?”

“Shut up,” Derek says, sulky, so Andy probably nailed it.

“I just,” Andy says, then pauses, because there’s no good way to say ‘this is simultaneously something I really want and also it freaks me the hell out.’ without having Derek either feel bad or make fun of him. He ducks his head.

“Hey,” Derek says, sort of gentle, so Andy figures it got across anyway. Derek knows him too well. It’s usually useful, but sometimes--now--it’s mortifying. “We’re good, Bowie. If you want to, like--”

He pauses. Andy looks up to find him blushing, which is the weirdest thing.

“Are you blushing?” Andy asks, nudging Derek’s knee with his own.

“You’re blushing,” Derek mutters, which is probably true, and also a bad comeback. “But, like. If you wanted to fuck me, that’d be cool.”

Andy blinks. Derek continues to blush in his general direction.

“Really?” Andy asks. “I thought--”

Derek elbows him hard.

“Ow,” Andy says. “Also ow.”

“You thought I’d be an asshole about it,” Derek says.

“Well,” Andy says, then, “Ow, how are your elbows this sharp?”

Derek glares at him. “I’m not an asshole.”

“Not to me,” Andy says agreeably.

Derek settles against him. Andy flinches, waiting for more elbow, but Derek seems to be done for the moment.

“You want to?” Derek asks.

“Duh,” Andy says. “I just--you know what you’re doing. I--don’t.”

“I didn’t know what I was doing the first time I gave a blowjob,” Derek says. “And I did okay.”

Andy stays still.

“Andy?” Derek says, craning his neck around. “Right?”

Andy bites his lip.

“Bowie?” Derek says.

Andy bites his lip harder, but can’t help the giggle that bursts out of him.

“Ow, did you just bite me?”

*

“Der?” Andy calls.

“In the kitchen,” Derek calls back.

Andy wanders over, pausing at the kitchen table, which is loaded with groceries that, by the sound of it, Derek is putting away, and then the biggest bottle of lube Andy’s ever seen. He stares at it. It stares back.

“Please tell me you didn’t buy this at Loblaws,” Andy says, without hope.

Derek pokes his head out of the kitchen. “Oh yeah, isn’t it awesome?” Derek asks. “It was on sale.”

Andy nudges at the bottle with one finger. It stands firm. “Does lube expire?” Andy asks. Their sex life isn’t exactly inactive, but this is a bottle of lube for a chafing fourteen year old on his seventh masturbation session of the day. Andy would have killed for this bottle of lube when he was a chafing fourteen year old on session seven.

Derek rolls his eyes at him. “Come help me put the groceries away,” he says. “You can try to hide the quinoa again.”

Andy winces. Busted. He follows Derek into the kitchen, sparing one last look at the bottle of lube that makes for a really weird table centrepiece.

*

“Okay,” Andy says. “Tell me if I’m doing anything wrong. Am I doing anything wrong?”

“Bowie,” Derek says. “Your pants are still on.”

“Yeah?” Andy asks.

“It helps to take them off,” Derek says.

“Right,” Andy says. “Right, yes. Right. Pants off. I can do that.”

“Andy?” Derek says.

“Yeah?” Andy asks.

“Your pants are still on.”