This erotic short story was written for SnakkOmSex. If you would like to read Norwegian language stories click here.
For more English language stories click here.

So, I’m standing there on the corner of Prinsens Gate in Trondheim, Norway, munching on this godawful microwaved burrito from the 7-Eleven by the bus stop. It’s one of those overpriced, sad excuses for food that tastes like cardboard and bad decisions, but man, I was starving after a long-ass shift at the warehouse. It’s late, like 10 PM or something, and the street’s pretty much dead except for a couple of drunk dudes stumbling out of Ølbaren a little ways down. The air’s freezing, biting at my knuckles like a damn dog, and I’m just chewing away, trying to figure out how I’m gonna pay for this stupid thing ‘cause, shit, I forgot my wallet at home. Then, outta nowhere, I spot her. Ingrid. I’ve known her forever, since we were kids skipping school and sneaking smokes behind the old Trøndelag Teater. She’s not some drop-dead gorgeous type, just a regular girl with a sharp tongue and these oversized hoodies that swallow her up. Her short, messy blonde hair always looks like she just crawled outta bed, and she’s got this nose ring that catches the streetlight just right. We’ve never been super tight or anything, but we’ve kicked it in the same circles over the years, hitting up dive bars or crappy house parties in Øya. Last I heard, she was working at the fish market by Ravnkloa, probably reeking of cod most days.

She’s coming my way, hands jammed in her pockets, head ducked against the wind. I don’t think much of it at first, just give her a little nod when she glances up and sees me. “Hey, dumbass,” she says with this smirk on her face. Her voice is rough, kinda gravelly, probably from smoking too damn much, and I catch a faint whiff of tobacco as she gets closer. “Hey yourself,” I shoot back, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand like some classy bastard. “What’re you doin’ out here? Freezing your ass off for kicks?” She snorts, one of those short, sharp laughs. “Nah, just got off a late shift. Figured I’d grab a beer or something before dragging myself home. You look like you’re eating straight trash again.” I hold up the half-eaten burrito like it’s a damn trophy. “This? It’s gourmet, alright? Don’t hate.”

We just stand there for a minute, not saying much, kinda just… being there together. The neon 7-Eleven sign flickers above us, and I hear the low rumble of a bus pulling off down the street. I don’t know, man, I get this weird feeling, like I don’t wanna just say peace and bounce. Maybe it’s the cold messing with me, or maybe it’s how she keeps sneaking looks at me, like she’s trying to figure something out. I ain’t no psychic, so I just push it outta my head. “You got plans or what?” I ask, crumpling up the burrito wrapper and chucking it at the trash can. Miss by a freaking mile, naturally. Ingrid raises an eyebrow like I’m an idiot. “Plans? It’s a damn Tuesday, Lars. What kinda plans you think I got?” “Hell if I know. Just thought you might wanna do something besides freeze out here with me.” She lets out this quick, biting laugh. “You buyin’ the beer, then? ‘Cause I’m broke as hell.” I pat my pockets, then remember, fuck, my wallet’s still sitting on the counter back at my place in Lademoen. “Shit. Left my cash at home. Guess we’re both up a creek.” She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t just walk off. Instead, she jerks her head toward Kongens Gate. “My place isn’t far. Got a couple cans in the fridge if you’re not too good for cheap piss.” I got nothing better going on, and to be real, I’m not ready to haul my ass back to my dump of a flat yet. My spot’s just this tiny one-room deal above the old bakery on Innherredsveien, always smelling like stale bread and freaking mold. So I shrug. “Alright, fine. Lead the way.”

We start walking, cutting through these quiet streets past Nidarosdomen, that big creepy cathedral looming in the dark like some giant ready to pounce. Trondheim’s small enough that you can get anywhere on foot if you don’t mind freezing your nuts off, and Ingrid’s place is just off Bakkegata, in one of those ancient wooden row houses that look like they’ve been around since forever. She doesn’t talk much on the way, just gripes a bit about her boss at the market being a total dick, and I nod along, half-paying attention. My head’s somewhere else, mostly on how damn tired I am, but also… I dunno, I catch myself noticing how her hoodie’s slipping off her shoulder, showing this pale strip of skin under the streetlights. I ain’t proud of staring, but yeah, I noticed.

Her flat’s on the second floor, up this rickety-ass staircase that creaks like it’s gonna collapse under me. I’m not exactly small, been hauling crates at the warehouse for years, so I’ve got some weight to me. The place smells like old coffee and cig smoke, with this faint fishy tang I’m guessing just comes with her job now. Her living room’s a straight-up mess, empty beer cans on the table, laundry piled on the couch, random crap all over the floor. It feels real, though, lived-in, not like those fake, perfect houses you see on TV. “Sit or whatever,” she says, kicking her boots off by the door. “I’ll grab the drinks.” I flop down on the couch, shoving aside a hoodie that smells like her, sweat, smoke, and something else I can’t pin down. My leg’s bouncing a little, not ‘cause I’m nervous or anything, just ‘cause I’m always kinda fidgety. I look around, eyeing the cracked paint on the walls and this ancient TV in the corner that probably hasn’t worked since the ‘90s. There’s a picture on the shelf of her with some dude I don’t know, maybe an ex, maybe a brother. I don’t ask. She comes back with two cans of Ringnes, the cheap stuff, and tosses one over to me.

I grabbed the can, popped the top, and took a big, long swig. Man, it tasted like watered-down piss, just like she warned me, but it was cold as hell and honestly did the trick. She plopped down on the other end of the couch, legs crossed, and cracked open her own can. “Here’s to bein’ broke and freakin’ miserable,” she said, lifting her drink just a bit. I couldn’t help but smirk. “Cheers to that.” We sipped in quiet for a while, nothing but the faint hiss of the radiator and the odd car rolling by outside on Bakkegata to break the silence. I’m not sure how long we just sat there, ten minutes, maybe more? But this weird sorta tension started creeping up on me. Not some huge, dramatic vibe or anything, just this quiet buzz in the back of my head. Could’ve been the way she kept fidgeting, her knee brushing closer to me on the edge of the couch, or how she’d lick her lips after a sip, not tryin’ to be cute, just a habit, y’know? Look, I’m not sayin’ I was schemin’ or anything, ‘cause I wasn’t. That’s not my deal, not usually. But I noticed. Kinda hard not to.

“So,” she said after a bit, setting her can down on the table with a tiny clink. “You just gonna sit there eyeballin’ my mess of a place, or you got somethin’ to say?” I shrugged and took another gulp. “Not much to say, honestly. Your place looks like a damn tornado ripped through it, though.” She let out a real laugh, not the fake kind. “Yeah, well, I don’t got the time to clean. Or the energy. Take your pick.” “Fair enough,” I said. I leaned back, stretched my legs out, and my boot bumped her foot by accident. Didn’t pull back right away, and neither did she. It was a small thing, y’know, but it stuck with me, like a little spark or some cheesy crap like that. I’m trash at readin’ signals, always have been, but the way she looked at me right then, eyes half-closed, kinda curious, it did somethin’ to my gut. Not bad, just… weird, I guess. “You’re actin’ weird tonight,” she said, tilting her head a little. “Like you’re overthinkin’ or somethin’.” I snorted. “Me? Thinkin’? Nah, that ain’t my thing.” I could tell she wasn’t buyin’ it, but she didn’t push me on it. Instead, she reached for another can off the table, her arm brushing past mine as she did. No clue if she meant to do that, and I didn’t ask. But I felt it, this tiny jolt, and I caught her eye for half a second before she looked away. My heart started poundin’ a bit faster, and I tried tellin’ myself it was just the beer, even though I knew that was bullshit.

“Hand me another,” I said, nodding toward the table, mostly to snap outta whatever that moment was. She passed me one, her fingers grazin’ mine, and I didn’t say a word about it. Neither did she. But we both knew somethin’ was lingerin’ there, unsaid, and I had this gut feelin’ it wasn’t gonna stay buried for long. I cracked open the second can of Ringnes, the cold metal bitin’ into my palm, and took a long pull, tryin’ to ignore my pulse pickin’ up. Ingrid was slouched back now, legs stretched out, one foot damn near touchin’ mine again. I didn’t move, and she didn’t either. The radiator kept hissin’ in the corner, and I could hear the low rumble of a late-night tram cruisin’ down Bakkegata outside. Her flat felt… smaller, suddenly. Like the walls were closin’ in, but not in a bad way. Just… close, y’know?

“You’re still starin’,” she said, her voice low, almost lazy-like, but there was somethin’ in it I couldn’t pin down. She wasn’t even lookin’ at me, just fiddlin’ with the can in her hand, turnin’ it slow like it was the most fascinatin’ thing ever. “Didn’t realize I was,” I mumbled, though I probably was. I ain’t blind, okay? Her hoodie had slipped down a bit more off her shoulder, showin’ the strap of a black tank top underneath and a slice of collarbone that looked sharper than I figured it would. I don’t usually overthink crap like this, but my eyes kept wanderin’ there, and I didn’t stop ‘em. She let out this little huff, like half a laugh, and finally looked up at me. Her eyes were sharp, a bit red, maybe from the long day, maybe the beer, but they cut right through me. “You’re full of shit, Lars.” I smirked, leanin’ forward a bit, elbows on my knees. “Yeah? And what’re you gonna do about it?” I didn’t mean it as a challenge, not really, but it sure came out that way. She didn’t back down, just raised an eyebrow and set her can down on the table, harder than she needed to. Then she shifted, scootin’ a little closer on the couch, her knee bumpin’ into mine this time, and she didn’t pull away. My breath caught for a second, and I told myself to chill the hell out, but my body wasn’t listenin’. There was this heat, maybe from her, maybe just me, I don’t know.

“Careful,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost a whisper, but it had a bite to it. “Keep talkin’ like that, I might think you’re tryin’ somethin’.” I swallowed hard, my throat dry even with the beer. “And if I am?” She didn’t answer right off, just stared at me, her mouth twitchin’ into somethin’ that wasn’t quite a smile. Then, before I could open my dumb mouth again, she leaned in. Not slow, not hesitatin’, just went for it. Her lips crashed into mine, a little off-center at first, like she didn’t quite aim right, and I could taste the cheap beer on her breath, mixed with somethin’ salty I figured was just… her. My brain blanked out for a sec, but my hands moved on their own, one grabbin’ the back of her neck, the other landin’ on her hip, pullin’ her closer. She made this small sound, nothin’ dramatic, just a quick exhale through her nose, and then she was kissin’ me back, rough and hungry, her teeth grazin’ my bottom lip a little too hard.

Man, it hurt a little, but I didn’t give a damn. My fingers were digging into her hip, catching the rough edge of her jeans under that oversized hoodie, and she moved, kinda swinging a leg over mine until she was half on top of me on the couch. Her weight felt real, heavy in a good way, not like some fragile nonsense, and I could feel the warmth of her body right through her clothes, pressed against my thigh. “Fuck,” I mumbled into her mouth, not even sure why I said it, just had to let something out. She didn’t say a word back, just grabbed a handful of my jacket and pulled me in closer, her other hand sneaking under my shirt, fingers cold as hell against my skin. I flinched a bit, couldn’t help it, and she let out this short, rough laugh before kissing me again, her tongue pushing in, all sloppy and rushed. My hands just moved on their own, sliding up under her hoodie, feeling the curve of her waist, the warm, slightly sweaty skin there. Up close, she smelled like sweat and cigarettes, with this faint fishy whiff still on her, probably from her shift or whatever, but I didn’t care. It was just her, real and unpolished, and it messed with my head in the best way. I shoved her hoodie up higher, showing more of the tank top underneath, and she didn’t push me away, just leaned into my touch a bit, her breath catching when my thumb grazed the edge of her bra. She pulled back for a second, breathing heavy, face all red, lips kinda puffy. “You good with this?” she asked, voice rough, eyes locking on mine. It wasn’t some mushy check-in, just making sure we were cool, and I respected that. “Yeah,” I said, my voice coming out deeper than I expected. “You?” She gave a quick nod, then yanked her hoodie off over her head in one swift move, tossing it somewhere on the floor. Underneath, her black tank top hugged her tight, showing the shape of her small chest, the straps of a plain gray bra peeking out. She wasn’t trying to be all sexy or anything, just getting stuff outta the way, and somehow that made it even hotter. I shrugged off my jacket, fumbling with the damn zipper for a sec, and she didn’t even wait, just tugged at my shirt ‘til I got the hint and pulled it off too. Her hands were on me instantly, running over my chest, down my sides, nails scratching just enough to feel it. I’m not jacked or anything, just solid from hauling boxes at the warehouse, but she didn’t seem to mind, just kept touching, like she was figuring me out. I grabbed her hips again, pulling her fully onto my lap now, her knees on either side of me, and I could feel the heat between her legs right through her jeans, pressed against me. I was already hard, no hiding it, my dick straining against my own jeans, and I knew she felt it too ‘cause she shifted, grinding down just a little, testing things out. “Fuckin’ hell,” I grunted, hands gripping her ass now, squeezing through the denim. She smirked, just for a split second, then leaned in to bite my neck, not soft at all, her teeth sharp enough to make me hiss. My hips jerked up without thinking, pushing against her, and she let out a small gasp, her breath hot on my skin. I slid one hand up, sneaking it under her tank top, pushing it up ‘til I hit the edge of her bra again. This time I didn’t stop, just tugged the cup down, exposing one of her breasts. Her nipple was already hard, this pale pink against her skin, and I didn’t even think, just leaned in and took it into my mouth, tongue flicking over it. She made a sound then, low and throaty, and her hand grabbed the back of my head, holding me there, fingers tangling in my hair. “Harder,” she muttered, voice tight, and I didn’t need telling twice. I bit down just a bit, not too much to really hurt, just enough to make her squirm, and she did, rocking her hips down against me, the friction through our jeans driving me insane. My other hand was messing with the button of her pants now, fumbling ‘cause my brain was half gone, but I got it undone, the zipper sounding loud as hell in the quiet room. I shoved my hand in, past the waistband of her underwear, feeling the heat, the dampness, the roughness of her pubic hair against my fingers before I found her, already wet. “Shit, Ingrid,” I said, pulling back from her chest to look at her face. Her eyes were half-shut, mouth open a little, breathing fast. She didn’t say anything, just pushed down against my hand, wanting more, and I gave it to her, sliding two fingers inside, feeling how tight and slick she was. She groaned, head tipping back, and I started moving my fingers, slow at first, then picking up speed when she started riding my hand, hips jerking all uneven and desperate. I could smell her now, that sharp, musky scent of her arousal mixing with everything else, and it hit me hard, made my dick twitch in my jeans, aching to be free. I wanted to flip her over, yank her pants off, take her right there on the couch, but I held off, just kept working her with my fingers, my thumb finding her clit and rubbing circles, watching her face twist up from it. Her hands were on my shoulders, nails digging in, and she was making these small, choked noises, not loud, just raw, like she couldn’t keep ‘em in. Then she grabbed my wrist, stopping me right in the middle, breathing all ragged. “Wait,” she panted, voice shaky but firm. “Not yet. I want, ” She didn’t finish, just looked down at me, eyes dark, and I got what she meant.

I gave a little nod, sliding my hand back, my fingers all wet from her, and she scooted away just a bit, her hands fumbling with the button on my jeans. She popped it open with this quick, kinda clumsy jerk, and man, my heart was pounding like crazy. I lifted my hips to help her yank ‘em down, just far enough, my boxers coming along with ‘em, and there I was, hard as hell, already leaking a little at the tip. She just stared for a moment, not saying a word, just… looking. I felt this weird mix of, like, pride but also awkward as fuck, like I was waiting for her to give me a thumbs up or something. Then she reached down, her hand wrapping around me, gripping tight, a little rough even, and I couldn’t help it, I groaned, my head falling back against the couch.

She started stroking, real slow at first, her thumb brushing over the tip, spreading the precum around, and I had to clench my jaw to keep from losing it right then and there. “Condom?” I managed to choke out, my voice all tight and weird, ‘cause look, I’m not an idiot, even if I wanted to just go for it. She nodded, leaning over to rummage through a drawer in the side table, her ass up in the air while she did it, and yeah, I couldn’t stop staring, my hands itching to grab her again. She came back with one of those foil packets, ripped it open with her teeth, kinda hot, not gonna lie, and rolled it onto me fast, no messing around, though her fingers were shaking just a little.

Then she was back on my lap, shoving her own jeans and underwear down, not even bothering to get ‘em off all the way, just past her hips. I could see her now, the dark blonde hair down there, the way she was glistening a bit in the dim light from the lamp. She got herself positioned over me, one hand on my shoulder, the other guiding me to where she wanted me, and even through the condom, I could feel her heat as she started lowering herself down, real slow, taking me in bit by bit. It was tight, almost too tight at first, and she winced a little, her breath catching, but she didn’t stop, just kept going until I was all the way in, deep as hell. I let out a groan, my hands grabbing her hips hard, trying not to thrust up too quick, giving her a second to get used to it.

“Fuck, you’re big,” she muttered, her voice all strained, with this tiny laugh mixed in, and I couldn’t help smirking, even though my whole body was screaming to move already. Then she started rocking, just small little shifts at first, like she was testing it out, her hands pressed against my chest. I could feel every damn thing, every squeeze of her around me, so hot and wet it was unreal. I let her take the lead for now, watching her face, the way her eyes were half-closed, her mouth open, panting a bit. My hands slid up under her tank top again, pushing it up to her neck, getting both her tits out this time, and I leaned in to suck on the other nipple, giving it a little bite like she’d seemed to like before. She gasped, her hips jerking harder, and that was it, I started thrusting up to meet her, not holding back anymore. The couch was creaking under us, the sound of us slapping together loud in the quiet room.

We were sweaty as hell now, the air in her place thick with it, and I could smell her everywhere, that raw mix of musk and salt and heat. Her hair was sticking to her forehead, and I pushed it back, not gently or anything, just wanting to see her face better. She looked down at me, her eyes locking with mine for a split second, and there was something there, not words, just this pure, raw need. Then she leaned in, kissing me again, all messy and hard, her tongue in my mouth, and I thrust up deeper, feeling her tighten around me, her breath hitching against my lips.

And that’s where we were, just lost in it, her riding me, me pushing up into her, both of us chasing that high, not thinking about a damn thing else. My hands were everywhere, grabbing her ass, her hips, pulling her down harder with every move. The condom dulled it some, but I could still feel how wet she was, how she clenched around me, hot and slick, driving me fucking insane. She was moaning now, not loud or anything, just these low, broken little sounds, her nails digging into my shoulders hard enough to leave marks, and I didn’t care one bit. I just wanted more, wanted to feel her fall apart on me.

“Fuck, Lars,” she gasped, her voice all rough, barely a whisper, her head tipping back as she ground down harder, her hips moving in these tight little circles, like she was trying to hit just the right spot. I could tell she was close, her breathing was all over the place, her body starting to tremble a bit, her thighs squeezing tight around me. I slid a hand between us, fumbling ‘cause we were both so damn sweaty, but I found her clit, rubbing it with my thumb, quick and rough, not even trying to be smooth, just wanting to get her there. She made this sharp, choked noise, her whole body jerking, and then she was coming, I could feel it, her squeezing me so tight it almost hurt, her hips bucking wild against me. Her face twisted up, mouth open, eyes shut tight, and she looked fucking wrecked, not in some cute way, just real, messy, human.

I kept thrusting through it, couldn’t stop even if I wanted to, my own need clawing at me, my balls tight and aching. Watching her like that, feeling her pulse around me, it pushed me right over the edge too. “Shit,” I grunted, my voice all messed up, and I came hard, my hips slamming up into her one last time, spilling into the condom, the relief hitting me like a fucking freight train. My hands gripped her so tight I probably left bruises, but she didn’t say a thing, just kept riding me slow, drawing it out, milking every last bit until I was done, chest heaving, head spinning.

We just stayed there for a moment, her still on top of me, both of us breathing hard, ya know? The room felt thick with that smell, sweat, sex, that sharp, lingering scent of her. I was still inside her, though I was going soft now, and I could feel the mess of the condom, all sticky and warm. She moved first, climbing off with a little grunt, wincing just a bit as she did. Her jeans were still bunched around her thighs. She didn’t look at me right away, just pulled her tank top down over her chest, hands kinda shaky, and plopped back on the couch to fix her pants. I tugged the condom off, being careful not to spill anything, tied it up, and chucked it into an empty beer can on the table. Where else was I gonna put the damn thing? My jeans were still half-down, so I yanked ‘em up, the zipper sounding way too loud in the sudden quiet.

Neither of us said a word for a bit. We just sat there, trying to catch our breath, the radiator humming away in the background. I stole a glance at her. She was staring at the wall, face completely blank, not mad, not happy, just… nothing. Her hair was a total mess, sticking to her neck, and I could see red marks on her shoulder where I’d gripped too hard. Didn’t feel bad about it, though. Didn’t feel much of anything, to be honest. Just this weird, empty buzz in my head, like I’d burned through all my energy and had no clue what to do next.

“Guess that happened,” she said after a while, her voice flat, not even looking my way. She grabbed her beer can, took a sip, then made a face, probably warm as hell by now. “Yeah,” I mumbled, rubbing the back of my neck, feeling the sweat there. “Guess it did.” She let out a single snort, then got up, a little wobbly, and snatched her hoodie off the floor. Slipped it on like nothing had even happened. I watched her move, noticing she was kinda favoring one leg, probably sore or something. Thought about saying a word, but what the hell was there to say, really? I wasn’t about to stick around and play boyfriend, and she didn’t look like she wanted that anyway.

I stood up too, grabbing my shirt and jacket, pulling ‘em on fast. The fabric stuck to my damp skin, which sucked. “You headin’ out?” she asked, arms crossed, leaning against the table. Her tone wasn’t cold or anything, just straight-up, like she already knew what I’d say. “Probably should,” I said with a shrug. “Got an early shift tomorrow. Gotta drag my ass back to Lademoen.” She just nodded, not arguing, not asking me to stay or any of that. “Alright. Don’t freeze out there.” I smirked a bit, shoving my hands in my pockets. “I’ll live. You good?” “Yeah,” she shot back quick, no nonsense. “I’m fine. See ya around, I guess.” “See ya,” I said, heading for the door.

I yanked on my boots, laces still half-untied from earlier, and stepped into the narrow hallway. The second I opened the outside door, the cold air hit me like a damn punch. Bakkegata was dead quiet, just some stray cat creeping near a dumpster, streetlights throwing long, ugly shadows on the cracked pavement. I started walking, the wind biting at my face, my legs feeling heavy as hell, like I’d just run a freaking marathon. Didn’t look back at her place, didn’t dwell too much on what just happened. It was what it was, messy, quick, over.

My brain was already halfway on something else, like how I still hadn’t paid for that stupid burrito at 7-Eleven. I’d probably catch hell from the cashier if I showed up there tomorrow. Down by Kongens Gate, some car alarm started blaring, sharp and annoying as hell, cutting through the night. I just kept walking, figuring I’d hit up that late-night kebab spot near Nidarosdomen if it was still open. ‘Cause, fuck, I was hungry again already.