He was thirsting over Oliver in the most scorching way.

He wasn't even discrete about it. 

That Wednesday, they had their swimming class, and seeing Oliver almost naked, and wet made his head spin and did other, more obvious things to him. Oliver's hair was pushed back from his face, and James just had to stare a little – a little more. Who would've thought that shoulder freckles were his complete undoing?

"Hi," Oliver said, frowning in amusement. "What? Is there something on my face?" he asked, and James' thoughts went in all the wrong directions. He forced himself not to lick his lips. 

"No," he smiled. "Breakfast after, right?"

"Yeah, of course." Oliver smiled his pretty smile that always reached his eyes.

Breakfast was one of his favorite parts of the day, especially when the options weren't limited to overcooked eggs or undercooked bacon.

Victor, who had been MIA all day, was there. James had no idea when he left their room. Victor was sitting at a table, with other people, drinking something that wasn't Coke, blew a fuse James' brain. So he could be normal!

He had seen Victor sober before, and each time they picked on each other for a few minutes before Victor disappeared. James had an itch. He wanted to pick on Victor a little, just a little. Tease him. Piss him off. Get in his way as much as possible without it escalating to a fight. He had no idea why.

"Why are you staring at him?" Oliver was holding a straw between his lips, smirking.

"I'm not," James frowned. "I just… never see him around."

Oliver smiled and glanced over at Mr. Perfect. He was eating and laughing and behaving completely ordinarily.

"Are we going to follow up with that plan?" Oliver asked. "You know? The plan?" He wiggled his eyebrows.

"Yeah," James said, leaning conspiratorially across the table. "We just have to keep an eye on him."

Oliver was all smiles. His good mood was infectious. "Oh, I don't think this is going to be a problem at all."

James' phone rang. His mother has been trying to get a hold of him ever since he got incarcerated among the rich. He refused to pick up, out of principle. If she couldn't accept the fact that he wasn't straight, she could just fuck off. His father too. And everyone else who was concerned about where he liked to put his mouth.

Oliver rested his head on his palm and looked at him. He was still chewing on the straw.

"What's wrong, Jamie?" he asked.

"Well, Ollie, if you have to know, I'm ignoring my family for being homophobic," he said. Oliver raised an eyebrow, and James looked for any type of judgment in his eyes. There was none, just a playful glimmer.

James had at least expected the all too common, "but you don't look gay!".

"How rude of them," Oliver said instead. "But you might want to talk to them, at one point, right?"

"Nah," James said. "All they're going to do is compare me to my brother."

"You have a brother!?" Oliver leaned closer to him. "How come you never mentioned him?"

"He's the perfect son." James waved his hand. "He's older than I am. Married. Has two kids and wears a suit at work. He's the whole fucking shebang, plus a nice, white picket-fenced house. The pride and joy of our family."

Oliver hummed. "I'm not going to tell you what to do, but consider it might not be healthy for you."

"I'm doing great," James said. "They threaten to kick me out of the house, why would I want to talk to them? And no, they're not about to apologize. I know exactly what they're going to say."

Oliver nodded a couple of times and stopped pressing the issue. "I guess we all have problems with family. Anyway…" Oliver flashed him a warm smile. "Do you want to skip the afternoon classes?"

"Absolutely."

"Great," he said. "I know for a fact our boy has classes, and he needs to go before so he can pass. So…what do you want to do?"

James had a lot of things on mind, but none of them were appropriate to say. The first thing that passed through his head was that he wanted to touch Oliver's thighs. Those very nice, thick, juicy thighs.

His imagination started shifting into something else. Something that involved a lot of nudity. Complete nakedness. He had to push the image of a nude Oliver out of his bead before he popped a boner.

"I don't know," James said. He knew, he knew very well what he wanted to do. "We can continue our search through Victor's shit and see if he has beer."

"Beer?" Oliver snorted. "You think he drinks beer?! I bet he doesn't even smell that stuff."

"Really? Such high standards for a guy that eats stale chips? I don't know, Ollie." He chuckled. Man, he wanted to grab him by the back of his head and kiss him.

Oliver chuckled. "Snooping isn't nice, though," he said, "We can hang out instead."

"Fine, you convinced me."

James was amazed when about an hour later, Victor walked through the door. Victor seemed just as confused to see them there.

"Weren't you supposed to be in class?" Victor asked. His voice was so clear and crisp like he was holding a radio show. He had to kick himself because this wasn't the time to start mentally drooling over someone's voice.

"Weren't you supposed to be in class?" James retorted.

"Hello, Morales," Victor said towards Oliver. "I didn't know you were friends with…" he paused and frowned, "James."

James was insulted; this asshole actually took a moment to remember his name. He had probably fried all his brain cells with alcohol.

Victor sat on the edge of his bed and searched through his nightstand until he found a bottle of painkillers. He took one, thought for a moment, then took a second and kicked his shoes off.

"Are you feeling, ok?" Oliver asked as Victor pulled the covers over him.

"Marvelous." Victor closed his eyes, and in a matter of minutes, he was asleep.

Oliver kept glancing over at his bed, and James had to admit that he was jealous. Fine, so he wasn't Mr. Perfect, but he was tall, and he worked out, and he had a decent bone structure too. He knew he was handsome enough NOT to have to worry about some snobby guy with an expensive haircut.

Sure, he would probably accept a one night stand with Victor, it was his own fault for finding that idiot physically attractive, but that didn't say much about Victor himself. James wasn't known for being tamed when it came to his sexual escapades.

"Do you like him?" Oliver asked, looking at him with his sweet, round eyes. Everything about Oliver was soft and rounded, from his eyes, and button nose, to his lips and shoulders and arms and those thighs that made him have wild, vivid daydreams.

"What?"

"Do you like Victor?"

James blinked at him, feeling stupid for not coming up with a quick no.

"Why would I like him, of all people?"

"Because he looks like he just walked out of a magazine? Because he's handsome, and rich and quite witty if he's not blasted."

James dragged his tongue over his teeth slowly.

"No," he said. "I don't really like him." Was it the truth? He wasn't sure.

"I used to have a crush on him," Oliver blurted out after a moment of silence. "Like, man…" He blew air through his mouth. "Like a really-really bad crush."

"Had?" James asked. He could feel a mixture of emotions riling up inside him. Jealousy was definitely one of them. He wasn't even sure who he was jealous of at this point.

"I mean, "Oliver held his gaze, his green eyes were so entrancing James had to hold himself back from leaning into a kiss. He had such beautiful lips too, and they looked soft and plush, and he just wanted to kiss him, right on the mouth.

"I mean, I don't think I have a crush on him anymore," Oliver continued. "But I still think he's hot. I'd probably fuck him, you know… in a pinch," he chuckled.

James puffed out a laugh. "Fine, ok," he said. "I can give him that," he smiled, liking how close they were now.

"So, now that I know you're into guys are you just into the pretty ones?"

Oliver licked his lips and smiled. His eyes dragged over James' body, and then he shrugged, playfully.

"I'm willing to be coaxed into liking tough guys too."