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It was a quiet evening in Smeerensburg, just like any other evening in the little town, ever since Christmas. The air was mild, with the hints of an icy bite that never seemed to leave it around here, even if it was late April. Mogens sat in his little shack by the docks, contemplating, not for the first time, the change in the atmosphere hanging over the town. To think that a snotty, stuck-up, clumsy (kind-hearted, quirky, funny) postman just stumbled into everyone’s lives and changed it for the better was… well. It certainly wasn’t what the ferryman had imagined would happen when he had lead him over the snowy passage right into the town center. All the other postmen he had granted the passage came running to him before the week was out, begging him to take them back. But this stubborn fellow not just stayed but actually made a home here – his presence changed something fundamentally and deep within the town’s heart, that was now beating wildly with so much joy and amity that even Mogens’s meticulous resurrected walls of teasing and sneer began to crumble the longer he stayed here instead of the mainland. Time and time again, he had caught himself smiling at something or other he saw the townspeople do or found himself passing by Miss Alva’s school for no other reason than to listen to the cheerful tunes of the class’ morning song. He was going all soft and sappy.
And then there was, of course, the postman himself – or Jesper, as he became recently in Mogen’s mind without him noticing until it was too late. Now he had made himself quite a home in there and, much like his real-life counterpart, stubbornly refused to leave. The ferryman scoffed a little, jabbing his finger against the socket of his oil lamp, which flickered and hissed quietly, soothingly, as the last rays of sun got caught at his windowpane, before they were gently swallowed by the evening sky. The warm glow reflected off the omnipresent bottle of booze on his wooden table, making their amber liquid shine and glitter like gold. It was a nice enough simile to get inspired to get pleasantly drunk, Mogens mused with a private smile. Most people dubbed him for bit of a simpleton, just because he liked to be lazy, but he had read his fair share of literature and often entertained himself with waxing poetry in the intimacy of his own mind (Not that he would tell anyone that, ever, since information such as this would totally ruin his image, and it was already taking some nasty blows the longer he spend time in the proximity of Jesper).
He drummed his fingers against the cool and inviting glass, tipping the bottle the tiniest bit to create a pleasant sloshing sound. Outside, the waves sloshed, too, quiet and powerful, and representing at once everything Mogens loved and hated about the sea.
It was the perfect occasion for a drink, but Mogens found he wasn’t really in the mood. Hadn’t been in the mood an awful lot, lately, now that he and Jesper… yeah. He and Jesper. That was apparently a thing now. Or… was it even a thing? It was something alright, that he knew.
It had started last Christmas, like so many things did, when Jesper in the wee hours of the morning waved off Klaus on his sleigh and set towards the direction of the post office to call it a night. A giddy jump in his step, as if he was thrumming with excited energy, his nose red from the biting cold and his blue eyes bright even in the darkness. Mogens had tried and failed to not notice these things, from the place at the little step in front of the post office where he had awaited the postman’s return for reasons he himself wouldn’t even begin to unpack.
Maybe it was because a lot of things happened in very little time, some of them which introduced the possibility of actually losing the postman for good. Mogens at the time could not really rationalize the pit these thoughts opened up in his stomach (could, if he was being honest with himself, still not fully grasp why of all the people to care so deeply about it just had to be the snottiest postman of them all) or the desire to … make sure that Jesper would still be there when the magic of Christmas had disappeared, that he was a… real, tangible thing that would last for good even as some of the magic left.
So, he didn’t. He just… waited for the telltale noise of reindeer hooves and set out for the post office, before he fully knew what he was doing. When Jesper saw him, slightly hunched from the cold but pretending it didn’t bother him, he had been surprised but not unpleasantly so (an unfamiliar concept for the mouthy ferryman, people actually being pleased about his presence).
And maybe it was the moment when Jesper didn’t even ask what he was doing at his doorstep at 3 in the morning, just let him in and offered to make some coffee, that for the first time the wild notion gripped Mogens that he was falling in love with this idiot. Or maybe it was the moment nearing 5 in the morning, when he went to leave (the pit in his stomach for the time being satisfied knowing Jesper was not going anywhere anytime soon, except for his bed) and had turned to the droopy-eyed man and said, because he just couldn’t not say it, “I’m glad you’re staying here, postman.” And Jesper had given him a brighter smile than he had any right to form with how tired he was and simply answered “Me too.” And then, before could either of them back out of it, he had leaned forward and brushed his lips against Mogens’, in a very light and very sweet kiss.
The ferryman had been stunned about it the better part of the morning and the day (barely sleeping a wink; how could he, after that!), had brushed it off as a heat of the moment thing. Jesper had just celebrated an immense success, it was only natural he was making some silly reckless decisions and would act as if they never happened after. Or that’s what he told himself and his traitorous heart, which was fluttering in his chest like crazy whenever he thought about it (and he thought of little else since the moment it had happened). When he dropped by the post office the following afternoon to collect the outgoing mail (even though there was no mail the day after Christmas and they both knew it), already steeling himself for an awkward encounter, Jesper just leaned out of his office window, hair pleasantly tousled from the wind, apologized for the lack of mail and then grinned as if he expected the ferryman to tease him about that. Mogens, at this point staring at him dumbly as he was totally thrown off his game, just replied he would be back the next day, then and turned to leave. “Mogens?” Jesper called after him, and when he had turned with a questioning mumble, Jesper had leaned out a little further to kiss him square on the mouth.
By the third day spend in this fashion, Jesper told him, after the kiss, with a cheeky grin, that he didn’t need any reason to drop by, and the ferryman took his word for it.
And that’s how Jesper and him, whatever it was, started. Mogens never meant to fall in love with him. He didn’t. He hadn’t meant to fall in love with anyone, had strongly believed his one true love were the wild waters, as any decent ferryman did. But this cheeky little shit had found a way to worm himself deep into his heart and just nestled there as if it was right where he belonged. And it looked like Jesper was very well aware of that, too. After all, he was kissing Mogens goodbye every single time they met. And Mogens was going out of his way to meet him as much as possible.
They didn’t… talk about it. Mogens started arguing with himself that there was nothing to talk about, like he wasn’t just making completely unnecessary trips to the post office in the hopes to meet Jesper just so he could kiss him goodbye. Like it wasn’t the only thing he was thinking about all day, like it wasn’t the thought that blossomed in his mind that he longed to kiss Jesper hello, too, and maybe even in between, just for the fun of it.
Of course, he didn’t. He feared breaking their little routine might irrevocably break the spell, too, and then Jesper would come to his senses and never do it again. He didn’t know why… Jesper did it, but he liked to tell himself it was for the same reason he had started to laugh at his godawful jokes or why he bumped his shoulder with a playful smirk when he was teasing him. If this what he was gonna get for the rest of his days, he would be happy for it – it wasn’t like he was the romantic type, anyway. The only bad thing about this, really, was that they didn’t do it more often (preferably always, but that was a thought he kept to himself).
Whenever they hadn’t seen each other for a couple of days (which happened very frequently, when he had a job on the mainland or Jesper was with Klaus to plan new projects), the kiss always was a little bit more insistent.
‘I missed you,’ Jesper’s lips said.
‘I missed you more,’ Mogen’s lips replied in returning the pressure and poorly concealing a smile.
It wasn’t just the press of the lips, though (or the barely-there flicker of tongue against the seam of Mogen’s lips when he hadn’t been in Smeerensburg for far longer than any of them had liked, which always made his knees a little weak), it were also the touches surrounding the kiss. It had started with a warm palm against his arm or shoulder and evolved into fingers brushing the hair on the nape of his neck (which, for the first time, had made him shudder and blush and Jesper had noticed and mercilessly used it against him ever since) or a strong grip on his coat lapels, keeping him in place. His hands itched to press against the body so close to him, but he had resisted – until one rainy Wednesday evening, after he had been on the mainland for two long weeks, when Jesper murmured impatiently into the kiss, and insistently placed his awkwardly hovering hands against his own hips.
So. This.
This was where they stood.
He… liked this. It overwhelmed him, completely in its simplicity that was so annoyingly complex, but he liked it enough to brush his whirling thoughts aside for one little moment of being kissed.
He… hadn’t know it could feel like this. His past relations with either men or women in a time before Smeerensburg always had been different – in many regards more passionate but far less intimate and this was somehow better even if it was so much less. He didn’t know about any of Jesper’s experiences (how would he, they didn’t talk about this, although they had started to talk quite a lot recently), but he wouldn’t be surprised if the city boy had some more tricks up his sleeve. One sure as hell didn’t kiss like that without knowing how to snog someone properly.
And… hell, Mogens especially liked that. The way he had to crane his neck a little upwards to meet Jesper fully, how he let the other man control what was going to happen, even how Jesper manhandled him a tiny bit here and there when they were kissing. He liked the moment right before it happened, when they had said their goodbyes and anticipation sparked between them - sometimes he bit his lip, a movement Jesper always followed with his eyes, before he looked at him in a way Mogens was quite sure nobody had ever looked at him; a way that made him flush and his heart flutter so insistently in his chest that he thought the whole of Smeerensburg would be able to hear it.
He … just liked Jesper. A lot.
The ferryman frowned at his bottle and his own large, weather-beaten hand toying with it. Jesper had been with Klaus for the better part of the weekend tinkering on something or whatnot with the Sami people. He hadn’t returned to his post office yet, had been staying the night and most likely would be again today like he so often did when they both got so engrossed in their ideas that they didn’t notice the time flying by. Mogens told himself sternly to not be a needy sap who couldn’t even go two days without his par- without being kissed.
It wasn’t like… like they were…. In a relationship or something. They just kissed. Goodbye. Or Jesper kissed. And he let himself be kissed. Nothing more, nothing less.
Yep, totally. There was no reason to miss Jesper right now, not even a tiny one.
He perked up when he heard the lazy rattle that he would recognize from anywhere as the old post horse. Jesper was home.
Mogens let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding all weekend. It was late, too late to fake a work-related reason to drop by at the post office. There was only one reason to go over there now. Because he wanted to. And maybe… Jesper wanted him to, too.
Maybe Jesper had… thought about him all weekend, too. Or maybe he hadn’t. And that was just a silly thought, from a lovestruck fool like himself. He hadn’t meant to fall in love. Really, he hadn’t.
It just happened.
Mogens rubbed his eyes, sighing loudly to hide the big smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Before he could talk himself out of it, he turned off the oil lamp, grabbed his coat, and set off towards the post office in long strides.
There was warm light filtering through the window above the office door, where Jesper’s living room was. Klaus had really outdone himself with the restoration of the place, in Mogen’s opinion. The office itself was spacy and tidy (with an extra corner reserved solely for the chickens) with a nice flat above it. He had been in there a lot, lately. Not just the office, but the flat as well. He liked it. It was cozy and by now a little bit cluttered, but in a charming kind of way, like Jesper was.
The ferryman crammed his hands in the pockets of his coat and just watched Jesper’s shadow for a moment, as he was tinkering around the room. As a man of the sea, the concept of home had always amused him as a silly invention of landsmen to create some sense of security in an unpredictable world. He had thought the open water was his home, the shack or his tiny flat on the mainland only places he slept in, nothing more. It had been a foreign concept for him, a laughable one, even. But… as he was watching the shadow approach the window before Jesper’s figure came into frame, he was beginning to understand.
The postman opened the window and held his head out into the evening breeze. Their eyes met and Jesper’s face suddenly broke into a stupid grin. The light from the fireplace somewhere further into the room gave him a glowing outline and it was the silliest and the most beautiful thing Mogens had ever seen.
“But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east and postman is the sun!” he recited in his best Shakespearean cadence, throwing himself into an exaggerated swooning pose, just to make the postman smile.
“Romeo and Juliet, really?” Jesper gave him a playful scoff, but rested his head on his hands, to see where this performance would go. Mogens’s stomach did a flip at having Jesper’s undivided attention, even if it was just because he was teasing him. In very dramatic fashion (literarily).
“He speaks! O, speak again, bright angel, for thou art as glorious to this night, being o’er my head, as is a winged messenger of heaven!”
His heartbeat was roaring in his ears when, despite his obvious theatrics, a light blush graced Jesper’s cheeks, which he tried to hide in his palms. Mogens decided in that moment that he would do anything to keep it there.
He puffed out his chest proudly. “Ha! What do you say to that? I have the whole thing memorized, basically. Pretty impressive, huh?”
“I’m more impressed that you can actually read.”
“You wound me, princess, just because we didn’t all go to private schools where-“
The postman held up his hand with a good-natured eyeroll, indicating they wouldn’t be having this particular verbal sparring session right now.
“Just get up here, Mogens.”
Maybe, home wasn’t a place at all. Maybe, home was the warm fluttering in his chest whenever Jesper said his name with a smile in his voice.
**
“And then Klaus said, ‘Well I’ve never baked an apple pie before.’ It was hysterical.”
The postman’s laugh was loud and bright and felt like a hug. Mogens had listened to his stories about the weekend for what felt like hours now. And even though he liked that Jesper seemed to be happy, a small part of him wished that he would be the reason for it. But he played along out of the kindness of his heart, he nodded, he ‘hmm’ed and ‘aaah’ed at the right cues and gave an appreciative chuckle here and there. If it had been anyone else, he would have given up paying attention a long time ago, but this was Jesper, so there was that.
“The old sport sure throws out some bangers from time to time.”
“You bet! You… really should have seen it.” The ‘I wish you had been around to see it’ hung unsaid between them, communicated in the shy glance Jesper threw at him right after finished the sentence. These moments were happening more and more frequently between them, when there was another meaning looming behind the things they said, a meaning connected to the things they never talked about.
He immediately cleared his throat after, as if embarrassed, and looked away. “Anyway,” he said too loud in the quiet room, and Mogens had the sinking feeling that somehow, he had missed a conversational cue here. Like he was supposed to say something reassuring that communicated that he would love to spend more time with Jesper, given, of course, that was what the postman actually meant with his statement.
“Boy, would you look at the time!” The postman exclaimed, sudden energetic behavior a clear attempt to overplay what he had said. Or rather, what he had meant. “Do you care for some tea? I love a good tea in the evening time-“
He got up from his armchair and made a run for the kitchen, only to be stopped by Mogens keeping him in place by a hand against his side. The fabric of Jesper’s casual shirt was soft underneath his fingertips. The younger man froze but allowed the captain to take the winds out of his sails.
“Count me in next time, post-boy. Can’t have you running around and havin’ all this fun without me, can I?” He softened his tone like he often did when it was just them and Jesper had his… spontaneous fits of petty anxiety, as he lovingly called them in the privacy of his mind. He knew Jesper was in his head a lot, busy overthinking everything, always worried about coming off a certain type of way.
He gave Jesper’s hip a reassuring squeeze that fell somewhere in the uncanny valley between purely platonic and budding romantic touches in which they often trotted these days. The shape of them was something familiar- he had touched them often when they kissed- but still, without the kiss it somehow felt like a momentous moment between them. He could feel the soft give of the tiny pudge Jesper had around his middle and the warmth of the other man’s skin, burning pleasantly against his palm.
Jesper fixed the hand and then Mogens face with a surprised look, before his expression changed to something incredibly tender. Mogens’ felt a blush creep over the back of his neck.
Nobody had ever looked at him that way, is all.
Especially not someone like Jesper, who was uptight and well-educated and smart and funny and really …. quite handsome in the warm light of the fireplace. He loomed slightly over Mogens, since he was still sitting and Jesper was standing and Mogens just so caught his mind as it was running wild with images of him pulling Jesper in, of Jesper then leaning above him half in his lap, of Jesper claiming his lips and-
And there it was- that want, no longer just a low simmering in his belly but something roaring filling his veins. For, as silly as it was, he had missed Jesper. And now he was pretty damn sure that Jesper had missed him, too.
And now he wished that Jesper would just kiss him already. He had been waiting the whole weekend.
As if reading his thoughts, Jesper’s eyes flickered down to his lips and Mogens resisted the temptation to bite them. Maybe Jesper had spent the whole weekend thinking about it, too. God, he hoped he did. The beautiful oxymoron of their whole… whatever this was that the display of affection they both desired was always centered around the immediate loss of proximity after, sometimes their whole interactions buildup for this one sweet moment before parting ways.
He craned his neck a little to see Jesper better, followed the defined line of his throat up to his jaw-line with his eyes, tried and failed not to imagine what it would feel like to run his tongue against the column. To bury his hands in that honey-colored hair. To claim and be claimed in return. For fuck’s sake, he had it bad.
He cleared his throat and looked away, his pulse picking up. “But you’re right, about the time, that is. I should get going,” he rasped out.
He would be lying if he said he had never thought about Jesper… like that, but somehow the sexual tension between them had rarely been this thick, this present in the room. Usually, he kept it to himself pretty well until he was alone. Now, just the thought of getting kissed was enough to send a tingling sensation into his crotch. His breath came out unevenly and Mogens was pretty sure there was no way in hell the postman didn’t catch on what was happening here. Not when his arousal was so evident and so poorly concealed.
“I really should get going,” he repeated and pretended his voice didn’t come out so breathy.
‘Kiss me. God, please.’
Jesper leaned over him, close enough that he could smell the earthy tones of his sweat mixed with that ridiculously expensive bodywash he had exported from the city ever month (which Mogens had teased him relentlessly for and was now backfiring quite spectacularly). Jesper’s hip shifted under his hand and Mogens’ face reddened further, hoping that Jesper wouldn’t notice. He was pretty sure they weren’t… on that stage yet.
Was not even sure, in fact, if they were on the same page about this at all. Didn’t mean he didn’t want to. Just, God. He didn’t even know if Jesper was in love with him, too.
“It’s about to rain. I think you should stay the night.”
And then there was this damn crooked smile that the captain was unable to say no to, even though the evening sky outside was clear. Something had just… shifted between them, although he couldn’t quite place his finger on what it was. And it was sweet and tender in a torturous kind of way, when instead of being kissed he was offered some tea, which he took without complaint even though his whole body thrummed with… something between anxious and aroused.
At this point, he would just about take anything that Jesper offered him with that damn crooked smile. When Jesper regarded him over his shoulder from his place at the kitchen counter, Mogens had a feeling that Jesper knew that, too.
“Now, would you care for a game of chess?”
Oh, that little son of a gun.
**
For reasons he himself couldn’t quite fathom, Mogens was not at home happily blissed out from being kissed by his postman, but on the left side of Jesper’s bed, with Jesper right next to him. The captain had presumed, quite boldly it turned out, that for two blokes who didn’t even kiss regularly sharing a bed might be a bit of a stretch (and Jesper’s couch was comfortable, after all), but Jesper had been having none of that. The postman could be quite assertive when he wanted to be. Mogens liked that about him. Usually.
Now he was willing to revise that opinion. The game of chess helped to redirect his passion momentarily (especially it had become quite clear that Jesper had thought he was the superior chess player only to be proven spectacularly wrong), but now in the quiet of the bedroom with nothing else to focus on but Jesper, it returned with a vengeance.
He felt the body next to his shift and heard Jesper exhale softly, reminding him again just how close they were right now. Jesper’s bed was big, but it wasn’t that big. He had turned on his side, with his back turned to Jesper in what he presumed would be an appropriate distance for this scenario (not that he had ever been in this kind of situation), trying (and failing) to ignore the postman turn next to him, mattress dipping further.
Mogens wasn’t a religious man, but he sure as hell would appreciate some divine intervention just about now. He clambered his legs together a little tighter to stifle the small tickle of arousal still dancing around in his lower belly. He cursed himself for being so soft for Jesper – because this was clearly a terrible idea, and the night was silent and clear and not even a drop of rain, thank you very much – but of course, he had said yes like some kind of idiot, because he just couldn’t say no to Jesper.
The mattress dipped even further, and Mogens shuffled ever so slightly, only to bump his back against Jesper’s chest, who suddenly was just right there.
Mogens stiffened and sent an urgent prayer to whatever deity was willing to listen that he only squeaked in his head. Jesper’s chest rose and fell against his back, his body radiating warmth that seeped right through the blanket towards Mogens. He should shuffle away. Create distance between them. Laugh it off. Ignore the way his heart suddenly pounded in his throat.
But, you see, Mogens never had been very good in doing things he didn’t really want.
So he stayed – stiff, carefully still – as Jesper (because it was always Jesper) closed the last gap between them, snuggling up against him.
Mogens made a small sound in the back of his throat, against his better judgement. It was the same sound he made whenever Jesper would run this tongue against the closed seam of his lips – always gentle, but teasing, never quite insistent enough to push in; or when he curled his fingertips possessively around the back of Mogen’s neck. Like Mogen’s was his. The captain never had been claimed like this before – like he was a price, something valuable, not just a nice treat but the whole goddamn meal. Just thinking about it made his lips tingle and he bit them to quell the phantom feeling.
He felt Jesper smile somewhere against his shoulder (when had he gotten this close?), the little shit. The cheeky bastard knew exactly what he was doing, and he most likely enjoyed it. For all his over-thinking nature, Jesper had grown quite comfortable around Mogens, letting go some of the anxious energy that had always surrounded him during his first weeks in Smeerensburg. Seeing the younger man this relaxed around him did things to Mogens he was too embarrassed to admit even to himself – how much he looked forward to their verbal sparring sessions, for Jesper was quick-witted and smart in his teasing, and Mogens had to admit that he found himself a worthy opponent. Just another fucking instance where Jesper just had to be everything he never knew he wanted. But he was, and now he was right there and ‘Christ, just kiss me.’
Jesper’s breath hit the sensitive patch of skin behind Mogen’s earlobe and the captain shuddered – a full-body movement that the postman must have felt with how closely he was pressed against him.
Heat rose to Mogen’s face.
This was absolutely insane.
They had never even talked about it; about the possibility of them being a thing – yet here he fucking was, already falling apart in Jesper’s bed, while the other man hadn’t even touched him yet. He was hard in his boxer shorts. Wishing they already were a thing. Had wished for this – now that he was in far too deep to not admit it to himself – ever since the first time Jesper had not flinched at his teasing but shot a cheeky remark right back and Mogens hadn’t been able to sleep that night because he had keep himself awake smiling.
God, this was insane.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Jesper asked, voice quiet and a little gruff. Intimate. Right next to his ear, as if he was only hovering right above his shoulder. Mogens didn’t dare risking a peek to make sure. He didn’t have to, though, because Jesper- fucking Jesper – placed his check against the side of his neck and slung his arm lazily around his middle. ‘Possessive,’ shot through Mogens’ mind and it took him an immense amount of willpower to not cackle hysterically.
Fucking Post-princess over there was just acting like this – fucking cuddling in bed – was the most natural thing for the both of them.
And his arm was a soothing weight on his stomach, the point of contact warm and friendly, like a press of lips against his, right before saying goodbye. Except, now he wasn’t going anywhere, not with the way the arm offered a soft, but insistent pressure, pulling Mogens back ever so slightly into the body draped around him.
Not for the first time, he realized just how tall Jesper was, when he basically fitted himself all around his frame, spooning him. Mogens had never been the little spoon – screw that, Mogens had never been anything that he was with this beautiful idiot. Mogens didn’t let himself be manhandled. Mogens didn’t let himself bullshitted into staying the night. Mogens wasn’t the little spoon.
But he was for Jesper. With Jesper.
He shouldn’t love this as much as he did. But every exchange with the postman had been exhilarating, and new – awakening things in him he had never felt before, although up to that point he had been fairly certain that he had had his fair share of romantic and sexual relations. He was fairly skilled in those things, if he said so himself, but something about Jesper was…
Something about Jesper made him…
Long.
To be held. To be pushed. God, to be kissed. To submit to this wonderful, infuriating man, who had him wrapped around his little finger, who held his heart in his hands and probably wasn’t even aware that he did.
He really, really hadn’t meant to fall in love with Jesper.
But now he was in too deep to back out.
“Mogens?” the voice asked, a little louder, a tinge of worry woven in, and the arm around his middle loosened. And then, again a little quieter: “Too much?”
For all the bravado Jesper had seemed to have gathered around being Klaus’ personal assistant and kissing, Mogens knew him too well to know that he was still overthinking a mile a minute, every third or second step he took. A pit opened up in the captain’s stomach at the prospect of Jesper being unsure about this. About whether he, Mogens, wanted this.
He found Jesper’s hand, now hovering unsure, and pressed it firmly to where it did lay before. He brushed the younger man’s knuckles in a way he hoped would communicate more than words ever could. The body behind him relaxed. Mogens tried not to smile when he felt Jesper nuzzle his head right back where it had rested before.
The fell in comfortable silence, that stretched so long that Mogens thought the other must have fallen asleep. He, on the other hand, was very far from sleeping, as he tried to commit ever part of this moment to memory; the weight of Jesper’s arm, the press of his stomach against his own lower back, the way their feet brushed.
He tried not to imagine the way it might feel like when Jesper pressed himself fully against him, let his hand wander lower…
In a word, he was utterly screwed.
He didn’t even know if Jesper was in love with him, too.
“Jesper?” he whispered, resolutely facing the wall. His hand still covered Jesper’s. He felt it twitch and tighten, and a sigh that tickled his jaw. Jesper was so close…
“I think I’ve never heard you say my name before.” He felt the smile against the side of his neck, and although it was driving him insane, he was glad that Jesper recovered so swiftly from his nervousness. He liked him better like this.
“I like it.” He added, just for good measure, his voice soft and relaxed, honey smooth.
Mogens tried to ignore it and soldier on. This was probably a very bad idea to have this conversation right now (just to have it in general, full stop); but… something about… this night and this moment felt significant in a way he couldn’t describe.
“Jesper, why do you kiss me?””
The body behind him went taunt in surprise, clearly not expecting that. Mogens felt as if he had just broken their unspoken rule to not speak about those things ever. He felt hot embarrassment rush through him, as if he somehow had broken a spell and Jesper would come to his senses about him just because he had asked that.
He was about to apologize (and leave, honestly), when Jesper leaned forward, so that he was now looking at Mogens sideways. He was just…looking at him with an unreadable expression (Mogens prayed to the same deities who seemed to be unavailable all evening that it was too dark for Jesper to pick up that his face was very hot right now). Whatever he found must have pleased him, for his mouth stretched into that impish smile again, which Mogens totally didn’t love more than anything in the entire world.
“Why do you drop by every day to let me kiss you?”
Okay.
That.
Okay.
Fair point, but still.
Mogens felt immensely called out.
“That’s not an answer,” the ferrymen grumbled, face heating up even more.
“It kind of is,” the postman grinned, amused.
Suddenly, something clicked.
Maybe it was an answer, after all.
The only answer he needed.
They fell into a short silence again, in which Mogens proceeded to have several revelations at once. All the while the postman – his postman – stayed securely snuggled up against him, hand pressed firmly against his stomach to feel the gentle rise and fall of Mogens’ every breath.
It was a risk.
Sure.
But he had risked more for littler outcomes. In for a penny…
“Jesper?”
“Yeah?”
“Just kiss me already.”
The predatory grin he got in reply told him about everything else he needed to know.
Mogens and Jesper hadn’t meant to fall in love with each other. Really, they didn’t. It just happened.
The best things just do.