• Mature • Thinking and Learning

[Carver]

Fifth Break, Cylus 22, Arc 720

Home in Scalvoris Town

x

Hard peppermint candies, sweet tobacco cigarettes, and a copper and pyrope garnet necklace laid near the delicately folded sepia-toned letter. Inside the parchment, thick crimson ink meticulously shaped poetic romantic words put together specifically for Carver’s sweetheart. The early morning of the twenty-first of Cylus saw these items lonely on the kitchen counter until Laures found them. Carver had made sure he wasn’t around for that moment, though. As much as he wanted to see Laures’ reaction, he also had another plan in mind. While Laures busied himself with reading the letter, Carver quickly switched out the bedding. He affixed impeccably clean, velvet soft red sheets and blankets to their bed. From around the room, he gathered the pillows he’d been slowly acquiring and hiding. By the time Laures came looking for him, he stood next to a completely remade and redecorated bed.

Carver had been trying, though busy between the university classes and element training, to make up for their spat a few trials ago. While assured he needn’t be sorry for any of it, he still felt sorry because Laures deserved so much better than to withstand the brunt of his anger or his spiteful outbursts. Of course, the recent memory of tears and Laures’ face pressed against the floor wasn’t the only thing that stuck on his mind though…

Talk to me like that again and I’m never listening to another word out of your mouth.

…The younger man hadn’t thought that was even a possibility until it’d been said – soft and gentle though his lover’s voice had been. He didn’t want Laures to not listen or hear him. No one had ever heard him like Laures heard him. It reminded him of how exceptionally important and essential the other man was. Carver wanted his newlywed husband to also feel that truth.

As it was, he tried to not wake Laures when he finally gave up and left the bed. He hadn’t slept long, a couple handfuls of fitful rest marked by feverish nightmares. Whether due to the increased heat of the new blankets or that he partly thought himself drowning in so many pillows (and subsequently threw them onto the floor) or torn between too many tasks while trying to process the new world they found themselves in after death or something else… Carver didn’t know. All he knew was that sweat coated his skin from head to toe, and Laures had fallen deep asleep. Eventually, he slid out from the other man’s arms and then wiggled over the edge of the bed to land on his hands and knees against the rug runners they’d set around to keep from too-cold feet. He peeked over the bed, to see if Laures had woken up, but it didn’t seem so. Carver crawled along the runner, until he reached the bedroom door and he sleekly got to his feet and quietly sli-squeak Carver looked down at the runt aye-aye mouse who had followed him from the little red-velvet box where Squeak slept. He rolled his eyes and reached down so the unusual rodent jumped onto his hand, then climbed up to his shoulder.

House cold with the Cylus dark, frost tinted the glass windows. In the glow of lanterns, fluffy flakes of snow drifted onto the neighboring streets. It looked like it’d been snowing for a few breaks. Carver started a hearth fire, then dragged a low table over to the lounge couch that they’d gotten with the house. Cigarette alight, he had pulled on some socks and a thick sweater along with his undershorts but didn’t need more than that with how hot his body ran. He placed his study materials on the table, along with a bowl of seeds and nuts for Squeak to nibble at. Studying was so incredibly boring, though. Carver soon laid on the couch, gaze fixed on the ceiling while he watched the whorls of tobacco smoke drift.

“Night… right… might… slight… fight…” muttered Carver while he considered another poem to write for Laures. “height? write… kite… light… tight…” he smirked and inhaled a deep drag of his roll-up. “…bite…”

Carver shut his eyes and swung one leg off the side of the couch. He hummed, then murmured, “One, no, once a dream in shadow night, no, dream of shadow night, no, shadows of dreams, night shadows, dream shadows… Beneath night’s shadow, within a dream, in a dream… once a dream…”

He exhaled the smoke, then stretched his arms overhead while he kept his eyes shut. Nearby, Squeak’s claws lightly scratched against the bowl while the aye-aye dug through the seeds. The hearth crackled as it burned away the barely charred firewood. Outside, a light howl of a winter’s wind strained the glass of the windows. Carver pressed his foot against the couch, to elongate the stretch in his spine, and then he collapsed against the cushions again with a sigh. His eyes opened, slow and heavy, to drowsily look at the darkness behind the window.

“Past shadows of night, dreams blanket light,” he murmured while he lifted from the couch and walked over. Carver sat on the windowsill and unlatched the hooked clasp. Opened slightly, he felt the icy cold air outside while it flooded over his exposed hands and bare legs. The window wasn’t too large, but wide enough that when he opened the second pane, he placed both legs out to sit while he looked down at the snowy patch of old weeds and overgrown grass. Snowflakes landed on his knees and atop his thighs, the powdery white melted upon impact and trickled over in thin water lines. He sharply inhaled smoke then looked up at the mostly cloud-covered sky except for a few open parts that hinted with brilliant points of stars.

[Lars]

Cylus 22, Arc 720

Home, Scalvoris Town

AAAAAAAA!!!!

The softest of sighs; the rustle of fabrics in a warm, dark room. A turn from one side to the other and the extension of an arm; an unconscious reach for comfort and warmth and security. Six trills of near-silence, then, of quiet breathing and slow fingers curling into sheets, before the bedroom gained a waking occupant with Laures’ little dissatisfied whine. The sound of it disturbed him from his rest, and blue eyes opened slowly, taking in the darkness with a few sleepy blinks. A moment was all it took for him to register the absence of his husband from their bed. Half-caught still between dreams and reality, Laures closed his eyes again and huffed. Carver would return soon, wouldn’t he? He was too tired to get up… but as the bits went on and he remained alone in the room, a swift return to sleep proved impossible. So the sleepy blond sat up, pushed the blankets aside (but took care to straighten them out afterwards), and stepped out of bed and onto the runner below.

Laures grabbed his undershorts to pull them on, and did the same with a pair of socks from the dresser. They covered his heavily-scarred shins and stopped at his scraped knees. He considered grabbing a shirt, or at the very least some trousers, but opted against wearing either. As cold as it would surely be outside of the bedroom, he did not plan to be out of bed for long, if he could help it. He looked up again from his legs, and the briefest of glances was all he afforded for the mirror - just long enough to notice that his hair was a mess, and that he’d neglected to remove the grave gold collar before he’d settled into bed. In truth, he’d only lifted his gaze at all to let it trail over the folded parchment he’d set upon the dresser. A letter from his sweet, romantic soulmate; a poem that put to words all the things Laures felt himself, when he thought of Carver.

If the gifts had been intended as some form of reparation for the things he had said trials before, Laures didn’t care. Whatever Carver’s intention was, the older man appreciated his efforts all the same; though he thought them hardly necessary, Laures was not the type to say no to anything he had been given. Beautiful, loving words, candies, cigarettes, pretty jewelry, the most comfortable and warm red bedding - Carver knew him so incredibly well, and the close attention and care being provided did not go unnoticed by Laures. He was not good with words like his poetic lover, nor was he any better with rolling smokes, or anything of the sort… but he had been trying his best to improve his cooking, and while he was not about to go out and replace the lovely new blankets and pillows Carver had brought, he was exceptionally attentive when it came to other things. After so many arcs of never learning any hobbies, the last few trials had called to his attention the fact that he really did not know how to do very much, besides the things he had learned in his slavery.

The letter sat upon the dresser with two peppermint candies, the others having already been quickly devoured the trial before. Tucked safely away with his other jewelry, the necklace especially had earned quite the positive response from Laures, and what remained of his cigarettes sat out in the lounge room. Chewing idly at the inside of his cheek, he stared at the candies…

...and emerged from the bedroom soon after, lips tasting of peppermint dust. A shiver shook through his scantily-clad form as he walked through the hall, and he wondered why the hell he had ever thought himself capable of tolerating such temperatures. Still he pressed on, socks quiet against the floor, collar still warm around his neck. The crackling sounds of fire drew him to the lounge, and Laures stepped into the amber-toned light that flickered and moved with the flames. A quick survey of the room, and he noted first the presence of his husband by the window (in the window?), and second, the blanket he’d pulled into the lounge sometime during the trial before. An older one from their original bedding, it rested half-folded over the back of a chair, and he moved to grab it.

“Carver?” murmured Laures, as he unfolded the blanket and went to drape it over his shoulders, “is it snowing?”

Somewhat relieved with the aid of the blanket and the nearby fire, he stood by the chair for a moment or two longer, yawning sleepily. He was beginning to wake up a bit more, sure, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to get back in bed and hold Carver and preferably never leave again. Despite this desire to turn around and go back to their room, Laures moved away from the chair and towards the occupied window instead. A hand reached out immediately to pet Carver’s head, long fingers pushing lazily through golden waves of hair. The blanket lifted with the motion, further revealing the healing marks that lined his ribs, that likely would not have begun to scar at all if only he had left them alone. He had not, however, left them alone.

“Your legs aren’t cold?”

Laures, at times, could not believe how Carver could handle the cold… but then, anything less than a scorching heat seemed cold to the older blond. He let his eyes drift to the window again, looking out upon the streets lined with golden lights and blanketed in a layer of clean, white snow. Moonlight set the world softly aglow, when it peered through the clouds above and reached the cold, snowy paths. Laures pulled his hand back and sat at the very edge of the windowsill, half supported by the wood and half by his own leg.

Facing the room, he leaned to the side to rest his head upon his lover’s shoulder, collar clinking softly as he did. He breathed in the scent of smoke that wafted above them from Carver’s cigarette, and lifted his head a bit, but remained at his shoulder to observe him up close. Or, rather, to quietly request, “kiss me, please.”

[Carver]

“Carver? Is it snowing?”

Laures’ voice roused Carver from quiet muttering he’d fallen into while playing with phrases in his head. He glanced over, then smiled when he caught sight of Laures wrapping the blanket around a mostly bare figure. “Yes, it’s snowing.”

He prepared to move back into the room, so to close the window and not let any more of the cold air in. Before he could, though, he felt a touch to his hair. The glance at the wounds along Laures’ ribs distracted him. Careful to keep his lit cigarette at bay, he reached up to touch the hand that combed through his hair. Not to push it away, or stop, or even guide – just to touch.

“Your legs aren’t cold?”

“They are,” he said. A slight smile hinted. “But it’s fine. Antoni might not have been used to the cold, but I am…”

Carver watched Laures and he didn’t look away; not when the other blond moved to sit at the windowsill – though facing the opposite direction – nor when the older rested against his shoulder. Nor did he look away when his lover looked back at him. The polite request for a kiss brought the slight smile back. Carver rolled his eyes. He finished the drag on the cigarette, then flicked it away into the nearby snowbank.

Hands freed, he gathered Laures closer against him. One arm around the waist, one hand to cradle the head, and he turned to meet their lips. Soft, gentle, barely a breath, though scented heavy with tobacco. He could taste the peppermint dust on his sweetheart’s lips. His smile brightened slightly, then he pressed another kiss – as gentle as the first, and slow… slow as he could be. Gradually, his lips parted and his tongue sought to taste more. A sharp inhale, and he pulled himself closer to the other’s blanketed body. One hand slipped under, fingers danced to find their way to touch against the healing wounds along the ribs; the other hand combed through the mess of hair to keep Laures near as he rocked forward in a deliberate intensifying of their kiss.

Breath hot, now, and visible between the cold that battled the hearth’s warmth. Carver continued to press until Laures was against the frame's edge. His fingers continued to caress until he reached the grave-gold collar – still so shiny and new. He pulled at the center of the accessory, in a playful tug, but he made no move to do anything other than kiss and kiss and-

-slip and fall. For Carver’s fingers slid out from the collar and he quickly let go in the very moment that he felt gravity change around him. Whatever was happening, and wherever he was going, he didn't want to accidentally pull Laures down with him. His eyes widened though, while his distracted balance had teetered too far and the rest of the sill had icy frost that no longer kept him seated like he expected. Carver slipped right out of the window and fell into the snow.

Fortunately, it was not that far from the house window to the snowy patch of yard beneath. Enough that Carver stumbled, then landed on his rear in the white powder. He looked up at the window where Laures remained, with a few blinks of realization then he laughed. Carver got back to his feet, brushed the snow off his legs, and said, “Wow! It’s cold!”

The younger blond reached up to the window, but the frame proved too icy to get a good grasp with the very tips of his fingers. He tried to pull himself up anyway and failed with another stumble into the snow. Carver huffed. He shook his disheveled hair and crossed his arms tight over his chest, thankful that he had a sweater on. His socks had already gotten wet all the way through.

[Lars]

The disposal of Carver’s cigarette, coupled with the rolling of his dark eyes, was enough of an answer for Laures. A slight smile found his face, unable to be suppressed, as he waited patiently in expectation of a kiss. Carver slipped an arm around his blanketed form, and he leaned into the hand that cradled his head, far too sleepy to fight it. Half-lidded eyes closed completely when finally he was granted the tobacco-infused kiss he had wanted. He did not lean back, as if he had already expected to be given more, and accepted each subsequent kiss gratefully. Soft and slow though they’d started out, Laures was just as quick to seek more; his curious, peppermint-dusted tongue sought more of his lover’s mouth, more of the taste of smoke and tobacco and Carver.

A cold hand slipped beneath his blanket coverings to touch the healing red lines upon his ribs. The touch sent a shiver through him, and pulled a soft moan from the sleepy blond, sound muffled between their lips. Fingers against his bare skin, fingers in his hair, fingers pulling at the centerpiece of his collar - pressed against the edge of the windowsill, Laures did not push into the continuous, deepening kisses, no matter how much he wanted to. He only accepted them, willing and eager to let the younger dictate exactly what he wanted him to do. He could pull him into the blanket with him, if he wanted - or he could drop the bundled warmth entirely, if he’d prefer, and remain cold and barely-clothed by the window. But, as the world would have it, Laures was not given a chance to find out.

All too quickly, his husband’s balance shifted. Dark brows were raised and light eyes were widened as Carver suddenly let go of him, attempted briefly to catch himself… and then fell straight out of the open window. A shocked gasp escaped him, and he stood up to look out the window properly, suddenly awake. He met Carver’s gaze when the younger man looked up at him, and though concern laid heavily over his face, it gradually began to fade when he heard a laugh. Blanket wrapped around his shoulders and held tight, he leaned out of the open window to watch his lover stand.

No longer as worried for his immediate safety, Laures could not help a soft laugh of his own while he observed Carver’s attempts to grab onto the window frame. He had no intentions of seeming cruel, of course, but… it was cute. Carver standing out in the cold, in his socks and sweater, trying and failing to get back inside through the window.

“We do have a door, you know,” he reminded with a smile, before shaking his head. The blanket fell from his shoulders as his hands released the fabric, leaving him bare-chested and cold before the window. Laures leaned out of the frame again, this time extending his arms down towards his lover. It wasn’t too high of a window… and Carver seemed insistent about it.

“Here, love,” his breath formed clouds before his mouth, “let me help.”

So, he made a grabbing motion with his hands, waiting expectantly for the younger to grab onto him. Gods, it really was cold - but he remained there for as long as Carver needed his help, and so long as his husband managed to make it through the window, he would bundle him up in the blanket he’d discarded.

[Carver]

No small amount of embarrassment lingered with Carver, while he tried to get back up onto the window – only to fail and fail again. A shallow sort, though, and one he was plenty comfortable and familiar with handling. Carver rarely minded if he seemed inept to those around him, as it was the best way to get people to underestimate and relax in his presence. He didn’t have to try for that with Laures though. Laures already knew him, already knew what he was capable of, and… Carver still blushed anyway. He scoffed while he crossed his arms and playfully insisted, “Don’t laugh! I’m going to freeze out here.”

Carver didn’t think he actually would freeze but it was incredibly cold. Cold enough that the longer he spent outside, the more he realized that his socks hadn’t only gotten wet through, but they were already freezing around his feet and ankles. He rolled his eyes at the mention of the door. The door was around the corner. Though he considered finding his way to it, he looked back to the window. It was just so damn close. If he were in his previous body, it would have been simple to climb back through the opening, even with the ice.

He smiled though, when Laures leaned over and held out his arms to help. Carver nodded in agreement, then reached to grab onto the other man’s forearms. Fingers grasped tight around, he pulled to help momentum and pressed his foot in a step against the house’s side. It seemed to go well…

…seemed to.

Until Carver’s icy-sock foot slid out over a slick patch. His weight fell backward instead of lifted upward. This time, he held tight to Laures in some stubborn inclination to try and succeed the climb anyway – but he failed. He lurched backward and accidentally dragged Laures down and out the window to join him. The younger blond groaned, but the freshly fallen snow softened the blow to his back. Head dizzy and shoulders tense, he blinked a few times to regather himself then looked to his lover. “Laures, you okay?”

He moved to get up again, and said, “Here, maybe I can lift you back up.”

[Lars]

Laures could still remember a time in which his husband refused any help from him at all. Of course, Carver had not been his husband then… he had been little more than a stranger, and a rather hostile one, at that. Laures supposed he had not been all that wonderful himself - he had offered assistance at every turn, and cared for the injured man without expectation of that care ever being appreciated or returned, but he had still been a harlot. A dirty thing, bruised and used and broken beneath the weight of it. He was not sure that he would have accepted his help either, had it been him in Carver’s position.

But his soulmate nodded immediately, and grabbed his scarred arms without hesitation. It was something that felt so natural now, so familiar, and yet it had truly not been long at all since those times of struggle. Of denial and frustration, and the aggressions that stemmed from both. Now he knew the truth behind it all, but he hadn’t known it then.

He held on tight to Carver’s arms in return. Bracing himself against the windowsill, Laures began to pull his lover’s weight. It went smoothly, he thought, as Carver stepped against the wall to aid in their attempts, but something slipped. Carver slipped. Carver fell backwards. And with him tumbled Laures, pulled hard against the windowsill and then over the frame as his lover’s hold proved strong. A surprised shout escaped him, his fingers clutching tightly to Carver’s arms as he followed him down the short distance to the snowy ground.

Landed on his stomach half-way on top of Carver and half-way in the snow, Laures wasted no time in scrambling to get up. Already cold from the removal of his blanket, he was absolutely freezing now - and he stood with his arms partly wrapped around himself, hands rubbing against them to warm them up. A shake of his head sent a clump of white snow back to the ground, and his collar clinked together from the motion. He shivered as he quickly stepped closer to his husband.

Melted snow further froze his bare, ivory skin, as the older blond stood protected only by his undershorts. Why couldn’t he have at least pulled the blanket with him? Why hadn’t he put any proper clothes on? Why had he thought this was a good idea? An annoyed little groan scraped against the back of his throat. He did not answer the question, as his quickly-uttered, shaking words did that well enough:

“Ohshitfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckit’sfuckingcold, oh my gods.”

Laures only registered the other man’s suggestion after that, blue eyes darting to Carver.

“Lift me - yes,” he agreed with a quick nod, already stepping closer to the window as he continued to hold himself in a loose embrace. Could Carver lift him? He didn’t know… and he didn’t want to be dropped again, not when the ground was so cold. But he didn’t want to walk around to the door either. He had lost a fair amount of weight since acquiring the body, as it adjusted to the blond’s sporadic eating habits and high levels of physical activity, but he wasn’t as small as he’d been in their world. Such would be impossible, in this form.

Another shiver, and Laures hummed as if to distract himself from it. He lifted his arms, ready to reach for the window should his lover move to assist. How loony it would have looked if anyone was outside to see - standing with his arms up, pale skin bared to the cold world and covered only where necessary, wearing a shiny collar. He didn’t care, though. He just wanted to get inside as quickly as he possibly could.

“Help?”

[Carver]

As Laures stepped closer, Carver wrapped an arm around the other blond. Okay, so maybe Carver was a tad sadistic. He couldn’t help but slightly enjoy the sight of his lover so bare and exposed outside in the cold… but his enjoyment did not last long when he realized the danger of it and the more responsible side of him won out over his boyish appreciation. Carver loved the shivering man and did not want him to get frostbite. A momentary thought flitted through his mind though when he considered that he wouldn’t mind all that much if Laures got sick. He could take care of him then. Not that he’d likely do very well at it, but the concept held a certain appeal to the younger blond.

The little string of curses brought a slight smile to his lips, though he tried to restrain the expression. Carver didn’t waste any more time as he pulled off his sweater. While the older blond lifted his arms while humming, Carver walked around to stand behind him. He pulled the sweater on, overhead, so that the collected warmth of his body heat wasn’t lost too quick and transferred instead to the other man.

“Okay… hold still,” he said, though he glanced at the window with a fair amount of uncertainty brewing in him. He wasn’t entirely sure if he could lift the other man, but he was going to try anyway.

Carver placed his hands around Laures’ waist, and he lifted the other man with a fair amount of effort behind it. Just enough to get it so that Laures could use his shoulder for the extra height and reach the window. Once he got him up though, he couldn’t really see other than trying to get near the building side in the hope that Laures would reach the ledge. “Got it?”

Gods, how he hated Antoni’s body. Especially in moments like these where he found himself sorely reminded of how different it was from his previous body. Carver had never fully appreciated how much strength he had, until he lost it in his death. Arcs and arcs of hard labor and street brawls had made him robust, but Antoni had none of that in his pampered muscles. A frustrated growl sounded from Carver while he felt the muscles in his back already start to protest and strain. He focused best he could, though, on waiting until he felt Laures start to finally lift away.

He pressed his hands up against the other man’s thighs to try and help what little he could. Soon enough, he felt the limbs slip away. A quiet thud while Laures went back through the window and disappeared from his sight. Carver went onto his tiptoes, then jumped slightly to try and peek over the ledge but couldn’t get enough lift to do so. He called, “You okay, love?”

“Why don’t you meet me at the door?” he suggested, though reluctant to do so. It still annoyed him that he couldn’t just climb back up into the window all on his own. Without his sweater, the Cylus air was far colder than before. He waited a pause, then started to make his way through the dark with crunch of snow under his wet socked feet. Trying to hold in the shivers that racked through his body, he found his way to the front door of the house. Though he knew it wouldn’t give, he tried the handle anyway – only to find it locked, like it should be. He exhaled lowly, then tried again with a curious wonder as to how easy it might be to break in through the front. While he waited for Laures, he started to fiddle with the handle and then knelt to examine the lock. Couldn’t he just break it open somehow? It wasn’t like they had a chain on the other side or anything of that nature. Carver made a note to get a bit better security for the door while he examined and jostled the handle.

[Lars]

Ever considerate of his wellbeing, Carver removed his own barrier from the cold Cylus air and moved to instead pull the sweater over Laures’ head. The older did a slight jump at first, as he had not been expecting something to suddenly cover his head from behind - but he relaxed just as soon and moved his arms to help. As much as he wanted for Carver to keep the sweater on and stay warm, he knew as well that his darling soulmate did not have quite as strong a reaction to the cold. Had they planned on staying out longer, or if the window did not work, then Laures would not hesitate to switch with him again. When it came down to it, the former slave’s selfishness did not reach the extent of wanting his lover to suffer (or worse) in the cold, and the decision would have been an easy one, had it been a matter of himself or Carver staying safe in the long run.

He was fortunate, then, that Carver moved to help him and speed up the process of getting inside. Laures was lifted by the waist, and he reached immediately for the window. One hand fully scarred, the other healing still, they slipped on the ice at the forefront of the frame, but another reach - this time farther inside - proved steady.

“Uh - yeah, got it,” he clung to the inside edge of the wood, where they had been sitting so peacefully before. Another push from Carver, and Laures used the momentum of it to pull himself back into the house. Landed on the blanket he’d discarded on the floor, he was suddenly grateful for his earlier mistake. A small groan escaped him regardless, more from the awkwardness of his tumble rather than the impact of it, and he pushed himself up with a huff. Carver’s voice called his attention back to the window, and he looked down at the other man to reply, “I’m okay!”

(It bothered him, though, how difficult he had been to lift. The logical side of him knew that it was a matter of Carver’s strength and not his own inability to be lifted. But the other, more vocal side of him wondered why he hadn’t worked harder to make himself smaller. Why were humans so brutish and big? Why did his bones insist that he was already thin enough?)

The suggestion to meet at the door was granted a quick nod. Laures closed the window, unwilling to deal with that mess again and reluctant to let any more of that damned cold air inside. After that, he leaned down to grab his blanket and pull it around his shoulders. His shivering continued through his walk to door, as he went through the dark hall with the blanket dragging slightly behind him, and he decided then that they would need to sit by the fire this time, rather than the window. A cold hand reached out for the doorknob, and he twisted it to pull the door open.

And Carver was… kneeling?

“No need to propose, darling, I was going to get the door for you anyway,” Laures teased, already moving forward to pull his sweetheart back into the house.

“Are you alright?”

One he had his husband inside, he shut the door again, quickly locking it before he reached out to bring Carver under the blanket’s warmth with him. Both arms slipped around his soulmate then, keeping him close and bundled safely beneath the layers.

“Let’s get to the fire and warm up, love.”

Even so… he remained there, holding Carver in a close embrace.

[Carver]

Carver nearly toppled over when the door opened, and he set a hand against the frame to keep himself from it. He’d been in the midst of trying to figure out how best to open the lock without breaking the handle. Not that he thought Laures would just leave him out there, but in the case that some unknown predator might try to sneak inside… or more concerning, some nosy trooper who wanted to take a look around while they were gone. Carver didn’t discount the potential of other people also taking advantage of their busy schedule to snoop around where they didn’t belong.

The younger blond, nose red with cold and dark eyes wide from a shallow surprise, smiled when he saw Laures. His features softened, then expression turned bemused when he heard the tease. He moved back to his feet, pulled forward and into the house so that the door shut quickly behind him. Carver nodded, still a bit dazed from the whole debacle and he said, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Happy to share the blanket, he interlocked with Laures’ cuddled hug with his own arms tight around his husband. His smile returned as they stayed next to the door, despite Laures’ insistence to warm up at the fire. He ran his hands along in caresses along the older’s backside, to warm, and be close, and he slipped his touch underneath the sweater.

“I believe this is mine,” he said, though his hands drifted past the sweater and down to the shorts instead. Carver growled playfully, then kissed Laures’ neck just above the collar. The grave-gold still felt cold, but so did his cheeks and the rest of his skin. Forgetting whatever it was he’d been doing before Laures had joined him, he lost himself in the taste of his lover against his lips and tongue. He guided a few steps, to the corridor’s wall, and returned to what they’d been doing before he’d fallen out of the window. Carver did not care that they were next to the front door, or that both he and Laures still shivered…

…because they wouldn’t shiver for long.

Eventually, in the seventh break of Cylus 22, the couple got to the fire (though they had warmed up just fine without the assistance of the hearth). Settled on the blanket, with Laures kept close against him, Carver smoked a fresh cigarette. For a few bits, he just listened to the other man – whether speaking, or humming, or simply breathing – until finally, he reached behind him and picked up one of his books from the table. Carver returned to the comfortable spot, book in hand, to attempt to study once again. He ran the sole of his foot along Laures’ leg, though, to try and keep the older there with him.

From what sounded like the kitchen, a clatter echoed. Carver glanced, then muttered, “That mouse.” He didn’t make a move to check out the noise, instead he flipped a page and wrapped his arm tighter around Laures’ waist.

[Lars]

Appreciative, immensely, of the soft hands rubbing against his back (even if they were less than warm), Laures nuzzled against his lover’s cheek. A small smile quirked at his lips when he felt the touch slip beneath the borrowed sweater, and though Carver’s cold fingers sent little shivers down his spine, he was glad for the added closeness. Glad, too, for his lover’s voice so close to his ear, and for the not-so-subtle descent of his hand. Laures’ smile widened with a soft laugh, and he replied, “yours? Hmm…”

Carver’s little growl only enhanced his amusement. A kiss was pressed to the pale skin of his neck, just above his cold, shiny collar. He made a quiet tsk sound before adding in an entirely unapologetic tone, “sorry love, but if you want it back, you’ll have to take it.”

Led a few steps backward to the wall, Laures was happy to return to their activities from before their wild incident with the window. He gave in all too easily, accepting every kiss with a quiet eagerness that formed the softest moans of approval. He gently pushed against his lover, breaking only for a moment so that he might remove the warm sweater and feel Carver's cool skin against his own…

…and the garment stayed off, though Laures had taken care to bring it along with them to the lounge in case his dear soulmate wanted it. As it was, the older rested comfortable and warm beside him, sitting before the fire and eating his very last peppermint. He sucked at the candy in his mouth, watching the flames flicker and burn the darkened wood. When Carver finally moved to grab a book from the table, Laures turned slightly to do the same. Certainly, he did not want to study… but if Carver was going to distract himself with reading, then he supposed that he should too.

Textbook and notes in hand, he remained close to his husband, happy in his hold. A sound from the kitchen disturbed them both, but Laures offered only the briefest glance back before looking again to his unopened study materials. A deep breath was drawn into his lungs as he stared down at them.

After a few long moments of this, Laures moved again. With the decision made that he simply could not focus as he was, the older man turned towards Carver, and gently guided his arms upward to free up the space over his legs. Laures shifted forward, draping himself over his husband's lap and setting his books onto the floor so that he did not have to hold them. Elbows propped up against the floor, he held his chin in his hand, and finally set about opening his textbook.

“Have your classes been any better? What are you learning about?” he questioned idly, voice muffled slightly by his candy and blue eyes focused downward on his book.