[Action post: Christmas letter]
[There had been a letter in their post box that morning, along with a few ads for sales and an electricity bill. Berwald frowned down at the slightly scuffed and stamp encrusted envelope. It looked like it had had a long travel, and there was no return address. Shrugging at the mystery, he went to kitchen to get a knife and slice it open, eyes
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"You could chop the vegetables?" he suggested.
*
The rest of the evening was... ok. Not tense, really, just a tentative sort of silence, the sort that had nothing to do with words. Because they did speak, but it was of everyday things, with no mention of the letter or any of the other things it had brought up.
Berwald almost managed to forget them, even, all until they went to bed. It was only then, when he was lying down under the covers, his back touching Sindre's side, that Berwald felt... safe enough, perhaps, or as if there'd be no sleep for him unless he could clear it out. The bedside light was still on because Sindre had a book he'd wanted to read, but it was just a low, warm glow in the otherwise dark room.
"Sindre," he blurted out, a bit too fast in his haste to begin while he still had the courage. "Why did you think I'd leave you for... in Tino came back?"
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He fell quiet after that, fingers stroking over Berwald's stomach lightly as if to say he hadn't finished speaking. He just needed time to choose his words correctly.
"With Søren, his actions led me to believe what I felt was returned. That believe was shared by others close with him. And yet...well. I told you what happened."
He wrapped his arms tighter around Berwald. "I haven't heard from him since he left, you know. Not even...not even after my birthday." And the pain and danger that had accompanied that day. "I try not to think on it, and while I don't have any lingering fingers for him--the only thing I want him for is to punch him in the face--it's hard not to feel tossed away, sometimes."
He pressed his face against the back of Berwald's neck. "And you...you wanted Tino for so long. I remember. And you two never had a falling out..." he shrugged against Berwald's back. "Sometimes...sometimes it feels as if it's only a matter of time before it happens again."
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He had to focus on the now.
He took a deep breath, tried to work out where to start explaining something he barely understood himself.
"The truth about Tino... this will sound terrible, but I wonder sometimes if I-- I mean, he was a good friend. I think I could have been happy with him. But when he told me he wanted to be more than friends, I didn't expect it."
He thought about it a moment. "I guess I'd sort of... I'd accepted it wasn't going to be, ya know? An' it wasn't that bad. Wouldn't have been. So when he changed his mind I was happy, of course. But there wasn't... really such a long time, that we could be a couple."
He fell quiet again, feeling foolish to have said so much, in such a disordered fashion. "Dunno if that makes any sense," Berwald added softly.
Then he turned, so he could look Sindre in the eyes, to try to convince him he meant what he said.
"What I'm trying to say is... it wasn't perfect. You're... you weren't ever less than him, and I. I won't let you go, unless you want it."
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Returning the declaration, Sindre cupped his hand behind Berwald's neck and tugged him in for a hard, possessive kiss.
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He knew that it didn't fix everything, but just knowing he was wanted, and not just anyone but Sindre felt good nevertheless.
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Breaking the kiss, Sindre nipped his way down Berwald's neck. "Mine," he insisted. "Not letting you go. Love you too much to do so willingly."
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Physically, his breathing speeded up, and he was embarrassingly aroused suddenly.
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"We okay?" he asked quietly, before returning to nipping at Berwald's neck.
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Then again, it was difficult to care, at the moment, with Sindre's leg between his, perfect for thrusting against, and his hand splayed on his stomach.
He meant to reply, really, but the teeth on his neck derailed even the last thought, and what came out of Berwald's mouth was a choked moan instead.
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So he bit down, hard, sucking at that bit of skin to ensure it would be the first but by no means the last mark of the evening. At the same time he ground down with his knee, meeting Berwald's thrusts more firmly with his leg.
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Distantly, he was aware the hold he had on Sindre's hip might be leaving bruises, but not enough to actually let go. Sindre would tell him if he minded, would make him stop, and at that thought a shiver of desire went through Berwald and left him gasping and on edge.
Usually he had more control than this, but that night... maybe it was because of the letter, or their fight. Whatever it was, Berwald wouldn't even wonder at it himself until later. At that moment he just needed.
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“No touching,” he growled, “Not yet.” He bit his way up Berwald’s neck, nipping hard at his earlobe before speaking again. “I want you to listen,” he insisted. “I might have been waiting, but you are too. You still expect me to leave you. To wake up and wonder why on earth I ever came to your bed.”
He tightened his grip on Berwald’s wrists. “You haven’t been listening. So no touching. No distractions. Not until you truly hear what all of me has been saying.”
And with that, he bent his head to take Berwald in a bruising kiss.
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At Sindre's words, he forced himself to be still and quiet, looking up at him with his eyes wide and glossed over with desire. It was so hard to concentrate on what Sindre was saying, Berwald thought, licked at his dry lips.
He shuddered when Sindre's hands tightened on his wrists, just shy of hurting (he almost wished it had, wished they left marks).
make me, he thought with something like desperation as Sindre kissed him, hard.
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"Not just my words," he continued, shifting his grip so one hand held both of Berwald's wrists. "Listen to what my mouth, my hands, my body has to say."
And as he bend his head, Sindre's lips and teeth and tongue spoke of their desire for the soul of the wonderful man below him as they teased the skin over Berwald's heart.
His hands spoke of their desire to keep him here, keep him with him always, as the free one shot out and grabbed the belt to Sindre's robe, as together they wound it around Berwald's wrists to keep them at the headboard, in how they pulled the fabric a bit too tight, and then tighter still at the noise Berwald made because of it.
And his body spoke of its desire for the body below it as Sindre thrust against Berwald's muscled thigh, taking pleasure from him even as he sought to give him pleasure.
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