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Author Intro: My name is Casual, and I'm, first and foremost, a storyteller. I write about erotic, sensual, sexual, and emotional connections between gay men. Although grounded in reality, my stories are still fantasies, not meant to promote or glorify any sexual practices. I can go from romantic, sweet, uplifting to rough and edgy. If you wish to be taken on wild, exhilarating, magical, and sensual adventures, my imagination is the place for you.
Chapter 4 - "What Difference Does It Make?"
Oliver sat on the cold steps leading up to the hotel, one of his feet nervously tapping against the ground as his turquoise eyes scanned the driveway, waiting for Niko's scooter to show up. It was around 8:30 am when he finally began to agonize. It was still cold, the morning sea breeze prickling the blonde hairs on his bare legs. He recoiled and wrapped his arms around his knees, nestling his chin over them, his gaze barely hopeful. But after a couple of minutes, he sighed with frustration. Did Niko forget? He couldn't have, which sparked Oliver's mind to come up with even worse scenarios. Did something happen to the stud on his way home? His heart began to race, and he stood up, pacing around the steps as he surveyed the still, relatively empty street. John would certainly be upset if he missed breakfast, and his reaction would undoubtedly lead to another series of unfortunate confrontations and distasteful comments. But what Oliver was beginning to realize, for the last couple of days, was that John's opinions on his actions were becoming significantly less critical and, in fact, forced his spirit to become even more intractable, especially regarding Niko.
Every fiber of his being clamored for the stud. Oliver's groin tingled, and his hole puckered at the thought of Nikos's smell, his taste, his voice, the heat his mouth emanated when the hunk whispered in his ear, the feeling of the stud's thick hair when his fingers slid inside it and the deepness of his emerald gaze, a place Oliver would gladly and willingly lose himself in forever. It was all he could think about and all he wanted to indulge his mind in. Everything else had suddenly become trivial, painfully dull, and inconsequential.
"Fuck," he mumbled to himself before rushing down the stairs and sprinting along the sidewalk into the steep road leading downtown.
He could barely hold a thought in his head long enough, his legs scrambling through the streets as he made his way to Niko's house. His body seemed to have a mind of his own, taken over by a sudden surge of adrenaline. As he reached the town center, gradually, the streets began to feel more alive. The shops were opening their doors, the local fish markets were up and running, and cafes were buzzing with orders. Oliver could feel that sweet, delightfully warm scent of homemade bread, cakes, and pastries swelling from the cafe kitchens. Still, even that seemed unsatisfying compared to his determination to reach Niko and finally see his face. He knew that once he did, everything would be alright. The stud would open the door, and he would leap in his arms, scissoring his legs around his thick, chiseled waist, and plunge his tongue into his delicious mouth. Niko would explain that he just fell asleep, overtaken by fatigue from their previous night's excursions, and apologize. And then everything would be fine. Everything would be fine.
It had taken him twenty minutes of walking with barely a breath in between, successfully convincing his brain of his rambling thoughts when Oliver's finger finally pressed the doorbell on Niko's house. He let it linger on it, slowly pulling away, using the aggravating sound to coax the stud out of his hiding place. He waited. But there was no sign of Niko. Not a shadow on the window, a crack in the floor, or a loud breath. Nothing. Oliver pulled back, his feet stumbling off the sidewalk. He stretched his neck, trying to see inside Niko's attic. Nothing. The boy's heart succumbed, the thumping slowing down gradually. He rushed forward and punched his finger on the door ringer again. This time, he left it there, purposely crossing that threshold of acceptable behavior into the pesky territory, determined to draw the stud out. He pulled back once more, wobbling his Converse All-Star sneakers back and forth on the edge of the pavement.
And that's when he saw it. A tiny flicker of light behind the window. He could hear a faint, muffled sound of someone pacing inside the room, and it felt like an epoch until Niko's face finally popped behind the smudged glass. His eyes were heavy, blinking slowly and strenuously. Oliver smiled, all the anxiety he had been overtaken by falling to the pit of his stomach and exploding, like a cloud of smoke, into nothing.
But in seconds, that relief shifted as he felt the coldness that exuded from Niko's countenance. Behind his beautiful green eyes now lay a parched desert of apathetic dunes. Oliver felt compelled to scream at the window, a crippling, assaulting despair taking hold. But as he was about to open his mouth, Niko unlocked the window, letting his heavy, burly body drop over the old wood frame.
"Hey," Niko greeted coldly. The blonde stumbled, his feet clumsily skating off the sidewalk.
"You're late," he said, smiling with wariness as he tested the murky waters his mind now floated in. "I've been waiting for half an hour," he added nervously.
"Sorry," Niko replied. Oliver could feel his throat dry up. And yet, his hopeful spirit persevered.
"Did you fall asleep?" the boy questioned, his eyes glancing around the street, which was becoming busier as people started rushing by, pausing their eyes on the scene, eager to scrutinize and gossip. He glanced back up, Niko's coldness shattering another layer of his bright spirit, his soul suddenly exposed. "Did you...forget?" Oliver stammered. He could feel it coming.
"Not exactly..." Niko muttered.
Suddenly, an unknown female voice broke from inside the room.
"Níko, éla sto kreváti..." the voice sighed sensually.
Oliver's eyes closed, his throat narrowing. It was as if someone had punched through his chest and plucked out his heart, and he could now see it before him, pouring blood onto the sidewalk. He felt his spirit being deflated like a balloon, all the hope and promise of his beautiful adventure and the wonderment that came with it being painfully ripped away. It took the strength Oliver never knew he had for him to raise his head and allow everything to finally become painfully clear.
"What did he say to you?" Oliver asked.
"Doesn't matter, Oliver," Niko replied. "He's right. I mean...what do you think would come of this?" he challenged.
"But yesterday...you said..." the boy stuttered, his voice fitful, feeble.
"I'd say anything to fuck you," Niko mumbled. And for the first time, Oliver felt the hunk's voice tremble slightly. He squinted, watching Niko's emerald jewels shiver in the distance.
"I don't believe you," Oliver mumbled, battling his tears.
Niko pulled himself up, his hands gripping the window frame so tightly Oliver could hear the wood breaking from within. The stud was lying.
"You're young, Oliver. You'll meet lots of people," Niko declared, his voice cracking at every syllable.
"But they won't be you," Oliver whimpered.
He had tried. How desperately he had tried. But hearing Niko's words and seeing how strongly the stud fought against his feelings suddenly broke Oliver's last layer of hope. And so, unbeknownst to his own will, he began to cry. People passing through glowered, some even giggled, but the boy didn't care. Nothing seemed to matter anymore.
"Don't do this to yourself," Niko said, watching Oliver's head drop down, the boy's hands shielding his face in disbelief. When he did, Niko leaned forward, his green eyes brushing Oliver's blonde hair as if they suddenly descended onto the sidewalk and sheathed the boy. "Please...don't cry, Ble Mou Poulí..." he whispered, so faintly only he could have heard it, his verdant gaze glinting with sorrow.
"Kleíse to paráthyro, Níko," the girl's voice whined from inside, sounding annoyed.
"Go back to your family, Oliver," Niko finally said, closing the window. The sharp noise of the cheap glass exploded inside Oliver's ears like a bomb.
The boy's arms came down, his ashamed gaze buried in the pavement, and he slid his hands inside his pockets. He turned around and walked away, tears falling indiscriminately along the cobbled sidewalk. Inside the window, the stud lingered, observing Oliver's shadow disappear behind the street's last house.
The way back felt like hours, months, and years as Oliver's defeated body and spirit walked across the vibrant, animated streets of Paros. The Greek's cheerful disposition, which had always fascinated the boy, was now a source of pang and profound disgust, mirroring all that seemed to die inside him as he dragged his feet up the driveway into the hotel's sliding doors. He suddenly felt broken, hollow, lost as he glanced up at where he had spent so many summers.
Before him was the only reality he had ever known, one he intensely dreaded returning to. While behind him lay the dream he wished he had been given a chance to live. And that now seemed gone.
He rushed past the reception and slithered his way inside an empty elevator, punching the button and leaning against the mirrored wall, tapping his foot nervously on the floor, hoping no one would enter before the doors closed. As soon as they did, he closed his eyes, trying to numb the overwhelming pain that boiled inside his chest, struggling to keep his lower lip from trembling. Oliver stood there, arms behind his back, nails biting into his wrists, counting the seconds until the doors finally slid open, and he sprinted towards his room. He slid the card key on the door and ran for his bed, jumping on it and flipping the white duvet over his head. He lay there for several minutes, dipped in the most profound darkness, his body curled in a fetal position, hoping and praying he would succumb to exhaustion and that his body would be swept away into a freeing slumber.
"Ollie...?" Jason's voice suddenly spoke. "Are you okay?" he questioned cautiously.
"Go away, Jason..." Oliver muttered, his words jostling with bottled emotion. There was a brief silence where he could feel Jason's shoes scuffing against the carpet, unsure of where to go.
"Do you want me to get Sophia?" Jason asked gently.
"No..." Oliver replied, his voice slowly cracking. "Just...leave me alone," the boy begged.
"Okay..." Jason stammered, unsure.
Oliver waited diligently for the sound of his friend's feet to drive away, but they didn't. And soon, despite his best efforts, Oliver's tears finally surface. All his misery and sorrow boiling up. The boy wept, his muffled wails concealed under the large blanket, body shivering and quivering. And soon, every image came pouring out. Niko's eyes drifting above the water, his shadow hovering over Oliver's body as the stud lay him over the sand, his scooter emerging from the pier's corner, his smile, his body, his hair, his cock. The scent of his fragrance and the feel of his touch. All that could have been, no more. Oliver felt dragged back to square one: locked inside an expensive cage, where he sat, alone and waiting.
And it was then that the boy finally realized Niko was right. He knew Oliver wasn't meant to be caged, and the safety he thought he felt inside was nothing but an insidious poison slowly crushing the fearless freedom of his spirit. He was like a flower whose seeds had grown inside the most elegant vase but whose beauty was slowly withering away. Because maybe, just maybe, some flowers were always meant to bloom in the wild.
Oliver wept, knowing the only person who had truly seen who he was had been pushed away. And that what he felt, as real as the blood coursing through his veins, would soon become nothing but a memory.
Suddenly, he felt a presence, something causing pressure on the bed, forcing the mattress down, and a hand lifting the duvet behind him. Jason had crammed himself inside Oliver's bed, spooning the boy gently.
"I promise I won't say anything. I'll just stay here and keep you company, okay?" Jason's sweet voice uttered.
They were the most endearing words ever spoken. Sophia's annoying, often inappropriate, and immature boyfriend offered Oliver what he needed the most: a friend's compassion. And how precious it felt, Oliver thought. Jason showed him that he understood, perhaps better than anyone, what it felt like not fitting in and living as an outsider inside their family. The blonde grabbed Jason's hand and wrapped the young man's arm around his chest. Jason lay there until Oliver fell asleep, ushered by his warm breath on his neck.
By the time Oliver woke up, it was already dark outside. He had slept all day, yet his body felt benumbed and glued to the bed. He could barely find the strength to open his eyes, even though the room was submerged in a somber darkness.
"Ollie, are you awake?" Sophia's voice questioned from the foot of the bed. But Oliver kept mum, his throat locked. "Ollie, you need to eat something," she insisted, her words being greeted by silence.
"See, I told you," Jason's voice mumbled from further down the room.
"We're going down for dinner. Do you want me to order something?" Sophia suggested. "You don't have to come. I'll have them bring it up," she bargained. But it was pointless. Oliver's body barely budged, his head still buried inside the duvet. "Fine. We'll go...but I'll be back later, okay?" she conceded.
Oliver could feel their shoes rubbing against the carpet, pulling away as they walked out of the room, and as the door closed, he sighed in relief. His solitude had suddenly become his only getaway. A quiet companion for the unbearable pain that festered inside him. For all he cared, that small space he had nestled into could become his whole life. Oliver closed his eyes, tears running down his face. But now, there was no sound escorting them. They fell, silently tumbling against the silk sheets. Moments later, devoured by sadness, Oliver fell asleep again.
The following day, he woke to the drapes of the large window beside his bed being flared open. The intense morning light immediately pierced his thick duvet, forcing his glued eyes to unfurl begrudgingly.
"Dude, wake up!" Jason's voice commanded. Oliver was about to sough, attempting to scare Jason away, when suddenly he felt the soft weight of the blanket over his body being ripped back. Jason tossed the duvet on the floor and stood next to Oliver's bed, watching as the boy squealed and shriveled like a vampire exposed to sunlight. "Now!" the young man summoned.
"Go away..." Oliver murmured, curling his body up into a fetal position.
"Dude, go shower. You look like shit, and you smell like shit too." Jason provoked even though it was a lie. Despite not showering for over twenty-four hours, the boy's body still smelled amazing. Oliver's usually alluring natural scent seemed particularly heightened, almost as if his body fought off his loneliness by emitting these strong feromones that attracted whoever got close enough to him. "Fine, you asked for it," Jason announced, leaning forward and yanking the blonde's shorts off his legs, undies included.
"Jason, fuck!" Oliver yelled, annoyed. He rolled over, exposing his flawless peach, his softness greeted by the sunlight peeking through the window.
"Shirt," Jason demanded.
"No..." Oliver muttered, face buried inside his pillow. Jason grabbed it and pulled, forcing Oliver's body to slide off the bed. Soon, they were wrestling, their arms squabbling each other off until, finally, their motions converted into caged laughter. And from under it, Oliver's smile finally emerged.
"Mother fucker!" the boy yelled, chuckling between heavy breaths.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Shower. Now!" Jason said, pointing his arm over to the bathroom.
"Fine..." Oliver muttered, lifting himself off the bed and dragging his naked body into the sink. He leaned into it, his arms gripping the edges, and brought his face into the mirror.
"He's right. I look like shit," Oliver whispered to himself. "Not that it matters anyway..." he continued. But by then, Jason had walked over and leaned beside him against the bathroom doorway.
"Stop acting like a fucking idiot. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror? You're gorgeous, Ollie!" Jason argued, his words slowly shoveling off the emotional blizzard that had buried Oliver's self-confidence. "Anyone would give their right arm to fuck you," he stated, forcing Oliver to look at him and frown. "I mean...not me. I like pussy, sorry," Jason clarified, causing Oliver's lips to stretch. "But you know...anyone that's..." Jason labored.
"Gay?" Oliver taunted.
"Yeah. Exactly!" Jason uttered, sounding relieved.
"There's such a thing as bisexual people, Jason." Oliver differed, bringing his face down and splashing water on it.
"I know that..." Jason replied. "I'm not a fucking Neanderthal, Ollie," Jason stated.
"No. No, you're not," Oliver whispered, beaming at his friend through the mirror. It was as if a veil had been lifted, and he was now seeing what Sophia saw. Jason was an absolute treasure of a human being.
"And I know for a fact that there are straight guys who love a girl's finger up the butt. Doesn't mean they'd take a dick there, too..." he argued, pausing at his comment. His eyes darted up at Oliver's eyes, who squinted at him through the mirror.
"Not me," Jason quickly added before they both laughed. "I mean, have you seen Sophia's nails? Dude, no fucking way she's sticking those things in there," he quipped, walking behind Oliver and turning the shower on. The blonde smiled and stepped inside it, sinking into the sizzling water, his body melting with it. He then stood there silently for a while before Jason finally spoke. "This is about Niko, right? What happened?" he asked.
"He doesn't want to see me anymore," Oliver mumbled, his words discouraged. "I went to his house, but...he sent me away," he continued.
"Mother fucker. Want me to go there and kick his ass?" Jason suggested, visibly rattled, that anyone would dare make Oliver suffer.
"No. It wasn't his fault," Oliver explained before pausing. Everything was clear now. "It was mine. I should have never let him near my father," he finally acknowledged.
"I see," Jason replied, his body leaning against the sink, turning to the blonde who slowly washed his body with the hotel's pricey gel. "Dude, I know he's you're father and all, but...John's a fucking slime," he added with caution, despite it not being needed. Oliver's silence agreed with him.
They stayed inside that bathroom, giggling and talking shit. And slowly, Jason's kind-hearted nature pulled Oliver out of his funk, bestowing him with a pinch of his old self back--enough for the boy to put on some clothes and finally take the elevator for a well-deserved lunch. Nathan's elated voice broke from the balcony as the two young boys approached their usual table.
"Ollie!" he hollered, causing everyone to glance up. The group smiled cheerfully at the boy's presence. Everyone except John.
As Jason took his seat next to Sophia, her hand immediately holding his, Oliver stumbled, eyes darting at the seat next to his father. His usual seat. He walked there and slowly sat down, feeling Chiara's hand brush his back softly. But as he sat there, where he had so many times before, he couldn't help but notice how different he felt. That chair next to John had been tainted. And his presence there felt wrong, unclean, and even perverted. His eyes stumbled on his mother, and they lingered there, his throat locked by an unspeakable force, choking the air out of it.
"I was thinking we'd take the boat out tomorrow again. Just the family this time...maybe visit some of the islands?" John announced. His voice was loaded with pride. He seemed jubilant that everything was back to how it always was, how he planned it to be.
"Sounds wonderful," Nathan replied, trying to rally the sour mood around the table. But everyone, including himself, could feel the strain and manufactured zeal in his words.
"Tesoro?" Rafaella's voice beckoned, her gentleness sliding over the table and landing on Oliver's turquoise gaze, which seemed to burst from within with an indiscernible energy.
"You know, your mother and I have been thinking, and we thought it might be a good idea for you to take a trip before college. You and Sophia, what do you say?" John continued, excited to share all the plans he had made. Chiara immediately glanced at Nathan, raising her eyebrows. Clearly, she had yet to be informed of John's plans. "I was thinking London, Prague, Milan, Paris, Lisbon, and Barcelona?" he proffered, glancing at Rafaella for her support. But her attentive, motherly eyes were locked on her son.
"Oliver...honey..." Chiara whispered, her fingers still brushing her nephew's back. She could now feel the raw tension building on the surface of the boy's skin as if a caged animal desperately clawed its way out, hurling his body against the pen's guardrail.
"It'll be a nice opportunity to get your head out of those silly books for a change. Visit new places and make new friends. Who knows...maybe meet a girl...or two?" John persisted, completely entrapped by his ramblings, progressively oblivious to his own unfitting behavior and comments.
"Jesus Christ, John..." Nathan muttered, embarrassed. John paused, sipping his coffee and leaning against his chair.
"Oliver, per favore, dì qualcosa," Rafaella whispered with an unsettled countenance, feeling her son's despair slowly become unbearable.
And then, from under the most crippling, awkward silence, Oliver's calm voice finally broke free.
"I sucked Niko's cock," the blonde spoke to the table. It must have been a fraction of a second before Nathan spat out his coffee all over the large white towel. An unruly chuckle broke from Sophia and Nathan's mouths, and Chiara's chin dropped slightly. Then, Oliver purposely turned his head and confronted his father. "And it felt amazing," the boy stated, smirking.
John's eyes froze, shivering with outrage and shock. Oliver could see him trying to keep hold of his facade, hand trembling as he held the cup of coffee. The boy smiled as he caroused in his father's dumbfoundedness, slowly roasting his face like a nasty rash. After a few seconds, where father and son dueled their gazes in a match of sudden death, John finally yielded and tossed the coffee cup loudly over his plate.
"Get off my table. Now," John's voice demanded. It was low, guttural, and menacing to everyone but Oliver, who stood up, pushing his chair across the floor loudly, and motioned to walk away, but not before turning to his father again.
"By the way, whatever you said to Niko...it won't work on me," he announced with fearless determination before leaving.
The table remained silent for several minutes. Then, Rafaella slowly rose from her chair, and as she did, John's head followed.
"Ella, don't you dare," he threatened.
"No, John. You don't get to tell me what to do," she calmly asserted before excusing herself and leaving for the elevator.
A few minutes later, she joined Oliver on the hotel's rooftop. She knew he would hide there. He had been doing it since he was a teenager whenever he and John would argue.
"Can I join you?" she questioned. Oliver stood near the balcony, gazing at a stunning panoramic view of the villa. He looked back at her, smiled, and shrugged, eyes fleeing into the horizon. Rafaella approached him and leaned against the railing, playfully nudging her shoulder against her son's.
"He and I...we're never going to see eye to eye," Oliver finally admitted, not to his mother but to himself. And when he did, a weight lifted from his shoulders, and that overwhelming sense of burden finally scattered.
"I know," Rafaella replied. "But I also know your father. He won't change his mind," she said.
"How can you put up with it?" Oliver questioned, visibly intrigued.
"He wasn't always like this," Rafaella endeavored to explain. She didn't sound angry. In fact, there was a tenderness in her voice. A tampered peacefulness as if she knew something about John that nobody else did. "He was charming, funny, and when he looked at you...it was as if nothing else mattered, and suddenly you were the most important person in the room," she remembered, eyes sparkling under the sun. "The moment he came and sat on my table at that wedding, I immediately fell in love with him," she recalled with a smile.
"What happened to him?" Oliver asked. Rafaella looked at him, then back at the view, her gaze lost in thought.
"Sometimes, along the way, people forget who they were and become what the world expects them to be," she conveyed. The boy could see her eyes glistening from the side. "Life is hard, bambino...unexpected, fragile, even painful at times," she whispered, her voice withering. Oliver glanced at her, noticing how fatigued she seemed. In fact, she always looked tired lately. "But it can also be beautiful. Full of love, light, and yearning," she added, her expression glaring.
And there, under the protective guise of his mother's love, Oliver finally opened his heart to her.
"Mamma, I love Niko," the boy confessed.
"I know you do," she replied, beaming before her smile became peaceful. One of resolve. "Which is why I need to let you go," she said.
"What?" Oliver questioned, surprised. Rafaella chuckled softly at his reaction.
"I held on to you as much as possible, trying to keep you safe...but I think it's time you share your beautiful heart with the rest of the world," she expressed, stretching her arm and sliding her fingers inside Oliver's beautiful blonde curls. She pulled him in and nestled his head on her shoulder. "As a parent, I can only hope you won't suffer. But if you do..." she whispered, placing her other hand on the boy's heart. "Know I'll always be here, my beautiful baby," she vowed.
From under her, Oliver smiled. And as he leaned against his mother's love, his spirit finally broke free.
"I need to see Niko again," he confided. "But Dad..." Oliver stated.
There was a slight pause.
"Don't worry about that anymore. I'll handle you're father..." Rafaella appeased, her voice surging with renewed strength.
Later that day, right after dinner, which Oliver barely touched, he patiently waited for Rafaella to drag John to their room. He followed them soon after, put on the best pair of shorts and the sheerest tank top he could find in his suitcase, which let his velvety pale skin push from underneath and rushed for the elevator. He tiptoed out of the hotel and dashed through the already familiar roads and narrow streets back to Niko's house. As he raced there, Oliver could feel his heart opening up again, his mouth tasting Niko's cum and his nose smelling the stud's robust and musky fragrance. He felt alive again. And he now understood that it was his love, his lust, and desire for Niko that did that. He was the source of his power, the core from which his bright nature stemmed.
He finally stopped, inches from the stud's home, and this time, rather than ring the doorbell, he punched the door several times.
"Niko, open up!" Oliver hollered, his voice vibrant and hopeful again. "Niko!" he insisted, slamming his fists on the large, stout, rigid door. And he kept going until an aged, slightly annoyed female voice finally shrieked from the house next door.
"Lisoú Christé, tha to kópseis!" the voice yelled from inside the smallest window conceivable. Moments later, the wrinkled face of an older woman peeked from behind it. She flared the window and leaned over its petite frame.
"Hum...hello," Oliver greeted awkwardly as the woman gaped at him up and down. "Niko?" he asked, pointing his finger at the stud's room.
"Den eínai spíti," she uttered, rolling her eyes at Oliver, who looked at her, his mouth slightly dropped as he tried to understand what she was saying. "He not home," she rasped.
"Do you know where he went?" Oliver questioned almost immediately. The older woman looked at him, pulled back, and slammed her window in Oliver's face.
"Fuck," the blonde whispered, feeling lost and disoriented.
Suddenly, he remembered the fair. Maybe, with any luck, Niko would be there. He ran up the street and across the fish market, rushing past several restaurants packed with numerous families of tourists, many of which he recognized from the hotel. He was already panting when he reached the main square, his armpits dripping sweat. He glanced around before taking his nose to them. He sighed in relief. They still smelled fresh, so he wandered around the venue, increasingly frantic. There was no sign of Niko anywhere. Why was this happening? Was the universe or whatever divine law at play trying to tell him something? Maybe this was a mistake, Oliver thought. He should return to the hotel and try visiting the store during the day. Niko would definitely be there during the day.
As he rambled, his eyes scanning around the central square, he suddenly spotted Amal sitting on a table just a few feet from the main stage--not too far from where they had been the night before. Oliver's eyes immediately lit up, his body bouncing forward, his feet sprinting over to her.
"Amal!...Hi..." Oliver exclaimed, trying to sound calm and complacent. But the intelligent young woman clocked him almost immediately.
"Oliver!" she greeted before pausing. "Where you run, beautiful boy?" she questioned, frowning. Although several other people around her seemed to be requesting her attention, her eyes lingered on Oliver for some reason.
"Where's Niko?" the blonde finally blurted out, his chest pushing the question out as if his life depended on it. And it must have sounded like it did because Amal raised her arm, signaling the other party members to keep quiet, her eyes fluttering as she tried to steer her focus away from the general commotion.
"Oliver, Oliver...you get Amal trouble..." she muttered, looking around uncomfortably.
"Please...I need to see him," Oliver begged. But for some reason, she seemed reluctant. And why would she help him? She was Niko's friend, not his, Oliver thought. But then again, she was his last hope, and if he didn't risk his luck now, he might lose his chance forever. So, Oliver gambled. "Tell me if you think he doesn't care for me, and I'll leave. Right now," Oliver dared. "But...if you think he likes me...the way I like him, then...tell me where he is. Please," the blonde beseeched.
They were the most candid words ever uttered. It was such a powerful plea that even Amal's friends, who barely spoke English, seemed spellbound by Oliver's presence before them. The young woman's eyes lingered on the blonde beauty, and he could see the struggle inside her.
"Ai, ai, ai, Americano. Now Amal see why Niko cannot let Oliver go..." she finally surrendered, prompting the most glorious smile on Oliver's lips. "We go meet Niko at bar. Downtown," she informed, pointing to the back of the main square, to a road that led down the beach. "We take you, okay?" she proposed, to which Oliver nodded affirmatively.
She called him over and introduced him to everyone in the group. Their curious gazes flew over Oliver's body like a flock of birds. Their interests peeked at the boy's effortless charm. Although, for a few minutes, it kept Oliver's mind distracted, the truth was, now more than ever, his heart beat faster than ever. And all he could think about was getting to wherever Niko was as quickly as he could.
But to Oliver's utter horror, they ended up lingering there for what could only be described as the longest half hour of the blonde's life. Noticing the boy's anxious state, Amal eventually rallied the group, and they began their descent into the beach. Soon, they were squeezing inside the darkest street, and at the end, Oliver could see a large sign with flickering neon pink letters spelling something in Greek. And what seemed like a giant blob amassing at its entrance slowly became, as they neared the door, a sea of young people, drinking, smoking, and chatting amongst each other. Oliver's eyes scoured for Amal, who seemed to rush ahead, distracted as she spotted someone in the crowd. The group soon followed, and suddenly, Oliver was alone again. But this time, he didn't care because he knew that Niko was somewhere inside.
He squeezed himself inside, and as his head broke from under the drunk crew, he was finally able to have a better view of the place. It was a large outdoor patio with a square-shaped dance floor in its center and tables scattered around its perimeter. Oliver immediately noticed several couples dancing together. Young men with women, but also men dancing with other young men. Oliver had never been anywhere where people like him felt at ease and were allowed to show their affection in public in such a way. And then, while he relished this extraordinarily new feeling, the most contagious music began to play, and Oliver's eyes honed in on the giant jukebox beautifully placed in the center of the venue. The blonde seemed hypnotized, spellbound even. Suddenly, he smiled, and for a moment, he forgot why he was there, enamored by this hidden place and the liberation he felt inside. Everything moved in slow motion, and the crowd, propelled by the music, seemed to dance just as slowly.
Oliver finally turned, and when he did, the wall of people before him parted, revealing Niko. He sat on a table on the far end of the patio, slumped forward on his chair, a glass in one hand and a joint in the other. His curled raven hair fell over his forehead, teasing his bushy eyebrows, and his chiseled chin hung, slightly tense. He wore the sexiest black tank top, which looked old and worn out, with several bleach stains near his pecs, and these denim shorts perfectly showcased his muscular legs. And his eyes. Those deep, emerald eyes looked straight at Oliver, glowing.
Oliver fell right back to where it all started--lost inside Niko's deep green ocean. He smiled, unable to cage his happiness. But the stud did nothing. He just sat there, eyes locked on him, taking the joint to his mouth before finally pulling back and reclining on his chair. When he did, Oliver saw a young woman's head come behind him and bury her lips in his neck. The blonde's eyes twitched, distraught. He shifted sideways, losing sight of the stud, and began to move slowly through the large crowd gathered around the main floor, using the cracks between their moving bodies to spy on Niko, who now seemed to be having a heated argument with Amal.
Oliver pulled back, slowly walking off the dance floor and along the outer edge, carefully monitoring Niko from afar. He seemed pissed, livid. And for some weird reason, the stud's anger was making Oliver's cock twitch and harden. He could feel his hole pucker, scanning how the stud's crotch moved as he turned around to yell at Amal, probably scolding her for bringing him here. And each time he noticed the spit flying off Niko's enraged mouth, Oliver's cock would drip precum from its tip, smudging his clean undies.
Niko finally turned around, slamming his back against his chair so violently Oliver's body flinched. The stud lingered there, gazing, his eyes dancing between rage and unbridled lust. Determined to make his point, Niko grabbed the young woman, pulled her by the head, and smooched her. The kiss was sloppy, inconsequential, a mere display of power. But the deeper Niko's tongue dove inside the girl, the more empowered Oliver felt. Even from a distance, the boy felt Niko's tacit desire for him. It was there, gurgling on the surface of the hunk's cinnamon-toned skin, burning bitterly. Niko pushed the woman away, her screeching voice screaming at him as she fixed her messy hair. But the stud could care less, his eyes still drilling holes into Oliver's skull. At that moment, the boy's doubts and fears melted, and he finally learned that the stud's actions toward him were neither callous nor heedless. Niko's belligerent nature showed love, care, and profound respect. He wasn't pushing the blonde beauty away. He genuinely believed he was protecting him.
Oliver knew that to have Niko in his arms again, he would have to fight for him, which meant letting go of everything he was taught.
So he turned around and disappeared inside the crowd. Niko's neck immediately stretched up, his incendiary expression shifting into concern as if he had suddenly lost something precious to him. He could hear a loud commotion inside the crowded dance floor but couldn't figure out what it was.
And then, he heard it. The Smiths' song began to play.
(song playing on the dancefloor) All men have secrets, and here is mine So let it be known For we have been through hell and high tide I think I can rely on you And yet you start to recoil Heavy words are so lightly thrown But still, I'd leap in front of a flying bullet for you So, what difference does it make?
All the people dancing slowed almost to a stop, turning their bodies inside as if bound by a sudden magical trance. Slowly but surely, they began to spread out, finally unveiling the most majestic image Niko's eyes had ever seen.
Oliver stood center stage, his body leaning over the jukebox, moving with the music, which grew in vehemence and scope. His movements were sharp, his head bouncing to the beat of the drum, lunging his beautiful blonde curls in every direction. And with each flicker of his hair, Oliver seemed to draw more people to him, his presence now a mystical force reverberating across the room, sparing no one of its effects.
(song playing on the dancefloor) The devil will find work for idle hands to do I stole, and I lied, and why? Because you asked me to! But now you make me feel so ashamed Because I've only got two hands Well, I'm still fond of you, oh-ho-oh So, what difference does it make?
"Who that?" a male voice questioned from behind Niko.
"Americano boy, Oliver," Amal's voice yelled over the music.
"He cute...I go dance with him," the tall young man announced, rushing past them. But Niko's arm swung sideways, his contentious hand clutching the guy's arm. Everyone around them froze.
"I don't think so," Niko rasped, his words surgical.
"Ti diáolo écheis re, Níko?" the young man shouted, yanking his arm away from Niko's hand.
"Sit the fuck down, you're not going anywhere," the stud ordered. Amal signaled the other guy to move back, who appeared aggravated by the stud's interference. But Niko could care less. He was elsewhere, now captive to Oliver's body, dancing. His youthful exuberance finally liberated and allowed to roam free.
Amal's disguised smile blossomed from behind the hunk, her eyes filled with pride as she stared at Niko, her best friend. After all, she had known him her whole life. This wasn't a summer fling, a crush, or an obsession. Niko loved that boy.
As Oliver heaved his body around, his motions unleashing powerful waves of heat that seemed to radiate a hex over everyone inside that venue, Niko's lips stretched, and his guard finally lowered. Inside his short shorts, his cock was the stiffest it had ever been in his life. Painfully so.
(song playing on the dancefloor) But no more apologies No more, no more apologies Oh, I'm too tired I'm so sick and tired And I'm feeling very sick and ill today But I'm still fond of you, oh-ho-oh
Oliver was free, his mind and body yielding themselves to the song. He closed his eyes and plunged into a dream state, impregnable to any rules and bound by no restrictions. And it was only when he sensed a familiar scent graze his nostrils and felt a hand gently skim his lower back that he finally flared his turquoise eyes, smiling.
(song playing on the dancefloor) Oh, oh, my sacred one
"Niko...I'm sleeping in your room tonight," Oliver uttered, leaning into the stud, their mouths inches apart. There was no request in his words. He had already made his decision.
"I don't have a say in it, do I?" Niko groaned, intoxicated by the boy's scent.
By now, everyone in the room stared at them--two souls bound by desire, passion, and lust with nothing ahead of them but time. As Niko's hands traveled across Oliver's body, his eyes glistened with emotion as he witnessed that shy boy turn into a young man before him--a purely instinctual creature, offering himself for Niko to revere.
"No. Not anymore," Oliver whispered.
(To be continued...)