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“So who are you asking?”
“What?”
They’re in Felix’s dorm, huddled by the radiator as snow whips by the window. Felix is lying on his back adjacent to the weak heat source, burning through cigarettes in an attempt to keep his hands warm. His head rests on Oliver’s ankles where he leans against the wall, blanket wrapped around his shoulders.
“To the Valentine’s party,” Felix gestures.
There’s a pause.
“Oh,” Oliver says flatly, thinking. “I’m not sure.”
Felix tilts his head to look up at him, blowing smoke in his face, grinning when Oliver waves his hand to clear the air.
“Surely you have someone in mind,” Felix insists. He’s always so secretive; it drives him crazy.
“Not really,” Oliver shrugs dismissively, leaning his head back against the wall. Felix follows the curve of his throat with curious eyes, tsking, taking another drag from his cigarette.
“There, there, Ollie,” he teases. “You’ll have your first kiss someday.”
“There’s no rush,” Oliver mumbles absentmindedly, not meeting his eyes, and Felix feels his world stop turning.
“What?” A cloud of smoke puffs out with the question.
“What?” Oliver echoes, confused. Felix rolls over onto his stomach, bracing his wrists on Oliver’s shins, the butt of his cigarette coming dangerously close to his pants.
“You haven’t–? Mate, I was just playing,” Felix says, mouth suddenly very dry. Oliver flushes.
He had always skirted around talk of relationships when the topic was brought up, but Felix had just assumed he was, like with most other things, private about that side of his life. It hadn’t occurred to him that maybe he didn’t have anything to elaborate on.
“S’alright,” Oliver assures him. Felix just stares at him for a second longer before rolling back over, returning to counting the notches in the ceiling and trying to ignore the way this new information sits in his chest.
Felix cannot, contrary to his earlier belief, ignore any of the thoughts bombarding his brain. He’s snogging India the day after and catches himself wondering what Oliver’s lips would feel like, if they’d be rougher, if he’d kiss harder, if he’d lead or be led.
Annabel’s on her knees in his dorm the next evening with her lips wrapped around him and he comes with his eyes closed pretending it’s a set of blue ones looking up at him. He decides not to kill her buzz when she attributes his quick finish to her new thong.
He couldn’t have told her the colour of it even if someone had tried to waterboard it out of him.
It only takes a week before he caves.
“Y’know,” he starts, watching Oliver as he pours over a textbook. “I could help you practice.”
“Practice what?” Oliver isn’t giving him his full attention, too focussed on using the library for its intended purpose. Boring.
“Kissing.” His head snaps up at that, blue eyes finding Felix’s in shock, pencil clattering to the table.
“What?” Oliver looks a bit like an owl, the way he’s staring at him. Felix shrugs, keeping his tone casual.
“Yeah, like, so you have experience if you ask someone to the dance,” he says nonchalantly. “And we’re friends, so it wouldn’t count as your real first kiss, or whatever.”
Felix traces his finger along the coiled spine of his notebook, waiting for the confirmation he needs so he can drag Oliver back to his dorm and–
“Maybe.”
Felix looks up, mouth falling open in disbelief.
Maybe?
Oliver turns his attention back to his book as if he hasn’t just shattered Felix’s world view and self–confidence, and Felix opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water.
He makes a face at him before dropping his chin into the crook of his folded arms on the table, sulking quietly.
His only consolation is the faint pink tint that’s risen to Oliver’s cheeks.
Felix doesn’t even care all that much, really.
If Oliver wants to go through his school years without getting any action, it’s his loss. Felix is just trying to be a good friend.
The only problem is that when he gets an idea in his head, it eats him alive.
The thought of being the first person to give Oliver the experience of kissing consumes his every waking thought, and quite frankly, the intensity of this sudden urge to possess, corrupt, claim– it scares him. It really doesn’t help that said urges are directed towards his best mate.
On top of that, Felix does not chase after people. Absolutely not. He doesn’t have to lift a finger for there to be a pretty girl chomping at the bit to be taken back to his dorm; that’s just how his life has always been. But now, he’s wondering if maybe not having to put in effort has gotten dull.
That’s it, surely. He just wants a challenge, bored with the same thing; it’s nothing to do with it being Oliver specifically. Because that’s gay, and Felix Catton is not gay.
If his train of thought begins to spiral into the territory of what the implications of Oliver never having kissed someone mean for his other firsts, that’s his business and his business alone.
“Are you scared?” Felix asks, pulling his lolly from his mouth with an obnoxious pop.
He’s lying on his stomach in his bed, half–studying, legs bent at the knees with his feet in the air. Oliver is sitting at his desk, full–studying like a nerd, but he looks up inquisitively at the question.
Felix sighs, inconvenienced as always by having to verbalize his train of thought.
“Of kissing,” he says flippantly, as though it should have been obvious, twirling his lollipop.
Oliver’s face closes off as he looks back at his book.
“No,” he says resolutely.
“Are you scared of kissing me?” Felix presses, earning a small eye–roll.
“No, Felix,” Oliver says flatly, and Felix hums.
“Why won’t you kiss me, then?” He watches a series of expressions briefly take hold of Oliver’s face one by one before he settles on one of irritance.
“Why are you thinking so much about kissing me?” Oliver shoots back, looking very satisfied at the way it momentarily surprises Felix into silence.
Oliver turns his attention to his book again, assuming he’s granted himself some peace, but Felix bounces back quickly.
“Am I not allowed to care about my friends?” He asks, defensive. “Also, you didn’t answer my question.”
“That’s not–” Oliver shakes his head. “I’m not scared, I just think it would make things weird.”
“How would it be weird?” Felix rolls onto his side and sits up, sensing a crack in Oliver’s defense and leaping on it like a cat pouncing on its prey.
“Because, Felix,” Oliver sighs, leaning back in his chair. “It just would.”
Felix is already on the prowl, sliding off his bed and walking over to his desk, knowing he needs to strike while the iron is hot. Oliver looks up at him nervously, adjusting his glasses, and it makes his stomach twist.
“That’s a lame answer,” Felix says, placing his hands on the edge of the desk and leaning down. “I think you’re scared you’ll like it.”
It’s risky, but it does the trick, bringing red to Oliver’s face. Felix grins. Oliver does not.
“Piss off,” he mumbles, no real bite to his words, and Felix knows he’s won.
“Okay,” he shrugs, backing away with his hands up. “I was only playing.”
He feels Oliver’s eyes on him multiple times throughout the rest of their study session, and now that the thought has been planted, he knows it’s only a matter of time before he gets what he wants. He just has to bide his time.
The pub is loud, packed as any other Friday night, but Felix doesn’t mind. He’s crammed into a booth with Oliver pressed against his side, and everytime they speak to each other they have to lean in to hear over the music, and the less sober Oliver gets, the more he lets his eyes drop to Felix’s lips when he speaks.
It’s near midnight when everyone starts to clear out, making the chilly walk back to their dorms. Felix insists on accompanying Oliver back, the same way he always does, and Oliver doesn’t complain, drifting into his personal space a little more than usual as they walk.
When they reach his dorm, he waits for Oliver to unlock the door, as always, but this time Oliver hovers in the doorway.
He blinks up at Felix in a way that makes his ears ring a little bit, seemingly planning out his next words.
“I’ve been thinking,” he says, and Felix’s ears perk up.
“About?”
Oliver sways, leaning against the doorframe.
“About practicing, y’know,” he gestures vaguely, the tips of his ears going red. Felix has to fight off a grin, instead going for nonchalance.
“Practicing?” He tilts his head. Oliver lets out a sound of exasperation, pleading with his eyes as if that’ll get him out of having to say it.
Felix thinks that if he keeps looking up at him like that, he’s going to start having problems, but he’s sure that’s the alcohol speaking.
“Never mind,” Oliver mumbles, and Felix relents.
He brings his hand under Oliver’s chin, tilting his face up, leaning down and licking his lips and watching with delight the way dark lashes flutter closed in anticipation–
And then he drops his hand, leaning back. Oliver’s eyes fly open.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” He claps Oliver on the back before stepping away. “Text me when you’re up.”
He blows him a kiss and then turns, finally allowing the grin to spread across his face, feeling giddy the whole way back to his dorm.
Felix wasn’t even aware he had that level of self restraint. He knows he could’ve had whatever he wanted then and there, but at some point over the past two weeks, the urge to blindly claim has turned into something else. He wants to make sure Oliver will remember it; he doesn’t want them both drunk and half–incoherent.
He doesn’t know when his, upon reflection, admittedly self–serving intentions turned into something more, but it’s like a brain worm that he can’t get out, and he’s not sure he wants to.
There are a couple texts waiting for him when he wakes up in the early afternoon, but none from Oliver, and he chews on his thumb, wondering if he came on too strong and scared him off.
He gives it some time in case Oliver’s just sleeping in, getting dressed and ready for the day while he waits, but after another hour of radio silence, he’s out the door and marching with purpose to Oliver’s dorm.
He hears a flurry noise inside shortly after he knocks, a pause as Oliver presumably looks through the peephole, and then the door is swinging open.
Oliver looks up at him, nervous, still in his sleep clothes, squinting without his glasses.
“You didn’t text,” Felix says, not thrilled with how pouty he comes off. Oliver relaxes, scoffing.
“It’s only noon,” he points out, opening the door fully and stepping out of the way, letting Felix walk in. Felix shrugs, tossing his coat over a chair and sitting down on the bed, letting himself fall back on the mattress.
Oliver continues bustling about, both of them used to coming over to each other’s dorms just to sit in silent company, but it feels different today. Felix doesn’t say anything while Oliver dresses and brushes his teeth, replying to texts until the mattress dips as Oliver lays down on his back next to him.
Neither of them say anything, Felix tapping away on his phone and trying to ignore his irregular heartbeat until a diabolical thought pops into his head, and he snaps his mouth shut before a laugh slips out.
Oliver notices the barely–there snort immediately, turning his head to look at him.
“What?” He asks, amused. Felix shakes his head, draping his wrist over his eyes to buy himself a few more seconds while he makes up his mind.
Fuck it.
He’s up in a flash, rolling over to sit up and throwing a leg over Oliver’s body so he’s straddling his waist before he so much as has a chance to react.
Oliver stares up at him, eyes wide as saucers, looking absolutely petrified.
“Felix,” he croaks out, looking seconds from passing out. Felix would feel worse, if he hadn’t been suffering just as much from all of the lingering gazes over the past week.
“You said you wanted to practice,” he tilts his head, furrowing his eyebrows in faux–confusion.
“This isn’t funny.” Oliver’s cheeks are a lovely shade of pink. Felix wants to eat him.
He leans down, bracing his hands on the mattress on either side of Oliver’s head.
“I’m not laughing,” Felix whispers conspiratorially, then softens, his heart thumping.
“Can I kiss you?”
Oliver nods before he’s even finished asking, and Felix closes the distance between them with a smile.
The moment their lips touch, he knows he can’t pretend for a second that this is still just a friend helping a friend, because his heart somersaults so violently that he’s worried he might be having a stroke.
Oliver’s lips are soft, dry, no sticky lipgloss transferring to his own lips, no artificial strawberry taste, just mint toothpaste. He registers faint stubble against his chin, and it stirs something deep in his chest, inhaling the familiar smell of his aftershave and green apple shampoo.
Oliver’s inexperience is there, but Felix is sure half of it is just nerves, with the way he can feel his hands hesitantly ghosting over his hips.
He reaches down to take Oliver’s wrists, not breaking the kiss as he places his smaller hands firmly on his waist.
“You can touch,” Felix murmurs into the kiss, knowing how Oliver is.
That seems to give him some confidence, because his hands slip just under the hem of his shirt, pressing firm on bare skin, and Felix groans against his lips.
Oliver’s hips buck up almost immediately in reaction to the sound, and Felix swears under his breath. He can’t remember the last time he’d gotten worked up so fast, his head spinning a little, not foreseeing his afternoon going this way.
He’s vaguely aware of Oliver apologizing for his perceived misstep, but he doesn’t reply, diving back in to deepen the kiss, tangling one hand in soft curls. He can’t help but roll his hips down in response, and Oliver honest to god whimpers, and Felix thinks he might have to leave the room for a few minutes to compose himself.
Oliver doesn’t seem intent on letting him up anytime soon though, hands sliding further up his shirt, settling on his ribcage.
Felix feels like the inexperienced one, quickly losing composure, his face burning hot. He pulls back to look at the man beneath him and decides that’s a mistake, because Oliver looks like a fucking vision, glasses skewed and lips spit–slicked and cheeks red and Felix doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve this but god, is he ever glad.
“Fuck, you’re pretty,” he blurts out, and Oliver lets out a choked moan, pressing down between his shoulder blades with one hand to drag him back down.
Oliver’s thumbs graze over his nipples when Felix reconnects their lips, and the noise he makes is borderline embarrassing, flushing as he pushes into his touch. He moves his hips again, and he’s relieved to feel he’s not the only one who’s gotten hard in record time.
“Can I?” Oliver breathes out, hands roaming lower to settle on Felix’s hips.
“Yeah, yes,” Felix nods enthusiastically, not even knowing what Oliver’s asking for and not caring in the slightest, but then Oliver is gripping his hips tightly, bringing him down.
Felix takes the hint, adjusting his position so he’s laying flat, slotting his leg between Oliver’s, dropping onto his elbows. Oliver pulls his hips down against his own and Felix’s eyes flutter closed at the friction, tugging at his bottom lip in retaliation, going lightheaded at the groan he gets in return.
Oliver rocks up against him, and Felix moans into his mouth, digging his fingers into the blanket. The grip on his hips is like a vice, and he hopes it leaves bruises, the dull ache only serving to fog his head up even more, his heartbeat in his throat.
One hand lets go in favour of tangling in the back of his hair, giving an experimental tug, and Felix nearly becomes hysterical, pulling away from the kiss to let his forehead drop onto the mattress next to Oliver as his vision goes out for a second.
“Ollie–” A harsher pull, and he ruts his hips down with a shudder, twisting the blanket in his hands. “If you keep doing that, I can’t–”
“I know,” Oliver pants, turning his head to nip at the crook of his neck, and Felix feels it all the way down to his dick.
He thrusts against him like he’s fucking him, pulling at Felix’s hair to guide him back into a kiss, and Felix can’t believe he’s about to come in his pants like a fucking virgin.
Oliver’s obviously not far off either, taking Felix’s bottom lip between his teeth, iron grip on his waist. Felix gets a hand in Oliver’s hair again too, tugging at it, stomach coiling at the way he whines beneath him, grinding his hips down with purpose.
“Felix,” Oliver warns, bucking his hips up.
“Yeah, me too,” Felix exhales, thrusting against him feverishly. Oliver bites down sharp on his bottom lip, and he’s pretty sure he can taste rust, and his dick throbs.
“Fuck,” he gasps against Oliver’s mouth, whimpered pleas beginning to fall from his lips like a mantra.
“Sound so pretty,” Oliver takes it in stride, getting bold. “Gonna come with me?”
Felix nods frantically, every inch of his skin buzzing. He kisses Oliver hard, teeth clashing against his, the hand in his hair tightening, and then he’s shaking as he comes harder than he ever has, his cock pulsing in his pants.
“Ollie, fuck,” he chokes out. Oliver moans Felix’s name into his mouth, tipping over the edge too, hips jerking erratically, nails digging into the side of his hip.
Felix presses down hard against him, seeing white behind his eyelids, letting his head fall into the crook of Oliver’s neck, panting open–mouthed against the hot skin there.
He’s full body trembling, and Oliver keeps rocking his hips up until they’re both jerking away from the stimulation, quieting down, heavy breathing filling the room.
“Fuck,” Felix breathes out, collapsing on top of Oliver.
“Fuck,” Oliver rasps in agreement.
Felix closes his eyes, catching his breath, burying his face against Oliver’s neck. A hand comes up to thread into his hair again, running through it gently, and he hums, a lazy smile finding its way to his face.
He rolls off of Oliver, pressing up against his side instead, draping a leg over one of his and throwing an arm over his waist.
“Ugh,” he grimaces when the movement reminds him of the mess he’s made in his underwear, and Oliver’s chest rumbles with laughter beneath him.
They both get quiet, Oliver tracing his finger along Felix’s spine.
“Was that okay?” Felix asks, biting the inside of his cheek. He hadn’t meant for it to go that far, really, and he’s worried he overwhelmed Oliver.
“Felix,” Oliver huffs out a laugh. “That was so hot.”
“Did it make things weird?” Felix gets cheeky, tilting his head to look up at him through his lashes.
“No,” Oliver replies patiently, moving his hand up to the back of his neck, playing with the shorter hairs there. Felix can hear the smile in his voice, and he relaxes, falling silent again for a few minutes.
“Oliver?”
“Hm?”
“I kinda think I might die if you kiss someone else,” the words slip from his mouth, filter lost in the mush of his post–sex–with–best–friend brain. He’s never been possessive like this, never cared to have someone all to himself, but the thought of Oliver underneath someone else makes his chest tighten.
Oliver stills under him, and Felix holds his breath, nervous.
“Is this your way of asking me to be your Valentine?” He quips, and Felix swats at him. Oliver exhales a laugh, then grows serious.
“I don’t think I’ll ever want to kiss anyone else,” he admits, and Felix’s heart does a little skip.
“Cool,” he says softly, tilting his head back down to hide his grin. “The feeling’s mutual.”