Sweat

Jarmo really thought he had been ludicrously unsubtle. Maybe that was on him. Tuomma knew the ins and outs of his kinks, sure - he’d been bound up to Jarmo’s radiator in lieu of a good bed frame, flogged and slapped and groped and whipped and loving every second - but maybe he’d been a little shy about this one. Maybe it was a little much to ask that Tuomma noticed the way he always breathed him in, licked the sweat off him, eyed him up in very specific spots when he wore tank tops.

But, come on. You tell a guy you’re going on a run and he offers up his shower as a pit stop and you genuinely think you’re getting anywhere near that shower? Tuomma had his own shower. A better one even. This was the most obvious setup for a sweaty fuck Jarmo had ever concocted, and he was shocked that Tuomma actually said yes.

He needn’t have been, though, because here he was, the man himself, resting against Jarmo’s counter, downing glasses of water with his stupid fancy athletic shirt soaked through, smelling like absolute ass and having the fucking gall to ask where the shower was.

God, Jarmo wanted him so bad.

“Have a breather first. You still look all red.” And shiny. With droplets of sweat clinging to his forehead, glueing his hair to his face.

“I’m fine,” he signed back, “I’ve gone running before.”

He tried to move the needle just a little. Jarmo could lay on the flirting okay, when he wanted to, even if he did try a bit too hard. “It shows. You look good.”

“It’s been a while since I made an effort about it. Kids and all that.”

“I don’t know.” He looked him up and down as blatantly as anyone ever had. He was a middle aged woman in a loveless marriage starting an emotional affair with her golf instructor. A femme fatale saying oh, detective, I’m just beside myself, whoever could have killed my husband like this? All to sniff this man’s armpits. The things he did for this beautiful, oblivious man. “Looks like you’ve made an effort.”

He chuckled. “Maybe you’re right. Hence the shower.”

“You know, that shower isn’t going anywhere, honey.”

“What? Yeah. Not traditionally portable things, showers.”

Fuck it. Sometimes Tuomma needed a more direct approach. He pushed up against him, resting his face on his sweaty, sweaty chest, running his fingers over his hips. He breathed in his smell, tasting it like a fine wine. Sweat, yes, but Tuomma’s sweat, overpowering his usual gentle, soapy smell with something just as unmistakably him but richer, riper, more pungent, something that was always there in moderation but had been let loose with the power of a 20-minute run in the park. He pressed a kiss to the little strip between his tits where the sweat had soaked through his shirt. “Tuomma, my darling, my moon and stars, I am trying to get inside you.”

“I thought I was here to shower.” He was doing his little lost-puppy face. No way he was actually that confused.

“Tuomma, please. Please.” He got onto his tiptoes and kissed his neck. “Forget the shower. Get your sweaty ginger pubes upstairs and into my bed.”

He chuckled and took Jarmo’s hand so he could drag him upstairs. Jarmo shoved Tuomma into his bedroom, peeling his shirt off him. He wanted to hold it to his face and sniff but there were more important matters at hand. His fancy little running shorts, heavy with sweat, Jarmo’s own shitty old clothes, their socks and boxers littering the floor. It didn’t make much of a dent in the mess of Jarmo’s room, but he liked seeing them there with all their sweat prints. The rest of it was just mess - this was Tuomma’s mess.

“Bed.” He was trying to sound commanding but it came out more like begging. Maybe because it was.

Tuomma sat on Jarmo’s mattress, legs open, back against the corner it was wedged into. He folded his arms behind his head, baring his armpits, a spark of confidence in that coy smile. He was right to be confident. Jarmo had to take a moment. He fell to his knees in front of Tuomma, pressing kisses all over his chest.

“Fuck you look good.”

“I really should take that shower.”

“Noo! You’ll just smell like Kalevi’s nice soaps.” Any attempt at subtlety had fallen away. Jarmo was now speaking directly out of his cock. “Please. I want you like this. I want you smelling like you. I want to shove my face in your armpit. Please let me shove my face in your armpit.”

He wasn’t sure how Tuomma would react to that. Worst case scenario he would find him disgusting and shout at him and make Jarmo cry and leave him and get a restraining order and tell everyone he was a stinky little armpit man so he lost his job and all his friends and died jerking off into the used briefs of whoever was left on this earth willing to humour him. Best case scenario was between Jarmo and his fleshlight.

What he hadn’t, but probably should have expected was for Tuomma to chuckle politely and (putting those beautiful armpits away for a cruel few seconds) sign, “I would hate to stop you after getting you this worked up.”

And worked up he was - rock hard, shaking like a shitting dog, rubbing up against him like a different dog, and sniffing him like a third, somehow even hornier dog.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” he asked, with a face like he hadn’t smoked in days and Tuomma was holding his last pack of cigarettes out of reach.

He shook his head. “I mean, it’s not my usual thing. But if I’d known it would get you this excited I would’ve changed my running route months ago.”

He gave him a reassuring little smile as he folded his hands back behind his head. That was all the encouragement he needed. As he dived into his armpit he vowed to make up for the months they’d been fucking without doing this. He filled his lungs with that smell, stronger than anything Tuomma, with all his mostly-normal cleaning habits, had ever let him close to. He licked it, feeling wiry hair and savoury sweat thick on his tongue. He could have stayed here hours, astride his thigh, breathing him in, stroking his cock so absentmindedly you’d think he didn’t realise he was doing it, tasting his salty skin and hair - Tuomma, though, could only entertain him for so long.

He grabbed his attention by grabbing his hair, something Jarmo hadn’t expected to make him moan but that absolutely did.

“If you’re going to use me to get off, please at least use one part of me that isn’t the armpits.”

If he was in a different state of mind he would use this as an excuse to get Tuomma tied up and bruised. He was in too good a mood to even pretend to be mad, though, and given Tuomma was entertaining this, he probably owed it to him to make it worth his while. His free hand wandered, ghosting shapes over his chest, stomach, hips, before finally grabbing his ass - not enough to make him moan, but enough to keep him happy for the moment.

“You know, my balls are pretty sweaty.” Tuomma clearly didn’t know how to sign that sexily, and he was visibly stifling a giggle, but that wasn’t making Jarmo’s hog twitch any less. God, he was perfect.

Jarmo pressed one last kiss to his ribs (o gorgeous sweaty red-haired armpit, I’ll return to you someday) and crawled down to put his face between Tuomma’s thighs. He pushed his legs apart and sniffed his balls, pressing lazy kisses to his skin. This was a different smell - sweeter, less overpowering, more familiar. He looked up at Tuomma from down there, with his nose pressed into the space between his thigh and his dick. He was looking down at him with something like amusement.

“I love you so fucking much,” Jarmo told him. Tuomma just smiled. As if to punctuate it, he licked Tuomma’s balls, tasting all that sweat. He felt like he was drunk off of it. Only once he was satisfied did he lick along the length of Tuomma’s cock. He delighted in the taste almost as much as he delighted in Tuomma’s reaction - he twitched underneath him, gasping softly, hands fluttering. He was so perfect Jarmo almost got distracted enough to stop for a moment - but never quite.

Jarmo closed his mouth around the tip, watching him intently, and started to bob his head. As he sucked him off, Tuomma reached into the gap between the mattress and the wall where Jarmo’s bed detritus always fell - used tissues, clothes, pillows, whole blankets, toys of both the Build-A-Bear and Bad Dragon variety. Tuomma groped his shaky hands around a little and brought out a bottle of lube, and Jarmo took a second to fall in love with how easily he had grown accustomed to his bullshit.

He pulled off of him. “Is that a request?”

Tuomma nodded politely.

Jarmo took it from him and poured a little onto his fingers. He slid one into his asshole (also hairy, sweaty, gorgeous, etc) and jumped right back onto Tuomma’s cock, licking and sucking as he opened him up, making him gasp.

“Oh, you like that,” he purred, kissing up and down his length.

Tuomma made a strangled little noise. He wasn’t much for speaking at the best of times, but once Jarmo got working there was no chance. He roughly fucked him open on his fingers as he sucked and licked and tried to convince himself he wouldn’t gag if he ignored the dick-sucking part of it all and pretended he was just trying to sniff his pubes. Which, to be honest, he was. Didn’t help though.

Eventually he pulled away, catching his breath. “You ready?”

Tuomma nodded, making a little noise. Jarmo giggled and got back up, scooping him up by the hips and positioning him carefully, wedged between the wall and Jarmo’s lap. He teased his hole with the tip for a while before Tuomma whined and clenched his cheeks around him as if to trap him, signing “please”, at which point Jarmo laughed and relented, slowly starting to push into Tuomma’s hole.

“You’re a desperate, stinky boy, aren’t you?”

Barely comprehensible between his own shaking hands and Jarmo’s limited sign language, Tuomma replied, “There are a lot of reasons you can’t call me stinky as an insult and only one of them is how horny it gets you when I am.”

He had a point there. It wasn’t like there weren’t plenty of other words to call Tuomma that could make him squirm much worse. He prepared himself to use a lot of them in the next week or so. After Tuomma indulged him this much, he deserved a little treat, one that likely involved answering the door to him in a little leather cap and harness. And then presumably having to explain to Tuomma that, no, he hadn’t invited him over for a social call, and yes, he had picked this outfit out on purpose.

He started moving properly, rhythmically ramming back and forth into him. “I’m sorry, darling. You’re a beautiful, talented, unbelievably fuckable, stinky boy. I love you so much.”

Jarmo felt a hand on the back of his head, Tuomma’s fingers curling into his hair. He prepared to kiss him, but instead Tuomma shoved his face back into his armpit. The moan that came out of Jarmo at that moment was frankly embarrassing.

“Fuck, Tuomma. Oh, you’re so good to me.”

He felt him chuckle under him. He also felt it become a breathy moan when Jarmo sped up like a stink-powered fuck machine, fuelled up and ready to go. What little humility he had harboured was long gone now, replaced with the need to pound Tuomma’s hole into oblivion.

“God, you smell amazing. You smell so fucking amazing.”

At a certain point of sensation, Jarmo knew that Tuomma would take pretty much anything as dirty talk if you said it in the right cadence, the way a dog hears the tone of its owner’s praise and not the words, and that he probably shouldn’t take his moaning as a sign that this would become a regular thing. He still did, though, and all that hope went right to his dick along with the rest of his brain.

“I want to fucking live here. In your armpit. I want to squeeze all the sweat out of you into a cup so I can drink it. I never want you to shower again. I want to fuck you when you’re so greasy I can’t get ahold on you and so stinky you get banned from public transport.”

A shaky laugh cut through Tuomma’s moaning. With great effort and jerky, uncoordinated hands, he signed, “Don’t… say that… when I’m… about… to cum.”

Jarmo laughed. “I mean it though.”

Tuomma took him by the shoulders and dragged him back into his armpit. He didn’t need to sign that; the message was clear. Get back in there and shut the fuck up. With the way Tuomma smelled and the way his nails were digging into his shoulder blades, Jarmo didn’t need much convincing. Then again, he didn’t need much convincing of anything where Tuomma was involved. His wish was his command. The only words Tuomma needed to hear out of him were, “Fuck, baby, fuck, shit, fuck, I love you so much” as he shot his load inside him - which he did hear, a few seconds later, only to reply with a wordless groan and another load spattered between their stomachs.

Jarmo rested his head on Tuomma’s shoulder and pulled out with a wet sound, wiping his cock unceremoniously on Tuomma’s thigh. The two of them held each other like that for a while, listening to each other’s breathing.

“I can’t believe,” Jarmo started, after a minute or so of silence, “you thought I was inviting you over to use your shower.”

Tuomma’s chest shook against him. He pulled away, only slightly, just enough to let Jarmo see him signing. “What?”

“When I texted you. I thought that was, like, a bonkers transparent booty call but then you showed up actually asking about my shower.”

“Darling, it was. It was very, very transparent.”

He frowned. “Oh. Then what was all that shower talk about?

“Well, you have that whole smell kink going on. I was teasing you.”

“You were teasing me? The whole fucking time? You knew I was into this?”

He was cracking up now. He wanted to wipe that bastard little smile off Tuomma’s face. “I’m autistic, dear, not blind. You’re a very beautiful and talented man and I adore you, but Jarmo, you don’t have a subtle bone in your body.”

“Like you’re so fucking dignified about your kinks.”

“Well, you know, you’ve never caught me sniffing your underwear, so there’s that.”

Jarmo’s ears pricked up. “Caught you?”

“I don’t have a…” Tuomma sighed and stopped signing for a second to put his face in his hands. “You haven’t given me your BO kink, petal. If you had I would be all over you. Wouldn’t get anything done.”

“Rude.” But fair.

He looked very interested in Jarmo’s ceiling. “But I might stop by for a shower again. If you’re gonna fuck me like that.”

Jarmo squeaked. “Yes! Really?”

“We’ll see. Speaking of your shower-“

“Nooo…”

He sighed fondly and pulled himself up slowly. “Speaking of your shower, get in it with me. Was what I was going to say.”

Jarmo giggled. “Alright, fine. I can do that.”