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His hand is gripping the fabric of the pillow where he rests his head. His fingers are lightly playing with it right in front of his face, but his eyes are closed in a failed attempt to maybe fall back to sleep. The light in his room isn’t too much that it’s the reason keeping him from doing just that, but it’s enough to tint the walls in the soft blue and white tones of an early morning, telling him it’s not long now until he feels the shifting of the mattress and the movements around his room ending with a door being closed.
But not yet.
For now, Isak can keep his eyes closed and pretend his heart isn’t rising to his throat with every beat, pretending he’s already okay with the way Chris is going to leave without saying a word. Like always.
He closes his eyes harder, like that will make him fall asleep, sleep through it. He never does – it’s like his brain is mocking him, always wakes minutes before the other boy, making him be aware of the way he’s being left, you chose this, you’re accepting all his bread crumbs, you know that’s all he’ll ever give you and here’s the proof. Punishment for falling back into his own bad habits.
Isak thinks he deserves it, because he should know better. His eyes are closed and he’s scrunching his whole face up, images of the exact moment when he gave into Chris again last night playing like a movie behind his closed lids. Both of them had been drinking, that’s always how it went; Chris because that’s what he does besides kissing every pretty girl at these parties, and Isak because that’s how he copes and calms the anger in his chest as he’s forced to watch it and say nothing.
His hand closes in a fist, gripping the pillow and his mouth is in a tense line. It’s so infuriating how angry he gets; he shouldn’t, he tells himself that so many times, Chris never promised anything, never gave any less than he said he would, never gave any more either. But he couldn’t control it any more than he could control himself around the older boy.
Isak had lost Jonas somewhere as the night went, and that had been his first mistake, he knew. Just as he knew the reason why he kept glancing around the place, and the reason he kept drinking anyway was because he was hoping Chris would find him and he wanted the excuse of the alcohol to stay around him, instead of bolting out of there.
Chris did come around, a beer can in hand and pink lipstick smeared on the right upper corner of his mouth still, reminding Isak what he had been doing up until now – that even if he wanted, he couldn’t pretend Chris had been waiting to just make a move on him all night; he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t Chris’s very last choice, when all other were too drunk or on a curfew and going home or with good responsible friends around.
But he already knew all this and Isak forces himself to breathe and his grip on the pillow to relax even if he keeps his eyes closed.
He already knew all this; that he would feel like this the morning after, that he’d curse the moment he first set eyes on Christoffer Schistad to begin with three times over, call himself all and every derogatory name and be left feeling like a used piece of garbage, like always.
But when Chris’s hands found his lower back at the end of last night, fingers under his thin sweatshirt warm and soft dancing over his skin lightly, it was hard to remember. He could’ve fooled Isak with that touch alone, so gentle, like he meant the tenderness.
The comforter shifts and Isak suddenly stills when he feels the other boy moving next to him, even though not a single part of their bodies are touching. He bites his lip, knows what’s coming.
(Isn’t it too early? It always feels too early for him to go.)
Knows it, like he knows the way his name always sounds coming from Chris’s drunken mouth. “Isak,” he’d dragged in the blond boy’s ear, his hand stealing all of Isak’s attention as it moved so slowly around his waist, under his sweatshirt and away from everyone’s eyes in the corner of the living room of whoever’s party this was.
The let’s get out of here that follows is whispered as his palm lays open just underneath Isak’s belly button, not going any further down but not needing to either to make Isak’s breath catch and his belly twist with something warm. He had wanted to resist, but - he told himself in a weak attempt to lie to himself, - he was drunker than he thought and he couldn’t find it in him.
Isak remembers the deep breath he took, remembers his eyes wandering the whole place to see if anyone was watching, remembers his eyes falling on Eva dancing with her friends and seeing her pink lipstick slightly smudged, feeling it like a slap in the face, bringing all the reasons he had to resist Chris back.
“I’m not going,” was what left his lips as he turned his head to make sure Chris heard him. Isak had shaken his head, repeating “I’m not going with you,” a little steadier. For a moment he felt confident this was the first step to give up on Christoffer Schistad.
For a moment.
The bed moves again, just slightly, and Isak sort of hates how he’s suddenly hyper aware of every single noise in the room.
The frown on Chris’s face is blurry at the edges in Isak’s memory, but he knows it was there. He wasn’t expecting the resistance, not really, not from Isak who was a starving man constantly accepting the crumbs Chris gave him. Isak had wanted to say more, felt a wild courage swell in his chest. He had wanted to tell him that Eva was right there, and if the match of smudged lipstick colour on both their lips was any indication, he should be aware of that already anyway so he should just go and try having his way with her. Because he wasn’t getting anything more from Isak.
(Right?)
Isak knows he was staring at Eva, “why not?” Chris had said sounding confused and moving closer, taking advantage of the dimness of the place to glue his body to Isak’s, and sabotaging Isak’s resolve bit by bit with every soft push of his hips against Isak’s ass.
“Eva is still there,” Isak had said, and he hated, hated how his determination shattered and his voice sounded so pathetic, hated everything it implied and how much he was telling Chris with that alone. That he knew he was Chris’s last choice all along; his last option when he had no other and really needed to get laid. And that he was still around, accepting it like the sad, desperate closeted little boy he was.
Ripped from his memories, Isak fights the urge to turn around on the bed and open his eyes, see what Chris would say to him – if he would even say anything – if Isak caught him leaving. What words would he use to keep Isak sweet in his place, (like Isak needed them to stay, anyway) would he even bother saying anything?
He never did, even when this started and they passed each other in school, he never does even if he doesn’t have some sort of high school social status or reputation to maintain anymore – Chris just ignores him, pretends nothing is happening, nothing happened, as soon as he’s out of that door.
So Isak keeps his eyes closed, remains still, because doing anything else would just serve to further instigate the voice in his head already calling him pathetic, pathetic, so fucking pathetic.
The rustling of the sheets continues, though, and Isak doesn’t know why Chris is taking so long to leave the bed, but he doesn’t turn around to find out yet.
Instead, his unhelpful mind reminds him of how Chris’s hands had both curved around Isak’s waist – beer can gone - when he moved even closer to his ear to say, “I know she is,” and somehow Isak knew his eyes were also on Eva. He remembers swallowing hard because that admission and the way his hands just kept playing on his skin softly made his heart skip a stupid beat and his blood rush down to the place where Chris’s hands were teasing, like they were magnets. He kisses the back of Isak’s neck and the blond boy feels the strands of Chris’s long fringe brushing his skin, causing goosebumps.
“But I wanna get out of here with you.”
Isak’s eyes fly open.
He doesn’t move, is even afraid of doing so with his breathing, so, he decides, he’ll stop breathing as well.
Because, suddenly, Chris’s hand is sliding over his hip bone to rest up against Isak’s tummy under the sheets, as his whole body steady, warm, naked except for his boxers presses against Isak’s and pulls him closer, lips resting against the back of his neck.
Isak doesn’t know what’s going on, feels on edge like he did last night during the whole way back to his house, a knowing silence stretching between the two of them and both pair of eyes always looking everywhere as they walked. (it wasn’t a very long walk, thankfully.)
He feels on edge like he always does when Chris touches him, like he did last night when they were finally under Isak’s roof and Chris didn’t even bother waiting until they were properly inside the room, spun him around to back him up against a wall and kissed him like he was the starving man, this time.
He feels on edge, the same way he felt the first time Chris kissed him in a dirty bathroom they were smoking weed together in, told him “it’s okay, it doesn’t have to mean anything, only has to feel good”. Like the first time he realized Chris just wanted a play thing and somehow that didn’t make him want to stop the whole thing and run away from him.
Isak feels on edge, because it had only been like this, a fuck and nothing more; not a single kiss that wasn’t foreplay to something else. And now he could feel Chris’s steady breathing on the back of his neck, could feel the longer strands of his hair tickling his shoulder and the way the other boy’s hand was resting on his lower belly, pulling Isak back against his chest.
He’s frozen, forces himself to breathe out when he realizes how long he was holding his breath for, and there’s a stupid, stupid voice in his brain telling him not to if any movement at all means bursting this bubble.
But Isak is a desperate boy. And just like he couldn’t control himself last night, with the way he pulled Chris closer and closer, unashamed, his hand falls over Chris’s and his eyes flutter as he lets himself lean into the touch and pretend Chris means this moment of mock intimacy.
The lips on the back of his neck take him by surprise. Chris kisses him softly several times and Isak wants to rip his stupid heart out for the way it starts thumping away faster. The hand Chris has on his tummy comes up to his chest, leaves a trail of fire over Isak’s skin that he’s hyper aware of, and stops at Isak’s shoulder, pulling, as Chris moves from behind Isak, and the younger boy lets himself be turned onto his back.
He can’t read Chris’s eyes, and this… this is unknown territory. It has his blood running funny in his veins, like it’s under a surge of electricity.
Chris’s hand comes to his neck to guide him in for a kiss, and Isak doesn’t know what else to do, so he lets him, closes his eyes and lets him.
The sensations are almost too much without the alcohol or weed to dull them, and Isak’s brain goes into overload he’s sure, when the older boy brings a hand down to rest it at Isak’s thigh, separating his knees. It feels heavier than last night. It feels more intense, with the way Chris is taking his time, isn’t jumping on Isak frantic and fiery and explosive like it usually is.
Instead, he stops kissing Isak but doesn’t immediately separate his face from the other boy’s, watching him through barely open glazed eyes and with his tongue gently licking at Isak’s lips as their mouths keep brushing with every tiny moment.
He breathes, “open your legs for me,” against Isak’s lips, and the younger boy doesn’t know anything else except doing as he’s told, mind hazy and body burning. Isak can’t even properly process everything he’s feeling and he’s sure he’s shaking slightly with raw, nervous energy because of it. This isn’t what they do. This isn’t what he’s used to from Chris. It feels almost (genuinely) intimate.
Isak’s hands rest on Chris’s shoulders as the older boy languidly drags his body over Isak’s to fit in the space between the blond’s legs. “Gimme your hands,” he asks Isak, and that’s exact what he does. Chris brings them up over his head, fingers trancing the length up his arms gently and Isak thinks he’s going to start crying with the way Chris reaches up, makes his body drag along his and his cock brush against Isak’s through the fabric of both their boxers.
It’s a shock wave that serves to make him momentarily forget of all the reasons he has to stay away from Chris. Makes him forget of how bad, how used and disposable and dirty this whole thing always makes him feel.
(Makes him doubt it’s even that bad, when it’s making him feel this good.)
He hears himself whining low in his throat, hears Chris’s “fuck” at his ear when he buries his head on the curve of his neck and his body moves on its own when he parts his legs further to wrap them around Chris’s waist, changing the angle just a bit as Chris continues rubbing against him slowly, making Isak lose his mind at the same rhythm. It’s like unbearably hot lava is running slowly low on his tummy.
Isak is sure he’s shaking now, feels out of control of his own body and he can’t concentrate enough to make himself stop. “You’re shaking,” Chris notices in a whisper, turns his head to look Isak in the eyes, his hair falls in wild strands over his face and Isak’s brows furrow further in a desperate expression as he whines once again. The redness of Chris’s mouth, his glazed eyes, the wild hair, the pink cheeks – it feels like too much to deal with.
“You okay?” Chris asks as he lets go of one of Isak’s hands to bring his to Isak’s face, thumb caressing his jaw as his fingers play with the hairs at the back of his neck and Chris moans into Isak’s ear right after the words are out of his mouth.
Isak’s leg wrap tighter around Chris and he bucks against the older boy desperately as the sound reaches his brain and he processes it as something he incited in Chris. It still messes with him, how he turns someone like Chris on. The short nails of his free hand bite into the skin of Chris’s back and Isak doesn’t even have it in him to feel ashamed of the needy movements of his hips or of the way he finds himself admitting that the question – you okay? – messes with him too.
“Yeah,” Isak says, breathless. And then he’s talking again in a whisper, “I thought you were leaving.” He regrets it almost instantaneously.
Chris slows down, brings they joined hands down, closer to their faces but doesn’t let Isak’s hand go. He supports himself on an elbow and stands slightly over Isak, looking back at him, but never stops moving completely, even if the drag of his hips is slower and more intense.
“Did you want me to leave?” Chris asks. Like he doesn’t know the answer, already. Like he needs validation of something he already knows too well. Isak almost scoffs, but he can’t even manage that.
“No,” Isak answers him, softly, the hand previously on his back travelling down the length of Chris’s arm, wrapping around it like suddenly Isak is afraid Chris is going to go. “You know I don’t.”
Suddenly, Chris’s hand comes up to Isak’s forehead, pushes his hair back to properly look into his eyes, pulling a little at it just for the wince it provokes from Isak feeling it go straight to his dick. “Tell me what you want,” Chris demands, even if his voice is soft and he’s bringing his lips down to kiss Isak again.
Isak knows he shouldn’t humour him. If nothing else, then only just to not feed his ego, have him walking around and looking at Isak – when he does look at Isak - like he knows the secrets to destroy him and it’s only waiting for the right time, or getting bored, to make use of it.
But, it always comes down to the same struggle: Isak is a desperate hungry boy.
“I want you,” Isak says and then, like he’s ashamed, he’s pulling Chris down to better bury his face in his shoulder, “I just want you, that’s all I want.” He’s sure he hears Chris hum appreciatively, like he tastes Isak’s words and he’s the best thing he’s had in his life.
With his hand still curved around the back of Isak’s neck and caressing his jaw, Chris makes him look up at him, kisses him deeply – takes his time with it – and then he starts moving again, his cock rubbing against Isak’s and the whole world outside of this room not mattering.
He picks up his rhythm little by little and the whole thing, how Chris is holding him, how he’s mumbling softly IsakIsakIsak into his ear, how intimate and close this feels, it all gets to Isak and he’s fighting back to urge to cry when the pressure in his chest gets to be too much. It’s a feeling he’s not used to getting, all of this is something a little bit too real, feels even more real than actual all-the-way sex somehow and Isak finds it so hard to deal with.
“Chris, I’m-“ he tries to warn him, but his voice fails, cracks and Isak is afraid he’s going to start crying with the overload of emotions threatening to overwhelm him right now. He’s never had it like this – it’s never been like this, not even his first time. And it’s stupid, it’s dumb, because Chris is only speaking in his ear and holding him tighter than usual, asking how he is and- staying. This time, he’s staying.
“Yes,” Chris tells him, right when Isak’s voice fails him. He’s speaking directly into his ear, “Yes, Isak, come on then, you’re so close,” he breathes, “I can feel how close you are, come on, right over the edge,” Chris’s words only serve to further ignite the fire the already feels all over and, “Come on, baby” is all it takes for Isak to cross right over the edge, a sob leaving his lips and his eyes closing so hard, the tears there do spill.
He doesn’t stop sobbing, and he’s still going through the aftershocks of his orgasm, when he feels Chris’s whole body tense up and freeze against him, hears his name spilling out of Chris’s lips and can’t stop the way the tears fall from his eyes as he closes them again, scrunches them up hard.
Chris’s breathing is jagged, and then he’s kissing Isak just below the ear, then his cheek, then his mouth as he uses his hand to turn Isak’s face towards him. Isak’s free hand grips Chris’s wrist and the tears are still falling. He can’t help the sob that escapes him once again when the older boy kisses him again. It’s almost gentle, almost like he means the affection, almost like he likes Isak back.
“Shhh,” he’s saying against Isak’s mouth, eyes closed and hand on his neck caressing his skin softly as his forehead rests against Isak’s and their legs stay tangled together.
It fucks Isak’s head up. Because for a moment he can pretend, he can choose to fool himself and believe in the gentleness of this moment. He can close his eyes and let his heart wonder for a bit, pick up at the fact that this time, Chris stayed.
And that must mean something.
(…Right?)
Even if it was the only time he did. Even if after that, they never really spoke and Chris never really texted him again.
Even if a week and so after, he was back to kissing Eva at her house party and Isak was reduced to smoking weed sitting in a bathtub with his friends, and kiss some pretty first year girl for show. To forget.
Even if it never happened again.
For a moment, Isak closed his eyes and it felt real.