The Victorious [BxBxB] ✓

Quenching A Different Kind of Thirst

He was thirsting over Oliver in the most scorching way.

He wasn't even discrete about it.

That Wednesday, they had their swimming class, and seeing Oliver almost naked, and wet made his head spin and did other, more obvious things to him. Oliver's hair was pushed back from his face, and James just had to stare a little – a little more. Who would've thought that shoulder freckles were his complete undoing?

"Hi," Oliver said, frowning in amusement. "What? Is there something on my face?" he asked, and James' thoughts went in all the wrong directions. He forced himself not to lick his lips.

"No," he smiled. "Breakfast after, right?"

"Yeah, of course." Oliver smiled his pretty smile that always reached his eyes.

Breakfast was one of his favorite parts of the day, especially when the options weren't limited to overcooked eggs or undercooked bacon.

Victor, who had been MIA all day, was there. James had no idea when he left their room. Victor was sitting at a table, with other people, drinking something that wasn't Coke, blew a fuse James' brain. So he could be normal!

He had seen Victor sober before, and each time they picked on each other for a few minutes before Victor disappeared. James had an itch. He wanted to pick on Victor a little, just a little. Tease him. Piss him off. Get in his way as much as possible without it escalating to a fight. He had no idea why.

"Why are you staring at him?" Oliver was holding a straw between his lips, smirking.

"I'm not," James frowned. "I just... never see him around."

Oliver smiled and glanced over at Mr. Perfect. He was eating and laughing and behaving completely ordinarily.

"Are we going to follow up with that plan?" Oliver asked. "You know? The plan?" He wiggled his eyebrows.

"Yeah," James said, leaning conspiratorially across the table. "We just have to keep an eye on him."

Oliver was all smiles. His good mood was infectious. "Oh, I don't think this is going to be a problem at all."

James' phone rang. His mother has been trying to get a hold of him ever since he got incarcerated among the rich. He refused to pick up, out of principle. If she couldn't accept the fact that he wasn't straight, she could just fuck off. His father too. And everyone else who was concerned about where he liked to put his mouth.

Oliver rested his head on his palm and looked at him. He was still chewing on the straw.

"What's wrong, Jamie?" he asked.

"Well, Ollie, if you have to know, I'm ignoring my family for being homophobic," he said. Oliver raised an eyebrow, and James looked for any type of judgment in his eyes. There was none, just a playful glimmer.

James had at least expected the all too common, "but you don't look gay!".

"How rude of them," Oliver said instead. "But you might want to talk to them, at one point, right?"

"Nah," James said. "All they're going to do is compare me to my brother."

"You have a brother!?" Oliver leaned closer to him. "How come you never mentioned him?"

"He's the perfect son." James waved his hand. "He's older than I am. Married. Has two kids and wears a suit at work. He's the whole fucking shebang, plus a nice, white picket-fenced house. The pride and joy of our family."