Black Velvet (43) (Patreon)

(NSFW language? I guess? Tobias flirts. That’s all you need to know.)

There's a long-suffering lecture from dad when we get home, primarily due to the fact that Nic had insisted he walk up the stairs, refusing Tobias and I's aid entirely. Nic fell, of course; he fell — and then decided to use his butt as a sled down the first half of the staircase.

My dad came out, yelling about how his sons need to learn how to use their damned limbs and stop flailing all over his house before we do real damage.

Fast forward to now, where Tobias looks like he's in the middle of some oddly timed sitcom, staring at us all like we're the strangest family he's ever come across, which is a bit unfair, considering the amount of time he's had to grow accustomed to us.

"I know," Nic nods, and my dad rolls his eyes so far back into his head that I briefly entertain the thought that maybe they've disappeared altogether,  "Beer before liquor, never sicker."

"You say you know, and then you go and play beer pong first thing, every time."  Dad adjusts his glasses, waving his hand at Nic,   "I don't care if you want to go and party, but I'm old, and I need sleep.  Got it?"  He crosses his arms, motions for me to throw my pop tart wrapper away, "And please. Don't steal your mom's makeup."

"I swear," He swipes his thumb against Nic's cheek as he says it, nose wrinkling when it comes back covered in sweat and mucky wet powder,   "This foundation is fifty bucks, got it?   Buy your own."

"He was a vampire," I chime in, pressing my finger down on the toaster timer. I'm all for Nic's defense and his long-standing reputation with our parents that he's a weirdo without redemption, "You know, it's a thing.  Because ladies love vampires." I add, licking strawberry filling off my finger.  "Think of how popular Dusk was last year!"

"... I see no ladies," My dad motions to Tobias and me, eyebrows raised as high as they can muster,   "I see a drunk and two men — uh, well, I see one man and a hobbit," He juts his chin towards Tobias, eyes lingering with playful disgrace on my petite frame,  "So I'm gonna take a wild guess and say the makeup thing isn't working for you, Nicolai."

My brother just groans, leans into me for support, and rubs his sore butt.

"A hobbit?!"

"Dad, 'm not feeling good,"  He hiccups out, and tries for the stairs again. Tobias grabs his shoulders and holds him steady,  "lecture me tomorrow.  Please!"

"Oh, I will," Dad taps his foot against the kitchen floor, his slippers worn and blue,   "Might get a time-activated lock while I'm at it.  Want to party?  Sure, but you're gonna sleep on the porch from now on if you want to keep waking me up at the butt-crack of dawn."

"No," Nic gurgles, "Oliver?  Tell him no."

I sigh, swipe at my second set of pop tarts that have sprung forth from the toaster,

"Dad, don't put a lock on the door," I wrap the pastries in a napkin, holding them against my chest,   "He makes me the designated driver like every time, and I don't want to sleep on the porch — have you seen a lifetime movie?  I'll die."

"Lifetime movies, makeup, vampires, and vomit,"  Dad puts up his hands in surrender, waltzes his way down the downstairs hallway,  "Guess you should pick a better crowd to spend your time with, Oli,"

He simpers, like the crowd I'm hanging out with doesn't happen to be his other son and his other son's best friend.

"Dad's being a total butt," Nic groans, nearly at the top of the stairs by the time that I've crammed one pop tart into my mouth,   "Mom must be mad at him or something."

"You just tried to use the staircase as your personal butt massager at two am," My voice is muffled by hot sweets, but I don't care, "He kind of reserves the right to be a butt."

Tobias raises an eyebrow at us both, letting go of Nic's shoulders and slipping into the room.

"You good for bed?" I ask Nic, and he nods sleepily, shirt already halfway over his head.   He leaves it propped there above his chest, hiding his face, but covers his nipples modestly. "Great answer."

—

As it turns out, my eyes are bigger than my stomach, as per usual.  So now my fingers are covered in strawberry jam, and I still have a lone pop tart that I can't seem to stomach.  I don't believe in wasting food, though, so my plan is to quietly deposit it in our tiny fridge downstairs, at least,

That is the plan. But plans change quite abruptly.

Easy breakfast. I think, wrapping it back into the floral patterned napkins that my mom can't help but buy. I even make the extra effort to turn my cell phone light on — determined not to be the second person who falls down the stairs and ignites my dad's middle of the night rage.

Not a pretty sight.

I'm halfway down the upstairs hallway, equipped in only my powder blue constellation pants and loose white sweater that grandma gave me two Christmases ago — that is, before I notice that Nic's bathroom door is open, light traveling past the rug and into the computer room.

The plan suddenly becomes complicated.

I see Tobias before I hear him, his toothbrush in hand. He's got his head bowed over the sink, and I can hear it working against his teeth as he scrubs, other hand running through his hair.  There's a soft sixty's melody that emits from his phone — propped carefully next to the sink, and I try very hard to hear the words.

It becomes very complicated.

He's clad only in black drawstring pajama bottoms, slung low enough on his hips to see the deep lines of his hipbones, the beauty marks that litter the tan skin of his back, the dips of his shoulders shadowed under the tungsten light.

Oh no.

I haven't even noticed that I've stopped mid-step, and I'm barely aware that I'm staring. My hands are wrapped around the napkin in my hand, maybe too tightly.

This is bad.

His stomach flexes as he rights himself, fingers curling over the edge of the sink as he brushes his teeth. They're long and strong, a vein on the back of his hand that makes them look like they carry even more strength —

"Do you want to know why you shouldn't trust me?"

I feel something like I had the night before and the night he had pressed me into the dirt, his eyes on my hips.   My eyes flicker down to the slenderness of my hands and then back to the broadness of his shoulders, and I wonder what it'd be like to touch him as freely as he touches me —

"I want to be the one to do it."

I wonder how fragile I must be in comparison, how much his own body could encompass mine.   I remember the shove of my hips into the wall at the party, and I watch his slide against the counter as he reaches and tucks his toothbrush into the medicine cabinet.

I remember pretty clearly how they fit snugly between my own, how his fingers had gripped my wrists like they were nothing —

Oh my god — what?!

Am I turning into a pervert?

Tobias' gaze snaps to mine in the mirror, and we stay like that for a moment, studying each others' features.  There must be something off in how I'm looking at him; I must be too transparent — because everything I'm feeling seems to click behind his slate eyes.

"... What're you doing up?"  Tobias finally lets go of the fake marbling that wraps its way around the sink and uses it to push himself backward and face me.  "...Oliver."

I have a hard time keeping my eyes on his or to keep them from slipping back down to the way the width of his shoulders slim into the muscles of his waist — the way it works as he moves.   The way he exudes strength and masculinity —

And sex.

I feel my face flush, feel the pop tart break in my hands, and Tobias hums in wonder, a low chuckle quietly reaching me. His eyes travel over the length of me,

"... Look at you," Tobias smirks playfully, and my body leans towards the velvet quality of his voice. He looks surprised, looks absolutely pleased,  "I think you've finally found that 'sex drive.'"

The words are so low that they register in a slow movement across my goosebumps.  The word sex sounds foreign and different on his lips, almost promising.

"I— I don't —"  I blink myself out of whatever fog that my brain is in, digging my toes into the carpet. I fumble, take the piece of broken pop tart and shove it into my mouth — quickly turning heel and bee-lining for my room.

This isn't good.

This is so — so bad!

But Tobias' footsteps follow regardless.  There's a knock, a knock I can feel through my back that's pressed against my unlatched door.

"Don't you — Don't you think we should talk?"

Tobias' voice is quieter than before, unsure — even. I blink at the darkness of my room, before fumbling for the light.

—

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(A/N:  hey guys! Just to clear things up, Tobias isn’t being an absolute cock when he’s like, “looks like you’ve found your sex drive.” He’s referencing a past conversation between the two of them. (AKA flirting.)

OG readers!

I've pushed the scene that was supposed to be next (YOU KNOW WHICH ONE - don’t spoil it hahaha) further out to allow for more romantic development between Oliver and Tobias. 

Please understand!  It will still happen, just not yet.  Instead, you get a new mixed with an old, old olllld scene in the next chapter so that we can have more characterization/development.

I’m really excited!)