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Oh, that was fantastic. He hadtells. Running both hands through his hair, Oliver took the stairs down two at a time until he was just inches away from Victor. The man seemed taller then—not really in his body, but maybe like he’d come into himself more. He wasn’t the shy, quiet, uncertain man that had walked beside Victor at that hockey arena.
His eyes were wide and a little wild, and they were looking at Oliver with obvious regret and hunger. When Oliver didn’t move, Victor lifted a hand and pressed it to Oliver’s cheek.
“Kiss me.”
Oliver obeyed like he had lost all free will. He surged into Victor, curling fingers into the front of his shirt, sliding his tongue into Victor’s hot, waiting mouth and groaning when Victor gave as good as he got. They broke apart with a series of small pecks that felt just shy of desperate, and Oliver realized he was struggling to let Victor go.
“I hate this.”
Victor’s eyes were half-lidded now, and he was looking down at Oliver with his expression so soft it almost hurt. “So do I.”
“Can…I want…” Words danced on the tip of his tongue. Promises he wanted to make, promises he wanted to ask for. But it was too foolish, playing with fire like that.
“I know,” Victor said in a near whisper. He traced a stiff finger around Oliver’s puffy lips.
Oliver squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his forehead against Victor’s shoulder. “It’s never been like this. Ever.”
“Oh, angel. I didn’t think it could be,” Victor answered him, dragging blunt nails over Oliver’s scalp. “Not for me.”
Oliver winced, but it was hidden against Victor’s shoulder, which made him feel less bad about his pity. He finally turned his head to the side and stared at the thrumming pulse beating against the side of Victor’s throat. It was elevated, and Oliver touched his hand to his chest, feeling his own racing heart.
“If I told you I was willing to do anything to make this work,” Victor started, but Oliver interrupted him with a small noise of protest.
“Don’t.”
Victor stiffened, but he didn’t pull away, even when Oliver lifted his head. “Why not? I know this isn’t just about the money.”
Oliver rolled his eyes and ignored the pain in his gut. “I’d literally do a fund reversal right now if I thought it would make a difference. But it’s not about the money. I told you before, I’d have done all of this for just the pleasure of getting to have you for a week.”
Victor’s eyes were so big and so sad, and Oliver had never hated himself more. But one of them had to be logical, goddamn it. “So tell me why we can’t even try to make this work.”
“Because you’re going to go home, and after a few days—maybe even a whole week—the novelty of me will wear off, and you’ll realize exactly how you spent your post-breakup. And I’ll be relegated to the part of your past where I belong.”
Victor swallowed heavily. “And where do you think that is?”
Oliver bit his lip and dragged it out from between his teeth, relishing in the sting. “Oat-sowing, maybe? Self-care. Comfort. A wild week to mend the woundsheleft behind.”
Victor let out a trembling breath. “I see.”
“I’m not trying to diminish how you…how you think you feel. Or how you do feel. I just know that I’m not the kind of person you can have on your arm. Even when I move on to do something else besides this, I’m still…me.” He flopped his hands uselessly to his sides as he took a step back, dislodging Victor’s grip on him. “I’m fussy and spoiled and very, very obviously queer. I will always love silk panties and lace camisoles, and I’ll never get rid of my lip gloss collection.”
“Angel…”
Oliver shook his head. “I will always be obvious,” he repeated. “And I’ll never not have been a hooker.”
Victor let out the smallest breath and folded his arms over his chest. “Why do you think that matters to me?”
The question sounded genuine, so Oliver answered him. “Because it always matters to people like you. I’m not in your world, Victor, but I know all about it, okay? And I’m not judging you for being who you are—”
Victor scoffed loudly. “Aren’t you?”
“No,” Oliver said, throwing his hands up. He was getting everything all twisted. “I’m just trying to explain why it would be a damn disaster. It’s fine here—away from everyone and everything in your life. We’re in a bubble. We eat gas station burritos and hot-dog-cart dinners and have hillside picnics and fuck in the hatchback of a car. But that’s…that’s fun, Victor. That’s not life.”
“For me,” he said flatly.
Oliver shrugged and took another step back. The distance between them could easily be measured in inches, but they felt like miles. “It just is what it is. I was a system kid who made my assets work for me so my past didn’t have to define my future, but I will always be this.”
“And I will always be this,” Victor murmured.
