Chapter Text
Thou seemest human and divine,
The highest, holiest manhood, thou.
Our wills are ours, we know not how;
Our wills are ours, to make them thine.
~ In Memoriam A.H.H., Lord Alfred Tennyson
Kyle was five beers and three shots in. There was a whiskey held in his long fingers, barely touched, but Felix liked whiskey.
Kyle tried to like everything Felix liked, for an impression. To make him interested. He thought that if Felix thought that Kyle liked whiskey, he'd pay more attention. If Kyle liked used bookstores and Lord Byron, then Felix would kiss him about it. Two plus two equals four, right?[1]
So, here he was, sitting on a chipped wooden bar stool, right leg shaking in contained energy. His cheeks were the color of blooming roses. His skin felt like lake water on a summer's eve. There was a gentle buzzing in his head, a small, shaky distortion in his eyes. His hands needed something other than a sticky glass full of something that looked and tasted like piss.
Honestly, coming out tonight had been worth it. He could have sat at home watching the game, alone with a bag of crisps and a bottle of Fuller's. But now he had the game, endless amounts of alcohol, and Felix Motherwell to his left.
And Felix looked absolutely stunning. His eyelids were flickering like an old film reel, his hands running through his curls way more often than necessary. His tongue kept flicking out of his mouth to run over his lips, fingers tracing the edges of his glass, ankles twisting and untwisting. He was unbelievably attractive, shining in the shitty light.
Kyle wanted to kiss him, yearning with an ache he'd rarely felt.
The first time was when he was twelve, for a girl with blonde hair who kept a notebook in the pocket of her leggings and wore reading glasses. She had a pinkish-blue bracelet with butterflies and flowers hanging off it, and a Sonic the Hedgehog watch from B&M.[2] At his thirteenth birthday party, he'd brought her behind the fence of his garden and told her he wanted to be her boyfriend. She'd simply nodded and hugged him, her flyaways sticking to his cotton tee, and he kissed her a week later. To this day, Kyle still calms at the sight of cherry lip gloss. Ten days later, they broke up in that way only Year 8's could. Kyle hasn't talked to her since sixth form, but he still thinks of her. He'd dated, lost his virginity, thrown up into toilets a countless number of times— and yet still, no one had made his blood rush like the feeling of her hands tying a bracelet made of thread around his ankle. No one, not until Felix Motherwell.
The first time Kyle had met Felix, inviting him into Rupert's house on the wait for the stag do group, his lungs had emptied of all their air. He'd opened the door and then… there. A man with bitten nails, skin the color of the tree behind Kyle's childhood home, green eyes focused just away from the door, fingers clung to his suitcase handle and backpack thrown over his shoulder.
He was the most gorgeous person to ever walk the earth. Kyle wasn't in love with him yet, but he could tell that one day he was going to be. And, unfortunately, that day had come and passed him by.
Kyle was shaking now. Felix took a sip of his whiskey, eyes locked on the television displaying the match above them. He was somewhat aware of Rupert and Toby arguing about something to the other side of him, but he couldn't focus on what they were saying. He needed to kiss Felix now, oh it had to be now, nothing good was going to come of this, was it? The aching was clawing away at him now, raking along the sides of his stomach and stinging like rat poison.
Felix's eyes were shining with drink. His jeans clung to his thighs, loosening around his calves, lifting just enough to expose the skin above his ankles; his shirt, unbuttoned low in the heat of the pub, was slivers of his chest and collarbones— Kyle needed to feel every exposed strip immediately. He needed to run his fingers over his shoulder blades, feel the jut of his hipbone, taste his thighs, kiss the backs of his hands until Kyle's palm felt his.
Kyle needed to worship him like a votary clutching rosary beads, whispering his sins into the tainted air of a confessional. He needed to lose his breath, just like the first time he'd seen him. He remembered that feeling of plain certainty that one day, this man would give him the same feeling that the cherry lip gloss-wearing girl had all those years ago; he remembered that time two months ago when he'd felt it for the first time. That waterfall, that rockslide of desire and love and adoration and drops of lust that dropped on his head with no caution beforehand.
Before then, Kyle had looked at Felix like another friend. The sense that love was coming was always there, but it wasn't until that moment at the wedding party that it had struck him.
He wanted Felix to love him back with all the force of a supernova, but he was sure Felix didn't. Why would he? Kyle could take him to pubs, take him to lunch on his work break, insist on buying a worn copy of Lolly Willowes, but Felix would still only touch his shoulder like a friend. Never a lover.
The screams and cheers of the pub tore Kyle away from his musings. He twisted around with a shocked jolt, saw Toby with his shirt stained from spilled drink and Rupert with his head in his hands. Somebody had scored.
Felix's eyes were widened, mouth agape in disbelief. He stood to scream in elation, his shirt slipping to show his shoulder…
Kyle's entire body was burning. He needed to get away. He needed to get away from this beautiful, tempting, stunning, beautiful man.
He stumbled out of his seat, yanking his coat off the seat and blundering through the way-too-energetic crowd. The drunken man shoved open the door, pushing his already-sleeved arms through a loose denim jacket. The freezing air hit him with a rush, stinging his calves through his dark sweatpants. Bloody winter, Kyle thought, thick-ass sweatshirt and a thick-ass jacket and you're still bloody freezing. He yanked his gloves out of his pockets, regretting the choice of fingerless, and pulled them on as he leaned against the brick wall.
He hadn't smoked in a while, but he was sure he'd left a pack in the inside pocket of his jacket from the last time he'd worn it. And he always kept a lighter— for… reasons. He fumbled around for a moment, searching for the pack, and found it with a relieved sigh. Kyle yanked one out, stuck it in his mouth, and quickly lit it— the wind blew out the flame a few times, but he'd done this enough times. He figured he probably shouldn't be smoking in his drunken haze, but he needed to stop thinking about the gorgeous, gangly man sitting inside.
Maybe getting as high as possible would get his mind off Felix's lips, his legs dripping at the beach (and everything higher)[3], the nape of his neck in the golden light of the sunset. Honestly, it would probably just make him more focused on them— but why not try?
Inhaling the smoke gave Kyle a calming feeling he'd been needing for hours, ever since Felix had invited him here. Directly. Himself. He'd messaged Kyle directly. As if he'd wanted him to come. But obviously, he didn't care. He was just polite, and Kyle was in the group.
Kyle exhaled the smoke with a deep sigh, watching it be blown away with a tired look on his face. He wanted Felix by him right now. It would probably make everything so much worse, but he wanted to bury his face into his neck and trace shapes over his palm. Men aren't supposed to be soft, said a voice in his head. Kyle told it to fuck off under his breath, but he wasn't sure if it worked.
He took another drag, and sank to the sidewalk. Earbuds were a necessity right now, but they were back at his flat on the nightstand (Kyle wanted to see Felix's things on that nightstand).
Then the door to the bar opened, and out stepped the most gorgeous vet in all of Britain. If this were a film, it would have been slowed down, some kind of love ballad playing, color-graded to highlight all the pinks of his face. The camera would have trailed down his body, showing off how his steel blue Carhartt jacket struggled over his thick arms.
But this wasn't a film— to everybody but Kyle. The only thing it was missing to him was the love ballad in the background. But he was so focused on the lines of Felix's body that he missed the man sitting down beside him, until a hand gently rested on his thigh, and nothing mattered anymore.
Everything in his mind was thrown away like cigarette smoke in the wind, the buzzing of alcohol in his head hyperfocusing on the warmth over his thigh. It took him a few moments to process the "Hey, you okay?" coming out of Felix's mouth.
"Yeah, I- I'm good." Kyle had never been more okay. He never wanted this moment to end. He wanted to wrap his fingers around the ones in front of him.
"You sure? You ran out like, really quickly, Kyle." Nobody but Felix called him Kyle. Did it mean anything at all? "That's not something that usually means 'good.' Especially after Bellingham made an assist."
"Just needed some a-air," Kyle hiccupped. He was going to grab Felix's warm, chocolate fingers. He was going to do it. He couldn't not, with everything in his system screaming at him to.
Felix raised his eyebrow. Kyle kept staring at the hand on his thigh, and then decided, fuck it. He dropped the lighter, cigarette shaking on his lips, and grabbed Felix's hand. He didn't regret wearing fingerless gloves anymore. He didn't give a shit about the cold, because he could feel the equally freezing fingers under his own now.
Kyle tilted his head back against the wall, and dropped his neck to stare at the man he'd fallen in love with.
And Felix was smiling, smiling a gentle smile, with both his dimples and his cheeks tinged pink. Kyle, in his even-more-stupidified state, figured it was because of the cold. And, partially, it was. But what he didn't know was the other reason.
The vet let go, for the briefest of moments, to flip his palm up and clutch Kyle's hand even tighter. He gently rubbed his thumb over the fabric of the glove, and whispered, "Hey. You sure?"
Kyle nodded, nervously fast, and swallowed. He flicked his eyes down to Felix's oh-so-soft, blooming-rose lips. "I- I- yeah. I'm amazing." I definitely shouldn't say this. This is so fucking stupid, Kyle, you fucking idiot, oh god, don't d— "I want to kiss you so fucking bad."
Felix's mouth dropped. His smile was left behind, blood rushing to the tips of his ears, eye crinkles eradicated as they widened. God, Kyle wanted to taste that tongue…
The alcohol spoke for both of them. A cracked, drunk "Please do" was met with a discarded cigarette the press of lips against another pair. Kyle pressed a gentle kiss against Felix's bottom lip, and pulled back to kiss him again. And again. And again, until his free hand lifted to hold the other's chin, and Felix rested his own against Kyle's waist.
Internally, Kyle was dying, and his body was rotting into flowers. He couldn't let God take this man from him, so he gave his soul up to nature, allowed himself to be taken, and fell into the feeling of Felix's lips against his. He slowly let his tongue open up the man next to him, and pushed inside to taste him. The feeling of fresh whiskey engulfed Kyle, and he didn't care. He pressed harder, a little whine escaping Felix, and then Kyle was gone. If he had been gone before, then a new word ought to be invented for this gone— something that wasn't in any dictionary except the one in Kyle's chest.
And then Felix dropped his lips to the pale neck in front of him. His lips kissed the spot under Kyle's ear, his jaw, his Adam's apple, until he pushed the hoodie to its side and sucked on the dip above the man's collarbone. Kyle couldn't stop the groan that let out of him, and Felix paused to look up at him.
"Okay?" He asked, and Kyle had never felt stupider. He nodded weakly, and released the vet's hand to press into his curls and guide him back to that spot.
Felix happily returned to his previous task, kissing and licking and sucking until a sweet red mark was left in its place. Kyle whined and lifted the other's head to worship his mouth again. And then, finally, Kyle made himself know that this wasn't an illusion.
He was kissing Felix Motherwell, and Felix Motherwell was kissing him back. It was real, and for once, Kyle wasn't dreaming.
7 o'clock sun spilled through the windows, falling on Felix's soft, sleeping face. Kyle's head was pounding with the force of two atoms colliding, he needed to throw up, but he didn't give a shit in this moment.
The man he had, unfortunately, fallen in love with was asleep next to him, with the morning light highlighting every inch of his exposed body. Kyle wanted to lean over, press his lips against his chest, to wake the vet up to loving kisses; but Kyle still didn't know if he wanted that. He wasn't drunk anymore, and Felix couldn't be either. He surely didn't want to do anything while sober.
Kyle traced his eyes down the nude body next to him. He caught flashes of the night before, dark curls falling against his thighs and broken noises filling the air. He tried to grip onto the hazed memory of Felix sucking marks onto his hips, feeling his smile against his torso, his finger callouses against Kyle's biceps.
God, Felix was the most stunning thing Kyle had ever seen. All he could think about was his freckles in the light, his drunken cheers, his palm holding the pieces to Risk. He wanted Felix to love him back so terribly, achingly, badly.
Kyle kept staring, thinking and falling into holes, as Felix's eyelashes began to flutter. His eyelids blinked open, revealing tired kelly green eyes. Even his eyebags were beautiful.
"Hi, Felix." Kyle whispered against the cold air. Felix's curls were discarded all over the pillow, his muscled stomach lifting and falling with awakening breaths.
Felix turned his head to his side, laid eyes on Kyle, oh, his wonderful, beautiful, stunning eyes… his wonderful, beautiful, stunning eyes filled with horror.
Kyle's stomach sank. "Felix?" Oh, lord, no, this couldn't be happening. He knew Felix wouldn't do anything while sober, because who would, who would when it was Kyle? But oh god, not this horror, not this…
"I- I have to go, sorry." Felix ripped the duvet off his calves, removing himself from the bed like it was a cursed thing. He threw on his clothes, discarded on the floor, pulling on his jeans as Kyle struggled to process what the fuck was happening.
Even as Felix refused to look back at the bed, Kyle tried to memorize the shape of his shoulder blades and the way his knees bent. He watched as Felix, in his panicked movements, accidentally grabbed Kyle's shirt instead of his own, pulling the sky blue Lacoste over his head.
Kyle stuttered something incomprehensible out, watching as Felix shoved open the bedroom door and tottered down the stairs. Shit, Kyle thought, and rose out of bed to run after him.
"Felix?" He yelled. "Felix? Are you okay?" Oh god, he hates me. I fucked up so bad. Why did I get drunk? Why did he get drunk? Why the motherfuck did we do this?
The sound of sneakers being thrown on echoed[4] through the house, and Kyle found himself at the bottom of the stairs, staring at Felix opening the door. "Did I do something?" His voice was too weak for this.
Felix just shut the door, and Kyle watched through the window as he ran down the street.
[1] Kyle had never been much good at math.
[2] He knew because he'd been getting candy with his shitty neighbor, Declan. It had taken him nine more months after this event to finally abandon the boy he'd been friends with since before Reception, who made jokes about raping the female teachers, and his nagging voice still lived in Kyle's head to this day, judging the 'manliness' of every action he took.
[3] He'd dreamt of Felix in a swimsuit more times than he'd wished to admit. It always involved the swimsuit being lost at some point, and Kyle would awake in a sweat, sheets thrown away in his sleep and his boxers in need of a wash.
[4] Felix wore slip-ons, and kicked the floor to properly get them on. It seemed to work in his favor, as opposed to laces or Velcro.