Oliver

[nola_cyclops]

Sam had started the drive from Westchester to Connecticut quietly, shifting between X-related rumination and affection for Oliver. He would drift away on some thought or memory or other (a softball game, a funeral, a moment with a student, playing chess with Charles) and then return back to reality -- back to Oliver -- and reach out to him with some topic of conversation or other.

But as an hour turned into two hours, Sam was feeling more solid. His shoulders loosened, the knots in his muscles gradually uncoiled, and he found his smile more frequently. He even, at one point, sang along to the car radio. It was good to be going home, to be chasing a tricky Scott moment with a positive Sam one.

And now it was time for Oliver to meet the Scotts. When they arrived (they had pulled over to cast critical eyes over their appearances; Scott had changed his shirt and combed Oliver's hair), it was like stepping into a sunny patch of day, even though it was getting late.

Sam had grown up with just his mom and his aunt. His mom had bought the house when she was pregnant with Sam; they had lived here his whole life. It had never been weird that he raised by his mom and her sister; they loved him like parents and loved each other like best friends, and they were fun, outgoing, loving people. They were women quick to laugh, women who played board games like they were the coolest thing in the world, women who owned a karaoke machine and who still, even without Sam, hung out at the piano in the living room and sang songs together.

When they arrived, it was all a happy blur. Sam's aunt ("Call me Sarah", she had ordered Oliver with a hug and a kiss on each cheek) had greeted them with cocktails. Well, more specifically, a cocktail called "The Oliver," which was minty and zesty and disturbingly accurate. She was talkative and friendly, and she managed to take Sam and Oliver on a tour of the house -- excluding Sam's room -- in which she lovingly made fun of Sam in every single room. (If Oliver had been nervous about fitting in with this family, maybe this introduction would make him more relaxed).

And then Sam's mother had arrived home from work, and Sam, who now remembered a life where he had lost a mother in a horrific way, hugged her a little too hard and too long. But he was comfortable here at home, and he held Oliver's hand under the table at dinner and laughed as he accused his mother and aunt of cheating at a brisk game of monopoly (Oliver had been given first pick of player piece, because he was the guest).

Finally, though, they were alone again, and now, Sam could show Oliver his room. It was exactly as it had always been: neat and orderly, clean, a slate of neutrals. There was a Top Gun poster on the door, of course, and a keyboard stand and guitar stand next to it in the corner (the keyboard was in New Orleans, the guitar was exactly where Sam had left it). His bookshelf was stacked with books and model planes, and a few model cars; there was a framed photo of Sam, his mother, and his aunt on his desk (his mom must have kindly removed the photo of Sam and his ex that used to sit beside it). There was a corkboard with old pennants, photos of Sam in baseball uniforms or costumes, an invitation to a wedding he'd attended with his ex, his college acceptance letter, little slices of his quiet little life. The room was an oasis from the colour and happy noise of the rest of the house, and it was here that Sam leaned against the wall, finally fully loose-limbed and comfortable, and watched Pietro-Oliver meet baby Sam through his things. For once, there was a free and uncomplicated smile on his face. "So this is it."

Comments

[nola_cyclops]

"I kind of just did." Well, the young, time-displaced Scott had. "But it's not really a long-term... oh, god." Yes, that was annoyingly good; Sam pushed up into it.

[nola_quicksilver]

"Wow, it's like I don't even know you." Oliver bit back a groan and planted a hand on either side of Sam's head so he had a little better balance as he started a slow, rolling rhythm. "But I'm still not leaving you."

[nola_cyclops]

"I probably would have come with you," Sam answered, but then he had to bite his lip and hold onto Oliver and move with him.

[nola_quicksilver]

"'Probably'?" Oliver scoffed, leaning in to nip Sam's chin. "You'll be right by my side, always."

[nola_cyclops]

"You're right." Sam would be. Scott would be. It was their reality now. Sam reached between them, then, closing his hand around Oliver. "Always."

[nola_quicksilver]

"Fuck, Sam," Oliver whispered, stilling to revel in Sam's touch. But regardless: "Always right or always by my side?"

[nola_cyclops]

"Always by your side," Sam clarified, stroking him lazily, unhurried. "You're so good for remembering to whisper."

[nola_quicksilver]

"Positive reinforcement? Always a leader, aren't you." Oliver shifted to lay on his side next to Sam, figuring that might be a little easier for them both.

[nola_cyclops]

“Always,” Sam agreed, loosening his grip on Oliver as he settled, then tightening it again, watching his face. Sam loved that he could look at Oliver, and touch him, and feel him so alive and hot in his hand.

[nola_quicksilver]

"Or are you trying to kill me?" Oliver mused. Their faces were close together so he could whisper to Sam, kiss him, nuzzle him, breathe his breath. He was addicted to just being close to him in general. "Kill me with sex."

[nola_cyclops]

“You don’t feel like you’re dying,” Sam replied quietly, pressing his smile into the side of Oliver’s face like a gift, nearly a kiss.

[nola_quicksilver]

"But it seems like I might be, when it feels this good." Sam might need an example, so Oliver took him in hand and ran his thumb along the length.

[nola_cyclops]

“I would never let you— oh.” Oh, so that’s how it was feeling for Oliver? Sam didn’t stop his steady strokes, but his breath hitched. He loved this. He loved that on this completely absurd, difficult, happy day they had lived a hundred feelings and couldn’t stop touching each other.

[nola_quicksilver]

"I mean, if I have to go, this way is my first choice." Oliver stroked Sam more slowly, memorizing the feel of him. Someday he might be doing this with Cyclops's bodies, perhaps awkwardly, perhaps unsure, but definitely older and different. He'd love that body too, but he never wanted to forget the joy he found with this one.

[nola_cyclops]

“And if you did go, how could I have sex with anyone else ever again, after I killed you with it... I’d never move on from you.” Oliver was beautiful, and warm, and Sam’s. Would he lie like this with Pietro one day? Would it feel the same? Could they look at each other like Sam was looking at Oliver now, adoringly and intimately?

[nola_quicksilver]

"Okay, but because of missing me or the trauma of realizing you have a lethal dick?" Oliver laughed breathlessly and gave Sam a warm, lazy kiss. This was the weirdest sex conversation, and he loved it. He hoped they could be silly together in the other world and not have their pillow talk be about, like, strategy and potential foes or whatever.

[nola_cyclops]

“A little of both, mostly the lethal part?” This was not normal, but Sam was smiling with the strangeness of it all, sinking into that kiss, finding a rhythm with his hand to match Oliver’s, like breathing together.

[nola_quicksilver]

Really, Sam couldn't lie and give the more romantic answer even during sex? Oliver bit his lip in rebuke, but also because he thought it would be hot.

[nola_cyclops]

It was hot! Sam groaned quietly against Oliver’s mouth. “I think I want to change my answer.”

[nola_quicksilver]

"You may try again," Oliver told him magnanimously. His hand never slowed down.

[nola_cyclops]

“I would miss you too much, you’re too good.” Sam meant it, too! He kissed Oliver hungrily, because that hand was doing things to him!

[nola_quicksilver]

Okay, that was acceptable. Oliver gave him a muffled groan in approval as he returned the kiss. He was feeling every bit as hungry for Sam, and how did that work? How was it he could get bored with a hundred things a day, but not once with Sam? No kiss, no touch, was even close to being old, even knowing he'd more or less committed to years—lives!—of sleeping with just this one person. In fact, the thought alone made him thrust into Sam's hand a little. Well, maybe not alone. The overwhelming Samness of the moment helped a lot.

[nola_cyclops]

Years, lives, countless nights of this. God, they couldn’t lose this. Sam felt so present in the world, so connected to his emotions, so connected to Oliver, that he couldn’t imagine ever changing his mind about this. This was a love that could cross dimensions. It had to be. There was no other option. Not when Oliver moved against Sam’s hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. Sam picked up the pace, biting reasonably gently at Oliver’s chin, because Oliver wasn’t the only biter here!

[nola_quicksilver]

Fuck, Oliver would demand more of that, but they'd gotten lucky with Sam's lack of bruising from their big outdoor excursion earlier—he was not going to be explaining to Sam's mom how his chin got bruised over pancakes in the morning. And yet it was enough to make him thrust harder, fucking Sam's fist even as he used his free hand to direct Sam's mouth upward so they could kiss again, hot and messy.

[nola_cyclops]

Sam loved this kind of kiss, the kind that needed to happen in this exact moment. He loved when it was messy and sincere and hot; he loved the ways they reached for each other, how the sparks flew. And god, Oliver was hot in Sam’s hand, and Sam stroked him faster, focused more on Oliver than his own shudderingly great feelings while he really really could.