19: Cabin Fever

this is rough and basically a beta publish considering i need to edit a lot of it cuz i'm pretty sure it's like not at all the way I should've approached this. this hopefully will be changed

ROCKET

Packing and driving didn't actually take that long. He finally caved to letting me drive so we got there in 25% less time than it would've taken normally and when we arrive, it's literally exactly what the definition of a cabin is. Small, appears to be somewhat off the grid, I mean, the driveway was like ten miles long (that's an exaggeration)

Point is, it's definitely a little wooden cabin with big 'ol windows that looks out over a pretty fucking awesome lake and like a buncha trees.

I look over at HÃ¥kon, parking the car. "Am I gonna get an explanation or are you gonna just serial killer style murder me out here."

He smiles, shaking his head. "So, okay," and with that, he gets out of the car.

"Where are you going?"

He sets his hands on the hatchback and pops it. "You know me, most of my lineage, that is. Half my family is Norwegian, very very very strongly Norwegian, my dad's half. That's why my name is HÃ¥kon not HÃ¥kan. Would've been Haakon but that's just weird. In Norway, i norge-" I shudder at the soft change over in his accent. "There's a longstanding tradition of having a family cabin, passed down through generations, a hytte. It's a big cultural aspect in Norway other than very expensive drinking culture and oil. Point is, when my dad came here for my mom, he missed that aspect of family life, so when Isa was one, they bought this odd plot of land and built this." He waves behind him toward the little cabin. "Somewhat off the grid, in the middle of nowhere, where you come with your family or your friends on the weekends to play games in front of the fire and, I dunno, drink beer smuggled in from Denmark."

"What?"

"I forget you don't know anything about Scandinavian culture, it's cute." He looks up at me, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Lots of Norwegians take cheap flights to southern countries to buy copious amounts of booze to bring back into the country to avoid the goddamn alcohol tax."

"Side track question, how Scandinavian are you." I ask, grabbing my own bag.

He smiles. "We took that dumb DNA test thing like seven years ago, I tested positive for pale."

I can't suppress a giggle. "Really now? Would've never guessed."

HÃ¥kon slings an arm over my shoulder, bending my way to press a kiss to my cheek. "I'm more Norwegian than Swedish but just barely enough british to explain my last name."

"Rex isn't really one of those 'yeah he's Scandinavian' last names." I sling my arm around his waist in return, slipping my fingers up and under his shirt.

"No, and I was so close too, my mom's name is goddamn Bernhardsson and my dad's mom's name was Skjeggestad. I got Rex."

"Mhmm," I run my knuckles up the side of his stomach. "And I got Stojanovič, which has a non-anglicized accent and ended up voiding all my standardized test scores."

"Which you didn't need anyway." He flicks on the light just inside the door. "This is it, Rex family hytte."

"I like it," I respond, looking at the tiny kitchen-dining-room-living-room-fireplace combo. Off to one side is one bedroom, and another on the other side, then a third door which I assume is the bathroom. "If I gave you head in front of the little statue of Jesus on the mantle would that be considered blasphemy."

He chokes. "What?"

"Look at him, he's just staring." I point. "It would be fun, stuffed with religious guilt, but fun,"

"We're going to hell."

I smile, tugging him down for a kiss. "But we're going to hell together, my dear."

"I love you like nothing else," he mumbles into my mouth. "And no, it would not be considered blasphemy."

I pull back. "Why not? It's gay sex in front of the christ figure."

"You have to tarnish the image somehow." He starts. "Don't even say it."

"If I like, spat-"

"Shut it, shut up." He slips his fingers around my chin, quieting me with his lips. "And it wouldn't even be that bad on a scale of things, Isa and Leo have probably had loads of premarital sex in here."

"Oh, gross." I comment, not needing to think about that.

"When two teenagers disappear off to a cabin in the woods every weekend, something is happening."

I pull back. "Gross."

"Yeah, we're using the other room."

"Bad time or good time to bring up us and sex?" I chew my lip. "Bad time?" I clear my throat. "I swear I feel like I sound obsessed with this but I'm not I'm just nervous and bringing it up more, fuck I'm rambling but that's not the point the point is that god maybe- I just feel like we've argued over this topic kinda a lot and now we're here and it would just be such a relief for me to get the specific topic off my back and I know it's not good to fix shit with sex but this is literally about something that's gonna be fixed with sex and we'll still obviously have problems after this because we're both humans but I'm just an anxious wreck over-"

"Milo," he stops me, "I know, and I was planning on that and I know that's how to fix that one specific thing and I know you're anxious, but let me get a damn drink, we've got things to discuss."

"Including what?" I trail him into the tiny little kitchen.

He pops the cap on a beer with just his palm, then hands me one. (I, reluctantly, will need a can opener.) "Including my realization that I would definitely be okay with getting topped."

My jaw practically hits the floor. "What? What are you talking about?."

"Mmph." He grumbles, tipping it back. "This is an only you thing, you got that?"

I grin, taking a sip off the top of the bottle. "I need details."

"So, so what, I, god why did I have to tell you that." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Okay so it came about because I was thinking about it logistically and how I was considering all of everything with you and your sensory stuff and how maybe having to bottom would be too much sensory-wise for you but since topping isn't too much, too much, it's definitely not the same, but it's not that much different than getting, ya know, but-"

"You're rambling. I've never heard you ramble."

"Gah, Rocks, you're insufferable."

Confidence is slowly creeping into me for some dumb reason and I just smile back at him. I sling my arms up around his shoulders, pressing the cool of the bottle against his neck. "Keep talking baby."

"So because it's not too much different, really, okay, it's a lot different. It's like completely different but it's not foreign. So like what if we just did it like that and then I was having a hard time considering all that because I hadn't been thinking me and you I was just thinking about you and what would be best for you without thinking that by god it's gotta be me you do this with. So then I-"

I'm chewing my lip, absentmindedly playing with his hair. "Keep going, love."

"God I just put it all through my head and now I'm here."

"So you're into that idea." I ask, nudging my nose against his, wishing he'd open his eyes and stop cringing so hard over this.

"Maybe."

"S'gotta be a yes, hon."

"Yes, okay, yes, a little-" he pulls in a long breath. "God, I should not have told you this. So maybe, and if I don't like it-"

"Then I stop."

"What?"

"Then I stop and we talk about why and decide if it's a temporary discomfort or a long term one and we go from there." I pull him away from the counter.

"Why in god's name are you talking like this could be tonight?" His eyes are panickey.

"Shh," I mumble, pressing my finger to his lips. "It's not going to be, it's late already, we've been through a shit ton today. I mean, I divulged the greater half of my mental illness onto you, went for a walk, almost fucked you on the couch at your sisters, packed all our shit, inflated the air mattress, got in the car, drove an hour and now we're here. We're both dead exhausted and in the middle of all that you realized you would be okay with bottoming."

"Might've lied a little," he mumbles.

"What?"

"It wasn't today, really-"

"Good god the fucking planets are aligning for me, huh? What in my 23 very very very gay years did I do to earn this?" I ruffle up his hair. "I'm so excited."

"Rocket you're a menace."

"You love me."

"More than anything." He sighs. "Okay, so it's been longer than that, fine, yeah, maybe a very weird few weeks of realizing I'd totally be fine with it as long as it's you because I trust you with everything I have and apparently this is included in that."

I giggle, hopping up into his arms. "I love you."

"Mhmm, you better." He grumbles. "Figured it might also be less awkward if we're both out of our element. You know, cancel the awkward by both being awkward? Instead of just you it's me too? I just felt like our power dynamic would be so shit if that's how... ya know."

"So you want me to rail you."

"Well when you say it like that..."

"Mhmm," I press a flurry of kisses to the side of your head. "And yeah, the dynamic was gonna be awful, it's one of the reasons I'm absolutely scared of it."

"I just, I didn't like how it was gonna feel, having to be the bigger figure for something like that? Especially because it's you and I know you and I know you'd hate being told everything of what to do and how to feel so I just, and I'm not the one with sensory processing issues and you are, and you're so so so important to me I don't think I could handle being the one that caused a repeat of Norway and I just, I dunno, it's been weighing on me." I normally hate it when people make allowances because of my reaction to stuff, but this? This is fine.

I kiss under his ear. "You can just say that I'm better endowed and be done with it."

"You're not," he denies quickly. "No, don't even start with that again."

"Wanna strip and inspect? We've done this before." I tip back my bottle and then set it on the counter, going for my belt buckle.

"Rocket, no," he smacks my hands away. "No no no."

"You're just worried you're gonna finally have to admit to it."

"It's not about size, Stojanovič."

"Oh hohoho," I grin at him, slinging my arms back over his shoulders and starting to dance a little. "Really?"

"I didn't think the beer would hit you that fast-" then he mutters something in Swedish that I don't catch but I assume is some term of endearment.

"It's not the beer, I'm just stupid in love with you, exhausted, and excited."

"Nothing, nothing prepares me for you," he brushes his nose back on mine, rocking his hips with the dumb dance. "I love you."

"I tap his hip bones. "Looser, drahý," I use some dumb Czech endearment on him and hope his heart melts the way mine does when he does that to me.

"You know I don't know how to do that and you know I don't know what that means."

I smile, "means dear. Or, a rough translation of it does." I slip my hands firmly around his hips. "And it's like this, gotta keep those hips loose, can't have my boyfriend tearing something because he's tight in the hips."

He wiggles his eyebrows at me and I just laugh, setting my head on his shoulder, a stupidly vulnerable, totally euphoric feeling easing it's way into all of me, warm like the burn of alcohol but so so so sober that I can feel every little breath of his air against my neck and every little loosening rock of his hips and the stupid tune I'm humming is so so so clear because I'm not drunk, I'm in love. I'm in love beyond love like love has never been felt before and I'm vulnerable to him and he knows me, all of me, the depths of me, the things I can handle and can't handle and the things I miss and the things that will break me like broken has never been seen and he's still here, rocking his hips and loving me right back because he sees me, all of me, and decides every moment that that same all of me is worth all of him.

"Jag älskar dig," I whisper against his hair. Håkon pauses, arms around my back, nose in my neck.

"What did you say?"

"Jag älskar dig," I try again, blushing and embarrassed now.

He pulls back, smiling and cupping my face. "I love you too, but god, Miloš, your accent is atrocious."

***

yeah anyway I'm like 99% sure that this is not staged right and weird enough to be straight up problematic but I'll fix it when I can tomorrow

-rabid