Chapter Text
From then on, it's a whirlwind of impromptu blow jobs and nonsensical text messages.
On Sunday, they spend the day procrastinating. But in the evening, they end up catching up on homework. Oliver helps Connor with Macroeconomics, and Connor helps Oliver with English Lit. It's a nice tradeoff, Oliver being handy with anything dealing with business, Connor pretty useful when poetry analysis is a topic.
But they also end up distracting each other. Connor's fingers all over Oliver captures all of the older boy's attention. Unfortunate, seeing as he needs to finish his homework. Oliver distracts Connor by just being himself, with wide smiles and awkward giggles, tripping over his words and all.
On Tuesday, their text messaging becomes a game of who can make the silliest smileys without the help of the emoji app.
[To Connor]: :(
[To Oliver]: :)
[To Connor]: :p
[To Oliver]: >:3
[To Connor]: .___.
[To Oliver]: .-.
[To Connor]: o_e
[To Oliver]: @_@
[To Connor]: =_=
[To Oliver]: ^___^
[To Connor]: :[]
[To Oliver]: o.-
[To Connor]: o.O
[To Oliver]: O.o
[To Connor]: No copying!
[To Oliver]: I didn't copy, I mirrored!
[To Connor]: Same shit. >:[
[To Oliver]: <( '-' )>
[To Connor]: ಠ_ಠ
[To Oliver]: Cheater! But okay, okay, okay. You win!
[To Oliver]: Celebrate? 8===D ~~~~~
[To Connor]: C O N N O R ! >:[
[To Connor]: Maybe after class...
***
The first time they do it is quick and messy and all lust with no emotion. It also happens in the backseat of Connor's car.
It's nighttime, and they've spent the majority of their Wednesday in the library, doing homework and studying for upcoming tests and quizzes. They're driving to Oliver's apartment now to lounge around.
"You don't even need to study," Oliver proclaims as the light turns red. "I'm sort of jealous of your brain, to be perfectly honest."
"Everyone needs to study," Connor says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "But other people can afford to study less because of a strong memory."
"Definitely," Oliver agrees wholeheartedly. "Let's take you, for example. Your ability to pass any given test with time to study is 98%."
When Oliver looks at Connor, it's to see the shorter boy look affronted. "That's a miscalculation. Where did the remaining 2% go?"
"Well, in a perfect situation, you wouldn't have anything else to deal with. Which would boost your chances up to 99.6%. But this is real life, and there are plenty things to stop you from passing."
"And what, may I ask, would stop me from getting what I want?" The light is still red, and Oliver pushes his glasses up as he begins his explanation.
"There is a plethora of things that can distract you. For one, you have other classes to focus on as well. Testing often occurs within the same week. There's a definite chance that you'll gloss over a small but significant detail in your studying. Being it all on the same week, you would probably stay up for hours memorizing details and factoids. A possible late awakening? There can also be an instance of lack of sleep--this is probably second most impeding in your situation. Not to mention, unforeseen events of possible but improbable friend or family death. But most importantly, for your situation anyway, sex, or lack thereof, can have serious consequences on someone who's sexually active."
Connor is staring at him with something akin to admiration. Oliver looks back, hopes Connor sees just how much he appreciates his patience with Oliver's love for statistics. They only break their gaze when the car behind them honks. The light is green, and they're both laughing. Connor gases it, and it's only two minutes before they stop at a random parking lot.
"Why are we-" But Oliver doesn't get to say much else because Connor is taking off his clothes. And Oliver takes the hint. He takes his clothes off too, and they move to the back seat where they explore each other's body with their tongue. Oliver is on his back, Connor hovering over him as they kiss passionately. Slowly, the windows become tinted with steam. Connor gives Oliver's body what seems to be thousands of tiny kisses, and Oliver is heady with it. He's lightheaded with how good Connor's tongue feels against his body, on his dick, playing with his balls.
The car is filled with little noises, gasps, and exhalations. It doesn't take long before Connor is reaching for something inside his backpack. Oliver leans up to express his love for Connor's neck and clavicle. It's a really smooth-looking neck, okay? It's a bit salty, from perspiration Oliver presumes, but otherwise tastes like nothing.
Connor lets out an "aha" when he finds what he's looking for. And out comes a bottle of lube.
"Relax," Connor says expertly. He opens the the bottle with one hand and pours it into the other. Connor lets some spill onto Oliver's dick, and the taller boy lets out a gasp as his cock gives an interested twitch. The lube is cold, and he feels it's lack of heat even more when Connor's fingers massage his hole. As he does that, he begins to stroke Oliver's dick, and Oliver is in no position of control, but he takes it anyway.
When Connor pushes a finger in, Oliver winces. But it doesn't take long for his ass to accommodate it, for his ass to identify it not as intruder but as a visitor. Soon enough, the ache becomes a presence. And when Oliver pushes back, Connor takes the hint because this time he pulls it out and inserts three.
Oliver's gasp is loud in the silence, and Connor shushes him sweetly. He twists his fingers, and Oliver mules. When Connor pushes it in again, he makes a hooking motion, and it hits near Oliver's prostate.
His back arches of its own accord, and when he looks up, it's to see Connor's sly smirk. "Found it."
Connor peels the condom wrapper, which, when did he even get that? He spreads lube on his dick before rolling the condom on and then adds a little more just for Oliver's comfort. They stare at each other as Connor lines himself up. Oliver thinks Connor is asking permission with his eyes, and Oliver answers it by biting Connor's lips. As he does, Connor slides in slowly.
It's not bad at all, just a little sting. He's sure about 85% of the pain was weakened due to Connor's fingering. When Connor is fully seated, Oliver grabs onto Connor's back.
"Move," he commands.
"Gladly," Connor answers quickly, and begins with long, deep thrusts. It doesn't take long before he's converting to short, shallow thrusts. Oliver scratches Connor's back because with each push of his pelvis, Connor's penis hits Oliver's prostate. And god, Oliver feels so full, and it feels so amazing that he gets lost in the feeling of it all.
"Holy fuck, you're so tight," Connor breathes out in between thrusts. The only thing Oliver can hear is their heavy breathing and the steady slap of wet skin against wet skin.
He doesn't know how much time has passed when he feels the familiar spark at the base of his spine. Doesn't care how much time has passed, because Connor is still pushing in and out with a wild look in his eyes. He's still thrusting when Oliver comes, sure Connor can feel it when Oliver squeezes. He lets out a long moan as strings of white come shoot out of Oliver penis, covering them both with his sperm. It feels like the longest orgasm he's had, spanning what feels like minutes upon minutes. When Connor is close, he pulls out and rips off the condom. He immediately brings his hand on his dick, jerks it off as quick as he was thrusting into Oliver. It only takes seven pulls of his palm before he's coming.
Connor has one hand on his perineum, the other stroking his dick as he shoots out his manly fluids. He's looking up at the ceiling with his eyes closed, eyes shut tight, and Oliver is suddenly reminded of the Connor in the library, coming inside the Other Guy's mouth.
Connor cleans them up with one of the dirty shirts he has in his car, and Oliver wonders if that's there for a reason. If that has traces of someone's DNA that's neither his nor Connor's. He doesn't spend any more time thinking about that though, just lets Connor take care of him after their high.
When they're done and ready to go back home, they don't say much. It's not an awkward silence though; it's comfortable. And Oliver just takes it for what it is--amazing sex between two men.
***
They've been meeting in the library on a daily basis. Which was probably why Connor was asking him to come to the library around Thursday afternoon when he doesn't show up. Incidentally, the reason is that Scott, his partner in a project for his Intermediate Programming class, wanted to work together that same afternoon. Which was why as soon as Connor walked out Differential Equations, he was pulled away by Scott to the nearest McDonalds.
They're debating which programming language to use when Oliver feels his phone vibrating in his pocket. When he takes it out, he sees Connor's name flashing in front of a selfie they took together.
"Yello," Oliver says in greeting.
"Hey, you getting something to eat?" Connor asks.
"Uhm, I'm at McDonalds right now." Oliver answers, unsure where this conversation is heading.
"Cool, get me a McChicken, will ya."
"Well, where are you?"
"In the library...?" Connor replies, confused.
"I won't be going to the library today, will be finishing a project with Scott." Oliver says it almost unwillingly. There's silence on the other line, and Oliver wonders if they've been disconnected.
"Oh, no need to bring me food then," Connor says slowly. "I'll talk to you later, actually. I see Wes coming."
Oliver has heard that name more than once, usually accompanied by the likes of Asher, Laurel, and Michaela. It's when Connor does recollections of his Criminal Justice class, and Oliver finds it interesting because there are always new things occurring and adorable because seeing Connor so frustrated and put out is sort of the cutest thing ever.
Connor and Oliver don't text until they fall asleep that day.
***
Sex has become an almost daily thing, anal and oral. After class. At Oliver's place. In the the nearest bathroom. At the heart of the library. Oliver wonders how their lips aren't chapped from kissing so much, or why their throats aren't sore after sucking so much dick. Oliver is always the one who bottoms though, but that's okay. He likes the way it makes him feel full.
It's two weeks after their Applebee's date when they plan a movie night.
Oliver has finished cleaning up, living room spotless, dinner table wiped clean, bed made with no unnecessary objects on the floor. There are blankets and pillows on the couch. Connor rings the doorbell at around 7:30 pm, and Oliver suddenly feels light.
He looks through the peephole to make sure it's Connor, and sure enough, Oliver sees the familiar pale skin and dark hair. When Oliver opens the door, he's greeted by a Connor with Batman pajamas holding a stack of what seems to be the whole Harry Potter series.
"Nice pajamas," Oliver compliments him.
"Is that sarcasm, I hear?" Connor smirks as he pokes Oliver on the chest.
"All genuine," Oliver clears up with his hands up in surrender.
"Where are yours?" Connor asks petulantly, and if Oliver didn't know any better, he'd say Connor is actually slightly upset that Oliver isn't wearing pajamas.
"I usually sleep shirtless." Oliver remarks. But he doesn't get to say much else because there's a clatter on the floor and Connor is kissing him messily. It's not long before the two move to the couch, movies all but forgotten on the carpet.
Once lying down, they take time exploring each other's mouths. Connor is resting on top of Oliver, hands roaming all over the taller boy's upper body. Oliver just places his palms on Connor's ass, massages it as he pushes up to their kiss. It's addicting, the way Connor's tongue slides against the top row of Oliver's teeth. The way Connor thrusts shallowly, not enough to make them wild, but just enough to make the presence of their hard penises known. The way Connor would stop for a millisecond to gasp at the feeling of Oliver's fingers travelling up the expanse of his back.
"We should-" Connor is kissing Oliver's neck.
"probably-" Connor is licking Oliver's neck.
"watch-" Connor is sucking Oliver's neck.
"the movies." Connor is biting Oliver's neck.
When Connor comes back up, he looks disheveled, but still devilishly good looking.
"Right," He gasps after a quick breath. "Movie night, and all."
They break away and start movie night.
"Why Harry Potter anyway?" Oliver asks as he's preparing the popcorn. He's actually impressed because he's a pretty big Harry Potter fan.
"Don't tell me you don't like Harry Potter," Connor threats in the most serious tone. "Because if you don't, I swear I'll kick you out of your own apartment."
Oliver scoffs. "I happen to be a huge fan of Harry Potter. But you do know the series averages at, like, two and a half hours per movie, right?"
"What's your point?" Connor questions with a raised eyebrow.
"Well, 2.5 multiplied by 8 is 20. The whole series will take 20 hours; it won't exactly be a movie night but rather a whole movie day."
He thinks he hears Connor mutter something along the lines of "Well, we'll just spend 20 hours together then."
"What?" Oliver isn't sure if he heard correctly.
"I said we should start with the Prisoner of Azkaban, then."
"Why start with the third movie? It takes away all sense of structure. The first two were the first two for a reason, you know."
"Yeah, but like you said, we don't have 20 hours. I'm sure you've already watched them anyway, so why waste anymore time." Connor takes out the DVD from it's case and turns on Oliver's TV. "Plus, it's when Daniel Radcliffe started looking really hot."
Which, yeah, that's sort of true.
"Noted," Oliver says as he takes out one cooked popcorn bag out of the microwave and replaces it with another.
When they start the movie, Oliver doesn't know what to do. Should he initiate a cuddle? Should he sit next to Connor or the love seat to the right? He takes the seat to the right, and is mildly surprised when Connor says something because of it.
"What are you doing?" Connor asks, confused.
"What do you mean?" Oliver answers with another question.
"Come over here," Connor gesturing for him to sit next to him. Oliver stands up, all of a sudden feels unstable in his long limbs. When he takes his place next to Connor, the other boy leans over and puts his hand in the bowl. "I want some popcorn too."
Oliver and Connor recite some lines because they're geeks, and they grew up watching and reading Harry Potter.
"I trusted you!" They shout in unison along with Hermione. "And all this time, you've been his friend."
A sense of joy and contentment passes through every pore of Oliver's body, and he doesn't remember ever feeling so light and weightless. He sneaks looks at Connor, zeroes in on the way his face is bright with interest, sees the glint in his eye as he watches the movie avidly. It feels like he stares at Connor for a lifetime, but he's proven incorrect when Sirius Black's comes screaming from his TV.
"I DID MY WAITING!" Connor is saying it with him, and Oliver decides to join because this is one of the lines he really enjoys reciting. "TWELVE YEARS OF IT! IN AZKABAN!"
They both chuckle. Oliver because he feels like a teenager again, and Connor because he doesn't remember ever feeling so at home.
When Robert Pattinson comes into view in the fourth movie, they both a breathe a sigh.
"He's so handsome," Oliver says into the night.
"So handsome," Connor agrees. If Oliver had looked at Connor, he would've seen him gazing at Oliver already. But he doesn't, and Connor's compliment is gone into the night.
When Cedric Diggory dies, Oliver tells himself he doesn't cry. His eyes are just wet from the brightness of the screen. He doesn't remember putting his arms around Connor's middle, or placing his head on Connor's shoulder, or Connor winding his arms around Oliver's shoulder. But here they are, huddled together for warmth and for the unconscious desire to be in physical contact with the other. Oliver doesn't make it a bigger deal that it is, and he does this by not pointing it out. Instead, he just relishes in the feel of it, the safety that exudes from Connor's embrace, the warmth that seeps between the cloths that separate them.
He burrows his head into Connor's neck, hit by a faint scent of spice, coffee beans, and honey. He lets the tears fall for a bit. Connor rubs his back and plays with his hair. Oliver doesn't remember falling asleep, but he must have because the next time he opens his eyes, it's to see the screen turned on but blank, Connor asleep while sitting on the couch right next to him. They're under a blanket, and Oliver stands up.
He doesn't want to wake Connor, but he knows Connor will have a sore body if he stays asleep like that.
"Connor," Oliver tries softly, hands poking at the boy's cheek. "Connor, wake up."
Connor stirs awake, eyes opening slowly. And when his eyes make contact with Oliver's, he smiles. It's still crooked, left still higher than the right. But there's softness in the crinkles of Connor's eyes, and Oliver thinks this is the first time he's seen Connor's smile so genuine.
"Time's'it?" Connor asks as he rubs his eyes.
"I don't know, but you should probably sleep lying down, lest you get a sore back with a crick on your neck tomorrow."
Connor shrugs okay and stands up, holding the pillows with one arm, pulling at the blanket with one hand and Oliver in tow with the other. They head to the bedroom. It's the first time they're going to sleep together, and Oliver doesn't really know what to do with himself.
Connor just falls onto the bed, exhausted from this whole week probably. Oliver finds comfort in the way Connor just does what he wants in his apartment. In the way he sleeps on Oliver's bed, on his stomach with a set of arms and legs stretched wide as if hugging an invisible pillow. Oliver slides in and makes it so that the blanket covers both of them.
He faces his back to Connor, unsure if the boy is comfortable with sleeping like newlyweds.
Oliver lets his thoughts flow in the silence, wonders what exactly it is he has with Connor. They haven't claimed they were exclusive, but Oliver hasn't been with anyone else. And Oliver is almost sure that neither has Connor, but the possibility of it leaves a bitter taste in Oliver's mouth. Are they boyfriends? They haven't made it official with anything, but it sure feels like they are. Are they friends with benefits? That's what this seems most like. Except, there's a lingering voice in Oliver's mind telling him he wants more than that. And maybe there's some emotion involved. And Oliver doesn't want to think anymore, afraid he'll think of something he doesn't want to think about.
It helps when Connor's arms find his way onto Oliver's stomach, even more when they pull him closer to Connor's chest. This time, Oliver can't help but think. Not all that emotions, relationship, friends with benefits junk. That makes his brains hurt. What he thinks of is the light breath playing at the back of his neck, ghosting so gently that it makes Oliver's hair stand up. He thinks of the leg pushed between his, tangled with one of Oliver's, likes the heat of the skin to skin contact. He thinks of the arms holding him tightly, how secure he feels against the chest pushing behind him.
Connor kisses the back of his neck, before saying in the softest voice. "Didn't you say you sleep shirtless?"
Oliver snickers but does as he's asked. They fall asleep quite soundly.
***
Oliver is in a happy mood when he hears it. Happy because Connor stayed over for the first time.
He wakes up to soft mutters. Oliver feels the other side of the bed to find Connor not there. It's still warm though, so it must have only been minutes since Connor had gotten off the bed. He's about to stand up when he hears movement in the bathroom. And it's not in his nature to eavesdrop, but it's the middle of the night, and the silence is so thick that it's easily broken by Connor's voice.
"Yeah, he's totally cool," Connor says enthusiastically. "I'm excited."
Oliver begins to wonder what exactly Connor is talking about. Who's cool? What's exciting? There's a bad feeling stirring in his stomach, but he pushes it away to listen to Connor, curiosity piqued.
"He's great." Connor says in what's possibly the sweetest voice Oliver's ever heard it. "He's extremely smart too, like probably has an IQ greater than mine."
Oliver wonders who Connor is talking about. He knows he's smart, but he's not sure if his brains could even match up to Connor's. Sure, Oliver specializes in code and his skills in math is off the charts, but he's above average in everything else. Whereas Connor excels in all of the subjects. There's a possibility that it's him, but that thought bubble is popped as soon as he hears the next sentence that comes out of Connor's mouth.
"And he's really handsome too, like, the most attractive man I've seen in quite a while." Oliver's heart plummets. He knows he's not bad on the eyes, but there is definitely no way that Connor considers him the most good looking man he's seen in a while. Surely there are plenty of hotter guys out there given any night in any club. And Connor, being the hot shit that he is, could snatch said person any day. And that's probably what happened too.
"He's talented in everything that he does," Connor says so proudly. "Like, even in bed."
Never has Connor ever told Oliver that he was good at having sex, or even complimented any of his skill in sexual activities. Oliver swallows deeply, certain now that Connor is doing other things with other people, and doesn't just the thought of that hurt? He thinks it hurts so much that his lungs feel numb. His eyes feel suspiciously gritty, and Oliver knows he's too old to cry, but that doesn't mean the tears will stop in their tracks.
"Yeah, and people stare at him when we go pla-"
Oliver has had enough of whatever Connor is talking about. He shuts his eyes as tightly as he can, hopes his ears will follow. He burrows his whole head under his pillow, hopes that sleep will overcome soon because there's this feeling of emptiness spreading throughout his body. He's starting to feel like a shell of himself, made only of bones and skin, void of anything other than space, hollow.
The thing is, he knew what he was getting into when he agreed to go to have coffee with Connor. And he's not stupid; stupid is not a word that Oliver likes to associate himself with. But this thing... letting his guard down for this thing with Connor and mixing feelings with sex makes him feel incredibly dumb.
It wasn't as if he expected to change Connor's wild behavior. To be honest with himself, he might have been hoping he was enough for Connor to stop having sex with multiple people at the same time. He wasn't expecting it, just hoping. But Oliver thinks the line between those two actions got blurred so much that he confused one for the other. And look where he is now. He really should have known better. Actually, he did know better. He just got lost in it all--the movie nights and cuddles, and not-dates with his not-boyfriend, and blow jobs in the most random of places.
Looking back at it now, he wonders where he lacked. If it was him who lacked anything or if Connor really just wasn't made for the exclusive relationships. He was so sure too, sure that he and Connor were going steady even if by one tiny step at a time. Doesn't matter now though, because Oliver heard what he needed to hear. Nobody ever said it was the words he wanted heard though.
He doesn't know how he fell asleep, just knows that he did. The last memory he remembers before falling into stupor is himself repeating a couple of different sentences in his mind.
I hate you.
I really, really like you.
I hate that I really, really like you.
Oliver's sure it was stuck on repeat.
When he wakes up, Oliver feels the bed empty once more. Funny how it's been unoccupied the two times he's woken up. It must be a sign of what's soon to come. He should not have gotten careless. He should not have let Connor too close.
Oliver feels really shitty when he gets out of bed. Feel even shittier when it takes him more than three minutes just to find his thick, round glasses. The journey to the kitchen feels excruciatingly long, each step seemingly lengthier than the one before. Everything looks to be in slow motion, and Oliver is getting dizzy from it all. His throat is itchy, and he feels like clawing at it. He can't swallow though, because there seems to be a big lump stuck in it. And every time he tries to breathe, it feels like his nose won't let him. His nose must be runny, and god, Oliver can't feel any worse than he does now.
When he does get to the kitchen, Connor is in nothing but his tank top and boxers topped by a flowery apron that Oliver only ever uses when he feels like baking. He has his headphones on, singing quite horribly to a Taylor Swift song. Oliver remembers assuming that Connor was a top-40 kind of guy, and he is proven correct when the other boy starts dancing, spinning with a spatula in hand, arms spread out wide, skin looking sunkissed in the dim light.
His voice cracks when he sings his fifth "shake it off," and Oliver lets out a whimper. He's thinking of all that they could have been. Living together at 30 and dancing to catchy songs. Together at 35 and waking up together with morning kisses softer than the touch of a butterfly. Together at 40 doing their annual spring cleaning. Together at 50 making each other breakfast. Together at 60 with silver bands shining in the morning sun as they sit around and watch the news.
Oliver doesn't know how long he stares at Connor's graceful figure, dancing in his kitchen looking very much at home, comfortable and within himself. All he knows now is the feeling that's blooming in his chest. It's refreshingly new but familiar all the same. And Oliver does nothing to hide what he's sure is pure admiration written across his face. It's only a matter of time before this is gone, he knows, he might as well savor it now.
It must have been decades that Connor stands in Oliver's kitchen, dancing to his heart's content, looking like the luckiest man in the world. But it only feels like milliseconds, because time comes too soon when Connor notices Oliver with his arms crossed and calmly against the wall. Oliver schools his face to something close to expressionless. He at least wants to end things with dignity, promises to do this as quickly as he possibly can.
"Oliver!" Connor exclaims. "I-I, uhm. You didn't see that did you?"
And god, how good does it feel to make Connor squirm.
"See what?" Oliver smirks and adjusts his glasses up, only for it to slide down to the same place in approximately two seconds.
"Oh," Connor is quick to reply. "Nothing. Just, nothing."
Oliver allows him a few seconds to let his guard down before spouting a scathing reply. "Nice dance moves, by the way."
Goddamnit, he just can't help but keep coming back to the good stuff. Oliver needs to stop flirting with Connor, even if his dancing was adorable.
"I- you said! And I believed- Oliver!" Connor splutters ungracefully. His cheeks flushes pink, and Oliver has to keep his mind occupied by something else other than the fact that this is the cutest he's ever seen Connor, half naked and embarrassed.
"Anyway," Connor scratches the back of his neck, refusing to look anywhere near Oliver's face. "I, uhm, made you breakfast."
Oliver's heart flutters in his chest, and his lungs feel like a balloon being blown up with sugary bubbles. Before he can say anything about breakfast though, he charges on as he promised he would.
He says it like how one would rip a bandaid from a wound, quick and hopefully painless. "I think you should go home for today."
Connor is taken by surprise, and it's not the good kind either. His eyes are wide, eyebrows furrowed and worried. He takes a while to say anything.
"Yeah," He replies absentmindedly. Oliver thinks he hears unwillingness in his answer, but he doesn't ponder on that. At least, he won't right now. "Okay. Yeah, I... I have a lot to catch up on anyway. After breakfast though, right?"
Oliver takes a long moment to say his answer. He already knows what it'll be anyway, just wishes he was stronger than this. "Of course."
Connor stares at Oliver for a long time, and Oliver feels extremely uncomfortable being on the receiving end of those eyes. As he looks back though, he sees a glint flash before Connor's irises, and before he even has any time to think about what that means, Connor is already taking off his apron and sauntering quite attractively towards Oliver. He's immediately taken back to the fifth time he saw Connor, when mischief was written on Connor's smirk and deviousness was bright in Connor's eyes.
Oliver has always thought he liked this Connor, but upon closer inspection, he realizes he doesn't like this Connor very much. It reminds him of the Connor that played with people's heart, and Oliver wonders if that's exactly what he's doing to Oliver.
Arms connect around Oliver's neck, and Oliver is taken surprise by a face full of Connor. Passion is almost tangible in the way they kiss. Competition is apparent in the way their tongues fight for dominance. Desire is in every inch they're connected, from their toes to their thighs, from their chests to their lips, in the way Oliver has his hands on Connor's hips, in the way Connor has his arms around Oliver's neck--Oliver is selfish. He doesn't want this to end.
When Connor pulls away, he's smiling. When Oliver pulls away, he refrains from it. Connor takes Oliver's hand and leads him to the table.
"Sit still, I'll get breakfast ready." Oliver wants to ask why Connor is doing all this when he's doing other things with other people. He's kind of mean, if Oliver is to be honest. Connor is leading him on, giving him hope that they will be... exclusive, and Oliver doesn't know what to do with that. Connor moves around Oliver's kitchen as if it's his, like he's at home, and Oliver feels an ache bloom in his chest. He takes a picture when Connor isn't looking, and Oliver thinks it's the prettiest picture he's ever seen.
Connor's finished setting the food, plates of burnt eggs and toasty hotdogs sit before them. The toast is a little burnt, but Oliver eats them all the same. Oliver doesn't look at Connor, knows he won't be able to let him go if he watches him too much.
"-do you think?" Connor's voice wakes him from his thoughts.
"I'm sorry, what?" There's a sound of exasperation coming from Connor's general vicinity, and it's only then that Oliver looks towards him.
"I was asking..." Connor begins but never finishes. Oliver would wonder later what he was asking, guilty that he didn't listen. "Never mind, I'll just-"
Connor's phone is loud and blaring between them. He takes the call and wanders to the corner. From the language of his body, Oliver assumes it's not good news. He's proven correct when a few seconds later, Connor is hurrying to the bedroom. When he comes back he's fully dressed.
"Professor Keating wants everyone back to her house, says they've found something that might prove our client's innocence." Connor says as explanation. Oliver stands up and goes to the door, leading Connor out.
"I'll be back for dinner, okay, babe?" Oliver is frozen still when Connor kisses him goodbye the way a husband would do his wife, and Oliver is so so so confused. He doesn't know how long he stands there with the door open because the next moment he recollects his thoughts, Connor is already gone.
***
Oliver spends the whole day wandering about his apartment. His thoughts keep coming back to Connor, though that's probably due to the fact that he's been staring at the picture of Connor he took in the morning.
He wonders if it would be better if he hadn't heard the conversation at all.
It's sort of pathetic, the way Oliver can't seem to find anything to do. He's trying very hard not to answer Connor's text. He hasn't opened them, remembers the first lines of each text like tattoo on his skin.
[To Oliver]: I don't want to spend the day with these sorry ass losers. What did I-
[To Oliver]: Asher Millstone is the biggest asshole I've ever seen; I swear to fucking-
[To Oliver]: Wes told me about this awesome Thai place just off of 23rd. I think we-
Oliver doesn't know how he finishes all his homework, just that he does. He doesn't remember how he ate dinner, but he must have because there are takeout boxes on the table, and he feels full. He also doesn't recall even pulling up Connor's picture, but lo and behold. Connor's silhouette is apparent in Oliver's screen.
What he does remember, though, is the way his heart accelerated downward like being pulled by gravity after hearing that conversation. What he does recall is the way Connor seemed so proud talking about that person. What he does know is that it's not him, but oh, he wishes.
The next text is short enough that he can read it in its entirety without opening the message app.
[To Oliver]: Hello? Did you lose your phone? Have you been busy all day?
Hey. No. Thinking of you. He doesn't text it, allows himself to think them. When all of them go unanswered, Connor sends one last text that day.
[To Oliver]: Good night, Ollie.
Oliver doesn't cry. He gets pretty close to it though.
***
When he wakes up the next day, there's another text notification from Connor.
[To Oliver]: Good morning, Ollie. About that Thai place, I really think we should give-
Oliver wants to hide his phone just so he doesn't have to look at it. But that isn't realistic because he needs his phone for practically everything.
It's noon when Oliver gets a phone call. It's from Connor, and Oliver doesn't know what to do with it. So he does nothing, lets his phone blare with all its might.
He gets another barrage of Connor texting, and Oliver really just wants to drown himself. He think that might be a little less suffocating.
Around the evening, Oliver contemplates going out and getting utterly wasted. What did he used to do on his Saturday nights before he met Connor? He doesn't really remember, seems like a lifetime ago.
He ends up going to the nearest bar to get his mind off things, but leaves after half an hour because all of the men there reminds him of Connor. Or maybe it's that Connor is so prominent in his mind that Oliver finds a way to relate Connor to whoever he's speaking to. He's crazy.
When he gets home, the lights stay off. He never really realized just how silent his apartment is, how spacious it is for just one person. He doesn't bother getting off his clothes, just dumps himself onto his bed.
Later that night, he gets another text.
[To Oliver]: Busy day again? Hope you don't overwork yourself. Good night, Ollie.
Oliver cries.
***
When he wakes up the next day, there's no text notifications from Connor.
And while Oliver thinks it's better this way, it definitely isn't less painful.
Oliver wants to keep his phone in his pocket. It's because he needs his phone for practically everything. It's certainly not because he's waiting for a message from a certain someone that he probably won't open anyway.
It's noon when Oliver gets a phone call. It's from Scott, and Oliver knows exactly what to do with it. As much as he wants to press the green button and invite him over, he does nothing instead, lets his phone cry with all its might.
He thinks he gets another barrage of text messages, feels his phone vibrating. But when he takes out his phone to check, there are no new text messages. Oliver really just wants to drown himself. He thinks he misses the feeling of being suffocated.
Around the evening, Oliver contemplates going out and stuffing himself with Thai food. What did he used to do on his Sunday nights before he met Connor? He thinks he remembers doing homework, but it feels like a lifetime ago, blurry.
He ends up going to the Thai place he thinks Connor is talking about, but leaves after half an hour because apparently the waiter thought he was waiting for someone and set two glasses of water on the table. He thinks he sees Connor outside, but it's just another guy with pale skin and dark hair. Oliver's insane.
When he gets home, he turns on the light. He wants to hear Connor singing in the kitchen, wants to see Connor dancing in his tank top. He doesn't bother getting himself ready for bed, just lies down silently against the mattress.
It's two hours before midnight, and there is no good night text from Connor.
It's late in the evening when he gets a phone call from his mom. Oliver takes it, because he misses her. It's also because he's feeling a little lonely, but he doesn't want to admit it. They talk about school, how Oliver is doing in all his classes. They move on to his living situation, if Oliver is eating plenty. When his mother asks about boys, Oliver immediately finds a way to get out of it. Thankfully, someone rings the doorbell and he's saved from talking about pretty boys with sly smirks and dashing good looks.
When he looks through the peephole, he's greeted with a pretty boy, not wearing his usual sly smirk, and is still good looking but not dashing.
Oliver opens the door, and Connor is quick to grin. His eyes are wild, and Oliver wonders just how much he's changed in the past two days.
Upon closer inspection, Oliver notices that Connor isn't as he seems. Under the fluorescent light of the hallway, Connor's usually milky skin looks like it's starting to lack washing. His cherry pink lips is pale, as if not enough blood has gone through it. His piercing eyes are surrounded by bags, dark and heavy. His hair looks sticky and not in it's usual style. Connor's jawline is thick with scruff; Oliver hopes it's not from lack of time to shave. There's manic look from him, and Oliver thinks it's from stress and over-thinking. He also thinks he himself probably doesn't look much better.
"Hey," Connor greets loudly.
"Hi," Oliver replies cautiously.
"Didn't think you'd answer the door considering you've been refusing to answer my text messages." His words sting, and Oliver probably deserves that. "I'm actually really confused right now, because I thought we were doing fine."
"I think we should stop seeing-" Oliver can't bring himself to say it, but thankfully, Connor interrupts him.
"I enjoyed- I enjoy spending time with you." Oliver is trying to decode Connor.
"For what seems like a really, really long time, I began to remember what it's like to like someone." Connor is very complicated.
"And before you stop whatever we have going on between us..." Connor is stepping inside Oliver's apartment.
"I want you to give me a reason why." Connor is pushing Oliver to the closest wall.
"I think we should stop seeing-"
When Oliver was five, he remembers receiving a gift from Santa by being a really good boy throughout the year. The bicycle that he got made him more than content. It was the first time he felt true, unadulterated happiness. He had worked hard, and the sense to be a good boy has been embedded in his mind ever since.
When Oliver was eleven, he remembers getting straight A's. The year before only graded with 1, 2, and 3's. The line of A's on his report card made him exhilarated. It was the second time he felt true, unadulterated happiness. He had worked hard, and the sense to be a straight A student has been embedded in his mind ever since.
When Oliver was sixteen, he remembers getting his first paycheck. Sure, it was only $248, but it was his and his only. The numbers on his paycheck made him ecstatic. It was the third time he felt true, unadulterated happiness. He had worked hard, and the sense to be a good worker has been embedded in his mind ever since.
Tonight, Oliver wants to feel that same animated feeling for the fourth time. He was once told that when you want something in life, you have to grab it by the balls and don't let go. And while Oliver would very much enjoy literally doing that, he's fine with doing it figuratively.
"-other people."
He feels the whole world stop, keeps his eyes closed in hopes that the next words he hears is the answer he's been wanting all this time, but never reaching for.
"You're kidding, right?"
Welps. That wasn't exactly what he was expecting.
"Look, Connor," Oliver tries to keep himself in check. "I know that you're not used to commitment, but hear me out. I don't mind that you've slept with other people before now, and I'm probably making a fool of myself by asking for this quite late into whatever we have going on, but I don't care."
"Wait, what are-"
"Please let me finish," Oliver turns his back on Connor and walks to the couch, doesn't want to see him when he leaves. "I'd really like for us to be exclusive. But if you don't want that... well, I don't know where to go from there. All I'm certain of right now is that I want you."
When Oliver turns around to look at Connor once more, he's greeted with the most confused expression he's ever seen. Granted, it's still the most attractive.
"What. Are. You. Talking. About?"
"Aren't you sleeping with anyone?" Oliver asks for clarification.
"Yeah," Connor answers as if it's the most obvious question. "You."
"Nobody... else?" Oliver is hopeful.
"No. But there are instances where I find other people attractive and flirt with them from time to time, but I haven't, like, acted upon that attraction." Connor is breathing harshly now, as if just talking about this topic makes him incredibly exhausted.
"But weren't you sleeping with someone 'totally cool' and 'really handsome' and just so happens to be 'the most attractive man you've seen in quite a while'?" As Oliver finishes, Connor is paler than before. His eyes are wide and blown and his hands are shaking. It takes a moment to register that the lack of blood in Connor's face isn't from getting caught, but from anger. He looks livid. His eyes aren't wide and blown but wild and furious. His hands are shaking from tenacity, and Oliver wonders what's going in.
"Please don't tell me this is the reason why you've been avoiding me," Connor says seriously.
"I know you might not think that's it's a bigger deal than it is, but to me, it's-"
"It's not that," Connor interrupts loudly. "The person I was talking about, the one who's totally cool and really handsome and extremely smart with an IQ greater than mine. Who also happens to be talented in everything he does and is probably the most attractive man I've seen in a while, that's you."
Oliver doesn't believe his ears. He thinks he hears-
"It's me?"
Connor makes a 'duh' motion. Oliver is suddenly feeling like the stupidest person in the world, and stupid isn't normally a word Oliver associates with himself. But still, he can't help but feel doubtful.
"You think I'm cool?"
"Extremely."
"Talented?"
"Outrageously."
"Smart?"
"No doubt about it."
"I can't be the most attractive person you've seen in a while."
"Well, that begs the question of what exactly is the definition of attractive, and in whose or what standards is your being alluring considered attractive." Oliver is suddenly taken back to weeks before, of text messages and fluttery feelings. "That said, I think you should know that when I say attractive, I don't just mean good looking. I mean someone that draws my attention, piques my interest, is awfully charming and utterly appealing. Obviously, I don't base attraction just on the person's looks. So believe me when I say that you are the most attractive person I've seen in a while."
Oliver is left speechless, dumbfounded.
"I'm stupid, aren't I?"
"No, you're not," Connor comforts. "Though it would have saved us a lot of time and pain if you had asked me instead of assuming things."
When they stand up, they kiss like it's the last time, erotic and purposeful. That day marks the first time anyone enters Connor, or more importantly, the first time Connor let anyone enter him. Oliver takes a long time exploring Connor's body, and Connor lets Oliver take control. It's the first time he relinquishes control of himself to somebody else.
They're shirtless and in bed, and Oliver has his fingers inside Connor, lubed up and slick. Connor's breathing is harsh in the silent night, and Oliver shushes him sweetly.
"Just relax," Oliver tells him. "It's going to feel better."
Connor winces. "That's what they always say."
Oliver lets his fingers slide in and out, as slowly as he can go, as if memorizing every inch of him, every ridge and dip inside Connor.
"Do you trust me?" Oliver asks, knows the answer, hopes it's the correct one.
"More than anyone," Connor's declaration is loud in the room, each syllable reverberating on the walls. When Oliver finds Connor's prostate, he presses into it ever so slightly, but it's enough to make Connor release a deep moan. Oliver massages it, hopes it would drive Connor insane.
It does. Because soon, Connor is squeezing his ass and pushing back against Oliver.
"Put it in, Oliver," Connor gasps between breaths. "I want to know what makes people so crazy about this."
"Be patient," Oliver commands him. "I want to make this as pleasurable as possible for you."
It's minutes more of Oliver's fingering before he adds lube to his penis and covers it with a condom. He adds a little more lubrication to Connor's entrance, just to be on the safe side, and a little more on Connor's cock, just to be on the orgasmic side.
"This is going to sting at first, but just relax and keep your ass open," Oliver informs him, and Connor does nothing but nod. When Oliver pokes the head of his penis past the first ring, Connor bites his lips and refrains from shouting. Noticing his pain, Oliver starts to jerk him off to keep his mind off of the pain from the penis that's slowly inserting itself into Connor. When Connor's ass clutches of its own accord, Oliver gasps. It's so tight that he can probably come just from being squeezed multiple times.
"Relax," Oliver kisses into Connor's lips. He eventually does, and Oliver is able to go all the way in. It's deep and tight, and Connor feels unbelievable. He tells him so.
When Oliver begins thrusting, Connor's moans are elongated and high-pitched. Oliver loves this, decoding Connor. Connor grabs onto Oliver's back, uses it as a lifeline, and rightfully so. Because he thinks he might be in heaven, but Oliver's body on top of him is a constant reminder that they're still here, and yes, Connor has given up control.
They do multiple positions, making love slow and languid. Oliver can almost see the petals surrounding his bed, the sparkles twinkling in the background. When Connor comes, it sprays both of them. And it doesn't take long before Oliver feels the beginning of his end.
"I'm about to come," Oliver grunts. He's about to pull off, but Connor's legs has him locked tight.
"Inside," is all Connor can produce at the moment, and Oliver has no choice because he didn't account for Connor impeding his movements, and now he's already coming. He stills, neck arched up with his mouth open. Having his orgasm while inside Connor feels more energy consuming than it really is, because when he's done, he practically plops himself on top of Connor.
Relenting control isn't as traumatic as Connor thought it would be. Though he still needs some semblance of domination over everything, he thinks he's slowly changing when Oliver's around. He's never met anyone that can make him a better person, but Oliver does just that. Letting go of control isn't so bad.
When they finish cleaning up, Connor stays over once more.
They're brushing their teeth and staring at each other through the mirror. They're smiling, but it's not noticeable because their lips and teeth are stained white.
They're changing to sleeping clothes and staring at each other take off their clothes. They're smiling, but its not noticeable because of the dim light.
They're cuddling in bed and ready to sleep, staring at each other until slumber overtakes them. They're smiling when they fall asleep.
When Oliver wakes up, it's to feel Connor right by his side, hugging him from the back. Oliver doesn't think it's physically possible to get any closer than they already are. But he tries anyway. He tries anyway.
They spend the morning together on the next day. They fill out crosswords, and Connor is good at them. Unsurprisingly. He's terrible at sudoku though, and Oliver helps him with that.
"Ollie, that's unfair. How can you figure out each box so quickly?"
Oliver never likes to brag, but Connor makes him do things he doesn't usually do. "I'm just that good."
"True, that."
They waste more time playing apps like 7 Little Words with their morning coffee, brewed by Oliver himself.
"Connor, what's another word for 'within reach'? 10 letters, preferably."
"Obtainable," comes Connor's quick reply.
"Ugh. I want your diction and vocabulary," Oliver claims absentmindedly.
"How about my dick?"
"That too."
And they waste more time on 2048 with burnt eggs and toasty hotdogs, cooked by one Mr. Walsh.
"These taste awful, just so you know," Oliver says after a mouthful of non-salty eggs.
"I'd like to see you do better," comes Connor's scathing reply.
"Friday," Oliver invites him. "You can judge my eggs then."
"Trust me, your eggs are fine. A little salty actually."
"Connor!"
And they play Words with Friends.
"You know, I win about 96% of the time," Oliver says as he pushes up is glasses.
"But I win every single time," Connor says coolly, as he types in 'glare' and scoring 28 due to a triple letter occupied by 'g' in two directions.
"Should have listened to me," Oliver smirks as he adds a 'd' after the glare and continues his own word in the other direction.
Connor tackles him when he gets the score. In Connor's screen shows Oliver using all 7 letters, winning the extra bonus points and hitting the double word tile.
"81 points for 'decoded,' you little shit!"
He and Connor end up as a tangled mess on the floor of Oliver's apartment. The tackle becomes a sort of wrestling match, in which Oliver gains the upper hand by sitting on top of Connor and pinning his arms down by his sides.
"Do you surrender?" Oliver manages between breaths. Connor takes a while to answer, looks up at Oliver in question. He leans up to give Oliver a kiss on the cheek, quick, chaste, and ever so fleeting. The meaning stays though, not at all evanescent.
"I surrender."