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i. saturday, 09:26 am
In the mornings, the room is always chilly and damp. Especially when you’re hungover.
Jonas had insisted that he went out with them yesterday, and it had turned into a late, but relatively calm night ( – three Tuborgs and one shot – ). The hangover hasn’t taken a hold of his mind yet, but his nose feels stuffed after the walk home in minus two and jeans drenched with half a beer. Outside, the quiet murmur from the kitchen radio can be heard and a grey, washed-out light filters in through the gap between the window and the orange blanket.
It shines upon the wooden floor; the classic morning light.
His conscience clamours, but it doesn’t really help. Weekends are only slightly easier than weekdays ( – when the darkness doesn’t lay like a wet blanket over your consciousness – ) but the best way to get out of bed is to wake up alone. Then the bed already feels too big. And cold.
When Even stays the night, it’s almost impossible to get up.
He draws a breath and sits up, lets the duvet gather in his lap – and regrets it immediately.
His jaws lock up, and before he even has time to notice it, he starts chattering teeth. The cold digs itself into his skin; every hair rises in defence as it wraps itself around his very skeleton and tightens like a noose around his neck.
Without thinking, Isak flies out of bed and skips ( – to spare his feet from the blistering floor – ) to the laundry hamper. Dresses in whatever’s at the top; the jeans without the beer stain, a pair of socks, woollen socks on top of that, a base layer shirt and the grey hoodie. On the latter, he pulls the hood up to shield himself from the unnaturally cold room.
The radiator beneath the window is dead and cold against his hand, despite the thermostat being pulled as high as it goes. With a sigh, he grabs the red beanie ( – that he hasn’t used in forever it’s probably Even’s, but that line is so blurred now – ) from the hook on the wall before he goes towards the kitchen.
The hallway is even colder than the room, and when he goes into the kitchen, Noora is leaning against the counter. Clutching a tea mug, and looking at him from inside her scarf.
Her nose is red. “Good morning.”
“Morning?” Isak stops on the threshold. “Why is it so – “
Before he has the time to finish the question, the front door slams shut. Something thuds against the wall, there’s a muffled curse and two seconds later Eskild swirls into the kitchen. Underneath his arm, he’s carrying a big cardboard box that he with great effort heaves onto the kitchen table. There’s a loud thump when it hits the table top.
“And there we are! Now we won’t freeze to death, at least,” he says and puts his elbow on the box. “But you must all send me some money, about a hundred kroner each. Can return it with the receipt if PK gets the heat going tonight, but now you know how it’s going to go down.”
Noora sniffs, and it first then that Isak can see that the oven door is ajar; radiating its warm light. “Did you take the cheapest one?”
Eskild has seen the same thing and shakes his head. “Yes, everything for you, my little provident princess,” he says and blows her a kiss. Noora raises her eyebrows and draws a haughty sniff.
Isak clears his throat ( – stops them before they start a fuss for real – ). “Why is it so damn cold? Has the heat died completely or is it a planned break?”
Eskild sighs and sits down on one of the kitchen chairs. The zip of his parka is pulled up high and he hasn’t lost his gloves yet.
“I called PK when Noora wrote in the chat this morning, and he had no idea. The heat is central, and there’s some problem with one of the lines, he said. It isn’t just in this house, but in a few others as well, so he doesn’t know why until he’s made some calls. So, we’ll have to wait and see. No heat, and no warm water. But the power is still on – so oven and stuff like that still works.”
Noora swallows her sip of tea. “That’s good. Because Even is going to make food for us today, isn’t he?” she asks and looks at him ( – and it’s confusing to hear the softness in her voice, a hint of anticipation – ). “He owes me for the enchiladas.”
“If he said he’s going to, he will? He’s coming here after work, that’s all I know.”
Eskild claps his hands. “Perfect! Well, I’m going to put this up in the living room,” he says and points towards the portable radiator. “So, if you tire of warming each other, you have to be social.”
“You don’t think we can start a fire in the stove in my room?” Isak crosses his arms over his chest ( – scrambles after something to hold on to – ).
Noora rolls her eyes and cuts in before he can say anything. “Isak. It doesn’t work.”
“What, you’ve tried?”
“No,” she says, and drags out the word as if it has two syllables. “But we’re not allowed to light a fire indoors.”
“And besides, we see you two so rarely as it is!” Eskild sends him a big smile before he stands up from his chair. “No, let’s see if we can get this up and running. And one of you has got to wake Linn up. I don’t want her to enter actual hibernation because her body temperature got too low.”
With the radiator under his arm, he leaves. Isak looks after him and fishes his phone out of his pocket. Rubs his hands together ( – looks through the messages from last night and swallows – ) and types out a quick text to prepare Even for the currently arctic climate in the apartment.
Noora hasn’t moved from her place by the oven, but the heat radiates around her nonetheless. She sees that he looks at her, and takes a sip of her tea before she pats the counter beside her.
The fan is on and the heat feels good against the back of his thighs and up along his back, under his shirt, when he stands beside her. And even if he doesn’t drink tea ( – Even is the only one to do that, something that he and Noora sometimes bond over– ) he can admit that the thin wisps of mist rising from her mug makes him want to try.
Especially since his fingers have cramped up due to the chill.
“Is there more water? Hot, I mean.”
She opens one eye at him. “Doubt it. Let’s check.”
Without stepping away from the heat of the gap, she turns to take down a mug from the cupboard. They both watch in silence as the electric kettle heats the leftover water again, and clicks off. Then Noora takes a tea bag from the little box on the counter; she twists the little string around the handle with a practiced motion and pours the water up.
“There.”
It warms his hands; the contrast almost too sharp against his chilled palms. The water quickly turns into a green-brownish color and he tries not to wrinkle his nose. Noora smiles into her mug – and failing to hold back her laughter when he has to force down his big gulp with a grimace.
He’s downed half the mug when his phone pings; a thumbs up from Even.
ii. saturday, 3:38 pm
When Even finally arrives, his cheeks are all red.
The hair that peeks out from under his hat is tousled ( – without product and soft, perfect to run your fingers through – ) and in the neckline of his hoodie, the collar of a base layer can be seen. In one hand he’s holding a plastic bag from Coop Mega, and his backpack is filled to the brim.
Isak leans against the door jamb and looks, uninhibited, as Even takes off his coat. “You look like you’re about to go for a hike.”
Even raises his eyebrows at him and sinks down on one knee to unlace his boots.
“You wrote ‘it’s so fucking cold’, so I came prepared,” he says, at the same time as he digs through his backpack. “And look – stopped by at home to change, and mum told me to bring this!”
His eyes turn into slits when he pulls something large and colourful from the bag.
A psychedelic mess of patches in every size spreads out. Every colour in the visible spectra sits beside and on top of each other, and so does polka dots, stripes, and checkers, silk, and wool, together with a few bigger, formless chunks of something unknown that glimmers in the light from the lamp. A few pieces of jacquard and the odd mending patch are sewn in, like a birthday present that is more wrapped in tape than paper.
It’s one of the ugliest things Isak has seen in his entire life.
He clears his throat. “Nice.”
Apparently, he’s quiet for too long, because Even’s smile just widens. “Or, she just wanted to get rid of it?”
“If it keeps you warm, I guess.”
Even laughs and pulls him into a hug ( – thin, strong arms, wrapped in layers of fabric, but still so warm – ). “Always the pragmatic.”
They get the groceries into the fridge, and then sit down in the living room with the others; curled up under blankets and duvets they’ve brought with them from their beds. The radiator that Eskild bought the same morning whirrs away on the floor, but even that isn't enough to keep the chill out.
Noora and Linn share Noora’s temporary bed, where Noora is typing on her laptop. Eskild sits on the floor in a sleeping bag that he dug out from somewhere, lazily watching reruns of Top Model, while Isak and Even sit in the other sofa ( – on top of each other legs tangled under the patchwork quilt – ).
While Even reads the book for Norwegian, Isak tries to make his way through the two relevant chapters from his chemistry book ( – half paragraphs, re-reads sentences until it feels like he can patter incomprehensible concepts in his sleep – ). The fact that he’d made it home by three this morning starts to take out its right, so at some point he lets the drowsiness drag him under.
Listens to the voices from the television, Even’s heartbeat and the conversation buzzing around him.
“ – and I feel so much freer here, and you get a reputation of course, but you’re not alone in that, so fewer people actually care? And I mean, men aren’t as fussy about that kind of stuff.”
Noora sighs. “Not if they’re gay, no. But if a girl has been with more than a few, suddenly she’s a slut?”
“A lot of double standards there,” Even cuts in.
It causes his chest to vibrate. Isak opens his eyes halfway.
Watches as Linn takes a bite of the strawberry candy ropes on the coffee table. “So, you have no idea how many?”
Eskild rolls his eyes. “No, Linn. Age, weight and partners, that’s all just a number. Also, practice makes perfect!”
“What kind of skill do you mean? What do you get good at by fucking?”
Eskild tosses the nearly empty candy bag from side to side. “Lots of things! Besides giving good blowjobs – you get a better sense of rhythm, dexterity, you train your communication skills and boost your confidence!”
Noora is frowning a little, and she stops typing. “You don’t think you can do all that with the same person?”
“Sure, but you learn different things from different people,” Eskild says and leans his chin in his hand. “I mean, I’d still think that you have to cover your teeth with your lips, and not just avoid it if I hadn’t gotten feedback, you know? And if you’ve got the same partner, maybe you won’t get that information?”
“Hopefully, you build up the trust to say those things after a while, though?” Even sounds convinced, and Isak swallows ( – hopes that it’s true between them as well – ).
“You don’t get as big of a repertoire,” Eskild shrugs. “Who knows, you might never learn that one thing that your partner loves because neither of you knows how to do it? And then you miss a whole dimension of sex!”
Isak can feel how something undefinable pulls in his stomach. He swallows ( – tries to keep the movement as calm as possible, minimizing the mess building in his chest – ) hard.
They learn from each other, that is true, but even though he’s far from being a virgin ( – with Sara, twice, catastrophic eroding humiliating, she didn’t notice a thing – ) there’s still an important puzzle piece that is missing.
Because the truth is that he only knows what Even and porn have taught him. Everything before Even was a band-aid to be ripped off. A price to pay to keep up something doomed to collapse. Not something to learn from; not something to see how much intuition it takes to make it good.
Really.
He holds his breath before he lets the air out as slowly as he can manage. And even though Even can’t see him, his attention immediately turns towards him ( – zooms in on him like a camera lens – ). A hand strokes along his back, and Even’s laugh spreads up his spine.
“Wow, was that your stomach?”
It’s quiet, but he ( – knows it’s an opening, a way out – ) nods. Tips his head back, looks into Even’s eyes. “I think so.”
“Anyone else getting hungry?”
Noora nods, and Linn makes a humming noise. Eskild looks at Even with a raised eyebrow, but then he nods. “The master chef decides!”
Even just smiles and shakes Isak’s arm a bit. “Come with.”
They throw off the quilt ( – leaves the warmth behind – ) to quickly make their way into the kitchen. Isak turns the oven on again and leans against the open door. Outside, the street light blinks on, and the thin fog that had rolled in from the fjord makes it hard to see beyond the naked branches just outside.
Behind him, Even starts pulling things from the cupboards. Groceries from the fridge, turns on the kettle; chops and fries the onion, puts in some form of red chilli paste and cuts up half a salmon.
Isak doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of it; watching his hands ( – the thin, long fingers, nimble with visible veins on the back – ) work. How his focus narrows down. It’s almost a rebellion against multitasking and streamlining and everything else you’re supposed to be able to do. It’s relaxed and with so much intuition that it becomes clear why it’s called the culinary arts ( – makes to clear why he can’t do it himself – ).
Isak can watch him for ages ( – the piece of hair falling into his eyes, the small frown between his eyebrows – ) and simply realize, again and again, that Even ( – then and there, here and now – ) is his.
At the end of the day. That at the end of the day, he’s also Even’s.
To be with a guy must be different ( – he knows it is for him, it feels so right, so natural – ) even if you were in love with your girlfriend while you were together, and didn’t just use her like a shield against your own fears. But he hasn’t dared to ask Even about it; about what he really did with Sonja, in what ways they trusted each other. Partly because it’s not okay, but also because he doesn’t like to think about her.
Doesn’t want to see Even with someone else again, if so only in his own head.
Partly, it also nurtures something deep within in him. Something old ( – something dark that exudes and leaks out into his veins like an oil spill – ) that he doesn’t like to touch. Because he knows that it isn’t about Even, really. Isn’t wholly about himself, either.
But if he lets it grow, it will swallow him whole; suffocate him with the fact that he usually doesn’t have any fucking clue what the fuck he’s doing – if he can come Even as close; if he’s enough as it is.
Because even though Even is a beginner too, he’s also not. And Isak doesn’t know how if he’s ever going to be able to piece himself together enough to give Even everything, all at once.
He gives him pieces. That he can handle. When he lets go of everything ( – his hold on the real world; the physical, metaphysical – ) and his head goes quiet, then he doesn’t care about all the emotions. When he slips beneath the duvet and blows Even until he comes, then there’s nothing else he’s supposed to think about, except that which is currently happening.
He also knows that the purely physical isn’t everything when it comes to sex. With other things ( – like handing over all responsibility, opening yourself up in a completely different way than the obvious – ) he knows next to nothing; has no reference for how natural it should be. Even had said that they could try again, that it wasn’t ruined, but it still doesn’t make it easier.
Doesn’t cause the insecurity, the white-hot stone in his chest, to cool down.
From the living room, Eskild's laugh mix with Linn’s monotone voice; Noora’s little gasp testifies that it’s probably about the chlamydia again. It attracts Even’s gaze before he looks towards Isak again ( – big eyes with something soft over him a question hanging in the air – ) and asks.
“Hey, Isak?”
And Isak has to answer.
“It’s alright. I just don’t agree with Eskild.”
Even raises his eyebrows. “About what?”
His long fingers screw off the lid and he adds some more white pepper to the pan. Isak hops onto the cold counter. The contrast from the oven is sharp, and he suppresses a shiver.
“About how – that it’s a good thing to have been with many. It just feels so – cheap, is all.”
In the same moment he says it, Even’s shoulders raise. “You know it’s not, though?”
“No, I know. To each their own. It’s just – it always seems so obvious that you’re supposed to like it. Or, that people who do it are expected to know a lot, at least. Or something. I don’t know.”
Even’s hand, the one looking for a teaspoon in one of the kitchen drawers, stops ( – his shoulders drop down again – ). “Do you think about that a lot?”
Isak rolls his eyes ( – tries to change the density of what he’s said without lying – ) and pulls at a bit of skin by his cuticle. “No, not really. But, I mean – sometimes? Everyone does.”
“Maybe.” It rattles, and Even gets a hold of the teaspoon. The other hand slowly strokes his thigh, while he scrapes the spoon against the side of the pan. He holds it up to Isak. “What do you think about this?”
“Good, surely?”
“Appreciating the blind trust, but please taste it first.”
He takes the spoon and gives it a shot. Salmon. Garlic. Something hot, maybe chilli, but also sweetness. Even’s eyes are expectant, so he nods. “Yes. Lots of garlic, but still good.”
Even stirs the pan one last time. “More salt?”
“I don’t think so,” Isak starts, before coughing when the heat stings at the back of his tongue. “Shit. That’s a lot of chilli though.”
“Always chilli, wasn’t it?” Even winks with one eye ( – failing as always – ) and drains the pasta in the sink. “Besides, we need to get warm, don’t we?”
iii. saturday, 9:16 pm
Even’s choice of film is some sort of drama.
Eskild has gone quiet, squinting at the television to keep up. Noora has put away her laptop and her eyes shimmer in the light from the screen. Linn is sleeping again, and occasionally a snore cuts through the dialogue.
Even watches as well. Intensely, with a small smile in the corner of his mouth ( – that he always gets when he manages to make someone happy no matter how – ) and strokes his hand mindlessly over Isak’s hip. They’ve slipped down the sofa during the night, and what started with them sitting beside each other has now turned into Even slouching with his elbow on the armrest and Isak lying with his back against his chest.
On the screen, a woman wakes up on a metal slab in a concrete room, and he closes his eyes ( – listens to Even’s quiet breaths, the low hum from the radiator – ) and the combination of background noise and relative warmth makes his body all loose.
The film is about time travels or soulmates in some way, which is fascinating, but it’s all too much now. Sleep is within reach, and he’s just about to drift off when the hand on his stomach slowly moves inside the waistband of his jeans. One of the main characters suddenly starts to scream and throws something. Isak pulls up his knee ( – hides the fact that Even’s hand becomes more and more liberal, slips inside his boxers as well – ) and tries to relax.
The duvet and quilt hide what is going on, but the air still gets stuck in his throat when Even starts to move his hand ( – slowly, but surely, with intent – ).
No one is looking at them, but despite it bubbling and prickling under his skin in the best way, Isak can’t make himself push his hips against Even’s hand ( – like he’d usually do without a thought, an automated response because they’re a reaction in equilibrium – ).
Even’s breath has gotten heavier, and he brushes his nose behind Isak’s ear. His hand doesn’t let up, but his movements aren’t as hectic as usual. Slows down, like it’s no different from stroking his arm or tangle his fingers in his hair. And it’s such a small thing ( – a subtle difference in nuance – ) but it’s what makes it so that he can close his eyes again.
Simply allows himself fill up with that soft, warm sensation of arousal that Even can spark within him; the one that differs from the other, burning and desperate, that makes it hard to breathe or even think.
Just that soft one, that makes it so that he doesn’t want to do anything else but reciprocate.
He’s about to wedge his hand in between them, when Even suddenly pulls back.
“Hey. How about going to bed?”
The living room is dark, apart from the tea lights on the table and the bluish light from the film ( – which has turned into proper sci-fi now – ). Noora and Linn lay in opposite directions; Noora with her back to them and Linn who has woken up and watches the screen with clear eyes. Eskild is nowhere to be found, but his sleeping bag is left open on the floor, which means he’s soon to be back.
“Sounds good.”
The warmth that’s gathered between them disappears when Isak stands up. The radiator keeps the worst of the chill away, but the contrast still bites through his jeans and all the way down to his skin. When he’s gathered the duvet and quilt in his arms, Noora suddenly moves.
Turns onto her side and looks at them with half-closed eyes.
“Night, Noora.”
She smiles, and makes herself more comfortable. “Night Isak. And night, Even.”
Even doesn’t answer, but he ruffles her blonde hair when they pass.
Isak's room is cold and dark when they enter. All doors have been closed to keep the warmth in the living room, and it shows. The cold makes its way under his clothes again, and Isak hurries to light the lava lamp to make sure he throws the duvet onto the bed.
He slips away to brush his teeth, and when he gets back, Even’s untangled the mess on the bed. Has spread out the quilt on top of the bed and strokes one hand over it.
The silk glimmers in the low light.
“It fits in here.”
Isak blinks slowly at him, and grabs the last clean pair of pajama pants from a drawer. “No, Even. But I’ll take anything to get warm right now.”
The bed creaks when Even stands up and puts his arms around him. “Does that include me. Do I get to warm you up?”
He whispers it and places a quick kiss below Isak’s ear. The chapped lips feel like a burn mark ( – and a part of him wants them to be and that it shall for always be there from now on – ) against his skin, sending small tingles of something hot down his spine.
It’s counterintuitive, but then he manages to push Even away to be able to undo his fly. “You can if you brush your teeth. You stink of garlic still. Unbelievable.”
Even laughs, but after running a hand down Isak’s arm he disappears towards the bathroom.
Pulling off his jeans resembles the sensation of falling into an ice-hole, and he tosses them in a pile on the floor. Pajama pants come on as fast as possible before he throws himself into bed; pulls up duvet and quilt to his chin, and tries to make his body forget the chock.
Heat spreads slowly throughout his body, and he’s almost stopped shaking when Even comes back; tip-toeing in his woolen socks, closes the door behind him with a soft click.
“Should I leave it on?”
He points at the lava lamp, and Isak nods. Looks and lets himself look when Even pulls his hoodie over his head, but keeps his base layer on. The mattress sinks a bit when he comes underneath the duvet too. Brings with him a gust of cold that makes them both shiver. Isak comes closer when Even’s settled; presses his cold nose against Even’s neck and breathes him in. In return, Even pushes his thigh between his, wakes the same arousal from before ( – calm, dull, there’s no stress – ) and Isak lets out a breath.
Now, when they’re alone, his brain finds the right track immediately. As soon as it clicks, it’s like the rest of the world washes away ( – like nosebleed down the drain – ) and he can just touch as much as he wants. Wedge his hands into the gap between Even’s pants and shirt; feel the warm skin of his lower back against his fingertips.
Press his mouth against his, have his own coaxed open, and feel Even’s tongue against his.
Small puffs of cold air come in between them. The tip of his nose is so cold, he can barely feel it when Even rubs them together. They laugh about it; Isak in his throat, and Even quietly with thin eyes.
His pulse quickens, and before he can ask, Even pulls back and licks his bottom lip. “Could you take out – ?”
Isak nods, and they shuffle a bit underneath the duvet to keep the cold out. He turns onto his stomach, sticks one hand out from their warm cocoon; gets a hold of the lube on the floor and brings it back.
Without being able to see, he pours some into his palm. Hands it over to Even while he closes his other hand around him. Feels how hot and throbbing he is against his palm; hears the quiet sigh in the same breath as Even’s hand closes around him too.
Even’s hands are normally cold, but with the lube, they’re even colder, so Isak can’t help but hiss.
“Cold?”
He nods against Even’s neck, and take a better hold around him. Warm, damp breath against his ear, and Even moans ( – tenses up, relaxes, before he pushes his hips closer with just one small motion). There are few things that make him feel so content.
Here, in darkness and cold, but underneath the duvet, there’s no script to follow, no rules.
Nothing outside of this defines him.
At all.
And it’s a wonderful feeling; to lie here, touch Even until his eyelids become as heavy as the breaths against his mouth ( – as if it doesn’t matter what he does because it’s right because he is who is and no one else – ). Isak pulls Even closer ( – feels all of him against him, neck, arms, legs, the hand closed around him – ) and breathes.
They’re not even really kissing anymore; just sharing heated carbon dioxide between them, and if they continued for eternity the oxygen between them would disappear; make them dizzy.
Every stroke Even’s hand jerks him off with makes another nerve lose its peel. Blood rushes through his veins and it gets harder to breathe ( – as if his lungs don’t fill up completely before he must moan again – ). Because at this point, Even know him almost better than he knows himself – he knows exactly what he’s supposed to do. Slow and steady: put his palm over the tip, before twisting his hand on the downstroke. If Isak had done it to himself, he would’ve rushed to come as quickly as possible. Stressed and quick, just to get the blessed second of silence ( – a short minute of physical exhaustion and vibrating skin – ).
With Even, on the other hand, it’s an experience. Something to prolong – a new definition of pleasure.
At the same time, with his nerves on the surface like now, it feels as if there’s something missing.
Something closer.
They haven’t tried since the last, catastrophic attempt a few weeks ago. Even hasn’t brought it up again, and Isak knows he won’t do it again. He has fucked Even after that ( – to gain some control over the whole situation, stop it from turning into something unmentionable, something you daren’t touch – ) but even then, when he was inside of him ( – looked him straight in the eye, saw them glass over, become unseeing as he came – ) it wasn’t like before.
And it’s not until now, with Even’s breath against his lips, that he realizes why.
Even says ( – often in darkness and behind physical barriers towards the world – ) that Isak’s brave. Because he’s willing to try things that he knows are doomed to fail. Isak hasn’t said that it’s also the definition of stupidity; to try the same thing again. But right now, when he’s panting against Even’s neck ( – feeling his warm, slick hand around him, them safe under the ugliest quilt in the world – ) it suddenly feels as if they could take a step on the way.
Figure out where it all went wrong.
He lets his own hand slow down for a bit.
Even notices it, and matches his own strokes to the new rhythm as he opens his eyes. “What is it?” he murmurs.
Isak swallows. Looks at him, but keeps touching him ( – differently, quick but quite loosely, but with a pressure on the vein on the underside all the way up – ) before he pushes his nose against his cheek.
His face is burning and he’s tangling his fingers in Even’s hair ( – grounds himself in him reassuring himself that he’s here and always will be – ).
“I’m – Even, can you finger me again?”
It comes out as a whisper, almost inaudible. A drawn-out breath and Isak can feel how Even twitches in his hand. The nervousness lingers, but when Even strokes his back, it lets up.
A little bit.
Even lifts his head. Looks at him through the non-existent light, before he kisses him. Light, with a hint of tongue behind his teeth that ( – paralyzes him, such a small movement – ) makes a pulse go through him particularly hard.
Then he brushes his nose against his; it’s still as cold as before. “I can do that.”
Isak nods, and breathes out. “How should I – ?”
“Come here.”
Even lets the hand around the back of his neck run down his side, before grabbing him behind the knee and placing it on his hip. Their knuckles bump into each other, and Isak doesn’t even have to be told to close his hand around them both.
They gasp, and then laugh.
“You’re so clever,” Even mumbles into his mouth, while fumbling with the lube that Isak pushed underneath the pillow.
To distract himself and relax, Isak focuses on his hand. There’s no doubt that he succeeds ( – with the way Even’s chest moves against his with every stroke how he spreads pre-come everywhere – ).
It fills him with something ( – a power anticipation confidence – ) that he didn’t even know was possible.
Soon enough, Even lifts his leg again and frees it from pajama pants and boxers. It’s a bit tricky, but they make it. And if he feels stupid ( – with a beanie and sweater, but with nothing on his left leg – ) it disappears when Even’s long fingers touch the sensitive skin behind his balls.
His strokes stop up for a second. Even rubs his nose against his.
“You’re alright?”
It’s hard to push over that threshold again. Last time it did feel good when Even was inside of him a little. He knows that he wants to ( – his whole body screaming for more, something closer, more intimate – ) but once again there’s something mental putting a stop to it.
Associations are hard to shake, after all.
He lets out a sigh. Even’s breath on his top lip makes his skin tingle and he tightens the hold on them ( – feels them both throb at the thought of this – ).
“Yes.”
They kiss again, while Even’s fingers move closer. It’s not the skin itself reacting, that much Isak knows, but sweat still breaks out on his shoulders beneath his shirt. He presses his cold nose against Even’s neck ( – nibbles gently at the soft skin, breathes the scent of nearly evaporated cologne – ) at the same time as Even’s finger push inside.
Just the very tip, yet he still stops breathing until it pulls away again. Keeps in the vicinity, prepares him for what’s to come. Isak breathes out, and Even has his lips just a millimeter away, within reach. They simply lay like that for a while; breathing each other’s air while Even gently presses against his opening and Isak who jerks them off with slow, distracted movements.
Breaths and kisses that more resemble soft, quiet moans fill the air between them.
And sometimes there, his whole body relaxes. The tension in his back melts away like snow; his diaphragm flattens out in a diver’s breath instead of catching halfway in panic.
Even caresses his hair on top of the beanie, before he takes a better hold of his shoulders ( – holds him close as if he’s afraid he’s going to run off – ) and pushes his other finger all the way in.
“Fuck.”
Isak takes a little too hard a grip on them, hears Even whine before he manages to relax his hand. It feels so wrong and he swallows hard; focuses on the things that feel okay in all of this.
“Isak?”
Even’s voice is calm, but breathless. He moves his finger back and forth and there’s ( – not a trace of the pain or panic from before – ) nothing he can use to help classify this sensation. But it feels ( – good, almost pleasant – ) almost like it did last time.
“It’s okay.”
Even hums deep in his chest. Keeps his hold on his shoulders, keeps moving his finger in time with Isak’s hand-
That’s one of the things that he loves the most about sex with Even; how easily they find the other’s rhythm. It took a few tries, but after that, it’s like they’ve fine-tuned to each other ( – found the same wavelength, frequency, the same amplitude and period plus minus equals zero – ) and when they did find it, it’s like it can’t be undone.
Not that he’d ever want to.
He looks up when Even tugs on his hair. For a second they simply look at each other ( – Even’s eyes slide over his face cold nose half-shut eyes half-open mouth – ) before he leans in and kisses him again – and pushed in next finger.
The thing is, no matter how it’s done, it always feels wrong at first. As if his brain can’t comprehend what is happening, but the body knows that ( – against all odds – ) feels good. Especially when they push a little further in, and after searching for a while, the fingertips press down where ( – he wants to feel it again asked for this – ) it makes him stop breathing.
This time Even doesn’t ask if it’s alright – the guttural moan that is ripped from his chest with force is enough of an answer.
The fingers within him scissors a bit, massages where it’s all too sensitive for that. The kindle that spreads out from between his legs ( – where the blood has accumulated, pulsing steadily – ) is so overwhelming that he doesn’t really notice that Even’s slick ring finger has started to caress around the opening as well.
Involuntarily, he tenses again ( – his neck the hand around them around Even’s fingers – ) before he manages to relax. It doesn’t feel all wrong anymore, especially not when the fingertips gently massage his prostate so that it in intervals goes quiet.
But still –
“I can – or no, it’s not working,” he murmurs, panting.
Even’s eyes are halfway closed. His mouth forms a few inaudible words, and he opens it one more time before he closes it again. Isak tilts the knee he has over Even’s hip and buffs his nose against his.
It’s still just as cold.
“What were you going to say?”
Just as breathless, and with a hint of salt on his lips, Even kisses him. “Nothing.”
“Even.”
“Only – I wanted to reassure myself that you’re absolutely sure.”
“I can’t let you fuck me now,” he whispers ( – manages to say those words in the red light after all – ). “Not yet.”
“I know.” Even blinks slowly. “But you want to try again?”
“Yes.”
Even nods, and they share a few kisses that are mostly mouths pressed against one another; open and honest. “So no to one more?” he whispers.
It’s not pressuring question. Just an affirmation. Isak’s never felt pressured by Even to do anything he didn’t want to but Even is at the same time, good at stopping him from doubting himself when he’s unsure. His wrist has started to hurt, but at the same time, they’ve come this far.
Isak swallows.
“Yes.”
Even’s arm falls onto his shoulder, and once again he holds Isak close. “Okay. Tell me if it gets too much.”
His lungs lock up for a moment when it starts, and he closes his eyes ( – tries to rationally unite the sensation of being pried open like this with the kindling pleasure that lies like spots of light in his veins – ) and breathes Even’s air instead.
That’s it’s a little bit uncomfortable, that’s true. Stretches and burns, as if his body wants to remind him that this goes against so much. But at the same time, that kindle is there. And that it’s Even ( – inside him, closer than anyone ever before – ).
None of them move, and the only sound is Isak’s strained, slightly choked-off breaths. Even’s hips move against his hand, and without opening his eyes he continues to jerk them off. His hand is shaking, his grip looser and the lube from earlier is starting to wear off. But they’ve both come so much precome that it’s slick and wonderful anyway.
The sensation of being pried open slowly subsides. Opening his eyes again, and Even is looking straight at him ( – looks completely wrecked with his mouth open and eyes like black holes – ).
“May I – ?” he starts, before showing what he means, and Isak whimpers in the back of his throat when three fingers start to massage again. He’s gasping for air, and the combination of cold against his cheek, Even against him, his hand around them, the smell of Even everywhere ( – Even’s fingers slightly spread out – ) causes a shiver down his spine – and without warning something tips over inside.
“Even,” he says, before his throat closes. “Even, I’m coming soon.”
The arm around his shoulders just holds tighter.
His lips are tingling, but time is distorted. Seconds turn long and stretched out and as soon as he pushes some air into his lungs ( – temporarily regains some control over himself – ) he kisses Even. Doesn’t just push his open, fumbling mouth against his, but does it properly as he starts to move his hand again.
And it takes two strokes ( – a twist of his wrist and Even’s audible reaction to it – ) before it finally goes black. His heartbeat swells in his head, in his toes and between his legs with such a force it makes him lightheaded. Clutches Even to him ( - -by the sweat-curled locks of hair at the nape of his neck, muffles his gasps against his mouth, lets himself be pulled with the currents of involuntary spasm – ) when he comes all over himself and Even with Even’s fingers still inside.
Blood is rushing to his head, and he has to remind himself to breathe. The air feels thin, and he doesn’t even dare to swallow before it has thickened again. Lets himself open his eyes when it does, anchors himself in the now and studies Even. It’s hard to see through the darkness, but a hint of white tells him that Even, as always, is staring at him with parted lips ( – rapt – ).
And if he didn’t know that it takes effort, commitment, and practice to love another person, he’d think that Even was created with just him, and only him, in mind.
Without a word, Isak tightens his fingers around him. Looks and looks and looks at Even while he jerks him off in the way he knows that Even just loves. Because that’s something he knows. He swallows around the feeling ( – a kindle instead of a wildfire, something quiet but still forceful enough to steal the air right out of his lungs – ) when Even closes his eyes and thrusts into his hand.
Absolutely scalding hot, throbbing and his breath is labored. He stops breathing when Isak’s other hand starts fondling his balls too.
“Isak.”
His voice is a bit choked, and his fingers are digging into his shoulder. Isak doesn’t answer ( – swallows and swallows and feels the power swell again until it is pushing against his skin like a beast – ). Continues a little harder and faster while he keeps his eyes on Even’s face; Even, who tries to be steady, which he is until the next breath catches in his throat ( – makes his whole body lock up – ) and comes out like a moan divided into thirds when he comes over Isak’s hand.
Afterwards, he sinks into the mattress ( – like a marionette with severed strings – ). Lets out a deep sigh. Lies completely still, with closed eyes and breathes. Isak caresses his beanie with calm movements, but he closes his eyes when the fingers in his hair suddenly move. Even’s hand cups his neck, takes a better hold.
Holds his head so close that there’s really no place to breathe properly ( – but they breathe in sync, make space for each other between their breaths – ).
Then Even cracks one eye open ( – the white glimmers in the red light – ) and pulls his fingers out of him; makes him gasp. At once Even’s there with his lips, calming and warm.
“Are you alright?”
Isak squints ( – takes a quick inventory of his body, registers the signals from every peeled nerve ending – ). “Yeah.”
He rolls onto his stomach and hurries to locate the toilet roll from the bedside table. Tears of a couple sheets, before handing it to Even underneath the duvet. Wipes the worst from his hand and whatever Even’s left on him.
Tries to, at least.
“Oh, goddammit –” He crumples the paper and tosses it in the direction of his waste bin. “I didn’t think. We used the wrong lube. I need soap and water to get this off completely.”
Even’s eyes glimmers. “Silicone-based is better for everything.”
There’s a twitch at the corner of his mouth, before he suddenly smiles and turns his head to muffle a laugh into the pillow. Isak shoves him, which just makes him laugh so hard his shoulders shake ( – makes it impossible not to smile – ).
“Fuck off, Even! There isn’t even any hot water here now!”
Traces of laughter still in his eyes, Even makes himself stop shaking; strokes his fingertips over Isak’s forehead with a big smile. “Sorry. Come here, then.”
Isak manages to get his leg back into his pajama pants and boxers again, and rolls in under Even’s arm ( – warm and safe – ). The sound of the cars on the street below filters in; a dull, lulling sound that curls like a band around his head, makes it heavy.
He lets out a sigh and takes pleasure in the overwhelming drowsiness ( – a sign that sleep is inevitable, a promise – ) when Even moves a little restlessly beneath him.
He doesn’t open his eyes, just lets his hand run along Even’s side. “What is it?”
Beneath his cheek, Even’s chest expands, and under his ear, the heartbeats are a little nervous. “Are you – are you certain you want to try again?”
“Why are you asking about that again?” Isak says, but the words grow in his mouth. “I’ve said I want to.”
“Okay.” Even goes quiet for so long that Isak thinks he might have fallen asleep, when he whispers, “I just want to be sure.”
And when he sighs, it goes up for Isak who the questions are really for. “You want to do it again,” he says, quietly.
Not a question, but a statement.
Once again, Even’s chest stops ( – proof that he’s right – ), before he breathes out something that should cloud the air.
But it doesn’t.
“Yes and no. I – I want to, but at the same time I don’t want to say it out loud.” The whisper echoes a little, and Isak is just about to say something, anything at all, when Even continues. “And I really don’t want to hurt you again.”
“You didn’t.” Isak swallows ( – can’t make himself say it out loud anymore – ). “You don’t.”
Silence settles between them. Even takes a few short breaths, like a preparation for something. Once, twice. Isak shuts his eyes. His body is heavy enough that he could fall asleep right then and there, when Even finally manages to say something ( – just as important as his own confession – ).
“And you don’t feel as if I expect you to like it?”
An exhale and just air formed into words. It’s so quiet. He can feel that he almost stops breathing, how the desperation grows in his throat. Then he grabs Even’s chin, feels the stubble against his fingers ( – makes sure that he doesn’t divert his gaze, physically or mentally – ).
“Hey. Look at me.”
Even’s eyes still dart over the room, so Isak lifts the other hand from their warm cocoon. Pushes a lock of hair from Even’s forehead; hides it under the hem of his beanie.
“That before, it wasn’t about that I don’t want to, or feel that I have to because of you. I too want to try again, alright? I just need – I need to remind myself of how good it feels. When I let go of everything. Sometimes, it just feels as if I’ve fallen behind. That I can’t combine what I feel for you with that which I feel with you, at the same time, you know? And that you’ve somehow already figured it out. Or something. It’s not entirely true, but when Eskild talks like that, I just – “.
Through the darkness, Even’s eyes are impenetrable, and Isak bites his lip before he continues.
“Never mind. I just listen too much to people again.”
He draws his tongue over the bit of lip he’s got between his teeth, before he lets go. Even studies him the whole time; eyes steady now ( – doldrums and you can see all the way to the bottom – ). Then they soften, and without a word, he presses a light and quick kiss to Isak’s mouth.
“You have to be kind to yourself, too.”
The lava lamp spreads its red glow over the room, and the wool in Even’s base layer prickles his cheek.
“Do I have to? Even when I’m being stupid?”
Something sad passes over Even’s face as he pulls Isak a little higher up on his chest. “You have to. Even then,” he says. Isak puts his head on his shoulder. Feels the calm heartbeats through the shirt ( – a steady beat, one, two, three, four – ) and buries his cold nose at the base of Even’s throat.
“Okay.”
The radiator is still quiet. The floor above creaks with the cold.
But beneath the duvet, between them, there’s nothing but warmth.