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As soon as Ryan opens the door to his trailer, Oliver grabs him by the arm and pulls him all the way in. It lands them somewhat off-kilter against the counter of the kitchenette, the edge familiarly digging in. He slides his hands down around Ryan’s ass to pull him closer before burying his face in his neck.
“Careful, Oli, we have all those interviews tomorrow. Can’t have any Buzzfeed interns sniffing us out.” The admonishment is half-hearted; Oliver can tell from the way Ryan shudders under his touch.
Oliver makes a discontented noise — somewhere between a growl and a groan — before pulling at the buttons of Ryan’s jacket so he can get lower. Successfully shedding it and the t-shirt underneath, Oliver digs his nails into his back.
“Didn’t think you’d get so crazy over a haircut.”
He takes a break from the hickey he’s been sucking into Ryan’s pec to look him in the eye.
“I’m not,” he says. “I hate your haircut.”
And back to business. He feels Ryan’s laugh ripple through his chest. Rather than wait for a response, Oliver flips them around and settles his hands under Ryan’s thighs. Setting him on the counter and boxing him in, Oliver starts at Ryan’s belt.
“Yours is worse,” Ryan argues, nipping at Oliver’s ear.
“Impossible.”
“It’s too short to grip.”
A featherlike finger across Ryan’s lower abdomen makes him shiver.
“’S alright, baby, you’re clever.” Oliver’s rebuttal is low and gravelly as he maintains eye contact and spits into his hand; as he comes back to hover in front of Ryan’s lips. “I’m sure you’ll find something to hold onto.”
And he inhales him— it’s less a kiss than a total consumption of the man before him. He swallows every sound that comes out of Ryan’s mouth as he twists his wrist and works him to the edge.
“I’m— fuck, I’m close.”
They break apart, enough for Ryan to shove him away and hop off the counter. They take this opportunity to properly undress, Oliver barely remembering to flick the deadbolt on the door. Soon enough, he’s got Ryan in his arms again— knocking into walls and doors on the way to the trailer’s tiny bedroom because neither wants to break apart again for long enough to see the way there.
“I can’t believe — Jesus — can’t believe you’re so obsessed with me,” Ryan says smugly, tracing little shapes into Oliver’s shoulders as he cages him on the bed.
Oliver pauses halfway to Ryan’s throat and leans back up. “Me obsessed? Who hovered on set for my sex scene?” He sinks his hips down into Ryan’s, cocks rubbing together and eliciting the filthiest moan he’s ever heard. “Who had to put his hands on me between every take?” He bites Ryan’s lip and pulls, just a little. “Who got rock hard just from kissing me on camera?” For his final blow, he lowers his voice to a lethal rasp. “In front of everyone?”
Ryan lets out a whimper as he wraps his legs around Oliver and tries to pull him even closer. Oliver chuckles darkly and kisses him, slow and dirty, before breaking free of Ryan’s hold and maneuvering down his body.
“You’re so fucking desperate, I bet your hole would be ready for me without any prep.”
“Fuck you.”
“And you’re funny too, giving orders.” He sinks his teeth into Ryan’s inner thigh and sucks. Satisfied with his branding, Oliver finds his gaze. “I’m in charge here, princess.”
Ryan’s dick twitches pitifully as he rolls his head back onto the pillow.
Oliver has two goals when it comes to Ryan— demolish and devour. The second his tongue connects with Ryan’s hole the man is gasping.
“You’re so— you’re—”
“What am I, baby?” Covered in spit, he sticks his middle finger inside. Ryan’s tighten around the sheets at his sides.
“Evil.”
Oliver slips his tongue in next to his finger to hide the pink that’s rising to his cheeks.
Oliver takes his time prepping him, languidly letting one finger turn into two and then three as Ryan pants under his touch. With his free hand, Oliver reaches under the side of the mattress to retrieve the bottle of lube hidden there.
Ryan whines when Oliver pulls out his fingers, bucking to chase the contact. Uncharacteristically, Oliver kisses softly at the abused hole before coating himself with lube and crawling back up the bed. Breathing heavily still, Ryan’s movements to pull him flush are desperate and urgent.
“Need you—”
“Oh, I know you do.”
Ryan drags his nails across Oliver’s shoulders. “Actually, I hate you.”
When Oliver bottoms out, they pause; the two men stare at each other through half-lidded eyes and blown-out pupils.
“You mean it?”
Slowly, he pulls, leaving just the tip—
“Never meant anything more.”
— and slams back in, biting down hard on Ryan’s shoulder as he sets his pace.
A thousand things run through Oliver’s head as they near the end— all lost to the void as he loses the ability to make sounds aside from the most primal within him. Suddenly the world around them shifts; it’s tilted on its axis as they connect in the only way that’s ever made sense, pulling each other across the finish line with sinful cries of victory.
“You’re fucked in the head, you know that?” Later, Ryan cards his fingers through Oliver’s hair as the other man buries his face further into his chest.
“No need for flattery, you’re already in my bed.”