#i had to almost physically restrain myself from writing more miho i am sorry for this

[cantuscorvi]

He had arrived early - like his new client had required. He had never heard that name before, and it always felt like a moment of danger. A new client meant only new injuries, new fears unlocked, new moments of trauma he would have to shovel down a generous amount of denial. Because who could be gentle and soft whenever they had obtained Oliver’s professional number? He was a toy made to handle pain, and satiate those who had the darkest desires. Until perhaps one day, he wouldn’t be able to take it anymore. 

Sat at the edge of the bed, he felt his heart racing inside his chest. He had followed the instructions given - blindfolded for the occasion, and wearing his usual clothes. A white shirt following the curve of his waist, black pants emphasizing the muscles of his thighs. Bare feet. At least there were no awkward outfits, no leather, no toys of torture displayed on the bed. Oliver could almost believe that this meeting was meant to be harmless. He was a fool for even thinking about that. When he heard the familiar click of the electronic card reader of the door, he quickly checked that his blindfold was covering his eyes properly. If his client had demanded it, he couldn’t take the risk of suddenly losing it in the middle of the session. 

In his pitch black world, Oliver listened attentively to the sounds surrounding him. The confident steps of the stranger - Oh, but it seemed he had hesitated for a second before entering the room. The brush of his clothes when he walked closer. Oliver swallowed his spite, apprehension growing as much as he was afraid that this small bubble of comfort would suddenly pop and disappear to the raging cruelty of another man.

“Good evening.” Oliver greeted, politely, while he offered a smile that could seem genuine, but was deeply full of fear.

@distopea // i'm sorry i'm writing war and peace AGAIN but i love u

He had prepared meticulously for this moment. 

Raum knew how perceptive Oliver could be. Any little detail could give him away, and so before he’d arrived he had bathed with a different scent, freshly shaved, and chosen different clothes. He hadn’t styled his hair, instead letting the front strands fall loose over his brow. He’d even refrained from smoking – something that was coming back to bite him now. God, he itched for one to quell whatever strange, jittery feeling was rising in his stomach.

Standing before the door he felt somehow ridiculous. What the hell was he doing here? When he'd booked Oliver’s company again under a different name, it had been an impulsive decision. Late at night after a work dinner where everybody smiled and laughed and nobody understood him at all, spurred on by the alcohol in his system, a split second of weakness led him to this moment. It had been over a month since their last, frankly terrible encounter, and Raum knew that Oliver would likely not want to see him. If he saw the name Raum usually used (obviously, not his own, but the one that Oliver was familiar with) no doubt it would raise his hackles. He would be expecting a conflict. He’d be right to expect one – for when Raum would see his sour expression and hear the biting words Oliver had to spit at him, his own usual sense of calm often flew out of the window.

Not this time. Here behind the door, Oliver would be waiting, expecting somebody else. This was an opportunity for hidden intent - some misguided attempt to… to do what? Raum didn't know. He wasn't there to apologise – the idea of that was frankly insulting to consider after how Oliver had behaved on his balcony. It was something else, the urge to wipe away the last memory he had of the other man – the despair and suffering and anger on his face as he grabbed his clothes and stormed out of the apartment.

It was that vision which spurred him on now. Raum took a breath and held it, allowed a moment for his thoughts to fade into background static, and then slipped his keycard into the door. As he stepped into the room, the click of the lock hit with a sense of finality. No turning back now. 

Seeing Oliver sitting there patiently had caused him to pause while Raum checked that he hadn’t immediately been spotted. No. Good. Ever full of confidence, Raum hadn't planned for what might happen if Oliver didn’t follow his instructions to the letter. The scene before him was both alien and familiar, Oliver waiting ( but not for him, just someone ) and sitting there patiently at the edge of the bed. Nothing in his body language suggested recognition – he was polite. He was smiling. And… to Raum’s eyes trained by memories a stranger wouldn’t hold, he was afraid.

When Oliver spoke to him, Raum didn't say anything at all. Regardless of how much he wanted to announce himself – wanted to shatter the tentative illusion he had barely created. Wanted it to be known, I'm here. I'm here, because I can't stay away from you and I’m sick of repeating this game. There was no way he could say it without everything going to Hell in ways that he wished to avoid. Instead, his purpose tonight was to be a ghost in the room. Someone else – someone without all the baggage, the lies, the manipulations that had led them to this moment. A stranger.

As he gazed upon the dark strip of silk covering Oliver's eyes, Raum knew he was fooling himself. This was just another deception. Another mask. Another transgression to add to the pile. They weren’t balanced here either, but he could pretend, for a while. They wouldn’t have to fight. 

Raum maintained his silence even as he finally approached a distance close enough to touch. He brushed his knee against Oliver’s first, then slowly moved it forward, guided Oliver’s legs to part a little so he could step in-between. Closer, he noted how Oliver could sense his presence without seeing him, how he seemed to tense in reaction to the proximity, unsure, before forcing himself to relax, head tilting upward to face him. No doubt something he had practised many times to deal with all sorts of depravities. Raum didn’t want that to be the case here either.

He kept one of his legs in contact with the inside of Oliver’s thigh – connected, grounding. And finally, Raum reached out with his hand. Slow and careful, he slipped his fingers through Oliver’s hair, sweeping it away from his forehead. The room was so quiet, he could hear Oliver breathe. Raum watched his own movement with slightly widened eyes. Just the small, insignificant action felt strangely intense, building even more when Oliver didn’t protest. He would if he knew who was doing this to him, his mind whispered. He lifted his opposite hand to join and drew them both gently around Oliver’s face, carefully avoiding the blindfold. The little strip of cloth was the only thing holding the sanity of the situation together. 

Looking down at Oliver’s charming features, Raum realised thanks to that little cloth, he could do whatever he wished. There were so many things he found himself wanting, suddenly. Part of him wanted what they had before, that painful but electric bond that made them clash so violently. The familiarity of it called at him, to grab and push and pull and press and bite and take. And treacherously, Oliver’s lips invited him – Raum wanted to kiss him. But none of those things were to be. Not tonight. Not if he didn’t want to get caught.

Instead, his hands drifted their way down. Fingertips skimmed lightly over Oliver’s skin, one lingering under his bottom lip with greedy intent before they made their way down each side of his jaw and neck. It was where Raum had last held him in that fit of rage, a bruising grip that dangled him over the balcony. The contrast now was striking, both hands able to span his throat entirely, fingers meeting but without pressure, a caress.

His fingers found the edge of Oliver’s shirt. Raum exhaled the breath he had been unconsciously holding at the feel of Oliver’s familiar, supple skin under his hands. It was rare he got the chance like this to truly take his time. Avarice settled in him as his fingers curled tightly in the fabric of Oliver’s clothes. Slowly Raum sank to his knees and pressed his face into the crook of Oliver’s neck, lips against the underside of his jaw, and breathed. This opportunity may not be afforded again – he was deceitful for it, yes, cruel and indecent, yes, a hypocrite falling to his obsessions, but he didn’t care. Oliver was here, and so was he, and he would surely grasp this with both hands even if it showed him for what he was in the end.