Olivier was, quite frankly, acting like a child. It was a strange thing, as he had barely been a child when he actually was one. Unfortunately—or was it fortunately?—Emilia just seemed to bring chaos and inappropriate—even if Olivier had to begrudgingly admit he was enjoying himself—emotions to the surface in everyone she interacted with.
For one thing, he was effectively pouting.
His mother had been even less pleasant than usual after his return from the bathroom. Not only had she indeed gone on a rant about how he wasn’t eating enough fibre—he was, and his message regarding imaginary bathroom problems had been so vague there was no way she could assume it was a lack of fibre, rather than too much fibre or his having eaten something off or even just having a stomach bug—but this was only after she’d spent a good ten minutes complaining about how her husband had taken off to focus on his call and not returned. Apparently, despite her concerns that he was ruining his intestines, her husband’s disappearance was more important.
Then again, the man hadn’t even sent a message informing them where he was going or if he’d be back. If Baalphoria weren’t such a safe place—at least if you were staying out of the underground and OIC blind spots—Olivier might have worried his father was in some sort of trouble. As it was, he was mildly worried his mother would kill the man when he showed back up. Olivier doubted either he or his brother would be particularly put out, although his father’s death and his mother’s murder charges would require him to leave Yurndale to take over the firm. There would be a lot of paperwork—actual
paper
paperwork, annoyingly, his family maintaining what effectively amounted to a bunker filled with paper copies of virtually every case that had ever occurred in Baalphoria or the Grey Sands, as well as a number from neighbouring Free Colonies—involved, however; the fact that
this
was what Olivier most dreaded, should his mother land herself in jail for mariticide, was perhaps one of the most telling examples of his general disdain for his family—or, for his parents, at least.
Antoine… Antoine, Olivier was never quite sure about. Currently, however, his younger brother was aggravating him. Not only was he making not-so-subtle comments about Emilia whenever he got the chance. He had originally tried messaging Olivier, but Olivier had patently ignored them, and now his little shit of a brother kept kicking him under the table!
What was he? Five!?
Not that even five-year-old Antoine would have dared kick his big brother, recently outed as a non-dev and emitting the energy of someone who was liable to snap at any moment. His parents might not have ever noticed—or, perhaps, simply not cared—how unhappy he was, but despite how distant they had been even before then, Antoine had noticed.
Antoine who, much as Emilia had guessed within seconds of meeting him, had certainly seen Olivier as the sort of person who could do anything. Why wouldn’t he? Hadn’t they both been told exactly that by their parents, their aunts and uncles and grandparents and the dozens of lawyers who worked under their family’s umbrella, for decades?
Before his D-Levels had been tested, there had already been so much pressure on him to do well. After, there had been this assumption that no matter what was asked of him, he would do it—and he had done it all, failing so rarely that while his cousins had an arsenal of embarrassing moment to tease him about, few of those moments involved him failing anything important; more, it was a long line of embarrassing himself while trying and failing to act normal, little of which had ever made it back to Antoine’s ears, as far as he knew. Somewhere along the line, his brother had come to expect him to handle everything with perfect grace, even in managing their mother, and Olivier had never complained.
It wasn’t like Antoine did nothing to distract her at times. He spoke up more than Olivier, but that was perhaps part of why his younger brother expected him to handle the woman: Antoine was too hot-tempered, too outwardly unhappy with the life he had been dealt. Where Antoine could pull their mother’s attention to him, he couldn’t purposefully deflect her onto another topic the way Olivier could; rather, it was simply an accident when she changed the conversation, leaving Antoine to feel snubbed by her disregard.
Case in point: Olivier had artfully redirected her back to her plans to take cases that weren’t hers to take—cases no one could stop her from taking. This was much better than hearing about how much she hated her husband for taking a call—as though she hadn’t taken calls for much less important reasons—and abandoning them. It was infinitely better than her talking about his fibre consumption and proper stool consistency—she had even tried to make him describe what his theoretical, difficult to pass stool had looked like!—at the table.
Anything was better than that, Olivier thought.
Their mother was so distracted now, intent on boring them to sleep retelling some of her
most impressive
sniping of cases, that she didn’t even seem aware that her grown children were kicking each other under the table, one of them intent to find out whether the other had actually had sex in the bathroom.
Olivier and Emilia hadn’t
fucked in the bathroom
—as his baby brother put it—but he almost wished they had, if only so he could have scandalized the man. Antoine had definitely had sexual encounters in semi-public locations—Olivier had had to bail him out of SecOps’ care a few years previous after he was caught hooking up with someone on the beach during a pink tide—so why was he so shocked that his big brother might have done something similar?
Evidently, after several minutes of hissed questions and kicking each other—all while Emilia, who had switched places with one of the clones so she could see their table, watched and laughed, the cheerful clone smiling over at them often as well, his shoulder’s shaking with more mirth than Olivier had ever heard of a clone having—Olivier had determined that his brother assumed he was virgin.
Wasn’t that just wonderful?
[
Emilia:
i was wondering the same thing
]
[
Emilia:
not if you still had your v-card
]
[
Emilia:
not that having it would be bad or that
]
[
Emilia:
like
]
[
Emilia:
virginity even really means anything
]
[
Emilia:
i was wondering if he thought you were a virgin
]
[
Emilia:
just
]
[
Emilia:
like
]
[
Emilia:
the look he was giving you
]
[
Emilia:
like
]
[
Emilia:
had this energy that he
]
[
Emilia:
like
]
[
Emilia:
thought you so totally had never had sex before
]
[
Emilia:
ooh~
]
[
Emilia:
can you
]
[
Emilia:
like
]
[
Emilia:
ask if he thinks you lost your virginity in there?
]
[
Emilia:
cause if he does
]
[
Emilia:
that will be
]
[
Emilia:
like
]
[
Emilia:
too funny
]
Somehow, Emilia having absolutely no ability to send proper, coherent messages was a complete shock to Olivier—the essays she submitted for his class were well beyond what he would expect from even some of his upper level students—and made complete sense. The woman was all speed and immediacy; she didn’t have time to edit her messages or reformat them so they didn’t include so many filler words. Emilia had thoughts to get out, and whatever came out was what people got.
Olivier feared what her essays must look like before she straightened out her thoughts and grammar and punctuation. Either they were somehow perfect—and it wouldn’t surprise him if Emilia were fully able to pull herself into the same intense focus he himself was capable of, the world falling away into a distant buzz until he was done or needed to refocus on the world—or she must need to edit them multiple times in order to get everything in order.
“Do you think I lost my virginity in the bathroom?” Olivier whispered under the sound of his mother retelling them the story of her first big snipe. It changed every time she told it—and she’d been telling it to them since they were babies, unfortunately—and for the life of him, Olivier had no idea if the story changed inside her head with each retelling, if she was fucking with them, or if she just enjoyed making shit up.
His brother blanched slightly, his entire body pulling back. “Did you!?” he hissed, looking truly scandalized.
[
Emilia:
you can tell him you did
]
[
Emilia:
if you like
]
[
Emilia:
you can even tell him i fucked you in there despite having three very willing partners sitting out here eagerly awaiting my return~
]
[
Oliver:
You have sex with them?
]
Was this an appropriate question to ask anyone, let alone a student he barely knew? No, but also, Emilia had begun their relationship with a sexual proposition, and he highly doubted she cared.
[
Emilia:
sure
]
[
Emilia:
the clones are great in bed
]
[
Emilia:
and despite their reputation for all being the same
]
[
Emilia:
they have very diverse preferences
]
[
Emilia:
and i like variety
]
Rudely, Olivier’s Censor took this moment to remind him that silverstrains not only had a genetic inclination towards enjoying sex, but were known to say yes to virtually every kink, although their openness seemed to result in a strange mixture of accepting any kink while having very little preference for any themselves. In other words, they would partake in virtually any sort of sex, but generally felt little draw to seek out a specific kink themselves.
What came to them through their partners was often
good enough,
although it did seem to lead more silverstrains to seek out polyamorous and open relationships, apparently.
Brushing his Censor aside—why had it decided that here, at the table with his family and avoiding the gaze of his bratty student, he needed to know that Emilia would be perfectly happy to go along with
anything
he wanted in bed!?—Olivier debated what to tell his brother, what to tell the listening Emilia.
The fact that it was more Emilia he was speaking to when he leaned ever closer to his brother, lest their mother suddenly decide to stop her story telling and listen to what her sons were discussing, and said, “If I had been having sex with Emilia in the bathroom, we would still be in there. I like to take my time when I have my cock buried in a beautiful girl’s ass.”
While he might have moved closer to Antoine—who had reared further back at his words, his face a surprisingly bright shade of red in the corner of his vision—Olivier’s eyes were all for Emilia, each of her small reactions to his words carefully catalogued inside his head.
From this angle, Olivier could see so many of the ways she reacted: the way her purple eyes dilated, the way her lips quivered as she watched him back even as she talked in stuttering sounds about a tea some acquaintance from Dion had recently sent her, the way she straightened slightly, legs shifting under the table.
Was she aroused? If he got close enough—bold enough—would he be able to smell it on her? There was a rumour that female silverstrains smelled stronger—better—than normal, that males leaked more, that both tasted better. There was even a rumour of a specific genetic mutation that led some people to become intoxicated when giving silverstrains oral. On these points, Olivier’s Censor had no information—no oddly intrusive research studies—to provide him with, so if he wanted to find out, he would have to do some first-hand research. Given the slow blink and soft smile Emilia gave him, he was almost positive she would be perfectly happy to let him, regardless of how much they shouldn’t be doing this.
They shouldn’t be doing this.
No, Emilia wasn’t really his student, but she wanted his help—help he couldn’t give her, and he’d feel all the more guilty for denying her if she asked again after letting him fuck her—and they shouldn’t be teasing each other like this.
Olivier couldn’t help himself, everything about the silverstrain riling him up until he was yelling at her in class or bodily removing her, until he was barricading himself into his office and fucking his fist to images he couldn’t manage to fight off.
Emilia, on her knees, her beautiful mouth finally silent for once.
Emilia, leaning over his desk, the tiny shorts she so often tortured him with pulled down to reveal that gorgeous ass.
Emilia, happy and smiling for him alone as she told him some story about her life, her friends, the future she envisioned for herself.
Fuck.
“Huh…”
At the sound of his brother’s voice, Olivier managed to pull his eyes away from his not-quite student. “What?” he asked, tone already dark because he didn’t like the glint of amusement in Antoine’s eyes.
“Nothing,” the asshole muttered, shrugging and leaning further back to look Olivier up and down. “It’s just a little interesting that we both like assplay. Of course, we do like it in entirely opposite ways.”
Across the room, to Olivier’s horror, Emilia and the cheerful clone burst into giggles, their hands flying in silent conversation that had the other two clones looking their way, far too much amusement in their eyes as well.
“Silverstrains will generally accept any sexual proclivity, as long as all participants are consenting. This has often made them coveted partners to people in less traditional, taboo and even illegal relationships,”
his Censor reminded him, its implication and the reason the four of them were laughing clear—although he wouldn’t put it past the terrible girl and anyone she considered a friend to lean into the sorts of assumptions his Censor was making about just how close those clones were with one another, just for the scandal of it. Still, Olivier really hoped whatever Emilia was signing was a denial that he and his brother could be doing…
that
together.
If Olivier spent the rest of the meal diligently avoiding looking at his brother too closely, well, he had already been acting like a child most of the night anyways.
Arc 8 | Chapter 292: Pouting Like a Child
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