Page 38 of Baking Battles

It’s strange how the butterflies in his stomach have calmed down. How he’s already made a complete fool out of himself and outed all the stupid feelings brewing in his chest, and there is nothing left really. There is nothing more he can do to lay himself more bare than he is right now, standing here in his flat with his shirt and jeans on, and there is a hole in his sock, and his big toe is sticking out, red with cold from not being covered.

Mattias is an idiot. He is. He always has been, but he’s who he is, and Christopher looks just as terrified as Mattias feels as he just stands there and stares at him, his mouth a little slack. His eyes full of fear mixed with kindness. His arms still curled tight around his own body.

“I really want to kiss you.” Mattias says. Because it’s the truth. And somehow, somewhere, this seems like a good time to stop lying. To be honest and raw and bare and naked. “I want to kiss you and I want you to come and lie in bed with me and hold me, and I want you to sleep next to me with your shirt off.”

“With my shirt off?” Christopher says, and there is that smile. The calm smile that makes him radiate something that Mattias can’t explain, apart from that it makes him all warm and silly, and he practically shoves the damn bathrobe over Christopher’s shoulder, and… well. Why stop when he’s on a mission? He drags Christopher’s t-shirt over his head. Throws it on the floor, then takes a little step back so he can look at the man in front of him.

He’s fucking tall. But so is Mattias, so they are almost the same height. Nose to nose. Thin pale shoulders and a defined chest, that looks just as picture perfect as it does on the billboards where Christopher’s almost nude body currently advertises some posh clothing brand at most of the bus stops in Oslo.

He’s just as hairless as Mattias himself, smooth skin that his fingers automatically reach out to stroke. Just a little touch from the collarbone down over Christopher’s chest.

It’s just skin. Fingertips against chest, butChristopher’s breath has gone a little funny and Mattias’s fingers are once again ahead of his brain, unbuttoning his own shirt faster than he ever has before, almost ripping the fabric from his own body, and letting his hands land firmly on Christopher’s shoulders.

“I need you to mean this, Matt.” Christopher whispers. “I need you to promise that you’re not just messing around with me, because if you are, I don’t think I could survive it. This isn’t a game to me. This is my heart and a lifetime of messed-up attraction to you. I can’t just switch it off if you decide that you don’t like me that way. You can’t just experiment with me and then say, ‘sorry, I’m not into you.’ I don’t work that way.”

“Neither do I.” Mattias actually sounds confident. “I’ve never felt anything like this before. I have never been attracted to someone like I am attracted to you. I don’t even like sex, and here I am ripping my clothes off like a fool, hoping that you will kiss me and take me to bed, and show me what the hell this is all about.”

“You want this?” Christopher questions, and Mattias almost wants to roll his eyes.

“I want you.” he says instead. “I want you to kiss me.”

“You’re obsessed with me kissing you.”

“It was a very good kiss.”

“Even if it was stolen.”

“Stolen kisses are the best.”

“So… steal one, get one free?”

“Definitely.”

So, he does. He steals a kiss, and Mattias’s life is never going to be the same again.

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