StarvedWereFiend

Oliver startled awake from a nightmare he couldn't remember, realizing far too late that he was at the edge of the bed before thudding to the floor in a heap of long limbs. He groaned, rolling onto his back and threading his fingers through curly almost black hair to get it off his forehead. It was damp, not surprising considering his whole body was covered in cold sweat. His eyes were still closed as he rolled over and stood, barely peeking them open as he stumbled over to his door.

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He was only wearing a tank top and boxers, so the cool air from the hallway as he stepped out of his room made him shiver and curse internally. He could smell food wafting up the stairs from the kitchen, knowing it was his father, Vincent, making breakfast. He always did on the weekends.

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Oliver's bare feet padded down the stairs and across the cold floor as he made his way to the kitchen where his father stood in all his glory, back facing his son as he cooked. He was dressed more modestly. His fit chest covered with a black t-shirt and black pajama bottoms that held a Batman logo, feet tucked in years-old slippers.

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Vincent was the biggest geek he knew when it came to superheros and comic books. He thought it was adorable that his 42 year old father waltzed around in merch and even collected a few items. At 20, Oliver's current only hobby related interest was football, but he hadn't played since he graduated high school.

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Unless you counted pining after your father a hobby.

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Ever since Oliver hit puberty, he'd begun to slowly notice little things about his father that caught his eye. Things that made his heart skip and pants tighten painfully. He learned two things around that time. Firstly, he was definitely bisexual, not straight. Secondly, he was attracted to his father in a romantic and sexual way.

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His first reaction upon discovering this was disgust. How could he feel those things for someone who partook in creating him, shared his blood, and raised him? It was wrong on so many levels. For a couple of years, he often cried himself to sleep after relieving himself to fantasies of his father. He hated to think how his father would react it he found out. It was wrong and disgusting.

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Now, though he still occasionally has his self loathing moments, they are far and few in between. He'd even started doing and saying certain things around his dad to see how he'd react. Occasional touches that lingered too long, standing a bit too close. Vincent either didn't react or he'd sometimes become noticeably flustered.

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Oliver wanted more, though. So much more. He wanted run his fingers through his father's wavy dark brown hair as he looked into those seafoam colored eyes that rivaled his own. He wanted to feel his fit body pressed against his own, toned from years of playing baseball. God, did he want to see his ass in those baseball pants again. They fit exceptionally well.

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Dismissing the perverted thoughts from his mind, Oliver made his way over to his father. With an inaudible sigh, he bent and rested his forehead on top of the man's shoulder, hair falling forward once more. He was about a couple inches taller than his dad and bigger muscle wise. Working out to knock people on their asses will do that to you. Vincent's hair was longer than his own, falling past his shoulder and the strands tickled his ear.

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"Morning, Ollie Pop." Vincent greeted his son with his usual nickname. It was childish, but he still liked it.

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Oliver grunted in response, too sleepy for words.

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"Still tired?" He could feel his father's head move slightly, probably glancing down at him. "Another nightmare?" Oliver could hear the concern in his tone.

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The big man child grunted again, stepping closer to his dad, but not too close. If they touched in this position, he'd for sure get a boner.

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For the past week or so, he'd been getting nightmares more frequently. Some sleep paralysis thrown into the mix. He was barely getting more than four hours of sleep at night, not including his occasional waking up in between. It also didn't help that he couldn't remember some of them so he didn't even know why he was so damn afraid.

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It was torture.

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"Here," Oliver opened his eyes and lifted his head, only to see a piece of bacon in his face. Food was one way to wake him up and make his feel better.

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He leaned forward with parted lips, chest pressing into Vincent's back. Their faces were right next to each other, but he did his best to ignore that fact, gripping his father's wrist to pull the bacon closer and taking a bite. His lips brushed the other man's fingers and he felt his body tense.

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Feigning innocence, he glanced at his father as he chewed before licking his lips teasingly slow. Vincent's eyes followed the movement and Oliver felt a sick sensation of satisfaction. All too soon though, his father cleared his throat and stepped away. He didn't miss the pink that tinted his cheeks as he fixed their plates.

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"I'll probably have to get some sleeping pills soon." Oliver mumbled as they both sat at the table eating their breakfast.

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Vincent looked up from his toast with a slight frown, "it might help." He voiced, seeming reluctant to agree. It didn't surprise his son in the slightest, but he wanted a decent nights rest and getting off twice a night before sleeping only helped so much.

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Oliver rested his cheek on the palm of his left hand as he looked into those green eyes, eating the last corner of his toast. "I promise I'll stop if the side effects start kicking in." He had bad luck when it came to that in medications. Often falling susceptible to the headaches, dizziness, and nausea.

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His father accepted that with a nod and they finished up their breakfast. "Need to go back to sleep or take a nap?" He asked as he took their plates to the sink.

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"Not sure I wanna risk it." Sleep paralysis was never a fun experience. Though, even as he answered, he could feel a yawn trying to fight its way up his throat.

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His dad watched him for a minute, before turning to wash their dishes and what he used to cook. "We'll watch a movie in the living room and see what happens."

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Oliver lifted himself from the chair and into the next room, plopping down on the couch. As soon as Vincent sat down, he shifted into a laying position, his head on the other's lap. A strong hand immediately landed on his head, fingers running through his hair causing him to sigh in comfort. That was a nice feeling. His eyelids fluttered before he looked up at the man above him as he spoke.

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"Anything?" The deep voice rumbled as the owner focused his attention on the TV, fingers still massaging his scalp.

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"Mhm," he hummed, closing his tired eyes. Not like it mattered to him anyway. He doubted he'd still be awake in minute.

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Just when he was start to doze off, he felt a soft kiss placed on his forehead before a quiet whisper. "Go to sleep, Ollie Pop."

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He did and it was the best damn sleep he'd gotten in a while.