return_to_nola

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."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

nola_cyclops

“And at me,” Sam added with another grin, which to him was basically a love language — he was Cyclops, how could it not! — and then he couldn’t wait at all, putting on the condom, opening the lube and coating his hand with it, giving himself a few quick strokes.

From:

nola_quicksilver

"You laugh at me too," Oliver pointed out, but he was barely thinking about that anymore, too busy staring at Sam's hands. Hands that were going to do stuff to him!

He licked his lips and asked, "What position do you want me?" It was Sam's special bedroom sex, so he needed to have some say over how it went.

From:

nola_cyclops

Sam smiled and pulled himself back on top of Oliver so he could kiss him. “I’m going to kiss your sounds away, remember?” Details, details.

From:

nola_quicksilver

"You could also push my face down into the pillow," Oliver suggested helpfully. "Or gag me with something." There were several ways to sexily shut Oliver up!

From:

nola_cyclops

Oliver made a good point. Sam smiled and, because he was generous, said “pick one.”

From:

nola_quicksilver

Oliver started laughing again. "I told you to pick one, idiot." He reached up to run his fingertips over the nape of Sam's neck, grinning up at him. "I'm already ordering you to fuck me."

From:

nola_cyclops

Sam had to laugh, which sort of ruined his complaint of “Are you really calling me an idiot right now?” But it also made it easier for Sam to laughingly, happily, make a decision; “Turn over so I can shut you up with my pillows, please.”

From:

nola_quicksilver

Calling Sam an idiot had probably sealed the choice of pillows. Oliver pushed at him a little so he could turn and settle onto his stomach, the sheet providing some potentially nice friction for his cock. He turned and looked at Sam over his shoulder, and pursed his mouth for a kiss.

From:

nola_cyclops

“You’re impossible,” Sam said fondly, but of course he still delivered on that kiss, and of course he slicked his finger with lube, and of course as he re-settled himself he kissed Oliver’s shoulder (okay, bit Oliver’s shoulder).

From:

nola_quicksilver

Oliver started to groan, but remembered to bite his bottom lip in time and hold it in. He wasn't going to push his own face into the pillow—that was Sam's job, and part of the fun. Still turned to watch Sam, he spread his legs and tilted his hips up slightly in offering.

From:

nola_cyclops

“You look so hot,” Sam said before he even had a chance to think about what he was saying; just a quick, honest observation. He ran his hand over Oliver’s ass, and, as he moved closer and slid a finger slowly inside him, he nipped lightly at a cheek.

From:

nola_quicksilver

Oh, wow, okay, that was new! Oliver's breath hitched, and he whispered a little "Fuck" as he rocked forward just once.

From:

nola_cyclops

It was a little strange to hear Oliver whisper! They’d been lucky, really, to never have to worry about how much noise they may or may not be making. Still, everything about him was attractive, everything about him fascinated Sam. Slowly, Sam added a second finger, looking up to watch Oliver’s face as he did so.

From:

nola_quicksilver

Oliver took a deep breath and released it slowly, urging himself to relax as quickly as possible. He considered telling Sam that was enough, but a) he didn't want to have to answer any well-meaning questions about why he was moving so gingerly in the morning; and b) Sam would never let him get away with so little prep. Because against all odds, Sam really loved him.

He smiled at the thought, and because of what Sam was making him feel right now. He breathed, "So good," so softly there was barely any sound at all and pushed back onto Sam's fingers.

From:

nola_cyclops

Sam really, really did love him. He loved that even when things were difficult, or sad, or complicated, Oliver didn't run away; no, he rose to the occasion, and he stayed close and sure. And of course he did, he was a hero. But he was doing it with their relationship which had different emotional stakes than trying to save the world or protect your people. He stood on unbroken ground with Sam and promised things Sam would never forget; he talked sweetly with Sam's mother; he had loved on Sam's old stuffed animals. Sam wasn't just in love, he was fuelled by this love. Sam thrust slowly, carefully, with his fingers -- once, twice, three times -- watching Oliver still, amazed by him and reading the signs of his body.

From:

nola_quicksilver

Oliver gasped softly and bit his lip again. Keeping quiet was hard. He was talkative on the best of occasions, but especially so with Sam, who he wanted to assure and praise like he deserved. Who made Oliver feel like no one else did.

"Please," he murmured, because surely they had to be nearly ready, right? It felt like it'd been forever since Sam had been inside him, and if this wasn't a Pietro moment, he didn't know what was.

From:

nola_cyclops

Well, if he was saying please. Sam slowly removed his fingers but then he wasn't slow at all; he shot up to kiss Oliver, to move Oliver's hips and re-angle them both, and then, yes, to tangle his hand in Oliver's hair and push his face down, both firmly and lovingly, as finally Sam was inside him.

From:

nola_quicksilver

Oh God, it was perfect. Oliver let out a little scream that was almost completely muffled by the pillow. He was so overwhelmed like this, completely at Sam's mercy, and he loved it, loved him, more than he could even understand. He tried to hold still so Sam could set the pace, but realistically, he wasn't going to be able to hold out for long.

From:

nola_cyclops

Sam tightened his hand in Oliver's hair, because god, this was hot -- Oliver's muffled noises, the way he trusted Sam to do all of this, the way his body moved in concert with Sam's. And Sam immediately set a quick, strong pace: he felt like he'd been waiting for this moment for a long time, and maybe he had, considering all the quiet, loner Sams that had slept alone in this room.

From:

nola_quicksilver

Yes, yes, yes—Sam was taking him hard and fast and perfect, just what Oliver needed. Already he was meeting Sam's thrusts, groaning into the pillow, but the room was almost silent other than Sam's breath. The unnatural quiet was surprisingly hot, the air of secretiveness around this encounter. Maybe Oliver shouldn't chatter all the fucking time?

From:

nola_cyclops

It was hard to be this quiet, Sam's breathing heavy with the effort of it. He tried to put his feelings into his hand instead, the way it grabbed and tugged at Oliver's hair, how his other hand curled tightly, tightly, tightly into Oliver's shoulder. And thank god, thank god even like this Sam still felt close to Oliver, in this with Oliver, and god, this was going to be over quickly, but it didn't even matter, because it felt incredible.

From:

nola_quicksilver

The sharp twinges of pleasure-pain as Sam pulled his hair, the clenching fingers on his shoulder, the heavy weight of Sam on top of him as he took what he needed—fuck, it was so much, and all Oliver had was the slight abrasion from the sheet underneath him. But he didn't even try to work a hand between himself and the mattress—he wanted to concentrate on being so fully surrounded by Sam, used by Sam, here for Sam. Oliver rocked back hard with every thrust inside him, silently begging for everything he could possibly get.

From:

nola_cyclops

If Oliver wanted more, Sam would give him more: his fingers tightening on Oliver's shoulder, strong and unrelenting; his thrusts harder, maybe the hardest they had ever been with Oliver. Sam let out a groan which he cut off quickly by biting down on his lower lip. He was close, and this was extraordinary.

From:

nola_quicksilver

Sam was more likely to make noises when Oliver was goading him on—the fact he did it while Oliver was silent was kind of extraordinary, and really, insanely hot. The soft slap of their bodies together, the rustling of the sheets, these small sounds all felt amplified in the quietness of the room. It felt dirtier, more transgressive, that if he'd been screaming his head off.

Speaking of, Oliver bit down on the pillow to keep from crying out. They'd roleplayed earlier, in Westchester, but he'd never felt Cyclops more in Sam than right at this moment as Sam took control and gave them what they both needed. Oliver was slamming his hips back in answer—yes yes YES.

From:

nola_cyclops

"Fuck," Sam breathed, strangled but still quiet, into the silence. It was incredible, it was powerful -- Sam felt strong and powerful -- and Oliver was right there with him, and he never, ever wanted to stop, but also there was nowhere else to go with this feeling than into its blinding, explosive center. Sam came with a hard thrust and nails in Oliver's upper arm and fingers wrapped around his hair.