A/N: I found this picture ^ and almost passed out, so I just had to put it in the media. 😭
Warning for smut in this chapter.
Also this chapter is dedicated to dustontherecord thank you for showing me so much support on this story ❤️ you're amazing. Ily 🥺❤️
——
For Kellin and Oli, things get better. A lot better. Better than Kellin ever thought they could get. More to the point of perfect, if he's being honest.
It's strange at first, to touch so often, when they used to build it up and wait and hold each other off, pushing it until it would break both of them in half when the time came to flow back together again.
Kellin didn't understand, at first, why the other soulmates were so averse to touch-starving and why they were almost constantly touching, when the payoff of the alternative is so much more intense and unbelievable; the most incredible thing the small-framed boy had ever felt before. Of course he would fucking think so, when he'd never had the other option before.
Maybe there's no earth-shatteringly incredible orgasms, and maybe it's quieter and softer and less mind-blowing, but it's just...better. In a lot of ways that Kellin can't explain.
Like when he runs his thin, nimble fingers down the hazel-eyed man's tattooed arms and traces them delicately over the colorful, intricate designs etched in his skin, just because he wants to, or when Oli puts his strong arm over Kellin's slim shoulders, pulling the smaller boy close to his body, while Kellin lays his head on the elders shoulder as they watch television, or when they choose to sit on the same side of the booth at restaurants and touch their knees together, knock elbows, hold hands, just because they can.
It's hard to imagine the alternative now; impossible to think that they could ever go back to the way things were before.
They have actual sex, for the first time, and it's slow and careful and there's never a point of time for even a fraction of a second when they aren't touching each other. Oli holds him through his orgasm and gently runs his fingers down Kellin's back and leaves bruises on the younger boy's soft, porcelain thighs that Kellin can't find it in himself to be annoyed by; in fact, he loves it. The bruises are reminders that he and Oliver were just that close enough to leave a mark.
Money starts coming in. A lot of money.
Kellin pays off any outstanding debts between himself and his father, and then spends long hours sitting on his laptop staring at his bank balance, wondering how any one person could possibly spend that much fucking money. He imagines going on vacations to other countries; isn't interested. He imagines a private jet, new cars, fancy clothes from Beverly Hills, a new house... isn't interested.
Even more money comes in and the aqua-eyed boy stares at his account balance, not spending a single dime of it on anything aside from what he genuinely needs.
Kellin's little, red Honda gets fixed, well, as much as that piece of shit could ever possibly be fixed, but at least it stops making the awful scrrrrr noise every time it starts up.
Oli sometimes glares at the car for minutes at a time with his brows knitted together and his lips turned down in a frown, before asking the younger boy for the umpteenth time, 'Don't you just want a new car? Something safer, that runs better?'
It's been a while since the last time Oli tried to attack a cameraman or yell obscenities at them; mostly they just walk through the flashing lights and crowds holding hands, the taller man usually pushing forward in the lead protectively, shoving back anyone who tries to get too close to Kellin, while Taylor Momsen clicks her tongue in the background about how they're boring now.
