Chapter Text
Ring.
“Fuck.”
Ring.
“Fuuuuuuck.”
Ring.
“Oliver, you get it.”
Ring.
“You’re the one who’s up.”
Ring.
“So are you. Besides, I’m dead.”
Ring.
“So am I.”
Ring.
“If you answer, I’ll suck you off at work again.”
Ring.
“Is that a promise or a threat?”
Ring.
“Both.”
Oliver laughed and finally got out of bed. It took him a moment to actually stand after sitting up and I snuggled further under the covers, satisfied smile on my face as he shuffled out of the bedroom. We’d gone out with Jeffrey after the Pride Parade: a real proper night out with loud music and dancing and one too many shots. We were paying dearly for it the next morning, though. I was so hungover I could barely think straight, let alone open my eyes or answer the phone. We of course could have let the phone go to voicemail, but I had ulterior motives. Once Oliver was done on the phone, he’d probably make coffee and breakfast. Which meant breakfast in bed for me before going right back to sleep. I heard Oliver’s voice in the living room. He was chatting and laughing and I wondered how he could be so amiable considering he probably had a horrible headache.
“Baby?”
I groaned and pulled Oliver’s pillow over my head. If he wasn’t asking what I wanted for breakfast, there was no reason to answer.
“Babe?”
I still didn't reply, and a few moments later, Oliver was perched on the edge of the bed. “Hey,” he said, rubbing my back, “come into the living room. Someone wants to talk to you.”
I groaned again by way of response.
“C’mon, babe. It’s your parents. They want to say hi and give us some information ahead of their trip.”
My parents were due on the first to kick off July. I sighed and finally tossed aside Oliver’s pillow. That was a mistake, though, because our bedroom was far too bright for my liking. “Why’d you open the blinds?” My throat was sore and my voice was croaky and Oliver laughed at my expense. I pouted, but he swooped in and kissed me just as soon as I did.
“Come on. They want to talk to you. They miss you.”
I groaned and let Oliver tug me out of bed and into the living room. Every part of my body was sore and achey, especially my legs, which burned from our marching and from our subsequent partying. He sat me down on the couch and held the phone up to my ear for me. “Hullo?”
“Oh, tesoro.” My mom’s voice was soft and gentle. My dad just laughed.
“Hey,” I groaned, leaning into Oliver a bit, “don’t laugh at me.”
“Sorry, Elly-Belly,” my dad said, and I wished they were there too so that the four of us could snuggle up with coffee and be together. “What was it? Vodka?”
“You know me too well.” Oliver laughed and kissed the top of my head. “Why is everyone laughing at me?” I whined. I closed my eyes and turned my head so that I could press my face into Oliver’s armpit.
“Elly,” my dad said, laughter still evident in his voice, “we wanted to call and go over our flight information with you and Oliver.” They did so, giving us their date of arrival and flight times. We talked a bit more, about our plans for the two whole weeks they’d be in the city.
“Oliver?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Can we take them to the Center one day?”
“The Resource Center?” my mom asked and I smiled, almost forgetting they were still on the line. “We’d love to go, darling. We can finally meet Mark. And Jeffrey!”
“We’ll add it to the list.”
“And can we watch fireworks on the Fourth?” My words were a bit slurred and I pushed my face into Oliver’s shirt.
Oliver tugged gently at my curls. “We can. You sleepy?”
“Yeah.”
He pulled the phone away from my ear and I snuggled closer as he said goodbye to my parents. “Yeah, we’ll see you then. We can meet you at the airport...no, no, of course we will. Absolutely. See you then! I’ll tell him. Love you too, Mrs. P. Ciao.” Once Oliver hung up, his hands were back in my hair. “Do you want to go back to bed or do you want coffee.”
“Both.”
“How about breakfast? Do you want me to make you something? Bacon and eggs?”
My stomach churned at the thought of food. “Ugh, no.”
“Pancakes?”
“Oliver…”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t -” My stomach swooped again and I was up in an instant, bolting to the bathroom.
“Elio?”
I flung myself onto the tile floor and threw the toilet seat up just in time to vomit into the bowl.
“Oh, Elio,” Oliver sighed from behind me. He combed my hair back, holding my curls as I continued to retch. After emptying the contents of my stomach, I dry heaved a few times before falling back against Oliver who was kneeling behind me. “You must feel better, huh?” Oliver asked, leaning over me to flush the toilet.
I dragged the back of my hand over my mouth and closed my eyes. “I’m never drinking ever again.”
“Aww, you’re alright.” Oliver’s voice was low and soothing and he rubbed gentle circles over my back. “What do you need?”
“My toothbrush.”
Instead, Oliver leaned down and kissed me, just a gentle press of lips, vomit breath and all. He helped me brush my teeth and clean the leftover glitter still on my face, then steered me right back into bed. “You’re to stay put until you feel better, got it? And as soon as you’re up we can try to have some toast.”
“Why is this happening to me?” I croaked, snuggling up under our comforter. “You’re the old one and you’re fine. I’m young. I’m spry. I shouldn’t be this hungover.”
Oliver laughed and pushed my hair off my forehead. “Well, you did have twice as many shots as I did last night, so that probably explains it.” He kissed the top of my head and leaned over to shut the blinds. “You want me to stay?”
“Yes, please.”
As soon as Oliver crawled into bed, I was asleep again, snoring into the pillow with my boyfriend’s arms around me.
When I woke up a few hours later, after freshening up, I tiptoed into the study where Oliver was perched at his desk. “Don’t tell me you’re already working on your syllabi for next semester.”
Oliver turned in his chair and grinned when he saw me in the doorway wearing nothing but boxers and one of his sweaters which hung off my shoulders. “No, I’m working on an itinerary for when your parents get here.” I made my way over and he pushed back from the desk to give me enough room. I perched on his lap and made myself quite comfortable. “Feeling better?”
“Very much. Thank you.”
Oliver wrapped his arms around me and perched his head on my shoulder. “How does my list look so far?”
I cleared my throat before reading off the items on his list. He covered all the basics: The Met, The Whitney, some new restauratns we’d been meaning to try as well as some old favorites. He’d listed a few Broadway shows we’d wanted to see, adding a parenthetical that he had to look into tickets, and he’d also remembered to put down a trip to the Resource Center.
“I think that all sounds fantastic,” I said once I finished reading it over. I beamed and kissed Oliver’s cheek. “They love you, you know,” I said of my parents. Ever since Oliver’s mom passing away, ever since his dad hitting him, I made sure to remind Oliver often about how much my parents cared for him.
“I know.” He pushed his face into my neck and inhaled. “I know they do. I’m very thankful for your family, Elio. So lucky to have them. And you.”
“ Especially me.”
“Yes, my darling brat, especially you.”
“Hey! I’m not a brat!”
“Mhm, sure. Whatever you say.” He kissed a line along my neck and I knew he was tracing my freckles with his lips. He loved to do that, so I tilted my head to the side and indulged him for a few minutes. “You think you can stomach some breakfast?”
“I think so.”
“Good, because I’m starving.”
“You didn’t have to wait for me to eat, you know.”
“I didn’t, I already had breakfast. But I’m fucking hungry.”
“You’re an absolute brute,” I accused, kissing him quickly before hopping off his lap and practically scampering off to the kitchen.
Our first four weeks of summer vacation had been absolute bliss. The temperatures in June had already peaked at a warm 80 and I knew it would only get warmer from there. It seemed that Pride the day before had really set us in motion for summer, though. The high was 85, but a warm breeze followed us down Fifth avenue. The sky was bright blue and clear and I hoped that every day during the summer of 1986 would be just as beautiful.
“God, my legs are still sore,” I complained a full two days later. My parents were arriving the next afternoon so we were out grocery shopping. Although we were sure we’d be eating out for nearly every meal, Oliver and I were planning on hosting dinner once or twice during their two-week stay. Luckily they booked a hotel closer to our apartment than they did last time, which afforded us more time to relax at home with them. I looked forward to that, to the time we couold all sit together with a book or a drink or a smoke, harkening back to younger, simpler, freer, easier times.
“Same,” Oliver said, using the grocery card like a walker. “Remind me why we went out with Jeffrey again?”
“Becuase it was fun as fuck, but Jesus . I feel like I’m 90.”
“You said it, babe.”
I let Oliver do most of the grocery shopping, as he was the main chef at home. I picked out a few side dishes, but my main forte was snacks.
“You never used to eat this stuff in Italy,” Oliver said as I tossed a package of Oreos and a huge jar of peanut butter into the cart.
“That’s because we didn’t have this in Italy. Oh, I need Nutella!”
“You can put peanut butter on your toast, Elio.”
“No, the peanut butter is for the Oreos,” I corrected, mock-aghast ad Oliver’s ignorance.
“What about some fruit?”
“Yes, definitely. But in addition to my junk food. Trying to tell me I’m getting fat?”
“No, you could actually stand to gain a few pounds.” He pinched my side and I giggled, a sound which quickly died as Oliver tugged me close. I was glad we were in a more sequestered aisle, but my heart still thrummed at Oliver’s boldness. “You’ve got quite a sweet tooth, don’t you?”
“Only for you,” I whispered, our lips just a hairdsbreath apart. Oliver leaned in for just a quick kiss before pulling back. “Fine, well if you’re getting Oreos, I’m getting Nilla Waifers.”
“Ugh, really? Those are so boring .”
“Clearly my palate is more refined than yours,” Oliver bragged, puffing out his chest a bit. I rolled my eyes and flicked his arm and we went on our way through the aisles.
As we put away the groceries later, Oliver tapped me on the shoulder. I turned from where I was practically waist deep in our fridge, trying to make room for our newly purchased produce. “What?” I asked immediately after one look at the sly grin on his face.
He produced a peach from behind his back, one of the few we’d picked up at the grocery. “Would you ever do this for me again?”
“Oliver, that was three years ago. I don’t mind you teasing me about it, but I was young. I didn’t know what I wanted. I wanted - I wanted you, and now I have you.”
“Yes, but I’m not teasing.” He took a step forward and I had to tilt my head back to look at him. “I want you to. I want to watch you do it. I want to eat it again.”
“Oliver, I -”
He kissed me and then stepped back, placing the peach ever so gingerly next to its brothers in our fruit basket. “Think about it. Could be fun.”
And think about it I did. All through lunch, all through our afternoon walk in the park, all through our siesta on the couch. I flushed at the thought of doing it again, but moreso at the memory of the fruit around my cock. The squelching wetness as I removed the pit. The musty attic. The music on the radio. Oliver eating it afterward, peach juice and my come dribbling over his lip. That tongue, that mouth. How I loved having him over and over again. I wished to go back in time. I wished I could go back and tell my younger self that it would be fine. That yes, Oliver would go. He would leave, but I’d make my way back to him. I wanted to reassure my own self that years down the line, we’d be together but our same old selves. Still sick and depraved and thinking only of pre-cock apri-cock cock cock cock .
“Oliver,” I said, putting down my book. He looked like he was halfway between dozing and reading so I nudged him with my foot.
“Hmm?”
“I want you to eat me out.” That perked him up almost instantly. I tossed my book aside and stripped off my teeshirt. He threw his book down and was on me in a second. I wriggled underneath him as I struggled a bit to take off my jeans.
“What brought this on?” he asked as he kissed down my chest. He licked a line from one freckle to the other and I whimpered.
“Just thinking about you. About the peach. About us.”
Oliver stood and knelt on the floor, helping me to kneel on the couch. He stripped me of my jeans and boxers before spreading my cheeks with his palms. I groaned and pressed my hips back into his hands. I loved how big he was, how he could fully envelop me with just five fingers. He leaned in and lapped ever so gently over my hole. “God, you know how much I love this,” he sighed, soundlng completely blissed out already.
“Less talking more licking,” I pleaded as I let my head come to rest on my arms which were folded over the back of the couch.
“Yes, sir,” Oliver teased. But my cock throbbed at that and I thrust my ass back against Oliver’s face. He laughed, but got the memo and quickly went back to work.
“Ah, Jesus…” He lapped over my twitching hole over and over, hands firmly on my ass as he did so. After a few short minutes, Oliver pressed his tongue inside me and I cried out, rocking my hips back a bit more. I could feel his spit dripping between my ass and balls and my cock leaked onto our couch at the sound of his delighted moans. I was about to bring my hand down around my cock when -
Ring.
“Fuck.”
Ring .
“Oliver…”
Ring.
“Just let it go to voicemail. Whoever it is can leave a message.” Oliver went straight back to the task at hand and we let the phone ring until the machine clicked. But whoever it was didn’t leave a message. I went back to concentrating on the feel of Oliver’s tongue inside me, his lips working against my skin.
Ring.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Ring.
“Why didn’t they just leave a message?”
Ring.
Oliver pulled back and nipped at my asscheek. “Hey, you know what would be fun? Why don’t you answer it and I’ll keep doing this.”
Ring.
“You’re disgusting.”
Ring.
“But you love it. Go on. Answer.”
Ring.
“Fine.” I leaned over and picked up the receiver just as Oliver buried his face between my cheeks. “Uhh...hullo?”
“Elio?” It was a woman. She sounded familiar, but I couldn't really place the voice, not with Oliver’s tongue up my asshole.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“Elio, salut! It’s Marzia.”
“Marzia! Marzia, fuck , hi.”
“Is this a, uh...bad time or something?"
“No, no. This is...fine.” Oliver ducked his head to lick a stripe from behind my balls back up to my hole. “What’s up?”
“Well, I just spoke to your parents and they told me they’re visiting you. I’m in Crema, by the way. The weather is just gorgeous here.”
“Oh, really?”
“Mmh, oui. Well, I was thinking about coming to visit too, maybe during the second week that your parents are there. I know that’s only a week from now, so I would have to book a ticket, but I can also come later in the summer.”
I grinned at the thought of Marzia coming to visit and was instantly transported back to the few days we spent together before I left for New York. We’d gone through my book on the city about eight hundred times, circling nearly everything. I’d done most of those things over the course of my two years in New York, and was instatnly filled with giddy excitement at showing Marzia around. “That sounds great. I’ll have to uh - Check with Oliver on dates.” Speaking of Oliver, he was back to my hole, now pressing a spit slicked finger in along side his tongue. He must’ve sucked on it.
“Oui. I’ve missed you so much, Elio.”
“And I you.” We exchanged letters often, more often than we spoke on the phone since we had very different schedules. It’d been a year since I’d seen her in person and I couldn’t wait to have her there on our turf in New York. Suddenly, Oliver wrapped his arm around me, his hand finding my cock hanging hard and heavy between my legs. “Look, Marzia,” I said, voice a bit shakey, “I’ve gotta -”
“Is the weather nice there too? You mother said it’s very hot in New York.”
“It is, yeah. Can I -”
“I’ll have to buy some new summer clothes before I come. Maybe Chiara can lend me some things. Oh Elio, you’ve got to come to Milan in the winter. Your maman said you might. The fashion scene there has really exploded, I think you and Oliver could find some really good pieces to bring back to New York.”
And this was when I absolutely hated having such a loquacious friend. “Marzia,” I said, very nearly letting out a groan of Oliver’s name as he swept his thumb over the leaking head of my cock. She immediately shut up and I breathed a sigh of relief. “I need to go. Uh, I’ve got dinner in the oven. I’ll talk to Oliver about dates, alright?”
“Oh, Elio, why didn’t you say something? Yes, go. I’ll talk to you later. Câlins et bisous.”
“Love you. Bye.” I slammed down the phone so hard I was afraid I cracked it, but what did I care with Oliver’s hand around my cock and his tongue and finger up my ass. “Fuck, right fucking there,” I sighed, rocking my hips back into Oliver's mouth and forward into his hand. My legs began to shake. A shiver ran down my back. My skin prickled. I came just a moment later, spilling all over the couch cushion, moaning Oliver’s and my own name over and over like a prayer.
Once I finished coming, he slowly pulled his finger free and nipped at the spot where my thigh met my ass. “That was fucking gorgeous.”
“Fuck,” I managed between labored breaths. I hung my head, trying to regain some composure. “Shit, Ol. Can you get me a wet cloth?”
Oliver didnt do that, though. He just stood up and flipped me over so that I was laying on the couch, naked and spread for him. He came to stand between my legs and unzipped his pants faster than I’d ever seen. He began jerking off, looking down at me through hooded eyes. I grinned up at him, my lover, my boyfriend, and wiggled a little on the couch. “Stay just like that for me.”
“Like what you see?” I purred, dragging my fingers over my chest.
“You know I do.”
My torso was soon met with Oliver’s come, hot and sticky over my skin. “Love you,” I murmured as I rubbed his come over my tummy, effectively smearing it all over my skin.
“You are a gift,” Oliver said, surging down to kiss me. “An absolute gift.”
“I know I am.” I kissed him again, a bit slower as both our heartrates went back to normal. “Marzia wants to come visit.”
“I gathered.”
“Should we have her come during the last week my parents are here? Or later in the summer.”
“Up to you.” Oliver kissed my forehead before going into the kitchen to finally grab a washcloth.
“That better not stain,” I said as he began wiping my come off the cushion. “Maybe after my parents,” I finally said, trying to hide how selfish that made me feel. “So we can spend time just with them.”
“We can call her in the morning. Your parents don’t get in until 3.”
“Sounds like a plan.” I snatched the washcloth once Oliver was done with the couch to wipe off my stomach before I stood and stretched out my long limbs. Oliver looked up at me from his perch on the couch, grinning like a madman. “What?”
“Nothing, just like looking at you is all.”
“You look crazy.”
“C’mere, you.” Oliver reached out, grabbed me by the waist, and pulled me down onto his lap, tickling me until I was crying with laughter. If the first month was anything to go by, it was shaping up to be a wonderful summer.