13. Stolen Charcuterie and Other Bougie Shit

Chapter thirteen

Stolen Charcuterie and Other Bougie Shit

It was going on nine o'clock, and Liel hadn't called. Oliver tried not to be disappointed. They barely knew each other; other than several embarrassing interactions and a flirtatious text exchange, they were practically strangers. Sure, they had a vague date planned for Thursday, but it wasn't like Liel owed him anything.

Since he had to be up at four the next morning, Oliver morosely went about his nighttime routine. Wearing an old t-shirt with a gaping hole in the armpit and his SpongeBob boxers, he climbed into bed and tugged the blanket up and over his head. He groaned into his pillow, barely resisting the childish urge to kick his feet.

On second thought, he was alone in his room. He could do what he wanted.

Before he could have a full-on tantrum, his phone trilled.

"Fuck!" he screeched as he shot up in bed, scrambling for the glowing device on his night stand. In his haste, he knocked it off and it tumbled across the carpet. "No, come back!"

Hand-walking across the floor with his legs balanced on the bed, he reached for the phone as Liel's name mocked him from the screen. "Don't hang up yet," he pleaded as used the tips of his fingers to nudge the phone close enough so he could grab it.

"Gotcha!" he said triumphantly, securing his grip.

Somehow, his fingers slid over the screen in such a way to not only answer the phone call but to activate the video feature. His vision filled with his own face, hair in disarray, his upper body hanging precariously off his bed, one foot visible in the air behind his head.

"Ah, no!" he cried, trying to right himself and angle the phone away in hopes Liel hadn't seen him yet. He lost his balance and fell off the bed, complete with a mortifying shriek.

Panting up at the ceiling, Oliver closed his eyes and cursed the universe for hating him!

"Oliver?" Liel's voice, laced with humor, sounded from his phone.

"Hey," Oliver said. "Is my camera still on?"

"Yes."

"Did you… see all that?"

A pause, then, "Would it make you feel better if I said no."

He moaned miserably.

"I turned on my video, to make it fair," Liel said.

With a resigned sigh, Oliver turned his head, carpet scratching his ear as he angled his phone. Liel's smiling face filled his vision, and Oliver couldn't help but smile back.

The demon was still in his work clothes, sans blazer, and his tie had been loosened, hanging down on either side of his chest. And he'd undone the top couple buttons of his shirt, revealing a murky brown throat that turned to sandy brown at the top of his chest.

He was sitting on what looked like a couch, but he was holding the phone close enough that Oliver couldn't see much else.

"Hi," Oliver said.

"Hi," Liel said.

"I fell," Oliver said.

Liel laughed. "I saw."

"Did it at least look cool?"

Sharp teeth dimpled his bottom lip to stave off another amused grin. "Yes, it looked very cool. Very… athletic."

"That's what I was going for. Really wanted to impress you."

Liel slipped something into his mouth and chewed, covering his lips with three fingers as he said, "I'm very impressed."

"Good," Oliver said as he turned back to the ceiling. "Cool."

"Are you alright?"

"Nothing hurt but my pride," he admitted, and Liel chuckled.

"Are you going to stay on the floor?"

"Might as well. Anytime I try to do anything, I just humiliate myself. I'm just going to accept that this is my life now." Oliver lifted the phone to block out the ceiling above him. "Rock bottom is really in right now."

A cartilage brow arched. "Oh?"

"It's all the rage," Oliver insisted.

Taking another bite of something, Liel nodded. "Well, let me say, you're doing beautifully, keeping up with the trends."

"Mhm, that's me. I'm a trend-setter."

Another warbling laugh from Liel sent warmth swelling in Oliver's chest. He really did have a nice laugh. It bubbled and popped its way up Liel's throat, and Oliver swore he could taste the static on his tongue.

"You have a nice laugh," he blurted before he could stop it, and Liel's cheeks darkened a deeper brown.

"Thank you." He took another bite, and this time, whatever he'd eaten crunched loudly.

"What are you eating?"

For the first time, Liel looked sheepish. "I don't want to say."

"What? Why? Is it weird? Like a weird demon food?"

Liel shook his head, his kelp-like hair bouncing.

"Then show me," Oliver ordered, and Liel hesitated, making Oliver harrumph. "I literally just fell out of my bed in front of you, and you're too embarrassed to show me your dinner?"

Liel narrowed his yellow eyes. "You make a good argument. I suppose I can't always win, can I?" Before Oliver could respond, Liel flipped the camera to show a lap desk covering his hips and thighs. Oliver saw the barest hint of yellowish-brown kneecaps before the frame cut-out.

Was Liel not wearing pants? Oh shit, he'd totally called for phone sex hadn't he? Damn it!

Before he could freak out too much, Oliver's attention caught on what was resting on the lap desk. "Is that wine and a charcuterie board?"

"Maybe," Liel admitted as he flipped the camera back around, slipping a chunk of cheese into his mouth.

"You're eating charcuterie for dinner?"

"I told you I didn't want to show you."

"Oh my god, you're bougie!" Oliver let his head thunk back against the carpet. "I should have known."

Speaking around his bite of cheese, Liel asked, "What's bougie? I pride myself on my English, but that word is a new one."

"Um, it's like fancy but with a dash of pretentiousness," Oliver said with a wince, and Liel hissed through his teeth.

"Oh, darling, you wound me." He grasped his chest dramatically, before shrugging. "But also, it's not wrong, I'm sad to say."

Oliver burst into laughter, and Liel grinned brilliantly as he popped another crunchy ball into his mouth and cracked it open.

"At least you can admit it. You're self-aware about your bougie-ness, and yes, I did just make up that word."

"Well, you did claim you were a trend-setter."

"And you're seeing it in action. You're welcome." He waved his hand like he was bowing, even though he was still lying on the floor. "But I'm not done giving you shit about this charcuterie nonsense. Explain. Because there is no way you just had an array of charcuterie food lying around your house."

If anything, Liel looked even more embarrassed. "I really, really don't want to explain."

"Need I remind you of all the humiliations that have taken place. My humiliations." Oliver brought the phone close to his face so only his eyes and nose were visible. "You owe me."

Mirroring him, Liel brought the camera in for a close-up of his electric eyes. "I owe you?"

"Yes. We are unbalanced. You must tell me."

"You win again, but only because I'm trying to impress you." Liel winked as he drew the camera away and propped his phone on something—probably the wine glass.

At this angle, Oliver could see Liel's whole torso and more of the couch. Long shadows stretched behind Liel, like he hadn't turned on many lights in his home. Pictures hung on the wall, but it was too dark to make them out.

"I don't know why you're trying to impress me," Oliver said, angling his phone to show even more of himself, still lying on the floor. "I'm literally on the ground, remember? After falling out of my bed. While you watched."

"Do you want me to tell the story or not?" Liel asked as he layered his next bite—some type of smoked sausage and what looked like an olive, though it was white, not green.

"It's the least you could do."

"Alright, but you're not allowed to judge me."

"Lying on the ground," Oliver repeated. "I yelled that I had narcolepsy. I don't have narcolepsy. I have no room to judge."

With another bubbling laugh, Liel took another bite and settled more comfortably against the back of his couch. "Okay, so we had a bit of a soirée after work today."

"Wow, you used the word soirée unironically," Oliver interrupted, and Liel sent him a chiding look.

"You said you wouldn't judge."

"I retain the right to judge you for being a bougie bitch." When Liel gasped in outrage, Oliver stuck out his tongue childishly. "Now continue. You were at a soirée."

"I will not be abused," Liel said with a haughty tilt to his chin. "I have self-respect."

"Come on, Bougie, tell me about your soirée," Oliver ordered.

Sucking his teeth, Liel shook his head. "I think I prefer you tongue-tied."

"You can get me tongue-tied later. The soirée."

Something flashed in Liel's eyes, something sharp and crackling, but he didn't comment on Oliver's offer to make him tongue-tied. Instead, he launched into his story, taking bites of charcuterie every now and then.

"It was someone's birthday, or someone was retiring. Something," he said with a dismissive wave. "And they had a party. Of course my boss, Balor, one of the partners of the firm, needed me because the deal we're brokering between two large businesses—that shall remain nameless due to my NDA—is not going well.

"The Boston shareholders—I hate shareholders, by the way. Shareholders, CEO's, they think they know everything because they have money, but they are stupid," he added in an impassioned whisper. "But I bite my tongue and kiss ass so I can get signatures on the documents that need signatures."

"You play to win," Oliver said, and Liel grinned viciously.

"I do indeed." He held the phone steady as he took a sip of wine before propping the phone back on the wine glass. "So, the shareholders of the human business have decided that all the things that were agreed upon are no longer acceptable. It sent my boss into a panic, so I had to fix that. Which meant I missed the party."

"Soirée," Oliver interjected.

Liel huffed. "It's a good thing your mouth is so pretty," he mumbled, not giving Oliver time to respond to that before continuing his story. "I missed the party , trying to salvage this deal. And then it was eight o'clock, and everyone had gone home, and I was hungry."

"Oh my god, you stole it," Oliver said, and Liel hummed noncommittally.

"I plead the fifth." He popped what looked like a grape, though it was orange, into his mouth. "I'll admit a weakness: I can't cook. And the thought of getting home and having to make food for myself after it was already so late—because, here's another weakness, I have a terrible work-life balance—made me want to weep.

"So I snuck into the work kitchen, opened the fridge where they'd stored the leftovers, and I shoved that entire charcuterie board into my briefcase because I," he said gleefully, "am a bougie bitch."

Kicking his legs, Oliver howled with laughter, and Liel joined him, eating another chunk of cheese.

"Okay, okay," Oliver said between gasps of laughter, "so you're a bad cook"—he counted off on his fingers—"you're a workaholic, and you're a klepto. I feel so much better about myself now."

Liel's head fell back onto the couch, throat working as he laughed. He had an elegant neck, which was a weird thought to think. But Oliver didn't care. He liked Liel's elegance and his charm and his sharp edges.

"I am so happy my shortcomings can boost your ego," he finally said as his laughter faded.

"Do you only steal food from your work? Or do you have a whole hidden treasure trove of contraband?" Oliver teased, smile dropping when Liel pressed his lips together and averted his gaze. "What? I was totally joking, but now, you have to show me!"

"I will do no such thing," he said.

"You have to!"

"I have been humiliated enough—"

"Um, no you have not," Oliver interrupted. "Gem told you about my dry spell and said I was bad at blowjobs—which I'm not by the way. False allegations—and he tried to coach me on phone sex so that I wouldn't suck if you..." Liel's eyes widened, and Oliver backtracked immediately. "Never mind, you didn't know about that. Strike that from the record."

"Actually, I would like the court reporter to read that back," Liel said, leaning close. "Gem coached you on what?"

"Nothing! This is about you, not me. Show me the incriminating evidence, you thief," Oliver cried.

Liel picked up the phone and gazed meaningfully into the camera. "Oliver, did you think I was calling you for phone sex?"

"You're changing the subject," Oliver whined.

"Oliver," Liel said, and the way he said his name was… It made Oliver melt.

"Gem said you were. Not that I wanted you to, or expected you to. Because we don't really know each other or anything. But then Gem was… and then I just… got nervous?" Oliver studied the edge of his phone case where the plastic was cracked.

The silence stretched, and eventually, Oliver chanced a glance at Liel. Like he'd been waiting for Oliver to look at him, Liel smiled sweetly. "My intention in calling you was pure, I promise."

"Me too. I don't even know how to have phone sex." Groaning, he squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fuck. Forget I said that."

Liel hummed. "Can I tell you a secret?"

Eyes still closed, Oliver nodded.

"Neither do I," Liel whispered, and Oliver's eyes shot open.

"Really?"

A shy smile worked its way across Liel's mouth as he nodded.

"Cool," Oliver said, before narrowing his eyes. "You changed the subject."

"Damn it," Liel lamented, falling back against his couch.

"Show me the money, Liel."

Suddenly serious, Liel said, "I have never stolen money from my job. Or anyone. I have never taken anything of true monetary value."

"Oh no, no, no. Um, that's a quote from a movie," Oliver explained, and Liel slumped in relief. "Sorry, I don't actually think you're committing any crimes. I promise."

"Good. I may have loose fingers with some things, but I don't want you believing I'm a thief."

"I don't. It was a pop culture reference. Sorry."

Liel tucked his hair behind his ear. "Well, we are different species. These types of miscommunications are to be expected."

"True, now stop trying to change the subject!"

"Fine!"

Liel set the phone down, and Oliver got a nice view of his ceiling as he shifted the lap desk and stood up. Oliver saw a flash of a muted yellow thigh and the edge of fabric that had to have been Liel's underwear—he was definitely not wearing pants. Well, Oliver wasn't either, so he wasn't judging. If anything, he wanted a peek.

Retrieving the phone, Liel walked through his home, stopping now and then to show Oliver the things he'd stolen from his work.

He said, "These binders, because they order them in bulk for mere pennies and they never miss one or two."

He said, "Letterhead, which is technically not stealing because I only use it for work-related things anyway. Mostly."

He said, "Do pens count? I have so many, but I feel like pens don't count."

He said, "Um, label maker which is also a laminator. Honestly, this one makes me feel like maybe I do have a problem. I don't need labels. I don't need to laminate anything. I've never even used it. But I saw it, and no one was looking. So I took it.

"I don't even remember doing it. It was like I blacked out, and then I got home, and suddenly, I owned a laminator-slash-label-maker." Liel's face screwed up in horror. "My gods, maybe I am a kleptomaniac. Oliver, I have a problem!"

Oliver curled up onto his side and propped his head on his hand. "Hey, it's no big deal. You work for a big law firm, and they can afford a million laminator-slash-label-makers. They probably never realized it was gone."

"Yes, but it's a compulsion now," Liel whispered. "I saw an old fax machine they'd put in storage. I remember thinking to myself, ‘They would never miss it.' But I don't need a fax machine. No one faxes anything anymore. But still"—the camera filled with Liel's huge eyes and flaring nostrils slits—"I wanted to take it."

Laughing until his stomach hurt, Oliver dabbed tears from his eyes as Liel had a mini-breakdown.

"Why are you laughing? I'm a criminal," he cried. "This is a red flag."

"If this is your worst red flag, I think I'm okay," Oliver said as he used his shirt to dry his eyes.

"I can't believe I told you. It's my deepest shame," he admitted, looking adorably mortified.

"Well, that means we're finally on the same level," Oliver said, and Liel grinned, flashing sharp teeth.

"Then I suppose I should lay down as well."

He proceeded to do just that, situating himself on his side, the same as Oliver, on his tile floor. His hair wriggled, giving the illusion of autonomy, before it settled as well.

Then they were both ridiculous men lying on the floor, smiling at each other like idiots.

"Same level," Liel said.

Oliver grinned until his cheeks ached. "You know, Gem warned you might be an asshole."

"Oh?"

"Because you work in Greed."

Liel inhaled deeply and nodded. "Ah, yes. Well, I don't blame him for saying that. He's from Gluttony?"

"Lust."

"Hmm, he covers his accent well."

Oliver snorted. "Yeah, that's what Rusty said. Um, my Pyclon coworker," he explained when Liel cocked his head in question. "He's from Lust too, and when I commented that they didn't sound the same, he said it was because Gem covers his accent."

"Yes, some of us do that," he said with a hint of guilt in his tone.

"You cover yours?"

Liel nodded. "I knew I'd never be taken seriously at my job if I sounded like the diversity hire from Gluttony. So, I worked hard to eradicate it."

"I'm sorry," Oliver said, and Liel furrowed his brow cartilage. "I mean, you shouldn't have had to pretend to be someone you weren't just for a job."

"I suppose you're right. It feels like a betrayal, sometimes. I know others see it that way. Like I'm trying to rise above my station," he said bitterly.

"Why did you want to be a lawyer?"

A derisive smile slashed across his face. "Why does anyone want to be anything? Money, respect, power. Very few people ever do anything for purely altruistic reasons."

"Wow," Oliver drawled. "I wouldn't have pegged you for a pessimist."

Turning onto his back, Liel stared past the phone to the ceiling. "I don't think I'm a pessimist. Jaded, perhaps?"

"Maybe I'm too optimistic. I like believing the best in people, I guess."

Liel smiled fondly. "That's not a bad thing."

"No, but it can be a foolish thing," he said, thinking of Cory cheating on him, and how he'd never even suspected it.

"Where'd you just go?" Liel asked, and Oliver blinked back to the present.

"Hmm?"

"You were lost in your head just now. Where did you go?"

Oliver wrinkled his face. "Blech, you don't wanna hear about that."

"I want to hear about whatever you want to tell me."

His words were cheesy, but his tone was so sincere Oliver couldn't bring himself to laugh. Instead he said, "My last boyfriend cheated on me, and I didn't even suspect anything until he was literally walking out the door with the guy he was cheating on me with."

"I'm sorry," Liel said gently.

"Yeah, it sucked. Like, if you don't want to be monogamous, then say so. We can talk about it. But don't promise monogamy and then…"

"Betray that trust," Liel finished.

Oliver nodded. "It wasn't like he broke my heart. We were only together, like, four months. I just felt so stupid. Like, how did I not see it?"

"Some people are good at lying," Liel said. "Trust me, I'm a lawyer."

The joke made Oliver smile, and Liel grinned back. "I just hate being lied to. I mean, not that anyone likes being lied to, but…"

"You respect transparency. That's a wonderful thing to value."

"You don't think it makes me naive?"

"No," Liel said, propping a hand under his head. "I think it makes you sincere. I think it makes you real. There's no pretense, and that is a wonderful thing, Oliver."

His cheeks warmed, and he looked away, not wanting to see the evidence staining his cheeks. "What you see is what you get."

"Well, I hope so. Because what I see, I like very much," Liel murmured, eyes sparkling with static current.

Red spread down his neck in the video image in the corner of his screen, and Oliver worried his bottom lip. "I, uh, like what I see too," he admitted quietly, and Liel's hair wriggled again, little sparks erupting between the flat locks.

Oh shit, were things about to get sexy?

Oliver would never know, because a horribly ugly yawn hit him, and he hid his face in hands. "Sorry," he said, clearing his throat. "That wasn't sexy."

Liel chuckled. "You get up early, don't you?"

"Four a.m."

"Ugh, what an ungodly hour," Liel bemoaned. "I don't know how you do it. I work late nights, but at least, I can sleep in."

"What time do you go to work?"

"I'm usually in office around nine. Eight if I have a meeting."

"Must be nice. Though I've always been an early bird. I honestly don't mind that much. But it does mean I go to bed early too."

Liel cringed. "That's why you fell out of bed. You were already going to sleep when I called. I'm sorry."

"No, don't be sorry. I'm so glad you called." Finally sitting up, Oliver ran a hand through his mussed hair. "I'm not that tired."

Another yawn betrayed him, and Liel sat up too, wincing. "I'm too old to lay on the floor. My back!"

"You're only thirty-one," Oliver said.

"Says the twenty-seven-year-old. When you're thirty-one, we'll talk."

"Technically, I'm still twenty-six," Oliver bragged, and Liel groaned.

"I'm stealing the baby," he gasped theatrically.

Oliver snorted. "What?"

"Isn't that what you humans say when an older person pursues a younger one?"

"You mean robbing the cradle?" Oliver corrected, and Liel covered his face with his hand.

"Oh dear, I've embarrassed myself again. But yes, that is what I meant."

"You're not robbing the cradle. I'm only a few years younger than you." Ducking his head, Oliver rubbed the back of his neck as he asked, "But does that mean you're pursuing me?"

Liel rolled his eyes. "Darling, I thought that was obvious. But now that I know you value transparency above most things, let me be frank. I am utterly charmed by you, Oliver, and I would like nothing more than to pursue you with… fervor."

"Fervor?" Oliver echoed weakly.

"Well, saying I want to pursue you aggressively sounds violent." His yellow tongue played along the tips of his sharp teeth. "And I don't want to scare you. At least, not in a bad way."

"You don't scare me," Oliver said, though he wasn't sure yet if that was true.

Something about Liel did scare him. It was in the ease of their conversation, in the unfounded familiarity, as if Oliver had known Liel all his life and he'd only just forgotten until this moment. It was in the overwhelming attraction, in the way that, even after one phone call, Oliver already craved more.

Maybe Liel did scare him, but Oliver wasn't afraid . The difference felt significant, so he spoke it aloud.

"I'm not afraid of you," he corrected, and Liel looked away, capturing his bottom lip with his teeth.

"Good." He sounded almost shy as he asked, "May I call you again? I'll be sure not to call so late. I don't want to interrupt your sleep schedule, but—"

"I'd really like it if you called again," Oliver said, and Liel beamed.

"Then I shall call you tomorrow."

"Okay."

"Now get off the floor and get back into bed," Liel said sternly. "You need your sleep."

"Okay, Mom," Oliver sassed, and Liel pursed his lips.

"The age gap is not that big," he chided, and Oliver blew a noisy raspberry.

Climbing onto the bed, Oliver sat on the edge and smiled down at the phone. "Alright, I'm no longer on the floor."

Liel climbed to his feet. "Very good. Have a good night's rest."

"Thanks. You too."

"I have a bit more work to do, but—"

"Oh my god, you are a workaholic," Oliver groaned as he fell back onto his mattress. "Do I need to teach you how to have fun?"

With a sinful smirk, Liel arched a cartilage brow and purred, "Just because I work hard doesn't mean I don't know how to play hard, sweetheart."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

"Maybe I'll show you Thursday."

More sparks flared in Liel's eyes and crackled between the locks of his hair, and Oliver's stomach flip-flopped. "You better put your money where your mouth is," he whispered, and something deep and dark vibrated in Liel's chest.

It was almost a growl but more muted. Still, it sent a shiver of anticipation down Oliver's spine.

"Trust me, Oliver," he crooned, "I don't think money should go anywhere near the places I want to put my mouth."

"Fuck," he choked out, and Liel hummed.

"Sleep well."

"Yeah, okay," he scoffed. "Sure."

Liel chuckled. "Goodnight, Oliver."

Oliver's voice was weak and breathy as he said, "Goodnight, Liel."