Work Text:
It was a nice evening, if you didn’t count the fact that he could almost feel his balls freezing.
And he wasn’t even outside, no. He was sitting comfortably on Oliver’s couch. Or more like Oliver’s ice throne, big enough to fit the two of them. He half expected snow to start falling from the ceiling at any point now.
“You’re being such a drama queen right now.”
Yes, he felt the need to express his thoughts out loud. Maybe his brain-to-mouth filter froze as well.
Oliver actually stopped his typing to look at him.
“What? It’s freezing here, okay? I’m allowed to be a little crazy. My thought processing isn’t working very well, what with the negative temperature in this room.”
Oliver raised a single eyebrow.
“Yeah, yeah, tone down the dramatics. Why is it so cold anyway?”
“I forgot to close the window this morning.”
Connor let out an indignant sound.
“You mean to tell me that, while you were on your 9 to 5 job, your window was open the whole time?”
“It was just an inch or so.”
“Why would you even open it in the first place? Did you not look outside and think that all that white snow meant it was probably not a good idea to leave the window open?”
“First of all, I didn’t leave it open on purpose; I told you this already, catch up. And second of all,” he argued, turning his body towards Connor this time around. “We can’t keep having sex all the time and then expect me to cohabit with the smell of it in this place 24/7.”
“And you couldn’t get one of those scented candles or febreze or something?”
“I don’t want to hide the smell; I want it gone. Besides, I want my place to smell fresh, not smell like jasmine or Greek Seaside.”
Connor’s shoulders fell. Or maybe they finally succumbed under the heavy weight of the ice crystals starting to grow on his back.
Oliver rolled his eyes and went back to hacking into this guy’s bank account for Connor.
“Stop being such a whiny baby. I already lit the fireplace.”
“Yes, you did. You lit the beautiful fireplace, which is aaaaaaall the way over there,” he said, pointing at the back of Oliver’s bedroom. “Why can’t we sit on your bed? It’s so much closer to the heat.”
“We tried that before, remember? My bed and work are not compatible. We’ve reached that conclusion in less than 30 seconds. And I thought you needed this for yesterday, or so you said.”
Connor hung his head, rubbing his hands and blowing on them.
“I do. I’m this close to getting that damn trophy back. But it’s really cold here and I’d like to keep my vital organs working.”
Oliver chuckled and stood up, one hand under his laptop, the other still typing.
“Come on,” he offered over his shoulder as he moved to sit on his bed, in front of the fireplace. “I can’t work with you constantly complaining about it.”
Connor sat down heavily, wiggling his socked feet in front of the flames.
“Sorry, I can’t hear you over the fact that I can finally start to feel my toes again.”
Oliver thwacked him on the head and went back to his laptop.
“So, did you get it?” he asked, rubbing the back of his head.
“Almost there. I only need to get past this-”
“Oliver, we finally moved away from Alaska back there; please don’t ruin it with your tech talk.”
“Ungrateful bastard,” the other man muttered.
“Ah, but you like me,” he said, grinning at him and touching the visible skin between Oliver’s sweater and his pants, making him jump.
“Hey! Cold hands!”
“And whose fault is that?”
“Go back to wiggling in front of the fireplace and leave me to work.”
He went back to his laptop, a look of concentration settling on his face. Connor sat on the floor next to the fire place.
A few minutes later, he sat with his legs crossed, back to the flames. He watched the orange hue in Oliver’s face, the flames’ reflection dancing in his glasses. The only sounds in the apartment were those of Oliver’s fingers flying over his keyboard and the wood cracking under the fire behind him.
He smiled contentedly. He was all warm and happy. That was such a silly thought, but that was it, really. He can’t even remember how he reached this new point in his life, but here he is, not regretting a second of it.
Oliver suddenly made a sound and he straightened up in response.
“Got it?”
“Got it. Should I print it now?”
Connor got up from his place on the floor.
“Don’t bother. I’ll email it to Wes or something,” he said, taking Oliver’s laptop from him.
“But weren’t you going back to your boss’ house now?”
He didn’t answer until he was done sending the files.
“I think I’m gonna stay here a little longer and spend some time with you, maybe watch a movie in bed. That is if you don’t mind, of course.”
The other man blushed slightly, taking his laptop back.
“I-I don’t mind at all. You know that,” he added in a small, shy voice.
That warm feeling was back in his chest and he was pretty sure it had nothing to do with the lit fireplace in the room.