#sorry it’s shit and pointless (like everything i write at the moment) but ilove can’t do any better rn

[dingletragedy]

Against a wall kiss for ballum please😘

ridiculous boys, wall kisses ft. smut

Ben is a deadweight against his chest, entire body warm, soft and giving in trackies and Callum’s own grey hoodie. The sleeves are miles too long for Ben, cuffs tucked over thumbs, and Callum would curse him for ruining the bloody thing, if the sight wasn’t quite so enjoyable. Callum slips his fingers under the fabric to stroke softly at Ben’s wrists, fingers resting at the pulse point there, making him shift and tuck his face into Callum’s neck. They’re watching Love, Actually (again), but Callum isn’t really paying attention, too occupied with the way Ben’s body is slotted against his own, close but never close enough.

He could almost fall asleep like this, body and mind sated, his head tilted back against the armrest, muffled rain and the lingering smell of a home cooked dinner, a warm body cuddled up close to his chest, legs tangled together. Time seems to jump and stutter. Callum blinks, once, twice, three times, and suddenly the film is over, title screen looping continuously. It’s still raining outside, violently now, thrashing sheets that smash like bullets against the roof. Ben seems to be asleep, lashes soft brown and resting, mouth slightly parted, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

“Ben,” Callum murmurs, shifting slightly beneath him, bringing one hand up to the back of his head to scratch at his hair. Ben hums in response, sleepy and noncommittal, arms curling tighter around Callum’s middle, nails dragging softly over his skin. “D’you wanna go to bed?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “You’re so warm, though. Don’t wanna move.”

“I’ll carry you,” Callum says, and Ben laughs against his chest, that soft giggle, delicate and smudged against the fabric of Callum’s jumper.

“My hero,” he muses, fake-dreamy and amused when he finally lifts his head. He rests his chin on Callum’s chest, eyes crinkly and soft, face creased.

Callum just smiles and gets his hands under Ben’s armpits, dragging him up his chest slowly.

“Wait—I thought you were joking—” Ben exclaims, eyes wide. “Callum!”

“Gotta carry out my heroic duties, ain’t I?” Callum says, Ben’s eyes fading to a glint, mischievous like his smile.

He rests his palms over Ben’s thighs next, tugging them up around his waist, breathing out slow when Ben shifts his hips, almost unconsciously. With a quiet hold on, he swivels them off the sofa and picks Ben up.

They almost fall sideways into the wall a number of times, Callum’s limbs gone fuzzy from lying down for so long, pins and needles licking at his toes and his calves. When he finally shuffles into their bedroom room, managing to kick the door closed behind him, Ben is laughing uncontrollably against his neck, these hiccuped, quiet giggles that he smudges to the underside of Callum’s chin. He keeps ahold of him until he physically can’t anymore, just short of the bed, limbs tangling together as they fall against the wall.

“Impressive,” Ben cheers quietly, voice raspy and high. He nips at Callum’s throat. “Duties completed, you can claim your new hero status tomorrow.”

“Still warm?” Callum asks, voice caught on the tail end of a laugh. He spreads a palm over Ben’s back and sighs, content. Home.

“Very,” Ben whispers. Their noses brush together in the dark, and Ben exhales softly over Callum’s jaw. “Could be warmer, though.”

“Oh yeah?” Callum hums, feels Ben’s fingers trailing his waistband. Their thighs slot together.

“Yeah,” Ben breathes.

Callum just shakes his head and lets out a puff of disbelieving laughter. Then Ben leans forward and slots his bottom lip between Callum’s, pulls him into a bruising kiss.

Callum’s entire body slumps with it, falls into Ben’s own with weak knees, falls, falls, falls until he’s crowding him against the wall, until jumpers rub and rustle together and the tips of their chilled noses brush along cheeks. It makes Callum inhale sharply, makes him open his mouth wider to try and take warmth from Ben’s own.

They kiss fiercely, wet and harsh and so much. Callum cradles his jaw, presses his thumbs in to say I love you, I love you, I love you. He unzips Ben’s (no, his own) hoodie roughly, shoves his hands under the thick fabric of his jumper and pulls desperately, drags his nails over Ben’s skin, Ben arches into the touch, to say I know.

Callum runs his hands over every expanse of skin he can touch, every moonlit curve, bathed in steel and twilight blue, and Ben presses into his hands, sucks wet kisses under his jaw.

“Ben,” Callum murmurs, and he shifts their bodies, traps Ben between his legs and slowly rolls his hips up, watches as Ben’s lashes flutter, and he swallows thickly, palms spread on Callum’s chest.

It’s hushed, the way they undress each other, move together. Callum is almost reluctant to slide Ben’s tracksuit bottoms off, loves the softness of them under his hands, the way he can see Ben’s cock hardening beneath them, the way they’re making him warm, his cheeks flushing the warmest red when the storm-light hits the window just right. But then he gets to touch his skin, gets to press his fingers in, gets to slide down and kiss there, there and there.

He sucks him off gently, if gentle is a way to get someone off. He takes his time, savours every twitch of Ben’s hips, every breathy gasp of his name, every tug at the hair. Callum feels blissed out, listens to the rain and Ben’s quiet whines, muffled by the back of his hand.

Thunder glides right above them, yet Callum barely hears it, lost in the soft uh-uh-uhs and yeah-yeah-yeahs that are tumbling from Ben’s bitten-red lips, desperate and airy.

When he’s close, hips rolling up, fingers pressed against Callum’s jaw, Callum pulls off slowly and smiles at Ben’s slow, heavy exhale, his thick swallow. There’s heat crawling up his neck, sitting heavy in his stomach, flames fire-hot licking at his skin.

“God, look at you,” Ben whispers. His hand comes to cup Callum’s cheek, pulling him back to his feet with shaky movements. “So gorgeous.”

Ben takes so much time dragging his lips over Callum’s skin, presses in the occasional kiss, his breath warm and known.

“Ben,” Callum whines, flushed.

“Love you so much,” Ben presses the words against his skin, mumbled and slick yet so sure they could build a wall. “I hope you know how much.”

“I know, I know—” Callum says, and then, as easy as breathing, “I love you too.”

Callum can hardly see through the dark cascading them, but he doesn’t need to. He knows Ben’s body, knows where to touch him just right, knows to suck a mark in the the dips of his collarbones, knows to use gentle fingers to play with his hair, knows that sweet-spot behind his ear, knows to slide out slow, slow, slow and then back in sharply, making their bodies jolt together. And Ben in turn, knows Callum too, knows to tug him closer, deeper, so deep that they aren’t two people anymore.

After, they fall under the sheets together. Surrounded by blue light, Callum curls his arm over Ben’s waist properly, relaxes every muscle in his body one by one until he feels weightless, until all he’s aware of is the strokes of Ben’s fingers and the rise and fall of his chest.

They fall asleep wrapped together, Callum finds home in the cradle of Ben’s chest, the first orange glow of dawn rising outside.