“Right, good morning,” Olivier says, and his tone is oddly formal.
Auriel stifles a grin. “Morning.” When Olivier doesn’t pick up the slack of the conversation, Auriel adds, “what’s all this?”
Olivier gestures grandly around the kitchen and says, “this…was going to be breakfast. But—I don’t know if you know this about me—I can’t cook worth a damn.”
“I’m well aware,” says Auriel. He knows that he sounds awfully fond.
“So,” continues Olivier, “this is giant fucking mess. But! Never fear, I won’t let you starve.”
Auriel raises one eyebrow, skepticism written all over his face.
“No, for real,” says Olivier. “Behold: your breakfast.” With a flourish he opens the toaster oven and reveals…toaster strudel. The kind that comes in a box from the freezer aisle and includes tiny packets of icing.
It’s definitely the source of the amazing smell, and Auriel marvels at the fact that he hasn’t had toaster strudel since he was probably about nine years old. He puts a hand to his heart and says, “you shouldn’t have.”
“Um, yeah, I totally should have. Come here, sit down.” Olivier transfers most of the mess from his cooking attempt to the sink and Auriel sees the place setting that had been hiding behind the pile of dirty dishes. Olivier must have dug out the hideous macramé placemats that Auriel’s mother gave him when he moved out, because there’s one sitting on the kitchen island. A plate sits squarely in the middle of the placemat, and there’s a complete silverware setting as well as a large glass of orange juice and a mug of tea.
“I don’t know what I’m going to use a spoon for,” Auriel teases as Olivier slides two strudels onto his plate.
“It’s fancy you asshat,” Olivier grouses. But he’s clearly pleased with Auriel’s reaction.
They eat in a comfortable silence, Auriel laughing as he cuts his strudel into dainty pieces with a knife and fork, Olivier folding his in half and stuffing the whole thing in his mouth. They’re both keenly aware of one another’s presence, but Auriel finds it companionable rather than uncomfortable. They don’t move in sync, don’t even speak, but they’re both present in the moment.
Once they’re finished eating, Olivier insists on doing the dishes. He waves off Auriel’s offer to help, and gives him a pointed look when Auriel nods toward Olivier’s left hand. “You sure?”
“I’ve got this. Go put on something you’re willing to leave the house in.”
Auriel smirks. “You don’t want to be seen with me in sweatpants?”
Olivier laughs out loud at that. “I would be absolutely chuffed to be seen with you in sweatpants. But I’ve seen the way you dress even just around the house. I doubt you’re the type who wears jammies to the farmers market.”
“Jammies?” asks Auriel gleefully. It’s positively adorable that Olivier uses that term.
Olivier huffs impatiently and shoos Auriel out of the kitchen. “Seriously, you have like twenty minutes to get ready.”
It isn’t until Auriel’s back in his own room that he realizes what Olivier had said. They’re going to the farmers market. Holy shit, Olivier is taking Auriel to a goddamn farmers market. That’s the kind of thing he’d started doing after they’d been dating for a while, once his frosty edges had thawed and he’d realized that a mature relationship involved common interests and going on dates that they both enjoyed. Auriel doesn’t allow himself to hope that this is a date, but he does find himself grinning as he pulls on skinny jeans and a nicely fitted flannel. He considers making a mad dash at his hair, but decides to skirt the issue by donning his softest gray beanie. He can see weak sunlight shining through the guest room window, so he grabs his aviators as well, hoping that Olivier won’t think he’s ridiculous for mixing summer and winter accessories.
Olivier, naturally, takes nearly forty-five minutes to do the dishes and get ready to go. By the time he’s all set, Auriel is sitting on the settee scrolling through his phone. He’s halfway through an article about hydroponic something-or-other, but he really can’t pay attention. Olivier claps his hands together as he enters the living room, and Auriel’s attention is instantly captured. God, Olivier looks good. He’s wearing a tight black t-shirt that hugs his trim frame lovingly, and a pair of jeans that accentuate his ass obscenely. His scuffed red high-tops complete the look; he is positively delectable.
“Ready?” Olivier asks, as though he hasn’t kept Auriel waiting.
What a little shit, Auriel thinks fondly. What actually comes out of his mouth is, “always.” Which might be a little too honest, but hey, what does he have to lose at this point?
“Stella left dropped off her car so we can borrow it for the day. Do you want to drive?” Olivier asks.
Auriel nods. He wonders vaguely if Olivier’s scared to drive again. The car the two of them had shared was completely totaled in the crash, and Auriel has spoken at length with the insurance company. They haven’t been able to disclose the exact cause of the accident, but Auriel isn’t sure if that’s because they don’t know, or because they’re legally bound. Either way, he didn’t get the impression from the cops that Olivier was at fault. But they haven’t had that discussion, and Auriel figures it’s better to let the subject lie for a while. Especially now that they’re back on solid—if fragile—ground.
There are several farmers markets across the city, but only one that Auriel considers worth going to. He assumes that Hattie told Olivier about the Bi-Monthly Market, because he certainly hasn’t mentioned it. It’s the highlight of his week whenever he gets to go, and today is no exception. The stalls are bustling when they arrive, the market in full force, and Olivier lets out a soft huff of surprise when he sees the crowd. Auriel pulls smoothly into a parking spot about a block away and they walk slowly toward their destination.
“I didn’t realize it would be so big,” Olivier admits, looking slightly awed.
Auriel smiles brightly. “It’s the biggest farmer’s market in the state. People come from all over every other month. You can’t find a better variety anywhere.”
They stroll through rows of stalls, stopping to inspect their contents periodically. Auriel feels like his smile—probably the first genuine one he’s had in a while—is going to split his face in half. There are piles of plump berries to sample, wooden crates of early autumn apples busting at the seams, handmade goat milk soap stacked neatly on a rickety table. Vendors are eager to chat about their products, and to hear visitors’ stories. It reminds Auriel of his childhood summers, spent on his aunt’s homestead helping out everywhere from the fields to the tiny farm store. It was where his love of plants was initially cultivated.
He finds himself lost in thought, and when he finally withdraws from his reverie, he sees Olivier gazing at him with such a tender expression on his face that Auriel isn’t afraid to reach out and run a hand along Olivier’s jawline. Olivier’s eyes flutter closed, and he sighs contentedly, reaching up to loops his fingers loosely around Auriel’s wrist. When he opens his eyes, Auriel is looking straight into them.
“What are you thinking about?” Auriel asks.
Olivier takes his time considering this question before he answers. “I’m thinking that I see why I fell in love with you.”
It should hurt. The words should rip and tear at Auriel’s battered heart. But instead he finds that he believes Olivier. “Yeah?” he prompts.
Olivier nods. “Your expression is so open, and it’s clear that you’re mad about this place. You’re so passionate, Auriel, and it makes me want to learn about the things you love.”
Auriel feels like he’s flying, soaring over his beloved city. “You used to ask me a lot about the plants I work with, and the books that I read. God, you even started researching essential oils when I brought home the diffuser. I swear you always knew exactly what I needed to hear or talk about or smell for christsake.”
“I want to learn those things again,” Olivier breathes. “I want to know you like I used
to.”
“I want to teach you,” Auriel counters, and then Olivier is stepping forward to kiss him.
It’s gentle, the kiss. They’re careful with each other, tracing their hands over one another reverently. It doesn’t last long, of course, because they’re in the middle of a farmer’s market. They pull apart, each seeing his own grin mirrored on the other’s face. From there it’s the easiest thing in the world to slip their hands together, fingers intertwining. They wander through the market, enjoying the commotion around them, but firmly settled in their own little world.
Olivier gets excited over a jar of huckleberry jam and Auriel can’t resist buying cartons of ripe raspberries, and after a couple of hours they find themselves laden with two heavy bags of local produce. Their sentences are punctuated with laughter as they head for the car. As soon as they’ve loaded their purchases into the trunk, they’re on each other. Auriel pins Olivier against the driver’s side door with his hips, quietly asking if this is okay. Olivier’s urgent nod is all the answer he needs, before he’s surging forward to deepen their playful kisses.
Auriel can’t pinpoint exactly why this feels different than the other day. But the edge of a theory traces his mind. Olivier doesn’t seem purely motivated by sex this time; there’s a thoughtfulness about him that echoes the way he had been before the accident. He’s clearly still curious about Auriel, but there’s more to it now. His words, his actions, even his posture suggest that he’s invested in rekindling their emotional connection, not just their carnal one. And maybe it’s a bad idea to jump right into physicality when Olivier is finally connecting with Auriel emotionally, but it feels so damn right. Because Auriel has missed every aspect of Olivier, and unless he’s much mistaken, they’re about to start rebuilding their entire relationship from the ground up.
They manage to pull apart after a couple of minutes of feverishly kissing. Auriel flushes, deeply embarrassed that he was making out in the street like a teenager. Olivier, on the other hand, looks supremely smug.
“Happy with yourself?” Auriel asks.
“Yup,” says Olivier, popping the p. Then he adds, “you’re amazing, Auriel. I hope you’ll keep working through this with me. And maybe…let me get to know you again?”
Auriel’s breath catches in his chest. “Of course,” he breathes.
Olivier makes a low humming sound and then says, “take me home?”
And hearing the word home bloom from his lips sends chills through Auriel’s body. There is so much nuance in that statement, and he wants to hold it close to his heart and cherish this moment. He licks his lips and nods.
The house is blissfully empty when they get back from the market. Auriel takes the paper bag to the kitchen and begins unloading delicate cartons of berries into the fridge.
“Hattie?” Olivier calls. He’s ninety-nine percent sure that she’s not home, but it doesn’t hurt to double check. When he doesn’t receive an answer, he plasters himself against Auriel’s back, wrapping his arms around Auriel’s waist.
Auriel is busy rearranging the contents of the refrigerator so that the berries will fit, but he pauses to throw Olivier an amused grin over his shoulder. “Hi,” he says. His tone is pure joy.
“Hi,” Olivier says back, biting his lip coyly.
Auriel bursts out laughing and turns in Olivier’s arms, the produce forgotten. “Thank you for today,” Auriel murmurs against Olivier’s lips before kissing him.
The kiss begins like the numerous ones they had shared at the farmer’s market, but it quickly devolves into something hotter, sizzling with intent. Auriel reaches up to frame Olivier’s face in his hands, and Olivier responds by slipping his tongue into Auriel’s mouth. By this point Olivier is wedged firmly against the kitchen island, and Auriel’s heart beats a rapid tattoo against his ribs as he thrusts his hips against Olivier’s.
“Fuck,” groans Olivier, and shit. His cock is hard and thick, pressing snugly against Auriel’s thigh through layers of clothing.
“Jesus, Olivier,” Auriel pants, overwhelmed by the sensation. By now his own cock is swelling, trapped in his jeans, and all he can think is finally. Because it’s been torture living in the same house as Olivier, cooking for him, kissing him, unable to be with him the way Auriel longs to. And here they are, frotting against each other in the kitchen with abandon, utterly unashamed.
Olivier is grinning wickedly when he catches Auriel’s eye. “Tell me what you want.”
Auriel could write sonnets, even novels about what he wants. He’s desperate for Olivier’s touch, his warm mouth pressed to Auriel’s neck, his hands on Auriel’s hips, his cock in Auriel’s ass. But faced with an enthusiastic, willing Olivier, Auriel finds himself at a loss for words. Instead of answering he ruts upward, pressing their clothed cocks against one another. He hisses, pleasure curling through his extremities, and latches onto Olivier’s neck. He sucks a mark just below Olivier’s ear as he reaches between them to undo Olivier’s fly. It only takes a moment for Olivier to catch up, and then their pants are shoved haphazardly down their thighs and Auriel’s hand is slipping into Olivier’s boxer briefs.
Auriel has touched Olivier’s cock hundreds of times. He’s teased countless orgasms from it with his hands, his mouth, vivid thrusts and sweet caresses. But he has never felt the sheer sense of relief upon taking it in his hand that he is currently feeling. There was a part of him that wondered if he would ever have this again, and Auriel’s relief is positively palpable.
Olivier doesn’t seem preoccupied with sentimentality; his cheeks are flushed and his pupils are dilated. He pushes Auriel’s boxers down and his hand wraps around Auriel, a small smile breaks across his face. “I’ve wanted to do this since the first time I saw you,” he says. And there’s no way that Olivier can know how true that statement is, even as the words flow from his mouth.
“I know,” Auriel says, and kisses Olivier once more.
There’s a beat where they’re just making out, blissfully silent, and then Olivier pulls back to look Auriel in the eye. “Have I said that to you before?” He’s slowly stroking Auriel as he peers at him, intent on getting an answer.
Auriel swallows thickly. “So many times,” he whispers hoarsely.
“And what,” begins Olivier, sliding his thumb around the head of Auriel’s cock, “do I usually do after I tell you that?” Auriel’s eyes latch onto the mark he’s left on Olivier’s neck. Arousal coils in his stomach, hot and insistent. There is no turning back from this point, Auriel knows. He takes a deep breath before answering.
“You’re usually already on your knees.”
Olivier blinks, genuinely taken aback. For a split second he seems to have forgotten that he has Auriel’s cock in his hand, but then he slides gracefully to the floor and begins kissing his way up Auriel’s thighs. His mouth is hot and wet, his kisses sloppy. He neatly avoids Auriel’s cock, his hand still wrapped loosely around the base, and instead moves his mouth to his stomach, sucking and kissing passionately.
“Fuck,” mutters Auriel, reaching instinctively to thread his fingers through Olivier’s dark hair.
Olivier lets out an obscene moan, leaning into the touch. And God, Auriel had forgotten what a revelation is had been the first time he had gotten his hands into Olivier’s hair. It’s almost surreal watching that same reaction; surprise and joy and arousal dancing across his features. Then Olivier is licking from the root of Auriel’s cock to the tip before sliding his mouth over the head and sucking hard. He continues to jack the bottom half while he sucks enthusiastically, and his left hand sneaks back to massage Auriel’s balls.
“God, baby, yeah,” Auriel rasps out. He’s trying to refrain from thrusting forward, well aware of Olivier’s gag reflex and concerned for his comfort. But it feels so damn good, and Auriel feels his hands clenching instinctively. Olivier pulls off briefly to smirk up at him and quirk an eyebrow as if to say, enjoying yourself?
He is viscerally reminded of the last time that Olivier had gone dow
n on him, nearly three weeks earlier. Auriel had just returned from a ten-mile run and he’d been content, his muscles pleasantly exhausted. Olivier had slipped into the bathroom while Auriel was stripping off his sweat-soaked clothes, and corralled him into the shower. He’d taken his time worshipping Auriel’s body, until Auriel had keened, begging Olivier to let him come. Olivier had made positively obscene eye contact as he drew Auriel’s orgasm out, and afterwards he had reached back to turn off the water, blinking spunk out of his eyelashes. “Was that good for you?” he had asked sweetly, but there had been an underlying current of smugness.
Auriel is pulled back to the present when Olivier takes him into his mouth once more. He’s sucking in earnest now, and Auriel can feel his body approaching orgasm. There’s a floaty, glowing sensation blooming from behind his navel and spreading outward, reaching for his limbs. He moans loudly, clutching Olivier by the hair, and barely gets out a stuttered, “I’m gonna—” before he’s coming. Olivier swallows around him, humming softly, until cum starts dribbling down his chin. He pulls back, regards Auriel, and wipes at the corners of his mouth primly.
“That was so fucking hot,” Olivier mutters, seemingly to himself.
Auriel grins and releases his grip on Olivier before sliding down the side of the island to sit on the kitchen floor. “Thank you,” he says, looking up at Olivier.
They’re silent for almost a minute before Olivier sits down next to Auriel. “Is it usually like that? When we’re together?”
“Yeah, I mean, it’s always been fantastic. We’re not exactly lacking chemistry.” Much as he wants to wax poetic about their emotional and physical connection, it dawns on Auriel that Olivier might not be completely comfortable hearing an in-depth analysis of their sex life, so he changes the subject. “What can I do for you?” Olivier’s eyebrow rises once more, a silent question. “You’re still hard,” Auriel clarifies, gesturing toward Olivier’s erection, which is tenting his boxer briefs.
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