Chapter Text
Chapter One
Even through the dusty glass of the dorm room window, Felix Catton is a blinding light, glowing ever brighter at each flawless angle, casting his golden rays upon everything around him. Oliver feels his heart stop for a moment, a painful squeeze in his chest like never before, when their eyes meet briefly. His eyes are beautiful too, dark, kind, glittering just like the rest of him, a galaxy of stars no telescope could ever see.
Oliver throws himself to the floor, out of the view, in the dark, where he belongs. His mouth runs dry, choking on spittle as his lungs heave. He’s shaking, his hands are ice cold and clammy, he can feel every thread of his jumper scratching his skin raw. He’s always felt half-dead, and he thinks this might be what finally finishes him off.
Beauty. Raw like a gem fresh from the earth. The most perfect blossom amongst brambles and thorns. The shiny skin of an apple in the Garden of Eden. The Sun.
Oliver knows he doesn’t belong here, no scholarship could buy him out of his dull little life. He’s just a morbid reminder for everyone else at Oxford, to prove how much worse it could be. He’s always been empty, just horrid little thoughts in his brain to keep him company. If he was more interesting, he would have acted on them already.
He’s an aimless, pointless jumble of nothing, drifting through space, until he’s pulled into the orbit of the brightest star he’s ever seen. When he feels like he won’t swallow his own tongue, Oliver peels himself off the floor and looks through the window again.
The light is gone, Felix and all his adoring fans have left. Oliver grits his teeth and tastes blood.
It’s easy to find him, to learn his name and schedule and friends. Oliver follows at a distance,so careful, so quiet, basically invisible. It’s not nearly enough.
He daydreams about stealing Felix’s medical records. Wouldn’t that be something, if they had the same blood type? If Felix was in an accident, and Oliver just happened to be there, ready to donate a pint of blood to save Felix’s life. Ready to slice open his own veins and suck his blood out, just to spit it into Felix’s beautiful mouth. Have a piece of him swirl inside Felix Catton forever.
The thought makes him ruin the ugly khakis he wore to class that day, wetness rolling down his inner thighs as he makes a shameful retreat to the nearest bathroom. At least he knows that no one noticed, no one knows he fucking exists. He cleans himself up with loo paper and decides to do something less drastic than push Felix into traffic.
Oliver was good at chess in theory, clever to a fault, but he didn’t care for the game in practice. Far too close to another person, far too much attention on his every move. One raised brow in his direction and he would knock his King over and dart away, ears ringing, skin burning like he was being boiled alive.
But when he finds Felix pouting on the bike path like a spoiled little prince, Oliver knows he could have been great at chess, a grand master, if only chess were this interesting.
He offers his bike, because it’s the nice thing to do.
Felix refuses politely, but folds easily when Oliver insists. Too used to getting what he wants, too sweet, too trusting.
“You’re at my college, so-”
“Am I?”
It stings. Oliver reaches into his pocket and digs a pushpin into his thumb to take the edge off. Why would Felix know him anyway, why would Felix ever need to see anyone past his own reflection? He can’t be blamed for being so beautiful. The stud through his eyebrow glints in the dappled daylight, and Oliver wants to rip it out with his teeth.
But then Felix is surging towards him, cupping his face and saying Oliver I love you, I love you with a kiss to his stupid bike helmet. If his lips would have really touched him, Oliver is sure he would have spontaneously combusted.
He watches Felix peddle away to class, and thinks that the Catton heir probably isn’t very good at chess. Probably finds it boring.
Oliver hopes this new game is interesting, hopes that he can keep it interesting, because of course, Felix doesn’t know they’re playing.
“Cheers Ollie!”
The Kings Arms is dark and smells of smoke and stale guinness, the bartop vaguely sticky as Oliver orders a pint. It’s the kind of place that makes his skin crawl, makes him want to scrub himself raw in the shower. But if he just in the right place, stands here for just a second longer-
“There he is, Ollie! Oliver, Come over here!”
Perfect.
Felix buys him a pint, and then a shot, then orders a round for the table, making Oliver squeeze into the booth beside him. Their thighs are touching, Felix has an arm looped over his shoulders. Oliver has to force himself to breathe.
That american prick from his EL course is across the table, Farleigh Start, Felix’s cousin. He snarls and makes a quiet jab, asking what bridge Oliver crawled out from under. The girls nearest to his giggle under their hands. Felix doesn’t catch it. Oliver wants to drive a fork through Farleigh’s chest, but instead focuses on the slope of Felix’s throat as he throws back a shot.
Shots go around again, and again, fueled by the goading laughter around the table. A girl in a tiny denim skirt tries to muscle Oliver out of the way to get to Felix, so he moves just slightly to the left and she spills her drink onto her lap. She shrieks and stomps off to the loo, and Oliver shrugs when Felix asks what her problem was.
“Hey it’s your round man,” Farleigh interjects with a cruel smirk, cigarette hanging from his fingers. He laughs when Oliver stutters out excuses.
Everyone else starts laughing at him too, one degree away from openly mocking him, but Felix looks over with those big beautiful eyes, looking like a kicked puppy as he realizes that the fun is being spoiled. When Oliver gets up to go to the bar, he feels those eyes trace his every step.
His performance with the bartender is so pathetic he thinks he might get kicked out, or maybe his teeth knocked in, judging by the man’s thinned patience and meaty fists, but the show isn’t for him. It’s for Felix.
Felix who swoops in at the last second, like a knight in shining armor, with the perfect cover as he presses the fifty pound note into Oliver’s shaking hands. So sweet that Oliver thinks it will rot his teeth.
Oliver wants to kiss him. Wants to bite his neck and suck the life right out of him. Wants to eat him alive and howl at the moon. The rest of the night is a blur.
They return to campus in the wee hours of morning, the sky just beginning to turn hazy gray. Oliver just barely stops himself from trailing after Felix all the way to his dorm, so they part ways by the library. Felix bids him goodbye with a quick kiss on the cheek and the promise to do this all again soon. He’s all loose limbed and tipsy, smiling at everyone but especially at Oliver.
Back in his room, Oliver shoves two fingers into his cunt and swirls his thumb across his dick, imaging Felix’s big hands touching him instead. Felix kissing his cheek and neck and lips. Whispering Ollie, Ollie, Ollie in his ear.
Olive bites his pillow and screams Felix into it, cumming so hard he sees stars.