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Eskild is a dead man.
Or at least, he would be if Isak could just fucking find him. Which shouldn’t be so hard, considering that when they left the Kollektive that morning, Eskild had been wearing a neon sweatband, floral platform Docs, and an excessive amount of glitter. Except, as Isak is beginning to realize with a sort of dawning horror, so is everyone else.
And yet, the extent to which Isak is capable of willfully ignoring the obvious is beginning to reach maximum capacity. Because the further down the street he walks, the more obvious it becomes that unlike Eskild had promised, this is not a shortcut between Point A and Point B that totally bypasses all that annoying pedestrian traffic, honestly Isak just trust me, have I ever steered you wrong?
If Isak’s being perfectly honest, the answer to that question would be “Yes, Eskild. Frequently, actually, because you cannot fucking navigate.” So now he’s cursing himself, and Eskild, and that stupid barista who gave him extra whipped cream on his mocha that morning and put him in a good enough mood to indulge Eskild when he asked to take this shortcut. Because this shortcut that isn’t a shortcut landed him smack in the middle of Oslo Pride and Isak is Not Amused.
Well, not prepared would perhaps be the better way to put it. Because, yes, he’s been out for a while now (something that still thrills him a little when he thinks about it) but he’s never really been loud about his sexuality. Not in the way that Eskild is. Not in the way he sometimes wishes he could be, the way the people surrounding him are, so happy and vivid and, and, and proud.
It makes something in him ache, to think he could be this free one day. And maybe that’s what makes him slow his frantic searching and look around at the stalls lining street. He nods at the lone woman manning the Jewish Coalition of Lesbians table, and accepts a pamphlet from the tent of Graysexuals. It’s a term he’s never heard of before, so instead of tossing it in the nearest trashcan as he’d intended, he begins to skim through it as he walks.
The material is a lot more interesting that he’d expected, and very quickly he’s engrossed in terms like “demi” and “aro” and “ace” to the point that Isak doesn’t even notice he isn’t moving anymore until a hand plucks the pamphlet right out of his grasp. He wants to protest, because okay fine, he was blocking traffic, but like, stealing his pamphlet is just a little unnecessary. He doesn’t, though. He can’t. Because the hand that grabbed the pamphlet belongs to the most beautiful boy Isak has ever seen. A boy wearing a pair of jeans so tight they should be illegal, a Bisexual Pride flag around his shoulders like a cape, and not much else aside from a wide, bright smile. A smile that turns into a smirk as Isak continues to stare.
“I’m sorry. Do you want this back?” The boy dangles the pamphlet in front of Isak’s face, for which he is secretly grateful because it gives him something to look at other than the way the smooth lines of the boy’s abdomen disappear beneath the waistband of his very low-slung jeans and get it together, Jesus.
“I - yes. Yes, I do,” Isak sputters, grabbing for the pamphlet. “I was reading that.”
“Yeah, I could tell,” the boy replies, and goddamn the amusement in his voice is doing things to Isak that he hopes aren’t visible. “You seemed… engrossed.”
“It was interesting,” Isak shrugs.
“More interesting that Pride?” the boy asks, incredulous. And looking around, Isak can kind of see why.
Now that he isn’t looking for Eskild or distracted by his pamphlet, Isak can’t help but be amazed at what he had inadvertently become a part of. The street is teeming with laughter, with life. There’s a drag queen dancing with a girl in a rainbow feather boa on the corner, and across the street is a man wearing nothing but the upper half of a stormtrooper suit anointing people with glitter. Next to him is a girl draped in what Isak now recognizes is an Asexual Pride flag handing out dildo lollipops and flavored condoms, while a man who must be at least seventy sits beside her in his wheelchair, collecting donations with a cheery, toothless grin.
Isak looks back at the boy, and something in his expression must change, because the smile is back now, but softer this time.
“I really am sorry for stealing your pamphlet,” he says. “It was kind of a dick move. I’m Even, by the way.”
“Isak.”
“Nice to meet you, Isak,” the boy - Even, replies. “Let me show you around Pride.”
Isak shouldn’t, he knows. He should find Eskild, or go home, or something. But Even is standing there, smiling at him, and still not wearing a goddamn shirt, so Isak is helpless to refuse. Besides, he has a sneaking suspicion that if he didn’t go with the beautiful boy in sinfully tight jeans, Eskild would probably never forgive him, so.
He lets Even pull him along and show him the sights. Sights that yeah, he could’ve seen on his own, but not like this, not the way Even sees them. The way Even sees things is, well it’s fucking cinematic, is what it is. Because Isak’s always been great at the small details - this is the molecular structure of chlorophyll, these are the elements involved in active transport, these are the noble gases on the Periodic Table. But Even? Even sees how they fit into the bigger picture. Or at least, he makes it sounds like he does, pointing out landmarks and smiling at strangers like he’s known them his whole life. It makes Isak feel like he’s walking through a movie set, one where everything is expertly choreographed to fall perfectly into place, like a stack of dominos falling down to reveal a design, and okay, Isak may be mixing his metaphors a little, but Even is talking to him and gesticulating just wildly enough to brush Isak’s arm as he gestures. He’s so animated it’s endearing, and Isak is only human okay, he can’t think under pressure like this.
Maybe it’s because Isak is trying so hard to gather his thoughts, to come up with another question for Even to answer, another way to extend the conversation, that he misses the warning signs. All he knows is that one minute Even has a hand on his arm, is actually touching him, while discussing the optimal way he’d frame a shot of the street if he were to give in and film it, and then suddenly Isak is being ripped away and swept up in a tide of about thirty tourists in matching jackets and fanny-packs. It’s a lot to deal with at once, and no matter how hard he tries, Isak can’t escape the crowd. He won’t panic though, because he’s seventeen dammit, he’s not a fucking kid, but he can’t see Even anymore either. He must have been pushed to the other side of the street, and now he’s lost Eskild and Even, and whatever, he can always find Eskild later, but Even, shit, Isak doesn’t have Even’s number or even his last name, and yeah okay, he’s panicking now. But only a little.
Only until Even grabs his wrist and yanks him out of the street and onto the curb, away from the crowd of tourists who won’t fucking stop with the pictures.
“You okay?” he asks. The concern on his face is sweet. But also unnecessary. Because Isak is fine. Again, seven-fucking-teen years old, here. But the twist to Even’s mouth says he isn’t quite buying it.
“Look, I am the master at being okay, okay? I practically invented the concept.” Isak plays up the machismo, hoping to coax a smile out of Even, wanting Even to stop looking at him in that intense way he has, that makes him feel so fucking seen. Instead, Even laughs, and Isak gives himself a mental pat on the back, because wow, Even with his head thrown back and shoulders shaking in amusement is a sight.
“Glad to hear it,” Even finally replies. “I was worried I lost you to the stampede.”
“Please,” Isak scoffs. “As if a horde of tourists is all it takes to knock me down.”
“A horde of tourists?” Even raises his eyebrows. “Out of curiosity, what constitutes a horde?”
“Definitely a hundred. At least. Maybe two.”
“Two hundred? I did not see two hundred tourists in that crowd,” Even laughs. “I counted eight, at the most.”
“You must have missed the lesson in kindergarten then, the one where you learn how to count past ten,” Isak says. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll catch up eventually.” He lifts a hand to pat Even on the shoulder in consolation, until he remembers (and how could he have forgotten) that Even isn’t wearing a shirt, so instead his hand kind of just hangs there, awkwardly. He hopes Even doesn’t notice.
Even doesn’t notice, but only because he’s fiddling with something in his pocket, which he then uses to short-circuit Isak’s brain, because that something is a rainbow striped ribbon that Even proceeds to tie to Isak’s belt loop and holy shit if Even doesn’t move his fingers right now Isak is gonna have problems.
He needs to clear his throat twice before he can get the words out, but when he does, he is inordinately proud of himself. “Wh-what are you doing?
“Making sure I don’t lose you again, obviously.” Even’s smile is sweet, but his eyebrows are raised in a silent challenge that Isak can’t help but accept.
“Right,” he says. “Yeah, that would be a shame. Imagine if I got like, actually stampeded to death.”
“Imagine that,” Even agrees. “I’d have to eulogize you. Here lies Isak: Master at Being Okay… until he wasn’t.”
Which, okay, fair, but. Even cracks up at Isak’s offended expression.
“What?” he asks. “I think it’s pretty good. A masterpiece, even. Award-worthy.”
Isak just rolls his eyes and hopes he doesn’t look too fond doing so. “Can we continue with the tour? Instead of, y’know, planning my demise?”
“Anything for you,” Even says, hand over his heart. His tone is suddenly serious, too serious, and Isak isn’t sure where to look.
He settles for down, which is when he realizes that Even hadn’t just tied the ribbon to Isak. He tied it to himself too. The two of them are quite literally joined at the hip, and Isak is glad for that split-second of warning, because when Even starts to walk, it becomes immediately obvious that the ribbon is not fucking long enough.
Because while they can still walk fine, they are walking closer together now, and can no longer manage to stay side by side. Isak’s stuck behind Even which is it’s own brand of torture, because with every other step, Even’s hip brushes against Isak’s crotch, and Isak is only about 70% sure it’s accidental. He’s getting harder with each step and fuck Even for thinking this was a good idea, but also like, fuck Even.
How they make it to the end of the block without Isak spontaneously combusting is beyond him. Even slows as he reaches the corner, and Isak has to make a conscious effort to stay two steps behind, to keep from making any more accidental contact, because he likes Even okay, he wants to get his number and go for coffee sometime, which won’t fucking happen if he starts rubbing up against Even like some sort of perv. Then Even stops, abruptly, as if coming to a decision, and Isak has to scramble to keep from walking into him headfirst. For a moment Isak is terrified that Even felt him, that Even figured it out, but no, Even just smiles and says in the same perfectly cheery tone he’d been using all afternoon, “Can I kiss you?”
Which, what.
But also, yes, please, now. And so Even does, and it’s soft and it’s sweet, and it’s entirely too short, because before Isak’s even begun to properly kiss back, Even is pulling away, murmuring, “I’ve been wanting to do that ever since I saw you.”
“Really?” Isak’s flattered, because honestly, same.
“Well, not really. Really, I wanted to blow you as soon as I laid eyes on you, but I figured I should probably lead with the kissing, in case you were shy or something,” Even says, like it’s something he’d say in front of polite company, like it’s something that didn’t just blow Isak’s mind.
But Isak’s mind is blown, and so he responds the only way he can - indignantly.
“Excuse you? I’m not shy?” he sputters.
Even’s smile turns positively wicked. “Prove it.”
So Isak does.
He surges forward and kisses Even, and there is nothing soft or sweet about it. It’s messy - full of clashing teeth and too much tongue and bumped noses, because Isak had misjudged the distance between them and hadn’t counted on Even trying to meet him halfway, but even so, it’s pretty much perfect.
Eventually, Even pulls back, probably to catch a breath like the stupid human that he is, because who needs air when there is kissing? Isak snakes a hand around Even’s neck and pulls him back in for more, only vaguely registering the fact that Even is walking him backwards, but again, there is kissing happening, so Isak can’t find it in him to care.
He only really notices when his back hits a wall that he is pretty sure wasn’t there before. He looks up, and Even takes it as an opportunity to begin sucking bruises down Isak’s neck, so it takes him a moment before he registers the the silence. Well, not silence exactly, because they are still out in the middle of Pride, but quiet, because Even has maneuvered them around the corner into a secluded alley, and while it isn’t exactly private, it also can’t be seen from the street, so Isak supposes it’s private enough.
And really, the longer he thinks about it, the more he decides that Even should really be rewarded for his enterprising spirit. And for the fucking amazing things he is doing with his tongue right about now. So before he has a chance to chicken out, he drops to his knees and begins fumbling with the buckle on Even’s belt.
The look on Even’s face is priceless. It’s all wide eyes and dropped jaws, and Isak can’t help but think yes, I did that. And then Even’s tongue darts out to wet his lip and ohmigod if Isak can’t get these fucking jeans off in the next two seconds he’s just gonna give up and go back to sucking that fucking gorgeous face, because what the fuck did he do? Paint them on?
Isak grabs Even’s waistband and tugs, and then suddenly jeans and underwear are tangled up around Even’s knees so that he’s basically trapped, but Isak doesn’t care, because Even’s cock is like, right there. In front of his face. It’s long and it’s hard and it’s leaking precome like a work of art, which is ridiculous, he knows, because it’s a dick, not the fucking Mona Lisa. And with anyone else, Isak might overthink it, because it’s not like he’s ever sucked a cock before, but this is Even. Even, the pamphlet stealer who carries around rainbow ribbons in his pocket and kissed Isak first. So Isak just goes for it, licks a drop of precome right off the tip.
And it’s - well, it’s fucking gross is what it is. But also, not the worst thing Isak’s tasted? That would be Eskild’s sorry attempt at fishcakes, and Isak is resolutely not thinking about Eskild right now. So instead he just tries again, attempting to fit as much of Even’s cock in his mouth as he can, because this is Even with the Mona Lisa dick.
It doesn’t work very well, of course, because while Even isn’t huge, he’s also a lot larger than Isak’s mouth? Or maybe Isak’s just doing it wrong, it’s not like he’s practiced. So he pulls back and tries again, and suddenly Even’s hands are in his hair and he’s whispering, “Holy shit, you really aren’t shy.”
Isak can’t help but snort at that, which really isn’t the wisest thing to do with a mouth full of cock, but Even doesn’t seem to mind, so Isak goes again, pulling off and diving back down, and again, and again, until Even stops him, dragging him away by the hand on his head.
Even looks wrecked, lips bitten raw from trying to keep silent, and Isak wants more. Isak wants it all. His lips find Even’s hipbone and he drops a kiss there before licking a stripe all the way across Even’s abs, like he’s been wanting to all fucking day. And then whadd’ya know, he’s back at a level with Even’s dick, so he dives back down, because he wasn’t fucking finished, but Even tugs at his shoulders, and pulls him to standing. Isak’s confused for a split second, but then Even’s on his knees, and Isak is. not. complaining.
“I’m supposed to be doing this,” Even says with something that’s almost exasperation, as he pulls down Isak’s jeans. “Let me.”
And really, how can Isak argue with that logic? He can’t obviously, especially once Even wraps his lips around Isak and sucks, and holy fuck is that what it feels like? Isak wants to hold onto something, needs something to ground him, but he also doesn’t want to grab Even because what if Even stops? His hands flutter uselessly in the air until Even grabs them and places them in his hair. Isak can’t get a good look at Even’s face because of how he’s hyperventilating and all, but he can practically feel the eye roll.
And then Even does a thing with his tongue, and Isak’s hand tighten involuntarily, pulling at Even’s hair. Isak is horrified, because a beautiful boy is blowing him and he goes ahead and pulls his hair? Without asking? Like some kind of jerk? But Even doesn’t seem to mind, seems to enjoy it really, getting more enthusiastic in his actions, which is the exact opposite of a problem, except for how it makes Isak tug at Even’s hair again. And then Even fucking hums in approval and that’s it. Isak is fucking gone. He can’t think, he can’t see, he can’t breathe because Even just sucked his brain and most of his central nervous system out through his dick.
And maybe it should be embarrassing, that he whites out so hard after his first real orgasm, one that involves something other than his hand, but Isak doesn’t have time to care. He just wants to pay Even back in kind, help Even feel even a fraction of what he just experienced. He makes grabby hands at Even from where he’s collapsed boneless on the floor, but Even just stands up, and doesn’t meet his gaze.
”It’s a little late for that,” Even says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.
“What do you mean?” Isak asks.
Even just gestures abstractly at the floor, and oh. Oh. Even came already. On his own. Isak isn’t sure how to feel about that.
“I’m… sorry?” he offers. Even must think he’s such a douche, getting off without helping him out, and Isak feels like shit now. It must show on his face, because Even is quick to jump in.
“No, no, don’t feel bad! It was fine, great, actually.” Even’s practically tripping over himself, both in an attempt to pull his jeans back on and to reassure Isak, and it helps, a little.
“I just, I didn’t do anything. And you, you...” Isak waves his hand around in an expansive gesture meant to convey, well everything. He can’t words right now and Even will just have to accept that, since it’s all his fault anyway.
“So how about you make it up to me,” Even offers. “Over coffee, maybe?”
“Yeah,” Isak says, suddenly shy, as if he didn’t just have Even’s dick in his mouth like two minutes ago. “I’d like that.”
Eskild is still a dead man, Isak thinks, as he inputs Even’s number into his phone. Just maybe a little less dead than before.