Chapter Text
It wasn’t an entirely new revelation to Felix that he enjoyed something to roll on his tongue, something to chew on, something to suck on until his mouth was numb and his brain wasn’t too far behind. He had always liked having things in his mouth since before he can remember. He never really questioned it, despite being aware of it for so long. It was just another part of him, one of those Catton eccentricities he was supposed to display as little as possible. Something he couldn’t change about himself or just wouldn’t ever put the effort into, not now that he’s fanned the flames within him this long.
It had been this way for a while, starting so long enough ago that Felix can’t remember a real starting point, but he figured that just proved it was natural. He’d used a dummy for much too long, to his mother’s absolute horror when his nanny gave him one in front of company to calm him down past the age she’d thought appropriate. She’d ordered it to end at once and had it thrown out, but when Felix had thrown such large tantrums at losing it cold turkey, the nanny had snuck him a new one behind his mothers back to wean him off gradually.
After he’d moved on from that, he had to be constantly reprimanded for sucking on his thumb. Then it was biting his nails. Once he’d finally kicked those, he’d become practically addicted to the lollipops that were used as incentive to get him to quit the other oral habits. Gum was fine and all, and it would do in a pinch, but it didn’t quite do the trick like sucking on something would. He picked up cigarettes not long after entering fifth form.
That all could partly be pointing to why he’d end up in someplace like this now, but he was no psychoanalyst. Especially not for himself. Psychoanalyzing yourself is always the hardest.
All he knew for sure was he'd never been all that good at letting go of things he still felt he needed. More than just a craving, but something that had become a physical dependence. Something his body would start shutting down without, or at least seem like it was. He wasn’t often denied, which made it all the more frustrating when he was, and all the more infuriating when it was something he had enjoyed for so long before that.
He’d tried quitting cigarettes once, and it gave him a similar feeling to the childish uproar he’d felt when he’d been weaned from the dummy. He could feel his body throwing a riot inside of himself, feel the way it physically reacted to the disruption in routine.
His body would steadily remind him of what they were missing like clockwork, louder and louder, each reminder more insistent and emphatic than the last until it felt as if it was doing whatever the bodily equivalent of screaming at full volume at him was.
He got pissy at everything when he quit, making his sour mood everyone else’s issue. He got the shakes like a bald, anxious chihuahua with bad circulation. Everything made him want to smoke, everywhere he went and whatever he did, every breath of air that wasn’t laced with nicotine seemed to just make him angrier and more desperate for it. He lost any sense of focus and concentration, because every thought in his head was about one thing and one thing only. His skin was itchy just from thinking about it.
He’d gone back in under three days, and he’d only held out that long because he’d told Venetia they would quit together. She had been sneaking them nearly the whole time, but he’d only caught her in the act in the middle of night two of their withdrawals because he’d picked up the infamous stench of it from his window. He’d promised he’d drop the matter completely if she only gave him one too.
He was well aware of how it felt to need so badly for something you had every day prior to losing it, but he’d never felt this kind of desperate yearning for something he’d never had. He’d never wanted for something like this, he’d never had the chance to before now. Once he’d had it all dangled in front of his drooling mouth like a carrot on a stick, he’d only thought about getting it all for himself. Then Oliver left, and instead of the carrot he received the stick. He was suffering just as bad as any other time he’d tried to quit, but with the added insult to injury that he’d never even gotten what he craved and he never would. This didn’t stop him from thinking about it all the time, from reminiscing about it all constantly even though it hurt like nothing else could. His fantasies had all taken dark turns after Oliver went into exile, but he was still a persistent presence in them. It was hard to think of anyone else.
If he was truly honest with himself, it was impossible. He didn’t understand how people could live with this.
It wasn’t like he ever meant for it to get to this point. He never expected to take it this far. It had all been Oliver’s fault, really; he’d started the whole thing a long time ago but abandoned it before he followed through. Maybe he never meant to.
Regardless, Felix had practically no say in the matter, and if he wasn’t at fault then he couldn’t be held responsible for what came of it. Really, it was all on Oliver that he was here in the first place, wishing the other boy was here with him to be the one to cheer him up. Though, then again, it was Oliver’s fault that he was upset in the first place. That was Felix’s best excuse for it, anyway.
It probably was a bit obsolete given that now he was in the bathroom of a gay bar waiting for a stranger’s cock in his mouth. It wouldn’t do well to convince anyone, not when he was up to this point, but it was the only thing he could come up with. These people wouldn’t even know who Oliver was, let alone place any blame on him for inspiring Felix to come here and debate with himself on whether or not he should drop to his knees in the stall now or later.
Oliver had been the catalyst to these thoughts of his, so it must be his fault; he had awakened this urge to do things he’d never thoroughly or realistically considered for himself before.
He knew he wanted Oliver as a best friend, but he also knew he wanted the rest of him for himself, and all that would entail. His body haunted him still, and even now he escaped to his more positive memories of their relationship when pleasuring himself, just like before, but with the most debilitating post-climax clarity he’d ever experienced. He’d never admit to anyone how truly bad he was doing, but who would want to hear about him crying like a war widow every time he jerked off and Oliver inevitably wiggled his way into his brain? Who would he tell such an embarrassing confession to? Certainly not his traitorous family; not after they told him what Oliver had done to them.
He often went back to the field and how it had made him feel when Oliver had finally let him see his figure completely uncovered, as if it was nothing, when all Felix wanted to do was to make him aware that it was certainly not nothing. Not to him.
He had already known that he found a strange companionship in Oliver, one that most people (including his family) couldn’t truly understand. He’d not even known the extent of their relationship until Oliver made his way into a few dreams that left him with a hard-on from hell in the morning and little to no memory of what it involved besides the mystical blue eyes stuck in his subconscious. That made him suspect something. When Oliver had begun his stay at Saltburn they’d only gotten worse, and each was becoming more memorable than the last until he could vividly replay the dream from the night before as if it was a movie he’d just seen.
The way he’d revealed himself in the field only further solidified Felix’s lust and pure physical desire for Oliver, which then subsequently appeared in his dreams and awakened him, no pun intended.
He couldn’t find a way to avoid it when he figured out he wanted to have Oliver. Not when all he could come up with to fill his thoughts was the recurring notion that he wanted him so fucking bad .
He couldn’t stand not touching Oliver as much as he usually would, but he couldn’t manage it without it immediately feeling sexually charged. He wanted to touch him in that sexually charged manner, too, but he couldn’t ask that of Oliver under any circumstances. Even if his nerves could take it, he didn’t think he could bear it if he lost Oliver over mixing friendship with sex. He’d lost quite a few to the same mistake, but none of them came close to what he had with Oliver.
So, he settled for watching and wanking for once, no matter how frustrated it made him. He’d never wanted those so-called friends as much as he wanted Oliver, and that only made it worse for him. He had caved so easily in the past over so very little, barely needing a wayward glance before he’d take a girl someplace quiet and seemingly private enough.
He had no company to fall back on like he had at Oxford. He’d been able to mask his own desire by hanging out with Oliver and then blowing off steam after with a girl while still thinking of everything he and Oliver had gotten up to that day; what they’d talked about, laughed about, often picturing Oliver’s face when Felix had told a really shit joke that had made Oliver roll his eyes back and playfully swat his chest, but still being with a woman at the end of the day.
He no longer had that cover, and it was starting to become a noticeable issue. When Venetia had suggested a field day, he’d agreed without much of a real fight. It would have been more out of character to reject the offer and she would’ve likely interrogated him until he gave up a real reason for saying no.
If he’d known what Oliver was going to do to him then, he would have insisted they stay back and do some fully clothed activity. He couldn’t hide things well from anyone, but his family the least of all, and he was only making himself more obvious when he got jealous seeing Venetia and Farleigh’s predatory eyes stalking Oliver as well. He hadn’t known how repressed and oblivious he truly was until he saw Oliver, and he hadn’t realized how deep it actually went until he saw how his family reacted.
He’d been ticked off already when Farleigh had tried to embarrass him further and say that it was “a twist” for Oliver to be well-endowed. Because why shouldn’t he have a nice cock? Why did it have to be some unexpected surprise? It can’t only be because he’s short, but Felix figured that even if Oliver was his height, he’d still be pretty impressive.
He felt oddly proud of Oliver. Not of him having a big cock, he had no control over that, but how far he’d come since Felix had met him. He oozed confidence and swagger, and Felix couldn’t help but feel like he had the most to do with that development besides Oliver himself.
Oliver’s smirk towards him, eyeing him behind his tinted sunglasses, caused him to suck a little harder on the fruity lollipop and turn his gaze downwards, smiling around the stick and warning Oliver about the thistles. He had to stay on his front the rest of the afternoon, kicking his feet and crossing his legs and trying his best not to make a mess on his towel.
This incident would only open the floodgates, revealing a lake behind it that he hadn’t ever been aware of, oblivious to all the cracks in the dam he hadn’t even known existed.
Regardless, he was flooded both literally and figuratively by Oliver. Images and fantasies of him plagued Felix every minute of every day, making him think more often and harder about what he actually wanted from his Ollie, but most of all what he wanted to do with him. And fucking hell , was it a long list.
His dreams only got worse and wetter after that; His subconscious only gained more real-life experience to draw from as more of Oliver was unveiled to him every day, physically and emotionally, and they provided a myriad of images for him to rue over when he found his stained sheets in the morning.
He couldn’t help what he was shown by his own head when he was unconscious, but he knew everything he replayed on loop like a porno tape stuck in the VCR was going to be much harder to shift the blame on. He was going crazy, and constantly being around Oliver was only making it worse for him. For the life of him, though, he just couldn’t manage to stay away.
There were times he’d wished it was only them and them alone here, and there were times he had been sure that Oliver felt the same, but the intensity of being completely alone together was almost too much to bear. He could feel all of it coming to a boil in a way he knew they wouldn’t be able to avoid, but he figured he’d take it in stride and in the end, they’d come out closer because of it. He didn’t think they could get any closer, but he hadn't expected them to get farther apart any time soon.
Until Oliver lied. Had always lied. Had kept it all right under his nose this whole time, pissing on his leg and telling him it was raining. He couldn’t believe he would do such a thing to him, and even thinking of it at that moment made him want to cry a little, still. Just the idea of how he had trusted him so fully, how he had expected to have such an incredible night together at the party, one where he’d finally be able to tell Oliver everything he’d been wanting to do with him and they’d consummate everything somewhere more private on the grounds, like a goddamn fairy tale. He had expected to feel fully loved, and safe, and really fucking good, like he’d always imagined he would. He ended up just feeling stupid.
But Felix could admit now that, even after all this time, he still wanted it. Even after Oliver’s departure and disappearance, he still wanted it, and he wanted it from him. He knew that wasn’t possible anymore, and it likely never was. That didn’t stop him from wanting. He craved Oliver, he craved his body and mind and soul and whatever else he carried with him, and he still craved to get him in his mouth like he always had.
Maybe he wouldn’t give away his real virginity, per se, only because some part of him still screamed that it was somehow wrong, that it still belonged to Oliver no matter how much he tried to tell himself that whole experience was rightfully long over, but he truly and wholly needed to get something in his mouth soon or he’d actually lose his mind. He needed someone, something alive against him to satiate that hungry part of himself that he’d only recently become aware was eating away at him. It was as if he’d only just discovered food and his need for it, but it made him hyper aware of the fact that he’s absolutely fucking famished.
Oliver may have started it, making him obsessed with his big beautiful cock as he showed himself off like it was nothing, like Felix wouldn’t have sucked him off right there in front of his family just to flaunt what they can’t have right in their faces if Oliver had only said he could, but he wasn’t here to finish it and he certainly wasn’t ever going to finish it inside of him. Not now. Not ever.
When he’d come to terms with that is when he started to get nervous.
He’d never done this, not with anyone, and he’d simply just die if it got around Oxford that he’d tried to suck somebody off and had been bad at it, or worse. There was a non-zero chance of him puking on the guy, and he’d never be able to show his face with that kind of story following him around. He’d been in boarding school when those rumors would spread about ass and dick injuries or otherwise mortifyingly embarrassing events that still made him shudder to think about; it was the kind of stuff you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy.
He knew he couldn’t trust anyone with a secret this important, not like he would’ve with Oliver at one time. At least, how he thought he’d been able to trust in him. He supposed it didn’t matter now.
Regardless, no one could know, so he had to resort to something more anonymous. Oliver lost out on the opportunity a long time ago to be trusted with knowing something like this, or for the chance to share the experience with Felix like he’d wanted to from the start.
Even if Felix wanted to find him, he had no idea where to start after Oliver had exchanged his bed at Saltburn across from Felix for one at a hospital.
When Felix had called, they’d told him they couldn’t disclose any personal information or records over the phone, but just for him, they’d let him know that this “Oliver Quick” he was looking for had left a long time ago. Felix waited for him to get back like a dog at the door, until he realized the boy was not coming back. Oliver was gone, and he clearly wanted to stay that way. He may have loved Felix at some point, but not enough to stay. Not enough to be honest.
None of that he could change, he knew, but it brought him to this point. Far outside of Oxford town in a grimy, grungy gay bar bathroom, Felix Catton paced back and forth as much as was physically possible in a small stall.
No one he knew should be here and no one there should’ve known him, and he didn’t think if they did that they’d interrogate him even if they did; not if they also came this far to go unnoticed. He’d been meandering around the bar for a moment, building up courage to just get his legs to stop bouncing in place and walk to the loo.
He'd read online about what this bar has in its bathroom. He figured it was perfect, as he was too embarrassed to make an account on a site, though he knew he didn’t need to add pictures or a real name. This way, he could get what he wanted without the computer as a middle man. All he had needed to know was that the bathroom here had what he was looking for. He’d pushed the heavy blue door open, finding a poorly lit bathroom behind it and the stalls he had read about. He could feel his heart speed up when the door closed behind him with a creak, the pressurized release keeping it from slamming.
He had entered through the stall door labeled Cocksucker’s Paradise and found what he had been informed would be there. When he got face to face with the wide, taped-off hole in the wall of the stall labeled “ WHORE LIPS GO HERE ” he tried to tell himself that there was nothing to be scared of.
He was sure the graffiti on the other side of the wall, which dubbed it Glory Hallelujah on its own door, said something even more suggestive, and when he went to check, it had a fairly artistic image of a rooster with an arrow and the label “GO HERE, YES HERE! CUM ONE CUM ALL” and lying below it, a cartoonish cock spewing all over someone’s interpretation of someone’s orgasmic reaction in response to the crude shower of dripping white fluid.
He figured that was the most telling sign that the rumors were true as he could get besides staring through the hole and getting a cock shoved in his eye socket for his troubles.
He went into Cocksucker’s Paradise again, looking at the surprisingly shiny floor he was going to put his knees on. Maybe they’d cleaned it today. Maybe they had to because the mess created by its presence was too much to ignore, even for a seedy place like this.
He stared at the floor harder, as if it would tell him whether to stay or go.
He just wanted to try it. Just for a night. If he ended up actually liking it, as he was afraid and quite certain would be the case, then he’d cross that bridge when he got to it. But he still had to realize whether or not it was truly for him.
He’d had a few same-sex experiences and encounters that could classify as dubiously homosexual, but those had mostly just been some kissing and hand stuff performed on him, never by him. He’d sucked girls off before, and he’d honestly liked it a lot, more than he knew he was meant to, but this would be a different experience entirely.
This might be something he’d actually gag on, if he was lucky, maybe even choke him if he’s luckier. There would be a nice, wet reward at the end of it from a perfect stranger, and then he’d be on his way. If he wanted more than that… well, he’d cross that bridge when he got to it, like he said. All he wanted to do was try it tonight, and he was doing everything in his overarching power to pick up his slack and make that happen.
Where was the harm in trying?