20: Green Eyes, Green Eyes Like You've Never Seen Before

YETI

"Yeah, yeah I'm completely in love with someone and they don't know."

I smile, "tell me about him."

"Taller than me, definitely one of the biggest guys on the team, quiet."

"On the team?"

He pales, realizing he's probably told me too much, "right, he plays with us, which is a bad decision, but."

"Taller than you leaves a couple options, not many," I think. "Shy did you say?"

He pauses, then: "...yeah."

"Finnican?"

"No."

"Ukkovvsky?"

"No."

"St. Peters?"

"No."

"Patrick?"

"No."

"Fen's not bigger than you but."

"Not Fen."

"Jorgen doesn't play with us?"

None of the rest of the team is taller than him and shy. Hell none of the rest of the team is taller than him. It's what happens when he looks like a 5'10 guy who was grabbed on either end and stretched.

None of the rest of the team but me.

"Not him either," Rocket waves me off, "me later, what's something really defining about yours?"

I pause, scanning him, his body language, how he's leaning into the conversation, how his eyes don't tend to stay on mine, how they flit all across my body, how he looks. How flushed his cheeks are, how fidgety his hands are. Shy, tall... he said in the car that he would be into me, that I was his type.

fuck, this is a shot in the dark but he makes me feel things I never want to stop feeling.

I stare at him for another long moment, his every breathtaking detail, the thin silver chain around his neck, tucked into his shirt, the sweatpants that taper at his ankles, his thin build that seems somehow more threatening than any bulky guy I've ever squared off with. He's scrappier, faster.

I stare at the harsh slope of his nose, the cut of his jaw, his eyebrows that I can't describe in any other way than perfect for him.

Fuck it.

"Green eyes," I look at him, he better be talking about me. "Bottle green eyes like nothing you've ever seen before. Green eyes that match their helmet just perfect. Green eyes that catch me off guard every day. Green eyes that make me lose my breath. Green eyes that make me feel things I shouldn't be feeling." Rocket furrows his eyebrows at me. "Green eyes that look great in the sunlight in Tampa. Green eyes that match the trees in Toronto. Green eyes that glint like the sea in Boston. Green eyes that blend in perfectly with the Minnesota jerseys," catch the hint, catch the hint, catch the hint. "Green eyes that make me come right out of my shell. Green eyes that I've woken up to and want to again. Green eyes that I've fallen for completely and fucking irreversibly."

Rocket is staring right at me with those eyes. He's staring at me. He's thinking. "Håkon?" I have the urge to croon. Håkon.

My pulse is roaring in my ears. "Your eyes, Milo, you, It's you."

"You like me?"

"Like you?" I breathe hard, "Milo you've been the only thing in my head for months. I'm over the fucking moon about you."

Time seems to slow to a stop. I watch his shirt crinkle slowly, his long fingers dropping out of his crossed arms and reaching for me, the tug on my shoulders as they fold and grip the front of my hoodie. Then there's the tug downward, his nose hits the side of mine and I can't help but let my eyes flutter shut, his too. It happens in a millisecond at most, him reaching out and knotting his hands in my shirt, then yanking forward, but my brain slows it down for me, hyperaware of every move he makes toward me.

He pauses, nose on nose, breath on breath, lips ghosting mine. His hesitation warrants me opening my eyes to stare right back at his. He looks nervous, unsure if this is actually about to happen.

"Kiss me." I mumble. It doesn't take much. His lips hit mine in a rush, making my chest flutter and my shoulders tense. His lips taste like cookie batter and cedar, a combination I would've never found endearing until it was on him, now it's all I want to taste.

His first kiss is tentative, scared. It's just his lips on mine, like he doesn't know if this is real and he doesn't want to push the limits if it's not.

His eyelashes flutter softly against my cheek as he pulls back, not far, but far enough to see if I'm reacting well, to see if he's dreaming.

It only takes him a moment, just my unrestrained hungry eyes on his face, the flush in his cheeks, the red resting on his lips and the tip of his nose, the rumpled shirt... everything.

His fingers in my shirt slam us back together again in a moment of utter and total need. My hands fly up to his hair, digging through it, feeling how soft he manages to keep it. I can only handle a gentle touch for a second before it knots in my fingers, using it to get his lips harder against mine.

I'm kissing him like I've never kissed anyone before. Like if I break off I'll crumble to nothing. Like if I stop I'll never kiss him again. He's kissing me back like his life hinges on this very moment. This right here. His hands are gripping my hair and holding me tighter against his lips and his teeth and his tongue and I'm losing my mind.

It's a kiss that's making me want to throw away anything I could ever want to do ever again. It's a kiss that's making me forget how to stand on two feet, forget how to say my name, forget how to do anything but feel the way he nips at my lip and drags his tongue against mine. It's making everything feel so damn unimportant, everything but how badly I need to be closer to him. How badly I want to never ever be away from his skin ever again. How every touch of his body to mine is making my chest flutter and crinkle and dance with some crazy amount of starlight, bringing me to that night where the stars were so beautiful I wanted to give them to him in handfuls. Bringing me back to the desperate and insatiable need to do the impossible and grab as many stars as I could just so he could have them in a jar by his bedside. The feeling in my chest right now is that jar, sparkling and twinkling and thriving just because of him.

"Håkon?" he gasps, the rasp in his voice heightening everything I'm feeling. Håkon.

"Don't stop kissing me, please don't stop kissing me." I beg, not wanting to deal with the aftermath just yet, pressing my mouth right back on his, stopping him from talking. My tongue tangles with his and we get sloppy. It's a kiss without rules, it's like a breath of fresh air after a hard run, all I want is more and more and more.

There's so much contrast between us, the rough of the top of his tongue and the soft of the underside, the harsh breathing and the soft skin. I know if I opened my eyes I'd see my hand held tightly around the side of his head, fingertips in his dark hair, my pale skin pressed hard to his tanned skin.

His hand has forged a harsh grip on my hair, his fingers curling into the back of my neck, digging his nails in, my grip falls from his ear and wraps around the back of his neck, cradling his head in the hook of my arm, a stronghold that I didn't even have think about, done out of the pure need and lust to get him closer to me in anyway possible. Simply put: an addiction to how he makes me feel.

I drag a hand through his hair, knocking it out of the hair tie and letting it knot in my fingers. It makes him moan and I feel my body shiver, my jar full of stars in my chest cracking and letting a few loose. He's growling at me in Czech and I can't understand it, but something tells me it's a list of things he wants to do right now. My jar cracks further.

I grab his wrists off from the sides of my head and push him against the fridge, pinning him with my whole body. He's kissing my neck as hard as he can and I'm lost in heat, waves and waves of heat, I want him so badly that my body is shaking at every little thing he's doing. At this point that jar full of his stars is shattered, letting my body and my bloodstream flood. He's biting and mouthing me, marking me up, no doubt, but I don't care. I don't care if I've got bruises and scratches when we go back because it'll mean I got to do this, all of this. I got the guy I've been into for months and I'm not about to let go.

I growl a low swear in Swedish. His nails dig into the sides of my chest and it turns into more than one swear.

Then the oven starts beeping that the cookies are done but we're so distracted I don't hear it for the first minute, not until it gives me the 'it's been a minute, stupid' beep.

"Cookies." I pant.

"Right," he breaks off me. "Fuck."

My knees are weak when I pull open the oven, then shut it off, deciding to leave them in there and go back to Milo and his staggering lips.

I look at the cookies, then at him. He's quite clearly very dazed and in grey sweatpants, I can see exactly what I did to him. So I grab him by his hips and walk him backward into his living room. His knees fold over the side of a couch and I've got him pinned again. He's under me and we're making out again.

"You're gay?" He pants at one point, one hand in my hair, the other up my shirt.

I nod, "I've never told anyone."

"Kiss me again." I comply but go slower, locking my lips with his and keeping him at bay, sensually brushing my swollen lips against his.

"I need to breathe," I mumble against his mouth. "And I want a cookie."

He sits up and slips his hands into my hair, giving me another short kiss. "I need to calm the hell down."

"I do too," I let my hands touch him under his shirt. Just his waist. Then I pull back and just look at him and those green eyes. He's breathing hard, he's tousled up. His hair is sticking up in the back and I push it back into place. The rest of him is an absolute disaster as well, his sweatpants are slightly off one hip, showing me the elastic of his boxers above it. His shirt is up by his chest from where he's laying on my couch, showing me his core. His hair is a wreck and his cheeks are stained cherry red all the way across his nose like he got a sunburn. His lips are puffy, swollen, and when I lean down to give him one last short peck, hot.

Then I start to laugh, the catharsis of the moment catching up to me.

Rocket's laughing now too. "Hell, HÃ¥kon," he sits up a little, pulling down his shirt and wrapping his arms around my chest. "I feel like I just ran a marathon."

I try to fix his hair but it's too much of a wreck to even get my fingers through. "No offense but you look like it too."

That just makes him smile, "jerk."

I can't shake the giddy and giggly feeling I have right now, like maybe he permanently cracked that jar of stars. "Mmph, rude."

He grabs my hand, getting up and taking me with him. It's too far away so I weave my fingers between his. It earns me a gentle squeeze of approval. "So you're gay?"

It suddenly gets too serious, "yeah, yeah, I am."

"Amazing," Milo lets go of my hand and grabs oven mitts. "I really don't know at all what just happened."

I rub the back of my neck and try to refocus on anything but the way his mouth felt on me. "I told you I like you and then we made out for probably twenty minutes."

"Twenty minutes?" He looks at the clock. "Holy shit, yeah, twenty minutes. Felt like four."

"So, you like me back? I just want to clarify that."

"Yeah, I like you," He laughs and sets the cookie sheets on the counter, immediately taking off the gloves and sticking his finger into one of the melted chocolate chips, then licking it off. "A lot, I'm kinda crazy over you."

"Thank God," I snort. "I wanted to make sure I didn't just kiss a guy who likes someone else."

"I literally told you I would be really into you if you were gay," he's smiling at me. "That was seriously the most blatant hint I could've given you without telling you directly. I mean, a brick wall would've gotten that."

I push out my bottom lip, joking with him.

He doesn't let me talk, instead keeping his train of thought going. "Okay, okay, maybe it was harder considering everything, but it's okay, you can be my brick wall."

I force myself to not tear up at this, laughing instead when he tries to bite into a burning hot and slightly burnt cookie.

"I might be a brick wall but you're not too smart yourself, do you need some ice for that?" I reach over and cup my hand under the ice machine in the fridge, getting him a cube for his tongue.

He takes it begrudgingly, pressing it to his tongue for a moment before speaking again. "What? I was hungry. Kissing burns calories."

"So does breathing."

That gets me an eye roll as he stares longingly at the cookie still in his hand. He glances at the cookie, then crosses his eyes to look at the ice he's holding to his tongue, then back at the cookie.

Before I can blink, he takes the ice out of his mouth and sticks the rest of the cookie in, before popping the ice back between his lips to cool it all off while it's already in his mouth.

"Innovation." He mumbles over the mouthful, swallowing half. "So are you out to anyone? Cuz I get the vibe you're not. At all."

I suck in a breath. "No, not really. My parents kinda know. That's about it." I won't tell him about the hook ups, he doesn't need to know.

He frowns. "Were they nice about it?"

"I was raised Christian."

"Oh," is all he responds with.

***

and we become night time dreamers

and street walkers, small talkers

when we should be daydreamers

and moonwalkers and dream talkers

daydreamer - aurora

***

yeehaw

-rabid

EDIT: lyric alignment