Chapter Text
"Silas."
The paper glows dim and orange on one of the many out-looks this ridiculously large manor has, and Silas pointedly refuses to turn. He offers a meek hum, flicks the ash off the end of Honorable Judge Marshall's awfully fancy cigarette. It misses the tray balanced carelessly on the railing, expensive looking but replaceable.
"You truly are a child," Oskar sighs, walks the few steps forward and perches his fingers along the rail besides Silas, corners him where he stands. The only way out is through. Silas scoffs, pushes his glasses up his nose with a knuckle and quiet, tired laugh.
This has been a horrible, terrible day. Truly one of the worst.
"I'm trying to think. Could you leave me to do that?"
"No, I don't think I can. Murderer on the loose, and all. Couldn't leave you alone in good conscience," Oskar mutters, narrowing his eyes at the way Silas' jaw ticks. Clean-shaven, he notices. He ignores the urge to reach a hand out and touch– one he would've acted upon had Silas not been so utterly stupid and irritated at him right now.
It's the time Oskar takes staring and in his own head that Silas finally turns. His brows are furrowed and pulled taut, eyes lidded and tired like they usually are. It's the pathetically sad gleam he has that's new, and Oskar really, truly tries not to smile.
"What could possibly be so funny right now?" Silas murmurs, brown eyes flickering between purple. Oskar lifts a gloved hand up to try and wipe the smirk off his face, shakes his head dismissively.
"No. Seriously–" it's the first time in a while Oskar's heard Silas' voice raise above anything more than a meek murmur. He straightens his back, blinks at the man in front of him.
"First, I knock on your door last night– and it isn't you that answers. Then, I hear you'd been off later meeting up with– Chris? God, whatever his name was– at the pool to discuss business," Silas rambles, arms flailing out on his sides. He catches himself mid too much expression– tugs his red vest down and turns his back against the railing. Crosses his arms like a petulant child and practically pouts.
"Yes, that is what happened. Your point is..?" Oskar tilts his head, crowds closer into Silas' space.
"Are you being purposefully dense? Look, Rex, if I'm not the only one you've been… meeting with, I want you to tell me now, okay? It's not like I care or anything– but– but… I'd like to know, is all."
Quiet. Far off through these seemingly paper-thin walls, Oskar hears the commotion of impromptu detective work at play. It really, really isn't the time for any of this, but he finds he doesn't care just as much as Silas doesn't.
Silas rubs the heel of his dress shoe on the floor, head hung. His fingers work to lazily stub out the cigarette, mushing it into the ceramics of the tray. His glasses slip down his nose, white hair brushing his forehead. He can't believe he'd let himself be so naive– of course Oskar Rex would have people flocking to his arms. Rich and stupidly attractive, who would let that down? Silas is a single breath away from pushing himself off the railing and grumbling his way back to the group when he feels a hand toy with his tie.
"You're one stupid professor," Oskar murmurs, though it's spoken much softer, more fond, and far closer than Silas would've expected.
Silas' lips part, arms dropping to his sides to make room for the man that quickly found himself stood between his legs. His eyes slide up, past the lens of his glasses, and fall on that awfully alluring purple gaze he'd fallen victim to a long time ago– one that often reminded him all too well of somebody he'd once known. He must have a type.
"I'm not stupid," Silas huffs, throat drying up when nimble fingers move to smooth out his collar. A thumb dips down, brushes over a bruised mark against his collarbone– one only Oskar knows of, one in the shape of his mouth.
"No, you're right. Stupid? Maybe not so much. Jealous, though…" Oskar's voice is low and Silas wants to curl in on himself. Curl in on him. Maybe Silas could throw himself over the railing as a last ditch effort to preserve whatever dignity he believed he still maintained around this man.
Silas' lips pressed into a thin line, eyes cast sideways as he adamantly refused to look up. Oskar didn't make it easy. His hands slid down his chest, tugged his vest into place. Palms open, sliding back up his arms, smoothing over his shoulders. Resting on either side of his neck, they pulled, forcing his eyes up.
The hottest night this year and Silas felt his skin prick with goosebumps all over.
"It was purely business," Oskar starts, tuts and shakes his head. His tongue runs over his teeth and Silas' eyes flicker down to his lips. He pretends, for now, not to notice. The hair on Silas' nape is all soft and familiar as he sinks his fingers into it. "You heard it earlier, I haven't lied to you. Maybe that hit to the head did more damage than we'd thought."
"Oh, fuck you," Silas breathed, though his delivery was far less angry than Oskar was sure it was supposed to be. It barely slipped past his lips, breathy and quiet– almost lost to the wind. Silas finally let his hands rest against Oskar's waist, holding him still or pulling him closer he wasn't sure.
A low chuckle left Oskar's lips, His fingers pressed, curled into Silas' hair. He watched him lean into the touch, instinctively pressing back into it in a way that reminded Oskar far too much of a cat. He hummed, bathing in how quickly Silas' resolve broke down.
Silas hesitates, lips open and close twice. "You didn't dance with me."
"Had you wanted me to?"
"Well. You could've."
"Yes, I guess I could've."
Oskar realizes, now, this is the riskiest they'd ever been. Out in the open– nothing but plants partially obstructing any passer-by from out right identifying them had they only, if they were lucky, glanced by. It didn't matter– he'd pay them off. Pay someone else to sort it out for them.
They shuffled closer– Oskar's head swaying, tilting to the side. They were breathing the same air now, eyes half-lidded and glazed over all the same. Silas let Oskar reach up to peel his glasses off, idly hooking them into his own pocket, and brushed that white streak of hair up and away from purple eyes.
"Anybody could see us here, Rex. This isn't a good idea."
"Nothing money can't fix," Oskar whispers, lips brushing Silas' as he speaks. "I'm pretty sure they're all pretty pre-occupied, anyway."
Fuck it.
Silas let himself have this– have this one thing– and surged forward. Oskar met him half-way, as purposeful and desperate as himself.
It was anything but soft, much like every other one of their encounters. Silas' fingers curled into Oskar's waist, slid up his back, wrinkled his beloved clothes enough to prepare himself for a scolding later. He was met with a fervent hum that he muffled into his own mouth, Oskar's fingers cool where they cupped his jaw, tugged him forward and pressed him back simultaneously.
It was all the confirmation, all the reassurance, Silas needed. Maybe he was greedy, maybe he did want Oskar Rex all to himself. Would that be so horrible of him?
They stumbled back as one– mouths still moving against the other– and Oskar only just caught himself on a wall. Silas pressing him against it, Oskar tugging him in by the collar and refusing to let go. Silas cursed against his lips when Oskar's teeth sank into his own, furrowed his brows and let Oskar take, take, and take.