Climb the Ocean
By Ephemera and Byrne

London
Part Two

By the time they'd walked and chatted and compared menus at three different places and actually got seated and ordered food, the initial butterflies had worn off. Oliver was really here, and if the near-constant contact between them was anything to go on, here was exactly where he wanted to be.

When Becka had accused him of setting his heart on cloud cuckoo land, he'd tried not to be irritated, but on some level, some part of him had heard the warnings. Most of the day's classes had been drowned out in an endless cycle of 'what ifs' that had just vanished when Oliver had taken his hand and smiled at him like that.

The tour guiding had segued into the nature of wealth and fame - prompted by the conspicuous consumption they passed - and their starters disappeared amidst a friendly debate about desert islands and dream homes and socio-politics. It wasn't until the waiter interrupted to bring the main course that Tom realised they'd been talking a mile a minute and the residual weird of their meeting in person had gone the same way as his nerves.

The restaurant was small, a riot of carvings and exotic plants, and he and Oliver were sat corner on to each other, knees touching, and no expanse of table to keep Tom's left hand from resting on Oliver's knee throughout most of the meal. Bite sized starters were both tasty and practical, after all.

Oliver didn't seem to mind. When not interrupted by the need of using utensils, and thus his own hands, Oliver frequently tangled their fingers together under the table. He also pouted whenever Tom *did* take his hand off his knee.

It was a very good pout.

Oliver looked at his main course--King prawns, mussels, tilapia and squid--with undisguised pleasure. "Not quite sushi," he said with a wink, "but it will do for now."

Tom practically stuck his tongue out, recalling his table manners at the very last moment and turning it into a glare instead. "You're actually going to make me go through with that, aren't you?" he teased.

Teasing was good. Pretty much everything about this whole evening was good, in fact.

Oliver grinned at him, his dark eyes warm and happy. "Yeah. Tell you what, I'll start you off with something sweet, like tuna or salmon, then we can move up to something more adventurous." He poked at his food with the fork. "Like raw squid."

From the mischievous glint in his eye Oliver really had timed that to make him choke on his chicken.

"Git." Tom grinned, once he'd managed to not kill himself swallowing. Oliver laughed and ate some of his squid.

"Just starting small, Tom," he said with a smile that bordered on really evil. His hand slid under the table, fingers dancing on Tom's leg for a moment. "Don't want to terrify you with all the new experiences I have planned. Sushi is just a starting point."

Oliver's fingers were getting increasingly adventurous, and combined with that smile, and the suggestive edge to his voice, made Tom gasp quietly, anticipation and desire sparking once more. Sitting here with Oliver, with Oliver and his sparkling eyes, and his strong tanned hands, it would be easy to forget there was any experience in the world that didn't involve exploring his skin and his taste in some detail.

"That a promise?" he asked after a moment.

God let that be a promise; all that time he'd spent worrying was matched by at least as much time spent imagining what sort of 'experiences' Oliver was offering him, both the new, and the new-with-him. Sushi had not featured particularly prominently, it had to be said.

Oliver caressed the inside of his thigh, eyes smouldering. "Oh, yes. A promise."

Everything froze for a moment, Oliver's fingers sliding over his jeans, the heat of his hand seeping through. Before Tom could reply Oliver seemed to come back to himself, his eyes glancing over the room.

"Not here, though. But--a promise." His hand withdrew slowly, the touch lingering.

It left Tom stranded for anything to say past a murmured heartfelt, "Good." For a long moment the silence felt strained, while Oliver chewed a mouthful and then Tom gave in, catching Oliver's free hand, and kissing it quickly. "Good," he repeated, smiling. "I'm totally changing the subject for now though.  Um, the zoo? What is your favourite animal?"

He caught himself trying to catch Oliver's eye, to gauge if he'd done the right thing and kicked himself. No matter how often Oliver told him there was no right thing, only what Tom was comfortable with, old habits die hard.

Oliver smiled at him, easy and relaxed, even though his eyes still seemed a little too hot for being in a restaurant. "Like the big cats--lions and tigers, you know? But in the zoos I've been to they just seem to lie there, sleeping or getting some sun." He speared a prawn with his fork and raised it half way to his mouth before setting it down again, resting the fork on the edge of his plate. He reached across the table and touched Tom's jaw, lightly and quickly—just one more random point of contact.

"Sorry. Had to." He cleared his throat and looked away for a second, colour rising on his cheeks. "At zoos I like to watch the bats and the apes--crocodiles and alligators, too. Not sure what that says about me. Maybe we can hang out with the penguins." This last was offered with another teasing look.

"Yeah, yeah," Tom teased back. "Maybe we should go to the aquarium and see if you can catch dinner too. And there's me thinking about bush babies and aye-ayes and other cute stuff that goes bump in the night ...."

"Nah, dinner comes in handy take out packaging or in easily assembled pieces. Doing the catching is even worse than the cooking," Oliver said with a grin. "So, how was your day, anyway? Get anything done, or did you stare off into space a lot, like I did?"

"There were classes, and my body was there ... that's about the sum total." Tom agreed happily.

He had it and *bad* if he was thinking that was sweet - which he was. Which was quite distracting. He took another mouthful, and then gestured that he wasn't done before Oliver could speak. "Oh, I forgot to say.  I heard yesterday – I didn't get the advertising job."

He wasn't really prepared for Oliver's reaction. He'd more or less expected sympathy and some supportive words--Oliver was never less than supportive-- but the look on Oliver's face almost made him regret telling him.

"Shit, I'm sorry." The words were sincere, and softly spoken, but the look in his eyes cut right through Tom. Oliver was more disappointed than he was, genuinely upset. "Did they say why? Or that they'd keep you on file?"

Oliver's hand was back under the table, softly stroking the back of Tom's fingers. Tom flipped his hand, catching Oliver's and reversing the caress.

"Hey - it's ok, you know. I wasn't that sure I was cut out for the place, and - I don't know - I guess I don't look like an ad man, yeah?"

A few interludes of panic about impending unemployment aside, it was a pretty true version of events, and Tom concentrated on trying to reassure, and thank, and explain all in his tone of voice. "It was just a standard  'I'm sorry, but we did not feel that you match the needs of our company, best of luck with other jobs' type of thing. Nothing useful, but nothing nasty either. I guess it's just - back to the drawing board, and at least I got some interview practise, yeah?"

"Yeah, I guess," Oliver said quietly, his hand still in Tom's. "I just...I want everything to be smooth for you. I know it's all stress right now, trying to finish school and find a job, and worrying about your...about your mom."

Oliver looked at him, his lower lip caught between his teeth, like he was thinking he'd said something wrong. "I'm here now, though. I can...can do what you need me to do." It was an offer and plea in one sentence.

Oliver's fingers starting to play with his, to hold onto him. Tom put down his fork, and reached over with his other hand to touch Oliver's face lightly - skin just-shaved-soft under his fingers – running one thumb over Oliver's cheekbone when he moved minutely into Tom's touch.

Just for the moment he couldn't find words, and hoped that maybe his eyes said enough.

Oliver shuddered gently, nuzzling into his hand, his eyes closing for a few seconds.

After a long moment Tom bit his lip. "Oliver?" He could hear his voice, hesitant and quiet against the background of bhangra and other people's conversations. "I don't know about you, but I could stand to skip dessert - maybe head back to the hotel?"

Oliver's hand closed more tightly around his own under the table.

"I - I want to stop thinking about what other people think, and just be with you. Take you up on that. Is that - is that ok?"

"Very okay," Oliver said, his voice tight.

Within moments Oliver had flagged down their waitress and asked for the check, then he moved his chair around the table a little, leaning closer to Tom.

"Don't suppose London has transporters yet?" he whispered. "I'm feeling a real need to touch you."

"Black cab?  That's the best we can do - Scotty's still working on the transporters."

He found himself trying for levity, which surprised him, seeing as all his actual thoughts were rather less - verbal. It wasn't entirely him thinking with his other head - the need to just touch and connect was a bigger part of it than was probably acceptable to admit.

"That'll do," Oliver said, leaning back again. He blushed and looked away quickly, before adding, "I kinda hope she takes her time with the check, though. Not really a good time for me to stand up at the moment."

"I know what you mean." Tom smiled quietly. His fingers wrapped around Oliver's and gave them a squeeze. It was weird, Oliver seeming - Tom wasn't even sure he could pin it down. Seeming less than completely in control of the situation. He tried to concentrate on figuring out Oliver's expression while Oliver dealt with the bill, sending their waitress away again with a credit card.

"Bought us another couple of minutes, huh?"

He was kicking himself the moment the words left his lips. Oliver just laughed, the colour in his cheeks fading a little.

"Didn't help much. Don't think I'm going to be able to be discreet for the next while." He looked away again, then turned his head to whisper into Tom's ear once more. "Feel like I'm a teenager again, and how dumb is that?"

Oliver's breath was warm on his ear, against his neck. The waitress brought back the credit card with what had to be the fastest time on record, giving them both a knowing smile as she wished them goodnight.

"Well, I guess that's that," Oliver said, a smile still teasing at the corners of his mouth. "Time to go." He didn't let go of Tom's hand when he stood up, just tugged him along. Tom was more than happy to go with it.

When Oliver came to a stop on the pavement outside, looking around for a likely taxi spot, Tom took advantage of their momentum to bump into him from behind, and wrap his arms around Oliver's waist, leaning his chin on Oliver's shoulder. He kept his hand's demurely above the belt, and tried not to let it show in his face when Oliver rocked back slightly against him.

"Taxis would be that way," he pointed.

"Oh, thank God for that," he heard Oliver murmur.


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