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They were thinner and sleeker than the monstrosities he had to wear as a kid that didn’t fit under any pants. He’d been relegated into ugly little ’80s shorts with high waists and his whole body on display. It had always mortified his mother, who passed him off to nannies as much as she could get away with while also motivating her to shove him under the knife of any surgeon willing to try an experimental surgery.
He wondered if his legs would look less like they’d been shoved into a wood chipper if she hadn’t been so goddamn concerned about the way his feet turned in.
“Do they hurt?”
Victor blinked and shook himself out of an old, sepia memory. “My legs?”
“These.” Oliver tapped a perfectly polished nail on the plastic. “They look like they hurt.”
Victor shrugged as he pinched the thin strip of Velcro and pulled. “I don’t even notice anymore.” It was only a slight lie. They did hurt on bad days—like today, when his muscles just wanted to be tight and spastic and didn’t want to be shoved in all the wrong shapes.
Oliver hummed in thought as he watched Victor pull the straps off and free his feet, which immediately pointed inward and downward. His calves began to spasm, and he sighed, rubbing at them.
“Okay,thatlooks like it hurts.”
Victor was clenching his teeth, so his answer came out a little strained and ragged. “It’s not comfortable.”
“What helps?”
“Botox.”
Oliver burst into laughter but quieted when he realized Victor wasn’t kidding. He propped up higher on his elbows, then shuffled back to make room. “So, not for those wrinkles?”
“Are you trying to make me self-conscious?” Victor asked.
Oliver laughed again and gave the spot beside him a pat. “Come on, pretty boy. Sit here, and I’ll get the food when it comes.”
Victor almost told him to find his wallet so he could pay, but it wasn’t a fight he felt like losing, and he could see determination in Oliver’s face. He wasn’t quite sure what this was, but he was willing to take whatever Oliver was offering.
Their time together was closing in on them, and he wasn’t in the mood to think about a world where they couldn’t have this every single day.
The bedding beneath him was soft, but not too soft, so he managed to get tucked in with his back against the sofa. Oliver shoved three pillows behind his knees, which took all the pressure off his hips, and he let out a sigh of relief without really meaning to.
“Better?”
Victor met his gaze. “Thanks. I usually don’t move around this much.”
“Office to home kind of shit?” Oliver asked as he wriggled around until he was on his stomach, feet up in the air, chin resting on his fists. His eyes were so big and so dark and so damn beautiful.
Victor gave in to his urge and reached out, tracing a touch down the side of Oliver’s face, starting at his temple and ending at the smallest dimple in his chin. “Something like that.”
Oliver dislodged one of his elbows from the floor so he could grab Victor’s wrist and press a kiss to his palm. “You need more vacations like this.”
“Are you offering?” Victor asked, then immediately hated himself for it.
Oliver’s face did something complicated, but before the moment could either be made or ruined, the doorbell interrupted them. Oliver sighed, giving Victor another long look full of purpose before he clambered from the blankets and sauntered to the door in the shortest shorts Victor had ever seen.
He watched his pert, round ass as it disappeared around the corner, and in spite of all the pain from his spasms, he got hard. He rubbed the heel of his palm over his dick, taking several deep breaths. He was mostly under control when Oliver appeared again, wearing a bright grin and balancing a massive paper box on the center of his hand.
“Isn’t that hot?” Victor asked, his voice slightly thready.
Oliver raised a brow at him, but he set the food down and wriggled back under the covers. “I used to work at one of those Tex-Mex joints that sold fajitas. You know the ones that come on the fucking lava-hot sizzling cast iron pans?”
Victor bit his lip, hating that, once again, he couldn’t relate. “Um. Sorry.”
Oliver rolled his eyes, but he was grinning. “Anyway. Let’s just say that all of us servers walked away with battle scars and fingers immune to heat.”
Without really thinking, he snagged Oliver’s hand and pressed a kiss to his warm, damp palm. “No more.”
