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For the 127th time

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It’s not the first time. It’s not even the fiftieth time. Cole has lost count on how many times it’s been. They had always gravitated towards each other, to keep warm when there was no shelter, to forget about the hunger when there was no food, after a successful raid that left their bellies full and they found a dry place for the night, after a fight so bad that they were sure they were gonna lose.

This time was no different. Some banter back and forth, that eventually turned into words of comfort and encouragement, honest words of love and family. It was a familiar pattern, and Cole knew exactly when stage 1 would transform into stage 2, when actions started speaking louder than words, when the first item of clothing would hit the ground, and even, if he felt like thinking about that, which he did, on occasion; who would be the first to cum.

The only thing that varied was who would make the first move. Most of the time, it was Ramse, desperate for things to move forward. Sometimes, it was Cole, when he felt like Ramse needed someone else to take charge. It was easy to tell, long before the first kiss, which one it would be, though. Cole knew the other man like he knew his own heart. Ramse was his brother, his family, the other half of his soul. He could read him like an open book, even when Ramse thought that he was being secretive and mysterious. And Ramse knew him, knew him like no one else ever had. Knew him well enough to know that this had gone way passed just simple itch-scratching and transformed into something much deeper and more serious.

They didn't talk about that part, though. They loved each other, they both acknowledged that. That they might actually be 'in love'? That wasn't something you talked about.

This time, like so many other times, Ramse made the first move.

On the times when Ramse made the first move, Cole would be the one to cum first. And like some weird clockwork, Ramse was the first to cum when Cole made the first move. It didn’t matter if it was a simple blow job or if one of them ended up on the floor, taking it like a champ (Again, like clockwork, they knew when it would be Cole and when it would be Ramse), the end result was always the same, and this time, with Cole being the one taking it, grunting out demands as Ramse pushed himself inside, was no different.

“We seem to be getting better at this!” Cole pointed out after, as they stayed close, trying to catch their breaths, Ramse still buried inside him, keeping their connection strong.

“Lots of practice, brother!” Ramse grinned, which was true.

No matter which time it was, though (It was the 127th, if Cole had bothered to count), it always felt the same. Like the world made sense, if only for a little while.