Work Text:
1.
Alex really shouldn’t be surprised to find Oscar sprawled on three plastic chairs placed one after the other, sleeping peacefully. Oscar can be a scheming guy when he wants, if the placement of the chairs is anything to go by. Right under an awning, shadow over his face, the breeze tousling his hair gently.
He looks soft, like he normally does. His edges appear to be more blurred, now.
Alex brings a hand to his nape, idly playing with a hair strand. He’s unsure what to do. On one hand, he wants to let Oscar sleep as much as his heart desires. On the other hand, Lando could come barreling in here at any moment, startling Oscar.
It’s more than enough that Lando has been frantically looking for Oscar for some time now, grabbing throw pillows from random couches and searching for him underneath them. Alex had to promptly leave at such a display, leaving George to deal with it.
He didn’t plan on running into Oscar. But he doesn’t mind it in the slightest.
Alex hesitantly steps closer, gauging Oscar’s expression. He’s still flat on his back, arms crossed over his chest, his face relaxed. He looks silly, not far from a mummy. Alex wants to take a photo, to capture the serene expression, the endearing position.
He reminds himself that his relationship with Oscar is not the same as the one with Lando or George, even if they’ve gotten closer.
He closes the distance, hovering above Oscar’s face. Would shaking him be too much? The Lando from Alex’s mind is approaching the situation the same. Or maybe Lando would poke Oscar in the arm until he’d grumble something unintelligible, finally rousing from sleep.
Alex grimaces. That doesn’t feel like an ideal way to wake up.
He places a hand on Oscar’s jaw, dutifully ignoring how it might look from the outside. Or how his palm just fits.
He starts rubbing his thumb along Oscar’s jaw, running the rest of his fingers through the short hair at his nape. Oscar subconsciously leans into the touch, his brows twitching the slightest.
“Oscar, hey.” Alex puts more pressure on his thumb, as if he were stroking along a cat’s whiskers. “Buddy, you gotta wake up.”
Alex grimaces as the word buddy leaves his mouth. Because he’s stupid like that, calling the guy he’s been silently pining over ‘buddy.’
“Mmm,” Oscar sleepily answers. Alex would describe it as a mix between a hum and groan. There is no difference between this little sound and the noises cats make when they wake up.
Alex willfully begs his heart to slow down, lest his watch starts bombarding him with notifications.
“Oscar,” he repeats, taking his hand away.
Oscar uncrosses his arms from his chest, grabbing Alex by the wrist. He brings the hand back to his face, nuzzling it. For some reason, Oscar’s nose is cold when it touches the back of Alex’s hand.
Alex suddenly feels faint. “Oscar...”
That seems to wake Oscar up, slowly blinking. Alex watches him gain consciousness, tensing under his touch.
Alex flinches backward when Oscar pushes himself up, nearly toppling the chairs and, consequently, himself on the ground.
“Alex,” Oscar says quietly. He brings his hands to his face, covering it. “God. I’m so sorry.”
Alex doesn’t say anything. He straightens his back, watching with a smile as the embarrassment takes over Oscar’s whole body.
He’s endearing.
Alex misses the feeling of Oscar’s skin on his palm.
2.
Alex is sipping some colorful drink, tasting the mix of fruits on his tongue. He thinks that some spinach might have been thrown in there, though he is not too sure about it.
George is talking rapidly, saying something about... Alex really doesn’t know.
Lando is next to George, looking far too intently at him, actually listening to what George is saying. It feels unnerving.
It also doesn’t convince Alex to tune in.
He places his drink on the table and glances next to Lando, his gaze falling on Oscar. Because, yeah. All three of them are weirdos who prefer the restaurant’s uncomfortable and battered couches to the very normal wooden chairs. At least Alex can see them all without having to crane his head to the side.
And he has the perfect view of Oscar trying to stay awake.
Lando had dragged him here, making him join their weekly dinner. Alex would like to point out that he doesn’t know when dinners became something akin to a routine between him, George, and Lando.
He doesn’t complain, though. It’s nice eating with others. Even if he’s polished off the food three minutes in, George abandoned his to talk, Lando mostly ate the fries from his and Oscar’s plate, leaving the rest of the food there, and Oscar is too sleepy to bother with eating.
It should look like a disaster. But it really doesn't.
Alex eyes the plates full of food, debating whether he should finish eating the rest or not.
When he glances back at Oscar, he finds him already looking, his head tilted to the side. Some of his hair falls into his eyes, obscuring a part of his face. He doesn’t push any of it away, though he nudges his plate closer to Alex.
Alex looks at it for a moment. He picks up his fork, hesitantly hovering it above the food. When he brings a piece of meat to his mouth, Oscar smiles the littlest smile Alex has ever seen.
It does terrible, terrible things to his heart.
He shifts his gaze away, forcing himself not to choke on the food.
George is still talking. Lando’s face is screwed in a weird expression, reminding Alex of infatuation. He thinks that infatuation is a weird look on Lando.
When he pops the last piece of meat in his mouth, his eyes search for Oscar again.
He’s now leaning back on the couch, soundly sleeping. His hands are crossed over his chest, his head bowed. Alex feels like this angle should look unflattering.
He finds Oscar to be as beautiful as always.
A booming laugh coming from Lando reminds Alex that he definitely doesn’t want Oscar to be woken up in such a manner.
Alex pushes away from the table, taking a seat on the couch. He suppresses the urge to yelp as his ass sinks into the cushion, hitting the backrest immediately. No wonder he avoids the couches like the plague.
He recovers from the shock, placing a hand on Oscar’s head. He runs his fingers through the soft hair.
“Oscar,” he drags the last vowel, petting Oscar’s head. “Just a little more, and you’ll be home.” Oscar makes that noise again, pushing back into Alex’s palm. “I’m sure your bed is more comfortable than this... couch.”
When Alex glances over at Lando and George, he’s met with George’s unimpressed stare and Lando’s wide eyes, glancing between him and Oscar. It makes Alex feel too conscious about his feelings for Oscar.
All thoughts leave Alex’s mind when he pulls his hand away only for Oscar to grab it, bringing it back. It all feels like the last time all over again.
Oscar’s reaction is much more r-rated than last time, swearing under his breath when he comes to his senses. He buries his face into his hands when Lando starts laughing, not showing any resistance when Lando pulls him into a side hug.
Alex no longer notices the lumpiness of the cushions, too busy watching how Oscar fights the smile off his face.
3.
Alex thinks that maybe he should buy a calendar. Small enough to put it in his pocket, but big enough to see the circled dates clearly.
It’s the third time he’s found Oscar sleeping in a random place in less than a month.
This time he’s curled in a beanbag, wrapped around a... cat.
Alex blinks, dumbfounded.
Where did Oscar find a cat in the paddock?
Multiple questions assault Alex’s mind, making him stop in his tracks. Weirdly enough, there is no one inside.
Alex looks around, craning his head to see behind him. No trace of living around here despite it being a Friday afternoon, during a race week.
He looks back at the lump that is Oscar, his face mushed into the cat’s fur. Its fur is white, stained orange and black in even patches, spread smartly around. It looks like it has personality, Alex thinks to himself.
He walks silently until he’s in front of the beanbag, hovering above them. Now that he’s closer, Alex can hear soft purring, not even loud enough to rouse someone from sleep.
He crouches down, his hand mid-air. He hesitates, letting it hang uselessly. Why should he wake Oscar up? He looks comfortable enough, and there’s still plenty of time until they can leave the paddock. Preferably when they normally leave.
Alex ignores the part of his brain that’s screaming at him about how selfish he’s being.
He pushes himself away, sitting next to the beanbag. He brings a hand to Oscar’s cheek, meeting more fur than skin. He still brushes his thumb over his cheekbone, waiting for Oscar to lean into his touch.
Alex doesn’t feel particularly disappointed when Oscar doesn’t move, still dead to the world. He doesn’t think much of it when he bends down and presses a kiss on Oscar’s forehead.
4.
Alex doesn’t know when movie nights became something they do whenever they share the same hotel.
It’s not as often as Alex prefers, but it’s often enough that it gets his heart thudding in his chest, wide eyes flitting around the room. This reaction tends to happen when Oscar is right next to him.
Just like tonight, when a cackling Lando drags George to the kitchenette to leave them some ‘privacy.’ Whatever that means.
Alex knows that the last thing George and Lando are offering them is privacy.
Alex pulls out his phone, ignoring the paused movie. He stares stupidly at the lock screen before entering his password, then stares some more at the home screen.
Oscar is kind of... glued to him, throw pillow on his lap and his arms crossed over his chest. It’s the position that tells Alex that Oscar is pretty much ready to pass out at any moment, dead to the world.
In Alex’s mind that equals to absolutely zero interest from Oscar’s side to whatever Alex might be up on his phone.
He opens a game of Sudoku, randomly puts some numbers until there are too many threes on a single row to get him somewhere, then switches to solitaire.
Oscar ever so slightly leans more of his weight on him. Which is. Fine. Alex is definitely not panicking on the inside, and Lando is definitely not taking a picture of them.
Alex ignores the phone that’s conspicuously sticking out of the door left ajar, closing solitaire.
He switches to chess.
“Movie’s that boring?” Oscar asks, voice closer than Alex had expected. Oscar barely sounds awake, his tone lower than usual. Alex startles, nearly dropping his phone.
“Ah,” he starts eloquently, willing his voice not to waver. “The movie has been paused for some time.” His voice wavers. Alex wants to slap himself.
Alex barely hears the “Oh?” Oscar whispers, too focused on the hand that is currently resting on his jaw. And on the warm body that is nearly half on him, pressing him flush to the couch.
Alex’s breath stutters when lips faintly brush over his cheek, a ghost of a kiss feeling like a scalding imprint.
The noises from the kitchenette abruptly stop. Alex wonders if it’s because his heart is ready to burst out of his chest, replacing all sounds with its beating.
+ 1
Maybe it’s not the best idea to fall asleep while having guests over. Though, the exhaustion of the season has been catching up to him for a few days now, even with the rest he’s been getting.
At least the movie night is happening at his house rather than in a sad hotel room with a couch too small to fit four people and barstools as the only available chairs. No wonder George and Lando prefer to share whatever they are sharing in the kitchen, sitting comfortably on those barstools rather than sitting on the carpet.
Alex won’t deny that it’s their fault for continuously refusing the couch whenever Alex offers to switch with them. Even Oscar offered a few times.
Now, no one can complain. Alex has a couch big enough for six people, a love seat, and an armchair big enough to fit two people sandwiched together. He thinks everything has been a good investment so far.
He doesn’t feel guilty about anyone’s placement when he lazily spreads himself on half of the couch, propping his legs on the armrest. He doesn’t really like the fact that Oscar is sitting by himself in the armchair, too far away from him. The image of Oscar surrounded by his cats is making up for it, he reluctantly has to admit.
After the cheek-kissing-incident, that was very much on purpose (Alex willfully ignores how Oscar casually dropped the bomb on him, then had the gall to just leave like the world didn’t end for Alex), nothing really changed. Things didn’t progress, but they also didn’t regress. Which is amazing, considering the faces Alex had probably made while Oscar stated his intentions.
Lando and George are sandwiched in the love seat, which Alex finds stupid, because there’s enough empty space to fit another person there. If he squints through his heavy-lidded eyes, he can discern Lando resting his head on George’s shoulder, George rubbing absentminded circles on Lando’s back. They seem way too interested in a movie that has Alex dozing off.
Surprisingly enough, when Alex looks at Oscar, he finds him wide awake, also looking at the movie.
Alex flits his eyes to the screen.
There’s one too many colors flashing in rapid succession and one too many people speaking at the same time. The idea of following the plot seems tiring, let alone trying to understand anything that has happened so far.
He looks back at Oscar, not registering anything new from the movie.
He lazily traces the contours of Oscar’s face, the contrast on his skin sharp from the dark and the colors reflecting. Oscar’s eyes kind of sparkle when the screen turns too bright, and his cheeks appear to have that flush spread all over.
Alex closes his eyes, imprinting the image of this Oscar in his mind. He ignores how much his heart craves the sight of him like this at every possible moment, all for him to witness. They’re too sappy, these thoughts of his.
Alex doesn’t catch any movements, neither does he hear any sounds once he falls asleep.
He rouses sometime later when the whole room is pitch black, disoriented.
He doesn’t know what could possibly have woken him up, since he’s used to sleeping on the couch more often than not.
He squints his eyes, trying to make sense of anything from the room. He shifts, eyes locking on the red dot showing that the TV is not on.
“Sorry, did I wake you up?”
Alex feels his soul leaving his body for two whole seconds. He exhales when his sleepy mind slaps the label Oscar over the voice, his body relaxing immediately. He’s suddenly too aware of the fact that his head is resting on something that is definitely not the couch cushion.
A hand cups his jaw, a thumb caressing his cheek. His breath hitches from the tenderness, still too confused about what is happening.
Judging by the weird plushness, he’s resting his head on Oscar’s thighs. Oscar’s hand is still on his face, palm warm against his burning skin.
Alex doesn’t say anything, but he brings a hand to rest over Oscar’s own.
His eyes have adjusted to the darkness, and now he can make out most of the shadows and contours of the room. When he looks up, Oscar is already watching him, a small smile on his face.
Alex doesn’t even think of imagining it. It just happens, taking him by surprise.
Oscar bends down in a position that must be really uncomfortable and kisses him. Alex remains frozen even when Oscar pulls back, their lips having barely grazed. It’s just as soft and chaste as it was when Oscar kissed him on the cheek, though they are more aware of it now.
Of what it means.
“Oscar...” Alex trails off. He blinks, still concentrating on how Oscar’s features practically melt with his smile.
Alex doesn’t think twice before bringing his free hand to Oscar’s nape, pulling him back in. It’s still chaste, but this time Oscar doesn’t pull away almost as soon as he’s gotten a touch.
Alex nearly bumps noses with Oscar when Horsey lands on his belly, startling him. The sudden weight punches the air out of Alex, his eyebrows scrunching in pain.
Alex groans as he lets go of Oscar’s hand, patting Horsey’s head. He no longer minds the added weight when Oscar giggles above him, slightly jostling him.
Alex smiles when Oscar bends down again, tasting the mirth on his lips.