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It’s not often Felix considers drowning himself.
The peculiar thing is that the urge only ever seems to strike him when he’s in the bath. Never the pool or the pond; the latter of which he’d sworn off swimming in the summer he turned fifteen after one of his mother’s more academically inclined guests lauded them with some story about flesh-eating amoebas found in American water parks. Felix considers his home a much safer place than one of those hovels, but still. While Venetia might like hanging her head off the dock, Felix prefers taking his dunks in more sanitary waters.
When he’s not at uni, he washes up in the bath almost exclusively. The dorms at Oxford only give them access to showers. Spoiled as it sounds, Felix scrapes through the semesters only with the promise of being able to bask in all of the long soaks he wants when he comes back home to Saltburn. It’s become a bit of a ritual, really. The maids have taken to laying out the bottles of oils they know he likes by the tub as well as a fresh wash rag every night.
Felix does love his baths even if he occasionally daydreams about offing himself when he’s in the tub.
He would never actually do it. That much he knows. Drowning seems like such a long painful process. There are much easier ways to go about exiting the world. Pills. A gun. A tall building. A hitman. If Felix did ever want to go through with dying, he supposes he could just reach out to Pamela’s ex-boyfriend and let the Russian gangsters take on the job. He’s sure they would be willing for the right price.
He’s not suicidal or something of that sort. The thought just wanders into his mind every once in a while when he’s slumped down low enough in the water for it to cover his mouth. It’s just so easy to allow himself to go all of the way under, close his eyes and let the warmth wash over him, all sight and sound blocked out.
Felix was born into the lap of luxury, but alone and under the water is the closest to bliss he thinks he’s ever gotten. Which does make it sound so terribly ironic that it’s also the place where he most frequently fantasises about what it would be like to die.
Those aren’t the only sort of fantasies he has. Most nights he can tell by the time he’s taken his clothes off what sort of headspace he’s going to slip into after he steps into the tub, but after 3 glasses of wine at dinner and an hour spent in Farleigh’s room smoking their dessert, the lines are a little more blurred than usual. Considering he’s been drinking since before he even knew how to shave, Felix can handle his alcohol. The other stuff is different— he tries not to dip into it too much during the school year save for nights out where Farleigh’s offers become irresistible in the dark lights of their more frequented clubs— and slightly more complicated now that Oliver is here.
Felix has never known a drug dealer. Not a real one, anyways. The crowd that peddles Farleigh his goods are far too posh. They’re removed from the necessity and danger that Felix has heard Oliver speak of when it comes to his parents’… profession. It’s a different sort of addiction. The same disease in a different strain.
Oliver has never expressed any discomfort over Farleigh or any of the others’ cavalier attitudes towards cocaine and marijuana. For someone like him, those substances are probably considered beginner’s options. Felix does wonder if it bothers him, though. He has to, because Oliver isn’t the sort of person who would speak up even if it did.
He’s not as quiet as he was when they first chummed up, but he’s cautious. With a life like his it makes sense that he’d have to be, as unfathomable the concept is to Felix.
Really, it’d come as a shock when Oliver stripped out of his trunks in the field. He’d barely put up a fight against Farleigh’s dry declaration of the rules. Felix is still trying to figure out if it’d been out of bravery or compliance.
It’s not like he’s got anything to be ashamed of. If anything, he’s got plenty to show off.
That’s what Felix is thinking about as he shrugs out of his shirt. He leaves it and his jeans in a messy pile on the floor by the sink. As always, there’s already a fresh towel ready and waiting. Felix absentmindedly brushes his fingers over the corner of it after setting his bracelets on the counter, much more enthralled by the texture than he would be if he wasn't currently at the crosspoint between drunk and high.
Drunk, high, and thinking about what his friend looks like with his pants down. What a combination.
He’s not out of it enough to be dizzy, but enough tension has been taken out for his head to loll back as soon as he lowers himself into the tub. The oils he’d poured in while filling it has the water feeling as smooth as silk around him. As a result, the steadying breath he takes is accompanied by soft sound that breaks free of his throat without permission. Despite the lavish setup, this is one of life’s simpler pleasures for him.
He hadn’t even really done anything today other than laze around the usual spots with Oliver in his periphery, Farleigh and Venetia only popping up every so often. Felix is pretty sure Farleigh has been busy writing something lately, though he hasn’t asked what yet. As for Venetia—
Well, what she’s been doing would have to be called sulking, wouldn’t it?
Maybe it’s wrong for Felix to be smug over that. Venetia is one of his dearest friends as well as his sister and he knows it’s been hard for her to find companionship. Part of him feels a little guilty, but there’s another part that feels triumphant. Really, out of everyone, V had to choose Oliver to go after? After what they already went through last summer with Edward?
Felix closes his eyes and sinks down lower into the tub. He hasn’t thought about Eddie in a while. He doubts Ollie heard even a single mention of him before yesterday afternoon even though every friend Felix has introduced him to this year used to be friends with Eddie too.
Eddie was an integral part of their group. Always fun on a night out and generally reliable during the day, or so Felix thought. Apparently months of study sessions in their rooms and an invitation into Felix’s home weren’t worth more than a few fucks with Venetia in the end. That’s all it was for her. Something fun to pass the time with and try and hold over Felix’s head whenever their next argument came around. He doesn’t think she had actually done it to hurt him. Irritate him, maybe, but she’d been just as surprised as everyone else when Felix asked Eddie to leave only a few days after discovering their entanglement. Surprised and a little angry, probably because she could tell Felix wasn’t telling her the full story of why he wanted Eddie to leave.
Felix is pretty sure it’s normal to not want your friends to sleep with your family members. Then again, it’s admittedly maybe a little less normal to be mad about it because you were sleeping with said friends first.
To be fair, normal is a pretty relative term in his family. They’ve never been normal. Not one day in their lives. The pressure to be extraordinary is something Felix has only ever felt to be lifted during two instances— the first of which being when he’s submerged in the bath and the second being the times he wound up with Eddie in his bed.
That used to happen a lot. It began at Oxford and kept going at Saltburn, only coming to a stop when Felix found out that Eddie had crept his way under more of the Catton’s covers than just his. They never actually went all of the way, is the funny thing. What started out as mates-helping-mates quickly turned into a regular routine of sloppy make-outs and suckjobs after nights spent out on the town, but they never quite made it past the things involving hands and mouths.
Felix has never told anyone about it. Not Venetia, not Ollie, not even Farleigh, who he knows would listen to him even if he got a kick out of laughing at first. Fooling around with a friend isn’t nearly as bad as sucking off a professor, anyways. It’s not that Felix is embarrassed by it. It’s just… private. There’s not much else in his life Felix has felt that way about. He considers himself to be a fairly open book about most things, for better or worse.
Venetia has always said he’s an attention whore, which Felix can’t exactly deny. He does quite like having people’s attention as long as he can control what it is they’re looking at.
The way Eddie used to look at him was different from what he was used to. Felix wishes more than anything that he could forget all about it. His friends and family have essentially erased Eddie’s existence from their minds. Having Oliver here has made it easier for Felix to start getting there too.
A fixer-upper, Farleigh once called him. It was meant less than kindly, but to Felix, it’s accurate. Oliver’s life does need fixing. Felix has the means to fix it, and Ollie is his friend. Why wouldn’t he want to help? It’s what his mother taught him to do.
The way Oliver looks at him is different too. With his eyes closed and his chin dipped underneath the water, Felix can’t help but think back to the expression Oliver had worn when Felix first asked him to come to Saltburn. His hand wanders down between his legs almost of its own accord, fingers wrapping around himself while he still has the image of Oliver’s awestruck face painted across the inside of his eyelids.
The mere offer to bring him here had worked to pull Oliver out of the slump he’d been stuck in ever since his father’s passing. A loss like that is something Felix can’t comprehend. There’s no grandeur in Oliver’s life. Felix tries to picture what that sort of grit, what that sort of grief must be like, but he always comes up empty. He has no experience to compare it to. Everything is cushioned by his wealth and status— even the guilt that comes with it becomes easier to ignore as long as Felix can drink or fuck his way around it.
He didn’t come in here with the intention of doing the latter tonight, but his body is ahead of his mind on that front. He chalks it up to the pent up frustration of not having any of his usual options around to blow off steam with. Annabel had actually been sort of short with him the last time they spoke, miffed by his choice to bring Oliver home instead of her. He’d tried explaining his situation (and chose to leave out the bit about him not actually wanting her to meet his family, lest she get the wrong idea about how serious they were) but it’d been to no avail. They haven’t spoken in weeks.
Felix dips his hand into the water to wet it before raking it back through his hair. It drips down to bead alongside the sweat that sits at his nape, face and neck already flushed from the steam and growing even more overheated as he works himself over with a few steady tugs. He lets out another soft sound, teeth tucking over his bottom lip to try and avoid making any more. Oliver retired to his room almost an hour ago and the last thing Felix wants to do is wake him up. Even if it is him that Felix’s mind has chosen to settle on tonight as he does this.
Felix is a creature that's lazy by nature. He knows it, as does everyone else, and this is no different. He could blame it on the alcohol or the pot, but the fact of the matter is, he doesn’t want to stop thinking about Oliver.
Oliver isn’t Eddie. He’s a real friend. He had rebuffed Venetia, which is more an act of devotion than anything Eddie ever did to Felix with his fingers or tongue during their nearly eight month dalliance.
The most Felix and Oliver have ever done in that sense is limited to kisses on cheeks and dancing together at parties. Felix is used to having him close. Even now, he’s only one door away. It sends a thrill up Felix’s spine that causes him to shiver despite the warmth of the water. He slides his free hand up over his chest and digs the nail of his thumb into the sensitive peak of his nipple, pinching at one and then the other while he keeps at it with the hand he has under the water.
It’s accidental when his back slips against the side of the tub. He’d been trying to adjust his feet, widen his legs to make it an easier fit, but his nose sinks underneath the water at the same time his knees poke up from it. The pleasure has his limbs feeling heavy and his mind feeling light. Adjusting his position feels like it would only be a distraction from the ecstasy he’s chasing.
He slides down even further as he drags his hand down from his chest, tracing over the wing etched into his ribcage to the underside of his thigh, where the skin has more give underneath his fingers when he presses down. The temptation to take them even lower dances along the edge of his awareness.
Felix doesn’t give into it. He’s indulged himself enough tonight, so he settles for quick strokes that leave the water rippling around his torso instead. He twists his wrist at an angle that has his hips jerking up, fucking into the tight circle of his fist. He’d moan if his head weren’t still halfway underwater.
There’s a split second where he considers shoving up and letting the sound break free, mind swimming with the possibility of what might happen if it were loud enough for Oliver to come looking. That split second is quickly followed by another where he considers pushing himself even further down, opening his mouth, and taking in as much water as he can. Both are equally tantalizing, and neither without consequence.
He holds his breath until he can’t anymore, breaking free of the surface with a gasp that turns into groan as the heat that’s been pooling in his stomach begins to coil up. Paired with the rush of oxygen, it’s dizzying. He feels just as high on the pleasure as he did on the pot after leaving Farleigh’s room earlier. There’s enough water still in his ears for all sound to be muted outside of the plaintive echo of his own moan. He shoves the palm of his hand against his mouth to muffle it. His skin tastes like sweat and lavender oil, selfish desperation sharp against his tongue.
Oliver is here so Felix can help him, but all Felix can think of right now is how much he wants Oliver to come in and be the one to help him instead.
When he comes, it’s with a start. Water splashes up where his back arches, body going so tight his arm trembles as he continues to wring himself through the aftershocks. He sighs contentedly once he’s ridden most of it out, scooting up so he can lean back against the lip of the tub.
The water is dirtied up now. He’ll probably leave it filthier than he was when he got in, but he can’t find it in himself to care with his head still so high up. He feels light, almost like he’s floating. The feeling stays with him even after he finally reaches to begin emptying the tub. He can rinse off and have Duncan change his sheets tomorrow. Being made clean can wait.
Felix stays where he is, knees drawn to his chest, watching the water spiral down the drain. It feels like its own form of purification. All of his sins being quite literally washed away and taking most of the guilt with it.
He’s slow to stand. The towel is only an arm’s reach away, but he ignores it and the puddles left behind by his feet in favor of walking straight towards his side of the sinks instead. The reflection he finds staring back at him in the mirror is bare in more of the way than just clothing. He looks disheveled. Disarmed. He doesn’t know what to do with either other than look away and grab his robe from where it hangs off the hook beside the door. He trades it out for a pair of shorts once he’s made it to his dresser, climbing in bed and drawing the duvet up until the chill of still-damp skin is replaced by comforting warmth.
He closes his eyes and lets out a slow exhale, face turned into his pillow. No one will know what he’s done tonight. There’s a chance he’ll only half remember it himself come tomorrow morning. Like this, stuck in the twilight zone between halfway awake and already dreaming, it’s easy to let himself sink down into the darkness. Just as easy as it would have been to sink down and let it overtake him in the tub. He’s glad he didn’t. Or, he will be once Farleigh’s joint wears off.
It’s not often Felix considers drowning himself. But it does happen every now and again.