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Magne stops listening when Laurits calls him a “weirdo.” He knows what his brother thinks of him. He knows what all others think of him. Laurits is right: he still can’t read, but he can hear. Laurits teases him about how far he threw the axe and then he turns away. Magne’s arm shoots out, catches his wrist. His skin is cool under his fingers.
“You don’t believe me,” he tells his brother, head tilted to the side.
Laurits snorts. Smirks. A drop of water rolls down his neck, pools in the dip of his collarbone. Magne likes the way the light from their kitchen shines on it.
“Of course I don’t believe you, Magne,” Laurits’ voice is teasing. His smile is pretty. “No way you threw a hammer one and a half kilometres!”
“I can prove it,” he says, fingers tightening, only a little, around Laurits’ wrist.
His brother snorts. His smirk widens like it does when he thinks Magne is being silly. “Really?” he drawls as if he’s daring him.
Magne stands to his full height and looks down at his brother’s face. He’s always been nice to look at. As a little baby Magne wanted to make laugh. As a little boy Magne wanted to play with. As his classmate he wanted to see succeed. Now, as his brother in nothing but a towel and water droplets. Now, he’s even nicer to look at than he’s ever been before.
Pretty.
He takes his brother’s slim hips between his hands, presses his thumbs into the dip of his torso, and lifts him up. Laurits shouts, grabs onto Magne’s wrists (his nails sting where they dig into his skin) like he would ever drop him, and stares at him like he’s never seen him before.
Magne grins up at him widely. He spins him around, holding him in the air. It doesn’t feel like his brother weighs anything, and it is easy to hold him up. His eyes stick to his brother’s face as he throws his head back and laughs and laughs. Pretty. Pretty. Pretty.
He doesn’t know why he does it. Sometimes Magne does things without knowing why. Maybe he does know why but doesn’t want to say—not to himself, not out loud, not at all. Saying it would make it real. No matter the reason, he pulls Laurits in till the sparse trail of dark hair leading into his towel brushes against his nose. He lets out a heavy breath, feels heat run through his body until he’s burning with it.
It feels like he’s on fire.
Laurits’ skin is still so cool.
“Magne,” he gasps, breathless. Magne likes that it’s because of him. Laurits’ nails stop digging into his skin because his palms are sliding up Magne’s arms and then settling on his shoulders. “Magne,” Laurits says again, this time in a tone Magne wants to hear more of. Laurits fingers comb the back of his hair and make him shiver.
“I told you,” he says simply, feeling his smile grow wider when Laurits throws his head back with a beautiful laugh that takes away his breath. Wow, his brother is gorgeous. “I am stronger.”
“How long do you think you could hold me like this?” Laurits asks and tugs on the ends of his hair.
Magne makes a noise and keeps his eyes on his brother’s face and not the pressure against his throat. He knows what it is but that’s...
“A long time,” Magne admits, instead of anything else.
Then, Laurits’ toes brush his thighs, slide across his jeans, and his ankles hook around the back of his legs. He pulls, so Magne lowers him and then draws him in, holding Laurits hips securely as his brother wraps his legs around his waist to draw their crotches together.
Oh, goodness.
“Hello,” Magne greets, feeling his smile get even bigger. He knows his grin could be called dopey. He knows his brother would call his grin dopey.
He doesn’t mind.
It feels like he’s on fire. Like energy is going to begin pouring off him. Maybe he can pour the burning under his skin into his brother? Maybe Laurits is burning too?
Only then Laurits’s fingers are sliding along his jaw, very lightly, lightly enough to tickle. He is not burning; his fingers are still cool, just like the bottom of his bare thighs as Magne shifts his hands to hold him better. Laurits rolls his hips, and he can’t pretend he doesn’t feel the way his brother drags the hard weight of his erection into Magne’s belly.
He can feel that his brother is aroused and that makes him powerful. Infinite.
“Hiya,” Laurits chirps, and then kisses him.
Oh, Magne thinks, as he freezes with his fingers digging into Laurits thighs and Laurits digging into him. Oh, this is what being kissed feels like.
Laurits’ lips are warm but firm against his own. It’s strange to be feeling something with his lips, but it also feels good. Laurits seems to know what he’s doing—Mange makes a noise like a growl and presses their mouths together harder at that thought. It’s as if he can feel everything. The blooming stubble on Laurits’ chin scratches his own as he angles his head. His top lip is tacky and catches on Magne’s as he purses his lips. The edge of Laurits’ nails scratch along his nape and make him shiver.
“Laurits,” he mumbles into the kiss. He sucks in a breath through his nose that doesn’t fill his lungs. Then, he closes his mouth around Laurits’ bottom lip and sucks on it. His brother moans.
He feels a smile tug at his lips as he kisses him again. Laurits flicks his tongue across Magne’s lips and Magne moans. His brother’s hips roll, digging his erection into his tummy again, and Magne kisses his chin, drags his lips down his sharp jaw, bites his neck. It feels like his body is moving on its own as he sucks kisses against Laurits’ throat.
His brother gasps, rolls his hips, groans loudly in Magne’s ear. It’s the best sound he’s ever heard.
“C-can you carry me upstairs?” Laurits asks, fingers knotted in his hair, tugging at this scalp. Laurits breathes against his temple as Magne finishes kissing at his collarbones.
He pulls back and looks at his brother’s face. Wide eyes. Blown pupils. Pink, shiny lips. Magne smiles widely and nods.
He carries him upstairs.