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Henry is certain that he's only just fallen asleep when he’s nudged awake, Alex’s soft scratched voice at his ear and his hand giving Henry’s wrist a slight squeeze. Henry’s answer to his name is a long groan.
“Hen, baby. Can you wake up for me?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Please?”
Henry groans once more and burrows further into the pocket of warmth that’s been conjured from sleep, their thick cloud-like duvet, and Alex’s arms. He keeps his eyes shut and silently, drowsily wishes for Alex to concede. And of course, no such luck.
“I’ve got an amazing idea.”
“That for some ungodly reason can’t wait until morning?”
“It’s uh,” Henry feels Alex slightly shift away, imagines that he’s checking the nocturne glow of their bedside clock, “one thirty-six right now so technically...”
“Don’t even bother finishing that sentence.”
“Come on,” Alex draws out. He shakes Henry some more, as if he can transfuse enthusiasm through vibration or using Henry like a ketchup bottle that’s been sitting too long. “Come on, we’re losing starlight. Let’s get a move on.”
“Christ, Alex, what for?”
“It’s stopped snowing. We should go sledding.”
Henry snorts, incredulous in the quiet. “Fuck off.”
Clearly Alex has gone bonkers because there is no way on earth that Henry is dragging himself out of bed to charge down a hill of snow on a plastic death trap in freezing temperatures in the middle of the night.
*
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Henry says, trudging through snow that’s at least twenty five centimetres deep at the rear of the White House.
At Henry’s side and tugging him and his sledge the last bit to the crest of the hill, Alex says, “It'll be fun.”
“Ah, yes.” Henry nods. Editorialised with bone-dry sarcasm, he continues, “Whenever I think about fun, frostbite is the first thing that springs to mind.”
“It is nowhere near cold enough for that.” Alex brings up their joined hands. “Plus, you’ve got your little cute gloves on. You’re good.”
The Aztec patterned gloves are secondhand from Alex, dug out of a closet cubby as he had pointedly made sure to mention that they were a gift from his abuela when he was thirteen and no longer fit.
Alex had also emphasised that Henry didn’t need to give them back. That it was a transfer of ownership. And they are very nice, the fingerless sort that convert into mittens. The yarn stretches comfortably and the pouches slip over Henry’s fingers just right.
“Everything will be fine,” Alex promises. He reaches out and clicks on Henry’s headtorch. His already lit grin is brilliantly illuminated. “Trust me.”
“There’s no question of that,” Henry returns. “I only ask why this couldn’t wait for the daytime? You know, how it’s normally done.”
Alex simply shrugs, his grin gentling into something flagrantly affectionate. “Because right now it's like the world is just us.”
And fuck, what is Henry supposed to argue against that?
*
“How are you winning?!” Alex drags his sledge behind him with one hand and wildly gestures with the other. “You didn’t even want to do this. I did not plan on you winning.”
Above him and at the top of the hill already, Henry props an elbow on his now vertical vehicle that’s planted in the snow, watching Alex with amusement. His boyfriend is exceptionally precious when he pouts. “My being reluctant to sledging doesn’t mean I’m not skilled at it.”
“Best of seven,” Alex huffs upon arrival.
“You have a problem. The terms were already agreed upon.”
“You scared?”
Alex then proceeds to emit the noises of a fowl.
“Resorting to primary school tactics, are we?”
Alex only lifts his brow, his expression dancing with challenge.
“I'm going to need some proper motivation, darling,” Henry says, sliding on a smirk.
“I could be a victim of clichés and offer mind-melting sex if you win but you get that all the time anyway.”
Henry breaks into helpless laughter and agrees when he finds the cold air to do so.
“So, instead, how about the next time I’m at the palace I take you up on those horseback lessons finally,” Alex says.
“Truly? You’ve always seemed—uncomfortable around them.”
“Well they are huge, intelligent beasts that can buck me off and launch me god knows how many miles an hour into the air.”
“Dramatic." He pauses, shaking his head. "Really, Alex. You don’t have to.”
“You love it and it’s something we can do together. I’d like to try it out,” Alex says and he sounds sincere. “If I don’t enjoy the experience, I won't be shy about it.”
“And if you win? What do you want?”
“Here’s where I do get pervy."
"Of course."
"I win and you let me buy you a pair of cowboy boots and a Stetson and you wear them for me.”
“Nothing else, I’m assuming.”
“Anything else would get in the way, Henry.”
“You’re on.”
*
Minutes and minutes later, victory is Henry’s and he graciously accepts Alex’s request for a final run, plopping down on the front of Alex’s sledge when he makes a grabby motion for Henry, his legs open. Their combined weight rips them downslope, easily the record of the night. They’re a powdery pile at the bottom when they come to a stop short of the treeline with a sharp turn and tumble off the sledge.
“You alright?” Henry asks.
“I should be asking you. You’re the one who cushioned my fall. Am I smothering you?"
“It's all fine for now, love. You’ll be nursing my aching bruises later.”
“Obviously.” Alex animates the line of his brow. “Just call me the love doctor.”
“Won’t be doing that, thanks," Henry comments. Using his teeth—due to most of him being trapped under Alex—Henry yanks back the pouch of his right mitten. He assesses the snarled wreckage of Alex’s hair that’s been freed of the headtorch and clumsily combs through it with chilled fingers. There’s a small scratch by Alex’s temple. Henry thumbs away the paper-cut thin trace of red and finds Alex’s perfect eyes. “You didn’t let me win, did you?”
“Me? Never. I lost,” Alex insists, sweetly leaning his head into Henry’s touch. His adoration is spotless if not his honesty. “Life rolls on.”
Henry considers calling Alex out but a shiver distracts him, stalls his tongue.
Alex’s arms around him tighten and with their physical arrangement, it’s plenty awkward. It’s also loving. He ridiculously presses a kiss to Henry’s wintry-wet palm. “Cold?”
Spellbound, Henry murmurs, “A bit, yeah.”
“I’ve got a way to get you warm,” Alex shares quietly.
*
Henry moans and licks at his lips, chasing the flavor off his mouth. “This is sinful.”
“I know,” Alex says after a long sip from his UT mug. “Nothing beats Mexican hot chocolate.”
“And the amaretto? Ugh, chef’s kiss.”
“Discovered that little addition four Christmases ago.”
Henry smiles at him and eats another mini marshmallow. “The man’s a genius.”
“Yeah, my ideas aren’t all shit that will have us needing Icy Hot the next day,” Alex replies, his gaze dropping to where their sock feet share the spindle of a kitchen stool.
Henry lightly kicks him. Kicks him again to get his full attention. “Tonight wasn’t shit.”
“No?”
“No.”
Alex sighs, abandons his drink to rub at his stubbled jaw. “Snow felt like—like a fresh start. A renewal, I guess. Getting rid of yesterday. I know it’s not that easy, that it doesn’t work like that and it’s fucking stupid—”
His heart sore and swollen, Henry closes the distance that parts them, hushes Alex’s doubt with a slow and open kiss. He kisses past the cling of sugar and spice, until it’s clean.
“I love you,” Henry says. His words are only a fraction of what he means but he knows Alex can read the spaces between. Thank you. It helps. You help.
“Love you still. Love you always.” Alex curls into him, his hand over Henry’s knee.
He’s there. He’s there, Henry knows because he can read Alex’s spaces just as well.
fin