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Olson was dreaming. Dreaming of him. Only, he didn’t know the dream was about Stebbins, not at first. Because it didn’t begin like most wet dreams, it started off as a nightmare.
Someone had broken into his house, swiftly stolen away from the pouring rain outside, but Olson didn’t see his face at first. Not until he was cornered, and a wooden stake was driven into his heart.
Being stabbed was a surprisingly intimate experience for Olson. The heart— an organ of love, which one would normally be hesitant to give away— penetrated by an object of violence.
If Hank Olson were a poet, he’d have a field day with that one.
Too bad Olson wasn’t a poet. But he was horny, which is why the dream didn’t stop there.
He’d tried to escape, but after a failed attempt, he’d found himself cornered; surrendered to him, his chest and abdomen covered in slash marks. Stebbins had him pressed up against the wall, and before he knew it, their lips were pressed together in a messy attempt at a kiss.
Stebbins drank him in, licking up the blood that trailed its way down from Olson’s lips, and all Olson could do was pull him closer. He’d been drawn in, captured, by the way his skin shimmered in the moonlight that seeped through the windows and by the splatter of blood that marred it.
Despite the violence, Stebbins was angelic. He grinned, showing off his perfectly white, sharp teeth, before moving back in for more.
And the next morning, Hank Olson woke up inexplicably hard.
Olson always thought something was different about Stebbins, ever since they’d first met. It had always been a casual feeling, though, and usually brushed off as nonsense; Olson knew he had a tendency to be paranoid.
Stebbins was just odd. Everyone else accepted it, so he might as well, too. But this was different. Olson’s dreams usually meant something— literal or not— and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong with Stebbins.
He thought back to the last time he’d had this feeling, when he’d vividly dreamt about his upcoming exam. The next week, the exact same questions were on it. He’d always thought that was a crazy coincidence.
It felt too on the nose, though, for Stebbins to be some sort of monster, like the type in his dream. It must mean something different.
Worst case scenario, it meant that he was actually attracted to Stebbins. That kind of sentiment was its own monster.
Olson started noticing the little things. When all his friends got together, Stebbins always insisted on taking the picture, rather than being in them. Maybe he’s just camera shy? Olson thought at first, but it got to a point where he couldn’t shake the gut instinct.
Stebbins always had a habit of sneaking off when they were all together. When he came back, it was always the same excuse: “Smoke break,” he’d say with a small, closed-lipped smile, but he never smelled like it. Olson, of all people, would be able to tell.
Hank Olson was a man of many talents, but being subtle was not one of them. He knew he stared. One particular day, a day that Stebbins had forgotten to wear his hat, the boys were enjoying a nice, sunny autumn afternoon, while Stebbins insisted on standing in the shade.
“I’ll sit this one out,” he’d said, and sat down in the grass underneath a willow tree, watching as the others quickly got invested in a game of soccer. But Olson’s heart wasn’t in it, and when Baker passed the ball to him, he nearly tripped over his own feet in his attempt to receive it.
He lost the ball to Collie, stumbling over to the side of the field, and his gaze fell back upon Stebbins, who stared back, twirling a stray clover between two of his fingers, a faint smile playing on his lips. Once he locked eyes with Olson, his white-blonde eyebrows raised ever-so-slightly, and he winked.
Olson didn’t know what to make of that encounter, his cheeks going warm. Was Stebbins just making fun of him for fumbling the ball? He must’ve been, that asshole. He was almost as bad as Barkovitch sometimes.
Olson turned away, back to the game, but Garraty was already coming up behind him. “Are you feeling okay?” he’d asked, and Olson nodded— maybe a little too fast. “It’s just, you seemed pretty zoned out…”
He followed the path of Olson’s former gaze, over to Stebbins, and looked back at Olson curiously. Olson shook it off: “It’s nothing,” he’d said. “Just tired. Didn’t sleep well last night.”
Thankfully, Garraty let the whole thing go, and invited him to hang out the next day.
For not a single moment leading up to it did Stebbins ever leave Olson’s mind. He was obsessed.
But that’s where he found himself now, sitting across from Garraty at the on-campus coffee shop.
“Classes are fine this semester,” he says, when Garraty asked. “Though, nineteen credit hours is kind of overwhelming.”
“I’d imagine. Especially for engineering, yeesh,” Garraty hisses between his teeth. “I thought you’d seemed kind of distracted lately.”
“I’m alright. Just stressed,” Olson lies, absentmindedly stirring his coffee. Though, now would be a perfect time to discuss his dream. Garraty had been openly bisexual for a while now, surely he wouldn’t judge him. But he shoves the feeling down, just for now. “How’re things with you? It’s been a while since we’ve hung out, you know, one-on-one.”
“God, you’re so right,” Garraty groans. “I love you, man. We really need to change that.”
“Oh, fuck that, you sound like a fucking fruit, Ray,” Olson grins, taking a sip from his coffee. A gay joke, he thinks, the perfect segue. “Love you, too. Whatever.”
“You know damn well who you’re talking to,” says Garraty proudly. “And I’m doing pretty well. Classes are good. Pete’s good.”
He smiles wistfully, and Olson makes a pretend gagging sound. “Gross. I did not ask about your love life.”
“Don’t be a sourpuss, Hank,” says Garraty. “Are you seeing anyone? Wasn’t there that one girl last year..?”
“Oh, yeah. She’s a real peach, but, uh, it didn’t really work out,” Olson shrugs. Now’s the time, he thinks. Didn’t Garraty used to have a thing for Stebbins, anyways? Who was he to judge? An intense, warm feeling flooded his cheeks again. “But, uh— I—”
Garraty’s eyes widen, and he beats Olson to it. “There’s someone new?”
“Not exactly,” Olson takes a deep breath and blurts out: “How did you know you were bi?”
Garraty pauses. “You think you might be?”
“I don’t know,” Olson fidgets with his hands. “I’ve never really thought about it before.”
“Well, I think a lot of people like to say they’ve always known,” Garraty says, smiling softly. “But it wasn’t like that for me. It took a lot of thinking. It never just… instantly occurred to me that I was attracted to men, too.”
“Right,” Olson bites the inside of his cheek. What the fuck was he supposed to do with that?
“Tell me how you’re feeling,” Garraty continues, reaching forward to place his hand over Olson’s. “Maybe that’ll help. Who do you think you might like?”
“Promise not to judge?”
“Promise.”
“Stebbins,” Olson says, wincing as if he’s bracing for impact. He says it again, like Garraty hadn’t heard him the first time: “It’s Stebbins.”
“Oh,” Garraty’s lips part in surprise, brows furrowing as he considers this. They sit there in silence for a while before Olson breaks it.
“See, now you’re judging!” Olson pulls his hand away from Garraty and points at him. “God, I know I shouldn’t have fucking said anything. It’s not really like that, anyways—”
“I’m not judging!” Garraty protests, putting his hands up defensively. “Just surprised, is all. Did something happen?”
“Not exactly,” Olson avoids eye contact. He couldn’t recall a time he’d felt so humiliated talking about his own feelings. “I mean, sometimes I get the feeling he’s teasing me, but isn’t Stebbins just like that? Anyways, I had a dream about him…”
Garraty gives Olson an amused look that makes him feel completely exposed. “Like… a wet dream?”
“No! Not really,” Olson picks at his cuticles. “I mean, it kind of felt like sex, but Stebbins was murdering me. I don’t know! It’s so fucking confusing.”
“Yeah, I’ve gotta agree with that,” Garraty rubs his temple, trying to piece it all together. “Well, if it’s worth anything, Stebbins is totally into guys.”
“Oh, really?” Olson rolls his eyes. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“No need to be a dick, I’m just trying to help you.”
“I didn’t need help discovering Stebbins’ sexuality, Ray,” Olson hisses between his teeth, afraid people nearby will overhear. He doesn’t think he’d ever be able to recover from that.
“Plus, I don’t trust him.”
“What do you mean you ‘don’t trust him’?” Garraty asks, and Olson worries he’s backed himself into a corner. So he tries to be as vague as possible.
“There’s just something off about him,” Olson looks down at his hands. “Like he’d suck the life out of me or something.”
Good phrasing, Hank, he thinks to himself. But Garraty ignores it and gives exactly the answer Olson expected. “I mean, yeah, that’s just how Stebbins is. I’m sure you’ll be fine, you’d balance him out.”
Olson gives him a small half-smile, grateful for that, at least.
“Just do some thinking the next time you see him. I think that questioning says a lot in the first place,” Garraty continues. “That’s really all the advice I have. Oh, and if the opportunity arises… take it. He’s not all that scary.”
“Whatever, man,” Olson folds his arms across his chest and huffs. “Thanks for fucking nothing.”
Garraty sighs and reaches into the back pocket of his jeans, resurfacing with a couple foil packets. “Here, take these.”
Garraty dumps them into Olson’s open hand, and he holds them up, examining them.
“Lube and condoms? Are you fucking serious?” he asks incredulously. “Why do you even have these on you? What the fuck?”
“You never know when the opportunity will present itself.”
“You’re disgusting,” says Olson, shaking his head in disbelief. He couldn’t even decide whether or not he was attracted to Stebbins. What made Garraty think he was going to fuck him anytime soon?
“I’m safe,” Garraty retorts. “And you should be, too.”
Embarrassed and eager to stop holding a bunch of sex products in public, Olson shoves the packets into the pocket of his jacket and zips it up. “Jesus, man. I know the basics of sexual safety. I’m not a fucking virgin.”
“It’s different with men,” Garraty points out. “You know, we’re all getting together at Collie’s on Saturday. You should try and talk to him then.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Saturday came much faster than Olson had expected it to. Of course, he remembered what Garraty had told him, and he was more than jittery when he’d arrived at Collie’s off-campus house alongside Baker.
He was one of the last to show up, save for Stebbins himself. Everyone else was already set up around a fire in the backyard, roasting s’mores with sticks they’d pulled from the trees surrounding the property. A perfect snack, given the weather.
That is, until Stebbins stood up suddenly and announced: “I think I need a smoke. I’ll be right back.”
Olson looked back at him, narrowing his eyes. He glances over at Garraty, who mouths: Ask to go with him!
So he stands, as well. “I’ll come, if you need some company. Or the joint in my pocket.”
Stebbins suddenly looks nervous. Upon a closer inspection, he looked paler than usual. Sickly, almost. “That’s okay. You don’t have to.”
“No, really—”
“Drop it,” says Stebbins, narrowing his eyes. “I prefer to do it alone.”
Dejected, Olson sits back down and Stebbins disappears into the trees behind them.
“Jesus, what crawled up his ass?” asks McVries, eyeing the path that Stebbins had taken.
But that wasn’t what Olson was worried about. Fucking suspicious, he thought. What if his dream had truly meant something? Was his subconscious trying to tell him that Stebbins was truly some kind of vampire?
“I don’t know, but I’m kind of worried about him,” Garraty says, wrapping an arm around McVries’ shoulders. “Hank, do you think you should go check on him anyways?”
Olson began to sweat. If his irrational belief was true, and Stebbins was a blood-sucking, murderous creature, was that really a smart idea? But instead of voicing his concerns, he manages to mutter a weak “Okay,” and grabs his s’mores stick. The wood was sturdy and pointy enough to pierce a marshmallow. Surely it could find its way through human flesh if the occasion called for it.
It was a shot in the dark, but better than nothing, so Olson gripped onto it tightly and followed Stebbins into the darkness.
He stumbled through the brush that lined the forest floor, careful to watch out for poison ivy. He avoids calling out to Stebbins at all costs, holding the stick out in front of him, bracing for an attack.
Where the fuck could he have possibly gone? Olson thinks. The woods behind Collie’s house weren’t all that deep, there was only so much space for him to go.
But just as Olson tripped over the exposed root of a tree, he spotted him. Stebbins. And he wasn’t smoking, instead hunched over on his knees, distracted.
Olson didn’t know what to make of the sight, and he took another step forward. But as he did so, a twig snapped under his feet, and Stebbins jolted at the sound, whipping his head around to face him.
But his lips were smeared with blood, and when he moved, Olson spotted the unconscious animal that lay at his knees. A deer, it looked like.
“I told you not to follow me,” Stebbins said, voice calm, and the lack of emotion in his voice spooks Olson. He stands up slowly and attempts to wipe the blood from his lips, leaving a faded red smear behind instead.
“The other boys were worried about you,” Olson says. “Did you kill that deer?”
“No,” Stebbins smiled softly. “He’ll be okay. McVries taught me the best way to hunt them.”
“McVries?” Olson’s head was spinning. McVries knew about whatever this was? Whatever Stebbins was?
“He’s like me,” Stebbins looks down at the ground, almost shyly.
And what are you? Olson wanted to ask, but instead he looked up at Stebbins, eyebrows furrowing. “You’re not human.”
Stebbins drifts around him, movements airy, and his glance shoots over Olson. He feels naked like this, pierced by Stebbins’ cold stare, but despite it all, Stebbins looks impossibly youthful. His eyes flutter shut and he lets out a deep breath, white-blond eyelashes almost becoming invisible against his skin. Olson swallows.
Stebbins’ eyes shoot open again, and his movement stops. He plants his feet in the grass, his gaze returns to Olson, who manages to catch up with him. Out of instinct, he reaches forward and lets the tips of his fingers connect with Stebbins’ thin upper arm. The skin is soft, but shockingly cool to the touch, and Olson realizes that he’s never touched Stebbins before. Surely he would’ve noticed.
“That’s right. Sort of,” Stebbins says soothingly, a gentle smile on his lips. “I may be flesh and blood, but those things don’t necessarily constitute a human being. You didn't need to be told that, though, did you? You've always known.”
Olson considers it. He’d always known Stebbins was, well, strange, but he didn’t put it all together until the dream. Either way, he swallows and nods his head. It didn’t need to be completely true.
“You’re so insightful,” Stebbins purrs. “I like that about you.”
Olson swallowed, his heart beating rapidly in his chest, but he couldn’t figure out the feeling. Was Stebbins… flirting with him? His free hand tightened on the stake, and he took a step back. “Are you going to hurt me, Stebbins?”
Stebbins’ smile loses its nurturing charm, quickly becoming something more wild and gleeful. His eyes fall on the stake and he lets out a loud, hearty laugh. Olson can see the sharp, long cuspids on both sides of his front teeth and feels a stirring in his gut.
Oh, Jesus, he thought. I’m going to die tonight.
“No,” Stebbins finally says, but that doesn’t do much to calm Olson. “Never. I’m not a monster, Hank Olson.”
At the sound of his full name, a shiver runs up Olson’s spine, and his mouth dries out, unable to make sound. Stebbins continues: “But I’d be lying if I said I never wanted to feed on you.”
“Feed?” Olson squeaks out, still unable to process the reality that this was happening. Stebbins was a vampire. “Like..?”
To demonstrate, he holds his free arm out in front of his lips and pretends to take a bite out of it.
“That’s right,” Stebbins sighs blissfully, as if reminiscing about a happy memory. “I try to avoid feeding on people; it gets awfully messy. But you… once I get a taste of you, do you think I’d ever be able to stop?”
Olson stumbles backwards, pulling his touch away, and he’s horrified. But not horrified at the thought of Stebbins puncturing his neck and taking what he needed, horrified because he liked the idea of it. His silence is his answer.
“I suppose not,” muses Stebbins, circling him like a boa constrictor, inching closer and closer… “The real question is, would you let me?”
Olson didn’t know how to respond. After a moment of silence, he says: “Is it… better for you? Human blood, I mean?”
Stebbins looks at him slyly. “Yeah, you could say that.”
Olson’s clothes suddenly grew tight, and he brought a hand up to tug at the collar of his shirt. When he pulled back, a thin layer of sweat coated his fingers; he thought back to that feeling after he’d woken up from his dream, and all logic went out the window. He wanted that. He wanted Stebbins to touch him like that, and it made him apprehensive.
“Ye— Yes,” he struggles to get the words out. “If it’ll help you.”
That’s all it was, Olson thought. An act of kindness. He was being generous to a friend. It didn’t mean he was queer or anything, like how Garraty suggested.
“You look nervous,” observes Stebbins, stepping closer, and Olson realizes he has nowhere else to go, dropping the stake down into the dewy grass. His heart beats faster as Stebbins backs him up against a tree and cups his cheek with one hand. “Don’t be. I’ll take good care of you.”
Shit. Fuck, Olson thinks. If Stebbins tries to hurt him now, how could he defend himself? He reaches for it helplessly before giving up and letting his arm fall limp at his side.
When Stebbins’ lips reach his neck, Olson jolts a bit, but is surprised by the lack of pain. That is, until he understands what Stebbins is doing. He’s not biting him, he’s kissing him. Instinctively, Olson’s head falls back against the tree trunk, baring his neck.
“What the… What the fuck are you doing?” Olson gasps out as Stebbins languidly drags his tongue against his collarbone, drawing the skin between his lips. Olson accidentally lets out a moan, stifling it by a sharp bite to the inside of his cheek.
“Hm?” Stebbins doesn’t stop, and Olson can feel him smiling against his skin. It tickles. “I’m just buttering you up, Henry, don’t be a prude. Do you want me to stop?”
Olson shakes his head rapidly. “No. Please, don’t stop.”
“‘Please’? So polite,” Stebbins murmurs, sucking on Olson’s collarbone until it feels sore and tender to the touch. Stebbins pulls his head back and rubs his thumb over it. If Olson had to guess, that spot was bright red, but he doesn’t have much time to be upset about it before Stebbins moves to pepper kisses on his jawline, drawing out a string of whines and mumbled curses as he works his way along.
This is so fucking weird, Olson thinks, letting his eyes shut as Stebbins does his thing. But weird as it may be, it felt fucking incredible; and surprisingly gentle. He’s not sure what to do with his hands, so he brings them up to Stebbins’ mid back, grasping at the fabric of his cardigan.
Stebbins groans, but it’s not his usual sound of frustration. From the sound of it alone, Olson was doing the right thing. So he tightens his grip.
Stebbins pulls back again, panting, his breath warm on Olson’s face. He runs a careful hand through Olson’s hair, tugging on it ever-so-slightly, but the force is enough to make Olson’s eyes shut, and he whines quietly.
When he opens his eyes again, he notices Stebbins staring at him, watching him. His lips are parted, his eyes slightly drained of the hunger that once possessed them. But only slightly. Stebbins just looks like he really wants to ask something.
“What is it?” Olson asks, a hand coming up to his face like he has something on it.
Stebbins stares for a moment longer. “Can I kiss you?”
Olson’s brows furrow, but he wipes his lips furiously out of habit. “What the fuck have you been doing if you weren’t just kissing me?”
“Don’t be stupid,” Stebbins mutters, twirling a lock of Olson’s jet-black hair around his pointer finger. “I mean on the lips.”
Oh. Oh. Olson swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and he nods slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I mean, if it’d help.”
“It would,” Stebbins drawls, his voice tinged with a confidence that almost feels arrogant. But whatever it is, Olson’s into it.
Stebbins moves his hand from Olson’s hair down to his jawline, tilting it upwards with two fingers. He examines his face for just a moment— it’s unsettling, Olson thinks— before leaning forward and pressing their lips together.
It was just a gentle brush at first, but Olson’s whole body felt like it was engulfed in flames; he’d seen people describe the experience as sparks flying, and if that was the norm, he must be the fucking Fourth of July. His grip tightened against Stebbins’ back, pulling him impossibly closer.
Fuck. Garraty was right. Olson was definitely into men.
He’d expected it to be messy from the start, but no: Stebbins was practiced, Stebbins was methodical, and Stebbins was going to eat him alive. Olson just got the feeling he wanted to take his time first.
Slowly, Stebbins worked Olson’s lips apart, cupping the back of his neck. When he tried to pull Olson’s bottom lip between his teeth, though, Olson felt a sharp sting of pain and jolted, hitting his head against the tree.
“Whoops, must’ve nicked you,” says Stebbins with a laugh, reaching forward to wipe Olson’s bottom lip with his thumb. Sure enough, it came back blood-stained and glittering in the moonlight. He examines it closely. “Not bad.”
Stebbins lifts his thumb to his lips and licks the blood from it, keeping intense eye contact with Olson, who can’t stop the rapid course of thoughts— none of them appropriate— running through his head. “God, you taste amazing.”
“Thanks,” Olson murmurs impatiently. “How much fucking foreplay do you need? Just fucking get on with it if you’re so hungry.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” purrs Stebbins, toying with the hem of Olson’s jacket. He tugs a little before bringing his gaze back up to Olson’s.
“You’re not subtle,” Olson says. Stebbins’ eyes widen a little, and Olson can’t bring himself to resist it. “Fine, take it off. But be gentle; that shit was fucking expensive.”
“Don’t you worry,” Stebbins pushes Olson’s jacket from his shoulders, running the fabric between his fingers before discarding it on the floor.
He should stop there, shouldn’t he? Olson thinks. How much did Stebbins really want?
He gasps at the feeling of Stebbins’ cool hands on his waist, coming to understand that he wasn’t done.
Worst of all, Olson really did want him to take his shirt off. So he lets Stebbins lift his arms up, practically tearing Olson’s favorite green shirt from his body, and it follows his jacket, forming a pathetic heap in the grass.
Despite only being shirtless, Olson felt completely naked, the chilly autumn air nipping at his chest. Stebbins didn’t seem affected.
“It’s fucking cold,” Olson quips, a small smile on his face. Nerves aside, Stebbins wasn’t so scary. Everything was shockingly… gentle. And it was starting to feel a lot more serious— at least to Olson.
Who knew how many guys Stebbins had done this with?
But Stebbins smiles back, soft and earnest. “Lay down, then. I’ve got you”
The grass looked pretty damp, but Stebbins’ hands were already cradling his back, guiding him down onto the ground. Olson was right, it was cold and dewy and gross, but the heat that blossomed from Stebbins’ touch far outweighed the discomfort.
Stebbins slowly ran his hands up Olson’s stomach, up to his shoulders, and climbed on top of him, one leg on either side.
“Hi,” Olson murmured, breathless and flushed. He wasn’t sure what else to say.
“Hey,” Stebbins let out a soft laugh, and the genuine delight in it made Olson’s heart flutter. Stebbins hesitated, his hands on Olson’s shoulders stabilizing himself, and his air of confidence seemed to falter. “I’m going to, um, bite you now.”
Olson nodded, baring his neck to Stebbins, but the moment he leaned in for the kill, his hand automatically reached over for the stake, positioning it between them. His free hand caught Stebbins’ neck in a strong grip.
“Don’t try anything,” Olson whispered, voice shaky. His fist tightened around the stake. “Or I will use this.”
Stebbins’ lips parted, and he looked hurt before his air of confidence returned. He grinned, showing off his mouthful of pearls: “I hope you will.”
“I will,” Olson insisted, but his heart wasn’t in it. In such a vulnerable state, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to hurt Stebbins. All he could do was pray Stebbins had no intentions to hurt him.
Stebbins laughed and leaned back in, pressing a soft kiss to the side of Olson’s neck. He felt a soft scrape before the puncture, and a shot of pain went through his whole body.
“Fuck!” Olson hissed, letting his head fall back against the grass. “Fuck, Stebbins—”
Stebbins hummed contently, a trace of blood on his lips when he pulls back. “Tighten your grip, won’t you?”
The arm Olson was using to hold the stake falls limp, and he holds it forward shakily, following Stebbins’ orders.
“The other grip,” Stebbins looked at him, and Olson got the perverse feeling that Stebbins was kind of annoyed with him.
But Olson listens, clutching Stebbins’ neck harder. Stebbins whines, eyes rolling back in his head. Embarrassed at the sight, Olson becomes acutely aware that he has a raging boner, and Stebbins is perched right on top of it.
Fuck. There’s no way Stebbins hasn’t noticed. He’s just fucking with Olson now, isn’t he?
I could strangle him right now with that slappable smirk of his, Olson thinks. As gently as a lullaby, I could lure him right to sleep.
But he wouldn’t. He knew he wasn’t brave enough to, even if he still couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad would happen. He remembered his dream— his weird, fucked up premonition— but he could no longer tell if he wanted to kill Stebbins or fuck him senseless.
He could settle for the latter.
Olson’s broken out of his thoughts when Stebbins groans against his neck, dragging his lips across the soft, supple skin, and Olson knows he’s thinking the exact same thing. He reaches up and frantically unbuttons Stebbins’ shirt to discover a thin undershirt between the other two layers.
“Are you fucking serious?” asks Olson, irritated. What a turn-off. “How many goddamn layers do you need?”
Stebbins huffs. “I get cold, too, you know.”
Olson rolls his eyes and finishes unbuttoning Stebbins’ shirt, tossing both it and his green cardigan aside, but he leaves the undershirt on, drawing Stebbins into another kiss instead.
“We can stop here,” Stebbins whispers against his lips. “If you want. I’m full, anyway.”
This was his out, his escape. At least, it could’ve been. But Olson didn’t want to stop. Not yet. So he shakes his head. “No, keep going,” he pants, moaning loudly when Stebbins wastes no time capturing his mouth in another kiss, a firm hand pressed to his jaw.
A hand that moves down to Olson’s belt, unbuckling it in deft, practiced moments. Despite the thrumming in his chest, Olson doesn’t protest, and before he knows it, Stebbins has made quick work of his remaining clothes, leaving his slacks and Converse in the discard pile.
Truthfully, Olson didn’t know what to do; he’d obviously never been with a man before, and he was too embarrassed to bring it up to Stebbins now. He was sure Stebbins was observant enough to notice eventually.
But Stebbins had moved down Olson’s body, kneeling between his legs, and had picked one of them up to set on his shoulder. Olson gasped at the sudden movement. “The fuck are you doing?”
Stebbins moves in— in for the kill— and presses a long, rough kiss to the inside of Olson’s thigh. Olson moaned at the sensation of his skin being sucked between Stebbins’ lips, gripping onto his shoulders with all his strength.
“Fuck, Stebbins,” Olson groans, letting his eyes shut as his head falls back in the grass. It’s surprisingly soft, cushioning his head against the tough dirt, the dew brushing his face as Stebbins continues to kiss and suck along his thighs.
He switches to the other one, looping the leg over his shoulder before kissing gently along its length, drawing the skin between his teeth and sucking a bruise into it. That’s when Olson feels the familiar sensation of two needle-like points puncturing the inside of his thigh, but instead of wincing in pain, he whines loudly.
Stebbins pulls away, grinning, and he licks away the extra blood on his lips. “You like that?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” says Olson, mildly embarrassed, but he can’t hide the way his face heats up when Stebbins brushes his bleeding thigh with his thumb, licking the blood clean from it.
And in that moment, all logic aside, Olson truly believes he loves Stebbins, and he gets the feeling that Stebbins might love him, too. At least, whatever Stebbins felt towards him was akin to obsession, and that was enough for Olson, in that moment.
“Sounds like you do,” Stebbins looks up at him, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and licks a stripe up Olson’s thigh. His gaze switches over to the growing bulge in Olson’s boxers, his hands creeping up his hips. “Looks like you do, too.”
Olson looks away, eyes narrowed. “Don’t be shy,” Stebbins coos. “You’re so pretty like this.”
Olson bites the inside of his cheek, but he can’t hide the way that made him feel. Against his better judgment, he whispers: “Please, Stebbins—”
“Patience,” Stebbins murmurs, pressing a kiss to the center of Olson’s stomach, but his point is defeated by the way his fingers slip under the elastic waistband of Olson’s boxers, teasing his way around the hem before pushing them down.
“Patience,” Olson mocks, trying to mask his embarrassment, but Stebbins’ lips are already on his again.
“So pretty,” Stebbins repeats when he pulls back. He moves one of his hands along the curve of Olson’s thigh. “I really want to…”
“Me, too,” Olson’s free hand searches through the grass, making a pathetic attempt to reach for his jacket. “I have some stuff in my pocket, I just—”
“Some stuff?” Stebbins raises his eyebrows, his chest pressed flush against Olson, who gives him a pointed look. “Oh. Why on Earth...?”
Olson sighs. “Something with Ray. Don’t worry about it.”
Stebbins sits back far enough to let Olson rummage through the pocket of his sweater, resurfacing with a packet of lube. “Just be careful, okay?” Olson asks, fidgeting with his hands as he hands Stebbins the packet. He takes it gingerly. “I don’t want to deal with no fucking anal fissures.”
Stebbins snorts. “Relax, I’ll go slow,” he trails a hand lazily up Olson’s abdomen, stopping just below one of his nipples. He lets his pointer finger glide right around it, teasing. “Might be hard, though, with you all spread out like this for me.”
Olson gasps at the sensation. “Are you going to keep your clothes on forever, or is this some kind of humiliation ritual?”
“Patience is key, darling,” Stebbins says sweetly, flashing his sharp teeth as he rips open the packet with them, squeezing a little out onto his first two fingers. Olson shudders at the nickname, slightly giddy, and Stebbins calms him with a gentle kiss to the lips before reaching back down.
It was nothing like his dream, Olson thought, the way Stebbins’ fingers felt when he guided them inside. It was silly, of course, to think that the dreamlike feeling of being stabbed could compare to the otherwise pleasurable feeling of being fingered, but it was the intimacy that he craved. And the intimacy that he got.
Stebbins held true to his promise. He pressed one lubricated finger to Olson’s entrance first, warning him of the initially cold feeling before pressing it in slowly. Of course, it burned, but the burning sensation quickly turned to pleasure, and before he knew it, Olson was a blubbering mess.
“F—Fuck,” he gasps out as Stebbins adds a second finger. “Fuck, Stebbins, please—”
“Please, what?” Stebbins asks with a grin, biting down gently on Olson’s neck, only enough to draw a little blood, which he quickly licks up. “Use your words, gorgeous.”
“More— Fuck— Please, more,” Olson stammered, gripping onto Stebbins’ forearms hard enough to leave bruises. Well, hard enough to if Stebbins were completely human.
Stebbins raises his eyebrows, amused, and curls his fingers carefully, causing Olson’s back to arch up off the grass.
“Fuck! Stebbins—”
“So greedy,” Stebbins grins, pressing a kiss to Olson’s shoulder as he speeds the pace of his fingers up, just enough for Olson to let out a loud moan at the sudden change. “I like it.”
“Fuck— Fuck you,” Olson spits out, but he’s too worked up for it to have any bite. He hates himself for how good it feels— like nothing he’s ever felt before— and for just how wanted Stebbins made him feel.
He’d never been so strongly desired, and it thrilled him: the way Stebbins watched him closely, the way he wet his lips at every one of Olson’s moans, the glimmer in his eye that made it clear he was holding back.
“Please,” Olson pleaded, looking up at Stebbins with wide eyes. “I need you.”
Let me come undone, he thinks, but can’t bring himself to say it. It’ll all be worth it.
Stebbins doesn’t need to be told twice, taking off his pale undershirt in one quick motion, followed by the rapid unbuckling of his own belt— the belt that held up his bright purple pants. Those stupid fucking pants, Olson thought. The only thing keeping their bodies apart. The only thing that stood between them.
Growing impatient, he reaches forward and assists Stebbins in discarding them. In no time, Stebbins is in a state of nakedness that matches his own.
Olson immediately reaches for Stebbins’ cock, taking it into his fist. It can’t be much different than doing it to yourself, he thinks, pumping it a couple times, his eyes trained on the way Stebbins’ hair falls into his eyes. Fuck, he’s gorgeous.
Stebbins groans, burying his face in Olson’s neck. He bites him softly, but not enough to puncture the skin. “I need you,” he murmurs in his ear, low and husky. “I need you like I need air. I look at you, and I’m terrified. Terrified of all the things I want to do to you.”
Olson reaches for the packet of lube, squeezes some onto his fingers, and rubs it up the length of Stebbins’ cock before looking back up at him. “Don’t be. Fuck— I mean, I want you, too, I’ve just never… Received.”
“Oh,” Stebbins’ eyes widen, lips parted, and Olson removes his hand, wiping it clean in the grass. He steadies himself with one hand against Olson’s hip, the other guiding himself in the right place. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about that.”
Olson nodded, unsure of whether or not to trust him, but by this point, he was too far gone to care. He let Stebbins hook one of his legs over his shoulder, and his eyes fluttered shut as he braced for the inevitable feeling…
Olson gasps loudly as Stebbins slowly pushes into him, burying himself to the hilt. “Motherfucker,” he hisses, opening his eyes to a squint.
Stebbins’ lower lip is drawn between his teeth, and he doesn’t dare to move, his hands now resting on both of Olson’s hips. “Let me know when it’s okay to keep going,” he whispers. “Fuck… You’re so gorgeous like this.”
Stebbins presses an open-mouthed kiss to the nape of Olson’s neck and lets out a low moan. When he leans forward, though, something shifts, and Olson can’t help but cry out.
By now, any feeling of pain has gone through a metamorphosis into pleasure, and the feeling of Stebbins’ hand weaving into his hair makes him even more certain that he needs this.
“Now,” he commands. “You can move.”
Stebbins doesn’t waste any time in pulling his hips back and pushing in again, setting a slow, steady rhythm. “I don’t think you understand how hard it is to hold back,” he groans, nipping at Olson’s ear.
Consume me, Olson wanted to say, body and soul. For eternity.
Or however long Stebbins expected to live. But the only sound Olson could manage to make was a soft whimper, but Stebbins seemed to pick up on the message and sped up his pace. Unlike Olson, he didn’t break a sweat, his eyebrows furrowed together in stiff concentration. The only thing on Stebbins’ mind was to please him.
To Olson, that was thrilling.
“Fuck,” he whines, clawing hard, bleeding lines down Stebbins’ back, who hisses at the sensation. “Fuck, Stebbins— God, please…”
“Such a blabbermouth,” Stebbins purrs, kissing along Olson’s jawline. His hips assume an almost backbreaking pace, driving into him with a force Olson’s never seen before.
Olson flushes. “Sorry—” he starts, but Stebbins interrupts him with a kiss.
“Don’t be,” he grins against Olson’s lips with another thrust. “I like it.”
Olson doesn’t have the chance to respond before Stebbins grabs him and rolls him over, pinning Olson’s body over his lap. Dazed, he places both hands on Stebbins’ chest, instinctively moving his hips in time with Stebbins’ movements. He throws his head back blissfully, letting Stebbins grab onto his hips, pushing up into him. He likes this better, he thinks, the angle that Stebbins possesses, sending a sharp pulse up Olson’s spine with every thrust of his cock.
“Fuck— Fuck, Stebbins,” Olson slaps a hand over his mouth, stifling his moan, but Stebbins slaps it away.
“Quit it. I want to hear you.”
Olson nods, and through blurred vision, he can barely make out the shape of Stebbins’ grin. “Fuck. Jesus, I don’t know how much more I can take—”
Moments later, he finishes over Stebbins’ chest with a whimper, collapsing on top of him. But Stebbins doesn’t stop, fucking him through it with increasing roughness. From the sound of his groans, he’s not far behind.
Stebbins pointedly lifts Olson’s body atop his, until he’s almost entirely pulled out, before slamming back inside with a low moan. Olson feels a warmth spread through him, and after a moment of heavy breathing, Stebbins gently lifts Olson off his cock. He runs his hands up and down his sides as he coaxes Olson down to lay on top of him.
“You’re incredible,” Stebbins murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of Olson’s head. “Really.”
“You, too,” Olson replies lazily, slurring his words.
Stebbins holds him against his chest for a while, rubbing patterns into his bare back. The soreness fades, but not entirely, though Olson shuts his eyes and lets himself rest. Once he’s relaxed, he can feel the faint beating of Stebbins’ heart. So he does have one, Olson thinks. How different is he, really?
“Are you ready to head back?” Stebbins asks, once both their breathing has slowed. “I think the others are probably getting suspicious by now.”
“I’d be surprised if they weren’t fucking suspicious an hour ago,” Olson says with a faint, tired smile. “But I guess we should.”
He lifts himself up and out of Stebbins’ arms and starts to dress himself, but even when they’re both dressed, neither of them moves to leave. Olson shrugs his jacket back on and notices that Stebbins is standing there, staring at him.
“What’s that look for?” Olson crosses his arms over his chest. “I got something on my face?”
“Yeah, actually,” Stebbins moves in, brings a hand up to Olson’s cheek, and kisses him. When he pulls back, nicking Olson’s lip again, he murmurs: “I think I got it,” and wipes Olson’s lip clean with his thumb.
“Thanks,” Olson stammers. He can’t hide his blush, and he knows that. “I guess this was just a one-time thing, then?”
Once the words leave his lips, he instantly regrets them, only partially due to the hurt look on Stebbins’ face. “Why would it be?”
“I don’t know,” Olson shrugs. “You were just hungry, and—”
“It’s not a one-time thing,” Stebbins snaps, and Olson startles back. “I don’t do that shit. You should know that.”
“Oh, fuck. I mean, that’s— that’s good with me,” says Olson awkwardly, suddenly filled with guilt. Stebbins stares back at him with unsettling intensity. Truthfully, he did want more with Stebbins, he just didn’t think Stebbins would ever feel the same. Olson wanted him back when he thought he was just a man, and that hadn’t changed. If anything, it had only gotten worse.
Neither of them says another word when they start to walk back to the house. But, as they make their way back through the treacherous brush, he feels a cold, slender hand intertwine with his own. It was then he’d realized he’d left his stake behind.
Not that it mattered, not anymore.
Finally returning to his place by the campfire, Olson makes sure to give Garraty a pointed thumbs-up.