42: Pride

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ROCKET

I was giddy all the way back to Håkon's house. I mean I was barely paying attention to where I was driving and I was singing at the top of my lungs to whatever showed up next on my playlist and hell I'm happy.

I bounce up his front steps and knock on the door, he's just inside, barely even out of his coat yet.

"I think we left off somewhere important." I hop inside and thread my fingers up into his hair, both of us struggling to get out of our shoes and jackets while caught up in our kiss.

"I think we did leave off somewhere important." He tucks me into his body and presses me back against the door we just came in from.

It's a cute gesture in essence but my insides flare up and I kiss him just a little deeper because of it. I love the adorable way he seems to just melt into my arms and how he seems to want to rub his cheek against my hand whenever I've got it by his face.

Håkon tugs at the bottom of my shirt as we stumble our way out of the mudroom and into the kitchen. I let him take it willingly, throwing my abandoned shirt onto the counter and tugging at him, asking him to do the same. His hoodie drops to the ground in the living room.

"How do you feel?" I ask, somewhat concerned, somewhat interested.

Håkon pulls back for a split second, smiling like an idiot. "Gay."

"Me too." I thread my fingers through his hair and let him stumble forward, getting me closer to him by putting me up against the wall near his staircase.

I take it a step further, running my hands down his chest and his abs and grabbing the waistband of his sweatpants and tugging, pulling him toward the thin staircase that leads up.

He falls forward, still locked between my lips and starts to stumble up the staircase with me.

It's a stupid and giggly and out of control kiss, his hands holding and poking and grabbing all of me and my hands in his hair and his back and digging into his skin. It's my chest bare against his and his body hard on mine.

I break off and tap his nose before turning and jogging the rest of the way up the stairs, deciding that kissing while on a staircase is probably a bad plan. He just laughs and chases after me, following my footsteps into his bedroom where he tackles me gracelessly onto his bed.

The tackle is far from agile. He crashes on top of me, his knee somewhat on my hip, his arm slipping and his shoulder driving into my side. I groan, laughing and shoving him with one of my hands to get him off my hip.

"Sorry," he mumbles, a blush creeping up his neck and warm to the touch.

"That was clumsy on both of us." I laugh, kissing his neck to ease the blush and to feel the heat of his skin on my lips.

"Fun fact, I did play rugby for a couple years, my tackles have no excuse being that bad." He rolls off me, sitting up and then grabbing my thigh with one of his hands, gripping and then pulling me swiftly into his lap with the grip on the back of my leg.

"You did?" I can't come up with a coherent thought, especially not with his baseball mitt hand pressed firmly to the upper backside of my thigh like that, giving me a little squeeze and tug to get me to settle better across his lap.

"Yeah, I was shit at it." He leans up, locking my lips between his. "I'm actually a terrible throw."

"No way." I mumble, leaning my chest against his.

"Yeah way," his head dips down, nudging my chin with his nose to get my neck open for him. "I was awful at baseball too."

I try to start a response but it comes out as a stuttered moan as the flat of his tongue presses against the spot above my adam's apple. He gives it a quick nip and then a kiss to soothe the area.

I manage to get my words out. "I was fucking good at baseball."

"No need to rub it in." He coos softly, kissing down my neck.

"Catcher." I smile, holding onto his arm like I'll fall off a rollercoaster if I don't. My other hand is knotted in his hair, keeping his lips pressing soft kisses to my throat.

He comes to the spot between my collarbones, but instead of biting at the skin like he did with every other kiss, he nips the thin silver chain I keep around my neck. "Where's this from?"

I suck in a breath as the thumb on his hand on the back of my thigh starts to do circles that are making my body erupt in tingles. "Uh," I pause. "I ah, broke one of Kelly's necklaces once and..." he kisses the bottom of my chin. "She fixed the chain and gave it to me."

He smiles softly against my throat, then looks back up at me. I stare back at him, he looks stupidly innocent, shirtless with his chin on my sternum, just gazing up at me with his navy blue eyes that contrast violently against his white hair.

"God you're fucking beautiful." I mumble, suddenly violently jealous of how thick his eyelashes are. He moves to hide his face in my neck but I just slip my fingers around his cheeks and hold him still there, tracing my thumbs over the line of his eyebrows, his cheekbones and the structure of his face. His blush deepens, spreading across his upper back and the front of his chest.

All he can do in response is make a little 'nnnn' noise and try a little harder to hide his face.

How do I ask him to take out his retainer without ruining the energy?

I drag my thumb softly across his bottom lip, admiring his lips and the tiny little scar that marks the bottom, wondering quietly how he got it but also being a little worried to know. From there I slip my thumb under his lip and try to repeat the action I've seen him do quite a lot, a little wiggle and click. To my absolute astonishment, it works. In slight awe, I set his retainer on the bedside table. He seems impressed as well, but his mouth shut immediately, clearly slightly uncomfortable.

I lean in and press a soft kiss to his lips to try to ease his discomfort with his teeth. He kisses back, soft and warm and damp, but pulls off.

"Why did you..." He frowns, unsure of how to finish that so deciding a facial expression will have to work.

"I don't know," I lean down and settle my forehead against his. "I just like it better."

"Why?"

"Feels more like you." I nudge his cheek with my nose, pushing my lips on the corner of his jaw. He gasps when my lips brush lightly over his earlobe. Just like that, our energy changes again. I use my lips and my fingers to kiss patterns down his neck, stopping at the base between his collarbones and pulling his soft skin between my teeth, giving him a couple of seconds of soft suction, loving the way he's holding my head down to his skin. I pull back and soothe the spot with a small kiss, letting my mouth melt to his newly bruised skin.

I run my fingers slowly up his chest, feeling the stutter in his breath when my fingers glance off his skin and drag upward. He's kissing me in his own way, one arm in a locked position around my lower back, the other firm around my cheek and hair.

"Mmph, Milo," he mumbles into my neck, pulling my skin between his teeth. "How..." he sucks in a harsh breath. "Where did you learn this?" his soft innocent eyes locking on mine. "I'm... I don't know, but I feel like you're just, I don't know, I'm, I'm trying but you're better."

I wrap my arms around his shoulders giving him a quick squeeze. "What are you trying to be better at?"

"I don't know, this? You just, you kiss me and I'm so... I don't know but I know you're better or, fuck, disappointed."

I can't think of anything else to do than to grab the sides of his face and smush our lips back together again, stifling his voice. "Literally shut up." I mumble, giving him short and long kisses but as many as I can get in. "shut- up- shut- up." I say against his mouth. "I don't give a single fuck if you think you're bad at, what, kissing? I want to kiss you. I like kissing you. Hell, kissing you is the best thing there is." I tip his head back and lean over him in my kneeling position over his legs and kiss him harder. "Håkon for the love of god, I know you're iffy and insecure but please understand that there's nothing else I want to do than be with you. Hell I don't think I'd care if you drooled into my mouth. Okay, I might, but seriously I love kissing you."

"Okay," he mumbles, overwhelmed.

I pull back, gazing into his slightly alarmed and slightly scared eyes. "You're fucking precious."

"What?"

"Ignore that," I wrap my fingers up in his hair, bringing him as softly as I can back to my lips. "Just kiss me."

I fucking adore him. I mean, he's huge, he's always somewhat angry out on the ice, he's commanding, he's scary, he's powerful. He's the toughest man I've ever met. And here he is, flustered and tossed up over worrying that he's not a good enough kisser. I mean, I've seen him knock someone out with a single angry hit and now he's leant back against his headboard, letting me get the upper hand on him, one hand on my lower back, one around my thigh. There's an internationally famous 'hey look how tough hockey players are' video of him pulling out teeth on his way to the penalty box and look at him, stopping to kiss my cheek and hug me and thank me for being here. He has no idea that there's nowhere else I'd rather be than draped lazily across his lap, making out with him.

Except, making out only lasts so long with us. From past experiments, this is an incredibly long time we spent just kissing in a bed together. Of course, we just have to fuck that up, mostly out of desperation. He, being slightly more experienced, okay, a lot more experienced than me, softly and lovingly... you know... kinda vaguely gropes me which is enough to earn him a very embarrassing, in hindsight, whine out of me.

"Oh?" He nudges my head up with his nose, locking his lips against my skin.

"Shu-" my irritated remark is cut off by his knuckles brushing the front of my pants again.

"A little sensitive, huh?"

I groan out of pure irritation at his newly confident antics. "Yeah, no shi-" I gasp, his thumb hooking under my waistband. "No shit."

He tugs the waistband out, letting it snap back into position. "Are you okay with this? I promise I'll plug my nose this time."

I can't help but giggle a little bit, pressing my lips back to his. "Promise?"

"Yeah." His hand comes to the back of my thigh and my knee, shoving me and picking me up at the same time. The end result is a very gentle rearrangement. He rolls me onto my back in one sweep, slouched up against the headboard basically where he was just seconds ago.

His lips trace a pattern down my body, latching onto my tattoo and then a soft lick up the centerline of my abs, making me shiver. Goosebumps erupt over my shoulders and forearms and he definitely notices, his eyebrow quirking up, somewhat impressed with himself.

He kisses over the top of my pants and then pulls, not wasting a second from when I'm free to when his mouth is on me, giving me a soft kiss and a tiny lick before helping me get my sweats all the way off.

Then it's just kinda like the first time except I don't think I could ever get tired of the way he looks laid on his stomach with his lips around me. It's also different from the first time, mostly because he no longer looks rather ashamed of this, he looks so brutally confident in himself I'm having a hard time keeping my shit together. There's something about the glint in his eye when he glances up at me and something about the stronger pull of his hands and the flush on his face that's telling me he's turned on, not that he's embarrassed.

I reach out and set my hand on his head, threading my fingers into the front of his hair and tugging on it, regaining the control and pulling his head back, his lips sliding off me, giving me friction I'm so desperately trying to ignore so I can say one thing.

"That's gay." I mumble, looking at his wet lower lip and the way his jaw is slightly slack, lips pulled lazily to the side.

"What can I say?" He responds, putting his knee up to surge forward and kiss me, sloppily letting our tongues melt together in an absolutely filthy our-eyes-only kiss. "I'm a huge fucking homosexual." There's no reason him saying that with such unbridled confidence should be that much of a turn-on.

"Fuck." I whisper, opening my mouth so he can slip his tongue in and kiss me like he's never done before. Where was this hiding the last times we've kissed. He grips the back of my head and kisses me slow and deadly, dropping his hips to mine and rolling them forward. He knows he's got me under his complete control and I only prove it with the unrestricted groan that erupts from my chest at the action.

I adore it when he's confident like this. I need him to be confident like this all the time. This is Håkon Rex.

He moans something roughly in my ear that I have a creeping suspicion is sexy and slightly degrading and definitely probably asking me something rhetorical. I definitely have a type. It's Swedes. It's this particular Swede. He's the Swedish chef, master of frying my goddamn brain.

"Huh?" I manage.

He looks like he's about to respond but everything goes dark.

Okay, that was a little dramatic, things get darker.

"Uh," I mumble, swatting at the fabric someone just tossed over us.

"Oh," he sounds out of breath, pulling it back. "Your pins don't like sticking in my ceiling." I'm too baffled to respond, staring lovingly at him, all beefy and tough, ruffled up from this and very much turned on from the blush in his cheeks and the speed of his chest, all wrapped up cutely in a pride flag.

I swear my weak little heart melts immediately. "Awh."

"I keep waking up with an extra blanket." He mumbles, blushing out of embarrassment now. "It's okay, though, sometimes it gets cold."

Something about that image is going to murder me. Instead of dying, though, I just leap at him, immediately smushing my lips into his. 

***

I hold hands with cosmic entities, 

I'll take this tube out if I please,

I got this sweet tooth baby, 

yeah I got this sweet tooth baby

sweet tooth - scott helman 

***

hehe anyway, next post wednesday per usual

-rabid

might come back and edit this a little more might not, if it updates ignore it or come back to see changes ig

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