10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Oliver

On a Thursday, Oliver was working with Floyd in the mines, looking on while Floyd poured the black powder into a paper casing. Even though Oliver was trying his best not to focus on the fact that Floyd had yet to let him help with the explosives, he wasn't able to keep himself from constantly wondering why that was. Floyd had yet to let Oliver take on any real responsibility in the mine. Oliver had been Floyd's butty for weeks, and still Floyd continued to insist on being the only one to prepare the explosives. Hell, Oliver had even suffered some trouble convincing Floyd to let him shimmy into tight spaces from time to time with his pickaxe. Luckily, Oliver had been able to reason with him on that front. Oliver liked to be the one to carve the "V" into the coal wall underneath where they'd be blasting. And still Floyd had pushed back a few times. God, Floyd was so stubborn. All Oliver wanted was to feel like they were equal partners.

Later, when the two of them were shoveling coal, Oliver thought he'd try to push the subject. Gently.

"So, uhm, how long had you been working in the mine before you felt, you know, competent?"

"Can't remember."

"Well, was it long before you felt like you were a real miner?"

Floyd scooped up a shovelful of coal and tossed it into the coal car. "Breaker boys are miners."

"Yes, that's true." Oliver paused shoveling to catch his breath, equal parts nervousness and manual labor taking the wind out of him. "But I mean, you moved up to excavating, eventually. Who taught you how to work with the black powder and the clay and everything?"

"Matt's father. See, I had known Matt's whole family for forever and so, his father was happy to show me."

"Oh. Interesting."

"Matt was working with one of his brothers," Floyd said next, as though he had anticipated Oliver's next question. "But once we'd both learned enough, we paired up."

"Ah," Oliver said, suddenly feeling as though his organs were being smushed together, envy bursting to life inside him and taking up too much room in his chest. Still, he tried to keep his voice even so as not to let it show. "Matt was your butty."

Floyd tossed some coal into the car. "Yup."

"You were partners."

"Uh-huh."

"Equals."

All of a sudden, Floyd stopped shoveling, and then he planted his shovel in the coal pile and leaned against it, looking up at Oliver like he was completely exasperated by this nonsense.

"Ollie, what are you trying to say?"

"Nothing," Oliver sputtered. "Sorry. Not important."

So Matt had been Floyd's partner. His butty .

Jealousy continued to twist his organs together, but Oliver tried his best to ignore it. Once Floyd and Oliver were finished with lunch, they were assigned to work somewhere else, in a section of the mine that the miners liked to call Timber Alley because of the sheer number of pieces of timber that had been placed to help prop up the ceiling. Many of those logs had already begun to bend and crack, too. Consequently, a few miners had recently been instructed to install new pillars with the intention of extending the life of this particular section of the mine, but it was evident even to Oliver that the company would have to leave it soon enough.

"Just wait out here for a while," Floyd told Oliver at the entrance. "I'll collect as much as I can over the next hour or so my own self. Why, I ought to march over to James Donohue's house right now and tell him that his father is plum crazy to keep asking folks to work over here, but we might as well try to make a little money before complaining. It'll hold for a while yet."

"I'm not standing here twiddling my thumbs while you exert yourself in there."

"Ollie, it ain't safe enough for you."

"But it's safe enough for you?"

"I been a miner for near twenty years. You, on the other hand, are still learning."

"I know how to shovel coal."

"No," Floyd responded firmly. "I ain't arguing with you about this neither."

"Fuck, Floyd, first you won't let me handle the powder, and now you won't even let me work next to you? Do you even want me around?"

"What? Of course I want you around."

"You're treating me like a child."

"No, I ain't."

"Yes, you are. I've seen fifteen-year-olds with more responsibility than me."

Even in the relatively poor lighting, Oliver could sense that Floyd was upset. Through the tense silence, Oliver heard Floyd let out a long breath through his nose. Still, Floyd had yet to respond to what Oliver had said. Christ, that man was so stubborn sometimes.

"No wonder you like working here. You're even more stubborn than the mules," Oliver said, half-expecting Floyd to be upset with him for the insult.

But Floyd cracked a smile and said, "Yeah, I suppose you ain't wrong about that. Though right now, it seems like you're trying to compete with me on stubbornness. Look, I won't let you work in there, and if you won't let me work in there neither, then I reckon we ought to head over to James's house to complain."

"What about the money?"

"Guess I'll have to be more careful at the store this week since our paycheck won't be as big."

"Well, you could borrow from next week's paycheck."

"I told you, that's how you end up in a hole you can't claw your way out of."

"Can I buy some of the things your family needs this week, then?"

Floyd rubbed his chin, thinking it over, and the fact that Floyd was even hesitant made Oliver scoff.

"Please?"

"Yeah, I suppose. We're running short on corn and peas and such. Shouldn't cost too much. I'll return what I owe."

"Don't be like that."

"Be like what?"

"Don't pay me back." Oliver leaned in close and whispered, "Let me treat you a little."

Floyd whispered back, "You want to treat me to some canned vegetables?"

"Only the best for you, sweetheart," Oliver teased.

Floyd snorted. "Fine, Ollie, you win."

So, the two packed up their tools and left the mine. First, they stopped at the company store. Oliver bought Floyd a whole two brown bags' worth of food, not only canned vegetables, but beans and fresh fruit and a loaf of bread, too. He could tell that Floyd was a little unnerved by it. Floyd still had trouble accepting Oliver's help. Or "charity" as he liked to call it. Oliver tried not to let Floyd's reaction upset him, but he had to wonder if Floyd would have let Matt purchase a couple of cans of lima beans without making a whole to-do about it.

After Oliver and Floyd stopped at Floyd's house to drop off the food, the two of them started walking to James Donohue's. Perturbed by the lingering tension between them, Oliver intentionally bumped Floyd with his shoulder.

"What was that for?" Floyd asked.

"If you keep stewing about me purchasing three dollars' worth of food for you and your family, I'm afraid I'll be forced to beat the upset right out of you."

"Uh-huh, sure you will." Floyd rolled his eyes in that adorable way of his. "You're a fair bit smaller than me."

"Yeah, but I'm scrappier." Oliver held up his fists and grinned. "I'm from New York."

"You're too sweet to be scrappy. Besides, remember what happened with our so-called boxing match?"

Now Oliver had to roll his eyes. "First, I'm not trying to look sweet. I'm trying to look threatening. Second, I was zozzled. I can be plenty threatening when I need to be."

Oliver moved his fists in a little circle, but Floyd only laughed.

"Real scary, city boy."

Playfully irate, Oliver thumped Floyd's biceps. Even though he'd put some muscle behind the blow, Floyd's only reaction was to cock one of his eyebrows, which was stupidly adorable, but also a little maddening.

"Come on, that must have hurt a little."

Floyd held up his thumb and index finger millimeters apart. Oliver let out a puff of air.

"That is very offensive."

Without warning, Floyd took hold of Oliver's sleeve and pulled him close, the force of the movement making him stumble.

"You show me how scrappy you are later," Floyd whispered, the timbre of his voice causing the hair on Oliver's neck to stand on-end.

"You lunkhead," Oliver whispered back, wrestling his shirt out of Floyd's hand. "Now I'll be walking around with a half-hard piece in my pants."

In response, Floyd flashed a wolfish smile.

"Jesus, stop that," Oliver said with a warning look.

Oliver expected Floyd to relent, but instead, he said, "Maybe we ought to visit your place first."

"Can we really?"

Floyd made that incredible half-hum, half-growl sound he made sometimes when he was aroused. "Don't see why not."

Holy hell. Suddenly, all Oliver wanted was to feel Floyd's hard cock rocking against him. Every one of Floyd's touches had become a confirmation of their ever-strengthening bond.

Oliver took off, walking with long, purposeful strides, while Floyd trailed behind.

"Hurry up!" Oliver called over his shoulder.

With a chuckle, Floyd picked up the pace.

After only a few minutes, they were inside Oliver's house, and as soon as Floyd shut the door, Oliver shoved him up against the wood and pressed their lips together. Soon, Floyd's hands were unbuttoning Oliver's shirt and Oliver's hands were unbuttoning Floyd's, and holy hell, it was wonderful. Both of their work shirts fell to the floor, and when Oliver's head started to swim from seeing Floyd's broad, beautiful chest, the hair of which was only barely visible through the thin cotton of his sleeveless union suit, Floyd hoisted Oliver up into the air to carry him into the bedroom.

"God, sweetheart, you're so strong," Oliver breathed, wrapping his legs around Floyd's torso. "I love it."

Floyd's reply was to capture Oliver's mouth in another kiss. Their frenzied, hungry kisses continued on the way to the bedroom, only ceasing for a moment as they crashed onto the bed. Lying beside one another, they both worked to remove each other's pants, and then they were in the last bits of clothing. For Oliver, that meant his custom-made silky drawers, and for Floyd, it was his sleeveless union suit. Oliver's hands found the top buttons on Floyd's undergarment.

"Do you want to?" Oliver asked, tugging on one.

Even though Oliver had plenty of fun fucking Floyd through his own silk underwear, he still craved so much more. He wanted to see what Floyd's cock looked like, to feel him, to taste him.

"Not yet," Floyd said, pulling Oliver on top of him. "Soon."

Floyd wasn't ready. Of course he wasn't ready. Self-doubt wrapped around Oliver's nearly naked body, making him feel as though his skin was on fire. Aware of the mortifying blush that had probably come to color his face, Oliver lowered himself to nuzzle Floyd's cheek, hoping to hide the embarrassing evidence of his shame. But Floyd must have sensed it.

"Ollie." Floyd caught Oliver's chin and tried to force Oliver to look at him. "Soon."

"No, I know," Oliver said, still not able to meet Floyd's gaze. "I know."

"Look at me," Floyd said, his tone tender but stern. Oliver's face was still burning as he forced his stupidly teary eyes to look at Floyd's. "I want you."

"I know."

Somehow, fourteen years of schooling had resulted in Oliver only being able to say two fucking words. Shame twisted inside of him. Why was he so upset—so tore up , as Floyd would say—about this? He knew Floyd cared for him. But God, Oliver couldn't rid himself of the feeling that Floyd was still holding part of himself—part of his heart —back.

"I want you," Floyd repeated, the urgency in his voice nearly enough to coax Oliver out of this pathetic spiral of self-reproach until Oliver's eyes found the still-fastened buttons of Floyd's union suit and insecurity started clawing at him again. Floyd continued to try. "I want to feel you rub up on me, to make me come for you."

"I know," Oliver said, cringing. Floyd's broken phonograph would have been a better conversationalist.

"Let me see your hand," Floyd said. Oliver held it up, and Floyd took it, bringing it low and pressing it to his erection. "Do you feel that? Do you feel how bad I want you?"

All of a sudden, Oliver's stomach was no longer twisting unpleasantly, but somersaulting in an exciting sort of way, his yearning for sexual contact finally overtaking his sense of shame. Even though Oliver wanted to stay upset and wallow in his inadequacy, Floyd continued to move his hand, stoking the fire of yearning.

"I like you so much, Ollie. I'm so hard for you."

Oliver's cock began to throb, but still, he had trouble forming a response, unable to stand to repeat the only two Goddamn words he had been capable of saying before.

Seconds passed until finally Floyd paused and asked, "Do you still want this right now?"

God, the way Floyd's voice was thick with sadness, it nearly broke Oliver's heart. Thankfully, the heaviness of Floyd's sadness managed to shatter Oliver's verbal blockage along with it.

"Of course I want this," Oliver said. "Just, well, I'm embarrassed."

"About what?"

"About how much I want this. About how much I want you ."

"Are you worried you want me more than I want you?"

"Yes," Oliver said, shame warming his cheeks once more. "It's silly, I know."

"It ain't silly," Floyd said, moving Oliver's hand up and down. "That's for you, Ollie. Only for you. I barely even touched myself for years before I met you. I want you just as bad as you want me. I promise."

"Really?"

"I wouldn't lie to you about that. Having you... eff me through those nice silky drawers of yours is real exciting to me." Floyd smiled up at him. "I like you a lot, Ollie. I want to take our time with these kinds of things, is all."

Oliver tried to let Floyd's words sink in. Over and over, he repeated them to himself, chiseling them into his mind, hoping to sanctify them, to etch them onto a stone tablet, for Floyd's words seemed more precious, more important than even the word of God.

"Are you feeling better now?" Floyd asked.

"Yes. Thank you," Oliver said. "Sweetheart, there are so many things I want to try with you someday."

Floyd hummed appreciatively. "Can I hear some of them fantasies?"

"Of course," Oliver said, nuzzling Floyd's nose. "I want to lick you. No, better, I want to devour you. I want to make you finish with my mouth, to consume every drop." Oliver started peppering kisses along Floyd's cheek and jaw. "Do you ever think about that? About me using my mouth on you?"

"Mm-hmm." Kissing Floyd's neck, Oliver could feel him swallow. "When I touch myself, I imagine you making me come like that. I want to make you come like that, too."

Oliver's half-hard cock began to stiffen again. He shifted his weight and rocked his hips.

"I want to fuck you, Floyd. God, I want to fuck you so bad."

"I want that, too."

"Yeah? You wouldn't rather be inside of me instead?"

"No," Floyd said with a certainty that sent shivers up Oliver's spine. "I want you to take me, to show me I'm yours. I want you to make me yours."

"Jesus Christ, sweetheart," Oliver said, moving his hips. "I will."

He moved faster, pressing his erection against Floyd's thigh with each thrust, the sensation momentarily making his breath catch in his throat. Imagining what it would be like to feel Floyd's muscles clenching around his cock, Oliver clutched tight to Floyd's shoulder, steadying himself so that he could thrust harder, and in doing so inadvertently sunk his fingernails into Floyd's skin, his mistake then making Floyd suck in a breath through his teeth.

"Sorry," Oliver said, only then realizing that by focusing so much on massaging his own cock against Floyd's thigh, he had been neglecting to focus on Floyd at all. "Do you want me to shift my position?"

"Nah, I want to watch you finish yourself."

"I want you to come, too."

"We'll worry about me later. You take what you need, Ollie."

Floyd's words brought with them a tremor of pleasure, one that caused Oliver's body to shake. You take what you need, Ollie. Oliver couldn't remember the last time someone had shown him such tender care. Despite its vulgarity, that statement was one of the most beautiful that Oliver had ever heard in his life. It was so selfless, so raw, so sweet, leaving Oliver wondering how he could have ever doubted Floyd's feelings for him.

"Fuck, Floyd, you really are a sweetheart," Oliver rasped, still thrusting.

Floyd reached up to thread his fingers through Oliver's hair, and the soft benevolence of Floyd's touch coaxed an impassioned moan from Oliver's lips. He rocked his hips harder, faster, rougher, taking exactly what he needed, what he wanted , and finally climaxed.

Still panting, Oliver lifted himself up to kiss Floyd on the lips.

"Now you, sweetheart," Oliver said in between kisses. "I need to take care of you."

Once again, Floyd took one of Oliver's hands and moved it over his cock. Oliver could feel a little spot of wetness that had soaked through the cotton fabric. It had his stomach flip-flopping, renewed desire percolating low in his belly. Had his cock been willing to cooperate, Oliver would have happily effed Floyd's thigh to completion once more. Jesus, only Floyd could manage to make himself even more irresistible by leaking pre-ejaculate onto his undergarments.

Running his hand up the length of Floyd's shaft, Oliver yearned to wrap his hand around it. God, he wanted to see Floyd's naked member, to feel the softness of his skin. Losing himself to the fantasy, Oliver started moving his hand faster and was rewarded with the most tantalizing moan. Dipping lower, Oliver kissed Floyd's chest and continued to move his hand.

Oliver asked, "How's this?"

Floyd answered by pushing Oliver's hand away. For a moment, Oliver thought that Floyd was rejecting him, but then Floyd began unfastening the buttons of his union suit, the ones closest to his erection, clearly rushing to free himself. After unfastening three buttons, Floyd snatched Oliver's hand and slipped it inside.

"Will you touch me?" Floyd asked, closing Oliver's hand around his cock.

Oliver's breath caught. "Yeah."

Floyd must have already been teetering on the precipice because Oliver only needed to stroke him for twenty or thirty seconds before—

"Oh, fuck, Ollie," Floyd moaned.

And Oliver was so Goddamn taken aback from hearing Floyd utter the F-word that it took him an extra second to register the sensation of the warm liquid spilling over his fist.

Once Floyd's cock ceased to pulse, the two looked at one another, and it seemed that they were both temporarily stunned. Oliver's wet hand was still resting on Floyd's flaccid cock. He couldn't bring himself to remove it. What if Floyd never let him touch it again? He had been so hesitant for them to be physically intimate like this before.

After another few seconds, Oliver cleared his throat.

"So..." Oliver tried to think of what he should say. "I'm fairly positive I heard you say the word ‘fuck.'"

Floyd made a sound in between a laugh and groan. "Yeah, I know."

"What was that about?"

"Guess I lost myself in you."

"Will that be your excuse for everything now?" Oliver teased. "What about you shoving my hand inside those undergarments of yours?"

"I needed your touch, Ollie. I couldn't finish otherwise. I..." Floyd flung one of his arms over his face, covering his eyes with the crook of his elbow, as though he needed to hide from whatever it was that he wanted to say next. "I touched myself twice before work this morning."

" Twice?! " Oliver sputtered a laugh, excited to tease Floyd about this. "Jesus, Floyd, you're a family man. How did you have the time?"

"I woke up at four."

"On purpose?!"

Floyd uncovered his face and laughed. "Shut up."

"Oh my God!" Oliver exclaimed. "Did you really just tell me to shut up? First, you're spewing expletives and now this?! I am thoroughly and completely appalled, Floyd Bennett."

"I'd whack you, but your hand is on my cock."

"Yeah, I'm too scared to remove it."

"Why?"

"Well, what if you never let me touch you again?"

"Of course I'll let you touch me again."

"Promise?"

"What if I say no? You want to keep it there forever?"

"Probably."

"What about work?"

"I'll tell everyone I've been promoted," Oliver said, barely able to keep a straight face to say the next part, "from butty to front-y."

He had burst out laughing by the end of it. And then Floyd was laughing, too. God, he felt so incredibly lucky.

Finally, Oliver had the confidence to remove his sticky hand.

"Let's wash up," he said.

So, Oliver and Floyd took turns washing themselves with water from the basin out of view from one another, though Oliver wished that the two of them were washing each other instead. He loved the idea of the two of them tending to each other like that, cleaning the coal powder off each other's skin and being vulnerable in a new and unexpected way. He wondered if they would ever make it that far.

When they were finished, Floyd needed to borrow a pair of Oliver's silk drawers. Oliver thought he might inquire as to whether Effie had noticed that Floyd had accumulated a few of them by now.

"Has Effie said anything about your—sorry, my —drawers?"

Floyd let out a puff of air. "Yup. Effie ain't shy about these kinds of things."

"What do you tell her?"

"I tell her that we're having fun. I'd never tell her the specifics, but she knows we're together. She knows how much I like you. And, well, she sees these fancy silky pants of yours, so I'm sure she knows what's happening. Don't worry, she's fine with it."

Oliver came closer and placed his hands on Floyd's waist, and then Floyd planted a soft kiss on Oliver's lips, one with so much love and sincerity that even once Floyd pulled away, Oliver could still feel its affection blooming there.

After they both put on their boots, they started walking together to James Donohue's house, and within a half mile or so, Oliver started thinking about work again, about how Floyd was still hesitant to let Oliver take on the tasks he should have been responsible for by now. Halfway there, Oliver began wondering whether Floyd had ever treated Matt this way.

"Floyd," Oliver began, "Did Matt ever work with the black powder?"

"Of course."

Of. Course.

All of a sudden, there was a sinking feeling in Oliver's chest. Fuck, his fast-beating heart seemed to have plummeted all the way into the pit of his stomach, leading him to wonder how the hell it was even still working. Shouldn't it have been obliterated by his stomach acid?

Through his pain, Oliver sputtered, "So, you two split the work pretty evenly, then."

"Yeah, I suppose," Floyd said before tilting his head slightly. "Why're you asking these things?"

Oliver stayed silent, embarrassed that he was still so Goddamn insecure.

"What is it?" Floyd asked, his voice tense with worry. "Are you feeling torn up about Matt or something?"

Oliver managed a nod, though he hated himself for it.

"Ah, Ollie, I'm sorry."

"It's . . . fine."

"Don't be upset 'bout Matt."

"But he was your butty ," Oliver said, the words coming out with more venom than he had intended. "Sorry, I—"

"Yeah. He was," Floyd confirmed, his tone now low and soft and filled with so much sorrow. "We won't talk about him no more. How's that?"

Oliver wasn't sure that he wanted Floyd to stop talking about Matt, but...

God, he was still struggling to believe Floyd was here to stay.

Before Oliver could protest, Floyd continued, "And, Ollie, I only keep the harder tasks from you for now because they're... well, because they're hard. I want to keep you safe. I care about you."

Floyd's beautiful words brought tears to Oliver's eyes. Quickly, he blinked them back and then, very softly, he said, "Thank you, sweetheart."

In a measured and sincere tone, Floyd said, "I'll learn you everything one day, Ollie. I promise."

"I know. I believe you."

Or well, he wanted to.