Oliver is lost in a world that he loved.
A desire to paint to his hearts content, any form of distraction from his recent heartbreak. Attempting to rebuild his life without the person he loves, adapting to bleak reality.
He was always known for bei...
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MAX COSTELLO
PAST NOVEMBER 2019
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Oliver's head was firmly down the toilet, choking up red liquid. Splashing directly into the bowl and coating the rim of the seat. Never in my life have I seen someone throw up so much, especially considering Oliver's small frame. There wouldn't be anything left of him.
My hand circles his back softly as I hold a bottle of water in one hand, on standby in case he begins to choke on his own vomit.
His puking activities begin to slow, now only throwing up mostly bile and water.
"You've got it," I say supportively, continuing to move my hand in slow motions across his t-shirt. "Once it's all up, we can get you clean, in bed and sleep it all off. Hmmm?"
More bile is thrown from his throat and down into the toilet water.
"Oh baby," I sigh as his body gags over and over. "Come on, you've got this."
Oliver sits up and slumps against the wall, his eyes shut but he raises his wrist to wipe the corner of his mouth. "Owww," he grunts as I shuffle forward to place the bottle of water against his lips.
"What's the matter?" I question.
"I r-ruined it," his throat cracks, brushing his hand through his hair.
I frown and move closer across the bathroom floor. "Ruined what?"
Oliver exhales a long, dramatic sigh. "Tonight," he whines. "I promised you sex, I promised you such good sex. And the world's best blowjob!"
His drunken red eyes open to take one look at me, I couldn't help but laugh. "We can have sex any time Oliver," I stoke the side of his face carefully.
He frowns deeply and shakes his head. "But when we have drunk sex, it's proper freaky," he begins to press his hands to his chest, all of a sudden feeling himself. "I say real dirty things to you, things I would never say when I'm sober!"
His slurred words couldn't stop the smile that grew on my face. "What dirty things would you have said?" I challenge with a smirk.
Oliver's green eyes flick between mine with a slight delay. "Well," he leans off the wall and points, his body swaying in the direction of the toilet. I grip his wrist and stabilise him. "Oops," he chuckles. "Anyway, I would have said how pretty your dick is."
A bright grin etches its way onto my face. So big that it hurts my cheeks.
"My dick is pretty?"
Oliver hums in agreement. "Soooo pretty!"
"Well that's nice to hear," I nod with pride. "What else?"
He bites down on his bottom lip and smiles. "I'd ride you, hold down your neck and ask if I'm yours."
