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The smog that sits just above reach is thick, heftily tapping at the wood, picking off paint chips and rotting away at the cabins corpse. The patter of rain is harsh for summer.
"Damn Pelle! You got like a full blown beard now!" His fur is coarse at his hand when he rubs his cheek.
Pelle's face curls up nonchalantly, turning to look in the bathroom mirror, "Yeah, I keep forgetting to shave it." He scratches at his neck, turning his chin up to look at the hair there.
"It's so blonde. It's barely even visible." It was said more surprised than mocking, like he was in awe of just how blonde a man could be. It was kinda funny.
Pelle turns to him to laugh, "Yes, Øystein, I am quite blonde." This made him giggle.
"Sit down, I'll shave it for you."
The whir of the bathroom fan is ambient, the sound of the razor gliding down his cheek is coarse. He studies Øystein's face, he likes the way his tounge peaks out of the corner of his lips when he's focused on something, it's cute.
"Don't shave the 'stache though, I wanna keep it."
He nods in understanding, pushing the fat of his cheek up to be able to glide the blade down smoothly. He stands close, right in between his long legs, Pelle raises a hand to hold onto his hip, thumb swiping agaisnt the silky fabric of his breifs.
"Are you trying to grab my ass?" Øystein laughs.
"...Possibly..."
"Perv." He snorts at him, Pelle smiles. He doesn't even try to hide it now, sliding his palms up the backs of his thighs, stopping when he reaches his ass to grab at it. Øystein stares at him with a flat face, trying to hide his laugh when Pelle kneads him.
"Do you really have to do this now? At least let me finish shaving your face you horny fuck."
His head drops down to rest his forehead against his warm stomach to hide his smile, hands sliding down till they fall off his thighs when he sits back to allow Øystein to finish the job.
Øystein feels like ambient marigolds, he's unnatural and extraterrestrial, something completely new, a presence for tired eyes. He brings him back to a saccharine fleeting feeling of childhood, a warm feeling he hasn't felt in too long. He feels okay like this, with him.
The thing about swallowing your bile back down is that it's gotta come back up at some point, it wont stay in your stomach forever. Øystein bubbles his gut up, makes his stomach blossom with heat when he gently pushes his chin up to shave his neck. His touch is like hot coals.
Pelle sheepishly smiles up at him after he's done toweling the shaving cream off his face. "Look at you, smooth as a baby." Øystein grins and pats his cheek, smile splitting further when Pelle laughs sweetly.
Pelle hides his face in his stomach again, he's wearing his napalm death shirt, it's huge on him, makes him look a whole lot shorter than he already was. He looks cute.
"'M still horny," Pelle mumbles, Øystein breathes a laugh, his hand coming up to hold his head. "'Course you are."
"Morning wood man, a mans right of passage. Now let me fuck you or I'll find some interesting looking hole in the couch."
Øystein bucks over with a wheeze, "You would fuck the fucking couch? Please don't fuck the couch."
"I will. Don't temp me."
"You're such a fascinating man Pelle."
The roots he planted into his skin teather him to earth, comfortably grounded when he crawls into his skin. Melding his lips to his sternum to bring fire to his stomach--- safe in his skin.
"What do you want?" Øystein murmurs into his hair.
Pelle nuzzles his cheek into him, "Want my dick in your mouth." He says it so sweetly, he made the words seem like they weren't so absurd. It still made heat creap up Øystein's cheeks.
He turns to look up at him now, "Would you want that?" He nods dumbly at him, Pelle returns it with a sly grin.
"Sit boy," he chirps, pitching his voice like he was talking to a dog, which Øystein protests with, "'M not a dog Pelle," but he kneels between his legs anyway.
"You're a good dog. You even got the puppy eyes." He pats his head when Øystein scowls.
"Such a good puppy," he mocks, scratching under his chin, laughing when his hand is swatted away.
"My good boy." It was supposed to be just another mockery but this one actually made his eyes widen, heat crawling up his cheeks when Pelle noticed the reaction he had to it. "Oh?" Pelle enquires, laughing when his eyes shift shyly.
"You liked that one? Aww you're so cute," He teases, laughing sweetly. "Fuck off," he hisses, his embarrassment manifests into prissyness.
"Aww come on now, won't you be a good boy for me and suck me off huh?" His tone is sweet and light, his grin shit-eating when he practically whimpers. It furthers the embarrassment.
"Fuck you." He spits.
"Ow! Pelle--" He cries, swatting at his hand when Pelle flicks his nose. "Bad dog."
Øystein just scowls at him, rubbing the pain from his nose. "I don't have to blow you, y'know."
"Thought you cared about that couch."
Øystein wheezes, throwing his hands up in exaggeration, "Stop with the fucking couch! How am I supposed to get in the mood when you won't stop talking about fucking our couch!?"
"Gay for him it seems. Our couch is a little homo-erotic what can I say." Pelle shrugs nonchalantly.
They can't hold in their laughter, Øystein slides down to the floor, nearly crying, cluching his ribs in pain--- and Pelle, well he might as well need an inhaler with how much he's choking for air.
"Fuck, I lost my boner." Pelle sighs.
"That's your own fault, couch humper."