Felix Mikkel Soeren (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
oprorsk_sode) wrote2022-04-19 09:51 pm
oprorsk_sode) wrote2022-04-19 09:51 pm
Unintentional Tease
For casual affection 23. brushing strands of hair away
They were both getting ready for a night of work. Mikkel had already showered and wore a pair of spandex while he lounged in the room before he would have to get dressed for an evening at the club. He’d watched Sigurd walk into the bathroom and could hear the Swede taking a long, relaxing pre-concert shower. The Dane sighed heavily as he realized he had to get up and finish getting ready.
He stood up and started to roll his neck and shoulders while standing at the dresser and thinking over what to wear. Deeper overhead arm stretches and side bends to loosen up his torso before he paused to pull out an outfit. He set the folded items on the dresser top then brushed out his hair. The shower was still running as set the brush aside.
Like any other performer, Mikkel had a routine to getting ready. As a dancer this involved a lot of stretching. It was meditative, almost, as he moved through the set, he did most nights. Usually, he would do them once he got to the club but tonight Sigurd was going to have Robert drop him off on the way to the venue since they were near each other. All of his routine was in the hotel room this evening. He didn’t mind because it meant more time with Sigurd before the night exhausted both of them.
He heard the shower stop but thought nothing of it. He had stayed here with Sigurd enough to know a bit of his routine. Grabbing his foot, he straightened his leg up along the side of his body, hugging the leg into his cheek. Mikkel let out a little pleased sound as the stretch released tension. He switched legs and grumbled because this one was always tighter than the other, required more force to bring up to his body. His muscles twitched from the stretch, almost painful but not quite. Both feet back on the floor, then the Dane wiggled his legs to release any built-up tension before bending over and nearly putting his elbows on the floor, stretching the legs again.
Hands firmly on the floor he slid down into a split, so far that his chest sprawled on the floor, arms above his head and legs straight out to the side. This was another position that felt amazing and brought out a sighed sound of pleasure and relaxation. He sat up and brought his legs together, shaking them and then stood up. One foot on the edge of the dresser he bent forward over his leg, reaching to clasp his hands under the sole.
That is when he looked up and saw Sigurd standing there, wet, and wearing only his leather pants. He had a towel in his hands and on his hair, but they were frozen in place. The Swede was staring, almost not breathing. Mikkel met his gaze and couldn’t help the amused grin. The Dane could just imagine what his partner was thinking while he was nearly bent over the edge of the dresser. Ignoring the Swede, Mikkel moved to his other leg, ankle up on the edge of the dresser and folding over to grab his foot.
Sigurd clearly gasped and Mikkel found himself giggling when he glanced up and noticed the way the bassist’s chest was rising and falling so quickly. The Dane went through a few more stretches while smirking but concentrating more on what he was doing than all the staring. Even though he could feel the Swede’s eyes on him the whole time, or at least imagined he could feel them.
His smile faded some when he looked up to see Sigurd sitting on the edge of the bed, chain smoking. His eyes were still fixed on Mikkel, but the Dane could see the jealousy raging in his expression, mostly in his eyes. The bassist was doing his best to accept this, Mikkel knew that. He should be getting dressed but instead he walked over to the Swede and sat right in his lap. He pushed back all his wet, dark hair.
“What’s with the bitchface?” Mikkel tried to pull him out with something playful but the glance he got suggested it wasn’t going to work. The dancer could only sit there and wait, but eventually, the Swede spoke.
“I don’t want all those leering men looking at you while you move like….” He didn’t even get the words out and only motioned at the area by the dresser with the half-smoked cigarette.
“I don’t like the women leering at you on stage.” Mikkel shot back because it was the truth of both of their jobs. They were both on the receiving end of lusty gazes from people they had no interest in being with. Mikkel hated the groupies as much as Sigurd hated the men in the clubs.
Sigurd went silent and Mikkel rolled his eyes at the stubbornness. All he could do is sigh before laying his head on the Swede’s shoulder. “It doesn’t matter who looks at me.”
“I don’t like it.” Sigurd snapped back with bite in his tone.
“They can stare all they want.” Mikkel was getting upset with the behavior from the Swede who was scowling at that comment. “It doesn’t matter who’s in the club looking at me.”
The Dane pressed a playful kiss to the center of Sigurd’s ear just before whispering. “At the end of the night they can go fuck themselves because I’m yours.”
The Swede didn’t react, so Mikkel gave up, intent on standing up to finish dressing. He didn’t even finish standing before he had arms around his waist pulling him back. Nearly stumbling he sat back in the bassist’s lap and then screamed at the tickle from the kiss to his neck. The words didn’t break the bad mood but the giggling after being tickled brightened the Swede’s disposition.
“Don’t be such a sourpuss dad.” Mikkel patted the bassist’s cheek. “I need to get dressed AND so do you.”
They were both getting ready for a night of work. Mikkel had already showered and wore a pair of spandex while he lounged in the room before he would have to get dressed for an evening at the club. He’d watched Sigurd walk into the bathroom and could hear the Swede taking a long, relaxing pre-concert shower. The Dane sighed heavily as he realized he had to get up and finish getting ready.
He stood up and started to roll his neck and shoulders while standing at the dresser and thinking over what to wear. Deeper overhead arm stretches and side bends to loosen up his torso before he paused to pull out an outfit. He set the folded items on the dresser top then brushed out his hair. The shower was still running as set the brush aside.
Like any other performer, Mikkel had a routine to getting ready. As a dancer this involved a lot of stretching. It was meditative, almost, as he moved through the set, he did most nights. Usually, he would do them once he got to the club but tonight Sigurd was going to have Robert drop him off on the way to the venue since they were near each other. All of his routine was in the hotel room this evening. He didn’t mind because it meant more time with Sigurd before the night exhausted both of them.
He heard the shower stop but thought nothing of it. He had stayed here with Sigurd enough to know a bit of his routine. Grabbing his foot, he straightened his leg up along the side of his body, hugging the leg into his cheek. Mikkel let out a little pleased sound as the stretch released tension. He switched legs and grumbled because this one was always tighter than the other, required more force to bring up to his body. His muscles twitched from the stretch, almost painful but not quite. Both feet back on the floor, then the Dane wiggled his legs to release any built-up tension before bending over and nearly putting his elbows on the floor, stretching the legs again.
Hands firmly on the floor he slid down into a split, so far that his chest sprawled on the floor, arms above his head and legs straight out to the side. This was another position that felt amazing and brought out a sighed sound of pleasure and relaxation. He sat up and brought his legs together, shaking them and then stood up. One foot on the edge of the dresser he bent forward over his leg, reaching to clasp his hands under the sole.
That is when he looked up and saw Sigurd standing there, wet, and wearing only his leather pants. He had a towel in his hands and on his hair, but they were frozen in place. The Swede was staring, almost not breathing. Mikkel met his gaze and couldn’t help the amused grin. The Dane could just imagine what his partner was thinking while he was nearly bent over the edge of the dresser. Ignoring the Swede, Mikkel moved to his other leg, ankle up on the edge of the dresser and folding over to grab his foot.
Sigurd clearly gasped and Mikkel found himself giggling when he glanced up and noticed the way the bassist’s chest was rising and falling so quickly. The Dane went through a few more stretches while smirking but concentrating more on what he was doing than all the staring. Even though he could feel the Swede’s eyes on him the whole time, or at least imagined he could feel them.
His smile faded some when he looked up to see Sigurd sitting on the edge of the bed, chain smoking. His eyes were still fixed on Mikkel, but the Dane could see the jealousy raging in his expression, mostly in his eyes. The bassist was doing his best to accept this, Mikkel knew that. He should be getting dressed but instead he walked over to the Swede and sat right in his lap. He pushed back all his wet, dark hair.
“What’s with the bitchface?” Mikkel tried to pull him out with something playful but the glance he got suggested it wasn’t going to work. The dancer could only sit there and wait, but eventually, the Swede spoke.
“I don’t want all those leering men looking at you while you move like….” He didn’t even get the words out and only motioned at the area by the dresser with the half-smoked cigarette.
“I don’t like the women leering at you on stage.” Mikkel shot back because it was the truth of both of their jobs. They were both on the receiving end of lusty gazes from people they had no interest in being with. Mikkel hated the groupies as much as Sigurd hated the men in the clubs.
Sigurd went silent and Mikkel rolled his eyes at the stubbornness. All he could do is sigh before laying his head on the Swede’s shoulder. “It doesn’t matter who looks at me.”
“I don’t like it.” Sigurd snapped back with bite in his tone.
“They can stare all they want.” Mikkel was getting upset with the behavior from the Swede who was scowling at that comment. “It doesn’t matter who’s in the club looking at me.”
The Dane pressed a playful kiss to the center of Sigurd’s ear just before whispering. “At the end of the night they can go fuck themselves because I’m yours.”
The Swede didn’t react, so Mikkel gave up, intent on standing up to finish dressing. He didn’t even finish standing before he had arms around his waist pulling him back. Nearly stumbling he sat back in the bassist’s lap and then screamed at the tickle from the kiss to his neck. The words didn’t break the bad mood but the giggling after being tickled brightened the Swede’s disposition.
“Don’t be such a sourpuss dad.” Mikkel patted the bassist’s cheek. “I need to get dressed AND so do you.”