Black Velvet (82) NSFW (Patreon)

❤️‍🔥 (OKAY everyone wanted the OG hot chocolate scene reworked into this new version (and what better time than a sleepover!) and as most know, this is all NSFW, OOPS.  Warnings for: cringy young adults dating for the first time, the discovery of Oliver's mild masochistic streak, & blowjobs) ☕️

ALSO, I'm so sorry for the slower updates, COVID has struck our house and we are exhausted and sick 🫠

AND, I wanted to address the future of this book:  Oliver and Tobias will obviously move in together, and then we'll be establishing their life in Huxley, essentially.  Just slice of life things.  Wicked Boy is another book to read if you enjoy slice of life.

If you're bored with slice of life, and you are looking for some enemies to lovers with a plot and some supernatural shenanigans, try Darling (for a more mature romance and some mystery) or The Blue House of 1478 (for humor, mystery, and - occasionally- heavy subject matter, like Black Velvet and Wicked Boy)

If you want a a more adult and edgy romance, try the S&M accidentallysummoned!demon and disaster!therapist pairing, Cherry Bomb, and if you're into monsters and heavy plot, try Erebos.   And if u just really like Black Velvet, try the AU's dusk and teach me.  There's a lot more to read on here while you're waiting for BV updates!

Just trying to help you find more things to enjoy!

If you want summaries, let me know!

—

Tobias has made it clear that he doesn't want any leftover strawberry gummies occupying my backpack full of textbooks.  I eat them anyway, feigning an attempt at watching a poorly done CGI rendition of Atlantis as Poppy purrs contentedly from my lap.

It's a half-hearted attempt, of course, because I keep catching Tobias' dark eyes instead.

He's on the phone with who I assume is his distant neighbor, sounding as genuinely kind as can be — and curiously cute, and he ends the call right as I shove another candy into my mouth.

Suddenly, the sound of me chewing sounds much too loud.  Even louder than Poppy, who has started incessantly meowing by the cupboards, begging for the treats inside them.

"You want to finish that?" Tobias asks, tucking the phone back into his pocket.  He lifts his chin towards the television, and I flush when his gaze shifts to me, waiting for an answer. We stay like that, and his eyes drop from mine to the sugar on my fingers, half-tucked against my lips.

I feel the question is much more weighted than it should be.

"Should I?" I ask, like we're fifth-graders dancing around the subject of holding hands.  Except we're not — because we're instead dancing around the fact that I abandoned every brain cell and decided to give Tobias a handjob in broad daylight.

My nail digs into the gooey texture of the gummy that I pull away from my mouth. I'm nervous for some reason, in a butterfly in stomach way, more than happy to spend more time with Tobias — but also hyper-aware of the way that he watches my lips.

"I mean, do you want to watch it with me?"

"If you rewind it," He crosses his arms, motioning toward the television a second time. "Sure."

"Okay," I nod, and he stands there for a second, and his fingers flex at his side.  He nods back at me and starts towards the sofa, seems to think better of it — and stops.

"... Was that your neighbor again?  She loses her dog a lot."  I babble, trying to forget my brazenness from the lake with a joke,  "Or is that a long-term ploy to seduce you?"

Tobias snorts at that, ducking down to hide his widening grin,

"Seduce me?" He shakes his head. "I've already let one neighbor do that.  I'm not that easy."

"I did not seduce you."

"Explain your hand down my pants, then."

"Well."  I cough,  "I think I've made my point."

"This is about Atlantis," I motion towards the television, flushed with embarrassment — albeit a bit unsure about my presentation, seeing as I haven't paid the show much attention, with so much of my interest directed at the other man.

"... Atlantis?"

"Yes.  I totally used to believe in Atlantis. One hundred percent existed in Oliver-world, though — narwhals did not." I sense an impending joke at my expense, but Tobias only nods, eyes flitting over my frame that's curled over one of his throw pillows.

"I guess I believed in it, too." His jaw jumps, and he averts his eyes, running a hand through his hair. I watch the shift of muscle under his forearm, flinching when he catches me doing it,

"You did?"

"Must've been living in Oliver World."

"... For how long did you?" I feel giddy from the conversation, trying to play it off with a dig towards my teenage self. "Believe in it?  Because I did until I was fifteen. Entirely into every conspiracy theory that there was.  Blame Nic."

"How uncharacteristically irrational of you." He's smiling again. So am I. There's a moment that we realize this — dopily reddening up to our ears.

"So. You want hot chocolate instead?"  He asks — almost too out of nowhere, like he's just noticed my unopened can of soda.  He narrowly dodges Poppy, who sprints between his legs with a loud mewl.

"... Are you cold or anything?"

I close the bag of candy and set it on the floor.  I watch his back, watch the movement of his shoulders under his shirt as he scoops up a pile of blankets from the floor and deposits them onto the couch cushions next to me.

"Oh — no. And I can make it,"  I stand up, tailing him into the kitchen.  He slides a bag of cocoa mix to me and opens the fridge for milk.  "You can sit down if you want."

I motion towards the couch at the same time that he shakes his head, and I smile at nothing in particular like an absolute weirdo, yet again.

He asked you to move in here.

He said he loves you.

Don't make him take it back!

"You're my guest. Just let me make it."

I glance up at Tobias, and he watches me. I swallow.

"... Just gonna stare at me tonight?"  He asks, finally, and I feel like I could sweat straight through my t-shirt. I rip the top of the hot cocoa packet open, bending it between my fingers to give them something to do. "Or did you have something to say?"

"Oh, um. No," I whisper, and I know it's a lie because I'm still staring as his jaw moves, his cheeks dimple with a smile.  His eyes are dark and hooded, and he steps across the kitchen floor and passes the milk carton to me — and when our fingers brush, his eyes narrow.

"I'm not," I add. "There's nothing — nothing I can think of. Actually, usually, I am a lot better at carrying on conversations.  As you know."

He hands me a cup next, and I turn towards the water pot.

"I can talk for days, most of the time. Like — so much. Maybe it's constant conversations with sixth graders.  My new job takes a lot more socializing."  I inhale,  "I mean, otherwise, I don't get what's — I feel weird."

Tobias' brows raise like he's at a loss for words.

Since when did hanging out make me so awkward?

"Not weird like bad weird." Tobias nods, leaning back against the counters. "Just like — I don't know. Well. Did you want some?"  I ask, tapping my fingers against the outside of the mug, "I could make you some too."

"Mm. No, thanks." He's turning off the hot water on the stove. "I don't like sweets."

I let him fill the mug halfway, and I fill the rest with milk and the powdered mixture, his hip pressing into my side. There's a familiar tension, and I stir my hot chocolate faster.

"By the way. These are weird spoons," I say, to say something — stirring the hot chocolate with one of his housewarming gifts; silly, flowery printed utensils. A smiling orchid stares back at me from its curve. "Kinda creepin' me out.  Also, I think Poppy believes the only reason the kitchen exists is so you can give her treats."

"What?"  Tobias has barely turned around, "What about the spoon and Poppy?"

"The creepy flower man, I mean. Like, where did they buy these?" His cat suddenly implants herself between my feet, which I overlook until I move to direct my repeated observation to Tobias — and of course, I stumble, Poppy narrowly avoiding the hot chocolate spill that instead soaks the front of my shirt and pants, "Ow, ow.  Hot?  Oh my God.  That's so hot."

I try to laugh it off, but,

”Fucking cat," Tobias is in my space. I'm fumbling for napkins because I've spilled it on his kitchen floor — and Poppy has darted off in some direction, but the dark-eyed man is too close, and I don't know what he's muttering while trying to peel my wet shirt away from my body, "...hot? Did it burn you?"

I'm blushing, face a freaking lava lamp, trying to push down my shirt as he tries to pull it up, and my foot is in the hot chocolate — sock soaked, my belly a bit red from the heat of it, but it doesn't burn, not like my cheeks do as Tobias smacks at my hand and rips my shirt upwards again, too concerned to realize how this all seems,

"Does your stomach burn, Oliver?" He starts, and my face is probably thirty shades of pink, his hands warm on my bare skin, stomach flexing, and oversensitive from 6 hours of combined sexual tension and the contact of hot male on hurt skin.

"Tobias, if you could — stop that," My voice is almost too high to not scar me with humiliation, brain on overdrive — a silent mantra of, not now, you stupid hormonal body, but Tobias is backing me up against the counter, eyes downcast, and focused on the changes in hue across where I dropped my drink on myself.

What sort of sexual awakening is this?

"You're burnt."

"Um. Tobias." He swipes a calloused thumb across a particularly red spot, and I suck in a breath, a slight hum shaking forth. That, coupled with my front seated firmly against him, changes everything. His eyes snap up to mine finally in understanding, and I have a hard time ignoring the way his expression shifts,

"Does that hurt?"  Tobias questions, but there's a change in tone that says he realizes that it doesn't — or maybe, that he has two hands under my shirt, and my back has arched towards him, and I'm sporting a very obvious approval for the situation at hand.

He's pressing closer, thumb pressing harder, and I'm shaking my head, but I gasp lightly — eyes glued to him, and his smirk is starting to take residence where his worry once was.

"Oh, I see. I get it."

Get what?

One hand fists at my collar with my shirt rumpled up inside of it, bare stomach open to the blunt drag of his barely-there nails.  I lift both hands to clutch his fist, midsection squirming, but I'm stuck between the bend of his thigh and the kitchen counter.

"Ah," I flush, and Tobias' eyes widen,

"Tobias." I try to correct my tone with the taste of his name the third time, grit my teeth, and curl my toes against the marble flooring. "My sock... My clothes — are wet," I'm not even sure if I mean to say it out loud, more of a poor grasp at control than anything.  I know my eyes are lidding, lidding when his thigh presses up between my legs. My head falls back a bit, hands squeezing his,

"Yeah? Do you want something, Oliver?" It doesn't sound like a question, rough as sandpaper — and his hand spreads out against my waist.  The words eat up the warmth that's spreading up my ears, but he gets closer, leans his mouth so close to one that his breath makes my stomach blossom, and I twist closer to it, "because it looks like you want something."

I feel my curls bounce with a shaky nod as he pulls his face away.  Then both hands are gripping the sides of my chest, like he's pulling me to him, dropping his head to drag his tongue against a pink patch of skin above my belly button.

I'm bending into him without thinking — a startled moan because my skin is sensitive, an unexpected sound escaping my throat when his teeth knick me, when his tongue swipes against the curve of my hip bone, and then he's upright, turning me towards the counter.

"I want something," he says against my cheek, but there's grit in his tone that means he's just as affected, a desperate hand burying into my hip — almost suddenly, and I realize that Tobias is crowding up against my back, fingers sliding under the waistband of my pants,

"But I'm going to need you to tell me what it is that you want." His other hand already has a grasp on my zipper. He yanks it down with ease so his hand can travel further, knuckles dragging on the wet fabric. My fingers shake as he skirts along my thigh,

"Are you...?" I turn my head, and Tobias presses his lips against mine just as quickly, sighs against my mouth — pressing harder when I suck in a quick breath, my neck craned back to meet his kiss. All my nerves are lit. All of them are absolutely singing. His tongue slips into my mouth — my mouth, probably still too sweet with sugared candies —

But he makes a sound that sounds like a man who only feels desire, and I melt.

"I think we've both just figured something out, yeah?" Tobias murmurs, and I can feel his breath against my ear.

His hand at my hip circles it, grabs the curve of it hard enough to pull my backside against him, and he sort of rolls into it, like he's been waiting for the friction — and his tongue is slipping against the bottom spit-slick curve of my lip.  I moan in his mouth, and then there's nothing but him desperately seeking me, and me pressing back, his hands dragging my hips back against his when he grinds forward, rocking his arousal upwards against the small of my back.

"Tobias, come on." I try to reach back towards him, but I instead keep a grip on the island for balance, shoving at him enough to let me turn around, to wrap my arms around his neck. He laughs lightly as I push him back towards the counter. "How come this is the only time — that you're talkative?"

"Problem?" He taunts, and my fingers travel to his belt, yank at it — and I open my eyes to his and hope I can convey how bad I want it off, and he reaches down to help me undo it, buckle rattling as it hits the floor. "... I'm just asking what you want, is all."

"Oh, is that — What do you want?" I ask him, question up ticking when he rolls his hips against mine, and he's hard — mouth against mouth, kissing a bit more roughly than I'm sure he means to.  I huff and try to quell down a sound with his lips — let him swallow another moan, making surprisingly quick work of his buttons,

And then, without really thinking, I push his hands away and sink to my knees.

I can see Tobias above me, confusion quickly turning to overwhelmed realization, his hand reaching out to grab the counter as his jaw tightens. I reach timidly towards his zipper — and pull it down, trying to ignore how the fabric around it is straining over the curve of his dick.

"Fuck, okay." He whispers, so quietly that I'm sure it's a secret that hangs between us. His eyes are already hooding, and he drags a quick hand through his hair, surprised, "Oliver, you don't have to—"

My cheeks are hot, thumbs pressed into the depth of his hipbones, fingers shaking above the line of his boxers,

"I know.  But. Can I?"  I say, because I'm sure in this situation I should ask — at least, that's what I think, and Tobias gives me some sort of skeptical look, one mixed with so much affection and heat that I narrowly miss the way his hips try to buck forward, but he doesn't answer, "it might not be the best — but."  I shrug,  "Please?"

"Are you fucking —" Tobias' knuckles are white where they're gripping the ledge, "yeah — yes."

His other hand is slipping inside the fabric under his stomach, quickly, and my embarrassment at my inexperience is disappearing at the sight of his fist dragging up his length, of the stutter of control leaving his features as he presses the tip against the outline of my lips, and grits his teeth.

"Tell me if you want me — to stop."  My eyelashes flutter shut, lips wrapping around the head of it with a flood of insecurity —

Tobias is heavy in my mouth. My tongue presses against him when I hear his breath deepen.  His leg bends towards me, and I wrap my hand around the back of his knee for balance, lifting my other hand to where his is wrapped around the base.

I don't know what to do, so I just take as much as I can, which seems to be a good choice — because Tobias lets go of the counter and winds his fist through my hair instead with a gasp.

"Shit," His body shudders, and I bob down again, avoiding my teeth with my tongue, and I think — If I pay attention, I think I can learn this.  My mouth is so full.  Tobias is restraining himself from bucking, his grip on my hair, pulling me back every time his body gets the best of him, and he tries to push forward,

"Good."  He assures me. "It's good,"

"Tobias, you can..." I'm trying to tell him, but it's breathy — because each groan and cut-off curse, each slide of his saliva-covered length against my lips, creates a flood of heat inside of me, and I'm trying not to rock towards nothing.  "Do what you want."

Tobias lifts both hands to push through his hair again, staring down at me.  My mouth feels a bit swollen, but his eyes are on it, complete disbelief, then they lid again.

"What I want?"  Tobias' hips shift forward, and he buries himself inside my mouth once more with a grunt, fingers that thread a bit too tightly in my hair, and I hum in desperate approval, lips stretched, nails digging into the sides of his thighs before he bucks forward again, again, again, again — and pulls out with a curse,

I pant softly, dizzy and wide-eyed, regard tracking up to his out of vanity — out of a need for approval.

"...Let me fuck you," Tobias says, his filter broken. I feel hot all over, stomach somersaulting, "I've been — Let me fuck you, please."

Next chapter