He used to hate that he sometimes looked at men. But then he thought, if he would ever meet someone, it would probably be a girl. Because no way would any man ever look at him. That was just so farfetched in Oskar’s mind that he had pretty-much suppressed the whole idea.
He is kind of attracted to men. Okay. Fine. He is attracted to Erik. Erik, who seems to like him. Oh God. He can barely make sense of that whole thing in his head.
That just doesn’t happen in real life. In movies and rom coms and people’s fucked-up poetry? Yes. In Oskar’s pathetic excuse for a life? No. Not happening. How can it? He doesn’t deserve this.
But then Oskar places a pile of dishes next to Erik, who is elbow deep in soap suds by the sink, scrubbing another pan, and Erik just leans over and lays his head on Oskar’s shoulder.
Just for a second. Just like a little nudge. And Oskar leans back. Pretty much plasters his body over Erik’s back and lets his nose sink into Erik’s neck. Nuzzles a little. Sniffs. Smells. Let’s his top lip just brush against the skin on Erik’s back, the little bit that sticks up over the hood of his onesie.
“You know you said you owe me all these favours?” Oskar asks softly.
He needs to continue talking before he chickens out. Breathe, Oskar. In... Out...
“I owe you so many favours that you need to start writing a list.” Erik sighs, and leans back over his shoulder. Nudges Oskar’s forehead with his cheek. “What do you want, baby?”
I want you to call me baby for the rest of my life. Oh God. Oskar’s mind is racing again. He probably has some weird fetish where he wants Erik to wrap him up in blankets and give him a dummy and rock him to sleep or some shit. Fuck.
“Do these favours include things like…” Oskar is squirming. Swallowing a bit too loudly. Letting his arms wrap around Erik’s waist whilst his head is pressing right down in the hood in front of him. It’s easier to talk when he is like this. Clinging to the boy in front of him where no one can see him blushing and being pathetic.
“Anything, Oskar. Seriously. Tell me what you need, and I will give it to you, whatever it is. Promise.”
“Kissing?” Oskar’s mouth blurts out before he can stop himself. “Can you teach me to kiss? I want to do kissing.”
Fuck, he sounds like a five-year-old. This is bad. This is ridiculous. He is a man, he should be swinging people over his knee and snogging like a pro. Not hiding in Erik’s neck bruising him with the death grip his fingers have got snaked around his hips.
“Oh God, yes please. Lots of kissing.” Erik’s whole body is doing that relief thing again, where he just relaxes into Oskar, sinks into his embrace and presses against him to the point that Oskar has to let go and grab hold of the sink before they both collapse in a pile on the floor. Soap suds and all.
“Good. Kissing it is then.” Oskar laughs nervously.
“Kissing lessons.” Erik giggles, and rubs his cheek against Oskar’s nose again. “Although I have never kissed a boy before, so you will be my first.”
“I like that.” Oskar smiles. “We can be each other’s firsts.” All warm and soft and relieved and relaxed again as his arms move all over Erik’s chest. Strong firm movements, just like Erik does to his back.
He’s a fast learner. He is figuring this out. He’s getting good at hugs. Cuddles. He thinks he is getting good at this whole love thing too. He can definitely do this love thing. Just a few lessons on this kissing thing and Oskar will be off to a good start. Because he is going to love the shit out of Erik. If this is his one chance at turning his life around and being happy, then he is fucking going all in.
“Love you,” he whispers into Erik’s neck, before he can stop himself. Then he freezes up. He shouldn’t have said that. Why the heck did he say that? Out loud?
And Erik has never spun around so fast in his life. Soapsuds and a stray fork flying across the floor as he throws his arms around Oskar’s neck and squeezes him as tight as his muscles will allow.
“Fucking love you too,” he almost squeals into Oskar’s neck, whilst the tears are running down his cheeks and his eyes are watering, and he can’t understand why he is crying again, but it’s just so bloody perfect. “Love you so much,” he whispers.
And Oskar holds him as the snow once again starts to fall outside the windows. Holds him against his body and rocks him, and whispers little words that Erik can barely understand.
It’s more than perfect. It’s pretty epic.
By the time the kitchen is half decent, everyone is back into the fridge raiding for leftovers and nibbles and Erik throws a pretend tantrum over the mess everyone is creating, after he and Oskar have done all this cleaning-up!, and Oskar ends up getting another session of love therapy before Erik rescues him from his mother’s arms and pretty much drags him up the stairs.
Erik is a little bit desperate. Maybe a tiny bit clingy. He just wants to lie down with Oskar and kind of eat his face. Or something.
He sighs as he strips himself out of his giraffe suit and tries not to stare at Oskar who has his back turned to him, slipping his white sleep t-shirt over his head again.
Erik doesn’t want sleep t-shirts. He wants naked. Fuck, he wants Oskar naked forever. Preferably back in that epic bed of his, in Oskar’s room, with the total privacy from all the ears around them, where Erik has pretty-much decided that he is going to live from now on.
Instead, he has Oskar in his sleepwear standing in the middle of the room holding his toothbrush. Like this is their new routine. This is how they do it.
The unmade bed under the roof window looks damn inviting, and Erik kind of half contemplates tackling Oskar onto the bed, and pretty much demanding that Oskar grab his first kiss, so they can get on to the good bits. Like right now.
But he is a decent human being, so he pulls his t-shirt on over his head, sticks to his boxers and follows Oskar out in the hallway, that is littered with children tucked up in sleeping bags on the floor. Emilia is fast asleep curled up like a little worm in between the older boys who are playing on their handheld gaming consoles whilst chatting excitedly. They have had a good day, Erik thinks as he steps over their legs to get into the bathroom, closing the door behind them.
The bathroom light is too harsh on his eyes, making him blink helplessly as he wets his toothbrush under the water and starts brushing, whilst Oskar is just standing there looking at him, his head cocked to the side.
He is beautiful. It’s like he doesn’t even have to try. He can just stand there in the bright bathroom light with his threadbare t-shirt and look like he should be painted onto murals and written sonnets about.
“What are you thinking about?” Erik smiles as he wipes his mouth on the towel and hangs it back on the hook. Because he is a good kid. His mum trained him well.
He is definitely a good kid, his mind screams as Oskar pretty-much tackles him against the wall and God.
God help him.
Oskar’s lips are pressed against his mouth and Erik can’t breathe with all this Oskar plastered all over him. He is getting kissed. Well, kind of sledgehammered into the wall, whilst Oskar and his damn lips are attacking him repeatedly and his cock is throbbing in his boxers and shit. This is not what he had planned. But he is quite happy to run with it as it’s Oskar. He will take Oskar however he comes. And if it includes getting his skull slammed against the tiles on the bathroom wall whilst Oskar’s fingers are scratching the skin of his cheeks and knocking out his teeth with his mouth, then Erik is up for it. All in. One hundred per cent. Yup.
“Slow down, baby. I’m not going anywhere” he manages to pant out as he manhandles Oskar across the floor into the shower cubicle. And there is little squeak coming out of Oskar’s mouth as Erik tips his chin up. “Slow down,” he whispers again as he leans down and presses his lips against Oskar’s.
Much better. Although Oskar is squirming and clinging to him and there is a leg trying to climb his hip and hands everywhere. On his shoulder. Under his t-shirt. Whilst his own hands are firm
ly around Oskar’s face.
There is also the embarrassing fact that he is now humping against Oskar’s stomach, jerking his hips against the poor guy he has pressed into the wall.
This is not what he had planned. He needs to slow down. Start again.
Well, he would if he could just gather enough strength to stop his tongue from licking Oskar’s lips. That would have been a good start. Instead, Oskar growls and lets his hands land firmly on Erik’s chest as he shoves him into the wall on the other side of the damn shower cubicle.
“Shit!” Oskar squeals out as the water starts to pour from the shower and Erik can’t help himself. He bursts out laughing.
Oskar just wants to die. Well, no. He doesn’t. Because Erik is right there where he needs him. Scooping him up in his arms and laughing in his face and the hands are there, all over his back as he pulls him into his chest. He is right there. Fully clothed under the lukewarm shower spray that is annoyingly washing all that bravery right out of Oskar.
“Told you I don’t know what I am doing,” Oskar mutters, trying to hide in Erik’s neck. “I need lessons.”
“You are bloody perfect,” Erik whispers back, then kisses him, and Oskar is somehow firing on all cylinders again. His cock is somehow jerking in his pants. And he can feel Erik against him. He is turned on. Oskar did that. He does things to Erik, and his chest puffs up with pride, just at the thought that this is actually happening.
There is a tongue pressing between his lips. Tongue. Erik is kissing him. With tongues! And Oskar’s sad excuse for a tongue is just sitting there taking it all in. The softness and wetness and warmth in his mouth, tangled with breaths and those freaky little moans that Oskar’s brain keeps making him squeeze out, in between trying to keep his lips latched on Erik’s whilst they are still standing in the shower getting crazily rained on from the showerhead above.
“Too cold,” Erik shivers and lets go of Oskar’s face, until the water is suddenly warm, folding around Oskar like a blanket.
Oh fuck. His cock likes that even more. Well, now Oskar is pretty-much back-pressed into the wall, with Erik grinding all over him and there is this delicious slide against Oskar’s cock whenever Erik moves his body up, and Oskar tips his head back and... oh fuck, there are Erik’s lips kissing down his jaw. Down his neck. Oh. Oh.
Oh!
“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop,” Oskar whispers. Please. Because he wants to come. He wants this to last forever until he comes. Please let him come. Please let Erik be brave and just keep doing what he is doing.
His mouth is on Oskar’s trapezius muscle. Well, there is some wet fabric between his skin and Erik’s mouth, but it doesn’t even matter as Erik just yanks the T-shirt over Oskar’s head and then he is back. Just little kisses on the soft part of his shoulder that are making Oskar’s breath hitch and he is making noises again. Crazy little squeals as Erik moves on to his Pectoralis Major, nuzzling his nose against Oskar’s nipple in the process. Fuck. Go back up.
Of course, Erik does. Because Erik is a freaking mindreading superhero and knows exactly what Oskar wants, and now Oskar is rutting desperately against Erik’s chest as his nipple is getting coated in little licks and kisses and fuck... Oskar is going to come. He couldn’t stop it if he tried.
Instead, he tries to get his head to focus. Mapping out the muscles under his skin like he’s reading from one of his textbooks, or the flash cards he’s created in colourful marker pen. Serratus, External Oblique, Rectus Abdominis… Oskar tries to name the muscles in his groin as Erik kisses his way down there, but his mind isn’t working anymore. It’s just fuzzy and blank and painful... and wonderful and bloody amazing and shit.
There is Erik’s face. Nuzzling into the softness of Oskar’s wet pants right where his cock is being strangled by the wet fabric, and fuck. Those are his hands. Yep. Oskar’s hands are fisting the wet hair on Erik’s head, and they are his hands that are pushing and tugging and making Erik keep his face right where Oskar needs him as he totally loses control.
There are kids outside the door. There are people downstairs. There is a boy with his head in Oskar’s groin and Oskar doesn’t care anymore. Because he comes. Shooting his seed into the sodden fabric clinging to his body as his hips can’t stop moving and his whole body is shaking, and he actually has his head slung back against the tiles like some fucked-up bad-acting porn star in a home-made clip on the internet.
He wants to laugh out loud at himself. How he thought this would ever be a good idea. How he ever thought this would be him.
He thinks he has made a complete fool out of himself again, as he sinks to his knees in the shower next to Erik, who is leaning to the side still on his knees under the warm spray.
Erik, who has his eyes closed, snuffling uncomfortably with his hand down his boxers. Little erratic tugs of his hand and desperate moans spilling from his lips as Oskar loses control again.
He shouldn’t do things like this. He should think. Stop himself. Know better.
Instead, he swats Erik’s hand out of the way and replaces it with his own inside the clingy fabric, his hand gripping the warm hard organ pulsing under his grip.
It takes nothing. Not even a tug, and Erik’s face is against his shoulder, silently screaming into his skin as Oskar’s hand is being coated with come and water and warmth, and fuck, he can feel his own cock jerk at the sensations of it all.
They don’t need to speak. It’s just... Well.
Oskar just came in his pants. In Erik’s face. Then he kind of jerked Erik off. He thinks. Well, he is still sitting here with Erik’s cock in his hand, and his other hand is tangled in the hair on Erik’s head, and Erik, fuck... Erik, this amazing human being is sniffling and almost sobbing into Oskar’s chest, and Oskar thinks that this is probably what it is all about. This all-consuming warmth that is falling around them like an aura of calm. Which in reality, is the water from the shower, but Oskar thinks, fuck that. This is love. This is what it feels like being loved. When you drop all the shields and pretence of being all nice and polite and perfect, and then in the end it’s just carnal instinct and pleasure and being human.
They have just made each other come. And it was amazing. And now they are here and strangely, this. This is fine. It’s more than fine.
“Let’s clean up and get into bed, baby.” He has just called Erik baby. Oops. He’s kind of promised himself he won’t go down the route of terms of endearment. He is far too sensible for that. But then his mouth says it again.
“Baby. Come. Stand up, baby. Let’s get these clothes off and get you warm and dry, and then we can go snuggle in bed.”
“I love you,” Erik snuffles. “I love you so much.”
“Love you too.” Oskar smiles and presses another kiss onto the lips in front of him.
Kissing. Wow. Who would have thought? There will be more of that, he hopes. Lots more kissing.
December 25
Tap. Tap tap tap.
Oskar wakes up with a jerk and swings his legs over the side of the bed in automatic mode, looking around with a confused look on his face. He hasn't got a clue where he is. He scratches the hair on his head and yawns. Oh yes. Of course.
And Erik’s dad just laughs as he places the steaming-hot cup on the side next to him.
“This will wake you up, and just remember there will be good stuff for us downstairs when we come back. Naughty stuff.”
He chuckles and Oskar suddenly realises that he is stark naked. In front of Erik’s dad.
Oh shit.
Well, Einar just closes the door behind him as he leaves Oskar sitting on the edge of the bed with his legs crossed in embarrassment. Not that he would have seen much since the room is all dark, but even so...
Ugh. Does life never stop taunting him? He leans back and remembers that Erik is asleep behind him. His Erik. Soft lovely Erik who lets him do as much kissing as he wants to and who loves him and loves his body and keeps touching him all over and makes him feel all mushy and loved and e
xcited, and ugh.
He loves Erik. It makes him grin like a loon in the dark. He loves Erik. And Erik says he loves him right back.
They had stayed awake for ages last night, just lying tangled up in each other under the duvet, kissing and cuddling and talking about all kind of stupid things. Things that just made Oskar insanely happy.
They talked about growing up. About family. About all the stupid hopes and dreams.
They talked about kissing. Boys and girls. Of crushes and people and school. They talked about growing up. Growing old. Family.
Oskar has always wanted to be a dad. He wants to be a different dad. A dad who does stuff with his kid, plays football and walks in the mountains and makes life an adventure. But then, he wants to be a bit like his own dad too. Successful and respected and pretty damn cool. Oskar’s dad dresses well, in sharp suits and gelled-back hair, but when he is off duty it’s all about hoodies and beanies and sharp parka coats.
Oskar wants to dress like that. He just doesn’t know how to put things together and look cool. Not like Erik, who looks effortlessly hip whatever he wears. Not that it matters, because Erik wants kids. He wants babies and he wants to adopt and he wants to foster and make a difference to some kid’s life, and Oskar had just lain there and smiled whilst he fell in love all over again with the ridiculous boy that was lying naked against his chest. The boy that wears cool clothes and has all the friends and looks like a million-dollar movie star, despite the patches of acne on his face, and the small constellations of birthmarks on his skin and Oskar can’t quite make his thoughts make sense anymore.
In this Bed of Snowflakes we Lie Page 12