SORRY IF THIS SOUNDS DEMANDING ESP SINCE YOU RECENTLY WROTE ONE BUT ughhhh I love your pelle and oystein writings sooo much pleade feed us another one
It's not demanding at all! I hope you enjoy it
Warnings: Hand jobs, frottage, forest sex, depression, self-harm.
Words: 3,043
Øystein didn’t think anyone would call Pelle easy to deal with. Between the dead things he dragged back into the house and his bouts of confining himself to his bed, he was a handful and often grated on Øystein’s nerves. Handling him seemed to be an almost full-time job.
Still, there were good times when Øystein could simply forget about how difficult it was.
It seemed that there was never a medium, simply two different extremes. Either Øystein felt ready to actually kill his bandmate or he felt like he was on top of the world and would never come down. Luckily, today seemed to be one of the latter situations.
Øystein had followed him out into the woods, creeping as quietly as he could along with Pelle. He was hunting after something, although Øystein was unsure of what it exactly was. It might have been a rabbit, but it was all the same to Øystein in the end. He didn’t gain any of the pleasure Pelle did from killing something; he was simply in it because it made Pelle happy. It was a good reprieve from the usual melancholy Pelle usually conducted himself with.
Pelle had kept the knife with himself, insisting Øystein wouldn’t be able to catch something and he did have a point. Although, Øystein wasn’t sure how many things Pelle actually caught either. But he was perceptive and quick. Ironically enough, Pelle reminded him of a cat in a lot of ways.
Øystein barely had time to react when Pelle suddenly took off after something that he himself hadn’t even noticed.
“Pelle,” Øystein called to him, running after the blonde as soon as he realized what was going on. Flashes went through his mind of Pelle falling with the knife and accidentally killing himself, impaling himself too deeply for duct tape or a few stitches to fix. “Drop it,” He insisted, speaking to him in the same way one might talk to an unruly dog who had grabbed something it shouldn’t.
Pelle glanced over his shoulder to look at Øystein, giggling at him and obediently tossing the knife into the fallen leaves on the forest floor. He kept running, though. The realization hit Øystein a moment later that Pelle was no longer running after something, he was running from Øystein. And he wanted him to chase.
It wasn’t the first time they’d done this, Pelle often enjoyed playing weird little games with Øystein. He was happy to indulge this one, it rarely carried any risk of Pelle actually getting hurt outside of a few scratches and bruises. It made Øystein’s lungs and legs burn, however. He wasn’t used to running after something and he knew he only ever grabbed Pelle once the man let himself be caught. Sometimes, Øystein believed Pelle liked being captured more than being chased.
Øystein gave chase regardless, doing his best to catch up to the taller man. He followed the flashes of blonde hair, trying to avoid the trees and roots. He wasn’t quite sure how Pelle managed to make this look so graceful and effortless.
Pelle glanced over his shoulders a few more times as he darted through the trees, smiling every time he did so. Øystein could get used to seeing him carefree in this way, even if it was making his breathing grow heavy and his heart race faster. Pelle always seemed to know exactly how long Øystein could go, letting himself be caught up to. This time was no different.
Suddenly, Pelle stopped in his tracks and spun to face Øystein. He didn’t have enough time to react before he crashed into Pelle, sending them both onto the ground. Pelle was laughing sharply as his back hit the ground, the noise becoming strained and airy as the wind was knocked out of him. Øystein landed roughly on top of him, grunting as their bodies collided hard enough that he worried there would be bruises by tomorrow.
“Jesus, Pelle. Don’t do that,” He complained, trying to reorient himself. He did a quick mental check of his body, making sure he hadn’t seriously hurt anything on the rough tumble to the ground. Nothing seemed to be out of place.
“Stay,” Pelle encouraged as Øystein tried to climb to his feet. His arms curled around the dark haired man’s middle, keeping him close. It earned him a weird look that he only met with a smile. “I don’t want to go back yet,” He added, softer than he had been before.
Øystein checked around them, making sure nobody could see them tangled up like this. Logically, he knew they wouldn’t be disturbed out here. They were in the middle of nowhere with nothing to find except the occasional animal. Knowing that didn’t keep him from double checking.
“We can stay,” Øystein told him softly, almost as though he was afraid to get too loud. He knew what Pelle wanted, the same thing they’d tried a few times before now. Not that he’d ever admit it, but he wanted it too. He’d wanted it every single time, although he never initiated and often tried to put up a fuss about it before always giving in.
Pelle moved first, knowing he had to. The press of their lips was gentle in the beginning, it usually was. He liked to ease into things most of the time, Øystein had discovered. It was surprising to him if he was being honest, Pelle was so quick to dive head-first into everything else. Øystein didn’t really mind warming him up a bit first if that was what he needed.
He waited for a moment before he kissed Pelle back, deciding against truly fighting him on this. There was nothing around, no chance of someone stumbling upon them. Even if there was somebody else all the way out here, they’d hear them crunching through the leaves and twigs long before they could stop them.
Øystein waited for a bit, just kissing Pelle softly for a time before he slipped one hand up beneath his shirt. Pelle’s skin was slightly chilly underneath his touch, both from his natural coolness and from the fact he wasn’t dressed warmly enough for the weather. He never seemed bothered by the elements and Øystein thought he could be freezing to death without even being phased.
Pelle pulled free from the kiss to catch his breath, shifting around a bit when Øystein’s fingertips grazed over semi-fresh cuts littering his sides. The blood on them was dried, although they hadn’t begun to truly scab over yet and Øystein could tell that they were sensitive.
“Show me them,” Øystein murmured and Pelle knew exactly what he wanted. He shoved Øystein away from him enough to wiggle out of his long-sleeved shirt, tossing it aside and trying to get comfortable on the abrasive forest floor. As it was, leaves and dirt already clumped in his blonde hair. “There’s so many more,” Øystein noted, a hint of awe in his voice as he looked on.
Pelle’s pale skin was marred by angry red marks covering so much of him. There were old ones, some that had already scarred over and no longer looked irritated. Øystein’s eyes were drawn to the new ones, though.
There was significantly more than there had been and he wasn’t sure where to look first. Most were thin, long lines going horizontally along his sides. It appeared as though he had tried to trace lines over each ridge of his ribs, but had either gotten bored or otherwise forced to stop quickly into the idea. There were only two cuts that traced over his ribs on one side. The rest were scattered haphazardly, seemingly no real reason to it. Some were long, some were short, they were all various depths.
Øystein reached out to touch one particularly nasty looking one close to Pelle’s hip, stroking his thumb over it gently. It was deep, almost to the point where Øystein would worry it might need stitches if he’d seen it when it was fresh. Now, the blood had dried into thick globs along the wound and he dug his nail into it harshly without thinking. It made Pelle’s body jerk and a hiss escaped his throat, although he didn’t fight against him.
The action drew blood to the surface, dislodging the dried blood that was already there and forcing fresh red to ooze out. He was captivated by it for a moment and he wished he could draw more, but he kept the thought to himself. His eyes wandered and landed on a small X that had been carved into his side. The placement was specific and Øystein realized that it was a target of sorts. It was the right angle for a knife to be forced inside and up into his heart.
He reached out to trace over the small mark and he felt Pelle tensing beneath his touch. It seemed he’d learned his lesson from a few moments prior, now fearing nails would always follow fingertips. Øystein remained gentle with him this time, looking up to meet his eyes.
“Do you want to die?” Øystein asked him. Pelle blinked at him slowly, another one of his habits that reminded Øystein of a cat. He’d never tell him that, of course, not unless he wanted to really piss him off. Maybe another time. Pelle considered the question for a while, lost deep in his own thoughts and Øystein wondered how the question was truly that difficult. Either Pelle wanted to die or he didn’t.
“Sometimes,” Pelle told him after his brief silence. His tone was flat and unreadable, and Øystein hated him when he took that voice with him. He didn’t enjoy not being able to tell what Pelle was feeling or thinking and he suspected the blonde haired man knew as much.
“So, why haven’t you?” It was a question that had lingered on Øystein’s mind often. Pelle’s obsession with death, his depression, the self-harm. All signs pointed to yes except for the fact that Pelle was still alive.
Killing oneself didn’t seem overly difficult to Øystein, he was sure he could do it himself if he wanted to. And Pelle certainly could. He’d proven time and time again he had no issue with hurting himself, getting close to actually dying once because of it. He could do it if he really wanted to.
Pelle did not answer him this time. Instead, he leaned up to grasp onto Øystein’s shoulders, pulling him down closer to kiss him again. This one was rougher than the previous had been, the younger clearly attempting to change the subject of their interaction. Pelle had always lacked a certain tact for social situations, even by Øystein’s own standards, and one of his biggest social faux pas was how sharply he changed topics when he didn’t care to discuss something.
Øystein decided he could let it go this time. They could talk about it more later if he truly desired the answer, although he wasn’t certain if he actually cared or not. The decision was ultimately Pelle’s and he sincerely doubted he wanted someone trying to force their idea of what was best for him. In all honesty, Øystein didn’t even know what would be best for Pelle. It was much easier to just let the topic drop and focus on this moment again.
The kiss deepened and that was more than enough to recapture his full attention. He could count the number of people he’d kissed on one hand, but Pelle was easily the best at it. Long fingers reached down Øystein’s back, fiddling at the hem of his shirt and attempting to pull it off, earning a sharp slap against his knuckles.
“It stays on,” Øystein told him, drawing away from his lips enough to speak. It earned an indignant look and noise from Pelle, but he didn’t fight him on it. Finally, something Pelle just accepted and didn’t force Øystein to argue with him on. “Don’t pout.”
Pelle didn’t say anything about it, although his expression didn’t sweeten by much. Øystein chose to ignore it. Instead, he kissed Pelle again and pressed closer to his body. He didn’t even notice when he started rocking against the blonde, too caught up in paying attention to him. Long fingers settled for just touching Øystein’s skin beneath his shirt, fingertips running along his spine before nails dragged back down the length.
The sharp sting on his skin spurred him to continue rocking against Pelle, groaning as his jeans provided a bit of harsh friction. He was hard in his jeans now, straining against the front. Pelle seemed to be in a similar state when he thought to take notice. His hands slipped between them, pulling away from the kiss and putting space to open their jeans.
His fingers were clumsy as he worked them open, shoving them down only far enough to serve its purpose. Pelle was completely hard when Øystein finally exposed them both and his fingers wrapped around the blonde man’s cock a moment later. He didn’t react much at first which surprised Øystein, but he supposed the other had always been odd.
For a long time, he hadn’t even been sure Pelle desired sex. He’d never expressed any interest in girls and hadn’t ever really showed signs of enjoying sexual contact at all. By now, Pelle had made enough first moves to dissuade the idea that it was completely uninteresting to him.
He stroked harder, wanting to draw a reaction from the other man. It took a bit more, tightening his fist the way he’d learned Pelle liked most, before he got what he was looking for. Pelle squirmed suddenly and nearly dislodged Øystein from what he was doing, a soft cry escaping his pale lips and he sounded almost surprised by the pleasure.
Øystein smiled once he’d found his satisfaction, stroking him for a bit longer before adjusting himself to be closer to Pelle’s body. Pelle’s fingers reached out to curl around Øystein as soon as he was close enough, making the dark-haired man whine. He wished he could be more like Pelle, less sensitive and more composed, but everything had him shifting and crying out. He stroked Øystein slowly, savoring each noise.
“Your hands are cold,” Øystein complained weakly. It was very obvious it didn’t bother him too much, he never became less hard nor did he try to escape from Pelle’s touch. If anything, the coolness of his skin added an extra layer of unique pleasure to this.
“I can stop if it’s a problem,” Pelle retorted with a knowing grin. Øystein’s eyebrows furrowed at being teased, but he kept quiet and focused on the pleasure for another second more.
He shoved Pelle’s hand away from his cock and lined up with Pelle’s own, trying to wrap his hand around both of them. It was an awkward angle and Øystein found his hands weren’t quite long enough to manage this. He still tried valiantly. It was a lost cause and they both knew it, but Øystein moved his hand and adjusted his grasp on them as though he may find a technique that allowed this to work for them.
“Let me,” Pelle encouraged, his voice softer and less teasing this time around. Øystein wasn’t happy about it, but he relented and let Pelle’s hand replace his own. It turned out to be a good choice in the end because Pelle made it work.
His fingers and palm were large enough to wrap around both of them, palm resting on his own cock and his fingers curling around Øystein’s to press them close together. The added pressure excited Øystein, especially when he considered how odd or unconventional this may be. The taboo nature of being with another man like this excited him.
They moved without speaking after that, although it was far from a quiet experience. Whimpers and moans dragged their way free from Øystein with every particularly good stroke. Sounds were even pulled from Pelle at times, mostly airy and high noises that Øystein clung onto every time. He wished Pelle was more vocal, but he would survive.
Pelle stroked them together for a while until Øystein felt himself growing closer. At that point, he began rocking his hips almost involuntarily. He was chasing after the feeling and it was amplified when he could set his own pace. There was also a primal element to it, fucking mindlessly into Pelle’s hand, crouched on the forest floor.
He was lost in it, almost missing when Pelle came. Luckily, the noise caught his ears. Pelle let out a louder cry, a harsh shudder going through his body and his fingers tightened around them. He spilled fast and hot over both of their skin, slicking the movement even more. A whine escaped him as his come settled on a few fresh cuts on his stomach, but he let it rest there until Øystein was finished to avoid disrupting the man.
It was sweet of him and Øystein would make it up to him at another time. He wasn’t far behind him, not making him lay in his own come for very long. Pelle tried to move his hand from his own cock to wrap solely around Øystein’s, but the dark-haired man reached down quickly to tighten around Pelle’s hand in order to keep it around both of them.
“Don’t. Feels good,” Øystein told him and Pelle seemed to want to argue against that. Ultimately, he let it happen. “Thank you,” He breathed, continuing to rock into the grasp. He tightened his hand around him even more, holding onto Pelle’s hand to guide him. Pelle’s fingers rubbed at the sensitive head and that was too much.
Øystein cursed as he came, holding Pelle’s hand hard enough to nearly hurt. His eyes closed while he finished, thighs trembling and breath shaky. When he opened his eyes again finally, his come had added to the mess on Pelle’s stomach and without thinking, he instinctively moved to pull his own sweater off to clean them up. Goosebumps rose to his arms when the cold air hit his bare skin, but it was worth it to make sure Pelle was more comfortable now.
