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Summary
Kimi eventually takes his own bottle, lifting it above his head and tilting it upside down, the cold flow of the alcoholic liquid cascading down and fanning out around the boy like a waterfall. The champagne clings to him in some places, it floods off in others. Oliver can’t help but stare as it drips off of his best friend’s tanned skin in a way that is oh so appealing.
Too appealing.
Oliver‘s breath hitches. He lets his tongue and teeth gloss into the flesh of his bottom lip. He can only watch as Kimi’s chest heaves heavily as he wipes the liquid from his eyes and shakes his head like a puppy dog.
He isn’t cheering anymore.
Not out of anything negative, not out of jealousy. He’s still just as proud to see his best friend standing up there as he was minutes ago. But seeing Kimi like that; drenched, with the wet clothes clinging to him leaving nothing to the imagination when it comes to his frame?
Or; Oliver Bearman is incredibly down bad.