The Victorious [BxBxB] ✓

Don't Knock At The Door

There was a certain, undeniable satisfaction in watching Oliver dressed in his clothes.

"Are all your shirts black?" Oliver asked. "Don't you like colors?"

"I do, but not on me." He stretched his hands out and waited for Oliver to take them. He tugged him into his lap.

"Will you spend the night here?" he asked, planting a kiss on Oliver's neck. He had freckles on his neck, too, and they were mesmerizing.

"Oh, how lewd," Oliver said. "Are you going soft on me, tough guy?"

"No," James chuckled. "But it's going to be easier to sneak after Victor if we're together."

"Oh, you're such a good negotiator! A lesser man would've said that he wants to hang out with me. That he likes my personality. My charm. My smile. But not you, James Brooks, you dare to add a third man to this conversation."

"I'm just trying to keep things fun," James smiled.

Victor walked in shy of two hours later.

He was carrying a bag filled with coke cans and bags of salt and vinegar chips. He didn't say hello. He placed the bag right next to his nightstand, walked to the closet, and picked out regular clothes. James had a tiny hope hidden in the back of his head that Mr. Perfect was going to change in the room for once. He was curious about what was under his uniform.

James shared a look with Oliver. So it was happening. Finally, Victor was gracious enough to look at them.

"Why are you staring?" he asked.

"How often do you get a haircut?" James asked. "I mean, it must be often, right? It's always so... neat." He reached out and touched the sides of Victor's head. Victor slapped his hands away.

"How often do you get a haircut?" Victor asked. He sounded offended.

"Once every couple of days," James answered, running his hand over his own short hair. Victor opened his mouth, thought for a second, then closed it and shook his head.

"Hey, hey! No." James waved his hand. "Come on, Mr. Mysterious, you don't want to tell me where you get alcohol from. You refuse to tell me where you go to party. You might as well tell me how often you get a haircut."

"James, don't pick on him," Oliver said.

"I'm really not," James answered because this wasn't him being an asshole. He was far worse when trying to be one. He hadn't even been that interested in Victor's haircutting habits until he refused to speak about them.

"Every two weeks." Victor finally answered. He was so fucking apathetic that it irked James. He wanted to grab him by the shoulders and give him a good shake.

"Am I boring you, Arlington?" James asked.

Victor looked at him. A long, attentive glare and James was confident that he had fucked up. He waited for all the pieces to fall together in Victor's brain.

"We've never attended the same class, right?" Victor asked.

"Because you keep skipping them." James smiled as sweetly as he could.

Victor kept his frown on his face. "I've never told you my full name, have I?"

"Well, someone's paranoid," James said. "What's going on through that head of yours? Want a tinfoil hat?"

"Did you go through my stuff?"

"No, man," James blatantly lied.

"Did you steal my pack of smokes?" Victor asked. James found himself wondering why he was so damn uptight.