Climb the Ocean
By Ephemera and Byrne

London
Part One

Oliver checked the time on his watch and then confirmed it with the clock by the bed.  Almost five.  Part of him wanted to go down to the lobby right away—had wanted to for the last half hour—but most of him wanted to change clothes.  Again.

His suit had been quickly hung up as soon as he could strip it off, and he’d unpacked his suitcase wearing his boxers, evaluating and dismissing items of clothing as he went.  Finally he’d just taken his shaving kit and retreated to the bathroom to shower and ponder the problem in there.

Clean and shaved, he’d put on dark blue trousers and a white cotton shirt. That had been replaced by a light blue pullover and jeans.  The jeans stayed, the sweater went and now he was wearing a blue cotton button down, the sleeves unbuttoned and rolled to just below his elbows.

Five o’clock.  No time to fret about it now.  Besides, he knew Tom liked blue.

He opened the closet door and took out his coat, just a regular spring jacket that looked neat and unremarkable.  A glance around the room to make sure he hadn’t left his dirty socks on the chair or anything and he was gone.

He’d taken three steps down the hall before he returned to the room and got out the two parcels from Janet—one a small box that had started to smell like raspberries after he’d dropped it, and an envelope she’d given him as he left the office.  He put them by the bed and, blushing furiously for no good reason, retrieved the lubricant from his shaving kit and put it in the drawer of the nightstand.

Oliver walked down the hall towards the stairs, trying not to go too fast—he didn’t want to panic anyone into thinking there was a fire or anything.

“Oliver.  Wait up,” came an all too familiar voice behind him.

He turned and tried not to frown as Brett and one of the London reps came towards him, out of a room on the left.  Jordan, the man’s name was, he reminded himself.

“Headed for dinner?” Jordan asked as they came up to him.  “Join us?”

Oliver shook his head.  “Just as far as the lobby, I’ve plans for the evening.”

Brett snickered.  “The rest of the week, more like.”

Oliver gave him a dark look and started them moving to the stairs.

“Oh?” Jordan asked.  “Some sort of tour thing?”

Brett laughed, and before Oliver could say anything Brett said, “Nope. Oliver here has a guest joining him for the week.”  He tossed Jordan a wink that spoke volumes.

Jordan grinned.  “I see.  Lovely English girl to keep you busy, then?”

“No,” Oliver said.

“Yeah, sort of,” Brett said.

Jordan raised an eyebrow.

Brett looked gleeful.  “It’s a *relationship*, you see.  Oliver’s been having this online friendship and the time has come to make it something more.”

“Shut up,” Oliver said, not with malice.  “Let it go, all right?”

Jordan looked titillated.  “Really?  And she’s going to stay here with you? Suppose we won’t see much of you at all, will we?”

“I suppose not,” Oliver said, starting down the stairs.  He scanned the lobby, still a little startled by the ornate hotel.  It was elegant and rich—far more elaborately appointed than any other place he’d stayed.  But now his gaze flicked over the columns and antiques, barely registering them. Tom.  He was only looking for Tom.

“How do I look?” he asked Brett, starting to look at faces as they continued down the stairs.

“Very clean.  Tidy.”

“Gee, thanks,” he said with less sarcasm than he’d intended.  Then he saw him.

Tom was sitting in a chair, reading a paperback.  Or at least looking like he was.  He looked…wonderful.  He was wearing dark jeans, and had a blue shirt on, over a white one.  The blue was deeper than the one Oliver was wearing, and for some reason that made Oliver insanely happy.  Or hysterically pleased.  He wasn’t sure which.

“Oh God,” he said, frozen on the last stair.

Brett sighed theatrically.  “Right then.  Off you go.”  He shoved Oliver gently and suddenly he found himself walking towards Tom.  He heard Jordan asking which one she was, and Brett shushing him.

Oliver walked towards Tom, his stomach tight.  When Tom looked up and saw him he almost stopped, just wanting to look at the delight in the man’s eyes. There was more than a little nervousness as well, and Oliver kept walking as Tom stood up, dropped the book on the chair beside him, and took two small steps to meet him.

“Hey you,” Oliver said softly, knowing that the grin on Tom’s face was matched by his own.

"Hey." Tom bit his lip, and took another step closer; close enough reach out, inviting Oliver's hand.

Oliver looked into Tom's face, the happy eyes.  "We said no weirdness, right?" he asked, taking Tom's hand and pulling him close enough that he could slip an arm around Tom's waist.  "And we said hugs were good."

"We did," Tom agreed. Tom's other arm came up around him, tentatively tugging him closer.

"Hello you," he whispered near Oliver's ear.

Oliver moved easily into Tom's arms--he couldn't not.  He'd wanted this for so long, to see this man, to touch him.  He wasn't sure, but he thought he may have sighed a little, when he finally let his head rest on Tom's shoulder.  "Missed you," he whispered.  He lifted his head and looked into Tom's face, hoping for a kiss, but not prepared to demand it.  They were, after all, still in the lobby.

Tom's arm tightened around him, and there was an awkward moment where they were untangling fingers, and then Tom’s fingers were brushing the back of Oliver's neck.

"You too," was all he said, but the rapid movement of his eyes, between Oliver's face and the two colleagues clearly talking about them betrayed the way his mind was working.

"Um."  He looked back to Oliver finally. "Oliver? Please - can I kiss you?" His voice was still low, but his body language spoke volumes.

Oliver glanced over to Brett and Jordan, his eyes following Tom's.  Brett was grinning at him, Jordan looked vaguely disconcerted.  And Tom wanted to kiss him.

"Please?" Oliver said, looking back Tom.  "Just...please?"

And then Tom's fingers were tightening on the back of his neck, and Tom's eyes were on his, and Tom's breath was hot against his lips. Tom's kiss was gentle, closed lipped and eminently suitable for their audience.  His eyes were closed, and Oliver could almost feel the regret, and the nerves, when Tom moved minutely to break the kiss.

Oliver knew that it had to end, that it had to be just like that--but he also knew that it was the first of many kisses, and it was wonderful.  It was Tom.  He stepped back a little, and took Tom's hand again; he thought there was very little that could make him let go.  "So," he said, knowing full well that he was grinning like an idiot.  "Hungry?"

Brett started to applaud behind him and Oliver glanced back at him, one eyebrow raised.  "That's the whole show, you can leave now," he said happily.

"Aw.  You sure you don't want to--"

"Go, Brett.  Now."

Brett grinned and waved, then dragged a still stunned looking Jordan off in the direction of the restaurant.

Tom was both blushing and grinning when Oliver looked back.

"So that was Brett, huh?  You think we passed the test?" Tom's fingers squeezed gently around Oliver's.

"Yeah." Oliver grinned back.  "He doesn't applaud for everyone, you know," he said seriously.

Oliver glanced at the bag near the chair Tom had been sitting in.  "Want to take that up to the room, or leave it at the desk?" he asked, aiming for relaxed and easy.  He knew he fell far short, but he'd tried.  He wasn't so sure he could go up to their room and not make a serious fool out of himself.  Tom was...edible.

"Um," Tom’s eyes flicked away and then back again. "I could leave it at reception - if they'd let me."  The hand that wasn't wrapped around Oliver's came to rest lightly on Oliver's side. "That is, if you still want to go out for dinner?"

Oliver swallowed.  He had to--if he opened his mouth he knew he'd be trying to talk Tom into going up to their room.  Which would lead to sex, which wasn't a bad thing.  But a better thing would be to make sure Tom knew that Oliver was serious--about him, about their relationship.

He held onto Tom's hand and licked his lower lip nervously.  "Honestly? I...I want to take you upstairs.  But I also want to talk to you, and be near you and...and...and spend time with you."  God, he was messing up, he knew it.  "Plus," he added, trying for humour as a last ditch effort, "I'm sorta hungry."

"Ok.  Well.  The plan has been working pretty well so far.  Shall we stick with the plan? I think - I think it might be a good thing.  I think my brain was probably working when we came up with that -  and I'm not so sure I trust it now, and I'm actually babbling, aren't I?”  Tom took a breath, and made that little half-laugh sound. "Plus, this is a dinner date, right?"

His thumb was stroking soft circles on Oliver's side the whole time he was speaking.

"Right," Oliver said.  "Dinner date.  I asked you.  Tom babble is good, too." He shivered a little, hoping to hell that his body wasn't going to utterly betray him right then and there.  He was pretty sure his own brain wasn't working at it's best.

Without really thinking about it he moved forward and kissed Tom again, fast.  "We better go to dinner," he said as he stepped back.  "Now.  And I know that the nice people at reception will take your bag."

"Ok," Tom nodded. He seemed reluctant to let go of Oliver's hand, but quickly marked his page, stuffed the book into the backpack, and turned back to Oliver. "Looks a bit out of place, doesn't it? This is some hotel they've put you up in!"

Oliver looked around and smiled, catching Tom's hand again as soon as it was free.  "Yeah, this is something, isn't it?  Usually I get a middle of the road place, built in the last fifteen years."

They walked to the reception desk where Oliver asked them to have Tom's bag taken up to the room.  They were more than happy to do so, and handed Tom a key card as well.

"This is the nicest place I've ever stayed," Oliver whispered into Tom's ear as they moved towards the door. "Glad you're here, Tom."

Tom was still fingering the key card as they reached the street.  Almost as soon as they were out of the door though, he guided Oliver into the lee of the railings, and came to a stop.

"Me too." He smiled. "And I promise I'll get into tour guide mode in a moment, but - can I just hug you for a moment first?  Without an audience this time?"

Oliver nodded, not really able to find words.  This time there was no fumbling, just a simple glide into each other's arms, holding each other tightly.  Oliver could hear Tom's heartbeat, smell the soap he'd used.  He could feel how warm he was, feel the strength of his body.

He shifted against Tom, finding the most comfortable way to be with him. His arms tightened reflexively and wondered if he'd be able to let go. "Tom," he said softly.  "Needed this.  Wanted this for so long."

He could feel the motion of Tom nodding against his neck. "Yes," Tom whispered, and the arms around him tightened a little more, fingers finding his skin just above the back of his open collar.

The touch was light, fingers feathering over his skin, but it's effect was electric.  Sparks settled beneath the surface, and Oliver bit back a moan, feeling completely at a loss.  He'd not been touched in so long, and Tom was there, right there, holding him.  He wanted more, needed more.

"Tom," he said carefully, hearing how rough his voice was.  "I'm going to kiss you again."

He wouldn't want to swear to it in a court of law, but it sounded as though Tom moaned before he managed to turn it into 'please', and shifted back a fraction so that Oliver could see his face again.

"Please," he said again, not quite managing to hold eye contact, nerves and anticipation written all over his face.

Oliver lifted a hand and brushed it over Tom's cheek, then through his hair to the back of his neck.  As he drew Tom to him he tried very hard to remember where they were.

Tom's lips were as soft and smooth as they had been before, but this time the kiss was different, more passionate. Oliver brushed his lips over Tom's once, and then again, before letting go of himself a little.  When Tom opened his mouth a little he almost moaned again, his tongue sliding past lips and teeth quickly before retreating.  He felt himself growing hard at the taste.  Tom's tongue followed his own for a split second, and then Tom broke the kiss, resting his forehead on Oliver's.

"Mustn’t frighten the horses," he said so softly Oliver wasn’t entirely sure if it had been intended for him or only for Tom himself.  Tom's arms tightened around him again, as though as an apology.

Oliver hugged him back for a moment.  "You okay?" he asked softly.  "Ready to play tour guide?"

Tom straightened, and took a deep breath. "I'm good. If you're ok, that is?"

"You're here," he said simply.  "I'm great."

Oliver stood back and slid his hand down Tom's side to take his hand again. "Now, unless you tell me otherwise, I'm going to cling for a bit.  Which way are we going?  Where are we going?  Are we going?  Food."  He wasn't trying to babble, it just seemed to happen.  It did relax him, however, and he certainly needed that.

Tom's hand closed around his as his guide gestured down the street. "Let's go this way."  They started walking, adjusting their pace to fall into step together.

"We can walk down Piccadilly, and find somewhere to eat in Soho, yeah? Sticking with the plan of ours. Unless you'd rather get a bus?"  It was very apparent that Tom was eager to please.

"Whatever is easiest,"  Oliver said with a smile.  "You're the expert."

He loved the way Tom's hand felt in his.  Loved the way they were walking together.  Loved the sound of his voice, the nearness of him.  He'd happily walk for blocks and blocks like this.  Or sit next to him on a bus.  Oliver didn't care in the least.

"OK, then, let’s walk." Tom squeezed his hand slightly again and looked across the street. "More stuff to see, and more time to get my head around the fact you're actually here."  The broad grin was back.  "Plus this is proper tourist stuff - that over there? That's like the Queen's back garden, and we're going to walk past the Ritz and all that sort of touristy posh stuff. Um, not that I expect you care all that deeply, but it gives me something to focus the babble on, right?" He ducked his head, looking away again.

Oliver laughed, his own smile growing.  "Babble as much as you like.  About whatever you like.  I'll just focus on that, and maybe by the time we get to Soho we'll be calm enough to sit still while we eat."

Oliver looked around them, at the people on the street, at what he now knew was the Queen's back garden, and added, "Or maybe not.  I've been bouncy since Sunday.  Don't think it's going to stop anytime soon."

"This is where I should probably have read the guide book, but, I'll try." Tom smiled back at him. "Otherwise I'm just going to keep saying 'you're really here' over and over, and that'll get dull."

Tom rolled his eyes at himself, all the while moving so their shoulders brushed for a second.

"You could say that too, but the people following us might think you have a problem," Oliver teased. He squeezed Tom's hand again.  "Hey.  I'm here. You're here.  And on Sunday you promised to take me to the zoo.  Oh!  And before I forget, Janet handed me a second something for you when I left work yesterday.  This time her smile was evil."

"I should probably worry, right? Although I think I may have used up my quota for the day already."

"No need to worry--Janet wouldn't actually hurt you," Oliver assured him with a grin.  "Most likely it's something that will humiliate me."

He slowed their pace a little and waited until Tom looked at him.  "Hey.  No worry, okay?  I'm here.  We're together.  And everything is going to be fine.  I'll make sure of it."  Impulsively he leaned up and kissed Tom's cheek, near his ear.  "Now.  Let's go get some food.  Walk.  Talk.  Be us."

"That," Tom replied, slipping his arm through Oliver's, "sounds wonderful.”


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