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"'Stein?" Pelle picks at a strand of his hair, twisting it to watch the light reflect off of it.
"Yes?"
"Sometimes I want to crawl inside of you."
Øystein nearly shoots up. It's quite the dramatic response, in Pelle's opinion.
"What?" He looks down from his awkward raise on his elbow above Pelle, who is still half-trapped beneath his body laying on his. The covers are rustled around them and the lamplight is dull across his confused face.
"Don't you ever feel that way?" Pelle asks blandly. He is just as confused with his reaction.
It feels quite normal to him. Just as the tightening of his heart when Øystein says something too nice, or the feeling in the pit of his stomach thinking about him that waxes and wanes between good and bad.
Øystein narrows his eyes, lays back down against his chest. "Explain it more."
"I don't know," Pelle says. He feels the shyness that follows his usual blurt-outs oncoming; now he must explain himself and say the things he actually means, or just make them up— but he doesn't want to do that. "I like you so much, I want to be inside you. Not sexually. Well," he pauses. "Yes, sexually, but this is different." It makes him snort. Pelle snickers. "I want to be your ribs, or something."
Like I can't get close enough.
Øystein's face feels warmer on his neck as he shifts his forehead to tuck beneath Pelle's chin. "So you wanna be part of me?" He interprets.
Pelle thinks. "Yes."
"I think I do feel the same way," he says, and settles back into him.