you keep me under your spell

To say there’s a chill in the air is an understatement. Somehow, it seems the inside of the house is colder than the outside. It had been left empty for a good few days before you arrived today with a moving truck full of your worldly belongings, but even so, feeling your fingertips turn numb, you never imagined you’d feel the chill this much.

An uncomfortable question flashes through your mind; Have you done the right thing?, but, already engaged in an internal battle to keep homesickness at bay, you force yourself to think about how you’d not had much of a need for thick duvets and firewood before, reminding yourself that you will adapt. That it will all be worth it. That the cold will soon feel like home.

The house is nice, and you know that once it warms through properly it will feel cosy and homely, even if right now it’s an empty shell of a building waiting for your stamp. But it’s getting there. You can already picture yourself settling down in front of a roaring fire with a blanket and a slice of pie.

You sigh at the fireplace. You have no means to build a fire, and even if you did, where do you begin? Instead, you settle with lighting a few candles you found with a book of matches in the box marked ‘KITCHEN’ in a futile attempt to create a feeling of warmth.

Once you begin the process of dragging furniture around and unpacking boxes that, despite being labelled perfectly well before the move seem to be all out of order again, you generate a little heat as the rooms begin to take shape.

After a while (you’ve no idea how long; you’ve misplaced your phone in the bubblewrap and the clocks are currently hidden in an unopened box, but it’s long since been dark out) you grow tired of organising your things and decide rest is in order. If only that fireplace was roaring and there was a freshly baked pie on the kitchen counter…

You reluctantly blow the candles out, wolf down a couple of the cookies you’d packed for the road, and shiver yourself to sleep under a couple of thin blankets, planning to venture into the town tomorrow and purchase a few items to help you adapt to your new climate a little more comfortably.

****

You’d not yet had time to hang drapes, so when morning arrives, with it comes the sharp winter sun flooding your bedroom, disturbing your dreams and pulling you back to the cold reality you’d fallen asleep in.

You stretch, gradually taking in your new surroundings, and start your day by finding some warmer clothes and a pair of boots packed into one of your overflowing suitcases. 

You step outside to appreciate the crisp covering of snow. It crunches beneath your feet, and you think you could get used to that.

There’s a little parcel a few feet from your doorstep, wrapped in brown paper and tied up with string. Looking around for a sign of who might have left it and seeing no one, you pick it up to carry inside. It’s heavier than you anticipate and has a label attached to the string which you read the moment you drop the package onto the kitchen table.

‘Welcome neighbour! Don’t be a stranger! Karin and Gus x’

It must’ve come from the big, white house just a short walk from your own; your closest neighbours, the others being at least a couple of minutes walk away.

You pick at the knot in the parcel string, the paper beneath falling away as the string loosens, and you see a huge tray of pasta bake. It’s homemade and makes your stomach growl just looking at it. The homesick churn in your stomach relaxes in turn, and a smile pulls at your lips.

You should introduce yourself to this Karin and Gus before you venture into town today. That would be the neighbourly thing to do, right?

Rifling through the bag of snacks you’d packed for the road, you found the large tupperware of homemade hamantaschen cookies you’d raided the night before, and, removing just one more cookie to eat immediately, you tuck the tub under your arm, shove your hands into your pockets (adding gloves to your mental shopping list) and set off to greet your new neighbours.

Rounding the corner at the end of your driveway, you see the figure of someone swinging what looked like an axe outside that big, white house.

Gus, you remind yourself of the names on the parcels tag. Karin and Gus.

As you step closer, you can’t help but notice that this Gus guy is kind of…

No. Stop. You cannot find your neighbour attractive. You can’t.

Can you?

‘Hey, Gus?’ you call with a wave, and the man, frankly oozing sexual energy with his brawny arms and that big axe held in an exceptionally strong grip, turns around.

Oh shit. He’s handsome too.

Your gaze drops from his sparkling blue eyes to his handsome mustache, perfectly groomed and sort of dashing…

‘Hi… I uh… I just moved in next door,’ you gesture over your shoulder whilst trying to snap yourself out of whatever this is, and focus on the steamy breath you can see in the air every time you breathe out instead. ‘Gus, isn’t it?’

He doesn’t answer. He bites his lips together and averts his gaze, shoulders hunched.

‘I wanted to thank you and Karin for my welcome gift. It looks so delicious.’

Dropping the axe, the handsome Gus straightens up and your eyes widen at his height.

He steps back, blinking excessively, cheeks blazing hot and hands clenching into tight fists as his sides.

‘Hey, are you alright?’ you try. A whisper.

‘Y-yeah, I-’ he stutters, swallowing hard and thrusting a hand out to you with his eyes closed tight, as though he’s bracing himself for some sort of terrifying impact.

Carefully, you take it, feeling the way his arm tenses when your flesh meets his. He’s warm and clammy and you want to pull him close.

‘I- I’m Lars,’ he breathes, his hand dropping back to his side. ‘Gus is my brother.’

Lars. Your heart skips a beat.

‘Ah… Lars. Nice to meet you. I didn’t mean to startle you,’ you say softly, ‘I just wanted to bring some cookies over for Gus and Karin.’

Lars clocked the container under your arm and visibly settled. ‘Oh… oh, they’re not in right now. I could look after those cookies for you until they’re back though? I promise not to eat them.’

‘Ok, sure! I’ll maybe stop by tomorrow to introduce myself properly, but if you could tell them I said thank you for the warm welcome, I’d appreciate it?’

‘Sure,’ Lars nods, a little skittish.

‘And you can have a cookie,’ you joke, pushing the tub toward him.

Lars huffs out an awkward little chuckle and instead of taking the tub from you, whips what you thought was a thick blue scarf from around his neck.

‘Y-you look cold. Here-’

He shuffles toward you, averting his gaze as he fumbles with wrapping the little handmade blanket around your shoulders, his fingers delicate but shaky.

The fresh scent of laundry detergent mixed with light musk hits you and you all but swoon at the combination. It’s not just a swoon; it’s homely, too. Lars is homely.

‘Thank you,’ you breathe, smiling. Is everyone so kind and polite here?

‘It’s alright. I’m getting a bit hot from chopping wood anyway.’ Lars steps backward, staring at the ground as he creates a more comfortable distance between the two of you. Is it comfortable though? He feels an urge to go back to you. ‘You can bring it over when you’re warmed up and all unpacked.’

He’s so sweet you feel like your heart is on the verge of exploding.

‘I don’t have many winter clothes, actually. That’s where I’m heading now – into town to introduce some wool and a decent coat to my wardrobe, and a nice big duvet to my bed. I knew it’d be cold here but I didn’t think it would be this cold.’

Lars looks down, biting his lips together again, bracing himself to say something. You wait patiently.

‘W-where did you move from?’

‘Somewhere much warmer than this,’ you shiver, sucking in a sharp breath of cool air. ‘For a fresh start.’

Lars’s brow furrows and he lets out a small, ‘Ok!’ He isn’t sure whether it would be too much to question any further, so he drops the subject, reaching a hand out to you.

For a moment, you freeze, a whole movie playing out in your mind of what might await you in the future if you take his hand right now and just… kiss him.

Lars clears his throat. ‘The um… the cookies?’

‘Oh- yes.’ You push the box toward his outstretched hand. ‘Take a couple for yourself too.’

You see a crimson blush dust flare up on his cheeks again.

‘Th-thanks.’

The air thickens then as your gazes lock, until  Lars turns away, and you wonder if you’ve overdone it. He did seem a painfully shy. Maybe he could read your mind and was horrified of what he’d witnessed… or the offer of a cookie was just too much.

Just as you open your mouth to ease the tension and singsong a, Well, see you around, Lars!, he sets down the tupperware full of cookies, gathers a few logs in those burly arms and turns back to you. His cheeks are positively glowing now.

‘Th-these are for you.’

There goes that lightheaded swooning feeling again. ‘Oh, Lars, are you sure?’

‘Of course! I’m really good at it. I chop the wood for Gus and Karin’s house all the time, so it’s really no problem to spare a few… for my neighbour.’

‘Oh! You live here too?’

Lars turns sheepish, nodding toward the garage behind you. ‘I live… there.’ He remembers the time he spent in his home with Bianca. Moments far and few between, but usually tender. He remembers dancing with her by firelight, a jazz record playing softly. He clears his throat. ‘Do you know how to build a fire?’ he asks, much more confidently.

You get the feeling he would take great pride in teaching you, but still feel a little silly admitting the truth to him. How could you accept these logs in all good conscience when you’ve never built a log fire in your life and have no idea where to begin other than… setting them on fire?

Embarrassment creeps onto your cheeks and you hold your breath, scrunching your nose up. ‘Nope. You got me. Something else for me to learn now that I live here.’

‘I could show you some time,’ Lars mutters, so quiet you almost don’t hear him. His voice cracks as he backtracks, ‘if- if you like?’

You nod, and both of you are blushing so hard you’re barely able to look at one another aside from surreptitious stolen glances.

You hug the firewood close to your chest and take a deep, steadying breath. ‘Thank you, Lars. For everything.’

As you trudge back over the undisturbed snow to store the logs in your porch, you chuckle to yourself. You needn’t have worried about the cold, all you have to do is talk to Lars for a few minutes and you’ll soon warm up.

****

Wrapped in the same paper and tied with the same string, another parcel appears on your doorstep the very next morning. 

Your head tilts as you bend to collect it, wondering what else Gus and Karin could possibly have sent you when you haven’t even met them yet. Would this turn into a never-ending exchange of reheatable meals and cookies?

It feels lighter, soft in your hands.

You tear the paper open right there and then, too curious to wait. Two thick sweaters spill into your hands, a small sheet of note paper floating to your feet.

They smell like Lars, and you know instantly that they’re his. It’s the same scent you caught from his blanket yesterday; the same one that lingered on his skin when he had leaned in close to wrap it around your shoulders – fresh and soft with a hint of musk. Comforting. Homely.

Butterflies soar in your stomach and for a moment, you forget that you’re standing in the frosty air in just your pyjamas and socks.

You collect the note up and shut out the cold, heart beating a little faster as you sit down to read it and learn what his handwriting looks like. It’s neat, large letters, cursive. Romantic.

You shake your head, still in denial that you’d ever dare to think of him that way, pretending you hadn’t fallen asleep wondering what his soft lips might feel like against yours and dreamed about him teaching you to chop wood, his strong arms braced around yours to guide you as you swung the axe.

You tried to focus on the words rather than the style of the handwriting or your own wandering mind, almost nervous to begin reading, wondering what he wants to say to you.

I hope you don’t mind me leaving these for you – I don’t wear them so much any more and thought they would be put to better use building up your winter wardrobe. 

One has a hole in the sleeve. I’m sorry about that. I would have fixed it but I never learned how to sew. It’s ok if you don’t like them.

Hope you’re keeping warm! 

Lars (your neighbour)(the one from the garage)

You bite your lips together to keep a whine from escaping. Your neighbour? The one from the garage? As if you could possibly forget him.

‘Could you be any cuter?’ you grin, and fold the letter, standing to head right back to your bedroom and dress immediately throwing on the new puffer coat you bought in the town yesterday over a Lars scented sweater, grab your last tub of cookies and head out, marching straight up to the door of the garage next door.

****

‘Hi.’ Lars swallows the word, opening his door just enough to poke his face through the gap. 

He’s just as handsome as you remember. Maybe more. The way the bright winter sun hits his eyes and sets the deep blue sparkling, the coy little smile he can’t quite hide beneath that impeccably groomed mustache…

‘Hi,’ you sigh. You might feel a twinge of embarrassment, but Lars seems so taken aback to see you, you don’t think he’ll notice your indiscreet little swoon.

You clear your throat. ‘Thank you so much for the sweaters, Lars. You really didn’t have to.’

‘Oh it’s nothing,’ he protests, struggling to meet your gaze and chewing his lips as though he’s scared of what he might say if he doesn’t bite them together.

‘I brought more cookies. Just for you this time.’

Lars squeezes his eyes shut, taking a deep steadying breath.

‘Are you ok?’

He blinks his eyes open again and finally looks into yours. ‘Hmm? Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I’m ok.’

Even so, his fingers fiddle with the slightly chipped paint around the edge of the door he’s holding ajar.

‘Alright, well…’

‘Did you use the firewood yet?’ he blurts, eyes closed again but voice much louder.

‘No, I never got the chance to look up how to build a proper fire last night, so-’

‘Would you like me to show you? Now?’ His face scrunches up in what looks like pain.

‘Yes! That would be great.’

Lars nods, smiling, and opens the door. ‘Please, come in,’ he breathes, and you notice his hand gripping so tight onto the door now that his knuckles have turned white.

You step inside the little garage apartment, immediately so at ease that you almost feel at home here.

There’s a jazz record playing softly, and you sway a little as you glance around, clocking the log burner in the corner. His bed is neatly made with two or three blankets layered on the top, warm and cosy. You wonder what he wears to bed.

The kitchen is sparse and clean, a small double hob occupying a whistling kettle and a pan. There are a few cupboards you imagine are mostly bare. 

A door to the left looks like it must lead to the bathroom, because aside from a small closet and a couple of shelves on the wall, that’s all of it. Lars’s entire home.

He doesn’t appear to have many worldly belongings, but what he does have, he appreciates and takes good care of. You smile at that. Maybe he would take good care of you, too.

In many ways, you think, perhaps without even knowing it, he already has.

Lars closes the front door, but doesn’t move from his spot beside it, staring down at his feet.

‘W-we might as well enjoy the fire after I show you how to get it going. Would you like to stay for a drink? We could share the cookies? If you like?’

He glances toward you with that pained look again, but it quickly softens when you answer simply with a gentle; ‘Yes. I’d love to.’

Lars grins, incredulous, and springs into action, preparing to start work on building the fire, dropping to his knees before the log burner.

‘Alright, the first thing we need to do is make sure the firewood is in good condition. I know mine is, of course, but it’s always worth checking, because…’

You sit beside him, fully intending to learn a valuable lesson that will no doubt serve you for many winters to come, but Lars picks up a log with such care the mere sight of it makes you shiver.

Carefully, he runs the tips of his long, thick fingers over the smooth edge of the wood, treating it so delicately that every word out of his mouth blurs into barely perceptible background noise and all you can manage to do is watch those elegant fingers tracing over the contours and try not to imagine how they’d feel on your skin instead.

Startlingly, he stops the demonstration short and turns to you. It’s far from abrupt, but it drags you out of your reverie nonetheless.

‘Got that?’ he asks eagerly.

‘Hmm?’

‘Ready for the next step?’ Lars beams at you. He’s been talking nonstop, completely lost in the world of firewood while you were lost in the world of… Lars.

‘Yes, yes, of course,’ you lie, hoping the next part won’t be as difficult to take in and that you can piece together whatever you’ve missed.

Lars opens up what he calls the damper, leaning forward to place kindling into the centre of the stove, his sweater rides up a little at the back, and although you try with all your might not to look, you can’t quite avoid it. Beneath those three layers, his exposed skin looks so soft and pale and… warm.

There are a few small beauty marks dotted close to his hip and you get the urge to trace them with your finger tips, follow them like a constellation and connect the stars with your tongue…

But you’re not supposed to be thinking about the flesh of Lars’s lower back under your fingers and lips. You’re supposed to be listening to his instructions.

You close your eyes and try to focus.

Good logs. Damper open. Something about kindling.

You can do this. You can.

Oblivious, Lars continues, arranging dry wood around the kindling and placing the logs gently on top, taking as much care as if he was creating a work of art.

He’s so passionate and thorough in the way he describes the process, the way he’s handling the equipment, that this in itself is making you come over too hot.

Is he this passionate and thorough with a lover? 

Stop.

You shake the thought from your head and wonder if you will manage to actually sit in front of a blazing fire with him at all if he carries on like this. Carries on being so… so…

‘Would you like to do the honours?’ he grins, sitting back on his heels.

You swallow hard. ‘Sure!’ 

Lars hands you a half empty box of matches. His hands are no longer trembling, you notice, but yours have certainly begun to shake as you select and strike a match.

Lars’s palm slides over the back of your hand, warm and soft, to guide your flame to the kindling. Your head spins and you lean forward together, bodies pressing close as you hold the match still and wait.

Both of you watch with delight as the fire takes hold and bursts to life before you.

You smile at Lars, who beams back. There’s but an inch between you and you can’t help but lick your lips and you glance down at his.

‘We did it,’ he breathes. ‘Next time, you can try arranging the kindling-’ He stops himself. 

Next time.

Suddenly his face is burning, his forehead is damp and his chest is tight, and a voice in his head is firmly telling him to run in the opposite direction.

‘How about that drink?’ you remind him, hoping it’ll ease the tension.

Lars is more grateful than you could ever know for that simple suggestion. It gives him a reason not to completely consume you, which is both his greatest fear and his strongest urge with you so close. He isn’t sure whether the heat he feels is from the fire or from his burning attraction to you, but thinking about it is making him dizzy.

He snaps up to stride into the kitchen and start the kettle boiling, and you try to focus on breathing.

As you feel comforting warmth radiating from the glow of the fireplace and listen to him pottering in the kitchen, your eyes slip closed.

This is home.

‘Is hot chocolate ok?’ Lars calls over.

‘No lactose for me, please, Lars.’

‘No problem! I can work around that. See, if you mix the cocoa powder into a paste with a small amount of the water first, you can make it smooth and thick without the need for milk! Neat little trick, huh? And I can skip the cream topping, just for you.’ 

Lars is once again in his element. He seems so happy to share his habits with someone – with you – that it eradicates the overwhelming nerves he was fighting moments ago. 

‘That sounds wonderful. Thank you.’

‘Uhm- do you… do you mind if I have a little cream on mine?’ he asks, cautious. ‘I’ll only have a little bit.’

‘Of course I don’t mind!’

He chuckles quietly with a shaky exhale of nervous energy. ‘Ok!’

You watch as he finishes up and joins you again placing two big mugs of hot chocolate on the little rug in front of the fire.

‘You know, I used to treat myself to a hot chocolate now and then before I moved here, even though it was much warmer. I wonder if it’ll hit different now that I actually need heating up,’ you laugh, blowing out a steady breath to ripple over the surface of the steaming liquid before taking a careful sip.

Lars watches the way your lips move, snapping his eyes shut when he realises where his thoughts are going – the same place they went last night when he was trying to fall asleep but you kept appearing in his semi-unconscious state, asking if you could hold his hand and kiss him.

He clears his throat. ‘So, how are you adjusting? Have you seen the doctor yet?’

Your brow furrowed. Did you need to see a doctor just for moving here?

‘No, I mean, it has felt a little strange, but I thought it was just a touch of homesickness…’

‘I think that’s normal,’ Lars nods, face turning serious and voice lowering like he was keeping a secret from prying ears. ‘I had a girlfriend who came from a much warmer climate, you see. She was half Brazilian and half Danish, and she’d been used to warmer temperatures before she came here. So, I’m used to it.’

Lars shrugs and sips his drink, casually sure of himself.

‘Girlfriend?’ you blurt before you can stop yourself. You try to at least sound easygoing, but it comes off more strained than anything thanks to curiosity getting the better of you.

‘Oh, wait, I’m not suggesting that we’re uhm… friends of any sort- I mean-’

‘No… no, it’s ok.’ Another easy smile. ‘I just wondered about her, that’s all.’

You move to place your mug back down as Lars makes the same motion, and as you reach forward, your skin brushes his.

Time stops. Lars almost flinches, but he lingers instead, seeking you out once again, grazing the back of his fingers against the back of your hand, witnessing the connection, awe pulling at his features.

It’s different from when he guided your flame to the kindling, and he realises that then as much as now, your flesh against his feels almost… tolerable. More than tolerable. It feels good.

You hold your breath, needing to be closer again. Needing to feel heat from him and not just the fire, inhale that comforting scent that you’ve already come to associate with your new home, the one laced on his hand knitted blue blanket that you forgot to return today in your rush to get back to him. You don’t plan to tell him you’d slept clutching it for comfort, or that it remained beneath the covers on your unmade bed.

‘It’s getting a bit hot,’ you breathe shakily, eyes locking on his. ‘May I take off my coat?’

Lars doesn’t answer, he just helps you with removing the coat from your shoulders like a true gentleman, folding it neatly and placing it on the bed for you.

‘Better?’

‘Much.’

‘You’re wearing one of my old sweaters,’ he says quietly, staring at you as he takes in how it fits your form compared to his, how good it looks on you and how he wants to help take the sweater off your body, too…

His fingers wander to the collar, where he drags a fingertip gently over the familiar wool before dropping back to his lap.

The air between you grows thicker again and all at once you’re breathless.

‘Lars…’

‘Hmm?’

‘You have some, uh…  cream… just-’

His gaze is intense on your lips as your fingers move to wipe the cream from his perfect mustache. It’s tender. Loving, almost. His breath is hot and ragged against your fingers and for a wild moment, you think about slowly pushing a finger between his plump, shiny lips.

Instead you come to your senses and bring it back down, coated in a light covering of the cream.

‘You know, lactose intolderance doesn’t always stop me,’ you smirk, licking the cream from your finger. ‘If it’s just a little bit. Perhaps… a little bit more?’

Lars doesn’t move as you press forward, closing the gap between you and leaving enough pause for him to move away. But he doesn’t. He presses his lips to yours and elicits contented hum that makes him simply melt into you.

There’s more cream on his mustache that smears onto your upper lip and you pull back, licking yourself clean and pushing forward to lick the last of it from him, too.

Lars parts his lips to allow your tongue inside. It feels natural yet unusual, not at all how he imagined kissing would feel. But it’s just as thrilling as he’d hoped it would be, and the butterflies in his stomach that he’d been trying hard to control begin to explode into something wonderful, a new sensation that he had the overwhelming urge to chase.

Your lips against his are so soft and wet, and his head is swimming with what all of this means.  The feeling growing somewhere deep inside him pushes through to the forefront. It’s something he can’t seem to control. It’s too new, too exciting, so he follows his gut.

With a shaky hand, he reaches forward to touch you. He’s not sure where, or how, but he’s overcome with that sudden urge to consume you entirely again, and he can’t stop the hand hesitating midair from grabbing your shoulder and pushing you down onto the rug.

He’s strong, and that sets your nerves alight. You knew when you saw the perfect control with which he wielded his axe. Your hands slide up over his biceps and squeeze the firm muscles, and Lars whines.

Even with this newfound dominance, he’s unsure, hesitant — but eager. Your tongue guides his, gently leading him into a steady rhythm with slow flicks and languid slides, each one setting his desire aflame until he’s breathless.

Your guidance doesn’t falter when he positions himself on top of you. If anything, the kiss turns hungrier and Lars moans, muffled in your mouth, and he wants more despite the nerves bubbling up in his stomach. Worries creep in that he’ll do something wrong, that he shouldn’t be doing this at all. 

There’s a nagging thought in the back of his mind that making out like this isn’t something he should be doing. It feels far too exciting to be allowed. Far too naughty, and that seems to spur on the excitement, and it all feels so good how could it be wrong?

His pants are getting tighter and he knows he can control himself if he just manages to get back outside and pick up his axe and burn it off, but he doesn’t want to this time. Not with you here, kissing him, touching him, making him feel good.

But what will Gus and Karin think when they find out he kissed their new neighbour with such fierce passion less than forty-eight hours after you arrived in town? Somewhere within his muddle of thoughts, he hears Gus muttering an impressed, ‘It’s always the quiet ones…’ and his cheeks burn a little hotter.

He feels you pushing at his shoulders then, a signal to stop, and he scrambles back to sit up, covering his face with his hands.

He was on another plane of existence just a moment ago and now everything was crashing down around him. He had gone too far, been selfish with his affections. What had he done?

‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry-’ he sobs into his palms, muffled and desperate.

‘Don’t be,’ you soothe, sitting up to join him as you fight off the haze of pleasant lightheadedness his kiss had caused. ‘I liked it.’

You grab the half-full mugs of chocolate and pass him his. He accepts with a nervous smile and you sip the remaining drinks together in comfortable silence, enjoying the crackle of the fire, the kiss having broken the tension.

You lay your head on his shoulder and sigh, content. You hadn’t felt so at home since you’d arrived, and you didn’t want to leave. You also didn’t want to admit that you’d not really listened when he’d been kind enough to show you how to use the logs he’d gifted to you.

Meanwhile, Lars’s head is buzzing. He thinks over how he’s already shared his first kiss with you (first kiss with tongues, anyway — he’d kissed Bianca once or twice in moments of madness, but never with tongue). He thinks about how far he’s come since Bianca, and how if it weren’t for her he probably wouldn’t have had the courage to finish a conversation with you yet, let alone push you onto the floor and dare to let desire consume him for a short while.

And he can’t just leave it there now, not now he’s tasted you, shared a part of himself with you; he needs more. He decides he needs to act now or he will think about it so much he’ll scare himself away from the idea.

So before he can even formulate an actual plan to ask you out, he blurts;

‘You want me to show you around sometime? There’s the lake, and- oh, I have a treehouse there!- and we could go into the town together, too, maybe to the mall? Gus and Karin would love to have you over for dinner, I bet. They’re always asking me, so I could bring you as my guest! Do you bowl? I’m not very good, but I’m getting better and-’

‘I’m absolutely shit at bowling,’ you laugh, and Lars laughs too, relieved you’d stopped him talking himself into a certain hole he’d never climb out of. ‘But I still like to play. I’d actually really like to go with you sometime.’

You feel Lars holding all his breath in his lungs, and smile to yourself. He’s so easy to fluster. You could have fun with that, you muse, but stop yourself thinking on it for too long.

‘C-can we still… kiss?’ Lars stutters, trailing off, ‘I liked it, too.’

You chuckle to yourself, giddy at how nice this all feels. ‘Do you make a habit of kissing your neighbours, Lars?’

It’s a playful question, and although you can’t see his face you can sense that he’s blushing profusely, blinking hard again.

‘No! No, I’ve never-’

‘Good. But, how about… you do it again? Just for me?’

∘₊✧─────────NSFW─────────✧₊∘

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

Lars throws his coat and hat on so haphazardly to get out of work at the earliest possible moment, his hair is sticking out at every angle.

He rushes home, wheels spinning against the gravel before his car screeches to a halt outside the garage. He grabs his briefcase and the little plastic bag he carries his good shoes to work in, and darts out of the car to his front door.

Gus and Karin don’t know about you yet. Or rather, they know about you, but not about the way you’d touched and kissed Lars. Or the way you occupied his thoughts every second since. When they’d mentioned you to Lars over breakfast this morning, he made his excuses and ran, worried he’d give himself away with blushing cheeks or breathlessness.

He may as well have not gone into work today. He might have been physically present, but his mind was very firmly elsewhere. All he could think about was the way your lips felt when they had slid so sensually against his. Not burning or uncomfortable in the least. It’s almost jarring, how good it made him feel. He’d only ever been that comfortable with Bianca before, and the thought sets his teeth on edge and his heart racing.

His stomach churns every time he replays the kiss you’d shared. And the second kiss. And the third. Except it’s not churning exactly. It’s more like fluttering, low and unsettled in his belly. Is that what people mean when they say they have butterflies? He’s never felt that before.

Right now he needs to focus on getting inside before he’s stopped by Karin. His chest heaves when he finally unlocks his door and slams it shut behind him. Luckily Karin doesn’t see him, or has decided against chasing him for dinner tonight. She’d been better at that since Bianca, leaving Lars to mind his own business much more often than she used to. Lars thanks his lucky stars that tonight is one of those nights.

He’s trembling, he realises, as he hangs up his coat and sets his bags down. His stomach is in knots with these mysterious butterflies again, and his heart is thudding in his ears.

He braces himself against the wall by his coat pegs, resting his forehead to the back of his hand as he tries to force his breathing slow, and to focus on organising his thoughts.

All he has to do is choose a sweater, brush his teeth and comb his hair. Simple, easy steps. One thing at a time. Sweater. Let’s start there.

Within twenty minutes, there are six discarded sweaters scattered on his bed and Lars is staring himself out in the bathroom mirror, hair perfectly combed back, breath minty and teeth shiny. He runs his tongue over them, wishing he was running it over your teeth instead.

****

You settle down for dinner with a successfully built fire crackling and hissing in the hearth. You were a bit distracted as you spent far too long adjusting the kindling and remembering the order of the steps to take, piecing together the scraps of information you’d somehow retained from your lesson with Lars. But you did it, and now your house is the glowing, cosy home you’d hoped it would be.

Before you can take a bite of your delicious looking dinner, courtesy of Karin and Gus, an urgent banging at the door makes your heart jump in your chest.

Please be Lars, please be Lars, please be Lars, you hope, quickly checking your appearance in the mirror as you head for the front door, trying your very best to appear casual, and as though you haven’t been thinking about him nonstop since you left his place yesterday.

‘Lars!’ you exclaim, far more excited than you intend it to come out, and your cheeks prickle with heat.

Lars is leaning with one hand up against the door frame, mock confidence oozing from him, and he looks so handsome it makes your head spin. He’s wearing a gorgeous sweater which you gather he must save for special occasions. His hair is combed back perfectly, and a warm smile graces his lips.

Your eyes lock with his when you’re done checking him out so obviously his cheeks are crimson now too, and you simply can’t say another word. The gaze between you is so intense, so filled with intention, the cold air turns thick and you can barely breathe.

Lars lunges forward and presses himself to you. Your lips crash, then his chest is flush with yours and you realise his arms are snaking around your waist, but it’s all so fast and so frenzied you can’t quite keep up. You just need each other and in that moment, knowing he’s close is enough.

With a shaky sigh, he rolls his hips into you. He’s rock hard. You gasp, and he whines into your mouth as the frictions tingles through his core.

He’s fighting to control himself but it’s so difficult when you want this as much as he does and he knows he can chase the thrill with you.

He didn’t even mean to get hard, but after thinking about you for twenty four solid hours and trying not to think about how you’d feel touching him there, it truly was a task not to succumb to the natural pull of arousal before now. He’d done well to last this long.

Only, what if you’d changed your mind since yesterday? He should have asked. He shouldn’t have assumed from your dilated pupils and the way you bit your lip as your eyes grazed over his lips. 

He pulls away, mortified. His body had betrayed him, he lost control, he-

But you push forward, reaching between your flush bodies to stroke the hard bulge tenting in his smartest pants. The fabric is soft against the flesh of your palm and you sigh into his mouth, rubbing needily over his length.

You’re ok with it, he thinks somewhere from within the haze of incredible pleasure and fading embarrassment, a prickly combination that falls away as he kisses you back and it all just becomes you and him. I can be ok with it, too. 

You pause for breath and Lars hisses from between gritted teeth, feeling the overwhelming urge to moan and to chase the coiling sensation tightening in his gut.

He needs more, but it’s already too much. He’s not sure how these things work exactly. He doesn’t know if you would consider him a… what are they called? A one night stand. Or if you’d expect something in return, or for him to make a move before he-

‘Ohhhmmnn…’ he groans. It’s low and primal for such a small sound and it makes your core ache.

His head falls to the crook of your neck while his fingers grip at your arms with a strength that makes your breathing catch in your throat, and just as you’re considering unfastening those smart, grey pants to get your hand inside and really feel him, Lars’s whole body shudders and you wrap your free arm around his lower back to steady him as he turns weak and flops against you, hips bucking as he spills, hot and thick, inside his pants.

A string of ragged, breathless moans and weak little whimpers slowly tear from his throat as he tries to regain composure.

Weak, he keeps his face buried against you for now, his eyes shut tight as you slide a hand up to stroke through his hair, bringing him back to you.

He needed that release, and with it came a sense of clarity that he only wants more of you. He wants to see you, feel you, kiss you every single day. Is that unreasonable?

The real reason he’d knocked on your door swells within his stomach, butterflies returning swiftly to replace the heated coil that had wound up and finally sprung free at your touch.

Desire – in particular, sexual desire – is not the original reason Lars came over tonight. He never dreamed he would make such a mess in his trousers or that you’d kiss like that again, even though he’s kinds of glad both of those things did happen. Glad but… embarrassed.

His underwear is sticky against his skin, and he knows his release is soaking through the front of his pants. Along with the uncomfortable sensations he wants to soothe away with a refreshing shower and a clean pair of underwear, shame consumes him as he struggles to peel himself off you. 

But you come to the rescue as you so often seem to do, guiding him over to your sofa and flopping down onto it with him. Your hand finds his, lacing your fingers together as you settle comfortably.

It feels like home. Lars feels like home, and once again you get that feeling in your gut that tells you never to leave his side.

‘Lars…’ you start, voice barely a whisper, and he turns to you, finally meeting your eyes, and you notice how wet his are. Had he cried when he came? 

‘Was there… a reason you came over tonight? You know, other than-’

Lars clears his throat before you can say any more. There’s still a pang of shame, and he knows what he did, he doesn’t need to hear it too. ‘Yes, I… I wanted to ask you something.’

As you prepare to hear it, he presses his lips together into a tight smile.

‘What is it?’ you ask gently. ‘Whatever it is, I’m ready.’

‘I wanted to ask you… well, I thought- maybe- I could be your boyfriend? I-if you’d like…’

Your answer comes as another bruising kiss, head spinning at the question until you pull back, panting, and rest your forehead against his. He nuzzles against it, never having found such comfort in anything but his blanket before now.

Lars smiles, ‘I think you mean yes.’