Work Text:
The smell of gun powder clung to him, it got under his nails, into the soft lines of his palms, into his hair no matter how much he’ll try to scrub it off later.
The shooting range was mostly empty at that hour, just the rhythmic pop of someone else firing a few lanes over could be heard and the faint smell of burned powder and paper hung in the air. Peter exhaled, the weight of the pistol was familiar and unwelcome at the same time, before he raised the pistol again and pulled the trigger.
Each shot landed Clean. Controlled. Perfectly centred.
Which didn’t make him feel any better. The sketchbook hadn’t worked that morning. Normally, when the noise in his head started to rise with old insuppressibly memories, he’d draw in his sketchbook until the world made sense again. Mostly birds, rooftops, landscapes blurred by distance but sometimes, darker things: rooms he shouldn’t remember, objects that shouldn’t matter, faces he ought to forget.
But today his hand wouldn’t stay steady. The pencil wasn’t pencilling the right way. He felt riled up, restless, like he was losing his grip on reality.
So, he came here instead. To the one place that required nothing from him but precision.
Where he didn’t have to think, only aim, breathe, fire.
But now, even that precision was turning hollow, pulling him back into reality but in a violent way. So, he set the pistol on the counter and pulled out his phone. His reflection blinked back at him in the safety glass, and he honestly didn’t particularly like what he saw. He hesitated only for a moment before pressing the familiar name.
Rasmus
He didn’t know what he’d say, only that he needed to hear him speak. Needing something that sounded real. Something that could quiet out the noises in his head completely.
The call connected almost immediately.
“Hei, you.”
That voice, so warm, low and reassuring hit him like air after being underwater. Peter’s shoulders loosened a bit, feeling a little weight lifting from them.
“Hey.” His voice sounded rough, even to himself. After a beat of silence, he realized he actually has to say something.
“Listen, I’m still at work”, glancing at the lane in front of him, the shredded paper target, the faint curl of smoke. It used to signify work—not anymore, thankfully.
“That late?”
Peter exhaled slowly through his nose, eyes falling shut. “Mhm, I have a project to finish till tomorrow and I’m putting in the final touches”
“Yeah, alright. I get it.”
“Plus, a new one landed on my desk today and I want to make sure it’s laid out precisely, you know how my boss can get, with her being ‘big’ on the little details.”
“Work’s a nightmare, huh?”
“Yeah, pretty much,” Peter chuckled
“You know I was looking forward to seeing you.”
At that confession something in Peter broke, every time Rasmus opened up or met him with complete honesty and vulnerability, he felt guilty for lying —about everything.
He could hear the quiet tap of Rasmus’s fingers against his desk, the sound of him thinking, he hoped wouldn’t be able to sense or see the cracks, ever.
“Me too....” He answered with as much honesty he could convey. A pause that was a bit to long followed. “But you know how absence makes eh heart grow fonder, isn’t that the saying,” he said chuckling. He was laying it on thick here, he knew that.
“Oh, so now you’re trying to charm your way out of this? Bold move.”
“You know what they say: Fortune favours the bold.” He replied.
“Fine. Tomorrow, then. But I hope you know I’m deeply disappointed.”
“I know...if it makes you feel any better, me too.” And he did, not seeing Rasmus when he technically could, was starting to become unfathomable to him, call it bordering on co-dependency or a moth being drawn to the flame, no matter what. “I’ll make it up to you,” Peter murmured, voice dipping lower without meaning to.
“Also, I meant to call earlier I just forgot,” he didn’t, he just wasn’t in the right headspace to pick up his phone and put up a mask. “Can you forgive me?” he said a little pouty.
“You know, you’re so lucky that I like you, else I’d be really mad right now.”
“The luckiest man on planet earth right now, don’t I know it” he really did know, he sometimes still couldn’t believe they were here after everything. “You make me sound better than I am.”
“But you are. So, I guess I’ll suffer.”
Peter smiled faintly at that, “You won’t be suffering for long.” He added slyly.
“Oh, you think that’s enough to make it up to me?”
“Hmm,” a pause. “Tomorrow is not so far away and intend to very convincing when it comes to forgiveness.” Ask for forgiveness not permission had sort off established itself in his line of work.
“Mhhm, we’ll see.”
Peter’s gaze drifted to pistol lying on the counter beside him, the metallic glint catching under the fluorescent light. A Symbol for a clean shot. A clean lie. He swallowed, his thumb coming up to his nose bridge before he continued. “You know...sometimes I think you make everything sound so simple. Like the world’s...better than it really is.” He tried to make it sound like a tease, but something in his voice betrayed him and it came out in a low almost rueful voice.
There was a beat of silence one on the side of a bit too long.
He cleared his throat, forcing a small humourless laugh. “Maybe you should hang up first before I make it more awkward,” he added softly, the words almost a dare to himself as much as to Rasmus.
“No, you hang up first.”
The tension easing slightly with Rasmus’s response, even as his chest still felt a bit tight, he tried going for playful, so he replied with; “No, you.”
“Wow. You are really doing this.”
He knew it was a bit petulant his response but in reality, he wanted this phone call to never end, none of their phone calls really, because he always feared that when Rasmus hung up, it would be the last time he’d hear his voice.
“Alright, alright. See you tomorrow.”
“Yes, I promise,” and with as much conviction he could muster he added, “Love you”
“Love you, too.”
When the line went dead, the silence that followed was deafening and the same hollow ache in Peter’s chest resurfaced.
He dreamt of him that night, or maybe just thought of him so vividly it felt like dreaming, he couldn’t say for sure if he closed his eyes or not. By the time dawn started spilling into the sky, Peter was already up. He couldn’t stay in his flat, it was too still, too full of his own thoughts and the walls felt like they were closing in on him.
He took the tram across the quiet city, and got out few stations before Rasmu’s flat, that’s where his favourite bakery was. After procuring his and Rasmus’s typical order he wandered the streets towards Rasmu’s flat, something about a crisp spring morning where one’s breath was still visible felt rejuvenating in a way.
He let himself into Rasmus’s apartment with the spare key he still sometimes felt unworthy of. The smell of the place greeted him —soft, lived with a woozy undertone of books and faint traces of Rasmus’s cologne in the air. It felt familiar now, which gave him a sense of calmness.
He turned on the kitchen light, set the bag on the counter, and turned on the portafilter machine. The low hum filled the silence of the flat like a heartbeat.
By the time Rasmus shuffled into the kitchen, T-shirt soft and wrinkled, looking awake for all of five seconds, Peter was leaning against the counter.
“Morning,” Rasmus mumbled, rubbing at his eyes. “I didn’t expect you so early.” Rasmus mumbled, voice still thick with sleep shuffling closer.
Peter’s grin going soft. “It’s never too early to see you,” he said with a wink, “also I couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d trade starring up at the ceiling for your bedhead.” He finished with a careful caress through said hair.
That earned him a slow, incredulous laugh, “Such poetry coming from these lips in these early hours.”
“I’m flattered!” he exclaimed in a false mockery tone before deeming it to be the perfect moment to seal his poet lips with Rasmus’s.
After a beat he handed Rasmus the mug. They lingered there for a while, sipping coffee, half awake. Then Rasmus glanced toward the paper bag.
“What’s that?”
“Breakfast.” Peter opened it, revealing croissants and Rasmus’s favourite: Danish pastry.
“I was hoping we could eat in bed.”
Rasmus arched a brow, smirking over the rim of his cup. “Eating in bed? We’ll get crumbs everywhere.”
Peter took a step closer, fingers brushing the edge of Rasmus’s hip, grin turned wicked. “I know you like it a little filthy.”
That made Rasmus snort, shaking his head as he set the mug down, but his cheeks had gone a shade warmer.
“You’re incorrigible.”
“Maybe.” Peter’s hand trailed lower, fingertips ghosting against his thigh. “But you love that about me.”
“Unfortunately,” he muttered. Rasmus’s breath caught a little when Peter leaned in, the space between them collapsing with the touch of Peter’s lips.
Multitasking with the mug and bag in hand he guided Rasmus gently backward, towards the bedroom, kisses trailing down his neck.
The world outside was already awake, but in here, time had folded in on itself, slow and unmoving. Peter’s favourite state almost, where nothing yet demanded their attention.
Just them.
They ate lazily, trading quiet remarks —talking about nothing and everything between bites. Rasmus’s laugh was slow, muffled against a mouthful of pastry, the scent of coffee in the air, their knees brushing under the covers. Rasmus’s hair was still sleep-mussed, sticking up on one side, nicely tussled. Glancing over, Peter couldn’t stop looking at him, the way the light caught in his hair, the soft pink at the corner of his lips, the little smudge of sugar dusting his cheek. He felt that same quiet ache from deep within again, the one that came whenever he looked at him too long. It wasn’t like hunger, it didn’t come from his belly not really.
“You’re staring,” Rasmus said without looking up.
Peter hummed. “Yeah.”
With a soft smile, “what?” Rasmus asked.
“Nothing.” Peters hand ghosted over his cheek before he dropped it again. “Just thinking.” He was wondering how he even got sit here, besides him.
“Dangerous habit,” Rasmus teased, and Peter had to grin at that before leaning in closer and plucking the mug gently from Rasmus’s hand and setting it on the bedside table.
“You make it worse.”
Peter didn’t answer it with words. He leaned in, first ghosting kisses up and down his neck, then wandered upwards brushing his lips alongside his jaw and to the corner of his mouth. When Rasmus turned towards him, meeting him halfway, already smiling against the kiss. There was a sweetness to it at first, the kind that tastes like shared mornings, like today.
Rasmus melted into it easily, his fingers tracing lazy lines along Peter’s back, finding every place that made him shiver. Peter deepened the kiss with a soft sound in his throat, a low hum that vibrated between them. Until Peter’s fingers slid from his cheek down the side of his neck, almost cradling him, deepening the kiss. He kissed him like he was trying to say something but couldn’t trust his voice to do it.
The world outside narrowed to the sound of their breathing, and Rasmus smiled against his mouth before a breathy “Peter...” emerged and one hand threading into Peter’s hair.
“Mm?” Peter murmured, he broke away just long enough to breathe, forehead resting against Rasmus’s, close enough that their noses brushed.
“Nevermind.” Rasmus’s lips curved into a soft, knowing smile, the kind that always undid him.
Peter returned it, his own smile small, fleeting, but real. Then he leaned back in, capturing Rasmus’s mouth again. The kiss started soft but quickly deepened, it was urgent yet careful, a silent translation of everything Peter felt and couldn’t say out loud.
The morning light climbed higher, spilling across their bodies almost illuminating them.
Rasmus was lying back against the pillows, Peter half over him, hands sliding over familiar lines of skin. Peter trailed kisses down Rasmus’s throat, as if he were memorizing him one breath at a time. Making quick work of removing his shirt. His lips brushed against the edge of his collar, following the bone to his shoulder and giving it light kisses before in one swift move his tongue grazed over his nipple without warning.
Rasmus’s breath caught, fingers tightening slightly in Peter’s hair.
This time Peter was focused on giving each nipple it’s deserved time. Meaning when he wasn’t kissing and swirling his tongue over one, he ministered the other nipple with his fingers until both were puffy and a little sensitive. He knew Rasmus liked it a little on the “filthy” side.
Deeming his mission accomplished when both were rosy-pink he moved downward. Tracing his happy-trail with sloppy kisses, before reaching the edge of his boxers. He took the band into his teeth and let it smack back down earning a groan from Rasmus. Since he could see the sprain in the fabric and he definitely felt the heat coming from his erection. However he decided to tease a while longer, so he mouthed down the line of his dick until reaching the tip where a wet spot already awaited him.
“You’re teasing,” Rasmus exclaimed slightly exasperated.
“Am I?” Peter challenged.
They both knew he was, so to Rasmus surprise, he carefully but swiftly yanked his boxers down his legs, before resuming his spot mouthing at his tip. It didn’t take long for Rasmus to get fully hard and to commemorate this, Peter licked long motion the underside of his dick to the tip before swallowing him almost to the hilt down.
“Ohhh” Rasmus stuttered.
Taking that as a queue Peter began sucking him off in practised motion, not to fast yet not to slow, deep but not too deep, hollowing his cheeks but not to extreme, letting his tongue graze his slit but not for too long.
He had to admit, hearing Rasmus make these little content noises whenever he sucked him off, was reasons he woke up in the morning. He could see from the periphery of his eyes that Rasmus other hand was gripping the sheets tightly, while the other he felt was slightly getting tighter in his hair. A clue, he figured out recently, which meant that Rasmus was getting close.
Continuing with his steady rhythm, he had a thought pop up in his mind that he wanted to slow this down, almost making it slow-motion—slowmaxxing if you will. So, he waited for the sure fire signs of Rasmus being close to slow down. He swallowed him down up until he was nuzzling at his tiny dust of pubic hair, stopping and breathing him in, before he dragged up again while hollowing out his cheeks. This he did earning a couple of “Ohh” and “Ahhh” before,
“Peter....I’m gonna come,” was all the warning he got before Rasmus curled in on himself, grip tightening in Peter’s hair. Rasmus’s ears started ringing, his vision went white and he came down Peter’s throat with a shout.
After deflating back into the covers and catching his breath he managed to let out a breathy “Wow...that was...intense.”
Peter having not moved except for releasing him from his mouth, rested his forehead on his hipbone before tentatively asking “good or bad?” without looking up.
“Very...very good,” Rasmus chuckled, before a huge grin overtook his face that almost blinded Peter when he looked up.
“Glad to hear,” he smiled back and he truly was. Sometimes he thought that he only lived to see happiness and pleasure reflected on Rasmus face.
When Peter pressed a delicate kiss against Rasmus’s hip, he whispered it —the only thing he felt in this moment, the one thing he knew for certain.
“I love you.”
Rasmus smiled, eyes half-closed, positively blissed out, one hand threading through his hair.
“I know.”
And Peter thought, not for the first time, that maybe this—they weren’t meant for this world, but for a moment, wrapped in each other’s arms. It felt like forgiveness, like the only kind of absolution he’d ever find, here, in the quiet worship of this bedroom. The only heaven he knew he’d get into.