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Seated at the head of the bed, cushioned by several pillows to protect their spines against the spindly wooden knobs decorating Rain’s headboard.
They’ve been here all day, sequestered from the biting cold ripping through the abbey, under heaps of blankets fortified by Dew’s own heat.
Seasonality be damned however, Rain is still enjoying his favourite treat as they watch a series of slasher flicks involving a murderous Santa Claus.
He delights in the frosty snap between his teeth. His tongue drags icy shards of chocolate into his mouth which he allows to dissolve slowly on his tongue.
Dew has opted for something more temperature neutral. Sour candies studded with sugar that will soon make his tongue sore. But he’s abandoned the package on the bedside table, along with the movie, in favour of watching Rain.
Rain uses his bottom teeth to pry the sheet of frozen chocolate away from the bar, and then snaps it in half with his upper front teeth. In that moment Dew can see the little wisps of vapor made from the heat of Rain’s breath across the glossy surface of melting vanilla ice cream.
His tongue flicks forward rapidly to catch the drips, but not all, before they run down his fingers and thumb. He saves the bedspread from any stains, but not his own face, the corners of his mouth now stained with chocolate from the ambitiously large pieces he’s sucked back.
It’s his second bar, and if he wanted a third Dew would again extract himself from their cozy nest to get it for him. But Rain drops the stick inside the wrapped with a satisfied hum and Dew thinks he’s had his fill. He’s spared any altercations with whatever manner of spirit that roams the halls after midnight.
His full attention no longer detained by his snack, Rain realizes, or rather finally acknowledges that Dew’s been staring at him for the last 3 minutes, with a half smile tugged up to his right ear.
“What?”
“Nothing.” But the upward inflection and the smirk on Dew’s face say something .
Rain huffs quietly and sticks out his bottom lip, and it only serves to highlight the chocolate smeared around his mouth.
“You’re so sexy fucking sexy, baby.” Dew giggles, the syllables are exaggerated in all the right places to make him sound incredibly sarcastic, although it shouldn’t cast even a shadow of doubt in Rain’s mind that Dew knows it to be true.
“You’re mean.”
And now Rain’s really pouting, and Dew isn’t sure if it’s in mock offense because of the angle in which he pitches his brows and the way his eyes seem to both widen and droop at the same time.
Dew could swear there were tears pooling in them. Or perhaps just a trick that Rain and the candles agreed to play on him, as their light catches the whites of his eyes.
Either way, it elicits an unexpected but not uninvited response. Dew twists and slides his leg around Rain’s hip, climbing into his lap in a practiced motion where they fit together like two halves of a broken stone.
“Dew, my hand is sticky.” Rain’s hand is held up for inspection, though Dew can’t see anything in the low light.
“So is your face, it’s covered in chocolate.”
Dew sees the question, written silently across Rain’s bemused expression. How can go to the washroom and clean it off if you’re sitting on me?
Dew replies with his tongue, warm and soft where the edges of his lips normally meet, now held agape by a breathy sigh.
When he dips into Rain’s mouth, his tongue is still cold and the contrast makes Dew shiver despite the heat insulated by beehive of blankets coiled around them several times over.
Rain’s leg has already navigated its way out from beneath the pile of blankets to slam the lid of the laptop shut with his foot and then back again, folded underneath Dew’s hips. One hand moves to grip his waist, while the other roams the expanse of Dew’s lower back.
Rain’s thumb begins to knead urgent circles into the slight pad of fat above his hip. Dew answers by threading his arms around Rain’s neck, allowing himself to be pulled closer.
Until they’re pressed together like two pages in the center of a book.
They forfeit the ability to take a deep breath, sacrificing space for the expanse of their lungs in exchange for no longer being able to discern whose heart beat they feel inside their chests.
The thin fabric of Rain’s sleep shorts and Dew’s threadbare flannel pajama pants ease the glide as Rain guides Dew’s hips forward. The movement is fluid, as though he’s on a well oiled hinge.
Rain’s fingers stick to Dew’s skin, from the sugary film coating them. They’re fixed in place, digging into the flesh between his ribs.
The to-and-fro motion of their bodies makes the bed creak as the frame responds to erratic force of Rain driving his hips up and Dew bearing down to use his knees for leverage. The sound makes them both smile. A Pavlovian response to a noise that only comes as they get closer.
They could stop, undress, escalate, but this feels easy, natural. Dew drags his teeth through the condensation his own torrid breath has left on Rain’s cool skin.
“I want it.” The words lack their usual force on account of Rain’s own breathlessness.
Dew slides his cheek across Rain’s shoulder in a fervent nod of agreement before he breaks the marked skin in the crook of Rain’s neck. Syrupy and warm, it coats Dew’s tongue and Rain feels Dew pulse, heavy lidded, his eyes strain for a glimpse of the dark wet fabric draped across the ridges and curves his tongue knows so well.
Without the sound of Dew’s skin to muffle him, he cums with a loud sob that the wooden frame of the bed mimics with a final creak and a thump against the wall.
And this time they laugh. Dew reaches behind them to push his thumb into the concave plaster that’s shaped just like the bed post.
They’ve considered repairing it. But decided they won’t do anything until they bring the whole wall down. The dents and cracks are comforting, the way that their love erodes the surfaces, memories carved, torn, and smashed into the wood and fabric.