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I Make the Space for You (and You Rearrange When I Need You To)

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      “Fy faen, you’re needy today.”

Isak hums out an affirmative, too busy kissing a mark against his favorite spot on Even’s neck to say words. It’s already blossoming with a bruise from this morning’s makeout session, and when he tongues at the space where his collarbone meets his chest, Even lets out a quiet moan that serves as a motivator for Isak to do more, to tug Even’s work shirt down to expose more skin only to pull it in the opposite direction seconds later. Up and over his head and then off, and then Even’s out of his shoes, his jeans and socks gone too before Isak even has time to get one of his own shoelaces untied. 

     “Gonna tell me what’s gotten into you?” Even asks. He distracts him when his mouth finds Isak’s earlobe, starts a trail down the side of his neck, and beneath them, the bed sags when they both clamber down onto it. Even hovers over Isak’s lap, framing his face in his hands, kissing him again, and Isak exhales into it.

Isak blushes crimson when Even finally pulls away, asks the question again. Even definitely notices.

     “Nothing,” Isak says, knowing Even will find out soon enough.

It’s not sexy to tell the truth: that Isak had been Google searching information about this nearly every day for the past week, not to mention the countless, less frequent searches he’d done before then. It’s not exciting to mention the preparation he’d done for this, the way he’d monitorited himself extra carefully at dinner the past few days and in the shower, and even tried to practice a little bit on himself, more than he usually does. He even used a goddamn handheld mirror, calling back on his memory of the techniques he’s used on Even, and after that, he’s pretty sure any remaining dignity he could have had left is out the window. 

The things he does for love, he thinks.

He’s also learned a fair share of information from Eskild, generally things he hasn’t asked to find out about, topics that would make him leave the room with his hands plugged up in his ears and a groan falling out of his mouth. Also, he’s overheard Eskild with other boys, intruded on conversations about consent and limits and other things that made him flee even quicker than the impromptu sex ed sessions did.

It’s not sexy for Isak to tell Even, “hey, I think I’m finally ready to bottom,” because he doesn’t even like that phrasing— it’s too clinical, too technical, unemotional. When he thinks of what he’s done to Even before, more times now than he can count, he doesn’t think of the word “topping.” He doesn’t think of Even as being a “bottom,” or being anything but honest and open and receptive and kind and forgiving and patient and beautiful.  

When Isak thinks of what goes on behind his bedroom door, on his bed— well, usually on the bed, and also usually inside his bedroom (how could he forget those times in the shower, or that one time in the bathroom at Nissen, after hours, when the only people left were the janitors and maybe a few straggling teachers— he thinks of love. When Isak thinks of Even, he thinks of love. And he wants to give Even that same love that he’s given him. Wants Even to have him in the same way he’s been so fortunate to receive him.

And Isak knows it isn’t necessary that they do this, either. There’s no pressure for him to do this or to do anything, and Isak’s never felt that, not from Even, not in any way whatsoever. That’s what moves him so much, what makes him want to try new experiences so badly in the first place.

He’s in love with Even. Anything seems okay if it’s with him.

The beginning is easy. It always is. Sometimes, he even thinks it’s his favorite part. Even kisses with every fiber of his being, slips his tongue into Isak’s mouth and lets him suck on it at the same moment his bare thigh comes between Isak’s. It usually starts like this, Even on top of him, holding his hips and rubbing his thumbs across the ridge of bone there, tenderly but almost with purpose, with that same energy that he puts into everything he does. When Even groans into Isak’s mouth, it’s intentional, makes Isak shiver and buck up into his touch, almost forget that he had another plan in mind besides being pressed into the blankets, thrusting into the heat of Even’s palm until he comes against his knuckles, maybe onto his chest a little bit if he’s lucky enough to make it happen. 

But it’s easy for Isak to flip them both over next. It’s sort of typical, whether they’re having sex or not— this back and forth thing, the way they move into one another, away, then back again. It’s always a push and pull, a switch, a progression that never ends, but Isak thinks it’s perfect, the healthiest thing for both of them in whatever poetic, metaphorical way it could be sliced and served up. It’s nothing short of rhythmic, of an understanding of need and patience and timing, and they’ve always valued the accuracy of their timing.

Which is why Isak only tells Even what he really wants once he’s got both of his hands wrapped around his dick. It wasn’t his plan, but it feels right; like the sure, correct thing in this present moment, with Even’s now widening eyes on his and his own grip going lax. Isak feels brave now that the words are out, now that he’s admitted it.

     “Are you sure?” 

Isak nods. Still brave. “Yeah. Positive.”

Isak charts the way Even swallows. The way his jaw clenches, then unclenches.  “Okay.” 

     “If that’s okay with you. We don’t have to now, I’m just telling you I’m ready but we could wait, we could do it another day or-”

     “Hey.” Even’s hands are on his face once more, steadying him, pulling him up and away from his crotch, into his chest instead. He doesn’t grimace when Isak lets go of him, only softens when Isak’s arms find their way around his shoulders again. 

     “If you’re ready, I’m ready. I just want you to be one hundred percent sure.”

Isak’s chest feels full, airy. “I am.” And then, just because he has to say it, because the way Even’s looking at him right now is almost too much to bear, too much love, too much respect, so much adoration and appreciation and genuine concern: “jeg elsker deg.”

He’s in the crook of Even’s shoulder in seconds, breathing in the scent of him: cologne, just the faintest trace; Isak’s soap, from his shower here last night, mixed in with whatever the Bech Næsheims use; espresso and cleaning supplies, from Kaffebrenneriet’s stockroom.

     “I love you, Isak.” There’s that feeling again, like Isak’s about to burst. Even pulls away, dips his forehead to Isak’s, then looks at him, as if analyzing him for any possible remaining doubt. 

     “You’re sure?”

     “I am,” Isak replies, and the swiftness, the sureness with which he said it amazes himself, even after all this time. It’s only been a few months with Even but it feels like a lifetime ago that he was a scared kid, calling Nissen’s dance teacher gay because of the way he talked or moved or existed; telling Eskild he may like Even, but he wasn’t the kind of person who’d be caught dead at a pride parade. He’s proved everyone wrong, including himself. A few weeks ago, he looked up the date for this summer’s pride, even marked it in his calendar and reminded himself he’d ask Even one of these days if he wanted to go.

Even wears a pan-colored pin on his jacket to school now, has a brand rainbow flag pinned up in his bedroom next to his Moulin Rouge poster. Isak already knows Even will be down.

     “If you change your mind at any time, we can stop, okay? No questions asked.” 

     “Even,” Isak says. It comes out like a drawl, a low sort of sound that makes him sound as knowledgeable as he is eager. It makes Even’s mouth shut, at least for a second.

     “I know,” Isak tells him. “I trust you. Always have. It’s just been about getting me ready, and I am.”

Even nods. “Okay.” He darts forward to kiss him, lightning quick, one peck turning into two, then three, then four. Isak can feel Even’s smile before he opens his eyes and sees it. 

     “I’m proud of you.”

It makes that thing inside of Isak lift up and take flight, soar off into the sky, homebound if home weren’t already right here, wherever Even is. So of course, Isak tries for a joke.

     “I’m letting you fuck me, not going to the moon.”

     “Same thing,” Even replies in the same breath, not even skipping a beat. “My dick’s that good.”

Isak’s caught off guard by that immediately, because of course he is, where did that come from, and he’s about to ask as much but then he’s rolled on his back again, Even’s mouth at his throat, and-

     “Jesus, you’re quick.”

Even looks straight-up devilish. “Not where it counts.”

Isak’s head falls back to the pillow. It’s probably a mistake, just exposing more skin for Even to attach his lips to, and that’s exactly what he does, morphing Isak’s groan into a sigh.

     “You’re good,” Isak tells him, not sure what he’s specifically referencing. It doesn’t seem to matter to Even. He kisses across Isak’s chest, licks in the dips of his collarbones, looks up at Isak with eyes so sinful Isak swears he could come from that alone, fuck anything else. 

But then he asks him, “how do you want me to start with you?” and Isak thinks that’s a whole new thing they’ll need to unpack: Even saying things. Even reading the dictionary. And okay, maybe he knows this already, actually— he’d used his own fair share of specific language that one time in the bathroom, telling Even how he’d wanted him, needed him, and Even’s anything but a tame texter, especially when Isak has to leave not long after they’ve fucked, and yeah, so they both have a thing for dirty talk, he guesses they both knew this but never really labeled it— but something about this is different. Even is putting every ounce of his focus on Isak, and it’s making Isak feel...a lot of things. 

Powerful, for one. He hadn’t expected that. All the blogs he’d read online that called bottoming a submissive act were definitely full of shit.

     “Whatever you think.”

Even goes on then. He’s slow, teasing, not at all impatient like Isak had expected him to be once he’d alluded to his plans. He hoists Isak’s knees up, settling in between them to mouth at his dick, already red and straining by the time he gets to it. A few quick kitten licks to its tip, a quick stripe down the side and one deep, all-encompassing sink of his mouth on it to get Isak gasping and writhing, completely taken aback but also not surprised at all because this is Even, after all, this is his boy, with a flair for the dramatic and the theatrical and the extreme, always giving everything he’s got, just as good as he gets. 

     “I’m going to put my mouth on you, is that okay?” 

Even’s hands paw at his ass, nudge him open just enough to make Isak shudder. 

     “Yeah. Please.”

He’s tried enough with his fingers to get a feel for this, but it’s nothing compared to Even’s mouth. It’s so gentle at first, so intimate that Isak would maybe ask Even to stop if it didn’t feel so good, because it’s also weird— Even is touching him in a way Isak used to never be able to fathom, never imagine actually wanting, but he wants it now, more than he knows how to verbalize. 

So he settles on quiet hums, little sighs to encourage Even onward. It’s a little tricky to see Even from this angle, but every now and then Even’s eyes flick upwards, watching him, checking on him, and the electricity that surges through Isak’s body in those moments is so ridiculously cliche, almost downright comical.

And still, that’s nothing compared to Even’s fingers, either, when he finally brushes one spit-slicked finger to his rim. It’s a ghost of a touch, there and gone, but Isak quivers at it and Even notices. Looks up at Isak with hunger and longing and dedication in his eyes that makes Isak move at the same time he does.

     “Stay here, I’ll get it.” 

He knows where the lube is, finds it without a moment’s hesitation. He kisses Isak’s knee on his way up, then kisses his cheek, his forehead, his nose on the way down. Isak feels the way he pauses above his lips, unsure— he’s always let Isak kiss him after going down on him like that, anticipated it, the taste and the closeness and the urgency Isak always exhibited towards him after times like that. Now, he lets Isak close the bridge between them, confirm the question he silently asks.

     “You can do to me whatever I do to you,” Isak wants to say, almost does. He’ll tell it to Even later, will probably end up showing him as much by the time they’re through. Besides, he likes the look on Even’s face as he figures it out, as he feels Isak trusting him right back, as fiercely as he’s trusted him. 

     “Are you ready?” The click of the lube container sounds miles away under the pounding of Isak’s heart. It’s ninety nine percent anticipation, just the slightest bit of nerves, but it dissipates the moment Even’s eyes find his again. 

     “Yeah,” Isak tells him. He doesn’t have to ask for Even to go slow, he knows he will.

     “You can…go faster,” he ends up saying instead. It’s a strange adjustment, someone’s fingers inside him that aren’t his own, especially when Even adds a second, and then a third. It takes time, some stretching, Even’s right hand against his ass cheek spreading him open, and there’s something insanely hot about that, about the way Even holds him so tenderly at the same time he works his fingers inside. Forward plunges turn into scissor-type movements, urging deeper with every nod from Isak, every muttered “yeah” or moan, and Isak thinks it’s good, it’s fine, it’s better than when he does it to himself for sure, but then the pad of Even’s index finger hits a spot he didn’t even know existed, and oh. So that’s... oh. 

Even’s grinning up at him. Teeth glinting in the low light of his room, his own cheeks flushed, his cock surely straining from somewhere beneath him, from out of view. 

     “Move so I can see it,” Isak tells him, or something equally as poetic, and Even does, shifts onto his forearms like a champ until Isak’s watching his dick slap against his stomach with the change in position. It pulses along with Isak’s, his own dick twitching when Even hits that spot again, and suddenly, it’s too much. 

     “No, no, if I look at it I’m gonna come now,” Isak whines. He makes half a move to jack himself, just for a second, for some kind of added feeling, but he decides against it. His arm flops over his eyes and he grimaces instead, only realizing how pathetic he sounds in hindsight. God, he sounds drunk. 

He might as well be, honestly.

     “At my dick?” Even laughs. “I’m flattered, babe.”

     “Don’t tell me you don’t know what I mean,” Isak groans, and hears more than sees Even shift back into his former position. 

     “No, I do. Believe me, I do.” There’s a pause, just the sound of the now subdued, slowed squelching of his fingers inside of Isak, and then he adds, “you know, it’s so sexy to know I can make you feel this good.”

Yeah, Isak thinks they need to talk about this thing at some point, discuss it thoroughly and fully, sooner rather than later. There are some words Isak desperately wants to hear strung up inside Even’s mouth, falling from his lips, even if it’s just over dinner— and he knows Even well enough to know that he’ll weaponize a compliment like this, being the competitive, cocky bastard that he is, but Isak has a feeling it’ll be worth it for both of them. Besides, he’s pretty sure Even could get him off with words alone.

     “I really want to know what it’s like to have you inside of me,” Isak dares himself to say. Two can play at this game, after all, and even though he’s a little more behind in his own comfort level for saying these kinds of things, he’s catching up, and he’ll be up to speed in no time. Even’s reaction is proof that he’s already getting there. 

     “Fuck, Isak. Yeah, me too.”

They know where they can go next, remember it from Even’s first time. Still, there’s a pause before Even pulls away his fingers, hesitant. 

     “You’re more flexible than me,” he muses. Isak briefly wonders, once again, how Even can go from being a sex god to so introspective in a mere matter of seconds, but it’s no matter, because the image, the possibility that Even just put in his head is far better than the alternative, the way he thought this was going. 

     “Yes,” Isak chokes out. “Please. Like this. I wanna kiss you.”

     “I always wanna kiss you,” Even replies. It’s too truthful to be a quip, and it would stop Isak in his tracks if he were the one moving. 

     “Come here.”

It’s the little things like this, always these sorts of comments, that truly make it hard for Isak to believe that Even is real, that he’s not just some figment of his desperate, deprived, repressed imagination. He’s everything Isak could have ever asked for, more sentimental than Isak could have ever expected himself to be, but it’s impossibly to not mirror it in return.

     “Me too,” Isak agrees once they’re face to face. Even pulls out a finger at the same time he pulls on Isak’s lower lip, sucks it into his mouth, then kisses him full on, unabashed, like it’s both their first and last kiss. It makes more blood rush to Isak’s dick than the gentle press of his middle finger against his rim does, and he wonders if that’s something to be concerned about.

You’re a sap, his brain supplies, you’re hopelessly fucking in love. Yeah, Isak figures, that’s true, and that’s fine with him.

     “Give me a second, okay?” Even’s fumbling with the lube, can’t get the cap off, and after a solid ten seconds of struggling Isak reaches for it, holds back his chuckles and fails when he removes it just fine. 

     “I’m nervous,” Even explains, shrugging Isak off, and it’s meant to be a joke but Isak stops him immediately, snatches the lube back.

     “Are you really?”

     “Not really. Only a little bit.” But Even shrugs, barely noticeable, and Isak catches it. 


     “Why not? It’s your first time. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Isak frowns. “I know you don’t. You won’t. I trust you, one hundred percent.”

     “Yeah, but...and I wanna be good for you.”

     “Baby.” Isak’s fingers find Even’s, intertwine tight. “You’re always good for me. You’re already better than I could have ever imagined, better than I could ever be.”

     “That’s not true. You were perfect to me.” Even’s eyes get a little dark, a bit protective at that, and Isak squeezes his hand in return.

     “Okay. You’ll be just as good as me, then. You already have been.”

Even looks at him, as if still waiting for a punchline. It just about breaks Isak’s heart. 

     “Come here...why don’t you...just for a second…”

A bit of vague gesturing and Even’s chuckling, gently removing his fingers from where they were seated inside of Isak, then falling back down into him for another kiss. Isak holds onto him tight, hopes Even can feel every single bit of his love coming from him, into him, through every part of their bodies that are touching. 

     “You’re everything,” Isak tells him, because he is. “Come on, you know that. I love you.”

Even pulls away, kisses the back of Isak’s hand, still intertwined with his. Ignoring the mess of lube and pre-come smeared across it, he lets his lips linger there, then replies, “I know.”

He says those three words back more times than Isak can count in the next few minutes. While he gets Isak ready again, while he tears open a condom, while his fingers replace the head of his dick, while pushing in just enough for Isak to begin to feel the strain. 

     “Still okay?” he asks, and all Isak can do is nod, watch him, let it happen, embrace it. It’s a long, painstakingly slow process before Even can sink in all the way, settle deep within him, but when it happens, when Even’s forehead is to his and Isak’s legs are spread wide, Even’s thighs brushing against the inside of his own, it’s a relief. 

     “Stay...for a second,” Isak asks him, wishing he didn’t have to. It burns, but in a good kind of way because it’s Even and everything about Even is good, even the not so good things, and while this may not be the epitome of comfort quite yet, he knows it will be. 

     “Okay, you can move now.”

     “I’ll go so slow, okay?” 

Isak knows this, of course, but the reassurement is nice, and so is watching the pleasure boil up in Even’s eyes with every movement, every pulse. He’s holding back so well, being so patient all for Isak— bitten lips, the grip he has on Isak’s knees, the way his eyes can’t seem to focus on just one part of Isak— he’s being so good to him. So good for him.

It just makes Isak even more eager to let him let go. To watch him let go, inside of him, for him.

He remembers what it was like, slipping inside of Even for the first time. He’d never imagined it could feel so good, so tight, so warm, so all-encompassing. The idea that he could feel the same for Even fills him with a vicious sense of pride.

Same with the realization that hits him seconds later, as soon as the burn into pressure turns into something not quite so bad, that he’ll get to have this, get to do this, so many times in so many ways. He’s loved Even in every way he could have him: half dressed with only his socks still on, bent over with his face pressed into his pillows, Sunday coffee abandoned and leaving wet rings on the windowsill. Fully dressed, aside from his pants down to his knees, against the door of his childhood bedroom when his parents weren’t home for the weekend; too drunk and hasty to do more than grab the lube and make do with the vicious adrenaline coursing through their veins.

It’s the concept of a forever with Even, not one time being quite the same, that turns the feeling within him into pure pleasure.

     “Fuck, okay, yeah, you can go faster, fuck,” is what comes out of his mouth, or so he thinks. He doesn’t think Even would know if he asked him to repeat what he’d said, too lost in it all to know up from down, but Isak’s yeses are clear as day, just as indicatory as the way that his body shifts up into his touch. 

     “Okay?” Even asks, though it’s clear that he knows, and he bends to kiss Isak then, full-mouthed and messy and more teeth clashing than actual lips touching each other. It throws off the rhythm, makes Even’s movements a little staggered, but it gives Isak a chance to breathe, for his mind catch up to his body, and then Even’s down on his knees fully, dropping his forearms on either side of Isak’s shoulders, using only his hips to thrust deep up into Isak, and Isak swears the world could end right there and he wouldn’t care. He’d be alright.

It’s ridiculously dirty, a vision straight from every fantasy Isak’s ever had, to see Even look at him the way he does right now. His hips move with a vigor that Isak feels in every cell of his body, his head to his toes, and he knows he looks like a starfish right now, probably; splayed in every which way, curving his ass upwards so Even can keep at it at an angle that isn’t too awkward for either of them. Isak’s hands scrape along Even’s back, his shoulders, tousle through his hair until it’s mussed and floppy and the product that usually keeps it flowing back has given up, surrendered, rendered itself immobile and useless just like Isak has.

Even hits him in that spot, just right, perfect, and that’s all it takes. He comes hard, fast, sputtering along Even’s hand that immediately jacks him the rest of the way through. It’s almost too much, Even’s hand on him, his dick in him, but then, just for good measure, Even kisses him too. 

It’s softer this time, tender and slow, and Isak doesn’t realize until Even pulls away that he’s come, too. 

     “Good God, mannen i mitt liv.”

Isak huffs out a breath, nudges Even’s shoulder. “Hey, that’s my line.”
Even beams. “It’s a good one.” Another kiss to his lips, then his forehead, and then he adds, “you’re a good one.”

Isak catches his bottom lip between his teeth, worries for a brief moment he might cry, right here, right now, with Even’s dick still inside of him, come not even yet dried on his chest. 

     “That’s all you. You’re the best. Seriously.” His nose finds Even’s, brushes against it. “Fuck, baby.”

Even’s still beaming. Flushed, a little sweaty, eyes bright and his weight still heavy atop Isak.  

     “Okay?” he asks, though there’s not even a trace of doubt left on his face now.

     “More than okay.”

He nuzzles into the broad space of Isak’s collarbones, kisses him there until Isak feels like he’s never loved him more. Never been loved more. Right here, right now, in this moment, he thinks they may be closer than they’ve ever been. Physically, of course, he knows that they’re about equal now to where they were before, and he’s also not sure that emotionally they’ll ever top that night outside of Nissen, in the biting cold and the pitch dark, surrounded by uncertainty. For both their sakes, Isak hopes that they never do.

But also, he knows they will; knows they’ll find moments better and brighter and deeper and harder, all worth it in the end because he knows it, in a way that almost terrifies him— it probably should— that this is it, for Isak. Even is it for him. He feels it, knows it in a way that’s intrinsic, intuitive, unwavering. He thinks he may have been onto something with that stoned out parallel universe theory a few months ago, might even believe it.

As for himself, right now, Isak feels a bit like celebrating, like throwing a party, or at least running a few laps around the kitchen when he finally decides to move. He knows Even better now, sure, but he knows himself better too, and that’s a feat that’s definitely worthy of popping a bottle of champagne— or just staying with Even in bed for round two.

     “You think you can?” Even asks him, half-taunting when he proposes the idea. He’s still not pulled out, not quite yet, but with bracing hands on Isak’s hips and slow, sensitive movements, he slips out. Isak winces. 

     “Fuck, I’m going to be sore for days. I already know it.”

     “Welcome to my world,” Even replies, flopping down beside him like they just finished a game of Fifa and nothing more. The way he pulls Isak into his side, reaches around to hold him and trips his fingertips along his spine, is much more Isak’s speed, especially as he adjusts to the loss of Even, the feeling of a dull ache just beginning to bloom where he was.

     “Idiot,” Isak mutters. 

Even kisses his eyebrows. “You love me.”

Isak does it right back. “I sure do.”