you are everything

The way you all talk about him, it’s like you think he’s some horrible person. But I know him, and I love him.

The words slip out without Connor’s permission.

“Ask me tomorrow.”

They come out small and choked; his voice nearly breaking. When Oliver opens his mouth, Connor’s momentarily terrified he will ask again.

“Tomorrow,” he repeats and doesn’t give a shit if the word comes out desperate and a little broken.

“Con, I–” But Connor doesn’t let his boyfriend finish, can’t let him finish.

He rushes up and knuckles in a hand in Oliver’s hair, pulling hard, not intending to hurt but not necessarily avoiding it either. He presses his mouth against Oliver’s in kiss that bruises. It’s sloppy and fierce. He bites and nips and takes. There’s nothing sweet about this kiss, nothing remotely loving.

This night isn’t supposed to be a night for declarations of love. This night is supposed to be fast and hard and freeing. It is supposed to be a reminder that they’re both alive and safe and whole and here. He wants to wake up tomorrow in this bed in 303 with sore muscles and bruised jaw. He wants to walk around tomorrow with Oliver’s marks on his hips and neck. He wants to be able to look at Oliver tomorrow and see evidence of how well his boyfriend is loved, from the slightly dreamy look Oliver wears the morning after to the delicate way he’ll take a seat at the breakfast table.

Tonight Connor doesn’t want to talk or think or any of it. All he wants to do is feel.

Pulling away from the kiss, Oliver tilts his head to the side and drags in a shaky breath. “But, Con, we should–”

Connor makes a noise of derision as he nips at the junction of Oliver’s neck and shoulder. “Tomorrow,” he growls before moving to capture Oliver’s mouth again but, again, Oliver evades. He shifts back a touch, widening the space between them by mere millimeters.

“Wait,” he breathes and Connor stills. Oliver cups his boyfriend’s cheek and runs a thumb over the man’s scruff. The touch is sweet, entirely loving, and without consciously realizing it Connor leans hard into the contact. Oliver opens his mouth to say something but the words die at the look in Connor’s eyes. It’s wild and desperate but something else lingers in those eyes Oliver loves so much, something smaller and darker pierces through. After a heartbeat, he realizes it’s fear. Connor is afraid?

“Tomorrow,” Connor whispers once more and this time Oliver nods.

“Tomorrow,” he agrees and lets Connor manhandle him face down on the bed.

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