Erik felt a safety in Håvard’s presence he would only feel in a place such as Kabul. It was difficult for him to feel safe in a place, and to feel safe in the presence of a person was nearly impossible for him.

The sex with him was slow and sweet, in contrast to Håvard’s hotshot, fireball personality.

A hot and silky weight rested against his inner thigh as they kissed. It wasn’t desperate and depraved like their first time, instead it was controlled but no less passionate.

A raging forest fire had ignited in Erik’s belly. Everything was hot, so burning hot. Pale fingers traced down his back in intricate, nonsensical designs, leaving ash in their wake. Teeth nipped at his neck, just on the right side of painful.

He hummed, curling his fingers in perfect blond hair that fell over his forehead in near-white waves. A kind yet firm hand pushed him back onto the bed and he happily went, followed closely by the man above him.

They couldn’t bear to not touch each other for even a heartbeat, skin sliding against skin like flint against steel. Curious hands travelled well-known paths like migrating birds, who left so often but returned in search of heat.

Erik cupped Håvard’s face, thumbs rubbing against the man’s aristocratic cheekbones tenderly. Håvard panted against his neck, breath hot like a blowtorch. Erik hissed as the other blond began to grind against him, creating wonderful friction that made sparks fly.