Archive of Our Own

2018

Oscar has been through this with Fred before, but no amount of talking ever manages to convince his friend of anything, especially when he has his mind set on something. Oscar only really allows him to go through with the plan because if they managed to get caught, between the two of them, Fred being the youngest would get him in more trouble than Oscar would get in himself, so that at least is a comfort. 

Still. None of them are 18, and neither have fake IDs, so it’s hard to see how this plan can ever work out. Which Oscar tells him, of course. 

Fred brushes his concern off for the hundredth time in the past hour and strides forward, his school backpack swinging at his back making him look even more of a dork than he already is. 

If only Logan was there to talk Fred out of it and get the two of them store-bought beers with his real 18 year old ID, but no. He’s back in his bald eagle country doing God knows what with God knows who instead. 

Logan was always better at managing Fred than Oscar ever could be. 

As it stands, Oscar, ever the compliant fucker, goes along with whatever trouble Fred decides they should insert themselves into next – which now stands for sneaking into a pub in central London with nothing but pleading smiles plastering their faces and two borrowed IDs from a bloke on Logan’s class and his cousin that look fuck all like them. 

Except the lack of a realistic plan does nothing to temper Fred’s expectations of them getting in, unfortunately. So they strive forward, backpacks and all, until they reach the little pub Fred had chosen as their target of the night. 

There’s no security at the door, which is likely why he chose it in the first place, but getting in was never really the issue in the first place. 

Being it a weekday, the pub is less crowded than what it must be like on a weekend, but the hockey game playing on the telly behind the counter seems to have brought enough of a clientele that they don’t all turn their head when the front opens up and two boys walk in. 

Fred finds them a corner booth, one hidden enough that Oscar can actually melt into the seat and hide his face and hope and pray that no one notices him ever, but Fred still nudges him animatedly like sneaking here is the best choice they’ve ever made. 

“Oscar, mate, lighten up,” Fred teases, all ease and confidence, nudging him again. “What do you want to drink? You can choose anything,” he smiles, looking like all the sixteen years that he is, accent drifting between Danish and English like he can’t choose how he wants to sound like. 

“Beer is fine,” Oscar mumbles, trying to disappear inside himself lest someone notice him there. 

“A beer it is!” Fred says, all excitement, and leaves his backpack beside Oscar to approach the bar with all the confidence in the world. 

And the thing is; Fred is so sure that it’ll work out that it’s gotten Oscar thinking that maybe it actually might. It’s beyond him to doubt Fred to pull something like this out anyway. 

The bar is far enough ahead that Oscar eventually loses Fred out of sight, but the menu and all its dozens of different fonts and badly taken pictures is amusing enough to entertain Oscar while he waits. 

He’s still dissecting the thing when he feels someone approach the booth again, and he’s about to ostracize Fred when he hears him sitting empty handed until he looks up and… yeah. That isn’t Fred at all. 

“Hello,” the man says, sounding proper English in the way he rolls his vowels. 

Oscar hasn’t realized his mouth was left open, stuck in the beginning of his sentence intended for Fred, when the man gives it a glance. Oscar promptly closes his mouth and feels his face go entirely red at once, the blue eyes that stare at him scanning his face and cheeks like Oscar amuses him. 

He blushes harder. 

“Uhm, hi. Can I help you?” Oscar manages to say, voice cracking to make him all the more young looking, like he needed the help. 

“I should be the one to ask you that,” he laughs, pointing to the logo on the left side of his chest. 

Ideally, the realization that the bloke is a server should’ve helped – except the logo isn’t the only thing Oscar notices, eyes drifting to the defined pecs under the thin white shirt that make sweat prickle at the back of his neck the more he stares. 

When he looks back up, the amused smile on the server’s face has grown wider. 

“Alright then, can I get you something? A coke, perhaps?" he asks, and of course he knows Oscar isn’t eighteen, this must not be his first rodeo or anything. If Oscar was any more transparent, the man would be seeing how his heart is this close to beating right out his chest. 

He isn’t, however. Transparent, that is. 

But who is like that is Fred, who approaches the table with two beers sloshing out the corners of the tall mugs he’s carrying just to stop right on his step when he looks at the booth, beer spilling onto the ground and the table and his shoes and everywhere, really. 

Oscar is almost impressed that he actually managed to get the beers when he notices the way Fred’s eyes get even wider when he notices the man sitting in front of him. 

He’s about to explain that’s actually a server when-

“Shit,” Fred blurts, voice growing higher like his balls hadn’t dropped yet. 

“Aaand there you are,” the server laughs, openly amused now, standing up from the booth and getting the beers out of Fred’s hand, motioning him to take the seat he was just on. When Fred does, he adds: “Good boy. Care to tell me what’s going on now?”

“Hey, I thought this was your day off-”

“I had to come fill in for a coworker,” the server interrupts to say, turning to Oscar again. He tries to sag even deeper into his seat now, knowing he not only was checking out the older server of the bar he snuck into, but Fred seems to also know him? Jesus, just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse… “I’m George, by the way. Fred here is my nephew,” he helpfully adds, and Oscar could very well just die now. 

What a way to fucking go. 

“Uncle George, can you not tell my mom about this?” Fred pleads, a little pathetically but they could both use it right now so Oscar won’t poke fun at him for it. 

The server, uncle George, looks back at Fred then. He’s still smiling, laughter caught behind his teeth. “I’m not a rat, you git. But what’s wrong with you, sneaking into a pub on a weekday to drink? What were you thinking?” And when Fred has opened up his mouth to bullshit his way to an answer, or at least that’s what Oscar guesses he was about to do, George adds; “Actually, who served you these drinks, huh?”

Fred laughs too, now, hiding behind his hands. “Well, I’m not a rat either.”

“Got me there,” George rolls his eyes at Fred but laughs too, turning back to Oscar – who had very much enjoyed not being the center of attention and can already feel his cheeks heating up again. “And you are one of the kids always glued to this plonker side, I’m guessing? Logan?”

“Oscar,” he corrects, trying hard to not have his voice crack in the middle of the word. 

“Oscar,” George repeats, rolling the word on his tongue like it’s the first time he’s ever heard such a name, which Oscar severely doubts. “Alright, Oscar. And how old are you? And don’t you dare lie to me, mate.”

“He’s seven-” Fred starts, getting a flick to the side of his head that George gives him without spilling a drop of beer. “Ouch!”

“I wasn’t talking to you, you muppet. Let your friend speak for himself,” he tells Fred, eyes never leaving Oscar. 

Oscar, by the way, who still feels like dying. 

“I’m seventeen,” Oscar manages to say, God knows how with how embarrassed he feels. “Sorry for sneaking in.”

“Good boy,” George congratulates him, and Oscar full on dies in the metaphorical and psychological and maybe almost physical sense. 

He’s so flushed he feels like he has a fever. He doesn’t sag more into the booth because if he did he’d just be crouching underneath the table.

There’s nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. 

Uncle George is still looking at him. 

“Now, that’s some great manners. You should get some tips, Fred,” George teases, finally looking back at his nephew which allows Oscar to take his first breath in maybe five minutes, and as air enters his lungs he realizes he might’ve been even closer to fainting than he originally thought. 

“Alrighty, then. Now that that’s settled, would you two lovely gentlemen like some fries to go along with the very cold and non-alcoholic coke I’m about to bring you?”

“Yeah, that’d be great,” Fred half groans half mumbles. Even through his annoyance, Oscar can still tell there’s fondness to his voice when he adds: “Thank you, uncle George.”

“No problem, my favorite nephew. I’ll get started on that for you guys,” George smiles, and even Oscar who doesn’t know him can tell that it’s a genuine one. He grabs the menu from the table, perfectly balancing that with the two beers he’s still carrying, and looks between them one last time. “I’ll leave you to it now. Don't pull any more tricks that will put my place of work at risk of an inspection, please and thank you.” 

He turns to leave, and Oscar is already ready to go at his scolding of Fred with a very serious i told you so on top of what the actual fuck? when George turns back and shines a white teeth smile that looks straight out of a commercial and has Oscar's entire resolve melting yet again. 

“Oh, and nice to meet you, Oscar,” he winks, like the smile wasn’t damning enough, and then turns once again and resumes walking away. 

Oscar watches him until he’s out of sight and then considers killing himself and Fred along with him. 

His blush doesn’t go down until he’s laying down in bed hours later, hair freshly washed and hoodie still smelling of pub and belly full of fries. 

He texts fuck you to Fred the second time since he’s gotten home, just for good measure, and then promptly falls asleep. 

2019

Oscar is eighteen the next time he sees George, not that it matters. 

Him, Logan and Fred are vacationing on Fred’s family cottage on his mom’s side, and Oscar really had no idea his mom was loaded like that until they were getting a tour of his grandfather’s farm and now it finally makes sense how Fred raced karts so frequently when he was younger. 

When the tour is done and they’re getting settled into their rooms, of which they each have their own, mind you, Oscar realizes the cottage doesn’t feel as eerily empty as Fred said it would be. 

And then, half an hour later, another trio of boys not too unlike themselves, except maybe less blonde, are streaming inside the house in bounds of loud laughter that overpower the music that Logan has been attempting (and failing) to play on his guitar. 

“Oh, shit,” one of the three says, stopping mid conversation as all six boys come face to face with each other in the large living room. “And you guys are?”

“No, wait. No way! That 's little Frederik?” another of them says, louder than the first. His smile is so big it takes up half his face. 

“I can’t believe it. My favorite nephew is here!” the last of them says, and there he is. Uncle George.

He doesn’t look a day older, but he’s somehow even hotter than the last Oscar saw of him. Especially considering he’s very much shirtless this time around – defined pecs, previously hidden behind uniform, now in view and in all its deserved glory. 

Oscar can already feel himself blushing. 

Fred rises to hug his uncle at the same time George crosses the room to meet him, the both of them finding each other in a deep embrace that lasts all of a full minute as their respective friends look at each other like they’ve just met another species, reflecting each other’s expressions like they’re mirrors of one another – which, might as well. 

“Alright, everyone,” George says as they separate, immediately pulling Fred closer again until they’re side to side and his arm is hanging above his nephew’s shoulder. “These is my nephew Fred and his friends, Oscar and Logan. Oscar and Logan, those muppets are my friends, Alex and Lando,” he points each of them out with his free hand, one that Oscar’s just noticed is carrying an open beer. 

“Oi, look who you’re calling a muppet, you twat,” the shortest of them, Lando apparently, says with humor in his voice. He then flashes the rest of them with a crooked smile that is as lovely as it is menacing. 

George continues as if his friends hasn’t made that remark; “Good to see you kids-” 

“Not a kid,” Fred unhelpfully interrupts to point it out, making his uncle laugh. 

“Logan and Oscar maybe, but you’re still seventeen if your birth certificate framed on my fridge is anything to go by.”

“You have my birth certificate on-”

“Not the point,” George interrupts pointedly, serious all of a sudden for all of three seconds before he’s laughing again, and then he’s nudging Fred’s shoulder and setting him free to join him and Logan on the couch again. “Anyway, as I was saying. You lot want anything to drink? Since we’re sharing the cottage we may as well get acquainted.”

Oscar swears George says the last bit looking at him specifically – swears he can see the same twinkle in his eyes he saw over a year before when George was all amused at him when he caught Oscar checking him out. 

But Oscar may as well be imagining things. No way to know for sure, except…

Except George winks again, same way as he had done then, smiling before he turns back and heads to the kitchen, calling out: “I’m making cocktails, whoever wants some can join me here.”

Fred is the first to move, just as George calls out, louder than before, “Not you, Frederik!”

Still 2019

They spend a week together at the cottage. 

There’s nothing to do beside drinking and going down to the creek and riding horses, if you’re into that. It doesn’t take long for George to let up and let Fred join in on their drinking. Logan, the American warrior that he is, is the only one that refuses George’s deliciously made cocktails to honor the laws of his God fearing country or whatever it is they’re calling the States these days. 

They all laugh at his expanse but Oscar can see that one of George’s friends has grown fond of Logan’s ways too, even if they make fun of it. Oscar is hardly one to judge, lightweight as he is for drinking, but he joins in the laughter only because Logan is in on the joke and is not bothered by them poking at him, and also because it feels good when they’re all laughing together. 

George and Fred are the only ones who can actually ride horses, so sometimes they all gather up to watch the two race each other and Oscar and the others make a whole game out of it – Oscar and Logan rooting for Fred, of course, and Alex and Lando sometimes joining in cheering for Fred too just to tease George, at which point Oscar will switch teams and root for George just so someone does.  

And then, sometimes, George will win and dedicate the victory to his only fan, his one true friend, Oscar himself, and he will wink and Oscar will blush furiously and they will all laugh and George will smile one of those commercial smiles at him again. And now he is the butt of the joke, so he and Logan can both share that baton. And maybe Fred too, because he is Fred and is the only one that actually really knows all of them, so they all feel comfortable to make fun of him when he loses yet another horse race to his uncle. 

Most of the days, however, they spend at the creek mindlessly drinking warm beers and splashing each other with water as Lando works on his tan and Logan works on his accumulating sunburns. 

Sometimes, Oscar and George will find a quiet moment to themselves on the flowing water of the creek and George will just laugh at nothing, grinning widely like he hasn’t a care in the world, and Oscar will grin back because who is he to deny the great Uncle George a smile?

At night they will drink more, heavier stuff too, like the Russell family's expensive whiskey that makes Oscar cough heavily every time he tries, or the disgusting dry wine Alex insists is actually really good but Oscar is sure that he doesn’t even believe that himself. 

Ultimately George will make them more cocktails and they will drink until they’re all silly, every one of them taking a vastly different time to get there – as in Oscar will get there immediately, Lando will get there never, and everyone else besides Logan, of course, will lie somewhere in between them.

One night, on their fifth day at the cottage, Oscar ends up sneaking a peak inside George’s room – not to any fault of his own, since he had the door half open and George is staying across the corridor from him – and he ends up seeing the older trio taking something clearly illegal that has them buzzing with energy the entire day. 

So they end up going for a night swim later that day, and somehow the “kids” become the ones responsible to drag George and his friends back to the cottage before they manage to drown themselves. 

And after Oscar, Logan and Fred have dragged them the whole way back, Oscar, with the closest room to George, gets the task of taking him to bed – except when he’s carrying George to his room, Oscar feels the distinct shape of George’s cock pressing to his hip as he’s on way to lay George him down. 

George, buzzed as he is, seems to realize that Oscar has noticed his state, if not for nothing else then for Oscar freezing in place, and laughs loudly at that like it’s the most hilarious joke he’s ever heard. 

It’s bad enough as it is, but as Oscar finally moves again to put him on top of the bed, George adds, to the detriment of Oscar’s mental stability: “Sorry, mate. I love men manhandling me, don’t take it personally.”

The thing is, Oscar would very much like to take that personally. 

There’s nothing he’d like more, in fact. It’s all he’s thought about the whole week up until that point, matter of fact. 

But instead of saying what he actually means, because he’s a chicken, Oscar says: “It’s, uhm, fine. Natural body response, you know. It’s, uhm. Yeah. Like I said. Fine.” Which is very coherent of him, of course. 

“Sure, mate. Call Alex for me on your way out?”

No, Oscar wants to say. There’s no need for him, I’m right here. Let me take care of it. I can manhandle you more if you’d like. I can make you feel good. I know I’m young, but I know what I’m doing. I know what I want. Let me-

“Sure,” is what Oscar says. 

George winks at him as he’s making his way to the door, that twinkle in his eye that’s always there when he catches Oscar looking. 

Oscar doesn’t attempt to wink back, smiling at him like his cheeks are not on fire and he doesn’t feel like the ground could swallow him whole. 

He walks down the corridor and tells Fred to call Alex because his uncle asked for him, doing so because Oscar can’t be bothered to call for Alex himself, and Fred is still grumbling complaints as Oscar makes his way to bed. 

And then, when he’s finally managing to fall asleep, Oscar starts hearing moans across the hall. So he doesn’t sleep much that night. 

He’s almost expecting the next day to feel different, and is surprised when it doesn’t. 

They go to the creek even though it’s raining, and laugh so much their bellies hurt. All six of them get into the water to play a silly game of tag that has them splashing even more water everywhere. 

Oscar never had a big group of friends, and even though he and Logan and Fred still have “teen” at the end of their ages and George and Alex and Lando are well into their twenties, they all feel like a unit when they’re just being boys like this. 

They’re all soaking wet when they make their way back to the cottage, not a ray of sunlight in sight to help dry them even though it’s technically still daytime, so they take turns at the showers so none of them are waiting in the rain for long. 

George and Alex lay low on the drinking, maybe because of the drugs they’d taken the day before or maybe because of their hookup. Oscar hopes for the latter, wishfully thinking that maybe they’d regret it, but George and Alex seem to act just the same around each other as they had been the entire week. 

Lando still nurses a beer. Oscar accepts when he offers to share because why the hell not?

They play the board games Fred found in an old closet until it's so late in the night that the sun is peeking out on the horizon. 

George is the one to drag him to bed this time around – not because he is too drunk, even though he is, but because he’s fallen asleep on the couch hours before and was too sleepy to walk himself up his room when everyone started leaving. 

Oscar doesn’t have any funny remarks for him because he’s too tired to think of one. He doesn’t have a boner either, although that’d be fun, so there’s really no direct relation of this to the day before. 

But when George is leaving his room, he still looks back at Oscar for a moment. 

He is smiling like he always is, except maybe softer. And he doesn’t really wink. 

And then he closes the door. 

And they all leave the next day, each to their own little corners in the world. 

2020

Oscar doesn’t run into George, but he also doesn’t run into anyone because there’s a global pandemic and he’s stuck alone inside his parent’s house. 

It honestly just makes him miss the summer he had at Fred’s cottage even more – not that he can really picture a time of his life when he won’t look back fondly at that. 

The most he sees of George is on instagram, which he posts a lot on – and a lot of shirtless pics at that. They’re not as great as seeing it in person but they serve for good shameful wank every once in a while. 

When he’s done being a creepy stalker he finally gathers the courage to properly follow his account, and George follows back the same day. 

A while later, Alex and Lando follow him too. Alex creates a group with everyone’s account to share some pictures he’d taken the summer before, and there’s a suspicious amount of Logan pictures there but no one says anything, especially since it’s common knowledge that he and George had hooked up that trip. 

Everyone also shares the pictures they’d taken, even though there’s way less than Alex’s, and after that they sometimes share a reel or two that remind them of the trip throughout the year. 

And there’s nothing else for Oscar to do except to feel nostalgic about everything, so he does. 

2021

Fred breaks the news that George and Alex had broken up over a random sleepover they have at Oscar’s new apartment. Which is funny, since Oscar hadn’t even known they were dating in the first place.  

Which he says as much: “They were dating? Since when?”

“I don’t know, ages ago I think,” Fred shrugs, more focused on the Fortnite game he’s currently losing at then what he’s properly saying. “Uncle George didn’t really tell me that much.”

“Were they dating back at the cottage?” 

“Of course they were, you idiot,” Logan answers before Fred could, not bothering to look away from his phone. “Didn’t you hear them fucking?”

“Yeah, well. Sue me for not thinking everyone that fucks is dating. What a silly liberal I am!” Oscar quips sarcastically, rolling his eyes at nothing specific before he’s back to watching Fred’s game. 

“Jesus, shut up. I don’t want to think about my uncle fucking, ew,” Fred fake gags, passing the controller to Logan as his theatricalities distract him enough that someone kills his character when he’s not looking. 

“Yeah, well. Boohoo, you have a hot uncle. Obviously he has sex. Lots of it, probably. I mean, with that body-”

“You’re disgusting,” Fred says, actually disgusted, pushing at Oscar’s shoulder. “It’s bad enough that you have an obvious crush on him, I don’t need to hear you going on about his body and his…. uhm. I can’t even say it.”

“Sex life?” Logan offers, not really paying attention to them but not really not either.

“Yeah, that.”

Oscar rolls his eyes again. “Grow up, Fred. Put a wig in him and some fake boobs and I bet you’d be crushin-”

“And by grow up you mean fantasize about incest porn? Great thinking, Oscar,” Fred interrupts to say, flicking him on the head, hard enough to hurt, and fake gagging one more for good measure. 

Logan laughs at them and wins the match in his first try, even though Fred had been trying for half an hour and had very little success at it. 

Oscar tries and fails too so Logan claims the last slice of pizza for himself like he’s the true deserver of it. 

And they don’t talk about George anymore. 

Still 2021

Oscar’s new work friends drag him through a bar, mostly against his will, after their shift has ended and the sun has started setting in the beautiful London scenery. 

He’s not in the mood for drinking – rarely is, considering how easily he gets pissed drunk and how he doesn’t really like being a bother to anyone by forcing them to care of him. Now that he’s out with work friends that he mostly only knows on the surface, he’s made up his mind not to have a single drink that night. Even though he’s ubering home. Even though he’s a little awkward in social scenarios when he’s sober. 

Oh, well. It is what it is. He had already made his mind on not drinking, ordering himself a diet coke that had his work friends side-eying him but it’s whatever, he’s not easily bent into peer pressure. 

And then the drinks come. And serving them, with his brightest customer-service smile, is the one and only Uncle George. Possibly recently broken up with Uncle George question mark question mark, no less. 

“Hello! Here are your- Oscar?” George stops mid sentence, hand with drink hovering in the air for a beat before he puts the vodka cranberry in front of one of his coworkers. “What are you doing here?”

“Happy hour with work mates,” Oscar gestures to the table, because he feels like he has to. His colleagues nod back at George, recognizing being acknowledged. “I thought you worked at that pub, you know. The one from back in 2018.”

“Yeah, I quit. Turns out they served drinks to minors there, can you believe it?” George laughs openly, seamlessly passing the drinks on his tray around the table to their respective owners like its second nature to do so, which might be. “Actually guys, if you don’t mind me stealing your friend for a bit, I promise I’ll bring him right back!” George smiles to the table, only a diet coke left on his tray as he pulls Oscar up by the wrist, gently tugging him away from the table. 

He’s still holding onto Oscar’s pulse point as they make their way into the bar, George placing the diet coke on the counter and mentioning for him to sit before letting go of his wrist and crouching to get behind the counter, standing in front of him. 

Oscar immediately misses the heat on his pulse. He also immediately finds the heat on his own cheeks that always blooms when he is near George. 

“You’re driving today, I’m guessing?” he says, nodding towards his drink as he bends down to put the tray away. 

Oscar kind of wishes he was staring the other way so he could properly see his ass. 

“Nah, I’m just. Well. You must remember what type of drunk I am,” Oscar brushes it off, taking a sip of his glass. 

George stands up again, hair still as intact and perfect as it had been before. “Hmm, enlighten me. I don’t remember you ever being much of a bother, if you’re asking me.”

“No, yeah. Well. I’m just- you know. I get too drunk too fast,” Oscar shrugs, trying to seem nonchalant even though he’s stumbling all over his words. 

“That just sounds like a cheap date, in my opinion,” George says, doing the thing he always does every time they see each other and that has Oscar falling over himself. The commercial smile, the wink. He’s all charm, this fucking guy. “Which is a good thing, by the way.”

“That’s the dream, isn’t it? Being a cheap date,” Oscar says, mock offended and fully flustered by then. 

“Okay, fine. Let me make it up to you and make you a drink. On the house. So you can be the cheap date and I can be the one whoring myself out, huh? How does that sound?” George teases, not bothering to wait for his response before he’s already started on his drink. 

A second later, faster than he can really comprehend, George is placing a Pornstar Martini in front of him, which Oscar recalls had been his favorite out of the one he had tried back in the cottage. And apparently George remembered too. 

“Here you go. A Pornstar Martini for my favorite nephew’s most handsomest friend, on the house,” he flashes another one of those grins, and for a moment Oscar is glad he’s sitting so he doesn’t melt to the floor,

And then he realizes he has barely said anything this whole time. 

“Thanks George, you didn’t need to do that-”

“Of course I did. Now you should go back to your table, I’ll be here if you need anything, okay? I’m usually stuck behind the bar, but I’ll come see you later if I can get a few minutes in.”

“Okay, that’s great,” Oscar says, genuinely smiling. ANd then he adds, because he is an idiot, “I’ll wait for you.”

Yes, still 2021

Oscar wakes up from the weirdest dream of his life that he can barely recall apart from the odd feeling in his gut the minute his eyes snap open. He doesn’t feel particularly hungover – but he must be, considering he’s got no fucking clue where he is. 

The bed is warm around him, bigger than his own, and the sun is even warmer on his face, which is a rare sight in London. If that’s even where he still is. 

His heart starts making laps in his chest, begging him to be alert even through the haze of his slumber. He forces himself to stand up, minor headache pressing to the back of his head and vision fogging a bit when his bare feet touch the cold ground. 

His mind is beginning to catch up his body, antsier now that he’s fully realized he is in strange surroundings – but then he stumbles against the nightstand, picture frame clacking to the ground that he groans loudly at, picking up just to have his heart beat even faster for all of a million different reasons. 

As in, in that picture frame is George and his siblings, little Fred in his sister’s arms, all of them smiling widely to the camera. George couldn’t have been older than Oscar is now when it was taken, maybe even younger. There’s no pictures of him this young on his instagram, and Oscar’s looked as far as it would go, so he would know. 

Oscar can see how much George has grown sharper since, all the points in which his body used to be soft and now isn’t. The eyes are still the same though.

So is his smile. 

“Stalker,” George coughs the words behind his hand, laying against the doorframe and openly watching Oscar go through his stuff. Even if just the portrait.

“I wasn’t-”

“I’m kidding,” George jumps to emend, likely noticing the worry that immediately seeped into Oscar’s voice. “Are you hungry?”

“Aren’t I always?” Oscar groans, sleep haze blocking his sense of common courtesy – like apologizing for whatever he did that brought him here or thanking George for offering him food in the first place. 

Still, George must find it amusing, because he laughs softly and gestures his head back so Oscar will follow him. And of course he does, 

“I figured as much,” George talks behind his back, walking Oscar through his apartment until they’ve reached the kitchen counter, opening the microwave and placing the plate of scrambled eggs and fruits there, gesturing for Oscar to sit. “I obviously didn’t heat up the fruits, by the way. I’m not a psycho, I just plated that. I kept in the microwave because flies sometimes-”

“Hey, it’s fine. I would eat this even if you were a psycho who did heat up strawberries,” Oscar says, too earnestly to be kidding, and sits where George mentioned him to. He’s already eating before he remembers his manners once again, swallowing fast so he doesn’t talk around a mouthful. “Thank you, by the way. For this and for… I don’t actually remember what happened yesterday, actually. But still. Thanks. And maybe sorry?”

“I said I got you yesterday, and I did,” George shrugs like it’s not a big deal, and maybe to him it isn’t. “You’re never much trouble, anyway. Besides, I still owed you for that time in the cottage.”

“You remember that?” Oscar says, forgetting to chew for a second and getting all the more flustered because of it. 

“Me out of my mind on speed rubbing my cock all over you? Yeah, I do,” George says, seeming genuinely embarrassed for the first time Oscar’s ever seen. For once, Oscar is not the only one flushed between them – he can see the color on his cheeks now that George looks back at him, laying against the counter so their eyes can meet. “I’m sorry about that, by the way. I wouldn’t have done it if I wasn’t out of my mind, but I know that’s not an excuse.”

“I mean, you weren’t really doing that. Or at least it didn’t feel like it,” Oscar says, because it’s true. Had it happened the way George said, Oscar would have probably come in his pants right then and there – and he hadn’t, so. “At least your boyfriend was there, right? Who, by the way, I’m sorry that you guys-”

“Boyfriend?” George scrunches up his eyebrows, somehow looking ever hotter now that he seems confused. “You mean Alex?”

“Yeah?” Oscar says, now confused as well. 

“Alex wasn’t my boyfriend,” George states matter-of-factly. “He’s just… Alex. We hook up sometimes. It’s nothing. We haven’t done it since then, I don’t think. That’s what you kids thought? That we were boyfriends?”

“Oh my god, I knew it!” Oscar exclaims louder than he means to, cutlery clacking to his almost empty plate. “Fred told me you told him you guys broke up, that you had been dating forever, but I knew-”

“So you’ve been talking about me, huh?” George laughs, back to amused again. When Oscar doesn’t answer him for a beat or two, flush spreading down his neck, George adds: “My nephew is just taking whatever I say and running with it, I guess. I told him I was broken up with, by the way. Not by Alex, mind you.  It was some other guy. And it wasn’t even that serious.”

“So you’re single?” Oscar mumbles before his mind can catch up to his mouth. 

George grins wider. “Yeah. Why?”

Oscar is in Goerge’s apartment, who has rescued him from whatever mess he’d gotten into the day before and has fed him and has been maybe grinning too wide for it to not be flirting. 

Oscar is in George’s apartment and he has a terrible, terrible crush on him for years now and maybe this is the only shot he’ll ever get at doing something about it. 

Oscar is in George’s apartment, and he knows George likes to be manhandled and maybe right now is the only chance he’ll get to use that to his advantage. 

For once, Oscar lets his body run free of his mind, letting go of all instinct of self preservation so he can round up the counter and press George the rest of the way against it, hardening cock against his perfectly round bum in a way that will certainly be sexual harassment if George isn’t as into it as Oscar really, really hopes he is. 

“Guess why,” is what Oscar’s mouth settles on saying, mind having been put to rest for once in his life when he finally touches George. 

“Is this payback for me rubbing my cock on you?” George says, and his words alone would terrify Oscar if they hadn’t been clipped by a low groan that sounded more moan than anything. 

Oscar presses more, fully hard now. It makes an indent where it fits against George's insultingly small shorts. “And if it is?”

Another groan, softer this time. “How old are you again?”

“Twenty.”

“You know I’m almost thirty, right?”

“Fuck if I care.”

Another press. Another groan.

A moan, soft as ever. 

George pushes back, shifting so he’s no longer facing away from Oscar, towering a bit over him now that he’s not leaned against the counter anymore. Oscar looks up at him like he’s looking at a god right in the flesh. 

“Look, not that I’m not enjoying all this attitude all of a sudden. I am. I was wondering when you were gonna do it, and here you are,” George says, hands reaching up to push Oscar’s shoulder a tad bit back, not enough that Oscar leaves his space exactly but enough for them to properly stare at each other. “But I’m-”

“My best friend’s uncle,” Oscar fills in the gaps, already guessing where this will go. “I know. I don’t really care. I won’t tell him, I promise.”

“That’s great and all, but not at all what I was going to say,” George laughs, one of those genuine laughs of his. Their cocks are touching and George is hard too, visibly so. “I meant to say that, I’m pretty sure that your coworker roofied you yesterday, or at least gave you xanax and told you it was something else. Or even you’re inexperienced enough to not know not to take a downer when you’re around people you don’t know-”

“Hey, I’m not-”

“I’m not saying you are,” George says calmly, like he’s appeasing a dog. “I’m saying I’m sure you took a downer, knowingly or not, and maybe we shouldn’t be fucking just yet?

“But I’m fine, I-”

“Not saying you’re not,” George interrupts again. “But you can see how bad this looks for me, right? Friend’s uncle brings roofied twenty year old to his house and fucks him.”

“Who says you’ll be the one fucking me?” Oscar presses forward once again, breaking the space between them that George had built. 

And then he doesn’t say anything else, grabbing George by the scruff of his neck and properly kissing him like he’s dreamed of doing the moment he saw him at 17. 

There’s enough of him he can get in his mouth, but he tries to – kissing every new spot he found and savoring the little moans and groans they pull from George. From his neck to his shoulder to the back of his ear to up his mouth again. 

He’s making a trail down his pec, intention clear, when George pulls him up by the top of his hair, shaking his head. 

“You shouldn’t-”

“I want to. So bad. Fuck, please,” Oscar says because he’s not above begging, never was. 

George groans and then nods, but he hasn’t let go of Oscar’s hair so he can’t fall to his knees like he wants to yet. 

“Okay, Oscar. Be a good boy and open up your mouth,” George says, resolve finally gone. It’s the second time he’s called him that, the first so long ago, the first day they met, Oscar could barely recall the shape of it. He commits how George’s mouth moves around the words to memory. 

He opens up his mouth. 

He’s expecting George to push him down, maybe allow him to go down himself. 

What he does, instead, is lean close enough that their noses touch, bodies flush against each other, and spit right inside of Oscar’s mouth. Some of it spills from the corner of his lips, but most of it Oscar manages to keep on top of his tongue.

He almost comes from that alone. He’s about to close his mouth and swallow George’s spit when the hand on top of his head moves down to his chin, holding his mouth open. 

“Don’t swallow. I wanna see you go down on my cock with my spit in your mouth.”

Oscar has to squeeze the base of his cock with all the layers of his clothes so he doesn’t come on his pants. Preleak makes a stain all the way to the sweats he’s wearing, which he just now realizes aren’t his own. 

George barely has time to let go of his face until Oscar’s knees are swinging to the ground, mouth hanging open as he pulls George’s shorts and briefs down in one go. His head is already leaking when Oscar welcomes it inside his mouth, swallowing down the rest of his length until the short hairs at George’s base are scratching his nose and all of his cock is slick with George’s own spit. 

Oscar is only the messenger between George’s mouth and his cock, and he makes good use of it – bobbing his head up and down until he’s almost gagging every time. 

George is already moaning the minute he’s got his mouth on him, but the sounds increase in volume when Oscar moves his hand to hold to middle of George’s exposed legs, fingers making indents on his golden flesh as he uses the levarage to move George’s body and fuck his own mouth with is. 

Oscar recognizes the moans from that night at the cottage and gets instant gratification to know he’s the one pulling them from George. 

It doesn’t take long, or maybe it takes forever. Oscar is so lost in it he’s lost all notion of time, throat raw and unrelenting the deeper he makes George fuck his mouth. 

George’s cock is so far down the back of his throat he can barely feel the taste of his cum when George eventually reaches his climax. milking every drop until George is trembling with oversensitivity. 

Oscar only realizes how much his knees were hurting and how raw his throat feels when he tries standing up and ends up groaning. 

“Do you want me to-” George starts, still half blissed out, looking pointedly at the bulge on Oscar’s sweats. 

“Oh, I already did,” Oscar admits, barely acknowledging how he virtually came untouched before George did while he sucked on his cock. “But I can get hard again, if you want to.”

George laughs, raspy and genuine and maybe even realer than Oscar had seen before. “Jesus, you young people. Give me a second and I’ll be good for it.”

“No rush, uncle George,” Oscar laughs, all cheeky now. Maybe the most confident he’s ever felt, even with cum dripping down his legs. 

“Oi, shut up, you,” George nudges him, laughing harder. 

Somewhere between the way he grins, all commercial like, white teeth on full display, and the moment he gives his signature wink just as he’s going down on his knees, Oscar realizes he should probably call George that again some other time. 

Maybe with his cock on his mouth, cum staining his cheeks the moment George pulls his pants down, hardening cock slapping him on the cheek. 

Oscar has the impression George would like that. 

Uncle George.