Work Text:
Everything about this is too adorable. Olly looks low-key nervous, or maybe it’s just excitement that I can see radiating off his face as he beams at me from his place in the corner, in front of the Monstera.
Nick and Charlie got me a fancy projector for my birthday, and Olly installed a blackout blind so that we can have our own cinematic experiences at home. I know he probably uses it to enjoy life size porn while I’m at work. I’m not an idiot.
Anyhow, now he is standing to the side of his PowerPoint presentation, looking pleased as anything with his little laser pointer.
“Pay attention or I’ll blind you,” he chides, with a tone eerily reminiscent of Tori telling me she would end me. It’s totally at odds with the professional getup he’s gone for, with a smart shirt and apparently one of the ties that I save for particularly boring board meetings.
“Jesus, Oll! You’re letting the power go to your head. I was just taking a moment to appreciate the effort you’ve put in!”
“Thank you, yes.” He smooths down the shirt before continuing. “As discussed, the responsibility for planning the annual better-Spring-Nelson-blowout-holiday has fallen to me on this occasion. I am excited to be able to share with you an itinerary which I am calling…”
He taps the spacebar and the words ‘Moments of Wonder’ in giant font shoot in from the side of the screen and start to rotate.
My lips curl on their own and I have to fold them over my teeth to suppress the giggle that’s bubbling up at this display of Year 9 prowess.
Olly clears his throat.
“Day one: we embark at Portsmouth and our luxury journey to the beautiful port of Alesund commences. En route we can expect to enjoy first class dining experiences, onboard entertainment, and a roomy cabin with an ocean view, perfect for taking in the epic Nordic scenery…”
Olly is using the laser pointer - which I guess he borrowed from Nick - to highlight various pictures showing vast, frozen landscapes, beautiful skies and some properly adorable puppies playing in the snow. I’ve never been on a cruise before, it didn’t really appeal to me when the options seemed to be singles-only rave efforts or those organised tours where you’re forced to spend time with people you don’t know.
I guess the longer Olly and I have been together the more I’ve slipped my misanthropic layer of protection and embraced the experience of being in Olly’s orbit, allowing myself to be pulled into his conversations and ideas, letting just a little of his infectious enthusiasm rub off on me. I make a mental note of the innuendo. I actually think that Olly would appreciate this particular dad joke, though of course he’ll pretend not to.
I smile to myself as I watch him talk through the trip he’s been planning, and then realise I’ve been in my own head, daydreaming about spending days on end in our cabin, leaving only to enjoy incredible excursions and good food. It sounds like perfection… but there’s something not quite right about the images. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I reckon he’s up to something.
Oh. My mind has really wandered and now he’s looking at me expectantly. “Next slide please!” I command, doing my best imitation of Chris Whitty and trying to show I’ve been following the action.
“That’s it. That’s the end,” Olly says. He gives some half-arsed jazz hands and then starts shuffling from one foot to the other as if he’s nervous. God, he’s good. Getting me back for surprising him in Morocco no doubt.
“Okay, sure thing,” I chuckle. “Come on, Oll…”
“Seriously. Umm, I don’t know what you’re expecting but that was it. I thought the animated confetti was pretty clear.”
I’m trying to work out how I’m supposed to keep the gag going when Olly clears his throat, his expression a lot more uncertain than when he was explaining the detail of our itinerary.
“You seem… underwhelmed,” he says, looking like a hot air balloon that’s come down with a bump, its canopy deflating and folding in on itself. I scramble to reassure him now that I can see his genuine confusion.
“Oh, no! No, Olly no, it’s perfect… it’s just… well I thought you were joking about the company,” I say, gesturing at the final slide, where the Saga logo is nestled in the corner above a picture of some smiling 60-year olds.
“Why would I be joking about that?” he asks, earnestly.
“You know… I’m old, you’re not. Take-your-dinosaur-to-work day et cetera, et cetera.”
“I don’t follow,” he says, simply.
“Saga - the tour company - they only, well they only do holidays for the over-50’s.”
“Oh my god, what?!” He’s as red with embarrassment as someone with his skin tone can be. I’d feel bad if he didn’t give me shit literally every chance he gets. I realise that opportunities to mock him are so few and far between that I really ought to lean in.
“You didn’t notice the abundance of hand rails in the pictures?” I ask, pointing at one of the shots of a cabin interior.
“It's a fucking boat, David. Of course they're going to take health and safety seriously! And, you know I’m sure they’re being inclusive of different needs…” he tails off.
“Or that all the people in the pictures are septuagenarians?” I cackle as I watch him try to regain some confidence.
“I mean, yeah. But I thought it’s just because retired people have money and share your love of huskies.”
My god he’s cute. I melt in an instant and slip my arms around him, even as he tries to wriggle free.
“I love it, Olly. I love it. And I love you. And we’ll make it happen.”
“But the husky pups!” he protests, still squirming and trying to dodge my kisses. “This was the perfect itinerary.”
“I’ve got all the pup I’ll ever need.”
“Gross. You sap. Nick? Is that you?”
He’s knocking on my skull with his slender knuckle like he’s got the upper hand now, so I grab a handful of his curls and pull - just hard enough that I know he’ll whimper - and drag his lips to mine.
“I don’t think so, Oliver. Do you?” I retort as I pull away, pleased with myself for leaving him wide-eyed and breathless. “Fuck, I want you.”
After I’ve given Olly a thorough demonstration of exactly what I’d do to him in a secluded tent under the northern lights, we lie together. I’m trying to catch my breath while he’s collapsed onto my chest, the mess we’ve made cooling stickily between us, just the way he loves.
In amongst the happy murmurs and contented grumbling I can make out a few coherent syllables as he mumbles sleepily.
“You could definitely pass for over-50.”
Little shit.