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It starts when Farleigh says something mean about Oliver while the rest of them are out drinking and Felix defends Oliver, despite Oliver staying in his room tonight to study rather than coming out with the rest of them. Then Farleigh laughs.
“What, are you in love with him or something?”
Their table at the bar laughs, too, except for Felix.
Felix frowns.
He’s not in love with Ollie. He adores him, yeah, he’s a great guy, but it’s... Not... He isn’t in love with him.
...Is he?
No. No, he couldn’t be. He’d know if he was in love. He’s never been in love before, only felt the flirtations of lust, so he’d know. And sure, yeah, he’s thought about fooling around with Oliver once or twice — he’s thought of how things might escalate alone in one of their rooms at night, maybe a little tipsy to give either of them that courage to make the first move, but just because he’s jerked off to the thought before doesn’t mean he’s in love with Oliver.
“Jesus, are you?” Farleigh asks, when Felix doesn’t respond at all.
“Fuck off,” Felix says, then, “I’m not in love with Ollie.”
“Sure you aren’t,” Farleigh scoffs. “Guess it’s unrequited then, poor thing.”
Felix frowns harder.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, come on,” one of Farleigh’s friends says. “He’s always following after you like a lost puppy.”
“The way he looks at you,” India adds, to a chorus of agreement.
Felix bristles.
“You think Oliver is in love with me?” he asks, laughing in disbelief.
“It’s literally so obvious,” Annabel says with a smirk, and the others go yeah, and yeah, it’s bad, and yeah, haha, it’s true.
Felix shakes his head and stands. The world dips to the side just a bit, because, alright, maybe he’s had a couple shots already, but he’s fine.
“You’re just being mean,” he says. “I’m heading back.”
“What, to your room or to Ollie’s room?” Farleigh asks, dragging Oliver’s nickname out to tease.
“Mine,” Felix says, and leaves.
He shoves his hands in his pockets when he leaves the bar. The temperature has dropped since they got there and it’s borderline freezing, and he maybe should have grabbed a thicker sweater, but he’ll live.
He doesn’t quite know why he needed to defend Oliver to them, it’s just... Not fair to him, is it? Yeah, he’s a scholarship kid, but he doesn’t really have many friends that Felix knows of besides him and his group. Farleigh doesn’t hate him, but he doesn’t like him, but that doesn’t mean he has a free pass to just... Talk shit, whenever he wants.
He’s not in love with Oliver.
He’s not.
He’d know if he was, because it would have occurred to him that he’s in love with Oliver, and it hasn’t.
Felix looks up and realizes with a start that he’s walked to Oliver’s room, not his.
...Well. It would cheer Felix up a bit to check up on him, see how studying’s going. Maybe distract him into coming out for drinks at a different pub.
He knocks on the door.
It takes a few moments. He hears Oliver on the other side, shuffling things around — maybe he's put himself into a nest of textbooks on his bed again.
The door cracks open, then opens wider when Oliver realizes it’s Felix at his door. He’s just in boxers and a tank, and Felix doesn’t let his eyes linger at all.
“Felix,” he greets, and smiles. “What’s going on?”
Felix shrugs.
“Was out drinking with the guys but Farleigh’s being an asshole. Needed a break from him,” Felix half-lies. It’s half a truth, too, so it’s fine.
Oliver steps back to let Felix in if he’d like, and Felix steps in with a smile.
“You up to anything fun, Ollie?”
Oliver laughs. He shuts the door behind Felix and stands a bit awkwardly — he does lots of things a bit awkwardly, but Felix doesn’t mind. He thinks it’s kind of sweet, honestly. Charming.
“No, just studying,” he says.
Felix plops himself on the edge of Oliver’s bed. No book nest — all his textbooks are at his desk.
“What’d Farleigh do?” Oliver asks, coming forward to stand closer.
Their difference in height is drastic; yeah, Felix is taller than most guys, but Oliver is also shorter than most guys. Like this, with Felix sitting on the bed and Oliver standing, they’re almost eye to eye.
Felix kind of thinks that’s charming, too. He’s always liked being taller than his lovers, but it's a unique experience to look up at someone.
Not — not that Oliver is his lover. He’s not in love with Oliver.
God, Farleigh’s getting under his skin.
He scoffs.
“Just said some dumb shit,” Felix half-truths. “Got on my nerves.”
Oliver frowns.
“It must be really bothering you if it made you leave.”
...Shit. Oliver’s got him there, yeah.
“I guess,” Felix shrugs, looking away from Oliver’s gaze. His eyes are so blue it’s almost frightening, almost inhuman, and Felix doesn’t usually feel intimidated by it, but...
Okay, well. He can admit he’s attracted to Oliver, sure. Like he mentally admitted to earlier, he’s thought about them once or twice. Jerked off about it a couple times. That’s normal, though, that’s nothing strange. He’s not in love with him.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Oliver ventures, asking softly.
Oliver gets under his skin, too, but it’s different than when Farleigh does. Farleigh is all sharp words and prodding while Oliver is careful, gentle, kind.
“He just... He said something about you,” Felix finds himself admitting.
Oliver stiffens and shifts on his feet.
“What’d he say?”
Shit.
“Nothing bad,” Felix quickly says. “Just...?”
Maybe he has had too much to drink tonight. He shouldn’t be bringing this up at all, he realizes, but it’s too late now.
“‘Just’?” Oliver asks.
“He said you’re in love with me,” Felix says, then laughs.
Oliver is still tense.
“I told him to fuck off, though,” Felix promises. “He was just being a shit.”
He risks a glance up at Oliver. Rather than the awkwardness or shyness Felix is expecting, he looks... Focused. He hasn’t stopped watching Felix.
“What about you?” Oliver asks.
Now it’s Felix’s turn to stiffen, to straighten his shoulders and sit up rigid and make too much eye contact.
“What about me?” Felix asks, almost defensive.
Oliver isn’t asking if he’s in love with him, too, he can’t be. That’d be silly.
Not that Oliver is in love with Felix.
“Did you believe him?” Oliver asks, and glances away.
“No,” Felix says immediately. “I mean,” he adds, “I don’t think so. It’s not like you are.”
Oliver laughs.
“Right,” he agrees. “That’d be...?”
“Silly,” Felix finishes for him. “Because if you were in love with me, y’know, you’re pretty straightforward. You would have said something by now, or done something.”
Oliver nods, but he looks distant, lost miles away in thought.
“And it’s not like you’re gay,” Felix adds.
“I’m not,” Oliver hums.
“Right.”
“I’m bi.”
What?
“I’m bi,” Oliver repeats, because apparently Felix blurted out that what? out loud. “I’ve liked girls, and I’ve liked boys,” he explains, like Felix doesn’t know what ‘bi’ means.
“Oh,” Felix says, and immediately feels his cheeks heat. Stupid, you can’t just say ‘oh’ to your friend coming out to you. “That’s fine,” Felix says, and shuts his eyes against himself. Stupid. “You know, that’s... I won’t treat you any differently. Farleigh is too, you know. Likes anything with a pulse, really.”
Oliver nods.
“I know.”
Silence settles uncomfortably over them. Felix hates it. He likes silence with Oliver, usually, because it’s usually nice just sharing space, but now he feels like he’s taking up too much room.
Oliver sits beside Felix on the bed.
“So you don’t think I’m in love with you?” he asks, and Felix can’t quite read his tone.
“No,” Felix says, after a moment of consideration. “I think I’d know if you were, right? You’d be acting like India or Annabel.”
“Mm,” Oliver hums, tilting his head disagreeably. “I don’t think either of them know you well enough to be in love with you,” he says. “You don’t talk with them outside of the pub much, do you?”
Felix thinks about it, and realizes Oliver is right. Yeah, they text sometimes, but most of the time he sees them it’s during class or at the pub, or when he brings one back to his room.
“I guess not,” he says. “Huh.”
“What else did Farleigh say?”
Felix rolls his eyes, happy to move on from the topic of whether Oliver is in love with him and back to complaining about Farleigh.
“That I was in love with you,” he sighs. “Which is silly, too, because —”
“ — Because you don’t like men.”
Felix starts to agree, but...
Well. He should be honest, right? He can be honest. The only people who really know he’s ever shown interest in men are Farleigh and Venetia, but Oliver is up there with the people he’s closest to, now.
Felix shrugs.
Oliver raises his eyebrows.
“You like men?” he asks. Not confrontational, not even prodding, just... Curious?
“Never been with one,” Felix says like a disclaimer. “Just had thoughts, I guess.”
Oliver nods understandingly.
“What kinds of thoughts?”
“The ones everyone has, you know,” Felix shrugs, feeling his face heating again. “Like, what if I went home with him instead of her, right? How would that work? How would he... Feel?”
He swallows. There is a very big truth he’s avoiding, which is that the thoughts never had a subject of desire until he met Oliver.
Oliver is... Grinning.
“Felix, buddy,” he says, leaning in close like he’s telling a secret. “Straight men don’t have those thoughts.”
Felix turns his head to look at him.
“Yeah, they do,” he says defensively. “Plenty do.”
“Those aren’t straight thoughts, though,” Oliver points out. “Have you ever asked any of your other friends if they’ve thought about taking another bloke home?”
Well, no, but...
That can’t be right. Everyone wonders about it.
“Look it up,” Oliver offers.
“What?” Felix laughs. “I just search ‘do straight men think about other men sexually’, then?”
Oliver shrugs.
“Well, yeah,” he says. “Genuinely.”
Oliver’s laptop is right over there on his desk, but...
He shakes his head.
“Whatever,” he says, accepting Oliver’s idea. “Still. I’m not... I’m not completely straight, I guess.”
Oliver nods understandingly again. He’s really good at that, Felix has noticed, at softening his gaze so you feel like you can tell him anything.
“What’s stopped you from being with a man before?” Oliver asks. “Out of curiosity.”
Felix shrugs and lays back on Oliver’s bed, legs hanging off the edge from the knee.
“It’s just never been... Right,” he says. “I don’t know how to flirt with men. I don’t know what I’d do if one took me home.”
Oliver lays beside him, on his belly, propped up on his elbows so he can still see Felix’s face. It makes him feel a bit exposed, but it’s not... Bad. Almost nothing is ever bad with Oliver.
“So you don’t think you’d be the one initiating in a situation where you’re with a man?” Oliver asks, low.
Something about the question makes Felix have to hold down a shiver. Yeah, that’s... Yeah. With girls, it’s easy to manhandle them and call the shots and they like it, but with another guy, he’d... Maybe he’d want to be the ‘girl’? In theory?
“Maybe?” Felix answers, quietly.
“How does it go when you think about it?” Oliver asks, gently pushing him to keep going.
Felix definitely shouldn’t have had anything to drink before this. He’s spilling too much, and Oliver can’t like everything he spills.
“When I think about it,” Felix starts, slow and uncertain, “I think of someone else talking to me. Hitting on me, I guess. He says something funny, and I laugh, and somehow he ends up taking me back to his place.”
“He needs a sense of humor?” Oliver asks, feigning surprise. “Higher standards than with women, then.”
Felix laughs. It’s a little mean, but... Yeah, India and Annabel are pretty shallow.
“I guess,” he agrees.
“And what then?” Oliver asks.
Felix swallows again.
“Then, we... I don’t know,” he shrugs against Oliver’s blankets.
Lately, every scenario he’s considered has started with Oliver telling him they should get out of there, whatever party or pub or event they’re at, and then they go back to Oliver’s. To this room, to this bed, and Oliver... Sometimes he thinks about his weight on top of him, straddling him as they kiss, and sometimes it’s just kissing. Sometimes it’s just a wayward train of thought that leads to What would kissing Oliver be like? and Felix will entertain it for a minute or two.
Sometimes, though, well... He’s seen Oliver in just his boxers. He’s seen the vague shape of him. He knows he’s big. He thinks about that, feeling Oliver’s cock in his hand and learning the feeling of another man in his hands, and maybe that leads to stroking him and Oliver gasping and more kissing.
“Felix?” Oliver asks.
“Kissing, I guess,” Felix says, before he chickens out of this conversation and never thinks about it again. “I like kissing. I like the idea of... Of someone on top of me, I think?”
Oliver says nothing, just listens and gives him room to continue.
“I like the thought of touching muscle. Like, guys look firmer than girls usually, right? I wonder what it’d be like to put my hand on a chest and it be flat, or... Or between legs. And it’s not flat.”
Oliver nods silently.
“I don’t think it’ll ever happen,” Felix admits, and, to his surprise, there’s an ache in his heart when he says it. “I don’t really give off the right energy, I guess.”
Oliver frowns beside him.
“You don’t think you’d be hit on by other men because you seem too straight?” Oliver asks, making sure he’s following Felix.
Felix nods.
“And, I don’t know, I guess I could dress like a pansy and find a gay bar in another city or something, but that’s not me.”
“You want someone who knows you well enough to know what you might like,” Oliver adds.
Felix nods again.
“Yeah,” he says, only realizing how true that is when Oliver says it.
Felix turns his head to look at him.
“Someone that’s a friend, maybe, but... But wouldn’t make it weird,” he sighs. “Someone like...?”
You, he realizes, at the same time Oliver leans in to kiss him.
Oh. Oh.
The kiss is brief, and chaste, only testing, but Felix sits up immediately.
“Sorry,” Oliver says, already apologizing, but there’s no need for him to.
He sits up, too, and before he can apologize again Felix kisses him.
It’s good.
Girls always taste like lip gloss or lipstick, always fruity from whatever they’ve been drinking. But Oliver, he — he tastes divine, like wet and hot and... And masculine in a way Felix doesn’t have the brain to articulate at the moment.
Oliver kisses him harder, hard enough that Felix is pushed back, and Felix makes a low groan in his throat. This is good.
Oliver breaks away.
“You’re drunk,” he says quickly, putting distance between them. “You wouldn’t do this sober.”
Felix swallows.
“Maybe not,” he admits. “I wouldn’t have told you all that sober, either, but it’s all true.”
Kind of. He left out the parts about fantasizing about a scenario exactly like this one.
He kisses Oliver again, and Oliver lets him, briefly, before breaking away again.
“I don’t want you to make a mistake, Felix,” he says. “What happens when Farleigh finds out?”
Felix’s first thought is that he wouldn’t tell Farleigh. His second thought is —
“Fuck Farleigh,” he practically growls, and kisses Oliver again, more insistent.
“Felix,” Oliver breathes between kisses. “I mean it, Felix, I don’t want this if you’re going to regret it.”
Felix backs off a little bit.
“Besides,” Oliver says, almost cattily. “I thought you said you didn’t want to lead with another man?”
A spike of arousal hits Felix so hard he could double over.
“I’m not going to regret this,” he says. “I mean that.”
“Why not?” Oliver asks. He’s letting Felix stay close, letting them hold each other, but he doesn’t let Felix come in for another kiss just yet.
“Because I like you,” Felix says. “As a friend, and... Maybe more than that? I don’t know,” he admits.
He ducks his head to rest their foreheads together.
“I’ve never felt like this with anyone else,” he admits. “You see me. You get me.”
“Are you in love with me?” Oliver asks, holding his face and angling him so Felix will look him in the eye.
Felix swallows and Oliver follows the sight of his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“I don’t know,” he says, honestly. “If I’ve ever been in love with anyone, though, I think it’d be you.”
Oliver hesitates for just long enough that Felix wonders if he’s made a mistake. If he’s said the wrong thing. If he should leave.
And then, Oliver shoves him back down onto the bed so hard he bounces.
“I don’t want a fling,” he says, sharp and close and meaning it. “I want you.”
Felix almost groans at the heat that flares inside him.
“You can have me,” he says, and Oliver kisses him again.
Felix clings at him, grabbing at his shirt and his hip until Oliver climbs on top of him properly. He straddles Felix’s thighs and lays his weight perfectly over Felix, fuck, he was right that he’d like that. He puts all his weight into kissing him, pressing them chest to chest and lap to lap, and Felix realizes he’s already hard.
“Fuck,” he mutters between kisses.
“What?” Oliver asks, almost panting when he takes a moment to breathe.
“Didn’t... Didn’t realize I was so worked up,” he admits.
Oliver smiles.
“You’ve been worked up since you started talking,” Oliver says. “Did you really not notice?”
“No,” he groans. “Sorry.”
Oliver laughs.
He presses himself down against Felix, too, so they can feel each other through their pants. Oliver isn’t hard yet, but Felix feels him anyway.
“Poor thing,” Oliver sighs. “You’ve just been waiting for the right man to come along and take you, haven’t you?”
Felix wants to deny it, because that sounds so ridiculous, but... He can’t deny it. It’s true.
“Take me, then,” he challenges, and Oliver’s eyes go dark.
He leans back down to bury his face in Felix’s neck, and it’s ticklish and sweet for a second until Oliver licks a stripe of sweat off his skin.
“Fuck,” he shudders out, hands grabbing at Oliver’s hips, and Oliver grinds down into him.
“What do you want?” Oliver asks.
“You,” Felix groans.
Oliver grabs him by the jaw, forcing him to look him in the eye.
“You have me,” Oliver says, like a threat. “What do you want me to do to you?”
Felix’s hips jerk up.
“Anything,” Felix pleads.
“Should I fuck you, then?” he asks. “Or make you suck me off?”
Felix can barely breathe past how bad he wants that. Yes, yes.
“Please, Ollie, anything. I’ll take anything.”
Oliver scoffs.
“Desperate thing,” he croons. “Aren’t you lucky you met me?”
Felix smiles, genuine and fond.
“I am,” he says, completely outside the mood. “I’m so lucky.”
Oliver hesitates, a shy smile slowly creeping across his face.
“I’m lucky, too,” Oliver says, and kisses Felix again.
They slow down with that, savoring every kiss and every lock of their lips. Felix pets his thumbs under the hem of Oliver’s shirt until he finds warm skin, and then he's rubbing up to Oliver's waist and back down.
Oliver sits up.
“You can touch me however you'd like,” he says quietly.
He peels his shirt off and Felix's breath catches. He's known Oliver is hot, looks good and fit and toned, but it's one thing to know it as a passive fact and it's another thing to have Oliver shirtless on his lap.
Felix's hands wander up and Oliver lets them. His thumbs trace the lines of his hip bones, his abs, trace under his pecs — Oliver's hand covers his and brings his palm up to feel his chest, flat, and helps him to squeeze.
It's so different, and Felix is absolutely entranced by it.
Oliver rocks his hips forward purposefully, and Felix groans.
“God, Felix, you're so beautiful,” Oliver sighs.
Felix shudders under him, hands grabbing at him more to bring him back down to kiss.
Oliver concedes and presses himself to Felix again. This time, though, his hands wander, dipping under Felix's shirt and doing the same to him, squeezing and petting along his torso.
“Can I take this off?” Oliver asks, and Felix nods.
“You don't need to ask,” Felix insists, sitting up a bit as Oliver brings his shirt over his head.
“I can do whatever I want to you, can I?” Oliver teases.
Felix swallows down the immediate yes he wants to breathe.
“Just about,” he says.
“I haven't forgotten you're drunk, you know,” Oliver says, almost disapprovingly.
Felix frowns.
“I'm only tipsy,” he says. “That's fine, right?”
Oliver hums like he's considering it, and Felix pouts.
“Ollie,” he whines. “I want you,” he pleads, looking up at him as pitifully as he can manage.
Oliver pins Felix, arms above his head, fingers wrapped around Felix's wrists, and presses his weight against him again.
“Prove it,” Oliver challenges, and Felix swallows thickly.
“Okay,” he nods. “How?”
Oliver shrugs, and rocks his hips down against Felix’s.
“Show me,” he says. “Fuck me like this.”
Like what? Like —
Oliver rubs down on him again.
Oh.
Felix shoves his hips up at the same time he starts nodding frantically.
“Yeah, okay,” he shudders out.
Oliver kisses him and muffles them both as Felix ruts up again. Oliver is only in his boxers while Felix has two layers on, but it's still already so good.
His hands twitch — he wants to hold Oliver by his ass and grind against him harder — but Oliver puts his full weight into keeping his wrists pinned.
Felix whines and Oliver kisses that off his lips, too.
“I bet you could cum like this,” Oliver challenges, kissing him again. “You want me so badly, don't you?”
Felix nods, too desperate for words.
“Can you tell me you want me?” Oliver asks.
There’s a tinge of genuine insecurity there, but it’s not what he’s truly asking — what he’s truly asking is to hear Felix obey, and Felix moans and nods again.
“I want you,” he parrots easily. “I want you so bad, Ollie, fuck,” he groans, Oliver shifting his hips over him to give him a little more pressure, a little more friction.
Felix shuts his eyes and Oliver kisses him hard, his teeth nipping at his lip when he pulls back.
“I want you to look at me,” Oliver nearly growls, and Felix’s eyes shoot open.
He can do that, yeah, he can definitely do that. Felix nods again.
“Do you like being held down like this?” Oliver asks, checking in, and Felix nods again.
“It's good,” he breathes, remembering to use his words. “Really good. Hot,” he adds.
Oliver laughs softly and kisses him again. Felix keeps moving against him, digging his heels into the carpeted floor for better leverage.
Oliver barely helps at all, mostly letting Felix do the work, but Felix is perfectly fine with that. He's never had to work for it like this before — sex is usually a girl flinging herself at him, him getting off, and her going home. It's never been like this.
They’re both moaning softly into kisses as Felix works them both up, Oliver tenting his boxers enough that Felix can glance down and notice.
“We should — maybe we should get naked?” Felix suggests, but Oliver hums in disagreement.
“I think I’d like to see you cum yourself,” he says.
Felix’s face burns.
“I still have to get back to my room tonight,” he groans. “Someone will see.”
Oliver kisses him again.
“You’re not staying the night with me?” he asks, sounding a fake, pouty kind of sad that still gets to Felix enough that he shivers.
“I could,” he says. “Yeah. Yeah, you want me to?”
Oliver nods and kisses Felix again.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’ll walk you back to your room in the morning and everyone can know who you belong to.”
Felix swallows thickly and shudders. He’s — there’s definitely precum seeping through his boxers. There’s no way there isn’t.
“Ollie,” he groans, “I mean it, let me get out of my jeans.”
Oliver fake pouts again, but he does reluctantly get off of Felix and get aside for him to sit up.
He doesn’t think he’s ever taken clothes off so quickly, stripping off his jeans and his embarrassingly wet boxers. Oliver definitely notices, too.
Felix leans over and kisses Oliver again when he sits on the bed again.
“You, too,” he says softly. “I want to see you.”
Oliver swallows, this time, finally showing a bit of nervousness.
“Yeah?” he asks, and Felix nods, so he stands.
Felix watches him bring his waistband down slowly, his cock bobbing beautifully when it’s finally freed, and Oliver kicks the boxers off his feet when he pushes them down enough to fall off his legs.
“How do you want me?” Oliver asks, almost shyly.
It’s a little ridiculous, frankly, that Oliver can stand there and act shy when Felix is wondering if he could fit his massive cock in his mouth.
“However you’ll have me,” Felix smiles back.
Oliver sits beside him again, then lays down, pulling Felix with him until they’re both laying on their sides.
“Do you want me on top of you again?” he asks, leaning in to kiss the smile off of Felix’s face. “Or do you want to show me how well you could fuck me, if I let you?”
Felix gulps.
“What do you mean?” he asks. “Like — would we be...?”
“No, not yet,” Oliver hums. He puts his hand on Felix’s hip and drags him closer, tucking his thigh between Felix’s legs and putting a little weight against him. “Like this,” he says.
“Just... Rubbing together?” Felix clarifies, and Oliver laughs.
“Yeah,” Oliver says. “You know. Frotting.”
“Frotting,” Felix repeats, unfamiliar.
“Haven’t you ever looked at gay porn before?” Oliver teases.
The question is apparently rhetorical, though, because then he’s putting more weight on top of Felix. He hikes Felix’s leg onto his hip and grinds into him like he knows what he’s doing, and for the first time it occurs to Felix that maybe Oliver does know what he’s doing.
“Have you done this before?” Felix asks, bringing his hands up to hold Oliver by his waist instead of letting them scrabble uselessly at the sheets.
“No,” Oliver says. “Thought about it a lot, though,” he admits. “With you.”
Felix feels his eyes widen before he can stop himself from reacting, but thankfully, Oliver just laughs and leans in again.
“Move with me,” Oliver whispers, soft against his lips.
Felix does; he presses up against Oliver as he presses down, and even though the pressure is uneven and the slide isn’t quite slick enough, it’s good.
Felix sighs out a shaky breath, and Oliver takes the opportunity to nuzzle into his neck, kissing and mouthing at his pulse and under his ear, all the way down to his collarbone. It makes Felix breathy, makes his knees feel weak, and makes him pull Oliver even closer with the leg hooked around his hip and thigh.
“Does this feel okay?” Oliver asks, and Felix swallows down a moan as Oliver’s hot breath spills over his skin.
“Yeah,” Felix breathes instead. “Feels really good,” he admits.
“Good,” Oliver hums.
He rests his forehead at Felix’s cheek. Felix’s hands stumble up his sides, grabbing and pulling him closer at his waist and then his ribs and at his shoulders, until he’s got Oliver’s face in his hands and he can bring him up for another proper kiss.
Oliver makes a surprised noise into his mouth — what, like he wants to fuck Oliver, but not kiss him? Felix licks at Oliver’s lip and it makes Oliver’s hips stutter forward, losing rhythm for a moment before he opens his mouth and lets Felix in.
The shifting dynamic is so strange; Felix is under him, but he’s leading their kiss, but Oliver is leading everything else — it’s so much more complicated than it is with girls, but at the same time, it feels so natural to let Oliver fuck against him at the same time he moans around Felix’s tongue.
Felix's core starts to ache from fucking his hips up against Oliver. His limbs feel looser, his whole body live-wire aware, and he clings to Oliver tighter as he slowly climbs toward release.
Rubbing against each other was already good, but precum has gradually been added to the equation and that makes it even better — even if it feels a bit gross for them both to be writhing against each other and leaking smears over Felix's belly, there's something raw and animal about it that's undeniably hot.
“Ollie,” Felix sighs, just to say his name, and Oliver kisses him again.
This kiss is more aggressive, less coordinated, and Felix realizes Oliver is almost trembling against him.
“You alright?” Felix asks, huffed in the space between their mouths when Oliver pulls back to shudder breath in and out.
“I really like you,” Oliver admits, quietly laughing at himself. “I never thought this could happen.”
Felix frowns. He wants to deny that, say they would have gotten here eventually, but... Would they? Felix is apparently so thick-skulled that it took someone else saying the words and then explaining it all out loud to Oliver to realize he's might-be, probably in love with him.
“I really like you, too,” Felix assures him instead, and gives him another kiss.
He doesn't want to break out the straight-up I love yous so soon, even if the thought of saying it does make his heart and stomach both flutter.
“Can I —” Oliver asks, but has to start again when Felix's hands slide to his waist, his hips, around to his ass, to pull him in closer. “Can I cum on you?”
Felix groans. He's never wanted anything so much in his spoiled little life.
“Yeah,” he says. “Let me have it.”
Oliver laughs and so does Felix. One day, they'll push boundaries a little more — Oliver will get a bit rougher with him, a bit more domineering, a bit more confident — but until then, they're both perfectly content with this almost shy embrace.
Oliver kisses Felix one more time as he starts moving his hips more. It feels less for Felix's sake and more for Oliver's sake, and there's an interesting new pang of want thinking about how much he wants to be of use to Oliver like this, to be for Oliver's pleasure and not have to think of anything else.
It turns him on beyond belief, honestly.
“You're so hot,” Felix breathes, and that makes Oliver's breath hitch. He pulls at Oliver's ass as he thrusts against him, encouraging him and helping him along, and Oliver sets to leaving sloppy, wet kisses at the side of Felix's neck. “Fuck, Ollie,” Felix sighs, relaxing his head back for him and letting his eyes slip shut.
He focuses on Oliver shoving sticky-slick and hot onto his cock and into his belly, on how perfectly his ass fits in his hands, on how solid Oliver is against him — he focuses on the minutiae, the way Oliver's breath hitches and catches at the back of his throat and how his hands can't seem to stay still, wandering over Felix's sides and on the outsides of his thighs and on his hips, wandering but always grabbing and pulling like they could get any closer than this.
“I’m close,” Oliver nearly whines against Felix's skin, and a flood of heat spreads through Felix from head to toe.
Felix arches up against him as much as he can without seeming like he's bucking him off. He brings one hand off Oliver's ass to thread into Oliver's soft hair, holding him nice and close.
“Come on,” he urges quietly, trying to stay quiet enough he doesn't speak over Oliver's little noises. “I want it.”
Oliver's teeth make themselves known with the next sloppy kiss to Felix's neck, first just scraping without much finesse, but then he's biting, nibbling, sucking, and Felix realizes he's going to have a lovebite.
He laughs breathlessly and pets his fingers through Oliver's hair, encouraging the thrusting, the marking, all of it, and it doesn't take long after that before Oliver hits the point of no return.
He spills between them hot and wet and messy, never stopping his movement against Felix and smearing his cum between them both. Felix feels it on his stomach, one shot hitting just under his ribs, and he feels it layering over his cock and pooling and dripping at the crease of his thigh. He's going to have to wash it out of his pubes and out of his navel. There's so much, so copious it's practically puddled on Felix's stomach.
It's so good.
Felix groans with Oliver as it hits him just how good it all is, being painted in Oliver's seed, being claimed, invisibly, knowing he'll always know, now, what that feels like. He can't even imagine how much better it will feel when things move forward, when they progress to one of them being inside the other and Felix knows what that feels like, too. Like something holy, maybe.
“Felix,” Oliver moans weakly into his neck, and Felix directs him by his hair to come up for another kiss.
They kiss for a long couple moments, Felix perfectly fine ignoring his erection in favor of Oliver basking in the afterglow.
“That was really okay?” Oliver finally asks, eventually, and Felix laughs.
“It was really okay,” Felix replies, and tests pushing his hips up again.
“Can I touch you?” Oliver asks, and Felix nods quickly.
“Yeah,” he says, too. “Please,” he adds, just to be polite.
Oliver laughs and kisses him again. He lays back down on his side so he can more easily take Felix in hand, and while Felix immediately misses the warmth of Oliver pressed flush to his front, he can't complain when Oliver swipes up some of the mess on his stomach and uses that to start stroking him.
That should be gross, maybe, but somehow it’s not — somehow it's just really fucking hot that Oliver is using his own spunk to get him off.
Felix moans a needy Oliver and adjusts them, making Oliver lift himself a bit so Felix can get his arms around his shoulders and turns himself more toward him. It makes cum slide off his stomach and onto the bed, but he'll help Oliver clean it later or something. He just needs to be close, closer, like he might be able to glue them together if he just holds onto him tight enough.
They're certainly going to have to peel apart when they're done, considering the way Felix pulls Oliver back into the mess to press against him, but that's beside the point.
Oliver's fist around him is amazing — a thousand times better than his own hand, and a thousand times better than any girl he's been with. He makes sure to make appreciative noises as Oliver pumps over him, his hand starting slow and getting more confident as it becomes more and more obvious how much Felix wants it, needs it.
Felix nuzzles into Oliver's neck, ducking down to reach, and pecks just under his ear.
“Can I give you a mark, too?” he asks, quiet and conspiratorial despite getting breathless, and Oliver groans and strokes him faster.
“Fuck,” Oliver replies, sounding barely put together. “If you really want to, yeah,”
Felix grins with all his teeth against Oliver's skin.
He lets the dull ache in his own neck guide him to approximately the same spot on Oliver, and then he's kissing a preemptive apology while the skin is still pale and untouched. He kisses again, then nips, and Oliver giggles under him.
“You can do better than that,” he challenges, angling his head to give Felix more room.
Felix nips again, harder, and Oliver makes a soft, dreamy sound that summons the next squeeze of precum that drips from Felix's cock.
“Harder,” Oliver sighs, and slows his hand. “Don't you want to cum?”
Felix groans just from how hot it is to have Oliver threaten his orgasm like that, and then he bites. He feels Oliver's muscles tense under his teeth, he feels Oliver's whole body jerk from the pain, and he's about to let go and apologize but Oliver makes the most beautiful noise and starts stroking him again with intent.
“Good,” Oliver praises. His free hand holds Felix down by the back of his neck, fingertips scratching into his hairline. “Stay there.”
Felix moans around the flesh in his mouth and nods slightly, to show he understands. It won't be hard at all, considering how close he is anyway.
His hips roll into Oliver's fist and he relaxes his jaw some, teeth still set in Oliver's skin but not as hard as they could be. He's breathing hard through his nose and all he can smell is Oliver, his shampoo and his natural scent, and it's driving him crazy. He feels like a wild animal, a predator, all raw energy and hunt, and it's — it's fucking exhilarating how Oliver brings it out of him as easy as breathing.
He moans a warning noise when his hips jerk outside of his control, low like a growl and rumbling in his chest, and Oliver swears against him like he’s the one about to lose his mind.
Felix bites harder, then harder again as he tips over the edge and cums into Oliver’s hand; they moan together, Oliver panting over Felix’s teeth digging into his skin and Felix grunting as he shoots over and over into Oliver’s palm, his fist jerking over the head of his cock to catch most of his cum before it spreads.
He’s never cum so hard in his life.
After a long time tangled together and panting, Felix separates from Oliver carefully; he feels his teeth slide free of the indents they’ve made in Oliver’s skin and feels a string of saliva break as he pulls back. He relaxes his head again and just stares at Oliver, pupils blown and face ruddy and smiling, smiling so brightly at Felix it could blind him.
Oliver brings his hand up to his mouth, cupped, and drinks.
Felix’s brain shuts down. All he can do as watch as Oliver laps up their shared seed, even having the fucking nerve to make pleased noises with each greedy swallow.
He practically slaps Oliver’s hand away, and Oliver looks briefly surprised before Felix grabs his wrist, turns his palm toward himself, and starts licking what’s left off of his fingers.
Oliver laughs.
It just tastes like cum, but Felix knows that it’s both of them, together, and that makes him moan with every swallow, too.
Eventually, Oliver’s hand is only slick with spit, and Felix threads their fingers together to share in that, too.
They both go to kiss the other at the same time and laugh when their faces bump a bit, but then they’re laying there, idly kissing, holding hands, and Felix doesn’t think he’s ever been happier.
They stay like that for a while; they exchange kisses and Felix’s big thumb rubs over the side of Oliver’s hand, and they both slowly start breathing normally again.
A long time later, Oliver pulls back, and sighs.
“We should get cleaned up,” he says, the voice of reason in the face of Felix perfectly willing to fall asleep like this.
He sits up and stretches away from Felix when Felix lazily grabs at him. Oliver hauls Felix up as much as he can to get him sitting up, too, and rewards him with a kiss when he finally scoots himself to the edge of the bed as well.
When Oliver stands and pads across the carpeted floor, Felix follows him to the mirror and sink at the opposite end of the bedroom.
He stands behind Oliver in awe.
The first thing he notices is how good they look together, both naked and smiling at the other in the mirror.
The second thing he notices is that the lovebite Oliver gave him is a only small bruise. Easy to overlook or hide under a shirt collar.
On the other hand, the one he gave Oliver is a massive, mottled mess, discolored where individual teeth have crushed blood vessels under his skin. It spans from the top of his collarbone almost over his shoulder, and Felix is mortified until Oliver laughs, leaning toward his reflection and absolutely delighted by how gruesome it looks.
“Oh, Felix,” he sighs, smiling at himself in the mirror. “It's perfect.”
“Sorry,” he says, sheepish despite Oliver’s apparent pleasure. “You told me to bite.”
“And you did,” Oliver purrs, looking up at Felix in the mirror again. “You did very well.”
“So you’re saying you’ll fuck me again?” Felix jokes, wrapping his arms around Oliver from behind and ducking his head down, bringing his face beside Oliver’s in the mirror.
“Maybe,” Oliver teases back. “If you’re lucky.”
Felix laughs, and then Oliver laughs, too.
Felix turns his head to kiss Oliver on the cheek.
“I’ll have to thank Farleigh, unfortunately,” Felix points out, and Oliver snorts.
“I’ll buy him flowers, yeah,” he agrees, and they both laugh again.
They can navigate the social aspects of being together later.
For now, everything is perfect.