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It was quiet upstairs.
Quiet in a way that pressed down on Oliver’s ears but it was preferable to the noise. To the drunken singing and the bored faces slumped around the room. To Farleigh’s satisfied glances when Oliver finally slunk out of the room.
The inner skin of his cheek was bitten raw now. His fingers gripped at the windowsill as he looked out over the garden. The neatly trimmed hedges of the maze. The pond was inky black, rippling in the wind. It looked peaceful, but it did nothing to quell the buzzing in his head. The searing, blazing fire in the core of him.
It wasn’t humiliation. Not really. Being made a fool of in any capacity wasn’t something he had much patience for. Farleigh had it tried over and over again to no avail.
Tonight just happened to work in his favor.
And that was the problem with Farleigh. He was unpredictable. Difficult to get a grip on. Every time Oliver got close, he managed to slip out of reach. Leave everything a mess. Tits fucking up.
He chewed on that thought for a moment. Whenever the pieces were in place, Farleigh knocked one over. If he kept at it, if Oliver let him, then the whole board would soon be flipped over.
He’d dug half moon shapes into his palm with the curve of his nails. It took everything not to break something else, to slam his fist into the wall until his bones cracked and his knuckles split.
All of that halted when he heard a knock at the door.
“Ollie,” Felix said, slightly muffled. “Come on, mate, I know you’re in there. Open up.”
Oliver did. Crossed the room and tugged the door open with more force than necessary.
Felix stood on the other side of it, still wearing most of his tux. His jacket was missing. Bowtie undone. “Hey,” he said, sheepish as Oliver moved aside to let him in. He shut the door with a click the moment Felix was inside. Locked it and rested his back against it for a moment.
Felix itched the back of his neck, pacing around for a few beats before he made himself stop, sitting at the edge of Oliver’s bed. He was restless. Unable to sit still as he caught Oliver’s gaze. “Are you…?”
Oliver shook his head, pushed off the door to come closer. “‘M fine,” he said. “Yeah.”
“Because if you want to talk—“
“It’s not like that,” Oliver said, but Felix still eyed him with something like pity. “It’s just Farleigh.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t make it okay,” Felix argued. “It was fucking dark, even for him! And…“ he trailed off. “It was fucked. I’m sorry about that.”
Oliver shrugged one shoulder. “What for?” he asked. “Wasn’t you that did it.”
“It doesn’t matter who did it,” Felix insisted, voice quieter than before. He remained silent for a long moment before he looked back at Oliver. “It’s…it’s not like that. It’s nothing like that. You know that, right?”
It was less of a question and more of a plea. He was begging Oliver to believe him. Mouth twitching into a tight line. Eyes big and brown and sad. Searching for an answer. Reassurance.
“Like I said, it’s Farleigh,” Oliver said. “Think I know how to deal with him by now.”
Felix didn’t quite relax, but some of the tension in his shoulders disappeared. He still kept giving Oliver puppyish looks, gaze never fully wavering.
“I know,” Felix said eventually. He fell back on the bed heavily, arms at his sides. The springs creaked faintly beneath him. “Farleigh’s…” Felix shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s how he is. He can be a prick.”
Oliver hummed, arms crossed as he watched Felix. Eyed the untucked shirt. His messy hair. He had a flush in his face that always came after he’d had one too many. Not quite soused, but very much loosened up.
“It’s over with, Felix,” Oliver said. “Just needed a break from the noise.”
“God, the fucking noise,” Felix groaned. A laugh punched out of him. “I was going absolutely bonkers down there. Think I like it better up here.”
A slight smile pulled at the corner of Oliver’s mouth. He sat at the side of the bed, half turned to face Felix. “You don’t just tune it out?”
“Tuning it out only gets you so far,” Felix said. “We can stay here for a bit. At least until someone comes looking for us. Think they’re all too wrapped up in themselves, though.”
He propped himself up on his elbows, leaning up as Oliver leaned closer. “Y’know,” Felix continued. “I’m really glad you came. I don’t think I could have dealt with the whole…” he motioned to the room “Everything, on my own.”
He smelled like his usual cologne—sharp and citrusy—, and the vodka he’d been drinking downstairs. The waft of cigarette smoke was forever caught in his clothes. Clinging to his hair.
Oliver’s fingers itched to reach forward. He balled them into a fist against the bedcovers. “Glad I said yes.”
It made Felix’s lips pull into a smile, but it quickly faded as Oliver shifted even closer. Twitched into something unreadable.
“Ols,” Felix went on, voice low. “I’m not just saying it. I am. I’m happy you’re here.”
His fingers curled loosely around Oliver’s wrist. Loose enough to let go at a moment’s notice, and Oliver looked from Felix’s hand to his face. Took in the furrow of his brow. The way his jaw was set tight.
The silence in the room was thick. Broken only by the barely there sound of Felix swallowing. The rush of his breath from his mouth. Eyes heavy lidded and unwavering as they remained locked onto Oliver.
Felix shook his head. “I know I’m being a fucking idiot,” he said softly, half to himself.
Before Oliver could think to ask why, Felix leaned up. Closed the barely there distance between them.
It was fast enough that Oliver had no time to kiss him back. Barely a peck. A warm, dry press of lips. Surprisingly chaste for Felix.
But the truth was that it wasn’t surprising, the kiss.
Oliver had long since known he wasn’t imagining it. The looks. The inconsequential touches. He’d seen Felix’s eyes swivel over the line of his body in the field from the corner of his eye plenty of times as they basked in the sun, thinking himself discreet when he eyed him behind the darkness of his sunglasses. Thinking Oliver couldn’t see it.
Yet, here Felix was. Fidgeting. Embarrassed.
“I think I should head back down,” Felix muttered after a long moment.
“To do what?” Oliver asked, voice low. He hadn’t bothered putting any distance between them. Neither had Felix, despite the sudden change of heart. “Entertain the Henrys?”
For a moment, Felix didn’t speak. “It’s just,“ he said around a humorless laugh. “It’s fucking awkward, isn’t it?”
Oliver waited a moment. Drank it in. The flush on Felix’s face was deeper. Spreading up his neck and the tips of ears. “Dunno,” he said. “Doesn’t feel awkward to me.”
Felix tasted like vodka and a tinge of smoke, Oliver noticed. His eyes seemed to take in every detail of Oliver they could find. His adam’s apple bobbed hard. He was tense all over. Strung tight. Waiting for something. Anything.
“Yeah?” Felix asked.
“Don’t think you’re an idiot, either.”
Felix’s lips twitched. His eyes seemed to darken. “Go on, then,” he whispered. “Do it.”
The sight of Felix, wanting and so completely open, made Oliver’s blood sing, and he reached forward. Wasted no time.
Felix stilled when Oliver’s hand came to his neck, when he set his thumb at the corner of his jaw, and then his hand gripped loosely at the cotton of Oliver’s borrowed shirt and through it, he could feel the heat of Felix’s skin. The faint, twitching pressure of his fingertips.
Felix’s mouth was hot and open, waiting, when Oliver kissed him. This time, it was slower. He could feel Felix humming against his mouth. Low in his throat, soft and pleased.
“God,” Felix murmured against his mouth. Oliver felt the beginning of his smile rather than saw it. “That’s a fucking relief.”
He was sealing their mouths together again, hand set at Oliver’s shoulder. Felix went back, pliant, and his breath was heavy with it. His fingers twisted in Oliver’s shirt. He was wound tight with anticipation. He tried to move closer, but Oliver beat him to it. Shifted his position until he was looming over Felix, propped up on his own forearm.
Felix was practically panting with it, looking up at Oliver. Leaning into the hand that moved up to his cheek, then threaded fingers into his hair. A dark curl of desire coiled deep inside of Oliver. He thought of slipping them between Felix’s lips and feeling the slick heat of his mouth. The flat of his tongue. Or tracing over the line of his throat. Feeling the bob of his adam’s apple.
The kiss grew deeper. Greedier. The sound Felix made when Oliver licked into his mouth was intoxicating. Went straight to his cock. Left him wanting more.
He felt Felix’s hands at his lower back. Clinging. Needy. Oliver closed his teeth over the swell of his lower lip and Felix made a pained, muffled sound and pulled back. His mouth was wet and pink. There was a faint smear of blood on Felix’s lip. Oliver tasted it in the back of his tongue.
“Jesus, Oliver,” Felix breathed out, a bewildered laugh bubbling out of him. “You’re an animal.”
His eyes were dark and wanting. He had color high in his cheeks, and here he was, spread out underneath Oliver like he belonged nowhere else. He was surging up for another kiss. Searching. Hungry.
Oliver intended to feed him.
He slid one hand under Felix’s shirt, ran the flat of his palm over feverish skin and Felix breathed out hard against his mouth. Swallowed thickly. It was impossible not to drink it all in, to—
The doorknob jiggled.
Felix’s head immediately whipped around. Oliver eyed the blotchy flush on his throat.
“You have to be fucking…” Felix began. He shut his eyes. Let his head fall back against the bed.
“You’re not actually hiding up here, are you?” Venetia asked through the door, teasing. “And in case you weren’t aware, you’re not the only ones getting bored down there.”
“Yeah,” Felix said after a long moment. Eyes on Oliver. “Yeah, give us a second, V.”
Venetia didn’t answer. Oliver heard the clack of her heels as she walked away, the sound growing fainter by the second.
Felix’s sigh was frustrated, but he made no moves to get up. Not immediately. “I think I’d rather stay up here,” he said. “Wouldn’t you?”
This was delicate territory. Oliver knew his movements had to be precise from here. The way to make Felix want something was to dangle it just out of reach. He’d learned that well enough over the past few months.
So, Oliver shrugged one shoulder. “Think it’s better if we head back,” he said, and Felix all but deflated. He was still touching. Hanging on as much as he could. “Enjoy the rest of the circus.”
Felix’s laugh was a low hum. “It’s on its last leg, I suppose,” he said, disappointed. Sighed again. “Right. Fine. Go on.”
He said it lightly. Oliver rolled off of him. Felix sat up, but he lingered on the bed for a moment. Oliver watched the rise and fall of his chest as he ran his fingers through the tousled mess of his hair.
Slowly, he sat up. Made sure his shirt wasn’t too rumpled. “You alright?” he asked, meeting Oliver’s gaze. “Going back?”
Oliver shook his head, nonchalant. “Think I’ll survive,” he said.
Felix nodded. Fidgeting all over again. The tip of his tongue darted out, probed at the spot Oliver had dug his teeth into. It was invisible. No one would notice anything amiss. It would be healed by tomorrow, surely. Oliver wanted to mark him. Suck bruises into the skin of his neck. Trace over the line of the tattoo along his ribs. The sharp jut of his hip.
“On with the show, then,” Felix said, flashing Oliver a smile as he rose to his feet.
-
They weren’t terribly missed.
There were still people everywhere. Drunker than before. Louder than before. It made it easier to slip back into the action of it all. Felix immediately gravitated toward Venetia and Farleigh. Plopped between them on a sofa in the far corner of the room and slouched low, legs spread lazily.
Oliver watched from the table lined with drinks. Freshly made on a whim by a member of the staff he barely looked at. He took a drink from a sweating glass of gin, ice clinking against his teeth. Alcohol burning his throat.
Farleigh had caught him staring, even from this far. This wasn’t new, but the glance he gave him wasn’t one of disdain. It was a bewilderment. Surprise that Oliver was showing his face after the attempt to flush him out.
The problem with the Cattons was that in the end, they always chose each other. Believed each other. Farleigh and Felix were close. Always had been. With enough nudging, he could sway Felix. A jab, a joke. One day, Felix would laugh instead of rolling his eyes. Begin to think that Oliver was indeed a waste of his time, and he couldn’t have that now. Not when he could still feel the phantom pressure of Felix’s mouth on his own.
To Farleigh, this was a challenge. A game.
To Oliver, it was war.
-
The hours passed. It was busy enough that they were all mostly separated. Oliver was stuck in the corner speaking to some faceless nothing, who talked his ear off about all the traveling he’d done and how deeply it had changed him. Occasionally, he caught Felix’s eye. Oliver had caught him staring for most of the evening, which was new. He only ever did that when it was just the two of them. The more drinks he’d slugged down, the less discreet he became.
Oliver wanted to corner him. Steal away in some secret corner no one would think to look for them. Slip outside into the gardens knowing Felix would catch it. Make an excuse to follow and pick up where they left off. The thought lit a fire in him. If Oliver remained sharp, the rest of the summer might have more of that.
All he had to do was ensure that there was nothing in his way.
-
With time, the party dwindled down.
It was past three by the time everyone left, and there was only the sound of the staff cleaning the mess of glasses and other rubbish strewn around. James and Elspeth had disappeared at some point. Oliver had missed it. He’d been taking his time, mapping out each room and avoiding the staff as he did. Saltburn was ethereal at night. Moonlight flooding in from every window. Bathing every room in silver.
He’d caught Venetia in the hallway, and she’d barely said a word to him before going up to her room, strappy golden heels held in one hand. Farleigh was gone. He’d disappeared long before the party had ended at all.
Felix was still sprawled on the sofa he’d been on for most of the evening. Now, however, he was passed out. Still sat up and slumped into the cushions with his head tilted back. Oliver had tried to wake him up once, but he’d learned that Felix could sleep through anything, especially after a night of drinking. Multiple alarms. Booming music. The world could crash around his ears and he’d be none the wiser.
Still, he gave it another try.
“Felix,” Oliver said, standing in front of him. Shook him slightly by the shoulder. Slapped him lightly on the cheek. “Come on, mate. Up you get.”
Surprisingly, it got Felix to stir. That was rare. “Wh’timeisit?” he grumbled, eyes opening slowly.
“Dunno,” Oliver said. “Late. You should go to bed.”
Felix groaned softly. Sat further up. Took the hand Oliver offered him and pulled himself to his feet. They fell into a slow step together. Not quite in sync. Felix’s movements were slower. Less coordinated.
“What are you still doing up?” Felix asked.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Oliver said. “Thought I’d explore for a bit.”
“Oh, it gets boring after a while,” Felix said, voice still heavy with sleep. “Only so many nooks and crannies to find. Y’know I got stuck in the dumbwaiter once? Vee and I were kids, just being stupid. I must have been five. Six, maybe. I wanted to wait in there to scare her when she walked by, but it jammed and I couldn’t get out. Duncan had to pry the bloody thing open and haul me out.”
That was the jarring thing about it all. To Felix, every part of Saltburn was simply home and nothing more.
He barely looked at the art. The priceless antiques. The same way Oliver paid no mind to the endless photos in his parents’ house. Lining the wall beside stairs and every end table. The kitschy furniture. The shelves of knick-knacks. Felix had a palace, though. One he’d evidently already learned everything about and had long since grown disinterested in.
When Felix was soused enough, he had a tendency to carry on talking, the words flowing out like water. Joke after joke. Story after story. He was the furthest thing from mysterious. He seemed to have no secrets. He spilled everything he possibly could about himself, and seemed comfortable enough with it. Unapologetic about it. It’s what drew people toward him.
They make it to Felix’s bedroom without a fuss. It was rare that Felix was ever sloppy drunk. Oliver could count on one hand the amount of times he’d seen that. He was often the way he was now. Lazy. Talkative. Unlikely to stay awake for long.
Oliver rested the his back against one of the posters on Felix’s bed, watching him flop on top of the covers. Felix’s face pressed into the mess of pillows and he made a low sound, caught somewhere between a sigh and a moan.
“Christ,” Felix mumbled, barely audible. “Can’t be bothered, getting out of all this.”
His eyes were shut, breaths already turning heavy and slow. Evidently, he only had the means to make it upstairs.
“Felix,” Oliver said, just loud enough to be heard. Testing whether he was still awake.
No response came.
Oliver let his eyes linger for a moment. The long arm dangling over the edge of the bed. The newly shined dress shoes still on Felix’s feet. The faint indent in his brow of where his piercing usually was. Oliver flexed his fingers, curled them at his side. Resisted the urge to reach out.
He pushed away from his spot and made to leave, but only made it a step before a drunken hand loosely grabbed at his own.
“Ol, wait,” Felix slurred.
The air was thick. Felix’s hand was dry and warm. Oliver looked down, took in the sight before Felix let go, hand dropping back down limply.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” Felix said.
Oliver wasn’t stupid. He knew how to read between the lines of each word. Obviously, it wasn’t what Felix planned on saying, but this was enough. Close to whatever almost came out of his mouth.
This wasn’t the end.
“Yeah,” Oliver said. “‘Course you will.”
The ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of Felix’s mouth. “Yeah,” he echoed. “Night.”
Oliver didn’t respond. Felix was already out by the time he turned around to catch a final look. Dead to the world all over again. Likely would be that way until the afternoon.
He took his time leaving. Walked down the adjoining hall to his own bedroom and shut the door with a click. He undid the buttons on the borrowed shirt. Left it crumpled on the floor. Did the same with his trousers. His shoes. He gripped his fingers around either edge of the bed’s footboard. Felt the hungry, twisting need in him settle. Turn to a calm he’d been searching for all night.
He couldn’t sit idly by. Not when there was work to do.
-
The hallways were dark and twisting, but Oliver had gotten to know them well. Bare feet padding over the carpet. Even in the thick of summer, it was drafty. It seeped through the floor and the walls. A ghostly chill in the hush of the manor.
When he opened the door to Farleigh’s room, it was bathed in moonlight. Oliver could see the outline of his body. His room was cleaner than Felix’s. Easy to navigate, and soon enough, he lingered at the edge of the bed. Felt it dip slightly with his weight. He listened to Farleigh’s snoring. Watched the rise and fall of his chest. Waited for the right moment.
When it came, Oliver took full advantage.
-
The morning came and Farleigh was gone.
Oliver eyed the long line of Felix’s back in the sun as they lazed in the grass. The sheen of sweat on his neck, dampening his hair. The cigarette held between his fingers.
The smile Felix flashed at him was golden—all white teeth and crinkled eyes.
Oliver wanted to eat him whole.