Inspired by the text post: have you ever felt that tension with someone where out of nowhere you just want to grab them, kiss them and make them beg, make them ask for more. their eyes and body drive you nuts and you just want them and you’ll do anything to get them, touch them, hear them, own them and you know you just crave for them and it’s like your life depends on it and you will never get enough
Connor didn’t know what a junkie felt like. A confident man on his way to success – yes. A seductive gay man on the prowl – fuck yes. A man emotionally run through the meat grinder until all that’s left is a trembling mess at six in the morning … yes. But not a junkie.
Honestly, Connor had no idea where the stupid excuse of drugs came from when he arrived at Oliver’s door that morning. He was Connor fucking Walsh for Christ’s sake. He had enough common sense to know to stay away from drugs if he ever wanted to be a successful lawyer.
If that wasn’t enough, If even the slightest whiff of drugs came from his general direction, his sister would bring the Spanish Inquisition to the twenty-first century, history be damned.
Gemma was fully accepting of his sexuality and wasn’t overbearing at all like some older siblings tended to be. But she sure as Hell would stop Connor from ruining his life and badly influencing her two sons.
He was almost offended that Oliver had so readily believed him in the first place. Then again, considering the way he had acted that night, and the fact that he hadn’t ever shared much of himself outside of the bedroom, it made sense that Oliver would believe him. Besides, it wasn’t like he could actually tell Oliver the truth about what happened.
God – Oliver.
Oliver was too good for him. Sure, he wasn’t the most handsome man Connor had ever slept with. But God, was he attractive. Not in outward appearance, but how he continuously drew Connor back again and again.
One of the many great qualities of Oliver was his honesty. He was honest in every aspect of his life, and not a single manipulative thought existed on his body. Connor had checked. Thoroughly.
It was in the way he clenched his hands around you during sex – pouring himself to bring you pleasure just as much as he did himself, if not more. It lay in the way his entire face lit up when he smiled, or how you would tell exactly what he was thinking simply in the way he looked at you. There were no personal agendas hiding behind smooth and practiced lines meant to seduce and entice. Even when he was doing illegal hacking for Connor, he did it in the belief that it was the right thing to do. Every moment spent with Oliver, whether it was at a bar or the couch or the bedroom, he was always honest and he was always present.
That’s another thing that made Oliver attractive. If Connor is feeling particularly poetic, he might even say that Oliver was like a planet. He orbits the solar system, doing his own thing and basically not messing with anyone. Some people stay away, choosing to stay close to home, and others venture closer to surround him, intrigued by something other people didn’t get to see. As you get closer, the pull of gravity drags you further and further down.
Connor guessed this was similar to the appeal of getting high. It was a consistent pull that you can never get enough of. The drug does not offer false promises; it’s utterly honest and doesn’t hide anything. And if you leave, even if it’s for a long time, you end up coming back almost as though the entire thing is inevitable.
That’s how he felt about Oliver, sometimes. Just out of the blue Oliver would do something like laugh at some geeky movie he rented, or struggle to hide a smile after Connor makes a particularly clever comment, and Connor would be overcome with the bone-deep desire to kiss him. The need to grab him, kiss him, feel Oliver’s skin under his hands and make him beg, listening to his desperate gasps for more as they drown into each other’s sea. It’s as though Connor’s very life depends on him getting that fix, of being able to do all of that and more – to be able to just hold him, grab his hand, look into each other’s souls and accept what is there for better or for worse, and for once not worrying about the fact that Connor will never be good enough to deserve him.
But he can’t take that, at least not now. Because if he did, Oliver would never forgive him, and he would leave. By doing that, Connor would destroy himself.
So he supposed that in a way, Connor did know what being a junkie felt like.
To Be a Junkie
Published
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