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Oliver can’t stop watching. He can’t look away. Can’t tear his eyes from Felix in the bath. He can’t help it, it’s cosmic, it’s beyond him, well beyond him now.
How many times has this happened? Fuck. He’d licked the tub last time, licked the last silvery drops, drank it down, delighted in the swallowing, the sickness, the substitution. He’s a moth to a flame, he’s starving, he’s a man dying of thirst in the desert crawling on burned knees towards a puddle, he’s a wretched sinner sobbing at the feet of a statue of Christ in a cathedral, he’s drowning, he’s dying, he’s doomed. Felix, this diamond, this tonic, this faerie prince, this holy icon, this dreadful scab itching itching itching to be picked. This torture. Temptation, distraction, disaster, fucking all-consuming disgusting desire that blinds him to everything else, shuts him off from the entire world, tunnel vision, terrorised, enamoured.
Felix’s impossibly long, lithe, perfect perfect obscenely fucking perfect body sprawled out in the beautiful tub, golden skin wet and glistening and singing at Oliver in a secret searing pitch only he can hear, like a dog, like a starving mongrel dog with its ears pricked high listening for anything to sink its jagged teeth into. Felix’s fucking Renaissance-carved muscles tight and rippling as he touches himself, stroking stroking stroking and groaning, deep and slow and gravelly, like he’s high, like’s he in a porn film, but genuine and better, so much better because it’s real and it’s here and it’s now and he’s Felix. Felix Felix Felix Felix Felix Felix Felix-
“Felix,” Oliver breathes out loud, his mouth betraying his desperate mind before he can choke it back.
Felix immediately freezes. Flinches, almost. Like he’s been stung by something he cannot see. Tilts his head, listening, slightly panting, deciding if he’s just heard what he’s just heard.
“Oli?” Felix posits.
“Felix,” Oli whimpers again, for how can one refuse to reply when the very voice of God calls your name.
No further sound comes, just tense terse silence, so Oli backs up, back into the adjoining bedroom he’s been staying in, and sits down on the edge of his enormous bed, staring into the void, barely breathing, wondering what comes next, trying not to shriek in frustration and fear, worst of all the fear that next will be nothing, because nothing is worse than nothing. After a minute he hears the water shift, hears the slosh of Felix standing up, stepping out, then Felix walks into the bedroom, still dripping wet, not towelled at all, spotting drops of lukewarm water onto the one-of-a-kind carpet that’s worth more than most people’s houses, his dick still hard, still upright and throbbing, gorgeous and ready, interrupted as it was.
Oli stares up as Felix walks over and stands right in front of him, statuesque, his waist, his hips, his dick at almost exactly the same height as Oli’s mouth, like the two of them were made for this, like it was foretold, ordained. Oli opens his mouth, or it opens itself, jaw weighed down by want, the heaviest emptiness in the world, spit immediately sliding from his bottom lip, drooling, dribbling his invitation, staring up into Felix’s storm dark eyes.
Felix accepts, perhaps finally won over by the accumulation of the heat and the nicotine and the cocaine and the spirits and the late nights and the music and the nakedness and the lust they’ve ceaselessly sat in this summer, overwhelming forces mingling like noxious gases from the irresponsible mixing of chemicals. Felix reaches for Oliver’s face, grabs the hair at the back of his head, the nape of his neck, snatches, tugs, slides his dick into the salivating mouth before him. It’s big, and Oli’s big himself so he can say that with a thrilled kind of certainty, and he opens wider as Felix starts thrusting, filling his throat up, gagging him in the most exquisitely uncomfortable way. Felix moans as Oli sucks, cheeks hollowed, eyes glazed, slavering around his thick delicious dick.
“Fuck, fuck,” Felix is repeating almost indecipherably, “you fucking freak, you fucking slut, my fucking bitch.”
Oli has never been more turned on in his entire goddamn life, he could cum just hearing that, hearing that all-important two-letter-word ‘my’ in particular, with Felix in his face, claiming him now just as Oli had claimed the tall man in his mind the very first instant he’d seen him, spied him across the campus.
Felix puts his hand around Oli’s neck now, closing his lovely long fingers around his throat as his dick continues sliding in and out, up and down, choking him, feeling the bulge in Oli’s throat from the outside, tracing his skin as Oli’s brain short circuits. He feels Felix’s dick start to twitch, as if he’s on the verge of cumming, when Felix withdraws and steps back, looking down at Oliver so raggedly, ravenously.
“More?” Felix asks him. “You want more, freak?”
Oli nods, nods nods nods, almost falls off the bed nodding, because if Felix doesn’t fuck him now he’s going to fucking die.
“Then fucking move,” Felix commands, one hand gripping the base of his leaking dick, the other gesturing to Oliver to turn around and get on his hands and knees further up the bed.
Then Felix walks out of the room without warning and Oli almost cries, he’s so hard and so hot and so needy, forgetting anything that has ever existed beside Felix’s strong hands and filthy grunts and his perfect perfect pink cock now that he’s had a taste, unsure how to go on for even a second if this is the last he gets to see of them. Thankfully though, Felix has not in fact abandoned him, but instead fetched lube from the bathroom, a clearly very expensive bottle, sleek and black and somehow heavenly scented. Then he’s working his fingers into Oliver’s hole, messily and roughly but thoroughly preparing him for several excruciating, ecstatic minutes, before he finally pushes himself inside, stretching Oli so tightly, so gloriously, invading his very being over and over and over, fingers now digging possessively into Oli’s sides, sure to leave bruises, signatures, occasionally slapping the round rise of his arse, smacking him hard, making it sting red, fucking him rougher and faster and more and more erratically until he’s totally falling apart, rhythm disintegrating, cursing cursing cursing, blessing blessing blessing.
And despite everything, despite it all, every fucking sick decision Oliver’s made to get to this point and every one he’ll make from here on out until the bitter bloody end, and despite the fact he’s a liar he’s a liar he’s a liar he’s a lie, in that moment Oli wants more than anything to tell Felix the truth, to tell him he’s sorry, to tell him he’s God, to tell him I love you I love you Iloveyou IloveyouIloveyou Iloveyouloveyouloveyouyouyou until his voice gives way and he can never speak again, would never even want to because there’d be nothing else to say.
He’s about to cry it out when Felix stalls inside him, grabs his shoulder so hard it’s almost a stabbing and coughs out, “Fuck, I’m gonna-”
And Oli grinds back against him to make it clear he wants Felix to cum inside him, not to spill it, not to waste it, but to make it a part of him, to further join their bodies in this way.
So Felix cums hard, gripping Oliver tighter still and moaning in a way that again would make even the most seasoned porn star blush, shoots it all deep inside Oli’s arse then holds himself there for another breathless moment that could almost be mistaken for tenderness as he softens, pulling out and watching spellbound as some of the creamy liquid runs out of Oli’s spent hole, dripping down between his cheeks. Felix wipes it up with his fingers then Oli turns around, and Felix slides them into Oliver’s mouth, feeding him his cum like it’s honey, rare spiced honey from some exotic part of the world, feeling Oliver’s tongue swirl hungrily over the pads of his fingers and watching his eyes roll back in his head as he cums too, white ribbons spraying onto his own toned stomach and abs. Oli then runs his fingers through his own warm cum, licking up the taste of himself now, combining them both in his mouth, salty and slick. Felix watches with such intensity Oli would explode again right away if he could, shaking and sighing and thinking about life and death and heaven and hell all at once and not at all, then Felix turns and wordlessly walks back to the bathroom again.
“Get in here,” he calls, turning on the tap once more. “We’re fucking filthy, we need a bath.”