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Hell, he was pretty sure no one had ever looked at him the way Oliver was just then.
“Please stop,” he heard himself say.
Oliver quickly pulled his hand away. “I’m so sorry. I should have ask—”
“No,” Victor interrupted. He pushed up on his elbows in spite of his lingering embarrassment and gritted his teeth as his left leg—the weaker one—began to spasm.
To his credit, Oliver only briefly glanced at it before meeting Victor’s eyes.
“Please don’t be sorry. I’m just sensitive and feeling a little vulnerable. I wanted you too much, and I just…I couldn’t help it. I didn’t even realize I was coming until it happened.”
Oliver quickly dropped down, shoving Victor onto his back with his chest, and he bracketed him with a hand on either side of his shoulders. When his head lowered, Victor braced himself for a kiss, but Oliver instead nuzzled their noses together.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Oliver murmured. He pressed a kiss to the corner of Victor’s mouth. “Do you think you can get hard again?”
“I don’t know. Probably not. I’m a bit old for that now.”
Oliver hummed, then shifted, and Victor felt hardness through the lace pressing against his hip. When he gripped Oliver’s hips and urged him to rock forward, Oliver moaned softly. “Is this…is it okay if I—” Oliver trailed off on a short gasp as his dick throbbed harder.
“It’s okay,” Victor said in a rush. He forced his arms to move, to urge Oliver to straddle him. His dick was sensitive, and feeling the rough fabric rub against him was almost painful, but he didn’t want it to stop. He felt like he might die if it stopped. “I want to feel you, angel,” he whispered.
Oliver pulled back, his lips parted as his hips began to thrust faster. He met Victor’s gaze. “I’m gonna come in my panties.”
Victor’s dick twitched again but stayed limp. If he were ten years younger, he might have been able to perform better, but it was fine. He wanted this to be about Oliver’s pleasure. “Can I touch you?”
“I’m gonna lose my fucking mind if you don’t touch me,” Oliver grunted. He pressed down harder. “Tell me if I’m hurting you.”
“Okay,” Victor lied. With the spasms in his legs, Oliver was hurting him, but it was the best pain in the world. He curled his hands around Oliver’s backside and squeezed hard, kneading his perfectly pert ass.
Oliver grunted louder—a sort of deep-chested, feral sound that Victor was going to take with him for the rest of his life. “Harder,” Oliver demanded.
Victor obeyed. He rocked his own hips up, his eyes screwing shut as he felt the tension in Oliver’s body increase. They were moving wildly, their mouths parted, sharing air on the exhale of every moan, and Victor begged the heavens to never, ever let this stop.
And then Oliver cried out softly, burying his face in Victor’s neck as he came. He shifted his hips at the last moment so he spilled on the side of Victor’s hip, and he could feel the pulse and the warm wetness against his skin as Oliver soaked through his panties.
Victor’s chest was heaving, but he was clinging to Oliver like he needed him to live. And that might have been true for that single moment. Oliver let out another long groan, rocking his hips softer this time, and he pushed up on his elbows.
He smiled—slow and honey sweet. “Wow.”
“You don’t mean that,” Victor said.
Oliver’s eyes dimmed, and Victor hated himself for it, but he didn’t take it back. He couldn’t believe rubbing off like a couple of adolescents was actually good for someone like Oliver. “Don’t sell yourself short. I’m not lying when I tell you how obsessed I am with you.”
Victor licked his lips, unable to contradict him. Oliver had been obvious right from the start. From back when he thought Victor was some pathetic, lost soul who needed help. It was just wild that after getting to know Victor more, Oliver hadn’t changed his mind.
He reached up and brushed his fingers through Oliver’s hair which was soft and damp. “Angel,” he whispered again.
“You really shouldn’t callmethat, of all people.”
Victor laughed. “Why? Are you religious?”
“That’s a big fuck no,” Oliver said with a snort.
“I was, growing up.” Victor shrugged one shoulder as he continued to play with the ends of Oliver’s hair. “I was always taught that angels were warriors. Awe-inspiring and terrifying. Sometimes, they appear so beautiful they bring out the worst in men. And sometimes they’re beyond human conception, visceral and powerful. Deadly.”
“Which one am I?”
Cocking his head to the side, Victor traced a touch over Oliver’s jaw. It was rough with the shadow of a beard, and he tried to picture what Oliver might look like with it. Just as delicate, he supposed. Beautiful in a different way.
