Chapter Text
Connor stopped worrying about soulmates years ago. “The universe can’t fucking tell me what I want,” he says. “My mom couldn’t tell me what to do when I was little. No way am I letting some bullshit Powers that Be dictate my life. “
"If you’re not careful, those bullshit Powers that Be are going to bite you in the ass,” Michaela says.
"I’d like to see them try."
- - -
Pax’s is by no means a quiet lover, so it surprises Connor when Pax comes with only a soft whine. His breath hitches, and his nails dig into Connor’s scalp as he grabs at his hair. “Fuck, how do you do that?” He asks.
Connor runs his tongue over Pax’s head one last time, and Pax let’s out a shiver. He pulls up “What thing?” Connor asks though he knows full well what Pax is talking about. He smirks and traces his tongue along the shell of Pax’s ear.
"You’re not fair," Pax whines. "That thing with your tongue."
"That?" He shifts to his side and cocks an eyebrow. "Trade secret. If I told you, I’d have to kill you."
"Fuck you."
"Right now? Okay." He grabs Pax by his wrists and pins them up against the headboard of his bed. "I’m going to fuck you until you’re nothing but a whining, begging mess." Pax arches his hips up, and his cock is already half-hard again.
"Lube’s in the second drawer," Pax breathes. Connor chuckles and bends downs presses his tongue into Pax’s neck as he sucks. He smells of nice cologne, and Connor takes pity on him, reaching down and pressing his thumb against Pax’s perineum. When Connor pulls back, the spot on Pax’s neck is already littered in hickeys high enough that he won’t be able ot hide it with anything but makeup.
"Turn around." When he pulls open the drawer, he finds a pair of handcuffs and takes them out along with the lube.
- - -
Julian makes him wonder if the whole system’s fucked — some cosmic conspiracy that doesn’t actually work. He finds out after he’s tongue deep with three fingers in that Julian has met his soulmate.
"Jesus Christ, what are you with me for?" he asks as his fingers curl inside of him. Julian arches off the stall door and looks down at him.
"He’s not as good as you."
"No one is." Connor grins. "So what’s the world like in color?"
"Just shut up. I like your mouth much better when it’s not asking questions." Julian reaches down and cup’s Connor’s jaw. Connor slips his fingers out and lets Julian pull him up and kiss him. He bites Connor’s lower lip, and his nails run up Connor’s back. "What if I fucked you?"
"Would be your loss. I’m fantastic," Connor breathes as he tugs at Julian’s hair.
"How do you know that I’m not? Besides, I want to wipe that smug, little smirk of your face, Walsh. You think you’re better than everyone else."
"I know I am.”
Julian arches his eyebrows and flips them over before Connor can protest. “You absolutely sure?” He bends down a little, taking one of Connor’s nipples into his mouth. He sucks lightly, and his teeth scrapes against it.
“Fuck.” Connor moans and tries to ignore the satisfied look in Julian’s eyes.
- - -
The cocktail bars of Philly are filled with people looking for their soulmates. Connor hates the atmosphere — the overdone flirtation and overwrought conversations about color. He squeezes his brow as he takes a sip from his drink. If it weren’t the closest place to his house, he wouldn’t end up here so often.
Besides, when he’s not going clubbing, he hates the dingy bars that reek of piss and beer. They always seem to have a flickering TV set to ESPN and a crowd of people just too desperate for his taste.
"Rum and coke? Not very creative. They have better drinks here."
Connor turns to tell the guy to fuck off, but when he does, he’s met with kind eyes and a nervous smile. “You get the same thing every time you come here.”
"Are you stalking me? Should I be worried?" Connor asks. He swirls his glass and leans back in his seat.
"No, no!" The man quickly waves his hands in protest. "People from my job come here a lot, and I kind of tag along. I’ve just seen you several times."
"And you’ve remembered me?" Connor asks. He knows he’s pushing the poor guy’s buttons, just making him more anxious than before.
"I mean — it’s hard to forget someone as cute as you." The man winces as soon as the words leave his mouth. "That’s not what I meant."
"So, I’m not cute?"
He sighs and covers his face for a second. When he looks up, he asks, “Can we start over? I’m Oliver.”
"Connor. Why don’t we take this somewhere more private?"
Oliver flushes and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He runs a hand through his hair. “Well, that was blunt.”
"Was I wrong to assume?" Connor swirls his drink in his hand and wets his lips.
"No," Oliver says. Connor downs the rest of his drink in one gulp.
They have to take a taxi to Oliver’s place, and Connor regrets not suggesting his apartment. Still, they steal kisses when the taxi driver isn’t looking, and Connor runs his hand up Oliver’s thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. By the time they get to Oliver’s apartment and the door shuts, Connor pushes him him up against the wall and smirks.
"How many times have you wanted to take me home?" Connor asks. "Every time you saw me?" He kisses down Oliver’s jaw and sucks a dark spot on his neck.
"I wanted to talk to you, but someone else always beat me to it." Connor chuckles and reaches around, grabbing Oliver’s ass and grinding their hips together. "Oh God."
Connor grabs him by his belt loops and makes his way over to where the bedroom door is open. He tugs Oliver in and pushes him against the bed. Oliver’s hair is a mess, and he lets out a whine. His glasses are skewed. Connor can’t help but think he looks gorgeous like that, disheveled and breathing heavily.
Connor bends down and fumbles with the button and zipper of Oliver’s pants. When he manages to get them off, he grabs the boxers as well and tosses them to the side. He doesn’t hesitate before taking Oliver in his mouth. He runs his tongue along the underside and hollows out his cheeks.
When Oliver thrusts up in his mouth, it catches Connor off-guard. Oliver seems far too timid to take any control, and he lets out a small moan. There is something hotter than usual when Oliver grabs his hair. Connor runs his nails along the inside of Oliver’s thighs before cupping his balls.
It doesn’t take long for Oliver to come, and Connor has barely swallowed when Oliver pulls him up and kisses him. No doubt he can taste himself fully on Connor’s lips, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, his eases Connor’s lips open with his tongue and runs his thumb along Connor’s jawline.
"You don’t look like the type to take control," Connor says as he reaches down to unzip his own pants.
"You don’t like the type to let anyone else take control," Oliver says. "Yet here we are." He swats Connor’s hand away and flips them over. He makes quick work tossing their clothes to the side and reaching for lube. Connor isn’t entirely sure how he finds himself with his nose buried in Oliver’s neck, rocking against him, but he does, trying to time himself with Oliver’s thrusts to get him deeper.
When they’re done, he falls asleep with the bedsheets still sticky and one arm around Oliver.
- - -
When Connor wakes him, it is still dark outside. Being half-asleep, it takes him a moment to register that something is different. The world is saturated with colors. His throat closes, and he looks over at Oliver, sleeping peacefully with a smile curled up on his lips.
"Fuck." He gets out of bed as quietly as he can and puts on his clothes. His heart pounds in his chest, and he tries to steady his breathing. When Oliver shifts in his sleep, Connor stills and looks over to make sure that he does wake up.
Getting to his apartment is a blur, and he slams the door shut behind him before stumbling over to Michaela’s room. He pounds on the door. “Michaela, open the fucking door. I know you and Aiden are in there. Open the fuck up.”
It takes a minute, but Michaela yanks the door open. “I swear to God, Connor, I’m going to kill you.” Her expression softens a bit when she sees Connor. “What do you want? It’s five in the morning.”
"I can see them." His chest constricts, and he bends over for a moment. When he pulls up, he lets out a choked laugh and covers his mouth. "Fuck. I can see them."
"Are you high?"
"Colors, Michaela."
Michaela runs a hand through her hair. “Well, shit.”