Chapter 4
By the time Oliver was completely showered, redressed, and ready to face his father, thirty minutes had passed. Truthfully, he wanted to hide away in his room and never come out. He didn't want to see the look of shame and disgust in Vincent's face. He couldn't bare it.
​
He took a deep breath before tucking in the damned tag that kept scratching the back of his neck, making note to remove it later. He was now sporting a pair of simple grey jogging pants and his burgundy pullover that had his high school's name scrawled on the front. His last name, Davis, and number on, 42, the back. His feet clad in in black socks, matching the boxers he currently wore.
​
The sound on his footsteps padding down the stairs were drowned out from the loud and rapid beating of his heart. Vincent was in the living room, sitting in the middle of the couch freshly clothed as well with his damp hair in a loose bun. He was now wearing plain white t-shirt and a pair of black gym shorts that went barely lower than mid-thigh. Didn't he know what those did to his son's imagination?
​
Oliver momentarily took in his dad's hunched over form as he made his way to the love seat across from the couch. He had his head in his hands as his elbows rested on his thighs. Looks like Oliver wasn't the only one dreading this conversation, but it was inevitable, he guessed. At least now it was, they'd reached the point of no return.
​
The sound of Oliver's butt plopping down on to the cushion must have snapped Vincent out of whatever thought process he was going through, because he tensed and his head jerked upwards. His gaze focused on his son and his body only seemed to pull more taut. Well, that was a relief, Oliver thought.
​
Not.
​
That made him feel shittier than he did a few seconds ago. Was this his fault? Why couldn't he just keep his damn hands to himself? He knew the answer to that one very well. His father was just too irresistible in his eye and having him so close in that situation felt surreal. Hell, it still feels surreal.
​
"I..." Vincent began, before sighing and dragging a hand down his face. He shook his head, "I don't even know what to say."
​
Oliver shared that sentiment, remaining silent with his hands clasped together tightly on his lap. He kept glancing from his father sea-foam eyes to his feet, which were once again in his worn black slippers.
​
The older man absentmindedly tucked a stray hair behind his ear, a pointless task as it was bound to free itself again, another exhausting sigh passing his lips. "I slowly noticed you doing little things that was usually out of the norm for us, but I didn't necessarily understand why." His voice was soft, but loud in the quiet that suffocated the room. "I think I do now. I just don't know what to do about it." He buried his head in his hands again, hiding his shameful expression. "... I don't even fully understand why I did what I did."
​
This time, Oliver focused on his own socked feet. "I'm sorry..." He apologized softly, completely out of character, his father flinched in shock. Oliver was usually quite firm with his words, always the confident one between them. "Did you hate it?" That question broke the dam in his mind and unfiltered words began to spill from his mouth, not giving Vincent the chance to answer the question. "Do you hate me? Do you regret it? I understand if you do, because it's not normal. Which is why I'd also understand if you hated me too, because I'm not normal. I don't-"
​
"Whoa! Whoa! Olls, slow down. I don't hate you, I could never. Don't ever think that way again, you are my literal world. I-I didn't hate what happened, I actually enjoyed it quite a bit and that is what confuses and scares me." Vincent sighed for what felt like the millionth time as his fingers tugged on a few strands of hair that hung beside his right eye. "It's confuses and scares me that I might actually want something se-sexual and romantic with you, because you're my son and it's wrong, but in a way I don't care...
​
"I just... I just want to be happy and if that happiness comes from things deemed unconventional between me and my son, then so be it. I don't care anymore. But!" He added, holding his hand up towards Oliver as he seen his head flick up towards him with a hopeful expression. His father's once pale skin now flushed as he looked away while stumbling over his next words. "Pl-Please don't rush me. I haven't been... intimate with anyone in years and this," he haphazardly motioned between them, "is going to take some getting used to."
​
Oliver nodded, trying to hide his excitement in the action and probably failing. This went way better than he thought. Not only did his father not hate him, but he wanted to give whatever this is, a try. He nervously clenched his hands tightly before resting them on top of his knees.
​
If he go shut down at his next question, he was spending the rest of the day in his room, not caring that it was still morning time.
​
"So," Oliver took a deep, silent breath. Steeling his emotions to the best of his ability as he moved up from the couch, kneeling in front of Vincent. "Is asking for a kiss moving too fast?" He asked with a slight tilt to his head, doing his best to gaze into his father's eyes who once again became too nervous too look at him as he processed the question. He chuckled quietly, his 'take charge' demeanor coming back and he gently gripped his father's chin with his left hand, making the latter face him. Though, he tried and failed to avert his eyes. He brushed his thumb across the man's soft bottom lip, feeling the warm breath caress his skin as he shivered. "I need a verbal answer, Vinny..." Oliver teased, his voice soft and alluring. It'd been a while since he'd called his father by that nickname, usually in instances where he was feeling playful or trying to rile him up. "Can I kiss you?"
​
Vincent balled up his fists tightly on his lap at the sound of the nickname only his son called him. The older man visibly gulped in anticipation, slowly, but surely, dragging his gaze from the chin in front of him to green eyes that rivaled his own. "Y-Yes..."
​
Oliver couldn't help the small smirk that curved the left side of his mouth at the response. He was going to savor this moment with every fiber of his being and make sure it left Vincent only wanting more. Though, it was sure to backfire and do the same to himself.
​
The younger man moved his thumb to the older's chin as he leaned in, giving himself more access to the pink lips. The bottom more plump than the top one. He had to stop himself from immediately moaning the moment their lips touched. They were so soft. With hooded eyes, Oliver watched as his father's closed, shielding him from their beautiful color before his did the same.
​
Their lips moved languidly against each other as Vincent reached up to grip the wrist of the hand that was holding his face. Oliver moved his right hand slowly up the other man's leg before finally reaching it's destination. He felt his father shiver lightly beneath him as he loosened his fingers from their tight grasp, tangling them with his own.
​
He felt Vincent's breath hitch before releasing a shuddering breath against his lips. The man pulled away before burying his face in his son's neck, hiding his face. Oliver hummed softly and moved his left hand up to cup the back of his father's head. He felt wetness against his against his skin as he began so slowly began to sway the side to side.
​
"I know," Oliver's voice was quiet. "I've got you... I've got you and I'm never letting go." He pressed a kiss to the side of the man's face, strands of dark hair getting in the way. "I promise."
​
A sniffle and a squeeze to their interlocked hands was the only response he received, but he wasn't surprised and was even a little grateful. He'd probably break down himself if he heard Vincent's voice clogged with tears or seen his wet cheeks. No, a hand squeeze was more than enough to signify that he heard and maybe even thankful.