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“I think you might be a little bit of everything,” Victor finally admitted.
Oliver laughed again, burying his face in Victor’s chest. He rubbed his nose back and forth, breathing in deeply. They sat there for so long Victor almost dozed off. “I need my things,” Oliver eventually said into the silence.
“Hmm?”
He popped back up and gave Victor the smallest grin. “My things. I want to stay here and fall asleep with you and wake up to that gorgeous face every morning, but I have a Mt. Shasta-sized pile of research to finish up on. I can’t afford to take a whole week off.”
Victor had damn near forgotten Oliver had a life outside of this. That he was a grad student working on his thesis. The weight in the pit of his stomach threatened to make him nauseous.
“You don’t actually have to stay, you know,” he said, pulling his hand back.
Oliver’s expression fell. “Oh. Well. I mean, yeah. No, that’s fine. I figured…I know I’m a lot. You had just said before that you want me to, um…”
He was flailing because Victor had fucked up again.
He surged up and kissed Oliver until his mumbling quieted. “I do want you to stay. I don’t want to sleep without you for as long as I can have you.”
“You don’t have to say that because I’m being an awkward potato right now,” Oliver rumbled against his chest.
Victor laughed, shaking his head because how could a man this amazing ever think he wasn’t wanted? He actually did know the answer to that, but he didn’t want to think about how many people had failed Oliver during the course of his life.
“I want you to stay,” he repeated. “Let’s go get your stuff, and then we can pick up dinner.”
Oliver let out a heavy sigh and met his gaze. “Will you feed me something fancy?”
Victor hummed, trying to hide his grin. “I don’t know. I mean, you just came into fifteen grand. Maybe you should foot the bill for once.”
Oliver’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open. “You…”
Victor dug his fingers lightly into Oliver’s side, making him laugh. He felt free. He felt happy. Sated in ways he didn’t know he could be. Oliver rolled them and pinned Victor to the bed before cupping his cheeks so hard his lips smooshed like a fish.
“Kiss me and tell me I’m pretty.”
Victor surged up, grabbing Oliver by the back of the neck and kissing him thoroughly with tongue and teeth. “You’re so damn pretty, angel, I don’t know what to do with myself.”
Oliver grinned. “Thank you. Now, drive me to my place in your fancy car so I can pick up fresh clothes. These are the only panties I have, and they’re covered in come.”
Victor groaned, but he let Oliver go, and he stared down at the sticky mess on his stomach before standing up and letting himself be on display. Oliver looked at him, hungry and a little wild, and Victor took a moment to wonder how the hell he was ever going to give this up.
* * *
Oliver’s place was nicer than Victor was expecting, even if it smelled a little like stale takeout and layers of cologne. It was upstairs, and Oliver tried to make him wait in the car, but Victor was feeling invigorated from his orgasm. He followed Oliver slowly, taking each step with careful precision, and he appreciated that his lover didn’t wait for him.
The door was open by the time he reached the landing, and he went inside, smiling at just how much of Oliver’s personality was in the apartment. It was eclectic, without a single matching piece of furniture. He had an overstuffed sofa that looked like it had been recently reupholstered with some 1970s-style pattern, all thin pinstripes and beige. He had a blue recliner with a crooked footrest that didn’t close all the way and a cherrywood coffee table covered in books and sheets of paper with scribbled notes on them.
The walls were covered in art pieces that looked like they’d been done by first-year students, and there were plants sitting on every single one of his bookshelves.
“Please don’t judge me. I’d say I don’t normally live like this, but that’s a lie,” Oliver said before breezing through a door just off the side of the living room. The place had no hallways, just a nook for a kitchen and an open door leading to a bathroom with a counter covered in Oliver’s grooming products.
Victor chose one of the kitchen chairs to sit in since the couch looked like one of those contraptions that would trap him until someone could give him a hand up. He’d only sat on one of those once, and he was drunk on scotch and a little high off some weed that Emil had brought back with him from his trip to Portland.
He wasn’t eager to repeat that mess.
Just before his ass hit the chair, however, his phone started buzzing, and he pulled it out of his pocket. He saw his lawyer’s name on the screen and considered sending him to voicemail before reminding himself he couldn’t ignore all of his problems forever.
“I’m busy,” he said by way of answer.
“I figured,” Adrian said. “But I wanted you to know that Alice wants to change the mediation date to this Thursday.”
