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Later. Felix’s dorm room.
They’re on the bed, Felix’s back against the wall. Oliver’s knees are straddling either side of Felix’s hips—he’s folded himself over his front, arms up around his shoulders, face pressed into the warm flesh of his neck. He’s kissing him there, sucking and licking on the salt of him, savoring the tartness on his tongue.
“Not so hard,” Felix complains, but it’s quiet, just a murmur, like he’s barely awake, like he’s halfway into a dream already. “You’re such a little vampire, Ollie. Gonna leave marks.”
Oliver pauses for a moment, then bites down hard. Felix winces. His arms, which were stroking over Oliver’s back, tighten.
“Never fucking listen to me—you never listen. Everyone’ll see.”
Oliver smiles against the deep purple bite mark. “That’s the point.” He moves to the other side of his neck and makes a twin bruise. “You like it. You love it.”
Felix groans, deep and dredged up from within his chest. His whole body vibrates with it—Oliver feels it across his bare chest where they’re pressed together. They’ve gone that far—but that’s where they stopped. Their trousers rub and press with static friction.
Oliver lays his head on Felix’s shoulder then, the softness of his cheek against the hard bone. His eyes find the dark window on the opposite wall. He remembers standing outside of it, in the bushes and shrubbery, peering into the warm glow of Felix’s room, watching him with his girls—he remembers the sick feeling, the tightening of his stomach, the way his fingers would twitch and his face would burn at the sight of Felix’s hands on their bodies, his tongue in their mouths.
He stares out at the place he used to stand for a little while, and Felix is kissing at his neck now. He doesn’t bite; He isn’t like Oliver, in that way. He probably doesn’t know why Oliver does it. Maybe he thinks it’s a sexual thing—and maybe it’s worse that it’s not. Oliver’s obsession with having him—devouring him—it’s barely disguisable at lust, sometimes. But Felix doesn’t know that—Oliver won’t tell him. He bites at the shoulder bone beneath his cheek, more playfully this time, the sharpness of his teeth grazing the flesh.
“You’re not going to do this with anyone else. No more girls.” Oliver says. Felix tugs the hair at the back of his head, tight, then gathers his face in his hands. He squeezes Oliver’s cheeks.
“Telling me what to do now?”
Oliver lets him pinch his cheeks harder. He doesn’t complain when it stings.
“No—telling you what you already know.”
Felix swallows. His gaze hardens—he’s thinking. Wondering.
“How do you do that?” He presses his thumb against Oliver’s bottom lip and drags it down—his teeth are still pink from Felix’s blood.
“Do what?”
“Know what I’m thinking before I even think it.” He presses against Oliver’s shoulders, hard, forcing him down so he can lord over him. “What makes you so fucking special, Oliver?”
If he’s trying to be intimidating, it does not work. Oliver doesn’t flinch away, doesn’t even blink.
“That’s just what best friends do, yeah?”
Felix’s eyes shine down at him, his lips open. As if this, somehow, is the craziest thing Oliver has ever said to him. But it’s the truth—Oliver’s heart hammers with the veracity of the words.
He starts to move down his body, crawling back until his face is level with Felix’s belt. Felix’s eyes hold their wide shapes of anticipation. He cannot speak in the face of such devotion. “I’m gonna suck you off, now,” Oliver tells him, “And you’re going to let me, because you’ve wanted this for a long, long time.” Oliver undoes the belt, his hands measured and sure. “You cannot hide from me, Felix. You just can’t.”
He takes him into his mouth, swallowing him down whole. Felix’s head goes back against the pillows—his body stretching in sudden pleasure. He moans and sighs with Oliver’s every ministration. Oliver doesn’t close his eyes. He stares up the expanse of him. He wants to choke on him—tries to make himself, but it doesn’t work. He’s not good at hurting himself, only others. Always others.
“Fuuuck, oh my God— Oh my God —” Felix’s voice cracks and shatters above him, filling the room and singing in Oliver’s ears. His fingers twist through Oliver’s hair, over his head, petting and petting and petting him like an animal. Oliver’s drool pools in the wiry hair at the base of him.
For a while the only sound is the slick, wet noises of Oliver’s mouth, the slight creaking of the bed as they move together. Felix is breathing heavily, skin pink and glistening, his stomach tensing, muscles moving taut beneath the surface. Oliver's world narrows to just the sight of him. Just the taste—just the heavy, full feeling of him in his mouth. There is nothing more.
“Ol— fuck —Oliver, Ollie— ” Felix is sobbing now, because Oliver is scraping his teeth over his cock, and it must hurt. Oliver’s love must hurt . But he grips Oliver’s head harder—starts tugging it and pushing it—using him. Tears begin to form in Oliver’s eyes, glistening down his cheeks in little twin streams to converge and drip down to join the salt from his mouth. Felix watches him cry and fucks into him harder, but his thumb brushes over his cheek in unexpected tenderness, such a sudden gentleness amidst the onslaught of pleasure. “Oh, darling, Oh, Ollie — Ollie, baby, baby—”
He goes silent as he comes, body tensing and fingers tightening to a painful degree, and Oliver laps it up—drinks it down like nectar. He crawls up his body, fits back into his lap. Felix is panting, heaving in air, leaning back on his elbows. He looks at Oliver, just looks at him for a long moment, and Oliver, for the first time ever, cannot immediately read the expression on his face. There’s sadness in his eyes, uncertainty, or maybe disbelief—but it’s more than that. More like grief—more like the moment after stepping off a sheer cliff edge. As if Felix can do nothing but look down at the empty air beneath his feet and await the fall to come.
Oliver reaches out slowly, carefully, until he’s holding his face between his palms. He can’t believe he’s allowed to do this—just this, after everything else. To have Felix so wholly, so simply.
They kiss softly, and Felix tries half-heartedly to tug Oliver off without removing his trousers, but Oliver has been so on edge all night that he comes with just the brush of Felix’s hand over his cock—clings to him and cries against his chest with the force of it. Felix hushes him, kisses his temple, holds him through it and holds him after it. They fall asleep in tangles—limbs intertwined and woven together. Oliver hopes only death will sever them. Hopes maybe not even that.